Life is full of tests, trials, reminders and, and, as I have been keenly aware of for the last two years, guided hands. A few weeks ago, I was trying my best to decelerate back to a "normal" pace of life after a few months of intense crunch time at work. After coming home from a big sales conference that my company hosted, and I helped manage, I was consumed with the after math of a week of my colleagues' endless comments about my "chic" and "sassy" and dramatic hair cut. And the curls -- oh the curls. I was baffled and confused that so many people forgot that last year I had donned the same micro pixie, which was dramatically different from the long, flowing, think brunette mane that I had for decades.
My trainer sent me an article, and as I read the words, I had to remind myself that I had not written them myself. I had been digging deep, and appreciating the fact that, albeit very difficult, I was not my hair. And my hair is not what makes me a devoted mom, a loving wife, and a true friend. Here is the article -- it's a good read with many parallels, however I have not had the courage to quit corporate life and follow my bliss. Perhaps I'm still trying to figure out what that bliss is. I think about it all the time, and ponder life via day dreams, especially with my girl Rose often times we are in the car traveling to our corporate jobs. But find that I have had far too many other distractions, and my life as a marketing manager, albeit hectic, is a good, stable part of who I am and who I have become in my last 16 years in the corporate rat race. Let's not forget, also, that the insurance from this stable spot in the working world has paid for half a million dollars of medical coverage for the drama that has been my life the last two years. It's my security blanket in so many ways. And the fact that I can meet the bus every day and work from my kitchen in my gym clothes is a bonus that I give thanks for *most* days.
As I took a week to take a deep breath after months of hard work, I was elated with life. I felt accomplished, happy, and stress free. Finally, after continuous chaos, life was good, and I was enjoying every minute of it. I am a big anniversary date kind of gal, and this time of year is a little unnerving for me. It was this time of year two years ago when I heard the words "The mass is malignant." And it was this time last year when I heard the words "The cancer is back. I don't know what to say." July 2, 2008 and July 10, 2009 are my "cancerversaries" -- so pardon me if paranoia sets in just as summer kicks off.
That Thursday evening, I checked my calendar and was reminded of the upcoming appointment with my plastic surgeon to have my second nipple tattoo -- I was two months away from having perfect, small, pink nipples, and finally would be put back together again. I dreamed of these crazy curly locks grown out, and cancer way in the rear view mirror of my life. I even had a conversation with myself and said, "I am not going to touch my breasts until after we get back from Paris in the fall. I have so many fun things planned. Life is good. And I am savoring every minute of my drama free existence." But those of you who know me personally know that I am way too curious and not a woman who can appreciate or handle surprises with grace. So, before I knew it, I was touching my right breast ... poking around and ensuring that everything was smooth as silk. Until, the lump. The tiny little hard knot. Quickly my hand flew away from my breast. Then, I had to feel it again to make sure I was not losing my mind. My heart skipped a beat and before I knew it I went outside to our new patio where my husband was working on our new grill. "What's wrong? You look freaked out." he asked. "Oh nothing. Well OK, I felt something. Can you feel it?" He did. Rats -- I'm not just being paranoid. "I'm sure it's nothing but you should call the doctor in the morning." No. No. No. Tell me this isn't happening.
The next morning was the first grade end of year picnic that I was volunteering at. After the kids were dropped off, I found my fingers dialing the number of my dear friend who lives down the street, who is also a pink sister in survival, and had a bilateral mastectomy with reconstruction two years ago as well. "Hi! What's up!" she answered the phone. Tears streamed down my face and I could not even utter a word. "Hello?" she said. My quivering voice replied, "I feel something in my breast. I know we have to get to the school." "Come over NOW," she demanded, and before I knew it I was in her home office, with my shirt off, a sharpie pen pinpointing the lump, and her hand on my breast. I could tell by the look on her face that she felt it too. Our breast cancer surgeons are partners, and she thought I needed to get in ASAP. Now I was scared. Nobody was telling me not to worry. The pit in my stomach grew stronger and tears started to fall. Tell me this isn't happening. Then, as she started feeling her own breasts, she said, "Wait, I feel something on mine?" Oh! That is such great news! What made me feel better made her feel worse. As we headed off to the school party, we left frantic messages for our surgeons and headed off to the school picnic. As we watched the adorable first graders hoola hood and jump rope, I got a call from my other 30-something, mom of two young kids, pink sister in survival who recently had her implant exchange surgery after her bilateral mastectomy with reconstruction, chemo, and radiation. Turns out she had an open would and possible infection and had just visited her plastic surgeon who was not pleased with what she saw. Just when she thought she was at the final leg of the race she, too, was blindsided with a curve ball. It was on the black top that morning that I realized that me and these ladies had a life long bond. That when shit hits the fan, we get out our "Bat phones" and call each other for an ear, a hug, a touch, or a vent. We are connected by the pink ribbon, and take turns being angels for one another. It's so upsetting because that morning, we should have been enjoying our first graders, not wondering if the dark cloud of cancer or losing a breast, again, was looming overhead. I keep saying things happen for a reason...and one day we'll know what that is.
I heard from my surgeon and since it was already Friday and my surgeon was off, I could not get in until Monday, and found myself grateful for my busy suburban life and weekend plans that focused on my kids and family and friends, and less about the lump.
Monday morning could not get here fast enough, and it was great to see my surgeon. Not only do I trust her with my life, but I really like her as a person. I could not wait to hear the " You are being silly" diagnosis from her. Instead, she felt my lump and said, "One minute, let me get the ultrasound." Gulp. As she moved the wand over my breast, the black mass appeared on the screen and the look of concern grew on her face. No! Why can't I just be paranoid? Why do I have to be right about these things?! "There is a mass. Here's the thing...everything looks the same on an ultrasound -- scar tissue, recurrence, and a million other things. Last year I thought it was nothing and I was wrong, so this year I'm going to keep my mouth shut until we are proven it's nothing. None of us will have peace of mind until we cut this out."
As the salty tear fell down my cheek, I said, with a trembling voice, "Surgery? OK, let's do it. Can you do it tomorrow?" I said, half joking but dead serious. As she glanced down at her computer pad, she said, "I'll squeeze you in on Wednesday morning." She gave me a hug and said, "We will just have to wait and see and hope for the best."
I could not get out of there fast enough before the tears fell. Tell me this is not happening! What the F*CK! You have GOT TO BE F'ing kidding me. I tried not to tell my friends, but I wear my fear on my sleeve, and I am surrounded by so many people who love me. I realized more than ever that this has not been my journey alone. I may be the one with the scars, the awful curly short doo, and the physical transformation. But my family and friends have been with me every step of the way. And there was no way this was happening to US all for the third time in a row.
I had called my friend earlier to ask if she could take O to the bus on Wednesday morning so I could get to the hospital with my husband for my morning surgery. Then, on Tuesday morning, I got a terrifying call from her. "My sister-in-law will be here in the morning for the bus, and O is welcome to still come over. I got squeezed in today and my lump is suspicious as well. My surgery is tomorrow morning as well." You have got to be kidding me. What are the odds? Isn't this why we had bilateral mastectomies in the first place?
That night, I had a long talk with one of my lifelong friends, Lew. We talked, and we prayed. Suddenly I had peace and clarity. I am a Christian. If I am truly a Christian, then I need to have faith in the Divine Plan. When life presents us with challenges, we need to realize that we can only do so much...that ultimately we do not have control. Faith. That is why we call it faith. The next morning I woke up with peace in my heart, knowing whatever the outcome that I would be OK...because it's all part of The Plan. And it's all happening for some divine reason.
Crazy as this sounds, but heading to the hospital for another surgery did not phase me. I now know some of the nursing staff and it's more of, "Oh hi! Great to see you!" instead of "Oh no, what is going to happen to me." As they opened my door, I saw my neighbor unconscious being wheeled down the hall to recovery. Now, that was weird. I was hoping and praying that all went well with her surgery. I kissed my husband good-bye, and before I knew it I woke up with him by my side. Surgery is easy for the patient, and tough for those in the waiting room.
I was in a post-anesthesia haze, offering loving praise for my surgeon, according to my husband. She didn't want to tell me this in advance, but she had arranged for a pathologist to be in the OR, and they did a frozen section right then and there. "There's a 90% chance it's not cancer. They didn't see anything in the frozen section." Praise God! I knew then in my heart I was going to be OK. Less than 24 hours later, I got the call with the good news. It was my surgeon's nurse who I've grown close with. "I just saw your results and had to call you right away. It's NOT cancer! You are fine!" Hallelujah! Then, I heard a few hours later that my friend's pathology came out benign as well. Phew. Sigh of relief. Deep breath.
This surgery was a breeze. I was a little concerned that due to the fact this was my fourth surgery in less than two years, and that less than a year ago I had 35 high dose radiation treatments that it would not heal well. Fortunately that was not the case. I am very grateful for my body, and how resilient it is to the brutal attacks it has undergone at such a young age. I may hate the way I look right now but I am once again proud of my body and am so glad I'm alive and well.
Aside from my direct boss, I did not tell anyone at work about my surgery. No need to get everyone involved in the drama. Two days after my surgery, before we left for the beach, I spoke with one of my coworkers. Ant, a full-of-life 54 year old has been a dear friend on my team for nearly six years. I told him about my recent drama, and we had a chat about vacations, and ended up talking about how life is short, and how you have to live fully and enjoy it. Last year he was in an ATV accident around the time I was going through chemo. We both had perspective, and were both lucky to have second chances at life. Early on the fourth of July, I got a call from my other coworker. Turns out, my friend Ant was on a motorcycle with his girlfriend the night before, and after going around a sharp turn, hit a Volvo head on. His girlfriend flipped over and hit the windshield. Thank God, she was OK. Ant thought he had broken his hip. Turns out, he crushed his pelvis, and that caused internal bleeding. He died on the fourth of July. He was doing what he loves most, riding his Harley, with the woman he loved the most, on the day that he loved the most. He was living life to the fullest.
I have had a few chats with Ant since I heard the news. First, I was in shock and did not believe the news. Then, after I saw the hundreds of Facebook posts on his wall, I cried. Then, I got mad at him, and remember telling him last year to please act his age and stop riding ATVs and motorcycles. I recall him saying, "Not a chance." I had peace in knowing that he lived his life. And whether it's cancer or a motorcycle or a benign lump or whatever...you just don't know when your time will be. It's a good reminder that every day is an opportunity to do something kind for people...leave a legacy of hope and happiness. Life is short. Live well. Be happy. Be grateful. Give thanks.
Needless to say, the last three weeks have been a whirlwind. The last two years have been life changing. As I near my thirty-eighth birthday, I am more grateful than ever before. I have two healthy, beautiful children. I have a loving husband and the most amazing family a girl could ask for. I have the best circle of friends that have brought smiles to my face in the darkest times. I have a home, a good job, health insurance, and a team of the top specialists looking out for me at every turn. Life is full of blessings and I will try with everything I have to not lose the perspective I have earned.
There are so many people that have touched my life, and now I'm realizing how many people's lives I've touched. I'm not sure where this life will lead me or what I will do with all that I have learned in the last two years, but when the time is right, I know it will be made known to me.
In the mean time, I have packed away my wigs, scarves, hats, and I am going to enjoy my summer, my family, my friends, my life.
I'll report back from time to time. After all there are women out there who need to know how the nipples turn out. And how the hair turns out. And, if I actually fit in to my goal jeans by Paris.
Be happy. Tell someone you love how much they mean to you. Give thanks. Pay it forward. Do a random act of kindness from time to time. Keep the faith. And live each day to the fullest...
xoxo
