I felt the powerful presence of the Lord, and his spirit took me and set me down in a valley where the ground was covered with bones…He said, “Tell these dry bones to listen to the word of the Lord.” “Tell them that I, the Lord am saying to them: I am going to put breath into you and bring you back to life.”
Ezekiel 37:1-6'
My car moved as if by on it’s own, through the streets to my appointment. Today is no different than any other day, rushing from one appointment to another in hopes that the madness will end with me - holding my son in bed at night and humming quietly his favorite lullaby.
I waited patiently on line to put my car in the parking lot and then followed the maze of tunnels to the elevator to my doctor’s office. Well, it’s not really a doctor’s office as much as a “Breast Institute”. They refer to themselves as the Breast Center
Without regard for anyone's privacy all of us on the elevator know what happens on the fifthe floor. As if this weren’t enough, when the elevator doors open you are greeted by a boutique of wigs in a ‘salon’ where you get breast prosthetics. God, is nothing sacred anymore?
Not to digress…I travel through the halls to announce my arrival. A very nice faceless woman asks me if I want my parking validated and would I mind filling out a myriad of papers. So I sit with my pen and begin answering questions to give to this stranger about a most intimate part of my body. Then, the waiting game begins. We all know the drill, hurry up, get to your appointment on time and then wait and wait for the doctor to “see you now”.
Shortly, I am taken into a dressing room and given a fine, white terry cloth robe and told to disrobe and put this robe on and sit in the waiting area. Didn’t I just leave a waiting area? This must be hell! When I enter the next room I am greeted by a dozen women wearing the same robe but with faces that tell the tale of waiting forever. This process is only the beginning of what will become one of the longest days of my life.
I admit I waited too long to get my first mammography. I am 46 years old and if I hadn’t felt this ridiculous lump I wouldn’t have even come this far. Nonetheless, I am here…waiting. As if on cue from my fatigue, a young girl arrives and introduces herself to me as Anne and asks if I would follow her. Why not? We go into a small room with a piece of equipment I am about to become intimate with for about 5 minutes and this singular event will change my life forever.
“Take your right arm out of the sleeve,” says Anne and I obey. She then proceeds to handle my breast like no one before her and places it on a cold slab of glass. She maneuvers it like the professional she is and then squeezes it between two plates of glass. “Hold your breathe” she suggests as if I could breath under those circumstances. Click. “Relax.” Ha! Now that’s funny. This procedure repeats itself and then I am sent back to the sea of white robes. Anne returns two more times and we repeat the procedure. Each time I am less and less perturbed and in fact am beginning to feel very relaxed about the whole thing. Then, I am greeted by another nice woman will do an ultrasound. I assume this is all part of the drill, so, I obey her directions and lay down on the table as she begins the process of reading my breast. “This one will need a biopsy,” she says. I am a little surprised but not that concerned since my mom gets these biopsies of her breasts all the time and for seemingly no reason. This is just another one of those things. In fact, my mind wanders, that is where she is today, getting a biopsy. I should call her when I leave here, I think, while I go pick up the kids.
While I waited for the results I returned to the room with all the other women who had finished their tests. We are all dutifully watching television, reading magazines and sipping tea, as if this is the way to while away any afternoon. There was one strange thing I began to notice as we were called one by one to get our results. Some women would get their results on the left side of the hall – we would not see them again. Others would go to the right. Without fail the women that went to the right would leave with red eyes and sniffling. I assume bad news.
When my name was called I was ushered to the “right” hallway…uh oh – my flags went up…this seems like trouble.
It was the nurse, Kathy, that sent my flags sailing and sirens began to go off. “There appears to be an abnormality in your mammography that needs a biopsy…would you like to see someone now?”
“Now? Why now? What’s wrong”…and so it begins.
I am a 46 year old mother of three without a care in the world except how will I pick up my children if this appointment takes much longer. You see I live in the suburbs with my two cars, three kids, husband, mortgage, etc. All of which makes me very normal, well, maybe normal is the wrong word…ordinary…that’s more like it. Yes, I am ordinary and none of this makes me a candidate for breast cancer. There must be some mistake. Are you sure you didn’t mix me up with someone else? How could this be happening? Why is this happening?
The saga begins.
“Uh, I have to pick up my children. Do we have to do this now?”
“The doctors think this is a good idea.”
“Can I call someone?”
“Certainly, use this phone” she says as she points to the phone on the wall and exits the room.
I quickly dialed my husband’s office number. Now ordinarily, I would never bother him at work, but I figured this was a special occasion. I briefly bring him up to speed and ask for his advice.
“Do it now, right away.”
“Can you come here?”
“I can’t really leave the office now. By the time I get there you will have waited more than an hour.”
“OK. Bye.”
I hung up the phone and quickly dialed my mother. I had forgotten all about her biopsy.
“What should I do, Mom?”
“Come home. We will talk about this tonight and you will be able to make a better decision after you sleep on it.”
I was grateful for the nod of approval on my secret desire to run away. I informed Kathy that I was leaving. She made me make an appointment for a biopsy in two days at 9:00 in the morning. I left. I ran. My heart pounded. I no longer cared about the “Breast Institute”, getting my parking validated, anything. I just wanted to get my children and go home.
From the moment I was diagnosed three years ago until now I still have a secret wish to outrun this disease, to somehow escape its ravages. I never do. Escape, that is. Every step of the way there have been little issues, setbacks and recoveries. But, still in all, I am okay. I look great. I feel great and most importantly I am living a full, life in recovery.
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