The news

When the mastectomy was preformed the surgeons are unable to tell how many lymph nodes were infected with the cancer.  The surgeons could only tell me that the tumor in my breast was about 7 cm and that there are 3 levels of lymph nodes in the armpit which she could reach and she took out levels 1 and 2.  It would be a couple of weeks before the pathology report indicated how far the cancer had spread into the lymph nodes.  The surgeon was confident she had been able to remove all the breast tumor and lymph nodes.

I had a follow up appointment with the breast surgeon in order for her to monitor my wound healing.  She informed us that 12 of the 14 lymph nodes removed were cancerous.  She then gave us the news that my cancer is now a stage 3.  We were in shock.

I know that it is just a number, but it is not the number we wanted to hear.  I cried and grieved all weekend.  The next week I had a follow up appointment with my oncologist as well.  Fresh from a weekend of tears and grief I didn't go into the appointment with a smile on my face.  I was tearful and distraught.  My oncologist spoke sternly to me, which was out of character for her, and told me that I can't worry over things that I don't have control over and that if my mind is not in the right frame then my physical body will not heal.  Really, really, does she know who she is talking to?  I, of all patients, understand the benefits of mediation, balance, but don't forget I am in therapy for my anxiety and control issues.  I left that appointment with Sean driving and I was crying.  I said,"what the fuck do they want me to do?  I see a psychiatrist, a psychologist, and I have a fucking workbook my therapist gave to help me with my anxiety/control issues.  Do they forget that I am a 31 year old woman trying to fit cancer into her fucking planner!"

The next day I signed up for a yoga class for chronically ill patients, which makes me feel like the cream of the crop in society.  There is an organization called Turning Point, that is for chronically ill patients and their co-survivors that provides many different types of classes for free.  So I looked at several different classes and signed up for a few.  I ended up really liking the yoga and the Jin Shin Juysitshu.  So when I saw my therapist that week I told her about the stage 3 news and my odd appointment with my oncologist.  My therapist reminded me that even healthcare professionals have difficulty with seeing a young person struggling and maybe my oncologist reacted this way b/c she was trying to manage her own emotions.  Okay, whatever.  No I am kidding.  I get it.  I also get, that the day I was diagnosed with cancer everyone in my life got diagnosed too and we all carry it around with us differently and we all grieve differently and at different times.

So my therapist then asks me how things are going with the Anxiety Workbook.  I said do you want my honest answer...of course she does.  I say,"I feel like a fucking idiot!" I don't think that is the response she expected to get.  I explained to her that I have a master's degree in this, I counsel patients to do these skills in order to cope.  I am pissed that I have this fucking workbook.  She explained to me that when going through college I was able to always view "them" as patients and that I could never be one of "them", yet that is exactly what I am.  Awesome, I am pretty sure she just labeled me as crazy.  We spoke of other things that day and I said several curse words, and told her I felt like a fire has been ignited within me and I have found my voice.  Her response,"I know you are going through an angry stage right now, and you have the right to do that, but just keep this in mind....don't leave slaughtered bodies behind you."  If I were unsure if she had labeled me as crazy before, I am sure of it now!  I'm kidding, I get it, and I told her I am assertive, I am not a total bitch that no one wants to be around and that will not be my intention, but I'm glad she brought it to my attention with those words.

badass self is draped across the exam table.  There is a nurse on each side of me and they tell me they will pull drains now.  Before they begin to pull I say,"Let's be honest here ladies, is this going to hurt, I don't care if it is, I just want to brace myself." Their response was no it won't hurt, it's just going to feel weird.  My response,"Okay with that being said, I want you to recognize that you have not restrained my arms, so if this does hurt there is good probability that I will reach up and choke both of you and/or pull your hair."  I was serious.  I scared them...they made a nervous laugh!  I win!  It didn't really hurt.