Curve Balls and Other Hard Things
“I’m going to throw you a curve ball,” my oncologist said. “Are you ready?”
I don’t think saying ‘no’ was an option. What I wanted to do was run and hide.
I had spent the last week getting comfortable with the new reality that my breast cancer surgery — scheduled for the 29th (then 17 days out) — was going to definitely be a mastectomy. I was still working through the options for reconstruction, as well as whether I wanted to go ahead with a double mastectomy or remove “just” my cancerous right breast. I had scheduled an appointment with another cancer center to learn about the reconstruction options they offered that my current surgeon’s team did not. And earlier that morning I had a conversation with a genetic counselor about getting testing done. It was all already A LOT. I didn’t want more.
I definitely didn’t want a curve ball. I remember getting hit with balls — baseballs, footballs, dodgeballs — in grade school. It hurt.
Better to do my best to catch what was tossed my way, rather than try to duck. So, I said ‘yes’.
The curve ball: the oncologist and the breast surgeon had conferred over my MRI, and they now believed that the best course of treatment was to delay surgery and instead go straight to chemotherapy. As soon as possible. The oncologist explained the reasoning, and then asked if I wanted to start the following Monday (6 days away).
Yikes.
I asked if we could start the week after, so I had time to adjust to this shift. This means chemo will begin on Monday, January 25th. Twelve days from now.
The wonderful side to all of this is how my people have rallied around me. My mother is now quarantining so that she can come here (she lives about a 10 hour drive away). Friends are organizing meals and other aid. And, when I posted a link to Carolyn’s Cancer List (an Amazon wish list) to my social media account, within an hour, my friends and family had purchased all of the items it contained.
I feel held in love.
I also feel completely overwhelmed. There are so many decisions to make and details to organize. That’s not what is truly overwhelming me. It’s the spiritual/emotional dimension.
I’ve been feeling pretty solid that this is My Journey, that as awful and scary as it is, this is my path. I’ve been digging deep into my spiritual beliefs to find archetypes and symbols to nurture my courage and comfort my fears. I’ve been focusing entirely on the loss of my breasts, though, not the long ordeal of chemotherapy. I thought that I had at least 6 weeks of surgery and recovery time to get ready for that next phase. Now, with everything flip-flopped, surgery is months away. Chemo is happening in a matter of days.
I will keep my breast(s) a little while longer. Instead, my hair will be the first to go.
Who are the Goddesses and Holy Ones who will walk with me through this ordeal? Persephone? Kwan Yin? Who is the goddess of hair loss?
It is as though I came to a sudden halt, and I’m watching the elements of life and All That Is swirl in slow motion around me. I’m waiting to see where all the pieces land. Where are the threads that I should hold onto? Which should I release?
This morning, I watched the sun rise from the safety and comfort of my bed. The horizon turned to warm pinks and oranges, then faded out into that thin, cold mix of blue and pink that only winter can create. It was beautiful.
In the midst of this fear and overwhelm, there also is beauty and love and peace.
