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.