My First Chemo

Today I had my very first AC chemo treatment.  I am only scheduled for 4 treatments so I figured I could handle whatever came because I knew in my mind it would be short lived for me!  After today, I feel like I can handle anything as today was a page out of horror novel.

My nurses were great, everything was going fine, but they had some trouble seating my needle in the port as it was “deep”.  They gave me my anti-nausea meds and steroid and I mentioned it was burning.  They checked it, drew back blood fine and said it might just be because the steroid was so thick and my port area was still very tender as I only had it in last week.

They double and tripled checked everything before starting the Adriamycin as it is so harsh and can burn your skin and veins if not administered correctly.  When they first started it, I noticed there was an intense pressure, but it seemed to fade a bit and I didn’t think too much about it.  Then about 3 minutes in, I told my hubby it was uncomfortable and I didn’t think it was supposed to be this way.  Mind you he was looking at me and the port area and noticed nothing.  He mentioned to nurse that I said it was uncomfortable.

She was helping the lady next to me put a portable pump on and said she would be right there.  As she was wrapping up, I touched the area around my port and it had swollen up very large and turned red – in only another 2-3 minutes.  I told Bill to get a nurse right then.  The nurse standing next to me asked the other lady to sit down for a minute and she stepped over to me.  The next thing I knew, they had seven nurses around me, had shut off the drip and had a very kind, but firm nurse injecting me with bicarbonate.  I had about 13 shots and a booster through the port itself.  Then they clamped me off, bandaged me up, put some ice on the swelling and sent me off to radiology at the hospital across the street to figure out what in the world was wrong.

By this time I already felt like I had been beaten to a pulp by the nurses trying to counter-act the Adriamycin in my system, and then I had to sit for another hour and half before anyone could push dye through my port and figure out what was wrong with it.

When I finally got back there, they determined that my port had flipped over and the nurses, by sheer luck had landed the needle in the cath part of my port so it gave a good blood return and made them falsely believe it was seated properly.  The next step was to flip it back into position.  Which I will spare you all the gory details, but suffice it to say they did it without anesthesia and now my breast is absolutely black and blue from all the pushing, pulling, pressing, shots, and general manipulation of my breast and shoulder.  When they got the port back in the right place, they reset a new needle and sent me back to finish my treatment.

I had a wonderful nurse who stayed late to finish my treatment and help me out.  She was totally awesome and I must say that the rest of the treatment went well.  But honestly, after that I am thinking I can stomach the nausea as it can’t be worse than flipping your port without an incision or anesthesia.

I do want to comment on my doctor though.  When he called to the hospital to find out what they had found, he was told I had not been taken back yet.  He got boiling mad and got in his car and came to check on it himself.  He stopped and spoke to me on the table and then again in the lobby as I was leaving.  He came in and checked on me twice during the last two bags of treatment.  He was so kind and compassionate.  I really wasn’t expecting so much supervision.  It was very comforting.  And I am not sure yet what I will do, but I will find some way to personally thank my nurse for helping me through such a difficult time.  I would not have made it without her!

We still have to see how I handle the after-effects, but for now: One down, three to go…  maybe the rest will be better!

I Own Cancer… It Doesn’t Own Me!

So what is a little hair anyway?!?

Seriously, when it was certain that chemo was necessary and that losing my hair was inevitable, I decided that I would not wait around for some emotion filled day when my hair came out in my hands as I brushed it or washed it.  I thought it might be better if I determined when and how it came out.

 Early on, I went wig shopping and found a very neat wig that was just a tad darker than my real hair and it was just a tab longer.  It was a fabulous style that looked really good on me.  It would become a part of my new “image” over the next few months.  The whole family went on the shopping spree.  Emma was bound and determined I would have some pink hair.  The funniest part of that was she told the lady behind the counter and the lady politely informed me, not the four year old, that they did not carry that type of wig.  Now before I go on about my wig, let me ask those of you who know me, do I look like someone who would seriously wear a pink wig?  Come on!  Pink was only mentioned to appease the four year old!

 I tried on one that was sort of sandy blonde with curls.  It was nice but way too bouffant for me.  I needed something a little more… me!  Bill and Parker picked a really pretty wig out and asked me to try it.  It was the second wig I tried.  It was just perfect!  It was a medium brown color with highlights.  It was a contemporary style with the new razor cut style.  I loved it!  So we bought it.

 For a week or two this cool hair piece hung out on the Styrofoam head in my closet until I had met with all of the doctors and until it got close to the time for me to start chemo.  As the time grew near for me to start chemo, I weighed the options of letting my hair come out on its own, or taking control of when and how my hair came out by cutting it myself.  After careful consideration, I decided it would be much less emotional for me if cut it very short and began wearing my hats and wig now.  So long as I made the decisions instead of having them made for me, I would be ok.

 The Friday before I started chemo, I went to see Mike again.  This time to cut my hair.  I asked him to shave my head.  He asked me if I was certain, I said yes.  He took me and Bill into the middle cutting room and talked with me and Bill about what I wanted.  Before he started, he leaned down and gave me a long, deep hug.  It was very nice to share this difficult moment with a friend who really cared about how I felt about the situation.  He was very sensitive and caring.  When Mike began cutting, he trimmed and trimmed, but stopped short of buzzing my head.  We talked about it and decided it was still a bit long.  He asked how far away my treatments were and how quickly after my treatment would my hair start coming out.  Bill told him it would begin the following Wednesday and that we’d been told that the hair would start coming out between a week to ten days after.  Mike agreed that it was probably still too long so he got a different razor and he continued cutting until I had essentially a “military buzz cut.”

 During the whole process, I did not shed a single tear.  Mike got misty, Bill got misty, Jessica even got misty, but not me.  When Mike asked me about my resolve, I just told him that that I was just going to own this thing, it did not own me.  I would determine what and when things happened to me, not the other way around.  That statement seemed to fill us all with resolve. After I finished with my hair cut, Mike helped me style my wig for my face.  He helped me make it look so good!

 I guess one of the neatest things about the new haircut was that I did not walk this path alone.  Bill chose to cut his hair very short too.  Of course, his was not quite the buzz-cut I had, but it was still a very close cut and he did it so that we both had a short cut to show the kids when we got home.  He did not want me to be alone with my hair changes so he joined my club, if only for a few days, so I did not have to walk alone.  Now if that isn’t partnership, I don’t know what it is!

Instant Surgery

I called on Wednesday morning and told my surgeon’s nurse I needed to get my port put in for chemotherapy and within the hour, they had me scheduled for the very next day.  They told me to be there at 9 am and we would put the port in and have me ready by the next week for the chemo treatment.

 I left work early on Wednesday, went by and picked up my orders, pre-registered for my surgery and did another set of labs.  Then back to the house to gather the family for church services that night.  I worked late into the night getting as much work done as I could since I would be losing another office day.  Of course, I should have been resting, but who could!

 The next morning, we went to the hospital, got our surgery package and began another day of surgery.  This time I took books to read and it kept me entertained.  One book I started was I’d Rather Do Chemo Than Clean Out The Garage by Giacomo.  It was hysterical.  It’s a very irreverent look at cancer and treatment.  I thoroughly enjoyed it.  Then it occurred to me, I had made it to the hospital with my contacts in, I had no case to take them out with and had left my glasses all together.  My brain was already on fry!  If it was already this bad, how would my feeble brain make it through chemo?

 Bill called my mother who was already in town and she went by the pharmacy and picked me up a contact case and saline.  She got there just before they came to take me away so I was able to put my contacts in the case and not in the little vial cups the nurses gave me incase she didn’t make it in time.

 My surgeon spoke with me as they were bringing me into the OR.  He wanted to know what treatments my oncologist suggested.  I told him they gave me a choice and we were going with the AC treatments.  He said he had hoped I would choose that route and was happy to help get me on the road.  They put me under and I woke up with them prepping me for an additional x-ray to verify that the port was in place.  I was more awake in recovery this time and even joked with the nurse that was calling Bill to tell him I was doing ok.

 When I got back to my room, I had to do the regular routine, eat, drink, pee, and show my vitals were good and then they had me up and out the door.  Bill asked me how I felt and I told him it felt like I had a chunk or metal in my chest.  It didn’t exactly hurt, but it was not comfortable at all.

 Sleeping the next couple of nights was difficult.  I could not get comfortable and wound up sleeping in the recliner laid as far back as it would go.  My arm and should were terribly sore, but I was starting to feel better and I began to worry about my chemo treatment the next week and was not sure it would at all be comfortable if it remained this sore.  But I decided not to borrow trouble before it came my way. So on I went.

My Oncology Consult

Finally the day was here and I went on June 12^th to see my oncologist to discuss what my final pathology really meant and what I needed to do following a successful lumpectomy.  

One thing I despise about doctors appointments is the long wait!  Never seems to fail that no matter what you do, you are going to wait at least an hour before ever getting started.  Of course, I have already covered how well I deal with waits so you can imagine what the wait was like for me.  I think I need to replace the patch of carpet in the waiting room which I wore out with my nervous jiggling leg and foot.  Oh well!

 I was called back and they did lab work on me and then I was sent back to wait some more.  After another 45 minutes, I was finally called back to a room to see the doctor.  When he came in, he introduced himself, and said he wanted to do four things:  get my history, do a physical exam, discuss what breast cancer is and then determine where I fit into that picture and what my treatment would be.  I instantly liked him.  He was knowledgeable, kind, clear and willing to listen and answer questions. 

The history went quickly and we talked back and forth about my and my families medical histories.  Then he examined me and paid close attention to the incisions from my lumpectomy as well as the site where my port should be placed.  Then we all sat down and discussed my case.

 He started out by reviewing what breast cancer is and how it was staged and graded.  I was a bit bored as I had read way too many books and websites in my down time and was very familiar with everything he was telling me.  Then it became clear why he spent so much time covering the basics.  He began graphing the survival rates of breast cancer and then he placed me according to the stage and grade of my cancer on that graph of outcomes.  Suddenly statistics were very real and I saw what they meant to me.  I have to tell you, there is nothing like seeing your chances of survival mapped out on a piece of paper and seeing yourself plotted on a chart against percentage points.  For every percentage point I decreased, I felt my stomach knot.  You’d think being young and fairly healthy would give you better chances of survival, but not with breast cancer.  Youth just means you have more chance of reoccurrence.  Then we talked about how my percentage points of survival improved by the surgery I had already had.  That loosened the knot in my stomach, but not nearly enough.  He plotted what the required radiation treatments would do for me and again, the knot loosened as I gained percentage points back.  Then he plotted where I would be with an adjust treatment like chemotherapy.  I gained back several percentage points back and the decision for me was a no-brainer.

 Then the other shoe dropped as he explained that I had one more decision to make.  Because of the size, stage and grade of my cancer, I sat borderline on treatment choices, one inch either direction would have squarely put me in either category, but I would have to decide which way to go.  I could go the standard route of CMF therapy which would require 8 treatments and would take about 6 months to complete or I could do 4 treatments of AC which would be done in 12-16 weeks.  The major difference was in that one was much more aggressive than the other and the side effects would.  One would be milder, but the fatigue would last longer.  The other deciding factor was that the harsher treatment was proven highly effective in fighting more aggressive cancers which stood to reason that they would be highly effective in getting rid of mine.  As it stood the difference in survival rate from one treatment to the other was only 3-4 % points.

I had expected to go in, be told what to do and get started.  I had no idea I would be staring down another tough decision.  It was clear Bill did not want me to be unnecessarily harsh on myself and wanted me to weigh the decision carefully.  All I knew was I wanted those four more percentage points, I didn’t care what it took to get it.  We left there that day and went home to decide what we thought would be the best treatment option for me.  I went home, went to bed and woke up later to face the world and my decision.  Bill explained to me he did not care what I chose he just did not want me to choose the harshest route without giving the other route consideration.  I finally found the words to explain to him there were two factors that kept creeping through my mind.  First, going all out DID increase my odds, even if by just a little.  Second, would I be able to live with myself knowing there was more I could have done to treat it.  Would I lay awake at night and wonder if it would come back because I was not aggressive enough.  I told him that I wanted to know that if it ever came back I had done everything there was possible to prevent it.  He said he understood that and together we decided to go with the AC chemotherapy treatments. 

 I called the office the next morning and let them know.  They set my first appointment up for the 20^th and asked if I could have my port put in by then.  I had already called my surgeon’s office and they had me schedule for the port implant the very next day.  The doctor ordered an echocardiogram on my heart to ensure I was up to snuff before starting the aggressive treatments and that was to take place late Friday.

So here we were, on the road and ready to go.  I finally felt better because we were moving again, but honestly, it was little consolation.

Waiting Is The Hardest Part

I tend to be a go-getter.  When I discover a problem, I want to attack it and move on.  This is how I wanted to attack my breast cancer.  Go in, remove it, do a few treatments, declare myself a survivor and move on.

What I was not prepared for was the excruciating wait that goes along with this whole process.  You run to find out what is wrong with you and have to WAIT until the tests are in.  Then you decide to do surgery and you have to WAIT until all of your tests are done and the OR can be scheduled.  You get the cancer out and you are ready to start treatments and you have to WAIT to heal before they will even talk to you definitively about what those treatments should be. 

Bear in mind, I am only talking a few days or a couple of weeks…  but for me, the time seemed to pass so slowly.  I was like a child waiting for Christmas.  It seemed to never get here!  I even expressed this to my surgeon on my follow up visit about eight days out and he told me to calm down.  He asked me to think of it this way, the demon was gone and a few days for me to heal would not hurt anything because the thing that we had been rushing to get rid of before was gone.  I suppose he was right.  That doesn’t make waiting around any easier!

The hardest part about waiting around is that your mind plays games with you!  Yes, it creates all sorts of scenarios that are likely to never take place at all. Nonetheless, you still think them and it’s easy to fall into the trap of believing them if you are not careful.

 For example, on one of my lowest days between surgery and my oncology consult was one where I simply felt… blue.  My stitches were great, the soreness was leaving my breast and arm, I had been back to work already, but I just did not feel good.  I was beaten down by the thought of what roads lay before me and I started letting horrible thoughts creep into my head.  “Maybe I deserved this somehow.”  “Maybe this is because I didn’t believe in God enough.”  “What happens if the doctors are wrong and its still there?”  and the one no one can answer…  “Why me?!?”

It was late at night and I sat on my bed trying to coax myself into blogging or emailing a friend – anything to take my mind off of my bad thoughts.  I flipped the channels and I landed on cute little flick I had seen once before, Last Holiday, and thought it might be a nice “chick-flick” for me on such a depressing night.  As I watched the TV and ignored my computer, I became mesmerized by the story again.  I literally laughed and cried as I saw myself and the past few weeks of my life wrapped up in the same type of emotions the character was feeling.  By the time she started bursting out in the middle of Sunday morning choir service with a series of moaning “Why me Lords,” I realized I was opening crying.  It was then and there I realized for the first time I was letting this get the best of me.  I had sworn a hundred times over it would not, but here I was thinking I somehow DESERVED cancer.  How ludicrous is that?!?  So like my fictional counterpart, I decided to quite worrying about why and just enjoy the time I had (Or course, it’s not like I’m about to die or anything, but the lesson is still important for all of us!).

 So I planned a trip and it didn’t work out.  I planned an outing and it failed.  Persistent to find a way to take my mind off of things, I stole my mother and daughter one Saturday afternoon and we went to Memphis to shop.  I found so many cute things and spent more money than I should have, but it was honestly the first time since I heard the words breast cancer that I had felt like me.  It felt good to still be me.  I vowed then that I would not slump again.  I would press forward and I would forget to always be the practical person and indulge my whims a bit as I went.

So what if I really didn’t need a PSP game console to entertain me during my chemo sessions – it sure will be fun to have.  So what if I had to sit in the scorching heat the same day of my medaport surgery to see my son’s t-ball game – I’ll never regret it as the next games were cancelled and I got to see his very last game.  And most importantly, so what does it matter if I do not live up to the magical standard that others set for me – I am happy inside my own skin and that is ALL that matters.

 

“Next time… we will laugh more, we’ll love more; we just won’t be so afraid.” – Georgia Byrd, Last Holiday

Successful Surgery!

Well, I won’t pretend to know much about the actual surgery itself.  Thank heavens – I was asleep!

On May 22, 2007, I went into the local hospital for a lumpectomy and a sentinel node biopsy.  Of course, we had to be there fairly early, 9 a.m., but the wait would be fairly long as we were not a “critical” surgery. 

 I had the pleasure of meeting a very nice nurse who had just had a similar surgery so she helped me understand more first-hand what would happen and what the recovery would be like.  That was so fortunate for me and helped put me right at ease.  I was so impressed with all of the staff at the hospital.  Everyone from the floor nurses and the OR and holding nurses to the anesthesia crew and especially my surgical crew were awesome.  Everyone of them spoke to me personally and made me feel comfortable about their knowledge of the case and what needed to be done. 

While I was out, my surgeon took out the lump and the sentinel lymph node.  The on-site pathologist examined the material of each and was able to determine that the margins around the removed tumor were clean (which mean there were no stray cancerous cells in the removed area around the tumor) and that the lymph node did not show any signs of cancer involvement (which meant the cancer had NOT spread).  This meant the lumpectomy was successful and the surgeon would be able to conserve the rest of my breast.

Once I returned to my room, very loopy as you can imagine, the nurses began their work to get me ready to go home.  It was determined that if I had any difficulties I would stay overnight, but the surgery had gone so well and my recovery seemed so smooth that they all anticipated my being able to go home the same day.  I, on the other hand, was not so sure about all of that.   My surgeon came in to talk to us.  He was very pleased with what he saw and though the surgery went about as well as it could go.  He did tell us that the tumor was larger than anticipated and it was considered a Stage II cancer.  He told us them that the lymph node was clean which we all viewed as fabulous news.  At this time he told us he would wait for the full pathology report to come back, but that he felt that the size and grade of the tumor, coupled with the fact I was so young, would put me in the chemotherapy category. 

I am not sure I would have ordinarily admitted this to anyone, but that one statement pretty much leveled me.  Up to this point, everyone was telling me to anticipate a lumpectomy and radiation.  Originally, chemotherapy seemed a distant possibility, but suddenly from out of nowhere, it was practically a reality.  If you ever thought the word cancer was scary, try hearing the word chemotherapy attached to your name.

So we retired to our home to recoup at our own pace and to allow our minds to run wild with the ideas of what “follow-up treatment” would actually mean for us.  A smashingly successful surgery felt so much like the other shoe had fallen.

And Then There Was More To It

One of the things they don’t mention when you have a diagnosis like mine is all the “OTHER” things that you had to do. So you’re head is reeling and you are focusing on the cancer so much that the ordering of x-rays, blood tests and CTs goes right past you… until you have to do them!

So really, some were easy, some, not so much so! Like X-ray… stand still, breathe deep, buzz, ok, turn another direction, stand still, breathe deep, buzz… for four or five time and you are done. That one was easy. For those of use who are terrified of needles, the blood work was bearable, but not fun. So long as I don’t watch, I am ok. I just need you to talk to me so I don’t really think about what is being done. Bill was handy for this task. He always sat and talked to me, telling me jokes or describing the interesting articles he’d read in the ancient magazines in the waiting rooms. By the time he stopped jabbering, I was done. The only test I was not prepared for was the CT. Now, I am not one of those people who is or boarders on claustrophobia so the machine being so close to my nose did not bother me. It was not even the nasty, slightly berry flavored, chalk they made me drink that bothered me, it was the dye!

After they had performed their base scans, they pumped me full of dye of some sort to “light me up” so they could see everything well on the scan. It burned going in, I had hot flashes all the way down my body as it went through and thank heavens the operator had described this phenomenon to me or I swear I would have thought I peed on myself. Literally, as the dye courses through you, there is one point you feel the warmth and you really think you have lost all control and have peed yourself there on the table. Since I was forewarned, I just laughed at the experience since I knew I was still ok, but the operator told me a few funny stories of some very prime and proper older ladies who had not been forewarned who were afraid to move when told the test was over because they were embarrassed and were certain they had done the unspeakable!

What I was not prepared for was the “after effects.” They said the barium might give me a headache and might make me nauseated. Might in my book is a big word so off I plodded to work, planning on getting a fairly full day in. But there I sat, in front of my computer screen, my head pounding so hard that the letters on the page I was typing jumping around and no longer even forming words for me. I had to go home and go to bed. I felt awful the rest of the day and even for a while the next day. Who knew!

This was the point at which reality began to sink in for me. I was being STRONG, and I had not intention of this STOPPING me, but in the end, this was DIFFERENT from anything I had ever experienced before. This was not a c-section where there is great joy to cover the pain. This was not a routine knee scope to make you feel better with crutches to lean on if you needed them. This was breast cancer. This routinely stopped people in their tracks, who was I to think I would be better than it…

Still, I refuse to give it quarter in my life! I will allow myself more time to heal than anticipated, its not going to be an “in & out” sort of gig, but I refuse to hand over the quality of my life to a small invading mass of twisted cells. I am greater than cancer, and I will accept all the “other” stuff if it is necessary.

Surgery Consult

My OBGYN had gotten me a consult the very next morning with one of the very best surgeons in our area.  I was very nervous.  I knew this mean surgery and I could think of nothing I wanted more than to get the cancer out of me, but I could not even imagine what was going to happen to me.  I knew one thing for certain, I wanted it out and I did not care if it meant they took everything along with it.

My surgeon was someone my husband knew from his youth.  He was kind, insightful and was able to explain everything to us in a way we clearly understood our options.  It was determined that I needed a lumpectomy with a sentinel node biopsy.  This would remove the tumor from my breast and check the lymph system to see if the cancer had spread. I told him I wanted to go ahead and get the surgery done as soon as possible so we scheduled it for the following Tuesday.  That would give me time to get all of my tests done before the surgery.  I also told him, with Bill present so he knew how I felt about everything, that if we got in there and the margins were not clean, I preferred he take as much as necessary to save my life. 

One of the most important things I learned at that surgery consult was that I liked my surgeon.  I felt confident about the things he told me.  I felt confident I would get good care.  That seemed to help take a load off my mind.  The other thing that helped was the speed with which we were attacking the cancer.  We were not waiting around for it to do more damage – and that was good.

I’m Not Having A Bad Hair Day!

So what does a girl do when she finds out she has breast cancer?  Well, for me, it was leave work early with your husband and go get your hair done!  Seriously!

Bill finally arrived at my office and the tears started all over again.  After I had finally briefed him on my conversation with the doctor, I told him I wanted to leave.  The day was a bust, it was almost 11 am and I was NOT going to be thinking about work at all!  So we left and drove around a bit.  We talked, we tried to find other things to talk about and think about, but it was hard.  Bill finally asked me what would make me feel better and I asked him to drive me to Mike’s.  I waltzed right in and asked Mike if he, or his assistant, could work me in.  They hesitated and such and then Mike looked up and saw my face for the first time.  I don’t know what he saw there (definitely the red swollen eyes!) but he knew something was up and he asked his assistant to wash me up, he was working me in.

After a great shampoo, I sat down in front of Mike, he NEVER asked what was wrong.  We started cutting and started to talk and I thanked him for doing this for me.  I explained to him that I had just found out I had breast cancer and all I could think about was all the people who would be staring at me over the next few days as they learned about the diagnosis and I just could not stand the thought of not looking good when everyone was looking at me.  He laughed, I cried, but it was wonderfully therapeutic .  We decided I might have a bad biopsy, but I would not have a bad hair day! Mike is a good friend and I will never forget what he did for me that day!

After a great lunch, Bill and I slipped into see Pirates of the Caribbean 3.  I love movies and it was a great way to de-stress and take my mind off the thousand questions I did not have answers for.  Again, to avoid thinking too much, I went home and went straight to bed.  I got up that evening and played with my kids and then went back to bed.  In the middle of that I found a place of solace.  I instantly went to the Susan G.Komen website and read as much as I could and stumbled onto the message boards where I found many others like me who were now a part of a very unique club none of asked to join.  Their support and encouragement gave me strength to go on and find out what my next step was.

Through all things, Bill was solid as a rock.  Without his faith in me, I would never have made it this far! He did laugh at the thought of me getting my hair done at such a time, but he drove me there anyway!  Thanks!

Confirmation by Phone

On Tuesday, May 15, I sat anxiously in my office doing anything but getting my work done.  I was on my phone with my husband telling him that once again, I had called the nurses and my doctor was at the hospital and he wanted to talk to me so I knew nothing and suspected everything.  While talking to Bill, my cell phone rang and it was the doctor’s office.  I hopped off with Bill and got right on with the doctor himself.

He apologized for the delay, delivering babies and all, and then he asked if I wanted to come in and talk to him.  I gasp and started to cry a bit.  I managed to squeak out, “Is it…”  “Yes, the biopsy says its suspicious of cancer.”  That one sentence packed a huge punch.  We went on to have a very good conversation.  He was kind, he was understanding, he was very informative, he explained my options and helped me make, rather quickly, a couple of treatment decisions that would greatly affect my outcome.  In the end, he left me with these words, which I so greatly appreciated: “If you need anything at all, call me.  You do not have to carry this burden alone or without assistance.  I will help you get whatever medicine or treatments you need to take care of this.”  And with that, he passed the torch on to another great doctor.

While I subsequently fell apart in my office, my doctor was at the hospital.  In between deliveries, he found one of the best surgeons in our area and told him about my case and asked him to take it on.  He agreed and by late that afternoon, I had a phone call from both doctors’ offices telling me I had a surgery consult the very next morning.  Believe it or not, I liked the swift movement.  All I knew at the time was that I had cancer and I wanted it out of my body.  This could only mean they wanted it out fast too.

My friend and co-worker immediately called my husband and told him to come get me.  I couldn’t bring myself to do it.  I honestly couldn’t even think straight at that point.  I am ashamed to admit it, but I did break completely down.  I always thought I would be strong if anything ever happened to me, but nothing prepares you for this.  When Bill had West Nile, I was very strong and cried very little.  He needed me to be strong, there were lots of decisions to be made for him since he could not do it.  It never phased me until AFTER we got home!  But this, well this was different, I just felt scared, overwhelmed and lost.  I wanted to yell, cry, scream, run away…  anything at all that would make this stop while I figured out the proper way to react – how to deal with it.  I just sat there in my office with my co-workers around me crying and trying to string two sentences together to tell them what was said.  It was some of the most difficult time I have ever spent.  But I must add that it was a special time when I felt the most loved and cared for in my life.  These gals are truly amazing and I was, and still am, overwhelmed by their support and encouragement.