That momentary sweet release?
The release I get each time I get a clean scan is much the same. It's like finally being able to breathe after holding my breath for far too long.
This week has been terrifying, I feel like I am on a roller coaster ride all the time. It is so hard for me to know that it is not just me on the roller coaster, but that I take all of you along for the ride too.
I have pneumonia. It was walking pneumonia, now its just pneumonia. I went to an urgent care facility on Monday night. I was just exhausted, and couldn't get a full breath. One of the many tests that was ordered that night was an X-RAY.
The X-RAY clearly showed pneumonia, but also something else, slightly more dense, higher than the other spots. I think the words fell out of my mouth, I don't even remember stringing them together into a full thought, I just knew that I had to know, "Is it cancer?"
The doctor turned, and very calmly (not at all expecting the reaction that was coming) said, "It is something that is there, and I think your oncologist needs to look at it."
I felt the tears, hot and wet on my face as I put a plan in place. I felt my body tremble and then go still. I formulated a plan:
- Step One - Pray, separate yourself from this situation and talk to God directly.
- Step Two- Text Polly (that's my oncologist) to see what her thoughts are. She immediately responded that we would order a CT scan.
- Step Three - Call David. Ugh - I can't even tell you how hard this call was. To call my husband, after a month of beautiful pink ribbons everywhere and me giving inspirational survival speeches, to tell him that the cancer might be back. To know that he would have to tuck our babies in with that knowledge, that fear looming. That was when I made the very conscious decision not to call my parents. It hurts too much to be so afraid, and to not be able to do anything about the situation. I hate seeing the fear in other people because of me.
- Step Four - Contact the prayer warriors. For me these are both the easiest, and the hardest calls to make. I love the prayers, I adore them, and whatever your faith is know that I feel them wash over me. The converse of this is that by contacting these prayer warriors I make them worry. This is literally the last thing I ever want to do, I never want anyone to worry. Again, that's why this time, for the first time, I didn't call my parents. I *just* had a biopsy in August and took everyone along for the roller coaster. I couldn't bring myself to do that again this soon.
Then I went home, to my husband and my babies. I delighted in their presence, I wrapped myself in their sweetness.
There is a surreal quality to the days and hours following a "maybe" you have cancer again diagnosis. Its hard to put words to, but everything has a keen sense of urgency, of possible lastness.
The following day I got two calls from the urgent care facility, the first telling me that the radiologist saw nothing - not even pneumonia, the second was from the doctor who treated me that night encouraging me to follow up with my oncologist. I can't tell you how confused I was by this series of calls. I knew I was sick, I knew I saw pneumonia and "something" and I knew that the doctor that treated me felt the same. I knew I was afraid and doing my best not to be.
I followed up the next morning with my primary care, he is a truly great man who cares about me and my family. He has both laughed and cried with me over the successes and set backs of the last three years. He walked in the room and the first thing he did after greeting me was to tell me he was ordering a stat CT scan. Oddly, this filled me with a sense of relief- he saw something too, and we were going to check it out. When I told him my oncologist had already ordered a CT he was relieved, and said that pneumonia or not we would all be able to breathe better once the results are in. He also told me that I was no longer contagious from the pneumonia and could I could take the babies trick or treating and return to work.
The next morning I worked through all of my anxieties, literally. There were about 80 emails waiting for me and I thrust all my focus into working so I couldn't process that the CT was just a few hours away.
Driving to the CT was hard, David called twice to see how I was. I know this is the hardest part for him. We are fixers, both of us, and with this situation we just have to let go and realize that we aren't in control. In his voice I heard all of my fears reflected.
I was surprised to see how fast the CT went. In my mind it was going to take at least an hour, that is undoubtedly what I remembered from past experience. This one was fast, start to finish in under 45 minutes. As instructed, I texted my oncologist and called my primary care to let them know I was done.
Within minutes I got a text from my oncologist.
No cancer.
A little pneumonia.
Soon after I had a tearful message from my primary care telling me he had never been so happy to tell someone she had pneumonia, pneumonia and nothing else.
I truly have the best medical team. I am eternally thankful for their knowledge, faith, and grace. I am such a lucky lady.
I am savoring the sweet release of knowing that I am okay. I have come to the realization that this roller coaster ride, it is my normal. This is my truth. No matter how unpleasant, this is my roller coaster. A diagnosis of HER 2 + cancer means that this is the ride I will be on, until I am not.
I am sending you all so much love. Thank you for loving me through it. Thank you for understanding my need for chemoflauge.
Smile at strangers, hug the ones you love, be the change in the world.
#fightlikeamommy
#itisstillmyfairytale
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