Free to Dream

Dreamer's Dream - Tom Cochrane

It's funny, you never really know how much stress you are holding within until you have the opportunity to release it. That weight falling off your shoulders. It's a burden of the soul.

I have been tied up in knots for two weeks and although I knew the cause of my stress, I alone couldn't put an end to it. It took a doctors confirmation. And I got that today. 

My last blog post (and several previous ones) about my abnormal breast mammogram lead me to a dark place where I was questioning my mortality and planning my demise. We never know when it is going to be our time for the most part but faced with the prospect it is normal if not fatalistic to consider a world without us in it. 

It's not like every waking moment is spent in that dour mood for if time is indeed limited we must grasp every moment and cherish what we have been given. 

I've lost people who were important in my life before I had a chance to know them and I was too young to remember anything about them (my dad), I lost people that were important in my life suddenly and without the opportunity to say a final good bye (my mom and 2 sisters). And I lost people that were important in my life given the chance to say good bye (my brother). From my perspective, I have to say that given that opportunity to say a few final words, makes the closure of that chapter a little easier. I got to say "I love you" I got to see the peace as he moved on. I didn't like it and it still makes me cry but the only unfinished business we had left was a lifetime of living and memories that never came - that is where the tears come from. The loneliness, the void left in my life. But they all left a void and they all claim the tears that stream down.

I am here today, now to say that at least for the time being my perceived "death sentence" has once again been lifted. I hope that this is the end of this episode but then again I thought that before too. So cautious optimism is how I would prefer to look at. Onward and upward is the best that I can do for now. As clouds are the reason for the rain and thus the cleansing of the world, so are the tears of joy welling up behind my eyes. Behind them is the smile that will signal renewed hope. The sun has come out again today. 

As much as medical tests and invasive procedures brought panic and fear, I am grateful that they were done. It's easy to say that now, of course. But I would like to think that even if my results were different I would still be glad that I am part of a medical system that can provide support and further longevity with early intervention. I firmly believe that knowledge is power. Better the devil you know, because then you can decide on the weapons you may need in your arsenal to fight. It's hard to fight a ghost you can't see.  

Terry Fox was a great Canadian who selflessly chose to run across Canada in 1980 to raise awareness and funds for Cancer Research. A world-wide phenomenon now but when he started support for his daily marathon run was minimal at best. But it was his efforts that kept someone I know alive who suffered the same cancer. Awareness and early intervention meant that instead of losing a leg and a life like Terry Fox, this young man is alive today and prospects are good. The scars of the disease are forever, but scars are road maps of life lived for some. They tell a story. 

My story can be found at www.pinkpantherfan.ca until I can publish the whole thing. 

For now, for today, this chapter is done. I am cancer-free! Cheers! 

Link to previous post on this subject:

http://pinkpantherfancanada.blogspot.ca/2014/03/if-i-was-boat.html

If I Was a Boat

Welcome to My Life - Simple Plan

I used to think that it if I was a boat on the water and wind got knocked out of my sails, I would still be able to stay a float and survive. But I've had to many holes bashed through my hull and the repairs are wearing thin. I'm not so confident anymore. The wood is rotting and the facade is fading. The stormy seas tossing me about the waves are precipitated by my tears falling like a spring storm churning up the water and my emotions at the same time.

I have always been an optimist. I tried to see the bright side and look for the good. Even when I was being kicked, I could admire the shoes of my punisher. But it is getting harder to do that. The patterns of the soles are etched in my own soul. The depth of the scar is getting to be too much to bear.

Life shouldn't have to be a fight everyday. Wondering what next. Wondering where that alleged karma is. Wondering what you did that was so wrong that you only start to see the end of the tunnel and then someone lengthens the tunnel and puts out the light. And if good things happen to good people, what did I do that was so wrong that I pissed off everyone and revenge is being served like a hundred lashes designed to bring me down as soon as I stand. Damn! 



Statistics. I was going to do some research into the odds of someone likely to experience these trials but on every site there was a link off to the side for the newly diagnosed and I closed the tab faster than I can suck in all the surrounding air. My doctor said she had never heard of a similar experience. It was a double-whammy. 

It's like this. In November (2013) a routine mammogram resulted in an abnormality being spotted. I was told that this is not a particularly unusual occurrence, but it didn't do much for my already heightened depressive state. I tried to remain positive because it was just a shadow that the professionals wanted to shine a light on. Nothing to worry about. 

However, there seemed to be a bit of an urgency to the scheduling of the second mammogram at the Breast Health Clinic at the hospital that had me on a brief fatalistic alert but the optimist took over and I walked in with a face of confidence. The pictures are taken and I am told to wait while the radiologist takes a look. Sitting in that room with 8 others (plus most had partners with them) I felt alone and real fear began to make an appearance. Before my test and during my wait I watched so many of them come and go. Their simple second look turned out okay and they were allowed to go. I hoped the same would be true for me. But no.

I became a statistic when I was one of the rare ones that warranted an additional diagnostic analysis with an ultrasound. Anxiety hit the roof and I had myself dead and buried. Lying on that bed, I remembered the last ultrasound I had. Circumstances were happier then and I tried to focus on that - pregnancies a quarter of a century previously. Those tests brought joy and I hoped for the same now. The technician was satisfied in her reading of the results that it would be okay. But had to take the results to the radiologists, in case she read it differently. When that radiologists walked in to do the test herself I lost it emotionally. Tears fell silently down my cheeks as hope was washed away. The conclusion of the test brought no additional hope when the radiologist said she thought she was looking at a cyst but wanted to go one step further in the diagnostics. To be sure. A core biopsy would be scheduled for the new year. Christmas could be a time for peace. Results would be harder to get with people taking time off. 

The walk home, I tried to hold on to her optimism. She couldn't possibly go around giving people false hope. She said she was confident it was nothing. I kept repeating her words to comfort myself. Try as I might I couldn't hold on and slipped further under the cloak of sadness. I must have looked a fright as I walked down the street sobbing, tears blocked my vision and I walked blindly on. The ocean was a few blocks ahead of me. I didn't trust myself to go that far. 

Christmas became a time of joyful reunion with my kids. It seemed like a lifetime since I had seen them. The weather threatened delays and cancellations when I needed some face to face time to share this news with the people who mattered most. My children needed to know what was going on from the horse's mouth. I needed to see them so I could gauge their reaction and deal with it. We clung to the radiologists optimism and hope was renewed. 

I'm not going to share all the details of the core biopsy to save the squeamish, because it is not a pleasant experience when put to words. But the reality is that as with any medical (or dental) procedure, the freezing sucks for just a moment and the rest is less daunting. For me, it was a longer mammogram in an uncomfortable position listening to soothing voices tell me what was going on and a "snap" that reminded me of my construction stapler. I couldn't see the instruments but I thought this a good thing. In reality, both arms were above my head and the tears flowed unrestrained. There was only one thing that stopped my chest for heaving in conjunction with the uncontrolled sobs - a medical vice. It never occurred to me at the time, but I sure didn't want to screw up the test results and have instruments probe where they shouldn't. I think it was okay, because both the radiologist and the doctor were shocked by the pool of tears that collected on the bed sheets. 

The wait for the results to come back from the pathologist was far worse than the procedure. I was afraid to hear the news. And I was angry too. I thought I had done all the right things as preventative measures and this was like my body had let me down. A betrayal by my breast friends. 

I swear that both the doctor and I breathed a collective sigh of relief when she could share the news a week later that the pathologist report came back and it was clean. Suddenly I sat a little straighter in the chair. The weight of doom was off my shoulders. Such a scare is often followed up with more frequent mammograms. Bring it on - I can take it. Calling my children with the good news was a highlight and we all smiled a little brighter.

Goodnight Elisabeth - Counting Crows

And I thought that appointment date for the next mammogram was the reason I was hearing from my doctor when she called early in the week (Monday Feb 24). But I sensed hesitation. "I didn't want to tell you this on the phone" is not a good sign. Against all the odds, and more than a month of feeling safe and the gauntlet was dropped on me again. A fight for the retention of both my sanity and health was to begin anew. The radiologist/technician/doctor gave the all clear and were confident that the samples were taken from the correct location. The pathologist gave the samples an all clear but was not confident that the said samples came from the area of concern. So I have two choices. 

Another core biopsy was scheduled for weeks' end, or I could take my chances and wait for 6 months and see what the follow up mammogram shows. Stress for a week and wait a week for results or freak out for 6 months wondering if I am dying. Yes, it's fatalistic - but it's not like the odds have been in my favour up until this point. I've fallen on the wrong side of the tracks ever step along the way. 

It was just a fluke that my daughter happened to call during the day while she was on her work break and caught me emotional just after hanging up with the doctor. I had to tell her, the nightmare was to be repeated. Woman to woman this is hard because we put ourselves in those shoes. We've all worn shoes that were uncomfortable and sometime hurt and made us bleed. United in the sisterhood of beautiful breasts that made us women.

I couldn't bear that my son should find out this latest set back when I wasn't in a rational place to discuss it. I didn't want him to worry but he seems to have this weird 6th sense when it comes to knowing when something is up with me. He'd find out and it would be better coming from me when I was still coherent. For the numbing effects of alcohol would soon prevail.

Leading up to the appointment yesterday (Friday, Feb 28) I spent some time in contemplation and reflection. That's just a sugar-coated way of saying depressed, anxious and fearful. I don't cope with stress the way I used to. These days I hide in my shell and try to protect myself from any more harm. I know I shouldn't, but feeling alone and lonely by yourself is better than feeling it surrounded by people who can't feel or see your pain. I already feel like a freak, I don't need the world to remind me of it. 

There was a certain resignation that came the morning of the appointment. I was numb. There weren't a lot of tears left to shed. Do what you have to do to leave me be. The technician knew my past history, (was she the same one from before?) she was kind as she explained the procedure again. She drew pictures to explain so I could focus on those along with her words. It was like I hadn't heard the instructions before. The procedure was similar, with more discomfort than I remembered and a chill that went straight to my core (no pun intended). I was prepared with extra tissues to collect the tears but the exposed positioning of my body didn't allow me to use them for more than an object to squeeze with stress. But as I said, there simply weren't a lot of tears left to flow. 



The logical part of my brain is telling me that I will survive this last crisis whatever the outcome of the tests - at least not by my own undoing. The emotional part of my brain isn't sure I want to fight anymore for even another breathe. In the end it was the words of the technician/nurse that I cling to. In a very subtle but meaningful way, she let me feel less alone at the moment by letting me know she understood because she had experienced the procedure herself and more importantly as I left her parting words were "now you can tell them to leave you alone."

Because that's all I ever wanted...to be left alone and in peace. It is hard for me to share the shadows in the closet and to give light to the darkness of my mind. There are a lot of ghosts in there that are frightening. 

It is getting increasingly hard to keep healing the hurt. But even if broken, I shall continue to try and stand on my own, even if I can no longer fly.


Thanks to all the supporters who could read through my cryptic words and know I needed to hear they cared. I love you all. 


Previous posts on this subject and experience:

http://pinkpantherfancanada.blogspot.ca/2013/12/the-flames-of-hell-are-nipping-at-my.html
http://pinkpantherfancanada.blogspot.ca/2013/12/pancake-no-syrup-round-two_19.html

Pancake No Syrup - Round Two

Somewhere In Between - Lifehouse

Forgive my melodrama but enough is enough. This all feels like a nightmare that I can't wake up from. Maybe I am feeling sorry for myself but I don't even care because it is high time someone did...and if it is me so be it. 

The sun wasn't up yet and walking the streets before even the birds were up was the peace and solitude I needed at the moment. Although that peace for me does not mean silence; for when the music stops, I know I'll be dead. One ear was plugged into the I-Pod. The music was not only soothing but took my mind off the journey's end. 

The sidewalks were still ice covered from the rain that fell after a few centimetres of snow. I walked in the tracks of the sidewalk plow because the tracks left groves for the boots to try and grip as I tentatively put one foot ahead of the other. And then it occurred to me that it was a good thing I was nearing the hospital should I slip and fall. This close, I could drag myself to emerg. 

My destination was a huge complex of hospitals and clinics and university medical schools. Google wasn't too much of a help in finding the correct building or even entrance so I meandered the halls trying to get a lay of the land and get my bearings. It was so early in the morning that most of the staff had yet to arrive. As much as I dreaded this appointment I didn't want to miss it and be forced to re-schedule. The lead up was way to emotional to suffer through again.

Someone saw that I looked lost and although the jug of ice she carried told me that she probably had other places to be, she nearly took my hand to guide me and navigate the maze. I'm sorry for whoever I made wait for that refreshment. 
Two elevators and several long halls later, I arrived at the appropriate reception desk. (clearly I came in the wrong doors and into the wrong building). How I would ever find my way back was the least of my worries.

There was a steady stream of women collecting their numbers to wait their turn. Some came with partners, some of us alone. I had walked a tightrope of fear all the way there and sitting in front of that receptionists giving her all the details of my next of kin, I felt like I was ready to snap like a frozen dead twig. 

Strip to the waist, wash off any deodorants and powders, put the stripped gown on first open at the back. The solid blue goes over top of that. Keep your purse but you can put your clothes in the locker. There was a sign in the change room that said that Aluminum can cause false readings. That's when the anger kicked in. God-damn it, I was the one who preached to anyone (male and female) who would listen to not use anti-perspirants. My mother used to tell us that if God put it there, there was a reason for it. At the time she was talking about tonsils - she felt that doctors were too eager to yank them. I agree with her. Maybe the tonsils are the garbage pail of the body vulnerable to every bug that passes, but what if they weren't there. The bugs don't leave, they just find somewhere else to settle. 

No I am not a doctor, I don't even like science. But I took that reasoning which seemed logical to me and applied it to anti-perpirants, the use of which increased as women entered the work force in greater numbers. Why does sweat smell? Bacteria perhaps? And if we stop the sweat from leaving our bodies in a natural way, what happens to it? The only thing I know for sure is that the rates of breast cancer in women when up with the increased use of anti-perspirants. To be fair, at the same time that women went back to work, they also were less inclined to breast feed their babies. But still...

I thought I was doing the right thing. I would spend extra money (that I didn't have) on a dedicated deodorant in the natural health section or go without before buying a mass marketed anti-perspirant/deodorant combination. More than double $9 vs less than $2. But my health and principles could not be compromised. Maybe I was wrong but why take the chance.

So, am I angry that I am dealing with this now? Damn right!

Cry On My Shoulder - Gowan

We sat like fraternal twins. All dressed the same, like soldiers waiting for our turn to face the enemy. This time was different for me, because it was like I only had one breast. All this expensive machinery was there to probe only one breast. One mass. One that betrayed me. 

The first test was like the one before but with added angles. The pressure is less than I remember from years ago and quick for as soon as the image is taken the machine pulls back on cue and you can breath. 

But this is a exploration mission so the surface plate is then swapped out for one that is much smaller. Like a tea cup saucer vs a turkey platter. Putting the same pressure on compressing the breast it like putting your finger in a vice and leaving it there while someone tightens. You wanna scream "Make it stop". But without permanent damage it stops alone very quickly. 

The wait for the images to be assessed by the radiologist is interminable. For some people this is the end and you are free to go. For others, an ultrasound is the next course of action. I honestly did try to remain positive because if I didn't I would have been awash in my tears. The music helped but 4 songs passed before I was called again.  

The radiologist still had some concerns...that my weak knees held me up and continued to carry me down that hall and into yet another exam room still amazes me. I was grateful that the same radiologist was going to do the ultrasound. It's hard to be modest after someone manhandles your breast like it's a bag of jello (with a rock in it) but it was still oddly comforting. My hands trembled as I tried to remove the cover gown, she was quick to help and kept her hand on my elbow as I went to the bed. Move this way, put your arm here. It was all mechanical motions and I didn't process any of it. Fear was all I felt. I couldn't stop myself when she positioned me to face the wall and started by applying the warm gel the tears fell out of my eyes. It seemed like forever that she ran that "mouse" on my breast. If I didn't know where my enemy was lurking before there was no mistaking it now. 

Now, the wait was in a dark, silent room. I was afraid to move. The arm above my head was cramping but I didn't trust myself not to run away screaming if my feet touched the floor. I stayed completely still aware of only every tear that rolled across my cheek. The technician said that ultrasounds results are operator defined and the radiologist may want to do the test herself.

The problem with having a positive attitude is the fall that comes when you are let down. When the radiologist came in and introduced herself, I couldn't even look at her. I was crushed. She saw nervousness and tried to be reassuring. Her exam was brief, her explanation wasn't. It's everything she wants to see to say non-cancerous but...

A letter will go to my doctor and I will be informed of my next scheduled date. It will be more invasive she says. Don't worry, she says. It's just to prove to you and me that my diagnosis is correct, she says.

I'm tired, I say. But no one heard me. 

The Flames of Hell Are Nipping at my Heels

Waltzing Along - James

May your eyes be opened by the wonderful

I have to say that this really sucks. Two steps forward and one step backwards. I am trying to remain positive about this latest news that has been delivered to crush my soul, however right now the only thing that is running through my head is that I am positive that I am tired of continually falling into the abyss. Quite frankly, I don't know how many more times I can claw my way out since the worn footholds are getting smooth and I am slipping.

I thought I was being proactive, I booked an appointment with my doctor for my annual physical. There is always a bit of dread there because we have heard so many times via the media about silent killers. I was not completely convinced I want to know about these murderous evils lurking in wait to off me. But that is irrational since medical advancements have led to many satisfactory outcomes if the little devils haven't gotten to far in their destruction. So to that end I agreed to the invasive probing and promised to book for preventative screening. If was just a fluke that when I called to book for my mammogram they happened to have a cancellation December 3rd. Panicked, I took it knowing that with fewer than 4 full days to fret I would be more likely to keep the stress at bay. I know people who have waited months for these appointments so I guess I felt kind of lucky. 

I know what these appointments are like. I've had one done before, although I can't remember when or why. It may have been in my 20's. It was definitely long before mammogram and breast cancer became familiar words in the news and media. I assume that my doctor at the time found something abnormal in the routine breast exam or I had some complaint. I don't remember that but I recall the pain. Fortunately it only lasts very briefly. 

Trying to remember the details of that first pancaking of my breasts was at the forefront of my mind as I sat in the clinic waiting for my turn. The technician explained the procedure and then had me disrobe from the waist up. The machine has changed since I last saw the beast. Double whammy for both breasts. One top to bottom squish and a second side to side. Fortunately the machine plates move and you don't have to. Wandering around topless at my age is not a fun prospect even if the only other person is a professional technician. 

The screening clinic was in the local mall so being close to Christmas I put it out of my mind and did some shopping. I felt good that I did something positive about taking care of me. 

I guess the last thing you imagine is that you will be one of those people who get the ABNORMAL grade. It was a positive conversation that I was having with my doctor. The date was 11.12.13 - it was touted as a day of good fortune. Things were finally looking up for me and I was feeling hopeful. The look on her face changed when she reached for the paper after I had told her about my quick mammogram appointment. Her face said it all before I heard her words. I failed the test. My body had turned against me and betrayed me. There is something there that isn't supposed to be. I have to go for more testing. And although there is nothing to worry about the tests are next week. Pretty quick if it's nothing to worry about. I am grateful that my timely appointment meant that she could tell me about it rather than being alone to see the death sentence. It seems I will be getting a similar letter in the mail advising of the results and appointment times. If I don't get the mail, if I don't open the letter, can I pretend that this isn't real?

I think I was in shock. I went for the rest of my appointments and finished my errands. But as I drove home it was like driving in a blinding rain storm. I couldn't see for the tears running down my face and clouding my eyes. I've never been one to feel sorry for myself but damn I was mad. This isn't fair. 

The one thing that kept running through my mind was that saying "What doesn't kill us, makes us stronger." Dear God, it wasn't meant as a fucking challenge. People keep telling me (much to my chagrin) that I am strong. Clearly I have reached my limit there since I snapped like a whip, cracked like an egg, broke like branch, shattered like crystal nearly 3 years ago. With no strength left to be had, maybe my limit has been reached. Maybe my time on the earth's parking meter is expired.

So forgive me, but I am having a lot of trouble coming to terms with this news and remaining positive. In my head, I am preparing for the worst. I don't want to touch myself, I am afraid that if I find the offending mass I'll cut it out myself. I don't want to look, because all I see is a deformed me. My breasts were the one thing I liked about myself and now they have turned against me. For all the flaws, I was able to find some positive somewhere and that lay in part on my chest. Changed with age but still a part of my body I could like.

To continue in a changed way. 

A friend often says he is not a great catch but what he forgets is that he is already caught and everyday that he wakes up, there is someone who loves him unconditionally and forever. He was loved when he liked himself before and now when he aged and changed. He talks physical attributes and forgets that he is so much more - I see it. Others see it. He needs better glasses. 

I have never known that devotion. He is lucky. 

A fisherman will see beauty in a large mouth bass. Your average person will look past the scaly skin and bones and appreciate and savour what's inside. But nobody wants a clown fish except for a good laugh. 

Knowing that someone loves you for who you are can make all the difference in the world. And the doctor asked, is there anyone that can go with you to the appointments. And I saw a video that was posted about the guy who dressed in a pink tutu and took pictures of himself to send to his wife to make her smile while she was undergoing treatment. And I'm tired. I don't want to go through this alone or with anyone else. I don't want this to be my reality.  And although it may be a little premature and fatalistic, I don't need another scar. For the strikes against me have put me out of the game a long time ago. 

Hope is gone and although the plate is full, it's brussel sprouts and liver that nobody wants. Not even me.