A few days after the diagnosis, I was swept into the cancer treatment machine...
I'm pretty lucky to be healthy overall. Sure, I've got imperfect vision, some hearing loss and ringing in one ear, allergies, and the occasional gnarly migraine that renders me unable to speak (for some, this may be a reprieve), but who has any business being perfect anyhow?
But I never would have thought my own boob would attempt to murder me.
I never thought my own boob would attempt to murder me.
Then, the "You have Stage 3 Breast Cancer" call came. It wasn't out of the blue because I was still sore from the 9 core biopsies they'd hole-punched out of my left breast just a week or so before.
The waiting parts are the worst. If you're waiting for any sort of significant test result, you know what I mean. It's the unknown hanging around like a stale fart with only a vague sense what the fart actually came from. Was it those baked beans from the other night? Perhaps the roasted broccoli? Too many beers? Not enough yogurt? You just don't know, but it stinks.
Once you get the results--whatever they may be--you can start to plan, cope, set up resources, do what you need to do. But, until then, you're left with nada. When you're diagnosed with cancer, there's that initial BIG NEWS (Cancer or Benign) but then there's also lots of related tests...to find out what type it is, how fast it's growing, how/if its spread, if there's cancer in OTHER parts of your body. So, you get lots of tests and you get practice at waiting.
My coping strategy for awaiting results has been to just assume the absolute worst. I know, not the cheeriest, and one that might make optimists want to punch me straight in the nose, but that's it. That to me is easier than blowing hearts and rainbows up my own butt to then find out it's worst than I thought. This way the result is always a pleasant surprise.
So, to apply this to our current topic, I was relieved to hear that I had Stage 3 (still curable) instead of Stage 4 (not curable) cancer. I was relieved to hear the cancer they initially found was all there was; none in other bones or organs. And I wasn't disappointed that I didn't have Stage 1 or 2.
You may be thinking "But then you put yourself through X number of days dwelling over the worst case for nothing if it's great news?!?" And so I come to the secondary strategy--not DWELLING (Favorite quote: "Worrying is like trying to solve an algebra problem by chewing bubble gum.") I kept busy. This is not difficult for me; I've always got too much on my plate. But, keeping myself occupied kept me (for the most part) from dwelling on my potentially worst-case news. I've always been an exceptional worrier (if there were awards for that...) a good portion of my adult life (to the point of OCD and panic attacks)--but over the last decade of concerted work on trying to worry less, enjoy more, and just take shit as it comes, I've been able to worry and dwell much much less. Who would have thought this prep would be so helpful in this particular situation?
I have to admit--I haven't cried over this. That does seem a little weird to me. It's a pretty big deal. Sure, now and then I'll get lump in my throat and I'll feel like a flood is coming. I'm not a crier. I'm more a punch it, yell at it, flip it off, drive angry type instead. I like humor better too. I just don't like to cry. I don't like the way it feels, it looks, it sounds. How it makes others feel. But, I suspect once I really get into the thick of this, it may happen.
So, I have two German shepherds staring at me with big eyes for their dinners and I've written all of this without even getting to the cancer treatment machine part that I started with (or "what it's like to go from health to being a sick person"). Maybe next time.