As I transfered everything from last year's desk calendar to this year's, I noticed a doctor's appointment notation. Sigh. I tried to put it out of my mind, but today is a blustery day, and my mind is blustering about. One year ago today, I received the news that would shake me up and see what I was made of. I know I should be looking forward and putting all this stuff behind me (I mean, doesn't my statute of limitations of bitching and complaining run out soon?), but I find myself replaying events over and over, like a movie I keep watching and hoping will have a different ending.
That day, I entered Dr Julie Halston's office pretty nonchalantly, considering I had had the 'procedure' three times already, and each follow-up consisted of a long wait in the exam room, a wound check, draining of fluid and benign, yet high-risk pathology report/diagnosis. Same old, same old. Since I had done the routine so many times before, I didn't even take anyone with me to the appointment. And, if I recall correctly, the appointment went pretty much as planned, at first. I sat in the exam room for a LONG time, she came in, asked me how my kids are (she seriously can't remember that I don't live in New Jersey with two kids), checked the wound and drained it. Then, she sat down, opened the file and said, "Well, I wasn't expecting this." Oh, that's never good to hear! She said the path report showed DCIS, and I should get dressed and come into her regular office to chat. That clearly set me on a brain whirl I didn't want to be on. But I did what I was told.
She put a box of kleenex down in front of me and told me she thought I should have a mastectomy. Wow. No beating around the bush here. Then she said I should talk to Dr Pay in Advance (who has been my oncologist for three years) immediately, though there was plenty of time to decide. I just kept repeating I didn't want a mastectomy. That's pretty much all I remember--I was very emphatic that I didn't want to lose the breast. In fact, I knew Dr Pay in Advance was going to want me to consider one anyway, regardless of this pathology report, but I had kept putting her off.
While all this was happening, I realized that I forgot to charge my cell phone. I kept turning it off and on, to try to save power. Finally, I got through to one beloved gal pal, choked out "It's not the worst news, but it's not good news, either," and god love her, she immediately met me at a nearby diner, where I continued to cry and insist I didn't want to lose the breast.
Four blurry, watery weeks later, I had a double mastectomy. And I'm still trying to figure out where, exactly, I changed my mind. I knew I wasn't attached to my breasts, cosmetically. I've never been about how I look. I just went from being certain I wanted to keep them, to being certain I wanted them BOTH off. Even Dr Julie Halston was surprised when I said I wanted them both to go, since the DCIS was only in one.
I guess, ultimately, it's my very bad habit of avoidance and denial that strangely led me to the more drastic surgical option. My whole life, I've tried to avoid bad news. I simply ignore it, which is so immature and stupid, but that's what I've always done. If I don't think about something, then it doesn't exist. From parking tickets to debt collectors. Trying to not think about breast cancer is really hard, though, but I think I sort of rationalized that if I had them both off, I could not think about it anymore. Which is also immature and stupid, but I really do kind of think that's where I was going. If I had chosen the less invasive option, the lumpectomy and radiation, I would've kept the breast, but I would've been reminded, every single day, for at least six weeks, while I was having radiation, that I had breast cancer. And I would've worried every day that it would come back, in one or both breasts. That became the less appealing option more and more as the three weeks and the many doctor appointments went on. So...we had the big 180. At least that's how I think it happened.
Although I don't really think about it constantly, I do still feel a vague unease, or unsettledness, in myself. Not that it will come back, because I know the chances are practically non-existent that it will. And I know they told me it would take me at least a year to physically feel like myself again (which, hopefully, will miraculously occur first thing in the morning on Feb 10) but I'm sure it will take longer. I have so far to go when it comes to regaining what little physical fitness I had before all the surgeries. I never thought of myself as having nice abs before, but when you completely lose them? You miss them. I remember the gal in Dr Vera Wang's office telling me to be careful about slouching, because it's a natural physical response to a mastectomy, and I could end up with 'frozen shoulder' or a permanent hunch. So, in my zeal to NOT slouch, I think I threw my shoulders too far back, unwittingly stuck out my stomach, and forgot to pull in my abs. For a year. It is, frankly, incredible how grotesquely grotesque they are now. And I still find myself slouching every now and then. Is that a lose-lose scenario?
I know I have to get back into shape--why get rid of your cancer-y breasts if you're just going to get fat, with high blood pressure and then have a stroke climbing the subway stairs?? I have GOT to put on my new pedometer that my wonderful sister got me for Christmas (RIP, old pedometer, lost in the smoke damage of the Post-Mastectomy-Fire-Adventure-Of-2011). Fingers crossed I make it to the elusive 10,000 steps every day. Today, of course--no pedometer. Dumb. I guess my pre-emptive avoidance and denial mode caused me to oversleep by two hours this morning. Whatever. But I keep asking myself, do I really have the energy to get fit? Ugh. It took a year to get this bad, it will take way more than a year to right the ship. After all, I'm not 25 anymore. I hate being fat, but the thought of the dedication and hard work I'll need to put in is kinda daunting. I mentioned the whole avoidance and denial thing up above, yes?
I also wonder if my vague unease is due to the fact that I have told practically no one outside my intimate circle of dear friends and family about what's going on. Or, I guess I should say, what WENT on. I have over 400 Facebook friends (which is a blog post topic in itself, yes? 400??! seriously??!), but I think maybe 30 people are aware of my situation. Why have I done it that way? I have one friend on Facebook who pours out her heart and lets everyone know every horrible sad thing that happens to her--the outpouring of love and support she then receives is heartening, but it just makes me so uncomfortable. Maybe I'm taking the avoidance and denial thing too far in that I don't want to think about the bad news SO MUCH that I won't let any good wishes in, either. Because they'll remind me of the bad news. That is lame, right? Private is private, but avoiding telling people because you don't want to talk about it is silly. Or is it? Part of me has considered 'outing' myself and just getting it over with, but I can't quite seem to get there. I try to be inspired by a couple of blogs I read by breast cancer survivors, but when they talk about being the center of attention at parties because they joke about fake boobs, I mentally turn away from that (not that I haven't tried to joke about them in the company of my intimate pals). I guess I just have to accept my manner of dealing with things as mine, and just get over being annoyed with how other people do it. Perhaps, I would annoy THEM! :) Besides, I'm not sure I want the look in everyone's eyes to change when they look at me. From, 'oh, there's Tari', to 'oh, there's Tari, she has breast cancer.' I already have a few people who just stopped chatting with me once I confided in them. And I know that's their problem and not mine, but still.
Blah blah blah. Wah wah wah. I hope you're rolling your eyes right about now, if you've even made it this far. I think want to turn a corner, but my brain doesn't seem to want to tag along. But I thought if I put the whirling dervish that is happening in my brain onto paper (as it were), it might fly out of my head and let me be ready to move on. To whatever is next.
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