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...

Faithful Companions - Japanese Dogs Display Ultimate Loyalty

There have been over 23,000 people either missing or dead from Japan's earthquake and tsunami to date. As the world has watched and held it's (collective) breath, there have been a few miraculous rescues...but far fewer than hoped for.

One of the stories that seems to embody the nature of these stalwart people is of a Japanese dog that refused to leave his injured friend behind. In the last few weeks the YouTube video of this news coverage has become increasingly popular.

It shows Japanese rescuers coming upon two dogs, wet, dirty and shivering amidst massive wreckage. They had been caught in the tsunami and though one appeared unharmed, the other was thought dead until it raised its head. What is so endearing about this pair, is the faithfulness of the healthy dog. Even as rescuers approached, the dog would run to them but then trot back to his injured friend, sitting by his side (sometimes on his face), letting the world know that he would not leave - a loyal companion to the end. Both dogs were rescued and by all reports the injured dog is making a complete recovery.

This week our aging dog, Pokey, suffered a personal tsunami that brought us face to face with the potential death of our own faithful companion. 


With her 16th birthday just one month away, Pokey picked up a nasty bug that caused the most violent intestinal expulsions imaginable. Then she started throwing up. After four days of this she was exhausted, but seemed to be on the mend. She was eating well again and her intestines appeared to be back to normal. She had a good weekend, begging for walks, food and attention.

But Monday morning Peter woke me up early. Pokey was disoriented, struggling to stand, unable to walk and in significant pain. Spasms wracked her stomach and she moaned with each one. Her breathing was labored and erratic.We couldn't understand the sudden change and had nothing for her pain so made a quick trip to our vet. Although we hadn't seen him in over two years, our vet has seen Pokey grow up from a tiny pup. He doesn't mince words and isn't in the profession for the money - he has often given us "extras" for no charge. He just really loves animals.


After he checked her over, got her to stand briefly and asked a few questions, he told us it was most probably a long-term chest cancer that had suddenly exacerbated overnight due to her coughing. There was the potential she had an intestinal bleed as well. The tests to confirm these diagnosis would cost about $600. He didn't recommend them. He didn't even recommend us putting her down. He said we were looking at palliative care and gave us some liquid pain relief. She might only last a few days, but some dogs rallied and we could have her for a few weeks, maybe a month...

Pokey has always been a trooper so we weren't ready to give up on her. By the next day she was walking on her own, climbing stairs (though very slowly) eating a whole bowl of food and then pooping on our kitchen floor. Pretty much back to normal. It is giving us the chance to pet her a lot, tell her what an amazing dog she is (we have to shout it because she is quite deaf), and enjoy these last days or weeks or maybe even months, with our ever loyal friend.


It's given me the chance to remember some of her 'greatest moments,' so I'll share one with you. From the time she was a puppy we began the training process. It included all the typical things - sit, stay, speak, down, shake-a-paw, treat, car ride and even bunny, mouse and gopher (she is part Basset Hound). But since we lived opposite an off-leash hill, we wanted her to be outside on her own without charging across the road every time she saw another dog. So we began making her stop before she crossed a street. EVERY street. Sometimes she even mimicked me by looking both ways for cars, before looking up at me for the go ahead. We often wondered if all this work was really getting through...

One day I was at a neighbour's house for tea. She lived just down the street but right across the road from the end of our block. I had told Peter when I planned on being back home. 
The only way I can understand what happened next is to believe Peter had an attack of temporary insanity. He let Pokey out of our front door around the time I said I would come home, and told her to go find me. Now Pokey could track me anywhere! One time she had eluded Peter and followed my scent through a London Drugs store, to the amusement of both patrons and employees.


I was completely oblivious to the time, just enjoying the conversation with our neighbour, when the phone rang. She picked it up and promptly handed it to me. 
A frantic Peter shouted, ''Where is Pokey?''


''What do you mean, 'Where is Pokey?' She's with you, of course,'' I replied.


''I let her out 15 minutes ago and told her to find you,'' he sheepishly admitted.


''You did what?'' I shouted back. ''She could be anywhere!''

I gripped the cordless phone and walked to the window facing the other side of the road. There was Pokey sitting patiently, staring at me through the window. When she saw me looking at her, she began frantically wagging her tail, but never moved from a sitting position. By now my neighbour was laughing loudly. As I dropped the phone I could hear Peter, in the distance, shouting, ''What's happening? What's going on there?''

I slowly walked out the front door and down the steps. Pokey's tail was wagging so fast it was a blur. I looked down one side of the road and then the other. And she did the same. Once her eyes were back on me I yelled, ''Good girl!'' and told her to ''Come!'

 

Pokey got an extra special treat that night (while Peter was 'in the dog house'). Ever since then we have been able to trust her outside, on her own, with no fear of her crossing the road. 


Even in her debilitated state, she is showing me how much she enjoys life - a good meal, a slow walk down the street, licking snow, tracking bunnies and a good night's sleep. Now we have to trust that she will let us know when she has sucked all the marrow out of this life.


The YouTube video can be viewed at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J3TM9GL2iLI 

The Ghost of Christmas Past

It was a sunny, warm June day at the Bentley Farmer's Market in central Alberta. Among the fresh produce and homemade clothes were five tiny puppies in a cardboard box. Peter picked one of them up and immediately fell in love.

We were renting a house in Calgary and the landlord had stipulated NO PETS! But the lovesick look in Peter's eyes couldn't be easily dismissed. He talked about the puppies all afternoon. He brought one of his sisters to see the puppies. He begged. He pleaded. I said that he could phone our landlord and if he agreed, I would agree. This was full-proof. I knew our landlord would never allow this. It's not as if I didn't want the puppy, I love animals. But I was just not prepared to make a 12-year (or more) committment without even considering it. We had never even heard of a Basset Hound/American Eskimo cross before.

Peter phoned. Our landlord temporarily lost his mind.

There was a double rainbow in the sky that evening as we brought Pokey home. I didn't recognize it at the time but it was a clear sign of the blessing that was to come.

Pokey was scared of thunder and didn't like walking in the rain, but cold temperatures and snow? those she loved! She and her best friend Moxie, would run full-tilt through three-feet snow drifts, looking like dolphins as they jumped above the snow and disappeared under it again.

Pokey was smart and learned over 50 words and phrases. Sometimes I had whole conversations with her. She could read my moods and comforted me when I was distraught. She was a social butterfly and we soon got to know all the dogs (and their owners) in our neighbourhood. She enjoyed children and when we walked by the local daycare the kids would come out to pet her - 20 pairs of hands swarming around her like moths near a flame.

Pokey loved Christmas! My Mom sewed her a stocking which was filled with Milkbone treats and she received gifts from family and friends. Stuffed toys were essential and she had a long yellow banana that she carried around with her. Bones, balls and Rollover were some of her favorite presents and she needed little help from us to open them.

But she is getting close to 16 now. Our vet told us if she lived to be over 14, we should consider the rest of her life as "bonus time." So we are in the bonus years we didn't expect.

I don't want it to end.

It's hard to believe that I was so unprepared for a 12-year commitment and now can't bear the thought of life without Pokey.

She has a cyst on her chest and coughs a lot. She can't jump up on her chair very well and isn't even interested in eating Rollover anymore. She is almost deaf and I have to shout for her to hear me at all. Even then she mostly ignores me. This will likely be her last Christmas and her only present will be a turkey dinner.

She sleeps 23 hours a day and I often watch her body twitch, wondering what she dreams of. Every now and then she shows signs of the dog she was. Last night she tried to vault herself onto her chair but missed very badly. Her head and front paws made it but her torso slammed into the middle of the chair, the wind knocked out of her. She turned and gave me this basset-eyed look that said, "What just happened? Why can't I do this anymore?"

I ask those questions of myself a lot more often too. We're all getting older but Pokey is aging rapidly and soon it will be time to say goodbye to one of the best companions I ever had. I'm thankful I can prolong that moment for one more Christmas and treasure the cold winter walks and naps by the roaring fire we will have together. I can't bear to say goodbye just quite yet.