I got through the weekend and my quick transition to veganism. I get word that my folks will be here Tuesday. It can't get here fast enough.
In the meantime, I busy myself with my kids. I have two. One boy, one girl. My boy is fourteen, and my daughter is 11. Did I mention I homeschool? No, I don't wear denim jumpers. I really love being around my kids and teaching them has been one of the most amazing journeys. With homeschoolers come homeschool groups because people are always going to ask you about socialization and you want them to know you're still getting out and interacting with other people so you don't revert to talking like a parent/teacher all the time. Oh, and the kids get to hang out with other "socially awkward" homeschoolers.
So, we head out on Monday for a field trip at the BYU campus on Oahu. We get to pass by North Shore and Waimea and see the famous waves. We get to BYU in a small town call Laie and proceed to their Natural History Museum. If you go to Oahu and want to see the sites, you really don't have to go out of your way to check out the museum, unless you have a burning need to smell mothballs, freeze your tail off, and see stuffed animals- not the cute & cuddly kind- stuffed into a rather small room. While it's very impressive someone has gone through a lot of work to catalog and collect these animals, it's a long way to Laie from... well, from anywhere on Oahu. It did keep me from temporarily losing my mind staring at four walls and repeating the same lesson to my daughter on the Constitution while she mouth sleeps on my couch.
February 9, 2016
My parents arrive! Amidst a flurry of cleaning and organizing, my parents are here. I love my folks. We are very close. Being a military wife, I've found myself back "home" many times while my husband has been deployed. I didn't this time, because, well, HAWAII! No, really, I had felt strong enough on my own to do a deployment. We just bought a house and I wanted to get our kids hooked up into the community as soon as possible. Too, my husband was in Guam, which is a lot closer to Hawaii than New Mexico. So, the kids and I would take Space Available flights from the air force base to my husband's assignment in Guam. It was all working out so well...
An hour into welcoming my parents to Hawaii, the call came. Dr. S asks if I have time to talk. You know it's serious when those words come out. Because if it wasn't she'd just say, "It's benign, see your boobs next year." I grab my dad and head outside. It's cancer. Grade 3. Invasive Ductal Carcinoma.
Have you ever had a head cold and your ears plug up? People are talking to you as you try to squeeze your nose and blow them out and they still stay clogged. Dang it's annoying. But, too, it kind of puts you in the same position as when your given news like this. People are talking to you and it's all kind of fuzzy. With my Daddy, I lose it. We're in front of a strip mall because we stopped for Korean before we headed to my house. A lady from Boy Scouts smiles and waves as she corrals her boys into the dentist. I wave back, looking pretty frightening. I can't even imagine the look she saw on my face. My husband says I give some really strange "What the...?" looks. He's even gotten some on camera. Not flattering. I make the universal sign for "I'll call you," which really means "I'll message you," because I'd rather have ingrown toenails removed than talk on the phone. It really is a problem.
Yes, I lose it in public. I have no shame, and if anyone were to trade places with me I'm sure they do the same. Then...then, I get my junk together. No, no cancer's not taking me. As I have seen since on breastcancer.org "I WILL NOT go gently into the night." I won't. I have too damn much to do still. I'm ready to fight. And after wiping my nose, putting on my big girl Wonder Woman panties, I'm going to knock cancer on its ass. Ready or not, here I come
Saturday, February 20, 2016
Babopsy (Think, My Big Fat Greek Wedding)
These past two weeks have been CRAZY! I was just thinking it was three weeks, so that just goes to prove how I've lost a bit of my mind.
Okay, so a year ago, at 39, I found a small, pea sized lump in my right breast. I have some pretty lumpy breasts, but this just didn't feel right. I went to the doctor, they referred me to Mammography. Many breast squishes later, I was told it was a cyst. I was told that unless it got irritating, I didn't have to worry. About two months ago it started to get bothersome. It was growing. It was hard. Then, after Christmas a bump under my arm started bugging me. Here I am still thinking it was that "bothersome" cyst that needed to be aspirated. I went back to mammography on February 4th, 2016. I go through all the procedures. Breast squishing, cold hands, hold your breath. Then, the doctor wants to ultrasound.
Here's where it comes to a screeching halt. Cue tires squealing, rubber burning sound effects. Mammography doctor tells me,"It's not a cyst."
"Wha? What?!"
"It's suspicious for cancer."
Now I'm feeling like I'm walking around in a Salvador Dali painting, leaking clocks and everything. I lost it a little bit. Okay, I lost it a lot. I'm ugly bawling to a woman I just met 45 minutes ago, who has seen and touched my breasts, and is now watching me have a nervous breakdown. I don't think my best friend has been that up in my business. Thankfully, Dr. S is sweet, understanding. She holds my hand and comforts me. Then she tells me she wants me to come back tomorrow so she can push a huge needle into my breast and take bits of the ugly thing to the pathologist. The woman should be working to release hostages. I mean, if you can tell someone some of the worst news they've heard, then proceed to convince them to come back the next day so she can torture them with needles? Amazing skills.
I remember walking out of the hospital in a daze. I remember calling my husband (who was in Guam at the time finishing up a year long deployment), but getting nothing. I remember texting a close friend who I knew had fought and beat BC. Then I proceeded to emotionally vomit all over her, too. When I finally got a hold of my husband, I was practically hyperventilating on Oahu's H1, screaming, "You need to come home!"
February 5th, 2016
If you've not been on H1 in Oahu during rush hour, you're not missing out. Yes, Hawaii is beautiful. You can see Diamond Head from the freeway, palm trees swaying, but the mere fact you have to leave an hour and a half early for what should take twenty minutes is so aggravating you lose all sight of the beauty. Traffic here is EPIC. My husband convinces me I have to leave at 5 am for my 7:30 appointment. I'm happy to say I was early for my appointment, but waiting in sketchy areas of the city while waiting for time to pass is nearly as scary as being told, "It's suspicious..."
Dr. S successfully takes out seven. Yes, SEVEN samples from the mass in my breast. One from my armpit. She also left bits of titanium in my breast so the surgeon knows where it is. The results should be back in 3-5 business days. It's a Friday. UGH!!!!
What follows is probably the most stressful, anxiety ridden weekend of my life. My parents, praise God for these amazing people, have switched dates on their tickets to come out one week earlier than they had planned. My husband is navigating the crazy bureaucratic nature of the US Army to heed to my pleas to "Come home! Now!" I start to look for ways to help myself during these crazy days of waiting waiting. What do you do? You find a way to take the part of the bull that you can manage by the horns (or the tail if you end up with that end) and you figure out ways to control what you can control. For me, it was diet and supplements. I read up on Gersen. I completely, cold turkey give up all meat, dairy, eggs... Well, pretty much everything but fresh fruits and vegetables. The staff at Walgreen's become my homegirls with as much as I'm in there getting supplements. It really does help. Take control of what you can. You can't control the results of the test. You can't control that it's the weekend and waiting is like watching a dog with worms butt skid across your favorite rug. You can control what goes into your body.
Okay, so a year ago, at 39, I found a small, pea sized lump in my right breast. I have some pretty lumpy breasts, but this just didn't feel right. I went to the doctor, they referred me to Mammography. Many breast squishes later, I was told it was a cyst. I was told that unless it got irritating, I didn't have to worry. About two months ago it started to get bothersome. It was growing. It was hard. Then, after Christmas a bump under my arm started bugging me. Here I am still thinking it was that "bothersome" cyst that needed to be aspirated. I went back to mammography on February 4th, 2016. I go through all the procedures. Breast squishing, cold hands, hold your breath. Then, the doctor wants to ultrasound.
Here's where it comes to a screeching halt. Cue tires squealing, rubber burning sound effects. Mammography doctor tells me,"It's not a cyst."
"Wha? What?!"
"It's suspicious for cancer."
Now I'm feeling like I'm walking around in a Salvador Dali painting, leaking clocks and everything. I lost it a little bit. Okay, I lost it a lot. I'm ugly bawling to a woman I just met 45 minutes ago, who has seen and touched my breasts, and is now watching me have a nervous breakdown. I don't think my best friend has been that up in my business. Thankfully, Dr. S is sweet, understanding. She holds my hand and comforts me. Then she tells me she wants me to come back tomorrow so she can push a huge needle into my breast and take bits of the ugly thing to the pathologist. The woman should be working to release hostages. I mean, if you can tell someone some of the worst news they've heard, then proceed to convince them to come back the next day so she can torture them with needles? Amazing skills.
I remember walking out of the hospital in a daze. I remember calling my husband (who was in Guam at the time finishing up a year long deployment), but getting nothing. I remember texting a close friend who I knew had fought and beat BC. Then I proceeded to emotionally vomit all over her, too. When I finally got a hold of my husband, I was practically hyperventilating on Oahu's H1, screaming, "You need to come home!"
February 5th, 2016
If you've not been on H1 in Oahu during rush hour, you're not missing out. Yes, Hawaii is beautiful. You can see Diamond Head from the freeway, palm trees swaying, but the mere fact you have to leave an hour and a half early for what should take twenty minutes is so aggravating you lose all sight of the beauty. Traffic here is EPIC. My husband convinces me I have to leave at 5 am for my 7:30 appointment. I'm happy to say I was early for my appointment, but waiting in sketchy areas of the city while waiting for time to pass is nearly as scary as being told, "It's suspicious..."
Dr. S successfully takes out seven. Yes, SEVEN samples from the mass in my breast. One from my armpit. She also left bits of titanium in my breast so the surgeon knows where it is. The results should be back in 3-5 business days. It's a Friday. UGH!!!!
What follows is probably the most stressful, anxiety ridden weekend of my life. My parents, praise God for these amazing people, have switched dates on their tickets to come out one week earlier than they had planned. My husband is navigating the crazy bureaucratic nature of the US Army to heed to my pleas to "Come home! Now!" I start to look for ways to help myself during these crazy days of waiting waiting. What do you do? You find a way to take the part of the bull that you can manage by the horns (or the tail if you end up with that end) and you figure out ways to control what you can control. For me, it was diet and supplements. I read up on Gersen. I completely, cold turkey give up all meat, dairy, eggs... Well, pretty much everything but fresh fruits and vegetables. The staff at Walgreen's become my homegirls with as much as I'm in there getting supplements. It really does help. Take control of what you can. You can't control the results of the test. You can't control that it's the weekend and waiting is like watching a dog with worms butt skid across your favorite rug. You can control what goes into your body.