Si tu lis mes autres élucubrations non cancéreuse, tu sais peut-être que j’entretiens avec le New-York Times une relation ancienne , alors quand le 29 août j’ai vu le papier des appels à contribution liés à la ” vie avec le cancer du sein”, j’ai répondu. J’en étais à chirurgie +10 jours, j’en étais à me prendre la tête avec la CPAM de l’Ain , je n’avais pas encore reçu le protocole de soins mais je me doutais que la chimiothérapie et la radiothérapie seraient au programme. j’ai donc répondu aux questions posées, envoyé le texte sans sauvegarder la deuxième partie comme une andouille.

Pour une fois je ne proférais aucune grossièreté (c’est le NYT) j’ai attendu un mail de Tara Parker Pope, mais rien n’est venu. J’ai oublié. Et hier, surprise mon texte était en ligne avec les portraits d’une cinquantaine d’autres personnes, permettant de créer un ensemble de témoignages riches et divers issus de patients, proches de malades souffrant du cancer du sein et répartis sur le globe.

Aujourd’hui je n’écrirais plus la même chose. En deux mois la situation et la réflexion évoluent.

Bon voilà je vous le livre tel qu’il a été édité par le NYT et publié ici.

“Feeling lucky to live in France” that was one of my first thoughts two months ago when I learned I had an invasive lobular carcinoma in both breasts. It took me only three days after a routine mammography to have an appointment with a specialist in one of the 20 national centers specializing in cancer research and treatment, where biopsies, M.R.I., scans and bone scintigraphy have been performed. After the usual period of fear, anxiety and confusion, the results came negative for metastasis. I was ready to face surgery, and I asked for a double mastectomy. I said goodbye to my 40DD breast with no emotion.
Here I am on Day 10 after surgery, waiting for the histological results of everything that has been removed.
At first, everyone was shocked. Who wouldn’t be? It was July 4, early in summer. I told my family about each step of the diagnosis, and warned them I needed time to process it and be selfish to face the news. My husband was with me throughout. We tried to be optimistic. Then my pit bull Jewish mother side came out. I scared people off: the ones who needed ME to calm THEIR anxiety. As I decided to have my breast cut, I cut ties with these noxious people. I needed peace to prepare.
In France we have a public health insurance which pays for 100 percent of the costs when cancer or another severe disease is diagnosed. I know it can seem very strange to many Americans. We pay for health insurance with our taxes when we are lucky to have a job, and we get from that public insurance half of our previous income during treatment and recovery for as long as three years. It may look like cancer heaven here; with great medical and research teams, we are free to choose by whom and where we want to be treated.
So I am back at home. A nurse comes every two days to change my bandages and clean the scars. I feel great. Tired, but great, so I rest when it’s needed.
I won’t say I am not worried for the next appointment. I am well aware I might need chemo and radiotherapy to get rid of the brachial tumor.
I am well aware that my cancer is in my system, and it is trying to build its network inside my liver or my brain. I call it Carlo, after the French acronym for lobular carcinoma. I blog about it on a humorous way, and it helps me deal with each aspect of it. I even modified my LinkedIn profile to appear as Carlo’s Community Manager.
Losing half of my income is another source of anxiety, but I guess that goes for everyone in an economic crisis as we face it in France and in the Western world.
Three years ago, I lost a very dear friend she to breast cancer, but a higher stage than mine. For her it went from bad to worse. I saw her till the end, and we walked with my eldest daughter to the Parisian cemetery where her body lies. She’s with me, like all my loved ones.”

Ils ont coupé 

“I am 53 married for 35+ years, mother of four terrific young adults and grand-mother of two wonderful boys (so far).
My husband took over all the housekeeping, cooking, laundry, while working and looking after my needs. I am lucky”

Parce que ça ne collait pas avec le cliché des mâles français ?

Quand j’ai vu mon post j’ai pensé à ma mère, morte en 1975 elle aurait dit “NYT Baby” et ça m’aurait suffit.

Va lire les autres portraits ils sont magnifiques,