Holy shit. Reading about cancer, and breast cancer, and breast cancer in young women is not helping me. It makes me realize that for young people the prognosis is not fantastic (often because it is caught late). God, I was a happier sick person when I thought it was more straightforward. Apparently, so I’ve read and heard, somewhere around 90% of breast cancer caught early is fixable. Only problem is that for young women like myself there is no yearly screening, and often times a lump is passed off as a cyst.
That is my bright side; I found the bump, had it checked, had the biopsy and am in the treatment stream — all within three weeks. I have hope that next Wednesday when I go for my consultation they won’t slip me any news about spreading or advanced stages. But that doesn’t mean I’m not scared, because last Monday I had also hoped for good news . . . and we know how that turned out.
But a little bit of ignorance isn’t always a bad thing. Just knowing I need to fight is enough. Realizing I could die is more discouraging than motivating.
And on that note, I’m going to watch an episode of Lost.
“Oh television, you sweet mind-numbing box of nothingness, where would I be without you?”
However, anyone looking for a blog roll of young people dealing with cancer might enjoy this page. Another page with more information and support for young women with breast cancer is here.
Well it’s Monday and I’m awake, un-showered and flipping through an online photo gallery of the MTV movie awards. When nerve racking events are set in my life, my general response is to consume meaningless brain-candy entertainment and fill my time.
So today I’m filling time.
Yesterday my parents were finally told about the lump. That was fine. My mom was concerned, saying she wished I told her earlier. Fair enough, but this isn’t an simple reveal. It’s not easy to change a conversation about snagging gar on the Ottawa River with ‘hey Mom and Dad, there’s a lump in my boob’.
There’s a lump in my boob and it’s been biopsied, and I’ve got a touch of discharge too that worries me. So was there lovely weather on the river?
Anyhow, they’re now in the know, and soon I’ll be too. It’s 9.34 am, my appointment is at 2.10pm. Once I shower, dress, make lunch, wrap a present, go to the hardware store and pop into the post office, time will have flown. Then it’s back to the hospital and a new waiting room this time. The consultation waiting room.
It’s funny because at this same clinic they also do screening for early pregnancy. Ultrasound for tiny babies. Tiny babies instead of tiny bumps. I’d prefer waiting for those kind of results.
Okay – well, odds are on my side. That doesn’t mean a damn thing of course, because either I don’t have cancer, or I do. No one in my family history has ever had it. No woman. My family is more prone to Alzheimer’s, at least for the men. The ladies seems to go strong for quite a while.
And so will I. One way or another.
Today I realized that I feel guilty about being worried. I’m here blogging about the possibility of being sick, while so many people are struggling with greater things (e.g. the reality of being sick). I feel embarrassed, which must be why I haven’t put my name on this site. It’s not my ambition to complain, only to write things out. Chances are everyone waiting for results feels a similar mini crisis; before now the idea of cancer was never actually tangible. Even the possibility feels so strange. That’s just how I feel. Guilt shouldn’t be a factor, and while I cannot push away the feeling, at least writing lets me step back and realize it’s there.