Thirty days hath September

Thirty Days Hath September.

April, June and November. So this means, technically, that today we have known about my cancer for exactly 31 days. It was July 9th when I was scheduled for my mammogram and ultrasound. That test was scheduled at 8:30 a.m.

It was patently obvious from the way the technicians responded to me that the mammogram didn’t look good. I understand completely that they are bound by rules of conduct and could not ever reveal to me, during the exam, that things looked bad but anyone who has ever been through a diagnostic exam gets it. They aren't fooling anyone by their silence and focus on their work. Once the ridiculous banter about the weather, the Mariners, the wait, the waiting room, stand here, okay hold your breath, okay relax, okay uncomfortable for just a minute, hold, hold, and relax comes to a screeching halt, it’s bad. If the banter stops AND the Supervisor is brought in for some “special extra views” it’s really bad. Then the final strike (think Family Feud and Richard Dawson) if the banter stops, the Supervisor is brought in and the doctor is going to come and talk to you in the waiting room, you’re screwed.

The ultrasound was completely uneventful. I don’t know how Holly, the ultrasound tech, has such amazing composure but she did. She actually spoke with me, acknowledged my presence, continued with the inane banter and was smiling and happy the whole time. I could tell that she was taking a lot of pictures but she “just wanted to get it right for the doctor.” If ultrasound doesn’t work out for her she should definitely go for the World Poker Tour.

That is what happened to me 31 days ago. When the doctor came in and met with my to confirm the ‘screwed’ diagnosis really not a lot is revealed then either. The very pleasant physician just mentions that they found some ‘areas of serious concern’ on the mammogram and would it be possible for me to stay until 12:30 p.m. for a MRI of the breast. As if by a miracle they had an opening and I will be fit in. Can we talk about strikes 4, 5 and 6? Oh wait that is supposed to be for another batter or contestant or family on the Feud.

Continuing on July 9th I get some food, pizza and a Fresca (I do have priorities) and call Matt from this beautiful outdoor courtyard at Evergreen Hospital. He is at work probably just out of roll-call. I tell him what is going on and the additional tests that have been ordered and my personal curbside diagnosis for what this “really means.” If there is one thing I know in this world it is physicians and I know them well. I have the amazing ability to see the English translation to everything they say, not unlike the opera. Every nuance, their body language, every carefully chosen word, how they are dressed, how they sit, where we talk is all translated into ‘layperson’ for me. After meeting with Dr. Shook, the Director of the Breast Center at Evergreen, I knew pretty much what was going on. “What do you think is going on?” Matt asks me. “I am not sure of the exact details but I am certain of this: It is bad and it is cancer.”

Still July 9th (I now think of FDR’s unmistakable voice after Pearl Harbor “a date which will live in infamy”) but having completed the Breast MRI. What a treat this test is. NOT. Let’s just leave it at this. Very loud, very surreal and they utilize this wacky, inverted Roman chest plate and you lie on your stomach and drop your boobs through the holes. If you really don’t have enough to ‘drop’ through then you get propped up with all sorts of towels and washcloths and whatnot. Just weird as far as tests go. Again, the reaction from the staff told me everything I needed to know. This was bad.

After the MRI I spoke again with Dr. Shook. She was going to add me on at the end of her day because “the MRI had confirmed that there were some bad looking masses in the left breast and left axilla” and she wanted to do a needle biopsy and lymph node aspiration that day still July 9th. She added me on at 5:30 p.m. and I was to call in and make sure that there wasn’t someone that comes in through the ER that would bump me. Either way, she was intent on getting that biopsy that day and I do believe she would have stayed until 11:59 p.m. to “git-r-done.” She is nothing like Larry the Cable Guy but on July 9th my whole life changed and one major change was that we are all about gittin-r-done. That’s what we do now is git-r-done.

Matt calls, he is on his way to the hospital. It was so great that he left work because I was getting ready to come unglued. I say meet me at the house not the hospital. We do. It is strange but I barely remember being at home at all on July 9th. We had to though. We had to get the girls and arrange for a sitter and all that stuff but I don’t even remember being at home. I remember nothing. Not what we talked about, not who we called or what we ate or did it is just completely blank.

Matt and I return to Evergreen at 5:30 p.m. for the biopsy. Dr. Shook is there and Holly the fabulous. They were just excellent and so caring. Dr. Shook did a great job preparing me as well and letting me know what was going on every step of the way. It is odd but that kind of a biopsy is nothing to scoff at. Holy cow! It is a very physical procedure and still today, 31 days later, I have a giant bruise from the biopsy. It is now in the green/yellow phase of bruising but think about that…………a month out and there is still bruising. I just listened to my iPod and zoned out, pretending that this was NOT my life.

When it was done Holly gave me a single long-stemmed red rose. I think this is a really sweet gesture but odd. When do you receive a single long-stemmed red rose? When someone loves you, when you go to Prom, when someone is sorry, when in Mexico, when caught off-guard in Belltown (too intoxicated) and the gal reels you in, Valentine’s Day when you are not really sure if you are dating, the airport and poor planning, I like you but not all the way to a dozen and apparently when you have breast cancer.

So thirty-one days since July 9th and the rose has long since died, the bruising is still proof positive that this is happening to me and we are still here, intact and soldiering on. It is amazing what can happen to a person in a month, 31 days, 744 hours, 44,640 minutes now this is just getting a little too ‘RENT’ but it is amazing.