08/18/2008

August 18, 2008. 3 years to the day. This is the waiting room I was waiting in for 45 minutes just to get into an exam room to wait even more. It was about 1:00 pm. I drove from work. My primary physician was away for 2 weeks and I was awaiting results on my core biopsy and I couldn't wait 2 weeks. Looking at the date, I'm starting to think that 8 isn't my lucky number. Or is it the opposite?

So we wait together in the waiting room, then get sent to an exam room. After waiting in there for about 20 more minutes (can you imagine the agony waiting for THESE kind of results?), the nurse comes in, our hearts literally stop beating, and she tells us that the fax machine isn't work working. (insert a brief sigh of relief and then more stress here). She tells us to stay put, that they're going to try a different fax machine. We compose ourselves again and put our brave faces back on. Tick tock, tick tock, another 20-30 minutes go by. The door opens again. Our hearts stop again. I swear you could hear our last gasp. It's the nurse. Fax #2 isn't working either. Seriously???!!! We've been waiting over an hour and a half in the worst kind of way imaginable. I have never felt such a sick feeling of worry in my stomach before.

So, we're told to go home, come back tomorrow because the clinic will courier the report over in the morning. The staff reassure us that we will bypass any waiting at this point after all the waiting we did that day. Minor consolation.

We drive home. As soon as we get home, there is a phone message. The clinic got the report and wants us to drive back to the clinic THAT day. So we do. Barely in the house, keys dangling from the front door, we walk right back outside, down the front steps, and get back in the car. I know now that this is NOT a good sign and my gut, which has been feeling like something is wrong for days, knows deep down that it's not looking good. We get to the clinic, they take us back to an exam room immediately and soon after, a nice female doctor comes in and sits down. We sit in silence and stare. I'm more worried about P because he looks worse than I do.

"Sorry guys", says the nice female doctor, my heart sinks, and then she continues to say, "it's cancer". P looks like he's in shock, stunned by a taser and terrified. I am not surprised at what I hear but I can't say that there wasn't just a little bit of hope that I might get the 'all clear'. I don't remember all of my thoughts but I do remember composing myself enough and literally FORCING myself to ask THE scariest question you'll ever ask in your life (which I hope you never have to). "What is my prognosis?" I knew I had to ask but I did not want to hear the answer for fear that it would mean the end of me right then and there. THANKFULLY, the doctor brightened up and said, "oh, really good"! she rattled off some good statistics and started to outline the process from that day forward...tests...surgery...

From there began a whirlwind of tests to find out what stage the cancer was at, was it aggressive (herceptin +) or not, was it ER/PR positive (hormones), did it spread to my lymph nodes...that last question you don't find out the answer to until AFTER surgery. The agony of waiting each week for each answer was debilitating. Not all answers come the same week, they come one by one, week by week. The fear I felt inside, my life flashing before me, planning my funeral, imagining life ending and not being here anymore, imagining everyone left behind, have I been living the life I have imagined...SICK with worry is the best way to describe it. But, 3 days after diagnosis, we still held true to our camping trip in BC and rolled out the Boler and headed down the highway.

Being in Kelowna was harder for P, imagining all my years there as a carefree little girl and the unfairness that today that same girl has cancer. I enjoyed being in nature in a place that always fills me with the best feeling and warmest memories. Minus the sleepless nights when my mind had time to think and worry about dying.

To make a long story short...things happened fast. I had surgery 2 weeks after diagnosis. The cancer was barely stage 2 (2a they called it) in 2 different places. I had two kinds, DCIS and invasive ductal carcinoma. It wasn't HER+ (meaning not aggressive) and it was a common and treatble kind. It didn't spread to my lymph nodes. My surgeon was Dr. Steve Martin which makes me laugh and he did an awesome job. Even came into the recovery room to tell me that it didn't spread to the lymph nodes. So, despite a shitty diagnosis, the aces were in my corner on most everything else in terms of cancer.

Its been a long, hard 3 years of initial rehab (physical) and emotional ups and downs. I cheer every time I raise my arms above my head (couldn't lift them past my waist after surgery). I cheer every time I walk up a full flight of stairs without having to stop like an old woman to catch my breath like I had to after my months of chemo. I no longer plan my funeral and I have worked hard at making life changes that will set me up for success. I don't worry AS much that every little ache and pain in my body is cancer but I'd be lying if I didn't say I still do now and then. And I don't sweat the small stuff.

But it was my friends and family that were the strongest medicine. And I survived chemo and radiation which were back up fighters in my opinion. I am blessed and grateful for the life I have led and the life I have left to live. But mostly for the people in my life who were there for me and got me through.

Advice from a cancer SURVIVOR: Be good to those around you. Show up and be there. Live life and don't hold back or put off dreams for tomorrow. Just don't. Live in the NOW. Don't worry about how much you weigh, what you look like, or material things and money. Enjoy every breath, every moment, everyone, and every day. Do it for the people who never made it even this far.

Happy birthday to me! Get out there this October and run or walk for breast cancer. Help a girl out.