It Was An Emotional Day

It was an emotional day.  (What?  You don't think I have those?)  I had a 10am visit scheduled with my surgeon where she would either have some or all or none of the pathology reports from Friday's surgery. These reports would give us more details about the cancer they removed - how quickly it spreads, how quickly it returns, how invasive it is, whether any more was found, whether the margins were clear.  And from this and more we would know what stage cancer I have and what treatments might follow - chemo, radiation, tamoxifen.  So, I was a little emotional.

To add to the fun, I have had a drain tube coming out of my chest since Friday.  Should I take a minute to accurately describe this for you? It is a clear plastic tube that goes from me to a cylinder and collects my blood. It's pretty f--ing horrendous to look at and also pretty f--ing difficult to hide from your friends who come to visit. I have to empty it three times a day to see how much blood is draining from what was once my boob and when it measures under 30ml in one day I can call my doctor and say "Get this fucking thing out of me." But it gets better. The tube is not just delicately collecting in one spot at the base of my surgery. It is waaaaay up and aaaaalll around the surgery site, with little holes in it like a garden hose collecting eeeeeverywhere.   (Go ahead and throw up.  I'll wait). Also, even though I hate its guts, I have to carry it around like a new born baby because the very last thing you want your drain tube to do is free fall.

So I have aged about 47 years in the past few days because I am hunched over, wearing large over-sized alpaca sweaters, clutching a blood drain to my chest, walking assisted, going to the bathroom assisted, getting dressed assisted, and taking assisted sponge baths.  Somebody shoot me.

Luckily, today was the day to remove the tube.  Unluckily, I had to be present.

At 10am, Mom, Michael, and I arrive at the Cancer Center to sit down with the breast surgeon and get pathology results.  I had been crying all morning.  I cried eating my banana.  I cried putting on my shoes.  I cried waiting for the nurse to call my name.  So I did not see the funny when the she kept calling Laura Fikaly for my appointment time because she had the wrong name and the wrong file and the wrong EVERYTHING!!  (cry, cry, cry).  And this was pretty much the state I was in when I finally went back to the exam room.  The nurse took my vitals and I cried and she asked me if I was okay.  "What the fuck is wrong with you people?!  You work in a Cancer Center.  Why are you asking me if I am okay?  Why are you confused that I am crying?!?!  Do you think it might be because I have CANCER!?!?!?!?!"

Ahem.

Enter Doc:  She has heard that I am emotional.  She asks me if I am taking my pain medication and I say I am not in pain anymore, so no I am not, and she says I should probably still take my Valium.

Me: "Point taken.  Now tell me what's going to happen to me next before I rip this room apart."

Pathology results: Cancer cells traveled to only one sentinel node.  This makes it Stage 2.  Cancer cells were also found in two lymph nodes near the tumors, but we don't know if the cancer traveled there or if those nodes were innocent bystanders.  The rest of the breast tissue was clear.  Margins were clear.  And there are three tests for estrogen, progesterone, and HER2 which I don't have a full understanding of yet, but I do remember Doc saying I got the best outcome on those three.  The next step is finding an oncologist who will look at all of the results and recommend treatment, including ordering an Onctoype DX test that will tell us the genetic makeup of my cancer, how likely it is to recur, and whether it will respond to chemo or radiation or other drugs.

Exit Doc.

Enter Social Worker.  "Hello, my name is Sweet Hippy Crazy Hair and I've been called down from the tenth floor because I heard you were having a nervous breakdown in here and I want to let you know that's perfectly normal and having cancer sucks.  Any questions?"

And...scene.

We get the name of an oncologist whose office is twenty steps away and I walk over to make an appointment and her assistant says "She can see you May 20th, is that ok?" 

Me:  "Where am I?  Is this Per Se?  Am I waiting for tickets to the Daily Show?  What makes you think I am going to wait an entire month to see a doctor who is supposed to help me start cancer treatment?  Are you smoking crack?!"

Husband:  "Sweetheart, let's go get you some Valium."


Mom, who was waiting for us in the lobby, couldn't understand what was taking so long so she counted out my Valium pills to determine whether I would notice if one were missing.  Michael started to explain the pathology report to Mom while I fished around in her bag for my drugs.  I popped a little pink pill, sat back and waited for a bit of nirvana to kick in.

When it did, we headed out to see the plastic surgeon to have Baby Tube removed.  I was thankful to be ever so slightly sedated when it came out because it wasn't pleasant (understatement), it hurt, and I didn't care that I said "Fuck" and "Shit." a few times.  I. Did. Not. Care.

And that is Valium.  Nice, huh?  Guess who's about to take another one right now?