Breast Cancer Blog
By Anita Canada Egwim

DISCOVERY
Posted on October 10, 2007

February 7
Something just ain't right. This doesn't feel right. The itch came out of nowhere, and my dominant hand was immediately drawn to it – to touch with hesitation, to feel with caution, but nonetheless to determine what in the world is this?!

As my hand cradled my unstrapped and free rolling right breast, its fingers soothed the itch with a few strokes and within seconds. But then there was another itch – or was it the same one that seemed to linger and even travel and stop just before my armpit?

Suddenly, my fingers met with a sort of lump. A big bubble-like lump, on the right side of my right breast. "Where did this come from?" My fingers patted, then rubbed, then swayed over this foreign object. No, this doesn't belong. Could it be another fibrocystic lump? This feels different. But this is real.

February 15
The needle was crazy long, slightly thick and very intimidating. It was best that I just close my eyes and let my mind go beyond what my body was about to feel. The local anesthetic should help, I thought. The nurse held my hand as the doctor went in for the draw. The initial pierce felt as though I had been pinched. It was the staying in that caused some discomfort. Finally, he murmured while pulling out the needle, "This should be enough. Hmmmm, interesting." Holding the specimen cup above me, he pointed and said, "See how the dark cloudiness meets the red fluid? We should have results back in a few days." The test results were written all over his face. I quickly dismissed the facial speechlessness and the serious, yet humble we-are-going-to-be-seeing-a-lot-of-each-other grimace, and resorted instead to finding the only peace of mind I had left in the day. The deepest of my innermost soul sought comfort from within itself. Raising my hands in praise, in anticipation. My life is about to change.

DIAGNOSIS

February 22
His mouth was moving in slow motion. I heard only the words "stage," "three," "breast" and "cancer," and then the question, "Are you all right?" I was falling, dazed and unable to speak. The floor appeared to be spinning and I was headed right into it when my doctor caught me in his arms on my way down from the patient table. "Remain calm and attentive at all times, no matter what," I told myself. Wait! This isn't a professional meeting of the minds to announce the next prominent endowment donor. This is a meeting to announce that my life is about to change. Reality check. Focus. Prepare to fight!

In the car, the engine roaring, I embraced the steering wheel as tears pushed against the whole of my eyes and began to flow with some resistance. After all, I had to get to the college, and crying would only wreak havoc on my MAC line. OK. Out of nowhere, the scream just jumped out of my mouth in full force with no time to react, and then came the wailing out of control. Through a haze of wet blurriness, I could see at least three sets of eyes on me – one with shock, another with sympathy and still another with fear. I stared back and thought, "Help me! Hold me!" Passing my car, they couldn't take their eyes off of me. "No one can help me," I thought, "but my Jehovah God."

February 22
Home. Solitude and freedom, but no safety from the "C." I call mom now. What do I say? How do I say? She answered the phone. "How was the appointment with the surgeon?"

"Well, MomIhavebeendiagnosedwithbreastcancerandIknowyouneedtodealwith-whatIjustsaidsoI'mgonnaletyougo. I love you and will call you after I come home from work tonight." I hope she understood what I just said – or tried to say. She took in the deep breath I was familiar with. It was the breath of shock, fear, helplessness anguish and uncertainty. Click.

I made it through the day but nearly cried every time I looked someone in the eye. At home and wrapped in a blanket, I stepped onto the patio to look at the sky, searching for the spirit of Dad, who died from lung cancer in 1999, and my best friend, Phyllis, who died from breast cancer in 2003. My godson, whom I had taken in after the passing of Phyl, brought my eyes to the attention of the moon surrounded by a perfect circle of clouds and shining stars. He said, "See there, Auntie, I don't know what's going on with you but, that's Grandpa and Momma embracing you. They're sayin' it's gonna be all right." That comfort, along with my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, was equal to calm and rest.

February 23
Reality check, day two: You have breast cancer. Next to losing my daughter on a cold and painful evening nine years ago, this was one of the longest days of my life that seemed to end mysteriously in seconds. I am falling asleep in my tears – my family in theirs.

ANALYSIS

February 24
There it was – the mammography image of a huge, dark circle in my right breast that seemed to not fit in – just there, all alone, out of place, out of nowhere, not moving, but staring me down like a threat! Wow, this is serious. Less than nine months ago, I had a perfectly "negative" routine mammogram.

On the table, nerves had me talking, asking questions that could not yet be answered. The technician jelled, then rolled, and jelled and rolled again. Then she would hesitate and freeze the image on the screen. Obviously, she recognized shapes unrecognizable to me. It didn't take long before she called in the chief radiologist for a second opinion. She was not authorized to discuss what she saw.

Upon a review and repeat examination, the radiologist said, "Looks like three to four swollen lymph nodes." Then she paused, her face now showing deep concern and sympathy. "When are you scheduled for surgery?" she asked. "And do you have a strong support system?" OK, what is this lady really trying to say to me?

Yes, I do, and next week is surgery. "Good!" she said. "Do you have any questions?" Three to four affected lymph nodes isn't bad, right? "Ms. Egoism, no affected lymph nodes are good. Your surgeon will discuss possibilities with you. You'll be seeing … (flipping through my chart) … it's Dr. Hobson, right … in a few days?" Yes, on Thursday. "Good luck to you, Ms. Egwim," she said, shaking my hand as though hers were tied. "And remain positive. Take care!"

My heart is beating fast and I'm talking myself into a calm as I head for the door. Everyone is staring at me as they would a body in a casket. They were staring right through me, in a sense. "Poor thing. Sad, isn't it?"

ACCEPTANCE

February 24
Change came knocking, and I opened the door. One last cry – short and sweet – silent. Psychologically, I have more than enough strength now to share the news with my students, colleagues, church family and friends.

"I have breast cancer." I imagined how I would break the news. Is there any right way? Would I tell them that it was stage three, and that it developed from environmental sources? Would they understand? Would they cry on the spot? Could I handle their tears? Could I control my own emotions? Does any of this really matter? Onward. Lord, here we go. Please don't leave my side!

A torrent of tears flowed around me – with and without my full knowledge – and fear of the unknown abounded. Some were in shock and couldn't speak. Some went into prayer. Still others asked if I was prepared mentally and spiritually for the journey ahead. Reactions to the word CANCER can be interesting, because I realized that many pictured me dead or dying – that it was only a matter of time before I transitioned into a life where the soul never dies. Though slightly overwhelmed from all the emotional tension, there remained an intense need to be surrounded by a support system of unconditional love. There are those who still believe that cancer is a secret and would prefer to handle it in that manner. On the other hand, there is me – bold, beautiful and a believer in the teachings of Jesus Christ. What would He do? Probably share the good news of hope and survival! I could not and will not go through this alone.

Anita Jo Canada Egwim is a technical college instructor who hopes to start an independent school for African-American boys in the very near future.

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