"Busy but Benign"

That's what the surgeon said to me yesterday!

I have no breast cancer, and nothing to worry about!

He told me that I have Fibrocystic Breast Disease and the pathology findings were consistent with that condition.

The calcification they removed is benign.

You have NO idea the huge relief this is for me - aside from the obvious.

On Wednesday, I got a phone call from the Radiologist who did the biopsy procedure. Her information was slightly different.

She told me the calc was benign, but they found another area of 'disorganized cells' which in 30%-40% of times becomes 'something bad'. She also said it wouldn't show up on a mammogram until it was 'really bad'. Her recommendation was that I go ahead and have a surgeon do an excisional biopsy.

You can imagine what that did for the old stress-o-meter!

I went to my surgeon's appointment then waiting for him to tell me all of this too. He simply read the report through with me and told me I was in the clear!

I told him what the Radiologist had discussed with me - and he again went through the report telling me it said nothing about disorganized cells, no evidence of atypia at all - just healthy, albeit lumpy, tissue! And, under no circumstances did I need an excisional biopsy. He was quite irritated that I'd been told otherwise.

This surgeon is a very nice, very no-nonsense kind of guy. I trust him 100% - and happily take his diagnosis!

So a weight off my mind to be sure.

Now if I could just get my little man a clean bill of health we'd be good.

We were back with Jay at the doc's today - fifth time in 3 weeks. I think I'm due my own parking space there at this point!

Poor little mite after three weeks in which he's had croup, pneumonia, croup again, congestion and a bad cough (which I was paranoid was a pneumonia relapse) - now has an ear infection!

Please, please let this be the end of it!

No Answers Yet

Once again - very kind readers have been asking for updates on this ongoing biopsy saga. Thank you so much for thinking of me, and taking the time to email me.

I had the biopsy done last Wednesday. Not one of the most fun experiences of my life that's for sure!

The calcification they were after was very far in, right at my chest wall. And, it was very tiny. For these reasons - it wasn't so easy for them to get, and it took three attempts before they were successful.

Add to this that the local anesthetic didn't work and I wasn't numb when they started everything - ugh!

Anyway - a few more shots of lidocaine I was comfortable enough for them to continue. They got what they needed and I expect the results sometime during the week. I have a follow up appointment with the surgeon on Thursday - all I can do in the meantime is pray that the results are benign.

I do look like someone who had a boob job though - but could only afford half a boob job. The swelling is taking a little longer than I expected to go down.

I haven't had much time to blog, or read blogs for that matter in the last couple of weeks and this is part of the reason I haven't been posting updates.

My two year old, has been keeping me on my toes again. Two weeks ago he woke at 6:30am with that tell tale barking cough. Croup. Again.

He was given steroids at the doctor's office that morning -and the barking went away in a couple of days - but he did have a persistent cough for the rest of that week.

By the following Saturday (last weekend) we were back at the doc's office with a very high fever, coughing and a very unwell baby. We had to go to the ER for a chest xray, and lo and behold, pneumonia had settled in. IV fluids and antibiotic at the ER kick started his recovery and he was thankfully a different child by the next day. He's still taking antibiotic for the pneumonia - but his follow up appointment on Monday was good, and the doctor was very pleased with his progress.

Fast forward to this weekend, after a week of almost running at 100% - my boy gets another fever on Friday evening, and wakes up yesterday with the croupy cough again. He is also very heavily congested - so it looks like we're dealing with another viral respiratory infection.

I haven't decided yet if I'll be taking him in tomorrow to the doctor. He's eating and drinking fine, and his breathing is good - he just sounds like a seal when he coughs! So he'll be getting adhoc steamy bathroom visits for the rest of the day - and his humidifier is doing overtime in his room, too. After that we'll play it by ear.

Just that time of year I guess when these kids get slammed with abrupt changes in the weather, and germs. Lots of germs!

We're doing our best to get ready for Christmas. We have a rather anorexic looking Christmas tree - a pre-lit job I bought at Target in the sales after Christmas last year. I hate it. Plus, a whole section of lights at the bottom keeps flicking on and off. How come these things look great in the store, and look crap in your house? I haven't altogether abandoned the idea of dumping it and going back to a real tree - but we'll see.

We were supposed to have my Parents in Law for Christmas, but sadly they can't come now since my Father In Law suffered a heart attack last weekend, and is still in hospital. His Consultant (Cardiologist) has said 'NO WAY' to the prospect of him flying to Florida anytime soon. In light of his troubles, a Charlie Brown-esque Christmas Tree doesn't seem that much of an issue really.

So medical drama simmers on - I don't mind telling you though - I'm ready for it to be over!

I'll post when I get the result of the biopsy - and would love you all to say a prayer like me that it's the result I want.

Quest for Peace of Mind

Some kind readers have been asking for an update to this post.

My original appointment was rescheduled to today - so I had no news to give until now.

I met with the surgeon this morning who was very nice and gave me concrete advice - which to be honest, hasn't been all that forthcoming in the medical arenas that we've been dealing with in the last while. It's like they (as in the collective, medical 'they') are afraid to give advice, in case it proves to be erroneous and you sue them!

This medical/legal fear is not a helpful environment in which anxious patients (that would be me) are able to make sound decisions on their own medical treatment.

I went in to that office with a 'just tell me what to do' mentality - and I'm happy to have left with a clear plan.

The surgeon considers me low risk for anything sinister (I can't bring myself to type it, but you know what I'm talking about). This in itself is reassuring, and is something that nobody else was prepared to say.

However, he was very mindful of my level of anxiety over this whole thing. That's not to say I spend every waking moment in fear of it - I do not - but it does take over my thoughts several times a day, and sometimes at night.

Evidently I don't do not knowing very well.

I will go ahead and have what is called a stereotactic biopsy. Even though it's unlikely to be malignant - I need to know one way or the other. If it's not - then I've got my peace of mind - and I continue with regular mammography checks. If it is, then I haven't let it fester for four additional months. I feel better either way - that I'm being positive and proactive about it.

So, more waiting and a weird procedure on the horizon - but if it helps preserve my sometimes fragile mental health (and I'm only half joking!), then it's a good thing.

Thank you to those of you who asked about this, I appreciate it.

Will keep you posted.

In the meantime - if there is any woman reading this, who is over 35 and has not yet had their first mammogram done - go get the phone and make that appointment now. If you are overdue for an annual mammogram - again, get calling your docs office. NOW!

So, I gots ta see a surgeon!

November 10th I get the pleasure of sitting down with a surgeon to discuss my options regarding the micro calcification that is evident on my mammogram as mentioned here.

Can we say 'UGH' ?

I had that mammogram over a month ago. I've already done the 'freak-the-hell-out-feel-scared-what-if-it's-something-horrible?' routine.

I've emailed with The Laundress, had emails from other great women who know about these things either from first hand experience, or from working in the medical field - and I had calmed down nicely thankyouverymuch!

My head was firmly planted back in the sand, pretending that everything was just fine and we'd not talk of it again until April when the radiologist wanted to have another look and see.

Hmm.

It turns out that I have a very proactive, concerned about me (and maybe a bit concerned about herself) OBGYN whose nurse called me today and discussed my 'options' - ending up with their solid recommendation that I go ahead and see a surgeon to discuss a biopsy, or complete removal of the 'micro calcification'.

I had actually had thoughts along these lines back in September - my gut reaction was 'what do you mean calcifications? Get them the hell out of there!' - but passed this off as my overly active (read negative) imagination and complete over reaction on my part.

Once again we're back to the rational part of my mind telling me to 'calm down', and the emotional part saying 'how the heck do you expect me to calm down?'

I'll endeavour to remember my pact with JJ - and stay positive.

I'll probably see if they'll take whatever it is that's concerning them out - and get rid of it completely, hopefully never to be heard of again.

Ladies, if you've had experience of this - or had any biopsy type stuff done - spill it - please and thank you!

Heartache and Healing

This week marks a sombre anniversary for Northern Ireland, my home.

Many readers will know and understand that Northern Ireland has a deeply troubled past. Troubles borne of sectarian hatred, distrust, unease, and intolerance. The province has endured over three decades of bombing and shooting campaigns. Physical destruction, economic decline and human loss.

Some of you will not understand, because more than thirty years of mindless violence, countless deaths of, for the most part, innocent people, is absolutely incomprehensible.

I have lived there for most of my life, and have yet to understand any of it completely.

At the risk of producing a history lesson, let me briefly explain that Northern Ireland is geographically part of the island of Ireland, but is politically part of the United Kingdom. In its simplest form, the root of the conflict played out in Northern Ireland stems from the fact that certain, extreme, factions staunchly protect their British identity (Loyalists), and other equally extreme groups work by whatever means they consider necessary to bring about a United Ireland (Republicans), free from British involvement. Each side claims their version of history as the reason their position should prevail.

I use the present tense because, although peace has been achieved to a large extent in Northern Ireland right now, it is uneasy and delicate at times.

A mistake often made by outsiders is to equate Republicanism with Catholics, and Loyalism with Protestants. To do so is naive and ignores the position of the majority of people in Northern Ireland, more moderate in their views and whose priority above all others is peace and an end to violence and suffering.

The political environment in Northern Ireland is extremely polarized, and the vocal minorities on both sides historically impeded progressive compromise attempted at many junctures by more moderate politicians.

In 1994 a ceasefire was called by the Provisional IRA (Irish Republican Army) – followed not long thereafter by a ceasefire proclaimed by Loyalist paramilitary groups. Hope abounded and a collective sigh of relief was released by those of us in the North as we watched political talks actually produce results, accompanied by the promise of a departure from the bomb and the bullet, a brighter future ahead. This political process attempted to put into action the will of the moderate majority in Northern Ireland, those of us who wanted to co-exist with our neighbours – whatever their creed, or political affiliation, in peace. To live normal lives, without fear.

The peace process gained impetus through hard work and negotiations between local politicians, assisted in no small part by the Irish and British governments, and by George Mitchell, sent to mediate the negotiations by President Bill Clinton. There was a palpable excitement among the ordinary people of Northern Ireland that we would emerge from the dark days of violence, and we would do it soon. President and Mrs. Clinton’s visit to Northern Ireland in November 1995 was further proof that we were leaving the sorry past behind, and that Northern Ireland was somewhere worthy of international focus.

In the background however, dissidents, unhappy with what they saw as the ‘sellout’ by Republican politicians plotted and attempted further attacks. Calling themselves ‘The Real IRA’ and ‘The Continuity IRA’, they pushed to carry on the paramilitary bombing campaigns in their pursuit of a United Ireland. They bombed town centres, injuring many and damaging property and local economies. Security forces were successful in thwarting some attacks.

I, like many others, did not consider the Real IRA to be a credible threat. I believed that the Provisional IRA, who by this time were supporting the political process, would keep them in check and that the security forces would have the intelligence and resources to prevent them gaining enough traction to become a credible threat.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

On Saturday August 15th 1998, the Real IRA succeeded in perpetrating the single most horrific atrocity in the history of the troubles. In the process, 29 vibrant, happy, oblivious and some of them tiny, lives – as hopeful as the rest of us for a better future, were obliterated.

Evil, cowardly people without the vision nor the respect for humanity to engage with the people they claimed to represent and work for the greater good, rose once more and attempted to force ‘British withdrawal’ from Northern Ireland. They wreaked havoc in a busy town centre, Omagh, Co.Tyrone. They achieved nothing, except mass destruction and widespread human devastation.

During the troubles, the ‘normal’ protocol for a terrorist attack was a warning to the police, a radio or TV station. You should also know that over the course of the troubles, many hoax bomb threats were also made. People have been evacuated from public buildings and streets - only to learn later that it was a hoax. I've been through it several times myself.

Warnings were called in for the Omagh bomb but the message was either deliberately misleading, or it was misunderstood – I’m not sure it’s ever been determined which. The target mentioned was the courthouse at the top of a hill in the main shopping street in Omagh – [so chosen because it was a building representative of the British Establishment]. In a frantic attempt to usher the public away from the courthouse and evacuate the area – police directed people down the hill, away from the courthouse as fast as they could.

A car packed with 500lbs of home-made explosives awaited them at the bottom of the hill. Unknowingly, in attempting to shield the public, police instead shepherded people toward certain death.

Fourteen women, six men and nine children, two of them babies of 20 and 18 months old, were killed. Not included in the numbers reported, but two little lives I always remember when I think of the Omagh bombing were the twins that Avril Monaghan, one of the women killed, and mother of the 18 month old, was carrying. She was seven months pregnant. All told, 31 lives lost. Catholics, Protestants, a Mormon schoolboy, and visitors from Donegal in the Republic of Ireland, and Spanish exchange students perished.

Hundreds of people were left with horrific injuries, their lives changed forever, along with the lives of those who lost their loved ones. Broken families – their existence left in the same tatters as the buildings of that busy Omagh street.

I was on the first of many return visits to Florida just after this bomb happened, and I brought with me the newspapers to share the story with those whom I was visiting. I shed many tears looking at the 29 faces in those news reports, and I shed them now as I look at them once more. Each one someone’s mother, son, father, brother, sister, daughter, baby… How many more tears have been shed in homes in Omagh, Donegal, and Spain over the last ten years? And for what?

Although the Real IRA claimed responsibility for the attack, no group or individual has been successfully prosecuted for this crime. Families of the victims have fought tirelessly to have the perpetrators brought to justice, but thus far the campaign has been fruitless.

Civil actions have also been brought but no satisfying result has given these families the sense of closure that one would imagine necessary to help process what has happened to them. I think this adds to the enormity of the tragedy.

The wider implication of the Omagh bombing coming four years after the paramilitary ceasefires was fear once more. The province as a whole was worried that this tragedy would bring more pain and destruction in the form of retaliatory attacks, which was the normal modus operandi of paramilitaries on both sides following such attacks in the past. Mercifully, this did not happen. The Omagh Bomb did not derail the peace process – something which had it happened would have made all the more pointless the lives lost that day.

While there is no doubt that the outrage felt by so many at the scale of the Omagh tragedy accelerated the journey towards lasting peace, ironically, the families of those who died, and those injured are somewhat victimized once more by the peace process. By virtue of the fact that politicians are focused on the future, and leaving the legacy of violence behind, the support from the police, elected officials and government agencies that these families need to secure justice, isn't there. They are pretty much left to push for justice on their own.

This week, ten years on, my thoughts are with the families of the 31 people lost in Omagh on August 15th 1998. I pray for them, and for those so severely injured, physically, and emotionally. I draw inspiration from those who have triumphed over their injuries and loss, and trust that those who still struggle will find the help and healing they need.

I continue to pray for healing in Northern Ireland, where just today three firebombs have been made safe by Army Bomb experts , like I said, peace is uneasy, and delicate.

I pray for the rest of us – that in this age where bombings in foreign lands are reported with alarming frequency, and sadly often as a side story to the ‘main event’ of a sordid Politician’s affair, I pray that we never become blasé about such stories and that we never fail to be outraged by them. To maintain our sense of justice and protest to those whom will listen and take action…

Hormone Junkie

Hello, my name is Annie, and I am a prolactin addict.

Four years of being pregnant and/or nursing ended for me at the beginning of February. I was two months pregnant with Jay when Miss E eventually weaned, so I have not had any 'break' from pregnancy or nursing in this time.

At the time, having weaned Jay was a bit of a non event. He was ready and so was I. It was a gradual process that I really didn't realize had finally happened until I took stock one day and realized it had been a few days since he'd nursed. He was done and that was that - life went on as normal.

Except it wasn't. Normal.

I have felt progressively gloomy over the last couple of months. To the point of asking myself 'what the hell is wrong with me?'. Constant tiredness, lack of motivation for the simplest things. Doing the bare minimum to keep my kids fed (and not very nutritiously so!), poor appetite, headaches, not sleeping great, and the crying, a lot of crying.

About a month ago I did briefly let the thought wander around my mind, 'what if this is the start of depression?' Not knowing what depression is like, and certainly never thinking this could happen to me, I dismissed it after a short while and told myself to 'shake it off'. This happens to all mothers.

Except, I can't shake it off.

I have worried my poor husband, who knows that I am down in the dumps, but can't understand why. When he asks me 'what's wrong?', I talk in circles, and I can't explain why because I didn't understand it, either.

I would never win any housekeeping awards, and I am totally okay with that - we keep the house pleasantly 'lived in' - it's clean but rarely tidy - and I may have periodic laundry backlogs - but nothing that couldn't be fixed catching up one morning. Now? My house is trashed - and last minute laundry is my specialty.

I've spent a few weeks mentally chastising myself for being lazy. I have had to force myself to stay off the computer realizing that time spent here was time away from my kids - and that made me a bad mommy. So I backed away from my blog, and sat on the couch - pleading with my kids to entertain themselves because 'mommy has a sore head', 'mommy's tired', 'just let mommy watch something that isn't animated and full of music - just for once, PLEASE?!'

My self confidence has nosedived. My skin is breaking out like an unfortunate teenager - and since I never was that unfortunate teenager, this is the first time in my life that I have felt self conscious about my skin.

I compare myself unfavourably to others and let myself feel inferior to them. I know nobody can make me feel this way - only if I let them! I know the theory of not letting people make me feel a certain way - yet putting that into practice is a different ball game.

This all came to something of a head last weekend when after a wedding on Friday where I felt so out of place compared to all the 'beautiful people' in attendance - I cried with my husband about how bad I felt. Once those floodgates opened, I spent the most of Saturday in tears and he patiently and supportively listened while I talked in more circles and tried desperately to make sense of this.

Then the penny dropped and I figured that I could pretty much pin the start of this downward spiral to the time that Jay was finally, and completely weaned. I struggled to understand if this meant anything in terms of how I felt and dismissed any sense of loss at the end of the nursing relationship. As I said - I was ready for him to wean (at last!) and so was he. But maybe I shouldn't be so hasty to dismiss the weaning as an emotional issue. I've spent four solid years nurturing a child - be it as they grew inside me, or as I breastfed them. These were done by me - all me. These are confidence boosters - it's amazing to think that I had that capability and I executed it beautifully. And now it's over.

More than this though - I think the hormonal adjustments that my body is undergoing is what is really messing with me. Prolactin has been coursing through my veins at varying levels for four years - and now its presence has significantly dropped. That feel good, 'happy hormone' was giving me a maternal high, and I'm going through withdrawal, I'm sure of it!

I have been reaching out to various individuals over the last couple of days. Seeking validation that my suspicions are correct - and looking for advice on what to do about it. I have had amazing feedback from La Leche League - and from friends.

I have received great advice on steps I can take to help me get out of this 'funk' and I'm working on them already - exercise being the top of my 'feel better' priority list. Maintaining the motivation to keep at it though is going to be my challenge, as it always is where exercise is concerned.

Ironically - at a time when I had taken a step back from blogging - several people advised journaling as a positive outlet and something that could help me feel better. I have always felt cathartic benefits from writing through certain things on this blog - but I struggled lately to articulate anything about what I was feeling, and figured it would be too depressing to read so I stayed clear of discussing any of this before. But writing through it may be just the thing I need to do - and if I can carve in time to do it before the kids get up, and after running on the treadmill - I will do just that.

A La Leche League leader, who also happens to be a therapist, spoke to me at length this morning and I feel so much better after speaking to her since she not only agreed that a hormonal shift is definitely involved in how I feel right now but she also suggested looking into herbal supplements - Kava Kava, and 5 HTP - so - now I'm reaching out to any of you who understand these, or have used them? I've never heard of them and what I'm reading online is mixed - any feedback you have would be appreciated.

Also - if you have weaned, particularly after nursing for an extended period - did you go through this weirdness? And, how did you get yourself out of it?

I feel better today than I have in the last couple of months, better for knowing that there is a reason for me feeling this way and that I'm not just quietly going nuts here.

I don't expect to feel better overnight - but I will do whatever I can to help myself and make myself feel happier - for me, and for my family. I don't want to feel this way - and I don't want to have Miss E frequently ask 'Why you sad Mommy?'.

Destitute

He stands on the grassy verge, just outside the perimeter of the grocery store parking lot. Tall and skeletal in stature, his dirty clothes literally hanging on his bony frame.

His hair is long and matted, his beard equally so. What is visible of his face is weathered, leathered and brown.

He stands here in all weathers, in the light and in the dark. Sometimes he holds a card which I've never been able to read, but I already know that it says 'Homeless, please help, God Bless'.

When I see him, my stomach tightens, gripped with a mixture of confusing feelings. How did he get to be this way? And, what is my responsibility towards him?

I have never reached out to this man and for that I feel guilty, but my fear outweighs the feelings of guilt most days.

He is one of many panhandlers I see, in various situations, regularly at busy intersections. Some I want to cry for. Others I want to scream at to go look for a job because they look plenty healthy and fit to me. Others still I want to call the cops on because before my very eyes they straighten up from their half naked, bent over position, set down their sign which says 'please help, disabled Vet.',pull on a shirt, walk when they'd previously hobbled, to their bicycle and cycle off when their 'begging shift' is over.

I struggle with the question 'what am I supposed to do for these people?' Are we not taught that we should help those less fortunate than ourselves? But, this is America - and while drug and alcohol abuse is not unknown in Ireland - it's not as prevalent, nor as obvious as it sometimes is here. And so, afraid that these people could be hopped up on any combination of substances, or that any assistance I offer will be used to procure more of said substances, I keep my windows closed, my gaze straight ahead and I do nothing. I contribute to the collection each week at Mass, and that is the only way I have salved my conscience thus far, on the understanding that that donation will be used in some way to help those less fortunate.

The grocery store beggar makes me think much more than any other I've seen. Perhaps because it's not that far from our cosy home in our nice neighbourhood with the great golf club across the road. Maybe it's because I pass him in a big comfortable car with my well fed children safely cocooned in the back. I find myself wondering if he has, or had a family. Is he a victim of a series of unhappy circumstances that have led him to this? If he's brought this on himself? Is he an alcoholic, or a drug addict? If he had a job, a home, people who cared. He looks so lonely, beaten, pathetic and absolutely destitute.

I have been thinking of him almost constantly since yesterday afternoon when I saw him again. This time he was standing a little way away from his grocery store post, on another grassy verge. Surrounded by two Sherrif's cruisers, he was handcuffed, and a lady Deputy was donning latex gloves, presumably to search him. I don't know what he did. If he had an altercation with passersby? Was this part of their attempt to 'move him along'. Was he high on something?

All I know is that my stomach is again tight with those confusing and uncomfortable feelings. I am afraid to reach out to panhandlers. I don't know what kind of reaction I'll get, I don't want to feed an already destructive habit by helping fund it but I know I must do SOMETHING. And, I will - I just need to figure out how.

Comfort Zone Crossroads

Is there anything more irrational than fear of something that may never happen?

This fear tendency is one that holds me back at times. It’s that aversion to risk again.

Thing is, my husband is unhappy in his job – familiar story, works his butt off but is frustrated 1. that he doesn’t have decent staff to help him and 2. that he isn’t getting paid enough for what he does (who doesn’t have this feeling at times?).

He potentially has the opportunity to take over his current department, and run it as if it were his own business. This is something that a buddy of his has done successfully with another department. Naturally my husband sees the success his friend has had (business wise, and financially as a result) and he’s keen to do the same thing. I am keen to support him, and I’ve said those words out loud ‘whatever you want to do, I’ll support you 100%', and I really want to mean that 100%, but truthfully I’m scared. The ‘what ifs’ come crashing in on me:

What if it doesn’t work?
What if health insurance doesn’t work out?
What if I can’t do the books? (he tells everyone ‘Annie can just do my books!’)
What if you can’t hire any better staff than you already have?
What if you still hate what you’re doing anyway?
What if it doesn’t work?
What if it DOESN’T WORK?!

What I would love, is to say a whole lot of ‘why nots'

Why not take the risk and make it work?
Why not check out the insurance thing – other self employed people manage it?
Why not learn how to do the books?
Why not scout for and pay for decent help?
Why not give it your best shot and make it work?
Why not MAKE IT WORK?

I know that this is about moving out of my comfort zone. He is ready to jump right out of his and I don’t want to hold him back. Any time I’ve faced a ‘comfort zone crossroads’ before, and even when my instinct was to run fast back to that which I knew and understood and was comfortable with, I knew I had to push myself. When I did, things were always better, after an initial adjustment. I hope that this adventure, if he chooses to undertake it, will be the same, but the thought of it scares the pants off me!