Eight Days. What I didn't know
In my work as a Clinical Psychologist, I have, from time to time asked my clients to construct a time line of important events, times of change, profound moments across their lifespan to date. Typically these timelines feature birth of a sibling, new school, new house, parental divorce, travel, birth or death of a family member, graduations, marriages or relationship break ups, job opportunities or losses, pregnancies, accidents, diagnoses, and traumatic events. Often one of these events in particular is a focal point, forging a line that separates all other events either pre or post that moment in time. For some, it’s a life changing moment.
What is distinct about the timeline activity is that it specifically requires the individual to pluck out from memory, external moments, events or happenings deemed important or profound. Secondary then to that is the discussion that follows with the client about what made these moments profound and how that individual’s life course, lifestyle or perspective was altered, refined or shaped, as a result of the event. It also gives the therapist a good snap shot of the person’s journey to date and what events are subjectively more important than others.
Like most people such as me in their late 30’s, I too have experienced some of the events mentioned above, and no doubt some I will experience later. Life has been kind to me. Very kind, actually. I forged some strong friendships, travelled, found the love of my life, gave birth to three great kids, graduated with a Masters, embarked on a fulfilling career path. It often unnerved me somewhat that not much of the bad stuff had seemed to come my way. I have worked with individuals who have experienced complex trauma and lead chaotic and often displaced, peripatetic lifestyles who have seemed to endure perpetual misfortune. I, on the other hand, have personally not known adversity in the true sense of the word. I therefore imagined that I was owed a crescendo of bad stuff at some point and wondered when it might present. Notwithstanding, I have endured the messy break up, the loss of a dear Great Aunt, I’ve grappled with the complexity of family relationships, disappointments and disconnections, and some years ago I attempted, unsuccessfully, to resuscitate a dying man in the street. That moment was profound. All of these moments, defining.
If I knew what was going to happen next I’d be anticipating marking it as the ‘life changing moment’ on the timeline. With hindsight however, I don’t think my actual breast cancer diagnosis at 39 was necessarily profound. The surgery and subsequent loss of a breast eight days later really wasn’t either. I hear you scoff. Of course both these experiences were poignant, and yes horrifying and unforgettable in their own right. And people who know me know that these things were more challenging than I could have ever bargained for. It goes without saying that I still struggle to process everything intricately hair triggered by the loss of my breast. It has, after all, only been a few weeks, and no doubt I will struggle with it for some time. However, I do think when I look back in years to come, the eight days in between these moments will be most enduring in my mind and profoundly prominent as life changing.
I cannot say it was a single event that happened, in fact, nothing ‘happened’ during those eight days. It felt to me like the world had stopped as I waited for further clarity on my diagnosis. Strangely enough, it was what I didn’t know during those eight days that was profound to me, and most difficult to sit with. For instance, I didn’t know how aggressive the cancer was, if at all. That couldn’t be properly clarified until after the surgery. I didn’t know if the cancer had reached lymph nodes. I didn’t know if it had been coursing through my body for years. I didn’t know if that shoulder pain on the same side as my diseased breast was a secondary bone cancer. I didn’t know if this was going to kill me and when that might happen. I didn’t know if this meant my three very young children would lose their mother way too soon. I didn’t know what, if anything, they would remember of me if I did die. I didn’t know if under that cool, loving and practical exterior, my partner was actually petrified or boiling over with the fact that I hadn’t noticed the lump and acted earlier. I didn’t know if my infant daughter had received a shonky gene from me and would be battling with this herself in years to come. I didn’t know how to break the diagnosis to my mother. I didn’t know if my breast surgeon was a local saint in the surgical field or a cowboy. I didn’t know if this was the end of my career, my beautiful life, my amazing luck, to date. If I didn’t know about this 5cm tumour last week, what else didn’t I know about? I didn’t know how to stop catastrophising, something I assist my clients with every day! I didn’t know if this was the crescendo, and when it would end.
It seemed every other daily task, commitment, responsibility I had within those eight days was suddenly reduced to insignificance. If I attempted to carry it out, I was lousy at it anyway. I watched my children with a new grief that heavily weighed down my heart as if it were an anvil to support inside my chest. It felt so debilitating, however when they would fight over a piece of lego all tolerance was lost. I would scream at them and be far from the loving, appreciative and all embracing parent I wanted to be remembered as. My usual finesse of multitasking, balancing everything and being seemingly in control was lost. This was at best extremely inconvenient and at worst, completely disarming and threatening to my sense of purpose. I begrudged the interruption and I deeply resented questioning my worth as a person. I felt cognitively compromised. It became an onerous task just to make my son a vegemite and cheese sandwich. I am not a violent person but I wanted desperately to punch anyone who told me I wasn’t alone. Did I co-share my breast with any of them? Not to my knowledge. This was my breast, my life. This was as alone as I’d ever felt. I was absolutely, positively alone.
What struck and bewildered me most of all was the overwhelming guilt I felt. It was, after all, was the ultimate foolish act – to bring three children into the world only to devastate them by leaving. And yes, it was my fault. I had self diagnosed the lump as a blocked milk duct at the time my daughter was born, and not bothered to actually cross reference that diagnosis with the perspective of someone with a medical degree. I felt like I’d monumentally f**ed up and my kids were to lose a mother because of it. I finally was exposed for the fraud that I was. This rationale was the catalyst for teary outbursts, moments of deep sadness and helplessness, and complete intolerance and irritability. And to reconcile in my head that a few days prior to this I was concerned that our renovations might creep into Christmas, that I needed to arrange care for the kids for when maternity leave came to an end, that my 4 year old wasn’t eating a larger range of vegetables. Now it felt like I had taken my life for granted up until that point. My ‘first world’ problems were ridiculous, meaningless. I was probably going to die of cancer and the world would just keep turning. Nothing lost, nothing gained on a global, let alone local scale. I hadn’t made my mark.
The eight days were slow, sleepless, monotonous and maddening. The worry left me feeling sick and unable to eat which was ironic because I wasn’t ‘sick’ with this disease. I was sick of dealing with the uncertainty of it. It brought home to me what an impatient person I was. I didn’t have the reserve, the constitution to even wait a few days for test results without going crazy. It shone a torchlight on all the character flaws that niggled away at me before now. Now they seemed unbearable. By day six or seven I suddenly couldn’t stand my own company and figured I was wearing thin on others too. Some people deal with this sort of uncertainty for months, years sometimes. I wondered how they did it. For many, it’s so much worse than my uncertainty. My brain went to wondering about parents who have missing children and how to God they cope with a protracted period of time without knowing where they are. I lost my son on a crowded beach once for 30 seconds and felt quite nauseous. I was only dealing with the uncertainty about my own health status for God sake, not someone else’s such as my child’s or partner’s.
For eight days I had an acute experience with breast cancer. What I also experienced was an overwhelming outpouring of love from so many friends as well as family during that time. A group of my female friends and school mums cooked meals for me and my family to cover me for weeks. My children’s lunches were stocked, the text messages, phone calls, flowers, cups of tea and warm embraces and endless play dates for the kids were nothing short of lifesaving. My bookclub members had mammograms which gave me such strength that they were being proactive as a result of hearing my story. Closest friends who lived miles away called me daily, uncompromisingly. It highlighted how loved and valued we were as a family, it’s a gift that has changed me as a person.
Shortly after surgery I was given the unbelievably good news that my cancer was completely contained. Except for some insignificant microinvasion, it had not reached my lymph nodes and was extremely unlikely to have spread to any other region in my body. While the tumour was extensive, it could be downgraded to a pre-cancer, given it’s in-situ status. I could reconstruct my breast when ready, and move on with my life. Something else would kill me, not this, and not now. Exhale.
Some women experience various shades of terror that breast cancer brings over protracted periods of weeks, months, and sometimes years. Many endure the difficulties, discomfort and disruptions relating to oncology treatment and ongoing testing and waiting. For other’s it’s the grief of losing a breast or both breasts, their bodies letting them down, their womanhood and sexual vitality and confidence called into question, their fragility and mortality being thrust before them for unwelcome inspection.
While some consider this disease and take proactive and prophylactic steps because it has touched family members before them, most women do not plan to have this disease or believe it will ever enter their realm of existence. Some, tragically, lose their lives to breast cancer. Some single, some with families, some older, some younger, many just like me - with hopes, dreams and other plans. What I didn’t know during the eight day experience was that like over 80 percent of women diagnosed with early breast cancer each year, this certainly wasn’t going to kill me now, in a few years, or anytime soon. What I didn’t know was that I live in a country with the greatest breast cancer treatment success rate worldwide. It’s a place where many women living with metastatic breast cancer can now be managed as if it were a chronic illness rather than a terminal disease. What I didn’t know was how incredibly lucky I actually am.
This year, ten days after my daughter’s first birthday, I will wear a pink ribbon on October 27. Ashamedly, I have never worn one before. Suffice to say I will not wear it for me. I will wear it for my infant daughter, for my unknown sisters and friends with this disease. I will wear it for those who loved and supported me throughout my brief journey with breast cancer and who continue to do so. I will wear it for those who lost lives to this disease way too soon and for the families who lost them. I will pledge to make my own mark. I will start small, by focussing more on those moments between big events on the timeline of a beautiful, rich and privileged life.
Comments
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Thank you eight days for your amazing story. Your descriptions of the inner landscape between first appointment and diagnosis and the effect on our selves really resonated with me. You've really integrated your personal and professional skills in dealing with this, you have a rich support network and you've come to bcna!
Wishing you all the best for you and your young family and that you have plenty of ongoing practical help. Be very kind to yourself as well as very competent.
Cheers x Meg0 -
I also had my own ' eight days' give or take a day or two.I can relate to everything you wrote.Yes we are lucky to live in this wonderful country,where our treatment is the best.Thanks for a FANTASTIC post.Cheers xoxRobyn0
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I also had my own ' eight days' give or take a day or two.I can relate to everything you wrote.Yes we are lucky to live in this wonderful country,where our treatment is the best.Thanks for a FANTASTIC post.Cheers xoxRobyn0
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I also had my own ' eight days' give or take a day or two.I can relate to everything you wrote.Yes we are lucky to live in this wonderful country,where our treatment is the best.Thanks for a FANTASTIC post.Cheers xoxRobyn0
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What a great post so insperational and brings back memories of all those feelings for me, i also had my 8 days the waiting is horrible, my heart goes out to you, my experience taught me to learn to be a bit selfish and look after me, its a crucial time to rest as much as possible and learn your limits, learn to say no, its hard to do, as woman we tend to put ourselves last but this is the time to put yourself first you will need your strength and lots of love and care, stay strong and best wishes
Di
xx
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What a great post so insperational and brings back memories of all those feelings for me, i also had my 8 days the waiting is horrible, my heart goes out to you, my experience taught me to learn to be a bit selfish and look after me, its a crucial time to rest as much as possible and learn your limits, learn to say no, its hard to do, as woman we tend to put ourselves last but this is the time to put yourself first you will need your strength and lots of love and care, stay strong and best wishes
Di
xx
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I live with a secondary breast cancer diagnosis - nearly 4 years now. Each day I converse via social media with beautiful souls throughout Australia and the world. I have lost so many close friends (friendships made through this disease) to this horrendous disease. Each day I wonder when my "happy" existence will cease to be happy. We all are thrown "wobblies" in life and it is not the "wobbly" that matters but how we deal with it. Your dealing with your "wobbly" is remarkable. Reading your post reminds me of my beautiful elder daughter who herself is a practising Clinical Psychologist (my second daughter is also in the final stage of becoming a Psychologist) I did not choose to have this disease. I am so grateful that it is me though and not my daughters. When I read stories like your own, I immediately feel a sense of panic thinking "this could be one of my daughters". You are an amazing, intelligent, strong, determined young woman (like my daughters). As a very proud mother, I applaud you for such a beautiful post. May your life journey be full of happiness. You are definately in the right profession to assist others. Take care of yourself in the process. XLeonie
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Your post will help so many women who unfortunately will go this period in the future. Much of what you wrote resonated with me and you said it beautifully, I had no idea how much I was loved and appreciated till I went through breast cancer, thanks again
Hazel xx
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Your post will help so many women who unfortunately will go this period in the future. Much of what you wrote resonated with me and you said it beautifully, I had no idea how much I was loved and appreciated till I went through breast cancer, thanks again
Hazel xx
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Thanks very much Meg, it took me a long time to bash it out! I too wish you all the very best on your journey
xx
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thank you Michelle, and that is great news that you have got your life back. How wonderful. Thanks for your lovely words, they meant a lot xx
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Oh thanks so much Robyn. I wish you didn't relate to this but I'm touched that you did and replied. Wishing you all the very best. xxx
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Yes, thanks Di, I agree, so important to look after you! Glad you liked my post. wishing you the best wishes, x
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Thanks so much for your comments Leonie. You have had a long journey, how amazing you must be. What a lovely shared experience with your psychologist daughters! If they are anything like you I reckon they can tackle just about anything, especially with such a proud, devoted Mum in their life. I wish you health and happiness always, and thankyou for your warm, touching remarks. Best of luck to your daughter's in their careers. xx
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Hi Hazel, yes, if there is anything posirive that comes from this its the love you feel from those beautiful souls in your corner! thanks so much for your comments, very best wishes to you
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