First Person: Being in limbo
Editor’s note: This is the second in a multi-part diary of one woman’s journey through breast cancer treatment. Click here to read part one.
Day 8
Today I picked up the CD with the scan and results to take to the surgeon tomorrow.
Day 9
Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.
I phoned a friend who is a breast cancer survivor. She seemed to know the second I said I needed to speak with her what was wrong. She gave me her advice as I cried into the phone. She knew exactly how I was feeling. She also offered to say a prayer to St. Jude — the patron saint of lost causes. I appreciated the thought and the prayer, but hoped I wasn’t a lost cause.
Day 10
Today I met with a breast cancer surgeon. It took a good deal of time to fill in the most comprehensive set of questions I’ve ever filled in for a physician. You name it, they asked it. One in particular got to my still fragile emotional state: Have you, in the past week, suffered from any of the following: stress, sadness, depression or anxiety? “Well, no s#@t, Sherlock!”
I remember writing, “Seriously? I have just been diagnosed with breast cancer. I have all of the above!” I had second thoughts about my little rant, but it would be a way to see if anyone even read this stuff.
My visit with the surgeon calmed me a little. She explained everything. I was again examined and learned that first I would need an MRI but I was so bruised by the “rare” and “uncommon” bleed from the biopsy I’d need to wait until it subsided or the MRI would light up like Times Square.
“I want this thing out of my body as soon as possible,” I told her. She reassured me that my cancer was small, found early and the chances for good results were promising.
She also advised I be selective with whom I share my condition.
“Friends and family members, though well-meaning, can make you crazy with phone calls. You don’t need people calling and telling you to take herbal supplements, or eat more broccoli. And...you can be sure they will want to know what stage of cancer you have when you won’t know until after surgery — period!”
Day 11
One of the most difficult things I have ever had to do, I did today. I told my children I have cancer. There, I said it! I HAVE CANCER. It still seems impossible and frighteningly real.
I can still see the pain in the eyes of one of my daughters. I also remember the fear in the voice of the other when I had to tell her by phone.
Day 13
I don’t like this wait. I can’t do anything but think about what is growing inside me while this bruise goes away.
Sleep seems to help but I want to sleep a lot. I’ve no reason to be this tired but I’m fine one moment and then extremely exhausted the next. I go to bed by 9 p.m. Maybe I lost more blood than I thought; that and the fact that I can’t take my vitamins because several of them act as blood thinners. Who knew?
This morning I spoke with a well-known cancer research doctor who knows my surgeon. He reassured me and I feel a little better. Not a lot, but a little.
I picked up the binder given to me by my surgeon, filled with material about breast cancer treatment. I felt physically ill. I can’t bring myself to read it, or see diagrams and illustrations. I feel like a coward on the inside while trying to act like absolutely not a thing is wrong outwardly.
A week later
Went back to the surgeon to evaluate the bruising on my person to see if I can have an MRI. Apparently the trauma to my breast is worse than thought and I have to wait an additional two weeks. I have an egg-shaped lump inside me now from the scar tissue forming from the biopsy. I wonder if anyone will believe me when I say, “If it can go wrong, it will for me.” And no, I’m not negative — I’m a realist! She told me to go home, relax by taking walks and watching funny movies. Huh?
I have something growing inside me that would have been removed by now but it’s going to sit there and do God-knows-what because of a “rare and unusual biopsy problem.” Why not? I don’t want to watch funny movies or take walks, I want this damned thing out of me now!
Here’s my question. What if the bleeding took a bunch of those little cancer cells and spread them throughout my body? If the tumor releases cells that go into the lymph system, where does all that blood go that became hematomas? Were there cancer cells there as well? My doctor said it doesn’t work that way but what do they really know about cancer? If they knew so much, we’d have a cure!
Two weeks later
I feel as though I’m in limbo — that place between Heaven and Hell Catholics learn about. It’s that place where you go if you aren’t in a state of grace when you shuffle off to Buffalo. My limbo is waiting until the first of the month when find out if I can have an MRI.
With two weeks to contemplate the upcoming tests and surgery, my mind is working overtime. Will they press and squash my poor damaged body part again? What do they inject in me this time? How many X-rays can a person have before they’re harmful? Sort of a joke, since I already have cancer!
Will surgery entail total anesthesia or that stuff they use for colonoscopies that doesn’t work and you wake up hearing yourself screaming in pain and remembering everything that they say you won’t remember? Yep, once again — it could only happen to me!
I have a nasty bug that went straight into bronchitis. I’m on a second dose of antibiotics, inhalers and cough medication. I don’t sleep at night unless I’m sitting upright. My butt is getting numb from sitting so much and I’m tired. My family members are also tired of hearing me cough. Apparently I’m “spreading my germs on everything.” If they think they’re tired, try being the one coughing nonstop! I sent my poor husband to the guest room so he could get some sleep.
I’m concerned that my coughing will prevent me from having the MRI. If this bug isn’t gone I’ll have to postpone surgery until I’m better. Limbo time!
Oh, did I mention we are starting a total kitchen remodel soon? I am so ready for a diversion right now I can hardly wait for it to begin. Bring on the demo. Bring on the sledgehammers and saw, the plumbers, electricians, cabinet builders, drywall guys and painters.
Bring it on, bring it on, BRING IT ON!
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ELAINE LA MARR is a 38-year La Cañada Flintridge resident and former Valley Sun staff writer. The is the second of a multi-part series of “First Person” columns containing the journal entries she made during her treatment for breast cancer.