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...

Fear vs Faith

“The object of a new year is not that we should have a new year. It is that we should have a new soul” ~ G.K. Chesterton

…or at least some drastic changes to this old soul are in order for me in 2011.

Have you ever been paralyzed by fear? So much so that it insidiously becomes a shadowy presence beneath your waking, breathing everyday life?

It felt like fear flew out of an azure blue sky and sunk it’s talons deep into my mind and body over two decades ago. It has not let go. Even though I have fought it hard.

Have you ever had your life change overnight? Like a runaway train slam into you? I never knew it was possible until it happened to me.

I was an energetic, enthusiastic 25-year-old who was thriving in my university film & television courses, enjoying my jobs in two campus libraries and loving my church involvement. Things were opening up for me – jobs in the Vancouver film industry, fabulous friendships, new spiritual insights. Life was exciting!

In a day I went from full tilt to flat in bed. I literally didn’t know what hit me. I went from getting far too little sleep, to being unable to lift my head off the pillow. I loved my film work and was willing to take on any project no matter how rushed my schedule was ― now I could barely walk to the bathroom, dizziness, nausea and a skyrocketing heart rate forcing me to stumble back to bed soaked in sweat.

What happened? A car accident would be understandable. A case of the Ebola virus could at least be diagnosed. But day after day, my energy seeped invisibly out of every pore in my body. Fear quickly filled its placen. When lights and sounds overwhelmed me, panic attacks hit. When doctors found the beginnings of MS and paralysis, wave after wave of fear coursed through my body.

Six years and 40 doctors later, I finally got some answers. A very severe case of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS). I was bed ridden for years. There was no understanding of the disease in the mid to late 1980s, no cure, no idea what to do. But the panic attacks that accompanied my weakened state had already taught me how fear could devastate my body. And it did. Over and over again.

You can read a detailed version of my story here: http://www.lifetoolsforwomen.com/w/livingwithCFS.htm

So much more is known and understood now and I have an exceptional doctor here in Calgary. I am doing much better, most days. But as I recently tried to update my personal story, the fear returned.

When Franklin Delano Roosevelt said, “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself,” he already understood this well. He not only entered politics during the depths of the Great Depression, he did it paralyzed from the waist down due to Guillain-Barré syndrome.

Fearing fear itself is the worst kind of terror. So what could be the cure?

I don’t give in easily. My motto echoes Bruce Cockburn’s lyrics, “kick at the darkness until it bleeds daylight,” so I fought back. Though I denied fear’s hold on me, it returned, digging in deeper. When I pushed it to the sidelines, it never failed to flaunt it’s presence in my face.  I even battled it with stubbornness, pushing myself beyond my physical limits ― just to have it thumb it’s nose at me as I lay crashed in bed. Drugs dull the knife edge and allow me to imagine those talons loosening their grip, but this only lasts a few hours. And I will not succumb to addiction.

What can release the grip of fear on my life? What had I not tried?

Over Christmas I had the privilege of hearing my niece speak at a church service. She and her husband are involved with YWAM and just back from Australia with their 16-month old son. She told the congregation how fear had gripped her when her newborn son was found to have a serious heart problem. She could not hold him or comfort him the way she wanted to. He underwent surgery before he was two weeks old. It was terrifying and she had nightmares for months. She lost her trust in God to protect him and it affected everything. As she talked about her journey ― what helped her trust again and relinquish her fears, I realized I needed to re-think this area of my life as well. It was time to pick up the sword again.

It took me until New Year’s Day to realize that sword was love. Can love cast out fear?

I’ll be back on Thursday with my plan for this year and my story of a lifelong friend that can take love the distance. This friendship may just be the determining factor in helping me face this hurdle and go the distance.