Tonic-Clonic Seizure

By far the hardest part of my particular journey with breast cancer happened on two separate occasions: one, was the day I found out that I have an invasive and aggressive cancer. Not knowing the extent of this cancer and not knowing whether or not it was treatable was beyond any word I can even think of. It was more than horrific, brutal, painful, heart-breaking...I don't have the specific vocabulary for it but all I could think of was doom. I initially thought back to pondering questions I previously had in church about when it would be my time to get of the elevator or escalator or ride (for some reason I think of my life's end as getting off the elevator, escalator or ride at some point when it's my time. I wondered "would I know I was off the ride?" or "How would I react when it's my turn?").  Well, when I got 'the call' from my doctor with cancer news I was like a child crying hard at the end of a great party. I cried thinking  "...this is the end of my party... OMG I know how I'm going to die." I couldn't handle this because I couldn't handle not being able to see my child grow up. I couldn't handle not knowing if he'd be ok. I couldn't handle seeing him without his mommy. I love my husband and of course I would worry about him and miss him -- but at least both of us are adults. We've had our childhoods. We had our parents. We've already flown out of ours nests into the world when we were older and ready. But for my son I could not handle seeing this baby bird being kicked out of his nest at such a young age when he was not yet ready. Spiritually I know that at some point I'll have to be at peace with the death process that I know we all must eventually go through. BUT, in that moment of panic, that was my initial thought process on the day I got 'the call' from the doctor's office. AND ... once I knew it was treatable -- that a mastectomy would save my life, that the following post-mastectomy treatment will aid this process, then I had a plan. I didn't feel doomed; it's a great chance. I'll still be on this ride. I felt hopeful.

The second hardest part of my pre-surgery cancer trail happened this last week. On Sunday night a week ago -- a week and a half prior to my scheduled surgery appointment -- my son took a 90 minute nap in the area of our house we call 'the library'. I could see him from the dining table area where I then decided to do some work on the computer. During the last 30 minutes of his nap, he woke up groggy, came to me in the dining area (which is a nook -- a table with two long comfortable bench-chairs), placed his head on my lap and continued napping. My husband had then gone out for a run so it was just me and my son. At the end of that nap he started to massively convulse. I picked him up, looked for my cell phone which I could never find. We don't have a land line connected since we use cell phones almost exclusively. So I continued carrying him as he continued to convulse violently and brought him to our front porch area. I started to scream with a strength in my lungs I never knew I had"...help me!!! Please help me!!!" I was both screaming because I couldn't find a phone and crying because I was scared and thankfully my neighbors heard me. I'm normally very calm in emergency situations -- but I now think it's the combined loads of emergencies that made me break.

While my son continued to convulse, my neighbor called 911. He was still convulsing and by the time the firefighters and ambulance came he seemed like he was not breathing. This by far is scarier than anything Ive ever experienced -- including learning that I have cancer.

Thankfully the ambulance came fast, they gave him oxygen, drove us to the ER, had us immediately seen and tested. Once he was stable and labs came back, they contacted our doctors and gave us orders that included EEG, MRI, and keppra medication for seizures -- which is new for us.

Today he is feeling better. Still not himself... but so much better and hopeful his results will come out great and come out before I go into surgery on Wednesday, February 20th. I'll be far more at peace knowing he's ok while I go into surgery.