Category Archives: breast cancer

Talking About Cancer

I have very mixed feelings about discussing my breast cancer in public, but I’m going to. For a number of reasons.

I’ve had the initial “By the way, I have cancer” moment with a number of people already. It’s a sure-fire conversation stopper. <wry smile> Sorry, I don’t mean it to be, but in some contexts, with people who genuinely care, it’s hard for me to answer the usual cheerful: “How are you?” – except straightforwardly.

But it is tiring to deliver the same information over and over, especially information that is difficult enough for me to get my own head around. At each step of this so far, and probably all the steps to come, there is a part of me resisting, screaming inside my own head: “No, no, this can’t be happening!”

You won’t hear me screaming, and you probably won’t see me crying. Almost no one will.

My attitude to all crisis situations, no matter who they’re happening to, is to keep my head and deal with what’s before me. I figure, no matter how bad things are, someone needs to be the grownup and deal with the practicalities. Call me Kipling, if you like.

In practice, this has meant throughout my life that I have rarely (if ever) had the luxury of just going to pieces and letting someone else pick them up. I keep on keeping on. I don’t see that I have any choice. My weapons of self-defense are intellectual curiosity about everything (even the nasty stuff that happens to me), and a dark, at times completely “inappropriate”, sense of humor.

So my tone in discussing my cancer may seem strange, detached, clinical, or even cold. Believe me, there’s plenty of molten rage, deep grief, and stark terror underneath. But it doesn’t help me to express those all the time.

What does help is writing, both the discipline of getting my thoughts and facts in order, and the escape valve of telling my story on my own terms. Part of my reason for doing this will be therapeutic.

NB: No one, no matter how close to me, should feel obliged to read any of this if it’s hard for you. You, too, have the right to deal with any crisis in your life (including me) in your own way. Just remember: kvetch outward.

It may even be something of a public service for me to write about this. Cancer is a hugely frightening topic for everyone, and some folks are still reticent to talk or ask about it. A few people in my life (that I know of so far) have been through some version of what I’m going through now, and it’s helpful for me to know that they are there (and, frankly, to know that they’re still alive and coping well). Any frightening experience is a bit easier when you know more about what to expect.

Telling my story may, therefore, help others who may someday have to go through something like this – as, statistically, many of you will: “About 1 in 8 U.S. women (about 12%) will develop invasive breast cancer over the course of her lifetime.” – breastcancer.org

So…I write.


my breast cancer story (thus far)

Care

I am deeply touched (and somewhat baffled) that many people – some of whom I don’t even know that well! – are volunteering to help during my coming ordeal with chemotherapy.

Throughout my life, including childhood, I have rarely experienced being on the receiving end of care. As a daughter, wife, mother, hostess, event planner, and community manager I’ve mostly taken care of others. I’ve always been the strong one, keeping my shit together in emergencies because someone has to be the grownup and deal with stuff. I love being “a really useful engine”, and I can’t imagine why people would want to be around me if I’m not.

So I don’t really know how to be taken care of. Part of me deeply craves it, but a lot of me is scared to be too “needy” or “demanding”.

I hate the “every life difficulty has a lesson for you” trope but, if you like that sort of thing, that’s probably the lesson that cancer has to teach me: learning to trust that others actually want to and will care for me when I need it most, and then letting them do it.

This may be even harder for me than the chemo itself. Being that vulnerable frightens me deeply.

So… many thanks for your offers of help. I will take you up on them. You may have to physically restrain me from at least making you coffee. 😉


my breast cancer story (thus far)

Mean Nasty Ugly Things

I listened to Arlo Guthrie’s – Alice’s Restaurant Massacree around Thanksgiving (as tradition demands). This part hit particularly close to home, and is likely to do so for some time to come:

“…Proceeded on down the hall gettin’ more injections, inspections, detections, neglections and all kinds of stuff that they was doin’ to me at the thing there, and I was there for two hours, three hours, four hours, I was there for a long time going through all kinds of mean nasty ugly things and I was just having a tough time there, and they was inspecting, injecting every single part of me, and they was leaving no part untouched.”

 


my breast cancer story (thus far)

Gratitude

One of the things I have to be grateful for this Thanksgiving is that I still have a mostly-intact right breast. A few weeks ago, as I was finishing up a business trip in Paris, I received a diagnosis of breast cancer. This last Tuesday I had a lumpectomy and sentinel node biopsy, and should be getting more lab results early next week. For the moment, it’s looking as if we caught it early enough that a month of radiation will suffice as follow-up treatment, and that I’ll be able to start that after the month’s trip to Australia (mid-December to mid-January) that had already been planned.

I did fine in surgery and am mostly just tired at the moment, from emotional overload as much as anything – cancer is a scary diagnosis under any circumstances. I have plenty of support at home, especially from my long-time partner-in-crime (and other crises), Brendan. I’ll keep everyone posted as I learn more.

Dec 1 update: No lymph node involvement and the tumor was completely removed, which is the best possible news right now. They’ll do a bit more testing on the removed tumor to see whether chemo may be a good idea – it was a pretty big tumor (25mm). And I’ll certainly need radiation and follow-up hormonal therapy, but in the meantime I can go to Australia as planned, departing Dec 16th. Time to pack!

later update: Yes, I will do chemo, starting pretty soon after I return to the US (from Australia) in mid January.

top: souvenir surgery socks


my breast cancer story (thus far)