Breast Cancer: Everyone Needs A TeeTee

Who knew 28 years ago when I met Karen she would turn out to be the beautiful friend she is today?  Truth be told, I think I knew within a couple of hours of meeting her.  You see, Karen, or TeeTee, as she was dubbed by my first-born daughter who just couldn't say "auntie", is just that kind of person, the kind everyone warms to immediately.  She radiates love, comfort and humour all as a first impression.  Her personality is genuine, her laugh infectious and her hugs are real.

Over the years, we have been in and out of touch due to various circumstances, but whenever I've needed her, she's always right there, front and centre, assuring me I'm okay and life will go on.  So now that I'm in the battle for my life, here she is, standing by my side, holding my hand and laughing both with me and at me through it all.  She comes with me for my surgeon appointments and will now come with me to the oncologist, a word I think we both choke on saying out loud.  She has made it very clear that she loves me but not enough to shave her head (that's our humour) but she showed up at dinner last night with a bright pink streak on the underside of her hair and it was so her - funky, bright, cheery and oh-so-fashionable.  In the '80s, TeeTee had the biggest hair and she worked hard to get mine to stand two feet all around as well.  She's the one who encouraged me to wear nylons the colour of my belts and shoes.  The bright red really stands out as one hilarious memory.  Wow - what were we thinking?

We've worked together throughout the years and everywhere we go, we are "Karen 1" and "Karen 2".  So now that I am the one-breasted one, it just shows how competitive I am and to what lengths I will go to ensure I retain that "Karen 1" status!  I think TeeTee's right, though, it's based on "age before beauty".  I am the older one.  I also wanted to be known as giving her the best birthday present ever so I had my second baby on her 30th birthday.  It's also a great way to remember how old she turns every year.

TeeTee has the unique ability to make every friend feel they are her best friend.  She puts everyone's needs before hers, whether personal, business or fundraising for a worthy cause.  She is godmother to my children, who she vowed she would tattoo and pierce, just to make me shiver.  She is the kind of mother everyone wishes they could be; open, honest and strong.  She is a hard worker and knows how to make every penny count.

 
So here we go, TeeTee, another chapter of our story is being told.  No matter what happens, I know we will be together to the end of the book.  Let's raise a glass and toast to another 50 years of stories and to a very happy ending that sees us both in our rocking chairs, you with amazing grey, thin hair, and both of us wrinkled, saggy and laughing so hard we blow out our dentures!

Lucy and Ethel

I have an I Love Lucy tin sign hanging in my entryway.  It reads "Friends" and then offers the definitions, "people who like each other and/or are helpful to one another", "Lucy and Ethel", and "supporters or sympathizers".  My friend, Sabrina aka Ethel, gave this wall hanging to me, as it represents the two of us.  Through thick and thin, ups and downs, happy days and ones filled with sorrow, we are friends in every sense of the word.  More like sisters really.  Her girls call me "Mom 2" and on really good days I even trump her for top spot!  Her husband has been gracious and supportive through my many trials and tribulations.  I guess he would be "Fred" to her Ethel.  We have had lots of fun together and many laughs.  She is my "garden fairy", always in charge of my plantings, whether in my former home's garden or on my current deck.  She is beautiful inside and out, warm, sweet, kind-hearted, generous, loving, curious ("Detective D") and a super fun person.  We can tell each other's moods and thoughts without speaking and a hug from her can make everything feel better.  We can cry buckets together and literally pee our pants laughing.  We have shared more than a bottle or two of wine and love to plan new adventures together.

Ethel is also the photographer of my chest, "before and after", helping me chronicle my journey in pictures.  It takes a very special person to be able to do this without being freaked out.  While I don't wish to have cancer or have had to go through the surgery that has permanently altered my "front view", I have always tried to look for the positive in every situation.  Just when I didn't think my friendships could be any better or stronger, I now realize they have gone to a whole different level, not only with Sabrina, but with all my many wonderful friends.  I have learned to be more empathetic, sympathetic and to truly understand the meaning of "not sweating the small stuff".

Every time I leave home, I see the sign, smile and know that Lucy and Ethel will always be great friends.  And it makes me smile even on the hardest of days.  I know I have to fight to win this battle for her because, as she put it, with tears flowing down her beautiful face when I was first diagnosed, "There is no Ethel without Lucy."

Taking Off The Masks

It seems during our 20s, 30s and even 40s, we all wear masks.  We are so busy trying to start a life, maybe a career or family, raising our children and outdoing each other, whether professionally, financially or personally, that it's not until later in life that we realize we all end up in the same boat, more or less.  It's so liberating to get to a point in life where we can just be ourselves and not struggle to fulfill the "roles" we thought we were supposed to and try and "keep up with the Joneses".  All of us have failed at something.  All of us have succeeded in many aspects of our lives.  We have all endured bumps and heartache along the way.  We all have made mistakes.  We have all learned lessons.  But all of these experiences define who we are today so to change anything is impossible and, therefore, having regrets is useless.  To change even one thing would have altered our path and possibly not provided us with the job we desired or the beautiful children we have.  So I have learned to forgive others for their mistakes and, more importantly, to forgive myself for mine.  Through forgiveness, we have healing and peace.  It's not about right and wrong, fault or blame, but about just letting it all go so we are not filled with bitterness and anger.  Life is just too short for negativity.  Through this process, especially for women, it draws us all closer and to a greater understanding of what true friendship is: an all-accepting, all-forgiving, all-supporting, non-competitive relationship and it fills me with warmth, security, serenity and love.  Wow - that sounded really "hippy" to me.  At this stage in life, however, it doesn't matter; it's how I feel.

Last night I reconnected with Gail, a woman I met years ago when our girls attended the same elementary school.  We acknowledged "knowing" each other but not really ever having a meaningful conversation.  That's because we were busy being moms and we had our masks on, and, therefore, didn't really seem to have much in common.  Or so we thought.   Over dinner, we had easy conversation and discovered we are similar in many ways and while we've experienced a lot of the same things; we've experienced them in very different ways.

As we were talking, I mentioned about the CIBC Run for the Cure and she is hopeful she and her daughter may be able to join us in support of this cause.   Just like that, another friend made.  While we were talking about the walk and how grateful I am at all the support from friends, and from strangers who hopefully will become friends, I mentioned I'm just shy of reaching a fundraising goal that would earn me a beautiful keepsake necklace and that I was prepared to donate to myself in order to reach that goal.  After a yummy dinner and great conversation, we said goodnight and vowed to see each other again, if not for the CIBC walk, then for our own local walk or a visit.  I came home and turned on my email and saw a notification that I'd received a donation and indeed reached that fundraising goal.  I checked to see who had donated.  It was Gail!  With tears and a smile, I called to thank her and tell her that meant a lot to me.  We agreed it was easy taking our masks off with each other.

Before dinner, I'd spent the day with Tracey, a woman I've known for over 20 years, who has become a very close friend over the past couple of years.  There are no masks on either of us and we have bared our souls to each other on many occasions.  Tracey is a friend I trust and love with all my heart.   Our "stories" are very similar and so we totally understand each other, from what we're thinking to food cravings.  During my recovery from surgery, while I'm more than able to visit with friends, I'm not so able to do a lot of the daily physical things we all take for granted and even complain about, things like changing sheets and vacuuming.  Tracey did all this and more for me.  Then we had a blast shopping for "pink" for Sunday's walk at the VV Boutique.  She had a craving for samosas so, being the good friend I am, I joined her in devouring that treat.  Didn't take much arm-twisting actually.  But then again, it never does.  I think we're the only two grown women who crave Filet-O-Fish sandwiches and both like it with extra tartar sauce and ketchup.  We drink green tea with it just so we can justify it being a healthy meal.  Yup, that's definitely a mask off!

We're Famous!

My friend, Lori, and I are in the local paper!  It's a great story and a nice picture, although she complained the photo of her wasn't as good as the one of me.  Of course I completely disagree with her.  Lori is a cancer survivor and I consider myself "pending".  She has been key to me keeping my positive attitude because she's walked in my shoes and come out the other side healthy, which brings me hope.  I wear her healing stone every day.  She also has an awesome laugh, the kind that makes you laugh as well because it's from the belly and is just so infectious.   We have shared many laughs over the years and now she calls me just about every day to chat ("hello, my friend") and see how I'm doing.  I think the only difference between us is she prefers white wine to my red.  She has introduced me to some amazing women and we all have become friends and now they are all doing the walk on Sunday for Team K3.  Even Sharon, who is in a different city on Sunday, is doing the walk in that town with the Team K3 t-shirt on in support.  We are so excited to make the paper and are looking forward to being hounded for autographs!

Learning to Listen to My Body

Okay, okay, so even the Energizer Bunny runs out of steam sometimes, right?  I've had to learn to pace myself lately which is not something I enjoy nor am I good at.  I have had many visitors and many treats since coming home from the hospital.  I just don't want that to end so I'd rather push myself than say no to an invitation to dinner, a movie or just to hang out over a cup of coffee or a glass of wine.  I've noticed a bit of a pattern: one day I'm full of energy and the next I need to stay in my housecoat and just rest.  Yesterday was one of the "just rest" days, I guess.  As the rain pelted down on my huge windows and the wind kept my chime busy on my deck, it wasn't so bad to lie around reading and just taking it easy.

Luckily, my friends don't mind if I cancel same-day or even last-minute and actually applaud me listening to my body.  I've had some friends say they still can't keep up with me.  I smile at that because somewhere inside I know it's actually true!  There's just so much living to do.  I've said it all along and I really feel that I don't fear dying but prefer to love living.  Life has its ups and downs and challenges for all of us but in the end I have to believe everything happens for a reason and everything works out the way it's supposed to.  Some say this is fate or karma but however you look at it, it's whatever inner strength you can muster that will carry you through the darkest of times.

I have decided that when I'm over this blip in my life called breast cancer, I would like to help women going through this alone because if it weren't for the amazing and endless support I have, I'm not sure how I'd cope.  I think there may be women out there facing this alone without family or friends, or who don't have support nearby, and I'm thinking my circle of friends and I could become support for others - strangers who may join our circle.  This will be my way to extend a hand, express my gratitude and pay it forward.

So I guess I'm not just listening to my body but to my heart as well.  And I guess I accomplished something yesterday after all!  Going to rest now - look out today, here I come!

Team K3

Through this journey, I've made some wonderful new friends and what I love about my friends is they all get along so my circle of friends just keeps expanding.  One is Leanne.  I met her through a mutual friend very casually and attended a fundraising event that it turned out her daughter had organized.  August 17th was not only the day I got my biopsy results that set me up for surgery; it was also my friend Lori's birthday.  She had called several times throughout the day to see what the surgeon had said, sure that I was fine.  She had given me a healing stone that was given to her by Eleanor to help Lori through her bout of cancer and was convinced that would be my good luck charm too.  I'm sure it will be but not on that day.  I felt bad that I was going to have to answer her calls on her birthday so decided to tell her in person.  So TeeTee drove me to her house and as I was telling her the news, Leanne came by on her way home from work to wish Lori a happy birthday.  We were, of course, upset and Leanne asked what was going on.

We filled her in on my diagnosis and she shared she had lost a good friend to the same disease and she is determined to help me fight.  Wow.  Just like that.  Two nights before my surgery, Leanne invited a group of friends, including me, to dinner to cheer me up and to cheer me on.  It was a fun evening filled with laughter and promises by my friends to shave their heads with me, or for some, to add pink streaks to their hair.  She and Ethel announced that night that they were going to put together a team to participate in the CIBC Run for the Cure on October 2nd.  We are doing the 5K walk and we are all wearing as much pink as possible.  We will stay in a hotel the night before and end the walk with lunch so we will all have an amazing time!  We started out with ten women each trying to raise $150.  This has grown to 30 participants and our team has raised over $3,500!  Again, humbled and uplifted.

The team name represents the fact that my first name and my girls' first names all start with the letter K and I am doing this walk and fighting this fight for all three of us, hopeful that there will be a cure so they don't have to endure this in their future.  The history starts with me so they have to be very aware and vigilant in their breast health.  I want to set an example for them that no matter what life throws at you, you have to be strong and carry on, even if you don't think you want to; that even with a broken heart, you can't let life break your spirit because one day everything will work out.

This will be a fun day and I'm sure it will be very inspiring to be around all those other people fighting for the same cause and sharing their stories.  We will be clothed, decorated and painted in pink at this great event!

Home At Last

So good to be home in my own bed.  TeeTee stayed with me for the day getting me comfortable and making sure I was okay.  When she left, she got teary at the thought of leaving me.  That was a nice hug.  Then reality set in.  I'm alone.  Can I do this by myself?  Of course, I have no choice.  What am I to do now?  I can't work.  I can't hike.  My left arm is pretty useless: stiff, numb in some parts and feeling burned in others - you know, like a burn you get from an iron or oven rack.  Just as I started to feel a little nervous, the phone began ringing and my friends have been coming every day with food, wine, flowers, massages and to help me with chores.  It's like they're tripping over each other to help me and it feels humbling and uplifting, two words I think I've said more in the past few weeks than ever before in my life!  As I've said to them, "I may have lost a breast but with all this yummy food I will be gaining big hips!"

My Surgeon is a Cheeky Monkey

In the days after my discharge from hospital, I read a lot and rested at my parents' place.  Turns out, I'm an impatient patient and I was bored pretty quickly so my friends all showed up for a potluck dinner and we had a lot of laughs.  It wore me out but I guess I'm like my late Gram who would rather have passed out from exhaustion on the couch during a party than actually excuse herself and go to bed.  She just didn't want to miss anything and neither do I!  TeeTee stayed over with me as the next day was my follow-up appointment with the surgeon.  He was to remove my staples and I was worried that was going to hurt.  I told him I was nervous about that and he said it would be fine.  I said that's what they told me at the hospital about having the drain removed and that didn't go so well.  He removed the first one and asked if it hurt.  It didn't at all and he said that would be the worst one.  I said I was going to scream so TeeTee would hear me, you know, just to freak her out.  He said I could scream if I wanted to just for effect.  I decided to be kind and not do so.  He demonstrated a couple of exercises I would need to do to get the range of motion back in my left arm due to the lymph node extraction.  It's amazing how such a simple task can become so difficult.  I got dressed and we joined TeeTee in his office to talk about what's next.  We shared with TeeTee the plan of screaming earlier and she called my surgeon a "cheeky monkey".  I'm thinking that's a first for him!  He told us they "got it all", meaning the tumour, and said I'd next hear from the oncologist at the Cancer Clinic as to what "stage" I'm at, although they don't call it that anymore, and when I start my chemotherapy and radiation therapy.  Yikes.  That sounds so serious.

I Went for a Mastectomy and Joined a Harem

I vaguely recall being wheeled to my room.  I remember the nurse saying there was another person coming in right behind me and if I wanted the bed by the window I needed to get from the gurney onto the bed or that patient would have dibs on the space with a view of the mountains, the sun, the blue sky and more importantly fresh air!  I thought of Nadine's family who says dibs for everything - and I mean everything - nothing is off-limits.  My slightly competitive spirit kicked in and, needless to say, it was somehow a victory to earn that space.  I was feeling high still and when I sat up to greet my parents, I experienced waves of nausea.  They stayed just long enough to make sure I was okay, give me a hug and then left to allow me to rest.  I buzzed the nurse to assist me to the washroom and she arrived just in time to hand me a cardboard bowl to throw up in.  She said it was the effects of the anesthesia wearing off.  Upon my return from the washroom, I realized I was on a ward with three roommates, one of whom was male, due to the overcrowded conditions.  When I walked into the room, he said, "Welcome to my harem."  I pointed to my non-breast and said, "Joke's on you, buddy!"  That set the tenor for the room.

I slept for a while and awoke to all kinds of beeps and groans surrounding my bed.  The woman across from me at the other window seat and who turned out to be really nice, had a tube up her nose that went down her throat.  Poor thing.  That made her cough non-stop all night.  I felt so sorry for her.  The woman next to me freaked out when the alarm began to sound on the machine that holds the clear plastic bags of fluid high on a pole.  She was yelling, "Is it my heart?  Is it my heart?"  I tried to reassure her that not only was it not her heart, but it was my machine and not hers that was ringing.  The nurse came and changed my fluids and reset the machine.  She then spent half an hour reassuring the woman next to me that she was still alive.  A while later, I awoke to the same woman screaming so when the nurse checked on me I said something about that and the nurse told me they were only changing a bandage on her hand; that she had had hip replacement surgery.  What the heck?  Then I heard that patient complain to the nurse that she'd like the windows closed and that it should be her turn by the window.  I thought to myself, "This isn't like musical chairs."  The nurse asked if I minded to close the window and after listening to this whiner all night I said that I did mind, the fresh air was better than the stale hospital air, and it would be too warm in the room with them closed.  The leader of the harem snored endlessly.  I wished at that point I had ear plugs.  I just put the little oxygen plastic tubes up my nose and tried to rest.  I have to say those are awesome and I totally get the whole "O Bar" concept now!  Just when I'd finally fall asleep, the nurse would come to check my vital signs and fluids.  Needless to say, I didn't sleep much the first night at all.

Although I had 15 staples where my breast used to be, I was moving about pretty well.  I only took regular strength Tylenol as the pain was bearable and I've never really been a pill-popper.  Apparently, they don't serve Shiraz in the rooms either!  Yes, I asked.

My family doctor came by to see how I was doing.  "Well, hello, hello, hello," he said coming through the curtain.  It was so nice to see him.  He's been my doctor for about 26 years now and helped me birth both my babies.  He is a very special man and I adore him.  He always treats me like a loved relative and he makes me feel very warm.  Then came my surgeon.  He is very matter-of-fact and shoots from the hip.  He pulled my bandage off and had a look and a poke around and assured me everything was exactly the way it was supposed to be.  I didn't look.  I couldn't look.  Not ready.  My tummy went queasy and my knees went weak.  Good thing I was still in bed.  He said he'd like me to stay in the hospital a couple more days so I could be monitored.  Not a problem, I assured him.  The thought of going home hadn't crossed my mind quite yet.

In the days that followed in the hospital, I had so much company they were literally tagging each other in the parking lot on the way in/out.  So much support from so many friends.  It was flattering and humbling all at the same time.  They brought home-baked cinnamon buns, flowers, a plant, books, a stuffed bunny named Henley to cuddle, Tim's double-doubles and food that was recognizable, unlike the hospital mush that was offered and rejected.   My parents came every day and made way for the throngs of friends, as it was a two-at-a-time visiting regime.  The hours were supposed to be from 11 a.m. to 8 p.m. but mine were apparently from 9:30 a.m. till about 9:00 p.m.  I'm a lucky woman!

On the second evening, Ethel, TeeTee and TeeTee's adult daughter, Taylor, were my last visitors.  I told them about my roommates and they made me laugh so hard at times I was trying to recall how to laugh without pushing, like during childbirth, so that I didn't pop my staples.  Knowing this would be the only time they would come to visit, and since Ethel was my "chest photographer", I asked if she would come into the washroom with me and take the post-surgery picture.  They all said they would come.  I asked if Taylor really thought this was a good idea and she said she was coming in.  So we went to the washroom and I lowered my nightgown to expose my bandage-covered flattened chest.  I looked away.  When I looked back, I saw four eyes full of tears.  They weren't horrified or grossed out, just sad for what their friend had had to endure.  Ethel, usually the one to melt first, said when she looks through the camera to take a picture, things don't affect her the same way so she would cry later.  Another bonding moment that only women friends can understand.

The next day, a fill-in surgeon stopped by and asked me how I was feeling and if I'd like to go home.  I said my surgeon had asked me to stay a couple more days and I really didn't want to go home with the drain hanging out of my chest.  It's a little rubber bulb dangling from a tube that was sewn into my chest at the surgical site.  That grossed me out more than anything.  She agreed and I was there for another day and night.  And yes, the visitors continued to roll in.  That afternoon, Ms. Whines-A-Lot was moved out of the room, Mr. Snores-Like-A-Drunk/Harem-Boss-Wannabe was discharged and Mrs. Coughs-All-Night had her drain removed.  I slept much better that night.

On my last morning, I was allowed to have a shower.  The first thing I noticed when I walked into the room was a pair of gumboots.  Not sure why that was funny but it was.  The nurse told me to just leave the bandage on and it was okay to get it soaked.  That water running over my body felt so good.  It reminded me of the glorious feeling of a long, hot shower after camping.  Unfortunately, the only shampoo was something that required no rinsing and a soap that, well, wasn't exactly spa-like.  So I made the best of the situation and felt renewed in my new gown and towel-wrapped hair.  After another visitor came and went, the nurse came to change my bandage.  I said I felt it was time I looked at my new body and asked her if she would stay with me while I did so.  She was quite young and lovely and when I asked her to hold my hand, she said she would be honoured to do so.  I lay on my back in my hospital bed and she removed the now-soaked bandage.  She offered me a mirror but I said I just wanted a quick glance and only from the top looking down.  Not sure why.  I guess we all process these things in our own way.  The nurse comforted me and said my surgeon was the absolute best and he did a great job.  That was very nice to hear.  The area didn't look as scary and mutilated as I had imagined.  The staples seemed huge.  I thanked her for sharing that with me and being so sweet and understanding.

Then it was time for drain removal.  The procedure, the nurse explained, was that she would cut the stitches that held it in place and then on the count of three, I was to bear down like giving birth, and she would just pull it out.  Sounds easy, right?  I made her go over those directions two or three times, kind of like learning to play a new game for the first time, wanting to get everything just right in my head.  She said it would be uncomfortable.  One...two... -- wait -- wait -- not ready!  Okay.  Deep breath.  Ready.  One...two...three...OUCH!  It felt as though the drain went from my toes to my chest and it was being ripped out of my body with ridiculous force.  That made me cry for a couple of minutes and then I was just so relieved it was out.  I asked about the hole and she said the bleeding was already slowing so she put one big bandage over the whole area.  She said she was sorry it hurt me and patted my hair like I was a child.  I felt like a child so this was the perfect comfort.  After a few more minutes passed, I put on real clothes and waited for my parents to pick me and all my treasures up to go to their place for some recovery time.

No Shiraz in the Operating Room

September 2nd, THE DAY I LOST MY BREAST.  My parents accompanied me to the hospital early in the morning.  I was a bit nervous but the hospital staff kept me very busy.  I had to go downstairs to have radioactive dye injected into my breast, between the nipple and tumour to be exact (weak knees here), to locate the sentinel node.  I was hoping my surgeon was good enough to know where that was but it turns out it's not always the same in each person.  Whew.  We walked through automatic doors marked with those yellow radioactive symbol hazard stickers.  Gulp.  I was told I would have the sensation of heat running through my veins.  I felt nothing and asked the person doing the procedure if she were sure everything went okay.  She said it was done properly and not to worry, that the onset of this sensation may take a few minutes.  I never felt a thing and was thankful for that.  I was directed back upstairs to meet with a nurse to have my vitals taken and the usual pre-op information exchanged.  Then back downstairs to the Nuclear Medicine Radiology machine, you know the one, like on TV where they slide you into the big round machine on a two-inch wide table and ask you not to move for ten minutes while your body is contorted in an impossible position.  That was interesting but a wee bit claustrophobic.  Again, back upstairs to get a needle in the back of my hand to hook my fluids into.  Since I figured I would then be going straight into surgery I said goodbye to my folks.  Then I was told my surgeon had been delayed with an emergency so my operation was delayed as a result.  I called my mom and Ethel to let them know as I knew everyone was waiting for "the call" after my surgery and didn't want them to worry that something had gone wrong.  I waited about an hour and drained my first bag of fluids.

The nurse came for me.  With Beethoven's 5th Symphony starting up in my head, I walked into the operating room in that hot gown with the shoulder snaps.  There were about ten people in the room.  I said, "Oh, good, I found the party room."  I was asked if it would be okay for some student doctors/nurses to observe the procedure and I reminded them that if they did anything to me while I was under, I would hunt them down and make them accountable.  Silly them.  They believed me.  Till I laughed and ordered a glass of Shiraz.  Then the surgeon came in.  I told him he ruined everything by showing up; that we were just about to have a toast.  He directed me to the operating table.  I lied down and suddenly felt very vulnerable.  He put his hand on my shoulder and asked if the reality were setting in.  I felt a tear run down my cheek.  He's good.  I was asked to breathe in oxygen and that was it.

What seemed like a second later, I woke up in recovery to the sound of a high-pitched child's voice saying, "May I please have some ice chips?"  I looked around through the haze and saw the surgeon on the phone.  I heard him say my dad's name so I assumed he was phoning to report I was still alive.  I heard the voice again, "Ice chips?  Please, some ice chips?"  It was a little girl's voice, I determined.  I couldn't believe children were in the same recovery room.  I looked to my left and there was a wall.  I looked to my right and there was a big man laying on the gurney next to mine with tattoos down his arm.  He had a shaved head.  There was an oxygen mask on his face that covered his goatee.  I saw his mouth say the words I'd been hearing begging for ice chips.  I thought for a minute and after he said it again in a shrill voice, I blurted out in his direction, "Put on your big girl panties and shut up!"  I heard the doctor say into the telephone, "Yes, she's just fine."  There was laughter from beyond.  Nurses maybe?  Then I thought later that guy is going to find me and kill me for what I said.  Of course, I'm not sure this was real or imagined in my stoned state but it was definitely funny afterwards to share with my hospital room visitors.

Most Beautiful Breast in the World!

September 1st, I went for an ultrasound of my liver to see if everything was okay there.  "It's just routine," I was told.  Yeah, right.  For whom was this routine?  Not me.  That night, on Mastectomy Eve, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, saying goodbye to my breast.  Until that point in time, I always complained it was too small, too droopy, too wide-set from its twin.  Suddenly, my left breast was the most beautiful breast in the world.  I thanked it for nursing my beautiful babies - it was their favourite side.  I said that I'd miss it.  I'd miss wearing pretty bras and I'd miss growing old with it.  Because the tumour was so large I couldn't even sleep on my tummy without feeling nauseas so I knew it was time for it to go.  So I tucked it into its pyjama top and waited for morning.

Before and After

Life is now defined as "before my diagnosis" and "after my diagnosis".  I think we've all defined turning points in our lives this way.  So...before my diagnosis, my friend, Audrey, and I had been working on a fundraiser for Nadine and Mike, the comedian with ALS.    Then...after my diagnosis, when I was told my surgery date, I was very happy it was scheduled for after this important occasion so I wouldn't have to miss it!  We had a barbecue with friends and raised some money to help them cope financially so they could just spend their time with each other and not worry about money.  It was a big success and a wonderful day.  I was thrilled to see the outpouring of support.  There were beautiful raffle baskets (created and generously donated by Adele), string bracelets made by beautiful girls (I bought the one called "laugh"), a piñata (courtesy of my parents) and water balloon fight.  I'm pretty sure I got just as wet as most of the girls - it was a blast!  Delicious food was devoured and lots of laughs and hugs were shared.

Boobapalooza

TeeTee, Tracey, Christine and I went to Whistler for the weekend.  Christine had free passes on the Rocky Mountaineer train and Tracey had won the weekend at a fundraiser in April for Children's Hospital.  It was a luxury suite at the Pan Pacific and we were looking forward to getting away.  I sure as heck wasn't going to let me having cancer stop us!  We all decided to stay overnight at my parents', as they live close to the train station and we wouldn't have to get up as early.  We woke up to champagne and orange juice - at 6:30 a.m.!

As we were boarding the train, the locked-out employees hurled comments at us and I felt so bad I said I'd like to go back and explain to them that we'd won the trip, I had recently been diagnosed with breast cancer and, well, just give them all hugs and tell them I hoped they'd be back to work soon.  I refrained.  I'd still like to send them all cards or something.

On the train ride up, the announcement was that tea and coffee would be served and, starting at 9:30 a.m., there would be beer and wine offered.  Being the good Canadian girl I am, I yelled out, "Yahoo!"  Apparently I was the only one to do so - yeah, that was embarrassing.  Two other couples thought it was funny enough that they wanted to party with us.  So we made new friends, one of whom was just finished all her chemo and had a short hairdo already present.  The men said they'd buy us a round; their wives didn't think so.  We ended up laughing with them on the train and then agreed to meet up with them in Whistler over the weekend.

We deemed the weekend "Boobapalooza" and managed to get free drinks everywhere we went.  After all, who could resist these women telling the servers/bartenders/train staff/anyone who would listen, that their friend had just been diagnosed with breast cancer and was losing her beloved breast?  Still didn't seem like it was me they were referring to.  We went to Ric's for lunch and our waitress turned out to be the bartender so she created signature drinks for us.  They were amazing.  She followed that with a free round of shooters.  Christine pointed out that we needed to get to the liquor store before it closed.  She looked at her watch and said, "It's already...oh...one o'clock...um...never mind."  We all burst out laughing.

At the hotel, I asked if any of them would like to "feel my tumour", as I know I would be curious.  TeeTee went first and instantly wiped her hands on my shirt to make sure it didn't get into her system.  Then the other two felt it as well.  I asked TeeTee to take a picture, one from the front and one from me leaning over so my heavier, tumour-filled breast would hang lower to show the difference.  They were all shocked.  Then I said, "Well, don't you think it's only fair since you saw mine that I should see yours?"  They thought I was kidding.  Then when they realized I was serious, and after much cajoling and peer-pressuring, they relented.  TeeTee went first with some excuse or other about being a young mom so hers had deflated and headed south long ago.  Then it was Christine's turn.  She is fairly shy and quiet.  She was blushing but like a trooper flashed us all.  We all said she had lovely breasts.  Then Tracey, who had pretended she needed to use the washroom, returned and reluctantly joined in.  We all agreed hers were the nicest and perkiest.  I was happy to see we all had the same nipple colour.  It was a real bonding experience.  That memory is a very special one for me, and a great source of laughter for us all.  Apparently what happens in Whistler doesn't stay there.

I'm the Queen and this is Latifah

On the day of my appointment with the surgeon, I took Karen, or "TeeTee", hoping she would hold it together and maybe do the driving this time.  I went in alone at first and had a bit of a physical inspection.  I was asked to describe what I had been experiencing.  I said it's like those pop rocks candies exploding inside my breast, some days more, some days less.  He said that was because I was feeling the tumour growing.  That totally creeped me out!

The surgeon invited TeeTee into his office and he explained what's next.  He said I have the most aggressive form of breast cancer, that all my "markers" and "receptors" and a bunch of other stuff that was swimming around my foggy head were the worst they could be and that my only real course, as a first step, was a mastectomy.  What?  I figured I'd have a little lumpectomy, maybe some chemo, a bald head and then I'd be fine.  I was stunned. He went on to add that my cancer cells are multiplying at "an alarming rate".   I know I said I wanted it straight up, but a little sugar-coating might have been nice.  I looked at TeeTee, who by that time had sat back in the chair beside me and starting lovingly rubbing my back, and I said, "Is he talking to me?"  She said in an animated way, "He sure isn't talking to me.  I don't even want to make eye contact with him."  I asked all the usual questions about the surgery and treatment.  He doesn't think I'm a candidate for reconstructive surgery and even if they did reconstructive surgery this form of cancer may come back and they'd have to take it all apart.  So I took a deep breath and asked the obvious questions.  I asked if there's some sort of snap-on breasts so I could change them often.  Thinking aloud, I said, "I think my first choice for a prosthetic will be a black one.  I'll say to people, 'I'm the Queen and this is Latifah'."  He looked at us both and TeeTee and I just roared with laughter.  Apparently these questions were only obvious to the two of us!  She assured him this is normal behaviour for us and we'll be just fine.  He said I had the right attitude (what's that exactly - insanity?) and that he'd let me know when the surgery would take place.  I said we were going away that weekend so hopefully it won't interfere with our plans.  He smiled and escorted us to his nurse's desk.  She arranged the surgery date right then  for...drum roll in my head started here...September 2nd.  Oh, good, I thought, that's far enough away it won't interfere with my plans for a fundraiser I was working on either!

The surgeon directed us to his front desk where the nurse looked at TeeTee and said, "You look really familiar.  Do I know you from somewhere?"  TeeTee waved her hands about and said, "No, no, you don't recognize me.  Lose this face!"  It was hilarious.  The nurse sent me straight away for blood work and chest x-rays while I was still numb.  TeeTee heckled me while they took blood knowing how much I can't stand doing that.    Vampires, all of them!  The young woman who conducted the chest x-ray told me her mom was a breast cancer survivor for seven years.  She said before the cancer diagnosis they hadn't spoken for a couple of years and suddenly that all went away and they were really close and she can't believe the time she wasted being angry at her mom.  That touched me very personally and I thanked her for giving me hope.

Courage and Strength Wrapped in a Wedding Gift

While waiting to see a surgeon, who would translate my biopsy results and tell me what was happening next, I decided to keep really busy with work and social activities.  I was so excited for the upcoming wedding of my friend Nadine's son and got to help decorate the reception venue.  I had a great time on the big day.  Nothing like a beautiful bride and some of my favourite people to help focus on the happy side of life.  I laughed and said "awww" a few times through the speech Nadine gave while being heckled by her hilarious hubby, Mike, who was their son's best man.  Mike has ALS.  I kept thinking to myself I hope I am as courageous and strong as he is throughout my ordeal.  Although there is always hope for a cure for ALS, I know there actually is one for some forms of breast cancer and felt somewhat guilty about that.  Because of Mike, I have decided to love life instead of fearing death no matter what.  We all have challenges in our lives but it's how we choose to handle those challenges that shows our true colours.  Watching Mike and Nadine go through this together with the strength, love and faith they have is truly inspiring.

Can I See Your Asian Breasts?

On July 29th, I attended the hospital for a core biopsy.  I wouldn't wish that on anyone.  Ethel drove me to the hospital and my mom met her in the waiting room.  The doctor and the nurse were both lovely and understanding women.  That hurt way more than childbirth and didn't give me a beautiful gift of life in the end.  After the doctor got a sample, there was a loud "click" which they didn't tell me would happen so I jumped.  She said, "Got it!  It's a great sample."  I was so thankful that was over.  Then she said, "I just need two more."  Really thought I could have just died right there and then.  I was trying to distract myself by telling them of our Vegas antics, which was pretty hard to do with a doctor laying across your body and jabbing you with what felt like a six-foot needle.  I also said, "If I have to get a prosthetic breast, I'm considering something multicultural.  Since you've seen my bare breasts, I'm wondering if I could see yours to compare."  They were Asian.  They both laughed and said they'd not been asked that before.  Really?  Why do those things seem so obvious to me?  Needless to say, they politely declined.  When we got home, I had Ethel take a photo of my left breast, covered in orange antiseptic and a bandage from the horrible tests.  I decided I'd like to chronicle my journey in photos, as well as to write about my experience.  I just figured I wouldn't remember what my body looked like after whatever was about to happen to it.  Hmm...I wonder what Ethel's breasts look like.  Surely they're darker than mine.  I knew Ethel for a long time before I realized she wasn't just tan!  All that chana and tandoori chicken should have made it obvious, I suppose.

Breast Cancer? Me?

Everyday, strangers ask, "How are you?"  We say, "Fine."  What I feel like saying now is, "Well, except for breast cancer, I'm good, thanks."   I have spent the last few years trying to improve myself, emotionally, spiritually and physically, including tons of working out and outdoor activities.  I've never smoked but I do enjoy the occasional glass of wine...Shiraz or cabernet sauvignon (for those who may drop by and wonder what to bring).  Being subtle has never been my strong point.

While having a shower on July 8th, I felt a lump in my left breast.  Well, not the orange pit-sized lump I'd heard about in commercials, but a mass larger than a golf ball.  I couldn't believe it.  I felt it again and again.  I lay on my back on my bed and checked one more time.  Yup, it was huge and hard.  It didn't hurt.  I couldn't breathe.  I wondered, "Could it be cancer?"  No, I thought, there's no history in my family at all so it's probably just a cyst or something.  Besides I just climbed The Chief in Squamish six days before so I know I'm healthy.

The next morning, I met my friend, Tracey, as we were going to go to the Caribbean Festival.  I told her I needed to stop at the clinic, that I was sure it was nothing but that I'd found a lump in my breast.  She looked scared.  The doctor checked my breast and said there is a large mass and asked if he could aspirate.  I'm good with words but I had no idea that was a nice medical term for sticking a needle into my breast just behind my nipple!  He said based on the colour of the fluid withdrawn, he could tell a lot about what the mass might be.  I agreed, of course, hoping it would be the right colour, whatever that was.  He was pretty quiet and I said, "What colour was it?  Is everything okay?"  He said, "I'm sorry.  There was no fluid at all."  I thought to myself, that can't be good news and it turns out I was right.  He said he would have the hospital call me and I'd need to have a mammogram and ultrasound right away.  I looked at Tracey and said, "Well, I wonder what I'll look like bald."  She was more upset than I was!  I was just numb.  Not wanting to ruin the day, we went to the Festival and it was like walking through a fog.  I did manage to buy a $3 pair of really cute earrings, though, sure that fun bling can fix anything!

I called my family doctor on Monday and on Tuesday, I was in his office.  I was met with, "Well, hello, hello, hello," his predictable greeting that everyone adores.   I explained what had happened so far and was now looking at his concerned face, furrowed brows and all.  He said he wanted me to have those tests done ASAP.

Prior to all this happening, some friends had planned to go out to see Nearly Neil perform at a local pub.  That night, I met, for the first time, Jenn, who had a bandage visible on her chest.  I thought she was trying to quit smoking.  Didn't know "the patch" goes on your arm.  Turns out she'd just been for a lumpectomy.  She was still frozen and came out as planned.  I couldn't help but think, "What a coincidence.  Why did she have hers done the same day she went to the doctor and I had to wait?"  Better doctors?  Less likely hers was cancer?  More likely mine was?  My mind was racing but I was determined to just put a smile on my face and not worry prematurely.  Easier said than done!  Too many drinks and some great laughter made it go away for a few hours.

July 21st was mammogram/ultrasound day.   I took my friend, Sabrina, with me to the appointment for support.  You see, she is the "Ethel" to my "Lucy".  I'm the harebrained one that gets into mischief and she is my sidekick, going along with the fun, but making sure we are safe in the end.  I went in for the mammogram first and that was very uncomfortable, more so than the last time, which it turns out was in 2007.  My fault.  Just other heavy stuff going on in my life at the time and I just didn't think about it.

Then the ultrasound.  When the technician says, "I don't know how to read these things so I'll just go get the doctor," it's never good news.  The doctor was very young and very sweet.  He said he could tell one way or the other from the testing if I had cancer or not.  He asked if I'd like to know.  Well, figuring he would have just said it wasn't if it weren't, I knew it was.  I said, "Yes, please tell me.  I'm going away on the weekend and want to know if I should just not come back."  He said, "Yes, you have breast cancer."  "What?  Wow."   I asked if he could somehow squeeze the mass out through my nipple like a pimple through the skin.  Yup, the humour was kicking in already.  That was my response, followed by, "Can you please go get my friend from the waiting room?  Her name is Ethel.  I mean Sabrina."  In came Ethel, tears a-flowing.  Turns out he told her outside the room that her friend has breast cancer.  We listened to what the doctor had to say in shock and horror and then when he left the room had a private meltdown.  My sweet friend was so upset I did the driving.  Funny how that works.  It's always the ones around us who are hurt the most.  She said, "There's no Ethel without Lucy."  Poor thing.

We went to my parents' house, as we were picking up a suitcase for our adventure.  I had assumed I would go for testing and my doctor would tell me the results later.  I never expected it to be so obvious they could tell from an ultrasound.  The doctor said he would not have told me if he weren't 100% sure.  So we walked into my parents' house and they asked how the appointment went.  We all sat in the living room and I had to tell them the news.  My mom was shocked.  My dad, well, he was silent and then proceeded to give us a lesson on how to use the suitcase.  It was all so surreal.

I had one meltdown on the trip and that was because my left breast wouldn't fit into my bathing suit top without some help and I thought that breast looked so much larger than the other.  I finally get cleavage and it's because I have a tumour!  My sweet friend and roommate on the trip, Tracey, helped me through that teary episode.  Let's just say there was a lot of alcohol drank that day.  Well, I only had one Long Island iced tea and two beers...that I recall...'nuf said on that one.  What happens in Vegas stays there, right?