Joys of Work and Race for the Cure

My job. How I’ve missed you, let me count the ways. NOT. I have made the comment on numerous occasions that I have been less stressed dealing with Breast Cancer than I would be if I were at work. There is something wrong with that. Majorly wrong with that. A lot of that stress is self-inflicted as I try to save the world one kid at a time. But currently, the kid that needs to be saved is me, so that is where I am directing my energies these days.

With all the crap that I deal with at work on a daily basis, there are people and students within those school grounds that are incredibly special. I don’t know what everyone else’s experience with the district has been, but on a weekly basis I would come home and ask myself why I continue to do my job. I would question the difference I was making, if any, the hours I was putting in, and the constant clambering and clawing to make the school and programs that I contribute to, more efficient and better for students. When I first was diagnosed I was so worried about how I was going to balance this news with work. Taking the year off never once occurred to me as an option until Mariluz with her bossy behavior made me realize that taking time off should be the only option I considered. Thank goodness it was. In my absence colleagues gave me space, however meals, cards, flowers and gifts for Marco came in a constant stream. Their support meant the world to me as did the sporadic visits I would get from those who wanted to check in.

A secret team with my colleagues was headed up at Clayton for The Race for the Cure and pink shirts were made with “Clayton Bets on Ms. List” across the front.  An email was sent out to the staff with my name accidentally attached and I discovered their mission to surprise me. I’m really good at finding things out by the way. I knew about all of my Christmas presents weeks before the holiday and would practice my, “I can’t believe you got me more wool socks, I needed those!” face in the mirror to perfect it for my parents’ sake. It didn’t take away from the fact that I cried when I first found out (my team, not my socks) and was overwhelmed by how much people cared for me and wanted to help me. It was either that, or the “kindness acts” quota needed to be met before the end of the calendar year. A work team was formed in addition to my personal team and I was on the books for two separate teams totaling over seventy members. How awesome is that??!! The day of the race was one big support Allison party and I was so incredibly grateful, appreciate and largely pregnant that I sat most of the time.

A few weeks before the race I received a text with an essay attached. The comment read, “This made me cry.” I opened up the picture and started reading an essay about a role model. A few sentences in I saw my name and tears welled up. A student of mine wrote an essay about me for her class and it addressed my Breast Cancer, critiques on my classroom management (gotta love Middle School Students) and my confidence. The fact that she even thought of me was unbelievable. I remember my hands were trembling after I read it because I was so blown away. A few days after that I received a few photos of the girl’s 7^th and 8th grade basketball teams who were decked out in pink “List Strong” insignia. I cried again. I have since lost those photos and blame it on Meghan Poirer, but that’s ok, she’s used to things being her fault. It was the mere thought, that in a developmental time when the only things preteens can think of is themselves, came a glimmer of empathy being directed towards another. Knowing this population pretty well, that meant more than words can describe. I’ve left classroom lessons shaking my head because a poll of students showed that their #1 concern in life when we were discussing anxiety was, “What if I get home and YouTube has shut down?” That’s right, the majority. These kids can’t be bothered with Breast Cancer, we have the YouTube crisis to deal with people! Let me be clear that I asked that my personal information on my diagnosis not be shared with students because I didn’t think they should be bothered with it and it seemed weird to have them know, but eventually the information made it around school. But, in a way, it was good because this whole situation has made me realize that in some small way, I have made an impact. Selfishly, I needed to know that to renew my sense of worth in my job. That on those days I feel like no one listened to a god damn word I said or suggestion I made to control anger, ease anxiety, increase positive social reactions, what to do if YouTube wouldn’t work, etc. that maybe there was something else that stuck.

After Simona came into the world, I had to go back to work for a meeting and I tried to time it between classes so I wouldn’t see anyone. That didn’t work out and I got caught in passing time on my way out of the building and had a flood of kids run up to me in dramatic middle school style and hug me, poke me, ask me if I was going to live and the like. When I got home I covered myself in hand sanitizer before picking Simona up. I just had to go back this week and again, got caught in passing time but this time I had the baby with me, which bringing a baby to a school is like being underage with a fake ID. EVERY ONE suddenly becomes your new best friend. I had one boy say, “Can I touch your baby and carry her around.” I promptly replied with, “Nope.” She did end up going into a English class and teaching for the first few minutes and the kids thought it was the greatest thing ever. The point I’m trying to make is that you get to a place in your career where you start to question your path and negativity sets in. I’ll be damned if I end up being the cranky lady in the corner crocheting and shouting out, “We’ve already tried that ten years ago!” at district meetings, although some days I feel that way. When you feel like you are not making any positive contributions to your work and towards the greater good that really can mess with your mind, and can make you start crocheting apparently. Getting cancer has helped me realize that we all get into our routines and forget to tell the people around us, that we value them and forget to say something as simple as a, “thank you.” So in a way, dare I say “thank you” to my cancer for making me realize that I am making an impact in my job. It’s unfortunate that it takes something as drastic as a life changing event to snap us out of our everyday funks and routines. After you read this please pay it forward and tell someone you work with that you value them. 

Now, enjoy some pictures! 

Team shirts made by the Clayton Staff. A huge thank you!

Simona teaching a 7th grade English class. 

Mark List, Rhonda Lawrence, Jill List and Mike Lawrence. Kick off for the Race for the Cure! 

Team photo. Only part of the group captured. Thank you to everyone who participated! 

Katie Elliott (my beautiful sister) and a largely pregnant Allison List

Amanda Feehan, Ashley Greenhalgh, Allison List, Sky Sessions

Proof that boobs have always played a major role in my life. Long story short, my boob popped out while doing yoga with students at work. Months later, I had a bad day at work and came in the next morning with this cake in my office. Now, I have at 50% chance of that horrific event ever happening again.  At least I have that going for me. 

 

Decals compliments of Ashley Greenhalgh! You are awesome!

I am a counselor for a specialized program for students with Autism Spectrum Disorder. I teach weekly coping skills. They returned the favor and made me "skills bracelets". Yes, one of them says, "lazy" and the other says "GFY". Look it up. 

Missing Socks and Breast Cancer. Who Really Has The Answers?

Where in the hell do all the socks go once I put them in the washing machine? I just bought Marco ten pairs of socks, so TWENTY socks total. I put twenty in the washing machine and when I sat down to fold socks there were seventeen. Is the sock fairy flying in at night and stealing stinky, sweaty socks for her collection? Did I drink too much last night and hallucinated that I saw twenty socks or maybe thought a good solution to doing laundry for the fifty seventh time today was to throw random socks in the trash? If I did do that, why didn’t I throw matching pairs away? Well, because I drank too much, which makes sense. But then why aren’t the socks in the trash the next day? This quite possibly could be the most complex word problem known to man. So complex that the answer can only be solved by government officials in the Whitehouse that have special clearance. That would be my one question if I ever met a presidential candidate. “What do you plan on doing with all those socks your hoarding at the Whitehouse?” They would look at me with a blank stare and call for backup but we’d have a silent understanding that I knew what was really going on.

 It’s one of those frustrating things in life in which I will never find the answer. Which is exactly how I feel about never getting justification or answers as to how I got Breast Cancer in the first place. Around 246,000 women who will be diagnosed with Breast Cancer in our country this year. There aren’t any statistics available for how many of those cases will be Paget’s Disease, but what is available is Paget’s makes up for less than 5% of the yearly Breast Cancer cases. In my search for justification as to the “why” of my whole situation I followed the recommendation of my surgeon to undergo Genetic Testing.

About a month before I delivered Simona, I started the Genetic Testing and Counseling portion of my journey to see if I could get some answers as to why this all happened, to find my missing sock, so to speak. I have one paternal aunt who had breast cancer and that’s it. I am very active and healthy. I am young. Why in the hell did this happen? I opted for a blood panel that tests for 17 different gene mutations, including the BRCA1 and BRCA2 genes. 56-87% of Breast Cancers come from the BRCA gene mutation. So, my chances were good that my cancer was genetic. Before having my blood drawn I met with a genetic counselor and provided her with all of my family history, thanks to my mom. We discussed the different ways cancer develops: genetic mutation, lifestyle choices and environmental factors. The session was extremely interesting but there is so much information it’s hard to take it all in. I highly recommend that if you or someone else you know is going to start this process that you work in pairs and bring a notebook to take notes and reiterate to each other what each of you heard, so that you know you completely understand what is happening. That’s comprehension for dummies and it works fantastic for me. It was important for me to follow through with testing because the results were going to give me my timeline for not only my next mastectomy but further testing that would need to be done for my mother, sister and my children. If I tested positive, my oncologist, surgeon and I decided my other breast was to be removed as soon after delivery as possible. Positive test results also mean that each first degree relative has a 50% chance of also carrying the mutation. 50%! When I heard the percentage I began to think about my mom, my sister, my niece, my nephew, my son, my future daughter. Remember when I said cancer impacts an entire family? This is another piece of that, we’re not just talking about emotional aftershock, this could now impact their health. On one side of the coin, I was thankful we detected it in me, so now my family could make informed decisions for their health. But on the other side I couldn’t help but feel sick to my stomach, because this all seemed like an awful story that just didn’t seem quite real, one that you’d read in a novel and recommend to your friends but with the disclaimer that it was a heartbreaking read.

If I tested negative for the BRCA gene it would give me more time to breastfeed (which is a whole separate blog post…feeding with one boob, fun!) and my mammogram could come months later instead of weeks. As I had mentioned before, being diagnosed while pregnant, left a lot unsaid because further testing was restricted. But now the Genetic Testing could give me an idea of where to go next and how soon. Four weeks pass and I am called to come in and review my results. As I am sitting with the genetic counselor I start sweating (I know, big surprise) because I have no idea what the results will be. I just want to enjoy the rest of my pregnancy and have a healthy baby girl that is not going to have a predisposition that leads to chairs like this,  offices like this, with counselors like this and reviewing results such as these. I love my team of dr.’s and specialists, but truly, the less we see of each other, the better. I keep telling myself, that the results will give me some sort of answer, help my family make decisons and help me put this situation to bed. As the counselor begins to review my results with me I feel an overwhelming sense of joy because I tested negative for the BRCA1 and 2 gene, as well as negative for the 15 genetic mutations they screened for. That’s the exact result I wanted but yet I felt unrest. My mind starts running and I can’t help but wonder, what in the hell happened? My cancer is classified as caused by, ”environmental” factors. I start to obsess over when the exact tipping point happened. Which birth control pill once I swallowed it caused the cell mutation? What car was I behind and where was my exact location when I inhaled that exhaust that caused it? What deodorant, what lotion, what chemical on my food, WHAT THE HELL WAS IT? I don’t remember a single word that my counselor tells me after that because I get lost in my own train of thought and I am by myself. I do remember snapping out of it and saying something along these lines, “So my cancer was caused by something we don’t know what and we don’t know when. It was not related to my son’s breastfeeding or either of my pregnancies? It had nothing to do with my age, my race, my health status, my family history or my genes. I had two types of cancer which could be related (very likely)…or not? What you are telling me is that I’ll never know the answer.” My counselor was so patient throughout my questions because I think she could see that I was discovering that I was never going to know the answer to my nightmare. She looked at me with pouted lips and an empathetic face scrunch and said, “That is correct.”

Then, BAM, it hit me. All the times that I have worked with families, staff and students who have gone through a trauma; the Sparks Middle School shooting, strings of student suicides, deaths of staff members, deaths of students, displaced victims from Hurricane Katrina, the list can go on and on, I could relate to their pain on some small scale, but really what it boiled down to is I didn’t understand what a trauma causes personally, that I had zero clue the psychological toll trauma can cause. Sure, I’ve seen things I wish I hadn’t and probably have some sort of second hand shock from my work as a counselor but I finally understood that trauma forces our brains to justify the situation so it can process and heal, we have a need to grasp the “why”.  But unfortunately a lot of times there is no answer. I am NEVER going to know why. Can you imagine what that’s like? When I look in the mirror and see the 5 inch scar across my chest, I am never going to know the answer. When I put my bra on and my prosthetic falls out with a big thud on the floor, I will never have an answer. When I get my blood drawn and I have to direct the Phlebotomist to use my left side and they ask why, I have no answer. When Marco asks me where my boob went, when I get my blood pressure taken, when I put on a bathing suit, etc. I am never in my lifetime ever going to know the answer to what caused my cancer or where the hell the socks are going. Sometimes when I write these entries I feel guilty because I survived. I feel guilty because there are so many people that have had, are currently having and will have a far worse experience. But then I remember that I’m lucky enough to live to tell the tale, the way I want to tell it and connect those in the community and beyond with the impact cancer has on individuals and families and marriages, good lord the marriages-they take a beating.

Even though I will never have the answers I have had an enormous amount of support to help counteract the not knowing. To the readers, I have no clue how many I have now, but I have had to date 9,729 page views. That is incredible. This whole blog started out as a little paper notebook journal that Mariluz basically bullied me to start writing in. It turned into a therapeutic means when I felt like I was going to lose my shit. It gave me escape from my life for thirty minutes so I could process my day. It progressed to a blog to help me continue to cope with my situation and to help others as well who were going through something similar. Please know that I read your comments. Please know that I appreciate your “likes” and your time. Please know that even though I don’t respond often to your comments, it means something very special to me, I look forward to reading them. Please know that I am aware of the typos and grammatical errors and I am working on not giving a shit because it’s not meant to be perfect, but if you want to find me a ghost writer I’ll gladly accept. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading.