How Did I Get Here?"

     It's difficult to determine the starting point to this journey.  As some would say, "where do I begin"?  How far back on the family tree do I go?  In an effort to keep this short and sweet I'll give you the abbreviated version to my story.  I always enjoyed Cliff Notes 😉

    My maternal grandmother was diagnosed with breast cancer in her early 40's.  She battled this disease while raising 4 children in rural Kentucky with science and data that only the 1960's could provide.  It eventually took her life a few years later, just a few months before my parents were married.  

    Fast forward and amidst the global pandemic in 2020 my sister discovered she had breast cancer.  She was also in her early 40's.  We are blessed to say her treatments worked and she is cancer free!

    When my sister received her diagnosis I had a long chat with my doctor.  I was living in Annapolis at the time and the local hospital had a risk and prevention program at their breast center.  I was referred to the genetic counselor and from there I went through some high risk screenings.  It was determined that I should have more than just a typical mammogram in my routine.  At age 37 I scheduled my first mammogram, or "titty pancake" as my Mom calls them.  Results came back as "you have extremely dense breast tissue". In lay people terms it means they can't see shit!  It's like looking for a polar bear in a cloud of snow.  But hey, I got it done and have a baseline.  Six months later I was scheduled to have the MRI, but we moved out of state and I didn't end up scheduling one.  Then it was time for my annual mammogram and my primary doc agreed with the plan of mammogram and then 6 months later have the MRI.  So I followed doctors orders.  Nothing to report from the mammogram.  Still cloudy and inconclusive.  

    Now it's May and it's time for my first MRI.  You guys, I've never been a prisoner of war but I imagine it's like having a breast MRI.  TORTURE!  You think titty pancakes is awful? Ha! I had to lay face down on the table.  I know what you're thinking, oh like getting a massage? No, not like getting a massage! Then stretch my arms up over my head straight out.  All while there's a needle in one arm pumping contrast into my body, ear plugs to help block out the loud and incessant beeps and screams from the machine, and the nurses sternly telling me DON'T MOVE.  Oh and DON'T BREATHE!  For 45 freaking minutes!!! You can bet your bottom dollar I poured a glass of vino as soon as I got home.

    A few days go by and I haven't thought about that dreadful day.  I blocked it out of my memory.  Until I get a phone call saying "the contrast picked up a mass that we need to look into".  Huh? I'm sorry, what? My mammogram was fine. My birthday is tomorrow, I turn 39.  Found something?!?

    They schedule me for an ultrasound to get a closer look at the mass.  That appointment is also scheduled for a biopsy which I'm told I may or may not need, depends on what they find on the ultrasound.  So for one week I sit and wait until that appointment.  Trying not to think much of it.  It's June 1 and I drive downtown to the Hill Breast Center for my appointment.  I go upstairs to the waiting area.  It's like a locker room.  Kind of reminded me of a spa- there's dressing rooms, light music in the speakers, robes, blankets to keep you warm, and free water bottles.  I'm the youngest in there by decades.  The tv screen with medical information and ads says 1 in 8 women will get breast cancer.  I quickly scan the room and count and decide in my mind who the lucky winner will be.  The bubbly nurse takes me back to my room, performs the ultrasound, and takes images.  She calls the doctor in and immediately the energy in the room shifts.  The bubbly and happy nurse turns empathetic and concerned and starts rubbing my arm telling me how brave I am and I'm doing great.  The doc informs me she wants to do the biopsy.  First comes the local anesthesia.  Then the biopsy needle.  After it is inserted and she uses the ultrasound to guide her and find where she wants to biopsy the needle shoots out and grabs tissue and sucks it in and makes the loud and aggressive sound of a staple gun.  Yes, this is my interpretation and my own medical terms.  This staple gun thing happened 3 times.  The last time she hit my chest muscle which sent me into a scream that all of downtown could hear.  And I had the bruise to prove it.  Once that was all done I was sent on my merry way to wait.  It was a Wednesday and she didn't expect any news until Monday. The irony- the next day I sang a benefit concert for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society, raising over $4,000 for cancer research.

    I had all these plans.  It was a weekend  It's the summer.  I live in kid Vegas and the beach is 10 minutes away.  I'll stay busy so this whole thing doesn't consume my mind.  Neil has to go out of town for work, but I got this.  Ha Ha Ha! What happens? My daughter gets a stomach bug and now we're stuck in the house for 3 days!  OMG what am I going to do?  The breast center sent me home with a pamphlet of all these medical terms and definitions so I could refer to it when I get "the call".  I googled each term 100 times and in my medical training and experience decided it had to be a fibroadenoma. I haven't taken a science class since I was 15, but yup, that's it.  Noncancerous, common, done!  Made total sense.

    Monday finally rolls around and I'm on edge all morning.  I call the breast center and leave a message asking for my results.  About an hour later I get a call from my primary care doctor's office saying he wants to schedule a Zoom call for the afternoon to go over my results.  And my heart sinks.  Zoom? Why would he want to talk over Zoom unless it was bad news?  I, of course, say yes and hang up.  And now it's time to take the kids to camp.  My call with my doctor isn't for another few hours.  So the kids and I hop in the car and head to camp.  About 5 minutes into the drive and the breast center calls me.  It's another bubbly nurse who isn't bubbly but is empathetic and concerned.  I told her about my doctor's Zoom appointment and she asks if I want to wait until then to find out results or if I just want to find out now.  Then I'm thinking, well now I don't want to find out at all!!! But obviously say the nicest way possible, "just tell me now"!  And there it was.  The phrase that completely changed my life. "I'm so sorry but it is breast cancer."  Trying not to drive the car into the swamp and trying not to lose it in front of my kids I cry a silent cry and whisper a few questions.  She explains the type- Invasive Lobular Carcinoma. All other tumor markers are still pending but what she can guarantee is I'll need surgery.  I hang up and sit still in the car line at drop off.  My kids are completely oblivious to whats going on.  I drop them off, park the car in the parking lot, and let it out.  A loud and ugly cry.  And then, my phone rings, my doctor on the line.  Not just a voice call, but Facetime.  We chat for a few minutes but really he was just showing he is there.  There for me.  There to ask questions.  There to cry to.  And then it's time to go home and give the news to the people I love the most.

    Telling my husband, my parents, my sisters, my closest friends... that part felt heavier and more hurtful than getting the news myself.  To see and hear their pain.  While I know it is all because they love me and are worried about me, it felt like I was doing it to them.  Especially my mother.  My amazing and beautiful and generous mother.  She watched her own mother suffer from this disease and now 2 of her daughters have been diagnosed.  I literally felt my heart tear into pieces.  

    So, here I am.  Just a few weeks after D-Day.  Still waiting at the start line.  If there's anything I can encourage you, my reader, to do would be to get screened!  Be your own advocate!  Make the appointment and GO!  I am so lucky I had the MRI.  Due to the position of my tumor the mammogram would not have found it until it was stage 4 and a death sentence.  The MRI saved my life! It's so easy to be in your routine of life and not do preventative care.  And especially for us moms who never do anything for ourselves and put our own health and wellness on the back burner.  STOP! You can't pour from an empty glass.  You matter!  Just do it!  

    In college I sang the song from Pocahontas 2 "Where Do I Go From Here?" for my recital and it feels like the theme song to my life in this moment.  I'm sitting, waiting, wondering... I let myself cry when I want to cry.  But I also remind myself to smile and laugh. There's a lot to be thankful for.  And I'm not done yet.