We are in June.
June is a weird month for me.
June is
“my” cancer month.
Actually is all started the weekend before my 35
th birthday.
May 25
I had been pretty tired so
Ryan decided to take all the kids for the Memorial Day weekend and go to the
cabin while I stayed home to rest.
To be
honest I wasn’t totally in love with the idea.
I was still keeping Alyssa pretty close; after all she had only been
released from her two week hospital stay a few weeks earlier. But I did rest and
got some things done around the house.
I
was pretty excited when they finally all got home.
May 25 was the night I decided to sit on the floor in the kid’s room so we
could read a bedtime story.
Alyssa was
trying to situate herself on my lap, around my big belly.
Abby or Kaden, I don’t remember any more
which one, came up to try and tickle Alyssa.
She flung her head back, hitting my right breast.
I had immediate pain, a lot of pain.
May 25 was when my first thought was, “Hey, I am almost nine months pregnant
- of course that is going to hurt getting hit there.”
But what I couldn’t figure out was why there
was a lump there.
Again, “I am almost nine
months pregnant, weird things happened there when you’re this close to having a
baby.”
I will just remember to ask my OB
in a few weeks – no worries.
June 1 was a great birthday.
We went
to Walmart and bought the kids a Slip-N-Slide.
They played on it most of the day.
Then we had my favorite ice cream cake from Dairy Queen.
I truly wasn’t giving the lump I found the
week earlier a thought.
June 9 was my scheduled OB appointment – 38 weeks.
Baby is growing and everything is measuring
right on.
June 9 I was still naïve and blissfully unaware.
I almost forgot to mention it to my OB.
She did a breast exam.
She said she wasn’t sure.
She asked how long it had been there.
I don’t know, I only found it a few weeks
ago.
It wasn’t there when I had an exam
in January.
She was hoping it was just a
type of cyst or fluid filled pocket.
She
was going to send me to a surgeon who would do an ultrasound and then we would
go from there.
June 9 was when my OB said she wanted me to get it taken care of before I had
this baby.
June 12 was the day the surgeon was booked.
Her staff said they couldn’t get me in until mid-August – seriously?
I had my doctor call and tell them about my
situation.
I should have realized this
was something to worry about.
She saw
me, on her lunch break.
She didn’t like
what she was seeing on the ultrasound.
Time
seemed precious and there wasn't any to spare. She scheduled me for a biopsy –
the next day!
June 13 – Friday the 13
th.
I am not really superstitious but maybe I should have been.
June 13 is when I went to have a biopsy. Pain.
I have never had a biopsy before, I had no
idea how painful
it was going to be.
At first they didn’t know how to do it
because of me being almost nine months pregnant.
Typically they have you lay on your back
while they do the procedure.
It was going
to take between 30-60 minutes and I couldn’t lie on my back that long.
They tried to prop me on my side, but I
wasn’t supported very well and I was straining my back just to stay still and
in the right position.
Then they prepped
the site and draped a cloth over me, kinda like in an OR, so I couldn’t really
see anything.
I was glad about
that.
After I got home I googled the
needle thing they used.
It was called a
punch biopsy – and yeah it feels just like its name.
If I would have seen them pushing it into my
breast I probably would have fainted.
I
believe they ended up taking 6 core samples.
First they numb the area with
about 6 shots of local anesthesia.
Pain.
Then they wait a few
minutes.
Then they take the samples.
The first few I did okay.
But by the 4th one I started shaking and
feeling really dizzy – the anesthesia was starting to wear off and I could feel
everything.
They still wanted 2 more.
I didn’t think I could take any more.
I was sweating like crazy.
I think they would have tried for another one
but they looked at me and realized I wasn’t looking so good and stopped.
I laid there, crying, for a while to
recover.
It also bled for some time so
they wanted to make sure it would eventually clot on its own.
It did and I drove myself home.
Home to wait.
The surgeon would take it to pathology that day and 3 days later she
would call me, not including the weekend of course.
LONGEST. WEEKEND. EVER!
June 17 was a Tuesday.
June 17 I got a call.
June 17 I told myself the first sentence from my doctor was the most
important.
If she asked me to come into
the office to talk it was not good news, because who would tell you over the
phone you have cancer.
“Kim I got the test results”
Phew she didn’t want to see me. Okay nothing serious.
“It came back positive, Kim you have cancer.”
June 17 was the day I sat on my bed crying.
Not know anything, feeling lost and scared. My world stood still.
I tried to call my husband at work, but he
was with clients and couldn’t answer his phone.
I tried my mom, no answer either.
June 17 it's the day I made a lot of phone calls and had to tell people I
had cancer. It's also the day I couldn't make any more phone calls and asked
others to please tell family and friends for me because I just couldn't do one.
more. call.
June 19 was the day I met my oncologist.
MY ONCOLOGYIST.
I was meeting an
oncologist the day before having a baby.
He apologized he was having to see me. He was nice.
He saw me after hours; it was the only time
he could fit me in.
I think we were
there for a long time.
I left feeling
numb, overwhelmed and scared, but I was not empty handed.
I got 5 prescriptions I needed to get filled
before chemo started.
June 20 I had a beautiful, healthy 9 1/2 pound baby boy.
My saving grace, Gage.
June 21 was the day I went home to be with my family. I wanted to live in
ignorance for one week.
JUST ONE
WEEK.
Tons of doctors were calling to
set up scans, blood draws, test and appointments.
I ignored them.
I just wanted one “normal” week with my baby.
I didn’t think that was too much to ask.
June 30 is when I didn't even listen to half of what she said. My nurse navigator
is what her title was.
Someone who told
me about the treatment plan that my oncologist thought would give me the best
chance for survival.
She explained the
chemo, the potential side effects, the prescriptions, more side effects, when
to call, and when to go to the ER.
I
cried.
She handed me papers to help me
remember, I couldn’t see them through the tears.
At
some point, she asked if I had any questions. I couldn’t talk.
June 30 was the day my husband told our kids their mother had cancer.
I remember I didn’t really say anything for
fear of bawling in front of them. We read a book and tried to help the kids
understand.
I am not sure how anyone
could understand what was about to take place.
This is June. This is what my June was.
23 days.
23 days from just finding a lump to “you have cancer.”
Just 23 days.
It's not that long.
It felt like a lifetime.
While I know the June of 2015 is not the same as June of 2014, it's still a
hard month for me. I know there will be no ultrasounds or biopsies or having to
hear you have cancer again this month. Somehow this June has felt like I am
back to that June.
It's a hard month for me emotionally.
If I seem distant or quiet or look or sad or tired, know that I am.
Because this is my June.
But is also carries over into July.
July 1 was the day I had a Breast MRI.
Trying to lay still while everything is hanging down.
Not to mention I was very engorged from
suddenly stopping breast feeding because they injected dye into me for the procedure.
July 1 the day I scheduled my MRI for the late morning so I could breast
feed my baby one last time.
My last baby
I will ever nurse.
I had tried to come
to terms with everything that would be happening to me but this just seemed so
unfair.
I felt robbed.
July 2 was the day of my port surgery. I struggled with recovery.
My chest was in a lot of pain.
Every time I moved I could feel the weight of
the device implanted in my chest to make getting my year of chemo treatments
easier.
I couldn’t pick up my baby, I
couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t use my left arm.
July 3
was the first of many blood draws and my first MUGA scan,
to get a baseline for my heart.
One of
the chemo drugs has the potential side effect of damaging the heart.
I remember how bad it hurt because they
accessed my new port.
Not even 24 hours
out of surgery.
July 4 a holiday.
For me and for the
doctors.
So I got to spend it with my
family.
Unfortunately I was full of
anxiety waiting for Monday.
The first
day of chemotherapy treatments.
Treatments that would be every week for 18 weeks then every 3 weeks for
a year.
July 7 the day I didn’t want to get out of bed.
I would have given just about anything to
stay there.
I didn’t want to leave.
Leave my little baby and go sit in an infusion room for 6 hours,
away from him.
Not being his mother.
Not taking care of him.
Not really a choice though. I drove myself to
the hospital.
I could have just kept
driving – to anywhere.
When I got there
I couldn’t get out of the car.
I just
sat there crying. Now I was late.
I
better go.
I got as far as the hospital
doors.
I sat down on the bench and cried
some more.
That is when Ryan showed up,
with a rose, and held my hand as we walked in together.
