The Clock is Ticking!

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.

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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.