Entering Heathrow on our way back to the US from the UK, I’ve started scheming and plotting to get back as soon as possible. Mrs. Koog firmly told me as we boarded our flight home we should pay for the trip we were still ON before buying tickets to return. Her thriftiness is endearing...sometimes.
Anyway, fast forward 3 1/2 weeks…Thursday, Sept 14, 2023 to be exact. I had been pleading our return to the UK case since before we were wheels-up at LHR, and I felt like we had moved her toward a "yes." The little Koogs had just left for school and we were watching the Today Show as I checked my work email and sipped my tea.
The return itinerary was limited to 3 weeks and was only Ireland (Northern and Republic of) and, of course, my beloved Wales. I was giddy as Mrs. Koog was joining me in finding places to stay around the Emerald Isle, even sending me the VRBO link to a lighthouse for rent on Arranmore Island, where her people are from in County Donegal.
Our exchange that morning went like this:
Me: “So, this lighthouse looks amazing and it’s really cheap! We can cancel before May 30 so let’s book it now so we don’t lose it.”
Mrs. Koog: “No, I’m not sure where we will be in June”
Me: “Um, ok. Are you leaving me? What do you mean you’re not sure where we will be in June?”
Mrs. Koog: “The doctor called yesterday. She said I need to see a surgeon and an oncologist. I’m pretty sure she said I have breast cancer.”
Silence broken by my audible gasp. It felt like I had been smacked across my back with a 2X4. My heart raced as I stared at my beautiful, seemingly healthy wife. Inside my brain, I heard and felt the vibration of the high pitched squeal of my soul ripping apart. In the space of microseconds our world changed. Our paradise was crushed.
To be honest, I don’t remember anything else that happened that day. The next memory I have is Friday, September 15. Mrs. Koog handed me a printout. It was the pathology report. “Invasive lobular Carcinoma, Moderately Differentiated” were the words that leapt off the page and sucker punched us. “Positive Malignancy” was the right hook that knocked us out.
About 5 days before we left for the UK, Mrs. Koog got a call that her mammogram had a questionable finding and they wanted to do a biopsy. Obviously, we were prepared to cancel the trip, but based on the amount of times this has happened over the past few years and the inability to get a biopsy scheduled before August 18, the doctor advised us to keep the trip as planned. This was really nothing to worry about, they said. So we went. And we didn’t worry. And we came back with COVID. And we had to move the biopsy from August 25 to September 7. And we still weren’t too worried. And then, well, you know.
We spent the remainder of the day finding a doctor that was NOT the VA (longer story but I have not yet handled my rage so I can’t write about them). She settled on Georgetown University’s Lombardi Cancer/Ourisman Breast Center. The appointment was the following Friday. Seven days away. Seven of the longest days of our lives.
In true Mrs. Koog “the show must go on” fashion, she packed up her tent, sleeping bag and clothes to accompany B-Koog on his previously scheduled Scout Camp Out where he would get his astronomy badge. I had plans of my own with E-Koog. We were heading to the Baltimore Aquarium for an early morning/pre-opening tour to feed the fish and other animals in their rainforest exhibit. Oh, and E requested Fogo de Chao for lunch.
Dear God. The kids. How do we tell them? When do we tell them? WHAT do we tell them? There was so much we didn’t know ourselves at this point. We made the decision, I believe the right decision, to wait until after the Georgetown appointment when we had some answers to their inevitable questions. It was a strange relief to delay the day they would lose their carefree innocence.
So, we moved through the day. We packed Mrs. Koog's car and kissed her and B good-bye until Sunday. E and I went to our local Mexican restaurant for dinner. We sat outside. I was happy to leave my sunglasses on to hide my eyes. Saying good-bye to her was gutting. All I wanted to do was hold her close. She needed to keep busy and her needs surpass anyone else’s at this point, including my own.
As I lay in bed that night, I used Dr. Google to figure out what this pathology report actually meant. Remember, I studied Political Science, not science-science. I’m sure you are wondering why we didn’t ask her doctor to explain it when the report was delivered. Great question. The doctor never called to explain the results other than the call to Mrs. Koog earlier in the week. We were left to figure this out on our own for the next seven days until we meet with an actual competent and compassionate doctor at Georgetown.
Luckily, I was able to chat with my cousin J. He’s an infectious disease professional and answered all my questions with kindness and sensitivity and the genetic family humor. He made some of the words less scary. He explained that sometimes the words “double positive” and “negative” were actually good results in this scenario. This guy showed up for me that night and every night since.
Since I could not sleep and I needed to get the nervous rage-fueled energy out of my body, I headed to the pool at 3:30am and swam. I was the water version of Forrest Gump. I swam for more than 3 hours, for more than 3 miles. It was therapeutic and it helped me get control over my emotions so I could be present and enjoy the day with E.
After all, he was super excited to have alone time with me. Unknowingly, he was like a salve to my soul that day. Walking through the quiet aquarium at 7:15am in a small group and seeing the happiness in his eyes was like a temporary bandage on my wounded soul. Mrs. Koog had texted something similar about her morning with B. While I wished we were our usual foursome, it was good to focus on the kids instead of dwelling on this corn chunked, crap sandwich.
We finished the aquarium, toured the old boats and the sub in the harbor and headed to Fogo de Chao for lunch. In true E-Koog fashion, he ate his way through that restaurant. For at least 45 minutes straight he ate nearly every piece of meat the gaucho servers offered. I stopped counting each individual cut, but did remember he ate 6 bacon wrapped mini filets. They may be rethinking this "all you can eat" business model.
As I watched him eat anything that didn’t eat him, I could feel the emotions stacking up. I felt like a balloon that was going to burst. Obviously, I held it together while my son ate Fogo de Chao out of sirloin and lamb lollipops. We got to the car and E was dead asleep, food coma I assumed, before we left the city. And the tears were free to silently flow. And flow they did for nearly the entire trip home.
Once we were home, we had several hours until our next activity, a USL Champions League Soccer game between 2 of my 3 favorite USL teams, Loudoun United vs Charleston Battery. (My other favorite is the Pittsburgh Riverhounds if you were wondering) I was taking a friend of the boys and his mom, a friend of mine and Mrs. Koog who knew what was going on in our lives at the moment so there was no need to yuck it up for a stranger. She also showed up that night and every night since.
Luckily, E was itching to play video games with his buds as we arrived home. I changed into my swimsuit again and swam another 3 hours. It was the only thing keeping this newly acquired unmitigated rage I was feeling at bay. If I wasn’t in the pool burning off the raging energy, I was seriously afraid I would break something in the house. Such a strange reaction, right? I had no desire to strike people (well maybe that VA doctor) but just wanted to smash everything. I ordered a heavy bag when I came out of the pool. No kidding.
It was a great game and my friend kept me engaged in conversation so I wouldn’t dwell on the elephant in the room. E did his part, unknowingly of course. This kid had a large milkshake from the creamery on our way to the game, ate 3 chicken quesadillas and a coke at the game, and a popsicle on the way out. Remember, he single handedly broke the beef supply chain earlier in the day at Fogo de Chao!
When I finally got home and into bed I was exhausted but couldn’t sleep for quite a while. I think my body finally succumbed to the sandman around 4. At 8 I heard our dog barking at the sounds of campers arriving home. We were together again. Mrs. Koog showered and layed in bed to cuddle.
The seven days between making the appointment and getting to the appointment was agonizing for Mrs. Koog. She was a woman on a mission to get VA authorizations, requisite referrals and any other pieces of paper that bureaucratic-paperwork-dinosaur required to get her treated by Georgetown. I think she was thankful for the distraction.
We spent Thursday morning at the Middle School discussing the situation with the counselors and staff, all of whom are close to Mrs. Koog, to be sure the guys had support after we told them the news on Friday. It was tough for her to say the words "I have breast cancer" outloud, so I handeled that part of the conversation. Mrs. Koog’s family arrived at our house in the early evening as there was a family wedding in our area that weekend and they had pre-planned to visit. Having them there was definitely a positive. Her parents, sisters and brother-in-law were great support all weekend. They all showed up that weekend and continue to show up.
Friday. Finally. Silently, we drove the 30 miles from our house to Georgetown, holding hands the whole way. As we entered the parking garage, we were waved in by the attendant. Apparently their credit card thing was down so he was letting us in for free. That had to be a good sign, right?
We made our way to the Breast Center, checked in, were immediately taken to a room and Mrs. Koog was handed a nice waffle-weave robe. I mentioned it was not unlike the one she received from the cruise ship in April when she mistakenly packed her pants and had to exit the ship in undies and this robe. She laughed.
The doctor came in and we held our breath. “I’m going to give you a lot of information this morning. I want you to remember this one, most important item. You will be ok. Understand? You. Will. Be. OK. Now, feel free to interrupt and ask any questions you think of as I explain what is going on inside your body.” I asked her the question that had haunted me, “did waiting until after the trip allow this tumor to grow?” She unequivocally said “absolutely not!” She also said she was happy we decided to keep the trip and rightly assumed the family time was amazing. The doctor could not have been nicer or more professional or more compassionate.
She explained options to Mrs. Koog and let her decide on the course of treatment. Bilateral mastectomy with autologous reconstruction. Assuming the cancer has not spread through the sentinel node, there will be no chemo. She will need hormone therapy for 10 years. That’s what Cousin J meant when he said “double positive is good”. The doctor explained it opened up many treatment avenues. After about 45 mins and answering every one of our myriad questions, the doctor said good-bye. We gathered our to-do lists from the RNs and headed home. As we drove out of the garage, we were called by the plastic surgeon, we meet with him on October 10. That’s when we will get the date for her surgery. More waiting.
On the car ride back, Mrs. Koog made her pre-op appointments. Once done, we had to talk about how to tell the boys. We had some answers now and we needed to share this with them before they overheard us talking and we lost the ability to control how they recieved the information. We do not want them using the Google. Mrs. Koog texted her family, who was at our house with the guys, and said we wanted to tell the boys first and then we would be in to explain it all. They graciously understood why we needed to talk to the boys privately.
It was sunny and we asked them to come to the pool house. We explained the situation honestly, but in a way that was not horrifying to their 12 year old hearts. E audibly gasped but then seemed to settle with the news, B said he could “feel” something was up. They had 3 questions. Is Mommy going to die? Is Mommy going to lose her hair?
To answer the first one, we were careful not to make promises or guarantees we could not keep. We explained what the doctor had told us about Mommy being ok, but we were careful to say nothing was a guarantee but we are doing all the things we can to be sure Mommy will be healthy.
The second one, we said based on the treatment approach and what we know right now, it seems like Mommy will not have chemo and will not lose her hair. Again, being clear that all of this is based on the information we have at this moment. We assured them we would be honest as we found out more information and we would tell them if anything changed.
What was the third question? B: “It sounds like you guys have this all under control. Are we still able to watch the Barbie Movie in the home theater with Aunt P tonight?” Yes, was the answer to that one.
So, now we wait. She has VA appointments, MRIs, cardiac pre-op clearances leading up to the appointment with the plastic surgeon on Oct. 10.
We continue to hold each other close and be available for the boys. The kids are handling things fine at this point in time. There is no visible illness and Mrs. Koog has continued to be the amazing Mom she has always been so nothing has changed for them so far. Based on some conversations with a friend that has kids the same age as the boys and had a similar diagnosis and the same procedure, things got very real for her kids after the surgery. We will be sure all the supports are ready to help them when reality and fear strike.
But now we wait and wait and wait. Tom Petty was spot on when he said the waiting is the hardest part.
Anyway, fast forward 3 1/2 weeks…Thursday, Sept 14, 2023 to be exact. I had been pleading our return to the UK case since before we were wheels-up at LHR, and I felt like we had moved her toward a "yes." The little Koogs had just left for school and we were watching the Today Show as I checked my work email and sipped my tea.
The return itinerary was limited to 3 weeks and was only Ireland (Northern and Republic of) and, of course, my beloved Wales. I was giddy as Mrs. Koog was joining me in finding places to stay around the Emerald Isle, even sending me the VRBO link to a lighthouse for rent on Arranmore Island, where her people are from in County Donegal.
Our exchange that morning went like this:
Me: “So, this lighthouse looks amazing and it’s really cheap! We can cancel before May 30 so let’s book it now so we don’t lose it.”
Mrs. Koog: “No, I’m not sure where we will be in June”
Me: “Um, ok. Are you leaving me? What do you mean you’re not sure where we will be in June?”
Mrs. Koog: “The doctor called yesterday. She said I need to see a surgeon and an oncologist. I’m pretty sure she said I have breast cancer.”
Silence broken by my audible gasp. It felt like I had been smacked across my back with a 2X4. My heart raced as I stared at my beautiful, seemingly healthy wife. Inside my brain, I heard and felt the vibration of the high pitched squeal of my soul ripping apart. In the space of microseconds our world changed. Our paradise was crushed.
To be honest, I don’t remember anything else that happened that day. The next memory I have is Friday, September 15. Mrs. Koog handed me a printout. It was the pathology report. “Invasive lobular Carcinoma, Moderately Differentiated” were the words that leapt off the page and sucker punched us. “Positive Malignancy” was the right hook that knocked us out.
About 5 days before we left for the UK, Mrs. Koog got a call that her mammogram had a questionable finding and they wanted to do a biopsy. Obviously, we were prepared to cancel the trip, but based on the amount of times this has happened over the past few years and the inability to get a biopsy scheduled before August 18, the doctor advised us to keep the trip as planned. This was really nothing to worry about, they said. So we went. And we didn’t worry. And we came back with COVID. And we had to move the biopsy from August 25 to September 7. And we still weren’t too worried. And then, well, you know.
We spent the remainder of the day finding a doctor that was NOT the VA (longer story but I have not yet handled my rage so I can’t write about them). She settled on Georgetown University’s Lombardi Cancer/Ourisman Breast Center. The appointment was the following Friday. Seven days away. Seven of the longest days of our lives.
In true Mrs. Koog “the show must go on” fashion, she packed up her tent, sleeping bag and clothes to accompany B-Koog on his previously scheduled Scout Camp Out where he would get his astronomy badge. I had plans of my own with E-Koog. We were heading to the Baltimore Aquarium for an early morning/pre-opening tour to feed the fish and other animals in their rainforest exhibit. Oh, and E requested Fogo de Chao for lunch.
Dear God. The kids. How do we tell them? When do we tell them? WHAT do we tell them? There was so much we didn’t know ourselves at this point. We made the decision, I believe the right decision, to wait until after the Georgetown appointment when we had some answers to their inevitable questions. It was a strange relief to delay the day they would lose their carefree innocence.
So, we moved through the day. We packed Mrs. Koog's car and kissed her and B good-bye until Sunday. E and I went to our local Mexican restaurant for dinner. We sat outside. I was happy to leave my sunglasses on to hide my eyes. Saying good-bye to her was gutting. All I wanted to do was hold her close. She needed to keep busy and her needs surpass anyone else’s at this point, including my own.
As I lay in bed that night, I used Dr. Google to figure out what this pathology report actually meant. Remember, I studied Political Science, not science-science. I’m sure you are wondering why we didn’t ask her doctor to explain it when the report was delivered. Great question. The doctor never called to explain the results other than the call to Mrs. Koog earlier in the week. We were left to figure this out on our own for the next seven days until we meet with an actual competent and compassionate doctor at Georgetown.
Luckily, I was able to chat with my cousin J. He’s an infectious disease professional and answered all my questions with kindness and sensitivity and the genetic family humor. He made some of the words less scary. He explained that sometimes the words “double positive” and “negative” were actually good results in this scenario. This guy showed up for me that night and every night since.
Since I could not sleep and I needed to get the nervous rage-fueled energy out of my body, I headed to the pool at 3:30am and swam. I was the water version of Forrest Gump. I swam for more than 3 hours, for more than 3 miles. It was therapeutic and it helped me get control over my emotions so I could be present and enjoy the day with E.
After all, he was super excited to have alone time with me. Unknowingly, he was like a salve to my soul that day. Walking through the quiet aquarium at 7:15am in a small group and seeing the happiness in his eyes was like a temporary bandage on my wounded soul. Mrs. Koog had texted something similar about her morning with B. While I wished we were our usual foursome, it was good to focus on the kids instead of dwelling on this corn chunked, crap sandwich.
We finished the aquarium, toured the old boats and the sub in the harbor and headed to Fogo de Chao for lunch. In true E-Koog fashion, he ate his way through that restaurant. For at least 45 minutes straight he ate nearly every piece of meat the gaucho servers offered. I stopped counting each individual cut, but did remember he ate 6 bacon wrapped mini filets. They may be rethinking this "all you can eat" business model.
As I watched him eat anything that didn’t eat him, I could feel the emotions stacking up. I felt like a balloon that was going to burst. Obviously, I held it together while my son ate Fogo de Chao out of sirloin and lamb lollipops. We got to the car and E was dead asleep, food coma I assumed, before we left the city. And the tears were free to silently flow. And flow they did for nearly the entire trip home.
Once we were home, we had several hours until our next activity, a USL Champions League Soccer game between 2 of my 3 favorite USL teams, Loudoun United vs Charleston Battery. (My other favorite is the Pittsburgh Riverhounds if you were wondering) I was taking a friend of the boys and his mom, a friend of mine and Mrs. Koog who knew what was going on in our lives at the moment so there was no need to yuck it up for a stranger. She also showed up that night and every night since.
Luckily, E was itching to play video games with his buds as we arrived home. I changed into my swimsuit again and swam another 3 hours. It was the only thing keeping this newly acquired unmitigated rage I was feeling at bay. If I wasn’t in the pool burning off the raging energy, I was seriously afraid I would break something in the house. Such a strange reaction, right? I had no desire to strike people (well maybe that VA doctor) but just wanted to smash everything. I ordered a heavy bag when I came out of the pool. No kidding.
It was a great game and my friend kept me engaged in conversation so I wouldn’t dwell on the elephant in the room. E did his part, unknowingly of course. This kid had a large milkshake from the creamery on our way to the game, ate 3 chicken quesadillas and a coke at the game, and a popsicle on the way out. Remember, he single handedly broke the beef supply chain earlier in the day at Fogo de Chao!
When I finally got home and into bed I was exhausted but couldn’t sleep for quite a while. I think my body finally succumbed to the sandman around 4. At 8 I heard our dog barking at the sounds of campers arriving home. We were together again. Mrs. Koog showered and layed in bed to cuddle.
The seven days between making the appointment and getting to the appointment was agonizing for Mrs. Koog. She was a woman on a mission to get VA authorizations, requisite referrals and any other pieces of paper that bureaucratic-paperwork-dinosaur required to get her treated by Georgetown. I think she was thankful for the distraction.
We spent Thursday morning at the Middle School discussing the situation with the counselors and staff, all of whom are close to Mrs. Koog, to be sure the guys had support after we told them the news on Friday. It was tough for her to say the words "I have breast cancer" outloud, so I handeled that part of the conversation. Mrs. Koog’s family arrived at our house in the early evening as there was a family wedding in our area that weekend and they had pre-planned to visit. Having them there was definitely a positive. Her parents, sisters and brother-in-law were great support all weekend. They all showed up that weekend and continue to show up.
Friday. Finally. Silently, we drove the 30 miles from our house to Georgetown, holding hands the whole way. As we entered the parking garage, we were waved in by the attendant. Apparently their credit card thing was down so he was letting us in for free. That had to be a good sign, right?
We made our way to the Breast Center, checked in, were immediately taken to a room and Mrs. Koog was handed a nice waffle-weave robe. I mentioned it was not unlike the one she received from the cruise ship in April when she mistakenly packed her pants and had to exit the ship in undies and this robe. She laughed.
The doctor came in and we held our breath. “I’m going to give you a lot of information this morning. I want you to remember this one, most important item. You will be ok. Understand? You. Will. Be. OK. Now, feel free to interrupt and ask any questions you think of as I explain what is going on inside your body.” I asked her the question that had haunted me, “did waiting until after the trip allow this tumor to grow?” She unequivocally said “absolutely not!” She also said she was happy we decided to keep the trip and rightly assumed the family time was amazing. The doctor could not have been nicer or more professional or more compassionate.
She explained options to Mrs. Koog and let her decide on the course of treatment. Bilateral mastectomy with autologous reconstruction. Assuming the cancer has not spread through the sentinel node, there will be no chemo. She will need hormone therapy for 10 years. That’s what Cousin J meant when he said “double positive is good”. The doctor explained it opened up many treatment avenues. After about 45 mins and answering every one of our myriad questions, the doctor said good-bye. We gathered our to-do lists from the RNs and headed home. As we drove out of the garage, we were called by the plastic surgeon, we meet with him on October 10. That’s when we will get the date for her surgery. More waiting.
On the car ride back, Mrs. Koog made her pre-op appointments. Once done, we had to talk about how to tell the boys. We had some answers now and we needed to share this with them before they overheard us talking and we lost the ability to control how they recieved the information. We do not want them using the Google. Mrs. Koog texted her family, who was at our house with the guys, and said we wanted to tell the boys first and then we would be in to explain it all. They graciously understood why we needed to talk to the boys privately.
It was sunny and we asked them to come to the pool house. We explained the situation honestly, but in a way that was not horrifying to their 12 year old hearts. E audibly gasped but then seemed to settle with the news, B said he could “feel” something was up. They had 3 questions. Is Mommy going to die? Is Mommy going to lose her hair?
To answer the first one, we were careful not to make promises or guarantees we could not keep. We explained what the doctor had told us about Mommy being ok, but we were careful to say nothing was a guarantee but we are doing all the things we can to be sure Mommy will be healthy.
The second one, we said based on the treatment approach and what we know right now, it seems like Mommy will not have chemo and will not lose her hair. Again, being clear that all of this is based on the information we have at this moment. We assured them we would be honest as we found out more information and we would tell them if anything changed.
What was the third question? B: “It sounds like you guys have this all under control. Are we still able to watch the Barbie Movie in the home theater with Aunt P tonight?” Yes, was the answer to that one.
So, now we wait. She has VA appointments, MRIs, cardiac pre-op clearances leading up to the appointment with the plastic surgeon on Oct. 10.
We continue to hold each other close and be available for the boys. The kids are handling things fine at this point in time. There is no visible illness and Mrs. Koog has continued to be the amazing Mom she has always been so nothing has changed for them so far. Based on some conversations with a friend that has kids the same age as the boys and had a similar diagnosis and the same procedure, things got very real for her kids after the surgery. We will be sure all the supports are ready to help them when reality and fear strike.
But now we wait and wait and wait. Tom Petty was spot on when he said the waiting is the hardest part.
I’m so sorry to hear this. It sounds like she is very good hands though. I will keep you all in my prayers🙏🏻
ReplyDeleteOmg - I can feel that Megan will be fine but I’m SO SORRY about what Megan and your family will have to go through. You will be in my prayers. I love you all. And these are NOT the hollow words they sound like but if there’s anything I can do (I’m practically your neighbor now) please let me know.
ReplyDeleteNancy and I are praying and know you will be ok.it is scary but it sounds like you have an exceptional doctor.
ReplyDeleteOh no… I am so sorry to hear this. Does sound like she is in great hands though! 🤞🏻🙏🏻 please keep us updated on what happens so we know. You all have a lot of support and that’s important. Praying for you all. Love you! 💕
ReplyDeleteSending you all the prayer for healing energy and strength and courage. I’m so sorry!
ReplyDeleteMnM…. tears run my cheeks while reading this. ugh. Y’all are strong. You are not alone in this. I pray thee well
ReplyDeleteYou will all be in my prayers, so very sorry you have to navigate these waters 🩵
ReplyDeleteWe will be praying for all of you to have some peace through this journey. You have an amazing and supportive family who love you very much and I'm so thankful for that. We are hugging you from here!
ReplyDeleteI just so admire your approach to this hurdle. You weigh all the options and choose the best for your family. The Big C is a dreaded adversary, but your quivers are full. You can and will be at this, as so many you know have.
ReplyDeleteLove you!
Thinking of you and praying for your strength and health moving forward. ♥️♥️
ReplyDeleteKeeping you and your family in my thoughts and prayers. 💕🙏
ReplyDeleteI am so sorry you have to go through this. Sending you hugs, love, and strength.
ReplyDeleteSaying prayers for the strength you have, and will continue to need to get through this. Your choice to receive treatment at Georgetown is the right one. I sense that you can trust that very good physician that told you...you will be okay.
ReplyDeleteMy heart is with all of you. It sounds like Mrs K is with the very best medical team, and certainly she is receiving the very best love. Your relationship always and continues to inspire me. Sending prayers for quick and complete healing.
ReplyDelete