Stupid Boobs

I have thought long and hard how to title this post. I think "Stupid Boobs" is as close as I'm going to get right now. Now some of you may think that I am referring to some mentally challenged lame-brain that cut me off in traffic or something, but I am in fact referring to ... well... boobs.

Boobs come in all shapes and sizes. I have always longed for perky D-cups, but we all know that those don't really exist except in SiliconeWorld. What I have ended up with is a gargantuan size... well, H... I think. {I have in fact been up to a J which is repulsive, but I think I am at an H now.} Very nice and jiggly and I can never go anywhere without a bra, including my living room, unless I have a couple layers (like a heavy sweatshirt) on.

Boobs are useful for a time. Mine fed all of my children. My husband certainly enjoys them. I really don't like carrying them around all that much, but my chiropractor appreciates the business they cause him. I regularly have to go have my back and neck adjusted to deal with lugging 12-15 pounds around on my front.

Right now, I HATE MY STUPID BOOBS!

Last Friday, while changing my clothes, I found a lump. Freaked out. Tried to pretend it didn't actually exist. Didn't mention it to anyone.

Saturday, I called the nurse at the clinic about the supposedly-nonexistent-but-annoyingly-still-there lumpy boob; really I was just hoping she could get me in for my annual poke-and-probe a little quicker than the usual 6 weeks it takes to get an appointment. She said, "It really should be evaluated. Come in this morning." Cried. Told my husband.

The very lovely, very thorough Nurse Practitioner I saw validated my stupid non-existent boob lump and sceduled me for a mammogram.

"Great!" I thought. "Hello, Boob Pancake."

The one good thing about mega boobs though is that mammograms are really not heinous. You see, they put your boob on a shelf and then squish it into a nice pancake shape, take a picture, rearrange, re-squish, etc. My boob more than willingly sits on a shelf, and -let's just be honest here- is more flop than full anymore. Pancake... no problem.

Mammogram was Wednesday morning. The radiology tech told me before she started that she would run the pics over to the doc at the hospital (literally, next door) and don't be surprised if he wants an ultrasound. "They almost always want an ultrasound with a lump, so don't freak out." Of course, he wanted an ultrasound. They'll work me in.

Off to the hospital (next door) I go and get an ultrasound. Followed by a needle biopsy of the "worrisome nodule" they found. Surgeon talks to me. Surgeons always give you the results of these things aparently. Results Friday afternoon. {By the way, a "needle biopsy" is way more than it sounds like.}

Thursday,results in early. 4:30 appointment with the surgeon. 4:45 p.m.... Surgeon says, "You definitely have a breast cancer."

I kind of knew already. From the moment I felt the supposedly-non-existent lump... I knew. I felt it. That this was not "nothing" like most lumpy 35-year-old boobs turn out to be. It didn't matter. I still didn't know what to say...

I mean...

What do you say to that? I'm 35, ok almost 36, but still. I have no family history of any kind of cancer. I don't smoke or drink. I breastfed my babes. All that stuff is supposed to protect me, right? Aparently not in my case.

So my friends, and my family, I am in for a fight. When you are my age, breast cancers tend to grow quicker and be more aggressive. We are treating it quickly and aggressively.

I go in for an MRI on Tuesday, surgery to remove the lump and check lymph nodes on Thursday. If lymph nodes are involved and/or if they don't find clear tissue margins when they do the pathology work-ups from the surgery, that means more surgery. After surgery, 6 months of chemo. After chemo, 6 weeks of radiation.

Winston Churchhill gave a speech in June 1940, when Europe was getting totally anhialated by the Germans, that talked about how the fight needed to go on. So that 1000 years from now, people would talk about their fight and say from the midst of their struggle against the enemy came "their finest hour."

This quote is what my wonderful husband told me about last night when I asked what he was feeling. He said the doctors say that 2010 is going to be a sucky year for me, but he thinks it will be my finest hour. How sweet the victory will be. Vanquishment of the enemy in the darkest of times. My enemy is cancer.

Earlier this week, one of my friends who knew what was going on, emailed me to tell me she was praying... and specifically what she was praying. I thought is was so well put and beautiful. These are the prayers I ask for from all of you...

"...peace of mind; assurance that God is in control and will work His best for you; that somewhere deep inside, the joy still lives – lending strength through the fear and uncertainty; that the Great Physician will find that His will is that you be healed of any problem there may be.

I’ve included Tom in my prayer because the husband goes through a whole spectrum of emotions, too. (Even though he may not admit it!)"
{-And please add my sons in here. They now know what's going on... and IT'S. JUST. HARD. }

I know that God has a plan for me. I am glad for that and I accept it. I know that good will come out of this somehow. That being said, I don't have to like it! I hope to get through the coming months with as much grace and joy as I can possibly find. I know you all will be here to help.