temper tantrum…

not what i had planned

This is not what I was planning to write for my new post.  Not at all.
But…you know what they say about planning.

I wasn’t going to write about health stuff again so soon but I’ve been getting god-whispers. It took me by surprise…these nudges from him…because as you’ll discover, he was nudging me to write about a time when I wasn’t particularly pleased with him. Not pleased at all actually.  But, he won and so I write.

epic

It was an epic temper tantrum.  No joke…one that could rival even the best temper tantrums. There was crying….no wait, ugly crying is more like it. There was foot stomping, fist pounding, this isn’t fair-ing, more ugly crying and even a little bit of lot of swearing.  My dear mother, at the other end of the phone line, absorbed the brunt of the attack.  

It was epic.

Oh, and I forgot to mention…it was me.  I was the temper tantrum thrower. 

And…it was last summer.  When I was 45 years old.  Yep.  Forty-five.  Not four or five.  Forty-five.

Epic.

It was the day that the words “probable breast cancer” became an uninvited, unwelcomed part of my now everyday vocabulary. 

no big deal

This past summer, my primary recommended I go for my first mammogram.  I had been putting it off…avoiding it.  I wasn’t afraid of the discomfort.  I was afraid of the results.  I’m not doing it.  I’ve gotten enough bad news in the last six months.  If there is anything abnormal going on, I don’t want to know.  I can’t take anymore. Not. Gonna. Do. It.  After some childish arguing, likely a precursor to the temper tantrum, she overruled me.  She said it would be fine.  I had no family history.  There were no clinical findings.  It was routine screening.  It was no big deal.  

She was right.  It really was no big deal.  Until my phone rang.  They found something.  Something “concerning” and they wanted another look. As soon as possible. 

The tantrum didn’t rear its ugly head yet.  It was still brewing. 

I didn’t tell anyone.  There was no reason to.  This happens all the time.  They just need a closer look…a clearer set of pictures.  My parents, my husband, my kids…they had all been through enough in the six months since my Parkinson’s diagnosis.  I didn’t tell anyone and I went to the appointment alone.  There was no need to worry them about something that would turn out to be nothing.  But it was not nothing.  The next day, in a different facility, with different sets of eyes mammogram-ing, scanning and ultrasound-ing…I was told that there was a mass that needed to be biopsied.  As soon as possible.  The radiologist told me that if it was his wife, he would want it biopsied immediately.  That same day.  He gently laid his hand on my shoulder, looked at me with such kindness and whispered, “I’m so sorry.”  

and then

I drove down to the lake.  I sat in my car.  And I cried.  I cried because I had to tell my mom.  I had to tell my husband.  I had to refused to tell my kids.  So I cried.  And then, I went home.  I went home and called my mom.  And there it was…the EPIC temper tantrum.  I was so angry.  Come on…are you kidding me?  Now this?  Seriously…what else?  How much more?  Breast cancer?  I had barely come to terms with the Parkinson’s diagnosis.  The messy slew of non-PG-rated rants at god continued to spill out as my mom listened from the other end of the line.  Fifteen mere miles had never felt so far away.  I wanted nothing more than to curl up in her arms.  The way I did when I was four or five.  Surely then, everything would be okay…right?!? 

Right?!?

Eventually…everything WAS okay. 

but first

But first…first came six endless weeks filled with fear, questions and uncertainty.  There were differences of opinion on how to proceed.  What kind of biopsy?  How invasive and aggressive an approach do we use?  Where should it be done?  Then, there were once again unclear results.  Was everything of concern biopsied?  Was enough of a sample taken?  Is that a new mass not seen on the previous scans?  The new radiologist was seeing something different than the first radiologist who was seeing something different than the surgeon.  They all needed to talk.  They wanted to present to the tumor board.  But, wait…it’s a mid-week holiday.  People are on vacation, many offices are quiet and there is a significant delay in communication.  I was a wreck.  Again.

Have you ever really looked at, really studied the appearance of a word?  The letters and order that a word is comprised of?  BENIGN.  Look at it.  It’s a somewhat peculiar word.  BENIGN.  Peculiar or not, I had never seen nor heard a more beautiful word.  BENIGN.  See…everything was eventually okay.

why now

So why now?  Why this?  I have shared this experience with very few people.  My immediate family, my therapist and a couple of close friends are the only people that know this chapter.  That’s all.  So why in the crazies was he nudging me to write about this and share it on my very new, very public blog?  I dug into my calendar and found my answer.  It’s time.  It’s time to go back.  To do all of this again.  There were concerning areas that need to be monitored closely and it’s time to look at them again.  He was nudging me to write this, to publicly share this, so that I could see that it can be okay.  I will once again be filled with fear, uncertainty and questions.  But I will be okay.