Chapter 3 – FROM BAD NEWS TO GOOD NEWS THEN ALL OVER AGAIN

I have seen my husband cry twice – once when I told him I had breast cancer and once when that kid from Louisville broke his leg during the playoffs.  I don’t cry much anymore either.  It was one of my favorite past times when I was a kid.  And a teenager.  And a young adult.  But for reasons of self-preservation, I don’t watch television or the news or see movies that aren’t funny or read books where someone dies.  And with the exception of national tragedies, I don’t find myself crying all that much anymore.  Until I considered the possibility of not watching my kids grow up.  Then I allowed myself a good cry.  I cried once with my husband, once with my parents, and once for no good reason but that was two days before my period.

After the seven minutes of crying that I allowed myself, I went in to meet with my new Doc, Breast Cancer Oncologist Specialist Superwoman.  She gave us some “good news” and told us that the ultrasound showed that the lump was only 13mm (Stage 1 goes all the way up to 20mm), and the lump tissue was well to moderately differentiated, which means it’s less likely to spread and invade surrounding tissue.  Plus, it was the “good cancer,” DCIS (“Ductal carcinoma in situ” or “cancer in the duct that hasn’t traveled”).  She examined me, didn’t feel anything in my lymph nodes (did you know that was two words and not one?), and thought that our likely course of action would be to have a lumpectomy, radiate the remaining breast tissue, and having reconstructive breast surgery.  However, to be sure that there were no other cancer parties going on anywhere else in my body, she ordered a CT scan of my chest, abdomen and pelvic area, and a Breast MRI to check out all breast areas.

We all breathed a huge sigh of relief because we could lay some fears to rest.  Nothing appeared to have spread.  And it was small.  And we would get it out.  And we would be done.

A few nights later, during an episode of Downton Abbey, a little fairy in my head  (yes, I deal with fairies these days – Tinkerbell mostly) told me go back and check my breast again.  Wouldn’t you know it, that damn fairy was right.  There was another spot, lower down and to the left, that felt stupidly similar to the other one.  Fantastic.  Can’t wait to try to sleep tonight.

I was in my doctor’s office the next morning.  She sent me upstairs to get a fine needle biopsy done which would only tell us whether or not the cells were cancerous (and not much else) but which could be done without all the rigamarole of a core biopsy.  It wouldn’t tell us the size, differentiation, or whether it was DCIS.  Michael held my hand and a nurse stuck a needle in, wiggled it around with varying degrees of aggressiveness, and then repeated herself four times in the name of my health.  I find it’s very helpful during painful moments like these to picture your 4 –year old doing Naked-Baby-Gangnam-Style, just to take your mind off the issue at hand.  If you stare hard enough at the wall, you can almost see her little butt.  And suddenly you’re not in a Cancer Center anymore.  And there you have the one benefit of an over-active imagination.

She put the tissue on slides right in front of us and took the slides to her office to look at.  We would know in just a few minutes.  Like popcorn.  We went back downstairs to wait for my Oncologist to tell us that I had another spot of cancer, which she did very professionally.  And very quickly we were discussing mastectomy.  Because, quite frankly, two lumps more or less comprise my entire breast.  Doc made no bones about it.  “Well, once we take out both lumps plus the surrounding areas, I’m afraid there would not be much left.”  Additionally, my left breast “could not be trusted.”  It had been compromised, like a dirty CTU agent, and it had to go.  I tried summon my inner Jack Bauer and appear stoic (and sexy at the same time, which has no place in a cancer center) while Doc told me I’d be having a mastectomy on the left side and I could/should/would consider having it done on the right as well.  Hang in there, she says.  Minute by minute.  It will all be ok.  Find yourself a mantra. 

Another one?!?!