I suppose I shouldn't characterize this as bad, so let's say it's neutral at this point. My MRI was fine on the right where I had cancer and questionable on the left where I didn't have cancer. The spot that previously enhanced on the left is not there, but, there are two other suspicious spots showing up on that side that were not on my MRI 11 months ago. How suspicious, I can't really say. They aren't actually described all that suspiciously and if I had never had it before, they would wait 6 months and do another MRI to see if they are still there. I was told so many things yesterday that I don't know what to make of it. They see this all the time and it's nothing. It's possible to have enhancements go away, I have had that happen for example, but these two spots show up very clearly and everything else is quiet on that side.
It could very well be nothing, because MRIs are sensitive and like I mentioned in that last post, doctors don't like to do them for this very reason. Or, it could be something. It's probably more likely nothing, but because I've had breast cancer before, my doctor is going to biopsy both spots to check. Unfortunately, because I've had it, they will biopsy anything they see basically. And because I defied the odds the first time, well, we can't base it on odds alone.
These two spots did not show up on the mammogram or ultrasound that I had 5 months ago, and it can't be felt. I thought that was encouraging. However, my doctor said that it is entirely possible to have breast cancer go undetected by touch, mammogram or ultrasound. That's comforting isn't it ladies? Can we really trust anything to catch this? It seems not.
Anyway, I don't know when I will know anything and I probably won't post again until next week. So, if you could just keep praying, I would be grateful.
Showing posts with label Fear. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fear. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
Waiting sucks
This basically just sucks. Waiting sucks. Having to work while waiting sucks. It's distracting on the one hand but it sucks. The weekend overall was okay though. I just did what I always do, cleaned, ran errands, did laundry, went to a couple of AA meetings, talked to a couple of friends, worked out, and bought two books on Buddhism and recovery/the AA twelve steps. This has always been interesting to me and made more sense to me than other things in this little spiritual quest I've been on.
I left a message for the physician's assistant this morning - but so far I haven't heard back. But then again, the MRI was at 5:30 p.m. Friday and it's only 10 a.m. here. So, I'm sure it's not been read yet. When my morning conference calls are over, I am going to call my oncologist and my surgeon. Because why not right? Why not call everyone I can. It's going to be okay right? It has to be. I'm resisting the urge to make any more bargains with God about this. I'm trying not to, but all I can think is - if this turns out okay, I'm going to change my life. I am. I am going to change it.
I feel sick to my stomach.
Edited to add: The PA just called. The report is not available but she will keep checking and call me when she gets it. She thinks she can have it by the end of the day. If she doesn't, she will see if she can get a preliminary report but she will call me this afternoon either way. I love this woman. She deserves some kind of award for being the best medical professional on the planet. I seriously wish she knew how awesome she is. I wish I could tell her. Seriously - she's amazing. And I did start shaking when the phone rang - I recognize her number - we've talked so many times. I am surprised I haven't just saved it in my cell phone. More later...
Edited again: Should I be worried that it's 12:16 and she hasn't called? Probably not. She said she could get it by the END of today. End, that means 5, not now. She has other things to do than check my records every 5 minutes. I'm so unproductive. Why am I even here at work? (Because I have two conference calls). Wouldn't I rather be at home waiting? Yes. I would. But I am trying to just be as normal as possible. I came back to work a week and a half after I was diagnosed and then proceed to work 50 hours per week through cancer treatment. The reason why is a story in itself, but I suppose it can only be explained one way - I am a freak. I only need to bill 10.4 hours by the end of this month to stay on target for the minimum requirement, and I have 4 days to do it. So it's okay that I'm not productive. And, why am I talking about billable hours at a time like this? Exactly. Who the hell cares.
I left a message for the physician's assistant this morning - but so far I haven't heard back. But then again, the MRI was at 5:30 p.m. Friday and it's only 10 a.m. here. So, I'm sure it's not been read yet. When my morning conference calls are over, I am going to call my oncologist and my surgeon. Because why not right? Why not call everyone I can. It's going to be okay right? It has to be. I'm resisting the urge to make any more bargains with God about this. I'm trying not to, but all I can think is - if this turns out okay, I'm going to change my life. I am. I am going to change it.
I feel sick to my stomach.
Edited to add: The PA just called. The report is not available but she will keep checking and call me when she gets it. She thinks she can have it by the end of the day. If she doesn't, she will see if she can get a preliminary report but she will call me this afternoon either way. I love this woman. She deserves some kind of award for being the best medical professional on the planet. I seriously wish she knew how awesome she is. I wish I could tell her. Seriously - she's amazing. And I did start shaking when the phone rang - I recognize her number - we've talked so many times. I am surprised I haven't just saved it in my cell phone. More later...
Edited again: Should I be worried that it's 12:16 and she hasn't called? Probably not. She said she could get it by the END of today. End, that means 5, not now. She has other things to do than check my records every 5 minutes. I'm so unproductive. Why am I even here at work? (Because I have two conference calls). Wouldn't I rather be at home waiting? Yes. I would. But I am trying to just be as normal as possible. I came back to work a week and a half after I was diagnosed and then proceed to work 50 hours per week through cancer treatment. The reason why is a story in itself, but I suppose it can only be explained one way - I am a freak. I only need to bill 10.4 hours by the end of this month to stay on target for the minimum requirement, and I have 4 days to do it. So it's okay that I'm not productive. And, why am I talking about billable hours at a time like this? Exactly. Who the hell cares.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Why the MRIs are so upsetting, well, one reason
I've never told most people this. Only a few people know. It makes me so angry to talk about it, that I don't talk about it. First let me say that when I was diagnosed with breast cancer - it was more than a shock, even to the doctors. Because I was 28, with no family history and not a single risk factor. I'll post that story too, sometime soon - because it could save some one's life.
So, the MRIs. When I was diagnosed, I had a breast MRI - to get another picture/different picture - something for comparison later, and to look for anything else that might be cancer. The problem with breast MRIs is that MRIs are extremely sensitive and pick up all kinds of things that are nothing. They pick up lymph nodes and hormonal enhancements and you have to time it just right in your cycle - it has to be between days 5 and 8, otherwise, you are going to get all kinds of things that show up. Some doctors won't do breast MRIs as a breast cancer screening tool because of this. Other doctors will because mammograms are not as good on young women because young women tend to have dense breast tissue. I happen to have very dense breast tissue. So the first MRI was at the very beginning. Yup - tumor was most definitely there. The fist MRI was done on day 21 of my cycle because it didn't make sense to wait.
Then I started taking chemo drugs shortly thereafter. I did the chemo first, before surgery, with the hope of shrinking the tumor and losing less breast tissue. I did 8 rounds of chemo but I had the follow-up MRI the day of the 8th treatment. Amazingly - the tumor was gone. GONE. 7 chemo treatments and it was gone. What showed up was some residual enhancement in the area where the tumor was. This was good news because chemo drugs work, but they don't usually work this well, only less than 30% of the time does someone have what they call a "complete" response to chemo. I had the best possible outcome that one can have to breast cancer treatment. Even more amazing was the fact that the tumor I had - was 4cm. It was huge. It was gone.
The radiologist called me after that 2nd MRI to tell me that the tumor was gone. And oh by the way she says, that nodule on the left (note that the tumor was in my right breast) - it's still there and it's the same size, so that's good. Wait what? The what on my left side? There's a what on the left side? What are you talking about - no one told me that something showed up on the left side? NO ONE BOTHERED TO CALL ME AND TELL ME THAT MY FIRST MRI SHOWED SOMETHING ON THE OTHER SIDE. WHY THE FUCK DIDN'T ANYONE TELL ME THAT MY FIRST MRI SHOWED SOMETHING ON THE OTHER SIDE? No one could answer that question. I promptly started freaking out. My surgeon blamed the radiologist, the radiologist blamed the surgeon. The head of the breast clinic eventually admitted that yes, I should have in fact been told, and yes, it was in fact a mistake that I hadn't been. A mistake.
It took me quite sometime to get that man on the phone and to get him to admit they had made a mistake. My surgeon said it was so tiny and so unconcerning that it probably just slipped by because no one thought anything of it. It just slipped by. And, she said, the fact that it showed up the second time was good news - probably a lymph node or a hormonal enhancement. It could plausibly have been hormonal on the first MRI - because the timing during my cycle was bad. But for the 2nd MRI - I had no hormones, I had no period, I was in menopause from the chemo drugs. But regardless she said - it's still there so it isn't cancer, because if it was, it would be gone because the tumor is gone. So don't worry. Right, okay. I then had another radiologist tell me that she wasn't sure she really could see it on the 2nd MRI - so was it or wasn't it there? And if it wasn't there on the 2nd MRI, what does that mean? That it wasn't there because it was cancer and the chemo got it, or it wasn't there because it had been hormonal? We will never know.
My point - in all the arguing that I did with my doctors and the hospital - was simply that we will never know. We will never know for certain whether I had it also on the other side and by not telling me BEFORE I took any chemo drugs, they took away all my options to know. If they had told me, we could have biopsied it. We could have done a lumpectomy over there and checked the area. We could have checked. Now granted my doctor might not have wanted to go digging around over there if she thought it was nothing (like I said, they don't like these MRIs for this very reason - you go digging for things that are nothing) - BUT THE POINT IS, THEY TOOK AWAY MY CHOICES WHEN THOSE STUPID MOTHERFUCKERS DIDN'T BOTHER TO TELL ME. By the time I knew that there had been something on the other side, it was too late. We couldn't even take out a chunk of tissue at that point and check it - because the chemo worked so well, that when they took out the breast tissue where the tumor had been - they didn't find a single cancer cell in it.
Why does this matter so much? You might say - well, if it was cancer, it's gone. It matters because they tell you that you have to do radiation because radiation significantly reduces the risk of recurrence. I did radiation on the right where we knew I had it. But I didn't do it on the left because we (they) assume it was nothing. So that means if I did have it on the left, then the odds of it coming back are much higher because I didn't have surgery over there or radiation. I tried desperately to get out of doing radiation - I tried everything to get out of it - everything. And in the end I did it because my doctor said to me - they type of cancer you had is as dangerous and deadly as it can be - so you should do everything you can, because why in the world would you give it a chance to come back and spread the second time?
Right. Uh huh. Good point. And what about the left side and the fact that we don't know if I had cancer there? What if it comes back, right there, and it spreads? What if? Yes, it could be a lymph node. No, it probably wasn't cancer. But the point is, we'll never know.
I had a third MRI in March of last year. The nodule wasn't there.
Part of what we are looking for on the MRI is that nodule or lymph node or whatever it was. And I'm just scared because we did everything we could on the right, but not on the left. All because of a mistake - a little something that just slipped by. But it's the kind of mistake that can mean the difference between life and death. Because seriously, what if I had it there and I get it again and it spreads before we catch it? I don't think I'll ever get comfortable with what we don't know about the left side. I will always worry, because we don't know. It's an uncertainty that I'm uncomfortable with.
And I'm still really fucking angry about it because they took my choices away from me and now I have to live with the uncertainty. I'm sure that if this hadn't happened, these MRIs would still be stressful - I'm sure of that. But what happened makes it worse - it makes the whole thing worse.
So, the MRIs. When I was diagnosed, I had a breast MRI - to get another picture/different picture - something for comparison later, and to look for anything else that might be cancer. The problem with breast MRIs is that MRIs are extremely sensitive and pick up all kinds of things that are nothing. They pick up lymph nodes and hormonal enhancements and you have to time it just right in your cycle - it has to be between days 5 and 8, otherwise, you are going to get all kinds of things that show up. Some doctors won't do breast MRIs as a breast cancer screening tool because of this. Other doctors will because mammograms are not as good on young women because young women tend to have dense breast tissue. I happen to have very dense breast tissue. So the first MRI was at the very beginning. Yup - tumor was most definitely there. The fist MRI was done on day 21 of my cycle because it didn't make sense to wait.
Then I started taking chemo drugs shortly thereafter. I did the chemo first, before surgery, with the hope of shrinking the tumor and losing less breast tissue. I did 8 rounds of chemo but I had the follow-up MRI the day of the 8th treatment. Amazingly - the tumor was gone. GONE. 7 chemo treatments and it was gone. What showed up was some residual enhancement in the area where the tumor was. This was good news because chemo drugs work, but they don't usually work this well, only less than 30% of the time does someone have what they call a "complete" response to chemo. I had the best possible outcome that one can have to breast cancer treatment. Even more amazing was the fact that the tumor I had - was 4cm. It was huge. It was gone.
The radiologist called me after that 2nd MRI to tell me that the tumor was gone. And oh by the way she says, that nodule on the left (note that the tumor was in my right breast) - it's still there and it's the same size, so that's good. Wait what? The what on my left side? There's a what on the left side? What are you talking about - no one told me that something showed up on the left side? NO ONE BOTHERED TO CALL ME AND TELL ME THAT MY FIRST MRI SHOWED SOMETHING ON THE OTHER SIDE. WHY THE FUCK DIDN'T ANYONE TELL ME THAT MY FIRST MRI SHOWED SOMETHING ON THE OTHER SIDE? No one could answer that question. I promptly started freaking out. My surgeon blamed the radiologist, the radiologist blamed the surgeon. The head of the breast clinic eventually admitted that yes, I should have in fact been told, and yes, it was in fact a mistake that I hadn't been. A mistake.
It took me quite sometime to get that man on the phone and to get him to admit they had made a mistake. My surgeon said it was so tiny and so unconcerning that it probably just slipped by because no one thought anything of it. It just slipped by. And, she said, the fact that it showed up the second time was good news - probably a lymph node or a hormonal enhancement. It could plausibly have been hormonal on the first MRI - because the timing during my cycle was bad. But for the 2nd MRI - I had no hormones, I had no period, I was in menopause from the chemo drugs. But regardless she said - it's still there so it isn't cancer, because if it was, it would be gone because the tumor is gone. So don't worry. Right, okay. I then had another radiologist tell me that she wasn't sure she really could see it on the 2nd MRI - so was it or wasn't it there? And if it wasn't there on the 2nd MRI, what does that mean? That it wasn't there because it was cancer and the chemo got it, or it wasn't there because it had been hormonal? We will never know.
My point - in all the arguing that I did with my doctors and the hospital - was simply that we will never know. We will never know for certain whether I had it also on the other side and by not telling me BEFORE I took any chemo drugs, they took away all my options to know. If they had told me, we could have biopsied it. We could have done a lumpectomy over there and checked the area. We could have checked. Now granted my doctor might not have wanted to go digging around over there if she thought it was nothing (like I said, they don't like these MRIs for this very reason - you go digging for things that are nothing) - BUT THE POINT IS, THEY TOOK AWAY MY CHOICES WHEN THOSE STUPID MOTHERFUCKERS DIDN'T BOTHER TO TELL ME. By the time I knew that there had been something on the other side, it was too late. We couldn't even take out a chunk of tissue at that point and check it - because the chemo worked so well, that when they took out the breast tissue where the tumor had been - they didn't find a single cancer cell in it.
Why does this matter so much? You might say - well, if it was cancer, it's gone. It matters because they tell you that you have to do radiation because radiation significantly reduces the risk of recurrence. I did radiation on the right where we knew I had it. But I didn't do it on the left because we (they) assume it was nothing. So that means if I did have it on the left, then the odds of it coming back are much higher because I didn't have surgery over there or radiation. I tried desperately to get out of doing radiation - I tried everything to get out of it - everything. And in the end I did it because my doctor said to me - they type of cancer you had is as dangerous and deadly as it can be - so you should do everything you can, because why in the world would you give it a chance to come back and spread the second time?
Right. Uh huh. Good point. And what about the left side and the fact that we don't know if I had cancer there? What if it comes back, right there, and it spreads? What if? Yes, it could be a lymph node. No, it probably wasn't cancer. But the point is, we'll never know.
I had a third MRI in March of last year. The nodule wasn't there.
Part of what we are looking for on the MRI is that nodule or lymph node or whatever it was. And I'm just scared because we did everything we could on the right, but not on the left. All because of a mistake - a little something that just slipped by. But it's the kind of mistake that can mean the difference between life and death. Because seriously, what if I had it there and I get it again and it spreads before we catch it? I don't think I'll ever get comfortable with what we don't know about the left side. I will always worry, because we don't know. It's an uncertainty that I'm uncomfortable with.
And I'm still really fucking angry about it because they took my choices away from me and now I have to live with the uncertainty. I'm sure that if this hadn't happened, these MRIs would still be stressful - I'm sure of that. But what happened makes it worse - it makes the whole thing worse.
Doing okay
So I'm alternating between okay and not okay. Mostly I'm okay though. This morning I got up, worked out, went to an AA meeting, had coffee with my sponsor and two other women, and then went shopping. The meditation CD is going to have to wait for tomorrow because parking was a nightmare. Then I came home, had lunch, updated my Google reader with all the new blogs I have to read. Now I just need to update my blog with new links. I was trying to upload a picture of my puzzle, but it doesn't seem to be working for some reason - the upload isn't working. I'll try later. I might go to Target and waste money. I really want a new vacuum. The thought of a new vacuum excites me. Kind of pathetic. When this is over and everything is okay, I might buy an all new wardrobe. Just for fun. The AA meeting was outstanding actually. An 11th step meeting - all about spirituality and it was really really good. I was glad I went. I ran into this women there that I really like that I hadn't seen in a while. She said something that really helped me when I told her what was going on.
Mostly I've been distracting myself. Sometimes when I go through this - I think I need to find a better way to deal with it, because it's exhausting. Other times, I think I should just cut myself some slack and give myself a break. Maybe I am dealing with it pretty well, and in any case, the best way that I can.
There is a reason why I feel so upset about these MRIs, besides the obvious. I'll post the story later - tomorrow probably. It's going to make me seething mad to talk about it. So I don't talk about it, but I guess I should. For now, let's just say that not every last little part of me surviving breast cancer went smoothly - mostly it did - I basically survived breast cancer like nothing happened - but one thing did happen that ended with the head of the breast center calling me to apologize and me trying to figure out some way to sue the hospital and the doctors. And the result of what happened is that I feel a thousand times more upset about these MRIs than I probably otherwise would have. Can I claim emotional distress as my damages? Because that's the only damage I have from what happened, so far anyway.
So - before I work myself into a fit over this thing that happened (which may arguably be no big deal, but the point is, we will never know), I'll just leave it there for the moment.
More later...
Mostly I've been distracting myself. Sometimes when I go through this - I think I need to find a better way to deal with it, because it's exhausting. Other times, I think I should just cut myself some slack and give myself a break. Maybe I am dealing with it pretty well, and in any case, the best way that I can.
There is a reason why I feel so upset about these MRIs, besides the obvious. I'll post the story later - tomorrow probably. It's going to make me seething mad to talk about it. So I don't talk about it, but I guess I should. For now, let's just say that not every last little part of me surviving breast cancer went smoothly - mostly it did - I basically survived breast cancer like nothing happened - but one thing did happen that ended with the head of the breast center calling me to apologize and me trying to figure out some way to sue the hospital and the doctors. And the result of what happened is that I feel a thousand times more upset about these MRIs than I probably otherwise would have. Can I claim emotional distress as my damages? Because that's the only damage I have from what happened, so far anyway.
So - before I work myself into a fit over this thing that happened (which may arguably be no big deal, but the point is, we will never know), I'll just leave it there for the moment.
More later...
Friday, January 25, 2008
And now we wait
Thank you for continuing to stop by everyone - I appreciate it immensely. Lots of people have stopped by again today and it's nice to not feel so alone over here. I've never really had support through anything I've been through - I've mostly just dealt with things alone. Even through breast cancer treatment I was basically alone. My tendency is to push everyone away when I have something to deal with and shut everyone out. I have this everyone go away and just leave me alone type reaction to things. And I always debate - do I mention the appointment to anyone - because if I do, then they are going to ask how it went - or do I keep it a secret and just deal with it, whatever it is? The fear of course - what if it isn't okay and then I have to tell all these people that - and I don't know how to deal with other peoples' reactions. I just don't know how to act. So, let's just hope it's okay and that I have only good news. I am glad that I mentioned it. It's not that I've never wanted support from people, it's just that I've never had it. I think I just might have the most unsupportive mother on the planet.
It takes 3-5 days for the written report - but I don't care about seeing the report - I just need someone to call me. Of course the technician can't tell me anything - so I know nothing at this point. Sorry - I wish I had news, but I don't. The appointment itself was fine though - the MRI isn't the most pleasant because of the contrast that they inject into your body, and I'm tired of needles and IVs. But it was okay. I just got home from it.
Now we just wait. At least when I have mammograms they read them while you wait right there. I have a radiologist that I request and she even takes me in back and goes over the films with me. But for this, we just have to wait. Sometimes a radiologist calls, sometimes my doctor. Sigh. I have a plan (of course I do).
First thing Monday morning I am going to call my oncologist's PA. My onc didn't order the MRI, my surgeon did, but her PA is the most responsive person I've ever met. Seriously - she is amazing. I wrote a post about her once. And I know that I can count on her to get those results ASAP and call me immediately. I'm also going to call my friend who is a resident in the rad onc unit - because she will also call me the second she can get her hands on it. Between one of the two of them - I can probably get my hands on it on Monday. It's good to be connected when it comes to this kind of thing.
Monday seems like a long way away doesn't it? In the mean time, I am going to try to just relax and enjoy the weekend. Because why not right? Amazingly, I don't even have to work this weekend, which is great, given the insanity going on there. And I am going to buy myself a new meditation CD tomorrow, work-out, drink tea, and do a puzzle. I love jig-saw puzzles. I can sit at the table for 10 hours straight and work on one.
Keep sending good thoughts and I will post when I know something! And when everything turns out fine, what should I do to celebrate (besides drink, since I don't!)? Plan a trip to go visit my brother, sister-in-law and nephew maybe?
*Edited to add: I spoke too soon. Now that I've been home for a little while, I'm starting to freak out. I really really want this to be okay. And I really want to enjoy the weekend. But I just don't think I can until I know. Ugh.
It takes 3-5 days for the written report - but I don't care about seeing the report - I just need someone to call me. Of course the technician can't tell me anything - so I know nothing at this point. Sorry - I wish I had news, but I don't. The appointment itself was fine though - the MRI isn't the most pleasant because of the contrast that they inject into your body, and I'm tired of needles and IVs. But it was okay. I just got home from it.
Now we just wait. At least when I have mammograms they read them while you wait right there. I have a radiologist that I request and she even takes me in back and goes over the films with me. But for this, we just have to wait. Sometimes a radiologist calls, sometimes my doctor. Sigh. I have a plan (of course I do).
First thing Monday morning I am going to call my oncologist's PA. My onc didn't order the MRI, my surgeon did, but her PA is the most responsive person I've ever met. Seriously - she is amazing. I wrote a post about her once. And I know that I can count on her to get those results ASAP and call me immediately. I'm also going to call my friend who is a resident in the rad onc unit - because she will also call me the second she can get her hands on it. Between one of the two of them - I can probably get my hands on it on Monday. It's good to be connected when it comes to this kind of thing.
Monday seems like a long way away doesn't it? In the mean time, I am going to try to just relax and enjoy the weekend. Because why not right? Amazingly, I don't even have to work this weekend, which is great, given the insanity going on there. And I am going to buy myself a new meditation CD tomorrow, work-out, drink tea, and do a puzzle. I love jig-saw puzzles. I can sit at the table for 10 hours straight and work on one.
Keep sending good thoughts and I will post when I know something! And when everything turns out fine, what should I do to celebrate (besides drink, since I don't!)? Plan a trip to go visit my brother, sister-in-law and nephew maybe?
*Edited to add: I spoke too soon. Now that I've been home for a little while, I'm starting to freak out. I really really want this to be okay. And I really want to enjoy the weekend. But I just don't think I can until I know. Ugh.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
The kindness of strangers
An unbelievable number of people visited my blog today - seriously - I couldn't believe how many people (thank you Niobe and Waiting Amy for sending all the prayers my way). To all of you who stopped by and sent out a prayer, or left a comment - whoever you are, most of you strangers - I am grateful to all of you.
I've wanted to post these past few days about the whole cycle of emotions that I go through before these follow-up MRIs and mammograms - but I just haven't had a chance. I'm drowning at work so I can't post there and then I'm working late on top of it so by the time I get home, I don't have it in me to really go into it. A blessing in disguise probably because you can guess what the posts would be like if I had hours to sit here and try to describe it. I cycle through this whole range of things from the worst regret I've ever felt, coupled with guilt and downright anguish - all the way to over to the other side where I experience overwhelming gratitude and a deep sense of peacefulness. Eventually I suppose, by the time the appointment rolls around, you find a way to make some kind of peace with things. Because what's the alternative?
But it isn't easy. You spend a lot of time trying to rationalize it - reviewing everything you know, factually, medically, scientifically, statistically - you hear your doctor's voice in your head telling you that the odds are overwhelmingly in your favor. And you say yes, but weren't they the first time? And she says yes, but knowing everything we know now - we can say that. Before the biopsy I was told that there was less than a 1% chance that I could have breast cancer. The first doctor didn't even want to do the biopsy because I was only 28. I forced them to - and I won the lottery I guess you could say. All of the rationalizing in the world doesn't change what you feel.
And you spend a lot of time talking to God - it's one great big, several day long conversation - in which you are really just trying to find the right way to apologize. For what? For not holding up my end of the bargain. This whole experience has been one continuous negotiation in which I try to give up one thing after another in exchange for Time. I'm not even asking for a lifetime, just more time, just this little bit of time until the next time I go through this. I've offered up everything I can think of. It started with my fertility (chemo drugs frequently leave you infertile) and then over time I've offered up everything else I've ever wanted in life- every hope, every dream. But how many more times can I beg this higher power of mine to save me and expect a miracle?
I just wanted another chance so that I could live differently - so that I could live without all those regrets I discovered I had and find happiness and help other people and really deeply appreciate everything that I have in my life. But I feel like I'm failing and I'm running out of prayers and excuses, so how about a little grace instead?
I was talking about contentment in that post called Time. It makes a lot of sense to me now - of course I feel that deep feeling of contentment. I think I always do right before these appointments. Because I know what matters in life. I don't live every day as if I do, but I understand it right before I think I might lose it. And then when I find out that it's mine to keep for just a little longer, I lose sight of it again.
I won't know anything tomorrow - that might be the worst part - waiting for the phone to ring. And when it does, your stomach drops and you start shaking.
I've wanted to post these past few days about the whole cycle of emotions that I go through before these follow-up MRIs and mammograms - but I just haven't had a chance. I'm drowning at work so I can't post there and then I'm working late on top of it so by the time I get home, I don't have it in me to really go into it. A blessing in disguise probably because you can guess what the posts would be like if I had hours to sit here and try to describe it. I cycle through this whole range of things from the worst regret I've ever felt, coupled with guilt and downright anguish - all the way to over to the other side where I experience overwhelming gratitude and a deep sense of peacefulness. Eventually I suppose, by the time the appointment rolls around, you find a way to make some kind of peace with things. Because what's the alternative?
But it isn't easy. You spend a lot of time trying to rationalize it - reviewing everything you know, factually, medically, scientifically, statistically - you hear your doctor's voice in your head telling you that the odds are overwhelmingly in your favor. And you say yes, but weren't they the first time? And she says yes, but knowing everything we know now - we can say that. Before the biopsy I was told that there was less than a 1% chance that I could have breast cancer. The first doctor didn't even want to do the biopsy because I was only 28. I forced them to - and I won the lottery I guess you could say. All of the rationalizing in the world doesn't change what you feel.
And you spend a lot of time talking to God - it's one great big, several day long conversation - in which you are really just trying to find the right way to apologize. For what? For not holding up my end of the bargain. This whole experience has been one continuous negotiation in which I try to give up one thing after another in exchange for Time. I'm not even asking for a lifetime, just more time, just this little bit of time until the next time I go through this. I've offered up everything I can think of. It started with my fertility (chemo drugs frequently leave you infertile) and then over time I've offered up everything else I've ever wanted in life- every hope, every dream. But how many more times can I beg this higher power of mine to save me and expect a miracle?
I just wanted another chance so that I could live differently - so that I could live without all those regrets I discovered I had and find happiness and help other people and really deeply appreciate everything that I have in my life. But I feel like I'm failing and I'm running out of prayers and excuses, so how about a little grace instead?
I was talking about contentment in that post called Time. It makes a lot of sense to me now - of course I feel that deep feeling of contentment. I think I always do right before these appointments. Because I know what matters in life. I don't live every day as if I do, but I understand it right before I think I might lose it. And then when I find out that it's mine to keep for just a little longer, I lose sight of it again.
I won't know anything tomorrow - that might be the worst part - waiting for the phone to ring. And when it does, your stomach drops and you start shaking.
Monday, January 21, 2008
I'm asking for prayers
In case you only read the beginning of this post, I'm putting this up-front. I have a follow-up MRI on Friday - to look for new instances/recurrences of breast cancer. If you are so inclined - could you pray for me, please?
I am going to try to describe something to you. It's like hanging out with someone, that really means a lot to you. And you know that it's the last time you will hang out with them for a really long time, maybe ever. This might be goodbye, in fact, it probably is. But you don't like the idea of it, or the word even - you find it impossible to say, so you try to ignore that fact while it crowds out everything else until it's the only thing you can think about. The harder you try to ignore it, the more aware of it you are. This person means so much to you that you count down the time you have left. You count down the days, the hours, right down to the minutes, the whole time anticipating that moment when you have to let go of them. This person means so much to you that you just desperately want to enjoy every second, so you try to, you focus on it. You concentrate on it, the minutes, you hear the seconds ticking even. You are desperate to make it last. You try so hard to make those last days and hours so perfect that you fail to enjoy it at all. Before you know it, it's over. You've wasted the entire time anticipating the inevitable end. And you've anticipated it so hard that you missed the very thing you most wanted to savor. You beg for just a little more time, just a few more minutes - as if a few more minutes before the end can really mean anything or make any difference. You just don't want it to be over. You want to stop time. You desperately want this moment to go on and on forever.
Every second of the days that lead up to one of these appointments is just like this - it's like the last moment you will have with someone, and you know that it's over and you just don't want it to be, but you don't have any control over it, and try as you might to enjoy it, you can't because all you can think about is the inevitable ending.
Just try to imagine the very worst possible thing that could happen to you - and how your life will be ripped out from underneath you when it happens - and you know that when it happens nothing will ever be the same again. And imagine you know just exactly when it's going to happen and how much time you have until then. And imagine what living in those moments is like - the impossibility of it.
I honestly don't know how many more times I can go through this. It is an indescribable hell. I'll try again to describe it tomorrow, because I really want to find a way to convey it. In the meantime, I am counting the days, the hours, every second, one at a time.
I am going to try to describe something to you. It's like hanging out with someone, that really means a lot to you. And you know that it's the last time you will hang out with them for a really long time, maybe ever. This might be goodbye, in fact, it probably is. But you don't like the idea of it, or the word even - you find it impossible to say, so you try to ignore that fact while it crowds out everything else until it's the only thing you can think about. The harder you try to ignore it, the more aware of it you are. This person means so much to you that you count down the time you have left. You count down the days, the hours, right down to the minutes, the whole time anticipating that moment when you have to let go of them. This person means so much to you that you just desperately want to enjoy every second, so you try to, you focus on it. You concentrate on it, the minutes, you hear the seconds ticking even. You are desperate to make it last. You try so hard to make those last days and hours so perfect that you fail to enjoy it at all. Before you know it, it's over. You've wasted the entire time anticipating the inevitable end. And you've anticipated it so hard that you missed the very thing you most wanted to savor. You beg for just a little more time, just a few more minutes - as if a few more minutes before the end can really mean anything or make any difference. You just don't want it to be over. You want to stop time. You desperately want this moment to go on and on forever.
Every second of the days that lead up to one of these appointments is just like this - it's like the last moment you will have with someone, and you know that it's over and you just don't want it to be, but you don't have any control over it, and try as you might to enjoy it, you can't because all you can think about is the inevitable ending.
Just try to imagine the very worst possible thing that could happen to you - and how your life will be ripped out from underneath you when it happens - and you know that when it happens nothing will ever be the same again. And imagine you know just exactly when it's going to happen and how much time you have until then. And imagine what living in those moments is like - the impossibility of it.
I honestly don't know how many more times I can go through this. It is an indescribable hell. I'll try again to describe it tomorrow, because I really want to find a way to convey it. In the meantime, I am counting the days, the hours, every second, one at a time.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
How fewer miles can make you feel farther apart
The physical distance between you isn't the thing that defines how close you are to someone. I know this because my best friend Heather and I don't live in the same state. When we did, we didn't live in the same city. She moved away when we were 7 - and she's been my best friend, well, ever since then or since I can remember really. I don't remember not knowing her - we met when we were 3. And 27 years later we are as close as we ever were. She is the one thing that I know will always be a constant in my life - no matter where we live or in what direction our lives take us, she will be there. I wrote this post called To My Best Friend Heather back when I started this blog. Everyone should be so lucky to have a friendship like this one in his or her life.
I was thinking about my brother, who has moved back to the U.S. from Germany - and how much closer I felt to them when they were so much farther away. Maybe it was the time difference and the fact that my long day was his afternoon and evening so it was easy to connect - coupled with the fact that we were all logged into Gmail chat all day and could talk nearly every day the entire time they were over there. Lately, I feel like there are thousands and thousands of miles between us. I've talked to my brother on the phone once since Christmas and only a couple of times and very briefly on instant message. There are other people I feel less connected to these days also. Maybe it's just the natural progression of things.
I would have hoped to feel the comfort of having them closer - even though they are in Boston and I'm in Chicago - because in many ways they are all I have. But I don't feel that - I just feel kind of disconnected and lost and alone over here. I don't feel bad - things are good actually - I just feel a little alone without them. I hope it's just temporary, that's all. They moved right before the holidays, were living in two places, trying to find a place, start new jobs, get settled, etc. Extremely stressful I'm sure. Of course it is selfish of me to want to see them and talk to them - so I'm selfish then. Is it really so terrible that I want to feel connected to them?
It just scares me I guess. Our lives change and we go in so many different directions and have so many different things going on that I worry it will become harder and harder to meet in the middle. I don't want them to be people that I only see or hear from at the holidays - an obligatory phone call or that kind of thing. Or I worry that they aren't that interested in being close to me - that's all in my head though, I know. I have this "alcoholic" way of thinking about the world - which I'm sure some of you know what I mean and others of you have no idea what I'm talking about - but let's just say my perception is off - it is a disease of misperception.
I guess I just feel sad about it for some reason today. As uncomfortable as it makes me to say it, I miss them.
I was thinking about my brother, who has moved back to the U.S. from Germany - and how much closer I felt to them when they were so much farther away. Maybe it was the time difference and the fact that my long day was his afternoon and evening so it was easy to connect - coupled with the fact that we were all logged into Gmail chat all day and could talk nearly every day the entire time they were over there. Lately, I feel like there are thousands and thousands of miles between us. I've talked to my brother on the phone once since Christmas and only a couple of times and very briefly on instant message. There are other people I feel less connected to these days also. Maybe it's just the natural progression of things.
I would have hoped to feel the comfort of having them closer - even though they are in Boston and I'm in Chicago - because in many ways they are all I have. But I don't feel that - I just feel kind of disconnected and lost and alone over here. I don't feel bad - things are good actually - I just feel a little alone without them. I hope it's just temporary, that's all. They moved right before the holidays, were living in two places, trying to find a place, start new jobs, get settled, etc. Extremely stressful I'm sure. Of course it is selfish of me to want to see them and talk to them - so I'm selfish then. Is it really so terrible that I want to feel connected to them?
It just scares me I guess. Our lives change and we go in so many different directions and have so many different things going on that I worry it will become harder and harder to meet in the middle. I don't want them to be people that I only see or hear from at the holidays - an obligatory phone call or that kind of thing. Or I worry that they aren't that interested in being close to me - that's all in my head though, I know. I have this "alcoholic" way of thinking about the world - which I'm sure some of you know what I mean and others of you have no idea what I'm talking about - but let's just say my perception is off - it is a disease of misperception.
I guess I just feel sad about it for some reason today. As uncomfortable as it makes me to say it, I miss them.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
When death finds you, will it find you alive?
I've been thinking tonight, since the meeting that I went to, about how much of my life I lose to fear. A lot probably. Mostly it is the fear of not having a future, but it used to be the fear of a lot of other things. I know from doing 4th step AA inventories that most of my decisions, and the things I've done to other people and myself, were based largely, if not entirely, on fear. It touches every aspect of our lives, as the Big Book says. It is the fear of everything and nothing, or losing what you have and not getting what you want. And I know from the 9th step promises, that those fears go away eventually. I guess when I really think about it - I am not driven by fear like I used to be, I don't feel afraid of the same things.
I love this Wednesday meeting that I go to. There is just something about this meeting that is unlike other meetings. I wouldn't want to give it up. It reminds me how much AA is really about life, and how little it has to do with alcohol, because remember - alcohol is but a symptom of the problem. Anyway, we were talking about fear and about faith. The guy who was giving the lead was talking about the fear of missing out - the fear of missing something. That undefined something. I thought, that's it - that's what it is. The fear of missing that thing that I can't define. I am afraid of missing out on happiness.
I feel free of fear in a lot of ways, yet at the same time, there is this fear that is underlying, constant, unyielding, suffocating, and debilitating. It isn't the kind of fear that motivates you - it paralyzes you. It knocks you over when you become aware of it, it takes your breath away, it is painful, and lonely and indescribable really. It is the fear that I will get cancer again and die. That it will all be over before I even have a chance at happiness. People don't understand what this is like - to live with this hanging over you, and under you and saturating everything around you.
I feel a desperate sense of urgency most of the time. An urgency to get the things I want and to work out this life of mine into this perfect thing that I want it to be, so that I can achieve happiness, before it's too late. I worry about the time that I've already lost. With the advent of the anniversary of my survival - I have a hard time thinking of it positively, instead, I have been thinking of it in terms of one more year less that I get to be here. I think about the numbers - the five year survival rate, and I worry that I only have 4 years left. I know my odds of survival are high - higher than the average numbers - but it doesn't help. Nothing helps. The only thing that helps, even a tiny little bit, is to stay present in the moment - not the day, but the moment - literally the moment, right now, this second.
What if I really only do have 4 years left? Seriously. It is terrifying beyond words. I mean what do you do in the face of fear like that? You live I guess. But how? I don't know how.
I love this Wednesday meeting that I go to. There is just something about this meeting that is unlike other meetings. I wouldn't want to give it up. It reminds me how much AA is really about life, and how little it has to do with alcohol, because remember - alcohol is but a symptom of the problem. Anyway, we were talking about fear and about faith. The guy who was giving the lead was talking about the fear of missing out - the fear of missing something. That undefined something. I thought, that's it - that's what it is. The fear of missing that thing that I can't define. I am afraid of missing out on happiness.
I feel free of fear in a lot of ways, yet at the same time, there is this fear that is underlying, constant, unyielding, suffocating, and debilitating. It isn't the kind of fear that motivates you - it paralyzes you. It knocks you over when you become aware of it, it takes your breath away, it is painful, and lonely and indescribable really. It is the fear that I will get cancer again and die. That it will all be over before I even have a chance at happiness. People don't understand what this is like - to live with this hanging over you, and under you and saturating everything around you.
I feel a desperate sense of urgency most of the time. An urgency to get the things I want and to work out this life of mine into this perfect thing that I want it to be, so that I can achieve happiness, before it's too late. I worry about the time that I've already lost. With the advent of the anniversary of my survival - I have a hard time thinking of it positively, instead, I have been thinking of it in terms of one more year less that I get to be here. I think about the numbers - the five year survival rate, and I worry that I only have 4 years left. I know my odds of survival are high - higher than the average numbers - but it doesn't help. Nothing helps. The only thing that helps, even a tiny little bit, is to stay present in the moment - not the day, but the moment - literally the moment, right now, this second.
What if I really only do have 4 years left? Seriously. It is terrifying beyond words. I mean what do you do in the face of fear like that? You live I guess. But how? I don't know how.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Just close your eyes and try not to feel sad
That's what I've been telling myself as I try to convince myself to go to sleep - just close your eyes and go to sleep - it will be tomorrow before you know it and tomorrow will be different. You will get up and you will walk 5 miles for breast cancer with your colleagues and you will pretend to be strong and you will tell the story of your own survival as if you are amazing. Mostly you will just hope you get through it. I don't want to tell this story tomorrow. I don't want to re-live it. I don't want to talk about it anymore. I don't want to answer anymore questions and I am tired of pretending that I am okay about what happened when the truth is, I have not even begun to comprehend it. I tell the story the way I tell it because I wouldn't be able to tell it otherwise. And the truth is - when people say to me - you must be such a strong person to have gone through that, and to have kept working 50 hours a week - how did you survive - how did you do that? What I feel like saying is this - I survived because I had no choice. Because I couldn't figure out how to kill myself quick enough and there wasn't anyone to take care of me. I did what I did because I had no choice. I had no disability benefit because I had been employed by my firm for only 3 weeks when it happened. I had to pay the bills, no one was going to pay them for me. Neither of my parents even showed up for me. I just did what I had to do - it wasn't because I wanted to, and it certainly wasn't amazing. The truth of it is - if I dig deep enough - if I really dig for something relating to this whole mess that happened to me, I am so angry that I almost can't stand it. The last place I want to be is surrounded by people and talking about it.
I knew there was a reason why some part of me didn't want to walk tomorrow. It wasn't conscious or anything, it's just that on most days I try to pretend it didn't happen. I try to just live, you know, but I am surrounded by breast cancer awareness month and constant fund raising at work. When I let myself be talked into walking tomorrow - I didn't realize that I would have any emotional reaction to it at all. I thought I would be fine. I thought I would just show up and be one of them, but I am not one of them. I am different. I didn't realize that to show up for an event surrounding the very thing that feels like it destroyed my life, would cause me an emotional upheaval.
I knew there was a reason why some part of me didn't want to walk tomorrow. It wasn't conscious or anything, it's just that on most days I try to pretend it didn't happen. I try to just live, you know, but I am surrounded by breast cancer awareness month and constant fund raising at work. When I let myself be talked into walking tomorrow - I didn't realize that I would have any emotional reaction to it at all. I thought I would be fine. I thought I would just show up and be one of them, but I am not one of them. I am different. I didn't realize that to show up for an event surrounding the very thing that feels like it destroyed my life, would cause me an emotional upheaval.
Friday, October 12, 2007
It takes your breath away
I've wanted to write, but I just haven't had time. I don't have time now really either - this is day 12 of working with no day off and well, I don't even feel like talking about that. There are other things on my mind - so many things, and I just need to write.
I have this inability to maintain perspective. I find it amazing, that after everything I went through - I cannot manage to hang on to a little perspective about life. It comes and it goes. I lose it and then get it again, and lose it again. I remember the first time I realized I had lost it - I just thought that the perspective I had gained about life by surviving breast cancer was something that would stay with me - but I woke up one day and I didn't have it anymore. It was in living my life that I had lost it. I manage to find it again every time though. I find it when I see my nephew laugh and play or when I sit in a doctor's office for 3 hours waiting for mammogram results. I find it - but I only really have it in moments.
Ever since the beginning of September, when I had my last mammogram - I have been living largely out from under the fear of dying. I just haven't felt that fear. I have been operating on the belief that I will get to live the rest of my life. Living as if - I guess. And in living that life, that I so desperately wanted to get to live, I have lost sight of the point again.
I have been working for days, I am stressed about this project, the partner isn't helping, it isn't getting done, am I going to get a raise in January, I want a raise in January, I better get a raise in January, I deserve one don't I, how the hell is this project going to get done, am I going to have to work 12 more days before I get a break, probably, should I pay my loan, what if I don't quite have the 100K for my down payment, how am I going to get this project done, I'm tired, I better get a raise, I hope they are aware that I practically live here, I need to find a guy, what if I don't find one before I'm infertile, what am I going to do. This is the pathetic contents of my head right now. I have lost it again, that perspective that allows me to see things for what they are, to appreciate them, to love them, to enjoy them, to believe that it will be okay, to understand what matters in the end, to not freak out over nothing. I have lost it.
I was getting undressed last night and my rib cage hurt. My rib cage hurts, I have a pain in my rib cage again. Wait, I have a pain in my rib cage again. Shit, I have a pain in my rib cage again. Shit. I fall on the floor and start praying to my higher power who has been basically missing these days. I don't know where my higher power has gone - I just don't feel the presence of it since that night in the restaurant. My sponsor tells me to pray anyway because obviously something kept me from drinking that night and it obviously wasn't me. Isn't this conversation getting old though? Dear God, sorry I am such a fuck up and I can't seem to remember the point of life, but please, I am begging you, don't let me die of cancer, please don't let it have spread to my rib cage. I promise - if you just let me live, I'll remember the point this time. I swear. I promise. I get it this time.
My rib cage hurts. I know - scientifically, it is probably nothing. But I can't explain it - it hurts for no reason and there is nothing rational about the fear of breast cancer spreading and having my life ripped out from underneath me again. There was a point when suddenly it became enough to just be alive - it didn't matter anymore whether I found the right guy or was able to have children or made partner at my firm, or got a raise, or whatever - nothing mattered in those moments when I thought my life might be cut short. To just get to live, and to live whatever life I was given, was enough. It was a gift - truly, every second of my life is a gift. I feel like I am careless with it sometimes - because then you live and the fear dissipates a bit and suddenly the things that didn't seem to matter seem to be the end of the world. I go along the way I have been for a while now - living I guess, free of that fear that unfortunately grounds me in some sense - and let me tell you, when I felt that pain, and when the fear enveloped me, the reality of the uncertainty that I have to live with, when your perspective gets shifted like flipping a switch and you find yourself on the floor, begging for your life again, it takes you breath away.
I have this inability to maintain perspective. I find it amazing, that after everything I went through - I cannot manage to hang on to a little perspective about life. It comes and it goes. I lose it and then get it again, and lose it again. I remember the first time I realized I had lost it - I just thought that the perspective I had gained about life by surviving breast cancer was something that would stay with me - but I woke up one day and I didn't have it anymore. It was in living my life that I had lost it. I manage to find it again every time though. I find it when I see my nephew laugh and play or when I sit in a doctor's office for 3 hours waiting for mammogram results. I find it - but I only really have it in moments.
Ever since the beginning of September, when I had my last mammogram - I have been living largely out from under the fear of dying. I just haven't felt that fear. I have been operating on the belief that I will get to live the rest of my life. Living as if - I guess. And in living that life, that I so desperately wanted to get to live, I have lost sight of the point again.
I have been working for days, I am stressed about this project, the partner isn't helping, it isn't getting done, am I going to get a raise in January, I want a raise in January, I better get a raise in January, I deserve one don't I, how the hell is this project going to get done, am I going to have to work 12 more days before I get a break, probably, should I pay my loan, what if I don't quite have the 100K for my down payment, how am I going to get this project done, I'm tired, I better get a raise, I hope they are aware that I practically live here, I need to find a guy, what if I don't find one before I'm infertile, what am I going to do. This is the pathetic contents of my head right now. I have lost it again, that perspective that allows me to see things for what they are, to appreciate them, to love them, to enjoy them, to believe that it will be okay, to understand what matters in the end, to not freak out over nothing. I have lost it.
I was getting undressed last night and my rib cage hurt. My rib cage hurts, I have a pain in my rib cage again. Wait, I have a pain in my rib cage again. Shit, I have a pain in my rib cage again. Shit. I fall on the floor and start praying to my higher power who has been basically missing these days. I don't know where my higher power has gone - I just don't feel the presence of it since that night in the restaurant. My sponsor tells me to pray anyway because obviously something kept me from drinking that night and it obviously wasn't me. Isn't this conversation getting old though? Dear God, sorry I am such a fuck up and I can't seem to remember the point of life, but please, I am begging you, don't let me die of cancer, please don't let it have spread to my rib cage. I promise - if you just let me live, I'll remember the point this time. I swear. I promise. I get it this time.
My rib cage hurts. I know - scientifically, it is probably nothing. But I can't explain it - it hurts for no reason and there is nothing rational about the fear of breast cancer spreading and having my life ripped out from underneath me again. There was a point when suddenly it became enough to just be alive - it didn't matter anymore whether I found the right guy or was able to have children or made partner at my firm, or got a raise, or whatever - nothing mattered in those moments when I thought my life might be cut short. To just get to live, and to live whatever life I was given, was enough. It was a gift - truly, every second of my life is a gift. I feel like I am careless with it sometimes - because then you live and the fear dissipates a bit and suddenly the things that didn't seem to matter seem to be the end of the world. I go along the way I have been for a while now - living I guess, free of that fear that unfortunately grounds me in some sense - and let me tell you, when I felt that pain, and when the fear enveloped me, the reality of the uncertainty that I have to live with, when your perspective gets shifted like flipping a switch and you find yourself on the floor, begging for your life again, it takes you breath away.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
9:26 and one second
The past few days have brought renewed meaning to the phrase "one day at a time." I am acutely aware of what this means, but sometimes lack appreciation of the power of this concept in practice. Sometimes it is an hour at a time, 5 minutes, a minute, a second. How do you do anything - stay sober, survive breast cancer, deal with unrelenting and inconsolable fear - you do it moment to moment. I don't have to figure out how to deal for the rest of my life with this overpowering fear of dying of cancer. I just have to deal with it, right now, this second.
These past few days I have tried to sit in the feeling - and it is indescribable. It feels one way to have your life yanked out from underneath you with no notice, like when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. It feels like something else when you have a chance to prepare and think about what that would be like to have it yanked out from underneath you all over again. I can't really think of the words to describe it, I've tried - but only someone who has been through this can understand what this fear is like. It is a fear unlike any other fear and there just aren't words to capture it.
I have tried to sit in the feeling and actually experience it and process it, while at the same time maintaining a kind of distance, more like perspective, to enable me to stay present in the very moment I am sitting in and have a true appreciation of every teeny tiny detail. It is more like being in the solution than being in the problem, but it still doesn't feel good. It feels horrible on the one hand but at the same time it is the most amazing thing to be right here, right now, which is the place I find myself least often. I have focused on only one thing these past few days and that is seeing my nephew on Friday. He is the greatest reminder to me of what it is like to be present in the moment. To watch him laugh and learn and look at something in amazement fills me with a kind of happiness that is unparalleled in my life.
To my complete astonishment, even though I am caught up in the worst fear and anxiety I've ever had in my life, I have been more present these past few days than I have been in a very long time. I have enjoyed these days and I have most importantly remembered to be grateful, not sometimes, but constantly. I have felt peaceful and content. I have had powerful moments of surrender - because to deal with what I am dealing with requires surrender on a different level than what I experienced before. I have had meaningful conversations with my higher power.
This situation is a true test of my faith, of my ability to apply the program to all my affairs. You know sometimes how you wake up from an experience and things are different - you are changed somehow and it wasn't a process, it just happened in a moment? These days, changing is like that. It is sudden and unpredictable. It happens in those moments I spend talking to my higher power about the purpose of all of this that I am too human to even begin to understand. These past few days have changed me.
Tomorrow I have a follow-up mammogram. Until then, it is moment by moment. To those of you who are so inclined, please pray for me.
These past few days I have tried to sit in the feeling - and it is indescribable. It feels one way to have your life yanked out from underneath you with no notice, like when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. It feels like something else when you have a chance to prepare and think about what that would be like to have it yanked out from underneath you all over again. I can't really think of the words to describe it, I've tried - but only someone who has been through this can understand what this fear is like. It is a fear unlike any other fear and there just aren't words to capture it.
I have tried to sit in the feeling and actually experience it and process it, while at the same time maintaining a kind of distance, more like perspective, to enable me to stay present in the very moment I am sitting in and have a true appreciation of every teeny tiny detail. It is more like being in the solution than being in the problem, but it still doesn't feel good. It feels horrible on the one hand but at the same time it is the most amazing thing to be right here, right now, which is the place I find myself least often. I have focused on only one thing these past few days and that is seeing my nephew on Friday. He is the greatest reminder to me of what it is like to be present in the moment. To watch him laugh and learn and look at something in amazement fills me with a kind of happiness that is unparalleled in my life.
To my complete astonishment, even though I am caught up in the worst fear and anxiety I've ever had in my life, I have been more present these past few days than I have been in a very long time. I have enjoyed these days and I have most importantly remembered to be grateful, not sometimes, but constantly. I have felt peaceful and content. I have had powerful moments of surrender - because to deal with what I am dealing with requires surrender on a different level than what I experienced before. I have had meaningful conversations with my higher power.
This situation is a true test of my faith, of my ability to apply the program to all my affairs. You know sometimes how you wake up from an experience and things are different - you are changed somehow and it wasn't a process, it just happened in a moment? These days, changing is like that. It is sudden and unpredictable. It happens in those moments I spend talking to my higher power about the purpose of all of this that I am too human to even begin to understand. These past few days have changed me.
Tomorrow I have a follow-up mammogram. Until then, it is moment by moment. To those of you who are so inclined, please pray for me.
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