Dusky edwards

February 26th of 2021, I went in for my routine yearly mammogram. I had no fucks to give. I don’t have a family history of cancer. THIS IS A BIG MISCONCEPTION. March 1st, here come the fucks. The caller on the other end requested I come back that same week. A diagnostic mammogram and possibly an ultrasound would need to be conducted. WHAT. THE. FUCK.

I went to the diagnostic. More titty squeezes. “Ok, Mrs. Edwards, we’re just waiting on the Doctor to read your images.” -Mammogram Tech.

“Ok, Mrs. Edwards, were going to need to take you across the hall for an ultrasound.” – Mammogram Tech.

WHAT! THE! FUCK!

The ultrasound, even more brutal. It didn’t hurt. Not at all. You have to lay with your arm over your head. Uncomfortable but not tragic. They just kept rolling over this particular spot in my left boob. And in my left armpit. Why? Why? What is it????

More images were sent to the Doctor for review. I sat up on the table. I waited. Surely, they’ve made a mistake.

The Doctor enters the room. She conducts her own evaluation. More gel. More ultrasound images. More tingling in my fucking arm that is beginning to lose all circulation. No one tells me anything. Not the Doctor. Not the nurse. They just keep rolling that tool over me adding more and more slime.

The Doctor finishes her evaluation and tells me I can put my arm down. I move it to it’s rightful place where it’s intended to be – at my side – and sit up. The Doctor explains that more tests need to happen. This week. I hear mass. I hear biopsy. I hear, “Do you have any questions?”

“Will it hurt?” I ask.

“It’s not comfortable. But, they’ll give you something to numb that area. But, that too will burn.”

I am escorted back to my locker to change. I ball like a baby in the changing room. I don’t do pain. I don’t do needles. I don’t have cancer. There’s NO FUCKING WAY.

The biopsy occurs the next week. The biopsy hurts like a mother fucker. The biopsy proves inconclusive in my lymph nodes. But, the biopsy confirms that I have breast cancer.

I. Have. Cancer.

Imagine it. Imagine it as I did. That day.

Immediately, I see my 3 perfect babies. I see my husband. My love. My life. Me.

This could be it.

I cry. And I cry. And I cry. And then I cry some more.

My OB/GYN who delivers the news to me on a Friday afternoon tells me that I immediately need to contact the surgeon. I’m devastated. I sit in the car with my husband and I just cry. He holds the business card of the surgeon in his hand and he calls. I tell him that I don’t have my calendar with me. He assures me that I have completely open availability.

The photo above is from that night.

“Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift – that’s why it’s called ‘the present.'”

-Bill Keane

The visit to the surgeon was O-V-E-R-W-H-E-L-M-I-N-G.

Briefest of brief

• Biopsy the next morning to attempt to get a good sample of the lymph nodes they failed to collect
• Genetic Counseling to test for the BRCA gene due to my age.
• Appointment with the oncologist
• MRI, CT scan, PT scan, Bone scan, EKG
• Port placement
• Chemo will begin (once every 2 weeks – 4 times)
• uni-lateral mastectomy (dependent upon genetic testing results)
• Breast reconstruction
• Radiation

And here is a brief synopsis of how it’s going as of today:

• Biopsy #2 again fucking hurt. It was successful in collecting a sample. It was confirmed I have cancer in my lymph nodes.
• Genetic Testing results confirmed I don’t have the BRCA gene. So, at this time, my mastectomy will remain a uni-lateral mastectomy with a reduction and a lift on my right breast.
• Was late to my father-in-law’s services (Fuck you, COVID – RIP Papa Fred) because I had my appointment with my Oncologist who is a USC-affiliated Doctor (If you’re picturing an old white dude in khakis, you hit the nail on the head).
  • Dr. ordered all the above-mentioned scans which I completed. Cancer has not spread from my lymph nodes and left breast, bone scan showed arthritis in right knee (whatev.) and something in my left tibia that they’re still investigating. EKG was fine – chemo fucks with your heart. NO SHIT. All other scans were good.
• Port placement – yet another mind fuck. It happened on a Friday. I was awake for it. I did not choose this. I felt them tugging at me. I was fully alert when they rolled my cancered-ass into that operating room. I cried. I was scared. I could cry just thinking about it the whole ordeal. I’m still tender. And it’s ugly. It makes me sad. I have to realize that it’s saving my life.

Chemo. Chemo-fucking-therapy. Why is “therapy” even in the name. It’s bullshit. Chemo, I was not ready for you. My port was still so tender. It was swollen. It was difficult to access because of the swelling. It hurt. I arrived at 1:15 PM on a Tuesday. By 2:00, I had one nurse talking me through the process, while simultaneously attempting to start my therapy, while another nurse, Helen, held my hand, wiped my tears, told me how strong I was, asked me about the faces on my necklace that I wore for strength. Those faces – my babies. Multiple attempts had to be made to access my port. The pain was tremendous. Finally, Carrie, my other angel nurse, was successful. The first hour of chemo, I was pumped with anti-nausea and anti-anxiety meds. If that doesn’t tell you about chemo, not sure what will. Chemo is the devil – the red devil as a matter of fact. Look that up. I was given that.

My first chemotherapy treatment was a week ago tomorrow. The nausea that followed was just fucking stupid. I was so sick. Along with nausea came body aches and so much emotion. As of today, I am finally beginning to feel ok. But, in a week, I’ll have to do it all again.

This is cancer. So far anyway. I have so much to add but wanted to begin to document this journey in a “stream on consciousness” sort of way. It’s important for me. It’s important for me to be able to relay to my kids why life became a certain kind of way while I fought to live. What I’m already recognizing is that when I’m down and out in chemo sickness, my emotional and mental state is not well. I go to dark places. I begin to imagine what their life could be like without me. It absolutely breaks me. I have been hesitant to learn of others experience in this. The anticipation and anxiety that comes with each and every step just frightens me. I prefer not to know.

Today, I feel good. I was able to accomplish a lot. I was able to leave the house. I was able to take my kids to their appointments and activities. I was able to eat without dry-heaving or shitting myself. Today was a good day.

I plan to edit this. I want to add more to this whole story. For now, I’ll leave it. Please reach out if you’re on a similar journey. Please. It’s nice not to feel alone.