2 Days after Diagnosis

Most of the evening of the day of diagnosis was spent combing the Internet for treatment recommendations. The most common treatment was lumpectomy with radiation and Tamoxifen (if the tumor was estrogen receptor + or progesterone receptor +). The radiation kills rogue cells, and the Tamoxifen works to block the regeneration of new cancer cells, by blocking the ability to absorb female hormones, their "food" source. Essentially, the Tamoxifen puts you into a menopausal state, which believe it or not, at age 53, I would happily welcome! Imagine buying female products with my GRAY hair. In fact, I pretend they're for my daughters...hahah.

The best part of the day was knowing that Rachel was coming to spend the weekend with us. I knew she would keep me busy. The more I thought and the cancer, the worse I viewed my future. So on Friday night, we talked a bit about the cancer. But on Saturday, we had a day where there was not a waking minute to think about anything but having fun. We went out to breakfast, went to a morning movie, went shopping for a gift, went back to the movies again, and ended the day going to a family affair for the entire evening! It was wonderful not to dwell on the big black cloud.

On Sunday, 2 days post-diagnosis, we went to the annual bichon frise dog bash in Hayfield, Virginia. The joy of watching 200+ bichons (see the picture if you won't know what a bichon frise looks like) running off-lead in a controlled fenced portion of the park was beyond words. Our sweet dogs, Daisy and Giovanni blended right in, and it was a fun day talking about the dogs with like-minded owners, who didn't think we were nuts to be so in love with our pets. In fact, Daisy and Giovanni, as lap dogs, have been a wonderful source of comfort.

On Monday...David and I were scheduled to the see the breast surgeon...more later.

The Beginning...Last Installment

I was emotionally drained after talking with my family, but knew that my father had been waiting for the results. We don't have a particularly close relationship, but since my mother died, I have taken on a lot of responsibilities in regard to his bill payment and medication management. His reaction was benign, and because he is not a nurturing person, I had no expectations that he would be particularly concerned about how I might be taking the news. Even though cognitively I knew he would react this way, it still hurt emotionally, because I simply cannot fathom how a parent would not be overtly concerned about a sick child.

My brother, the pathologist, was the next phone call. He has always been matter of fact, not particularly tactful, and always eager to show you how smart he is. With his photographic memory, I'm happy to have him on my side to interpret information. However, if I were looking to him for comforting support, I'd be in a heap of trouble. His comments to me were "You've passed the surveillance, which you knew you'd had a 30-80% risk due to Mom. So now it's time for you to lop off both your breasts and get a reconstruction. They'll tatoo nice nipples on you too." Nope, this was NOT what I wanted to hear at that moment of time, and after I advised him of the same, and stewed a bit, knowing that I should have expected that insensitive comment, I moved on to call my friends.

It was only the week before that one of the "people" in the group of friends I had hung out with over the years, had a serious health problem. One of the husbands (56 yo) had a heart attack, but after a stent and some rest, he was doing great. I was really the first one to have the big C. Being young (I still consider 53, as young, and so do the breast cancer statistics), no one wants to think we could be hit with anything of a serious nature. After all, we don't feel old. Sometimes, I act and feel like I'm a child, as my family can attest, so surely I shouldn't be experiencing anything as serious as cancer at my age!

One of the positive outcomes of this experience has been that some people I knew in my past (relationships and jobs) have stepped forward, after finding out about my diagnosis through mutual friends, and have called me and sent beautiful supportive emails, chockful of positive thoughts; each reminding me that my world is really much larger than I thought, and the power of their prayers and their kindness will go a long way in helping me beat this challenge.

My college roommate, Lynn, who lost her Mom to breast cancer, one month after my mom died of breast cancer, has been particularly active in Breast Cancer Organizations and fund-raising. She has been a rock of support as I continue to wait for results and my surgery.

Today's Lessons Learned: Love and friendship cannot be purchased with insurance, even with the best possible plan. It is something that is built and nurtured, and if this blog does nothing else, it should remind everyone reading that you should remember to keep that friendship garden nourished and growing.

The Beginning Continued

The next call was to my children. I am very lucky that my daughters have also become friends as they've blossomed into adults. Carol, the oldest and now living in Chicago, has always been pragmatic, ready to tackle any challenge put in her path. Rachel, the youngest who lives an hour away, has always been the comical child. The one that couldn't sit at the dinner table without doing somersaults on her chair, hanging with her head down, just to get a rise out of us. She is also very sensitive, a little more anxious than Carol, and always seeking answers, even if they don't exist. Both girls (aren't they always going to be my little girls?) are smart and beautiful (doesn't every parent say that too?), but most of all they are caring and loving, and as a family, we have always been very close. That's why I knew these calls were going to be the worst.

I had told the girls about the need for a biopsy and the facts that 80% of the time, biopsies are negative. That didn't quell their fears. They had friends who had lost their mothers to breast cancer, had experienced my mom dying from breast cancer, and they were frightened! Carol called me early the day after the biopsy to find out if the results were back. I promised I would call as soon as I had heard. So, now I had to call her and frankly, I was scared to death. She was the easy call, because I knew she would take the information, synthesize it quickly, and ever the planner, would ask for the next steps. No doubt, she was shaken to the core. I could hear the trembling in her voice, and, as a mother, I could never stand my children to be sad. After all, aren't we only as happy as our saddest child? Here I was struggling with my emotions, as well as my family.

Carol had just moved back to Chicago a few weeks before to return to the University of Chicago for her MBA. She was so excited, and I didn't want to put a damper on this very exciting time in her life. She felt torn, and asked if she should come home. I told her she was being ridiculous, but it was a sweet gesture, and I was touched. I knew if I said yes, she would have been on the next plane.

With a promise that I would call her back later, I called Rachel. Rachel had just graduated from Cornell University with her Masters in Engineering (I'm such a proud mama), and had been working at her first "real" job for only three weeks. She had recently moved to Northern Virginia, and was having a blast with her friends, her job, her apartment and her social life. It doesn't get better than that! And here comes Mom, to put a big hole in the happy balloon. As expected, Rachel was full of questions and only wanted to hear positive information. more later....

The Beginning

There is always a beginning to every story, a prequel, and multiple epilogues. This is my story, dedicated to my wonderful family, my support and anchor - my dear sweet husband and best friend of 31 years, David, and my two beautiful daughters, Rachel (24) and Carol (27).

On Friday, September 5, 2008, my world was rocked. I received the diagnosis I had been dreading ever since my own mother was diagnosed with breast cancer 25 years ago: DCIS Left Breast, .3 cm, Grade 1, micropapillary.

Should I say I was surprised? Not really. After I saw the mammogram that led to the additional mammograms, ultrasound, and stereotactic biopsy, all in the same week, I saw the "explosion of the microcalcifications". This mammogram seemed to match the mammograms with the same diagnosis on the Internet.

When the radiologist shared the news, very tactfully, and in a kind way, I was numb. My body started to shake, and the tears welled in my eyes. Luckily for me, I was in my work office, and the door was closed. I could be emotional in the privacy I so desperately needed.

My first reaction was to go online and look up everything he said on one of the great breast cancer websites I had found earlier in the week. The pathology was clearly explained (http://www.breastcancer.org/symptoms/path_report/). Then when I felt I was armed with the answers that I knew my family would seek, I called my husband.

David, as expected, was very sad. He assured me that "we" would do what needed to be done to get well again. He was definitely part of the team. For years, I had asked him what he would do if I lost a breast like my mom. And for years, he replied that nothing was more important than my health, and whatever needed to be done should and would be done. After all, as partners for 31 years, we had made a pact that we would love each other for better or for worse, in sickness and in health. He's the kind of guy that would never break a promise, nor reneg on a contract. But, in truth, we are still in love with each other, have a lot of fun together, and after all these years, still "like" each other too. He is the one constant that I know will always be my side no matter where this journey takes me.

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