I met my new oncologist after my favorite oncologist Dr. Kenyon
retired. This meeting happened to occur on Dr. G’s first day at his new
practice and I was his first patient. I overheard the nurse inform Dr. G that I
do not wear examination gowns, “she said she just brings them out”. Dr. G
introduced himself – I let him know that I was Dr. Kenyon’s favorite patient –
he nervously laughed. As he listened to my heart with his stethoscope, I
noticed his hands were shaking; I had not even revealed my breasts yet! He let
me know that he perhaps consumed too much coffee and it was his first day. I
really liked this doctor – he was a “regular” person, helpful, compassionate,
and respectful. The office gal Suzy – is a dream too! She was able to
coordinate the diagnostic bi-lateral breast ultrasound with a radiologist I saw
earlier this year. After leaving Dr. G’s Newport office, I traveled up the
coast to Lincoln City where the radiologist happened to be for the day.
I was looking forward to planting my feet in the sand,
getting grounded, and finding some peace. As I drove up the coast, between
Newport and Lincoln City, I pulled over to the side of the road where I could
gain beach access. Awe…it was divine! The beach always reminds me of my Grandpa
LeGall; I replayed memorable moments, as though I were watching a movie. I can
hear my grandpas voice “you have such an eagle eye!” my face lights with great
joy. I look at footprints in the sand and am reminded of the many prints left
of mine in comparison to his great strides. I say this often, nevertheless, I
will say it again…I love the Oregon Coast!
Arriving in Lincoln City for the ultrasound appointment, I
felt peaceful, grounded, and ready to hear the news. I checked in and took a
seat. Understand, I wanted to be wrong. I wanted this mass I felt to be scar
tissue or something else, just not a new cancer tumor. Unfortunately, I was
not. The radiologist confirmed that what I was feeling was a cancerous mass –
in fact, it has a little buddy floating around with it. The larger mass
measures slightly greater than the one removed in March 2014; the little buddy
is a slight little thing. Exhale. Breathe in. Exhale. Yep, it is kind of like
that. What are my thoughts? During the ultrasound, I watched the screen, it was
undeniable when the cancer tumor emerged; this is a vision concreted into the
memory forever. When I saw it literally emerge from the light grey colored cloud,
I thought shit, this is not good. I then thought I really need to get this
implant out; the breast tissue is clearly rejecting its invasion. Next, I thought
about recovery time and school. Then the biggy came – the dark thought of the
day, has this cancer spread – I mean can it be stopped or is this how it is
going to be? I am not shocked nor am I surprised. I am frustrated. As of this
moment, 4:37pm on Monday, I have yet to shed a tear. There is anxiety and “something”
going on, I am unable to put words to it at this moment. It makes sense to me –
this is all that matters.
I went from learning the cancer had returned, to shifting
gears and attending class tonight. When I arrived at school, my classmate
Vicki, greeted me with a hug – tears welled for a moment. I felt as though she
could sense my utter disappointment and the wind being knocked out of me. What
followed was a “cancer story” from another individual that joined the
conversation. As Vicki and I walked away, I told her “I don’t know if I can
take another fucking story like that anymore!” Real Talk: there really are some
things that may be better left unsaid to those going through a serious illness.
I have held my tongue for three years – until now. I will first say that I understand
often individuals offer statements and sayings they find comfort in hearing.
These range from the following:
1. Everything happens for a reason
2. God never gives us more than we can handle
3. Everything will be okay
4. You have this beat
…these are some of the sayings often offered. Admittedly, I
am rebuffed by no less than two says listed above however; I understand that
these offerings quell anxiety and bring comfort to the one delivering the
message. I accept all these graciously. Then there are those delivering “cancer
stories” that typically have a great suffering or death ending. These are not helpful. Actually, I find
most unsolicited cancer stories to be rather dismissive and insensitive as they
rarely meet my needs or address my expressed emotions. My husband and I were
discussing how often individuals offer these delightful “cancer stories” and he
made a good point. He mentioned you know, when we talk about our son Carlos
being in the Army, we don’t hear “oh my gosh, um yes, my uncle was in the
military and he was horribly injured and then he ended up dying.” Yet when it
comes to cancer – so many want to offer “cancer stories”. Therapeutically, I
can see their goal is to somehow connect, yet it is missing the mark completely.
I received several messages today asking, “What is next” or “what
are you going to do” and various other combinations. I want to acknowledge the
few that offered comforting words without a bunch of questions. Imagine you
just learned that cancer has returned a third time; a matter of months
following tumor removal along with knowing the cancer had metastasized? What
would you do? How would a decision be made? Would you be armed with all the
information to make an informed decision? As you can fathom, there are many
questions, not complete information, and a need for time to process. Due to the
aggressive nature of this cancer, time is of the essence. I made an appointment
with a local surgeon; I have an appointment next week. There are many things to
consider.
Despite all the various thoughts twirling in my head, there
are bright spots. The first being that I found the mass. There would have not
been an “annual” breast screening if I had not found the mass; I would have
most likely lost my life before I made it to March 2015. I now have a chance to
intervene and perhaps change the course. The second is I have a new team of
local doctors that present as supportive, respectful, and compassionate.
For now, I am gathering information, processing, and
planning; it is the darker side of this thing called cancer. I am feeling a bit
defeated, as though this lifetime is slipping away. It is a strange and
humbling feeling that weighs heavy on my heart.
Today, I am hopeful~