WHERE I'M FROM, NOW: SURVIVOR

WHERE I AM FROM, NOW:

SURVIVOR

(This is my first foray into writing about my cancer diagnosis since I finished the last of my treatment modalities in December 2008. Forgive it's choppiness, but this is the essence of what remains. Thank you.)

I come from the three weeks of testing, then;

3 telling weeks in early March 2008, in Spring, my favorite time of year.

First, the initial mammogram, then the second, more extensive “call back”,

then the biopsy, a stereotactic type, on Good Friday, my hope and prayer.

Modern tools were used to determine my fate, shape my destiny and save my life,

a blessing and a curse from all they etched both internally and externally;

the memory of the procedures and the scars forever reminding me

of the path I walked nearly two years ago, a journey

I won't ever forget, won't ever shake.

There was the pain I first endured then, the first of what was to come later;

of lying flat and still on a table with my right breast hanging through a hole,

the needle's sting and the drug's burn, a method to numb the area, uselessly;

of the slight cut of the knife and some blood,

the numbing agent that didn't work,

the hollow tube inserted inside,

the awful sound of the machine collecting the contents for analysis,

the slight bruising afterward,

then, the waiting game for days on end,

fingers and toes crossed for a good diagnosis that never came.

I come from the initial diagnosis,

her words piercing my skull like a bullet, shattering

all I had known before, who I was and all I planned,

my daily life altered indefinitely,

my future set aside to the sidelines of my life,

my dreams wrapped up and put away, forgotten for a time,

while I faced my own mortality alone inside my being, my mind.

My life, the life I had carved out on my own and for so many years, had changed,

the diagnosis and the fear swallowed me whole and spit me out again,

while I drowned in my tears in this paradigm shift,

this change that has altered the who, what, when, where and why of me

even now, Yes, even now

“You have breast cancer”, she said, “it's DCIS”,

(the words I will never forget, my negligence forever haunting me)

“It's Ductal Carcinoma in Situ, Stage 0..we don't know it's origins yet..”

(Why me? Why now? Christ, what did I do?! No breast cancer in my

family...why...oh why...not now, not now please...”)

The low moan of desperation and panic, building,

me wondering when all of this would stop, when everything would just

Go away,

just go away....

What more lessons did I have to learn?

Thoughts tumbled around inside my head, a jumbled and fragmented mass;

of confusion and enormous overwhelm, unraveling my control

There was no release, no words on my part, not even a scream, not even a tear.

I was frozen and transfixed in place and time, alone in my terror and fear,

seated, with my head in my hands, trying to comprehend and digest.

Instead, my eyes were fixed on the rug on the floor, admiring its texture and

color,

this, a way for me to escape, to avoid the truth,

to float away to some place different,

to some place other than this, my latest nightmare

“ We're waiting for the pathology report. We need to see if the receptor's on the cells are estrogen or progesterone positive or negative...this determines the treatment modalities......but it's good, it's good”,

I looked up at her blankly, not understanding,

then turned away, back to the rug again, lost in thought

tears welling in my eyes, denial and disbelief setting in,

a shake of my head,

decidedly unamused, though somehow it all made sense, at least to me;

the words “Cancer...Cancer... Cancer...” was all I heard,

nothing more,

nothing less,

her words “But it's good” infuriating me, the volcano within slowly erupting

What did that mean?

Why would she say that?

My mind went blank, my body went numb and limp,

I heard but didn't hear, felt but couldn't feel,

I was present and absent in the same moment,

in the here and now, but lost in the past,

lost in this cruel irony, my diagnosis coming the same age my mother died,

Cancer, too...but of a most potent kind; lung and bone cancer,

her burned body from radiation, the sagging skin, her frail body,

broken, irreparable.

Would that be me?

Would that be me?

Memories of so long ago, so far away in the expanse of my life,

coming back to me, haunting me like a ghost;

the memory of her loss tormenting me once again,

reminding me of the life long journey I have taken without her;

of how much I needed her then, of how much I need her now,

of how much I miss her, love her and need her, still;

to hold me, to take my pain away, to wipe away my tears in her arms;

this irony, real and palatable to the touch, killing me, finally.

Setting forth the anger that has yet to abate, that still follows me.

I wanted to scream but was mute, silent as stone

Stunned and aware, flat and rounded, open and yet so closed

This was the last straw, the last straw

No more

I come from the technical jargon, doctor speak for all that was to come;

of Cat Scans and MRI's, those with contrast dye, and those without;

of Photographs and tattoos for the radiation treatment,

of spelling my name and date of birth regularly,

proof of my existence, part of the rules;

of standing half naked too many times;

strangers surveying my body, my breast, handling me like chattel.

I come from hands, too many hands, large and small, cold and hot,

touching me, manipulating me into place, shifting my breast for a better view,

aligning me and it when the rays entered my body, properly;

of the deep redness and burn, the exhaustion that debilitated me,

of their words of apology for hurting me, of their words of comfort,

of how nothing mattered anymore;

of bruises from blood drawn repeatedly,

of soreness from additional mammograms,

of surgical prep, anesthesia and the scalpel's knife twice in one year

First, the lumpectomy, and then, the hysterectomy and salpingo-oophrectomy

that rendered me neutered, the dream of children lost to the abyss,

what I already knew,

what I already understood

but it was different this time,

it was final, final.

I come from the scars that dot my torso, of the dent in my breast I see each day,

of the scar that encompasses the entirety of my right nipple, faded now with

time.

I come from the game I play sometimes,

of connecting all of my scars together in my mind,

giving them shape and

formation; diamond shaped, color, cut and clarity, the purpose clear.

I come from all of this, My life saved, but no longer whole.

I come from the place of survivorship;

of being a Woman Warrior,

armed with strength and determination, the steely focus to heal, to survive

Athena reborn, spear in hand,

Hera mounting her throne, crowned

Hestia keeping the home fires burning

Aphrodite trying to love unselfishly.

But there is the emptiness that remains behind my eyes,

the sense of loss that prevails, the darkness that remains within.

I am myself but someone different,

someone remote and distant, cold and removed,

someone frightened and forever reminded

of what I have lost,

what I have gained,

what I still need to do

before it's all over and I turn to dust,

a memory to those I love.