First Surgery, First Parentheses
Today I am grateful for some moments of curiosity, like wondering how one plant can have so many different colors in it. I am also grateful for recovery and the people who support me in it.
I am thinking about my sister Mary Jo today and every day. My worst fear is her reality-metastatic breast cancer (MBC). There is a heaviness to any cancer diagnosis, but the weight of MBC seems a crushing one. There is no fairness here, but there is continued hope for peace and comfort, both physically and emotionally, for Mary Jo and all with MBC.
Mary Jo's diagnosis earlier this year, nearly 12 years after her initial early-stage BC diagnosis, has put my own BC experience on my mind more as well.
I am thinking about my sister Mary Jo today and every day. My worst fear is her reality-metastatic breast cancer (MBC). There is a heaviness to any cancer diagnosis, but the weight of MBC seems a crushing one. There is no fairness here, but there is continued hope for peace and comfort, both physically and emotionally, for Mary Jo and all with MBC.
Mary Jo's diagnosis earlier this year, nearly 12 years after her initial early-stage BC diagnosis, has put my own BC experience on my mind more as well.
Ten years ago today, on a Thursday morning, Darcy and I headed to United Hospital in St. Paul for the first of what would end up being three surgeries to address cancer in my right breast. It brought an end to a tough stretch and marked the beginning of another.
Though less sharp in my memory, I still recall aspects of that day. Wires being placed in my breast to help the surgeon locate the tumor, then walking from one place to another in the hospital with these wires "sticking out." The parade of medical personnel in and out of my surgery prep room. Being wheeled toward the OR and saying goodbye to Darcy.
It also brought the first of what I would come to refer to as my "parentheses of pain." They marked the start and completion of my cancer surgeries and spanned from July until late December of 2008. This first parentheses was a shot in my right nipple, brief but excruciating. It was part of the preparation needed for the sentinel node biopsy I would undergo along with a lumpectomy.
The second parentheses? That came when my drain tubes were removed, 12 days post-bilateral mastectomy. It was surprisingly painful and the tubes were surprisingly long.
Yet, I experienced tremendous relief when I woke up from that first surgery and got good news, as well as when I was relieved of the awkward and cumbersome burden of two drain tubes sticking out of both my right and left sides a few inches below where my breasts had previously been.
Ten years have come and gone since knowing those times of relief, as have a myriad of blessings I work hard not to take for granted.
Mary Jo and others with MBC get little relief from the onslaught.
Perhaps each of us can only hope for this; some beauty in today. Cancer or no cancer, today is all any of us get. Live it fully, whatever that may mean to you.
Though less sharp in my memory, I still recall aspects of that day. Wires being placed in my breast to help the surgeon locate the tumor, then walking from one place to another in the hospital with these wires "sticking out." The parade of medical personnel in and out of my surgery prep room. Being wheeled toward the OR and saying goodbye to Darcy.
It also brought the first of what I would come to refer to as my "parentheses of pain." They marked the start and completion of my cancer surgeries and spanned from July until late December of 2008. This first parentheses was a shot in my right nipple, brief but excruciating. It was part of the preparation needed for the sentinel node biopsy I would undergo along with a lumpectomy.
The second parentheses? That came when my drain tubes were removed, 12 days post-bilateral mastectomy. It was surprisingly painful and the tubes were surprisingly long.
Yet, I experienced tremendous relief when I woke up from that first surgery and got good news, as well as when I was relieved of the awkward and cumbersome burden of two drain tubes sticking out of both my right and left sides a few inches below where my breasts had previously been.
Ten years have come and gone since knowing those times of relief, as have a myriad of blessings I work hard not to take for granted.
Mary Jo and others with MBC get little relief from the onslaught.
Perhaps each of us can only hope for this; some beauty in today. Cancer or no cancer, today is all any of us get. Live it fully, whatever that may mean to you.
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