I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t write about the shitty stuff. Truth be told, I do this more for me than anything. I wasn’t sure when I would be willing to share this, but I’d rather be up front and let you share in the mania with me! If there is anything true in this world, it’s the reality that complacency is the breeding place for challenge. Can’t be caught too comfortable. At least, that’s what I’ve come to expect. Recognizing the cynical pessimism, it’s appropriate.
A few months ago, I noticed a change. That change started impacting a broader range of normal things. I’ve been a lot more tired than usual. My diet has dramatically changed. I made a doctor’s appointment to start hammering out the cause of things. When I was in there, I requested a mammogram. With my age, I was preparing for the dreaded “menopause” diagnosis. I had blood drawn, requested an endoscopy, and have my heart checked out.
Blood work came back in fairly great condition! Little high on the cholesterol, but meh. Then I had the endoscopy which showed a developing ulcer. Then the mammogram.
I was immediately scheduled for a biopsy, which was done last Wednesday. If you’re anything like me, waiting for information is the equivalence of torture. Late Friday afternoon, I got the lab results. I have been diagnosed with ductal carcinoma in situ (DCIS). Currently, I am waiting on the scheduler to set the appointment with the surgeon and oncologist. Yipee, I've got breast cancer!
The next actions will likely be an MRI to take a closer look at where things are. Fingers are white knuckle crossed waiting for this to get done quickly. Getting myself familiarized with new words and expectations has been a borderline obsession since Friday. I’ve read entirely too much, but it’s the only way for my brain to avoid emotions taking over. This one is a little trickier to manage emotionally. This time I'm not in a support role, it's me.
What has me in a chokehold is what I’m emotional about. I’m not scared of dying. There isn’t much to indicate that this can’t be kicked and go on with a lot more years. I’m furious. Like raging pissed. It’s interesting to me how much saying things out loud impacts the body. It wasn’t until I spoke certain things aloud that the violence of tears and hyperventilation took over. My sweet brother is a saint for being there for me while I had an emotional exorcism. I sounded nothing less than manic. My dark sense of humor is a petulant child with micro-outbursts.
This part is the wild part. Crisis is never convenient. It doesn’t care how happy you are. It doesn’t care how chaotic you are. It doesn’t matter if you’re healed and whole. It doesn’t matter if you have the time to figure it out. It doesn’t care if you are even capable to handle it. It just is.
A few things came out of my mouth when I flipped. They even scared me a little when they became real words attached to real emotions. In the spirit of oversharing, which I embrace fully, here are the major points that my emotional words identified:
1. I am tired of being “strong.”
2. Here’s yet another thing to go through quietly because I don't want to scare my kids.
3. I don’t want to die like my mother did.
Those are areas I will be unpacking to get them healthy. It’s super awesome to know that people think I’m strong. Which, I won’t take that away from me. I do, however, call it something else. I call it survival. I haven’t chosen to be strong; it’s been a requirement. But the weight on my shoulders to just lay down for a while has been heavy.
The other two points I will work through privately. My journal is about to get worked out with thoughts. But, to those who go through hard things quietly, I see you. Keeping my children informed of this without scaring them is an artform. So far, I have successfully shared with the boys what’s going on. I felt it was better to tell them with a heavy air of nonchalance surrounding it. I say it frequently, “If I’m not freaking out, you’re not freaking out.” I’ll just freak out in the bathtub with the music playing a little louder than usual.
The part about my mom, that's the heaviest one to work through.
There is a lot more information yet to be shared or gathered on what will be the next actions. Surgery is obviously the first step. The extent is not solid. However, I have mostly made up my mind on what I want. That part isn’t super exciting to experience, but I don’t want to have to do this more than I absolutely must. I’m anxious as hell to talk to the people who are going to walk through this with me so I can get some logistics figured out. I need the plan to really be at more ease.
I am immensely grateful to have my daughter close with me for this. She has the same warped sense of humor that I do, and it’s nice to have that language to talk through some of this. Family is everything and now is the time for me to embrace them. I’m not nearly as intimidated by this as I could be if I didn’t have my kids here to hold me down. I am a very blessed mom.
