Author: Steph

Freelance Writer

My brave face

Posted on by Steph

Firstly, I just want to thank everyone for your support and kind messages after my first blog post. In less than a day, my little blog has made its way around the world, with over 1800 views. New Zealand. Venezuela. Japan. Latvia. Italy. Ireland. Apparently cancer makes you pretty popular. I don’t know who many of those people are, but whoever you are, thanks for stopping by and I hope you continue to do so.

The past few months have been very difficult, to say the least. After my diagnosis, I wanted to kick and/or punch all the happy, healthy people I saw on the streets (don’t worry, I didn’t). Why was everyone just going on with their lives? Why was the world oblivious to what I was dealing with? Why didn’t time stop? I had to make decisions I never thought I would have to make. I had to navigate the world of cancer and oncology, becoming somewhat of an overnight expert on a subject I’d rather not know so much about. I lived a double life, as I juggled endless doctor’s appointments and tests and scans with my regular job, without most of my colleagues realizing I was often answering their emails while sitting in a hospital waiting room. Getting poked with needles, something that used to terrify me, became just another day, another poke. I underwent major surgery, and as a result, major pain. I stayed up at night, overwhelmed by everything I still had to deal with, and wondered if I would be okay. I cut off my long, thick hair, in preparation for the chemotherapy side effects I will have to face very soon. (Although, while it lasts, it turns out I quite enjoy my new ‘do.)

It has been so easy to fall into the “Why Me?” spiral. Why is this happening to me? What did I do? Why not that person, or that person? I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. I don’t party. I sleep, a lot. I am an extremely boring, responsible person. I always have been. My husband says, it’s just bad luck. And he is probably right. There is no good answer. Shit happens. Shit happened to me. And now I’m getting through the shit. (Sorry, Mom, for swearing so much.)

People keep saying how brave I have been. I don’t know if I feel particularly brave. I have cried. A lot. The thing is, you can’t cry all the time. Sometimes you just have to laugh. And I have done a lot of that too. I am so grateful for the people in my life who have made me laugh (even after surgery, which hurt like hell, but I laughed anyway because I’m a rebel). Cancer has taken a lot away from me, but it won’t take my humor.

Yes, I have a crappy disease. Yes, I am pissed. Yes, I would prefer not to be dealing with this right now. But ultimately, I am still me. I still laugh. And I still do things like this:

The other side of the rope

Posted on by Steph

Here’s the deal:

A few months back, I found a lump in my breast. Where the hell did it come from? How did I not feel it before? I showed my husband. I showed my sister. I googled “what does a tumour feel like”. Despite all I read that told me lumps are common and are most often nothing to worry about, I was worried.  I started to panic, naturally, as I always do because that is just the way I am. I’m Jewish. I’m neurotic. Being anxious is in my DNA.

The next morning I called my doctor’s office and was able to see her right away. She felt it. She was certain it was nothing. It had the feel of something that was nothing. But best to be safe and get an ultrasound. So I had an ultrasound. The radiologist thought it was a bit suspicious. So I got a mammogram. And a biopsy. I started to panic, again. Why were they taking a biopsy of my perfectly normal lump? What did they see on their screen? The technician told me it would take about a week to get the results. “Try to enjoy your weekend,” she said, “It could be nothing.” It could be nothing? I wanted to smack that woman. But I refrained, found my husband in the waiting room, and burst into tears.

Anyone who has had a biopsy can tell you that waiting for the results is the most awful part. I slowly started to lose my mind. All I could think about was that lump. That stupid lump. I called my doctor’s office and tried to track down my results. The more days that went by, the more anxiety I felt. Finally I heard from my doctor, who said she would be getting the results in a few days and that I should come in to go over them. Why did she want to see me if she didn’t have the results yet? Was this normal protocol? Did she know something already? WHAT IS HAPPENING?!?!?!

That weekend, I participated in a walk for breast cancer that my family does together each year. Yes, that’s right. I surrounded myself with breast cancer while waiting to find out if I had breast cancer. At the closing ceremonies, when all the cancer survivors walked in (including my dad!), I high-fived all the women who walked by. There was a rope between us, and as I reached over to touch their hands and saw their tears of courage, I began to cry too. No one would have noticed, because it is a highly emotional event, and there were tears in many eyes. But I cried because I suddenly was struck with this overwhelming realization – I would likely be joining them on the other side of that rope.

On September 11, 2012 (and yes, I was not thrilled about the negative connotations associated with that date) my husband and I made our way to my doctor’s office. She chit-chatted a bit, and then got down to business.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have good news today. The biopsy showed that you have cancer.”

What.
The.
Hell.

My lifelong fear was actually happening. I was being diagnosed with cancer. Many, many years before I ever expected to hear those words.

My doctor, who is wonderful and patient, sat with us for 2 hours. I have no idea what we talked about. Every once in awhile I heard a word. Oncologist… chemo… children… aggressive… cancer… cancer… cancer. I stopped breathing for a few seconds. I floated out of my body. I floated back in. I called my dad and cried and told him to tell my mom, because I couldn’t handle it. We left the office, stunned and exhausted. I messaged a couple close friends: I have cancer. Fuck. I emailed my boss: Unfortunately I just found out I have cancer. I don’t think I can come into the office today.

And that was the beginning.