Stuck on the Songs of Summer

While autumn’s chill is in the air, I’m still replaying the songs from my not-so-great summer. It was a tough season, with canceled vacation plans and a lot of stress.

But, oh, those carefree, sunny songs of summer.

You remember when we were young, and having a special song each summer mattered so much. And of course, you remember the distant days of  7” vinyl 45 RPM records with the Side A and the flip Side B songs?

Well, this summer, I had a distinct playlist with a Side A and flip Side B song, but unfortunately, it wasn’t sunny and carefree.

The Side A tune seemed promising enough for summer. Upbeat.

“Everything’s going to be alright.”

Yet somehow, it was slightly off. A little too breathy, wistful, and desperate. I wanted to embrace it, but I just couldn’t.

Oh, but that Side B song was worse, way worse. The lyrics were harsh, off-kilter, unmusical. A song you definitely didn’t want to hear or sing along to.

‘If you’re going to have breast cancer, this is the best kind to have.”

My husband started singing the “Everything’s going to be alright” song right after the first mammogram showed an anomaly. He repeated it after the second diagnostic mammogram confirmed “there’s something there,” and in the days and sleepless nights while we waited for that biopsy report. Then, he held me tight, whispering it after we heard that awful word, “cancer,” for the first time, and in the days and months since then, he’s repeated “Everything’s going to be alright” on autoplay non-stop.

A couple of our doctor friends immediately started serenading me with the “best kind of cancer” tune, but it sounds false and off-key. They hadn’t seen the test scans, and they acknowledged more tests were needed. Still, in their efforts to console me, they quoted survival rates of 90% for this “best kind of cancer.”

But each time they said/sang that line, I pictured the 10 women who didn’t survive and now are in graveyards.

Still, despite my fear, I am sublimely fortunate. Thanks to annual exams, a thorough mammography technician, and an attentive radiologist, the cancer was detected early. It was Stage 1, slow-growing, and a bunch of other “best kind of cancer” medical terms. Thanks to excellent health insurance and an army of skilled, compassionate doctors, nurses, technicians, and administrative staff, I received great care.

I had a lumpectomy in June and a second surgery 10 days later to remove a bit more tissue because one of the “margins” showed some wayward cancer cells — my non-technical explanation!

My surgeon got it all, and she and the medical oncologist are confident I will be fine.

Last month I completed a short course of radiation therapy, and now, I’m starting a five-year medication regimen. It’s a lot, physically and emotionally, but again, cue the music:

“Everything’s going to be alright.”

Yes, my lovingly lovely husband, who, while he doesn’t have perfect pitch, doggedly keeps crooning that Side B ditty. And I must admit it’s catchy. In fact, at some point, I started singing it back to him.

You see, amid his constant tender hand-holding and moral support, the man was scared and exhausted too. He needed the words as much as I did.

As for you, cancer, listen up. Next summer, I plan on singing a new, healthier tune, maybe “Happy Days Are Here Again.”

🎵 🎵 🎵

A few closing, non-musical notes:

• If you or someone close to you has breast cancer, I recommend: The Breast Advice by Dr. Elisa Port, Chief of Breast Surgery at Mount Sinai Health System in New York City. In her book, Dr. Port explains all the frightening, complicated issues related to breast cancer in simple terms. She’s brilliant, skilled, and kind. Also, lucky me, she’s my doctor.
• Three personal patient “pro tips”:
  1. First, get a doctor’s referral for a skilled physical therapist to work with. PT can help ease post-surgical pain, break up scar tissue, and improve mobility.
  2. Keep moving. Even if you feel rotten, go for walks and, with your doctor’s OK, exercise.
  3. Always take somebody with you to medical appointments. The amount of information doctors throw at you makes you feel like your brain will explode. The minute somebody starts talking about your “survival rate” … Well, at least for me, that’s when my entire thought process shuts down!
• Finally, second only to skin cancer, breast cancer is the most common cancer in women in the United States, accounting for approximately 30% of all new female cancers each year, according to the American Cancer Society. So, please remember to schedule your annual mammogram. It just might save your life.