Sunshine in April

Fear.  I’ve been slow to write the next segment in my cancer journey, and it took me a while to realize why.  Fear of judgment.  Each of us have our own individual set of dynamics to our relationships, and I feel protective of my spouse regarding this next piece of writing.  He, however, has no such fear or concerns, so I am working on not letting my fear stop me from proceeding with my goals.

Quiet.  Before finding out if my tumor was cancerous or not, I had only told a handful of people.  I told my spouse because he is my left hand man (he is a ‘leftie’), my rock.  I told my stepdaughter because she is her dad’s 2^nd in command and my ally.  I only told two of my four sisters.  Longer story on why I didn’t tell one sis, but I was being super protective of my older sister.  She is a worrier and has been given many challenges through life.  I wanted to tell her, but I did not want to add any stress to her life, so I was being protective by not telling her.  I only told these four allies so they could help me hold the weight of the world while I waited.  The day before I found out the biopsy results, three more people got the news (two of them live together, so telling one was telling the other).  The two who I told just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time – i.e. my house!  And, so they were also given the burden of my wait and worry happenstance.

I tend not to share much of what is going on with me.  Even though I’ve taught for the past almost two decades, I still don’t like being the center of attention.  In part, it is because I am more introverted and prefer to be the listener rather than the speaker most of the time.  In part, it is simply how I have handled much of my issues most of my life.  And, with this, I was still hoping that it was nothing, so it was a non-issue.  Even though the weight of the wait was daunting.

Alone.  Normal.  My spouse is a hunter.  And he had hunting plans for most of the year, going to a new spot in a new state with a newer friend.  He often goes to Montana, and we often have elk in the freezer so his hunting is a bonus for us all.  My daughter and I enjoy the time alone at home, and this is the ONLY time he ever goes anywhere without us.  I didn’t even think of asking him to stay as an option, plus, I’m not one that has an easy time changing plans once they are set.  So, my spouse left on the Friday that I had my biopsy and was not to return until the following Sunday, over a week later.  He would have stayed had I asked.  I wanted him to go and have fun, and hopefully bring home an elk.  AND, as important, if it is fall and Grey is hunting, then ‘everything’ is ‘normal’, right?!

Biopsy.  My doctor didn’t have much information, only preliminary results, so she didn’t have much to share, other than it was positive.  The ONE thing she did know was that the tumors (we thought two at the time) were very aggressive.  UGH – that sounds SCARY!  She was going to start putting in referrals right away and now it was time to call in my resources and become the center of attention, whether I liked it or not.  This is not a battle to be won alone.  I need my people, most of whom live 2500 miles away.  Telling them in person was not an option, so I picked up the phone and started dialing.

Sharing.  This was probably one of the hardest part.  Telling loved ones that I am facing cancer.  I told my sisters.  I told my aunt, who I refer to as my second mom, who battled her own breast cancer diagnosis a decade earlier.  I had to wait for my spouse to call me back as he was somewhere in the Idaho wilderness; I told my spouse.  I made many of those dreaded phone calls and rallied my support.  I told my 13 year old.  She took it well, and we’ll come back to her later as she is also a rock like her dad.  They have this wonderful ability to separate themselves with amazing boundaries clearly acknowledging that they have empathy while at the same time showing care and compassion without taking on another’s burdens.  Then, I called my closest friend here in Washington.  I asked her to stop by after work so I could tell her in person.  That was as hard as telling my family as she is my chosen family here so many miles away from my support network.

Tears.  Sharing this sort of news hits people to the core.  Most people cry.  Many try not to as they are wanting to show me strength, but still.  Most cry.  It is a hell of a conversation to tell a loved one that you have a potentially terminal diagnosis.  Most cry. It is okay.  I had cried so many tears, again, I do most of that alone, so I was strong enough to let others cry and not have to cry to… most of the time.

FAST.  Holy cow, later that same day, I got calls from the referrals.  This makes it scary real, even more so than calling in resources.

Friday.  My appointment with the surgeon was scheduled for Friday, two days later.  My appointment with the oncologist was scheduled for the following Wednesday.  I don’t remember where I got this (my notes are unclear), but my ‘referral notes’ state my diagnosis as malignant neoplasm of left male breast, unspecified estrogen receptor status.  I am starting to learn a new language!  The ‘male’ breast is simply the left one.  The right one is female.  Malignant neoplasm – yep, that’s cancer.

Resources.  So, one of my resources is a medical professional here in town who has also worked in Seattle and is a cancer survivor.  How thankful I have been for this insight and information regarding the process and who may be better to see.  I was assured my surgeon was spot on, along with my doctor’s referral regarding good experience with office.  I was encouraged to consider looking at a different oncology office, more in line with the regional cancer center and with the hospital here in town.  Being in the network seems to make everything easier, including all medical info in one system, all services under one roof, and not having to be shared between systems.

Overwhelmed.  I had so much information coming so fast, I didn’t know what to do.  Again, I had to wait two more days for the appointment with the surgeon.  I didn’t have access to any of the biopsy results at that time, though I kept looking.  Not sure why I didn’t call and bug them for that.  I guess I figured that I would see them in two days when I saw the surgeon.  I kept telling myself that I had this, that I would be okay, that I was not ready to die.  I had a 13 year old who needed me.  I was going to fight for survival.  I was terrified. Overwhelmed.  Distraught.  Alone.  My spouse kept asking if I wanted him to come home.  No.  Stay.  Get an elk.  Our freezer is empty of such high quality meat, and we need to restock.  Stay.  Have fun.  I’ll be okay.

Terrified.  I thought I was okay.  I was not okay.