No... I'm not referring to the 1983 movie. Yesterday, October 29, 2015 at approximately 5:00 pm eastern, I learned I became 1 of 8.
Before I get started, I first want to say that my reaction concerning this diagnosis and my attitude are mine only. Hearing this news affects all of us differently. I don't expect anyone to have this same outlook, nor do I intend this blog to be construed as a judgment of others who react differently. It's not. Furthermore, I am a Christian, if this notion offends you, that's okay. You don't have to share my faith. I promise, I'm not going to force you. But I do ask that any comments be respectful.
There.. that's said. So, how did I get here?
Well.. I was born a poor, orphan child... wait wait.. no, that's not right, wrong story.
The truth is, I've had a very happy, healthy life. I am currently 45 years old and never had any serious illness. I've been very blessed. I have a wonderful family and a bunch of fabulous friends. When it came time for me to have a baseline mammogram and then start having regular mammograms, I did so. The kink came at the end of 2011 when I was laid off from my job in banking and lost my health insurance.
For three and a half years, I went without that regular screening while I went back to college to prepare for starting a new career. In June of this year, I went to work for Greenway Health as an Associate Software Engineer. In late July, I began getting caught up on my health screenings.
My gynecologist, Dr. Lisa Ortenzi, ordered my mammogram as part of my routine annual exam. A few days after the scan, I received a phone call stating they wanted me to come back in for a follow-up scan. They saw a couple of spots they wanted to get a better look at. They said they would take some more pictures and the radiologist would read them while I was there. If it was warranted, they would go ahead and perform an ultrasound to get an even better look. As you can guess, we did do the ultrasound that day as well, confirming there was a definite area of concern. You might remember, however, I said there were two spots? One of them turned out to be perfectly normal, a lymph node.
Following this, I had my first appointment with Dr. Angela Robbins at The Breast Center on August 26. We scheduled a biopsy for September 2. The area they were concerned about was not very large and I think the general consensus was that the result would come back normal. One week later, I went back into her office for the results only to be told they were not back yet. The local pathologist sent the sample off for a second opinion from The Mayo Clinic. Well, I was a little displeased (okay, yes... I was more than a little displeased but we won't go into that) since I had taken time away from work for this appointment, only to be told the results were not yet back. We scheduled another appointment for a week later (trust me, I called this time before I went to the appointment to make sure the results were there). This time, the pathologist from The Mayo Clinic said the findings were inconclusive.
Well, phooey! I still didn't have any answers, but it was at this point that I began to realize this was probably going to be the real thing. The only thing we knew for sure at this point was that the sample showed evidence of abnormal cells. Dr. Robbins said whenever they find that, they want to get it out. Even though it might not be cancer, there is a greater likelihood of it becoming cancer. We scheduled a lumpectomy for October 23 at Kennestone Outpatient Pavilion.
From the day of my biopsy and through all of my visits to this point, my cousin Angie was right there with me. She drove me over bright (or not so bright as it was still dark out) and early that Friday morning for my surgery and she was my "Responsible Adult" afterward. Apparently, if you have surgery involving anesthesia, you don't get to stay by yourself (I live alone, you see). They want a "Responsible Adult" to stay with you for 24 hours after surgery.
For the most part, the surgery went very well... except for the blown vein during the first attempt at the IV which left a very ugly and painful bruise on my left arm. The pain from that bruise was further compounded when they tried to put the blood pressure cuff ON TOP OF IT when I went into the operating room. Um... thank you... no... that's not going to work. I think I startled the anesthesiologist when I sang out, "Nononono... we are going to have to move that cuff." He immediately deflated it and moved it to my upper arm. All was well. The anesthesia started trickling into my IV and I fell into the bliss known as anesthesia sleep. If you've ever had surgery, you probably know what I'm talking about. There is nothing else like it.
Almost a week later (yesterday), I went in for my post-op follow-up and to get the results (and yes, I again called ahead of time to make sure they were there!). The good news: they removed the whole tumor. It was about 1.5 cm in size. The bad news: it is breast cancer, more specifically, ductal carcinoma in situ with microinvasion. You know what that is, right? Yeah, I didn't either. From breastcancer.org:
- DCIS-MI (DCIS with microinvasion) means that a few of the cancer cells have started to break through the wall of the duct. This is considered to be a slightly more serious form of DCIS.
According to the site linked above, all DCIS are considered stage 0. Now, you and I know that sometimes the internet isn't always right (shocker... I know). Anyway, I'm not saying this information is wrong, but I'm going to wait for my oncologist to tell me the correct stage. What I do know is that the pathology report states that the tumor is a Grade 2. Also from the same site:
Grade I (low grade) or grade II (moderate grade)Grade I or low-grade DCIS cells look very similar to normal cells or atypical ductal hyperplasia cells. Grade II or moderate-grade DCIS cells grow faster than normal cells and look less like them. Grade I and grade II DCIS tend to grow slowly and are sometimes described as "non-comedo" DCIS. The term non-comedo means that there are not many dead cancer cells in the tumor. This shows that the cancer is growing slowly, because there is enough nourishment to feed all of the cells. When a tumor grows quickly, some of its cells begin to die off.
This is where things stand as of today, October 30. I have an appointment with an oncologist, Dr. Soltan, next week on November 4. On that same day, I will also travel to Kennestone Imaging Center for a breast MRI. We are also trying to get an appointment scheduled to discuss Genetic Screening. In addition, we will schedule a sentinel node biopsy in the coming few weeks.
How do I feel about all this? The same way I felt before this started. Physically, emotionally, mentally, I feel FINE (though some may debate the mental part). Nothing has changed. I'm not going to collapse in a puddle of worry and fear. Breast cancer is a highly treatable form of cancer, especially when caught early, which this has been. I still have to get up Monday through Friday and go to work. During this time of year, I have football to watch (Hallelujah!) on the weekends, plus Monday night, plus Thursday night. I have bills to pay (more now than a few weeks ago, admittedly), groceries to shop for, a house to clean. The world hasn't come to a screeching halt because I have been diagnosed with this disease. Do I acknowledge that this is a serious disease? Heck yeah! But so is influenza, pneumonia, and so many other treatable diseases that can also kill. I am going to follow the plan set out by my doctors and do what I need to do. I am going to give praise that this was caught early and that I have more prayers being offered up on my behalf than I will ever know. I'm going to put one foot in front of the other each day and let my Redeemer take care of the rest.
Blessings and love and if you (or the lady you love) are due for a mammogram and haven't yet done so:
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