Part 2 Discovering Breast Cancer 101

After my mother passed of pancreatic cancer April 4, 2009, I decided it was time to make sure my own health was in line. I was 49 and it was suggested a colonoscopy be performed when one turns 50, especially when colon cancer runs in my paternal lineage as it does. So I saw my regular GP for a referral to a surgeon. (That's a whole other story in itself because it turns out my regular GP had started sharing his practise with his brother-in-law, someone who made my jaw drop and my BP rise the first time I saw him. We're talking underwear model, Ladies. Although a short-lived joy as he is always away, I consider it my the best perk in this entire bizarre saga to date) That scope was performed on May 25, by the same surgeon,that had sent me for a breast MRI in Vancouver. He had the results and the mass on the left breast was normal looking BUT there was something suspicious looking in the right breast that they felt should be pursued.
I remember the conversation quite clearly because I was so frustrated. I had gone all the way to Vanc and back to finally get answers on the left breast and the surgeon wanted to discuss nothing but the right breast.
It was then that I was referred to another surgeon, for what reason is not exactly clear ( my argumentativeness??). I was to call the new fellow's office and make an appointment.
On June 2, I waited in this next surgeon's temporary office in Smithers. He is from Terrace and had spent his Wednesday morning in surgery in Terrace before hopping in his vehicle, backpack in hand and travelling to Smithers to see more patients.
A bit behind, Dr. E barrelled into the examining room where I sat draped in a gown. I remember wondering why yet another person had to inspect my breasts? Wasn't the MRI a "Be All to End All?" And another man at that. Little did I know that at the hands of Dr. E I would end up flashing another eight people in the next few months whenever he examined me. All quite innocently as the Dr. faced me the entire time, oblivious of the open door or open curtain behind him. It got to be a running joke. Before meeting Dr. E I had been somewhat shy about baring the breast even with my girlfriend,, Dr. V. I'm writing this 16 weeks later and I tell you I could flash a pair of Saints and not care anymore. Besides, they're little traitors, the pair of them. (the breasts not the Saints)
I think the Torodol has finally kicked in. I seem to be spinning my wheels here.
Back on track. Dr. E wants me to travel to Terrace, 3 hrs from Houston, to get yet another opinion using an ultrasound with the new radiologist Dr. B. I call her Dr. Pain. Although it was never scheduled, Dr. B and the ultra sound tech decided they could also biopsy the growth seeing as I was there. Barry and I were floored that there was even a question of not biopsying that day? Isn't this what we had travelled so far for, not just a consult?
The biopsy is done with a big, thick, evil "needle-gun." It looks like a knitting needle with a very sharp end- one of those long sweater needles, not the smaller sock type. This is stuffed into a gun apparatus. The breast is supposedly frozen, mine repeatedly to no avail, and the knitting needle inserted repeatedly into the tumor and surrounding tissue, taking a "bite" out of the tissue before being withdrawn and then re-inserted. The samples are collected into a pill bottle filled with liquid. They resemble tiny polywogs, only white ones with red streaks on them. They took 4 easy samples, but it is the fifth one I will never forget. Mid sentence of saying, "I'm fine. I hardly feel a thing..." I clenched my teeth, the breath left my body and my knees tried to draw into my chest. It felt like my heart had been bitten by a shark and if I could have I am sure I would have screamed. I'm thinking THAT was the one sample that probably was the cancerous one?
It's a good thing a biopsy was done right away because two days later, as Barry and I left for Invermere to spread my Mother's ashes, we heard that the biopsy returned positive for cancer. Blow me down and knock me over with a feather. I got the news while visiting wonderful, dear friends of ours in Kamloops. It was with a large glass of premium wine in hand and a BBQ'd lamb meal before us that I called my girlfriend, who said, "I'm so sorry." Not able to take the seriousness, I was cracking jokes within seconds and my laughter had everyone in the house sure the news was good. It took awhile to sink in. I'm still not sure it has completely although I can tell you there have been a few days I take this all far too morbidly. I think the biggest realization came when a BF sent me flowers. What? Am I sick? This must be pretty bad. I better take this a little more seriously, I thought.
We all know how healthy I am. There's the shocker.I have never been in better shape. I eat so many vegis, fruit and organic meats.I pump iron and vitamins. Why is this happening to me? And why can't I reach my mother on the phone to tell her all about it?
When the "why me" voice subsided a bit, the WTF voice began. This was all because of an insistent non-cancerous growth in my left breast. A tiny 9mm growth (the size of your baby fingernail) which was never seen on any of the mammo's or ultrasounds in Smithers was only detected out of Dr. V's and my own persistence to get to the bottom of something else entirely. What if I had never gone for that MRI?
And that's not the least of the trouble this little cancerous mass would cause!

Part One Discovering Breast Cancer 101

It was a dark and stormy night. Sometimes it feels as if it should have started this way, this whole nightmarish roller coaster ride I am on, but it didn't. Rather it was a two year long journey of my Dr/friend Sandi and myself monitoring a suspicious formation in my left breast, a "lump" I discovered using self examination over two years ago, so around February 2008. Yearly mammograms usually resulted in further testing using ultrasound, but because of the density of my breasts nothing has ever been found. The lump feels like a hard pea with a long tail. It worsens in size as my menses approach and hurts to the touch the nearer my period comes. This is a good sign, I am told by a surgeon who examined the lump and said, "I hope you haven't been losing sleep over this?" Meaning it neither felt irregular or suspicious or cancerous in any way to him. Not satisfied with that answer, my Dr/friend suggests we have two choices. Either have it removed or fly to Vancouver to have a breast MRI. This cannot be done in PG or anywhere else up North, yet. So, the surgeon agreed to requisition me for the procedure and sent the necessary forms to the Lions Gate Hospital. On May 2, I flew to Van by myself,getting a special HawkAir medical rate which gave me an open ticket. I was under the impression from my surgeon that the "people" at this hospital would get to the bottom of this. That they were very good at what they did and if they felt there was an issue to deal with, that they would deal with it there and then. Looking back, I think the surgeon meant if there was a big cancerous mass or other reason to say OMG, that yes, they would then admit me and do what they must to save my life.
But that's not what happened. After overnighting in North Van, I walked, dragging my suitcase, up and down hills for 50 minutes to get to the hospital. It was sunny but chilly, especially with the perspiration rolling down my back. The exercise felt wonderful, especially before sitting in a waiting room with a surgical gown on for 30 minutes, before being subjected to what could only be labelled a mild form of torture. For a breast MRI, a patient lies on their abdomen, arms stretched overhead on a table that has two holes cut out into which you place your breasts. Headphones cover your ears so you can listen to a station not quite on the country or rock station but in some hideous nether land in between. An "escape ball" is placed into one palm. It's in case you can't take it and need to come out, you squeeze and they bring you out, ruining whatever test they are in the middle of. You are now pushed backward into the MRI machine, back in, very deep into the bowels of the machine. It's like a giant cigar tube and you're rolled to the very bottom of it. PLEASE do not put the lid on while I'm in here!! The entire time of all the tests will take 45 minutes. MINUTES that make you wonder if the clock ran out of batteries somewhere along the arduous way?
Claustrophobia is a strange sensation. I never felt it for the brain MRI I had in 2002. Little mirrors were attached so that I could see out very well from inside the long cigar tube and my abdomen was free to catch full breaths so that I could regulate my breathing. Not so with the breast MRI. You cannot breathe. And trying to do so would fetch a sharp, "Don't Move!" from the techs, even in between the nerve wracking loud Boops, Bangs and Bings that the machine makes.It's like a stick and tin can band straight from hell.
I reminded myself fervently that Barry had paid lots of money for me to endure this privilege, that if I could only lie still, then we would have the answers to what we have sought for two long years. My mother had recently succumbed to a very painful wrestling match with pancreatic cancer, passing away April 4, 2009. It was at the forefront of every thought still. If this was cancer, I wanted it dealt with now.
After the test was finished, I was told to wait while they checked the results were legible. When I was told I was free to go, I questioned the tech about when I would see the results and was disheartened to hear it would take two weeks more. She felt bad I had been under the impression something might have been done that day. As I said, this would have only happened had the techs seen something alarmingly wrong.
So, I boarded to plane to fly home more than a little crushed, with another waiting sentence. But what the heck. It had already been two years. What was another few weeks?
And like myself, you will have to wait for the results. This blog is long enough.

Travelling A New Road

I've been getting the gears from all sides for failing to blog. Sorry about that, but things in my life have taken an abrupt side road, which may take a serious chunk out of the year for me. On May 2, 2010 I flew to Vancouver for a breast MRI, recommended by Dr. G (first by my friend and "specialty female doctor" Dr. Sandi V.). A suspicious mass was biopsied in Terrace and on July 22 we got the news that it was cancerous. A lumpectomy and lymph node surgery on August 10 removed the small growth but found a slight infiltration of cancerous cells in one of the nodes.
Also, although a clear margin around the cancerous mass was achieved, the width of the margin was not to the oncologist's satisfaction. Think of a fried egg- there wasn't enough egg white taken from around the yolk, so...now I am on my way back to Terrace for a second surgery on September 14. My surgeon, Dr. E feels he can still save my right breast even though taking more from it. (It's worrisome because another friend went through this and her breast collapsed after the follow-up surgery. She now faces breast re-construction. I can't begin to imagine how she feels about this!) Dr. E will also be removing more lymph nodes, this time to check for any more cancer. The samples will be sent to a pathologist and then the results to the surgeon and an oncologist in Kelowna. The oncologist will then tell us the next plan of attack on this surprising twist of fate.
That's the facts. Now for the rest of it.
I do believe everything happens to us for a reason, which I am churning over in my mind as an idea for the next line of books. A series of fictional Chicken Soup For The Soul re-incarnation or "lesson learned and how" books. To help people believe in their purpose, whether they know what it is or not. I believe you make out of life what you put into it but some people stagnate and don't seem motivated to do anything other than survive. Maybe that is all their trip on earth was meant to accomplish this time? If nothing else, this line of thinking sure takes the stress out of worrying that you might not have time left to do what it is you hadn't figured out yet. It also helps your mind set if indeed you are not destined to carry on any further.
I believe I still have a long future ahead of me. But I am not going to bet the farm anymore. Maybe this was a wake-up call for me to get on with what I was supposed to be writing about all along. The past two books were very therapeutic in another way. Now I think it is time to get serious. AFTER I get down this new path. I still have a very long way to go. I have been told I will be getting chemo next followed by radiation treatments. Just something else to write about.
If I have the energy, I will try to keep posting about what having breast cancer is like. I knew absolutely NOTHING about it. So, stay tuned if you want to know more.

Watch This You Tube Video

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VL7UVSps3WU

You have to watch the above You Tube post. It's my son Lorne Osborne's audition tape to become a contestant on Wipe Out Canada, which will be shot in Argentina in October. He made the first cut of 200 from 44,000 and meets with the producers on Tuesday to see if he makes the next cut. It's hilarious! Thanks for taking a look.

Jumping The Gun

So I pulled a usual Debi. I jumped the gun. I sent the NY agent my work before reading Don't Murder Your Mystery which has a great section on backstory. I had way too much backstory and telling vs showing in the first three chapters of Not Just One. But yes, I already sent Christina Hogrebe the mess that I have since fixed up.I realize the biggest hook to the tale is the Highway of Tears issue. I needed to bring that forward, which I have. I was then informed that the number one cliched plot was none-other than the one I used- but it's a bit late to change that right now. I also changed the name from Not Just One to the Highway of Tears, hoping to catch more interest on the shelf.
On Monday and Tuesday July 12 and 13, I sent 5 e-queries out to one publisher and 4 agents. These had the recommended letter stating the jist of the book, my writing background and a sample of 5 pages plus synopsis. The request is merely a feeler to see if they might be interested in seeing the rest.
Now is the HARDEST part of the entire process. The wait for a reply. Most of these people won't bother if they don't want to see more. They just delete you. This was admitted by the scary Toronto agent Helen Heller at the Bloody Words conference. She told us she sits with her finger hovering over the delete button. What she didn't say was that at the stroke of a coffee withdrawl spasm, a disheartening call from someone or such other ill-timed distraction, she might delete a row of dreary looking proposals. The power in that finger of hers!
I am going to try and make myself continue on to the second book, once called Double Dip, now named Double the Desperation. Fitting. I am feeling pretty desperate to get these books published. At least now I am headed in a more positive direction thanks to Don't Murder Your Mystery using more front story, more impact drama. Here I go on the second book, which means my head will once more be buried for a month.

I want to send acknowledgement and a huge Kudos to Table 100 for the website project of www.debilynsmith.com. The site is up and running, looking very professional, yet informal.Just what I wanted. It's a great avenue for showcasing my work and you've done an incredible job, persevering through the constant changes. I'm sure it wasn't easy when you had to deal with someone that uses 500 words to your five.
Congratulations on another happy, satisfied customer. Feel free to use my name as a reference for any future reluctant or indecisive clients. I can honestly say it was worth every cent!
Thanks again.
DebiLyn

One GIANT Step Closer...

I have returned from the 10th annual Bloody Words Mystery Writers conference in Toronto with what I consider good news. Instead of having my dreams squashed, my work laughed at and doors slammed in my face (as the nightmares went) I am filled with hope, a renewed vigil and even a deadline of sort for my future. It was all good, all interesting and definitely worthy of the champagne my sister bought for us to celebrate with on Saturday late-afternoon. But before that...

I started my adventure lost in the Hilton Hotel for almost 30 minutes before finding the escalator that took me downstairs to the conference area. Once I saw the skeleton with the Bloody Words t-shirt, I knew I was finally there! Festivities started with a 5:30-6:30 meet-and-greet with glasses of wine for purchase and phyllo nibblers being passed by white-gloved waiters.I figured one glass of wine and a pastry-laced dinner a la BW wouldn't hurt, so I eagerly drank and noshed without abandon.

My interview with the esteemed Christina Hogrebe of the NY based Jane Rotrosen Literary Agency was at 7 PM, so it was with a wine-loosened tongue and buttery-throat terror that I was brought to her and introduced in the Varley room. While seated at a linen-draped interview table, Christina had a glass of red wine at her side, perhaps to suggest the informality of it all. To help de-stress the situation? Unfortunately, this was lost on me. I think my nervousness compounded with how much I truly wanted to work with Christina. Of the 4 attending agents, she was the only one actively looking for female based literature. Her on-line bio was written with a light, humorous touch that mirrored the way I usually try to address things and although I was concerned with having an American agent, Christina professed her fondness for my childhood idol and Canadian heroine, Anne Shirley. Christina was another kindred spirit!
The"emotional meter" was at an alarming high. I am still amazed I didn't throw up during our meeting.

I began just fine. I even handed Christina a copy of the "script" I would be following to explain my background and key points of the books. A plan which I still kick myself for not following. When talking about Not Just One, I skipped from the beginning to the near-end, to the middle, then tripped around bringing up other key actions out of sequence as her eyes grew rounder and rounder.
"I think you might have enough for three books in this one," she said, seemingly lost in the jumbled mess that had spilled from my overly lubricated throat.

This is about when my lower left lip began to tremble. At first it was slight, but within a breath, it was a full blown earthquake happening right there on my mouth. I looked into Christina's big eyes. Could she see the twitching? Did she worry I was insane? Would I next start to froth, coming to a full lather before my allotted fifteen minutes were up?

What was she saying? Her lips were moving with sound, but I could not hear. The twitch had a thrumming pulse that filled my ears. I watched and her face turned away from mine. Her hand went into her purse. She is from the United States.. Would she pull out a stun gun? Mace?
But out came a business card. "Think about what I have said and then send me something in about a month." Her smile was large. And sincere.
The administrator was at my elbow to escort me so I rose and stumbled away, turning once, not sure if I should shake Christina's hand or do what I felt like which was bolt from the room, lamenting, "Oh, no! I'm such an idiot!"

All night I mentally whipped and cursed myself, not thinking that the outcome had been good. I had the golden business card and a personal request to see more of my work.It doesn't get a whole lot better than that for a first time author. Okay, she could have begged to have it sent right away. As it turned out, it was for the best that she didn't.

The next day came the manuscript evaluations. Not Just One was with Barbara Fradkin who thought it was very good. "It's hard to write humour and mystery together, but you did it quite well," she said. That's not to say there isn't still some major adjustments in the first chapters dealing mainly with back story versus moving the plot along faster. I have a problem with switching from past to present tense through out as well.
Barbara gave me a big hug when we finished and wished me the best of luck with it in the future. Now I have my work cut out for me. Armed with an experienced writer's comments and suggestions I can present something very professional to Christina next month.
Best of all, I received the validation I had went to Toronto for from not just one, but two multiple-published authors.

That night was the wind-up dinner. I delivered wine tickets to thank some of the key volunteers for helping me bumble my way through my first BW, including one for Barbara Fradkin. I also took one to Christina. While there, I told her honestly what the evaluators had to say about my work. She responded by saying she was looking forward to my submission to her next month. She was even concerned that the agency was having e-mail problems and to keep trying if mine didn't get through to her. We left on a good note. Not just a good note, but a note that didn't feel finished. It's like meeting someone who becomes an instant friend. You look forward to seeing them again some day. I hope I get that day. Maybe in PEI, I told her, where Anne of G.G. was written?
So, it was a worthwhile trip, if not only for rubbing elbows, sipping cocktails and having dinner with other writers, even some pretty famous ones! There were the workshop classes and an open mike session of ask an agent! Yes, I brought up the Canadian versus American book sale and setting for your novel question. I think agent Helen Heller said it all when she said "I disagree" quite firmly to agent Stacia from New York, before advising us to, if we could, set our stories south of the border.
Interesting conversations.

I have one month to get these books revised and ready. There won't be a lot of e-mail, face-booking or blogging time, but I will keep you posted on any new developments.
Until then, thanks again for becoming a follower of all these Dribbles from DebiLyn. Today I feel like I am one giant step closer. It IS going to happen!