MRI

 

I parked my car in the south garage, and as I was walking I felt like I owned the place.  I feel like I've been to so many parts of this hospital: the cancer center, mother-baby, labor and delivery, women's imaging center, radiology, outpatient check-in, etc.  I realized I'm definitely in fight mode now.  I haven't cried since Thursday, and as I walked in to the hospital it felt like I was going to work. 

There was no mystery in today, but I was not looking forward to today.  I hated my MRI last time, so I knew what I was in for.  Last time my face fell asleep in the face cradle, my arms were too high and REALLY fell asleep, and I was so paranoid my breathing was going to be too deep that I'd move and ruin the pictures. 

I was walked to a dressing room where I had to put on the classic open front, pink top and blue scrub pants that are approximately 10 sizes too large for me. 

Rock on.

I filled out some paperwork and was taken back pretty quickly.  There's no dietary restrictions or fasting orders, but I know my veins are hard for folks to find, so I made sure to drink a ton of water this morning to help us both out.  The tech took a little while to find my vein, but we were successful! 

I got situated on the table laying on my stomach.  It's basically like laying on a table for a massage, with the addition of holes for your breasts.  They told me I'd be in there for 30 minutes.  After 20 minutes they would administer the contrast dye, which would happen through the tube they had hooked up to the vein in my arm.  They also gave me a little squeeze ball to squeeze in case I needed anything.  They backed the table back into the tube and we were off.  I tried to just breath normally and not stress about it much. 

Anyone who knows me well knows I'm an HSP (Highly Sensitive Person).  Eric thinks I made this up, but I swear it's legit!  Here's a little glimpse: http://hsperson.com/  Needless to say, the noise was not my favorite.  I was trying to figure out a way to describe the sound.  Imagine you're stuck in a Pac Man arcade game, at a rave, and later a helicopter comes to save you.  That's what it sounds like.

I kept my eyes closed the whole time, and I'll admit, towards the end I think I drifted off a bit.  And then, it was over!  My arms didn't fall asleep this time, and my face only fell asleep a little bit.  And just like that, I was back in real clothes and out the door.  Bing, bang, boom.

I'm excited for tomorrow morning.  I'll meet with my oncologist, Dr. U, and then my breast surgeon, Dr. G.  I just want a plan and a timeline.  I've been at work scheduling meetings and events for weeks from now, and I feel like I have to add an asterisk to it all wondering if I can follow through.  I hate that feeling.  I just want to get this party started and tear it up.  Tomorrow I'll find out how to start. 

PET Scan

Today was a great day!!  Today for me was a pivotal one, as the PET Scan would tell us if and where the cancer has spread, and if so, to where.  Last night I wasn't allowed to eat any carbs or sugar, so I had chicken breast and cauliflower.  Also, I was supposed to fast before the test, and the appointment wasn't until 1:00.  Yikes!  Anyone who knows me knows I love my food.  But I tried to think about those who regularly don't eat for long periods of time because of different circumstances and because they don't have a choice.  I decided to suck it up and quit being such a baby. 

I went to work in the morning and headed over to the hospital in the afternoon.  I wasn't 100% sure of what to expect, but I read the directions and imagined I'd be sitting in a room watching TV.  I was right! 

I checked in and then a radiologist took me back and she explained what would happen.  She first had to find a vein of mine (a difficult feat on my body) and finally got it.  Then she injected small traces of radioactive material so that the machine could trace it.  It felt cold and slightly odd.  The radioactive material needed to take an hour to get through my system, so I sat in a large, reclining chair, and she gave me a warm blanket, a remote for the tv, and some water.  Not too shabby!!

 

Another perk was that I didn't have to wear one of those oversized pink gowns!  I just got to wear my regular clothes!  After an hour, they had me go to the bathroom and then I went to the room with the PET Scanner.  It was a slightly dimmed room, but the ceiling had a scene of a blue sky with trees as if you were laying on a field looking up.  I laid on a long, skinny bed, and the tech put a pillow under my knees and a blanket on top.  She also asked me to place my arms over my head.  The table went through a large tunnel.  She said I would go in and out twice, and then I'd go through slowly once, and it would all last about 20 minutes.  It went by pretty quickly!

 

Afterwards, she took me to a room and gave me some juice and Goldfish crackers and I was a happy camper.  I looked at my phone and discovered Eric and my dad had both come to meet me.  I told them I wanted to take a minute to talk to the social worker about how to best tell Julia.  I will do a separate post about Julia, but for now we're waiting until after Tuesday's meeting when we know the treatment plan.  I told Eric and my dad that I needed carbs and sugar since that's what I couldn't eat, so off we went to Noodles and Co. and Cold Stone!

 

 

Happy once again.

 

Afterwards I went to pick Julia up from school as I normally would.  I'm trying to keep her routine as normal as possible now.  It wasn't until I was in the car that I noticed I had a message from Jill, my nurse navigator.  I listened to it and she already had the results of the PET Scan, which were negative!!!!  PRAISE GOD!  This means that the cancer isn't active anywhere else in my body, and that it's localized in my breast.  That's HUGE!!!

 

I'm so happy and relieved to hear that news, and it makes me feel re-energized.  This isn't to say that I don't have a long road ahead still, but it makes me feel like it's manageable.  I honestly thought in my heart of hearts that it had spread to other parts of my body, so this news is so great to me.  I'm honestly kind of shocked, but I'll take it!  Little victories!  (Although this one feels pretty big.) 

 

Julia and I praying before bed.  We thanked God for good news.

Now, my goal is to enjoy the weekend!  Let's do this!



Preparing for Battle

I definitely stayed busy over the weekend waiting for my results.  I was pretty calm, and Julia would periodically ask to see my "ouchie."  "Can I see your ouchie?  Can I touch it politely?"

Once Monday rolled around, I clung to my phone like a 12 year old girl, waiting for "the call."  Eric texted me at 1:50, "Did you hear anything, yet?" I replied, "Not yet."  At 2:11, the phone rang.  It was my breast surgeon, Dr. G.  She asked how I was doing.  I told her I was sore over the weekend but this morning I got my range of motion back.  As I was explaining, I knew it must not be good news since she was the one calling me.  I was right. 

She told me they found abnormal cells, and that this was new cancer, not leftover from last time.  I had to wait for the full pathology report tomorrow, because when they find abnormal cells they have to go for further analysis.  Also, that the cancer team meets every week to talk about cases (I remembered from last time) and that they would talk about me tomorrow morning.  I would get a call from Jill, my nurse navigator, in an hour to schedule meetings with Dr. G and Dr. U, my medical oncologist, and at that meeting we'd come up with our game plan. 

She also told me that I need to mentally prepare myself because they were going to be especially aggressive because we don't want this happening a third time, and that this shouldn't be happening in the first place, as the chance of recurrence after a bilateral mastectomy is less than 1-2%.  (I guess I'm special.  Maybe I should think about buying a lottery ticket...)  But in that sentence, I felt like she was essentially telling me to armor up and get ready to go to battle. 

I love me some Katniss Everdeen

I hung up the phone and immediately felt the urgency to go talk to my boss (who knew what was going on).  I went into her office and she was talking to our former Executive Director who now oversees U.S. programs.  I said, "Oh sorry, I'll come back."  But she stopped me and gave me this anticipatory look and asked if I heard back.  I told her I had and just shook my head yes.  I saw both their faces drop with disappointment running over them.  They ran over to me and wrapped me in their arms and I just started crying. 

After a few minutes we sat down and the first words that came out of my mouth were, "I'm so annoyed."  They laughed.  I know the first two stages of grief are denial and anger.  I skipped denial and went to anger, but I didn't then, and still don't, feel anger.  It's like a lesser form and more just this feeling of annoyance like when you're at a BBQ and a fly keeps swarming around your head and plate of food.  Would you just go away and leave me alone??



Image courtesy of phrase mix

I decided I would tell Eric after Julia was in bed so we could just have a focused conversation.  I felt like he experienced denial and anger all at once.  It was pretty fascinating to witness.  My parents came over later, and the four of us just talked about next steps and how we were feeling. 

Tuesday I got a call from Jill.  She was my nurse navigator last time so it's been nice to at least be familiar with folks, and that it's not all brand new territory.  She told me that the pathology report came back and that it's Invasive Ductal Carcinoma (IDC).  Last time I had Ductal Carcinoma In Situ (DCIS).  The difference between invasive and noninvasive cancer is that noninvasive is constrained within the milk ducts, whereas invasive has spread beyond that and into the breast tissue. 

She also said that they were still waiting on one piece of the pathology report which is the status of the HER2 protein.  Finally, the team wants me to have a PET Scan to see if the cancer has spread and to where.  She also said the couldn't officially give me a stage until we got the results of the HER2 and PET scan.  (Side note: I found out I'm HER2 negative, which is a good thing!)  Unofficially though, because it's invasive but due to the tumor's small size (about the size of a pea) I'm at a Stage 1.  But again, we have to wait for more results. 

Wednesday was a logistical chess game.  There was a lot of back and forth but my marathon of appointments begins:
Friday-PET Scan
Monday- MRI
Tuesday- Meet with Dr. U (medical oncologist) and then with Dr. G (breast surgeon)

It sounds like all treatments (chemotherapy, hormone therapy, surgery, radiation) are on the table.  It's a matter of what these appointments bring, and the game plan will be decided on Tuesday. 

These last few days have been emotionally draining because I've been telling so many people.  Tuesday I just wanted to sleep.  I was so tired.  I've cried so many times.  I'm definitely more scared this time around.  It's more serious.  Julia's older (3...a smart 3 year old) and I need to talk to her and explain what I can.

I was driving on Tuesday and I was recalling how last time things moved so quickly and I didn't get a chance to process much.  This time around I think I need to try to be present, and do some check-ins with myself to process what's happening.  Things are already moving so quickly and I need to mentally pump the breaks sometimes. 

As I reflect though, I feel so lucky to have had to spend such a long amount of time telling people of all walks of life.  I felt so supported last time, and certain relationships have deepened since 2 years ago, and I already feel the warmth and love and prayers of so many.

I keep reminding myself that God never gives us anything he doesn't think we can carry.  I am definitely scared, but also calm.  I feel like my body and my mind are in a state of rest as I get ready for this next battle.  I'm gearing up for fight and survival mode.  That battle starts Friday.  Let's go.

Photo courtesy of Marie Andersson

A Lump

Nearly two weeks ago, I was walking down the hall at work with two of my co-workers, and I just happened to touch my chest as I was walking.  There it was.  A lump.  Probably about the size of a pebble.  Hard.  Towards the top of my chest.  I asked my co-workers, "Do you feel this?"  They touched it and could.  The first time around I never had a lump, so I have no basis for comparison.  A few hours later I called my breast surgeon and made an appointment.  The earliest they could take me was a week and a half later. 

Initially I wasn't too worried, but then as my appointment drew nearer, I started to stress out.  What if it's cancer again?  I'd most certainly have to do chemotherapy, and I dodged that bullet the first time.  I don't know that I'd be that lucky twice.  And for those wondering why and how you can get breast cancer again locally after a mastectomy, it is possible because even though they try, they can't get every single piece of breast tissue, so you do have a little left. 

Today I spent 4 hours at Edwards Hospital, but I'm grateful I got to get everything done all at once.  My appointment with Dr. G went well.  She felt the lump right away and said she didn't think it felt like cancer.  She had an ultrasound machine in her office and took a look.  She said there was definitely something there, but she wasn't 100% sure of what it was with that machine.  So she made a call and said to go to the women's imaging center to get an ultrasound with doppler, and then I may need a biopsy. 

I was grateful that they agreed to squeeze me in to do all of those things in one day at the last minute, versus me doing each next week and waiting longer.  I sat in the waiting room watching day time tv.  I was by myself for a bit, but then a few women entered.  It was such a warm, supportive environment.  We each told our stories, why we were there, and every time one of us got called back we wished them good luck.  It was also interesting having already gone through it once, and each of them hoping they wouldn't be next.  All of us in our oversized pink robes, wishing, hoping, praying.

By the time I was called for my biopsy, I had been waiting so long that I was almost startled by the room.  I forgot what it was like.  A biopsy is like a mini-operation.  They announce your name to the nurses and doctor to say your name and the procedure happening. I had four people in my room.  The oncologist, ultra sound tech, and two nurses.  Man I love those women.  They are so sweet and comforting.  One just pats your leg kind of cheering you on, and the other just holds your hand.  The ultrasound tech was there because instead of my last biopsy where you lay face down on a table, I did it with an ultrasound so they could see exactly what they're doing live, especially because I have my implant. 

 

 

They put sterilized towels around my breast and had me turn my head so I was looking at the ultrasound screen.  They were going to give me a shot of local anesthesia and said that's what would hurt the most.  It's supposed to take effect pretty quickly, so he started inserting the needle to start taking samples.  The problem was I could feel it.  I squeezed the nurses hand and they said, "Can you feel that?" I told them I could, so they did more anesthetic.  He tried again.  I winced and squeezed the nurses hand again.  "Can you feel that?" they asked.  I couldn't answer, and the nurse holding my hand said, "She's squeezing my hand really hard, she can feel it."  And then I started crying.  Ugh!  I try to be a trooper during these things but it hurt so bad.  The oncologist said, "Are you crying because it hurts or because your scared?" I told him because it hurt.  But honestly, it was probably a little of both.  As I was laying there I couldn't believe I was doing this again.  Why am I here again?

 

He gave me more anesthetic and then was able to proceed.  It was so odd being able to see the needles go in on the screen.  He ended up taking 6 samples and said they were good ones.  When he was through, he said he feels there is a great chance that it's benign and to not worry over the weekend, and that I'd get my results on Monday or Tuesday. 

 

The nurses put steri-strips on the incision location, then told me I can't lift anything heavy for 3 days, and that tonight I need to ice the location for 15 minutes every hour.  She also told me to take Tylenol when I get home to get ahead of the pain so that when the numbing wears off, I already have it in my system. 

 

I have to say.  I felt so stupid afterwards.  I got in the car and thought to myself, "What was I thinking?"  I was planning on going to Meijer afterwards to grocery shop and just go on with my day.  I often times forget that I'm not invincible.  And it's fascinating at how easily that reminder can quickly slap you in the face. 

 

So home I went.  I pulled in and there was Eric and Julia waiting outside.  Julia ran up to me and we hugged.  It was so gorgeous out so we went to hang out in the backyard.  I took the Tylenol first, and then got an ice pack to start that process.  Julia was not happy.

 

Julia is always very protective of me and hates when I'm sick or not 100%.  I came to sit on the back stoop, and as soon as she spotted that ice pack, she started crying.  Our conversation went something like this:

 

J: Mommy!  Put the ice pack away!

M: Honey, I need it because I got an ouchie and the doctor wants me to put it on so I feel better.

J: Well, I don't want you to have the ice pack.  Put it back!  Are you sick??

M:  Well, I got the ouchie so that the doctor can find out if I'm sick or not.  I have to have this ice pack on today and I can't pick you up this weekend.  But I'll be ok.  It's just for a little bit.

J: Let me see your ouchie.

Julia worrying.

 

Each time I had the ice pack out, we had some version of that conversation.  And while she wanted me to pick her up at times, she would settle for sitting on my lap.  It made me think, based upon my doctor's predictions, I'm not too worried about the outcome.  But on the off chance that it does turn out to be cancer again, I'm so scared about what it would do to Julia.  The first time around, she was 1.5.  Looking back, she was a baby.  Now she's almost 3.5, the girl is stinking smart, and she definitely knows what's going on.  If this is how she reacts to a little ice pack, I'm nervous as to what her reaction would be if we have to move forward with anything more. 

 

For today, it's over.  I'm definitely sore, but it could be worse.  I'm grateful to my doctors and nurses for getting me taken care of, for good conversation in the waiting room, for supportive family and friends, and for sun and warmth today.  I plan on enjoying the weekend and what it brings, and work is definitely keeping me busy, so Monday and Tuesday won't leave me much time to worry.  I'm grateful to all those who have been praying, sending good vibes, and speaking kind words.  I appreciate it more than you know.