Time to Take My Head Out of the Sandbox

I struggle with procrastination, generally prompted by my fears.

I was due to have a baseline mammogram of my left breast in November since they altered it last May to make more of a match to the reconstructed one. The baseline is to have a clear picture of the scar tissue and how the rest of the breast tissue now appears. I've found my way to nearly two months past the recommended baseline.

From time-to-time, I will revisit what I've written in the past, reflecting on the progress I've made or where I need to continue to make improvements. It is important for me to remind myself of where I've been and where I need to continue to practice due diligence. Sticking my head in the sand to try to keep myself "protected" from what scares me is just as ineffective as it has ever been.

So, on this first day of 2009, I've made myself a note to make the appointment and face the fear, as I reread my words of May 13, 2008. It's really time to take my head out of the sandbox.

*****

"It's been over a year since you had your last mammogram," my oncologist reminded me last Friday when I went in for my six-month follow-up appointment with him.

I knew that. I had mentioned a few weeks ago to my plastics surgeon that I was due. I remember him saying something about having to have a baseline done in three months once the left breast was healed from the lift surgery. And I took it as an opportunity to put it off and stick my head in the sandbox, somehow justifying my decision to ignore what I tell others-"Get your annual mammogram! Early detection is the key to survival!"

I know better than anyone else that the reason I didn't have to go through chemotherapy is because of early detection. I also know that I have been able to make the other decisions over the cancer, rather than the other way around, simply because it was caught so early through a routine mammogram. Yet, fourteen months had passed since my left breast had been filmed.

My oncologist insisted that I have a mammogram that day, before the upcoming surgery; he called over to the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance (SCCA) and arranged for it later that day, after my pre-op appointment with the surgical team.

Driving over from the medical center to the cancer center, I began to feel as if was going to vomit. I wasn't quite certain what was going on with me. Having had the weekend to think about the events of that day, I've come to the conclusion that I was downright scared. It was also reality check.

Since this challenge began for me last year, I have been seen at ..Madigan Army Medical Center...University of Washington Medical Center. Where is there ANY mention of the word "cancer" there? Even the clinics I've been to-Surgical Specialties, Center for Reconstructive Surgery, Women's Clinic-have made no mention of the "C" word. Seeing a structure with the words "Cancer Care" brought me back to the stark reality of why my world and my body has been transforming over the past year.

I use "Coral-form" as a way to anesthetize my feelings. By taking charge, being positive, and all the other ways I allow others to see my bolder, kick-ass-and-take-names behavior (act), I numb the other feelings and not disclose them to others, or even deal with them myself. I'm able to mask those times when I do nothing, or allow myself to choose depression as my way to hide from those things which are painful. Most people never see that side of me. Walking into the SCCA compelled me to uncover that mask and look at this part of me. This was the first appointment in a year that I had been by myself without another there for me to entertain.

As I found my way around the center, I noticed so many reminders of why "we" were all there. There were baskets of hand-knit caps waiting to be claimed by patients undergoing chemotherapy, lovingly knitted or crocheted and donated by volunteers. Each person I passed in the hallway or with whom I rode in the elevator, in some way has been touched by some sort of cancer. I saw the worry and concern in the faces of many in the waiting rooms; I listened as a woman nervously introduced herself and told me that she had traveled over 100 miles by taxi to support her sister as she started her journey with a cancer form other than mine. Men and women, young and old...none of us had been spared the lessons cancer will teach. Patients, family members, friends, doctors, nurses, techs, volunteers, support staff of all kinds...each brought together because we have cancer in common.

There I sat, waiting my turn, and feeling like I wanted to run away. I didn't want to have the damned mammogram. After all, the last time I had one, it started the ball rolling on this path I've been on for the past year. I heard the words, "I'm sorry, but you have breast cancer." Then I made the aggressive decision to have the right breast removed and submit myself to a series of other surgeries to reconstruct a breast using my own tissue from other parts of my body. It's not been easy. Quite frankly, I don't want to go through the decision-making or any other processes related to cancer treatment again; nor do I wish to experience any new ones!

I do need to learn to better face those things I want to ignore in my life. I have consistently hidden from others, but also from myself. Until I learn to embrace the fears and frailties, I don't accept the whole situation as it is, and grow from that point. Closing my eyes to what is doesn't change it; it certainly makes me stumble around in a darkness I bring upon myself. To open my eyes when I'm the most frightened allows me to illuminate the situation and see it more clearly. I need to keep reminding myself of that.

Yesterday, I was home and flipping through the channels when I came across the Montel Williams Show. Yesterday's show was a montage of moments, which included these words: "I have an illness, but having an illness doesn't make me weak." What an impactful moment for me.

Of course, as of today, I'm still awaiting the results of the mammogram. I'm glad that my oncologist insisted on removing the blinders (which he didn't know I purposely wear). I'm grateful for the opportunity to be reminded that I need to remain diligent in my screenings. I'll breathe easier when I hear that I am cancer-free for another year and I really hope to hear it before tomorrow's surgery.

And as I won't have time to remove the sandbox, I will trust that my friends, family, and other support will continue to lead by example. Don't forget to bring your shovels!

"I have to face the stigma...We look at illness in America as weakness. I may be ill, but I am for damn sure not weak by anybody's stretch of the imagination. It's a tough one. That's the hardest battle to overcome." ~ Montel Williams