All Is Well

My breast surgeon guarantees me that the little bump near my port-a-cath scar is not a tumor. That it is likely to be an undissolved stitch although scar tissue would also be a possibility.

Why would I suddenly feel it now? Perhaps because the rest of the area has softened and resolved enough to allow me to feel it. I did figure out, through endlessly prodding said lump over the weekend, that it can be flattened out. And that was a bit reassuring.

"But can't we just take it out? Biopsy it?" My pleas were ineffective.

No.

And he really did use the word guarantee. In addition, he assured me that he doesn't use that word lightly.

I have had complete confidence in him so far and his reputation is stellar. So I will go with the guarantee in spite of the fact that, I do NOT (and will not) watch-and-see. Ever.


I don't like the downward spiral that I went on over this. I'm not sure if I think that I acted like a baby, or if it was a reasonable fear. People live with recurrence, and I all but crumbled with the fear of recurrence. I think that I was done in by having two "what-ifs" in one month.

Conclusion: I still have lessons to learn.

Breathing Again

Not that anything of substance has changed since last night. But this morning I feel like I can breathe again. And that "it" is probably not cancer. And if "it" is cancer, then I will not allow it to spoil even one more day than is necessary.

I'm tempted to make myself a rule: no posting in the evening. St. John of the Cross's book is called Dark Night of the Soul for good reason, eh?

But such is this journey. Up and down. I can't always be the breezy Jayne who is thrilled with life, who has been taught well by the cancer experience, and so on. Sorry. (And just who am I apologizing to? I don't know. My husband, my mom and my closest IRL friends I guess. They bear the burden of when-I-am-not-so-fine.)

I am off to have a normal day, folks.