Socks

I bought the socks I am wearing on my feet today last April.

There had been a little bit of recent stress because my husband had just learned he was going to be laid off. Aside from that, life was good.

I went for a routine mammogram in April 2006. I scheduled the appointment because we were uncertain about our health insurance status after the lay off, so we were trying to get in as much as possible. By the time I had my appointment, we learned dh would be moving to another group in the company, so there weren't any worries. I had already fit in my gyn appointment, a physical with my internist and Rachel's annual pediatrician visit. I had even already gone for my pelvic ultrasound. It did show that the cyst we'd been watching for years had grown quite a bit, but I decided to hold off and not have surgery. Too much living to do to take time out for a surgery for something I knew was benign. The mammogram was just the last little test left on my list. Life was definitely good.

I did not get any mammo results when I left the radiology office. Instead, a few days later, on Thursday afternoon before Good Friday, I received a letter that told me I needed to call for an appointment for more films. I tried my gyn's office. They did not have a report. I tried the radiology office, and they were closed for Good Friday. I had to wait until the Tuesday after Easter to make that call. Honestly, there was only a tiny little bit of an alarm in my brain and I tried to drown that out. After all, the numbers of women who are called back for additional films are extremely high. I figured it was just my turn.

So, I continued to live life, without fear.

I even went to Walmart. :P Don't know why I was in Walmart that day in April 2006. I'm sure I was there on a mission of some sort. All I recall is while pushing my cart to the checkout, I passed a small display of socks. Pink ribbon socks, with proceeds going to the Susan Komen Foundation. I remember it so vividly, I can probably count how many pairs of socks were in the display. At any other point, I doubt I would have given them a second look. But that day, I stopped. Fleetingly, the concept that I had breast cancer raced through my mind. I remember consciously shoving that thought right out of my brain, reminding myself that EVERYONE gets called back for repeat films. It's no big deal. Especially because a radiologist did not look at my films before I left. No big deal. *I* don't have breast cancer. I'm just going back for another film. So why am I stuck here, obsessed with looking at these &*^#&(%^#$ socks? Why can't I just walk by like everyone else?

I decided I would buy the socks. In memory of my aunt, in honor of my cousin, I would buy these socks with the pink ribbon logo on the ankle. I needed new socks anyway. I would wear them for others and perhaps to remember what some, but not me, would think of as a "close call." Close call.. reminds me of how a relative referred to my diagnosis as a "health scare." It's not a health scare when you actually have the disease. It's only a scare when you think you might, but it all turns out to be A-OK.

Those socks. They sat in my drawer for days. I wasn't sure about wearing them, but I would have to wear them eventually. I really did need new socks. It wasn't until the first surgery was actually scheduled that I wore them for the first time. It sounds like that was such a long time. We are talking about a time period of maybe 2 weeks. Time does funny things when your life changes. At this point, Rachel knew that something had been seen on my mammogram and I was going to have a little surgery to remove "the mass." She saw me take out my new socks to put on. It was then that it suddenly occurred to her, with wisdom beyond her then 9 years, that "the little mass" we had discussed a few days previous, almost just in passing, might be cancer. It was then she asked, with a hint of alarm in her voice, "Mommy, is that "mass" in your breast, a cancer?" {sigh} We run a pretty open household. At this point, I had already had the additional mammo films and we already knew I had cancer (yes.. without a biopsy.. both I and my surgeon knew). So, of course, I had to tell her. It still breaks my heart because I knew at that very moment, she was going to become someone different. She was going to be a little girl whose Mommy had breast cancer. At 9. Not at 29 or 39, like most who learn their mother has breast cancer. At 9. This would change who she was and who she would grow up to be. Not in a bad way, by any means. I'm sure I'll soon be posting a thread about my daughter, her huge heart and the little non-profit company she's created. This is just the sort of thing that changes you on some level and you don't ever get to go backwards and be the person you were before you knew.

So, now it's almost a year later. Those socks with the pink ribbon logo are a part of my normal wardrobe. Time really does telescope. The day when I bought those socks seems both so very far away and like yesterday.


A word of warning- I expect there to be a lot of reminiscing as my "cancer-iversay" approaches on May 1, the official day of my diagnosis.