Her: "I feel that I wish you would make coffee now."
Him: "I'll make it in just a second."
[Seven minutes elapse as He stares intently at the iPad.]
Her: "I feel that you don't have the same understanding of 'now' as I do."
Him: [realizing the moment is ripe for active listening]
"What I'm hearing is that you want coffee 'now.'"
Her: "You are hearing me correctly."
Him: "What I'm feeling is that you are disappointed in *me* that I have not made coffee now."
Her: "I hear that you are feeling I am disappointed in you. However, I am more disappointed that there is not coffee in my belly."
It's a good thing we are practicing our "active listening" before the wedding.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Monday, February 18, 2013
The shirts are here!
If you've been following along on Twitter or Facebook, you know that I decided to make #teamkristen t-shirts so that friends and family could show support as I went through this little life-detour we call "cancer." I'm not a huge fan of the ubiquitous pink ribbon emblems, so I wanted to make my anti-cancer statement in a more black and white way. This also allows all of my guy friends to sport one without looking as ridiculous as NFL players do throughout the month of October. (Fuchsia cleats, really? Please.)
Not to knock pink....it's just not my style. But these shirts...these are more Kristen - or #teamkristen to be exact. Also? PUNS ARE FUN.
So here they are. There's a mens version and a ladies version. Some of you may end up with a free one -- yes, Dad, yours is free. But if you're across the country or if you just want to throw in $11 to help me cover the costs of the shirts/shipping/etc, I created a little store thingy to help facilitate the Paypal transaction and shipping instructions. You asked, I answered. Now we just see if you guys were kidding....
TA-DAAA! CANCER-FREE OR BUST.
Men's Crew-Neck Tee:
Ladies' V-Neck Tee:
UPDATE 3/28/13:
I have youth sizes now!! Actually, I'm sold out of the XS and am low on S at the moment, but I should be getting more. But here's the shop for that:
Also, if you don't use Paypal or prefer to pay cash or check, feel free to email me via the "Email Me" button on the right.
Not to knock pink....it's just not my style. But these shirts...these are more Kristen - or #teamkristen to be exact. Also? PUNS ARE FUN.
So here they are. There's a mens version and a ladies version. Some of you may end up with a free one -- yes, Dad, yours is free. But if you're across the country or if you just want to throw in $11 to help me cover the costs of the shirts/shipping/etc, I created a little store thingy to help facilitate the Paypal transaction and shipping instructions. You asked, I answered. Now we just see if you guys were kidding....
TA-DAAA! CANCER-FREE OR BUST.
Men's Crew-Neck Tee:
Ladies' V-Neck Tee:
UPDATE 3/28/13:
I have youth sizes now!! Actually, I'm sold out of the XS and am low on S at the moment, but I should be getting more. But here's the shop for that:
Also, if you don't use Paypal or prefer to pay cash or check, feel free to email me via the "Email Me" button on the right.
Friday, February 1, 2013
Forget Next. Fast-forward to Now.
“These are our few live seasons. Let us live them as purely as we can, in the present.”
― Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
I've been remiss. I haven't updated the blog since November. I even left you hanging by titling the last post "Decisions, decisions: Part 1," as if a "Part 2" was to be written soon thereafter. Such a tease, I am. Leading you on...leaving you hanging...
But actually, the real tease is time.
See, I was so easily fooled into believing there would be time to write. I had stories to tell, updates to write, points to make. If I didn't have time now, I would always have tomorrow, or next weekend, or when I got home from work. But time is a tease, and if you don't grab it when you have it in sight it flits away from you.
And so this time, like many others before it, I let the time flit away.
I didn't write the follow-ups. I didn't write about the mastectomy. Or about finding out that the not-quite-cancer had become "real cancer." I didn't write about the wonderful Christmas I had despite the physical pain from the surgery. I didn't write about the amazing friends who fed me, sat with me, laughed with me. I didn't write about the decision to dance in the New Years and post it online for all to see, in an act of defiant alleluia.
Of course, I posted blurbs and blips of all these moments on Twitter and Facebook as they happened in real-time. Yet I failed to take advantage of real time to really write them out.
Flit, flutter, fast-forward to now.
(Or more accurately to two weeks ago.) I learned from my doctor right before New Years that my liver enzyme levels were elevated and that they would need to come down before I could begin chemotherapy for my newly named "Stage 2a" breast cancer. My oncologist felt the elevated levels were most likely due to all of the pain medications I had been taking post-op, so we all assumed they would go back to normal levels in a couple of weeks. I cut out all acetaminophen products. I cut out the booze. I avoided fatty foods. I babied that liver.
And on January 11th, I was re-tested, but this time the enzyme levels were even higher. About a week later and a few days before I was to begin chemo, my stomach sank. I knew something was wrong. I had the overwhelming feeling that things weren't right. A dark cloud entered my brain and wouldn't budge. I teetered between being at peace with whatever storm was headed my way and being scared to death.
On January 22nd, I was headed to my first chemo treatment when I got a call from my oncologist. She was canceling my treatments until we could figure out my liver situation. She ordered a CT scan for that day. I was told "It's extremely unlikely" the cancer would have spread beyond the breast and ONE lymph node (just one!), so I shouldn't worry too much. But the storm cloud was going nowhere, and time - that sneaky seductress - seemed to slow to a snail's pace.
The next morning I received the gut-kicking call from the oncologist: "The CT scan showed multiple lesions on your liver. We need to do some more tests to see if it's cancer." And of course the one time you WANT time to speed up, it slows down. The tests weren't scheduled until a week later. A full-body PET scan was set for Tuesday followed by a liver biopsy on Thursday.
Fast-forward to this week.
The PET scan gave me the best news I had received in a couple of months. "There's no sign of cancer in the lungs, bones, or other lymph areas. We're really pleased and hopeful by these results." Really? Hooray!! Everyone breathed a huge sigh of relief. The Facebook post with the good news got more "likes" than I've ever received. My little Twitter world was full of joyous celebration. But what about the liver? I was told the PET scan wasn't giving us enough information about the liver to really tell, so I still needed the biopsy.
The biopsy went fairly smoothly. I was told the lesions were so small and presented mostly as benign tumors that the radiologist was fairly sure it wasn't cancer. However, the liver was clearly "not right," so they ran a biopsy of the affected tissue to see what was going on even if it wasn't cancer. The thought was that it was an autoimmune disorder or a chronic problem that had gone undetected until now. I was asked if I had time to swing by the doctor's office for more labwork to test for autoimmune issues. "Of course I have time," I said.
Fast-forward to this afternoon.
The oncologist called again - not to tell me what time to come by for the labs, but to tell me "I have some bad news. The pathology report is back. It's metastatic breast cancer." Diffuse liver metastasis from breast cancer to be more precise. In English that means, "pretty fucking hard to treat cancer" and "oh yeah, not curable cancer."
In that moment, time stopped. And then in an instant, felt as though is snapped-to and ran away from me. I lost the time to ask "How does this even happen?" I lost the time to ask "How could we have fixed this before it hit my liver?" I lost the time to ask "Why did I think all of this would be over after the surgery?"
I hung up the phone, and realized everything I had thought about time and my life and my plans were under the wrong premise. The good part isn't next. Next is an illusion like the time that continually flits away from us. The good part is now. Or rather, all we have is now. So we better make it good dammit. FORGET NEXT.
Who knows how many "nexts" we get? One day you may get a call that says you're stuck with the "nows."
So, I can't let time trick me anymore. I'm onto its wily ways. I know I have to take it by its wings and do with it what I can while I have it. Who knows..Maybe that means more writing. At the very least I hope it means a heck of a lot more living.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Decisions, Part 1: Ice, Ice Baby
I've had to make some really big decisions this fall. Weird decisions. Life-changing decisions.
I suppose this is common for anyone facing a recent cancer diagnosis, or any illness for that matter. In my case the decisions started small...like the long list of doctor names -- which ones do I choose? Which ones are the best? Which hospitals are they affiliated with? Male doctor or female doctor? However, they snowballed into decision after decision, each one increasing in size and heft.
Next I was debating bigger decisions such as "lumpectomy or mastectomy?", "single or double?", "genetic testing or no genetic testing?" and "implants or natural reconstruction?" And it's not like I had the luxury of time to figure all of these things out either. But I made each decision one by one, after a little bit of [hastened] soul-searching, rational pros/cons lists, talking to others...and, ultimately, going with - or going back to - my initial gut reactions.
While the decision to have a mastectomy was a very big one, it was one of the easier decisions I had to make. The medical, practical and aesthetic concerns all pointed me to the same decision, which was to remove the affected breast tissue completely. There were other decisions that were harder to reach, as well as ones that had much broader impact on my life...and the lives of others.
One of the major decisions I faced was whether I wanted to take steps to preserve my fertility - that is, freeze my eggs. While I'm blessed to have caught my cancer early enough to prevent the need for chemotherapy (i.e., the cancer has/had not yet broken out of the milk ducts or become invasive cancer), which can cause infertility, and I'm most likely avoiding radiation on account of the mastectomy, I will be placed on a hormone-blocking drug called Tamoxifen for 5 years following my surgery. This drug blocks estrogen, which was fueling the growth of my cancer. It doesn't necessarily rule out my ability to have children, but I am not allowed to become pregnant while taking the drug. And since, I'm theripe old young! vibrant! sexy! age of 35 and still very much want to have children, I had to decide if I wanted to take my chances 5 years from now*or if I wanted to freeze my 35-year old eggs now as insurance for the future.
*Or 2-3 years, if I come off the Tamoxifen temporarily and under guidance to try to conceive naturally. After which, i would go back on the Tamoxifen for another few years.
My gut told me I needed to do it. Boyfriend, friends and family were supportive and all told me I may regret not doing it. Doctors encouraged me to pursue the option, adding that "after all, 35-year old eggs are both greater in number and less risk of complication than 40-year old eggs" and....tickticktickticktick....Yes, I got it. I'm not getting younger. I already heard that annoying alarm clock in my head before all of this. And now someone threw a little cancer on top of the "childless-35yearold-anxiety" and the ticking grew deafening. I had to do it.
With referrals from two of my doctors, my boyfriend Michael & I headed to Reproductive Biology Associates (RBA) of Atlanta for a free consult with Dr. Pavna Brahma to discuss what would be involved in cryoperservation for fertility preservation (costs, etc). I have to admit, I didn't know much about the process at all other than it was expensive and probably not covered by insurance. After a really great meeting with Dr. Brahma I knew much more about the process to make a more informed decision of whether or not I should cryopreserve my eggs. I knew the cost (think used-car prices, but financing is available...also like used cars!). I knew the process (lots of shots and pills followed by an easy surgery). I knew the side effects (think PMS, but worse). And I knew the rates of success (pretty good for my age, decreasing significantly past 35).
However, i had a new decision on my hands...or on our hands, rather. I/We were faced with the decision on whether we wanted to preserve embryos instead of, or in addition to, eggs. Embryos have a higher success rate in the thawing process of cryopreservation than eggs do. So here's the tricky part....Michael and I aren't married. Had we talked about marriage? Yes. Had we talked about our desire to have kids? Yes. With each other?? Yes, silly, yes. However, here we were skipping a couple of steps. All of a sudden, it was on the table to make babies - or as I began to call them, "maybe babies"....and in a very odd way. Or at least "odd" in those "This isn't they way I imagined it," and "Dammit, we're skipping the fun step of this process" kinds of ways.
There were many conversations between the two of us about it...about the costs, about how it differed from how we had dreamed we would create a family, and about what our families would think, too. There was much to consider. We kept coming back to feeling like it was just right. It was what we felt we needed to do. And we - together - were right, so who cares if this particular part of our journey together came somewhat "out of order"?
In the end, we were both really happy - excited, really - about our decision to freeze embryos in addition to my eggs. It felt like the right decision to maximize our medical chances of success, and it felt like the right decision for our future together. I'd like to say that was the last big decision we had to make, but it wasn't. There were more right around the corner. Though, that's all I'll write about for tonight. I'll cover "Decisions, Part 2: On Personhood, Property and Possibility" later.
[As an aside, I can't tell you how many Shake and Bake-Later (TM) jokes i made about our maybe-babies. It was a lot. The Vanilla Ice reference from the title only came to me recently, but you better believe that's what I'm singing every time the maybe-babies' icy storage comes up in conversation. BELIEVE.]
I suppose this is common for anyone facing a recent cancer diagnosis, or any illness for that matter. In my case the decisions started small...like the long list of doctor names -- which ones do I choose? Which ones are the best? Which hospitals are they affiliated with? Male doctor or female doctor? However, they snowballed into decision after decision, each one increasing in size and heft.
Next I was debating bigger decisions such as "lumpectomy or mastectomy?", "single or double?", "genetic testing or no genetic testing?" and "implants or natural reconstruction?" And it's not like I had the luxury of time to figure all of these things out either. But I made each decision one by one, after a little bit of [hastened] soul-searching, rational pros/cons lists, talking to others...and, ultimately, going with - or going back to - my initial gut reactions.
While the decision to have a mastectomy was a very big one, it was one of the easier decisions I had to make. The medical, practical and aesthetic concerns all pointed me to the same decision, which was to remove the affected breast tissue completely. There were other decisions that were harder to reach, as well as ones that had much broader impact on my life...and the lives of others.
One of the major decisions I faced was whether I wanted to take steps to preserve my fertility - that is, freeze my eggs. While I'm blessed to have caught my cancer early enough to prevent the need for chemotherapy (i.e., the cancer has/had not yet broken out of the milk ducts or become invasive cancer), which can cause infertility, and I'm most likely avoiding radiation on account of the mastectomy, I will be placed on a hormone-blocking drug called Tamoxifen for 5 years following my surgery. This drug blocks estrogen, which was fueling the growth of my cancer. It doesn't necessarily rule out my ability to have children, but I am not allowed to become pregnant while taking the drug. And since, I'm the
*Or 2-3 years, if I come off the Tamoxifen temporarily and under guidance to try to conceive naturally. After which, i would go back on the Tamoxifen for another few years.
My gut told me I needed to do it. Boyfriend, friends and family were supportive and all told me I may regret not doing it. Doctors encouraged me to pursue the option, adding that "after all, 35-year old eggs are both greater in number and less risk of complication than 40-year old eggs" and....tickticktickticktick....Yes, I got it. I'm not getting younger. I already heard that annoying alarm clock in my head before all of this. And now someone threw a little cancer on top of the "childless-35yearold-anxiety" and the ticking grew deafening. I had to do it.
With referrals from two of my doctors, my boyfriend Michael & I headed to Reproductive Biology Associates (RBA) of Atlanta for a free consult with Dr. Pavna Brahma to discuss what would be involved in cryoperservation for fertility preservation (costs, etc). I have to admit, I didn't know much about the process at all other than it was expensive and probably not covered by insurance. After a really great meeting with Dr. Brahma I knew much more about the process to make a more informed decision of whether or not I should cryopreserve my eggs. I knew the cost (think used-car prices, but financing is available...also like used cars!). I knew the process (lots of shots and pills followed by an easy surgery). I knew the side effects (think PMS, but worse). And I knew the rates of success (pretty good for my age, decreasing significantly past 35).
However, i had a new decision on my hands...or on our hands, rather. I/We were faced with the decision on whether we wanted to preserve embryos instead of, or in addition to, eggs. Embryos have a higher success rate in the thawing process of cryopreservation than eggs do. So here's the tricky part....Michael and I aren't married. Had we talked about marriage? Yes. Had we talked about our desire to have kids? Yes. With each other?? Yes, silly, yes. However, here we were skipping a couple of steps. All of a sudden, it was on the table to make babies - or as I began to call them, "maybe babies"....and in a very odd way. Or at least "odd" in those "This isn't they way I imagined it," and "Dammit, we're skipping the fun step of this process" kinds of ways.
There were many conversations between the two of us about it...about the costs, about how it differed from how we had dreamed we would create a family, and about what our families would think, too. There was much to consider. We kept coming back to feeling like it was just right. It was what we felt we needed to do. And we - together - were right, so who cares if this particular part of our journey together came somewhat "out of order"?
In the end, we were both really happy - excited, really - about our decision to freeze embryos in addition to my eggs. It felt like the right decision to maximize our medical chances of success, and it felt like the right decision for our future together. I'd like to say that was the last big decision we had to make, but it wasn't. There were more right around the corner. Though, that's all I'll write about for tonight. I'll cover "Decisions, Part 2: On Personhood, Property and Possibility" later.
[As an aside, I can't tell you how many Shake and Bake-Later (TM) jokes i made about our maybe-babies. It was a lot. The Vanilla Ice reference from the title only came to me recently, but you better believe that's what I'm singing every time the maybe-babies' icy storage comes up in conversation. BELIEVE.]
Monday, October 1, 2012
Keeping you a-breast of my news
Where does one begin? When the last five weeks have been a whirlwind of out-of-the-blue news, appointments and heavy-hit-you-in-the-gut decisions, where do you begin?
Many of you already know this news, if you've been following along on social media, but for those who haven't heard the full story yet...where do I begin??
I suppose I start at the beginning.
Five weeks ago, today, I went for my annual "well-woman visit" to make sure all the lady parts were in fine, working order. I went feeling rather proud of myself for not putting off the appointment this year, and I was also pretty happy that this year was the first time it would be co-pay free. (Partisan-aside: Thanks, Obamacare - I liked saving that $25-50!) I went in fully expecting everything to be normal. I'm in good health, a decent weight, no problems that I know of...so no biggie, right?
That's when the doctor -- who, by the way, is on my heroes/heroines list right now -- discovered something "off" on my breast exam. She felt a large ridge of density on the top of my right breast that she didn't feel on the left side. Now, like a long line of females in my family, I have really dense breast tissue and a history of cysts...it's what I like to call my "bumpy boob" condition. Yes - I could probably do a lot about this by adjusting my caffeine consumption, but let's not get extreme here, people. Mama needs her coffee, ok?
Since the ridge felt different than the rest of my "bumps," my doctor suggested I go to a breast clinic on the 4th floor of the building to get an ultrasound "just to rule something more serious out" and "for piece of mind...I'm sure it's nothing." I figured I was already running a little late for work, so I obliged. I headed upstairs and checked in for my ultrasound with a nurse practitioner (NP) at the breast clinic's office. During the ultrasound the NP, Anna, saw some calcifications on the right breast that caused some concern. She pulled in one of the doctors to check it out, as well. They both told me "it could be nothing," but they wanted me to get a mammogram - my first - right away. They said they would most likely want to follow up with a biopsy of the area, so we scheduled one for 2 weeks later.
I ended up having the mammogram the very next day. I can't say it was the most comfortable experience, but everyone was so kind at Piedmont's Breast Center that it really wasn't terrible. I felt a bit like a cow being milked from all angles, but aside from that not bad at all. MOO..........
The radiologist pulled me into her office and confirmed what I already knew - I needed a biopsy to check things out. Despite her grave face, I still wasn't concerned. I'm young! My mom and grandmother have had cysts checked out! That's all it is, right? Bring on the biopsy in 2 weeks. I can pass this test.
Cut to the next morning: I received a call from the NP Anna who had just received the mammography results. She asked me if I would be willing to come in THAT DAY to have the biopsy instead of the appointment two weeks later. Suddenly, I became concerned. Why the rush? Suddenly, my gut told me something wasn't right. At that moment, I knew something was wrong. I tried to tell myself it wasn't anything and to assume the best, but my gut already knew. Something was very wrong with my breast. I agreed, and headed back to Dr. Richardson's office for a core needle biopsy that afternoon.
The biopsy procedure is supposed to be an easy one that takes about 20 minutes. Lordy, was I unprepared. I guess that for many people it's an easy procedure, but mine required the doctor to biopsy two different areas, leaving my whole breast a bruised mess. And when I say "bruised," I mean BRUISED. Bruised like an Offensive Lineman stomped on my chest, cleats and all. Black. Blue. Magenta. Green. And the pain, oh the pain....I couldn't even let a seatbelt touch my chest without wincing. Purse strap? Fuggedaboutit. The next week was a painful blur of sports bras, Arnica gel, the occasional Lortab...and major worries about the results of the biopsy. Was this cancer?
The worst thing about waiting was that it was Labor Day weekend. It was Labor Day weekend, and Michael was out of town. I was alone and anxious. Thankfully, friends and neighbors kept me occupied by taking me on walks, out for coffee, fed me dinner, and laughed with me for hours. I did whatever I could do to stay distracted from the worries.
I also tried to stay off the internet. I failed miserably at that attempt.
"STEP AWAY FROM THE MEDICAL SITES, KRISTEN." I was told this over and over. However, I knew the look on the doctor's face when she told me what she expected the result to be ("I'm not telling you you have cancer. But it really looks like cancer.") I needed to prepare myself for bad news, while hoping to be surprised by good news. Besides, my gut already knew the answer anyway.
I made Michael come home to be with me. It was getting ugly inside my head, and the quiet house amplified the crazy. I needed him more than ever. And bless him, he came home...two weeks before I was supposed to see him again, and two weeks he needed to be in Florida for work... but bless him, he came home.
Tuesday morning, we got the call. My gut was right. I had cancer -- or "pre-cancer" -- or stage zero cancer....technically it's Ductal Carcinoma In Situ (DCIS) Stage 0 with Comedo Necrosis, Grade III. Grade III means it's high-grade, aggressive growth. "In Situ" means it hasn't broken out of the milk ducts into the rest of the breast tissue, which is great news. That's why it is considered "stage zero" and not yet an invasive cancer. This means I don't need chemotherapy, which is also fantastic news. But what it does mean is another surgery. Let me tell you what: That's NOT great news. And that pisses me off something righteously.
After all I have been through in my life, here I was with this new slap in the face -- cancer (sort of)...and another chance to go under a knife. Because, really -- getting hit by a car, breaking my spine, injuring the spinal cord/bladder and almost being paralyzed wasn't enough fun for one lifetime. Nah, let's test those comeback skills again. So yeah -- my reaction to the news was anger. Not sadness. Not self-pity. Not denial. Just some grade-A Anger.
Over the next week, I simmered down a bit and I took a bit of time to process the information. I had an MRI, and the MRI showed no signs of a spread to the lymph nodes. It confirmed the current diagnosis of DCIS-Stage 0, which is, all things considered, good news. We also got results back showing the cancer was 98% ER-positive and 63% PR-positive, which means it's fueled by the hormones estrogen and progesterone. This also means that after surgery we can prevent recurrence with a five-year regimen of hormone-blocking drugs like Tamoxifen. All good news.
Except, you know....the SURGERY.
I'll write more on the surgery updates in later posts, but for now I'll say that my option was pretty much limited to mastectomy due to the nature of the areas affected by DCIS. I'll be facing a single mastectomy and reconstruction surgery later this fall. I've come to terms with that reality, but it doesn't mean I like it. And if I seem matter-of-fact and calm/collected when I talk about it, it doesn't mean I'm OK with all of this. And it doesn't mean I don't have my moments in which I break down crying. But I know this is something I have to face head on or else things can get a lot worse, so a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.
So...in light of the first day of "Breast Cancer Awareness Month," you are all now aware of my breast cancer diagnosis. Is that how that's supposed to work? Or am I just supposed to buy a pink spatula and feel better about all of this? Because quite frankly, I can't "Think Pink" right now. I just "Think This Stinks." But stink or pink, it is what it is..whether I like it or not.
Many of you already know this news, if you've been following along on social media, but for those who haven't heard the full story yet...where do I begin??
I suppose I start at the beginning.
Five weeks ago, today, I went for my annual "well-woman visit" to make sure all the lady parts were in fine, working order. I went feeling rather proud of myself for not putting off the appointment this year, and I was also pretty happy that this year was the first time it would be co-pay free. (Partisan-aside: Thanks, Obamacare - I liked saving that $25-50!) I went in fully expecting everything to be normal. I'm in good health, a decent weight, no problems that I know of...so no biggie, right?
That's when the doctor -- who, by the way, is on my heroes/heroines list right now -- discovered something "off" on my breast exam. She felt a large ridge of density on the top of my right breast that she didn't feel on the left side. Now, like a long line of females in my family, I have really dense breast tissue and a history of cysts...it's what I like to call my "bumpy boob" condition. Yes - I could probably do a lot about this by adjusting my caffeine consumption, but let's not get extreme here, people. Mama needs her coffee, ok?
Since the ridge felt different than the rest of my "bumps," my doctor suggested I go to a breast clinic on the 4th floor of the building to get an ultrasound "just to rule something more serious out" and "for piece of mind...I'm sure it's nothing." I figured I was already running a little late for work, so I obliged. I headed upstairs and checked in for my ultrasound with a nurse practitioner (NP) at the breast clinic's office. During the ultrasound the NP, Anna, saw some calcifications on the right breast that caused some concern. She pulled in one of the doctors to check it out, as well. They both told me "it could be nothing," but they wanted me to get a mammogram - my first - right away. They said they would most likely want to follow up with a biopsy of the area, so we scheduled one for 2 weeks later.
I ended up having the mammogram the very next day. I can't say it was the most comfortable experience, but everyone was so kind at Piedmont's Breast Center that it really wasn't terrible. I felt a bit like a cow being milked from all angles, but aside from that not bad at all. MOO..........
The radiologist pulled me into her office and confirmed what I already knew - I needed a biopsy to check things out. Despite her grave face, I still wasn't concerned. I'm young! My mom and grandmother have had cysts checked out! That's all it is, right? Bring on the biopsy in 2 weeks. I can pass this test.
Cut to the next morning: I received a call from the NP Anna who had just received the mammography results. She asked me if I would be willing to come in THAT DAY to have the biopsy instead of the appointment two weeks later. Suddenly, I became concerned. Why the rush? Suddenly, my gut told me something wasn't right. At that moment, I knew something was wrong. I tried to tell myself it wasn't anything and to assume the best, but my gut already knew. Something was very wrong with my breast. I agreed, and headed back to Dr. Richardson's office for a core needle biopsy that afternoon.
The biopsy procedure is supposed to be an easy one that takes about 20 minutes. Lordy, was I unprepared. I guess that for many people it's an easy procedure, but mine required the doctor to biopsy two different areas, leaving my whole breast a bruised mess. And when I say "bruised," I mean BRUISED. Bruised like an Offensive Lineman stomped on my chest, cleats and all. Black. Blue. Magenta. Green. And the pain, oh the pain....I couldn't even let a seatbelt touch my chest without wincing. Purse strap? Fuggedaboutit. The next week was a painful blur of sports bras, Arnica gel, the occasional Lortab...and major worries about the results of the biopsy. Was this cancer?
The worst thing about waiting was that it was Labor Day weekend. It was Labor Day weekend, and Michael was out of town. I was alone and anxious. Thankfully, friends and neighbors kept me occupied by taking me on walks, out for coffee, fed me dinner, and laughed with me for hours. I did whatever I could do to stay distracted from the worries.
I also tried to stay off the internet. I failed miserably at that attempt.
"STEP AWAY FROM THE MEDICAL SITES, KRISTEN." I was told this over and over. However, I knew the look on the doctor's face when she told me what she expected the result to be ("I'm not telling you you have cancer. But it really looks like cancer.") I needed to prepare myself for bad news, while hoping to be surprised by good news. Besides, my gut already knew the answer anyway.
I made Michael come home to be with me. It was getting ugly inside my head, and the quiet house amplified the crazy. I needed him more than ever. And bless him, he came home...two weeks before I was supposed to see him again, and two weeks he needed to be in Florida for work... but bless him, he came home.
Tuesday morning, we got the call. My gut was right. I had cancer -- or "pre-cancer" -- or stage zero cancer....technically it's Ductal Carcinoma In Situ (DCIS) Stage 0 with Comedo Necrosis, Grade III. Grade III means it's high-grade, aggressive growth. "In Situ" means it hasn't broken out of the milk ducts into the rest of the breast tissue, which is great news. That's why it is considered "stage zero" and not yet an invasive cancer. This means I don't need chemotherapy, which is also fantastic news. But what it does mean is another surgery. Let me tell you what: That's NOT great news. And that pisses me off something righteously.
After all I have been through in my life, here I was with this new slap in the face -- cancer (sort of)...and another chance to go under a knife. Because, really -- getting hit by a car, breaking my spine, injuring the spinal cord/bladder and almost being paralyzed wasn't enough fun for one lifetime. Nah, let's test those comeback skills again. So yeah -- my reaction to the news was anger. Not sadness. Not self-pity. Not denial. Just some grade-A Anger.
Over the next week, I simmered down a bit and I took a bit of time to process the information. I had an MRI, and the MRI showed no signs of a spread to the lymph nodes. It confirmed the current diagnosis of DCIS-Stage 0, which is, all things considered, good news. We also got results back showing the cancer was 98% ER-positive and 63% PR-positive, which means it's fueled by the hormones estrogen and progesterone. This also means that after surgery we can prevent recurrence with a five-year regimen of hormone-blocking drugs like Tamoxifen. All good news.
Except, you know....the SURGERY.
I'll write more on the surgery updates in later posts, but for now I'll say that my option was pretty much limited to mastectomy due to the nature of the areas affected by DCIS. I'll be facing a single mastectomy and reconstruction surgery later this fall. I've come to terms with that reality, but it doesn't mean I like it. And if I seem matter-of-fact and calm/collected when I talk about it, it doesn't mean I'm OK with all of this. And it doesn't mean I don't have my moments in which I break down crying. But I know this is something I have to face head on or else things can get a lot worse, so a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.
So...in light of the first day of "Breast Cancer Awareness Month," you are all now aware of my breast cancer diagnosis. Is that how that's supposed to work? Or am I just supposed to buy a pink spatula and feel better about all of this? Because quite frankly, I can't "Think Pink" right now. I just "Think This Stinks." But stink or pink, it is what it is..whether I like it or not.
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