Robin’s Egg Blue

I’m not very good at waiting. The need to know, the drive to gather information and have a plan, and get it executed is something I struggle with.

Cancer tries the patience of everyone and any delay or wait – be that around diagnosis or getting treatment started can feel endlessly excruciating. I find myself back in the waiting chair, where just months ago I thought I had cleanly escaped the threat of cancer for at least another year. Two months later I’m back at the crossroads of “what is this?” and “what will happen if it’s cancer?”

Having danced with cancer once you know that you are never free from the shadow of it hanging over your head. It hovers in the background of your life. The further you move away from it the easier it is to turn your thoughts away from the threat but you always know it’s like an old coat that no longer fits – it hangs at the back the closet ready for you when it decides it’s time to be brought back out.

Last Wednesday I began to feel unwell – shakes, chills, fever, headache – all the signs of a flu. Thursday morning, still feeling unwell, as I was getting dressed I noticed unusual redness on the breast where I’d had cancer just shy of 21 years ago. My immediate reaction was that the redness and swelling was infection, explaining the symptoms I’d been experiencing the last twelve hours or so. And then of course the brain goes to where it always does once you’ve worn that “small c” – could this be a return of the cancer?

Breast cancer has many faces, many types. They do not all present with a lump. Inflammatory Breast Cancer is one that does not hide like the others can with lumps you cannot see, might not be able to feel and many are only detected by mammogram or ultrasound. Inflammatory Breast Cancer announces itself, quickly, suddenly and aggressively. Whatever was happening with my body, it needed to be seen by a professional as soon as possible.

A 10 day course of antibiotic was begun on Thursday to rule out (or in) infection. But no stone left unturned, an ultrasound was decided upon (by my physician and myself) to see what was happening under the skin.

There has been improvement – the antibiotics seem to be doing what they are meant to – redness fading, swelling gone and yet that’s not a definitive answer because if this is infection – where has it come from and if something like an abscess it will need to be drained. An ultrasound yesterday showed some unexplained inflammation and now we move to the next stage, a repeat of the mammogram I had two months ago that showed nothing untoward. And I wait. Earliest appointment for that is the end of the month.

I won’t sugarcoat this and say I’m sanguine about it. There is still uncertainty and a mild level of fear due to the unknown. The what if. The what next. It is easy to get ahead of yourself when you want answers and a plan. But it gets you nowhere but stress, anxiety and headaches.

I learned so much about cancer when we first took to the dance floor. I learned about how to cope and to get through each day until the next step, the next test, the next diagnostic discovery. You write down dates and you hold them up as beacons to wellness, recovery and hope.

I live with hope, always. I find ways to keep busy. The day before my surgery to remove the lump in my breast (it was not inflammatory breast cancer, that one was hiding inside a duct) I decided I would paint my bedroom. I chose a shade of robin’s egg blue. A colour of hope and joy. I knew that when I was at home recovering I would want to gaze at something soft and serene. With thoughts of renewal and joy. Of hope and possibility. I spent the day exhausting myself completing that project not worrying about being tired because I knew I’d spend much of the next day sleeping during and after surgery. It was such a treat to recover in that room surrounded by a hopeful aura, and it went a long way to my emotional recovery as well.

I haven’t decided that anything needs painting at the moment, but I am keeping busy and occupied and doing whatever I can to be living “outside of my head” where nothing good can happen when you twist yourself in knots of worry and doubt.

I’ve done this dance before. It’s a tango with a partner that will step on your toes and bend you backwards in violent dips. It likes to lead. Should this infection turn out to be more serious and take me back to that dance floor?  I know the choreography and I’m further ahead this time than last. I know what this particular partner is like and will expect it’s moves. I know how to follow but more importantly, I’ve learned that I’m ready to lead.