Damn It Rachel Ray

On my way to my follow up mammogram appointment, after a suspicious read the week before, I heard on the news that Rachel Ray was bringing back her show, "30 Minute Meals." Probably most of America was unfazed by this news. To me, on my way to the re-do mammogram appointment, it was like a kick in the gut. Really Rachel Ray? Really? Not nice!

I knew I had breast cancer again before they told me I had breast cancer again. There was a certain deja vu to it all twelve years later. The first time there was this moment in the mammogram room. An instant where it all changed. A sucking of the air that just took everything out of the room. A mood shift, or a shift in conscious, I don't really know. I'm not someone who normally thinks that way, or relies on their senses to figure things out. I am a very black and white, wrong or right concrete thinker. But that day, that day in the mammogram room, I just knew.

It was the same this time as well, a sucking of air out of the room. And there was, of course, the Rachel Ray news. But I put it aside and told myself I was being dramatic. That I would just go to the re-do of the mammogram with an open mind and relax.

I let myself get too relaxed. The re-do turned out to be about 20 re-do's, followed by an ultra sound and then a biopsy and then another mammogram. Four hours of intense breast fuckery, followed by "Go home and wait. We will let you know later this week." Except I already knew. So waiting seemed mean. Waiting meant knowing that I had breast cancer again, but still holding on to the glimmer of hope that they would tell me the 21 mammograms, ultra sound and biopsy  had been wrong, it was just a small pocket of air they were seeing in my breast.

So here I am. Round two of breast cancer. Mad at myself for not taking off this stupid second breast 12 years ago. For not demanding a double mastectomy. But, I couldn't. twelve years ago I was 38 with four kids ages 2-10, working full time and it all just happened so damn fast. I didn't have the ability to stop and think and slow things down. I was just getting by, just trying to get past it all, just trying to survive, and I did, survive...for 12 more years.


I always tell people this about cancer...there is a before, a during and an after. The before makes you wistful. Caught up in the melancholy of, "Oh, I remember when I did this before cancer and now I can't." The during is a blur. You just can't believe what is happening is your actual life. And then there is the after where you are relieved and grateful and a whole different perspective fills your life.

I have had a good 10 years of the after. Really good. And now I sit here, wistful because those 10 years have become my before in the blink of an eye. I'm about to enter the "during." But, the after will come.

I'm at peace with it all, I am. I don't have the chaos of 12 years ago. I have an amazing support system in family and friends. I ripped the band aid fast and told those closest to me, some who were there for the last band aid rip and some who are new to the pull.My life is different now. I have great luxuries. I don't have to work, my children aren't children that need to be protected, they are mostly adults, I even have a son now to join my support team.

So in this house, breast cancer is funny, because for me it has to be. I have great doctors, we are moving fast, and I'm ready for this second journey of breast cancer. I have some funny blogs from round one and I am sure round two will keep us all entertained as well. 

The first time I found cancer it was Rosie O'Donell on The View nagging me every day in October to check my breasts. This time it was Rachel Ray reminding me that I would snuggle with two year old Mary on a chair each night and watch "30 Minute Meals" while resting from surgeries and chemo. 

So, laugh with me. When you read this and worry that you have to do something for me, laugh with me. It's what I want most. Last time I got 12 great years for my after. I will take another 12 after this bump in the road and see what it brings.