I have breast cancer.
Once upon a time, I found a lump on my chest. I didn't think much of it; it was small and innocent, and laying quietly on the outer edge of my left breast near my breastbone. I rubbed it and thought, "Hmm...I don't remember that being there before. Wonder where it came from?" I went about my business and, quite honestly, I forgot about it.
In mid-September I went in for my annual check-up. My practitioner is a nurse-midwife who spends lots of time talking with me (pre-physical, while I still have my clothes on). We talked about hot flashes and natural remedies. I forgot to mention my little lump, and when she did my breast exam she didn't feel it, either. But she scheduled a routine mammogram, and I went on my merry way feeling examined and happy.
I mentioned my little lump when I arrived for my routine mammogram. I pointed to the spot and the nurse felt it, saying, "I never would have noticed that if you hadn't mentioned it." She then told me I would have to go to the hospital radiography department for a mammogram and ultrasound. Oh joy! Another two-week wait.
Two weeks later I had the mammogram - only to discover that my little lump was too far outside of the region that they could mamm. Trying to fit my little lump, near the middle of my chest, into the squeezy machine was very difficult and not less than really painful. But I smiled as the nurse told me that sometimes, they use the mammography machine to check for testicular cancer, and so I figured my pain wasn't nearly as bad as it might be for some others.
The ultrasound was much more pleasant. The tech was very nice and allowed me to watch as she rolled the gadget over my chest area. She checked my entire left breast and after 20 minutes suggested it "looked like a lymph node." I nodded and smiled and said, "Well, that's good!" She had the doctor check the scan and apparently he concurred with her. So off I went, happy that my lymph nodes were catching nasty bugs and doing their job.
My friendly midwife called a week later and asked to see me. She had the results of the radiologist's report which confirmed the likelihood of a lymph node. I could see my primary care physician and sort of "keep an eye" on it, or she could send me to the general surgeon who could remove it. I opted for the general surgeon because, frankly, I didn't want to spend the $35 copay to visit my PCP who would, undoubtedly, refer me to the general surgeon. Let's just cut out the middle man and get on with it, okay?
Two weeks later, Ken and I are sitting in the general surgeon's office. He has reviewed my reports, he says, and thinks my little lump is a fibroadenoma – basically a lump of fibrous tissue. He does a manual exam, pokes my little lump (which now, many weeks later, seems bigger, but that's probably just in my mind), and says it's best if it comes out - how about next week? Sure, why not - let's get this over with, I say. Since it's small and should be easy, he suggests local anesthesia, and we make our appointment for the following Thursday.
When I arrive for my surgery - removing this fibrous little lump near the middle of my chest - the nurse informs me that I'm actually scheduled for a breast biopsy. I frown; no one mentioned a biopsy. She says they'll want to send whatever they remove to pathology, just in case, so it's a biopsy. Okay, I think - piece of cake, let's do this!
An hour later (and after learning that my body does not tolerate local anesthetic), my little lump is removed. The doctor leans over the drape above my head and says, "I got most of it; the edges were sticky and it was hard to get out. I have some concerns." And then *poof* he's gone.
On the ride home Ken tells me he was surprised at the gravity with which the doctor delivered the post-op news. "I am concerned," he says, "but I think I got it all." We instinctively know this is not a fibrous growth or a benign lesion; it is no longer a simple little lump near the middle of my chest.
We spend a long weekend talking, researching, reading, talking some more. On Monday, we celebrate our 11th wedding anniversary, staring at the fish tank in Daryl's over a candlelight dinner of - what did I have? I can't really remember.
On Tuesday morning I call the doctor's office, and he says the words I was prepared to hear - but not really.
I have breast cancer.
Specifically, I have invasive ductal carcinoma, or IDC, Stage 1, Grade 2. He throws out words like, "oncotyping" and "HER2" and "radiation" and "lumpectomy." He also is quick to tell me that this is "typical" breast cancer.
On November 22, 2011 at 9:45 am. My life changes. Our life changes.
Cancer is such a scary word, but in this diagnosis there is good news. Stage 1 means the lesion is small - about 1/2 an inch, or just over 1 cm. This is good news, because it is small. Grade 2 means it is moderate. That is also good, because it is not Grade 3 or Grade 4. My cancer is not self-contained, rather it has spread to the surrounding tissue. It is still good, though, because it the area is small.
I am scheduled for a lumpectomy on Monday, December 5th. At that time the surgeon will remove more tissue from the area were my little lump was originally located, leaving clean "margins", hopefully without cancer cells. At the same time my surgeon will perform a sentinal lymph node biopsy, or SNB, where he will check the lymph nodes under my left arm. If they are clear, that is really good; if they are not, he will remove whatever he needs to at that time.
I will likely have radiation; I may or may not have chemotherapy. Right now, the doctor says a mastectomy is "not likely" - but that can change, I know that, and I am prepared for that. It's hard to make plans when I don't know what's coming, so living in the moment is more than a mantra, it's quickly becoming a way of life.
I have cancer, but it does not have me.
I have cancer, but it does not have me.
No comments:
Post a Comment