That morning came quick and early.
I had no sooner booted my snoring husband out of bed, when my swollen eyes were blasted open by my favorite "hard" Rock tunes exploding from the iPod on the nightstand next to my head.
For a brief millisecond, the whole breast cancer thing seemed like a terrible nightmare...
but reality rudely slapped me in the face when my husband timidly crept in to the bedroom...
ears plugged and wincing, making sure that I was getting up.
My right hand automatically reached across to my left breast and the habitual daily dance with the lump began.
This creepy little presence was really pissing me off.
I was angry and I wanted it gone...ASAP...and I had already made up my mind to have a double mastectomy.
I was well aware that statistically breast cancer was far more aggressive the younger you are...and I was only 39 for crying out loud!.
Of course, yesterday I thought this was old. Now my "oh-shit-another-wrinkle-gravity-blows-damn-the-gray-hairs-ageing-sucks" attitude has vanished, and I'm all of a sudden wanting to see the day when I'm admitted to a home for the aged...cataracts, prune face, droopy butt, and all.
And thanks to the actress, Christina Applegate for going public with her BRCA status, her cancer scare, and her choice of having a prophylactic double mastectomy, I am more than 100% confident in my decision.
Armed and ready to march in to the doctor's office with my surgical request, I just needed to gather my arsenal for a day that's sure to be long...
bottled waters, snacks, notebook, pen, family history particulars, tissues....
lots and lots of tissues.
I slapped on a little makeup (making sure I applied the waterproof mascara), jumped in to some comfy clothes, threw my (oh please, I don't want to lose it) hair up in a ball cap, and out the door we went.
I broke the 20 minutes of travel silence with a bratty, "I told you so".
My husband replied with a, "Yes you did. You were right. I will never question your instincts again." I cupped my hand to my ear,"What was that? I was right? Can I have that in ink?" I asked.
And we laughed a little.
At that moment I promised myself I'd never let the silliness disappear from us amidst the crazy fear that was trying to take over.
Our Jeep turned on to the street that was home to the cursed Cancer Pavilion. See, I knew it...going in to that bastard had jinxed me...and there it was, mocking my arrival. As we walked through its gaping hole, I swear there was an audible taunting of "na-na-na-boo-boo" whispering from the swish of the automatic doors.
The surgeon's waiting room had pamphlets and samples of breast prosthetics and post mastectomy bras. I walked over, feigning an interest in the display table...lying out loud that "this isn't gonna be that bad...I can do this...no problem." I was instinctively becoming a cheerleader in this shit game of brutal reality. When I turned around, I noticed that the Hubs was succumbing to fear. His eyes were staring wildly and he was about to go down in the crush. The cancer scared me too, but my husband's obvious display of helplessness frightened me more.
I'm going to have to be strong enough for the both of us.
We noticed my mammogram films hanging on the wall. I searched the black and white pictures for the mass...I felt like a little kid trying to show my parent my art work at the school fair...
"see, there's my lump...that's it...that's mine",
but it was well hidden...like a polar bear in a snow storm. I climbed on to the exam table, undressed from the waist up...cloth gown open in the front. Doug was wringing his hands; fidgeting nervously in the chair next to me.
My surgeon walked in. Her comforting voice and sympathetic smile preceded an unexpected bear hug of a greeting. She spoke in to my ear, "we can get through this. It'll be okay." The moisture was starting to accumulate in my eyes when I heard the muffled whimpering coming from the chair beside me. I thank whatever gave me the strength to dam up my cresting river of tears, because my husband was losing it and he needed the reassurance more than I did. The doctor switched gears and immediately went to his side to offer him some comfort too.
I doled out the Kleenex...
I hope I brought enough...
at this rate we'll be wiping our faces on our sleeves by 10 am.
We managed to compose ourselves...then we were introduced to the monster I was up against. She handed me a 3x5 card on which was a list describing the characteristics of my tumor, in a language that was completely foreign to me:
DCIS- ductal carcinoma in situ
IDC- invasive ductal carcinoma
Stage I <2cm Grade III
estrogen- negative
progesterone- negative
Her2neu- ? (don't know yet)
Directed to the back lit images on the wall, we quickly learned that this type of cancer was somewhat rare and very aggressive.
(FUCK)
I chimed in that I wanted to be aggressive too.
(I'll be damned if this little shit is going to get me.
PLUS my boob had betrayed me...it must be cut off.
And take the other one too, while you're at it...I don't trust it anymore)
I want to schedule a double mastectomy for next week.
I wanted to jump on the fast track, dammit.
The doctor agreed with my proposed course of action...not at all bothered that her initial suggestion of a lumpectomy had been quickly tossed out the window. But she slowed me down and said the earliest my surgery could be done was March 11th.
(Again...FUCK)
So much needed to be done. Since I wanted immediate reconstruction, I had to get plastics on board for that date. I was handed a stack of equally qualified plastic surgeons' business cards and was told to call around for their unlikely, short notice availability. I would also have to wait for the hospital to set up an appointment for me to go through a full day of registration and pre-op testing. Plus, I had to have a chest x-ray. And, I had to have a pre-op consult with my new plastic surgeon.
(My parents wanted to come down. I needed to tell my friends.)
She showed me the port-a-cath that would be put in to my chest to administer the chemotherapy. This contraption was a really long, silicone tube...a catheter...with a round (looked like grandma's pill case) diaphragm on one end.
(it had to be a foot or two long...and she said THIS was the small one...jeez)
The tube would be inserted in to a vein in my neck...it would protect my veins from being damaged
(or collapsing...)
Triple FUCK.
from the harsh chemicals that were to be shot directly in to my pumping heart and sent oozing through my bloodstream. The "pill case" would be implanted just below my skin, under my collarbone, in my chest...it will be the gateway in to which the cancer killing toxins would be administered via I.V. drip.
Basically, It would stick out...a large bump...like a big, ugly pop up meat thermometer...
(oh boy...can't wait.)
She then went on to describe the "sentinel node biopsy". Prior to going under the knife, a needle would inject...hold on to your hats here...
RADIOACTIVE DYE INTO MY NIPPLES!!!!
(The dye will travel the same path as the cancer, if it has spread.)
Yep, that's right. And before THAT happens, she will numb both of my nipples with 6 injections in to each one. This sounded a lot less than fun...because
I WON'T BE NUMB YET!
(I'm cringing at the thought. Can I go home now, and forget that this is happening).
Once I'm on the operating table, she will run a scanner over my nodes and will only remove the ones that contain the dye...since these are the first lymph nodes...the lookouts...the "sentinels"...eliminating the need to extract too many in the search for rogue cancer cells.
But that's not all...oh noooo. There will always be a LIFETIME RISK of lymphedema after this procedure. This scary little beast of a "footnote" is a condition that is a direct result of having had lymph nodes removed. I have to be careful not to injure my arms or get an infection or "over stress" them...if I do, I run the risk of creating a clogged flow of lymph fluid...which could trigger painful and permanent swelling of my arms to elephant sized proportions.
This little tidbit of info really does nothing to soothe clumsy, accident prone me. In fact, she goes on to say, something as minor as having my blood pressure taken or giving blood could set off the lymphedema. So, she advised that after the mastectomy, any blood pressure cuff would have to go around my calf...and for any blood work or IV's, they were to access my feet and ankles.
(Just Lovely).
Plus, if I ever flew in a plane...which I rarely do
(because not only am I a hypochondriac...I also hugely dislike the thought of crashing)
it would be smart if I wore a compression garment...pressure sleeves to combat possible swelling.
(stylish)
I took a deep breath...trying to let everything sink in...
but just like when it rains too hard and too fast for the ground to absorb it all, a lot of what she said was left drifting around in my soggy, flooded head.
She was silent for a minute...thinking...making sure she wasn't leaving anything out.
Then, rounding out the morning's lesson plan, she said that she did a "personality match up" and thought of the perfect Oncologist for me.
(Oh boy)
I was to see him within the hour...
he was running over from the hospital as a favor to her, to meet with me. Thankfully his office was in the same building, and right across the hall.
My husband and I were led over there by a "breast cancer navigator". This is the woman who will guide me through the overwhelming process of becoming a cancer patient.
This chick is incredibly nice, but... um....extremely delicate.
What I mean by this, is she speaks soooo softly and with such compassion, she's already driving me a bit nuts. I realize that she's been trained in this way so as to calm and reassure us that this is (hopefully) not the end of the world...
but MY GOODNESS, WOMAN...
I am not so fragile that I'm going to snap in half...please speak to me like I'm a normal human being!
Wait a minute, I'm not a normal human being anymore. I have cancer. I am one of those poor sick people now.
(WAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!)
As I'm filling out the new patient forms, Miss Soft Spoken Sally has taken on a big challenge...
it's Doug.
He's losing it again.
I reach in my purse and toss her my shrinking surplus of tissues.
The Oncologist is so nice...he can't be much older than me...his smile put me at ease.
It was definitely a good match...I was so relieved.
And he did...literally...run over from the hospital!
The poor guy was a little out of breath when he entered the room.
He told me about the two drugs that would become my chemo "cocktail", their many icky side effects...and damn it, all of my hair
(yes...even down there)
ALL OF IT...will most certainly fall out.
(look out wig shop, here I come)
I will also be receiving steroids...and this could make me blow up 20 pounds!!!!
(so much for the skinny jean trend this year)
There will be severe fatigue, nausea, mouth sores, muscle atrophy, bone loss, and extreme joint pain
from the Neulasta shots (the injection of white blood cells on the day after each chemo infusion),
and get this...
he casually added that
MY FINGERNAILS AND TOENAILS MIGHT TURN BLACK AND FALL OFF!!!!!
MIGHT?
What the Hell?!?! How can someone so casually say that.
"Oh by the way...some patients have had their nails turn black and fall off.
Just something to be prepared for".
(okie dokie. thanks for the head's up, I s'pose)
We were then shuttled by my navigator back over to the surgeon's office where I took the BRCA saliva test.
NOW they were worried!
NOW there was almost no doubt in any of my Doctors' minds that I would test positive for the breast cancer gene mutation.
HMMMPPPFFFT!
(once again, trying hard not to toss out indignant "I told you so's)
The in-depth tour of the 3rd floor continued a while longer, and I met with a nice lady down the hall to sign off on a sampling of my bone marrow. She was asking if it was ok for them to extract a small amount from each of my hips during the mastectomy to use in a study that was being done at a university in Vermont. This study was investigating whether or not bone marrow could be a predictor of early stage breast cancer.
(interesting)
They were also going to "follow" me for the next 10 years.
(If I'm lucky)
Aaaaaaaand...then I popped back in to the surgeon's office to sign off on my breast tissue...allowing Moffitt to put my tits on ice for breast cancer research.
Finally tumbling out of the black hole around two o'clock, our heads spinning from the whirlwind of information overload, we were both thrilled to know that I had some of the smartest, kindest, most wonderful people on my healthcare team.
And with one Kleenex left, a newly acquired slew of breast cancer for dummies handouts....and an awesome, complimentary appointment calendar/journal, "Breast Cancer 101, basics for the diagnosed", we headed over to the local Barnes and Noble.
We hung out for about an hour...investigating everything that contained subject matter pertaining to the "Big C". That day I began my crazy collection of sanity saving, inspirational books...anything that could help me wrap my brain around this cancer crap. I couldn't wait to get home and start reading and learning.
With only two more stops on the way home...Bed, Bath and Beyond for a juicer...and Publix for some rabbit food, it was GAME ON!
