Good News

Biopsy was benign:)  

The Roller Coaster Called "Cancer"

A sample of the core biopsy procedure I had today

Following my mammogram appointment, I met with Dr. McNamara to finally decide on my treatment.  Decisions were made, and I left his office feeling at peace with our final choices…or at least I thought they were final.

 

Later in the day I received a call from Dr. Hills regarding my latest mammogram.  “Doctors are confused”, she informed me.  My latest mammogram that was supposed to show the “all clear”, came back with many calcifications (which are often associated with cancer).  None of them were visible in November when we dealt with my first tumor, and doctors are baffled as to where they came from (for once in my life, I don’t want to be different and special:)).  So, off I went back to Hill Breast Center for another biopsy today.  To say my left breast is a bit tender right now would be an understatement.  Now I wait, once again, for results that could possibly change everything.  

"I ask not for a lighter burden, but for broader shoulders."

Jewish Proverb

You Are Not Alone

Last Friday, I felt very alone as I sat in an empty waiting room.  I think God must have read my blog, because today he sent me an angel.  My angel appeared to me at Hill Breast Center today as I was waiting to have my follow-up mammogram.  She was not a breast cancer patient, just someone there for a check-up. 

After changing into my pink mammogram gown, I sat quietly in a chair along with a few other women.  As we sat and browsed magazines, the nurse brought in my angel.  She might not be what you are picturing; no blonde hair, no wings..etc.  On the contrary actually.  She was a rather small elderly woman about 80 years old.  Her hair was peppered gray and she was missing her front teeth. She was simply adorable:)!  Before the nurse left, she instructed her to sit in the open chair beside me and not to move.

The lady looked at me and struck up a bit of conversation which went something like this… “You are so nice!”.  “Do you know why that exit sign is there?”  “Isn’t the red exit sign beautiful” “Excuse me, can you tell me where I am?”  “Isn’t the exit sign nice?”  “Do you know why I am here?”  “Where does the red exit sign lead?”  “What am I waiting here for?”  “The exit sign doesn’t tell me whether to go up, down, right or left?”…etc.  And the questions repeated and went on and on as I realized she was probably suffering from Alzheimers.  I call her my angel—because for 30 minutes my mind left my breast cancer and focused elsewhere.  I was drawn to, and humored by, a complete stranger.

Last Friday I wished I wasn’t alone—and today I certainly wasn’t!:)  This elderly woman was put in the waiting room just for me today.  She reminded me that God’s angels sometimes come to us disguised.  It was the best mammogram appointment I have ever had!

 "When it is dark enough, you can see the stars."

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Unexpected Emotions

Today, Friday, was two more doctor appointments:  one with the surgeon, the other with the radiology department at Huntington Hospital.  Dr. Hills, the surgeon, checked my wounds and sent me off to radiology with a warm hug.  I love herJ (that’s why I took a picture of her picture—I chickened out of asking her to pose for one because I have never seen anyone else snapping pictures in the office).  At my radiology consultation, I was hoping to schedule dates for radiation to begin, but it didn't happen.  We are delayed once again, waiting for the oncologist and his consultants to make some final decisions.

The hardest part of today was slightly unexpected.  I am used to hearing the “side effect” discussion at each of the appointments I attend, so I wasn’t surprised to sit there in my beautiful hospital gown and hear about fatigue, skin problems, heart/lung involvement…etc.  Surprisingly, I was most affected by the waiting room.  Prior to entering radiology, I envisioned sitting in a waiting room full of other women, each with a story similar to mine.  I desperately hoped to somehow glance across the room and make eye contact with another breast cancer patient—someone close to my age—someone with children at home—someone scared and fighting the same battle as me.  Maybe we wouldn’t talk, but there would be a unique “understanding” when we looked into each other’s eyes, an understanding that only two people experiencing the same set of circumstances can feel. But as I entered the radiology department doors, the waiting room was empty.  When I left an hour and 30 minutes later, it was still empty.  I have never felt so alone.  Just one woman might have made the difference today, but it was not to be—not today.

"We have no right to ask when sorrow comes, "Why did this happen to me?" unless we ask the same question for every moment of happiness that comes our way."

Author unknown

Oncotype DX

Another test result is in: the Oncotype DX.  This was the test on the tumor itself to determine how effective chemotherapy would be on my specific type/brand of cancer.  Results give a score on a scale of 1-100 (the lower the score, the better).  Scores of 1-10 = chemotherapy would be ineffective so patient receives radiation only.  Scores of 25-100 = chemotherapy is effective and recommended.  Scores of 11-24 = the dreaded gray area.  And where do you suppose I scored? Of course...an 11.  

Picture is of a mammogram.  Small round spot on the right picture is cancer.  Not mine, but interesting nonetheless.

Dr. McNamara has sent my results to a few "friends" at the City of Hope, seeking their opinions.  We will meet to decide on my treatment (in addition to radiation) next Wednesday. I really can't quite put my finger on my emotions right now.  I suppose "disappointed" might be a good word.  Dr. McNamara assured me that it is an excellent score, it's just that I don't really like the color gray!:)  

"If you can find a path with no obstacles, it probably doesn't lead anywhere."

Frank A. Clark

Two Results

The phone rang early this morning with a call from my oncologist. The results of one of the genetic tests was in...I am negative for the breast cancer gene! Wheeew! As mothers, we have an overwhelming instinct to protect our children in any way we can. It would have been devastating to know that somehow I could genetically pass this to my children. I am relieved that my worries can go back to skinned knees, sprained ankles and broken hearts--all which heal in time.

Picture is a breast cancer cell:)

The past couple months I have worried that the bleeding in my uterus (fixed with surgery in October) was somehow related to my breast cancer. Dr. Kassar lifted another heavy brick (actually more like a refrigerator) from my back today. We met this afternoon and he patiently listened to my request that he look again at all the results and data from the procedure. He began rattling off results of pathology reports, and then paused. He stared at me a moment, and then turned the computer screen around so I could see everything for myself. There is something comforting about seeing the word "benign" written in black and white. I left his office, once again feeling like the luckiest person in the world. Time to look forward...

"The best thing about the future is that it comes only one day at a time."

Abraham Lincoln

Get Fat, or Lose My Hair?

Well now.  As I await my next appointment with the oncologist, I begin looking into the various treatment options, in addition to surgery, for breast cancer.  And I must say, I am not particularly looking forward to any of them. 

Chemotherapy:

     Chemo is the use of anti-cancer drugs to treat cancer.  It is used to stop the growth of cancer by killing cancer cells that have spread to other parts of the body.  It can be given before surgery (to shrink tumors), or after surgery (to kill remaining cancer cells).  Most often, it is injected into a vein, but some types can be taken in pill form. Treatment would be every 3 weeks, 4 sessions total.

Side effects:

• Hair loss
• Fingernail and toenail weakness
• Nausea and vomiting
• Pain
• Diarrhea
• Mouth sores
• Infection
• Fatigue
• Sleep disorders

Radiation (which I will have for sure):

     Radiation therapy (also known as radiotherapy) uses targeted, high-energy X-rays to kill cancer cells. For women with early stage breast cancer, radiation therapy is almost never used alone; it is almost always used with surgery. Its purpose is to kill cancer that might be left in the breast or surrounding area after surgery. Treatment would be 5 days a week, for 6 weeks.

Side effects:

• Fatigue
• Skin irritation
• Breast changes or swelling
• Emotional issues

Hormone Therapy:

      Hormones flowing in your bloodstream can attach themselves to breast cancer cells and help those cells grow and multiply.  The purpose of hormone therapy is to stop hormones from doing this by preventing them from being produced.  This involves stopping the ovaries from producing estrogen, the hormone that promotes breast cancer growth.  Treatment would involve an injection every 3 weeks, for 2 years. 

Side effects:

• Hot flashes
• Weight gain
• Fatigue
• Nausea
• Vaginal issues
• Endometrial cancer
• Blood clots
• Stroke

Isn’t there a pill I can take for 10 days, with side effects of a tight, muscular body with maximum hair growth???  One more reason we need to keep looking for a cure!!

I am still determined to be cheerful and happy, in whatever situation I may be; for I have also learned from experience that the greater part of our happiness or misery depends upon our dispositions, and not upon our circumstances.

Martha Washington

Internet Information

The following day, I hopped on the internet to look up “hormone therapy”.  I was familiar with chemotherapy, but didn’t know much about the other.  As I was browsing through information, something I read made my heart skip a beat.  “Women with breast cancer have an increased risk of uterine cancer”—what??  Panic…again.  I just had outpatient surgery on my uterus in October to reduce heavy bleeding.  Is there a correlation between the two?  At the time, I didn’t know I was walking around with breast cancer, so I wasn’t a “risk”.  I hopped on the phone and called Dr. Kassar to schedule an appointment.  I will meet with him on January 19 to discuss the issue.  I guess I just need to know.  I need him to look me in the eye and tell me “everything is fine” (or not).  That gut-wrenching, nervous feeling has returned with a vengence.  And so I wait…

"You gain strength, experience and confidence by every experience where you really stop to look fear in the face...You must do the thing you cannot do."

Eleanor Roosevelt

 

A New Year

 Time to meet the oncologist who will be directing the next stages of my recovery. Dr. McNamara entered the room, my file in his hand.  He had already run my “cancer numbers” in a computer program and was prepared to discuss the next stages of recovery.  Surgery, along with radiation, would get me a 93% cure rating.  Now, we discussed how to increase that number to 95-96%, and whether chemotherapy or hormone therapy would be the best alternative.  We decided to do two more blood tests in order to make the most educated decision possible.  My results will be known on January 21.

Along with the official details (tumor characteristics, age, family history…etc) he also opened the conversation about the emotional healing involved.  He chatted about how most women my age don’t have to deal with this situation, and how it’s okay to cry and have a bad day sometimes.  Cancer, and the fear it, will never go away and will be something I will live with for the rest of my life.  It was like he was giving me permission to fall apart and crumble.  And a few hours later, I did.  There had definitely been moments before that were difficult, but I was always able to recover fairly quickly.  Today, I couldn’t seem to shake the sadness as I realized that cancer wasn’t going away anytime soon.  Sleep brought the only reprieve.  

"Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it."

Helen Keller

Friendship

The story can go no further without taking time to address all the friends and family who came to my rescue during the weeks after surgery.  From phone calls and cards, to goodies and dinners, kindness, concern and generosity flooded our home.  In a world where we are conditioned to think the human race has gone corrupt, I am living proof of a different truth.  To fully explain it would be impossible.  From the Malasian proverb, “one can repay a loan of gold, but a person will die in debt to those who are kind”,  I am forever in debt to the friends and family who gave selflessly and taught my children yet another powerful lesson about life and love.  

"Some people come into our lives and quickly go.  Some stay for a while and leave footprints on our hearts.  And we are never, ever the same."

Unknown Author

 

Official Diagnosis

The news from there was all good.  The tumor ended up being 1.5 cm and lobular (originating in the lobe, not the milk duct).  80% of breast cancer is ductal—I always did like to be different!  The surgeon was able to completely remove the tumor, lymph nodes were clear, and the tumor’s hormone test was positive.  I had just been given the best Christmas present I could ask for.  It was time to recover, and do the painful exercises necessary to regain full motion of my arm.  Another teachable moment for my children:  do what is necessary, even if it hurts.  Plus, it might just be fun to watch mommy sweat!

"Things turn out the best for people who make the best of the way things turn out."

John Wooden

 

Ready to go...

"Yes"

Waiting for surgery was somewhat comical.  Different workers entered the room at various times, all asking the same questions.  I felt like it was a test to see whether I was sane enough to give the same answer each time.  Must be a teacher thing!  Eventually Dr. Hills, the surgeon, entered along with the anesthesiologist.  Even though I had holes and wires in my left breast, hospital policy requires that the surgeon label the breast with the word “yes” to make sure the correct one is operated on.  Whatever.  Might as well take a picture of that tooJ.  The anesthesiologist gave me medicine to relax me, and that’s all I remember.  I didn’t even get to enjoy my ride down the hall to surgery.

 

Three hours later, it was over.  I think it was probably a harder wait on Rick than it was for me, being that I was sleeping like a baby.  During the groggy stage of waking up and trying not to vomit, I immediately took my right hand and felt for my left armpit.  A critical question was about to be answered.  I knew if there was a drain and tube under my arm, then the cancer had spread to the lymph nodes and they had been removed.  If there were no tubes, then the lymph nodes were clear of cancer.  Fortunately for me, there were no drains.  I had overcome one obstacle.  I closed my eyes and went back to sleep.

"The marvelous richness of human experience would lose some rewarding joy if there were not limitations to overcome.  The hilltop hour would not be half so wonderful if there were no dark valleys to traverse."

Helen Keller

 

Surgery Day

Finally December 11^th rolled around and we left at 6:30 for Hill Breast Center.  I reported there first, so doctors could do some pre-operative work.  Step 1:  numb the left breast with 4-5 shots.  Nice!.  Step 2:  insert a small tube into my breast and inject a needle with dye to color the tumor, enabling the surgeon to see what she is removing.  Step 3:  Insert a “lead wire” to guide the surgeon to the correct location.  Step 4:  Place 4 injections around the nipple of an isotope, which will travel to the lymph nodes in my armpit assisting doctors in determining whether cancer has spread.  By the time I was done, my left breast had been poked and prodded countless times, and I hadn’t even had surgery yet.

 

Enter Victor.  Victor was the lucky guy who got to wheel me from the Breast Center, down the street to Huntington Memorial Hospital.  That must be quite a job—pushing frightened/stressed women a couple blocks down the street to meet their unknown fate.  Needless to say, he seemed a bit surprised when I asked him to pose for a picture with me.  We chatted about spiders, and a special chalk that can be purchased at the swap meet that kills the little critters.  I was safely delivered to the hospital…and Victor was gone.

"Pain is inevitable.  Suffering is optional."

Unknown author

 

"I have Cancer"

December 11 was almost a month away.  I was assured that nothing would change during that time, however, when you have cancer growing inside your body, you want nothing more than to have it taken out.  It was indeed, a very long month!  Most days were busy with usual routines and went by quickly.  Every now and then, the idea of “cancer” would become a little overwhelming and take its toll, causing tears, sadness and the dreaded question “Why me”?  Dark moments often leave you with a new perspective and inner strength you didn’t even know you had.  And for me, humor became my savior.  Since I couldn’t change my situation, then I might as well have some fun with it—hence my coined phrase “I have cancer”.  Those close to me are snickering right now, having heard those words countless times.  “I get the front seat…because I have cancer”… “Can you get me a drink of water…because I have cancer”.  (And the look on people’s faces---priceless).  J Who’s going to argue with that one???

"Things don't change.  You change your way of looking, that's all."

Carlos Casteneda

 

Meeting the Surgeon

On Monday I met with the surgeon.  Dr. Hills was a teacher’s dream doctor.  She diagramed a breast and explained all the internal workings, before she ever even discussed my diagnosis.  Rick seemed unusually interested in that partJ. Preliminary diagnosis:  Stage 1 or 2 invasive breast cancer with a tumor size of about 2 cm.  It was unclear at the time whether the tumor was ductal or lobular (originating in the milk duct or the lobe).  Didn’t really matter anyways-it was invasive, which in a nutshell meant it had invaded the surrounding tissue already.  I was scheduled for surgery on Dec. 11.

"And life is what we make it, always has been, always will be."

Grandma Moses

 

The News

Telling adults I had been diagnosed with breast cancer was easy.  Telling my children was different.  How do you tell your kids that you have a disease that kills thousands of women every year?  How do you tell them that there is really no cure for what you have? In a period of just a day or two, I had been handed the biggest “teachable moment” of my life... 

When unfortunate circumstances happen, you have choices.  You can curl up in a ball and quit, feeling sorry for yourself, or you can accept what has happened and fight.  My choice, of course, was to fight!

"A happy person is not a person in a certain set of circumstances, but rather a person with a certain set of attitudes."

Hugh Downs

 

My First MRI

The following day, I scheduled my MRI.  The nurse inserted an IV in my hand, gave me some handy dandy headphones, placed me face down on a “bed” with two nifty holes for my breasts, and slid me into the MRI tunnel.  She told me to relax, try not to breath deep, and remain very still.  I’ve just been diagnosed with breast cancer, and you’re telling me to relax?  Needless to say, when someone tells you not to breathe deeply, you focus so much on not breathing deeply, that you end up breathing deeply.  Huhhhh?  After 30 min, she pulled me out informing me that I may have breathed too heavily to get a good reading.  Bummer.  As a teacher, I was hoping for a performance of an A, but it sounded more like I got a C.  

"What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us."      

Unknown author

Diagnosis Day

The following day, my left breast bruised from the biopsy, I went to work. I figured this was the best way to pass the time while I waited until 3:00 to call for my results.  In the back of my mind though, I already knew the results.  Of course, no one was available when I called, so I had to wait until 5:30.  That’s when the phone rang.  Heart pounding, I answered with a chipper hello.  The doctor from Hill Breast Center told me “Unfortunately, your biopsy came back positive for invasive breast cancer…”  She began rattling off information about what to do next, appointments with surgeons, MRI’s…etc.  I kept asking her to repeat what she just said so I could shakily write it down on a paper.  I believe this was the moment I experienced my first real hot flashJ.

"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."

Lao-Tze

 

A Routine Mammogram

Alone in the biopsy/sonogram room, I gazed at the machine screen wishing I could see what they were all looking at.  I could tell by their faces and demeanor that it wasn’t “nothing”.  After the 5^th biopsy sample, I turned my head and let the tears I had been trying so hard to contain, fall.  The nurse gently squeezed my hand saying nothing.  I knew this was something big.  I knew it was something bad.  I knew at that moment my life was about to change forever.

Finally in my car, I sobbed.  I called Rick, but I don’t even know if he could possibly understand what I was trying to say.  It was just supposed to be my routine mammogram.  Arrive, undress, put boob in machine, squeeze, dress and return next year for another. This time it was different.

"You can encounter many defeats, but you must not be defeated."

Maya Angelou

 

My Story

I have spoken to many people over the last few months, each one concerned about the events going on in my life.  This blog is created just for you:)  The story begins in November of 2008, even though the blog date starts in January 2009.  At the time of diagnosis, I just didn't realize the true friendship, love and concern that was out there.  What an eye-opening, amazing, and humbling experience this has turned out to be.  And in a strange sort of way, I wouldn't change it for the world.  I have gone back through time, and summarized to the best of my ability, the events that have taken place up until now.

Everyone has a story...this is mine!