One Out of Eight

At first, I only told my husband and my sister. After all, there was only a 20% chance of this blip being cancer. They tried to be supportive with, "It won't be cancer" and "don't worry.” Seriously? I guarantee if someone mentioned cancer to you, worry would be at the top of your list! You can't help but worry.

Those much younger than me may feel that the word cancer is only slightly frightening. I was born in 1960. When Dad came home from work at the end of the day we sat around the dinner table together, and he would say to Mom, “Oh, I forgot to tell you, Mrs. Docherty has cancer.” No one used the word breast in those days. Mom would respond, “I wonder which funeral home they will use?” In the 60s and 70s cancer was a death sentence. They didn’t have the diagnostic technology that is available today. They didn’t have the treatment that is available today. They never caught it early. It wasn’t until the early 1970s that mammography became generally available, and it didn’t become routine for many years. My own mother never even had a mammogram. Cancer back then never had a good ending.

Despite knowing that the technology is different and so advanced, you can’t help but remember those dinner conversations. You haven’t yet had the biopsy let alone been diagnosed, but the thought of cancer is heart stopping. It is now up close and way too personal.

I understand that it’s people’s first instinct to think positively. Friends and family rally around like a bunch of cheerleaders with, “think positive thoughts,” or “you must believe your glass is half full” or “it won’t happen to you.” Like what I think or feel is going to change anything, particularly a medical diagnosis. I’m supposed to close my eyes and think about pink unicorns, and the biopsy won’t be cancer. Oh, please, are you clairvoyant?

I suppose this is their defense mechanism. A way to protect themselves. Think happy thoughts and only good things will happen. But let’s at least be realistic. You, my family or friends, just don’t know which way it will all turn out. Being told “don’t worry” is not realistic. You will fall that much harder and that much further when all you have been told, “don’t worry, it won’t happen to you.” Be very careful with the words you choose. Do not offer false hope. This is cancer after all. Only a fool wouldn’t be worried.

Your mind will begin to go wild and work overtime, and the longer you must wait for the biopsy and the results, the crazier you will become. Unfortunately, I had to wait 18 days for an available biopsy date. My anxiety became worse each passing day.

I began to do some double checking with a few relatives to confirm who in my family, if anyone, had cancer, or more specifically, breast cancer. There was no history. Neither side of my immediate family had a history of breast cancer. So how is this possible? Oh, I did have a first cousin who had breast cancer 15 years ago, but she was taking hormone replacements during perimenopause. Well, that explains that. Why am I worried? My doctors have always dismissed that. And my doctors also dismissed Dad’s prostate cancer, I guess because I’m a girl. I would later learn how very wrong I was.

As I waited those 18 long days and 18 long nights, I began to lose my mind. I wished my family had done some thinking for me instead of telling me not to worry. I know they were not experts at this, but neither was I. They were trying to be strong for me. They were trying to encourage me. I had put my faith and trust in my medical facility. But, there are many other facilities and centers that could have performed this biopsy, I would learn. I shouldn’t have had to wait 18 days. But I wasn't thinking clearly. Instead of offering me platitudes and false hope, I wish they had thought to pick up the telephone and find another facility that could perform this biopsy much sooner.

I barely slept for 18 nights.

Then, I began to fight with myself, and I didn’t even yet have a cancer diagnosis. I merely had an image with what appeared to be a dust bunny on the screen. I thought, maybe I’m worrying too much. Maybe it is like in the movies, the machine was broken. The doctors are wrong! But, what will I do if it is cancer? A million thoughts traveled through my mind. Then I realized what I had been told—only a 20% chance of cancer. Holy crap! That is not a slight chance! If I had a 20% chance of winning the lottery, I would play, daily! If you were told there was a 20% chance that you would be hit by a bus today, would you leave your house let alone cross a street?