Diagnosis – Freak the Freak Out!
Note: I need to thank my friend, Bridget for the subtitle of this post. She introduced me to the song, which I’ve long forgotten. But the phrase stays with me.
At the insistence of the breast surgeon, this is the first appointment David, my husband attended with me.
If my breast surgeon wants to be the one to break the news that someone has breast cancer, he should inform his nurse that she has a tell.
As usual, the automatic blood pressure reading machine couldn’t read mine the first time, and so started pumping itself up for a second time. I joked with the nurse, “I need to think of something stressful so the machine doesn’t think I’m dead.” To which she replied, “Well, lots of heavy-duty stuff gets talked about in this room.”
So, not really surprised when the surgeon came in and said, “It’s not good news. The pathology does show cancer.”
I think, to the surgeon’s surprise, David & I were pretty stoic. There’s probably a reason for that.
Let’s look back on my recent past:
- Nearly lose my child at birth
- Full-time mom of a special kid
- Took myself to the ER, thinking I had bronchitis. Told instead that I had bilateral pulmonary emboli, and the only women my age they see with these are already dead; and I need to, among other things, be on blood thinners for a year.
So, basically, my little family’s been in crisis mode for nearly eight years. Small, early, treatable breast cancer? One small layer on top. I’ve already had a brush with death, and this ain’t it.
When you stack it all together, is it the time, reason or capacity I lack to Freak the Freak Out?