Nevertheless She Persisted. I never thought those three words would be so apropos until April 8th, when I was diagnosed with breast cancer during a pandemic. Was the diagnosis a surprise? Not really, after 30 years of biopsies, MRIs, Ultrasounds and aspirations - coupled with a family history that all the workouts and vegetables on the planet couldn't combat. What threw me was the sheer terror of being diagnosed in the worse event of a hundred years.
In the beginning of March, I went in for what was a routine 3D Mammogram. Ten days later - on my birthday no less - I received what I thought would be my letter telling me that yes, those babies are dense and filled with crap, but time to move on for another year. My famous utterance of, "That's not good," was an understatement when I read the word, "abnormal." That isn't a word anyone wants to read unless you're looking for a career as the bearded lady in a circus freak show. Then the sheer terror of the realization kicked in. Can I get further testing? Can I get a biopsy? How about surgery? In Colorado, where I live, things shut down rapidly in March. That included all non-essential surgeries. I suppose non-essential is really dependent upon whether you perceive yourself as the non or the essential part. When I got back to the hospital, the parking lot went from being irritatingly full, to frighteningly empty and eerie. All doors were locked with the only entrance being through the Emergency Room. Yes, the entrance to all things icky and germy under any circumstance, but amplified even more during a pandemic. For God's sake, I just wanted a fighting chance and not to be tossed from the lifeboat.
To quote Tom Petty, "the waiting is the hardest part." Days turned into weeks...really...many weeks. One test became four with results taking 5-6 days in between. The mind spins in a curious way while you're waiting. My first thoughts were, like numerous times before, the medical profession was over reacting. "With your family history" was the phrase often used to justify lots of tests over the years. Initially, your mind goes to the results you know historically...nada, nothing, a waste of emotional time, energy and money - especially with lousier deductibles over the years. But, as each subsequent test marched on, the panic rose. Every night was a waking nightmare - literally. The night time is always worse somehow. It's the dark place where dark thoughts go to blossom. By week five, I figured that at least I finally knew how I'd die...that's the unfortunate projection of an over active imagination and the march of age.
April 8th...that's the day that I'll always remember (In your mind, play the riff of "Pappa was a Rolling Stone" right now). That's the day my doctor told me I had breast cancer. I dealt with it with humor and grace, because after all, I figured it was always going to be so. I'm best in control and moving towards solutions. Plus, I was raised to be polite - particularly with people that control my fate and carry sharp objects.
So, on Monday, May 4th, I'm removing both my cancer sponges. The good news...I'm early stage, so my prognosis is excellent...unless the Covid gets me first. But, the reality is that things could be much worse. I could be unemployed rather than retired with a monthly income. I could not have insurance. I could not have an incredible spouse and loving family and friends (albeit many of them hundreds of miles away and unable to travel...but, I digress). I've got my sense of humor. Be looking for my all female juggling revue called The Sisterhood of the Missing TaTas in Vegas next year. I'm looking forward to freaking people out by wildly changing breast insert sizes at will - hell, I may try a B cup on one side and a D on the other. And the ultimate bad ass move going forward is a mastectomy tattoo. After all, you've got to get your jollies where you can and have something to look forward to.
So, dear readers...my ultimate message to each and every one of you is early detection, early detection, early detection! If you're female, take care of yourself. If you're male, take care of the women in your life that you love. Don't feel sorry for me (unless it makes you feel a little better about your own travails - i.e. - "Boy, I'm really glad that didn't happen to me!"). I'll persist because that's what we do when faced with our own mortality during a frickin' pandemic.
Peace out.