Lorne and my sister were the first people I told about my diagnosis. I knew they were both waiting on my results and obviously they were the ones I needed to tell. Telling them, within minutes of leaving the doctor's office, was very surreal - like an out-of-body experience. I was drifting in an other-worldly haze; somewhat detached and mechanical even in making the calls, knowing simply that I should yet not quite grasping the reality of the words as they stumbled from my lips. I couldn't begin to imagine how it must sound to them, listening on the other side - and there was no facial expression for me to gage the impact of what I was even telling them. The words felt so strange, especially using them for the first time in reference to myself. Heck, I don't think I've ever really got used to using them in reference to Vicky even 3 years later.
Looking back I wonder if calling Lorne at work to tell him, albeit on his cell phone, was really the right, or fair, thing to do. (It wasn't until weeks later that I remembered just how distraught Mark was when I'd spoken to him shortly after he'd got the same news from Vicky a couple of years ago. Had I just devastated Lorne the same way?) Was it callous and unthinking of me to tell him the results over the phone and while he was at work? Should I have arranged to meet him in person instead? Coulda, woulda, shoulda, right? At the time I just knew I had to tell him and it couldn't wait until the end of day.
In fact it wasn't until I told a couple of friends later that same day - in person (and over lunch of all things) - that I began to realize the impact that the words "I have breast cancer" would have on halting a conversation.
Having cleverly kept an open mind about that morning's doctor appointment, even knowing I'd be getting the biopsy results, I saw no reason to change anything about the lunchtime plans I'd made to meet up with my good friends and ex-colleagues, Lynda and Denise. I hadn't seen either of them for a few months so we chatted and laughed for a few minutes, picked an outdoor table to eat at and casually brought out our food. We quickly caught up with each others' latest news and a short while later, during a momentary lull in the conversation, I felt like I was sitting in the middle of a dream where I knew what was about to happen next but couldn't predict the outcome.
"So, I saw my doctor this morning and....it turns out I've got breast cancer." Perhaps not the most subtle delivery but the words fell out and I was shocked at the absolute shock on their faces - their jaws almost literally hit the pavement, especially since I hadn't even mentioned the biopsies or anything previous. Their reaction stirred in me my first direct awareness of the impact that such words have - hanging there as if frozen mid-air. (Crap, crap, crap - what did I go and say that for? Bugger! I've just gone and ruined a perfectly lovely lunch and made this all about me. Way to go, Katrina!) Suddenly feeling acutely aware of what I'd just said, I could hardly even make eye contact. I apologized profusely for just blurting it out like that and, in my usual fashion, tried to fluff over it and immediately sought to uplift or change the conversation as if (hoping?) they'd forget I even said it. Having not yet had chance to let the news sink in myself, I was clearly ill-prepared for the reaction of others and now I just wanted desperately to take it back and simply save it for another day.
They asked how and when all this had happened, how was I feeling about it, how was Lorne doing and what happens next - and I probably answered with the same bewildered, third-person detachment that I'd had earlier with Lorne and Vicky. Besides, I still wasn't quite understanding what any of this meant myself.
Of course the irony of having recently lost my job at the Cancer Society and then getting this diagnosis was not lost on them either. But my trying to lighten the conversation after dropping that little bombshell was terribly awkward and I suspect I failed miserably. I'm not sure how many times I apologized and expressed how terribly guilty I felt for 'spoiling' our lunch date. I think we managed some follow-up small talk, I'm not sure - it's all a little bit vague really.
After we hugged and went our separate ways, I felt strangely off-kilter and disconnected as I wandered downtown, back toward the Canada Line skytrain. Something fundamental had changed that morning and yet everything seemed just the same. Then I was struck with the realization that there are more people with whom I should share this same news - family and close friends - but how? I hadn't anticipated the impact it would have. I was beginning to suspect that this really is big shit - and it's especially big shit to share with those you love. Bugger!
Knowing we'd be going to England within a few weeks, I deliberated over whether to tell my family beforehand or wait until we get there. Should I tell them now or wait until I've at least met with the surgeon, so that I might ideally have more specifics of what's what and a clearer picture of what lies ahead?
Having quickly gained a sense of just what a conversation-stopper it seems to be, I finally opted to tell my family ahead of time, having decided that I didn't want its immediate impact to spoil our relatively short amount of time with everyone.
It was a few days later that I took a deep breath and dialled my mum's number. Just about the first words out of her mouth were, "Hello love, how are you? Keeping happy and healthy I hope?" (How is it mothers always seem to have sixth sense?)
"Well, erm that's actually why I'm calling...." I'm sure she could tell immediately from my tone and I hated to tell her something that I knew would upset her, especially because she'd already had the same news from Vicky not all that long ago and no-one saw that coming either.
Thankfully I found my words and gave her an overview of the last few weeks of medical appointments, the recent diagnosis and my dilemma as to how/when to tell her - as well as my brothers. In that call she was exactly the mum I needed her to be - upset, naturally, but not distraught, sympathetic but not panicked, concerned and very loving. If hugs could physically pass down an international phone line, then I swear I could feel her arms wrapped tight around me. I hadn't wanted to tell her news that I knew would be hard for her to hear, but was very glad I had. I felt a huge relief, reassurance and now it was out there for processing rather than having it overshadow the start of our trip home in a few weeks, although things like this always heighten the fact we're so bloody far away!
I told Terry & Jane and Graham via a message on Facebook (how very modern) - it seemed easier to break it that way and less like making a round of phone calls as if to say someone had died. As you'd expect, they were shocked but also incredibly supportive. Telling them - and mum - before the trip home was definitely the right decision.
Having got past that initial hurdle, I told just a couple of other close friends and bit-by-bit the words began to sink in just a little, even to my own ears. Lorne also began to tell his family and friends, in his own time and in his own way. He was very private about the calls and part of me wondered how he was really feeling about all this and how was he even explaining it to them, but I respect his privacy and I'm trying to make sure the lines of communication stay wide open between us. He's my love and my support, this thing affects both of us and it's very important to me that neither of us hides from the other just how we are feeling about this which is why, just a couple of weeks later, it was actually a huge relief to me when he declared that my diagnosis scares him shitless. Heck, I know I've lost sleep over it already, trying not to think about it when it sometimes feels like it's all I can think about. How bad is it? Will I need chemo? When will they operate and how might the surgery change the shape of my boob? Bugger - if there's a part my body I've always been perfectly happy with, it's my boobs. Of course I sometimes think they could be perhaps a little more....ample...but, on the whole, I've always been perfectly happy with them.
And how weird that one of my last postings on this blog was actually about my boobage and how unusually and amusingly busty I feel when I wear a push-up bra, which I nickname my prosthetics. Then here I sit, just months later, hoping I don't end up actually needing prosthetics after all this. Ughh, I'll just be glad when I have more info so I know what to expect from here.
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