I might have breast cancer.
I have known this since June 12th. Today is August 18th. Two months with this to ponder. Two months of waiting and back-and-forth. Two months of repeat tests and a litany of medical bills paying the facility, the machines used, the radiologists. I can remember the original phone call from the woman at my local hospital system. I’m going to be 100% candid when I say, she sucked. Like big time. Super duper sucked at her job.
She so blatantly and so coldly told me—“You have a density in your left breast and asymmetrical calcifications in your right. You need to schedule another appointment, we will refer you to radiology at the hospital and they will call you.”
No room for questions, no further explanation, no space to breathe, no “This is really common and generally just precautionary.” The only question I could think to ask was, “Is this normal?”
“Yes, you are the 14th person I’ve called today to schedule this,” she returned.
“Okay. Thank you,” I said.
Then…CLICK
Gee lady, “Thanks” for potentially devastating news. “Thanks” for the lack of empathy. “Thanks” for your complete disregard that I’m a human with feelings and fears. Listen, I know better than most that first responders and medical personnel have to desensitize. If they don’t, they would literally crumble under the weight of their everyday responsibilities. That said, is it too much to ask to be fucking kind?
Ok, I fully admit I have a potty mouth. The good Lord hasn’t sanctified me in this area just yet. I’m still under construction over here, so please bear with me. Maybe put a dollar in a jar each time I say a curse word. You’ll thank me later.
Seriously though. How have we become so calloused as a society? How can someone become so conditioned to feeling absolutely nothing that we can’t even feign a little sympathy. Shit, I’d take pity at this point. Anything to feel less like a revenue stream and more like even a charity case. Speaking of revenue, go ahead. Grab another dollar. You win. Moving on.
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After the phone call, I scheduled my second test quickly and was told immediately after the mammogram that they wanted to do a biopsy. I will give credit to the woman who shared that news with me. She was attentive and kind and spent as much time as I needed with her to answer my questions, my boyfriend’s questions and ensure we were both comfortable with her answers. That said, the answers were still, “We won’t know until we know.” The same information was relayed to me by my primary care physician, but his suggestion for further review and treatment was to do what he would advise both his sister and wife to do—get a third opinion at The James.
I’m familiar with this hospital. If you have ever flown into the international airport here in Columbus, OH one of the first things you see when exiting the terminals is the picture of a woman, absent hair and a smile with the words, “There is no routine breast cancer.” Make your way on the lower level people-movers and the same message is painted in scarlet and grey on the walls as you enter or exit the airport. This has always bothered me. I don’t want to take away from the good work and absolute miracles that have been performed at our beloved Ohio State University’s cancer center, but really? I would like to believe that this was someone’s attempt at reassuring women they have made the right choice when flying in from across the country to receive world-class treatment here. But, the reality is every single time I see this (and I see it often), I think, “There is no routine breast cancer. Because breast cancer, welp it’s a business.”
My experience at The James was as good as could be considering the circumstances. Each person I interacted with was kind and gentle and seemed accustomed to the solemn silence that accompanied me as I answered all of their canned questions. During the procedure itself one of the woman served as a sherpa of sorts, walking me through each step. Rubbing my back as I laid on the table, face down, boob through a hole smushed so thorougly I thought that any perkiness left in that baby would have been drained completely after the 90-minutes. She asked me ad nauseum, “How are you feeling?” Which, I replied, “Fine…” and in my head completed the sentence with, “…for maybe having cancer.” At one point, as she rubbed my back, I started tearing up and thought to myself, “If only she was my mom.” And heck, maybe that would be the only way to improve this shitty situation. Let the moms in.
When the procedure was done, the doctor spent some time with me answering a bunch of questions that had percolated to the surface as I lay prone on that table. I appreciated that she saved that space for me and didn’t seem to be in a hurry at all. This is one thing to consider when you are sitting in a room waiting on a doctor. After my experience, I would hope that every doctor would save that same kind of space for someone else and I’ll gladly oblige by waiting a bit longer to be seen myself at future appointments.
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As I write this, I’m 3-days post biopsy, sitting on an Adirondack chair at the Dawes Arboretum…waiting. One thing I’ve been blessed with in my adult years is not having to struggle with anxiety. Sure, I have my moments. Generally fueled by too much coffee and monthly hormonal levels, any anxiety I do feel is short-lived and fades as the last bits of caffeine course through my veins. That said, it’s not lost on me what this waiting process must do for others who struggle with daily and debilitating anxiety. I will be fully transparent when I say, I’ve had moments over the past week of untethered emotion. Most of it frustration and anger. “Why this? Why the hell now? When everything is going well and I’ve worked through my dark shit.” I have gone as far as to tell God I was mad at Him. But, I’ve not necessarily felt anxious until today. Three days of waiting with a potential to not hear anything until next Tuesday—an additional 4 days. Is this a joke?
I have actually been told I had cancer once. Basal Cell Carcinoma. Very minor and something that was put behind me after a few hours sitting in a waiting room while the tiniest bit of my eyelid was shaved off and reviewed for clean margins. Two stitches in 2011 and I’ve not looked back. But breast cancer is a different thing. Once you hear that it’s a possibility, any 80s/90s kid’s brain goes straight to a litany of movies where the main character loses her cancer battle: Terms of Endearment, Stepmom, Beaches, A Walk To Remember. Of course, my luck is that in addition to these tear jerkers, I recently finished Firefly Lane on Netflix. All serve as fantastic primers for my currently out-of-control imagination.
So, anxiety it is.
Now, the old me would have tried to numb this. Keeping myself so busy in an attempt to push reality to the side, just for a moment. Let me say, I do think that this approach is necessary at times. I recently told someone whose husband abruptly left her and her daughter, that God is gentle with our healing journeys. He recognizes that if he gave us everything at once, we’d crumble under the weight of it all. So in this season, of putting one foot in front of the other to simply get through the day, take the baby steps. Stay busy. Do things that take your mind off of the pain so you can accomplish the necessary tasks. When the time comes to deal with the pain, God will illuminate each area that needs attention in just the right time and right way, so as to remind us that He’s right there with us. But first, you have to give it to Him. You have to invite Him to the table.
So many of us try to do it all ourselves. We swallow our feelings, we push down the things we don’t want to deal with, we neglect the areas that require hard work and ultimately we make ourselves sick from it. Perhaps it manifests as addiction, or anger, or overworking, or depression or resentment, but let me be clear, ignoring our issues and neglecting our struggles only leads to future and further destruction.
“As long as you keep secrets and suppress information, you are fundamentally at war with yourself….the critical issue is allowing yourself to know what you know. That takes an enormous amount of courage.”
-Besser Van Der Kolk, M.D., The Body Keeps the Score
I’m not at war with myself. I’m allowing myself to feel. I’m giving myself grace in my less than stellar moments. But while sitting here, I’ve realized one very important thing. I’ve not invited Jesus in. I’ve not gotten on my knees and asked Him to calm my fears. I’ve not been bold enough to even ask for a cancer-free diagnosis.
Me, the person who can’t stop talking about what the Lord has done. Me, the person who writes a blog to honor Him. Me, the person who has Jesus tattooed in places so that people would ask.
That girl. Me. I didn’t ask.
Even those of us who are well-intentioned Christians forget sometimes. Even we get caught up in fear and unbelief. And maybe that’s it. Maybe I don’t really trust He can or will do what I want. Maybe I’m afraid His will is not my own. I’d like to say this is the first time I’ve been at this crossroads, but I’d be lying. The intersection of what the heart wants and what God wills. If my phone rings and they tell me I’m cancer free, that’s praiseworthy. If my phone rings and they say I have cancer, is there really something good that can come out of that? How can I be thankful in those circumstances? What happens next?
It took me committing this time to write, to remember. He’s been with me through this entire two months and He’s been patiently waiting for me to stop trying to do this alone. In the rustling of the tress, the shadow of the butterflies circling the garden, in the late summer cicadas and coo of the mourning doves, God is beckoning me to converse with Him. No distractions. No responsibilities. Nothing but space and time to talk. He wants to listen.
“Lord, will you take this fear and anxiety from me? Will you let my heart and mind trust that whatever happens from here on out, has a purpose and that purpose is always for good? Lord, will you bless me with a life free of cancer? And Lord, if that’s not your will, will you carry me through the parts I can’t carry by myself? Will you surround me with people who reflect back your love for me. I love you, Father. Thank you for another day. Amen.”
Love and light,
Evan
