"Difficulties are meant to rouse, not discourage. The human spirit is to grow strong by conflict." --William Channing
Here is something I wrote months ago, back in December. This is after I was first diagnosed, before my first surgery. It's a little rough and emotional, but I left it that way. It's how I felt at the time. I actually couldn't even reread it until just recently, now that I'm in a totally different place, both in my journey battling cancer and in my attitude about life.
Despite the countless tales of people getting cancer, no
one really believes that it can
happen to them. It is something we hear
about in other people’s lives. It is
something that might happen when we’re older.
I was definitely in the group of people that believed these illogical
ideas.
Ironically, when I found the lump that would change my
life, I was the healthiest and happiest I had ever been. I was twenty-seven-years-old and had lost
eight-five pounds since giving birth to my beautiful baby girl. I was happily married to the man of my
dreams, had great friends and family, and a job I loved (none of which have
changed). I got regular check-ups at the
doctor, dentist, and all other appropriate doctors. I ate healthy and, while I didn’t exercise in
the technical sense of the word, I spent all of my free time chasing my very
active daughter around. I felt great.
Then, on November 13, 2011, I found it. I was lying on the floor playing with my baby
girl, Grace. She had been repeatedly
jumping on me, wanting me to catch her.
My hand happened to bump into my chest and I noticed an odd lump. I didn’t think too much about it, but
continued to play with Grace.
Later that afternoon, my husband and I were headed out
for the evening. The lump was nagging at
me in my mind. I casually mentioned it
to my husband, more to clear my mind than anything else. I had just finished nursing three weeks
prior, and assured my husband that it was probably from that. However, it was still bugging me later that
night. Those who know me well know that
I am a worrier. By this I mean, I am an insane worrier. I worry
about things that don’t even mean anything.
Once I get something stuck in my head, I can’t get it out until it is
solved. So, when I was saying my prayers
that evening, I prayed to God, “If this is nothing God, please let me stop
worrying about it. However, if it is
something that needs to be taken care of, please let it bother me until I go to
the doctor.” God must have heard my
prayers because that lump would not give me any peace the next day. As soon as I had a free moment at work, I
called my doctor for an appointment.
Since I had to wait a couple of days for my appointment
and, as I’ve already mentioned, I’m a worrier, I felt the need to discuss my
worries with a few close friends.
Everyone assured me that it was nothing.
“Most lumps are nothing to worry about,” they said. “You’re too young for breast cancer.” “You just finished nursing. You can’t take lumps seriously after nursing.” Although their comments made me feel better,
I remained nervous.
At my appointment a couple of days later, the nurse
practitioner said the same things. She
felt pretty certain that it was simply a fibro adenoma. However, she knew I was worried and took that
very seriously (something I am ever so thankful for). She made me an appointment for an ultrasound
the following day.
The following evening, she called me with the results of
the ultrasound—the lump was still “suspicious” (a word I have grown to
hate). She scheduled me with a follow-up
appointment with a specialist.
Thankfully, the specialist got us in the following
day. She reviewed my ultrasound and gave
me an exam. However, she said the same
things everyone else had said, “You’re too young. I’m almost positive it is a fibro
adenoma. Nothing to worry about.” However, she did want to remove it, as they
can get pretty big. I was scheduled for
an excisional biopsy and went home feeling relieved.
I continued to feel better after I went home and
researched. I like to know everything so
I went home and looked up everything I could on breast lumps, specifically
fibro adenomas. Everything I found was
reassuring. Most lumps were nothing,
especially for someone my age. Cancer
tended to be immovable and hard, but my lump was movable and felt soft. Cancer did not run in my family. We only had a few cases that I knew of, and
no one related to me by blood had breast cancer. I was so happy.
The excisional biopsy went well. The surgery didn’t last long and I was home
later that day with my baby girl and husband.
I felt a little dizzy and queasy from the anesthesia, but otherwise
great. The doctor had said everything
looked great and she was expecting no surprises from the biopsy. Someone would call me the following Monday to
see how I felt and then later in the week the biopsy results would return. No worries.
Unfortunately, I did have worries. I just didn’t know it yet. I will remember December 5, 2011 for the rest
of my life. I had arrived home with my
daughter a little irritated. The
doctor’s office had not yet called to check on my like they said they would and
I hate when people don’t do what they say they will. How little did I know how much I didn’t want
that phone call. As I came in the house,
my phone rang. It was my surgeon. I didn’t think anything was off. After all, they said they’d call about how I
was feeling. I should have prepared
myself when the doctor asked if I was home, but I didn’t. Then, she said those awful words, “I’m so
sorry, Sara. The biopsy came back and I
have bad news. It is cancer. I really didn’t think it would come back this
way.” She told me she’d let me process
this news and call me back in twenty minutes with more information. I held it together until I hung up the
phone.
My husband called at exactly that moment. Maybe he knew somehow that I needed him. He was on his way home. I called my mom who jumped in the car and was
at my house as fast as her car would carry her.
In the meantime, my dad arrived.
My wonderful family was already zooming in to my rescue.
All
the while, I clutched my baby girl. I
sobbed. Not even for me, but for
her. She was my first thought. My heart broke in about a million pieces at
the thought of my precious baby girl growing up without her momma.
My
mom and dad stayed with me until my husband, Josh, got home. In the meantime, I learned that I had an
invasive ductal carcinoma. I had an
appointment to discuss this further with the surgeon the following day.
At
that appointment, all I really learned was how much I didn’t know. Even when she had taken it out, the surgeon
had really thought it looked like nothing.
Therefore, all she had worried about was getting the thing out. She had not taken a margin of healthy tissue,
something that would now have to be done.
She had not worried about testing lymph nodes, which would now need to
be tested. She gave me options, all of
which she said depended on further tests.
They would have to go back in regardless of which option I chose. One option was to have a lumpectomy to remove
the healthy tissue around the area that the carcinoma had been, followed by
radiation. The other option she gave was
to have a mastectomy. When I left the
appointment with my husband, I was not much better than when I had come.
I
discussed options with my husband and family that night. I also talked to my aunt, who was going
through this same battle. Everyone
agreed that I should get a second opinion and everyone wanted me to go to the Siteman Cancer Center,
which was the best in the area.
The
next morning, I talked to Siteman. I was
impressed right away, even before my appointment. They were very on top of things. They set me up with an appointment right away
with a surgeon that specializes in breast cancer in young women.
Upon
meeting with her, we discussed my options once again. However, she explained that breast cancer in
someone my age is a monster all its own.
Since cancer tends to be more aggressive in young people, we would have
to treat it more aggressively. She
recommended a bilateral mastectomy and she said the “c” word that I dreaded
almost as much as cancer—chemo. I cried,
as I have done on so many occasions since I received my news. I met with a plastic surgeon later that day
to discuss reconstruction and made my appointment for surgery.
My
surgery is set for December 23, which is this Friday. I’m doing better this week than I did last
week, and I did better last week than I did the week I found out. I had to make some decisions for myself and
for my family. It would be easy to throw
in the towel and give up. I certainly
felt that way when I received the news.
However, I have a baby girl that I want to watch grow up, I have a
husband who I want to grow old with, and I have family and friends who need
me. I had to wrap my mind around some
things and change my attitude fast. I
won’t say that my tears are done, but I’m going to fight.
Although
I’ve only had my diagnosis for a short time, I’ve already learned so much, both
about myself and about others. First of
all, I’ve discovered that I am strong.
As much as I’d like to cry and as easy at it would be to curl up in a
ball and cry all day- I’m not. I’ve
forced myself to be strong and positive for my little girl, my husband, my
family and friends, and my students. I
have strengthened my faith in God and pray more than ever. I have always felt that everything happens
for a reason, and, while I don’t know the reason yet, I feel that God has big
plans for me. I will find a way to use
this experience to help people and to show my daughter that, if you put your
mind to it, you can overcome anything.
As my Aunt Pam (a teacher as well) says, “We are teachers. Maybe that’s why we have to go through this,
so we can teach people.” And that’s what
I plan to do.
I
have learned that I have to trust other people in my life to take care of
things. I do not have to do
everything. Others are perfectly capable
of doing things the right way. Long
before I was a mother, I had a motherly attitude. I’ve always taken care of people. I know that I’m going to need help in this
ordeal and I must learn to accept it with grace.
Most
of all I’ve learned that Charles Dickins was right when he said, “It was the
best of times, it was the worst of times.”
Although this is hands down the worst thing that has ever happened to
me, I have never felt more blessed. I
have watched my bad experience bring out the very best in those around me. I have been amazed at the kindness, generosity,
love, and faith that people have shown me.
I have been showered with prayers, help, cards, and love, some from
people I have never even met. I have
been mentally brought to my knees on countless occasions in the past couple of
weeks and can’t begin to express my gratitude.
I
have been reminded how much teenagers can surprise you. I teach ninth and tenth grade English and
told my students right away. I feel they
deserve to know what’s going on, especially since I will have to be away from
them at the beginning of the semester for a little while. Many were surprised by my decision. And yet, my students have handled this news
with the grace and compassion of people beyond their years. Students from my past and present have
rallied around me to offer their support.
As
I continue this journey, I have two requests for anyone who might read
this. The first is—do not suffer in
silence! I chose to tell people right
away because I believe that I have to start at the top and work my way down if
I’m going to beat this—so I needed prayers.
People can’t pray if they don’t know.
As I tell people though, I realize how many people are going through
similar situations, yet suffering in silence.
Tell your story! Make sure you
are heard. People will surprise
you. Their hope and love will help heal
you.
My
second wish is that you go with your instincts.
Like many awful things in life, cancer doesn’t care if you’re young or
old, rich or poor, happy or sad. I’m so
thankful that I called the doctor when I did and that I was taken
seriously. Not everyone is that
lucky. Don’t “wait it out” just because
you are afraid of the information. Get any
“suspicious” lumps checked out now! Get
regular check-ups. And, most
importantly, if you have a feeling something is wrong—make sure someone takes
it seriously, even if it means getting a second or third opinion.
So,
my journey continues later this week. I
will have a bilateral mastectomy and the beginnings of reconstruction. Once I heal, I will have chemotherapy and
possibly radiation. It is my hope that
at this time next year, I will be reflecting back on this time as a learning
experience and counting my ever-growing list of blessings. I hope to be cooking Christmas Eve dinner for
my family and playing with my baby girl.
I
know that I will get through this. And,
when I do, I know it will be because of my baby girl- who will have saved my
life. If I had not nursed her, I
wouldn’t even have known what was normal and probably wouldn’t have found the
lump. If I did not love her so much, it
would be harder to fight.
It
will be because of my husband and his unfaltering love, support, and
belief. If not for him, I would already
have broken down.
It
will be because of my family, who has surrounded me with prayers, love, and
help. If not for them, I would be
nothing.
It
will be because of my friends, who have stepped up in ways that I could not
even have imagined. If not for them, I
would not feel comfortable enough to share my story with the world.
It
will be because of my students, who have put their belief in me. If not for them, I would not feel as strong.
And,
oddly enough, it will be because of my faults.
I have always been a crazy, OCD worrywart. If not for that, I would never have been
diagnosed.
I have a good friend who has bought me several of these beautiful little angels. They sit on my counter as a constant reminder to pray and have hope:D <3
