Much love to my gatekeeping lymph nodes for a job well done. Pathology results aren't in yet, but Dr. Weinberg reports that the nodes looked clear, which leaves only a very small chance that pathology will find anything. Dr. Weinberg also said that the negative lymph nodes brings me thismuchcloser to not needing chemo! Woohoo!
The first step, Wednesday, was a visit to nuclear medicine for the radioactive portion of the exam. The radioactive isotopes were injected into my nipple, which while quite a visual, one I may not ever get out of my head, surprisingly didn't hurt. Matt, my technician, let me watch the screen as it picked up the injection site and then, a few minutes later, my sentinel node. He then drew on me with a radioactive crayon (think Crayola! Magic Wonder markers) so Dr. Weinberg could follow the path of the radioactive material.
I was prepped for anesthesia, which I didn't realize would include a breathing tube, and carted away for surgery. About 2 hours later, I woke up to some discomfort. The nurse in recovery gave me three pumps of Dilaudid, and the promise of Percosett once I could eat and drink. Apparently I am pretty goofy and lovey when I'm all doped up. I went home later that afternoon and have been trying to relax and heal since.
I have a 2-inch incision in my armpit. I can't lift my arm up beyond shoulder height, and even that is a stretch. The pain was pretty bad on Wednesday and Thursday night, but has been getting easier to handle every day. My breast looks like it went through battle. There are enormous deep red and purple bruises and it's very tender. I wasn't able to wash up or dress myself until Friday, so I had a lot of help from Doug and my parents. Finally got to take a shower (all by myself) this morning.
Now I'm in a holding/healing pattern until Wednesday when I'll meet with my oncologist. I'm hoping he says that chemo won't be necessary. Regardless of what he says, I'm anxious to know what's next. I'll also have a post-op follow up with Dr. Weinberg on Thursday, so I'm hoping to go ahead and start scheduling the next steps.
Until then, friends...
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
In The End, There Will Be Breasts
But it won't be fun getting there!
Doug and I met with my plastic surgeon yesterday. Dr. Kays comes highly recommended. He's been practicing for around 17 years, has performed more breast augmentations and reconstructions in the Wilmington area than all of the surgeons at Duke and Chapel Hill combined, stays current on the research, sits on advisory boards, and employs the latest/greatest technology. He was responsible for pushing for more immediate reconstruction for breast cancer patients here in Wilmington. In the past, reconstruction wasn't offered until 5 years post-op! He's also responsible for coming up with a change to Alloderm (I'll explain that stuff later) that allows for better drainage post-op. And while all of that is appealing, his "bedside manner" is the reason I like him the most. He's not judgmental, and he has no preconceived ideas about how I SHOULD look once this is done. Much of the decision making is in my hands. The kind of reconstruction, the pace of the process and the overall size and look are up to me (even nipple placement, in the end).
I've decided on implants for reconstruction. Here's the process as I understand it:
After Dr. Weinberg finishes the bilateral mastectomy, Dr Kays will come in and place an extender. The top of it will be placed beneath my pectoral muscles (I'll insert pictures soon). The bottom of the extender will be covered with Alloderm. Alloderm is CADAVER skin. Hearing this freaked me out a bit. Granted, it's acellularized and sterilized. Still, that sounds gross! The Alloderm is meant to stimulate collagen growth and provide comfort by preventing internal abrasions (stops the extender from rubbing on the skin). My inner voice kept repeating "Cadaver. Cadaver. CADAVER!" I know this kind of thing is done often, but the thought of Cadaver skin really weighed on me in that moment. Doug later offered another perspective; someone, somewhere was a donor and they made this procedure (and other ones) possible for me and for so many others. I really appreciate my husband's ability to get me out of the crazy corners in my head. And, I am so grateful to organ donors for making this procedure possible.
After the initial jolt to my reality brought on by the thought of cadaver skin becoming part of my body, I was advised about the drains. This part will surely take some adjustment. A lot of adjustment. Ok, really, I don't know how I am going to handle this part!
After surgery, they will install 4 drains, 2 on each side. Initially, I pictured "drains" as small tubes coming out of me that would be a nuisance, but not much more. The drains work on negative pressure. We'll (maybe Doug and I will share this job with other family members) have to suction fluid from the drains (Ewww, gross!) a few times a day. This goes on for about a month, until the drains are removed. And, these drains are not the small tubes I was thinking. They are longer. Apparently, when I shower, I'll need to sit on a shower chair and place the drains in MY LAP. And I'll need help showering at first. Here's where I took a deep breath and fought off tears. I imagined looking like some dirty, octopus-like person, full of scars and fairly helpless. I hope to find that the reality is a lot less scary than the images I was conjuring. My brother, Jason, comforted me with the idea that all of this will happen in stages, and that'll I'll adjust to each challenge as I face it. I hope he's right.
The rest of the discussion at Dr. Kays office held further surprises. I knew that I'd return every couple of weeks for saline injections into a port beneath my skin, to slowly fill up the extender and stretch the skin so it can one day accommodate the implants. I didn't realize that nipple reconstruction was a separate surgical procedure and that areola are later tattooed on. So now, I am facing 4 surgeries (sentinel node biopsy tomorrow, bilateral mastectomy, the surgery to replace the extender with the actual implants, and nipple reconstruction) and tattoos. I'm told the process will take about a year (longer or less based on whether or not I have chemo and the pace at which I choose to fill the extenders). Yesterday was a hard day, emotionally. The thought of cadaver skin, ridiculous drains, an added surgery, tattoos and the length of time between the mastectomy and the final phases of reconstruction are taking a small toll on that confident outlook. But I'm already feeling better today. suppose this journey will be filled with many surprises and challenges. There will be bad days, but I am determined that the good ones will outnumber the bad.
As a side note & for those of you into the latest in technology:
1. Dr. Kays uses Natrelle 410 Shaped Gel implants. They are silicon gel implants that have the highest cohesivity on the market. Unlike the days of old where silicon leaks from implants were a serious concern, these are solid. And, they are sloped just like a natural breast.
2. He uses some technology called Spy Elite. I need to do more research on it, but apparently it shows through the skin so he can see blood profusion to the wound site after surgery, keeping a gauge on the healing process.
3. Dr. Kays recently recommended a change to the design of Alloderm. He wanted it to have holes to help with drainage. After some process and work with a research and development team, this product is in trials. Dr. Kays was given 4, and I may be one of the patients he uses them on. Guess we'll see....
Doug and I met with my plastic surgeon yesterday. Dr. Kays comes highly recommended. He's been practicing for around 17 years, has performed more breast augmentations and reconstructions in the Wilmington area than all of the surgeons at Duke and Chapel Hill combined, stays current on the research, sits on advisory boards, and employs the latest/greatest technology. He was responsible for pushing for more immediate reconstruction for breast cancer patients here in Wilmington. In the past, reconstruction wasn't offered until 5 years post-op! He's also responsible for coming up with a change to Alloderm (I'll explain that stuff later) that allows for better drainage post-op. And while all of that is appealing, his "bedside manner" is the reason I like him the most. He's not judgmental, and he has no preconceived ideas about how I SHOULD look once this is done. Much of the decision making is in my hands. The kind of reconstruction, the pace of the process and the overall size and look are up to me (even nipple placement, in the end).
I've decided on implants for reconstruction. Here's the process as I understand it:
After Dr. Weinberg finishes the bilateral mastectomy, Dr Kays will come in and place an extender. The top of it will be placed beneath my pectoral muscles (I'll insert pictures soon). The bottom of the extender will be covered with Alloderm. Alloderm is CADAVER skin. Hearing this freaked me out a bit. Granted, it's acellularized and sterilized. Still, that sounds gross! The Alloderm is meant to stimulate collagen growth and provide comfort by preventing internal abrasions (stops the extender from rubbing on the skin). My inner voice kept repeating "Cadaver. Cadaver. CADAVER!" I know this kind of thing is done often, but the thought of Cadaver skin really weighed on me in that moment. Doug later offered another perspective; someone, somewhere was a donor and they made this procedure (and other ones) possible for me and for so many others. I really appreciate my husband's ability to get me out of the crazy corners in my head. And, I am so grateful to organ donors for making this procedure possible.
After the initial jolt to my reality brought on by the thought of cadaver skin becoming part of my body, I was advised about the drains. This part will surely take some adjustment. A lot of adjustment. Ok, really, I don't know how I am going to handle this part!
After surgery, they will install 4 drains, 2 on each side. Initially, I pictured "drains" as small tubes coming out of me that would be a nuisance, but not much more. The drains work on negative pressure. We'll (maybe Doug and I will share this job with other family members) have to suction fluid from the drains (Ewww, gross!) a few times a day. This goes on for about a month, until the drains are removed. And, these drains are not the small tubes I was thinking. They are longer. Apparently, when I shower, I'll need to sit on a shower chair and place the drains in MY LAP. And I'll need help showering at first. Here's where I took a deep breath and fought off tears. I imagined looking like some dirty, octopus-like person, full of scars and fairly helpless. I hope to find that the reality is a lot less scary than the images I was conjuring. My brother, Jason, comforted me with the idea that all of this will happen in stages, and that'll I'll adjust to each challenge as I face it. I hope he's right.
The rest of the discussion at Dr. Kays office held further surprises. I knew that I'd return every couple of weeks for saline injections into a port beneath my skin, to slowly fill up the extender and stretch the skin so it can one day accommodate the implants. I didn't realize that nipple reconstruction was a separate surgical procedure and that areola are later tattooed on. So now, I am facing 4 surgeries (sentinel node biopsy tomorrow, bilateral mastectomy, the surgery to replace the extender with the actual implants, and nipple reconstruction) and tattoos. I'm told the process will take about a year (longer or less based on whether or not I have chemo and the pace at which I choose to fill the extenders). Yesterday was a hard day, emotionally. The thought of cadaver skin, ridiculous drains, an added surgery, tattoos and the length of time between the mastectomy and the final phases of reconstruction are taking a small toll on that confident outlook. But I'm already feeling better today. suppose this journey will be filled with many surprises and challenges. There will be bad days, but I am determined that the good ones will outnumber the bad.
As a side note & for those of you into the latest in technology:
1. Dr. Kays uses Natrelle 410 Shaped Gel implants. They are silicon gel implants that have the highest cohesivity on the market. Unlike the days of old where silicon leaks from implants were a serious concern, these are solid. And, they are sloped just like a natural breast.
2. He uses some technology called Spy Elite. I need to do more research on it, but apparently it shows through the skin so he can see blood profusion to the wound site after surgery, keeping a gauge on the healing process.
3. Dr. Kays recently recommended a change to the design of Alloderm. He wanted it to have holes to help with drainage. After some process and work with a research and development team, this product is in trials. Dr. Kays was given 4, and I may be one of the patients he uses them on. Guess we'll see....
Sunday, November 24, 2013
The Details... So Far
I had a breast exam less than 3 months ago. I had a small infection in a hair follicle on my right breast which, by the time of the exam, had all but resolved itself. The breast exam was normal, but I was still advised to continue self breast exams and to return for a follow up in October.
This has been the busiest Fall of my life. Doug and I got married October 5th. I've been teaching an overload. We just moved this weekend. Charlotte's schedule is increasingly busy with preschool, play dates, dance class. Our life is full of joy.
Tuesday, November 5th was a particularly busy day for no particular reason. I'd been catching up on grading papers all day, prepping to start the literature unit in my evening class, forgetting to plan dinner. When I got home from that night class, I was exhausted, just wanting to take a long, hot shower and breathe. I remembered, in the shower, that I hadn't made my follow up appointment and I hadn't even done a self breast exam since I had last been at the doctor, so I checked. There it was; a golf-ball size lump in my left breast. My stomach sank, but just as quickly, I remembered that women often get lumps in their breasts as a result of hormonal fluctuations. I decided to give it a week to see if anything changed.
In the meantime, I did some checking with family members about our medical history. I knew that several family members had died from cancer, but I didn't know the details. There's colon cancer on my mom's side, brain, lung, breast and ovarian cancer on dad's side. I read that only 7% of breast cancer occurs in women under the age of 40 and I already knew that my dad's cousin, Susie, was diagnosed with breast cancer at 38 and died the following year. I'm 35.
By Friday, I was too worked up to wait the full week. I called and made an appointment at Glen Meade Women's Health for the following Tuesday morning. I went in at 9am. After a complete annual exam, I was referred to Delaney Radiology for a diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound. Because of the "extensive family history," my nurse practitioner said she would've sent me for a baseline at that point anyway, but since I presented with a sizeable lump that had appeared within a couple of months from my last breast exam, a diagnostic mammogram was in order. As I left her office, one of the receptionist's said "you know, Delaney is pretty 'Johnny-on-the-spot'. If you go there now to make your appointment, they'll probably squeeze you in today." So I did. And they did.
By 10:30, I was already having the mammogram. The baseline part wasn't bad at all. I'd heard nightmarish tales about how much mammograms hurt. It's awkward, a little uncomfortable, but not painful. That is, not until the diagnostic part of the imaging. There's a smaller paddle used for diagnostic mammogram imaging. Mary, the radiology tech, took lots of diagnostic images, moving quickly to spare me the discomfort. The ultrasound that followed was pretty standard. I was asked to wait until the radiologist had put his stamp of approval on the images before they let me leave. Mary came back. More diagnostic mammogram images. Ugh!
I was home by noon. Everything seemed to be moving at warp speed. The next afternoon I got the call. The radiologist had identified micro-calcifications and a "tiny" mass, both "likely benign." He advised I follow up with another round of imaging in 6 months. My nurse practitioner said that she'd prefer I follow up with a breast surgeon, just to get a second opinion on the images. She referred me to Dr. Elizabeth Weinberg.
I went to Dr. Weinberg's office thinking she'd recommend I follow up with additional imaging in 2 or 3 months, instead of waiting 6 months like the radiologist had suggested. She said that what they were seeing in the images was small (like grains of sand), but what she felt was much bigger. She suggested a core needle biopsy and we did it right there in her office. She injected my breast with a good dose of Lidocaine, and took approximately 15 samples. She told me they look like small pieces of spaghetti. Gross, right?! The worst part about the biopsy was the seeing that needle for the first time. It took my breath away, and I cried. It makes an awful sound, like a plastic gun shot, every time a sample is taken. Dr. Weinberg said she'd have a preliminary report the next day.
Wednesday at noon. I was trying to distract myself from the neurotic thoughts running through my mind. It was highly likely the results would show fibrocystic tissue, a non-issue as compared to the other possibilities, but I couldn't get those "other possibilities" out of my head. The phone rang. "It's cancer," she said. "Wow," I said. Wow. She needed more time to get the details about what kind of cancer it was, so we set an appointment for Thursday at 2:15.
Doug, Mom and Bob joined me. It's so important to have support and extra ears. Dr. Weinberg gave us the details, and explained I would need to have a sentinel node biopsy to check whether or not I have lymph node involvement. Ultimately, that will help them (the team of doctors and surgeons that will be helping me) better determine the staging of my cancer (if it has spread beyond my breast tissue) and the plan for my treatment. My sentinel node biopsy is scheduled for Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving (my FAVORITE holiday). Dr. Weinberg explained that they will inject radioactive material into my breast, followed by dye, an incision in my arm pit. She'll remove a couple of lymph nodes for microscopic evaluation, and the dye, which will have been taken up by the lymph channels, will show them if there are cancer cells in my lymph nodes. The lymph nodes act like gatekeepers, preventing cancer cells from moving to other parts of the body. The status of the lymph nodes will dictate some of my treatment plan.
To highlight my frame of mind at this point, you should know that when Dr. Weinberg said "radioactive material," the Imagine Dragons song "Radioactive" started playing in my head. When I realized what I was doing during such an important conversation, I laughed out loud. Everyone looked at me. Probably not the best time to laugh. I'm finding, though, that after the initial shock, I'm finding more reasons to laugh than cry.
Anyway, here's the rest of the details. The stuff everyone seems to ask about:
I have Invasive Ductal Carcinoma. This means that my cancer started in the milk ducts, but has broken through, invading the breast tissue around the duct. This is the most common kind of breast cancer.
My cancer is Grade 2. This refers to the speed at which the cancer cells are replicating. On a scale of 0-100, mine is replicating at a 44. This is considered "intermediate." Not slow, but not particularly aggressive either.
We think my cancer is Stage 2. This part is based solely on size at this point, but there are a lot of other factors that will influence accurate staging. The sentinel node biopsy, this Wednesday, will influence the staging of my cancer.
My IDC is estrogen sensitive. There are receptors on the outside of my cancer cells that are basically feeding on estrogen. And let's face it, folks; I ooze estrogen. That was a joke. Haha. This is important to know. Blocking the estrogen receptors, with drugs like Tamoxifin, can help reduce my chance of reoccurrence. I'll likely have to take Tamoxifin for 5-10 years.
I'm HER2neu negative. I can't explain this, but it's good news. Yay!
I had a lot of options in terms of surgery. I'm having a double mastectomy.
Though I haven't been tested, my doctor seems fairly confident that I have the BRCA genetic mutation (which means I'm likely BRCA 1 or BRCA 2 positive). My dad's cousin Susie ( I mentioned her earlier in this post) had two daughters. They tested positive for BRCA2. We know the gene is in my family, but again, we don't know if I am positive for it and I haven't made a decision about getting tested for it yet. The potential for reoccurrence seems too much of a risk. If I have to go through this, I'd rather do it once. No double-dipping for me! My family is entirely supportive of my decision.
I will likely need chemo, but that isn't certain yet. I still need to find out about lymph node involvement and meet with my oncologist.
I shouldn't need radiation, but that could change. I don't think it will.
We just moved this weekend. My home office isn't set up yet. When it is, I'll try to scan and post interesting tidbits from my labs so far. I actually have a picture of my cancer cells. They record digital images of the slides when the samples go under the microscope. Cool, right?!
This has been the busiest Fall of my life. Doug and I got married October 5th. I've been teaching an overload. We just moved this weekend. Charlotte's schedule is increasingly busy with preschool, play dates, dance class. Our life is full of joy.
Tuesday, November 5th was a particularly busy day for no particular reason. I'd been catching up on grading papers all day, prepping to start the literature unit in my evening class, forgetting to plan dinner. When I got home from that night class, I was exhausted, just wanting to take a long, hot shower and breathe. I remembered, in the shower, that I hadn't made my follow up appointment and I hadn't even done a self breast exam since I had last been at the doctor, so I checked. There it was; a golf-ball size lump in my left breast. My stomach sank, but just as quickly, I remembered that women often get lumps in their breasts as a result of hormonal fluctuations. I decided to give it a week to see if anything changed.
In the meantime, I did some checking with family members about our medical history. I knew that several family members had died from cancer, but I didn't know the details. There's colon cancer on my mom's side, brain, lung, breast and ovarian cancer on dad's side. I read that only 7% of breast cancer occurs in women under the age of 40 and I already knew that my dad's cousin, Susie, was diagnosed with breast cancer at 38 and died the following year. I'm 35.
By Friday, I was too worked up to wait the full week. I called and made an appointment at Glen Meade Women's Health for the following Tuesday morning. I went in at 9am. After a complete annual exam, I was referred to Delaney Radiology for a diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound. Because of the "extensive family history," my nurse practitioner said she would've sent me for a baseline at that point anyway, but since I presented with a sizeable lump that had appeared within a couple of months from my last breast exam, a diagnostic mammogram was in order. As I left her office, one of the receptionist's said "you know, Delaney is pretty 'Johnny-on-the-spot'. If you go there now to make your appointment, they'll probably squeeze you in today." So I did. And they did.
By 10:30, I was already having the mammogram. The baseline part wasn't bad at all. I'd heard nightmarish tales about how much mammograms hurt. It's awkward, a little uncomfortable, but not painful. That is, not until the diagnostic part of the imaging. There's a smaller paddle used for diagnostic mammogram imaging. Mary, the radiology tech, took lots of diagnostic images, moving quickly to spare me the discomfort. The ultrasound that followed was pretty standard. I was asked to wait until the radiologist had put his stamp of approval on the images before they let me leave. Mary came back. More diagnostic mammogram images. Ugh!
I was home by noon. Everything seemed to be moving at warp speed. The next afternoon I got the call. The radiologist had identified micro-calcifications and a "tiny" mass, both "likely benign." He advised I follow up with another round of imaging in 6 months. My nurse practitioner said that she'd prefer I follow up with a breast surgeon, just to get a second opinion on the images. She referred me to Dr. Elizabeth Weinberg.
I went to Dr. Weinberg's office thinking she'd recommend I follow up with additional imaging in 2 or 3 months, instead of waiting 6 months like the radiologist had suggested. She said that what they were seeing in the images was small (like grains of sand), but what she felt was much bigger. She suggested a core needle biopsy and we did it right there in her office. She injected my breast with a good dose of Lidocaine, and took approximately 15 samples. She told me they look like small pieces of spaghetti. Gross, right?! The worst part about the biopsy was the seeing that needle for the first time. It took my breath away, and I cried. It makes an awful sound, like a plastic gun shot, every time a sample is taken. Dr. Weinberg said she'd have a preliminary report the next day.
Wednesday at noon. I was trying to distract myself from the neurotic thoughts running through my mind. It was highly likely the results would show fibrocystic tissue, a non-issue as compared to the other possibilities, but I couldn't get those "other possibilities" out of my head. The phone rang. "It's cancer," she said. "Wow," I said. Wow. She needed more time to get the details about what kind of cancer it was, so we set an appointment for Thursday at 2:15.
Doug, Mom and Bob joined me. It's so important to have support and extra ears. Dr. Weinberg gave us the details, and explained I would need to have a sentinel node biopsy to check whether or not I have lymph node involvement. Ultimately, that will help them (the team of doctors and surgeons that will be helping me) better determine the staging of my cancer (if it has spread beyond my breast tissue) and the plan for my treatment. My sentinel node biopsy is scheduled for Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving (my FAVORITE holiday). Dr. Weinberg explained that they will inject radioactive material into my breast, followed by dye, an incision in my arm pit. She'll remove a couple of lymph nodes for microscopic evaluation, and the dye, which will have been taken up by the lymph channels, will show them if there are cancer cells in my lymph nodes. The lymph nodes act like gatekeepers, preventing cancer cells from moving to other parts of the body. The status of the lymph nodes will dictate some of my treatment plan.
To highlight my frame of mind at this point, you should know that when Dr. Weinberg said "radioactive material," the Imagine Dragons song "Radioactive" started playing in my head. When I realized what I was doing during such an important conversation, I laughed out loud. Everyone looked at me. Probably not the best time to laugh. I'm finding, though, that after the initial shock, I'm finding more reasons to laugh than cry.
Anyway, here's the rest of the details. The stuff everyone seems to ask about:
I have Invasive Ductal Carcinoma. This means that my cancer started in the milk ducts, but has broken through, invading the breast tissue around the duct. This is the most common kind of breast cancer.
My cancer is Grade 2. This refers to the speed at which the cancer cells are replicating. On a scale of 0-100, mine is replicating at a 44. This is considered "intermediate." Not slow, but not particularly aggressive either.
We think my cancer is Stage 2. This part is based solely on size at this point, but there are a lot of other factors that will influence accurate staging. The sentinel node biopsy, this Wednesday, will influence the staging of my cancer.
My IDC is estrogen sensitive. There are receptors on the outside of my cancer cells that are basically feeding on estrogen. And let's face it, folks; I ooze estrogen. That was a joke. Haha. This is important to know. Blocking the estrogen receptors, with drugs like Tamoxifin, can help reduce my chance of reoccurrence. I'll likely have to take Tamoxifin for 5-10 years.
I'm HER2neu negative. I can't explain this, but it's good news. Yay!
I had a lot of options in terms of surgery. I'm having a double mastectomy.
Though I haven't been tested, my doctor seems fairly confident that I have the BRCA genetic mutation (which means I'm likely BRCA 1 or BRCA 2 positive). My dad's cousin Susie ( I mentioned her earlier in this post) had two daughters. They tested positive for BRCA2. We know the gene is in my family, but again, we don't know if I am positive for it and I haven't made a decision about getting tested for it yet. The potential for reoccurrence seems too much of a risk. If I have to go through this, I'd rather do it once. No double-dipping for me! My family is entirely supportive of my decision.
I will likely need chemo, but that isn't certain yet. I still need to find out about lymph node involvement and meet with my oncologist.
I shouldn't need radiation, but that could change. I don't think it will.
We just moved this weekend. My home office isn't set up yet. When it is, I'll try to scan and post interesting tidbits from my labs so far. I actually have a picture of my cancer cells. They record digital images of the slides when the samples go under the microscope. Cool, right?!
The Intro
There are moments I look at my daughter, my heart so overwhelmed with love for her, that I swear my heart will explode. She and I call those moments "Love Bubbles."
Earlier this week, I snuggled her up and tried to find the right way to explain that I have cancer. She's almost 5, smart, precocious, sensitive, full of joy and sass. She's no stranger to doctors, hospitals or surgery, having had a pretty major renal surgery when she was 3. I tried to use her memory of that experience to explain why she's seen mommy crying so much lately.
"Mommy is sick on the inside," I said. "I'll have to go to the doctor a lot. I'll have to have a few surgeries." [insert deep breath] "Do you remember feeling scared, and crying because you were scared before your surgeries and procedures?" She did. "I'm a little scared, but I know I'll be ok." She wrapped her arms around me and asked for "lunch" which in her world means the first meal of the day....
Later, on the way to school, her eyes met mine in the rear-view mirror. "Mom, I'm gonna send my love bubbles with you when you go to the doctor." [Thank you sweet girl! I'll need them.]
"And mom, when you're scared..... Be brave like a tree."
Earlier this week, I snuggled her up and tried to find the right way to explain that I have cancer. She's almost 5, smart, precocious, sensitive, full of joy and sass. She's no stranger to doctors, hospitals or surgery, having had a pretty major renal surgery when she was 3. I tried to use her memory of that experience to explain why she's seen mommy crying so much lately.
"Mommy is sick on the inside," I said. "I'll have to go to the doctor a lot. I'll have to have a few surgeries." [insert deep breath] "Do you remember feeling scared, and crying because you were scared before your surgeries and procedures?" She did. "I'm a little scared, but I know I'll be ok." She wrapped her arms around me and asked for "lunch" which in her world means the first meal of the day....
Later, on the way to school, her eyes met mine in the rear-view mirror. "Mom, I'm gonna send my love bubbles with you when you go to the doctor." [Thank you sweet girl! I'll need them.]
"And mom, when you're scared..... Be brave like a tree."
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