Long Walk Part of Cure

Mr. Bon and I met with the surgeon today.

In some ways it was a non-event.

Kind of like going to the grocery store without a shopping list.

Sometimes, although you know you're going to the market to get groceries, you don't know exactly what you'll be putting in your cupboards when you get home. True, there's a good chance you'll pull food stuffs out of the bag, but you might also get surprised and find a magazine, or I don't know, say a bottle of wine . Sure it is great to have the groceries (and the treats), but it's really nothing to write home about.

In hindsight, I suppose I could have predicted that our visit with the doctor would be as predictable as that sack of groceries and only reveal much of what we already knew: a) I have breast cancer and b) I must have said cancer surgically removed.

Somehow I expected more. Just a little bit of happy, you know? Like the Fran's Almond bar that will, from time to time, mysteriously appear in the bottom of my grocery tote.

Though she had no bad news, the doc had no candy bars, bottles of wine or even a pony.

The facts remain the same as I learned in the phone call with her last Friday: all diagnostics came back with conclusive evidence that the cancer is isolated to the left breast. For certain, there is one smallish mass (apparently we don't say tumor any more) and two suspicious, even smaller, shadows. Not an awful case, but enough of the bad stuff to require a full mastectomy.

"With the diagnostic results being so positive, do you think I'll need chemo?"

Just asking.
Doing my part to provide her the opportunity to whip out that pretty little pony, is all.

"Well. We can't determine your treatment plan until we get the pathology report from the nodes we'll remove in surgery."

Not bad news really, but not exactly good news either. Certainly not definitive and definitely not compelling blog fodder. Just more waiting.

More patience required.

More long walk on path. Or maybe it's: more walk on long path.

The point is, I don't know for sure.

What I do know is come this Monday around 1:30 on the main campus of Seattle's oldest hospital, I'll be going head to head with cancer and getting my titty whacked.

See that cancer? I can laugh about it. And guess what else cancer? I'm ready, more than ready to take you down and put you out.

Woot!

Good News.
Lead doc called today and here is what she had to say:

Bone Scan: Clear!
PET/CT: Clear!
Left Breast MRI : Just the mass we knew existed.
Right Breast MRI-guided needle biopsy: Clear!

A huge sigh of relief throughout the land of Bon. Whooshhh.

Says I: "So we can call it Early Stage Breast Cancer?"
Says Her: "Yes - early stage breast cancer."
Says I: " I can totally beat a stage 1 or 2"
Says Her: "Yes you can."

Score one for the Bon's!!!!

Despite this wonderful news, the treatment plan will still be aggressive due to the fact that this is my second bout with cancer and the fact that they radiated the heck out of me last time (which is unquestionably the reason I have breast cancer now - but we won't dwell on that).

Mr B. and I meet next Thursday with the Doc for a pre-op consultation and to firm up the plans for treatment.

Until then, I'm going to live like I don't have cancer and fill my world with joy and beauty, laughter and love, and of course, good food and good wine.

I hope you will do the same.

Cheers!
~Bon

G R A T I T U D E

This won't be my last post on this subject, but I'm feeling rather grateful this morning and just have to express my gratitude.

The sun has just made its way over the Cascade mountains to the east of us; its rays are beaming through our windows and flooding our bedroom with its glory. A welcome site on any morning, but particularly so after such a cold and cloudy, albeit typical, Seattle Springtime.

Let the gratitude commence:

To the wonderful Doctor who insisted I take the day off today. Thank you. I didn't realize I needed a day off. Also, thanks to you and your team for your swift and caring work yesterday.

To my boss who didn't blink and eye when I delivered the doctor's orders to him.

To my nephew who hooked me up with this awesome laptop. Can you say "Blogging in Bed?" Yay! Thank you. And uhhh ... watch out fellow Twitterites, I have a lot more time on my hands and a bitchin' machine on which to tweet away.

I am grateful for my friends and for my family. Every time I feel a little overwhelmed, I just lean back into a free-fall and there you are to catch me; just like in those team building exercises. Not only that, you never seem to mind that one moment I'm laughing and the next I'm mopping up tears. Thank you making cancer so much easier.

Building Character

Did you read my last post?
Did you notice how I was all brave and courageous and strong at the MRI yesterday?
Did ya' see how I was all like "in your face cancer?"

Guess what I get for all my bravery and courage? A return visit.
No kidding. A very kind scheduler called and invited me back in for another go.

Isn't that nice?

And so I won't get bored with the same old-same old, tomorrow, they're going to add a twist and perform a biopsy whilst running the MR. To be more precise, the MRI is going to guide the doctor to the mass in my right breast so that she can safely take a tissue sample or two. Yes, I said RIGHT breast.

For those of you just tuning in, the cancer is in my LEFT breast.


I've got my work cut out for me tonight as I fall asleep.

I guess no one told cancer that I intend to stay upbeat and positive throughout this journey. Throw me all the curve balls you want; I'm keeping my eyes on the prize - and -that light at the end of the tunnel. Unlike you cancer, I'll still be in my body a few months from now.

I fill my world with joy and beauty and all is well.

Em Are I - Killed it!

You know what's worse than finding out you have cancer?

I'll tell you - all the bloody diagnostic tests to determine what stage of cancer you're dealing with.

Mr. Bon and I hadn't even begun to wrap our heads around our new reality, when the surgeon began ticking off the list of diagnostics she would require before the inevitable removal of my cancerous breast.

She mentioned something about the necessity of determining whether or not the carcinoma in question has invaded other sites in my body; though Mr. B and I can barely recall her gentle words and thorough explanations.

It wasn't until we got home that I counted the list of appointments: four in total. Four dates in which I would be poked, prodded and injected with some sort of you've-got-to-be-kidding-me-you're-putting-that-in-my-bloodstream?-substance.

As mind-numbing as a cancer diagnosis is, for me it's those dreaded, but admittedly miraculous,
tests that put me over the edge. I know-I know, they're useful and even critical to my healing process - but they scare the daylights out of me.

Today.
Today was test number three, or officially, Breast MRI. I could only think of it as what it was: my third trip into a mysterious tube with the added bonus, wait for it ... contrast dye via an IV injection, in less than two weeks. No friends, I did not sleep well last night. As my mind is wont to do in these situations, I spent a fair amount of time in the wee hours of the morning dwelling in the deep, dark, depths of my mind. Not such a good place to hang out when the lights are out and the rest of your family is in a deep and peaceful slumber.

Fear not friends, this story has a happy outcome.

Patients who are claustrophobic, or think they might freak out in the tube, are offered a sedative to get through the test with a minimum of discomfort. Given my current anxiety levels, I thought a little "cocktail" wasn't a bad idea, so I signed up.

Funny thing happened to me on the way to the Imaging Center though.
Somehow, I tapped in to a deep - so deep it was unbeknownst - reservoir containing courage and strength (yay! I have courage and strength; could be useful in the future).

As the appointment approached I realized a mind altering drug induced more fear than a confining, noisy machine. I was going to have to get through this chemically unaided. And ya' know what? I did it. Actually, I killed it!

Employing grounding techniques learned from my Reiki master, yogic breathing and positive affirmations gleaned from various books found in the "woo-woo" aisle of Barnes & Noble, I made it through the MRI with no anxiety what-so-ever. In fact, I found it kind of relaxing.

Remember that feeling when you finished your last final of the quarter?
Remember that overwhelming (in a good way) feeling of relief and liberation, knowing you could claim back your life and do what you please with your time? That is where I'm at tonight. It's not quite a Summer break for me, but something shorter; we'll call it a Spring Break.

A few luxurious, worry-free days in which the C-word shan't be mentioned.

Postscript: Kudos to Mr. Bon who sat vigilantly near MRI system, giving me great comfort with his presence.

This Path

I am on a new path.
You should know this, as it is likely I'll be seeking solace here in the coming months.

Just two weeks ago, I was on another path; a completely different path.
And then, in the course of a two-minute phone call, everything changed.

Two weeks.
That's how long I've been trying to tell you. I've layed awake at night formulating the words over and over. Trying so very hard to come off as a good, compelling writer. So many different versions, so many opening lines - but none of them seemed clever enough.

I wanted to tell you in just the right way.
I wanted to be eloquent.
I wanted to stop you in your tracks; because that's what happened to me.
I wanted to be a headlights-to-your-deer kind of writer; because that's what happened to me.

But really, there is no clever way to tell you.

And as it happens, this path moves rather swiftly.
The way I looked at this path two weeks ago is completely different than my view today. Some things are already a blur; events I'll never be able to re-capture - let alone in words.

So it's time.
Time to say the words.
Time to get comfortable with the words - and the view.

I, Bon, have breast cancer.