Breathing through the storm

An update of my breast cancer journey.

The above image: My tattoo is a mandala which means “breathing through storms.”

When walking this jaded wonky path of cancer, it can feel as if I can not breath. The storms are coming in so fast I gasp for air. There is a sudden whoosh taken into my lungs and I fall to the ground. Stunned. Curious what is happening. I feel the rhythm of breathing in and out come back and settle down to a slow and steady pace.

I go through this sensation again and again.

This process of diagnosis, appointment, waiting, another appointment, waiting, another appointment, wait….wait…wait…some results….wait..

Move forward and then wait.

The doctors appointments with radiologists, breast surgeon, genetics counselor, plastic surgeon, nurses…i am sure I am missing someone in this whole mirage, is massive information overload.

I have never run a marathon, not even a half marathon but I would like to think this is a marathon for my mind, body, soul, and nervous system. 

Did you know that you can be completely exhausted from sitting for 45 min in an office with your plastic surgeon as they talk through the options….ALL of the options. I take in about 30% of the information, grateful to Michael, hearing the information, asking the questions and diligently taking notes for me. As he clearly knows my overwhelm is on high and I am going to be asking him everything once we get in the car to come home, if I have the capacity.

I am completely exhausted as we walk to the car. We talk.

I go in for an additional ultrasound and find out there will be another biopsy taken on a mass that is in the posterior side of my left breast. I hear the ultrasound tech say this, and I can feel the tears, it doesn't feel like crying, really. It is a release, a soft and slow release of pain and utter sadness that this is happening. I have not cried much on this journey, but that day…that day the tears fell and I wanted deeply to NOT be  in that place, not getting a needle placed in my breast again. 

Michael is there, holding my hand and saying quietly, you have a choice. You do not have to do anything if you do not want to.

I love him.

This tall slender woman enters the room, she has a smile that fills the space…and she is wearing clogs, that has to be a good thing…right? She is my radiologist and will be performing the needle biopsy. She comes over, grabs the ultrasound device and starts taking a look and explains everything she will be doing. 

Tears begin to fall. She puts down the device, and grabs my hand. She looks at me and asks calmly what is showing up for me? I ask her if I have the mastectomy can't we just skip this whole thing?

She squeezes my hand, she looks at me and simply states she knows that sounds like such a simple request, but she wants my surgeon to have as much information as possible for my own health and healing.

I get it. I know it. I respect it.

She spends so much time with Michael and I! What radiologist literally grabs a chair and shoots the shit with us and helps us process a decision that is LITERALLY going to alter my life and my body? I am blessed. I am honored to have had the opportunity to have this type of medical experience.

We do the procedure…and we wait…again.

I am completely exhausted as we walk to the car. I sleep on the drive home. There is not one ounce of space for words.

The biopsy is benign. I am so thrilled.

Now what?

Now I am at a place where I have to assess my options, process what feels right for my body and soul to move forward.What is everyone going to think about this decision I am about to make? Lumpectomy, Mastectomy with reconstruction, which one? Do I do implants? Do I do the reconstruction using my own tissue from my abdomen (called a DFAP)? What are the chances of chemo and radiation?

I am not sure I am able to properly put into words how I came about my decision. Sitting quietly and listening to what my heart and body would like to do. This is not an easy task when life feels like it is moving a thousand miles an hour even without this diagnosis. 

Meditation helps, it softens things. It is the one time of my day where I do feel like I can breathew and actually feel what is happening. It is just getting to the mat that can be the hardest part. Isn't that funny, something that feels so good, and has such benefits is a struggle? We do not feel that way about alcohol or chocolate.

I do not consider myself a worry wart or someone who obsesses about illness or dying. In fact, I feel like I am pretty level headed when it comes to it. This whole situation though, this was different. Viscerally to my core, I could feel the worry of Cancer coming back. I know, I can study all the percentages, talk to the doctors, and articles on Pubmed to tell me I would be low risk.

I knew this felt different.

This decision had to come from deep inside me, and I needed to listen to what that was. The listening is hard, the noise of life is loud and a great tool for distraction. I knew that that deep listening was required.

Finding quiet was required. Find my mat. Sit. Breath. Listen.

I am lucky that this type of cancer is not something that is going to shorten my life, whatever path I choose I am still going to be living an incredible and beautiful life.

I knew what I needed to do.

On August 22, I am scheduled for a Bilateral Mastectomy with Reconstruction. 

That is equally hard to type as the last substack where I wrote that I have Cancer. Now, the complete and utter fear and anxiety has set in. I was in a liminal space while waiting for the doctors to schedule my surgery, but now it's REAL! It is actually happening. Man, I thought I had brain fog and fatigue before, now I seriously feel like I am walking in a cloud.

The mind spins, the heart aches as it processes the loss of part of me that does play a role in who I am as a woman. Tears are flowing more as I allow this release and this letting go settle in. I had coffee with two good friends the other day, and one of them mentioned that I needed to write a letter to say goodbye.  That is a beautiful thought, and something I plan to do.

What I have come to in all of this…I am strong and I am also scared. I have the tools and an incredible community of humans that continue to show up for me. This is probably…no actually it is going to suck for a while, and I am going to be greatly frustrated…A LOT.

Breathe.

I am alive. I get to live a long and beautiful life, so I am going to feel all the feelings, cry a bunch, take on the love of everyone around me, spend time with my new body, learn how to do yoga in a new way for a while, and walk a new path of which I am not sure where it is going but I am up for that journey.

I want everyone to know that this is such a personal decision and there are so many women out there who are struggling with breast cancer and each one has to deal with it differently. The staff and doctors that I have gotten to work with at Essentia Breast Center in Duluth have BLOWN ME AWAY! I will forever be grateful for the unconditional love, support, and patience that each and every one of them have. 

I remind myself to come back to my breath. I am breathing through this storm, and I will come out on the other side. It might look and feel very different.

I am human. I am alive.

Take one deep breath.