My son came to visit me the weekend before last. It was a wonderful visit, but he didn't feel well when he arrived, and by the time he left, he was all-out sick with the flu. I didn't want him to drive home in that condition, but he insisted he had to get home to his own bed. I rarely get the "crud," no, I just get something silly like cancer, but by last Wednesday I thought I was dying. God, what an awful bug. I was laid up for two days; I think it would have been worse had I not had a flu shot, because Taylor was sick much longer.
I was pretty freaked out by the whole thing, because the plan is still moving forward to have my port-catheter put in Friday morning, followed by my first "blast" of chemo. If you're sick, they won't start, and I am ready to get the show on the road. As of today it sounds like my sweetie has it now. Poor guy.
I see the medical oncologist, Dr. Kaplan tomorrow, and they will take some blood and make sure I'm okay to go. The port-cath deal is surgery, so they will have to knock me out.
In the meantime, I looked at wigs last weekend, and had them order one I liked in a color closer to my own. If I don't like it, I'm not obligated, which is very cool. The ladies at this place, Hair Options, are really nice and work with great deal of cancer patients. It's sort of a bob, like I used to wear my hair, only a little longer. Hey, I may as well have some fun with this!
I'm more than a little freaked out about the port. I know they said it wouldn't show - my concern is just that I'll have this foreign object in my body. I don't know why, but it totally grosses me out. I can't even imagine having, say, a pacemaker. OH! Speaking of hearts, mine is super strong. I had a mugascan which checks your heart to make sure it can handle the chemo, and they said I have the heart of an athlete!
One more thing....I went to a "get started" meeting last night about "The Three Day," a huge fundraiser for the Susan G. Komen Foundation. I didn't realize the scope of the event. It's huge! In addition to walking 10 miles each day over three days, you have to raise at least $2,300. It looks like a lot of fun, but I've decided to do it next year as a survivor, as I just don't think I can handle the additional stress right now of fund raising on top of the job and treatment. I know some women were in the same boat, but were going for it anyway. But I know my limits, and being the perfectionist that I am I'll freak if I don't make the goal. So, I'll wait.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Cancer is a full time job
Gads, what a week. Monday I met with Dr. Beatty, officially now, my surgical oncologist. He's fabulous. I've decided to go forward with neoadjuvant therapy, which means, the chemotherapy will come first, before any surgery. I've also decided to participate in the I-Spy-2 protocol, also called a trial, or clinical study. I've always felt I haven't done enough for mankind, or in this case womankind, so if I can help find a cure by being a guinea pig, why not? What it means to me also, is in addition to the standard care, which is top-drawer at Swedish, I get extra attention because I'm involved in the trial. And get this - I just found this out yesterday from Barry (my new best friend - he's Dr. Kaplan's nurse oncologist and one of the two main coordinators for I-Spy-2 in Seattle) - I'm the first one in Seattle to be chosen for the study! So, I'm sort of a rock star! The reason is because 1.) a have a very large tumor that hasn't spread to other parts of my body, which seemingly came out of nowhere, and 2.) my markers (HER2neu positive, and ER, PR positive) are exactly what they are looking for in a candidate for the study. So, they're all over me like white on rice!
Tuesday was awful. Eight hours with doctors and/or techs of some sort. The morning started out at 7:30 - with no coffee or food - for the dreaded PET scan. Once again I had to drink gurp. I hate that shit so bad. Gives you gas and makes you poop like a goose all day. The PET is fascinating however. The machine reads every freaking cell in your body. Amazing. Everything is fine, no cancer anywhere else. From the PET I met with Dr. Kaplan, my medical oncologist, the one I love so much (he's got this whole Marcus Welby M.D. thing going on - he is so sweet, and highly respected - again, rock star). We talked about I-Spy, I met Barry, all good. Then I had to go back to First Hill Diagnostics for another ultrasound, this time on my right breast, just to be sure there was absolutely nothing there. Well, there's not, but the breast MRI did find another tiny spot in my left breast, the one with the big tumor. This one is the size of a pea, seriously. So, this absolutely wonderful Dr. Porter did a biopsy on that one. He's internationally known for breast imaging - I'm not kidding. He's another rock star! I watched on the ultrasound screen as he did it - kind of creepy, but again fascinating, because he had to be really precise to get a sample of that dude, and he got it perfectly. It was painless until he had to put a clip in, to mark where they took the sample, and that made me cry a little bit.
So, yesterday I saw Barry and Dr. Kaplan again, for bloodwork and yet another biopsy for the I-Spy trial. The trial pays for those, because they are in addition to standard care. This time it was a doctor Parikh who took the samples - five all told, from the big tumor - and he was great, too. Didn't hardly feel a thing. However, from two biopsy's in two days, old lefty looks like it's been in a bar fight!!
Today and tomorrow I'm off the hook, thank God. I need to get some work done! And, my little darling, Taylor, is coming to see me this weekend! He will get to meet Brad, which should be interesting.
Monday, I go back to First Hill Diagnostics for another breast MRI to document the clips, then I have a Mugascan, which will check my heart thoroughly to be sure I'm ready for chemo, then a pre-op regarding insertion of a port for the chemo. It will be under my skin in my upper chest, and they say no one will even know it's there. Beatty will put that in. Then, if all goes as planned chemo starts March 25. Am I scared? Yes, but I want to kill this son-of-a-bitch.
My chemo will be once a week for 12 weeks. After that it moves to every 3 weeks for another 12 weeks. Along the way, there will be numerous tests to see how I'm doing. After chemo, assuming this works and the big tumor shrinks, Dr. Beatty will pluck it out, then I'll have to undergo radiation to kill any leftover cancer cells.
I will lose my hair. It's a given. It pisses me off because it looks so pretty now, but I found out yesterday my insurance covers 70 percent of a wig, because it's considered a prosthetic! Yay! One nurse sort of pissed me off yesterday. I heard that you're not supposed to cut your nails during chemo. Chemo compromises your immune system, so you have to be really careful not to cut yourself or be near sick people. So, I asked her, and she said that wasn't true. So, I asked her if it was okay then to keep getting my nails done while in chemo, and she was real snippy with me, went and asked Dr. Kaplan, and came back and said no. I explained to her that my nails are not acrylic, which I know is toxic, they are gel. She dismissed the conversation as unimportant, and I said, look, I'm going to lose my hair, can't I at least have my nails done? She started blabbing again and I just walked away. Christina, my lovely nail tech, is not going to cut me. She hasn't yet. And I saw her last night, and she does plenty of nails on cancer patients. So fuck the bitchy nurse with dishwater blonde hair and ugly nails! I'm a girl, and would like to maintain some dignity throughout this ordeal!
Tuesday was awful. Eight hours with doctors and/or techs of some sort. The morning started out at 7:30 - with no coffee or food - for the dreaded PET scan. Once again I had to drink gurp. I hate that shit so bad. Gives you gas and makes you poop like a goose all day. The PET is fascinating however. The machine reads every freaking cell in your body. Amazing. Everything is fine, no cancer anywhere else. From the PET I met with Dr. Kaplan, my medical oncologist, the one I love so much (he's got this whole Marcus Welby M.D. thing going on - he is so sweet, and highly respected - again, rock star). We talked about I-Spy, I met Barry, all good. Then I had to go back to First Hill Diagnostics for another ultrasound, this time on my right breast, just to be sure there was absolutely nothing there. Well, there's not, but the breast MRI did find another tiny spot in my left breast, the one with the big tumor. This one is the size of a pea, seriously. So, this absolutely wonderful Dr. Porter did a biopsy on that one. He's internationally known for breast imaging - I'm not kidding. He's another rock star! I watched on the ultrasound screen as he did it - kind of creepy, but again fascinating, because he had to be really precise to get a sample of that dude, and he got it perfectly. It was painless until he had to put a clip in, to mark where they took the sample, and that made me cry a little bit.
So, yesterday I saw Barry and Dr. Kaplan again, for bloodwork and yet another biopsy for the I-Spy trial. The trial pays for those, because they are in addition to standard care. This time it was a doctor Parikh who took the samples - five all told, from the big tumor - and he was great, too. Didn't hardly feel a thing. However, from two biopsy's in two days, old lefty looks like it's been in a bar fight!!
Today and tomorrow I'm off the hook, thank God. I need to get some work done! And, my little darling, Taylor, is coming to see me this weekend! He will get to meet Brad, which should be interesting.
Monday, I go back to First Hill Diagnostics for another breast MRI to document the clips, then I have a Mugascan, which will check my heart thoroughly to be sure I'm ready for chemo, then a pre-op regarding insertion of a port for the chemo. It will be under my skin in my upper chest, and they say no one will even know it's there. Beatty will put that in. Then, if all goes as planned chemo starts March 25. Am I scared? Yes, but I want to kill this son-of-a-bitch.
My chemo will be once a week for 12 weeks. After that it moves to every 3 weeks for another 12 weeks. Along the way, there will be numerous tests to see how I'm doing. After chemo, assuming this works and the big tumor shrinks, Dr. Beatty will pluck it out, then I'll have to undergo radiation to kill any leftover cancer cells.
I will lose my hair. It's a given. It pisses me off because it looks so pretty now, but I found out yesterday my insurance covers 70 percent of a wig, because it's considered a prosthetic! Yay! One nurse sort of pissed me off yesterday. I heard that you're not supposed to cut your nails during chemo. Chemo compromises your immune system, so you have to be really careful not to cut yourself or be near sick people. So, I asked her, and she said that wasn't true. So, I asked her if it was okay then to keep getting my nails done while in chemo, and she was real snippy with me, went and asked Dr. Kaplan, and came back and said no. I explained to her that my nails are not acrylic, which I know is toxic, they are gel. She dismissed the conversation as unimportant, and I said, look, I'm going to lose my hair, can't I at least have my nails done? She started blabbing again and I just walked away. Christina, my lovely nail tech, is not going to cut me. She hasn't yet. And I saw her last night, and she does plenty of nails on cancer patients. So fuck the bitchy nurse with dishwater blonde hair and ugly nails! I'm a girl, and would like to maintain some dignity throughout this ordeal!
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Meeting with the doc tomorrow
This past week I had four MRIs; brain, chest, breast and cervical spine. MRIs are no big deal, just noisy, and I suppose if you were claustrophobic it would be awful. Tomorrow I meet with the surgical oncologist for the second time, to go over all of these many tests I've undertaken. Then I believe we will be able to chart a course of action. I hope so. I'm so sick of waiting. I just want to get going on this, to get rid of the cancer.
I am concerned that they want to do yet another ultrasound and perhaps another biopsy on Tuesday. I have to tell myself it's just to be cautious, but nonetheless it freaks me out.
My strongest emotion right now is fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of treatment, fear of getting rid of it and then having it come back. These are all valid fears they tell me in the books I've been reading.
I also fear being a bald, tired old freak. God knows I try to take care of myself. I'll follow up here once I know the plan.
I am concerned that they want to do yet another ultrasound and perhaps another biopsy on Tuesday. I have to tell myself it's just to be cautious, but nonetheless it freaks me out.
My strongest emotion right now is fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of treatment, fear of getting rid of it and then having it come back. These are all valid fears they tell me in the books I've been reading.
I also fear being a bald, tired old freak. God knows I try to take care of myself. I'll follow up here once I know the plan.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
CT Scans are scary
Friday was tough. I was really tired and it was super cold out and I had to stand outside for 45 minutes at work, doing our weekly "Island Talk." As a result, I never got warm all day. I had to go to Swedish for my bone scan and CT scan in the afternoon. The bone scan wasn't bad. First, they inject you with some sort of dye so they can see your bones. I kept imagining Wiley Coyote when he'd get zapped and you saw his skeleton - that's what I figure the techs see! It took about 40 minutes once in the machine, and I actually fell to sleep because it's so quiet. Really nice technician.
Then, it was over to another building on Swedish's massive campus, for the CT. Lord, first I had to drink not one, but two large containers of this stuff I decided to call gurp. It tastes like chalk, even though it comes in flavors. Oh my God, I thought if I have to drink another one of these I would puke. After the gurp has had time to digest, they come to get you. Then, oh boy, it's time for an IV. This is because once you're in the machine, they shoot iodine through you so your veins show up. Wiley Coyote again. The gurp is to illuminate my organs. So, the nice lady warned me that when the iodine went in, I'd feel like I was having a major hot flash and the sensation that I was going to pee my pants. Right before she injected it, she said here it comes, and holy crap, it was the weirdest, scariest feeling ever. I thought I would burn up, but it goes away in about 30 seconds. Nonetheless, I started to cry and just couldn't shake it for awhile. It just scared me.
Later Friday evening, Brad and I were engrossed in a movie, and my phone rang. I chose not to answer until after the movie was over. It was a radiologist at Swedish telling me she looked at my CT, and I had a small stone in my appendix, and if I was having abdominal pain to go to the ER right away. Well, I freaked, because I was having horrid pain, but it was gas from the gurp, not my appendix! I called the doctor and he said I was probably fine, but radiologists tend to get excited. I am fine. Have felt good all weekend.
So, tomorrow is my brain scan. It will be interesting to see if there's anything there (hahaha!). Seriously, I hope there isn't.
Then, it was over to another building on Swedish's massive campus, for the CT. Lord, first I had to drink not one, but two large containers of this stuff I decided to call gurp. It tastes like chalk, even though it comes in flavors. Oh my God, I thought if I have to drink another one of these I would puke. After the gurp has had time to digest, they come to get you. Then, oh boy, it's time for an IV. This is because once you're in the machine, they shoot iodine through you so your veins show up. Wiley Coyote again. The gurp is to illuminate my organs. So, the nice lady warned me that when the iodine went in, I'd feel like I was having a major hot flash and the sensation that I was going to pee my pants. Right before she injected it, she said here it comes, and holy crap, it was the weirdest, scariest feeling ever. I thought I would burn up, but it goes away in about 30 seconds. Nonetheless, I started to cry and just couldn't shake it for awhile. It just scared me.
Later Friday evening, Brad and I were engrossed in a movie, and my phone rang. I chose not to answer until after the movie was over. It was a radiologist at Swedish telling me she looked at my CT, and I had a small stone in my appendix, and if I was having abdominal pain to go to the ER right away. Well, I freaked, because I was having horrid pain, but it was gas from the gurp, not my appendix! I called the doctor and he said I was probably fine, but radiologists tend to get excited. I am fine. Have felt good all weekend.
So, tomorrow is my brain scan. It will be interesting to see if there's anything there (hahaha!). Seriously, I hope there isn't.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
A few decisions
After meeting with a medical oncologist and a radiology oncologist at Swedish, I know for certain I'm going with those two. The medical oncologist is the one I'll likely spend the most time with, so it is important to me that I choose someone I feel is not only competent, but one who I like and who I can sense really cares about my well being.
This guy, Dr. Kaplan, explained things very clearly, unlike the medical oncologist at SCCA who I felt was rather brisk. Dr. Kaplan also had on a sweater that had something on it (lunch?), and sort of messy hair, which I found endearing and rather human. The medical oncologist at SCCA was a chick with a unibrow, sporting her lab coat, and talking to me like she was sure I really didn't know what the hell she was talking about, and she seemed irritated when I asked a question. Screw that. She also had a mustache, which was unnerving to me. Has she not heard of waxing? I'd be staring at the unibrow every time she treated me, wishing I could start plucking.
The radiology oncologist at SCCA was very sweet, an Asian gal, but the dude I saw this morning with Swedish, Dr. Douglas, again explained things much more to my liking, and he had on a whimsical tie with doctor-y stuff on it, like little stethoscopes, etc. Trust me, I AM NOT choosing my health care professionals based on appearance, but I could totally relate to these two men, whereas the female docs at SCCA - I just didn't feel the love.
Now I have to decide between the surgeon at SCCA and Swedish, who are both very capable guys and have been at it each for about 30 years. They know each other, and they know I'm talking to both of them, and they respect each other. They're used to it, and have said I have to go with my gut and what feels comfortable for me. But until I know exactly what the surgery is going to involve, I can't decide. I still need the MRI, PET/CT, brain and bone scans to know exactly what's going on inside this little temple I live in. Time will tell.
Off to Whistler tomorrow! It's supposed to be sunny and 30 to 37 above. Perfect. Can't wait!
This guy, Dr. Kaplan, explained things very clearly, unlike the medical oncologist at SCCA who I felt was rather brisk. Dr. Kaplan also had on a sweater that had something on it (lunch?), and sort of messy hair, which I found endearing and rather human. The medical oncologist at SCCA was a chick with a unibrow, sporting her lab coat, and talking to me like she was sure I really didn't know what the hell she was talking about, and she seemed irritated when I asked a question. Screw that. She also had a mustache, which was unnerving to me. Has she not heard of waxing? I'd be staring at the unibrow every time she treated me, wishing I could start plucking.
The radiology oncologist at SCCA was very sweet, an Asian gal, but the dude I saw this morning with Swedish, Dr. Douglas, again explained things much more to my liking, and he had on a whimsical tie with doctor-y stuff on it, like little stethoscopes, etc. Trust me, I AM NOT choosing my health care professionals based on appearance, but I could totally relate to these two men, whereas the female docs at SCCA - I just didn't feel the love.
Now I have to decide between the surgeon at SCCA and Swedish, who are both very capable guys and have been at it each for about 30 years. They know each other, and they know I'm talking to both of them, and they respect each other. They're used to it, and have said I have to go with my gut and what feels comfortable for me. But until I know exactly what the surgery is going to involve, I can't decide. I still need the MRI, PET/CT, brain and bone scans to know exactly what's going on inside this little temple I live in. Time will tell.
Off to Whistler tomorrow! It's supposed to be sunny and 30 to 37 above. Perfect. Can't wait!
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
A day at The Seattle Cancer Care Alliance
Today was my second opinion day, with the fine folks at the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance. The place has a really good vibe, nice location and friendly staff. I even ran into a wonderful woman I haven't seen in about 20 years! It was one of my old bodybuilding girls, and I swear she looks exactly the same. She was there for breast issues as well. It was so good to visit with her, and I hope we remain in touch.
This place functions a little differently from Swedish. I met the whole team in one day, which I liked, but it did make for a very long day. First, a resident talked to me about my family, and my medical history, followed by a brief exam. I swear he looked like he was 20! So, being me, I asked, and he was 31! He was adorable - and a smart little shit! His mother should be proud!
I met with the surgical, medical and radiology oncologist all together first, then they took off to discuss my case for an hour while I got some lunch with Brad.
After that I met with each doc individually. I definitely have some hard choices to make about my treatment, and now on which facility to choose to care for me. I will make that decision after the weekend.
Tomorrow I meet with the medical oncologist from Swedish, then Thursday with the radiology oncologist from Swedish. Then I will have heard every body's position. I am not crazy about the idea of radiology. It just makes me uncomfortable thinking of being blasted every day for 6-weeks with nukes basically. There is a way I can avoid it, but I'll go into that later.
For now, I feel well, and am excited about the upcoming ski trip! I'll have four days to think about how to proceed with my life. I liked what the surgeon said to me today, to just take baby steps...one day at a time. It will drive me crazy to worry about what this is going to look like in three months, six months or a year. I just have to focus on today.
This place functions a little differently from Swedish. I met the whole team in one day, which I liked, but it did make for a very long day. First, a resident talked to me about my family, and my medical history, followed by a brief exam. I swear he looked like he was 20! So, being me, I asked, and he was 31! He was adorable - and a smart little shit! His mother should be proud!
I met with the surgical, medical and radiology oncologist all together first, then they took off to discuss my case for an hour while I got some lunch with Brad.
After that I met with each doc individually. I definitely have some hard choices to make about my treatment, and now on which facility to choose to care for me. I will make that decision after the weekend.
Tomorrow I meet with the medical oncologist from Swedish, then Thursday with the radiology oncologist from Swedish. Then I will have heard every body's position. I am not crazy about the idea of radiology. It just makes me uncomfortable thinking of being blasted every day for 6-weeks with nukes basically. There is a way I can avoid it, but I'll go into that later.
For now, I feel well, and am excited about the upcoming ski trip! I'll have four days to think about how to proceed with my life. I liked what the surgeon said to me today, to just take baby steps...one day at a time. It will drive me crazy to worry about what this is going to look like in three months, six months or a year. I just have to focus on today.
Friday, February 11, 2011
A new and unwanted challenge
I feel like a real slacker since I haven't blogged since last fall. Geez. Since then, I landed myself back in a paying journalism gig, as a reporter for The Mercer Island Reporter, which I love and am so grateful for. So, I'm getting paid to write again - yay!
Now I am turning to this outlet for personal reasons. I see this as a therapeutic exercise, since I am one of those people that feels compelled to keep my friends and loved ones informed on major events in my life.
Linda Ball, daughter, rock chick, wife, mother, student, real estate broker, journalist, bodybuilder, ballroom dancer, lover, weirdo.....these are all parts of my journey. Now I have a new and very frightening journey ahead of me, which I hope and pray will end with, Linda Ball, cancer survivor.
Yep, folks, I was diagnosed with breast cancer Jan. 26, 2011. Color me shocked. There is no breast cancer in my family, or much cancer to speak of at that. I always figured I'd have a stroke since everyone in my family (the elders) seem to have stroked out. But no. I have to get a life threatening disease. It really sucks to say the least. For God's sake, I haven't even had the flu for years.
First there was shock. Now I'm easing out of denial into reading up on this horrid disease so I can understand what's happening to me.
Here's what I know. It's a pretty good size tumor in my left breast. I first suspected something around the holidays. I didn't feel it, but I could see it, seriously. I thought, "WTF." I freaked momentarily, then told myself to calm down and get a mammogram after the holiday. So I did.
Then, they (Swedish Hospital) called me back in for additional views on the left side. Okay, don't panic I thought.
After the additional views, suddenly they are suggesting an ultrasound. Hmmm. Okay. Then a biopsy. Now I'm crying. That was Jan. 24. Two days later I got the call, that I have cancer.
It's what they call ductile carcinoma in situ, which means it's in the ducts, not the lobes, and hasn't spread, so that's the good news. What is worrisome is that I am positive for HER2neu, which means I have too many copies of the HER2neu gene being produced, which makes the cancer cells more aggressive. I'm also positive for estrogen and progesterone receptors, which may mean hormonal therapy once the damn cancer is gone.
So, I'm being real clinical here, I know. I want to understand this and be prepared. But truthfully, I'm scared shitless. I am not afraid to die, but I'm not ready just yet. And I don't want to be mutilated. I admit it. I'm vain. I've always relied on my femininity when my brain wasn't enough.
The rest of this month will be consumed by numerous consultations with a variety of doctors, plus I'm getting a second opinion from the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance on Tuesday. These are the folks who are associated with the renowned Fred Hutchinson Cancer Center and the University of Washington. They are reviewing my pathology report now. Then I see a medical oncologist and a radiology oncologist this week, too. I will be getting an MRI, PET/CT scan and bone scan soon, too. Once I decide between Swedish or SCCA, a treatment plan will be devised. Then the fun/horror begins. One option is to do chemo first to shrink the tumor so it can be removed without too much harm to the breast, which appeals to me. I also might be able to be part of a clinical trial, which sounds encouraging.
I never thought - not in a million years - that I'd be dealing with this. I have wonderful friends, and a wonderful man in my life, Bradley, who is very concerned about me and has been with me every step of the way so far.
So, this new girl in town - now here for almost a year and a half - is getting to know the side of Seattle I didn't think I'd need, and that's the wonderful health facilities here. I truly believe there was a reason God pointed me here, because this city is very well known for its excellent health facilities.
I will keep this blog updated frequently now, so that anyone who cares or is just curious about breast cancer can keep up with my treatment/care. Right now, I feel fine. Bradley and I are going skiing next weekend to Whistler and I'm so excited because I've never been there! We've had this planned for a couple of months and I'm so glad I'm not in chemo or anything yet so this trip didn't get blown. I'm going to ski my ass off, take in the sunshine and thank God I'm alive.
Now I am turning to this outlet for personal reasons. I see this as a therapeutic exercise, since I am one of those people that feels compelled to keep my friends and loved ones informed on major events in my life.
Linda Ball, daughter, rock chick, wife, mother, student, real estate broker, journalist, bodybuilder, ballroom dancer, lover, weirdo.....these are all parts of my journey. Now I have a new and very frightening journey ahead of me, which I hope and pray will end with, Linda Ball, cancer survivor.
Yep, folks, I was diagnosed with breast cancer Jan. 26, 2011. Color me shocked. There is no breast cancer in my family, or much cancer to speak of at that. I always figured I'd have a stroke since everyone in my family (the elders) seem to have stroked out. But no. I have to get a life threatening disease. It really sucks to say the least. For God's sake, I haven't even had the flu for years.
First there was shock. Now I'm easing out of denial into reading up on this horrid disease so I can understand what's happening to me.
Here's what I know. It's a pretty good size tumor in my left breast. I first suspected something around the holidays. I didn't feel it, but I could see it, seriously. I thought, "WTF." I freaked momentarily, then told myself to calm down and get a mammogram after the holiday. So I did.
Then, they (Swedish Hospital) called me back in for additional views on the left side. Okay, don't panic I thought.
After the additional views, suddenly they are suggesting an ultrasound. Hmmm. Okay. Then a biopsy. Now I'm crying. That was Jan. 24. Two days later I got the call, that I have cancer.
It's what they call ductile carcinoma in situ, which means it's in the ducts, not the lobes, and hasn't spread, so that's the good news. What is worrisome is that I am positive for HER2neu, which means I have too many copies of the HER2neu gene being produced, which makes the cancer cells more aggressive. I'm also positive for estrogen and progesterone receptors, which may mean hormonal therapy once the damn cancer is gone.
So, I'm being real clinical here, I know. I want to understand this and be prepared. But truthfully, I'm scared shitless. I am not afraid to die, but I'm not ready just yet. And I don't want to be mutilated. I admit it. I'm vain. I've always relied on my femininity when my brain wasn't enough.
The rest of this month will be consumed by numerous consultations with a variety of doctors, plus I'm getting a second opinion from the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance on Tuesday. These are the folks who are associated with the renowned Fred Hutchinson Cancer Center and the University of Washington. They are reviewing my pathology report now. Then I see a medical oncologist and a radiology oncologist this week, too. I will be getting an MRI, PET/CT scan and bone scan soon, too. Once I decide between Swedish or SCCA, a treatment plan will be devised. Then the fun/horror begins. One option is to do chemo first to shrink the tumor so it can be removed without too much harm to the breast, which appeals to me. I also might be able to be part of a clinical trial, which sounds encouraging.
I never thought - not in a million years - that I'd be dealing with this. I have wonderful friends, and a wonderful man in my life, Bradley, who is very concerned about me and has been with me every step of the way so far.
So, this new girl in town - now here for almost a year and a half - is getting to know the side of Seattle I didn't think I'd need, and that's the wonderful health facilities here. I truly believe there was a reason God pointed me here, because this city is very well known for its excellent health facilities.
I will keep this blog updated frequently now, so that anyone who cares or is just curious about breast cancer can keep up with my treatment/care. Right now, I feel fine. Bradley and I are going skiing next weekend to Whistler and I'm so excited because I've never been there! We've had this planned for a couple of months and I'm so glad I'm not in chemo or anything yet so this trip didn't get blown. I'm going to ski my ass off, take in the sunshine and thank God I'm alive.
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