June 4, 2009–Las Vegas, Nevada–Today we are sharing a new survivorship story with our readers.  Nicole McLean (Nic) is a Breast Cancer survivor.  She was just diagnosed last summer, and is still undergoing Chemotherapy.  Nicole is African-American, and just 39 years old.  We wanted you to take some time to read her blog, which has some excerpts below.  Nicole’s style of writing is straight to the point, straight to the gut, and brings you to the edge of your seat.  She brings you right into her world, shares her thoughts in a way that really grips your heart.  In her post called “Tears at the Barbershop” (see below) she brings you right into the barber shop chair with her.  Even describing the posters on the wall, featuring afros from the 70’s!

Fight Pink is honored to have Nicole as one of our Survivorship Stories, and expect to hear much more from her in the future.  Nicole will be at the Global Race for the Cure this weekend in Washington DC.  Please dontate/join her Race for the Cure team at DC Sistagirls.

To read more about Nicole visit her blog.

First post about my boobies  

Let me start by saying… this is a blog of my emotional and physical changes & challenges of being diagnosed with breast cancer at 39. 
 

I was diagnosed with cancer on July 30th, 2008. 

By the time a doctor finally uttered the words… “yes, it is cancer”… I had been through several visits with many different doctors (I’ll go into details a little later) and had experienced my first mammogram, my first sonogram and my first MRI. Within a three week period. 
 

My breasts have often been a source of anxiety, pain (you try running a marathon with a sack of potatoes strapped to your chest… not fun), annoyance, and they cost a pretty-penny to support. I had to learn/adopt an air of indifference about my boobies as they became too large to miss… because often enough someone would comment or remark about them in a way that would either embarass me or hurt my feelings. In order to bring some balance to the equation, I acted as though they were hardly worth noticing at all. 

So… back at Mount Vernon College, I had this amazing professor of political science, Dr. Casamayou. She was one of the best instructors I’ve ever had in my life. She was also a breast cancer survivor. Dr. Casamayou made sure that her students knew to examine their breasts regularly and she often spoke about her illness and her recovery. To this day, I still have the self-exam shower card hanging in my shower. Everyday I get into the shower, I think of Dr. Casamayou. 

I won’t exaggerate the truth… I wasn’t always faithful and committed to examining my breasts. But I did check them… maybe once or twice every month. Sometimes I would skip a month or even a few months — but even then, I would give ‘em a quick squeeze every now and then outside of the shower just because they were there and they belonged to me. Some months that little card shamed me into just making sure. But many days… I closed my eyes and put my head under the water… 

Some time ago, I thought I felt something. But then, the next time I went to squeeze ‘em… I didn’t feel a thing. Figured that it was nothing so I didn’t let it stress me. A few months later, I felt something again… but this time I worried a little. So, I promised myself to just pay attention. Nothing hurt, nothing was protruding… I just felt…something. 

In May, my father had an aneurysm. I’d go into details but all that matters is that the sight of my dad in intensive care with tubes and IV’s and machines everywhere… changed my life. So, any concerns about myself were out the window. I could only think of my father… all day… everyday. 

The month of June was a blur… family coming and going, friends inquiring about my dad, about my mom and about myself… I moved on auto-pilot. But for some reason, on auto-pilot, I checked my breasts… and this time, it was unmistakeable. There was a lump. 

I asked my boyfriend if I was hallucinating…I needed to know if he felt something. He did. And fear started snaking itself around my arms… 

And then there was Freddie…  

Freddie’s not dead yet… but he may be soon… read on, to understand. 

Okay… so after my boo felt the lump too, I had to find my way to a doctor and quick. Of course, with my new health insurance (that came with my new job) I needed to find a new doctor. And I couldn’t find anyone who was accepting new patients. 

I checked with my group (DC Sistagirls!) to see if any of those ladies had a recommendation — nada. I checked with a few more people. Even went as far as to call my cousin in Georgia to get his input on a particular doctor here in DC. But… go figure… she too wasn’t accepting new patients. 

*sigh* 

So, I called on one of my faithful best girlfriends and started wailing… she recommended her doctor highly. And naturally, I believed her because over the years I had heard her mention how much she liked Dr. Kabatsi. I made my appointment for a physical for 2 weeks later. I felt good. I was being proactive. 

Then… I got into the shower one day and my boobie looked BIGGER. Freaked me out. I went to work frantic, and I called Dr. Kabatsi and asked if I could come in that day. Two hours later… another man told me that … yes, there is a lump and I can feel it too. 

Dr. Kabatsi is a wonderful doctor. Very kind, very straight-forward and he listens. I wasn’t looking for a male doctor but I was happy I found him. He felt I needed a diagnostic mammogram and sonogram right away. Right away turned out to be about 10 days later. So, I had to stumble through the 4th of July weekend as though nothing was on my mind — even though I was a foggy mess. 

I asked my boyfriend to take me to the radiologist (which I didn’t even have to ask, he was planning to go all along). And I thank God that he was there… we were both pretty frantic. While Dr. Kabatsi wasn’t scary in his comments, he definitely made it clear that something was wrong and we needed to get everything checked out immediately. 

At the first radiology center… I received my first mammogram and my first sonogram. Since I don’t have children, I’d never been a witness to looking inside my own body through a machine and seeing something there. It is a very odd feeling. The mammograms were very uncomfortable. 

Can anyone build a machine that doesn’t have to mash your breasts against inflexible plates while you stand with your arms contorted behind you as you don’t breathe (it messes up the film — I breathed twice, now I know its a no-no)?  

Mammograms are horrible. There is nothing nice that I can say other than that. I have fairly large breasts so the fact that I was so very uncomfortable made me uneasy as I thought of my smaller breasted friends. We’ve got to come up with something better. QUICKLY! Smashed body parts are unacceptable.  

FREDDY SHOWS UP FOR THE CAMERA 

I was amazed watching the sonogram. It was incredible looking at the inside of my boobie. The images reminded me of the ocean… and then suddenly there was this black “thing” floating in my sea. The lump didn’t have a name until I saw him on camera. Suddenly, the tune from “SuperFly” started playing in my head…. 

“Freddie’s dead…

That’s what I said…. “ 

So… at that moment, I named the primary tumor Freddy. Honestly, ’cause I wanted Freddy to die. One of us had to go… and it wasn’t going to be me. 

I left the office stunned. I could barely speak. I barely heard the radiologist’s comments about the mammogram results and the sonogram. But I do recall that she said something about cancer. She was concerned with the size, she was concerned with some micro-calcifications… but all the rest is a blur. Darryl understood what she said. But I really didn’t. 

We left… I called my mom when we got outside and then we went to lunch. At the time, I felt fine. I wasn’t upset, just blank. By the time we pulled up to the restaurant, we both were sobbing. Well, I was sobbing, he was just misty. 

We had just started dating. Just started thinking about a future… maybe kids, a house in the city — not the suburbs… and now we had to step back and think about cancer, surgery maybe more. It seemed wild and outrageous. But that’s where we were. 

I called Dr. Kabatsi the next day — he was a little frantic with me. He had spoken to the radiologist and felt I needed to see a surgeon right away to discuss options and lumpectomies. He gave me the name and number of a surgeon he highly recommended and I tried to make that appoint ment. As God worked it out, that surgeon was on vacation so I was assigned to another surgeon in the office, Dr. Juliet Lee. 

I felt good. A woman doctor was what I wanted. Unfortunately… I couldn’t get in to see Dr. Lee for another 12 days. When we finally met — I was a basket case. I took my mother this time and Darryl showed up too. Dr. Lee was supposed to give me a biopsy (small needle) in the office that day — which is why I brought reinforcements. However, after she examined me — she determined that I needed more radiology and a different type of biopsy. A core needle biopsy (big needle). 

Dr. Lee really knows what I’m going through. She is about my age and a breast cancer survivor as well. But of course, she was going on vacation right after my appointment. (bummer) Her office got me an immediate appointment (like 7:30 am the next day) at a different radiology center. There I got my first MRI and another mammogram. 

The MRI was painless. I just laid down on a table, put my boobies in some holes/cups thru the table and was pushed into this big machine. *shrug* I listened to the radio while I was in there but that was it. I could feel something warm on my skin — and I vaguely recall being injected with something that tasted like metallic salt water in my nose. 

I had not slept at all the night after my visit with Dr. Lee which was the night before the MRI. I had to go home afterwards, just to sleep. The not knowing and the anticipation for each appointment was really killing me. Things were moving rapidly and slowly at the same time. If it wasn’t DC in the summer, it probably really would have gone too fast for me to understand and comprehend. As it was… the wait between appointments (about a week) gave me just enough time to digest what was happening and what people were telling me about my body. 

The core biopsy was rather upsetting. First, they wouldn’t allow Darryl to come back into the room with me. I really needed him there. Second, the room was hot and uncomfortable. Third, this time, watching the sonogram wasn’t fun at all. I couldn’t feel it but watching a really long needle going into and out of your breast is unsettling to say the least. 

I did learn/see that Freddie had a small buddy near by. I named him Ted. Since he was like a mini-version of Freddie. This time… it was “Fred and Ted’s excellent adventure” even though I know that wasn’t the name of the movie… that’s what played in my head when I saw the little lump beside the bigger one. 

When the procedure was done, Dr. Pulaski explained to me what he saw on the MRI and how he and some of his colleagues were very concerned (I have heard that word more times than I can count now… it has become a scary word for me) about my prognosis for cancer. 

At this point, I’m at my 5th appointment in a two and a half/three week period, seeing my 4th doctor and I am TOTALLY freaked out. My blood pressure had to be through the roof because all I kept hearing was “cancer” and “very concerned”. My family was already stressed out — like I said, my dad just had an aneurysm Memorial Day weekend. And now… every few days another doctor is saying… “we’re very concerned” with what is showing up on the film. 

Anyway… back to Dr. Lee (by phone)… because now I’m frantic to know what the heck is going on. Of course, I can’t reach her because she’s on vacation and she never picks up her phone. Ugh. Dr. Pulaski told me that he would call me as soon as the results of the pathology report came back from Georgetown — probably in 3 days. 

He called me in two. Early in the morning. Like 9:00 am. Scary. 

I am sitting at work, choked up with tears… listening to this kind man say that the pathology reports show that my Freddie is cancerous. He tells me to get in touch with Dr. Lee immediately and that he would be trying to reach her as well… I finally get her on Friday. I talked to Dr. Pulaski on Wednesday. I took Friday off from work as a vacation day because I was simply fried.  

JUST NUMB 

I could not do little things like remember to tie my shoes. Or remember to bring suitable work shoes with me to the office. I was walking through water… I could sort of hear sounds but I couldn’t make out what people were saying to me. 

I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer. I have cancer.  

That’s all I hear and see. I start looking at the whole world with the eyes of a dying woman. I try to take in everything — even though so much doesn’t make sense. People start flooding my memory that I haven’t talked to in years. I start feeling frantic… I need a will, nah I don’t. How can I prepare my parents for a life without me? How can I convince everyone that I’m okay even when I’m not? 

I was a total mess for quite a few days. I told people around me, told my email groups, my family (finally) and my friends… and I tried to accept all the good wishes and thoughts that folks sent my way. I tried. But after I told it — I wanted to hide and just rest in my boyfriend’s arms in silence. That’s all that I thought would make me feel better. Someone who loved me, holding me tightly, reminding me that right now, I’m still here. No words were necessary to convey that feeling… but words were what I received. 

The hardest part so far has been listening to people tell me the stories about people in their lives who have either had breast cancer, or some other sort of cancer — and now they are fine!

Those well-intentioned stories offered me no comfort at all. Which I know is the opposite effect that the story-tellers wanted. But it was hard to be encouraged when I know, all it takes is one person to be the exception to a rule… and I could easily be that exception. 

Remember… “very concerned” has come out of the mouth of every doctor that I spoke to. What does it mean? Am I dying or not? 

…. Dr. Lee conferred with a few more doctors after she returned from her vacation and sent me to another radiology appointment to have a biopsy of my lymph nodes. From her review… there were more tumors that were of deep concern. One was on my chest wall (or very close to it) and of course, since my boobies are so large, it could not be biopsied with a needle. It would have to be surgically biopsied. And that presented a problem because the first tumor is close to my skin and positioned close to my nipple. All of that meant… 

If she were to remove those tumors surgically… there might not be much breast left to save.

No boobie? Or no nipple? What is that??? 

I was devastated. As I said before… my boobies aren’t the ones I probably would have picked off a shelf but… I had grown comfortable with having them and I wasn’t really ready to get rid of them. It wasn’t going to work (in my mind) that I would have my breast removed and then replaced with a fake. 

???? 

Washington Radiology was booked so Dr. Lee arranged for me to meet with Dr. Rapelyea of GW Hospital. She was an awesome sistagirl doctor. That made me very happy. I watched another tech sonogram my body… and this time I was better prepared for the mass that showed up in my ocean. The third lump is named Jim. As in “dammit Jim… I am only a doctor” (from Star Trek). As soon as I saw that dark mass, I said to myself… “dammit Jim”… and that was the name. 

The biopsy this time was more painful… or rather… it seemed more invasive. I was laying in an uncomfortable position, the machine was larger and louder that the first one… This was no longer an entertaining adventure. Dr. Rapelyea was wonderful — just like all the other doctors had been… though I could not imagine being more worried or upset… I was. My visit on Thursday with Dr. Rapelyea wouldn’t result in answers about cancer until Tuesday. So I did my best to smile and not worry until Tuesday morning. 

I spoke to Dr. Lee on Tuesday instead of going back to GW to pick up my results as they had suggested. We chatted for awhile, and she told me that yes, indeed the tumor in my lymph node was cancerous too. This meant that the cancer had migrated… and it could be likely that the cancer is spreading or has spread to other organs. I asked her the stage and she said either 2B or 3A. She switched to 2B (in my memory) after it seemed that I was stuck at 3A. Either way… it might be bad now. 
 

So, we’re caught up on the highlights  

Now… I can focus on the day to day feelings and utter craziness. 

My therapist told me that it would be perfectly normal if I felt like… “why me” in regards to getting cancer. And honestly… I don’t feel that way. Not yet anyway. I just feel like its written on my forehead. 

“don’t get too close… she has CANCER…” 

Its weird, everyone keeps asking me how I feel. I feel the same way I felt on July 2nd before I had confirmation that there was another “something” inside my body uninvited. I feel fine. Now, people around me are saying that I’m not fine. But I feel okay. 
 

I’m moody. I’m cranky. I’m sensitive. I burst into tears at the dumbest things and the most inopportune moments. I worry that my boyfriend will grow tired of me and my drama. I am worried that my email groups will disappear. I am afraid that something will go wrong and I’ll end up shriveled and small and unable to complete any of the things that I’ve finally gotten in my head and my heart that I want to do. 

I feel angry. I might not be able to have kids. THAT’s not fair. I’ve finally said, yes, I think I could be a good mother and a good wife and I want that family… and now I’m faced with a treatment that could save my life but end my options of having another life. 

I just don’t know what to feel anymore. I’m currently waiting (it seems that I do a lot of that now) to hear from another doctor, an oncologist, to discuss my possible treatment options. I just want to know how soon I can start chemotherapy. The sooner it starts, the sooner its over. And I want all of this to be over… soon. 

If you see me on the street and I don’t seem to want to talk — I probably don’t. Its not personal, I’m just overwhelmed right now. I want to write all the stories and poems and scripts I ever dreamed about. I want to go to all the countries I’ve fantasized about visiting…. I feel like my days are getting shorter. And I can’t stop it. 

I’ve read other cancer survivors blogs… and well, I’m not that upbeat all the time. I am cranky as hell right now. I don’t feel that I’m any more or less worthy of being stopped by cancer… but I do feel like… once again in my life, the timing just sucks. 
 

Tears at the barbershop  

Yesterday, I confirmed an appointment with the oncologist. It took nearly a week to get through, but finally… I made the schedule. My appointment is for tomorrow (Thursday). 

I have been wearing my hair cut very close/short for over a decade. Twelve years to be exact. Though there have been a few times when I attempted to grow it out, wore braids or whatever… within a few weeks, I was back in Butch’s chair telling him… “take it low and keep it tight”. He always obliged. 

Cutting my hair was actually my first adult step into embracing my femininity and my beauty. Without excessive vanity, I can say that I am an attractive — even pretty — woman. It took me so long to feel that way. And cutting my hair off, served as a catalyst for that. 

Over the years, I have thoroughly enjoyed my brief forays into the 70’s world of Brice’s Barbershop. Most of the barbers in this shop are well into their 60’s. The place has wood paneling and a poster of hairstyles that must have been printed in 1972. The fros are big and some of them are very fancy… I always chuckle or smile when I see that poster. Brice’s has not (and probably will not) undergo a fancy renovation to bring it up to current designer standards. It is not the “hot spot”. And I love it for that. It is always the same… everytime. (as you can guess continuity makes me comfortable) 

When this talk of chemotherapy came up and I was warned several times that I would lose my hair… I thought little of it. I typically have less than 1/4 inch of hair on my head. I wouldn’t miss it. Hair was not the definition of my beauty — no more than my breasts were. 

Or so I thought. 

I told myself that when it was time for the chemotherapy to start, I would cut my hair really close for one last time. That way, when it started to shed and fall out, few would realize it and my “look” would still be rather consistent. I’d still be… Nic. And afterwards, when it began to grow back, I would finally allow it to be as long as it wanted to grow. 

So, as I said in the beginning… I found out yesterday that tomorrow I see the oncologist. Last night, when I left the office, I decided to get my hair cut. My plan was to tell Butch that I’d be gone for awhile and that I wanted him to make my last tight fade… as pretty as he could. (He cut my hair so well for me on my 35th birthday… folks were stopping me on the street to comment) 
 

But as I sat in the chair waiting for my turn… I just couldn’t say goodbye. Going to Brice’s has been a constant in my life since I was an adult. My first apartment was around the corner. My second was a few blocks away. For awhile, it was my weekend ritual to head to Eastern Market, get a haircut, grab some food and just absorb the coolness of the neighborhood. Even now, while I live many miles away, going to Eastern Market and to Brice’s… is like coming home. 

I didn’t cry when Butch first cut off my hair. I was angry and I just wanted it off my head. I have heard many stories of breast cancer victims opting to cut off their hair and how traumatic it was for them. I did not believe it would be traumatic for me. How could it be, when I have scoffed at the notion of even having hair at all for so long? 

It was heartwrenching. 

I always anticipated going to the shop, laughing at the guys and just enjoying being included in a very male world for about 30 minutes. Last night was totally different for me. I left the shop with tears in my eyes. I wanted to hug Butch and tell him… but I couldn’t. I wanted to say something to the sister who now cuts hair in there… but I just couldn’t do it. The other barbers weren’t there… and I wanted to say a goodbye to them too. They have shared snippets of their lives with me over the years… so I think of them as distant uncles. These folks mean something to me. 

So, I don’t know if the tears were for my hair or for a relationship that will probably be severed. (as a woman, I can’t see myself just sitting in the shop on a Saturday afternoon shooting the breeze) I left… feeling the breeze on my scalp. And I headed straight to my boyfriend’s arms for a good cry. 

Why is this so damn hard?