The Roller Coaster

It's been a while since my last blog, and there's good reason for that. There's been a lot going on in the family, and I've been unable to really sit and write about it all, although I've thought about it often and wanted to do nothing BUT write. If you know me, you know I get out my feelings through writing, but in this situation, there's almost been too much to communicate and too much to say. So, in this posting, I'll try to summarize what's been going on in a somewhat "short" version.

In November, the week before Thanksgiving, Mom and I had our annual mammograms that we schedule together each year. For someone my young age, mammograms and sonograms on the breast are abnormal, but when your mom had breast cancer at the age of 32, you can't be too careful or too young to start being proactive. So, we went to the doctor, and my exams went as usual. I finished my exams, checked out, and waited in the waiting room for Mom to finish up. I was used to her taking a little longer than me to make it through the maze of exams and waiting areas, but after 45 minutes, I started to panic a little. Finally, Mom poked her head out and motioned for me to come back past the check out area again. Worried and anxious, I held Mom's hand as we listened to the doctor tell us that Mom had some calcifications in her left breast. Because they couldn't see what was inside them, they wanted to do a biopsy to make sure it was nothing to worry about. With Thanksgiving less than a week away, there weren't any appointments until after the holiday, so we patiently waited until we could know more. Thanksgiving really was a time to reflect and thank God for Mom's health and for having her in my life. She didn't want to tell many people since we really weren't sure what was going to come of the news. So, leaving Mom's house on Thanksgiving to be with Sam's family was tearful and difficult when I really just wanted to curl up with Mom and cry at the uncertainty of the news.

After Mom endured the biopsy, the doctor reported that they found atypical cells. He wanted the calcifications to come out, so they scheduled surgery for after the start to the new year. In the beginning of January, Mom had these small clusters removed, and within 3 days, she heard back from the doctor. Sitting at my nephew's basketball practice, Mom got a phone call from the doctor, left the gym to hear better, and then she walked back to the gym with a grimacing face and a defeated look as she shook her head. I was shocked and confused as I took her back into the hallway outside the gym. "It's malignant," she said. Completely taken aback and misunderstanding everything, I just kept asking questions that she couldn't answer.

The following Monday we had a family meeting with the doctor to hear more about her prognosis and his explanation of why an MRI and the biopsy had missed this horrible news. It was at this meeting that the doctor, to my knowledge, first used the words "tumors" and "cancer." He described the 2 very small tumors (surrounded by small clusters of malignant cells), and with more information that the cancer was not related to her previous cancer, that this was "stage 1," that it was not aggressive, that it couldn't have been caught any earlier, etc, we had a plan to go ahead with a double mastectomy to prevent any future disease from coming back. We were also optimistic because her BRCA tests had come back showing she is not a carrier for breast cancer. We thought this was good news, until we learned that the available tests only test for 1/3 of all genetic predispositions for breast cancer. Therefore, there is still 2/3 of all abnormalities that are not tested for; hence the reason my sister and I still need annual mammograms and sonograms.

Emotionally drained, Mom still believed a double mastectomy was the best option to get rid of the cancer beast that had attacked her twice now. So, we all mentally and physically prepared for surgery and recovery while Mom worked out the details and timelines with the doctors. She had more scans - bone, chest, ovarian, etc. - which all came back just fine. We all came together to organize calendars, prepare for cooking, helping with chores around the house, etc. while really wondering how Mom was handling all of this overwhelming news. To help ease the tension and have some comic relief, my sister and I planned a "Bye-Bye Boobies" Party. We surprised Mom the night before her surgery. We brought her "boob" cupcakes, sat in a circle of bras, gave her Mardi Gras beads, and read her a poem I had written entitled "A Good & 'Well-Fare' to Your Fancy Pair: A Poem by Amber on the Night Before Saying Ta-Ta to Your Tatas" which gave tribute to the life of Mom's breasts. She was a trooper and took the whole party in with smiles and laughs and a few tears, too, shared by all.

The next day, nervous for Mom and hopeful that all would go as planned, the family gathered together to support Mom and each other. About 30 minutes before they called Mom back from the waiting room, Sam called and said he was leaving work to come be with me. Grateful and touched and with a sigh of relief, I asked that he get there quickly so he could be with Mom before they called her back. Sam was there with everyone as we hugged and kissed Mom before they rolled her back to surgery. We all hung out at the hospital until Mom was in recovery, then we got to see her in her room. Mom was in the hospital for 2 nights, and we all traded off time staying with her and sleeping there at the hospital.

A week later, the doctor called with the pathology report. The news, again, was shocking, frustrating, and defeating. Malignant breast cells were found in the lymph nodes. Mysteriously, there were no cancer cells found in the right breast tissue, but the right lymph nodes had cells in them when the cancer was in the left breast. Breast cancer does not spread from breast to breast, so we still aren't sure how all of this happened. Needless to say, Mom was told that she would need to have more lymph nodes removed, she would need radiation, and she would need chemotherapy. Another blow. Another step to take. Another mountain to climb. But, I know Mom can do it. She will get through all of this with dignity and courage, and a lot of support from friends and family. This week, the next part of this journey continues. She'll have yet another round of surgery, and we'll find out even more from the doctors later.

So, that's where we are right now. A roller coaster of emotion starting since before Thanksgiving has still not ended. I'm angry that she has to go through this again; I'm scared for my mom's life and for her spirit; I'm glad that the doctor's caught what they did; I'm uplifted by the outpouring of support and encouragement; I'm awed by Mom's optimism and fighting attitude; I'm thankful for my husband who understands and joins me on this roller coaster; I'm confused at all the uncertain news; I'm trying to handle daily life while experiencing a nightmare with Mom; I'm certain she will pull through this.

My blog is dedicated to married life and the "ups and downs" of living through the knot. So, I have to comment on how wonderful and strong Sam has been for me through this roller coaster. This particular roller coaster I'd rather not be on since the downs have been too low and the ups have been taken right from underneath me before I could enjoy them, and Sam's been there the whole way. He understands that I just need time with Mom, he's picked up meal after meal for the whole family and not complained, he's come over to Mom's after work to help with meals or share time with the grandkids, and most importantly, he's known when I just needed to cry or be held without talking or explaining. He's cried with me and with Mom. He lets me vent and complain without getting annoyed. He knows this is a bump (okay, a mountain) in the road, but one we will all get over together.

So, as I conclude this posting, I want to just say how much I love my husband and appreciate his support. And, he'll understand that I want to end this post with a message to my mother: Mom, I love you more than you could ever know. You have more strength than any other human I know. You ARE strength. I am so proud of everything you are and how courageous you have been. You will win this war. I love you.