Well, tomorrow is zero hour. My surgery is tomorrow at 7:30 am. I have to be there at 5:30 am. They won't need anything to put me to sleep, since I won't be awake, anyway. I do have a bit more to catch you all up, though. Especially the pretty amusing story of my MRI. Let's see if I can condense some of the rest of the back story and get everything up to date, because it may be a few days before I can write again.
*******
So, when I last talked to you, they'd found the cancer and although I was having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that I actually had cancer, I was confident I could handle having a lumpectomy, a short period of radiation and then I could move on with my life. As I said in the last blog, life was not done with the surprises.
I met with the oncologist who told me they wanted to do an MRI because an MRI can see things the mammogram can't see. They told me sometimes the MRI can actually detect things that really are nothing or are not even there, but it's a good diagnostic tool.
Let me preface the rest of my story by saying if you had any dignity before all this, be assured you will have none by the end. Trust me.
The day of my MRI I went in and once again sat in the general waiting room. I was called into the back by a man named Joe. Great, I thought, I just had to have a guy as my technician. However, Joe was wonderful. He was very nice and really knew how to put me at my ease. He put an IV tube in and when all was said and done he told me that he could now tell me that he hated needles so he knew how I felt.
He left me alone to change after telling me I needed to take off everything but my underwear and my socks and shoes. Then he gave me two stickers he told me had to be put over my nipples. These stickers, mind you, had little yellow plastic balls on the end. Seriously?!?!?!
So, picture if you will, me in my socks, shoes, underwear, medical gown (not lavender this time) and my pasties. See above comment about dignity.
I was taken into the room with the MRI machine (is that what you call it?) in it. The idea is you lie down face first, with your face in one of those rings you use when you get a massage. There is a strap between your breasts, and your boobages, if I may call them that, hang down. With the little yellow beads on the end. Fabulous. Then you go feet first into the tube with your arms over your head like a diver. I felt like I was about to be shot out of a cannon.
When the actual procedure is done the machine is very loud, but it makes kind of a rhythmic repeating sound and once or twice I dozed off. There must have been a speaker in there because occasionally Joe would say, "Are you doing okay?" and I'd wake up. You are lying on your rib cage, which is not very comfortable and makes breathing difficult. At the end they put the contrast into your IV tube and finally I was done.
The platform I was lying on slid out of the tube (so, not shot out, eh?) and the nurse unhooked my IV. She said: "There's no graceful way to get up from there." No kidding. I was allowed to get dressed and leave.
The idea is that if the MRI doesn't see anything else besides the original mass, it's all good. If it does see something the radiologist thinks needs inspecting, it's another biopsy.
Well, it saw something. Something the radiologist thought was significant, so it was back for another biopsy. Again, when I looked up there was that panel with the flowers with the black centers. They did the biopsy again. I have to say the staff wherever I went for my cancer was always so nice and helpful. I can't imagine having impersonal medical care where I felt like I was just a faceless number.
Two days later they called me to tell me the second mass was cancer as well. Great. My oncologist told me that when it's more than one mass, and it's the kind of cancer I have they would prefer to do a mastectomy instead of a lumpectomy. This was a bigger and more bitter pill to swallow. When I saw the radiologist, he put it in perspective for me. He said that while it was important to preserve my breast, it was far more important to save my life.
Okay, so, a much bigger mountain to climb, but I was confident I'd get to the other side and it would be okay--eventually.
Before the surgery could be scheduled, they wanted me to go see the plastic surgeon to talk reconstruction. It was a doctor I'd had a procedure with before and I liked her very much. When I went to see her, she showed me a whole book of the breasts she'd reconstructed and told me the different scenarios for each patient. I have to say, they can do great reconstruction now that looks like nothing has been done at all. I talked to her about a possible "upgrade" and she said yes, we could certainly do that. Making lemonade out of lemons. That's me.
Then she said she'd read my report and there was some indication my left breast might at some point have a flare-up of cancer as well. She suggested I might consider a bi-lateral mastectomy. That's taking both breasts off. Intellectually and logically I knew that this was probably the smart thing to do, and at the time I agreed.
This was on a Friday. I cried all weekend. Totally freaked out. The thing that bugged me the most is she said my breasts would be completely numb. I don't know why this is the thing that bothered me the most, but it was. I finally talked to a good friend who told me it is my body and I need to make the decisions. Right. I needed to hear that.
I decided I would just do my right breast and not deal with the other until it becomes a problem. Maybe this is not the right decision, but I just couldn't do it.
On Monday morning I called Evelyn, my oncologist's nurse and told her what I'd decided. I told her I could NOT face taking both my breasts off. She was very understanding and sympathetic and said she would let everyone concerned know my decision. I felt much better after that.
On Monday they called me to tell me my surgery had been scheduled for Thursday. Again with the Mondays and Thursdays. Wow, I thought, that's soon. After all my griping about wanting it to get scheduled so we could get on with this, I felt a little panic when I found out.
I was scheduled to go back to the plastic surgeon and have her mark me up on Tuesday. They gave me a purple pen to keep the marks she made clear. They can fade in the shower. She told me not to add anything. Ha. Like what? A rose or something? Maybe a target? After my shower on Wednesday I fought the urge to get all artistic on myself and re-did my marks--and got purple ink all over my fingers and up one wrist. Lovely.
I went in for all my pre-op appointments and met with the insurance people, had a pre-op physical, met with the surgeon's nurse, who was really great and helpful, and then went down to get fitted for a camisole and bra with pockets in them for the inserts I will wear until I get reconstruction. If I don't have to have chemo or radiation, the reconstruction will be done in two months. If I do have to have chemo or radiation it won't be until this summer. The woman I talked to in the shop that sold the bras and inserts told me to come back and talk to her when I find out what the game plan is. For now I have something to wear so I don't look lopsided, thank goodness.
So, tomorrow is the surgery. I am pretty nervous, but I have to keep my mind on the fact that this is something that will ultimately save my life.
I will talk to all of you when I'm up and about again. *Deep Breath* Here we go. Wish me luck.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
The Ladies of the Lavendar Gowns
Wow, I need to get you all caught up with everything QUICKLY! I got a call today that my surgery is THIS THURSDAY! *Gulp!*
***Continued from post one:
So, the next Thursday, after much stewing about the possibility of having cancer, I went for my second mammogram. We are very lucky in this are to have the Mills Breast Cancer Institute, which is fairly new. I worked half a day, and then went over for my appointment. After waiting in the general waiting area for a few minutes, I was called back to a more private area. I was taken to a dressing room and told to undress from the waist up and put on a lavendar gown that opened in the front. I was also given some wipes to take off any deodorant I was wearing. Apparently it interferes with the mammogram.
I was then led to another room that is just for the women waiting for mammograms or other procedures. I was one of about five women there and we all had the matching lavendar gowns. I wondered why the gowns weren't pink. Isn't that the breast cancer prevention color? Pink? Anyway, it was very quiet in the room. I noticed the other women were hesitant to meet anyone else's eye and there was no talking.
I was supposed to get the mammogram and have them tell me it was nothing, get dressed, and go back to work. It didn't turn out that way. Instead, I had my mammogram and was told to go back to the waiting room and they would let me know if I needed to undergo a further sonogram. I noticed a couple of the ladies in the room with me were told they could get dressed and go. I wasn't so lucky. I was told to wait because I was indeed going to have a sonogram. Great. This didn't sound good to me.
I was taken back to a room where I was told to lie on my back on a table while the technician got things prepared. I looked up and in the panel for the fluorescent light there was a lovely beach scene to look at. It was very peaceful and it looked warm, something very welcome to me in the middle of a Midwest winter. T, the technician, put some cold gel on me, then started the sonogram. I noticed she would pause now and again and look at something on the screen, but it was angled so I couldn't see what she was doing or what she was looking at, so I looked at my beach scene and imagined I was there. *Sigh*
She finally wiped the gel off of me and told me I could go get dressed. I got my clothes out of the locker, got dressed and left.
In the next few days I got a call that, yes, there was definitely something there and I needed to come back in for a needle biopsy. It was at this point I pretty much made up my mind this was cancer. There was still the possibility that it was not, but I was almost sure it was. I was not that upset. My mother had a lumpectomy, a short time with radiation and that was it. I figured I'd do the same. I just had to get through this and eveything would be okay. If I had to, I could do this.
I went back for the biopsy on a Thursday. I remember this because it seems everything with this diagnosis has been Mondays and Thursdays. Today is Monday. they called to tell me my surgery is Thursday. Go figure.
I had the biopsy in the same room as the sonogram. Once again it was back to the private waiting room and the lavendar gown. My mother, bless her, went with me for moral support. This time the library quietness was broken by an elderly woman who told the room in general that this was her third mammogram in less than a month and if this one hurt as much as the others "they can keep it!"
They took me back to the sono room. As I entered, on the screen was a sono film with a large mass on it, about the size of a dime. I stopped in my tracks, pointed and said, "Is that me?" I must have sounded a little alarmed because they hurried to assure me that although this was my film, they had enlarged it quite a bit so they could see it. In reality my "mass" was less than a centimeter. *Phew*
Lying back on the table, I noticed my beach scene was gone, replaced by a scene of a bunch of drawn flowers. Very colorful. The problem was, each flower had a small black dot at its center about the size of a pea. To me these were too reminiscent of the black dot on my film. I wanted my beach scene back!
The female doctor, Dr. C, came in and started the procedure. She gave me two shots with very large needles. Needles in the breast are really no fun. Imagine. It hurt quite a bit, but then the area was numbed and she used the sonogram screen to find the mass. At this point I could only feel pressure, no pain, until she moved to a different spot and then--OW! They had to give me more juice to numb the pain and we continued. The actual taking of the specimen was interesting. It sounded like fingernail clippers when they snipped a portion. This was done several times and I wondered how much could be left? Maybe they'd snipped all of it out and I could be done? No such luck.
I had to wait the weekend for the results and then I had an appointment with my GP for her to go over everything with me. On Monday (again), I went in, with mom in tow, to find out what I thought I already knew. Dr. B, whom I just love, came in and sat down and said matter-of-factly, "Well, we have a problem." As in, Houston, we have a problem. I told her that was what I figured. She seemed a little surprised that I thought that, but told me I was facing surgery and possibly radiation and chemo, but we wouldn't know about either of those until after the surgery, which would most likely be a lumpectomy since they had caught my cancer so early. Okay, I figured I was prepeared for that.
To Be Continued. Next, More surprises to come
***Continued from post one:
So, the next Thursday, after much stewing about the possibility of having cancer, I went for my second mammogram. We are very lucky in this are to have the Mills Breast Cancer Institute, which is fairly new. I worked half a day, and then went over for my appointment. After waiting in the general waiting area for a few minutes, I was called back to a more private area. I was taken to a dressing room and told to undress from the waist up and put on a lavendar gown that opened in the front. I was also given some wipes to take off any deodorant I was wearing. Apparently it interferes with the mammogram.
I was then led to another room that is just for the women waiting for mammograms or other procedures. I was one of about five women there and we all had the matching lavendar gowns. I wondered why the gowns weren't pink. Isn't that the breast cancer prevention color? Pink? Anyway, it was very quiet in the room. I noticed the other women were hesitant to meet anyone else's eye and there was no talking.
I was supposed to get the mammogram and have them tell me it was nothing, get dressed, and go back to work. It didn't turn out that way. Instead, I had my mammogram and was told to go back to the waiting room and they would let me know if I needed to undergo a further sonogram. I noticed a couple of the ladies in the room with me were told they could get dressed and go. I wasn't so lucky. I was told to wait because I was indeed going to have a sonogram. Great. This didn't sound good to me.
I was taken back to a room where I was told to lie on my back on a table while the technician got things prepared. I looked up and in the panel for the fluorescent light there was a lovely beach scene to look at. It was very peaceful and it looked warm, something very welcome to me in the middle of a Midwest winter. T, the technician, put some cold gel on me, then started the sonogram. I noticed she would pause now and again and look at something on the screen, but it was angled so I couldn't see what she was doing or what she was looking at, so I looked at my beach scene and imagined I was there. *Sigh*
She finally wiped the gel off of me and told me I could go get dressed. I got my clothes out of the locker, got dressed and left.
In the next few days I got a call that, yes, there was definitely something there and I needed to come back in for a needle biopsy. It was at this point I pretty much made up my mind this was cancer. There was still the possibility that it was not, but I was almost sure it was. I was not that upset. My mother had a lumpectomy, a short time with radiation and that was it. I figured I'd do the same. I just had to get through this and eveything would be okay. If I had to, I could do this.
I went back for the biopsy on a Thursday. I remember this because it seems everything with this diagnosis has been Mondays and Thursdays. Today is Monday. they called to tell me my surgery is Thursday. Go figure.
I had the biopsy in the same room as the sonogram. Once again it was back to the private waiting room and the lavendar gown. My mother, bless her, went with me for moral support. This time the library quietness was broken by an elderly woman who told the room in general that this was her third mammogram in less than a month and if this one hurt as much as the others "they can keep it!"
They took me back to the sono room. As I entered, on the screen was a sono film with a large mass on it, about the size of a dime. I stopped in my tracks, pointed and said, "Is that me?" I must have sounded a little alarmed because they hurried to assure me that although this was my film, they had enlarged it quite a bit so they could see it. In reality my "mass" was less than a centimeter. *Phew*
Lying back on the table, I noticed my beach scene was gone, replaced by a scene of a bunch of drawn flowers. Very colorful. The problem was, each flower had a small black dot at its center about the size of a pea. To me these were too reminiscent of the black dot on my film. I wanted my beach scene back!
The female doctor, Dr. C, came in and started the procedure. She gave me two shots with very large needles. Needles in the breast are really no fun. Imagine. It hurt quite a bit, but then the area was numbed and she used the sonogram screen to find the mass. At this point I could only feel pressure, no pain, until she moved to a different spot and then--OW! They had to give me more juice to numb the pain and we continued. The actual taking of the specimen was interesting. It sounded like fingernail clippers when they snipped a portion. This was done several times and I wondered how much could be left? Maybe they'd snipped all of it out and I could be done? No such luck.
I had to wait the weekend for the results and then I had an appointment with my GP for her to go over everything with me. On Monday (again), I went in, with mom in tow, to find out what I thought I already knew. Dr. B, whom I just love, came in and sat down and said matter-of-factly, "Well, we have a problem." As in, Houston, we have a problem. I told her that was what I figured. She seemed a little surprised that I thought that, but told me I was facing surgery and possibly radiation and chemo, but we wouldn't know about either of those until after the surgery, which would most likely be a lumpectomy since they had caught my cancer so early. Okay, I figured I was prepeared for that.
To Be Continued. Next, More surprises to come
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Catching up with everything
So, a lot has happened to me in less than a month since I found out I had breast cancer. What I want to do with this blog is let readers know my thoughts and emotions as I go through this journey, and hopefully I can take you to the point where I am finally finished with the whole thing and am celebrating moving on with my life-- but I'm getting ahead of myself. WAAAY ahead of myself. This is still all pretty new to me and I have a long way to go.
The thoughts and ideas expressed are not neccesarily those of this station, in other words, I don't claim to know and feel what other women go through, I can only tell you what I am thinking and feeling. Actually, sometimes I don't really KNOW what I'm thinking and feeling or even what I'm SUPPOSED to be thinking and feeling. I still haven't completely come to grips with the whole thing, as you might imagine.
I have a lot of catching up to do with you before I'm writing in real time, but I plan on trying to do that as quickly as possible. I will also go into my own personal, unique ways of coping with all this. Again, this is my gig, and not necessarily recommended for others. I will tell you I alternate between being superwoman, dealing with all of this logically and intellectually, to being a snivelling coward.
Oh, I should mention that in December I took on the guardianship of a 17-year old. Her name is Kara and she is living with me until she goes away to college at the end of August. Then this all came up. Yes, my life has become a Lifetime movie.
A little about me. I just turned 50 on August 1, of 2009. I have never married and have no children, but strange as it may sound, I still have hopes of meeting Mr. Right someday. He's late, but better late than never, I guess. *Ahem.* I live in East Central Illinois and this has been a truly cruddy winter.
As for the cancer thing, I will start at the beginning. On Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr's birthday, January 18, 2010, I had a physical with my GP, whom I will call Dr. B. I was kicking myself because I had forgotten this was a day off from work and had scheduled my physical for 7:30 in the morning! No sleeping in for me. Kara had to have a fasting blood test, so she went with me that morning. We both grumbled about getting up so early on a day off, but I promised I'd take her out to breakfast after.
The physical went just fine, and toward the end of it, after I had gotten dressed again, Dr. B. mentioned I'd missed my mammogram last year. Both my mother and my aunt, her sister, had breast cancer, so I started getting mammograms early and every year. I had somehow missed last year's and had not had one since 2008. Dr. B. said I should go out before I left and schedule one as soon as they had an opening. Luckily, they had a cancellation at 1:25 that day so I wouldn't have to arrange for more time off work.
Kara and I had a coupon so we went to IHOP for breakfast. It was fun and tasty and the waitress called me Kara's mom, something I am still getting used to. We just gave each other silly grins and didn't correct her.
Later I went and had my mammogram. As most women would agree, mammograms are no fun (I always think there HAS to be a better way!), but better safe than sorry, I always thought. I've had a lot of them, and none have ever come back abnormal, so I wasn't really expecting anything.
Life went on. Then on Thursday, I came home for lunch and my answering maching was blinking. It was the cancer center. Oh oh. The mammographer said something had shown up on my films. She assured me "it could be nothing." A fold of skin, a shadow, but they wanted to make sure. I had to come back in for another mammogram and possibly a sonogram.
To be continued. Next: All of us women in lavendar gowns.
The thoughts and ideas expressed are not neccesarily those of this station, in other words, I don't claim to know and feel what other women go through, I can only tell you what I am thinking and feeling. Actually, sometimes I don't really KNOW what I'm thinking and feeling or even what I'm SUPPOSED to be thinking and feeling. I still haven't completely come to grips with the whole thing, as you might imagine.
I have a lot of catching up to do with you before I'm writing in real time, but I plan on trying to do that as quickly as possible. I will also go into my own personal, unique ways of coping with all this. Again, this is my gig, and not necessarily recommended for others. I will tell you I alternate between being superwoman, dealing with all of this logically and intellectually, to being a snivelling coward.
Oh, I should mention that in December I took on the guardianship of a 17-year old. Her name is Kara and she is living with me until she goes away to college at the end of August. Then this all came up. Yes, my life has become a Lifetime movie.
A little about me. I just turned 50 on August 1, of 2009. I have never married and have no children, but strange as it may sound, I still have hopes of meeting Mr. Right someday. He's late, but better late than never, I guess. *Ahem.* I live in East Central Illinois and this has been a truly cruddy winter.
As for the cancer thing, I will start at the beginning. On Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr's birthday, January 18, 2010, I had a physical with my GP, whom I will call Dr. B. I was kicking myself because I had forgotten this was a day off from work and had scheduled my physical for 7:30 in the morning! No sleeping in for me. Kara had to have a fasting blood test, so she went with me that morning. We both grumbled about getting up so early on a day off, but I promised I'd take her out to breakfast after.
The physical went just fine, and toward the end of it, after I had gotten dressed again, Dr. B. mentioned I'd missed my mammogram last year. Both my mother and my aunt, her sister, had breast cancer, so I started getting mammograms early and every year. I had somehow missed last year's and had not had one since 2008. Dr. B. said I should go out before I left and schedule one as soon as they had an opening. Luckily, they had a cancellation at 1:25 that day so I wouldn't have to arrange for more time off work.
Kara and I had a coupon so we went to IHOP for breakfast. It was fun and tasty and the waitress called me Kara's mom, something I am still getting used to. We just gave each other silly grins and didn't correct her.
Later I went and had my mammogram. As most women would agree, mammograms are no fun (I always think there HAS to be a better way!), but better safe than sorry, I always thought. I've had a lot of them, and none have ever come back abnormal, so I wasn't really expecting anything.
Life went on. Then on Thursday, I came home for lunch and my answering maching was blinking. It was the cancer center. Oh oh. The mammographer said something had shown up on my films. She assured me "it could be nothing." A fold of skin, a shadow, but they wanted to make sure. I had to come back in for another mammogram and possibly a sonogram.
To be continued. Next: All of us women in lavendar gowns.
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