And the other shoe drops…
October 13, 2010 28 Comments
I suppose before I delve into the newest and less than fabulous news (from my perspective), I should try to look at the bright side: the State Department delivered the best possible care package in the world on Monday morning. After numerous plane and automobile rides, Peter arrived at our house, safe and sound, in the wee hours of the a.m.
I had not told the girls about this turn of events. I had known for a whopping 24 hours and didn't want to get anyone overly excited in case he missed any flights or was delayed in any way. I must admit, I was tempted to spill the news when Kelsey (out of nowhere) went on and on about missing Peter Sunday night. I just gave her a hug, reminded her he would be home "in two weeks" and smiled to myself, knowing that she would be estactic (to say the least) when she saw him in the morning.
He crept in around 6:45 a.m. and I was the only one awake. We opted to let the kids sleep and when Nicholas finally stirred, Pete walked over to his crib and said hello. It took Little Guy a few moments to grasp the situation, but within minutes he had warmed up to Peter and clearly loves having him back.
We actually had to wake up the girls, as Sunday just wore them out. Both were thrilled, though Cait's first words were (to me), "You lied, you said he wasn't coming home til October 27!" Well, yes, so I did. In the end, white lie or no, the kids were over the moon and we had a relatively uneventful family morning together.
Monday was also to be a big day as I would be retrieving the written pathology report from the doctor's office. I was a bit leary, as there was still that "and" lingering in the air. The doctor had said "DCIS and breast cancer" and tried to give me a word for word run down, but I simply didn't get it all. I figured a look-see at the path report would clear everything up, I would have the appointment scheduled at the surgeon's (hoping this still might simply be precautionary) and we would go from there.
I retrieved the report and started reading. I read it, re-read it and realized that an over the phone review (while I was distracted) might not have been the greatest idea after all. I realized that DCIS was far from the only issue, and in fact, I might have much more to worry about than I originally thought. My diagnosis was not only DCIS, but also Invasive Ductal Carcinoma. In fact, I didn't mention the "and" in the previous post, because I thought she was simply defining that DCIS was breast cancer. Nope.
I spent hours on Google (I know, I know) researching this new diagnosis on Monday night. I tried not to worry, tried not to frantically text anyone and we really didn't discuss it too much since we had yet to actually sit down with any type of doctor and review the paperwork. Luckily, I was able to secure an appointment with the recommended breast surgeon for Tuesday afternoon. The girls were in school, Nick went to extended care, and we went to the doctor.
An hour and a half later, we walked out with oodles of paperwork and even more stunned, if that is possible. I suppose the appointment was successful in some respects, but I ended up leaving feeling like a giant failure. In but a few days, I went from a basically healthy person to someone who apparently has a ticking time bomb in their right breast.
We went over everything from my overall history to recent events. The doctor went through every possible scenario except for my favored choice of runnning away and hiding in a dark corner until the whole thing blows over. Should I choose the course of action the surgeon recommends, I have no fewer than 6 doctors to meet with in the next three weeks and test after test to take (pre-op clearance, MRI & PET scan, to name a few).
The saddest part to me was the peppering of the conversation with the phrase "you're so young." I began to feel as if this was a crime, as if they would have to work that much harder to ensure that everything was successful. However, it also made me feel guilty. No one, as of yet, can pinpoint any reason that this happened (I am sure this is not uncommon). No matter what I said, the questions about my health history, my family's health history and my lifestyle kept coming, as though I would suddenly magically have the correct answer. Sadly, it never materialized.
We also learned that not only is my right breast basically shot (for lack of a better term), but it could be possible the left breast might be eventually affected due to a possible genetic mutation. I took a very expensive saliva test with a tiny bottle of Scope and in two weeks will find out if there is any chance of saving that side, so to speak. What next?
Sadly, the worst case scenario is what will likely happen. As an FYI, I am somewhere between anger and denial. I have not been myself since my appointment yesterday, and not sure exactly when I will be back. I thought I was finally through my 5 steps of grief in dealing with Peter's deployment and now…I get to do it all over again!
I am sure someday I will look back on this and think of it as some fabulous learning experience or remark on how it changed my life in some uber-positive way. I'll go on and on about how medical technology saved my life and if it weren't for the wonderful tests and doctors and…well, who knows where I would be.
Sadly, though, I am still in a period of adjustment to the diagnosis. To be quite honest, I am nowhere near accepting what the doctors are recommending. I am not saying it won't be done, but I simply have to grieve. It may seem like nothing to some, but the very part of my body I am going to lose gave nourishment to my children for years.
In fact, Nicholas was nothing but breastfed for the first six months…and now I feel as though I am supposed to lose an integral part of myself willingly and eagerly simply because it's the only real option. So, please, pardon me while I head off to my dark corner and cry my eyes out for a few more days…it may be a weak and pathetic response, but right now, it's really all I can manage.
I do need to thank you, though, for the continued support. The comments, the blog posts, the emails, texts and phone calls continue to mean the world to me…I really can't thank you all enough.
Many prayers. Much love.
Words fail.
A public note of love. A private one to follow soon after.. xx
Thanks 🙂
Thank you…so much!
I’m so, so, sorry, friend I’ve yet to meet. This made me cry. I wish I could write, or speak, or do something to make this better, but I’m at a loss. Love.
Soon, I promise…and, thank you…
so sorry, Jen. Was hoping for better news for you. Of course you need time to come to terms with this, if you ever can, and of course it’s not ‘nothing’. I’m so very glad Peter is there with you. You WILL get through it, despite a long road ahead of you, and please know that so many people are pulling for you. big hug.
I am so glad that Peter is home. That is a bright spot.
I don’t have the perfect words, so I will just say that I am sending hugs and tissues and prayers.
I have thought about you tons lately. You will remain in my prayers and thoughts. You are doing the best you can and that is enough, always. Sending you love and strength.
I am so, so sorry.
Dear Jen-Thinking about you all the time. We’ll be in touch and please call anytime you want to talk or anything we can do in any way.
..Love, Dad
I can’t imagine. I am so glad Peter is there with you. Hang in there and lots of prayers heading your way.
I am so glad your husband is home. You need him to hold your hand and take notes at the doctor appointments.
Don’t feel guilty! Don’t. I’m sure that’s probably a normal part of the process, but you must know it has nothing to do with anything you did or said or ate. It just is. It sucks, for sure, but there’s nothing you could’ve done differently.
The good part about being young and healthy is that you’ll be ready to face this. You’ve got a lot of hard work ahead, but you ARE young and healthy, and you can do it. I agree, though, I’d be looking for a dark corner to hide in.
If there’s anything we can do, anything at all, please just say the word.
You’re in our prayers over here.
Everything you’re feeling is 100% valid. Don’t make yourself wrong. Just embrace where you are and take it day by day as you move through YOUR PROCESS. You are more resilient than you think.
Lots of prayers and healing energy flowing from me to you…
I’m so happy that Pete is home to hold you and support you. You will find your way. Your breasts were a vehicle for your nourishment of your children when they were small but you really provide nourishment to your family in so many ways each and every day..
Another new blog friend over here. I just wanted to say how happy I am that you have your husband there with your for support right now. Curling up and crying for a few days really is probably the only thing most people can muster after the past few days you have experienced. I am praying for you and your family. I nursed both my girls for 13 months each!!! I can totally relate to the feeling of betrayal. How could something so life giving be so unhealthy now? All my best, Sara
Good to hear your husband came home early. His support will be immeasurable. Keeping good thoughts for you and your family.
My thoughts are with you, love. There’s not much more I can say. I’m glad your husband is home with you now. Hugs.
Don’t feel guilty for grieving, Jen! It’s what you need to do right now and it’s very important that you take the time to do it, so you can move to the next step and the doctors tell you what happens next.
I know Peter is home and by your side and that’s such a blessing. I know I am repeating myself but I want you to know that we are all here for you too, if and when you need us. Please don’t hesitate to ask. Don’t think you’ll be inconveniencing us. Even those of us you’ve never met in person.
Sending you lots of love and strength and hoping for the best possible outcome for you, Jen!
Ho, boy, I can’t imagine your stress level but I am sending virtual hugs
Jen, I’m so sorry that the news wasn’t better. But you will cry your eyes out, then you’ll do what needs to be done and you WILL get rid of this. You, and your family, will not allow cancer to take over your lives. Just from reading your blog, I can tell you are so strong. I’m sorry you are in pain. It isn’t fair. It really isn’t. hugs
Sending positive thoughts to you and your family. You are so strong, and to share it with the rest of us only makes you stronger. We in this community will support you how ever you need.
Kristina
I am so glad to hear your husband is home with you now. Thank you for sharing all of this and letting the rest of us “be there”, even if only online, for you. – my thoughts and prayers remain with you.
We’ve never met…but I’ve been following your journey online. I’m sending healthy thoughts and prayers to you and your family.
Fight. And never stop fighting. You are strong & everyone knows you can beat this. Believe you can too. (Of course, this is easy to say but it should be said. )
Hi there, it’s Laura, I commented on a previous post. So darn, not the path report you were hoping for. I know you have no idea who I am Jen but I do know exactly what you are going through. It felt like a real punch in the gut when I got the news. Surreal doesn’t even begin to describe it. I hear ya about the “too young” comments too! Yes, young women get cancer and yes we’re too young dammit! I’d be more than happy to share my story/stats/results with you if you want. Big (((HUGS)))! ~Laura
Jen, while I don’t know you personally, I have been reading your Blog since you were in Iceland. All of the feelings you are have are perfectly normal. My sister was diagnosed with breast cancer back in the spring. She was extremely lucky–very small, lump was removed and 35 radition treatments. But at the same time, she was told that it could occur in the other breast. You will do fine–just think positive thoughts and take it one day at a time. Glad your hubby got home to be with you. I know that means a lot. I will keep you in my thoughts and prays. Hang in there. Your children will be the ones that keep you going.
Much love,
Lou—Chattanooga, TN
I echo everyone’s comments. Fight, Cry, hide in a corner, be mad, hold your babes a bit tighter, have a glass of wine WITH Pete in the same room, buy an extra box of kleenex … and WRITE (whether you share it with us or keep it to yourself … WRITE).