I ate and drank myself through the
Christmas holiday. When I went to slip into my favorite pair of jeans for a New
Year’s Eve party, I nearly died. I could barely get my thighs in them! I was about to bust the seams
out! I got on the scales and realized that over the summer and fall, I had
managed to gain 25 pounds. I mean…when you’re good...you’re good. Wow. 25
pounds. In a matter of months. I went to the party in a different pair of pants. The following week, I decided enough was enough. I decided that
2016 was going to be the year that I took care of Amanda. I haven’t had an
actual doctor in seven or eight years. I know that sounds terrible. My former
doctor stopped practicing due to family matters and I still haven’t been
successful finding a replacement. “Find a doctor” was on my list of things to
do in 2016. I also decided after nearly 10 years of lower back pain, I was
going to bite the bullet and go to the chiropractor to see if I could get lined
out (no pun intended.) I decided I was going to start eating better and
exercising. 2016 was the year for Amanda.
I had been working out downstairs.
I had my Gilmore Girls on Netflix and I was rocking out those 25 minutes on the
elliptical. I finished that and then lifted weights. Healthier and stronger in
2016!
I finished up and noticed that my
left boob was sore. I was thinking it was probably from those butterflies I
have been doing. My upper body hadn’t seen weights in a couple of…ummm…decades.
Yeah, ashamed to admit that but nevertheless true. I came upstairs and I took
off my shirt and lifted up my bra and started feeling around on my sore breast
and there it was. It was a lump. First of all, who decided “lump” would be a
good word for it? That is a horrible word. How about a fluff? Fluff is a good word. Lump is horrible sounding. I found a lump though. As luck would have it, I already had my yearly GYN
visit scheduled for that following Monday (this was Friday.) I had my exam that
Monday and I told my doctor what I had felt. She felt it and didn’t really feel
like it was anything but went ahead and scheduled a diagnostic mammogram and
ultrasound to rule out the bad stuff. I had the mammogram and ultrasound done
on Monday, ten days after my exam. Perks of being a small town girl--I knew the girl
who checked me in, I knew the girl who did the ultrasound and while I didn’t
know the girl who did the mammogram, we are chatty in small towns, so I felt
like I knew her before we finished.
I kept hoping to hear things like
“this really doesn’t concern me” or “we see this a lot, it’s probably from too
much coffee.” None of those words ever came though. What did come were “We see
some asymmetry. It may or may not be anything but we want to err on the side of
caution and go ahead and get a biopsy.”
Biopsy. Just like lump, it’s a horrible word. Lump…biopsy…and we all know what comes next in that list of horrible words.
Biopsy. Just like lump, it’s a horrible word. Lump…biopsy…and we all know what comes next in that list of horrible words.
I went in for the biopsy on
Wednesday. My dad went with me and also drove me to the mammogram Monday. The day of the mammogram it was snowy and the
roads were bad. If it would’ve been just an ordinary mammogram, I would’ve
rescheduled but I had waited over a week and I couldn’t wait any longer. I
would’ve called the National Guard to get me there if I had to.
I have such a good dad. I’m sure a
lot of us feel that way about our dads. He is usually the pessimist (hello
Eeyore) and I am the “eternal optimist” or so he nicknamed me years ago. I
always see the glass half full. I always give the benefit of the doubt. I think
everybody has good in them and I think there’s more good in the world than
bad. I’m the funny, light-hearted one.
For the last couple of days, I have
been the pessimist. “Tut, tut, looks like rain.” I have been cheating myself
out of today’s joy and blessings by worrying about tomorrow. And because I’m
worrying about my children and their future, I have justified it all in my
head. I’m doing nobody any good though. I’m making myself sad and everybody
around me sad and worried. My Eeyore dad looks like Tigger compared to me. My
husband is coming back at me with coach pep talk when I start to be a Debbie
Downer. Everybody wants funny, witty, light-hearted Amanda back. And so do I.
And she will be back. But for now, she waits in limbo.
“Hello?”
“My I speak with Amanda Griffith?”
“This is she.
“I wanted to go over your mammogram results.”
“Yes.”
“I spoke with the ultrasound tech
today. She said they were concerned about that mass, which is surprising to me.
[MASS??? Now it’s a mass??? Now lump doesn’t sound so bad anymore. Ok, focus
Amanda]
“Yes. I’m supposed to have a biopsy
tomorrow.”
Everything from that point on, I
can’t remember. I can’t remember because I was standing at the dairy cooler in
the supermarket with my daughter while I took this call.
Ok, let me take this time to
interject. There should be a girlfriend doctor’s guide and the first
question you should ask is, “Hey gurrrrl. You ain’t all up in the Wallyworld are
ya?” Because medical reports should not be given while I am trying to decide
between mozzarella and monterey
jack and my daughter is looking at me.
I’m sure all of the color drained
from my face. It wasn’t that the news I had just received was really any
different than before, but it was a different delivery. And it scared me. And
somehow I got to the checkout counter with my cheese and my daughter, and I was
texting my husband and I don’t remember checking out and the cashier probably
thought I was the rudest person ever. And there’s a lesson I took away that day.
I have looked at people and passed judgment on their actions or words. “Oh my gosh
how rude!” But what if those people had just received some bad news? We don’t know
everything we think we do. We need to be kind to everyone we meet, even if it doesn’t seem
deserved. I wouldn’t have deserved anybody to have been kind to me that day, in
that moment. We don’t know what others
are struggling with. Always be kind.
*************************************************
Wednesday
I arrived at 7:40 am to register for
the biopsy.
“What would you like to pay today?”
“Well I’m not sure. What is today’s
cost?”
“!$%!”
“Oh, is that all?”
“Buh-bye Lasik surgery."
Yeah. We rarely even meet our
medical deductible throughout the year. We are healthy people. We had tucked away the maximum
$2,500 in our flex spending account this year and if we came to the end of the year and
the kids hadn’t broken a bone or we hadn’t had to spend that medical money, I
was finally going to get my eyes corrected.
This biopsy would have me meeting
my deductible and my out of pocket all in one fell swoop. Grrrr.
After registering, I went into the
room and they explained everything that would be happening. Basically they are
going to numb me and then they use the ultrasound to see where the mass is and
then they stick a needle in there and it sucks up the tissue sample and they
release it into a jar to send off. Yeah ok, well they do that four or five
times just to be sure they get a good sample.
While the doctor was
looking around, he saw what appeared to be an enlarged lymph node. He decided
to go ahead and biopsy that also. That is probably what scared me the most. I
have heard people whisper about cancer patients, “Yeah, I heard it has moved to
the lymph nodes” in that death sentence tone.
It took about four or five samples
for the lymph node biopsy. After that was complete, I could finally put my arm
down from over my head. I had it up there for so long that I couldn’t feel it.
My hand and my fingers were numb. It felt so good to put that arm down. Next
came my breast and when that needle went through my skin, I didn’t feel a
thing, but it sounded like the jabbing of a dull pencil through a piece of
rubber. The sound made me flinch. The breast biopsy went much faster and with
three samples, they were finished. I got “tagged” and then went back to
mammogram to do another mammogram with the biopsied spots tagged. This is done
so they will know in the future what places have been previously biopsied.
I asked the doctor when my results
would be in. He said Friday or possibly even Thursday. I told
him to not make me wait through the weekend. I begged him to let me know by
Friday and not make me go through the weekend not knowing. He gave me his cell
number and told me to call him if I hadn’t heard something by Friday afternoon.
I got iced down and dressed and
went on my merry way. I came home and I took turns between icing and sobbing. I
was scared. All I could think about was how much my kids needed their mom. I frantically thought about proms and graduations and weddings and grandbabies. I had to be
here to answer the phone when they called and needed help with a colicky baby
or how to make cornbread or when they couldn’t find that lost pair of red socks
that goes with their uniform. They need me. They needed their mom and I had to be
here.
The following day was not much
different. Less ice, but the same amount of fear and tears. Deep down, I felt
like it was something, in spite of the positivity that surrounded me.
My closest friends and family knew
about what I was going through by this time. They were offering me all the
support and kindness and love and prayers that I could hold as we waited for the results. I have been
surrounded by total love and compassion and it is a beautiful thing. Friday
morning I got up and began the normal weekday routine, getting kids lunches
packed and finding lost things, getting kids off to school. Everyone had left
except Natalie and she was standing by the door and she said, “Hey mom, look at
those two cardinals right there in the tree.” I walked to the porch and looked out there and sure as
the world, there were two beautiful red birds in the maple tree in the front
yard. As ridiculous as this sounds, I saw them and a peace that I hadn’t
experienced until this moment, came over me. I had been praying for peace,
others had been praying for my peace, but I hadn’t received it until that
moment. When I saw those birds, I knew everything was going to be ok. I came
back inside and I googled cardinals and I learned that sometimes our loved ones
come to us by way of birds when we need them most. I have missed my
grandparents every day since they passed but I haven’t truly needed their
wisdom, their peace, and their amazing love until this.
And there they were to tell
me not to be scared and not to be anxious because it’s going to be ok. And like
the flip of a switch, I was a different person. All of those doubts and fear
were replaced with strength and positivity and hope and belief and complete
resolve and suddenly there was no room left for fear and negativity.
******************************************
Friday
Around 10 am on Friday, my phone
rang. Caller ID said Roanoke .
I answered on the first ring. It was the radiologist who did my biopsies. He greeted
me and the next word was “unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately the tumor did show cancer. It’s about 2 centimeters so that’s the size we like to catch it.”
“The lymph node we biopsied didn’t show any signs of cancer though, so that’s a
good thing.” He apologized for having to give me this bad news. I told him that
I had three of the most amazing reasons to fight like hell and that I had no
doubt in my mind that I would kick butt. He wished me the best and said
farewell with “God bless.”
I hung up the phone and I didn’t
cry. Not one tear. I didn’t fall apart, and in a way, I actually felt better than yesterday.
Yesterday I didn’t have the facts. Yesterday I spent my day imagining the worst
possible scenarios and practically making my funeral arrangements. Yesterday I
sulked and felt sorry for myself. Virginia Woolf said, “It is far harder to
kill a phantom than a reality.” I was fighting a phantom over the last two
days—that voice in my head that was trying to destroy my resolve and my faith
and my strength. It wasn’t a reality and it WAS far harder to kill. Now I have
a reality. I have breast cancer. I am that girl that Martina McBride sings
about—“Cancer don’t discriminate or care if you’re just 38 with three kids who need you in their lives.” All the years I have listened to
that song and now it’s me. I am that 38 year old with three kids. And yes it sucks. Cancer sucks.
This was not what I had planned. We
have baseball and softball and track this spring and a great beach trip this
summer and I’m going back to school this fall to get my teaching degree! I
didn’t have "get cancer" on the calendar.
None of this was planned and none
of this was something I ever wanted to go through. I have cried and I have been
scared, but I have never once asked “Why me?” And I won’t. This happened to me
because it’s part of my journey. It’s not what I would’ve picked for myself—a little
trip to the Caribbean with endless little umbrella drinks would’ve worked out just
fine for me—but that’s not what was put in my path.
In the coming days and weeks and
months ahead, I refuse to be an Eeyore. I refuse to cheat myself out of my todays by worrying about tomorrow.
We got this.
-lightningbug
You are part of the Griffith Gang. You will survive. Love you. Sandy Wynn
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