GREEN MONKEY UPDATE

(Copyright 2014 Green Monkey Tales)

You may remember my blogging buddy, Shannon, a la Green Monkey Tales fame; we bonded over our breast cancer, our bilateral mastectomies, our subsequent surgeries and our complications.

One year ago, she was diagnosed with rectal cancer...

PATH TO THE REPORT

Let's talk food and conversation post-surgery — specifically, food delivery by friends and family while a patient (that would be me) is recovering. 

The people, they come with the meals. As in, they bring over the food, they sit down and they eat it with us. 

Perhaps this is peculiar to my circle of loved ones; my family lives thousands of miles away, and two out of my three siblings (plus my sister-in-law) have traveled to see me post-surgery. My husband has taken off work to take care of me, so I don't really need (or want) anyone staying at my house. Lucky for me, they all stay with my Mom.

But let's get back to mealtime...

WANDA, CHRISTINA AND ME

One of the many benefits (OK, I threw in the word 'many' for affect) of having breast cancer is that I am thrust into a world I would never have been interested in before... the wonderful world of breast cancer bloggers. These women (and a few men) are fighting the good fight and writing about it every step of the way. They may not all be professional writers — but they could be. They are witty and wise wordsmiths; their blogs, a pleasure to read. The discourse that arises on the screen is often cutting edge, and unlike anything you are going to read anywhere else.

To wit: This morning I read a fabulous post by blogger Katherine over at ihatebreastcancer discussing the announcement by the amazing Wanda Sykes on Monday that she was diagnosed with DCIS (ductal carcinoma in situ). Wanda is one of the funniest comics out there, and this news is devastating.

Wanda talked about her breast cancer publicly for the first time on "The Ellen DeGeneres Show" and shared how her cancer was discovered — while undergoing breast reduction surgery, of all things. Though her cancer was caught early (Stage 0), she opted for bilateral mastectomy due to her family history; as Wanda explained, "Cancer is cancer." This is true. But then she went on to say the words that have the breast cancer blogosphere buzzing: "Because now I have zero chance of having breast cancer." And Ellen agreed. But that would not be true. (The zero chance part, that is.)

(Courtesy Warner Bros.)

I'm joining blogger Katherine in being "Cliff Clavin"-esque here because Wanda and Ellen's comments eerily remind me of Andrea Mitchell's comments earlier in September when Andrea was also diagnosed. Andrea stated, "This disease [breast cancer] can be completely curable if you find it at the right time."

Here's the real deal: Whether they have a lumpectomy — a la Andrea Mitchell and Sheryl Crow — or bilateral mastectomy like Wanda Sykes, Christina Applegate and me (gotta throw myself in here, since this is the only time I'll be able to mention my name along with theirs and have it make sense!), when people in the media say they are "cured," they do us all a grave (pardon the pun) disservice because it simply isn't factual. It just isn't true. And it gives people false hope — not just the patients that breast cancer afflicts, but the friends and family of BC'ers too. Catch breast cancer in its early stages and your chances of staying cancer-free are certainly high — but they are never 100%. Ever.

What Wanda, Christina and I (and so many of my BC buddies) bravely did by getting bilateral mastectomies (though our cancers were found in just one breast) is still considered controversial. But that is not the point of this post.

Instead, I want to address the issue of why public figures feel the need to downplay a cancer diagnosis.

I'm pretty sure I know why they do it: Because they are afraid they won't be hired again unless they say they are "cured."

Would it be better if Wanda had said, "Yes, I found my breast cancer early and yes, I had both my breasts removed and yes, my cancer can still come back at any time and kill me"? Abso-f-ing-lutely.

But I also understand why she didn't say that. Part of it is the natural desire we all have to believe we are cured. I get that. But the other part is just as important: She has to worry about her (and her family's) financial future. Just as we all do. Just as we all don't walk straight into our bosses offices and announce that yes, we have breast cancer and yes, we might die. Because if we did, we probably wouldn't be getting that next promotion. That next opportunity. That next big gig. And so we downplay. To ease others' fears — and to ease our own.

It's a gnarly little line that people in the public eye must walk in order to save face. And we already know which side they are gonna take. The side they must: They have to save themselves first. After all (and this isn't the first time I have said this and it certainly won't be the last): They are only human. And trying to keep everything as normal as possible for as long as possible. (Can anyone relate?)

So I'm gonna cut Wanda a wide swath of slack. But I'm also gonna make sure I talk about all this. It is up to us (the "foot soldiers," as the Army of Women calls us) to get the word out and not be under any illusions that bilateral mastectomy is "the cure." Not trying to be a Debbie Downer here; just Renn the Realist.

Maybe at some point down the line, a high-profile personality will pick up a bullhorn when they are first diagnosed with cancer and tell it like it really is. But until that day happens, I'm not gonna hold my breath. I'm just gonna blog about it.

PERSONA NON GRATA

My bilateral mastectomy is scheduled and I'm at my primary doctor’s office on Monday to pick up a copy of my chest X-ray from a couple weeks ago. But they can't seem to find it. Hmmm. I make a pre-op appointment for two days later and tell them they can give me the results when I come back on Wednesday. The nurse says great, we'll see you then.

Since my cancer diagnosis, my husband has been accompanying me to all my doctor’s visits; but since this next appointment is for simple blood work, I go alone. And guess what? When I get there, they have no record of the appointment I made two days beforehand. And they have no approval from my surgeon for any blood work. And they still can’t locate the results of my chest X-ray. WTF??? 

Of course the receptionist asks who I made my appointment with. Of course I didn’t get the nurse's name. This isn't the first time I've felt this office doesn't have a clue that I exist (persona non grata, anyone?) and this makes me very scared. I'm afraid I'll fall through the cracks and I'll get to the hospital and things won't be in order and my surgery will be cancelled and my cancer will continue to grow and then I'll die. OK, I realize this is catastrophizing, but I become so flustered by these thoughts that now I can’t remember when I was in the office to make the appointment they have since forgotten. Was it yesterday? Was it two days ago? And why was I even there then? For the life of me, I can't remember. (I have chemo brain and I’m not even on chemo!) 

Apparently there is some confusion over what kind of labs I need, and they have to wait for my primary care doctor to sign off on the order. "You can wait if you’d like. But it could take 5 minutes or 5 hours." You have got to be kidding me! Do you really expect me to sit all morning in this waiting room filled with coughing kids a week before I have major surgery? I don't actually say this, of course; instead I just passive aggressively leave the office, cursing the nurses under my breath. I reach the elevator with tears in my eyes. I'm not sure which doctor's office is at fault here, but I'm going to get to the bottom of it. Like I even have energy for this crap!

I go outside and call my surgeon. His nurse says they faxed the lab request over yesterday. Great. At least now I know where the fault lies. I really like my primary doctor, he's a brilliant man, but his office is SO busy and his staff so obviously disorganized and they don't even know who I am and what am I going to do about all these details that I simply can't control? I want to scream. Why does every single thing fall to me to follow through? Why can't one thing go right? Preparing for surgery is a freakin' full-time job. I hate this.

I call my husband from my car and start sobbing. (Who knew I would need him to come with me to get my blood drawn? Geesh. And the fact that I skipped breakfast for the labs I'm now not getting? Not helping.) But rather than give me sympathy, my hubby tells me I need to stand up for myself! WHAT?? He says, "Go back upstairs and demand that they do your blood work. You made an appointment. They screwed up. Make them fix it."

Yikes. I can’t even catch a break with my own husband. Cancer sucks.

I don't want to deal with this, but I know he's right. So back in I go. But when the elevator doors open and the receptionist sees me, she quickly picks up the phone and whispers, “She’s back.” Oh great. They've all been talking about what a b**** I am. I sit back down in the waiting area, in plain sight of the snarky receptionist. I wait there for 25 minutes. No one comes out to help me. 

My cell phone rings. It's my husband checking on my progress. I tell him I haven’t made any, and start crying again. I'm not usually this passive (in fact, I err in the opposite direction: control freak) but this whole cancer thing is turning me into a vulnerable, fraying mess. This time, however, hubby offers to come over to the doctor's office on his way to work and bring me a banana (how cute is that?). I tell him, "We have to switch doctor’s offices — this isn’t something a banana can fix."

I hang up, get in touch with my inner warrior and approach the receptionist. “Look," I say, "I just need to make a new appointment for my labs.” She quickly buzzes me back into the nurse’s station. Progress! I explain my story again to the one nurse who “knows me” (and I use that phrase very loosely). She again explains that they don't know what labs need to be done until the doctor releases the paperwork. “We’ll call you when he signs it and you can come back then.”

“No.” 

I’m shocked to hear this word come out of my mouth. Warrior Woman has finally broken free. I decide I'm done for today. “I want an appointment. For this Friday. At 9 AM.” She hands me an appointment card, just like that. I get her name. 

And you better believe I’m bringing my husband.