"WE NEED TO TALK"

     Four little words that signify impending doom.  Any time these words are uttered, I think "oh shit."  Any time I have to say these words, they are followed by a deep swallowing as if to rid them from my mouth.  No one in history likes these words.  Even children know these words mean bad news.  Unfortunately, we need to talk.

     I know, I know.  Perhaps I could've said something else, right?  As most of you know, my mom had to get a preventative mastectomy a few months ago.  And most of you know why.  My mom is BRCA2 positive.  If you don't know what this means, here's a brief synapses:  there are two forms of cancer, hereditary and environmental.  BRCA is an estrogen based hereditary cancer.  BRCA2 deals w/ the 17th chromosome in your DNA.  It's weaker and can't fight off free radicals as well.

     When my mom got cancer, before she broke the news to me, she said "We need to talk."  Being a teenager, and respectful of my mom, I said "oh shit" to myself.  At that time, genetic testing was not something that was practical.  Thank God for technology!  I'm stalling.  I realize this.

     I got tested as well.  I AM ALSO BRCA2 POSITIVE.  Some of you already knew this.  The day I found out was one that I will never forget.  I heard the phone ringing at 8:32 a.m.  It was my Dr.  I knew that if he was calling me personally, this would not be good news.  He confirmed that feeling by telling me my results and referring me to an oncologist.  He assured me that I was going to be okay and "...that we will get through this."  I sprang out of the bed as if possessed.  This was the first time I noticed I was not alone in the room.  My husband, Nick, and my two boys were on the bed w/ me.  I'm not sure when they got there.  Nick tried to grab me and console me, but I felt trapped- like a caged animal looking for an escape.  Good sense got the better of me.  I knew this was not the time for me to flee.  For those of you that don't know, I do not deal w/ stress well and at times have been known to leave and then return hours later.
     I could tell by his voice that Nick would need consoling before I could break free.  I sat back on the bed, gave him a hug, and he proceeded to cry, a lot.  I can't imagine what this must've been like for him.  He always knew that cancer was a possible outcome for me and now we were facing this demon head on.  For the next two hours, so many questions and thoughts ran through my head.  By 11:17 a.m., it was more than I could bear.  I bolted out of the house, got in the car and took off.  I knew exactly where I was going.  My Dr. office up here in White House.  This is a different Dr. than the one that gave me the news.  I was having a panic attack at this point.  They took me back to a room where I waited to unburden myself on this unsuspecting Dr.  It was not the Dr. but the nurse practitioner that received the full force of my panic.  I finally got to the point where I began to hysterically cry.

     I must digress for a moment.  I'm not much of a crier.  Before you roll your eyes, let me explain.  I cry over movies, books, poems, etc.  I cry over a friend's troubles.  I cry over the sweetness of things.  I cry over my children being in pain.  But I never cry openly of my own fears or stresses.  I have no problem crying to myself about these things, but it's very uncomfortable for me to do it in front of others.

     So here I was.  In this little room w/ a complete stranger.  Pouring my heart out about my mom, her test, my test, everything.  I'm not much for medication anymore.  But this was a problem  I knew was going to require something to take down a rhino.  After apologizing continuously to this sweet lady, speaking briefly w/ the Dr., I left the office w/ my prescription in-hand.  At this point, I realized I had a dozen missed calls from Nick.  Knowing that he was worried, I called back and explained the situation.  He understood, but insisted that I never do that to him ever again.  When I got home, I took a sedative and a shower.
     While I was in the shower, my mom had called to see if I got my results yet.  Knowing that my results would upset her, I knew I couldn't tell her until after her surgery.  (Yes, I've kept this in for that long.)  I guess Nick didn't understand my need for discretion.  Nick has great morals about honesty, but this was a situation where evading would have been more opportune.  He told me she called.  I asked if he told her.  He said "yes."  I some how knew that this would happen, but still was not prepared for it.  After freaking out on him for about 5 minutes, I realized that he didn't know how to handle any of this.  Imagine waking up, finding out that your wife will get cancer in the next 10 years, her leaving and not knowing where she is or when she'll come back, and needing someone else to know your fear.
     After consoling him and apologizing for my freak out, I knew the moment was inevitable.  I had to call my mom.  She was at work when she found out.  Not a place to be when you hear news like this.  I called and she was crying, a lot.  She kept apologizing to me over and over for "giving me this."  As if she knew that this was my fate since conception.  After explaining that I was okay, and apologizing for not hearing it from me, I told her that I was going to be very proactive about this and keep her in the loop.  Her surgery was in a week and I knew I had to be upbeat and perky about this to keep her going, and myself.
     We told family and close friends that knew about my test.  I'd like to point out that at this time, I was very angry.  It was so frustrating to hear common every day complaints from women.  I had to eventually realize that their big deal and my big deal were different, but still a big deal.  And I apologize to everyone for being so elusive.  But you honestly have no idea how it feels to have people tell you that your only chance of survival is to have everything gutted and ripped from you that makes you a woman.  Feeling like a shell and then creating one in order to hide your feelings of disgust for all other women.
     Nick and I were planning a trip to the mountains w/ friends.  I did not want to go.  After a great deal of convincing from my better half, we set out on the road for the mountains.  It was nice to get away from our normal.  To simply be together and alone.
     After we got back, anxiety set back in.  I would get depressed every time I had to see a Dr.  I didn't want to get out of bed.  I began to feel sorry for myself.  I began to feel sorry for Nick.  He didn't sign on for all of this and that depressed me more.  I started worrying, despite constant assurances from him and others, that he was with me out of loyalty and not love.  I pushed him away.  He is probably the first person ever that I've thought about their greater good than my own.  I would've understood his survival instinct to leave- to not be w/ someone so broken.  Eventually I had to quit talking about it- stop thinking the worst.  I realized that if he was willing to stick w/ me through this, that he must love me a tremendous amount.
     It got easier to talk w/ my friends about their own problems.  There are still days that I get overwhelmed and wish to lie in a fetal position.  But then there are times that I am enormously happy for all of my blessings.

     So there it is.  In black and white.  For all the world to see.  And I'm okay with that.  I'm saying all of this now because I believe in the power of prayer.  And I'm asking for your prayers.  Also, it's okay to ask me questions about all of this.  You don't have to feel like walking on eggshells about this- acknowledge the elephant in the room.  However, I'm not blind nor deaf.  I can see and hear the pity written all over you.  I don't need pity, I need support and love and prayers.  It's okay to have sympathy for the situation, but treat me as you would've before this blog was made.  I'm still the same person now as I was before.  And I apologize again for not bringing this up until now. 
     I will update, when I can, about all of this.  Until then, stay tuned...