Originally, I had something completely different planned but it didn't feel right. This one is going to be one from the heart. I am not writing it keeping the reader in mind, I'm writing it keeping me in mind...
When I was first diagnosed, I was in disbelief. Cancer is something that happens when you're older, and is really serious and too often fatal. It's impossible that it's what's growing inside of me.
I had a hard time knowing that once 'they' knew it was cancer, they expected me to wait 17 days until they were going to remove it from my body. I realize 2 1/2 weeks is not very long, but when you have cancer growing inside of you, it feels like years. They want this thing to keep growing while I try to continue living a normal life? You know that feeling when someone close to you dies, and you wonder why the world around doesn't acknowledge it or even stop entirely? Like, going through the check-out at the grocery store, you want to ask the cashier 'How can you just stand there and ring through my bananas when my grandfather died today?' Even though it's irrational that the cashier would know, it feels surreal that she doesn't. Well, that's how I felt. I was on auto-pilot and while I was saying "Yes, we need bags, we didn't bring our own", I was actually thinking "I have cancer, I have cancer, I have cancer."
When I was first diagnosed, I was in disbelief. Cancer is something that happens when you're older, and is really serious and too often fatal. It's impossible that it's what's growing inside of me.
I had a hard time knowing that once 'they' knew it was cancer, they expected me to wait 17 days until they were going to remove it from my body. I realize 2 1/2 weeks is not very long, but when you have cancer growing inside of you, it feels like years. They want this thing to keep growing while I try to continue living a normal life? You know that feeling when someone close to you dies, and you wonder why the world around doesn't acknowledge it or even stop entirely? Like, going through the check-out at the grocery store, you want to ask the cashier 'How can you just stand there and ring through my bananas when my grandfather died today?' Even though it's irrational that the cashier would know, it feels surreal that she doesn't. Well, that's how I felt. I was on auto-pilot and while I was saying "Yes, we need bags, we didn't bring our own", I was actually thinking "I have cancer, I have cancer, I have cancer."
For the 17 days between diagnosis and surgery, there were more laughs than tears, fortunately. I still, to this day, firmly believe that there should be a '20% Off Everything Card' for those with cancer. You need a new car? 20% off for you, you have cancer. Going grocery shopping? Don't forget your 20% Off Everything Card!
Keith (my bf) and I would joke about a pretty girl walking down the street for example, "She's really pretty", I'd say. Then I'd follow it up with, "Ya, but she probably has both boobs; real women only have one." I'm lucky that Keith is a one-boob kinda guy; he keeps me grounded. I feel sad (it feels like guilt but I know it's sadness) that at 34, he is dating someone with one breast and cancer. He didn't sign up for this as much as I didn't but he has the choice to leave and he doesn't. I respect him and love him forever because of that.
The night before surgery, I was a mess. My house was full with my mom and dad, my mother-in-law, and Keith, and one of my brother's and sister-in-law came to town too. It felt like we were celebrating a birthday or a momentous occasion because we were all together but I was too anxious for it to be a good thing. I was so scared and cried while everyone could only watch and try to say positive and calming things. But how do you prepare your 26 year old girlfriend/sister/daughter to have her breast removed? To be honest, I don't remember any one thing standing out from that night, maybe that it was my last night of actual sleep in the past 3 1/2 months.
The surgery went well and I came out of it in great spirits. The pain wasn't too bad but the pressure on my chest was intense. For about a week, Keith had to help me to the washroom and for about 3 weeks he had to help me get dressed. I couldn't look down when he was changing my shirt because I just couldn't accept that I had had a mastectomy. I remember when the bandages came off, I kept my eyes closed, put my shirt back on, and went home. I remember the first day I got dressed by myself, it was tough but I did it and I did it without looking at my chest. It was probably 3 weeks before I seriously acknowledged that I had lost a breast and at least 4 weeks before I could touch it. So many nerve endings are effected that it's still numb.
The next step was surgery #2. They hadn't expected my lymph nodes to be involved but the first of the seven that were removed had microscopic levels of cancer so they wanted to remove my remaining lymph nodes. Current cancer research proved that it would be more detrimental to take them at my age and if there was any cancer left in them, chemo would kill it.
So, that meant no second surgery, so no second recovery, which meant chemo had just been moved up. Chemo is a word that we just throw around now and have unfortunately become desensitized to. You throw it around until you're the one who's about to go through it. It's one of those things that once you've experienced it, you've crossed over to the other side. This may be a weird comparison, but to me it was like losing your virginity - you're either a virgin or you're not; you've either had chemo or you haven't. You can never undo chemo or the side effects.
My first chemo went 'well'. My nausea reached maybe a 2 out of 10 and within a week, I felt good again. I spent the remaining two weeks cleaning the house, running errands, and living my life kind of the way I used to. My 2nd chemo, on the other hand, was awful. I had all the side effects and ended up on an IV drip for 2 days. You know when you don't feel good and when you finally throw up you have some relief? Well my friends, it was nothing like that. It didn't matter how much came up, there was no relief. I would officially like to resign from chemo, please.
What I couldn't be prepared for, that no website or book managed to warn me about, is the mental game of cancer that you start playing the day of your diagnosis. Everything changes. Cancer is something you have for the rest of your life, whether it's in your body or your mind. I've read about women going through severe depression during their cancer diagnosis and treatment. I didn't think I would ever be effected but after the past few weeks, I can understand how easily it could happen.
Keith (my bf) and I would joke about a pretty girl walking down the street for example, "She's really pretty", I'd say. Then I'd follow it up with, "Ya, but she probably has both boobs; real women only have one." I'm lucky that Keith is a one-boob kinda guy; he keeps me grounded. I feel sad (it feels like guilt but I know it's sadness) that at 34, he is dating someone with one breast and cancer. He didn't sign up for this as much as I didn't but he has the choice to leave and he doesn't. I respect him and love him forever because of that.
The night before surgery, I was a mess. My house was full with my mom and dad, my mother-in-law, and Keith, and one of my brother's and sister-in-law came to town too. It felt like we were celebrating a birthday or a momentous occasion because we were all together but I was too anxious for it to be a good thing. I was so scared and cried while everyone could only watch and try to say positive and calming things. But how do you prepare your 26 year old girlfriend/sister/daughter to have her breast removed? To be honest, I don't remember any one thing standing out from that night, maybe that it was my last night of actual sleep in the past 3 1/2 months.
The surgery went well and I came out of it in great spirits. The pain wasn't too bad but the pressure on my chest was intense. For about a week, Keith had to help me to the washroom and for about 3 weeks he had to help me get dressed. I couldn't look down when he was changing my shirt because I just couldn't accept that I had had a mastectomy. I remember when the bandages came off, I kept my eyes closed, put my shirt back on, and went home. I remember the first day I got dressed by myself, it was tough but I did it and I did it without looking at my chest. It was probably 3 weeks before I seriously acknowledged that I had lost a breast and at least 4 weeks before I could touch it. So many nerve endings are effected that it's still numb.
The next step was surgery #2. They hadn't expected my lymph nodes to be involved but the first of the seven that were removed had microscopic levels of cancer so they wanted to remove my remaining lymph nodes. Current cancer research proved that it would be more detrimental to take them at my age and if there was any cancer left in them, chemo would kill it.
So, that meant no second surgery, so no second recovery, which meant chemo had just been moved up. Chemo is a word that we just throw around now and have unfortunately become desensitized to. You throw it around until you're the one who's about to go through it. It's one of those things that once you've experienced it, you've crossed over to the other side. This may be a weird comparison, but to me it was like losing your virginity - you're either a virgin or you're not; you've either had chemo or you haven't. You can never undo chemo or the side effects.
My first chemo went 'well'. My nausea reached maybe a 2 out of 10 and within a week, I felt good again. I spent the remaining two weeks cleaning the house, running errands, and living my life kind of the way I used to. My 2nd chemo, on the other hand, was awful. I had all the side effects and ended up on an IV drip for 2 days. You know when you don't feel good and when you finally throw up you have some relief? Well my friends, it was nothing like that. It didn't matter how much came up, there was no relief. I would officially like to resign from chemo, please.
What I couldn't be prepared for, that no website or book managed to warn me about, is the mental game of cancer that you start playing the day of your diagnosis. Everything changes. Cancer is something you have for the rest of your life, whether it's in your body or your mind. I've read about women going through severe depression during their cancer diagnosis and treatment. I didn't think I would ever be effected but after the past few weeks, I can understand how easily it could happen.
I was working 45-50 hour weeks prior to my diagnosis and now I'm not working at all. Now, I only set my alarm for doctor's appointments. Personally, I do well with a busy schedule. I liked being a full time student and working 30 hours a week; I work well under pressure. I just don't feel like I am an active participant of society anymore. If anything, I feel like I am a drain on the health care system. I am not looking for support or strength, I have that, I'm just frustrated.
I have thrown myself into scrapbooking. I had planned on scrapbooking for a while but I didn't know what to include and I wanted it to be something I looked back on and smiled at, not something that made me sad. With the recent articles running in the local, provincial, and national papers, I found my focus. I copied and pasted all of the private messages that I received via facebook into a word document and printed off all 15 pages of inspiration and support. I'm going to include pictures from the Relay for Life as well as cards that I've gotten from family and friends. Just like this blog, the scrapbooking gives me a purpose and gives me something to look forward to with an eventual end result.
I'm just trying to find a purpose in life for the time being. That's not to be confused with the meaning of life, I just want to find a reason for living, right now. I feel good about what I have done so far. I honestly do feel like I am making a difference with getting my story out there, but it's not enough. I want to be the reason that someone else isn't as scared of cancer once they've heard they have it. I want to be the reason that someone feels optimistic about the future. I want to be the reason someone found the lump at stage one and not stage four. I want to help! Too many people suffer from this bull shit disease and I want to be the reason for some relief.
I'm just trying to find a purpose in life for the time being. That's not to be confused with the meaning of life, I just want to find a reason for living, right now. I feel good about what I have done so far. I honestly do feel like I am making a difference with getting my story out there, but it's not enough. I want to be the reason that someone else isn't as scared of cancer once they've heard they have it. I want to be the reason that someone feels optimistic about the future. I want to be the reason someone found the lump at stage one and not stage four. I want to help! Too many people suffer from this bull shit disease and I want to be the reason for some relief.
Hi Katie ….. “wow” I am not going to sweat the small things or complain about anything again.
While reading this blog Katie, I felt every emotion and feeling you described. I wish I could take this all away from you.
You are way too young for this bull-shit disease.
You are making a difference Katie and continue to write your blogs; they have certainly made an impact on me in how I think, feel, and view any individual that is going through any type of difficulties (health, break-up, financial …)
Want you to no Katie; “You are always on my mind” each and every day.
Sending hugs to you and Keith.
Love ~ Debbie Perdue
I just relived a whole bunch of stuff and shed a few tears (for both of us)
I think you need to consider writing a book because you put into words what so many of have felt or are feeling but don’t know how to express
Thank you Katie. Here’s a hug and a smile
Love Brenda
A lot of what you wrote today resonated stongly with me. I have been on an emotional rollercoaster too. I remember the anxiety between diagnosis & surgery & the obsessive thoughts. Cancer was never far from top of mind. The doctor told me my bloodwork was excellent & my brain screamed “Yeah, I’m in perfect health, except for this FATAL DISEASE that I have”. I imagined people finding out & asking if they could do anything & my first thought always was “Pray for me”. I’m not religious & if I was, I’d be a pagan. I asked myself “Do you really expect God to take a personal interest in your health?” The answer was a resounding, “Yes! I want God to hear those prayers, turn to St. Peter & say ‘Did you know Janet Ruderman has cancer? That wasn’t in the Plan. We’d better do something about that right way!’”
I was just having a lumpectomy & so I was looking forward to the surgery & having the cancer out of my body. I was pretty euphoric afterwards because there were no lymph nodes involved, so no drain, risk of lymphedema, etc.
Then I learned I was going to have chemo & I was pissed off. I had just gotten my life re-organized after surgery & now it was all thrown ino confusion again. I dealt with that & then got blind-sided by the mother of all anxiety attacks. I’m still dealing with that one. I see the doctor tomorrow & after being so freaked out about the potential dangers of chemo, what am I worrying about now? That he’ll cancel it!! Go figure.
Rest assured, your posts were a huge help with my distress last week. I appreciated the time & thought you took from your own concerns to help me with mine. You are the reason I’m not as scared as I was; you are the reason I will be able to address my questions with my doctor rationally instead of crying hysterically.
By the way, I don’t know how you feel about marijuana, but many people swear it’s a wonder drug for dealing with the nausea from chemo.
Katie~
I’ve known you for about 15 years now. You’ve always been the ‘rational’ one. The one to remind me I’m being ridiculous, or to consider the other side. You’ve kept me honest and sane for our entire friendship. You are brilliant! In more ways than I can explain. Your gift of the English language is seeming to be your greatest weapon in this fight! I love that these blogs so uniquely capture your fellings and situation as a 26 year old.
You are making a difference! You never cease to amaze me and I don’t expect that to change anytime soon.
I love you! ~Jo
I’m with you
I agree with Brenda…you need to write a book Katie, no joke. A book for young women diagnosed with breast cancer. Also…as soon as I get a teaching contract or teaching position I’d love to organize a day where you could come and talk to students about your experiences, if you’d be cool with that. You are so gifted with words and could make the difference between a young girl being diagnosed at Stage 1 or Stage 4. I love reading these blogs…I love your honesty.
Katie,
I would never wish this horrible disease on anyone, especially someone of your age and zest for life. I can see that you will be a trailblazer for those who afflicted or affected by it and a true inspiration. Keep it up, you’re leaving a mark that will never be forgotten.
I can’t express how much your comments mean to me. I am insecure about writing but want to keep it going and it’s your encouragement that has me click the ‘publish’ button every time.
Thank you!
Katie – I love this post. You have managed to evoke so many of the emotions that I felt when I was diagnosed and going through chemo. It’s a totally shit experience, isn’t it? Thank you for sharing your thoughts with such honesty and thank you for your recent comment on my blog. I know that you know – sometimes none of us have the words, but it’s just nice to know that other people get it.
Know that what you are doing right now matters and is making a big impact on everyone that reads what you have to say! You have a gift my friend – thank you for continuing to share it.
T
xo
Another wonderful post, and I am glad you focused on you so completely. The honesty and your ability to help people understand are really wonderful. I can only begin to imagine how stir-crazy being at home so much must be – I am the same way. I hope it’s not too much longer before you can get out in the world, whether it’s to work or volunteer or whatever.
**hug**!
I was just diagnosed with cancer last month. I just joined this site and read your entry. “Bull- shit disease” says it for me!
Dear Katie,
I wish I lived closer so I could come and give you hugs and be a part of the support system … to you, to Keith …. and to your Mom, and all your loved ones. I want you to know that you are in my heart and mind constantly … that I feel deeply touched by… your struggles … your pain …your strength. That I wish I had a magic wand that would somehow bring you healing and peace of mind. You ARE a remarkable person … you ARE strong … you ARE positive … but I have gone through enough in my life to know that even though you are all of those things … there are dark moments … lonely moments … moments of great pain and anguish…. moments where all you can do is just put one foot in front of the other. I pray that when those moments touch you, somehow and magically a circle of warmth, love and comfort enfolds you and holds you until the moment passes. Thank you for sharing your journey … it touches and will touch the lives of so many.
I love you Katie, hugs and kisses from Auntie Michele