Authentic Anger

I don’t know if anyone out there is still reading this as I have been “off the air” for a couple of weeks. Everything is fine though – great, in fact. It is just that as “normal” life resumes, I find myself getting busier and busier even as I try to hang onto the lessons learned last year. And I am incorporating many of those lessons into my daily life, but it does take more than just awareness. Continuous conscious effort is critical.

If you are still out there, prepare yourself for this posting. You may want to step back from the computer. Tonight I was going to give a medical update, but I am too mad to do that. In order to sleep, I must relieve some of this anger, and the best way to do that at this late hour, I believe, is to write. Bo did listen to my tirade for awhile and then fell asleep! In his defense, he had a long day of physical labor. Also, it’s not like he can offer up any solutions, as men like to do. There are no solutions, just acceptance.

I have been really pissed off for a long time now - going on a year almost. Most of the time when the anger surfaces, I acknowledge it and then suppress it again, because truly, there is no changing the past. I have never written about it before now. I have alluded to it, but I have never shared the anger on this blog before. So why am I angry, and at whom is my anger directed, and what set me off tonight after having a very pleasant day? Good questions!

My surgeon was on the news this evening. It’s not even October, and breast cancer is getting a lot of media attention lately. Sheryl Crowe was testifying before Congress about the need for more breast cancer research, but the publicity is probably more attributable to Elizabeth Edward’s news of last week. Several people told me that they thought of me when they heard that her breast cancer had returned. Yeah, I thought of me too. My “support group”, now known affectionately as Beyond Boobs, met on Sunday, and we talked about how it made us feel when we heard the news, and our feelings were pretty universal - empathy and dread. I was actually in the car on the way to the massage therapist when I heard the issue analyzed on NPR for its political ramifications. I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach. While my heart first went out to Elizabeth, I then felt a stab of fear for myself. What if mine comes back?

While I am able to go for longer and longer stretches without thinking about my breast cancer, obviously hearing about recurrences in other women who had breast cancer drives the reality home and suggests that the unthinkable is indeed possible. (What’s the big deal about it coming back? Well, as Dr. P explained to me and from a strictly medical standpoint, breast cancer is only considered curable the first time. If it recurs, it becomes merely treatable. In other words, I used my one get out of jail free card.) So then I have to talk myself off the ledge, remind myself that I am a unique individual, that the statistics are in my favor, that I have done everything I can and continue to do everything I can to minimize the risk of recurrence. I, just as anyone else, have the gift of the present, and I have so much goodness in my life to celebrate. And so it goes, and I am back on solid ground until the next time.

But tonight, it’s not about fear, it’s about anger, so I will get back to my story. So I was getting ready for bed after a really nice day, and my surgeon was on t.v. explaining the importance of MRIs for women newly diagnosed with breast cancer. The images obtained with MRI are far superior to those obtained in traditional mammograms and help the surgeons determine the best way to proceed with surgery. Then, the news segment went on to identify women who should have routine breast MRIs, and it included women with a family history of breast cancer. Family history is considered two or more close relatives who had breast cancer or one close relative who had breast cancer before the age of 50. HELLO!!! Who does that sound like???? Let’s try two close relatives diagnosed way before 50!! Wouldn’t it have been really nice if someone had told me that useful little piece of information before I was ever diagnosed with probably Stage III breast cancer, and therefore, before I ever experienced the need to undergo five months of poisoning my entire body with chemotherapy and causing God knows what kind of permanent damage, chopping off both boobs and messing up all kinds of nerves and muscles in the process, and subjecting myself to intense doses of radiation!! Dammit! Dammit, dammit, dammit!

This didn’t have to happen. Not the way it did, anyway. Maybe I still would have gotten breast cancer, but it certainly could have been caught before there was ever lymph node involvement and the need for such drastic measures... Before it spread and increased my risk of recurrence... I was so high risk. I know that now.

My family doctors and ob/gyns had an obligation to help me. It’s not like I didn’t ask every year when I went in for my routine physical with my ob/gyn. I would remind him of my family history. I would ask him what I should be doing to be proactive about early detection. I even asked about genetic testing. “Just get your annual mammogram,” was the consistent message I received every year. Well, that is the same guidance that would be given to any woman over the age of 40. Yet I wasn’t any woman over the age of 40. My risk of getting breast cancer was greater than my risk of not getting breast cancer. Doctors are supposed to know that! It’s their job! But you know what, it’s not their lives. So, yes, I am mad. I am mad at the doctors, but I am also mad at myself for not taking matters into my own hands and educating myself about my risk and my options. After all, it is my life.

So what should the doctors have done for me? At a minimum, I should have been having mammograms and ultrasounds at least every six months, especially since calcifications (considered to be pre-cancerous) were found in my breasts over six years ago. And not just any mammograms either. I should have been getting digital mammograms because of my dense breast tissue (which also put me at greater risk, by the way, but no one ever bothered to share that little tidbit either.) I also should have been referred for genetic counseling and testing. Now, of course, the MRI has been added to the arsenal of early detection devices, and since that is a fairly recent development, I don’t hold the doctors as accountable for their failure to offer that procedure to me. I just hate that all these tools were out there, and no one ever instructed me to use them.

So what to do with all this anger? Well, there is the creative outlet. It helped to use the posting this evening as a form of release. Thank you. Then there is the forgiveness outlet - I have actually considered writing a letter to my former ob/gyn, the doctor I feel let me down the most… In this letter I would explain my anger at his negligence, or ignorance, as the case may be. I would ask him to learn from me and not make the same mistake with other women. And I would forgive him. Then I guess I would also have to forgive myself. Hmmm… That one may take more then a letter! Of course, there is always the physical outlet. The kick box aerobics sure is useful. Those targets can absorb a lot of anger. I also have the altruistic outlet available to me. While my past can’t be changed, I can be responsible for changing the future of other women. I can help educate women to take control of their health and to avail themselves of the medical technology that is available. I have started doing that, and it does help.

I don’t know though. Just as I have my momentary lapses of fear, and momentary lapses of sadness, perhaps I will continue to have these momentary lapses of anger. Maybe it’s “normal” – especially if I don’t let it wreak havoc in my life. Most days, I honestly do see cancer as a gift, but there are certainly moments when, if I had a gift receipt, I would be standing in line at the Customer Service Department of the Life Store ready to return this gift!

I have to laugh. I started this blog by saying that everything is great, and then I go off on this tirade. That’s okay. I am being genuine and authentic. Life is great, but that doesn’t mean I can’t allow myself a little anger every now and then. My acceptance of myself for all I am is probably the first step towards forgiving myself…

I will save the medical update for another night, but rest assured that all is well, and Dr. P has me on the one night stand treatment option.