So aside from my “girls” trying to kill me, life was pretty awesome leading up to the American Sniper/Killer Boob incident. I managed to peel myself out of the movie theatre seat without having a total meltdown. Quite honestly, I was in shock. This doesn’t happen to people “like me.” Whoever those people are. I remember my husband telling me to go back home (we weren’t living in sin at that point) and get my stuff. I would stay with him until we got through this. That felt like a huge weight off my shoulders. I’d been pulling the old “Town Whore” -home during the week shack up on the weekends bit for for a few years and this ho was tard’. It aint easy livin’ sleezy sisters. So in some sort of robotic fashion I went back to the house I shared with my friend Andrea and started gathering my things. I can’t tell you what I packed. It felt liked time had stopped. What did clothes matter….I was going to die. Or at least that’s how it felt in that moment. Andrea wasn’t home so I text her to let her know what was going on. As if that was a good plan. Mental note….one should not text life changing events to others…one should call. However, this one was strung out and senseless. Andrea almost took out the pilings from under our house with her little sports car. She couldn’t get home fast enough. She was and is amazing….
I would love to tell you I cried replaying my dinner date gone rogue. That did not happen. I don’t cry. I’m a man like that. I prefer solutions to tears when possible. This makes my Mother crazy. Perhaps why I do it. In any event, I explained I needed to be with my love while we figured out a plan. She understood and told me she would be by my side every step of the way. And she was…more than was. She’s a nurse. A damn good one. And that came in extra handy. When I got back to what I would now call my home, we just sat there in silence. Neither of us knowing what to say. I mean for fucks sake that’s a big bit to swallow…not his bit ..the news. Just to be clear bcs my friends get confused with my brand of humor. Ughum…so we sat their in silence for a while. I mean what do you say in these situations? Everything is going to be ok? Nope… no way of knowing that. Maybe it was a false positive? Would love to think so but no. So the only thing we knew to do was drink wine. That’s what Jesus did so why not. And I happen to be an expert at drinking wine. Probably the worst thing I could have done. Made me more paranoid and anxious. I fear there was/is no rule book for what to do when someone tells you you have cancer after they told you the odds were overwhelming in your favor you did not. He’s lucky he was a hot Dr. or I might have cut his balls off….moving right along…
In my quest not to relieve this mess, I fear I skipped some deets that happened prior to the actual diagnosis. Listen, the last thing I want do is rehash this F’n nightmare but my therapist says I’ll end up drooling in a corner eating peas the rest of my life if I don’t come to terms with it. So yeh, good times. After I got the mammo/ultrasound where they found “the lump,” I had to get a biopsy. I can’t be sure how I forgot/left that out but it’s important so let’s dish about it. For visual effect, that’s where they stick a needle into your lady hump and pull out some gin/juice to see what’s making you grow a 3rd tit. Not ideal to see a man Dr. coming at you with a large needle he intends to stick in your breast tissue. My girls were fake so the fear of popping one of those bitches was for reals! He assured me he would numb the area…with a needle. It’s trickery. So I watched him pull puss or juice or whatever was in there out and put it in a tube. Blah blah no lifting or physical activity for a few days. Um Fucktard…I’m dying so getting in shape is the least of my worries….mmmmkaay. Geeez. It is socially acceptable to die fat or at least that’s what I told myself. And then we wait….
Dr. Hottie was clear about 1 thing….he wished I was in the DC area so he could have control of my treatment. That was 5 hours from me and out of the question. I don’t know who referred me to VA Oncology but that’s where I went initially. I asked my friend Tricia to come with me. Why not my husband? I guess I wanted to protect him? I wanted to hear what needed to be said, have time to process and then tell him myself. I would go on to do this throughout my treatment. It was the strangest thing but it’s what I wanted. We went to VA to meet the Dr. and get the genetic testing to see if I was BRCA+ – that’s a mutation of a gene that would normal be helpful in fighting cancer. If you have it, you have a harder time fighting it. So they sucked some blood from me and asked me about my kin. Lord and the actual baby Jesus as if I could break down the family tree at this point! Hell, I’m the only redhead in the family. There were questions I needed answers to much less giving them out lol! I managed to get through that…I made shit up. Like I know the medical history for everyone in my family from the left over…geez. Off to see Dr. Asshole.
I knew the second I walked in I hated him. Tricia was as nervous as I was. He knew something I needed to know. You know how when you are waiting for results you practically suck the pigment off the face of the Dr./Nurse as they come for you? I was most def doing that. I mean I saw all the results on My Chart, Googled, called people and etc. but I was sitting on my hands waiting for the real diagnosis. I knew whatever it was, was aggressive from all my Googling. Which by the way is the worst thing you can do but hells bells they put shit in My Chart and then wait to call you until you are at the movies! WTF! I needed answers! I felt like he was going to tell me I didn’t need chemo and they would cut it out. Not. His exact words: “You have a very aggressive form of breast cancer. You are going to need chemo. You will be very sick, lose your hair and have a very rough year.” Well thank you Dr. Doom and Gloom! For Fucks sake (by now you must now this is my go to phrase for most situations)! Tricia was about to cry. I did what I do best…took control. I asked if I could stand up. As if I needed Dr. Assholes permission. He agreed. Then I asked for Valium. What? They don’t give it out freely- this was an opportunity to stock up. Surely I qualified. He agreed. He went on and on about setting up appointments and so on. I wasn’t listening. I knew he wasn’t “my people.” I don’t know how to qualify that for you other than to say….no one sets my future in front of me from a place of pain and suffering. I will always choose to see the positive. If he couldn’t do it, I would find someone who could. And we were out. Tricia drove me to get my Valium and I popped one in the car on the way home. Since I lived an hour and a half from Dr. A there was plenty of time for it to kick in before I had to go home and tell my love. I knew on some level Dr. A was right about the diagnosis but I would not share in his Miss Cleo moment predicting my future. Bye boy bye.
We pulled into the driveway. I knew what I had to do when I walked through that door. To tell him the news wasn’t good. I had an aggressive form of breast cancer called HER2-NU. It replicates very quickly and can spread fast. That’s what I knew. And then I would have to tell my family. It felt overwhelming. Mother had no idea any of this was going on. I didn’t want to tell her until I knew all the facts. I would wait to update my Dad (remember he knew) until I had a better plan. When I walked in the door I remember we sort of avoided each other in an awkward way. Not like you are thinking….it was like…I couldn’t walk in and throw up all over him. I needed a Segway but couldn’t find one. He knew I knew something but in some way wasn’t ready to hear it. I was getting ready to deliver a bomb. How do you drop that on someone? “Hey how was your day? Great…well apparently I have this aggressive cancer, need chemo and God knows what else. Can you pour me some wine?” I didn’t go that route. I just hugged him and said “I don’t want to die.” And cried. It broke me. In that moment anyway. But I was coming back….