Diagnosis: Life is Uncertain
The Treatment is to Make Every Moment Count
This was my view after having a breast ultrasound last October. I was waiting somewhat nervously for the nurse to come in. It wasn’t the first time I was called back for further imaging after a routine mammogram.
Five years ago, they wanted to take ‘another look.’ Dense breast tissue, which I have, shows up as white on a scan versus the blackness of fatty tissue. This makes it harder to detect suspicious areas, which also appear white.
Luckily, that report was clear.
But, this visit was shaping up to be far different. They explained that a core needle biopsy would be needed because of an abnormal lymph node in my armpit. A titanium clip would then be placed at the site, marking where the biopsy was performed. ‘X’ marks the spot, so to speak.
The clip distinguishes multiple biopsied lesions within the same breast, prevents re-biopsy of benign lesions, enables multi-modality correlation, guides pre-operative localization and helps confirm surgical target removal.1
I sat in this waiting room feeling numb. The nurse supervisor was coming in to schedule the following procedure.
I told myself that the odds were with me. Of all women who receive regular mammograms, about 10 percent will get called back for further testing, and of those, only about 0.5 percent will be found to have cancer.2
Having only missed one of my annual mammograms, I said a silent thank you each year when they consistently showed normal results. Now, I quietly reasoned that not all biopsies are positive for cancer. More than 1 million women have breast biopsies annually in the United States. About 20 percent of these biopsies yield a diagnosis of breast cancer.3
Okay, the odds are still with me. But, while I’m not a gambler, I am a realist.
So, one week later, I sat again in a waiting room with a couple of other women, knowing well that I could have a positive result just like them. It felt strange, like an out-of-body experience. None of us flipped through magazines or scrolled on our phones. One lady stared at the wall, while the other had her head tilted back, resting against the wall, eyes closed. She was probably meditating to stay calm. I clasped my hands together, studying them, deciding a manicure was in order. Thankfully, we didn’t have to wait long.
Despite my grievances with our healthcare system, the people and process were terrific. Compassion and consideration for both physical and emotional well-being were on full display.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t one of the 80% who received negative results from their breast biopsies. I didn’t have breast cancer, but the swollen lymph node showed Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia (CLL).
Lymphocytic leukemias start in the cells that become lymphocytes. Lymphomas are also cancers that start in those cells. The main difference between lymphocytic leukemias and lymphomas is that in leukemia, the cancer cells are mainly in the bone marrow and blood, while in lymphoma, they tend to be in lymph nodes and other tissues.4
It certainly wasn’t the results I hoped for, but I soon learned it could be much worse. There are so many different types of cancer, and more specifically, blood cancers. CLL, the most common leukemia in older adults, is a slow-progressing form that often doesn’t show symptoms or require treatment for years. My doctor tells me most people respond well to the various treatments available and research is ongoing for even better ones.
I hope that’s the case for me.
‘Years’ and ‘most’ are ambiguous terms. But, then, we live pretty ambiguous lives to begin with:
ambiguous (adjective): am·big·u·ous
doubtful or uncertain especially from obscurity or indistinctness
Something obscure is not clearly seen or distinguished. Indistinctness is not easily understandable or recognizable. While neither is listed as a synonym, they both border on uncertainty.
We can’t foresee how our lives will play out. There’s only so much control we have over them. The rest is left to chance.
When talking with my son after this diagnosis, I pointed out that none of us can predict our futures. There are no assurances that when we leave our homes to go to work or run errands, that we’ll return. It’s not something we conciously think about, but it’s true. There are no guarantees with living.
The best we can do is eat well, exercise body and mind, avoid harmful people and things, wear a seatbelt, and try to control the little bit of dominion we have over our lives.
Post diagnosis I continue to live under those same principles. I’m fortunate enough to have time on my side, something other cancers don’t offer. Before learning about the disease last fall, my first reaction was:
Will I not get to spend Christmas with family in Florida?
We had a wonderful holiday planned, and the only thing that frightened me was that I might miss out on the fun, laughter, and good times. Not the potential threat of any upcoming treatment (or worse), but losing that time with my loved ones.
I realized it’s not the disease that scares me as much as losing my family. It’s strange, but when someone dies, we think of losing them. But it’s a two-way street because the departing soul also loses their loved ones.
Suddenly, I understood that our lives and loved ones are one and the same and of equal value. Family and friends are an integral part of who we are and how we live. I’m grateful to have children, grandchildren, and siblings who enrich my life and love me in spite of myself.
I don’t dwell on the cancer; it’s like something in my peripheral vision. I know it’s there, but I don’t focus on it. In the absence of symptoms I have that privilege.
I think about it more on check up days at the hospital. I think about it when I run my hands or fingers over an enlarged lymph node in my armpit or neck. One day I’ll need treatment and it will come to the forefront. I’ll have to think and plan and consider. Until then I’m busy making memories!
WHAT DO YOU THINK?
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Family & friends are more important than things. I learned that a long time ago. And making memories with them is more precious than all the riches in the world. Keep making those memories.
My goal is to be able to look back and say “I may not have a lot of stuff but my heart & mind are overflowing with incredible memories.”
Patti, You're a sweetie...thank you!