Heatlthy as A Horse...Except for that whole cancer thing

I had my pre-op appointments yesterday.  Three quick appointments and a whole lot of driving in construction to get there and back.

The first appointments were at the plastic surgeon's office where I had to read through huge packets of information about what could possibly go wrong and sign my consent forms.  How we sign off on those forms after reading all those terrible things that could go wrong is beyond me, but we do it.  Then I got to listen to things I didn't want to hear - like all of the restrictions and recovery I'll have after this.  A simple outpatient surgery and there's still a long list of things.  No raising my arm over my head for a week, having to wear a surgical bra for probably 6 weeks, if they have to do a fat graft, I'll have to have compression over the donor site for a few weeks, no exercise for a month, no pools for 8 weeks, oh - and I might get stuck with a drain again.

We won't know until surgery.  I love all this not knowing stuff.  It all depends on what needs to be done to make the boob look like a boob again.  I guess for that sake, it's worth it, but still...

Anyway, after I was done over there, I had my pre-admission testing.  You know, where you go over all of your medications (I have one) and they check your heart if necessary (it wasn't) and weigh you (I don't want to talk about it) and make sure you're all healthy and ready to go under the knife.  My questions went quickly and the nurse practitioner who I saw was impressed by how well I did during my last surgery.  She felt the need to show me my EKG and said that normally it goes up and down , but mine was steady during the whole four hours.  Between that and the lack of illnesses I've had, she called me an extremely healthy person, to which I responded, "Well, yeah - except for that whole cancer thing that I had."

Eh, crap.

Anyhoo...surgery is good to go on the 30th.  I'll be spending Halloween watching scary movies on painkillers.  If you have any suggestions of movies that might pair well with narcotics, pass them along.

The Truth Comes Out

I've been struggling with posting this one.  It brings up so many emotions that I've been pretty good at not feeling any more.  The fear, the panic, the uncertainty.  It makes me feel vulnerable and I don't like showing that side of myself.  (Wonder Woman, you know?)  At the same time, I don't want to hide what it feels like to find out news like this.  I wouldn't wish these feelings on anyone.  Man, we've come a long way since New Year's Day...

I called the following Monday to see if my results were in as my radiologist had said, but found out that my doctor was on vacation until after the first of the year.  Oh, happy holidays.  Ok, what’s a few more days to wait?  It wasn’t anything anyway.  I’d get a happy-go-lucky phone call on Thursday and she’d let me know it was benign and what/if anything should be done about it.

I got up on New Years Day and nabbed the laptop that I only get to use when my husband is asleep.  He had been working until 4am that morning, so I figured I had plenty of time to myself.  Facebook, Twitter, blog...I got through them all and then figured that just for shits and giggles I’d check my medical records online to see if the test results happened to be there.  And they were.  Yay!  I don’t have to wait any more.  I clicked on the link and after a bunch of terms I didn’t recognize, I saw the words Invasive Ductal Carcinoma.  Carcinoma...that’s cancer, right?  No, that can’t be right.  Google, tell me I’m wrong!

This is what I saw:

No!  No.  No no no no no no no.

This isn’t possible.  These have to be the wrong results.  They had to have posted it on the wrong patient’s file.  Under closer examination, I noticed that there were samples from three separate masses and those samples were named the same thing that I heard the radiologist tell the nurses.  

This was me.  I had cancer.

I sat in my chair, shaking, hand to my mouth as if trying to hold back a scream.  I was too shocked to cry.  I didn’t know what to do.  After what seemed like an eternity, I looked at the report again to try to make sense of what it was telling me.  Sizes I could understand, but what was this “Grade 3” thing and why were they checking for positive or negative estrogen and progesterone?    What was good, what was bad?  Most importantly - how long did I have to live?

I went back to the internet and found some of the information I was looking for.  I quickly read up on grading and staging and receptors.  None of this sounded any good.  I took the information I had, gave myself my own completely uneducated staging and then did the one thing I knew I shouldn’t - checked the mortality rates.  And then I started shaking again.

My husband was still sleeping.  He’d only been there for a couple of hours.  Do I wake him up to tell him the news?  Do I let him sleep and try to pretend I don’t know any of this?  It was too big for me to hide.  He’d be able to see it on my face right away.  I could let him sleep a little longer, but the kid would be up shortly and I didn’t know what to do about him.  Oh, god!  My son!  How is he supposed to deal with this?  I hated to do it, but I had to tell my husband right away.

I walked into the bedroom and closed the door behind me.  He was sleeping so soundly and had no idea that our worlds were changing forever.  I couldn't do it.  I hated this.  I hated myself.  I kneeled down on the side of the bed and started sobbing.  The sobbing woke him from his slumber - it’s so rare that he’s ever heard me do it.  He pulled me up on the bed next to him and all I could get out in the gasps of breath I could take from time to time was “I’m sorry.  I’m so, so sorry.”

This is where I stopped writing regarding breaking the news to family.  Things were still too new, too raw for me to continue, though I jumped ahead and I'll post that another time.

We did end up telling Xander that day because we knew we wouldn't be able to hide the fact that something was wrong.  It was a rough beginning to the year for all of us.  

I went to work the next day and called my doctor, leaving her a message that said, "I saw my results online, so you don't have to worry about calling and ruining my day.  I just need to know what we do next."  I was supposed to be doing year-end reports.  Yeah, like that was going to happen.  After I talked to the doctor and confirmed the results, made my appointment with the breast surgeon who she recommended at Froedtert in Milwaukee, I left work and went to tell my parents.  There's something you never really prepare for - telling your own parents that you have a disease that could kill you.  

Though my doctor was pissed that I found out the way I did, I'm somewhat thankful.  I didn't want to find out via a phone call at work, or in the doctor's office in front of a complete stranger.  It was good that I was by myself in those first moments.  It gave me time to process things without having to put on a show.  

My next post won't be so depressing...I promise.

Biopsy (Black and) Blues

So, let's recap, shall we?  The mammogram and ultrasound didn't go the way I had planned.  I wanted them to clearly show cysts so I didn't have to have any more testing, but that wasn't the case.  An appointment was made for the day after Christmas to have biopsies done on the masses that were found.  Joy.

Here's the tale of the biopsy, complete with photos of the bruising that came along with it in glorious color!  Yes, this was written when I was still clueless about what was really going on.

Christmas came and went with nary a thought of my boob until it was time to go to bed and I had to get up the next morning and go in.

I had the same ultrasound technician that I had before.  It was also the same radiologist who had looked at my pictures last week.  I had figured it would be one or two little needle pokes and I would be out, but I guess that was wishful thinking on my part.

Step 1: Use the ultrasound to find the masses again.  There were t two prominent ones and also a tiny third that was further in the tissue and very tiny - just beginning to form.

Step 2: Numb the area using needles and numbing medicine

Step 3: With a large needle (and I mean large - like one of those turkey injectors), take out 3-5 samples from each mass for examination and then place a marker on each mass for future scans so the tech can see that they were already biopsied.

I had been dreading the needles with the numbing agent the most.  I'm fine with needles when it comes to taking blood and administering shots.  You know, in your arm.  Sticking needles in my already sensitive breastal area was something I was not looking forward to.  Fortunately, I barely felt them at all.

The big-ass needles that were used to take the samples didn't really even bother me that much, it was the sound that they made when taking the tissue.  They have a loud plastic-sounding click that sounds like a really cheap toy gun, but it's really a needle deep in your boob.  Sigh.  Anyway, the doctor would warn me when it was coming, but I always twitched a bit when it happened...the 10 times it happened.  (He took 4 samples from each of the large and 2 samples from the tiny one.)  In between each stick, he or the tech would apply pressure both to the entry point and to where the lesion was to help prevent serious bruising (which is almost impossible when I bruise so easily anyway) and to help stop the bleeding.  Oh there was plenty of blood.  I'd see it on his gloves, on the gauze, on the ultrasound wand, and then I felt it trickling down my side.  I guess it makes sense though, there was a lot of tissue being ripped into.  I just didn't think of it ahead of time.

When all the samples were taken, the doctor thanked me for my patience, I replied "Where else am I going to go dressed like this?" he took the samples and left.  Once all of the bleeding had finally stopped (I'm a bleeder), they applied a couple of bandaids, advised me to wear a sports bra, apply ice, and take it easy for the rest of the day.  I would feel bruised and sore and be swollen for the next few days.  Lovely.  The left breast was already larger than the right - now it was going to be even worse?  I followed their directions for the rest of the day and let me say right now, keeping ice on a breast while trying to keep it from your son is not an easy task.

I was a little apprehensive of getting into the shower the next morning.  I hadn't taken a look at the breast since the procedure was done.  I knew that it was swollen - I could feel that, I just didn't know that I wanted to see it.  But, I can't shower in a sports bra, so off it went...

Quick - call HuffPo!  Sideboob!

It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.  Still not a pretty sight, but not quite as black and blue as I had envisioned.  Well, yet anyway.  Once I took the bandaids off, the puncture marks were clearly visible with a large bright bruise between the two.  My hubby decided we could just think of it as a hickey just like he used to give me back when we were young and silly, and it wouldn't seem quite so icky.  Eh - nice try.

The second day after the procedure was a little darker - the bruising and my frame of mind.  The fear and uncertainty set in.  The ohmygodwhatifitreallyiscancer monster made an appearance again.  Damn thing.  I was trying to make a list in my mind of who I would tell in person, who I would call, who I might text.  How long would I wait to post something on Facebook, tell my boss, etc.  It wasn't a fear of my own mortality.  I'm young and healthy(ish) and am pretty sure I have the nads to get through it all, it was the reactions of everyone else that I was dreading.  My parents, my son, my husband.  I was thinking of how our world would be thrown in such a loop with medical bills piling up and I didn't know if I'd be able to continue working and my insurance was really going to suck this year, and on and on and on.  Damn you monster. Damn you breast cancer fear-mongering.  And damn you hormones and the PMS that I was most likely going through at the same time for bringing me to this place.  Time to shake it off and move on.

I was fine for the next few days, except for the bruise.  That thing got ugly.  Really black and purple and huge.  A whole third of my breast was now this rainbow of ugliness.  Knowing me it wouldn’t be going away anytime soon.

Just FYI - that nasty bruise lasted a month.  One full month of Technicolor tit.  It changed from the deep red/purple to a lovely green/yellow.  Anyone who saw it (and there were many who did) winced in pain for me.

In the Beginning

When I first started getting scans and tests after we found the masses in my breast, which was about a year ago, I had started working on a epic blog post that was supposed to be all about breast cancer mass-hysteria and how just because you find a lump in your breast, it could be one of a myriad of things.  Ha!  Joke was on me.  I continued writing through the whole process of testing, finding out, and the beginning stages of meeting with a doctor.  It was getting a little too hard for me to keep up though.  I was still quite emotionally raw and the details of some of the earlier things were beginning to escape me.

I thought, since there's really not much going on right now, that I'd share bits and pieces of it with you.  I'll start at the beginning.  Keep in mind, when I began writing this, I was sure it was all nothing...

My husband found it during....uh...extracurricular marital activities.  Poor guy.  It was a lump in my left breast, very close to the surface, right underneath the nipple.   What a great way to kill the mood.

No, I don't perform monthly breast exams. Why?  I'm not 40 and I have no history of cancer in my family whatsoever.  I know, I know.  Everyone on both sides of my family go from strokes or heart disease - those are my main areas of concern.

Now, cysts on the other hand, are a different story.  My mother and my grandmother both had them.  Honestly, I completely forgot about that until I saw the look of alarm on my husband's face and then reassured him that that's most likely what it was.  My mom was right around the same age as I was when she found her first one.  I wasn't terribly worried.  I consulted the mighty internet and found (after having to bypass a million breast cancer websites) that I'm just the right age to start getting cysts, that they're genetic, that you can live with them, have them drained or have them removed.  In my mind, not harmful = let it go.

But I kept getting questions from my husband. "Are you going to call the doctor about that anytime soon?"  I pish-poshed it off for a while.  And then he happened to have another friend confide in him that she had the same thing.  Unlike me, she had history of cancer in her family and was getting it checked out.  This made him push me even more.  I agreed to make an appointment, but first I had to find a new doctor because the one I had been going to had gone to another system and the other one I had tried had absolutely zero personality.  I had to do a little searching first.

And then I noticed that my breast started to hurt.  Not a sharp pain, just an ache.  Sometimes dull, sometimes a little more harsh.  I didn't like that.  Now it's like there was really something in there that I had to do something about.  I double-checked and saw that the pain was pretty common for cysts as well - especially depending on what part of the menstrual cycle you're in.  They also changed size during the cycle, but I wasn't about to keep feeling it to see if it was doing that.

Frankly, it grossed me out.  I know what my body is supposed to feel like - I've had it for 38 years.  This was a foreign body that wasn't there before and it was hard and painful and gross.  I was sure my husband felt the same way about it (along with his fear of my meeting an early demise).  He's a breast man - mine felt wrong.  That's not cool.  How would he want to touch it and still be aroused?  How would my daydreams of hooking up with celebrities ever come true if they reached out  and grabbed a bodacious ta-ta that had some creepy lump in it ?

Then we came up to the beginning of December and found out that my employer-based insurance was going to go downhill as of the first of the year, so if I was going to get this taken care of, I had to make a decision fast.  I found a doctor that people seemed to like and made an appointment.  As soon as you gave the person scheduling my appointment the reason of "I have a lump in my breast," the tone and the volume of their voice goes down by 10 notches and they sound like they're trying to soothe a crying child.  People - do I sound distraught?  I really don't think I do, because I'm not.  It's just such a sensitive subject for some stupid reason.  I'll get to that.

I got in, started answering all of the questions the nurse threw at me, her voice did the same dang thing when she got to "reason for the visit" Sigh.  The doctor came in, examined me, was totally nice - I really liked her.  I think she was thrown for a loop that I was pretty matter-of-fact about things and not in some state of panic.  She did from time to time rub my arm in that "it will all be okay" way, but it was an improvement over madam bedside manner of a robot.  She recommended I go in for a mammogram and ultrasound so they could see what was in there.  I had a feeling that was coming, and there was no way around it, so I scheduled them for the next week.

Mammogram Day!  Oh, how I was looking forward to this.  It was nice to have a day off, but I didn't really want to spend the day smelling (they don't want you to wear deodorant because it shows up incorrectly on the scan) and getting my boobs flattened on a cold machine.  I wasn't afraid of the outcome, mostly I was afraid of running into anyone I knew.  It's a small town.  If someone sees you in the radiology waiting room, they make a beeline straight for you and ask you why you're there.  And then word travels.  Quickly.  I didn't need that.  I checked in and quickly found a seat in the corner where hopefully no one would see me.  Thankfully they called me back and I was in the clear.

The mammogram process is very interesting.  A very nice lady brought me back and explained the process.  They were doing a diagnostic screening, so they would be taking 2 pictures of each breast   She put little stickers on my nipples (nipple markers - technical term) and another sticker where the lump was, so it was clear.  I figured it was pretty clear enough without it, but what the heck.  I was a little put off by all the pink in the room (automatic thought of cancer again), but other than that it was pretty comfortable.  Until it was time to take the pictures.  She warned me that she had to get me positioned just right, so she was going to be pulling and pushing and tugging, and boy she meant it.  She would finally get me into position and then came the squishing.  Yikes!  Being younger (finally a reason to call me younger), the breast tissue is still pretty dense, so they really have to press it to get the image they want.  Oy!  When my breast starts to hurt after just touching the lump a little, I knew this was going to be something really painful when it was all over.  Anyway, a few minutes after she would take the picture, it would show up on her screen.  It was pretty dang interesting.  Lo and behold, there was a bright white spot on my left breast!  I coulda told you that without all the fancy pictures.  The right was perfectly clear.  Yay!

When we were done, she sent the images to the radiologist to make sure she didn't need to get any more angles, which thankfully she didn't, and then it was off to ultrasound.  I watched the images on the monitor as they came through and found that there was not just one foreign body in there, but two.  Lovely.  After consulting the radiologist again, the ultrasound tech told me that he wanted to do a biopsy on what they found, and with that I was set free.  Damn.

You see, I was really hoping that the images would be so clear, so unmistakably cysts, that we could just move on from there and take care of them.  Instead, I have to go confusing people and prolong things even further.  The mammogram technician called me about an hour later and set up the appointment for the day after Christmas.  Exactly how I wanted to spend my time off from work!  She explained the procedure to me and it didn’t really sound all that bad.  They’d numb me, take a couple samples with a needle and send me on my way with a bandaid.  Simple enough.

The thought of a biopsy put a little dread in my mind.  I had a few days of doom and gloom clouding my mind. It got even worse a couple of days later when I was in a ton of pain.  Apparently I had a delayed reaction to all of the squeezing and pulling from the mammogram.  I was trying to enjoy our holiday potluck, but sharp, burning twinges of pain would radiate through my breast.  I wanted to cry, but instead wallowed in 3 different kinds of cream-cheese based dips.  Thankfully, the pain was gone the next day.


Next time...The Biopsy