I finally told the girls about my cancer and impending treatment (surgery, reconstruction).

Here is how it went down:

Me: “Girls, remember how Auntie Kristin died of cancer?”

(Both girls nod yes)

“Well, when they found the cancer, she was in late stage 3, close to 4. When they find cancer at stage 4, it’s usually too late to do much. There are stages to cancer, 0, 1, 2, 3 and 4. If they find the cancer at 0, 1 or even 2 and sometimes 3, there are lots of things they can do to get rid of the cancer. Usually surgery is used to cut out the cancer and then sometimes you have to take medicine after wards.

They found cancer in my left breast. But it’s …”

Josie interrupts, big smile, “Stage 0!”

“Actually, Stage 1. But that’s good, I’m going to have surgery and they’re going to take it out.”
Ava: “When did you find out?”

“Last week.”

Ava: Why didn’t you tell us right away?

“I wanted to know the date of surgery before I told you.”

Both girls: “When is the surgery?”

“June 15th.”

Ava: How long will you be in the hospital?

“One night.”

Josie: But you’re going to look weird! It’s going to be wavy on your chest!

“They are going to put something in and I’m going to have even bigger boobs, isn’t that great?!”

Both girls: “Ew! Like what?”

“Mmmm plastic bags with salty water in them.”

Ava: They’re going to put Ziploc bags in your boobs!?

“Uh, kind of, something like that. It’s safe.”

Ava: Can we watch Spongebob now?

So there you have it.Clearly, they’re traumatized.

I’m still researching and looking at pictures of reconstruction. I see boobs everywhere. It’s always on my mind. I scar easily and I have hyper pigmentation big time. I am picturing myself post reconstruction and can’t help but see Jack Skellington’s girlfriend Sally in my mind.

The Biopsy was challenging: the wire localization should have taken 20 minutes, mine took an hour. I almost fainted at one point: the pushing of needles deep into my breast was faint-worthy. Add to that the paddles that squeezed my stabbed breast in place and having to take a deep breath and be still….ergh!  After surgery, my breast suddenly swelled up and became hard. Two hematomas were forming. More than a month later, I still have one hematoma, it is hard and rectangular, this breast is already foreign to me.

Five days after the biopsy, I learned the results.

The surgeon broke the news to me in a cold, clinical manner. “You have stage I breast cancer.” I felt my head spinning. Cancer? Me? The doctor spoke of two different kinds of cancer in my one breast: ductal carcinoma in situ and invasive cancer, the more serious one.  He recommended a mastectomy and reconstruction. I could do radiation and forego the mastectomy in a bid to save the breast, but he did not recommend that. “I wouldn’t wait more than three weeks before taking action.” He relayed the information to Willey, making eye contact with him, as I sat crying, the reality hitting me like a swarm of locusts. His words buzzed relentlessly, surrealistically.

I still had to go back to school for an evening event. I had spoken of the event all day to my 27 third grade students. I couldn’t be a no-show.  I wanted to feel normal so I washed my face and went to work, mingling with former students and their parents, talking to current students and parents and meeting (possible) future students and their parents. Oddly enough, I felt energized as I drove home. The next two weeks were tough. I cried without warning: at work, at home, at the grocery store. Three weeks later, I started to compartmentalize my fear and sadness: I cried only when taking a bath. While soaking, I looked down at my hardened, bruised breast with two scabs: one a smiley face, the other a frown. The entire breast was shiny and wrinkled, covered with a surgical glue in lieu of stitches, numb.

As far as cancer diagnoses goes, I am very, very lucky. At Stage I with microscopic cancer, I have several options and good odds to obliterate the cancer. Years ago, no one would have detected it this early because you can’t feel it at all. The new digital machines at EVDI caught it.

I received two more consultations before weighing my options: breast conservation? One mastectomy and no reconstruction? Bilateral (double) mastectomy and no reconstruction? One mastectomy with reconstruction? Bilateral mastectomy with reconstruction? And if I choose reconstruction, should I wait or do it immediately?  There is a 1% chance with each year that passes that the other breast will develop cancer (therefore, in 25 years, there is a 25% chance I would develop cancer in my right breast). I do not want to go down this road again in the future, if I can help it.  Many decisions to make: which surgeon, which plastic surgeon, whichprocedure to do….Mind boggling, given the fact that just a few weeks ago, my most serious decision was whether to get eyelash extensions or not!

The stages you hear about in cancer usually have to do with the size of the cancerous mass as well as the type. My case is on the serious side because one of my “masses” is the invasive kind. We know what invasive/invading means….and you can surgically remove it, but the chances of it recurring are extremely high. Hence, the recommendation for a mastectomy.At stage one, my cancers measured 4 mm and 5 mm. Stage 4 includes tumors 5 cm. in size.

Maybe if I was 80, I would simply opt for a bilateral mastectomy and be done with it. But, I am *relatively* young (Hey! I heard that!) and a bit vain, so I am opting to have reconstructive surgery, too.

It sounds rather obvious, but this brings the sense of mortality front and center. Don’t we all assume we will live to be at least 80? Faced with the chance that I may live just a few years….I had to reassess my life.

I am grateful I have:

• a new network of thriving breast cancer survivors;
• a career I love;
• a strong, loving husband, two beautiful children;
• wonderful, thoughtful, generous friends and a dedicated extended family.

Each day counts. I purchase more organic foods now and drink lots of green tea. I’m going to continue with my plan to complete my Principal’s certificate and MA in Education Administration. I see this new diagnosis like a triathlon. I have no desire to do a triathlon, but I know I can do it.

Ava wrote some thoughts on a pad of Hello Kitty paper and left it on the kitchen counter. I call that up for grabs. It’s not a diary under lock and key….so here is some sharing:

April 26

Tomorrow I have my Big test. My mom keeps saying do your best.

So wish me luck

Test: April 27

2010 1st grade

Thursday, April 18, 2010

My dad was mean when I took a bath. I triped on the floor. And now I am in my room writing.

Friday, April 11

Next week I’m goin to have a BIG test. I am so scard wish me luck

Ava

Dear Josie and Ava,

Please do not collect any more shiny, smooth, beautiful rocks and put them in your pockets. Because when you do that, you inevitably throw your clothes into the laundry room and I – being too, too, too busy to check all the pockets – simply throw them into the washing machine and then into the dryer. This is not good for the machines.

Besides, stonewashed jeans went out in the 90s.

Lessons learned on the Road:

When your husband takes the kids out for dinner to Panda Express (again) while you are in a night class, don’t tell him that the food is unhealthy.

Signs of a good daddy can be found anywhere, even on his nightstand.

I admit, I am quick to point out his flaws, so here are (some) kudos to the father of my children:

• Grits his teeth and suffers silently  as Ava reads about “The Secret Unicorn.” (She just finished “Barbie’s World”).
• Is extremely patient as he points out mathematical errors and doesn’t get angry when Josie sighs heavily while correcting them.
• Attempts to check homework and often digresses to lecturing about the origins of Man.
• Is the girls’ biggest fan when it comes to Suzuki practice (“stop playing the CD and get started playing, girls!”)
• Plays Hide and Go Seek with the girls, only occasionally pretending to seek them while he sits in his chair, playing Solitaire on his iPod.

I used to live in San Francisco. Occasionally, when I tell Arizonians this fact, I get a raised eyebrow and “what made you move out here?” I usually give them my explanation in the form of a short story: it got too expensive to raise children in the Bay Area, I got tired of struggling just to make ends meet, too many homeless and litter and crowds. And the freakin’ fog! Sheesh! We never saw the sun.

But the truth is, I was drawn to something here. I was pulled, not pushed.

You notice I say “I” and not “we”? Willey fought the move every bit of the way. He loved the city where he was born and raised. He enjoyed the jacket weather, the fog, the coffee shops and action. He didn’t want to leave his friends, his family. I had no real attachments. I only miss my writing group (go Kicking Muses!) and SFSU. I had my fun, riding the J Church, grabbing coffee at Martha’s on 24th Street, dreaming at the pier, watching the waves go out, and come back in again. I had worked in high rises in San Francisco, heard the horror story of a crane that went down just across the street and killed a woman in her car, right across the street from my posh office. As a recent college graduate, the City was heaven: art galleries, bars, and boutiques dotted the City throughout. San Francisco is a 7 by 7 mile square. One can easily walk from one end to the other early Saturday morning, starting from the Pacific Ocean and end with lunch downtown. I fell in love with the artistic energy of the City. Armed with a desire to make movies, I interned for an independent film. I watched actors prepare for their scenes and then deliver them. I made several short-short films and attended International Film Festivals. It was a dream come true for a “me” generation person in her youth.

But Josie was born and 16 months later, Ava came along. I had to carry a stroller, diaper bag, snacks and two children everywhere I went.

• Parking was always a 20 minute endeavor, minimum. Then, after finding parking (at the grocery store, the mall, the doctor’s office), I had to lug all of that to the door and then open the door without help.
• Couped up in the house, I’d bundle the girls and put them in the double stroller, leash the dog and go for a walk. Neighbors, seeing us walk by their yards, would raise the windows and yell, “don’t let your dog pee in my yard!” And then slam windows shut.
• Taking the girls to Golden Gate Park one day, we stumbled upon a used hypodermic needle in the sand box!
• Fog, fog, fog and then….more fog.
  
• Willey left our garage door open one day and within 20 minutes, someone had entered our garage and stolen several of his tools and his bike. All this was done in broad daylight.

Sounds trite to allow this to bother you, I know, but when your day is spent trying to find parking and doing mundane things AGAINST the flow, well, life just sucks. There just had to be an easier way, a more enjoyable way of living!

One day, wearing my fleece jacket, fleece pants and socks in our drafty kitchen, I read an article in the SF Chronicle about Gilbert, AZ. It was one of the most popular new destinations for young families:

• New homes twice the size of our SF home, half or even one-third the price;
• Great schools;
• Sun, sun, sun!
• Dog parks everywhere and,
• Low-cost living.

It was just what I wanted. I couldn’t get it out of my head. I was working part-time at SFSU and gearing up to go back to work teaching elementary school full-time. I was battling SFUSD who kept losing parts of my files, ( little things, like  my fingerprint card, letters of recommendation and transcripts). I informed Willey about this new place. He couldn’t see us in Arizona: too hot, flat, boring and void of culture. I answered, “let’s just look.” So we packed the girls up and took a flight out. Willey and I couldn’t agree on any homes in Gilbert. I liked this one, he didn’t. He liked one and I didn’t. Our real estate agent, a gorgeous, tall, pixie blonde named Goska, suggested Mesa. “It’s full of natural beauty.” We saw a home butted up against some “mountains” (OK, maybe very tall hills is more accurate). The sun was coming down, leaving the sky a hot pink, orange and yellow. It was stunning. When the sun left, a curtain of black laced with stars surrounded us. Willey and I agreed, this was gorgeous. We loved it. Our SF home was up for sale that week. It sold within two. We put an offer on the Boulder Mountain house and the rest is history.  

This weekend, I went to the Breadsmith in Las Sendas and purchased bread made from scratch that morning. As I left the store with warm bread in hand,  I noticed a bicycle leaning against the building. I smiled, knowing that the owner would find it still there upon his return.

Gave the girls a lecture about “thankfulness, gratitude and hard work.”  Told them they are lucky to have three meals a day, nice clothes and all the toys they could ever want.  Their faces grow long. They look down at the floor.

“And another thing, you guys have a DOG! Look at how many of your friends whine endlessly that they want a dog! And you don’t take her out and play fetch and you don’t pick up her poop. You are old enough to pick up her poop now. Definitely old enough.”

Josie runs to get plastic bags and actually starts picking up the dehydrated piles in the backyard, smiling.

Ava pouts and puts both elbows on the kitchen counter. “Mom, no fair! She beat me to it!”

I reply, “how about she gets the back yard, and you get the front yard.”

“Noooooo! There’s a lot more in the backyard than in the front!” She cries out in tears.

I smile inwardly. Sibling rivalry knows no bounds.