Well.

Where do I start? How about just blurt it out and be done with it: I have cancer. That is, I had cancer, I've had surgery so now I have less cancer, and I'm having chemotherapy and then radiation therapy so that I will have no cancer. Or virtually no cancer, because there are no guarantees that every cell will die.

So the whole, "Going to write more, going to see more of this or that..." fell by the wayside obviously, as I've been busy with the cancer. Right about when I last wrote anything here, which happened to be the anniversary of my dad's death, which means that no, we cannot go one full year without some kind of upheaval, I was convinced that I had cancer, although it hadn't been proven at that time.

I found a small lump in January, right breast. Being objective, being trained in the sciences, knowing full well what a lump could and couldn't be, I did what any rational, logical, grounded person would do, and denied that any of this could possibly be happening. Knowing full well that I had an appointment scheduled with my doc within the next couple of weeks, I waited to see if she could find it, because if she did, then it was real. Otherwise, I'm off the hook, nothing happened, carry on then. And she found it straightaway, proving once again that denial is bad and stupid, and that using it as a protective mechanism is about as useful as using bacon as a bra.

Mammogram showed nothing on February 4. Whew then, no need to talk about it, no need to say oh, I've got a lump and it showed up on the mammogram, and now I have to worry, because it wasn't there. All a figment of our imaginations. Lalalalalalalala.......but that wasn't quite true and it still bothered me. After a couple of months of indecision, I called my doc back and asked for an ultrasound. That happened on April 9, and so when I last wrote anything here, I already knew that someone of the medical persuasion was worried for me, because the ultrasound technician overreacted, as did the radiologist when he came in to double-check her findings. "I'm going to request that you go for a biopsy as soon as possible," are not the words that calm one's soul. So by April 15, I was waiting to hear about the biopsy date, and kept waiting and waiting for another while, because the report didn't get to my doctor. Why not you ask? Shall we blame the pesky socialist Canadian medical system? (no, please don't do that. It's a good system, we like it, no slagging socialism here.) No, we'll have to blame human error, and the fact that the ultrasound was done late on a Thursday afternoon, Holy Thursday to be exact, foot-washing Thursday, or the Thursday before Good Friday meaning that for some of us, there's a four-day weekend ahead, four days of eating after fasting (for some) or just eating, or just four days not working if you're not of the Christian persuasion. Four days, people. Or at least three. Three days in April, spring is in the air, and three open happy days are ahead.

So yeah, my report didn't go to my doc because it was late the afternoon before a long weekend. By April 15 I was having a conniption, but not talking about the conniption to anybody because that would mean worrying a lot of people who live far away, and there was just no sense in that at all. I did what I always do when things are bad: I don't talk. I don't write, I don't talk, I thrash it out. How am I feeling? What is going on? Do I worry? Whom do I tell? (um, nobody.) Why hasn't the doc called me to tell me about the biopsy? and on and on. I didn't know that the doc hadn't gotten the report until I started nagging the office a week later, and I still didn't hear from her for a few more days because I had to call and get the "good" receptionist who will actually go and look to see if my report was in the office, or if it was maybe just lost in the ether. Which it was, but nobody could confirm that for me. Quite maddening but eventually all worked out and in the big picture, when you're waiting to hear whether or not you have breast cancer what you're really waiting to hear is whether or not you are going to get your boob cut off.

I really have a lot to do here at home right now, but I wanted to pop in and write something. I can't make promises about writing more often, but I can say oh I'll write more often and you can believe me if you so choose. Since I've lied to you in the past, I'd understand your distrust. I'm at a point now where I can think about this process with the cancer in an objective sort of way, so I probably will write more. I will also include a lot of information that I've come across as I've been on this path, and some things I've discovered on my own, and some things from experts in the field, and the like.

One important thing: you can't underestimate the ability of people to drop their entire lives to show up and help you out, even if you aren't sure that you'll need help. Accept all offers. If people say that they'll look after your kids, give them dates on which they can do this. If they say they'll cook, tell them your favourite dishes. If they say, "Just call and let me know what you need," cross them off your list of useful people. People who say this probably want to help, but don't know how to do it. If they don't know how, let them figure it out. You don't have time to help other people, you have to deal with your own situation.

Another important thing: laugh your head off. Cancer isn't funny, but a lot of the stuff around cancer is hilarious. Laugh whenever you can, and laugh to make other people who are worried and afraid for you laugh too. Did I just say don't help other people? Yeah, I know. Don't help bozos who tell you that they meant to call, they meant to help, they meant to whatever, but laugh at them instead. Busy? Ha! I'll show you busy! I still do all the stuff I did before,* but now I do it with CANCER. Beat that! (*disclaimer: I only do about 1/2 of what I did before, because cancer takes up a whole lot of time and energy.)