The original intent for posting on the Banshee, informing friends and family about my diagnosis and prognosis. With a family as large as mine, I thought it best to keep everyone updated in one centralized place. The idea was to spare Graham or me from repeating the same sad story over-and-over. I also hoped to prevent the nasty game of telephone or text, which inevitably distorts facts and exaggerates details.
Lately, writing or even thinking about what I might write next, has become more than just a means for continuing to update friends and family on the ups and, lets face it, mostly downs of breast cancer and breast cancer treatment. Writing, even planning to write, is cathartic, a mental and emotional outlet, a means of venting, part of how I choose to process, name your 90's psycho-babble cliche.
To be honest, I loathe talking on the phone. I am a big believer in non-verbal communication, and as many of you know I talk with my hands, even my whole body if I am on a good one. Thus, I often feel inept getting my point across over the phone and equally void of sufficient feedback.
Between fighting breast cancer, potty training a 3 year-old, and teaching a 9 month-old how to walk, I am too drained to respond to every text, e-mail, or private message.
When I do respond, I have so much Mommy-guilt it is ridiculous. In my anxiety-riddled, A-type head I think to myself: if I am well enough to be chatting, texting, e-mailing, facebooking, house-cleaning, or working, I should be downstairs helping my friends, family, neighbors, and nannies raise my children.
The result, I don't update the Banshee near as often as I should even though it is a more efficient means of disseminating my truth, my story, my reality without having to spin that record for everyone that loves and cares for me after each doctor's appointment or chemotherapy fumble. Doing so once to Mom, twice to Dad, and a third time to my husband is depressing enough.
Why the all the excuses? Well, my sweet friend from high school, Eleonora, sent me a private message this evening. Like so many other old friends and new friends before her, the sweet message is filled with lots of love, concern, support, curiosity, encouragement, and lots of questions. Three things occurred to me:
One, everyday someone or something such as Eleonora's message reminds me that I am truly blessed. I am surrounded by amazing people, angels really. The support from family, friends, neighbors, acquaintances, and people I never knew or barely knew, is incredibly powerful and life-affirming. Their love and support humbling.
Then, of course, my Irish-Mexican Catholic guilt kicks in and after chronicling all my many faults and numerous life-mistakes, I start to wonder if I really, truly deserve all the kindnesses and blessings bestowed upon me on a daily basis. With humility, and let's face it, a bit of desperation, I resolve to not to think about whether or not I deserve the support of all these angels, and just humbly accept it with an open heart and immeasurable gratitude.
Two, I really need to keep my angels better informed. Therefore, I promise to update The Banshee more regularly.
Three, As Fraulein Maria sings "Let's Start from the beginning..." I need to go back to the beginning. I started The Banshee with diagnosis and prognosis, but not much about how I arrived there. Understandably so, most of my female friends and family have at one time or another expressed curiosity and concern about how I contracted breast cancer, how I found it, and of course why?
Embedded within these messages are deep threads of concern for self-preservation. It is scary to think a young contemporary, healthy and fit should contract such an aggressive form of cancer. It's even scarier to read all about the hell that is breast cancer treatment. If the roles were reversed, and I was reading Eleonora's Facebook posts and blogs about her battle with breast cancer (God-willing, this NEVER happens), I would be scratching my head wondering how someone so healthy and active could possibly contract breast cancer. If I'm forthright, my very next thought would skip to wondering how the hell I prevent catching that train ride.
To date, I have not addressed these concerns with the exception of my doctors as we explored possible risk factors. Truth be told, I don't want to scare everyone, but if it prompts one of you reading this silly little blog to start checking your breasts... not just tonight after you finish reading this... but on an on-going basis, then it's worth your fright and my annoyance with repeating the story yet again.
Therefore, consider this Episode 4 of my Ulysses. Unless you're a whole lot smarter than me, reading Episode 4 first is essential if you've got a chance in hell at understanding anything going on in the first 3 Episodes. Not that I'm comparing myself to the genius of James Joyce... ah forget the humility bull shit! You know what I mean!
Episode 4
Niamh (pronounced Nee-ve), was born on October 21st, 2013. Like my son before her, I chose to breast feed Niamh. Incidentally, breast feeding is second in pain only to chemotherapy. Yes, I remember pregnancy, labor and delivery, crashing my motorcycle, and fracturing my back and neck. I often tend to draw comparisons between pregnancy and infancy with breast cancer. For example, women love to share the gory detail of labor and delivery, but no one ever tells you how much nursing your child, even your second child, will hurt for the first 4-6 weeks. All the literature tends to prey on Mommy-guilt by listing all the benefits for you and baby, yet conveniently leaving out the cracked and bleeding nipples, referred nerve pain, blocked milk ducts, flu-like joys of mastitis, hours of fun hooked up to an udder-pumping machine, etc. I digress...
However, one of the many benefits happens to be a dramatic reduction in the percentage of breast cancer in women that chose to nurse their children. Well, we've always known I was special. Nursing two children did not prevent breast cancer in my case. Nor did being an athlete my whole life, running an average of 40-60 miles per week, drinking alcohol moderately, drinking 3-4 liters of purified water per day, or eating all organic meat and produce. This is the one time in my life I can say without guilt or hesitation, I did everything right. After watching my Nana die of the disease, I went out of my way to prevent cancer, specifically breast cancer. I read books and scientific papers on the bloody topic. I drank soy protein shakes with whole flax seed everyday for 14 years, because a UCLA research study I read showed a huge reduction in breast cancer among those cultures that ingest whole, unrefined flax seed, soy beans, soy products, and ate a healthy more Mediterranean-like diet.
As most of my fellow breast feeding Mommas and their partners can tell you, breasts get large and lumpy while nursing. When your milk "comes in", it fills the milk ducts, or glands, making the breasts larger, harder, and lumpier. It is often necessary to knead or massage the breasts while nursing or pumping in order to completely empty all the milk ducts. Otherwise, Momma faces possible engorgement, embarrassing leaking, and ultimately mastitis (an infection of the milk ducts, which causes severe breast pain, and flu-like aches and pains).
The one thing I must admit is the fact that I never gave myself breast exams. In fact, the only time my breasts are ever physically examined is at my yearly OBGYN appointment or when Graham feels frisky.
When I first started nursing Niamh, I noticed what I thought was a knot or blocked milk duct on the left side at approximately 3 o'clock. It seemed to get larger before nursing, then smaller after nursing or pumping, but it never completely disappeared.
Around the end of March, or beginning or April, I noticed my "blocked milk duct" growing significantly. So, I ignored it. What else do you do, but make up excuses and non-breast cancer explanations for it!?!
I figured I would either be able to work-it-out myself or come down with mastitis again, take some antibiotics, and all would be well. The truth is, I was working overtime to bury my instincts and gut feelings.
I told myself "I'm far too young for breast cancer". I'm healthy. I only eat organic. I'm not overweight, I nurse my children, I don't drink soda or anything with aspartame, nor any other drinks or foods that include ingredients I can't pronounce, I run marathons for Christ's sake! I never smoked. I don't drink to excess, (not since college anyway). I don't have a family history of breast cancer, except for my maternal grandmother, who was postmenopausal and enjoyed 30 years of HRT (Hormone Replacement Therapy). HRT is known to cause breast cancer with prolonged and/ or excessive use.
Finally, my "blocked milk duct" was so large that I let my step mom feel it to get her opinion as an ultrasound tech that often moonlights at the Mission Hospital Women's Wellness Center. She seemed concerned by the size of the lump and strongly recommended I let her give me an ultrasound, or go to my OBGYN for a referral to the Women's Wellness Center. So, of course, I ignored her. What else do you do when you're trying like hell to deny the possibility no matter how plausible or remote.
A few more weeks went by, but I could not stop thinking about and touching my "blocked milk duct". Feeling frustrated that it would not go away no matter how many hot shower massages and warm compresses I applied, I finally picked up the phone.
On Monday, April 21st, I went to see my OBGYN who said "my gut feeling is that it is not cancer, but more likely a glandular adenoma." I was so relieved. Glandular adenoma didn't sound like a party It is a condition whereby a milk gland starts growing out of control and can't always be treated without ceasing to nurse or an outpatient procedure. However, "out an abundance of caution", she sent me to the Women's Wellness Center for an ultra sound.
On Friday, April 25th, a truly lovely woman named Lynne gave me a breast ultrasound, and told me everything I needed to know with her facial expression. She sent the image to the in-house radiologist who ordered an immediate mammogram. After 15 minutes of that medievalesque torture device, the doctor reviewed the images and decided I needed and immediate biopsy. Being late Friday afternoon, most of the staff were either physically gone or mentally checked out, so the biopsy was scheduled for first thing Monday morning.
Before leaving I asked the doctor what his gut feeling told him. His response, "...if it's a glandular adenoma, it's by far the largest I've ever seen. It is nearly 7cm or roughly the size of a cutie orange. My fear is that it is cancer. The anomaly is large, it has irregular borders and it is solid, meaning there is no fluid or fibrous material going through it like a cyst for example." Coming from a man who only reads breast imaging and pathology all day, I knew I was looking at some bad news. In my mind, that was the day I was diagnosed with breast cancer.
Monday morning they performed an aspirating biopsy. After that pleasure cruise, there was nothing to do but wait two days for the pathology results, which of course confirmed what I saw on Lynne's face five days prior.
The truly scary part, there are no answers to the questions everyone really wants to know. How did I get breast cancer? I don't know. I have ZERO risk factors. Pathology found that my cancer is triple negative, meaning my cancer is not driven by, nor can it be treated with hormones (estrogen, progesterone or HER2). Therefore, being on birth control pills for a number of years was immediately ruled out as a possible cause. Genetic testing proved that I do not posses any known breast cancer genes, such as BRCA1 or BRCA2. So, for once, I can't blame my parents, their genes or my heredity. Damn!
One of the most difficult things for me to wrap my head around is that there are no answers to "why or how?" Like death and taxes, it just is. I don't wear deodorant anymore and I only eat grass fed beef now instead of just organic beef, but where does that end? We can't possibly take out all the plastics and chemicals in our lives. We have to drink water and eat to survive, no matter how much garbage is in it or processing involved from field to table. It seems impossible to escape the environmental stresses we put in and on our bodies everyday.
So, the moral of the story and my Public Service Announcement for the night is this: TOUCH THYSELF! Get familiar with your breasts. Learn how to check your breasts and teach your partner how to examine your breasts. Yes, teach your partner to give you breast exams. Why not let your partner give you a breast exam? They'll enjoy it, I promise! You will feel less awkward feeling yourself up. Your partner will probably be more thorough. Unless you are dead tired or have an newborn in the house, it will probably lead to a happy ending in more ways than one!
Cheers!
Tiff
PS Please keep the prayers, cards, messages, phone calls, texts, food and small gifts coming. I may be too tired or mom-guilty to respond right away, but they really do brighten my day, inspire me, and help me keep the faith. The depth of my appreciation for all of you and your generosity is boundless. Thank you.
Here are a few pictures from my cancer binder. I put a few of the many gifts and notes of encouragement on it. I promise your words and gifts do not fall on deaf ears or an ungrateful heart. These are a small fraction of the gifts, notes, cards, etc. that I keep readily visible around my home and in my purse to remind myself there are a gaggle of angels behind me that are counting on me and helping me to fight the good fight.
 |
| Front |
 |
| Binder |
 |
| Back |
