“This was kind of fun,” said the medical radiologist as he shook my hand goodbye. “I know it sounds bad to say and I don’t think I’ve ever said this, but it’s been kind of fun.” I entertained him. The man who basically told me that if my cancer comes back, I will die, left happy. Well, that makes one of us. I had just spent three hours hearing what the doctors involved in my case thought and recommended; answering my unending questions about cancer, the prognosis, the protocol, the aftereffects and so on. I guess not every victim er patient is as charming and spirited as I am.
The concensus? Lumpectomy and radiation; bilateral mastectomy (with implants) later if I’m positive for the breast cancer gene. Surgery is tomorrow.
I’m impressed by how thorough this process is. From the start it’s like they’ve done this before or something. 😉
One in 7 women will develop breast cancer and, depending on the severity (stage) and the treatment you go through, there’s about a 15% chance of it coming back. If it comes back in some part other than the breast, you die in three years. At least that’s what the oncologist sentenced. Gulp. The other physicians and nurses say he was just trying to make a point. His job is to get everything the first time around and not mess around with trying to spare your feelings, your skin or your initial physical suffering. For those who couldn’t face losing a breast or doing radiation for cosmetic reasons, take note.
The end result of all this is that I take the knife to boob tomorrow afternoon. 1:30pm to be exact. They will cut out the tumor (2cm, Grade 1), send it to the lab for biopsy, test my lymphnodes for spreading and possibly remove any infected ones, then sew me up. I go home that evening and back to normal in a day or two….except that it’s not like a normal surgery. It’s not the end of a problem but the beginning. In two weeks, I will have 30 days of radiation to make double sure there’re no cancer cells left in the breast AND maybe 4-6 MONTHS of chemo if those little bastards have spread to the nodes. Chemo’s the thing that kills everything- your hair, your nails, your chance for more kids. It also causes nausea and vomiting. Yep, it’s bad. But it also kills the poison that could kill you, the docs say to make you feel better.

So how did this happen? I asked a cancer nurse if there was something I did that caused the cancer. She said, “You’re a woman.” Wasn’t bleeding once a month for all of your adult life punishment enough??
I wouldn’t wish this on anybody but at the same time, I would never volunteer to be that one in seven. It really does suck and you have no idea how to deal with all of this information. It’s not supposed to happen to me, I think to myself.
The post followup mammogram revealed a Grade 1 well-differentiated invasive ductile cancer. A lump in the upper left outer quadrant of my chest. At that point I could feel the lump- because I knew where to look; it’s about the size of a hot tamale jelly bean.
I am a bit calmer compared to last week. I suppose thinking about it all weekend, Googling and talking to docs prepped me for today. I’m sure I’ll be a waste case once the path report comes back. All I can handle is the lump removal. Everything else is surreal. Mastectomy might be my only option if the genetic test for that breast cancer gene is positive. It also means I’m a candidate for ovarian cancer.
This is all happening soooo fast. One day, I’m doing my annual exam, the next I’m possibly losing two breasts and two ovaries.
I can’t stop thinking about everything I have going on this month- OR and Ryan’s parents coming to town on the 30th. We’re supposed to go to Jackson. Now’s not convenient for cancer.
Ryan’s family knows and they’re incredibly supportive. It kills me that I’m putting everyone through this storm. The burden is hard enough for me to bear. No one else should have to deal with it.

I woke up this morning thinking- wishing – yesterday was just one big nightmare and not real. That I could go about my day as if the bomb had never been dropped.
I have breast cancer.
Well, at least that’s what the radiologist seems to gravely think after surveying my follow-up mammogram and ultrasound. ‘It doesn’t look good, I’m afraid’ he said. Oh yeah- he kept saying he was sorry- like he had bumped my cafeteria tray or something. Your instinct is to say ‘that’s ok’ but I held my tongue…because it’s NOT OKAY! And now it’s the god damn fourth of July weekend and doctors have all decided that medical issues can wait.
I have an appt wed. with a general surgeon that may or may not take my insurance so I’m not sure if I have a ‘next step’ yet, even though I need one. I guess I could just pay for the office visit and find another doctor to do the surgery after Dr. Neumayer makes a diagnosis but then it would be like getting a second opinion and all of this is about time. Get this thing out. We don’t yet know what stage it is, whether it’s spread to lymph nodes and would require radiation or chemo or both. The consensus for sure is that a lumpectomy is in order.
I figure since I was planning on a boob job eventually, that they might as well lop the whole thing off and something good can come from tragedy. Yes, tragedy. That’s how I feel. I always thought that if someone told me I had cancer I would fight like hell (which I will) and have that fiercely positive attitude to carry me through it. How the hell are people positive? I’ve been crying at the drop of a hat since before the doc actually broke the news. I didn’t cry myself to sleep because I was drunk and passed out, but this morning the tears turned back on. This isn’t me- this teary chick. And that hurts even more- to feel so doomed.The thing that scares me the most in this whole world – death- is sitting on my shoulder. I go get this biopsy, they tell me it’s spread, that I need chemo, the hair falls out, I’m sick and tired all the time, my organs stop functioning and I die. That’s not how I saw the rest of my life the day I met the radiologist.
I’m supposed to be holding Sage on my shoulders at the fair, dancing with her at her birthday parties, taking her skiing in Europe, hugging her at her graduation and telling her how gorgeous she looks on her wedding day. I’m supposed to be arcing at Alta when I’m 80! Not gone. Not someone’s memory. I don’t want people to be sorry for me. I wanted them to be envious. Could this all just be a scare? They take a lump out like people have cysts removed all the time? But the radiologist with his somber countenance and heavy tone crushed that hope. Ryan cried too yesterday. He heard it as well. Stef talked with us after and he said that made him feel a little better. Like we had a plan and it wasn’t all death and roses. He’s really in this with me. I hate myself for bringing him all of this ‘life’. If he dated someone his own age, he wouldn’t need to experience all of this. Poor guy.I keep going through my head – was it the junk food I eat, the coffee (but over the year it doesn’t begin to total what the average – healthy- person drinks), karma? But I never killed anyone.
I’ve always been a lucky person. Does that mean I will also be lucky here or that my luck’s run out?

I woke up this morning thinking- wishing – yesterday was just one big nightmare and not real. That I could go about my day as if the bomb had never been dropped.
I have breast cancer.
Well, at least that’s what the radiologist seems to gravely think after surveying my follow-up mammogram and ultrasound. ‘It doesn’t look good, I’m afraid’ he said. Oh yeah- he kept saying he was sorry- like he had bumped my cafeteria tray or something. Your instinct is to say ‘that’s ok’ but I held my tongue … because it’s NOT OKAY! And now it’s the god damn fourth of July weekend and doctors have all decided that medical issues can wait.
I have an appt wed. with a general surgeon that may or may not take my insurance so I’m not sure if I have a ‘next step’ yet, even though I need one. I guess I could just pay for the office visit and find another doctor to do the surgery after Dr. Neumayer makes a diagnosis but then it would be like getting a second opinion and all of this is about time. Get this thing out. We don’t yet know what stage it is, whether it’s spread to lymph nodes and would require radiation or chemo or both. The consensus for sure is that a lumpectomy is in order.
I figure since I was planning on a boob job eventually, that they might as well lop the whole thing off and something good can come from tragedy. Yes, tragedy. That’s how I feel. I always thought that if someone told me I had cancer I would fight like hell (which I will) and have that fiercely positive attitude to carry me through it. How the hell are people positive? I’ve been crying at the drop of a hat since before the doc actually broke the news. I didn’t cry myself to sleep because I was drunk and passed out, but this morning the tears turned back on. This isn’t me- this teary chick. And that hurts even more- to feel so doomed.
The thing that scares me the most in this whole world – death- is sitting on my shoulder. I go get this biopsy, they tell me it’s spread, that I need chemo, the hair falls out, I’m sick and tired all the time, my organs stop functioning and I die. That’s not how I saw the rest of my life the day I met the radiologist.
I’m supposed to be holding Sage on my shoulders at the fair, dancing with her at her birthday parties, taking her skiing in Europe, hugging her at her graduation and telling her how gorgeous she looks on her wedding day. I’m supposed to be arcing at Alta when I’m 80! Not gone. Not someone’s memory. I don’t want people to be sorry for me. I wanted them to be envious.
Could this all just be a scare? They take a lump out like people have cysts removed all the time? But the radiologist with his somber countenance and heavy tone crushed that hope. Ryan cried too yesterday. He heard it as well. Stef talked with us after and he said that made him feel a little better. Like we had a plan and it wasn’t all death and roses. He’s really in this with me. I hate myself for bringing him all of this ‘life’. If he dated someone his own age, he wouldn’t need to experience all of this. Poor guy.
I keep going through my head – was it the junk food I eat, the coffee (but over the year it doesn’t begin to total what the average – healthy- person drinks), karma? But I never killed anyone.
I’ve always been a lucky person. Does that mean I will also be lucky here or that my luck’s run out?