The Pink Experience.
I got life.
The experience of one Cancer Warrior.
The Scene: Seated in the 4th row, direct center in our workplace conference room. The promotions were just announced, and the meeting was coming to a festive end when my phone rang.
The Attire: Navy wide legged pant, navy shirt hidden under a colored, flowered navy, pink, burgundy zipped jacket accented with a pair of navy peek-a-boo stilettos.
The Meeting: One of un-expectancy.
The Environment: The previous year was spent traveling.
Traveling in the air.
Traveling on the road.
Traveling between cities between states between coasts.
As a Consultant, I travel/ed every week for work and when my family demands warranted travel to my hometown on a consistent cadence; I laid my head in my downtown Atlanta loft no more than 30 days in that entire year.
God’s timing.
Once the dust settled and a normal cadence could ensue, I made a long overdue appointment to visit my holistic doctor, Dr. Bhatia. During our medical appointment, she began her litany of questioning primarily around self-care, margin and holistic connection. Understanding my past personal plight; she stated, “I know you are not due for a mammogram for another couple of years but in light of recent events; I think we should get you in to be examined.” Not having the energy to resist and wanting to be compliant, I wholeheartedly agreed. The following week, I found myself at Emory Hospital.
Our Story: After the mammogram, routine, regular, mundane; I got dressed and drove home unaware of what the future would hold and eventually unfold.
After my examination, I felt a stir. Nothing alarming; just a stir in my spirit that could not be named. The following 48 hours, I received a call asking if I could come back for further testing? Nothing to worry about, we just want to ensure everything is good and clear. I returned back to a place that was once foreign, now began to house an uncomfortable familiarity.
During that visit, the Nurse stated annoyingly that “we have an anal Doctor on staff today and she saw something small that she wants us to test to rule out any and all possibilities.” Her ask is to conduct another exam and perform a biopsy to ease any concern. I, someone who deems themselves highly intelligent began to ask myself questions, “What is a biopsy? What does that entail? Will they put me under? Could it be cancer? No, cancer does not run in my family. What does a biopsy really mean?” The questions cascaded endlessly into a pit of fear and concern.
Before those thoughts could manifest further, the nurse returned, meticulously detailing the step by step process awaiting me. They rolled one machine out and another in. I am seated. My right breast maneuvered into this machine that will produce visible results for the Doctor who’d assess the results. During this procedure, my breast was numbed, and I could feel the warmth of my own blood running down my sternum, onto my stomach and bleeding into the top of my black jeans. After a few deep, fearful and intentional breaths, I closed my eyes and prayed.
Opening my eyes to find blood pooling on the floor and immediately felt ill. I politely asked the nurse to clean it up as the connection to my own open wound was too intense for me to stomach.
Fast forward, I returned to that hospital multiple times for 5 additional biopsies that ranged from needles to MRIs and ultrasounds. I was poked, stuck, probed and prodded more than I could imagine (during each of those separate visits; I was quickly becoming a biopsy expert) but the staff was kind, thoughtful and considerate.
Tears still fell but comfort was generous and immediate.
It was a Friday, at work; we started a new process for promotions and celebratory energy filled the air. As the departmental meeting was coming to a close, my phone rang. It was Emory Hospital. The doctor introduced herself and asked, “are you somewhere you can talk?” I asked her to hold. I struggled to straddle seats to get past the incoming traffic coming to congratulate the person beside me. I got to my car to hear her say, “we found cancerous cells.”
I could not compute. Did not understand. Did not want to understand, perhaps?
I asked her to repeat herself. She unwaveringly stated, “we found cancerous cells.” I asked her, “what does that mean?” I thought, people have good and bad bacteria so perhaps we all have those cells but differing levels.
No. I learned, that’s not a possibility.
She confirmed, “you have cancer. The good news is … “ I lost every word she said. I have no idea how I sat seated on my couch from being seated in my car located at work some 15 minutes away, but there I sat.
Alone. On my couch. With cancer as an unwelcomed guest in my body.
I called the number that had called me with my pen and paper in hand. I was immediately thrusted into unfamiliar vocabulary, swimming in unfathomable medical options and learning new terminology. I was overwhelmed but started researching and making lists to connect with doctors throughout Atlanta. Hanging up, shocked and rattled. I called my Mom who was entering the cafeteria to eat Thanksgiving Dinner with my nephew at his elementary school.
I broke. “I HAVE CANCER!” I screamed, cried and yelled all at the same time.
Less than 3 hours later, she was in Atlanta from Kentucky. What a comfort having her near and wrapping up in her unconditional and steadfast love.
Several months prior, I signed up for the 30 Mile Breast Cancer walk. The first day was today. The day I was told, I have cancer. Mom asked me, “do you still want to do it?” I, all cried out, nodded in the affirmative. So, the afternoon of learning I had cancer, we packed up and checked into the Marriott Marquis to begin our 30-mile walking weekend. It was a source of relief, release and connection. No one knew I had been diagnosed that day except my Mom and one young scientist working on astonishing break-through medication.
We conquered that weekend in WARRIOR status and topped it off with a Tyler Perry book read at the Fox Theatre. Seated in the 2nd row from the stage it was an uplifting message my heart and soul needed to hear.
From there, it was a springboard to over 10 different Surgeons and Oncologists, that covered 4 different hospital entities. I was determined to do my research. Determined to connect with a team of doctors that understood my heart, felt right in my spirit and soulfully understood my desired outcomes (no plastic and as natural as possible). 3 Radiologists, 5 Plastic Surgeons (whose portfolio expands pass plastics), 3 Onocologists and more nurses than I can count.
My situation:
“Ductal Carcinoma In Situ. Assigned Grade 2-3 which is based on the structure of the cancer cells under the microscope. Stage 0. Approximate size of the area is within a cluster of calcifications spanning 4 cm as seen on the ultrasound.”
That’s a mouthful, I know …
God directed me straight, poignantly and unflinchingly to Dr. Erin Bowman. I remember looking at her photo and being excited with the opportunity to gauge alignment of her reviews (which were extensive, detailed, positive and consistent). Dr. Bowman was described so eloquently … patient, active listener, intentional, connected, dialed in, diligent, professional, generous with her time, thorough, detailed, engaged and the reviews continued. She was described as pure perfection especially in dealing with trauma such as this. My Mom and I were excited. Dr. Bowman entered the room in this pink calf length form fitted dress that was crafted just for her, the perfect nude pump and a smile that could light a city. Her dimple shined as she extended her hand to me.
I said, “I love that pink dress!” She said “what do you know about the color pink?” I was like, “Oh no, she is not.” She connected with my Mom and then we began to banter and soon discovered we were sorority sisters. She, my Mom and I connected. She listened actively, she locked intently on our words, she understood our concerns, she was a navigator to a plan based on what she heard, and she delivered a plan of possibilities that were bedded in best case scenarios.
Dr. Bowman provided a list of other Doctors to connect, meet and engage with who would conduct the second piece of the surgical process. I met with all of them.
Just like Dr. Bowman; when I met Dr. Ma, it was just as divine, destined and instant. I was in the waiting room when Dr. Ma came out and was ending time with another one of her patients’. Giving that patient all the time, she needed, they talked about generalities related to her next steps. The patient began sharing how she was packing boxes for a move, Dr. Ma warned against lifting too much and definitely so soon after her surgery. They were jovial and engaged. I loved how she loved her patients and it made me excited for my time with her.
We created instant community and a 45-minute appointment, turned into 3 hours and me almost missing my flight to a consulting visit. I loved everything about Dr. Ma. A cancer survivor herself, impeccable attention to detail, she listened with every fiber of her being, she shared in the experienced challenges, she got to know me, my lifestyle and my way of living. She wanted/desired/appreciated the opportunity to understand what motivates, inspires and connects. She paints a realistic picture that you know she has also drawn herself into the landscape.
I left her office knowing with 100% certainty that it was God’s compass that led me to this powerhouse team of Dr. Bowman and Dr. Ma. Of course, they are also friends. Friends working together and collaborating for me and my well-being … Look at God!
I ran out of that office (to catch a flight) but more so, elated that I had found the ONE who I am confident would navigate the perfect path for my cancer journey.
More paperwork and insurance filing than I have ever completed in life. I am so grateful for health insurance and a company that provides extensive and lucrative health coverage. The Holiday Season caught us, so my surgery was scheduled for the beginning of the next year.
The prep was extensive from doctor markings to hospital prep, medication pickup to breathing apparatus; blood testing to weight gain – it was all overwhelming but taking it day by day, helped. What needs to be done today to get to tomorrow?
I had to order a recliner because that would serve as my bed for 6-8 weeks after surgery
I had to get shots every day post-surgery for 21 days at the same time to stop blood clots
I had to get a doughnut to help the pain of constant sitting and laying (it would a true-life saver)
I had to have my drains flushed out regularly and consistently that were tubes protruding out of my hips to flow into a bubble.
The list continued and the tasks seemed endless.
Surgery was 4 hours and 22 minutes.
The doctors were so proud of me, the procedure and the work they had performed. I loved that! When you are proud of your own work, you know it was GOOD!
3 days in ICU.
I was taken good care of … someone woke me every 20 minutes (at least, it felt that way) … machines working overtime and staff constantly turning over. I actually don’t remember really sleeping.
The beeps constant.
The interruptions steady.
The walks painful.
The food dreadful.
The smiles plentiful.
The drugs ample.
Dr. Ma’s imprint everywhere!
I loved when Dr. Ma and Dr. Bowman visited. I felt so safe, so cared for and so invested in. Moving from ICU to a general room was a welcome reprieve. Less interruptions, access to choose foods, minimal beeping and a television that brought the outside world in …
I remember asking my Mom, “How am I peeing?” That’s when I realized I had a catheter in and slightly panicked. I had heard of these but had never experienced one. So, when the nurses told me, excitedly, “tomorrow, we will be able to remove your catheter!” I was like, “how in the world is that going to happen?” Soon, I would have my answer.
The nurses came in, gloved up and ready. Pulled the blankets in a rolling fashion. Lifted my gown. Counted to 3 and pulled. It was the oddest sensation. I have no desire to repeat. It felt strange to be released from a tube that has been part of you, literally. I did feel lighter and one step closer in the recovery process.
After 3 more days, it was a farewell. Bittersweet. It was more sweet than bitter. The medical staff -- top class with a tremendous heart of gold. How they loved on my Mom made me forever loyal to the entity that is Piedmont Healthcare. It was impressive to watch them care for us and especially her who made a makeshift bed by mine and ate what was within reach of her short commute.
Leaving the hospital was joyful. Being surrounded by all things familiar was delightful. Mom and I soon got into our routine. Visitation by the limited few whom I shared my diagnosis. Consider it old school, cultural or basic survival but I did not share my diagnosis. I didn’t tell family, friends or co-workers and my doctors would constantly challenge me on this action. For me, I am an extraordinarily private person who has a larger than life personality.
I had to wrap my own mind around my own diagnosis and didn’t know how to share.
Why would I share? What purpose would that fulfill? Until, slowly, if I ran into you (in one of the moments of reality, I would ask for prayer). That would sustain me until I was able to sustain myself. I wanted to focus SOLELY on survival with God’s direction clear and distraction-less.
Back at home in my downtown Atlanta Loft, I was in pain. I was also heavily medicated to bear the pain of a surgery that left me cancer free. The pills were popping, the fluid was being injected, the drains were being strained and the body was doing what it does best, healing!.
Mom made me walk at least 3 times a day which expedited everything. It was filled with a lot of eye rolling, teeth sucking, behind the back winching and every other kid like gesture to get out of walking, moving and stretching the tightness of my incisions. Mom was amazing as she put up with every single one of my shenanigans.
For 6 weeks, I slept in a recliner. A rented recliner used for a time such as this. The recliner accompanied by an extensive remote which allowed me every possible body angel without straining the muscles that were severely impacted. My standing posture went from a full bend over day 1 to a full stand 6 weeks later. The in between was filled with frustration, tears, profanity, angst, anxiety, impatience and at times anger. What an angelic blessing is my Mom who was determined to walk me endlessly from one corner of downtown Atlanta to another.
This journey is difficult to document, hard to explain and unique to each person and their respective bodily temple.
Note to Self: God’s direction is never misguided.
Shout Out to ALL: Get a mammogram regularly, routinely and consistently.
Question: Why is health an after-thought until it can’t be?
