Before I get back to my story, I want to let everyone know that I will be at the Brunswick Making Strides event, this Sunday, October 17, on the town mall with the Knitted Knockers Program! A million thanks to the American Cancer Society for welcoming our program to this event. I'll have a table with lots of knitted boobies available for survivors. We'll also have information for those who want to pass the word along to someone they know who has lost a breast to this disease.
(What is the Knitted Knockers Program, you ask? Information and patterns are here.)
Ok, back to our story.
Memory tells me that my biopsy was on a Tuesday morning. I took the day off from work and headed over to the hospital. Since my lump was so small -less than a centimeter - and very close to the surface, the surgeon decided to remove the whole thing rather than just a sample. Honestly, I don't think it took more than 15 minutes. I was only a little sore, nothing that Advil couldn't handle and I worked the remainder of the day from home.
Wednesday, May 15th, I also worked from home, which turned out to be a very good thing. At that time, Peter was telecommuting for a company based in Virginia. He was the one to answer the phone that day.
By this time, we both had convinced ourselves that everything was completely fine and the surgeon would tell us everything checked out and we could get back to normal. That's why Peter handed me the phone when he discovered it was the doctor and then disappeared upstairs to work rather than waiting around to hear the results.
I actually don't remember much of that phone call beyond, "I'm very sorry," and "invasive ductal carcinoma."
It all didn't process right away. Sort of like it stayed at the front of my brain, alerting me to the right questions to ask, motions to perform, but not allowing the rest of me in on what was taking place. I grabbed the closest piece of paper and started frantically writing down what he was saying. "Invasive ductal carcinoma." "Appt. tomorrow am."
This was when Peter came down the stairs to find out why I was still on the phone. After all, it doesn't take that long to hear that you are fine.
He kinda motioned to me the universal, 'hey, what's going on?"
I couldn't talk to him as the surgeon was still saying things about cancer and appointments in my ear. Instead, I took that random paper - which was actually one of those huge white envelopes that bring mail I never read - and I scrawled across the back "CANCER." I flashed it to Peter and turned away. I couldn't look at him. ( I still have that envelope somewhere.)
After hanging up with the surgeon, Peter started asking questions. Of course he was asking questions. He wanted to know what the hell was happening. But, I couldn't, just couldn't talk to him. If I talked to Peter, it would all become real. So, instead, I gave him my notes from the surgeon and started frantically calling people with the news. For some reason it felt like as long as I was on the phone, telling other people the news, I didn't have to face it myself.
I called my mom first, and it was the most bizarre call of them all. She literally couldn't hear or understand what I was saying. Just like mine, her brain was refusing to process the big C word. Repeatedly I had to say, "Mom, I have cancer. It is cancer."
"What?" she would say. "No, you don't."
Back and forth we went until it sunk in that I was not pulling her leg. That this was for real.
Next up was my dad, and he was at work. It really sucked to call him at work with news like that, especially since he wasn't at his desk and I had to leave a message saying call me. He ended up calling mom first to ask what was up, and she couldn't tell him. He called me. We talked, and his coworkers sent him home.
Ok - that really sucked, telling my parents. As a mom myself, I can't imagine hearing that one of my children has cancer. I would rather have it a million times over than to watch one of my babies deal with it.
Of course, I was a mom at that time, too. How do you tell your child that their mommy has cancer? How do you tell them when they are only 2 about to turn 3?
(Enough for today. To be continued ... )