I remember hearing a song called "Angels Among Us" years ago, and I remember thinking it was a hokey song. But lately, I have been seeing them. They are so apparent to me.
There's the wonderful survivor who responds immediately to the text message saying "I need a pep talk". Then another amazing survivor who might as well be me two years from now, as she tells me what my life is going to be like, as we sit and laugh and cry together. Then there is the other survivor angel who makes me laugh and reminds me not to leave my boobs in my purse.
Then there is the angel who researches everything and is my own personal medical nerd, and re-reads every report to make sure she's comfortable with what they are saying. Of course there is an angel who coordinated my surgical team, and will watch over me as I head in for that surgery. Then there is the angel who gave birth to me and has walked with me every step of the way. She has her own angel who married her, and well, he cries a lot. Then there is the angel who married me and makes my life complete. And the cherub born two and a half years ago who reminds me that life, with or without cancer is joyous.
Then there are two angels who are there when I need them, my ladies, ready with a glass of wine, crazy stories and a listening ear. And the family of angels who were concerned about me this week in their own time of loss. There are angels who I work with and for who are doing their best to keep things afloat and allow me to prioritize where I need to. There are angels in my life who are just doing their best to get by in their own world every day, and despite their own challenging circumstances, check in all the time to make sure I am ok.
There are countless angels who lift me up with their comments, notes, emails, and calls. There are angels who offer help whether it be to cook a meal, fold some clothes, water our plants or help in any other way. There is angel who is hopping a plane next week to help just because she can. There is an angel who sat with me at lunch today and just talked. There is an angel who planted me a garden, and one who stood by me despite her own queasiness as she watched them insert radioactive dye into me.
There are 3 angels who are nervous, and would do anything to make their sister feel better. There are angels who may not have been a prominent part of my life in recent times, but who are expressing their love and support now. There are angels who want to rally the troops and walk in my honor. There is an angel who showed me how to find what I was looking for so I can be on my path to survivorhood. There is an angel who pretty much bought out the Komen store.
There is an angel to help me understand the medical and to help me navigate insurance. There is an angel who worked as a chemo nurse who is probably going to get pummeled with questions in the coming months. There is an angel who wants to take me for my wig, and she's married to an angel who reminds whenever I talk to him to be strong and stay positive. There are two little angels wearing mini pink bracelets with the words "Aunt Nicole" on them who pray for me. There are other angels who are just the best cheerleaders going.
There are a lot of other angels that I haven't mentioned here, but I have seen them.
And then there are the angels who spent their lives studying so they can cure someone like me.
So hokey though it may be:
Oh well I believe there are angels among us
Sent down to us from somewhere up above
They come to you and me in our darkest hours
To show us how to live, to teach us how to give
To guide us with the light of love
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
living up to legacy
93. That's the number of years that great-aunt Theresa graced this earth. It seems like a long time, and of course, it IS a long time However, to us, when she passed away yesterday morning, it's still too soon to lose a loved one. We have long-life spans in my family. My grandparents were an average age of 83 when they left this earth (ok, don't double check my math, family members, I did that in my head, so it might be off by a bit, but it's close enough.)
That's not to say that we can take things for granted or just assume we will life a long life. And certainly, those long lives come with a lot of work to sustain yourselves.
Take both of my Grandmas for example. On the health side, Caroline had high blood pressure. I was always amazed how good she was at sniffing out salt. She avoided it like the plague because it wasn't good for her. Seems like a simple thing, but you have no idea how much salt is in stuff until you really look. She was a master at it. But on the side of being strong, ah Sweet Caroline. If she is not the testament to strength and a positive attitude, no one is. She lost her father at a young age, lost a sister Julia, when she was young, and she buried my uncle way too soon! I remember as a kid, I would see her walking to Church every day after Uncle Bill died. I am sure she was praying for him, praying for strength and praying for all of us. She coped with some of the biggest heartaches in life. I need to learn from her. As many of you know, if you asked her how she was doing, she would say "better and better". It was beautiful and simple. Each day, you get better, you get stronger. And when you have a rough day, remember it will get better. If her life kept getting better, so can mine. If she could get over her hurdles, so can I.
And Mildred, as you may already know, fought cancer (not what I have) for about 20 years in the later part of her life. She bravely took treatments even into her 80s. She never complained. Only took tylenol to manage her pain. And she never let it defeat her spirit. She kept going. I now understand how hard it was for her, how scared she was, and how strong. I pray every day to be like she was. And how I wish she was here for our daily 5 pm phone calls to tell me how to do this. The best I can do is know that she is here in spirit, and try to remember as much as I can on how she pushed through it. I know there are so many other survivors who have been tremendous support to me. I am blessed to have them. But none will be Gram.
That's ok though. I know what she would say. She would say I have to do what I have to do. She would say that I have to keep laughing, and I can never give up. And she would also tell me how lucky I am to have great doctors because they make all the difference in the world. She would tell me that if something is in my control, then I should do whatever it take, and for those that aren't in my control, have faith and just stay positive and hope for the best. I am sure she would buy me "Krispy" crackers for my chemo days and meatball soup for the days when I want to eat. And she would probably tell me to wear my wig because sometimes you have to make yourself look good in order to feel better.
I have a lot of legacy to live up to. And anyone who knows me knows that I always fight to live up to expectations. This fight is no different than getting my degree, getting my Masters, or getting the job that I wanted for years, sometimes the uphill climb may not feel worth it, but it is. You just have to keep plugging along, and doing what you must.
That's not to say that we can take things for granted or just assume we will life a long life. And certainly, those long lives come with a lot of work to sustain yourselves.
Take both of my Grandmas for example. On the health side, Caroline had high blood pressure. I was always amazed how good she was at sniffing out salt. She avoided it like the plague because it wasn't good for her. Seems like a simple thing, but you have no idea how much salt is in stuff until you really look. She was a master at it. But on the side of being strong, ah Sweet Caroline. If she is not the testament to strength and a positive attitude, no one is. She lost her father at a young age, lost a sister Julia, when she was young, and she buried my uncle way too soon! I remember as a kid, I would see her walking to Church every day after Uncle Bill died. I am sure she was praying for him, praying for strength and praying for all of us. She coped with some of the biggest heartaches in life. I need to learn from her. As many of you know, if you asked her how she was doing, she would say "better and better". It was beautiful and simple. Each day, you get better, you get stronger. And when you have a rough day, remember it will get better. If her life kept getting better, so can mine. If she could get over her hurdles, so can I.
And Mildred, as you may already know, fought cancer (not what I have) for about 20 years in the later part of her life. She bravely took treatments even into her 80s. She never complained. Only took tylenol to manage her pain. And she never let it defeat her spirit. She kept going. I now understand how hard it was for her, how scared she was, and how strong. I pray every day to be like she was. And how I wish she was here for our daily 5 pm phone calls to tell me how to do this. The best I can do is know that she is here in spirit, and try to remember as much as I can on how she pushed through it. I know there are so many other survivors who have been tremendous support to me. I am blessed to have them. But none will be Gram.
That's ok though. I know what she would say. She would say I have to do what I have to do. She would say that I have to keep laughing, and I can never give up. And she would also tell me how lucky I am to have great doctors because they make all the difference in the world. She would tell me that if something is in my control, then I should do whatever it take, and for those that aren't in my control, have faith and just stay positive and hope for the best. I am sure she would buy me "Krispy" crackers for my chemo days and meatball soup for the days when I want to eat. And she would probably tell me to wear my wig because sometimes you have to make yourself look good in order to feel better.
I have a lot of legacy to live up to. And anyone who knows me knows that I always fight to live up to expectations. This fight is no different than getting my degree, getting my Masters, or getting the job that I wanted for years, sometimes the uphill climb may not feel worth it, but it is. You just have to keep plugging along, and doing what you must.
Monday, June 6, 2011
don't live like you are dying, live like you are surviving
I need to learn how to live with cancer. I read a post recently by a fellow cancer patient that was tired of waiting for treatment to be over and decided to learn how to live in the meantime. I haven't quite figured that out yet. I am trying, but I don't know how successful I am being.
Today was an emotional day for me. This morning, I was pretty angry about the whole thing: about the fact that this is happening to me; about the fact that I generally tried to do things in moderation; generally tried to be healthy (even though I know I could have stood to lose a few pounds.); tried to cook healthful meals; never smoked; never drank excessively (I bet anyone who has seen me drunk could count on one hand how many times they have ever seen it). I'm just mad that this happened and I am super frustrated about the concept of not being able to do things. I can do them now, but I know in the coming months, I will be limited. That is awful!
So it's frustating to now be faced with something so scary. But I can't second guess everything I did. I will never quite know what physically caused me to have this. All I can do is get my head around beating this. I have to. It's not optional.
Given that, here is what I am learning. First of all, there are some amazing women out there in celebrity-land who have survived this. Here's some that I learned of today: Nancy Reagan had it in the late 1980s, Rue Mcclanahan had it in th emid-90s, Sandra Day O'Connor had it, Shirley Temple Black, even two of Charlie's Angels successfully beat it (Jaclyn Smith and Kate Jackson - notably, they were the two angel's I pretended to be as a kid because they had brown hair! coincidence? I'm going with NO!), Edie Falco.
I couldn't believe about Nancy Reagan. Talk about living a long life after diagnosis. And Rue, she passed away years later and didn't die of cancer! I always loved the Golden Girls, one more reason to!
I want so badly to beat this. I realize that I need to do even more to take better care of myself. I read today several reports that indicate overweight and obese women with hormone receptor positive cancer have a harder time beating this statistically. I do not fall into the obese category, but yes I am overweight. For those of you who will try to tell me I am fine, while I appreciate the politeness, this is not a body image thing, this is a numbers thing. The fact is, I need to lose weight. It's just the reality of it.
I need to be healthier. I cannot control the fact that I have the disease, but I can control the fact that I am overweight which has a negative affect on things. I am going to work on that. For those of you who are sweet and will tell me I don't need to worry about that now, I have to say, I do have to worry about it. If not now, then when? It's part of my fight. I need and want to beat this, so if there are things that are in my control to get me there, I need to do them. God can't help those who do not help themselves!
I need to feel better. I need to live better. I am given a unique chance here. Some people don't get the opportunity like I am to really evaluate their lives with such urgency. I am given that blessing. I don't intend on squandering it. So, expect that I will find ways to make people walk with me. Expect that there will be more raw veggies and whole foods in my diet. I need to limit alcohol. I might just cut it out all together. Hey, Steve, check out the bright side, you get a permanent designated driver. Enjoy that! Bottom line is, I might as well do what I can to stack the deck in my favor right
Don't enable me. It won't help. And as some of you know, my 2 year old can spot an enabler at 20 paces! Don't be "nice" and tell me to not worry. Be "nice" and let me do what I must. And feel free to join me. I have amazing people in my life. I intend on keeping them around to keep me company too.
Here is the medical schedule this week:
- pre-surgical marathon tomorrow. Meeting with each of my surgeons tomorrow at the hospital. Hoping to get the pre-admission testing done tomorrow too.
- appointment with my ear/nose/throat guy wednesday morning to make sure this inner ear/cold crap is done and won't interfere with my surgery.
Also, thank you for understanding that we aren't able to return every phone call and email. Please know it's very much appreciated, but sometimes, it takes us a while to get back to everyone. We are overwhelmed and doing the best we can. If we don't respond, it's not that we don't care, and it's not that there is some crisis. We are just doing the best we can.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Will life ever feel normal again?
This life has been thrown upside down.
I am still sick and today, it went into my ears. Right into a round of vertigo, which meant a day in bed. I have had this before, but because I've my new found "cancer patient" status, I know it that made it much more alarming for everyone. I completely understand why. But it sucks.
I am ok. I don't feel great, but this is no different than waves of this I have had before. The only difference is I have a child and a husband now, who suffer more when I am not 100%. And the fact that word spreads like wildfire because everyone is running scared.
I makes me sad that I am perceived as physically fragile now. That's not who I am or who I want to be.
This morning, I believe I have had a glimpse into what my chemo saturdays are going to look like. I don't like it. Not one bit. How do I stop others from being scared or sad? This is what I need to know. I know what is coming is going to freak people out. (including me of course) How to I minimize that? It complicates things so much more for me when I feel guilty for others' pain. I know it's not my fault, but I hate it. Despite how much people tell me not to feel bad or apologize, I can't help it.
Tonight, I am not at the birthday dinner of one of my favorite people in this world. It breaks my heart. The thing is, even though it has nothing to do with cancer, I blame cancer anyway.
I want a day when I am healthy again and no one worries. A day when everyone can see that I am normal, and all's well. Survivors and doctors tell me the day will come. However, living in the meantime is brutal.
I am still sick and today, it went into my ears. Right into a round of vertigo, which meant a day in bed. I have had this before, but because I've my new found "cancer patient" status, I know it that made it much more alarming for everyone. I completely understand why. But it sucks.
I am ok. I don't feel great, but this is no different than waves of this I have had before. The only difference is I have a child and a husband now, who suffer more when I am not 100%. And the fact that word spreads like wildfire because everyone is running scared.
I makes me sad that I am perceived as physically fragile now. That's not who I am or who I want to be.
This morning, I believe I have had a glimpse into what my chemo saturdays are going to look like. I don't like it. Not one bit. How do I stop others from being scared or sad? This is what I need to know. I know what is coming is going to freak people out. (including me of course) How to I minimize that? It complicates things so much more for me when I feel guilty for others' pain. I know it's not my fault, but I hate it. Despite how much people tell me not to feel bad or apologize, I can't help it.
Tonight, I am not at the birthday dinner of one of my favorite people in this world. It breaks my heart. The thing is, even though it has nothing to do with cancer, I blame cancer anyway.
I want a day when I am healthy again and no one worries. A day when everyone can see that I am normal, and all's well. Survivors and doctors tell me the day will come. However, living in the meantime is brutal.
Friday, June 3, 2011
just plain exhausting
You know, they say one of the symptoms of cancer is fatigue. Well, duh! Of course it is! It's such an emotional roller coaster, it drains the ever-loving energy right out of you. Thinking, crying, laughing, wondering, worrying, obsessing, I tell you, those are things that wipe you out. Then I think about the fact that I am exhausted now, but I haven't even gotten into the hard physical stuff yet.
I remember thinking that pregnancy, and the months that followed child birth were the most exhausting. I was wrong. This is different. It's amazing how consuming it is. It takes over ever thought, plan, dream, and places them under a cloud. I can't think about anything without somehow the cancer diagnosis being involved somehow.
Today was a down day for me. I don't know exactly why, but it was. Maybe I am going through doctor withdrawals. It's been a whole two days since I have seen a doctor. Feels kind of strange. and my next appointment isn't until tuesday. Gasp!
I am trying to mentally prepare myself for surgery. It's strange how there is practically a line running halfway through my soul. On the right half, there is the part of me that is charing ahead, fists clenched screaming "bring it on! Let's get this shit done!" (more salty language, especially for you, Kathy Allocco, because you like it so much!) On the left half, there is the side of me that is sad and scared. I am going to lose a part of me. Literally. And I don't like it one bit. I am not looking forward to being "frankenboobs" but there's nothing I can do to stop this train now. And of course, I know that it's best that I don't.
It's an odd feeling to be charging so hard at something that scares me so much. All I can do is close my eyes, jump and hope I land on my feet. I am sure I will, but sometimes, it just doesn't feel that way. I wish I could wake up and have it be two years from now, cancer-free, with my new and improved (and nicely reconstructed) self.
I remember thinking that pregnancy, and the months that followed child birth were the most exhausting. I was wrong. This is different. It's amazing how consuming it is. It takes over ever thought, plan, dream, and places them under a cloud. I can't think about anything without somehow the cancer diagnosis being involved somehow.
Today was a down day for me. I don't know exactly why, but it was. Maybe I am going through doctor withdrawals. It's been a whole two days since I have seen a doctor. Feels kind of strange. and my next appointment isn't until tuesday. Gasp!
I am trying to mentally prepare myself for surgery. It's strange how there is practically a line running halfway through my soul. On the right half, there is the part of me that is charing ahead, fists clenched screaming "bring it on! Let's get this shit done!" (more salty language, especially for you, Kathy Allocco, because you like it so much!) On the left half, there is the side of me that is sad and scared. I am going to lose a part of me. Literally. And I don't like it one bit. I am not looking forward to being "frankenboobs" but there's nothing I can do to stop this train now. And of course, I know that it's best that I don't.
It's an odd feeling to be charging so hard at something that scares me so much. All I can do is close my eyes, jump and hope I land on my feet. I am sure I will, but sometimes, it just doesn't feel that way. I wish I could wake up and have it be two years from now, cancer-free, with my new and improved (and nicely reconstructed) self.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Drastic times call for drastic measures
What's so crazy about this whole experience is that so much is happening so fast. And none of this can be undone. I mean the cancer part can be fixed, but so much of what has to happen to get there is so drastic. I am not in any way questioning the need for it, but it just sucks that it's happening, and once it's done, there is no going back. And no matter what happens, I will never be the same person I was on May 2, 2011. Ever. I can only hope that I end up being a new and improved model in many ways.
Be warned, the coming paragraphs delve into to some pretty intense personal thoughts and decisions. I apologize in advance for being so blunt and open, but I guess I need to lay it all out, even if just to get my head around it.
Surgery is coming up quickly now. Double mastectomy. I do believe that the end of all of this, I will be glad I did it, but man, it's worse than marine corp training. Talk about beating you down to build you back up! Kind of funny if you think of it, that slogan "the few, the proud" kind of applies to the survivors in this world too. We go through hell and back, and we come out stronger for it. But that doesn't make it suck any less. (p.s. I really should apologize to mom for the salty language that is being tossed about throughout this blog---apparently, cancer has affected my filter. It's one of those odd side effects I guess).
Then on top of that, the ovaries. Oy! What a decision. There is a good chance that they will have to come out, or at least the left one will. They don't believe it is cancerous, but they cannot be sure. And certainly, if it is fine now, my risk is still slightly elevated of having them affected in the future. The thing is, once they come out, there's no putting them back. Talk about pressure to make the "right" decision, as if I can ever really know for sure what that answer is. But truthfully, even if there is only a 1% chance of them being affected by cancer, it's 1% too many in my book. I have a life to live, a family to love. I just can't see gambling with it.
I know a lot of people will disagree with our choice. But please understand it is not being made without much thought and prayer. To us, the answer is clear.
Steve and I have talked a lot about it. I do not think we will be having any more children. The risk (even if it is not huge) is just not worth it. I am sad about that, but I know I would be infinitely more sad if I decided to take the chance, and it ended up raising my risk for recurrence. That thought is simply too scary to bear. The cancer fear grips your soul. It is like nothing I can ever put into words. All I can say is the pain associated with the fear much outweighs the sadness that comes with knowing I will never have a daughter of my own, or be able to give Steven a brother. And trust me, that sadness is great. But the fear is greater. I know that I will have days when I wish I could make a different decision. However, for me and my life, it's just not an option. I cannot live my life wondering.
I know that there are things I could do. I know that I could preserve eggs. However, I have discussed the option with my doctor, and I can't say I am up for what it would take to make that happen. It would be adding more to my plate than I can physically bear right now. Plus, I know that I won't be able to carry any of those eggs until I am at least 40 because of my treatment plan. Having been through a high risk pregnancy before cancer, at the relatively young age of 31, there would be far more risks associated with it for me now. On top of that, I just can't see putting us through something so traumatic if I don't have to. There are enough traumatic things happening that I don't have a choice in. I can't see choosing to add one more.
At this stage, walking away from the hope of having more children is incredibly hard, but it's not as devastating as the fear of waiting for the results of a biopsy or a pet scan. Having walked down the painful path of infertility previously, and now the devastating path of cancer, I believe I can make a uniquely educated decision. I choose secondary infertility. Please, please, please know, that statement is NOT meant to belittle the pain of infertility, but rather to highlight the enormous pain of fear. Fear is almost as toxic as cancer itself.
Steve and I have also given thoughts to other options. At this time, they are not viable for us. I believe my little family unit is complete. I am blessed with the most precious son. I should count that blessing because it is worth more than I could even dream. He is the source of my strength and hope. He is my miracle. How selfish would it be for me to expect or want more than what I have already been given?
Please don't judge us for making a perhaps somewhat selfish and rash decision. Please know that it is a brutal decision to have to make... But it's one we are faced with none the less. And one that we believe is in the collective best interests of our long life together as a family.
I pray that no one reading this ever has to make the same choice.
Be warned, the coming paragraphs delve into to some pretty intense personal thoughts and decisions. I apologize in advance for being so blunt and open, but I guess I need to lay it all out, even if just to get my head around it.
Surgery is coming up quickly now. Double mastectomy. I do believe that the end of all of this, I will be glad I did it, but man, it's worse than marine corp training. Talk about beating you down to build you back up! Kind of funny if you think of it, that slogan "the few, the proud" kind of applies to the survivors in this world too. We go through hell and back, and we come out stronger for it. But that doesn't make it suck any less. (p.s. I really should apologize to mom for the salty language that is being tossed about throughout this blog---apparently, cancer has affected my filter. It's one of those odd side effects I guess).
Then on top of that, the ovaries. Oy! What a decision. There is a good chance that they will have to come out, or at least the left one will. They don't believe it is cancerous, but they cannot be sure. And certainly, if it is fine now, my risk is still slightly elevated of having them affected in the future. The thing is, once they come out, there's no putting them back. Talk about pressure to make the "right" decision, as if I can ever really know for sure what that answer is. But truthfully, even if there is only a 1% chance of them being affected by cancer, it's 1% too many in my book. I have a life to live, a family to love. I just can't see gambling with it.
I know a lot of people will disagree with our choice. But please understand it is not being made without much thought and prayer. To us, the answer is clear.
Steve and I have talked a lot about it. I do not think we will be having any more children. The risk (even if it is not huge) is just not worth it. I am sad about that, but I know I would be infinitely more sad if I decided to take the chance, and it ended up raising my risk for recurrence. That thought is simply too scary to bear. The cancer fear grips your soul. It is like nothing I can ever put into words. All I can say is the pain associated with the fear much outweighs the sadness that comes with knowing I will never have a daughter of my own, or be able to give Steven a brother. And trust me, that sadness is great. But the fear is greater. I know that I will have days when I wish I could make a different decision. However, for me and my life, it's just not an option. I cannot live my life wondering.
I know that there are things I could do. I know that I could preserve eggs. However, I have discussed the option with my doctor, and I can't say I am up for what it would take to make that happen. It would be adding more to my plate than I can physically bear right now. Plus, I know that I won't be able to carry any of those eggs until I am at least 40 because of my treatment plan. Having been through a high risk pregnancy before cancer, at the relatively young age of 31, there would be far more risks associated with it for me now. On top of that, I just can't see putting us through something so traumatic if I don't have to. There are enough traumatic things happening that I don't have a choice in. I can't see choosing to add one more.
At this stage, walking away from the hope of having more children is incredibly hard, but it's not as devastating as the fear of waiting for the results of a biopsy or a pet scan. Having walked down the painful path of infertility previously, and now the devastating path of cancer, I believe I can make a uniquely educated decision. I choose secondary infertility. Please, please, please know, that statement is NOT meant to belittle the pain of infertility, but rather to highlight the enormous pain of fear. Fear is almost as toxic as cancer itself.
Steve and I have also given thoughts to other options. At this time, they are not viable for us. I believe my little family unit is complete. I am blessed with the most precious son. I should count that blessing because it is worth more than I could even dream. He is the source of my strength and hope. He is my miracle. How selfish would it be for me to expect or want more than what I have already been given?
Please don't judge us for making a perhaps somewhat selfish and rash decision. Please know that it is a brutal decision to have to make... But it's one we are faced with none the less. And one that we believe is in the collective best interests of our long life together as a family.
I pray that no one reading this ever has to make the same choice.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Fired up about Health Care
Ok, first off, I have to say, I was struck this morning with a new feeling. NWC (nicole with cancer) hadn't really felt this one yet. It's pride. I'm kind of proud of the fact that I found the cancer myself, and had the guts to go and get it checked. GO ME! Even though I never expected it to really be cancer, I knew enough not to assume that myself. I guess the magnitude of that little decision to make a doctor's appointment is finally clicking in. I know it's so minor and simple, but it goes to show how something so small could save your life. Don't be afraid of it.
Being proactive saves lives. Don't procrastinate when it comes to your heath, whether that be breast cancer, heart issues, etc. There aren't many things we can control in this world, but for those things that we can, we should make good choices.
On that topic, I had an interesting conversation today. I was talking to my OBGYN, whom I just love. She was kind while I was going through infertility, she was patient when I had a difficult pregnancy, she was awesome when she delivered my son and she was compassionate today as we talked about my cancer. She is what a doctor should be. She is smart, but she also has a heart. And really, isn't that the point?
She was telling me about a report by the US Preventative Services Task Force (which I vaguely remember hearing about as NBC - "Nicole before cancer" if you are just catching up to the blog now) which recommended pushing back mandatory mammograms to the age of 50 and doing them every other year. But wait, there's more! It also said that because the chances of younger women getting breast cancer are so slim, self-exams are not recommended because they only cause undue stress and "unnecessary" testing. REALLY? That's interesting because my self-exam saved my life! Did it cause me stress? Yes, perhaps, but very justified stress, not undue in any way, shape or form. If they disagree, they can talk to my surgeons, my radiologist, or my oncologist. Or they can talk to me.... But they might want to wear a helmet so I doesn't hurt when I smack them upside the head!
How could an insurance company know the difference between two of my best friends (who had benign lumps), and me? Hmm, let's see, I have no family history, am relatively healthy, had a 5% chance of getting this according to computer models. I am certain that if I listened to these idiots, I'd be on my way to death. So for those idiots who are "so smart" they have this brilliant study that tells them self-exams are not worth the mental stress of worrying about a lump, I say, "Screw you! Would you have paid for my funeral if I DIDN'T do self-exams? Would you have helped my husband raise my child? Would you have loved my family while I was gone? Would you have taken long walks on the boards with my husband in my absence? Would you have put my son through college and cheered with pride when he graduates? Would you meet up with my friends for a drink of wine and some girl chat? Would you have comforted my family and said that the mental stress of worrying if the lump was malignant or not wasn't worth it?"
Another interesting point, they won't test you to see if you are BRCA mutation positive until after you are diagnosed with cancer. Um, perhaps it would help people with preventative care (and maybe even save money - gasp) if they knew they had the genetic predisposition to the gene. But I digress.
As my grandfather used to say, "they're so smart that they're stupid!" I say they are a bunch of crack heads... But what do I know? I'm just the one who figured out it was smart to get a lump checked, and by "dumb luck", I turned out to be right. Could it be that I actually know my body better than some bureaucrats? Nah, that can't be possible.
The truth is, early detection saves lives. I will be living proof of that. I don't give a damn what some study says. I am the "unusual" case. I am not as unusual as these people might think. I didn't listen to them, and I AM going to be here for many, many years to come. I will be here to raise my child with Steve. I will love my family. I will walk those boards. I will put that boy through college. I will cheer with pride when he graduates (perhaps even from Medical School. Who knows!) I will have many more ladies nights, and likely some of the chat will be how stupid the health care system can be. I will celebrate with my family that I had the guts to go get it checked out! And to the health insurance companies out there, I will beat the drum of early detection and spread the word. I really don't care if you have to pay for more mammograms! I don't care if it causes someone to be nervous. THEY HAVE A RIGHT TO BE! CANCER CAN KILL YOU IF YOU DON'T KILL IT FIRST! Why should we be so dumb as to wait for it to take more lives? So some investor gets more money from their stock holdings? Hell no! Because that very same investor could get the disease, and won't even be here to spend that extra dividend! It's not about the money people, it's about life! Remember that!
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