There is a before, and an after.

During our full and wondrous lives we have a number of life changing moments. Some of which we embrace as defining moments, such as becoming a wife or husband, and some we would rather not allow to define us. Hearing a doctor tell me that I have cancer was a moment that I did not want to define me.

I was at the park with a friend on a warm Spring day in April 2016, my mind was cloudy and heavy awaiting word from my doctors, my chest was sore and terribly bruised from the core biopsy the day before. My phone rang with my doctor’s number appearing on the screen and what I heard was my radiologist’s voice saying “I cannot believe it, Heidi, but it IS cancer.”  

Now, whether I want to accept it or not, that moment changed my life forever.          It has been 2 years and 4 months since that moment, and right now my eyes sting while typing these words.

 

For purposes of providing more detailed information, I should start at the beginning of this story. My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer at age 41, and so to be diligent I got my baseline mammogram done at age 35 per the recommended guidelines at the time. Now skipping ahead a few years, for various and ridiculous reasons, I was a little late in getting my next scheduled mammogram, so instead of being 40 years old I was 43. I went in for my high risk routine exam and mammogram, and I was thoroughly examined by my breast oncologist. Even though I had made them aware of persistent tenderness in my left breast, no one had any real concerns, for them it was business as usual. We completed the sampling for the BRCA genetic testing, and created an up-to-date schedule for them to monitor me. They proceeded with the mammogram and ended up doing 12 scans that day repeating my left side more times than my right, because of my noted complaint. We continued the visit with them explaining that they could not see what they wanted to see due to me having “larger dense breasts”, and then having both the tech and the radiologist performing ultrasound scans on my breasts. As this went on I was beginning to feel the stress of it all, nothing was painful or alarming really, but it does become nerve wracking after so much time being shuffled around a medical office. I was being told over and over that there was “nothing to be concerned about”, that “they had not found anything of concern”, that “pain and tenderness are not indicative of cancer”. I can’t count how many times the doctors, techs, and nurses said those things to me that day. It wore on my nerves.

Well the same outcome was stated from the ultrasound, they were not seeing as clearly into “them” as they would like to see. The conclusion of that meeting was them scheduling me for a breast MRI, 13 days later.

The days in between my appointments were busy, my boys and I enjoyed Spring Break, I went on a mini-vacation with a couple of my best friends, and generally I had no worries. I had always carried a bit of the expectation that eventually I would have breast cancer, as I just assumed that since my mother had it I would too. So leading up to the MRI it was nothing more than a little thing in the back of my mind. That is until I walked back into the office that morning, signed in, and sat down in the waiting room of my breast center. As I looked around the office, I realized that I was the only person in there that was alone.  There were patients in all stages of their life and in their journey, and every single one of them had a significant other with them.  I felt it. Deep within me. I was facing the upcoming good or bad, alone.

Most of that morning was a blur of removing my piercings and jewelry, being prepped with my I.V. and given cold packs for my tattoos, and then getting into the machine. The MRI itself was no biggie, the waiting afterwards kind of sucked. They had me wait in my luxurious, fluffy, white robe in my private waiting area. (I will note here, that my doctor’s office is REALLY nice.) My radiologist arrived to take me into the dark room full of HD monitors, he sat me down and showed me the screen that displayed my two blue breasts, one of which had two red & yellow spots on it. He explained to me how most likely those red spots were papillomas which are benign, but that diagnosis would need to be confirmed by a biopsy. As I stood up, I took note of how very vascular these spots were on the MRI images, he made no mention of it to me. So into the ultrasound room I returned. This time they knew where to look.

The ultrasound guided core biopsy was pretty awful. I will admit. (And yes, I truly do have an exceptionally high pain tolerance.) My radiologist is an incredible doctor, but no matter how amazing he is, he was even apologizing for what he was doing to me. They placed a marker where they took the sample from and patched me up. To add insult to injury, they had to smash my probed breast for another mammogram to document the marker. Ugh. 

Back to sitting in my waiting area again, this time I was dazed, with ice packs and Ibuprofen, waiting to be released, I finally had to imagine that this might be “it”. This biopsy might just say “it”. I felt overwhelmingly alone. Completely alone. (I think I was just feeling sorry for myself.)

All done and on my way I went, leaving the office with ice packs in my sports bra. Looking like I had one giant boob and one regular one. I’m not sure how I felt for the next 24 hours. I’m not sure if I felt anything at all. Other than my very angry left breast. (Which of course, I have photos of.) So, I just made a couple of phone calls to update my daughter and my parents on what was going on, and went about my evening. At bedtime, I did take a moment to reflect on how the entire staff of that office had cared for me.  How my doctors were tenacious in getting answers for me. I realized and appreciated that everything they did and said to me, was in an effort to keep me calm and prevent me from worrying.

When the phone call came in that next day at the park, he sounded genuinely surprised by the biopsy results. The words he said literally took my breath away. I think I snorted, choking on a sob, as the tears slid down on their own. I didn’t expect my own reaction to the news, after all, half of me had spent 30 years assuming that I would be diagnosed with breast cancer at some point in time. I guess it was the other half of me, the one that never expected to actually hear those words, that had control of my emotions that day. My breast oncologist took over the phone call, giving me her cell phone number and letting me know that she expected to have the full biopsy report later that evening. She then set up a time for us to meet the next day to discuss my treatment plan since they wanted to move as quickly as possible. We ended the call, I took some very deep breaths, and I turned to my friend. I didn’t need to say a word.

The remainder of that day was a myriad of thoughts and feelings, a couple of phone calls, a visit with my parents, and a big fat unknown regarding my fate.

The next step… seeing if the treatment plan I had in mind was going to work for me.

In hindsight, I will forever be grateful that I wasn’t alone that moment in the park when I got the call. I did get to have the hug I so desperately needed at that moment.                 

My life was forever changed in that moment. I have been wrestling with that fact for quite some time now. I’ve only recently come to the understanding that just because it changed my life does not mean that it defines it. Or that it defines who I am.                                                                                                               

It is just as simple as… there is a before and an after… that moment.                                        I am now, “after” that life altering moment.

Love & wellness, Heidi XOXO

 

P.S.                                                                                  This is just the beginning my friends, there is a lot more to come! I have created a dedicated category in my blog so that I may share the experiences of my cancer journey with you all. Up until this very second I have kept all of this private, I have told very few people about my diagnosis. Over the past year I have been feeling a very strong push to share my thoughts and knowledge with everyone, in the hopes that I can be of some help to them. Whether it is in the capacity of being supportive and comforting, or providing honest and real answers to questions, or just sharing advice. My goal is to make myself available for anyone who has a need or is interested, and to share in other people’s journeys. Just as within my business, I genuinely want to be of benefit to people’s lives. When I found myself suddenly thrown into researching my cancer diagnosis I was truly shocked at how little there was of real and down-to-earth information out there in the world. I mean come on… how could there be so little positive or relatable information, it was 2016 for goodness sake! And don’t get me started on the images. Yikes!                                                                                  So… I am here now. This will be one of the prominent categories on my blog, as I have high hopes of being a part of other people’s progress, and I look forward to writing future posts about my experiences and life lessons, of which will continue this story of my journey.    *Please subscribe so I can let you know when I post, and thanks so much for reading!