Just when I’ve pulled my life to a place where I’m feeling empowered, inspired and positive, I find the one thing none of us ever wants to find. I call my best friend, Claudette.
“I found a lump.”
“Come over and let me feel it.”
“What do you think?” (My BFF is also a nurse practitioner).
“Call your doc right now.”
A mammogram, ultrasound, and one biopsy later, I’m diagnosed with lobular invasive carcinoma, the second most common kind of breast cancer, my left breast gone bad, left lymph nodes behaving badly, probably Stage II.
Three martinis will not make this “girl, interrupted” moment go away - I tried.
My breast cancer is curable, but the road to remission is a long, tough journey: sixteen weeks of chemo, then surgery, reconstruction, and radiation.
I change my ring tone to the Bee Gees’ classic “Stayin’ Alive.”
The next step is a series of eerie, intimidating diagnostic tests. I want to run away, but can feel my doctor’s footprint on my behind to get all the tests done.
A couple of the tests make you radioactive! I thought about how cool it would be to be eight years old again, telling my school friends that I’m radioactive. It doesn’t make you glow in the dark—I checked.
The MRI is easy – the after-pictures suck. This is NOT your best look, lying face down, boobs hanging through two square holes. Seeing a few of the images, I imagine the radiologists asking each other, “Holstein?” “No. Definitely a Guernsey.”
I still don’t believe I have breast cancer. No family history, healthy lifestyle – except when I was three, I used to chew on my great grandma’s lead-painted windowsills. Geez, it’s not even breast cancer awareness month! Isn’t this an October thing?
Cancel bikini wax.
“Breast cancer is an epidemic,” says my oncologist (I have an oncologist!). “I’m seeing eight to ten new patients every week.”
Girls, we need to be talking about breast cancer more than once a year. I don’t think I understood the word, epidemic, until the cancer invaded my left breast.
Now the message is close to my heart.
My daisy chain of kick-ass girl friends is here, holding me and helping me. This undeniable strength between women, a chain of love, an invincible bond, growing exponentially faster than any cancer, fills my heart.
My daughter, Kay, loving and courageous, shows her support with lots of notes, phone calls and weekend visits home from college. My mom is hat shopping for me as I write this!
Together, my family and friends have formed a formidable team, already supporting my journey in lots of life affirming ways. The amazing thing is that I’m making new friends, too, among girls who have already done this journey, survivors, and those who are still in the fight. I thought illness would isolate me, instead I’m making more connections.
I’ve already ordered custom-made big sexy hair, and a second, edgy, 80’s rock chick version for tough days when I might want to sing “Hit Me With Your Best Shot.”
Yes, my life is interrupted. Cancer treatment makes me tired. It gives me some bad days and a renewed appreciation for good days.
I am determined to meet this tough challenge with spunk and my bad attitude. My kick-ass girlfriends will get me the rest of the way. And, I am empowered and inspired by the love and support of all the people in my life.
Note to self: wear cowboy boots to next chemo.
“I found a lump.”
“Come over and let me feel it.”
“What do you think?” (My BFF is also a nurse practitioner).
“Call your doc right now.”
A mammogram, ultrasound, and one biopsy later, I’m diagnosed with lobular invasive carcinoma, the second most common kind of breast cancer, my left breast gone bad, left lymph nodes behaving badly, probably Stage II.
Three martinis will not make this “girl, interrupted” moment go away - I tried.
My breast cancer is curable, but the road to remission is a long, tough journey: sixteen weeks of chemo, then surgery, reconstruction, and radiation.
I change my ring tone to the Bee Gees’ classic “Stayin’ Alive.”
The next step is a series of eerie, intimidating diagnostic tests. I want to run away, but can feel my doctor’s footprint on my behind to get all the tests done.
A couple of the tests make you radioactive! I thought about how cool it would be to be eight years old again, telling my school friends that I’m radioactive. It doesn’t make you glow in the dark—I checked.
The MRI is easy – the after-pictures suck. This is NOT your best look, lying face down, boobs hanging through two square holes. Seeing a few of the images, I imagine the radiologists asking each other, “Holstein?” “No. Definitely a Guernsey.”
I still don’t believe I have breast cancer. No family history, healthy lifestyle – except when I was three, I used to chew on my great grandma’s lead-painted windowsills. Geez, it’s not even breast cancer awareness month! Isn’t this an October thing?
Cancel bikini wax.
“Breast cancer is an epidemic,” says my oncologist (I have an oncologist!). “I’m seeing eight to ten new patients every week.”
Girls, we need to be talking about breast cancer more than once a year. I don’t think I understood the word, epidemic, until the cancer invaded my left breast.
Now the message is close to my heart.
My daisy chain of kick-ass girl friends is here, holding me and helping me. This undeniable strength between women, a chain of love, an invincible bond, growing exponentially faster than any cancer, fills my heart.
My daughter, Kay, loving and courageous, shows her support with lots of notes, phone calls and weekend visits home from college. My mom is hat shopping for me as I write this!
Together, my family and friends have formed a formidable team, already supporting my journey in lots of life affirming ways. The amazing thing is that I’m making new friends, too, among girls who have already done this journey, survivors, and those who are still in the fight. I thought illness would isolate me, instead I’m making more connections.
I’ve already ordered custom-made big sexy hair, and a second, edgy, 80’s rock chick version for tough days when I might want to sing “Hit Me With Your Best Shot.”
Yes, my life is interrupted. Cancer treatment makes me tired. It gives me some bad days and a renewed appreciation for good days.
I am determined to meet this tough challenge with spunk and my bad attitude. My kick-ass girlfriends will get me the rest of the way. And, I am empowered and inspired by the love and support of all the people in my life.
Note to self: wear cowboy boots to next chemo.
This is a test
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