BREAST CANCER TELLING FAMILY AND CO-WORKERS
I called my sons from the hallway near the stairwell. Stephen's voicemail picked up and I left a message for him to call me. Adam answered the way he always does "Hey mom! How's it going?" - happy, centered. I was about to break his spirit...I closed my eyes and as tears rolled down my face I told him I have breast cancer. He was silent. "Adam, are you still there?" "Yea" loud, injured. "Are you okay?". "Yea", loud, injured. I told him I would call him later once I was home. "Yea"... Stephen returned my call with his usual, sweet "Hi, Mom". I asked if he was driving and if so to pull over. I was going to hurt him and It was killing me. Steve started crying and asking questions and telling me he loved me and he would try and get out here as soon as he could. I asked him to call Adam and, at some point, to call Natalia. I'm not sure if I had feeling in my arms and legs at this point but I was cold and sweating. I tried to focus on work but my thoughts were whirling; I didn't feel like running, necessarily, but I felt like I should be someplace else. I didn't know where, though. I started telling people at work that needed to know, such as my coaches, and those that I interact with daily; my routine was going to be different, I was going to look different and I would be missing work. Those that I told were, sincerely, concerned and saddened by the news. My closest friend has reacted oddly and pulled away.
When I came home Joe and Nat were home and I told Natalia that it was cancer. She didn't really react but asked what they were going to do. I told her I wasn't sure yet. She hugged me and said it was all going to be okay.
Joe left the house. Just packed up his work gear and out the door. This pattern continued everyday until he left for Australia.
My anxiety was at a level I had never experienced. I was exhausted but I couldn't close my eyes. Internally, I shook. My mind was in a state of extreme darkness. I was so afraid, at times, I couldn't move.
When Joe made it home that night or late the next night I asked what was going on and was he avoiding me? He said "That's a rude thing to say" and led me to the office to show me all his handy work for work. I told him that was great but I needed him right now. He said he was researching online and gathering information. I told him I needed HIM to love me and care about me. He immediately bristled and said he was so busy getting these manuals ready for his trip that he, basically, didn't have time. I asked he if could comprehend what I was going through and how scared I was. He felt like I was attacking him. I told him he was all I had here. My family is on the east coast and Natalia is too young. I have not developed the kinds of friendships that I had in the Navy - we gathered around one another and fought every fight. He said he realized that but he isn't that kind of guy. I told him, crying, that I needed that guy right now. He said then "I guess I'm not the guy for you". "No, you're not!" I said. I left the room and went to the spare bedroom. I felt crazy. Desperate for affection and love and to feel like I was not meaningless. That desperation led my thoughts into dangerous places. I looked at every face at work and wondered if there was compassion in there. Each day I felt like I was begging for someone to care - to notice that I was not alright.
At the doctor appointment, Joe was late. Dr. Schmit began the reading of results. He was sitting in a chair near mine but just up a bit so I couldn't see all of his face just half of it. He told me my markers were +3 cancer; progesterone, estrogen (or something like that). He divided the paper in half and told me the treatment on the left would determine survivability while the treatment on the right is to remove the tumor. Surgery, radiation and chemotherapy. The last part of the biopsy was not in but because of the preliminary results he assumed it would be her2 and chemo would be Herceptin. I was listening but went cold. I started breathing shallow and my heartbeat was gone. The buzzing in my ears started and I could swear I was dead I just hadn't fallen off my chair. I remember getting up on the table and the doctor examining my breast and surrounding area should I opt for the mastectomy and immediate reconstruction. I thought of myself as a piece of machinery that had a broken part and would be going in for repair. But the words swirled above me in a helix and never settle into my brain. Joe arrived and started challenging the doctor about what cancer was it and how did it get there and, in general, being extremely confrontational. The doctor bit back and every few seconds would look at me. I closed my eyes and let the drum beat between my eyes drown them out. The doctor excused himself and I laid back on the table and covered my eyes. I don't remember what we said to one another except that I wanted to get a double mastectomy and genetic testing, as suggested by the doctor (just the testing). The doctor understood my fears and would do whatever procedure I wanted. Joe told him he was being too drastic and he couldn't support it. When the doctor came back in he apologized to me for the conversation getting heated. I shrugged and said "it's not your fault". He suggested to both of us that I get an MRI to satisfy our minds about any concerns. Joe agreed and it made me more nervous! I had to wait more time with cancer in my body!!! Setting up the MRI was a challenge as the team of technicians were going on strike the following week and scheduling would be difficult. We left and walked to the garage to our respective cars. I sort of dragged my feet with slumped shoulder and wide eyes that needed sleep (at least that's how I felt I looked). At my car Joe asked if I was mad at him and I said "no". He hugged me and said "it's going to be okay". I wasn't sure I believed him.
The next morning while I was getting ready for work Joe was looking at his phone and said "these doctors are baaaad people" I asked what doctors and he started bashing Dr. Schmidt with words like "he's just a technician" and "they just want to cut off body parts for money" and "barbaric". I just felt like I had been punched in the stomach and I stared at him inches away from shoving his Galaxy 5S hard into his stupid face. Instead I walked out and down the steps. I can't explain how unsettling those words were to me. And, they continued. Day in and day out, on the phone and in person until he left. I hated leaving work and going home. The drive was unbearable. The closer to home the more I cried.
My salvation was church. Darlene's church was, truly, heavenly sent. I was accepted and anointed my first Sunday. I was hugged and loved without reservation. I was included. I was supported. I was understood. The collective arms around me made me cry. I wasn't alone, after all. I carried the words of that first service with me all week. I let them circle and fall to my mind, my heart and my limbs. During group prayer I felt a sensation of my right breast being enveloped and charged. It ended as quickly as it began but it was there. I have returned each Sunday and the love is stronger each service. The sense of a spiritual family is forming. It is strong and it is loving.
On the day of the MRI Joe went with me. I was quiet most of the way and he prattled on about work and chores, etc. But, he did catch himself a few times and stopped. He said, at one point, "here I am going on and on...". It was raining heavily - as it had been for a few days. He dropped me at the door (turns out it was the wrong one and I got soaked getting to the right one) and parked the car. He texted that he was getting something to eat and would be in soon. I didn't care, really. They called me back (I was at the Kormen Women's Imaging Center - very spa like - in Santa Monica) and showed me the room. I hadn't taken my valium and was worried I would not be able to go through it. But, I did. It was open and shallow. I had to lay face down with each breast in a box, The motion in to get me in the right place cause vertigo and I had to come back out. We tried again and I focused on a line on the machine and was fine. The entire MRI was about 20 minutes. When I went out Joe was there. He asked if I wanted to do anything and I mentioned the Pier and the beach. I could see he wasn't happy about that, it was cold and raining. But, he took me. We walked along the pier and he held my hand. We took a couple selfies and walked back to the car. We went towards home and stopped at Denny's for eggs. He was very pleasant and when I reached for his hands at the Denny's table he took mine willingly. When we got home he packed the car and I walked him out with the umbrella. I hugged him and cried. He didn't try to wiggle away or tell me to stop. I watched him pull out and I cried, standing in the rain under my umbrella that blew away later that night.
When I came home Joe and Nat were home and I told Natalia that it was cancer. She didn't really react but asked what they were going to do. I told her I wasn't sure yet. She hugged me and said it was all going to be okay.
Joe left the house. Just packed up his work gear and out the door. This pattern continued everyday until he left for Australia.
My anxiety was at a level I had never experienced. I was exhausted but I couldn't close my eyes. Internally, I shook. My mind was in a state of extreme darkness. I was so afraid, at times, I couldn't move.
When Joe made it home that night or late the next night I asked what was going on and was he avoiding me? He said "That's a rude thing to say" and led me to the office to show me all his handy work for work. I told him that was great but I needed him right now. He said he was researching online and gathering information. I told him I needed HIM to love me and care about me. He immediately bristled and said he was so busy getting these manuals ready for his trip that he, basically, didn't have time. I asked he if could comprehend what I was going through and how scared I was. He felt like I was attacking him. I told him he was all I had here. My family is on the east coast and Natalia is too young. I have not developed the kinds of friendships that I had in the Navy - we gathered around one another and fought every fight. He said he realized that but he isn't that kind of guy. I told him, crying, that I needed that guy right now. He said then "I guess I'm not the guy for you". "No, you're not!" I said. I left the room and went to the spare bedroom. I felt crazy. Desperate for affection and love and to feel like I was not meaningless. That desperation led my thoughts into dangerous places. I looked at every face at work and wondered if there was compassion in there. Each day I felt like I was begging for someone to care - to notice that I was not alright.
At the doctor appointment, Joe was late. Dr. Schmit began the reading of results. He was sitting in a chair near mine but just up a bit so I couldn't see all of his face just half of it. He told me my markers were +3 cancer; progesterone, estrogen (or something like that). He divided the paper in half and told me the treatment on the left would determine survivability while the treatment on the right is to remove the tumor. Surgery, radiation and chemotherapy. The last part of the biopsy was not in but because of the preliminary results he assumed it would be her2 and chemo would be Herceptin. I was listening but went cold. I started breathing shallow and my heartbeat was gone. The buzzing in my ears started and I could swear I was dead I just hadn't fallen off my chair. I remember getting up on the table and the doctor examining my breast and surrounding area should I opt for the mastectomy and immediate reconstruction. I thought of myself as a piece of machinery that had a broken part and would be going in for repair. But the words swirled above me in a helix and never settle into my brain. Joe arrived and started challenging the doctor about what cancer was it and how did it get there and, in general, being extremely confrontational. The doctor bit back and every few seconds would look at me. I closed my eyes and let the drum beat between my eyes drown them out. The doctor excused himself and I laid back on the table and covered my eyes. I don't remember what we said to one another except that I wanted to get a double mastectomy and genetic testing, as suggested by the doctor (just the testing). The doctor understood my fears and would do whatever procedure I wanted. Joe told him he was being too drastic and he couldn't support it. When the doctor came back in he apologized to me for the conversation getting heated. I shrugged and said "it's not your fault". He suggested to both of us that I get an MRI to satisfy our minds about any concerns. Joe agreed and it made me more nervous! I had to wait more time with cancer in my body!!! Setting up the MRI was a challenge as the team of technicians were going on strike the following week and scheduling would be difficult. We left and walked to the garage to our respective cars. I sort of dragged my feet with slumped shoulder and wide eyes that needed sleep (at least that's how I felt I looked). At my car Joe asked if I was mad at him and I said "no". He hugged me and said "it's going to be okay". I wasn't sure I believed him.
The next morning while I was getting ready for work Joe was looking at his phone and said "these doctors are baaaad people" I asked what doctors and he started bashing Dr. Schmidt with words like "he's just a technician" and "they just want to cut off body parts for money" and "barbaric". I just felt like I had been punched in the stomach and I stared at him inches away from shoving his Galaxy 5S hard into his stupid face. Instead I walked out and down the steps. I can't explain how unsettling those words were to me. And, they continued. Day in and day out, on the phone and in person until he left. I hated leaving work and going home. The drive was unbearable. The closer to home the more I cried.
My salvation was church. Darlene's church was, truly, heavenly sent. I was accepted and anointed my first Sunday. I was hugged and loved without reservation. I was included. I was supported. I was understood. The collective arms around me made me cry. I wasn't alone, after all. I carried the words of that first service with me all week. I let them circle and fall to my mind, my heart and my limbs. During group prayer I felt a sensation of my right breast being enveloped and charged. It ended as quickly as it began but it was there. I have returned each Sunday and the love is stronger each service. The sense of a spiritual family is forming. It is strong and it is loving.
On the day of the MRI Joe went with me. I was quiet most of the way and he prattled on about work and chores, etc. But, he did catch himself a few times and stopped. He said, at one point, "here I am going on and on...". It was raining heavily - as it had been for a few days. He dropped me at the door (turns out it was the wrong one and I got soaked getting to the right one) and parked the car. He texted that he was getting something to eat and would be in soon. I didn't care, really. They called me back (I was at the Kormen Women's Imaging Center - very spa like - in Santa Monica) and showed me the room. I hadn't taken my valium and was worried I would not be able to go through it. But, I did. It was open and shallow. I had to lay face down with each breast in a box, The motion in to get me in the right place cause vertigo and I had to come back out. We tried again and I focused on a line on the machine and was fine. The entire MRI was about 20 minutes. When I went out Joe was there. He asked if I wanted to do anything and I mentioned the Pier and the beach. I could see he wasn't happy about that, it was cold and raining. But, he took me. We walked along the pier and he held my hand. We took a couple selfies and walked back to the car. We went towards home and stopped at Denny's for eggs. He was very pleasant and when I reached for his hands at the Denny's table he took mine willingly. When we got home he packed the car and I walked him out with the umbrella. I hugged him and cried. He didn't try to wiggle away or tell me to stop. I watched him pull out and I cried, standing in the rain under my umbrella that blew away later that night.
Wow! Powerful! Love you!
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