In 2012, after being cancer free for about two years, I felt another lump in my breast … I remember my shortness of breath, my heart beating in my throat. “This is probably scar tissue from my lumpectomy,” I thought, trying to calm myself down.

Bionic Woman Rebuild

Throughout the day I continued to check the lump as though I expected it to magically disappear, but there it was, undeniable. I happened to have my annual doctor’s appointment already scheduled that same week, and when I was there she instantly located the lump when doing her exam, confirming that I needed further assessment. A phone call was placed, my appointment was scheduled and there I was lying on the table once again for another needle biopsy. I lay quietly and tears fell down my face like hot wax. Anna, a nurse practitioner whom I met during my initial diagnosis, walked over and held my hand. She didn’t say a word; she just stood quietly with me as she could sense my need for silence, and I continued to cry. I knew in my heart it was back. Biopsy results came in … cancer had returned.

 

I made my way through a channel of emotions ranging from a Jerry Springer episode to the inspiration of Oprah. One moment I was so angry with cancer: “I was done with you! I moved on!! Leave me alone!” Then after my rant, I would calm down, take a breath, find my balance and be in a place where I needed to make a plan. Planning was a way for me to control the uncontrollable. I was given different options for my treatment plan and ultimately opted for a bilateral mastectomy, as I knew firmly that this was best for me. This was my personal choice, even though a lump was found in only one breast and MRI imaging did not indicate concern in my other breast. This choice felt right for me.

 

In my first go-around with breast cancer, I had likened my treatment to doing a marathon relay. It was my visualization that helped me apply something familiar to something unknown. This made things less frightening for me somehow. Now here I was, in need of a visualization once again: Something strong!! After meeting with the plastic surgeon to talk about reconstruction, my visualization was very clear to me: They will rebuild me … like the Bionic Woman! How’s that for strong?! And off I went with my journaling of the different phases of the Bionic Woman Rebuild.

Here’s an excerpt from those journals:

6/1/2012 Phase 1: Bilateral Mastectomy
I sit here eating my mother’s famous chocolate chip cookies, the perfect comfort food as I recall the events of this past week. Just one week ago today was the First Phase of the Bionic Woman Rebuild: Eric and I were up early last Fri. on our way to Froedtert and he kept my spirits high. It’s hard not to laugh when you live with the “funny man.” I felt strong, ready to do this thing … ready to have this behind me. When we arrived, Eric came back to “the room” with me and it was grand central station of oncology surgeons, plastic surgeons, nurses, an anesthesiologist and senior residents … The business kept me focused on the task at hand answering multiple questions, blood pressure, temperature, IV, epidural nerve block … and they asked Eric if he was ready to go to the waiting room. He got up, gave me a kiss and I held my tears back so he could see that I was OK … that I was strong … and the moment his back turned the reality hit me … this is really happening … and I broke down ... Eric took one last peek behind the curtain to see my quick change in status and came back into the room. “I’m gonna stay here,” he said. And he stood by my side, held my hand and kissed me on the forehead. One of those moments I will always remember. In the midst of all of that, my parents came back to the room for a quick “hello” and gave me those great parent smiles that settle your fears in an instant.

The next thing I knew I was feeling fine from the IV meds. I saw Dr. Kong; she held my hand ... “Take a couple of deep breaths, Lori, and I’ll talk to you later.” In the snap of a finger, I heard Dr. Kong say, “Everything went fine, you’re all done.” “Good”, I told her, “let’s go running tomorrow!” She smiled and told me to go back to sleep. Then two blurry figures walked into the room. It was my sister and my dad. The most I recall is that my sister was feeding me Dove chocolates and my father started feeding me M&Ms because I had the arm range of a Tyrannosaurus Rex and couldn’t feed myself. This lack of arm movement was described to me by another woman who had this same procedure, but it was such a strange thing to experience. I remember them dropping some of the candy accidentally, which was to be found in my bed the next day. The doctor rolled me over to remove my epidural and said, “Miss, do you know you have M&Ms stuck to your back?” It hurt to laugh, but it made me smile, knowing how very blessed I was to be surrounded by a family who loved me so much!”

 


Share Your Thoughts

How did you adjust to news that your cancer has come back? How did you deal with this setback? Share your comments below.

 

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About the Author

Lori Johnson grew up in Germantown and later moved to Menomonee Falls, where she attended high school. She is a graduate from the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee and received her master's degree at UW-Whitewater. Lori has been married since 1996 and has 1 daughter. She works as a speech pathologist at Children's Hospital of Wisconsin. From a young age, Lori has lived her life as an eternal optimist. She is the "maker of lemonade" when confronted with a roadblock of lemons -- always finding the bright side. This attitude was truly put to the test when she was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2009 at the age of 43. She underwent a lumpectomy and two re-excisions and completed radiation. In 2012, Lori's cancer returned and she opted for a bilateral mastectomy. Along with her friends and family, the "Lobby Ladies" were there for her through round two of this breast cancer event. Lori continues to live with gratitude for each day, finding gifts within everyone she meets and strength from obstacles she encounters.

MJL

I know how you feel. I was first diagnosed in June 1998. Lumpectomy and 6 weeks of radiation. I really thought I had it beat until April of 2015. It was back in a lymph node in my arm pit. I couldn't believe it. After 17 years I was dumbfounded. However I was blessed with a new medication that had only been FDA approved 2 months previous to my 4/2015 diagnosis. With treatment and the grace of God my last two CT scans have been clear, no cancer. I'm praying for the best and live each day the best I can. I'm hoping this is my last bout with the beast.