Loss of Power

Originally written on October 8, 2024.

“I got a bad case I can’t shake off of me.” E. Saliers

Wednesday night September 25th was Back to School Night at Wakefield. Despite Amelie being a Junior and Harper a Sophomore, we had never attended a high school BTSN. Part of it was pure laziness on my part, not wanting to be in school after teaching all day. But I also felt that I needed to be more hands off at the high school stage, knowing that it wouldn’t help to have me coddle them, that they would benefit from the independence and would thus be better prepared for college and “real life.” Well as it turns out, I was wrong, and Amelie said as much to me last year when she announced (accurately) that I didn’t know any of her teachers’ names and how exactly she was doing in school. So I added it to my Summer To Do list: “Develop a plan for getting to know Amelie and Harper’s classes and teachers at Wakefield.” It was right under “National Boards” and looking into a Math intervention program I knew I’d be using soon. So Tom and I split the girls’ schedules, I took Amelie’s, probably to prove to her that I was making an effort, and Tom took Harper’s. And for the next couple of hours I squeezed myself into too-tight desks, took notes, and listened in awe as the people who are educating my children told me about their passions and priorities and how difficult these college-level classes were. It hit me just how seriously they had to take this work, especially given that they were rising each morning at 4:30 and going to crew for two hours before school even started. And I felt terrible, like I hadn’t acknowledged the challenges that they have and the pressure that they feel and the ass-kicking that they were doing. And just as I was starting to hear from Amelie’s Art Teacher, the power went out in the building and we were escorted out the front door. It occurred to me that I was walking out, now unable to hear about the one class that Amelie might consider an outlet or respite from her day. I made a note to do more research on that. Tom and I walked home, just across the street, into a pitch dark house with candles lit and the girls asleep. I remember feeling frustrated that the night had been cut short, that I couldn’t reflect on the experience because the power was out and I had to think about more immediate things. But then I spent the next hour wasting time scrolling on my phone, unable to focus or be productive. When that got boring I read in bed, and eventually blew out the candle and tried to sleep. But my mind was racing. I thought about Back To School Night and my girls, about how I’d be behind the next morning without a chance to do some planning at home. I thought about the work I had done since July on figuring out my health and making changes and getting to the bottom of why I felt sick. I congratulated myself on losing 17 pounds. I wondered what part of my body was getting smaller, and I grabbed my big saggy boobs in my hands, hoping that the weight loss was coming from there. And that’s when I felt the hard, marble-sized lump in my left breast. I felt surprised that I was being so casual yet it felt so obvious, so shallow, so easily-found. I imagined that if it could talk it would have said, “It’s about fucking time. What took you so long?”

And so I forgot about it for the night. I got up the next morning to find power and got ready for work and thought about eating dinner from Lebanese Taverna for the crew fundraiser. I had a telehealth appointment scheduled in the afternoon and I was excited to hear if all of my efforts to make better choices had paid off in my bloodwork. I chatted casually that afternoon with Jessica, my PCP, and she happily reported that most of my bad numbers were, “trending down.”

“Oh,” I said, like the thought had just popped into my head, “well I found a lump in my left breast.” I think I even threw in a little, hand toss and stupid laugh to emphasize the ridiculousness of it all.

“Really? Uh oh. Was this during a routine self-exam?”

“Yep.” (Lie.)

“Uh huh, ok, hmmm.”

“Yeah, I don’t see my GYN until December, so can you write me an order for a mammogram?”

It was her turn for the stupid laugh.

“Well, I’m gonna need you to come in. Soon.”

Me all casual, “Oh, ok. Well, let’s do this.”

That was Thursday. She booked me for Monday and I spent the weekend trying to pretend it wasn’t real.

By Saturday I had worked up enough nerve to tell Tom and have him feel it so that we both knew it was real. Of course he was stressed right away. I knew that I’d have to fight to stop myself from taking on his worry. I instantly regretted telling him, because that is the point where I have to be vulnerable and ask for help and express my needs. Things I suck at most of the time.

On Sunday we went to watch the girls’ regatta and I planned for school and looked for shark teeth at home because I needed them for a fun human body fact (human teeth are as strong as sharks’ teeth!) Monday came and I went to work, took time to wish friends a happy anniversary and make sure that my friend Beth was still hosting our regular trivia night that evening. I ordered mini bundt cakes to celebrate her upcoming birthday and scheduled to pick them up at 5:00. I even ordered a gluten free lemon raspberry to split with Angelo.

At my 3:30 appointment I waited in the waiting room by myself, clearly the last patient of the day, until a nurse called me back. She took my weight and vitals and asked if my blood pressure was “-always this high? Uh, yes,” I interrupted. Minutes later Jessica did a breast exam and confirmed the presence of a lump on my left side. She called the radiology center herself and scheduled a diagnostic mammogram on Thursday at 1:30.

I arrived early, as if I might get extra points for showing up before my scheduled time. I undressed, put on a teal wrap, and waited to be called. After several rounds of more painful than usual images I was sent back to the dressing room where I awaited an ultrasound of not one but both breasts. I exchanged smiles with the other women in the room, as we all silently understood our reasons for being there and we all looked similar in our colored wrap tops. In the ultrasound room I laid on a table in complete silence while the technician squirted warm gel on my breasts and rubbed the wand back and forth while taking pictures and measuring the spots with a ruler. She handed me paper towels to wipe off all of the gel and left the room. I then waited for several minutes in the dark ultrasound room for the radiologist to come talk to me. Dr. Thomas walked in and took a deep breath. The words were a blur but she explained that I would need a biopsy of the spot that I’d found. When I started crying she hugged me tightly and wouldn’t let go until I was ready.

“Ok. What is my next step?”

“Well, I need to tell you that we have some concerns about the other side as well.”

More tears. Another amazing hug, like the kind my friend Gabby gives.

“I want you to know that you’re going to be ok. I know it’s not an easy journey, but you are going to be ok.”

“How can you say that?” I felt instantly betrayed that she would make such a bold statement. “If you only knew how many women I see and say this to. I promise.”

Back to the dressing room full of women in colored wraps and this time they saw it on my face. They could see that I’d been crying, that my face was red. I felt ashamed and embarrassed and most of all I wanted to pull myself together so that they too did not become afraid. And so Tom found me a while later in yet another room. This time, though, the lights were bright and there were fancy chairs with back pillows for us to sit in, like they were provided to soften the blow. The blow of being told that I was being scheduled for not one, but four biopsies. That was Thursday.

Today it’s Tuesday and I am waiting. And I feel like from one day to the next a dark cloud just landed right on top of me and it’s making me so sad and deeply depressed and absolutely terrified while also expecting me to just carry on. So, like I said, “I got a bad case I can’t shake off of me.” And I guess I need your prayers and hugs and wisdom and experience because, loved and lucky as I am, man does it feel lonely over here.