LUMPECTOMY FOR BEGINNERS - The other F word

My friend was right.  It is a shock to hear the word cancer on the phone or in the doctor's office. My supportive neighbor says I'm handling it well.  I don't talk about fear -- but now I'm thinking about it

Learning about the steriotactic biopsy was Fear and resistance - the procedure sounded barbaric to me. And yet it went well and I had a good time at the hospital.

And I was able to compartmentalize about the lumpectomy.  I trusted the surgeon, and after all, I've had plenty of successful experience with surgery.  I didn't even feel fear beforehand.  Maybe the doctor's telling me he had said a prayer was a help.

Then the post-op two-week appointment!.  (The surgeon had told me when we met that he would recommend I see a radiation oncologist and a medical oncologist.)  I read the pathology report again, more thoroughly.  Nothing on the report, as I've mentioned, gave me any hope of avoiding radiation.  So after we talked a little about the incision and the size of the specimen, he gave me the paper with the oncologists' contact information, and his reasons for choosing them.  

 I went home and put the contact information sheet in a red file.  I talked with my neighbor, I blogged about when to call the radiation doctor's number.  I reminded myself that she couldn't make me do anything I don't want to do.

I focused my research, still a lot of it from Mayo Clinic, on radiation.  I read other women's stories, and I felt Fear.  I made a list of my radiation concerns and felt FEAR.  I quoted some things, and felt FEAR.   I included a list of medical conditions I already have, and the one thing I've shared with friends:  how many x-rays I've had.  

I copied statistics from Sloan Kettering on how much longer I would be free of cancer if I had radiation and certain long-term meds.  They were compelling.  But . . .

There is a pattern here:

 In spite of having lost a best friend to cancer, I'm obviously more afraid of the treatment than I am of getting more cancer.  Or is the Fear of cancer buried so deep that I don't feel it, and so huge, that I don't dare feel it?

LUMPECTOMY FOR BEGINNERS - Post Op, take a breath

The steri strips are off.  I wish I'd asked the doctor to take them off - it had been two weeks.  I liked the surgery area better with the strips on.  But I'll see him next month and we can talk about how it looks and feels.  I didn't have any infection; no serious bruises.  Sometimes it hurts for a bit, then doesn't.   I do wear my soft bra, but usually not to sleep.

My friend, who has been through some of this already, advised me not to judge myself--that some of the fatigue can be due to the diagnosis that led to the lumpectomy.  She reminded me that nobody is really prepared to hear she has cancer (despite what some now call DCIS. . . "baby cancer" or "doorway to cancer" or "not cancer."  Hearing it is a shock at some level.

 Life does change.  New doctors (a fear of mine in a new state), appointments, reading the Mayo clinic site like the daily newspaper.  And reading my pathology report . . . which was more disappointing than I admitted to myself.

I'm older than my friend and in this new state and  my new environment.  I need to be realistic instead of apologetic, and take the breaks I need.  Breaks to be sure how I really feel and then to put it in perspective.

And a wise, kind person left a Starbucks gift card on my steering wheel!  Treats are good.

BAD NEWS or scary - What helps

A few days ago, a delightful hospital staff member did something so kind for me; I was there because of a callback for additional mammograms.  She asked, "How are you?"  I hesitated, and she said:  "I know, you're called back for more."  And gave me an understanding smile.

Two hours later, a doctor told me the second films weren't enough--I'd have to have a biopsy.  He, too, was kind and showed that he realized the news and the description of the biopsy were not cheering.  I trusted him.  And I felt supported.  Not alone.

 And a week before that, layperson did the same thing--gave me understanding, listened, and put her number in my cell phone.

 All three acknowledged that the diagnosis process isn't likely to put me in a buoyant mood.  With their acknowledgements, I felt supported and almost cheerful.  Nobody insisted on a stiff upper lip.

This week, someone who once went through the diagnosis, and got the test results nobody wants, told me not to consider my feelings self-pity, that this process is real, and serious. She knew not to tell me to cheer up.

A priest I knew said once that the quickest way to make someone worry is to say:  Don't worry.  I will think twice before using those words.