It's good to feel normal
Tuesday, May 31, 2011 at 9:27PM 
Last Tuesday, I visited the same facility where I was diagnosed with breast cancer in order to have an ultrasound in the same spot where the tumor was removed. Since having radiation two years ago, I've gotten used to the “stings and zingers” that are normal for tissue recovering from surgery and radiation. However, three months ago, I had an ache deep within my breast that was exactly the same as the pain I experienced prior to my diagnosis (the pain that drove me—back in 2008--to a doctor for an overdue mammogram).
Back then, I learned that in almost all cases, breast cancer does not begin with pain. I've never been one who got all “woo woo” about “listening to my body.” But since I paid attention to the pain three years ago, I'm now of a different opinion.
After cancer, it's hard to have a balanced approach to the aches and pains of a normal, aging body. Every seemingly innocuous pain may be the harbinger of worse things to come. I'm not sure I'll ever return to the “ignorance is bliss” mentality I had before. Now I wonder if everything I eat, breathe, or come in contact with will kill me before my time. I have to work at not letting my fears get the best of me.
Some people who've had cancer respond by becoming exceedingly vigilant. I wish I could be that way (do I, really?), but it's just not me. I have to have balance in my life. I don't want to live the rest of my life without having a glass of wine or a decadent dessert once in awhile—so sue me.
That isn't to say I haven't made changes to my lifestyle. I have almost completely stopped eating red meat because of the hormones in our meat supply (dairy and eggs, too, for that matter). I eat a lot of wild salmon and (mostly) organic fruits and vegetables. I take more supplements and bought a treadmill for exercise. I do have a sweet tooth—always have. I try to appease it by eating 70% dark chocolate (reported to be acceptable due to the antioxidant value). Now, if I can only eat one-fifth of the chocolate bar instead of half or all of it!
So back to my story. I shared my concerns about the pain during a recent follow-up with my radiation oncologist. I asked if I could have an ultrasound to lay my fears to rest. He was agreeable, saying it couldn't hurt. So, I went in for the ultrasound last Tuesday.
After the ultrasound, the technician asked me to wait while she showed the results to a doctor. For several minutes, I lay on the table (the same one where I was told back in 2008 that they had found a “solid mass”), praying and trying to remain calm.
Finally, a very kindly-looking older gentleman (you oldsters might picture Marcus Welby), entered the room and calmly told me that he wanted to do a mammogram. “But,” I protested, “I'm not due for my next one until October—and my radiation oncologist told me that having mammograms every six months is risky—it increases the odds of creating another tumor!” I hoped he would appreciate my reluctance and let me off the hook.
The doctor explained to me that a mammogram is considered the “gold standard” for determining what they are looking at in the breast. He said that he could not tell from the ultrasound whether he was seeing scar tissue or another tumor. He said that it isn't unheard of to have a tumor come back in the scar tissue where the original tumor had been removed. He was very calm, but serious. He got my attention.
He said that I could wait until October and have my mammogram at the scheduled time or do one now; it was up to me. Well, now that I had opened this can of worms, I had to see it through.
I scheduled the mammogram for the following day because I wanted my husband to be with me. There's no way to describe how awful it is to sit alone in a room with a little paper gown covering your top half while waiting to hear whether or not you have a terminal disease.
I tried not to let fear overtake me, but I must admit that I was anxious. I do not ever want to presume upon God's grace. I asked Him to deliver me from the affliction of breast cancer. I prayed that He would be with me and give me courage and strength for whatever lay ahead of me. I know that other people have prayed the same thing and NOT been delivered from cancer. And I believe that is where the rubber meets the road: are you going to trust God with the outcome, even if it's one you don't like?
The following day, I met my husband at the Breast Care Center for my appointment. The technician gave me instructions for removing my clothing and donning the gown. “I know the drill,” I said, half good-naturedly. The exam didn't take long. Afterwards, the technician left to retrieve my husband and bring the doctor in to talk to the both of us.
The few minutes that passed seemed like an eternity. I prayed. What's taking so long? I thought. Where is my husband? Finally, my husband joined me. A couple minutes later, Marcus Welby came in and introduced himself to my husband. They made some chit-chat about the doctor's last name while I sat there trying to look casual in my paper gown.
Then the doctor turned to me and said, “Well, I'm very pleased that we did this mammogram . . . blah, blah, blah.” I know he said something other than blah, blah, blah, but as soon as the word PLEASED escaped his mouth, I knew that good news was coming. He said that nothing was abnormal—I had normal scar tissue, although he wasn't sure what had caused the pain. I didn't care what caused the pain—all I know is that the doctor was PLEASED and I was PLEASED and I began to tear up.
When I cry, my chin starts to wobble and I could feel it starting to go. My husband must have noticed and I know the doctor did, too. I tried to hold it together so as not to come across as a total basket case. The doctor looked at me in his kindly way and said, “I know these things can be rather anxiety-producing.” You said it, bub.
I said, “Thank you” several times to the doctor while fighting back the tears. That’s about all I remember.
I don’t know, maybe it’s the fact that I’ve been laid off my job, have to cancel our 30th wedding anniversary plans, and have no idea how to pay for next fall’s college tuition—whatever it is, I hadn’t realized how pent-up my emotions were. I couldn’t even find the words to write about it until now.
I’m not having a pity party, no sirree. I am incredibly thankful—blown away, in fact. Thankful to God for His mercy, thankful to be able to get up in the morning and hear the birds sing, thankful for the beautiful blue sky, thankful for the beauty of God's creation that surrounds me, thankful for my loved ones and the honor and privilege of being in charge of 65 kids every day.
It’s a funny thing, but after the doctor said, “I’m very PLEASED . . . “ I felt normal again for the first time since I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Somehow, hearing those words sent me back to another time and place when I was just like everybody else, nothing was wrong with my body, and my test results were PLEASING. I don’t know why it’s taken so long or why it took hearing a doctor utter those three magic words, but—whatever the reason—it’s good to feel normal.
Reader Comments (2)
Dana,
So glad to hear that it was scar tissue. I'm sorry, I didn't know you had been laid off. As ususal, you've done a great job in sharing your thoughts and feelings in writing. I've had a desire to write for years, but after doing my CaringBridge I'm not so sure I am really a writer. I have struggled to find words to say for a long time now, even in songwriting.
I didn't really get the kind of news I wanted after my radiation treatments were over and I still haven't been able to write about it on my site. I know I should, but I guess I'm having trouble writing about being in the "watch and wait" stage, which is more common for prostate cancer than other forms of the disease. My PSA went up slightly, which I was totally not prepared for. Dr. said that's not that uncommon and that one month out is too soon to really tell. But, I love playing poker and I've gotten pretty good at reading people. It was all over his face that he was suprised. This is the first time I've really written anything about it. I pretty much just tell people that it's too soon to tell.
Anyway, didn't mean to hijack your article, but sometimes when I least expect it, the words just start coming out. As usual though, I'm so busy all the time that I don't have time to think about whether I still have cancer or not. It will hit me about a day before my next appointment in July. I'll keep you posted.
Tim
What an incredible post. You've made me feel grateful, too. Maybe in the same off-hand way from the Fiddler on the Roof song "L'Chaim" -- "We know that God would like us to be joyful, even when our hearts lie panting on the floor / So how much then, can we all be joyful, when there's really something to be joyful for?"
I don't have first-hand information about surviving cancer, but as luck(?) would have it, Greg and I have had a terrible financial time for over a year, and all birthdays and anniversaries are, by common assent, all but ignored for now. It sucks, but we all do what we have to do. And I know that there are people much braver out there going through much more.