They are little jelly bean cells.
All different colors stacked next to
each other. Smooth and round. They are multiplying like an animated cartoon: black
lines around each plump oval, drawn carefully to separate each cell, yet they
are attached and nestle together. They could be rainbow sprinkles: the kind you
put on your ice cream cone or Christmas cookies. There are hundreds of them and
they are perfect, round and pleasing to look at. They multiply and divide. They
snuggle up to each other by the thousands-make that hundred of thousands- until
they form a mass.
A tumorous home to live and thrive.
Your family is a wonderful host to
these cells. They move in and grow, creating a happy home thriving off their
unsuspecting host who serves delicious meals and delightful sleeping accommodations.
Fulltime living in a luxury hotel.
“Pass the popcorn, honey. The baby is
finally sleeping”
He held the remote out and they
relaxed.
He grabbed her boob.
“What is that?”
Essie was sitting on the couch and
then she felt the lump in her left breast. It was never there before and there
it was now.
It was odd, like a little ping pong
ball underneath her shirt. Her breasts weren’t large and recently had stopped
breast feeding, just 6 months earlier. She just had a mammogram last month.
Nothing.
Once, way back, there was an
ultrasound for benign calcifications, but nothing else.
So, pass the popcorn.
Anxiously, she called her OBGYN and
made an appointment for the next day.
“A fibroadenoma” said the nurse
practitioner who felt her up with confidence. “It doesn’t move, so it probably
isn’t a malignant tumor.
To be safe, here is the name of a
good breast surgeon. He will make sure you're okay.”
She put her bra back on and finally
took a deep breath. Maybe she’d stop at Duane Reade for tropical Jelly Belly’s
and toss the number in the garbage.
A week later she confidently entered
the waiting room of breast surgeon, Paul Tartter, at St Luke’s Roosevelt
Hospital. The room was filled with gorgeous black and white photo portraits of
women, by Annie Leibowitz. Essie didn’t put two and two together- that Susan
Sontag was her partner- until recently. Boy, was she glad she didn’t make the
connection back then. Now, she supposed that they spent some time in this same
waiting room.
When Essie graduated college, her
mother was diagnosed with rectal cancer. She had a resection of her colon and
had a colostomy bag. After she healed and was treated with radiation, her
surgeon reconnected her.
When Essie graduated from grad school
her mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. She had chemotherapy and was fine.
Essie’s Aunt survived ovarian cancer.
And breast cancer.
Essie’s cousin had breast cancer
They all survived.
On that day, Doctor Tartter did a
needle biopsy and Essie didn’t let the door hit her on the way out, because she
knew she wasn’t going back there again- no matter how hokey and adorable his
Snoopy Christmas tie was.
She was not going back.
So when his office called the next
day, Essie wasn’t prepared for the news. Yes, malignant cells were found in the
biopsy and that started the path to fixing the problem, which was fairly simple
because she caught it really, really early. Yes, it was aggressive. No, she
didn’t have chemo. Yes, she had radiation and a lumpectomy. Yes, she follows up
with MRI’s, mammo’s and ultrasound’s on a regular basis.
And, yes, she is BRCA 1 positive.
Like Angelina, except Essie opted for breast conservation (not mastectomy) and
knock on olive wood, 9 years out, Essie is fine. She did have an oophorectomy
(removal of ovaries) early on, because BRCA positive makes one high risk for
ovarian cancer, and Essie wasn’t going to play any games with that very
difficult to detect and diagnose lethal weapon. (Angelina did this, too. She is
Essie’s hero on a lot of levels having nothing to do with Brad Pitt).
One year ago, Essie’s older brother
was diagnosed with a rare stomach cancer which metastasized to his liver. Stage
4. Right now, he is recovering from surgery because his oral chemotherapy
(Gleevac), which initially reduced the tumors, stopped working. 60% of his liver was removed.
A full body PET scan before his
surgery revealed a chicken egg sized tumor on his pituitary. Yes, in his brain.
Totally unrelated to his stomach cancer.
The poor guy has been through hell
getting his body ripped open to remove the tumors. The pituitary tumor is
benign and the neurosurgeon removed it through his nose!
He is recovering.
Essie asks, Cancer, why do you love
us so much? Why do you find your way into our breasts, ovaries, stomach and
brain? What make us such a hospitable
environment?
Why don’t you pick on somebody your
own size?
Sometimes, the subway is great. Its
sounds are rhythmic and gentle. The screeching wheels are in perfect harmony
with the loud, tremendous weight barreling down the track at a dangerously fast
speed. It’s comforting when it stops on cue at a station.
The 3 train: 34th Street.
42nd Street
79th Street
96th Street
110th Street
Essie emerges, out of the station on
north end of Central Park. The Cherry
blossoms are in full bloom, purple-orange pansies, red tulips and daffodils are
leaning into the sunlight toward the
Meer which reflects each and every glorious cloud in the sky as the sun
sets on the city.
The park is teeming with life.
