{this moment}

{this moment} – A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments* for all to find and see. 

Have an awesome weekend!

*Idea courtesy of Soulemama, but I'd like to continue…please post if you have a moment!

I Can’t Lie

Yesterday was a crappy day.   I know there will be ups and downs, but really wishing some of the downs weren't quite so low.  In fact, it was so awful that I wrote a horribly raw and pain-filled blog post and nearly subjected you all to it.  However, the little Jiminy Cricket on my shoulder thought better of it and removed my quivering finger from the mouse before I could click publish.  

Now that I have had a night's sleep, I realize that there are going to be many days from here on out where I just really have to dig deep to find anything positive about my life right now.  Yes, I know there are many obvious things out there (to others), but sometimes the negatives just really cloud them out. You know, the whole forest for the trees bit?

I have been officially forbidden to use the computer today for anything other than blogging, Facebook, bill paying (woot!) and email…or reading other blogs.  So, I started perusing a few and realized that my positives were staring at me in the face, or practically glaring (in a very happy way). One will please the pants off Kelsey (how much is that horse in the window?) and others remind me that while this may seem to be a long, empty road at times, I am anything but alone.  There is one friend who is just satisfying a basic need for warm tootsies, but manages to do so in a way that is uplifting to me.  I know there may be more that I haven't yet seen and for that reason, can't wait to meander through tomorrow's Round-Up.

To those of you who have sent comments, emails or messages in the past day or so….I will get back to you, I'm just still trying to digest yesterday's news.  Thus far, this journey has been far more ardous than I anticipated.  One day is an uber-high, the next day is a real kick in the pants.  Thank you to everyone who is following along, supporting, listening to my ranty phone calls and texts and not judging me during what has turned out to be a hugely confusing and stressful time.

It's not just what the diagnosis means for me, it's how it is redefining our entire year.  How I feel completely and utterly to blame.  How we had so many goals that are now, in all likelihood, will never be reached.  I can't come to terms with every single thing I am being hit with overnight.  What is it one very wise person wrote to me, "one minute at a time"?

Don’t Read..

this post.

It's a whiny, venty rant.  I was so proud of myself yesterday.  Finally, as one person commented, I was at peace with the decision I knew I needed to make.  I felt like everything was going smoothly and today's appointment was going to be a piece of cake.

I had agreed to the M-surgery.  I thought that was all I needed to do.  I thought if I did that, I would get a reward.  I would be told maybe I have to have chemo (hoping against hope to NOT have this happen) but  in all likelihood, it would nothing or just a smidgen of radiation.  Fine, 6 weeks, I could handle that if there was nothing else.

Then, without warning, I was slapped in the face.  I am facing not just one, but both, if I choose to go with the current doctor's plan.  It will be nearly impossible to avoid them.  The palm trees?  Forget about that for a long time.  Due to the extra treatments, I won't even be ready for my final surgery until July or August, which is when we should be thinking about moving (another topic we won't touch at this moment). 

I guess I don't need to mention what this is doing to our year.  We had so many plans, so many goals that are now completely unattainable.  Everything is on hold and it is tearing me apart.  The worst part?  Each and every time I think positively or try to hold onto that bright side, it is snatched away.

I don't know, I am wondering if maybe I need to reverse my thinking.   One extremely wise person once told me she is never disappointed because she doesn't expect much in the first place….maybe that's where I am going wrong?

Turning a Corner

Where are those toothpicks when you need them?  For the life of me, I cannot figure out why doing nothing more than going to just one doctor's appointment per day is so exhausting.  I'm not even making the appointments or in most cases, driving to them, yet they wear me out.  Perhaps it is the idea (and action) of rehashing my life's story for the past two months (they always want to hear your version) or just the anticipated stress of the visit.

Today was the first of two visits to local plastic surgeons.  I will likely identify the chosen one at some point, but for now, since we are undecided, will let him/her enjoy their anonymity and will call the first Dr. X.  We had a long list to choose from, but there were two who were starred and have worked hand-in-hand with my breast surgeon on numerous occasions.  Both come highly recommended and not surprisingly, have offices in McLean.  Our first appointment was at 2:00 p.m. today and not only did we arrive with paperwork completed and in hand, but 30 minutes early.  This is apparently when they decide to make you wait 45 minutes in the waiting room.  

There's nothing like sitting in a waiting room, surrounded by numerous magical elixirs, line-removing facial creams, uber-dressed up fancy moms and ads for every type of plastic surgery under the sun.  I had long since decided this doctor was my #2 choice and was really just going through the motions for Peter.  Honestly, even GOING  to the appointment was a huge step for me.  I am sure the receptionist, patient liaison and doctor quickly figured this out when I noted that my reason for being there was "POSSIBLE breast reconstruction".  Oh, yes, I most definitely used all caps…remember, it's all about choices for me.

Finally, as I was about to nod off for the 18th time, I was called into a room by the receptionist.  We stepped into the room and the first thing we noticed?  The counter was covered in various styles and sizes of implants.  I just stood there, stunned.  I looked and Peter and he just shook his head, and said, "I know, it's okay."  I couldn't believe the insensitivity…leaving these out knowing why I was in the office that day.   Then, a funny thing happened.  Curiousity got the better of both of us and we began to look and, yes, I even poked a "Memory Gel" implant.  It was difficult, at best, to imagine that tucked inside my body.

I was still miffed, though, and finally sat down to pout and ignore them.  Two minutes later, there was a knock on the door and the patient liaison teetered in  the room in her high heel boots (I dream of wearing such boots on a "fancy" Jen day).  She took one look at the counter, gasped in horror, started apologizing and shoved the implants and a special bra into the drawer.  She finally turned around, apologized again and then indicated that she wanted to review my history (oh, yippee, AGAIN?!…Say it's not so!!).

We went over it, yada, yada, yada and, as usual, I peppered the conversation with "ifs" not "whens".  Peter answered as much as he could, especially when I seemed to lose steam and the questions were a little more difficult.  At that point, she realized it was time for the doctor and practically insisted I have a glass of water.  A few minutes later she came back in with the doctor in tow and just as I suspected, he was an older gruff doctor who….

Well, no.

I had reviewed the website and perused the waiting room, but missed the photo section.  I was expecting a gruff, grandfatherly type who was going to share war stories and tell me to suck it up, that I should be grateful options are available these days.  Instead a young (okay, our age-ish) surgeon walked in and…he just seemed…kind.  Whether he had been forewarned that I seemed on the verge of a nervous breakdown, I can't say.  However, Dr. X was very soft-spoken, said he was sorry, but he would like to hear my history one more time and then wanted to know what options I was considering IF I went through with the surgery.

At this point, Peter mentioned that we were primarily considering the Diep Flap, ahem, IF, this were to happen.  A brief review of my body style indicated that not only was it possible, but I was the perfect candidate for the Diep Flap/tummy tuck* procedure.  Since I have no interest in implants (it's just me), this was what I was hoping to hear should it happen.  However, he also pointed out that right now we were hoping to keep the surgery as non-invasive as possible.  A lumpectomy would be ideal and what did he think about reconstruction as far as that goes?

(Insert slightly uncomfortable throat clearing by the doctor.)

Dr. X very delicately danced around the subject and mentioned that while each case is different, sometimes it is very hard to do a lumpectomy when the other surgery (the only one the breast surgeon recommended) is really more necessary.  If things are too widespread, it simply isn't possible to reconsctruct something from nothing.  Peter then questioned about certain skin-saving techniques and queried about numbness/sensation issues.   It may sound trivial, but I don't like diving into anything without knowing exactly what I could be facing at the bottom of the pool.

It was at that point that Dr. X faced me and said, without indicating that my case was problematic, that it simply may not be an option.  As much as it would be nice to leave as much skin as possible intact, there was no guarantee it could happen.  Everything is dependent on the cancer and getting it all out, of course, trumps the 'beauty' portion of the procedure.  He then went onto explain that it may well be possible that if I chose the more drastic surgery (yes, the "M" word..), radiation and chemo could be avoided.  He knew from having worked with the other doctors that it could be very possible to have a complete removal of the cancerous areas and avoid even more medical procedures.  If I chose to go with the lumpectomy, there was no guarantee and either chemo or radiation would be a must, not a possibility. He looked at me with gentle, kind eyes and just a touch of sympathy…

and it hit me that this was NOT the end of my life.

I suddenly realized that this could be a new beginning.  No, it's not perfect and it's not ideal.  This is not the road we envisioned for us a year ago or even six weeks ago.  However, when my brain really started processing everything he said in that "you don't have to do anything, this is all your choice" tone, I knew my decision was made.  There may still be other tough choices, but for now, I have accepted that I will likely do the single "M" and I will be okay with it.  

It's my decision and as hard as it was to make, I know that it is the best one for me at this point in time. I also know there is no guarantee that other tough decisions won't pop up over the next few weeks. However, at least I know that my acceptance of this new reality might get me through tomorrow's appointment with the breast surgeon (barring anything unseemly with the MRI results…).  I am hoping (for the moment) that we might all be on the same page, and that alone is a huge weight off my shoulders.

*Yes, a tummy tuck.  No, I am not a 'plastic surgery if not necessary' type person.  However, this is a BOGO of sorts, so who am I to look the insurance company in the mouth?  It might also come in handy on a future weekend away (one that I have been recently promised, pending treatment plans).  You know, the kind that involves swaying palm trees, cabanas, fruity beverages and skimpy swim attire (well, not that skimpy).  It's all about the bright side…

Exhaling in

relief.

If one couldn't sense from the past few blog posts, the last 12 days have been an incredible roller coaster of emotions for me.  From the first day of testing, through this afternoon, it is safe to safe I have been up and down and all around.  It seemed that every piece of news that came my way was cause for more worry and I ended up at the point where I simply didn't want the phone to ring.  I had lost the faith that even a smidgen of good news might come my way.  

Today we had to run a few errands and decided to include Kelsey since it was her early day.  Peter had spent a good portion of the morning pestering doctors and support staff, making appointments and being the stalwart support person that he has become. We found this list online, and both agree that these 10 items are key for anyone helping another in this type of situation.  Even in my darkest moments, each and every item seemed realistic without being hokey.

The doctor's office called as we were nearing Target and upon listening to the voicemail, figured out it was a call for a follow-up appoinment.  This was interesting, as Peter had called this morning to find out when we would come in next and hadn't yet heard back.  Before he could call the office back, the doctor called, asked to speak to me *shudder* and Peter handed me the phone.  Ahem, support person?

Grudgingly, I took the call and the doctor asked me how I was (seriously, really?).  I choked out "Fine!" and she offered that both the genetic test (for BRCA1/BRCA2) and the PET scan results were in.  She then started to detail the PET scan results.  As far as the liver, left breast, lymph nodes and bones were concerned I was in the clear.  Nothing appeared anywhere else, but…

But?

There was one small area of concern on an ovary.  From what I have learned PET scans, cycles and false positives, it is likely not a problem, but she has referred me for another ultrasound just in case.  I'm thinking I should get some sort of punch card with this…have ten, get one free?  I'm sure the insurance company would more than appreciate it.  So,  we are avoiding thinking about the ovary for now, but will have it scanned and are being positive that it will be clean.

Forget about the ovary, though, I was still stuck on the PET scan being, well, normal.  I was so non-responsive, she asked again if I was okay.  Still waiting for the bad news to hit, I mumbled that I was okay and waited for the other shoe to drop.

It didn't.  The genetic test was in and I am NEGATIVE!  Given the options I was originally given, this is the equivalent of a lottery win to me.  I was looking at possibly a much larger, more invasive surgery if anything was found on the left breast and/or the genetic test was positive.  Just knowing I have more options has us on cloud nine.

What does this mean?  Realistically, things could change.  However, for right now, the efforts will be focused on the original and only current point of concern. By no means is anything 'over' and we realize there may well be a very long road ahead of us.  The bright side?

There is a bright side and for the first time in 12 days, I can see it again.  I am by no means resigning myself to any particular route to wellness, but now feel as though I have some sort of options, that I am not being cornered into a do or die position.  I feel as though there is hope and am so grateful to have the support of a loving husband and family and friends (old and new) who care so deeply.  I realize I have been in an all-encompassing fog and I am so grateful that it has begun to lift ever so slightly… 

What was your moment?

Yesterday we decided to visit a pumpkin patch in order to give Peter a chance to have that fun, fall fest feeling we experienced last week.   We opted for Pumpkinville which happens to be a part of the Leesburg Animal Park in Leesburg.   Having tried and failed at making it to the Falls Church Farmers Market (why was every ATM in FC out of commission yesterday??), we got back on Route 7 and headed out to the country.

Peter wisely realized a few minutes in that perhaps we should have a bit  of lunch first and we stopped at Panera.  Up until this point, all was well, and for whatever reason, I was of little or no mind to do any Googling.  Perhaps it was the lack of sleep (insomnia has reared it's ugly head) or the perfect fall day, but I was just blissfully ignoring everything.  Then I made the mistake of sneaking in a quick Google, something along the lines of "miracle cure for breast cancer no surgery." 

What did I find?  Well, of course, to Peter's chagrin, I found at least one case of a person who did not have surgery and lived to be very happy with her solution.  I think at least chemo was involved, but as far as I could tell, no surgery and her diagnosis seemed similar to mine (and there I go again…comparing cancers…which I KNOW I shouldn't do).  I offered him my iPhone, he read it, muttered something under his breath and I knew I should quit while I was ahead.

Off we went to Pumpkinville.  I turned the phone off and other than one tiny set of tears on the hay ride (let's blame it on the dusty straw, okay?), I was fine.  I didn't cry for almost two hours and nearly posted it on my FB status, as I was so darn proud.  Then I realized how that ridiculous that would sound and thought better of it.   

It also helped (sadly) that Kelsey had a bit of a fall and I was distracted by her pain.   She tried some swinging seat activity and managed to bloody not just one, but both knees and needed a bit of TLC.  It felt so good to feel as though I could give her comfort for a change, though I slipped in my mom of the year ranks by not having one single band-aid in my purse.  In fact, I had to borrow some from Cait who, "always has some in her bag" (insert #momfail here).

We cleaned up the knees, the kids played for hours, we took a long (and mildly scary) hay-ride that Nicholas loved, fed ducks, watched swarms of fishes, grabbed our free pumpkins and finally headed out on our way.  I took a long nap on the way home, as did Nicholas and felt completely normal upon arriving at home.  

The kitchen was a disaster (in my book), dinner needed to be made and Peter was working on the garage.  All was well and happy and I even managed a few return phone calls to people.  Then it happened (again).  I hit that wall of "why me" and skipped dinner in favor of going to Trader Joe's by myself.  I blindly put stuff in my basket, got back to the car and broke down again.  For the life of me, I can't get past having surgery.   Remember my control issues?   

My breakdown resulted in more heated discussions (heated on my part, Pete was a saint, as usual) and a less than stellar night.  I spewed ridiculous statements and spent way too much time on 'what-ifs'.  I finally realized the evening was wasting away and relaxed enough to watch a bit of tv and, of course, fall asleep on the couch. I dragged myself up to bed, fell back asleep and woke up this morning realizing something…

I need moments.  If you went through this diagnosis (or something similar), what was your moment? What made it finally click that you would be okay if you went through with surgery?  

You see, I still don't see myself as being sick and I have realized that is a huge issue for me.  Since I am not sick, I cannot get worse.  If I am not sick, I should not have surgery, because I am really fine and thus, surgery is a huge mistake for a healthy person.  I know all about the argument of having surgery to extend one's life, but I can't envision mine being shortened in the first place.  So, it hit me this morning that I need to know more.

When did you (anyone afflicted with anything remotely similar that would require surgery to remove the affected body part) know for sure that it was the right decision for you?   How did you finally decide to simply believe that something was truly wrong with you and it was okay to let the doctors proceed with their plan?

For the record, I don't necessarily doubt that the doctors have found something.  However, everything has happened so quickly…and this diagnosis is affecting our lives in such a gargantuan way (Peter's current assignment, his future assignments), that I feel like I am being rushed to make a life and body altering decision…and what if I make the wrong choice?  What if I just haven't Googled the right "magical non-surgical cure for breast cancer" search yet?  What if there is something missing?

Or maybe I just need moments.  Maybe I do have to suck it up and do this.  Please  share with me if you can…on-line, off-line, anywhere.  I should add I have read a few moments, but more along the lines of the types of surgery vs. having the surgery in the first place.   I apparently need a huge smack in the head to get me to where Peter (and the rest of the medical world) believe I should be with my thinking.  

What was it that convinced you?  Was there someone you spoke to about the issue (counselor, good online support group), a particular book, and/or an article that convinced you without either scaring your pants off and/or depressing you to the point of ignoring the situation?  (And if you have already shared and I somehow missed it…please feel free to remind me!)

A Slice of Normal

While I am still mostly safely ensconced away in my dark corner, the past few days have given me a few brief moments of clarity and completely normal for which I am grateful.  While Tuesday pretty much bit the big one, I suppose Wednesday and even parts of Thursday were days of relatively normal news, so I will take what I can get.

Since we are still in the process of reviewing every option out there and don't have a complete diagnosis, I am following the directives of the breast surgeon.  In order to even consider, um, surgery (sorry, can't say the actual word yet…I'm a wimp, it will come with time), I had to have a pre-surgical clearance.  Having not re-established with a primary caregiver in the area, I went with the doctor that the surgeon's office recommended.  They work hand-in-hand on many cases and paperwork transfers and such are simplified.

Really, the visit was nothing to cry over, but I used half a box of tissues anyway.  The minute we sat down, a woman waltzed in, grabbed a piece of candy, and wriggled "I'm pregnant" into the conversation with the receptionist.  I love happy, pregnant people.  I love babies in their newborn cute wrinkly-face-ness and still can't believe that my youngest baby will be three in February (where are my smelling salts?).  Somehow, though, right now, just the sight of a pregnant woman triggers a sadness in me.  Not sure entirely sure of the corellation, but it's there all the same.  So, cue set of tears number one….oh, heck, it lasted well into the appointment.

I was called in not long after and they began with weight and height (normal, check).  Then there is the Q & A period with the inevitable question:  How do you feel?

Well, DUH, I feel FINE. I'm not in pain (okay, still a teeny bit, but I am going w/residual biopsy pain).  I haven't lost weight (well, a bit from not eating much, but…), sinus problems no longer plague me, I do not have so much as a darn cold.  In fact, I feel healthy as a horse.  The assistant looked at me, looked at the paperwork, looked back at me and clearly had trouble digesting "fine" as an answer since I was there for a pre-surgical work-up.

Then my new LEAST favorite question in the whole, wide world:  What type of surgery are you having?  I can't type the word, much less choke it out, so Peter has thoughtfully taken care of this one for me almost every time.  I am wondering if he shouldn't just have an index card with the word written down so that I don't even have to hear it uttered aloud.  Oh, sure, some day I'll throw it around like no one's business…but that's not today and I doubt anytime over the next few weeks.

The medical assistant and then doctor tested me for everything possible.  Heart rate, blood pressure, blood clotting, EKG…everything is great!  Yippee!  I know this is good news and I do give the doctor an amazing amount of credit.  She did not focus on the negative, she did not call the surgery by its name, she simply indicated that my overall health was fabulous. She then went on to indicate that should the surgery take place, she did not doubt that it would be 'easy' (as they go) and that my recovery would be as good as it could be for the scenario.

We left the doctor's office feeling as though at least something went right.  I tried to ignore why we went, but by Wednesday night, I hit a crescendo and the walls came tumbling down.  I knew I needed to write and get it out of my system.  I know I blogged a total "woe to me" post, but it completely changed the course of my evening.

As much as the blog is completely mine, the recent turn of events affect other members of our family (quite obviously).  I would not necessarily change a word of what I wrote, but have given Peter the chance to at least review before I "go public."  When he returned home from taking Kelsey to choir, I pointed to the computer.  He sat down, absorbed the information, turned around and said, ever so softly, "I get it now."

You see, we had been having many arguments about the surgery. As I mentioned before, it's not a vanity (well, I don't think) issue for me;  it's the removal of a working body part (or two).  Lest this be too much TMI and/or if this grosses you out, well, whatever.  As it turns out (and it isn't something I expected to happen), Nicholas is still morning (occasionally), night and comfort nursing. It is far from his primary source of nutrition, but nevertheless, the "na-na" is still a part of his life.  I am mourning not only any future loss, but a current need that was so easily filled.  I am sure there will be no ill effects from a somewhat forced weaning, but it's sad to me that it won't be on our terms.

Until Peter read the last post, he didn't realize how much of my pain was attached to the usefulness of the body part vs. the overall look of my body.  I can't say the latter is not affecting me…when one isn't overly blessed to begin with, the thought of losing anything is not attractive.  However, he read, he digested it and things lightened up, at least for the remainder of the evening.  We talked, laughed a bit and just enjoyed each other's company until Thursday rolled around.

I don't know what happened.  I didn't expect to wake up and feel fantastic, but I spent most of the day feeling off.  The morning was great. Coffee with friends cheered me up and I enjoyed just being. I am not sure what happened later in the afternoon, maybe long lines at the drugstore, too much traffic from the rain, or finding out at the last minute possible that not only would I have an MRI on Friday, but that would be immediately followed by a PET scan.  I couldn't find anything remotely cheery about either one on-line and tried to have an immediate break-down.  Luckily, something saved me:  Young Teacher's Night at Nicholas's Montessori.

It was an amazing 30 minutes.  From the moment we walked in the door, I was just Nicholas's mom. The entire focus was on him and his sharing of knowledge. We sat by him as he showed us how to use the mat to do his work.  From puzzles to stacking, it was a grand time.  In fact, 20 minutes into event, I looked up at Pete and mentioned how normal it seemed.  He nodded, smiled and 5 minutes later reminded me how we couldn't forget to pick up my films from the doctor before we went to the imaging center in the morning.

Slap!  Yes, that was reality hitting me once again.  I shut the door on it, went back to my happy place and managed to get to the car without bursting into tears.  May I just say now how much money tissue companies are going to make on me over the next few weeks?  I seriously need to look into the purchase of hankies…

I had my slice of normal and all went downhill.  We came home, the kids ate (I lost my appetite officially last Friday), and they were soon asleep for the night.  Then came the discussions…the questions neither one of us can answer but keep asking…the arguments over the options…whether or not to attend upcoming 'support' meetings…my insistence that yesterday's testing would only bring more bad news, so why bother.  It was not a night I want to remember, but probably one I should.  Peter was stronger than a person should be and I finally gave up and told him it was in his hands.  

If you know me, I like to be in control of everything.  This entire scenario has me losing my mind because I now feel as though everything is out of my hands and nothing I want to do is truly a viable option.  However, my ideas are probably not realistic or healthy and Thursday night I just gave up and gave in. After hours of dicussion and tears, I let Peter decide what we would do on Friday (okay, I didn't have the nerve to cancel) .  In turn, he called and let both the imaging center and the doctor's office have it for not ensuring we knew about both appointments being back to back.

When we arrived at the hospital in the morning, he retrieved the paperwork from the doctor, answered as many questions as he could for me and guided me every step of the way.  He stayed with me through the MRI and would have for the prep part of the PET scan, but for the health risk to him.  He was a rock while I spent most of the morning (pre-Xanax), quivering, shaking and crying.  I'll add that the bonus of 4 tries to get an IV started for the PET scan didn't help matters, but right now it is really the least of my worries.  

The results?  It wasn't (gulp, I hate saying this…) as bad as it could have been.  A dear friend left me a note on Facebook last night with clothing tips for PET scans.  I went with loose and comfortable (or what I like to call, my 'morning look' at the bus stop) and did not regret it.  I even, despite my intentions to be uber-brave, utilized my doctor's prescription for Xanax.  In hindsight, I am very, very glad I took that bit of advice.  I do not like to medicate when not necessary, but since I slept through the MRI and the waiting portion of the PET scan and half of the scan itself, I am now a firm believer that a little bit of relaxation can be a good thing. 

Five hours later after we arrived, we left the testing center with two personalized cds (um, yea?).  I have yet to review them, but suppose I should bite the bullet at some point in time.  Now we just need to hope and pray for a result of status quo when the results are in next week.  Fingers crossed…

{this moment}

{this moment} – A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see. 

Wishing you all a lovely weekend!

*** *** *** 

And the other shoe drops…

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.

Oops

I was reading through the numerous comments on the blog yesterday and honestly, I can't say thank you enough.  (I am trying to get back to each of you personally, but it may take a day or two.)  I am so grateful for the comments, the messages, the emails, the phone calls and the texts.  I have received uplifting thoughts and valuable information from those who have had similar experiences and it has been incredibly helpful.

Additionally, my friend Jill wrote an amazing post on the subject and I can't thank her enough.  I am so grateful to her for the support and for spreading the word that much more.  Please head over there ASAP, but don't forget the tissues. I know I needed at least one for each read.

Perhaps because I was so immersed in the outpouring of support, I got up from my desk at one point and forgot to close the blog.  I was in a hurry and trying to cook breakfast, get the laundry finished and get the kids out the door so we could be on our way to a nearby pumpkin patch.  In my multi-tasking haste, I left the screen up and my 'secret' was suddenly a little more widely known.

The minute I walked back into the kitchen, I was accosted by Cait.

"You know, if you don't want people to READ your blog, you shouldn't leave it open on the computer!"

Um, oops.

I asked if she had read the whole thing…she had.

I asked what she thought, if she was upset…and she just shrugged and said, "I'm fine."

With that, I queried if she even understood what I was writing about.  She looked at me as though I had 3 heads (this is a very common look in our household right now, as she is 12 going on 32) and the answer?

"Um, Mom, October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month…yes, I know!"

Oh.  And, with that, our conversation was over, and we both headed in different directions in order to try and get ready to leave before sundown.  We had decided to try a new pumpkin patch/festival this year and met up with the Salty Dog Crew near Leesburg.  The boys played for a bit and then we made the drive to Great Country Farms in Bluemont.

I wasn't quite sure what to expect, but in the end, felt the day was well worth the admission fee.  We did not have a chance to do the U-Pick (think it was just beans yesterday), but visited the animals, jumped on the giant balloon, played on a wooden tractor, played on a real, but retired tractor, climbed a pile of tractor wheels (heaven for LG), rode the rope swing 18 different ways, played in the corn bin (not for those who fear dust), played in the sand box, ate pumpkin pie ice cream (a diet buster, but worth it), took the required photos in front of giant pumpkins and rode the cow train.  In short, it was a good day.

I loved the back play area, as it was spacious, the views from the tire pile were incredible and the kids had so many options.  There was plenty for them to do that did not require anything but the admission fee (except the cow train…photo op worth the ticket price) and other than the train there were not any typical sit-down rides.  There was lots of jumping, hopping, sliding and tons of energy burning.   We left tired and happy, picked up a pizza on the way home (healthy pizza, of course) and had a girls' movie night in after Nick fell asleep.  Without a doubt, it was a fun day that was quite needed and much enjoyed.