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    I'm An Open Shirt
    I'm An Open Shirt
    I'm An Open Shirt
    Ebook166 pages2 hours

    I'm An Open Shirt

    By Nancy L. Pinto

    ()

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    About this ebook

    "I never thought I would..." is the story of my life.  I never thought I would move away from my family, co-own a business, leave the Catholic church - and battle breast cancer in my 30s.  Every decision and challenge has been painful and absolutely necessary for personal growth, fulfillment and happiness.  

    With this book, I offer a glimpse into my heart and mind as I've faced and navigated unplanned life-changing circumstances.  I want you to know that you're not alone, and you don't need to remain stuck in any area of your life.  We're all in this together!

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherNancy Pinto
    Release dateDec 16, 2018
    ISBN9781386085379
    I'm An Open Shirt

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      Book preview

      I'm An Open Shirt - Nancy L. Pinto

      He held his breath

      She blurted: I should have this lump checked out

      Her tears fell as he held her,

      For she knew without a doubt

      They went for Ethiopian

      Because she had once stated

      She was curious to try it

      So there they ate, deflated

      The days crawled by in torture

      Then, the last invasive test

      Confirmed her worst suspicion:

      She had cancer in her breast

      "Whatever I must do to fight,

      No problem, bring it on!

      Mastectomy or chemo

      I just want this tumor gone!"

      Sleep eluded her completely

      Grotesque questions plagued her mind

      Will I go straight to heaven?

      What of those I leave behind?

      Then, good news from the doctors

      It’s a very early stage!

      You have time to weigh your options

      Due to good health and your age!

      With zero hesitation, she instructed:

      "Take them both.

      I will not risk my healthy breast

      Developing a growth."

      The surgery went smoothly

      There was pain, but she’d be fine

      The next day was her birthday

      She was only thirty-nine

      A few days hence, recovering,

      Her husband took the call

      "They found a small invasion.

      You’ll need chemo after all."

      A crushing blow, betrayal

      By what her cells could do

      Though grateful for the medicine

      There’s much they don’t know, too

      Her husband was her everything

      He researched and he read

      He cooked and cleaned and made her laugh

      He even shaved his head

      She renamed chemo chocolate sauce

      It simply sounded better

      Oh, cancer made a big mistake

      She’d never let it get her

      She cut her hair in stages

      Crazy long to short and sweet

      She wept, as all the last of it

      Drifted to her feet

      Her tummy and her veins were pissed

      These meds are an intrusion!

      She battled with increased fatigue

      And chemo brain confusion

      Immunity was compromised

      Most days she stayed indoors

      She missed her life, activities

      She even missed her chores!

      Despite the inconveniences

      Her days were filled with laughter

      Creating lists of all the things

      She planned to do right after

      Whenever she had energy

      She’d take a good, long walk

      If fear was overwhelming,

      She and God would have a talk

      Her friends and family visited

      Some days she’d have a drink!

      Her sister held a fundraiser

      To benefit the Pink

      Then, finally, the day came

      For her sixth and final round

      She’d live again! She made it

      With all the strength she’d found

      Six weeks later, nervous,

      To CrossFit® she returned

      And gave the workout all she had

      Although her muscles burned

      The gym is not for crying

      But that day, the cheers were loud

      She fell into a sweaty heap

      Exhausted, happy, proud

      To the bucket list! Continue!

      As she holds each silver lining

      There’s a lot more life for living

      And this cancer’s not defining

      The journey’s filled with winding roads

      The future disappears

      With grace she plans to navigate

      The many, many years

      INTRODUCTION

      The steel bar was unyielding as I gripped it for dear life and stubbornly heaved my exhausted body upward for the 105th time.  Inside, aggressive cancer cells were desperately trying to break out of my right breast to commence the deadly swim towards my lymph nodes and internal organs.  Each muscle-draining pull-up carried a silent fuck you to the breast cancer I was fighting.

      On July 18, 2012, at age 38, I was diagnosed with Ductal Carcinoma in Situ (DCIS), a condition in which cancer cells are present but contained within the breast duct walls.  This is Stage 0, technically not a medical emergency (except for that pesky word, carcinoma).  I was shocked, but extremely relieved that it had been caught so early.  Breaking the news to friends and relatives, I would add with a smile, It’s the best kind to have! 

      That summer, I underwent two ultrasounds, two mammograms, two biopsies, one MRI, and a partridge in a pear tree.  On September 6, 2012 - the day before my 39th birthday - my boobs (nipples and all) were surgically removed.  Seven weeks later, terrified but determined, I would begin a series of chemotherapy infusions.  The physical pain proved easier to handle than the psychological trauma of dealing with narrow-minded people, the disintegration of my ingrained religious beliefs, and impending baldness.  

      In spite of the horrible diagnosis, and the fact that my husband Chris and I lived in Los Angeles – separated by 2500 miles from our families in New Jersey - silver linings appeared.  Casual acquaintances bestowed upon us unconditional generosity and companionship.  Joining support groups allowed me to express myself honestly and meet awe-inspiring women going through the same ordeal.  I was compelled to question and explore my robotic faith, which led us to a wonderful new church and a better relationship with God.  My marriage, already rock solid, grew even more resilient as Chris found himself doing things for me he never conceived.  He more than held up his in sickness and in health part of the vow!

      Six rounds of chemo, seventeen infusions of Herceptin (given to patients who test positive for a protein known as HER2 that basically makes cancer more aggressive), four surgeries, and more than five years later, I am in remission.  Facing disease and mortality led me, for better or worse, to sharpen my attitude about how time is spent.  Without further ado, my bucket list is being tackled.  Prior to diagnosis, I’d changed my lifestyle and eating habits for the better, but I’m always looking for ways to improve.  I’m pretty close to militant about regular exercise and proper food and portion choices (although I will never turn down dessert or a glass of wine!).   

      The fear of recurrence still rears its ugly head, particularly when I’m due for a medical exam, or my body does something new (Why is my hand twitching?  It’s hand cancer!).  That may never go entirely away.  But overall, I have emerged from this crisis stronger and wiser. 

      Early on, I was hurt by a lot of things people did or didn’t do or say.  I’ve had to retrain my brain to look at people and situations with more empathy.  One of my many character flaws is that this doesn’t come easily.  But with reflection, effort, and a million conversations came evolution, and I’ve come to view things a little differently than I did before.  In certain situations, I’ve made significant life changes.  Other things I’ll just have to accept forever. 

      This book was written over the course of a couple of years. In that time, many of my opinions changed.  Breast cancer threw my life into chaos, and while the disease is logically explained via biological facts, its impact on my spirit was profound and complex.  Treatment didn’t just pertain to the rogue cells in my body; it became just as crucial for my heart and mind. 

      The timeline of my life is split, like the International Date Line.  Its designation is almost neatly BC, Before Cancer and AC, After Cancer.  I'm not sure if, on certain coordinates on the globe, you can straddle Thursday and Friday with a wide stance, but sometimes I do find myself in a murky overlap of both time periods.  After all, the essence of who I am hasn’t been altered – it’s just more defined, and hopefully improved. 

      Truthfully, I don’t know if I’d feel the same had I been terminally ill.  That could still happen someday - nothing is guaranteed.  My heart breaks for those debilitated by cancer and its treatments.  I’ll never forget racing through JFK Airport, hoping to get to my Aunt Maria in New Jersey in time to say goodbye.  Everything in me shattered when Chris pulled me aside in a hug that told me I was too late.  Pancreatic cancer had claimed her, much too young, vibrant, and faithful. 

      I’ve spent a lot of time wondering guiltily why I was spared, for now.  It is no longer for me to question.  I can be philosophical about it, or I can take my cure at face value.  Either way, my priorities are enjoying my loved ones, working hard, fully partaking of life and laughter, and doing my small part to help the world.  I choose happiness.

      I never planned to write a book.  But I wanted to share my story, not just about cancer, but about my personal life, and I hope you find something useful.  At the very least, please check your breasts monthly – you too, guys, as men can get breast cancer – and don’t put off a mammogram!

      Christmas 2011: It’s Not a Tumor

      The darkness gave a sinister quality to my discovery.  Lying in bed, I happened to press down on my right breast, and felt something I knew didn’t belong.  Surely it must be a muscle! I thought feebly.  I made Chris feel it, and soon both of us were rationalizing that it was nothing serious.  At the time, we were staying at Chris’s mother’s house in New Jersey, visiting family for Christmas, and I was not about to put a damper on the festivities.  This would have to wait.   

      The lump, of course, did not disappear.  Ignoring what I knew in my gut to be true, I stupidly put off dealing with it until my next annual physical – IN JUNE!  I was in severe denial.  I was still young, with no family history of breast cancer; I was thin, and didn’t smoke, use drugs, or abuse alcohol.  I felt fantastic!  I’d reduced stress in my life, added very healthy hobbies, and changed my diet.  We cooked more and went out to eat less.  I was the Queen of Substitution:  Greek yogurt for mayonnaise!  Quinoa for rice!  Sweet potatoes for white! 

      I also went from exercising irregularly to worshipping at the church of CrossFit®.  Please indulge my little digression here.  If you are or know a CrossFit®ter, you’ll understand that there is no topic into which the sport cannot be inserted.

      When CrossFit® and I met, in the fall of 2010, I was 37 and frumpy.  My arms had all the tone of a foam roller.  More urgently, I was trying to flee from the same fate as many of my relatives with diabetes, high blood pressure, and other ailments.  Alliance Culver City came highly recommended by a colleague, so Chris and I made an appointment, knowing not what to expect.

      Immediately I was intimidated.  This wasn’t 24-7 Globo Gym Fitness.  Housed in a brick building, the gym (called a box in CrossFit® vernacular) was electric with action, from boxing to Krav Maga to CrossFit®.  This place was hard-core.  One side of the gym had loading-dock doors that opened up to an alleyway.  The soothing sounds of Eminem pierced the airwaves.  Barbells flew overhead and swooned down with a loud clank.  Human beings repeatedly launched themselves onto tall wooden boxes, then at some point took off running – to where, I didn’t know.  No one was just standing around, reading, or wearing earbuds.  A good-looking guy, identified by his tight black t-shirt imprinted with the word COACH, bellowed encouragingly: YOU GOT THIS!  KEEP MOVING! 

      How did everyone know what to do and when?  Our equally buff sales guy pointed to a big white board, where the programming for the day was indicated in a language resembling English.  Cheerily, he explained the next important term: WOD, which stands for Workout of the Day.  The WOD is designed by the athletic director or box owner, and comprises a variety of exercises.  Each session begins with a warm-up and skill piece (like a weightlifting move, or how to climb a rope), then concludes with a fast-paced, timed component that averages to about 15 minutes of nonstop work.  While the workouts may appear chaotic, there’s a method

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