Did she just say, "cancer"???

After a full hysterectomy at a rather young age, I began taking hormone replacement therapy. Hormone replacement therapy which is suspected to be the cause of my breast cancer. My doctor at the time said that I should begin getting annual mammograms to establish a baseline and increase the chances of noticing changes early on. Thank God for that simple suggestion, this doctor may just have saved my life.

Eight years later, when I received the call saying my mammogram was abnormal, I knew something was wrong. The nurse assured me that this happens some time, and there was nothing to worry about. They simply wanted to do another mammogram to ensure there wasn’t an issue. But I somehow knew that this wasn’t going to be the case. My instincts told me this was more than “a precaution” and my instincts were right, they always are…..

After a second mammogram at the local clinic, and confirmed “suspicious” results, my doctor sent me to a breast specialist for a biopsy. The biopsy experience was, ahem…, uncomfortable. I was face down on a table with my breast through an opening. I was given a local anesthetic to numb the area, and the medical team went to work. The medical staff worked from underneath me to locate the area of concern via a mammogram and then extract a sample of tissue for the biopsy using a large needle. After the doctor was satisfied with the sample taken, she left the room, and the nurse bandaged me up. She applied pressure to the area for several minutes to stop the bleeding and sent me home with instructions to ice the area and not lift anything heavy for a few days. I was sore, the area was swollen, and I was nervous. Very nervous.

My follow up appointment, to receive the biopsy results, was on Valentine’s Day. My husband and I made the hour-long journey to the oncologist’s office first thing that morning. Anxiety was high while we waited for her to enter the exam room. When she arrived, she was carrying a binder. Oh, if I had only known that a binder was a bad sign… A similar binder was given to every patient diagnosed with cancer. It contained a planner to track appointments, reference information, contact information for my new medical team (surgical oncologist, medical oncologist, plastic surgeon, and radiologist), a place for business cards, and several other tabs. It would accompany me to every appointment for at least the next year. My husband later became the keeper of the binder. He tracked the appointments, the notes from the doctors, and the business cards for everyone we met with.

When the oncologist spoke, she said the results showed cancer. My world stopped. Did she just say what I think she said??? As cliché as it sounds, other people get cancer, not me. You never think it will happen to you. Until it does. I would require surgery, radiation, and 5 years of medications to minimize the chance of reoccurrence in addition to an MRI (to check my lymph nodes) and blood work for genetic testing. The good news was the cancer was caught early, treatable, survivable. All of these facts, numbers, and new appointments were blurred as she spoke, I’m not sure I heard much after the word cancer. Thankfully my husband was with me, he remembered far more of the appointment than I did after we left. When we were done talking to the doctor, I was in tears but holding it in the best I could, until we reached the hallway. There was a spot off to the side that seemed semi hidden from view, I stepped over there and lost it. My husband held me as I cried. I was in disbelief and terrified; he was too. After taking several minutes to compose myself we made our way out of the clinic and to the car. It was a cool day, sunny and beautiful but it felt cold and lonely. People were coming and going in the parking lot. How were people just going about their days as if my world didn’t just come to a crashing halt? How was I going to handle the decisions I knew were coming: Mastectomy? Lumpectomy? Reconstruction? Medication? How was I going to explain this to my son without causing him to worry? How was I going to do any of this? I didn’t want to do this, but I also knew I didn’t have a choice. The next few weeks were, and still are, a blur. Doctor’s appointments, sometimes three in a day, became the norm. Blood work, imaging, and consultations. I am so thankful to have had my husband there with me at all of those early appointments. I highly recommend to any newly diagnosed person that a trusted friend or relative accompany them to their appointments. Emotions will be running high and there will be boat loads of information to take in. Decisions will need to be made, and you will second guess every single one of them. Repeatedly. Let your doctors guide you, but ultimately the choices are yours. Your life, your journey. Follow your gut, do your research, speak with your doctors, ask all your questions, then follow your heart. No one else can decide what is right for you. But whatever you decide, you can do it! You are so much stronger than you think!

The genetic testing came back negative for the gene. That was good news but also confusing, so what caused this cancer to develop? It could be environmental, it could be the hormone therapy (which is what we suspect), or it could be a million other possibilities. The fact remained that it’s here and needs to be dealt with. The MRI showed the cancer had not yet spread to my lymph nodes. That was also good news! No lymph nodes would be removed during surgery, only the tissue of concern.

The plastic surgeon and the surgical oncologist needed answers that I wasn’t prepared to give. Lumpectomy or mastectomy? Reconstruction? What size do you want to be after the surgery (A cup, C cup…)? Who knew that you could just pick what size you wanted to be?? I guess it makes sense but it never occurred to me to be prepared for that question. I would joke with my husband that not a single doctor I saw for more than six months didn’t start the visit with “please take your shirt off”. (Got to laugh about something right?) All too quickly, and yet somehow not quick enough, the surgery date was scheduled and the waiting period began. The plastic surgeon and surgical oncologist had coordinated their schedules in order to do the lumpectomy and reconstruction during the same surgery. As the day grew closer, the anxiety grew as well. I wanted to turn and run. Run from this surgery. Run from the cancer. Run from the treatments that would follow. But that wasn’t an option. I had to stay and fight. For me. For my family. For my future. Cancer could not win, so I chose to fight! I still choose to fight, every day. You can too! Being diagnosed with cancer is one of the scariest things I have ever faced. I wasn’t given a choice, same as so many others that have to face a similar journey. But it can be done. There are patients becoming survivors every single day. Survivor – I want to be a survivor!