Waiting For Cancer

Posted on May 11, 2012 by elizabeth

I’m pretty weepy today. It’s not just one thing, really. It’s sorta everything. For one thing, my doctor found a new, suspicious lump in my right breast. You know what’s weird? It’s not so much the prospect of cancer that scares me, it’s the needing to be peaceful and normal for the kids while I wait for my appointment. It’s the wondering: what if?

I have a significant family history of breast cancer. It’s the kind of family history that freaks out every single OB/GYN I’ve ever had and makes them scribble off frantic orders for ultrasounds, mammograms, genetic counseling. At this point, breast cancer just feels like a matter of time. Each year I dodge the cancer bullet I can’t help thinking it’s just a temporary reprieve.

So, today is my appointment and I’m just sorta over this whole thing. Can’t we just skip to the part where I start chemo and lose my hair already? Because I’d really like to check Breast Cancer off my bucket list and move on with things.

Then again, no I don’t. I would far rather this was not happening at all.

I told my mom–a breast cancer survivor, herself–about my appointment today. I said: “You know, cancer wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

She chuckled, agreeing. “You know, cancer wasn’t as hard for me as going through the breakup of our old church.”

“Really?”

“Well, sure. What’s the worst that can happen with cancer? I’d die and go to Heaven and all my earthly sorrows would be over!”

Huh.

I’d never thought of it like that.

But maybe she’s right. Maybe surviving fundamentalism is a lot harder than surviving cancer? I guess that makes sense. I mean, what’s the worst that can happen to me if I have breast cancer? The surgeon lobs off my boobs and gives me a brand new set? Not such a bad deal, really. Can’t be worse than totally overhauling my life and rewiring my brain after surviving a cult. Right?

Maybe right.

Speaking of rewiring my brain, I started ADD meds last week. I was supposed to start them like three weeks ago, but I spent almost two weeks avoiding it. I filled the prescription and everything, but I just let the bottle sit on my counter for awhile. Waited for the stars to align. One Saturday morning I went in the backyard, looked up at the sky and said: “God, give me the strength to take this pill.” Then I swallowed it. Then I lay down on the floor and waited to die.

I’m not kidding. That is literally what happened. Life just isn’t worth living if it’s not melodramatic, am I right?

Oddly enough, I didn’t die. Instead, I started feeling better. Like, really better. So better, in fact, that I got up and cleaned my bedroom. Then I cleaned the living room–without ONCE getting distracted or procrastinating.

That’s when I thought a bad word: Shit is real.

It’s been about a week now. I can’t really believe ADD meds work this well. Is it really OK to feel this good? Is this what normal feels like? I am not accustomed to my brain feeling normal. I am accustomed to my brain feeling stressed out from the struggle of keeping up with every day life. I am accustomed to my brain galloping in twenty different directions and exhausting me with all its distractions.

After watching me go through this whole ADD-diagnosis, my mom and I had a major breakthrough. She called me and said: “Honey, all these years I’ve been missing this piece of the puzzle. I finally feel like I truly understand you. I just wanted to thank you for sharing with me.”

Aaaaand wow. My mother finally understands me? Excuse me while I break down sobbing. All I can say is: I’m so profoundly grateful for a second chance with my mom. I’m glad the cult didn’t win on that.

Which brings me back to cancer. If I can survive a cult, figure out my personality, get help for my ADD brain and experience new breakthroughs in my relationships, then maybe I’m strong enough to hear whatever diagnosis I hear today.

One thing’s for sure: I’m going to cry about it. Because even on meds, I’m still me. And me cries. That’s just what me do.

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  • http://www.fatherhoodetc.com/ David Ozab

    Praying for you, Elizabeth.

  • http://felicemifa.wordpress.com/ Margaret

    As always you process things so beautifully and you have my prayers. I have been thinking about similar things lately as my health has declined over the last year – nothing catastrophic, but some things that are pretty tough. It’s hard to think about our bodies not working quite right – and it does make you feel like every time something goes right you are just dodging a bullet, waiting for something else to strike.

    Keep crying. People like you and me know it helps. :)

  • http://www.inamirrordimly.com Ed_Cyzewski

    As someone who never wastes a good opportunity to freak out with an anxiety attack, I’m grateful that you’ve chosen to share your story. No clue how I’d react to a lump, but I know just driving by a hospital makes me a little nervous sometimes. It’s good to know you can face something like this and still keep your composure to write a deep, thoughtful blog post. Praying for strength and peace for you. Be blessed!

  • Tamara Rice

    Elizabeth, I hear you and I feel your pain. I cannot even count how many times I have waited to hear yes cancer or no cancer. What your mother said is absolutely true. For those of us who are blessed enough to survive cancer and not die in the battle, it is shocking how much worse other trials are in comparison. Having my boobs lopped off, reconstructed, going through chemo, losing my hair, etc.? Nothing compared to the pain and humiliation of being laid off by the people and friends (Christians, no less–imagine that!) I had been working for for six years–laid off, I might add, while still practically bald and not even done with the long reconstruction process. Getting laid off nearly destroyed me emotionally and spiritually. Breast cancer did not. You are already a survivor, Elizabeth. Know that and believe that today, no matter what the news is. Praying for you.

    • Lucie

      You are a survivor too, Tamara.

  • KatR

    If you have cancer that will totally suck ass. But we will all be here for you, you don’t have to be strong enough to do it alone. xo

  • CoraFaye

    I found your blog through Tamara Rice.  My heart goes out to you. For the last decade or so I have been in your shoes.  Just waiting for the doctor to say “You have Esophagus Cancer” just like my dad, just like his dad, and just like my dads mom and my dads uncle.  I have waited for them to say “You have breast cancer” or “You have ovarian cancer” just like my mom and her older sister and their mom.  I’m waiting for them to tell me that my 7 year old niece has breast cancer/ovarian cancer.  Because of having that altered gene and a history of it.  Or that she has esophagus cancer not just because of family history but because she has  a twisted stomach/esophagus. That causes GERD every day of her 7 years of life.  I feel your pain the emotional toil that is going on in your life. Trying to stay strong for your kids, and trying to keep a stiff upper lip.  My prayers are with you.  

  • Sam

    Oh, my friend. I am in the same boat as you! My OB-GYN freaks the freak OUT about my chances for breast cancer. In fact, this week he pretty much insisted that I get genetic testing done – and as long as my insurance covers it, I’m doing it. I’ve always felt like I’m a sitting duck – getting breast cancer wouldn’t be a surprise. Sometimes it feels inevitable. The only thing that would be terrible would be dying and leaving my son motherless (and whatever other kids I have  by then). That’s what I refuse to do! Sorry, Jesus – not yet! 

    So, until then, prevention and regular mammograms are all we can do, right? And I am hoping and praying that you are cancer-free today and forever! 

    • The Diaper Diaries

       I just wanted to chime in and say I too have a horrible history. A few years back my mom and all her sisters got tested but it came back negative. i have another friend who literally does not have a female member of her family who hasn’t had cancer or died from breast cancer. She was negative. So get tested for sure, but clearly there is a lot of stuff they don’t know. So stay on top of things no matter what the tests say :)

  • Gina

    I’ll be praying for you. 

  • http://twitter.com/byzcathwife priest’s wife

    waiting is really, really hard (but you know that already)

    I’m praying for you!

  • http://deird1.dreamwidth.org Deird

    Then I cleaned the living room–without ONCE getting distracted or procrastinating.

    ISN’T IT WONDERFUL!!!
    Going on ADHD meds changed my life.

    I’ll be praying for you.

  • http://www.leannepenny.com Leanne Penny

    This is so beautiful and brave.  I’m on antidepressants now but I suspect I need the ADHD Med switch.  They drugged me up my whole childhood and so going back on pills has been a choking struggle with my self esteem.  I feel you sister, really I do.  I’m for realisies praying over your appointment this afternoon.  

  • http://somewiseguy.com/ ThatGuyKC

    You are amazing my friend. EE,  I don’t know what will happen, but I’m praying for you and am overjoyed for you and your mom.

    Can’t wait to talk with you on Tuesday.

  • Jack Isaacks

    Reality check, Elizabeth:

    You cannot both have breast cancer and NOT have breast cancer at the same time.

    Therefore, as C. S. Lewis said, your appointed cross for NOW is your doubt and uncertainty and insecurity.

    It’s about the PRESENT doubt and confusion you pray, “Thy will be done,” and God will provide the strength to bear it.

    • Anonymous

      Reality check, Jack: your comment just made me cry. And not in a good way. Thanks.

    • Anonymous

      I’m trying to believe the best about this comment but honestly, it really hurt. In fact, it made me cry. Maybe it’s the way you worded it? “Reality check, Elizabeth”–as if I need a scolding. Maybe you didn’t mean it that way? But that’s how it came across to me.

      • Wendi

         yeah, the comment would have been better without the “reality check” opening…but that’s a man for ya…prayers and love going out for you…

  • http://bunkersdown.com/ Ami

    I’m convinced you could survive anything lady.  Seriously.  (But I’m hoping and praying you don’t have to.)

  • Joanie

    ((Hugs)) to precious YOU!

  • Nancy

    Your title made me think of “Waiting for Godot” . . . which is good news, because Godot never comes.  ;)   I’ve been where you are, waiting for test results, a few times.  I’ll be praying for your peace of mind as you wait, and your ability to be present with your kids in the meantime.  And kudos to you for taking that pill!

  • Jenny Meyerson

    Thank you for being real and vulnerable. Praying for peace no matter the answer/outcome.

  • Beth Baum

    In all (at least “all” so far in my world)..there is something posative to be gleaned from every trial.  Years after some of the hardest times in my life…I now see the value in those storms of life.  At 43…all of my experiences leading up to this day and every other day,  have made me who I am and continue to evolve to be.  The future can be faced with a curiosity….not fear. 

  • http://pulse.yahoo.com/_4QMUQWAZLLY4IXV7UKUW42HTSQ jeanelane

    I’d love to tell you bunches of stuff I believe would help.  But the one thing I will say – I totally understand the crying thing!  If I didn’t cry, I wouldn’t be me.  I don’t remember crying in my first marriage.  Isn’t that funny :
    Cry, cry, and cry some more.  But use handkerchiefs to dry your eyes.  Much better than facial tissues :)

  • Hippimama

    Elizabeth — just this week I got called back for a second mammogram in one day, for “an area of increased density” in one breast.  The waiting for the result was excruciating — my heart was bursting out of my chest for 4 hours.  Thankfully the “density” did not appear on the second mammogram, but I’m still reeling from all the might-have-beens.  My heart goes out to you.  Prayers for your peace.

  • http://absolutelyspeechless.wordpress.com/ Kerri

    I don’t comment much, but I read you much. :) Praying for you. Thanks again for being honest about what’s going on with you. You are an encouragement to so many.  (btw, had an ovarian cancer “scare” last fall, and breast cancer in my family history, so I know of what you speak).  God’s peace to you today.

  • Lucie

    “Which brings me back to cancer. If I can survive a cult, figure out my personality, get help for my ADD brain and experience new breakthroughs in my relationships, then maybe I’m strong enough to hear whatever diagnosis I hear today.”

    Amen, sister.  You are one strong lady.  Don’t forget to add to the above list the birth of twins, raising five children and facing the possible loss of your home as well!  And you have soldiered your way through those.  The same God who helped you through those challenges hasn’t exhausted his store of “let’s give Elizabeth a little extra dose of help today.”  :-)

  • Lucie

    Forgot to add in my last post that I’m so glad to hear how well the ADD medicine is working for you.

  • Sarah

    Hope and pray all is well with you!

  • Anonymous

    Where have you been all my life? You are so brave, so strong, and such an inspiration. And I am feeling like I just got the gigantic-est gift today by learning about you from Nish over at Deeper Story.

    1. First, I should say that I’m reading this post and commenting after having read your most recent post, in which you learn that you don’t have breast cancer. YAAAAY!!!! (You can’t see me, but I am TOTALLY doing The Happy Dance.)

    2. I know what it is to wait to hear if you have cancer. I go through it every February. I found a lump in my left breast in 2006. I was 28. They thought it was a cyst. They removed it. It was an atypical papilloma. No history of breast cancer in my family, but that diagnosis put me right up there in the High-Risk Patient camp. I’m one of the youngest women to visit the University of Pittsburgh’s Hillman Cancer Center High-Risk Breast Cancer Unit. I’m also an anomaly, as atypical papillomas are rare, especially in young women. My oncologist wasn’t even sure how to treat me at first. I had mammos every 6 months for a while. Now it’s once a year. I’ve had the ultrasounds. I’ve had a stereotactic biopsy (“These calcifications in your left breast look cancerous.”) I’ve waited for those phone calls with bated breath. And terror.

    I’m getting a breast MRI in a couple weeks. And I’ll wait again. For the news of cancer or no cancer.

    And I will hold you in my heart while I wait.

    3. I’ve, too, been spiritually abused, partly by those in fundamentalist groups, and partly by extended family. I’m Catholic, and I always will be, but there’s been some pretty serious pain and trauma in my walk with Jesus. HELL TO THE YES, THERE HAS BEEN. And I wake each day with those scars, with those triggers. But I still try to walk…stumbling-hot-mess that I am.

    4. A second chance with your mom? I nearly wept when I read that. Because I know what that means. And I know the validation that tears from your chest bring when you realize you’ve gotten that second chance. My mom has schizoaffective disorder. She’s lived in and out of psych hospitals, psych wards, transitional care homes, etc., for 20+ years.  She’s attempted suicide twice, the most recent attempt being a few months ago.  And then, after an amazing team of doctors at a new care facility, after three weeks of living there, away from my father again, after so many prayers from the guts of our guts, she came home, healed in a way I never thought possible. Is her disease gone? No. And it never will be. But she is so much more whole, such much more “awake” than I’ve ever known her to be in my 34 years on this planet. That second chance with her? There are no words. I have a mother now. God is so, so good.

    5. I’m sorry this so long. I’m verbose, and I cry a lot, too. So, yeah. There’s that.

    6. Huge hugs from Pittsburgh, my friend. And so much love. I will be visiting you here often.

    xoxo,
    Laura

  • Karey

    How could I not like everything you write? It’s like reading about me – only a more articulate me, a better thought-out me. And what isn’t to like about me? lol.

    • Karey

      Oh, and I read this article backwards, AFTER I read you are ok. Good news!!

  • http://GrittyGrace.com Martha Brady

    e.esther, i had to laugh when i read this. yes, i am weird, but it was too funny:)  
    i could identify with you at so many levels in the article, but still smiled anyway, b/c i had already read the outcome of the testing.
    hang in there girl.  love, m