A Shot Through the Heart
I've been diagnosed with breast cancer.
(You just heard an old, Jewish New Yorker in your mind whispering "Can-suh!", didn't you?)
It is Stage 2(a) invasive, ductal. I caught it pretty early, noticing a lump the week of my 39th birthday. I have a 2.3 cm tumor in my right breast. Not too huge, and no others. The left breast is clean as a whistle, and my lymph nodes appear to be clear, too. All good stuff, relatively speaking.
But there are pesky little satellites around the tumor, so it's really more like a 5 cm area of concern. The plan is to have a mastectomy and chemo, but I'm still not sure in which order.
Several things go through your mind when you hear you have cancer.
First: "I have three little daughters. I need to be stickin' around for awhile."
Second: "I have three little daughters. Now they're at an increased risk. Crap."
Third: "I have three little daughters. They'll freak out if I lose my hair."
There's a pattern here, as you can see. The thoughts of myself only filtered in after those of my kids settled a bit.
You don't sleep. You DO eat, out of nervous energy. Then you feel sick. But you still eat.
As you read through endless booklets and forms and web sites, and visit countless specialists day after day, you have more thoughts.
Like: "I simply do not own enough nice underwear for this many people to see me naked."
And: "I wonder when this underlying, horrific, mind-numbing fear will push up through the veil of shock and autopilot demeanor?"
And also: "Wait. I didn't use my breasts enough yet. Seriously. Hold on a sec."
Big things like survival, chemo-induced menopause and the realization that you might not live to see your grandchildren are staggering.
But those thoughts are fleeting. Most of the time, in most ways, you simply focus on the task at hand. Getting well, as soon as possible. Putting this lousy chapter behind you. Getting back to some semblance of normalcy.
As I've told my friends, I'm certainly going to be OK. It's just an unpleasant road to travel between now and then.
I'll keep you updated.
Labels: breast cancer, mastectomy
posted by jsa at 1:58 AM
2 Comments:
Where does one begin to find the right words? How can any words be right when this is just so impossibly wrong? You are a strong, inspiring woman that I am proud to call my friend. We will stand beside you every step of the way until we can laugh and toast your good health. Love you, Christine
I couldn't have said it better myself Christine! Of course you and Jen always were the ones with the gift of eloquence. Jen, certainly you are strong and with out at doubt inspiring. Although the road ahead my be trying, I am confident that you will travel it with determination and grace as you so often do. Of course, we will all be there right along side of you and will be looking forward to that toast to your victory. Love ya girlie! Colleen
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