That time when you go in for a routine pap smear and the doctor tells you she found a lump in your breast.

“The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea.” – Isak Dinesen

There comes a point in all of our lives where we are tested.  It is inevitable.  And most all of us know, whether from practical reasoning or first-hand experience, that it is only through trials that we can truly grow as individuals.

Some trials are inherently more damaging than others, though.  Some of us are put through the fire and lose everything; not a single thing in our lives is untouched, and we come out appearing completely different than when we first went in.  Those who never let their wounds heal, become jaded and marred; they are full of darkness, and sorrowful anger and bitterness overcome them.  Those who embrace the storm, however, and accept it, tend to reveal a gold within them that shines forth as an example onto others.  We call those people 'survivors'.

There are a great many things I've shared on this blog already that I had no intention of.  But when it came to explaining why I was doing what I was doing - eating clean, finally getting into shape, battling certain emotions or facing certain challenges and the feelings associated with them - I found it necessary to explain who I was, in order to make sense of who I wanted to be.  And then, to take it a step further, I began to wonder who else was like me, or going thru a similar predicament, or who had a similar past, and was trying to find enlightenment through the shared experiences of others.  Lord knows, I have been (and continue to be) that person! How many times have I gone onto google with such a specific question, and pulled up countless blogs authored by people I did not know, and whom I would likely never meet, but yet their courage to share a personal story contributed to my own knowledge, outlook, and general approach to handling whatever given situation I was in?

It is because of this that I write today about something new that I am facing, and how I will NOT let it affect my fitness journey.

I have written in the past about how I suffered cardiac arrest when I was 19 due to extreme electrolyte imbalances caused by several years of severe eating disorders.  I have written about how I have since experienced pretty strong (and scary!) episodes of PVCs and PACs occasionally.  I have written about my IBS (and in fact, it was through my facebook page and blog that I have grown comfortable with being open and talking to people about my disorder; it was always a topic of shame to me in the past).  And last week, I revealed on my facebook page that on Christmas Eve of 2006, I was diagnosed with a form of cervical pre-cancer (High Grade Squamous Intraepitheleal Lesions ~ HSIL).

I'd like to give a little back drop to that before I get into the topic d'jour.  I got my original HSIL diagnosis as just part of a routine annual pap smear when I was 20 years old on winter break from school.  I needed the pap to get my pill prescription renewed, which I took to combat extreme hormonal fatigue I get for like 2.5 weeks out of the month without it.  Otherwise, I was sexually inactive and focused on sports and classes, not on boys and relationships.  I tested negative for HPV, and had already received the Gardasil vaccine against HPV, anyway.  No family history of cervical disorders.  Didn't smoke, didn't drink, and exercised regularly.  In terms of risk factors, I was completely off the map.

Since my original diagnosis, I have had one surgery and several small out-patient procedures.  When you get an abnormal pap reading, the first thing you do is go in for a colposcopy.  It sounds scary, but your cervix actually has no nerve endings so you don't ever feel what they do - the only thing you feel is a cramping in your abdominal muscles in response to the procedure which feels like minor period cramps, so they tell you to take a dose of advil prior to the procedure to relax your muscles (I prefer 600 mg of Ibuprofen, taken with food).  They first go in and swab your cervix with a vinegar solution which, under a black light, reveals areas of deformed cervical tissue.  Then a small biopsy sample is taken from that area and examined under a microscope to reveal the extent of disease.  Sometimes it is nothing, or so minimal that your body can heal itself without you ever having to do anything further than the colposcopy.  If not, there are several procedures that can be done to address the situation.

My first surgery was the LEEP procedure, which I elected to be anesthetized for (which is not necessary).  I was just out of my mind with fear though, and knew it was in the best interest of my mental health.  They located the diseased spots on my cervix, and used an electricity-heated coil to literally scoop out the whole diseased sections of my cervix.  The heat of the coil simultaneously cauterized any blood flow.  A gauze-like material was placed over my cervix to help with healing and preventing infection, which naturally broke away from my cervix a few days later and worked it's way out of my body much like a period flow would.

After that procedure, I went in for pap smears every 4 months for a year.  If they all came back fine, I would go every 6 months the following year, and then once annually like everyone else.  But my last pap of the first year came back again with HSIL, and so I had another colposcopy, and this time I had cryotherapy done.  Have you ever had a wart on your finger which you had a doctor freeze off using liquid nitrogen?  It's essentially the same thing.  They just froze the diseased cells on my cervix which killed them, and they naturally disposed of themselves thereafter.  Easy peasy.  I stayed awake for the procedure, and it felt and lasted just as long as a normal pap.  NOTHING TO FEAR :)

I had cryotherapy done 3 times.  Since then, I have gotten many abnormal pap smears but my new OB/GYN has me wait 6 months and get retested before doing any treatment, to see if my body is capable of fighting off the diseased tissue on it's own. 3 times this has happened successfully. 

The last time I got an abnormal pap was exactly one year ago.  I waited 6 months and ironically, on Christmas Eve of 2011, I was told my pap came back negative for any abnormalities.  Which meant that if I could get thru my next pap in 6 months without any abnormalities, I could go back to just once a year having a pap.  I got the test done last thursday, and am in a knot of anxiety as each day goes by.  My doctor said that she will have the results back within a week, and if they are clear, she will not call me.  So in other words, no news is good news.

But all of that said, a former soccer friend of mine had recently posted on facebook that his sister - only 31 years old, and a mother of 3 - was diagnosed with Stage 2 breast cancer. I couldn't remember the last time I had a breast exam (a year ago?) so when I went in for my pap, I asked my OB/GYN to perform one.  I'll admit I don't examine myself as frequently as I should, but when I do, I've focused on just feeling for pea-sized rocks, or else to feel that my breasts felt uniform and similar to one another.  All good on that end!

As my doctor was examining me though, she paused and said, "Oh.  You have something here." 

No thoughts or feelings or emotions went thru my head.  I felt no fear, no shock, no worry.  She said, "Feel this.  Do you feel that?  It's about the size of a half-dollar."  I felt where she placed my finger tips - on the inner part of my breast, near my heart and sternum, away from my arm pits where I usually focused my own self-exams on.  "No, I don't feel anything.." I said. She pressed my fingers firmly onto the spot and that's when I felt it.  It was broad, flat and large - not that round pebble I had always felt for.  She was very matter-of-fact about it, which was calming to me, but as I thought about it later, she is probably trained to deliver this news stoically and nonchalantly so as not to spurn mass panic in patients.  She said that it felt like a cyst because it was softer than typically tumorous masses, but that she couldn't tell for certain, so it was important to schedule an appointment for an ultrasound.

Within minutes I had a diagnostic form in my hand that had already been faxed to a nearby Breast Health Imagining facility, and was told to call them right away as they were awaiting my call.  I called, and by then I was in a state of deep sorrow and utter disbelief.  It was shock - not the good kind that makes you go numb, but rather the bad kind that has you breathing heavily and thinking to yourself, "I'm too young for this; this can't be happening."  I couldn't believe the words I was uttering; I even choked on my own silent tears when giving my date of birth to the woman, and confirming that yes, given my age, I had not had a mammogram yet.  It was like something out of a sad movie.  Or a country song. Or a nightmare.

So here it is, Monday evening.  My ultrasound is less than 24 hours away, and I'm trying to focus on my work but I can't.  I have spoken to MANY many people who have told me they have had a friend or family member go through the same thing, or that they themselves have experienced it, and it's no big deal.  It turned out to be nothing - a benign cyst, a calcification, etc.  I'm young, I'm healthy, I should have nothing to fear.  I love my coffee and I've read caffeine can cause cysts; my hormones have been a bit off-kilter since changing my diet and exercise routines and losing weight, and I've read hormones can cause cysts; I play a lot of sports and can think of various times I've had a guy spike a volleyball straight into my chest, so maybe that could have caused some sort of trauma.  But all of these explanations do nothing to calm my fears, or help me with wanting to eat comfort food or skip the gym.

A couple months ago I wrote a blog entry about those days when you feel like you're at the bottom of the barrel and can't seem to find any hope or motivation to keep pushing onward.  The entry was called "Dieting is an Exhausting Mental Feat (Motivation for the Hard Days Ahead)"

At the very end, I wrote a paragraph that is resonating with me now.  My own words, written while I was still riding high and motivation was a breeze for me, are now helping to lift me up in this difficult time.  I have a full workout planned for today, but I am exhausted, especially mentally and spiritually.  In that paragraph, I wrote the following:

"What is life though, really? Were we ever told that none of the aforementioned tragedies would ever happen to us? Or that they would happen to us, but not to others? I'll tell you now, EVERYbody is in pain. Everybody has a worry. The day I was told I had cervical dysplasia and had to get a biopsy to tell me how invasive it was, I had every reason to not go to the gym. I had every reason to spend that day immersed in as many happy relaxing thoughts and environments as possible, indulge in as many treats as I wanted. But I didn't, I went to the gym and my tears were masked by the sweat pouring down my forehead. This is life, and these things happen, but as long as you're alive, there is still hope. And even when there isn't hope, there is the satisfaction of never giving up. Life's real dreams are the ones that can be realized only by waking up, not by drifting back into catatonic nonexistence."

So I am here to say that today is one of those days where there is not a single fiber of my being that wants to go to the gym.  I haven't slept well in days, I've already cried twice at work (the deep, heaving cries that leave you in a state of cathartic fogginess for hours), I overate a little to compensate for my exhaustion, and all I want to do is go home and watch something on Netflix in cozy pajamas and eat a bowl of ice cream and take a dose of Nyquil and knock out.

But I am not going to.  Because this is life, and these things happen, but as long as I am alive, there is still hope.  And even if I find out tomorrow the worst case scenario, there is still hope in the fight, and the satisfaction that I never gave up.  I've been through too much in my life to be a quitter now; I consider myself a survivor, and I have big shoes to fill if I'm going to keep that title.  Not to mention, if I give up on myself now, what sort of message will that send to me?  That I'm not capable of fighting, or rallying through challenging times?  What sort of precedent would that set?  An hour and 45 minutes of the toughest workout I can crank out, where I put all of my fear and anger and confusion and saddness and anxiety on the pyre and sacrifice it to the Gym Gods will do me so much more good than 6 hours of sogging on the couch to Sex & The City re-reuns while sharing my bowl of some overly-sugared processed frozen dairy product with the ever-present flow of my own tears.  Oh, and then the guilt I'll feel tomorrow!

It may take a lot more energy and strength to make this workout happen, but it is happening.  Because even when there isn't hope, there is still the satisfaction in never giving up.  That is where the growth happens.  That is where the human spirit shines.