Are You Kidding Me?: A Breast Cancer Survivor's Story

By Lucy Morrison

My book is about being diagnosed with breast cancer and all the wonderful games I got to play. It starts out with the mammogram and further testing and continues with surgery, radiation, and chemotherapy. I was fortunate to have a less-invasive type of cancer and didnt need the kind of chemotherapy that makes your hair fall out, but I still had problems.
I am a nurse, but I was unaware of most of the processes involved in the treatment of breast cancer. I did learn a lot about diagnosis, testing, and prognosis of different types of breast cancer. I also learned a lot about being the patient and how easy it is to get lost in the shuffle. The treatment has become routine for some of the caregivers, and it is easy to get treated like a disease and not a person.
I wanted to share my experience to hopefully help others be able to fight for and demand the best treatment for themselves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 13, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493169078

Book preview

Chapter 1

Are You Kidding Me?

W hat a year. I started the year with a man living in my house, and I couldn’t figure out how to get rid of him. I had not been feeling good about this relationship for a long time. Have you ever been there? It isn’t fun. I finally got this guy out, and my stress level went way down. I lost weight and was seeing my friends, going out all the time, and meeting men everywhere. None of them were the right man, but I guess I still got it. Things were going along swimmingly. The summer was fun, and I was looking and feeling good.

That summer was my parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary. We celebrated all summer long. Family came from everywhere for the party in June. The party started informally on Friday night, continued more formally on Saturday, and the out-of-towners didn’t start leaving until Sunday.

We had a trip planned for our whole family nearer the end of summer. My mom and dad and their children and grandchildren were all going to share a house in Myrtle Beach. My son and I were a day behind the group because he had an adventure camping trip with the Boy Scouts that didn’t end until the day we were to check in. I got a call when my family arrived in Myrtle Beach, with a list of things they forgot or couldn’t get, like my brother’s favorite beer.

My son, Evan, and I started down after he got cleaned up and repacked, and I picked up everything my family forgot. It wasn’t a bad drive, but I was tired when we finally got there. Everyone was at the beach. I texted a few of them to see who would answer. We were in, but where we were we sleeping was the question. I wanted to know where to put my stuff. I was informed via text message that I was sharing a room with my parents. I was quite tired and possibly a bit cranky but texted right back. I am not sleeping with the snorers.

I was ranting to Evan, Oh sure, I just broke up with my boyfriend, so I won’t be having sex. They think they can just put me in any room. I then proceeded to ask, much to my son’s horror, What about the anniversary couple? Maybe they want to have sex.

I didn’t think I was going to be able to get him to the beach after that. I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to get him in the same room with his grandparents again. OK, maybe I took it a little too far. I guess it is bad enough to think about your parents having sex, but grandparents?

We did get to the beach, and sleeping arrangements were changed. My parents did get a room of their own. I don’t want to know what they did there, and I shared with someone who doesn’t snore. We had a great time. We golfed and fished and played on the beach and in the waves. The week flew by.

It was the end of August when we got back, and I had to see my favorite colorectal doctor. I have loved this man since he was a resident at the hospital. I had a couple of minor procedures done, and by the end of September, I was all fixed up. I had gotten rid of an asshole and had gotten my asshole fixed. I was finally cleared by this doctor on October first. Then more fun for me.

It was time for the annual mammogram, or in my case, semiannual mammogram. I never have been good about this. I have no family history and was always a little smug about blowing this off. October 2, off I went to the place all women love. I went in, got into the wonderful open-in-the-front shirt, and waited my turn. After the test, it is my choice to wait for results or go home and have them call me. Even though there is no history in my family, I always wait.

I went in to see my films, like I could read these things, and talk to the doctor. This was when it started. I see something I don’t like, she said. I needed one more test. It was now 1:30 in the afternoon, and I had not eaten yet today. I get kind of grumpy when I don’t eat. I told her I would come back, but she offered me crackers and insisted I get the additional test today. It seemed like there was an urgency in her voice. I didn’t really like that, so I stayed and had the ultrasound. Aside from hunger, I was starting to have that uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Well, she didn’t like the ultrasound either. You need to have a biopsy, were the next words out of her mouth. I never thought biopsy was a curse word until that day. I thought I was going to have to find a surgeon and make appointments, but no, We can do it today right here, right now. No need to wait for bad news, we can take care of that right away for you. I was still doing OK in spite of the surprises so far that day.

After the biopsy, I needed to have one more mammogram film. They put a marker in place and wanted to make sure it was in the correct spot. Mammograms hurt bad enough when there is no trauma to the breast, so I was really looking forward to this, if you know what I mean. I finally was finished for the day and was allowed to leave. Now the waiting began.

I told a couple of people what had happened but wanted to keep the news mostly to myself. I even saw my family and didn’t say anything about it. The funny part was I told my ex-husband and the most recent ex-boyfriend first. I saw my ex-husband that evening at my son’s football game. Spending time with the ex is always the perfect end to the day.

It was a rough couple of days, but then I got the news I was expecting—positive biopsy. I knew it all along. I could tell from the moment the doctor at the facility seemed so urgent about me testing further. It was just a matter of confirming the actual findings. I was given the name of a specialist and called for an appointment. It would be three weeks. It was going to take three weeks to see this guy.

Waiting is so much fun. I did tell a couple of my closest friends and finally broke the news to my immediate family with instructions not to tell anyone. It is amazing how people cannot keep a secret. I did have some tear-filled conversations but kept an amazingly positive attitude. It is kind of funny that things you have no control over, even cancer, can be less stressful than actually having to make decisions. This was going to change my life, but it wasn’t my fault. Although I was worried, I couldn’t try to control it, so it seemed easier to deal with.

I was afraid to tell my son. He was a freshman in high school at the time. I remember telling him, I’m not going to die. I just get to play games I never wanted to play. I didn’t seem too worried, so he wasn’t too worried.

The next three weeks passed quickly. I was working and taking care of my son. I have my own home, with lots of things to do in the fall. I kept busy with my friends and tried not to think about the looming events in my life.

It was October and it happened to be breast cancer awareness month. Really? Pink everywhere. I do not want cancer in my boobies, and I don’t want it in my face everywhere I look. I didn’t like being reminded about it constantly. I don’t want it to define me.

I had planned a party to carve pumpkins. This had been set up for a while. Some people were aware of my situation, but I didn’t tell everybody, so the cancer was a taboo subject. I wanted to have fun, and talking about cancer isn’t fun. Thankfully, everyone was respectful that night, and we spent the evening laughing and telling stories and drinking.

One of my chores during this waiting period was to take my son’s dog to the vet for her annual checkup. I call her my son’s dog because without him, I would not have a dog. I am a cat person by choice. But legally in my town’s eyes, I am the owner. She is kind of a hyper dog. She looks like a golden retriever but is part Brittany spaniel. She has a love-hate relationship with the vet. She starts shaking the minute we get to the parking lot, is a frantic mess in the waiting room, but loves the treats she gets from the pet doctor. I am sure she is in fine health, but the vet feels a suspicious lump on her left front shoulder. Wags has a lot of lipomas, and I thought it was just another one of those. He, however, wanted to take an aspiration of the spot. I have to be honest here, I don’t even really like this dog, but if the aspiration would have been positive, I would have had a meltdown right there. Fortunately for her, the vet only saw fat cells. It was a lipoma like I had suspected. Sometimes it is good to be fat.

That next Friday night was just a few days before I had my appointment with the surgeon. My friend Diane suggested going out to keep my mind off things. I went to my son, Evan’s, football game and then picked her up to go out for a few drinks. We weren’t looking for anything special, so we settled on a bar near her house. I had never been there before; in fact, I had never heard of it before. When we got there, it was very busy. All the tables were still full of people finishing dinner, and every stool at the bar was taken. We stood near a counter behind the bar, and the bartender spotted us right away. We were standing right behind a couple of guys. They were facing the bar, not seeming to be interested in the world around them. Diane ordered a beer, and I asked if they had any Landshark. They had one left from a summer-theme party. I told them I would take that and then asked if they could put a little tequila in it. It is called a loaded Landshark.

The two guys all of a sudden were interested in the world around them, or at least interested in the girl who was drinking a beer they never heard of before and putting tequila in her beer. They both turned to meet me and Diane, and we begin talking. We ended up introducing ourselves as teacher, mechanic, nurse, and nurse.

The first guy is a teacher. He is an entertaining sort of guy. He was OK looking with a little metrosexual thing going on. The other guy was stunningly handsome. He was blond (I am not usually into blonds but pride myself on not having a type), and he had a beautiful smile with big dimples. I did mention that I thought I was a bit older than them before too long, but the first guy said, We were all born in the sixties, and I agreed. I of course was born on one end of the decade and them on the other. Diane was their age, and I didn’t look or act any older. You are only as old as you act is what I always say.

We spent the next hour talking about anything and everything from cars and jobs, to families and vacations, and then another friend showed up. He was Railroad Guy. We did finally introduce ourselves by name, but by then, it didn’t matter. We were deep in conversation and having a great time.

We started talking about an HBO show called Entourage. In that show, one of the characters was freaked out by being asked if a man could give him a blow job. I tried to get the input of a couple of the guys.

I said, I mean, really, what is the big deal? Can’t you just not look down? He was going to get one million dollars for a modeling job if he just let this man do that. Both guys, I am sure, not wanting to act gay in front of us, said they couldn’t do it.

Even for a million dollars? I ask.

They said that you would be able to feel the beard. Railroad Guy took my hand and rubbed his face. He said, You could feel this. I wouldn’t be able to do it.

Well, Railroad Guy had a beard. Cute Guy was clean-shaven. I asked, What about him?

Cute Guy, seeming appalled, asked, Are you pimping me out?

What? Oh my god, no! That is not what I meant at all.

Are you pimping me out to him?

Lots of laughs later, I was accused of having no filter between my brain and mouth. That isn’t always a bad thing when you are at a bar. It can be very entertaining. I am glad to say that I do have a filter when near my mother (at least most of the time it works) or at work, but that night, my filter was turned off. A couple of drinks ended up becoming 3:00 a.m. We all had a great time and promised to meet again in two weeks to continue what we had started. Unbelievably, the really handsome guy liked me. Not the time to meet the man of my dreams, but I’ll take it. I may not have a right breast soon and I was just beginning what may be the worst part of my life, but I couldn’t doubt those dimples. I gave him a quick kiss on the way out of the bar and rubbed my cheek against his to feel his face. I guess you can tell, was all I said.

Diane picked me up Monday morning for my appointment with the breast cancer specialist, and the adventure began. While driving to the appointment, she told me that the cute guy liked me. I felt like I was in high school again.

Chapter 2

Congratulations, You Have Breast Cancer

I t was Monday morning, and Diane was here to get me. Off we went to the surgeon. He was the breast cancer specialist. He is the best in the area was what they said. It dawned on me at this time that there are some waiting rooms that should be equipped with a bar. The first thing we had to do was to watch a video. I guess telling people the same thing over and over can get a little tedious. The video began by saying that I have invasive breast