How It All Began

In my May 26 post I wrote: I am creating another page on this blog that will tell my cancer story from the start. The format will be akin to old newspaper serials except you won't be seeing a daily installment. Kind of a blog within a blog, and a realllllllly long, ever-changing post. Stupid idea? I don't care, it's my blog.


Here then is my attempt to tell that story.

I found a lump in my right breast in January, or at least something that could be a lump. Like any well-educated woman, I pushed the possibility of cancer aside and went on with my life for a few more weeks. In mid February, I called myself the fool I was being and made an appointment with my doctor. That appointment was on February 21. She agreed the spot felt out of the ordinary and next day I had a mammogram and ultrasound. The following day I met with a breast surgeon, Dr. Larry Lilly, at Riverside Hospital. That day, February 23, he confirmed it was a cancerous tumor. That very evening, I had an MRI at Riverside to give even greater clarity to the diagnosis.

Dr. Larry Joe Lilly

Total freak out? No, not really. "Good news" accompanied the bad and it was enough to make me feel o.k. about delivering this announcement to my family. They were the ones I worried about more than me. Armed with the facts that the tumor was contained and slow growing, I made my calls on Feb. 24. Suffice it to say there was shock in everyone's response, but all held strong. Why would I think otherwise?

I had a biopsy of both breasts on February 27 that confirmed the cancer was in just one breast and localized in that breast. I opted for a lumpectomy, which is interesting because I always thought that if I was diagnosed with breast cancer I'd say "Off with both of them!" Funny how one's perspective changes when a "situation" is really happening to them.

Between the biopsy and my scheduled surgery, I took a trip to Fort Myers Beach to visit with my parents. A good tonic. The weather was spectacular and I took advantage of being doted upon:) To top it off, my middle brother, John, made a surprise appearance, driving straight through from Columbus. He alerted us to his presence by calling and asking, "What's for breakfast?!"

I returned home and to work. It was a bit of a surreal time, knowing I had cancer in me and waiting for the date of surgery. That day finally dawned, March 23 -- exactly one month from date of diagnosis. My mom flew up from Florida to be with me.

To be continued in the next installment ...

July 3, 2012

Installment II of: Laura, the Cancer Fighting Explorer

My mom got into town on Tuesday, March 20, the day another one of her babies was having surgery. My oldest brother, Kirk, had total shoulder replacement on the left side. Pretty invasive and grueling. Then the day of my operation dawned and Mickey drove me to the hospital for the outpatient surgery. Once again, I was abundantly blessed. Not only did I have my rock beside me (mi madre), but the admission process and steps leading up to surgery moved swiftly, which left me little time to dwell on what was about to occur. My last recollection after laying down on the gurney was being wheeled into surgery and out within seconds. 

Waking up in recovery was something different and startling. I was incredibly emotional. All I could think of was Ron and his death and absence -- all that was welling up inside of me as it had not in months. I sobbed from both the pain and emotional anguish wracking my body. Then an angel was at my side, comforting me. She was my nurse and her name was (is) Theresa. She cared for me so tenderly, listened to my sorrow, and effectively managed my physical pain. Turned out, too, that she is a member of my church, St. Brendan. I had no concept of time and apparently was in recovery a good hour or so longer than the doc had anticipated. Finally coming around enough to gain some control, Theresa prepared to wheel me out to my very anxious momma. Before we got there I asked Theresa if she would pray with me, and she did. It filled me with peace and courage and helped push away my fears. My mom was indeed anxious, I could see it in her face and hear it in her words. But, now that I was with her we both got stronger.

Two notable things happened before leaving the hospital. The first occurred while my mom recounted for me the conversation she had with Dr. Lilly following surgery. He reassured her that the cancer was contained and he got it all. On the flip side, cancer was detected in one of the 18 lymph nodes he removed. Not terrible, he said, but still that pushed me into having to receive chemotherapy. My mom apparently asked him if I would lose my hair and his response was "Oh, yes indeed." When my mom repeated that part to me I burst out crying. Don't know why I cried other than residual post-op emotions. Of course, that got my mom to crying, too. The second odd thing was the discharge nurse who had the bedside manner of a bed pan. I was standing next to this woman and as I started to turn she grabbed and pulled me by my right arm, the side on which I'd just had major surgery. I just about cold-cocked her with a left hook. If nothing else, she brought me totally out of my lethargy and poor-me state.

I left the hospital bound up around the chest like a mummy. Incredibly suffocating, but it was a necessary evil for 48 hours. We got home and all I wanted to do was sleep. A prescription needed to be filled, so my mom got me settled into bed and headed to the pharmacy. Nurse golden girl, of course, was there to care for me. She gingerly hopped up onto the bed and laid down toward my feet, gently placing a protective, reassuring paw on one of my legs. That baby girl didn't budge until my mom got back with the drugs. It was the first of many times going forward that I recalled a remark Jonesy not infrequently made, one that always infuriated the hell out of me. He'd say "Hey, don't worry, if anything ever happens to me you've got Dona to take care of you." I always scoffed at that for many reasons. Makes my heart break to think he had such intuition. 

                                                            To be continued in the next installment ...

September 3, 2012

Installment III of: Laura, the Cancer Fighting Explorer

I was off work for almost three weeks, which felt like forever. Emotionally, it was important for me to get back into the office as soon as possible. Probably the worst part about the post-surgery recovery was the drain tube, a disgusting thing that protruded from my side just below the armpit. At the end of the tube was a soft plastic, oval-shaped ball that captured the fluid caused by the surgery. I was constantly afraid of infection or accidentally ripping the thing out. TMI? Too bad, all part of the story! The day finally arrived when the damn thing could be removed. Dr. Lilly quickly and painlessly removed the offending plastic and I was out the door in less than 30 minutes -- that was April 11. Five weeks later I began my first of eight chemos, which is when this blog was created.

My chemo is done and now I await the start of radiation. Those 30 days can't start soon enough for me. Even as I say that, however, thoughts continue percolating in the back of my mind about how the CBitch will continue to be part of my life for, well, forever. Like many other women, I won't let the disease define me, but sadly neither can I choose to ignore its life-changing reality.