Breast Cancer - My "Wonderful Life" experience.

My husband’s warm, brown eyes looked at me over his homemade garden soup. “If you had a choice, knowing what you know now, would you have breast cancer again?”

Dinner was our time for asking tough questions. But this one was brutal. I thought about our first fears - that this was an aggressive, lethal form of cancer that might only leave me months to live. The pathology reports surprised not only us but my oncologists as well. And the second pathology report, after my mastectomy, was even better than the first. Even though the cancer was becoming more invasive, it was still classified as DCIS and had not spread outside the tumor. The surgeon removed seven lymph nodes, all of which were benign. There would be no need for radiation and, more importantly, no chemotherapy! But the results made me realize that the speed at which my surgery happened was absolutely necessary. It could have been much, much worse.

When Peter asked me this question, he meant it in a, “It’s A Wonderful Life” kind of way.

In one of my all-time favorite movies, Jimmy Stewart gets a second chance at life. When his character, George Bailey, faces bankruptcy and realizes he is worth more dead than alive, he tries to kill himself but is stopped by an angel who shows him what the world would look like if he died – how many people his life impacted.

It's been almost a year since my diagnosis and in that time I have felt just like George Bailey. The outpouring of love, prayers, gifts, visits, help and encouragement that flowed to me from hundreds of people was astonishing. It brought me to tears many times. Facing the reality of death also opened my eyes to the wonder of this world. Now every moment counts and the value of these loving relationships is a priority.

Would I willingly go through the pain and suffering of this cancer experience again so I could comprehend how much love surrounded me? So I could be re-awakened to the beauty of Creation and enjoy each moment fully?

I just stared at Peter.

“Yes!”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really?”

"Really!" 

This has been a life-changing experience.

I never want to go back to the "before-cancer" me.

But even though I gained so much, I realize I lost more than just a breast.

None of us wants to have cancer. It evokes terror whenever it is proclaimed. If a doctor tells us we have ‘it’ we certainly don’t want to know how bad ‘it’ is.

We expect physicians (our appointed gods of medicine) to heal us completely.

We run from reality, we dive into our work, our family and even our sense of humor.

This was the breast way for me to fight the mental exhaustion of seeing that constant flashing neon word.

“Cancer” was always the last thing I would think of before going to sleep and the first thing on my mind when I awoke.

But even though my physical scars have healed, the teeth-gritting pain all but a distant memory - my emotional scars still bleed, creeping into my dreams and troubling my thoughts.

It has been therapeutic to talk to other women who have had breast cancer. But, at times, I feel awkward discussing my experience as it doesn’t compare to what they have endured.

One woman I met in the past year has had breast cancer three times - each worse than before. The first was just a lumpectomy and she was declared “cancer-free.” But a year later it was back, more aggressive and invasive. What was left of her breast needed to be removed and she was resigned to rounds of radiation. The last was a radical mastectomy with a bonus - six months of chemotherapy. She had over a dozen lymph nodes removed and now has constant pain, swelling down her entire arm and needs to wear an elastic sleeve to help her circulation.

I only had one breast sliced off and seven lymph nodes cut out. I didn’t even have much swelling under my arm. My surgeon said that was “remarkable.” This woman said it was “unfair.”

My treatment was too easy. My life - never really threatened...yet. 

I feel guilt-ridden, that I didn’t have to fight harder, longer.

But what I went through terrified me.

And it could happen again. 

My breast MRI report stated I have "an elevated risk for neoplastic breast cancer," and my medical team want exams every six months.

For me (and experts say for most people) discussing your cancer experience with a trusted friend is one of the best ways to bring emotional healing. I have such a friend and healing has truly happened because of it. 

I've also found it especially helpful to talk with other women who have had breast cancer. Unfortunately, for some, it's an experience that is still too difficult to discuss.

My writing partner, Methodius, rightly said people, “...don't want to talk about it with you because it reminds them of what they have gone through either personally or with a loved one. Cancer not only divides cells, it divides friends, and family and perfect strangers.”

It’s so easy to let disease divide your friendships or define you – cancer especially so. 

I am working at using my experience to bring people together.

I refuse to let disease define me!

“Cancer” has been my wake-up call.

My priorities have purposefully changed. 

I take time away from work to watch the silvery snow swirl to the ground. 

I feed the deer that populate our property and watch, as they gather at dusk, to eat grain out of our pumpkin shell by the garden. 

I put off deadlines for a family party or a phone call from a friend. 

I take every opportunity to tell those close to me that I love them. It seems like my love for others has only grown deeper during this past year.  

Peter and I walk the sunsets through our wooded fields. 

We watch lightening kiss the ground during sudden summer storms.

We hike through the snow on the frozen creek bed, jumping the beaver dams and tracking the wildlife. 

It is exciting when Peter phones me from the laneway with one hushed word on his breath, “Moose!” 

The wonder all around has captivated my freshly awakened senses. From a disease that could still cause my death, I have been given a second life. Every day is now my first because I know it might be my last.

Breast cancer has changed me for the better, forever. And nothing will take that away.

  

The Mastectomy - Breast Cancer Part 2

I did not want to be a girl (try to imagine me stamping my little foot)! I felt that guys had so many advantages. I was really mad at God for creating me in the image of Eve.

As a kid, I wore undershirts just like my Dad, and I loved them. But then I hit 11, puberty reared its ugly head and Mom bought me a bra. I had ‘developed’ early and Mom said it was “high time” I started wearing this unmentionable undergarment.

You should have seen the explosion! I flung that thing into the far recesses of the kitchen, yelled at her, “I am NEVER, EVER going to wear THAT!” and burst into tears. I was definitely on the brink of puberty. My Mom, wisely, put the bra in my clothes drawer and left the subject alone. A few days later I took it out and tried it on. Wow! It looked great! I slept with it on that night and wouldn’t take it off for a week. Thus began my official transformation from a tom-boy into a young woman.

Tomorrow, I will be turning back the clock, in some ways. I am having a radical mastectomy. Wearing bras will never be the same again. I’m over the whole “wanting to be a guy,” thing and I’ve become really attached to these “two breasts, like twin fawns of a gazelle.” (Song of Songs.)

I don’t want my breast chopped off like a cut of beef. I don’t want a massive eight inch scar across my chest. I will do this because I need to but it’s not normal and it’s not a pretty sight.

I am trying to focus on the positives because losing one breast is a far better option than I thought I would have.

After the ultrasound showed “a suspicious lump” I did an Internet search to see what type of breast cancer matched up with my symptoms. This was not a good idea. Whenever I typed in “large tumor,” “bleeding from the nipple,” “tumor growth rate extremely rapid,” “bruising on the breast,” I kept getting Inflammatory Breast Cancer.

This is an aggressive, mostly lethal form of breast cancer that starts at Stage 3 – it has already spread through the body. I read the symptoms for every other type of cancer and they didn’t seem to match mine. I was terrified.

It was late at night and I went walking through the fields of stars that watch over our 40 acres. For the first time I cried, beseeching the Maker of the universe, the One who made me, to undo this wrong.

I went through the stages of death and came to acceptance in a matter of hours. I realized then, what a blessed life I had led. I am only 51 years old, but I have felt God’s favor on my life. With wonderful parents, an idyllic childhood, the best older brother ever (no, mine is better than yours!), friends I have had for decades, and new friendships that have found a deep place in my heart, I began smiling as memories washed over me in waves. Peter’s family has supported me, loved me and is as close to me as my own. I am full to overflowing with love – for others and for my Lord. I realized that I was ready to die.

With that peace and hundreds of people praying for me, I entered the day of x-rays, the bone scan, and abdominal ultrasound. I snuck a peek at the abdominal ultrasound when the technician was turned away and was sure I saw a black spot under my right breast. My heart fell. When I went to x-ray, and they said they wanted to do an extra set that hadn’t been booked, what was I supposed to think?

When my GP phoned with the results of all the tests the next day, I braced myself.

“How do they look?” I asked.

“Well, they look pretty good,” she said. “Your bone scan is clear and so is your abdominal ultrasound.”

“Really?” I couldn’t believe it! “What about the x-rays?”

She shuffled papers around, “Let’s see. Yup, they’re clear too.”

My hands were trembling. “Are you sure? Could you please look over all the tests again?”

She laughingly complied. They were no tumors present in any of the scans.

I hung up and whooped! It totally changed my world. I went from resignation to hope. There was a chance I could survive this.

The next week was my first meeting with our local oncologist. Since we moved to the country, we’re not near a Cancer Centre but this woman was fresh from Toronto and seemed to be sharp. I was hoping for a good meeting.

I had my biopsy the day before and it was tough. Since the tumor is so large the radiologist took eight samples when they usually only take one or two. That meant the tiny hole he repeatedly went into got bigger and wouldn’t stop bleeding...for two hours...and they wouldn’t let me leave the hospital. Lots of pain and lots of bandages.

But that was only a warm up for my meeting with the oncologist. The biopsy results weren’t in yet but that didn’t mean anything to her. The radiologist had found a tiny (2mm) tumor in one of my lymph nodes near my right breast. Nobody thought to tell me about this. She felt it was aggressive cancer and said if the biopsy supported this she recommending drastic treatment. Even though the other scans didn’t show any tumors in other parts of my body, cancer cells could possibly be circulating through the lymph. She would be treating it as if this were the case. Chemotherapy then would be the first course of treatment. She wanted to hit the cancer hard, fast and long (6 months). Surgery or other potential treatments would follow if I survived this. She didn’t seem to care about any other medical or health problems. It didn’t matter that I have CFS. It wouldn’t have mattered if I had MS or Lupus or any number of immune deficiency diseases. They don’t factor in to the treatment at all.

Discouragement. Anger. Fear. Frustration. This news demoralized me. I knew that I would never survive such a treatment plan. The look for doctors who would treat me based on the fact that I had an immune-deficiency disease began.

Then we received the pathology report back. I was so shocked I didn’t think I heard my GP right. Ductal Carcinoma in situ (DCIS). All eight biopsies had come back with this type of non-invasive cancer. I had the worst kind of DCIS mind you, but it still meant the cancer was supposed to be localized.

The next meeting with my oncologist was way better. She took the pathology report at face value and said the best plan now was to operate and then take a look at the whole tumor and some of the lymph nodes. If the cancer hasn’t spread, I have great chances for recovery. If it has, it means a difficult road ahead.

Surgery was scheduled for April 4^th. During the four-week wait we had another loss. Our dog of almost 17 years could not hang on any longer. Pokey was a real trooper, even in her last days. She wasn’t eating and could barely stand, but she struggled to her feet so she could go outside every time she needed to throw up or pee or poo. On her last day she somehow made it outside 10 times.

I have felt her loss sharply, at strange times. Pokey was always by my side when I was recovering from a CFS crash. She encouraged me to take short walks with her and was ready to go back when I had had enough. She never complained about pain and was constantly courageous as her body declined. I wish she was here to be with me through this surgery and beyond, but my memories of her valor resonate through my spirit.

Then there are my many friends. They have tirelessly prayed for me, sent me gifts, encouraged me and made me laugh. You will hear all about them soon!

But now it’s off to surgery, into the land of Mordor and closer to Mount Doom. I want to make my mastectomy scar something beautiful. For the first time, I want to adorn my body with some form of art. And I am open to your suggestions...