The call came on a Tuesday. The call I’d been expecting. The call that would deliver the results of my breast biopsy. I wasn’t worried. Despite the fact that two of my sisters had previously been diagnosed with breast cancer. … Read the rest →]]>

The call came on a Tuesday. The call I’d been expecting. The call that would deliver the results of my breast biopsy. I wasn’t worried. Despite the fact that two of my sisters had previously been diagnosed with breast cancer. For some reason, I didn’t feel it was in the cards for me.

“What will you do if the results come back positive?” my husband asked over breakfast the previous Friday, just after the biopsy.

I shrugged. “That’s a no brainer. I’ll tell them to take ‘em both.”

I’d just pulled into the parking lot at work when my doctor called with the results. “No cancer,” she said.

“Great,” I replied, not surprised by the results.

“However, they did find some atypical cells. I’m afraid you have another surgery in your future. A lumpectomy, at a minimum. Unless you choose to have a mastectomy.”

My heart leapt into my throat. “Whoa, wait a minute. Mastectomy? Just what exactly are you saying?”

“You have a condition called Atypical Lobular Hyperplasia…”

ALH is a pre-cancerous condition in the milk lobes of the breast which may, or may not, become cancerous. The more risk factors you have, the greater your chances that it will develop into cancer. My doctor pointed out that with two direct relatives who have had breast cancer, along with several other factors, my odds of getting breast cancer were pretty high.

Suddenly, my mind was a whirl of choices, none of which seemed like the right choice. Still in a daze from the news but determined to gather as much information as possible before I made my decision, I went to see a series of doctors.

The Decision:

The first stop was a breast surgeon. I thought I was going to discuss all of my options, but as it turned out, I was there to discuss a lumpectomy (the removal of the tissue surrounding the affected area—which had been marked with a dot during biopsy).

Pros: A lumpectomy might remove all the affected cells.

Cons: It might not remove all the affected cells, which would require further surgery.

My second visit was to an oncologist, where we discussed the use of Tamoxifen (an oral chemo drug) to stop the spread of the ALH.

Pros: It is a non-surgical (non-invasive) way to treat the condition.

Cons: Tamoxifen has many unwanted side-effects, not the least of which is instant menopause (may be temporary or permanent).

My third stop was to another breast surgeon to discuss preventive mastectomy. Dr. Nima Grissom explained to me that, because ALH is contained within the lobes (or the ducts in the case of atypical ductal hyperplasia) it is difficult to detect because it doesn’t show up on imaging until it has progressed to invasive cancer. Mine was detected because they were testing a suspicious calcification (which was fine) and just happened to capture some atypical cells surrounding it. Which is why doing nothing was not an option for me.

Pros: It would provide a total cure (assuming they didn’t find any actual cancer in the pathology).

Cons: It’s major surgery.

My final stop was to a genetic counselor to discuss my family history and to better quantify my chances of someday getting breast cancer. The genetic counselor took a detailed family history and explained that, even though my sisters both tested negative on the genetic testing, it was very possible that their cancer was in fact genetic, that geneticists can only test the genes that they know today are linked to breast cancer (and that there are very likely many more yet to be discovered).

The bottom line from the genetic counselor: my chances of getting breast cancer at some point in my life were very high, likely greater than 60%.

This begged the question: If I knew that the plane I was boarding had a 60% chance of crashing, would I get on it?

Answer? No. I chose bilateral mastectomy.

What to Expect After Mastectomy:

Mastectomy is not for everyone. One of my sisters chose it, the other did not. It’s a very personal decision that should not be made lightly. Even given my odds, it was not a no-brainer. And even after I made it, I wondered if it was the right one.

What if, I asked myself, the pathology report came back and the only thing they found was that tiny bit of ALH from the original biopsy? It’s not that I wanted them to find something more, but could I justify removing both of my breasts for such a minute amount of pre-cancer?

Answer? Yes, because I did not want to live with the fear of wondering if that tiny little spot would turn into something more. I also knew that there was a distinct possibility that it might’ve already turned into something more.

And so, one year ago today, I underwent a bilateral nipple-sparing mastectomy. A few days later, the pathology revealed extensive amounts of bilateral carcinoma in-situ. Cancer that is contained within the ducts or lobes. That tiny spot had indeed grown into something more.

Things the Doctors Don’t Tell you about Mastectomy:

The Pain:
It hurts. Like hell. But I have a high tolerance for pain and this didn’t bother me. Too much.

The Numbness:
After a mastectomy, you lose all sensation in your breasts. Getting used to the numbness takes time.

The Complications:
My friend Susie Lindau (to read her Boob Report, click here) underwent a bilateral mastectomy five weeks before I did. She sailed through with only one minor complication.

Five weeks after my mastectomy, I had a second surgery to remove a patch of skin that died. The surgery itself was easy (compared to the first one), but because of this condition, I had to take antibiotics for six weeks, which made me pretty sick.

And now, six months after my reconstructive surgery, I’ll have a fourth surgery to remove a capsular contracture.

The Emotional Toll:
This by far has been the hardest part for me. A few weeks after the mastectomy I began crying for no discernable reason. And I couldn’t stop. Medication helped, but for a long time, no matter how hard I tried, I could not summon the joy I used to feel every day of my life. But time heals all. A year later I’m finally beginning to feel like myself again.

Someone asked me recently if, knowing everything I know today, I would still make the same decision.

Answer? Yes. I have no regrets. It’s been a long journey—and it’s not over yet—but I’ve learned a lot about myself this past year. I’ve learned that I am stronger than I thought I was (my surgeon, Dr. Gabriel Kind, calls me “one tough Chicago chick”), and that it’s okay to vulnerable (and to ask for help).

Oh, and because getting pissed off is sometimes the only thing that feels good, I’ve learned to embrace my inner bitch.

Dear Reader,
As an indie writer, we depend on our loyal readers, friends like you, to share our stories and posts. To help spread the word about us.

If you enjoyed today’s post, please share it with your friends using the share buttons below. ↓ 

If you’d like to know when my next post is up, please subscribe on the sidebar up there to your right.

Thank you for your time and support. I know how precious it is!

Twelve days ago I said goodbye to my bionic boobs and hello to a perfectly matched, shiny new pair. And I couldn’t be happier with them. And something else amazing happened, too.

The day after surgery, my sister Pamela came … Read the rest →]]>  

Twelve days ago I said goodbye to my bionic boobs and hello to a perfectly matched, shiny new pair. And I couldn’t be happier with them. And something else amazing happened, too.

The day after surgery, my sister Pamela came to visit. And she brought me a present. She brought me back my Mojo.

She claims that she accidentally took it with her last summer when visiting just after my mastectomy. An honest mistake, she says. And I believe her. Because we are practically twins, after all (separated by only 2 years and 4 months). And because she’s a nurse and has a house filled with puppies. And I mean, anyone who loves puppies couldn’t possibly be evil enough to steal someone’s Mojo. Right? I mean, right?

And so, I placed the little package of Mojo under my pillow and waited for it to take effect. And then, a few days later, I woke up and the fog I’d lived in for far too long was gone. And so was the inability to feel anything except indifference. My mind was no longer numb.

Last week I felt things I hadn’t felt in so long they almost felt foreign. Things like, the simple joy of a morning walk, gut-wrenching laughter that brought tears coursing down my cheeks, joy so deep it nearly strangled my heart, profound gratitude for my life and the people in it, especially my husband, who takes such wonderful care of me when I’m sick. He has surely gotten his money’s worth on the for better or worse part of our marriage vows.

And then on Saturday I woke up with tears streaming down my face. And that day, all I wanted to do was cry. And I feared that I had somehow fallen into the dark abyss again, and that soon even the sadness would be gone, replaced once again by the numbness.

But then Sunday dawned and I was no longer sad and I wanted to go outside and dance in the rain. And I probably would have, except it was Sunday and my husband was home and I worried that he might fear that I’d lost my marbles because I’ve never done anything more publicly embarrassing (for him) than skip through the parking lot at Target. Well, except once, but that time was far too embarrassing (for me) to mention here.

And here it is Monday, and I’m writing this and the sun is shining and I’m smiling from the inside out. And I’m happy, so happy that my sister Pamela found my Mojo because life without it is a very sad life.

What about you? Have you ever lost your Mojo and then found it (or had it returned by a seemingly innocent relative)? When you did, did it give you a new lease on life?

Repost from February 4, 2014

Diane is a very no nonsense kind of gal, so when she received her diagnosis she asked what she … Read the rest →]]>

In the fall of 2007, my sister Diane was diagnosed with breast cancer by Conners Clinic.

Diane is a very no nonsense kind of gal, so when she received her diagnosis she asked what she needed to do. And then she soldiered through it. Among the things she was told to do, her doctor told her about somenthing to help her with the pains she might start to have.She was told that it could help her with anxiety or depression while trying to cope with her cancer. We found the best one to be at Minneapolis CBD oil since it was recommend by our friends. If you are looking for a more discrete alternative product  a great company to consider opening your own business with as well.

The doctors recommended vaping it because it was the safest form for the cancer she had. Vaping was a safer alternative because the traditional smoke filled up her lungs too fast with the toxic after effects. Our doctor prescribed the vape tool from  FRANCHISEVAPE.COM  since they are partners with many hospitals for exactly these reasons.

I never saw my sister cry.

Even after the surgery to remove both of her breasts. But she did. Months later when it was all behind her. She just didn’t know how to reach out and share what she was feeling.

It breaks my heart to think of how she lived with all that fear by herself.

I wish we’d known. I wish I’d understood then, as I do now, how scary it was for her. But Diane, like our mother, has always been so strong and brave, and private.

Three months after Diane’s diagnosis, my sister Pamela called. Being the nurse in the family, Pam had become the official family bearer of bad news, and I could hear in her voice that this was one of those calls.

It turned out that Pamela, too, had breast cancer.

Oh God, please, no more, I cried.  Please let this phone call simply be a Nyquil-induced hallucination or a really bad nightmare.  But it was not to be so.

Pamela’s diagnosis hit her hard. It was excruciating watching her suffer as much as she did. Pam is the next youngest to me and we have always shared a very close relationship.

I’d held my mother while she died, sat by my father’s bedside during his final moments, and did what little I could to comfort my sister Diane after her surgery, but watching Pam suffer through her illness was almost more than I could bear. I prayed (begged and pleaded) so much that I was sure God was getting tired of hearing from me.  What I wouldn’t have given to trade places with her, for at least some of the time.

If only we could share her disease, like we’d shared so many other things our entire lives.

But as it turned out, the only thing we could share was her suffering.  And so we did.

And while I was grateful that our mother didn’t have to watch two of her babies go thru their horrible ordeals, I also wished that my sisters had been able to feel the comfort of her loving arms around them.

After surgery, because of two affected lymph nodes, Pam went through six months of chemotherapy and radiation.

And now, five years later, both of my sisters are still cancer free.

Pam and I have become closer than ever since her diagnosis. We have become advocates for breast cancer, and participate annually in some breast cancer event together. Most recent was the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer in which we walked 39.3 miles (26.2 miles on day 1, followed by 13.1 on day 2).

The walk was physically grueling and more rewarding than I can say. It was such an honor to walk beside my sister. Her courage and her strength never cease to motivate and inspire me. Next year we plan to rollerblade a marathon.

Yes, standing on the sidelines of cancer sucks. Big time. It makes you feel helpless, powerless, and it rips your heart right out of your chest. And it changes you. Forever. You feel humbled and honored to know these brave warriors and to have been even a small part of their heroic journey. And at the same time that you pray you never receive such a horrible diagnosis you ask yourself, could I be so brave?

Everyone’s life has been affected in some way by cancer. How has it affected your life? Do you draw inspiration from the courage and bravery of friends or family members who have battled cancer?

Repost from October 8, 2013

Yes, cancer sucks.

Okay, that’s an obvious understatement, but it’s about the most descriptive adjective I can use in print without resorting to words I promised by 14 year old daughter I wouldn’t use. It definitely sucks most for … Read the rest →]]>

Yes, cancer sucks.

Okay, that’s an obvious understatement, but it’s about the most descriptive adjective I can use in print without resorting to words I promised by 14 year old daughter I wouldn’t use. It definitely sucks most for the person who has cancer, but it is not easy being a bystander to cancer either.

It’s pretty amazing to think that I didn’t actually know anyone with cancer until sometime in my thirties. It was then that my friend Kristy was diagnosed with breast cancer for the second time at the age of 30. Her first battle with the dreaded disease was when she was 25. The first time, she opted for a lumpectomy, but the second time she went for the bilateral mastectomy (removal of both breasts) with reconstructive surgery.

I remember visiting Kristy in the hospital a couple of days after her surgery. She was alone in the room when I entered, and she was crying because the pain was so intense. When she saw me, she immediately wiped her eyes and apologized to me. She apologized to me for crying. For being so weak.

In that moment, she became my hero. Not because she was so strong, but because she was so brave.

The covers of blissful ignorance were ripped viciously from my eyes that day, and the realization that bad things happen to good people struck me full force. I’d known this all along, of course, but now I was witnessing it first-hand. Kristy was one of the kindest people I knew. And if cancer could strike someone like her, it could happen to me, too.

I never looked at my life in quite the same way after that.

Cancer didn’t touch my life again until six years later when, fresh from my honeymoon where my new husband and I were living once again in ignorant bliss, I receive a phone call from my father telling me he had esophageal cancer. My mother had passed away only 11 months before and suddenly my entire world started spinning out of control.

Oh God, please let my father live. I had never really needed him before, but I sure needed him now.

My father and I loved each other dearly, but we’d also had a somewhat contentious relationship. He would say something hurtful, I would get defensive, and he would yell at me, tell me I was being too defensive. And so it went. I cursed the fates that took my beloved mother before my father, but I would soon come to understand why it was so.

Several months after my mother’s passing (and before my father’s diagnosis), my father and I had a huge fight on the phone. He once again said something hurtful (this time it involved my mother), I once again got defensive and so on. I slammed the phone down and vowed I would never speak to him again. And then I had an idea. I would write him a letter.

In my letter I told him that the reason I was always so defensive was because he was always attacking me. That nothing I ever did was good enough for him (I was a college graduate and a CPA for crying out loud), and that I felt as though he couldn’t love me unless I was living my life according to the Book of Dad. I mailed the letter (he’s was an old fashioned kind of guy) and I waited. And waited. And then, about 3 weeks later, I got a letter back from him.

In his letter he told me that I was absolutely right, and that he could never see how hard he was being on me. That of his 8 daughters (yes, I’m the youngest of 8), I was the most like him, and he had his own vision of how my career should go.

He validated all the pain and all the insecurities that I’d felt my entire life. And in that single act of reading his letter, I forgave him. He asked me for a second chance (while stating that he did not deserve one), which of course I gave him, and in that moment, I knew why my mother left before he did.

I will be forever grateful that we mended our relationship before cancer because I knew it was from his heart, and not borne out of his need to make things right before dying.

And so the cancer journey began for us. I took my dad to endless doctor, radiation and chemo appointments because I was the most geographically located to do so. And as we would sit in the waiting rooms together, he would ask me which of his possessions I wanted, tell me what his desires were regarding his “girlfriend” (don’t ask), and how, as the executor of his estate, he wanted everything settled (including the disposition of the home he and my mother had shared for twenty years).

It was heartbreaking to watch a man who had once been larger than life fade away before my very eyes, but I was grateful that we were, at last, becoming friends.

After dropping my father off at home and tucking him into bed before heading back to work, I would sit in my car and cry. I’d cry for my father, and for myself, and for the family Christmases that would be no more. And then I’d go back to my job. At least until they fired me for missing so much work.

My father put up a valiant fight, and just as he had been at the age of 14 when he stole his brother’s birth certificate, joined the Army, and fought valiantly in World War 2, he was a true soldier to the end. A noble warrior.

And when he died, I became an orphan.

Everyone’s life has been affected in some way by cancer. How has it affected your life? Do you draw inspiration from the courage and bravery of friends or family members who have battled cancer?

Repost from October 1, 2013