A Sigh of Relief

“A guy is walking along the edge of the Grand Canyon and he falls off. He's hurtling down hundreds of feet to certain death and he looks up and grabs this twig, and it breaks his fall. He heaves a sigh of relief, and then, all of a sudden, he sees the roots coming loose. He looks up to the sky and says, "God, why me? I'm a good person. I've taken care of my family. I've paid all my taxes, I've worked all my life. Why me?" And this thunderous voice says, "Son, there's just something about you that I don't like."” - Bill Clinton

It is Monday afternoon as I write this blog. I've been home from Princess Margaret Hospital for less than an hour. I've been cycling through profound relief, peace and a level of joy almost bordering on giddiness. A week ago last Friday, I did the routine testing that is required of me as a breast cancer survivor. As usual, my oncology appointment was scheduled for two weeks after the tests. By the time a couple of days, post test, have passed, and I've heard nothing from the hospital, I feel fairly assured that my routine tests will result in an equally routine oncology appointment. Last Tuesday I came home from work after 6:00 P.M.to a message from PMH. I needed to go back for further testing. Tuesday was a long night. I called the hospital Wednesday morning and was told I had been scheduled for follow-up tests today at 1:30. It wasn't clear what the tests would be or what the concern was. I didn't even know which breast.

Like many other cancer survivors, I often find myself faced with the challenge of "canceritis". That is the disease that sends me to the dark place with each new ache and pain. When I herniated my disc while on vacation in the Dominican Republic in 2006, I spent a week in a hotel room, flat on my back watching the only English TV station available - CNN. It happened to be the same week that the U.S. politician, John Edward's wife found out that her own breast cancer had metastasized to her bones. She made that discovery when investigating some pain in her ribs. I didn't know why my back hurt so much but my canceritis clicked into high gear. It was a very scary week.

This past week has been equally scary. I told my husband what was happening, my sister Nancy and a couple of friends. I didn't tell Cathy or Jacob or most of the other people in my life. I tried hard not to scare them or cause them angst. On Saturday I spent the day at Willow at the annual strategic planning meeting of the board. I sat through the day listening to strategies on how we were going to support people through the whole cycle of breast cancer, from hereditary pre-disposition to metastatic cancers resulting in death. My colleagues at the table had no idea what I was dealing with on a personal level. At times that day I found myself struggling to breathe.

I made my way to PMH at about 1:00 this afternoon. I know the drill. I undressed, washed the deodorant off from under my arms, gowned and waited. They didn't make me wait long. The mammogram was painful followed by a lengthy, and thorough ultra-sound. The technician was kind and gentle. The radiologist took great pains to be thorough, respectful and informative. They gave me lots of information, tried to quell my fears and apologized that I was going into the process with a lack of information. The clerk who called me was supposed to advise me of their preliminary findings and exactly what was scheduled for today. They were trying to be cautious. They thought they were probably seeing a benign lymph node. They've seen it before but it looks more pronounced this time. They expect it was probably the same but their technology is better. They needed to look at it again, do more mammography and confirm it with an ultra-sound. And so the mammography was done. The ultra-sound was completed. And then they knew for sure. A benign node that's always been there is still there, still unchanged and of no consequence at all. And Friday's oncology appointment is destined like the others that preceded it since the traumatic ones in 2005, to be routine and uneventful. Thank God.