Hello, October…

I’m the one in the wonder woman mask.  You know, the plastic ones with the elastic band around your hair atop the trash bag quality plastic costume below.

Ahh, October, so many years wondering “what will I be this year?” and changing my mind 50 times before it was settled.

Fast forward here…  and my costume was chosen for me.  My shirt was pink, my arm had this fancy sleeve on it and I had even donned a wig on occasion.  Not your average costume party, but the tutu’s, boas, caps and scarves made it appear to be one.  A total bubble gum parade.

A sea of pink… and I was in it, swimming for my life.

Not my first rodeo, as I had represented in this race before~ as a spectator, and a daughter of a two-time survivor.  The white t-shirt was replaced with a pink one once I joined the club myself.  With my compression sleeve firmly (and I mean FIRMLY) in place, I began the annual “Race for the Cure.”

Straightened my cap atop my chemo curl, fastened in my baby, and off I went pushing him in the jogging stroller… take that, breast cancer.

Chemo takes the wind out of your sails… the residual effects linger.   The jog was light and the gratitude was fierce.  Three miles to ponder…  Three miles to reflect…  Three miles to finish.

My race began with a postpartum visit.  My obstetrician held him, posed for a photo, and loosely threw out the “you should get your mammogram.”  Having a family history of breast cancer, I had been vigilant since the age of 25, alternating mammograms every-other year.  Well, I happened to be pregnant so obviously I skipped the year I was due for the bob-squishing.  I looked at her like she had two heads and replied “I will go after I am finished nursing… about 6 more months.”  Yet, she insisted… and so I listened.

Have you ever imagined a mammogram while nursing??  WTF!?  Well…… no sort of strategy, planning, or pumping can make it pleasant.  It is exactly what you imagine it would be.  Milk…everywhere…every nook…every cranny… milk.  Liquid gold.  “I am so sorry, I pumped, I tried, I am so sorry!”  The kind technician spoke calmly to this first-time momma, “It’s okay, dear… it happens.”  Wait, what??  People get mammograms when they’re nursing?  But, mammograms are usually for old people.  Wink, wink to my 32 year old naive self.

Baby in the bucket, back in the exam room, and I was changing out of the pink gown already forgetting about the mess I made.  I had a wonderful to do list on that beautiful, sunny day.  You know, a walk with the baby in the stroller, grocery shopping, and a nap… “nap while the baby naps”…I was truly living my dream.

I was halfway to the exit, past the reception room, when I heard my name being called from behind~ she was heavy in breath trying to catch me before I walked out the door.

With baby in bucket, and weighted on my elbow, I turned around.  She asked me to return to the exam room; my pink gown still there folded up on the table where I left it, and the doctor waiting inside.

There they were… giant radiological images of my milky boobs.  And, there it was.

“I think that we should do a biopsy… just to be sure,” she said.

It was then that I replied, “no need, I think we both know.”  I could not get the image of milk shooting out of  holes in my breast like a barrel shot up in an old western cartoon.

I had experienced this twice with my mother, so I had almost subconsciously anticipated this moment. As prepared as I thought I was, to handle anything in life, I immediately thought of the baby in the bucket.  It was in that exact moment when I decided~ no matter what the results may be~ I was a badass new mom.  Nothing would take me down… nothing.

I believe that decision, in that very second, defined my cancer journey.

Off I went, blazing the same path towards the exit.  The same weight on my elbow as before.  However, this time just minutes later, I paused at the desk and set him gently on the floor.  While she looked at her screen for the “next available appointment,” my gaze shifted to the bucket on the floor… there he was, smiling and cooing… and saving my life all at once.

With the appointment made, and my strength in hand, I finally left the office.  He and I were welcomed into the sunlight and the brisk spring day in Atlanta.  I buckled him in, got behind the driver seat, laid my head against the steering wheel and wept.  I knew, even before the biopsy… I just knew.

I will never forget that drive home.  I called my husband, and I called my best friend from high school.  I got the voicemail for both.  So, I just drove… and drove… and drove.  I cried the entire way home… and, with all the windows open, my long hair swirled around my face.  I imagined it gone, so I just let it fly against my cheeks soaking it in tears.

Even before the first biopsy, well before a diagnosis, I knew… and I was gonna kick its ass.  Period.

That’s the thing about breast cancer.  There is a finish.  The surgery comes and goes.  The chemo begins and ends.  And, God willing, you spend a lifetime trying to get ahead of the race.

The appointment was set, the biopsy was scheduled, and my milky breasts were ready for battle…

 

“So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”

2 Corinthians 4:18

#spotthecross#bloggingforchrist#cancersucks#holykitt#wtfmeanswhythyfather#october#mammogram#breastfeeding#raceforthecure