How do YOU define 'being there' for someone?
For those of you who follow me on Twitter, or if you're a close friend, you know by now that the last week has been sort of a cliffhanger/season finale kind of time for me.
I was in the shower late Wednesday night, and was giving myself a breast exam, being the proper offspring of a breast cancer ridden family. Right boob passed inspection. Left boob, not so much. I felt a hard lump and immediately began the normal process of planning my funeral. You know me, dramatics are a must.
The next morning, bright and early, I called my OBGYN and made an appointment to get checked out. I, of course, went by myself. Sitting in the waiting room at the OBGYN is sort of nerve-wrecking. In my head I went over my grandmother's illness, mastectomy, death and how much she suffered through it all. This is in my head while I'm watching expectant mothers sitting reading their baby books and magazines, one hand on their belly...I felt another type of ache.
A great big group of you sent me well wishes on Twitter or via text. It made me feel an outpour of support and love. Thank you. A handful of you were with me step by step, and I'm so unbelievably grateful for that. Some of you made me laugh, others were anxious with me and some simply held my hand and were quiet. Thank you. Again.
So they drew some blood and the doctor did an ultrasound of my breast, and even I didn't really like how it looked on the screen. He said it looked to be malignant, but we couldn't be sure until we had tests back and an biopsy was done. We have reason to be concerned, given my extensive family history of cancer. My great-grandmother had stomach/breast cancer. My grandmother had breast cancer that spread to her brain. My aunt had breast/stomach cancer but is now in remission. She caught it early. My mother had breast cancer, also in remission. Oh yes, they didn't just pass down good looks, diabetes and sarcasm from generation to generation.
So on Thursday I had blood work. On Friday I was scheduled for a fine needle biopsy. It doesn't sound as fine as it is. You lay down sideways on a table that leaves your boob and arm hanging through a hole of sorts. The machine grips your tit, with Kung Fu force, and squashes it while the needle pierces in and takes a sample of your lump. If you weren't hurting before...you will certainly be hurting afterwards. I laid there alone, and again all I could think of was my grandmother and I cried. The boob nurse tech was nice (I'm sure she has an actual job title) and just rubbed my back and handed me tissues. I felt silly, crying. Then I stopped. I had a right to cry and be scared. The 'Oh I'm sure you'll be okay' thoughts were wearing off. I went home and now was faced with waiting until Tuesday for my results.
A friend of mine told me to blog about how I'm feeling. So this is it. I'm sad and scared.
I'll start with the scared part. Naturally one is scared of the 'C' word. But not because I may die. I'm afraid of the physical pain, the toll it will take on my body and of not dying fast enough. I'f I am to die, make it quick. I don't want to see my family suffering or my friends slowly leaving me because it becomes 'too hard' to see me go. I don't want to live there, bed ridden looking at my parents die with me. I'm afraid of needles, and painful therapies. That's why I'm scared.
I'm also sad. Sad that some people that weren't there before for me, have really stepped up to the plate. I don't have to mention you by name, but all of you who have been there now, more than ever, I love you. The sadness I have is that, some of you who claim to love me with all your hearts and that 'you'll be here for me no matter what', have done anything BUT that. I am STILL only hearing from you whenever it's easy or convenient in your day, and still being greeted with the generic bs you always gave me. It makes me sad that you honestly think I believe you love me. That you think you're being the most supportive person in existence, while completely making time for everything in your day, except for a real talk with me. It makes me sad, and it shouldn't. Because by now, nothing from you surprises me. If you don't have anything to talk to me about, don't talk to me anymore. Ever. I don't like the little half-assed attempts at 'talking' some of you make.
So tomorrow we will know. Hopefully, the ones that are being douches and selfish little jerks, also claim they read my blog often. Can you read this? Go away. Stop being an emotional leech that only looks for me when you need the ego stroke. Cancer or not, I'll set you on fire and smile.
How's that for how I'm feeling? :)
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