"If God had intended for breasts to be seen, He wouldn't have created large woolen pullovers" ~ Tracey Ullman
I returned to Hospital Land last Thursday to have the surgeon perform a follow up exam. The appointment was scheduled for 4:00 p.m., but it was 8:30 before I finally got to see him. That was okay because they didn't make me wait in one of those tiny exam rooms.
When the doctor arrived, the news was mixed. On the up side, they found no cancer cells in the sentinel node biopsy. Excellent news! On the other hand, they found cancer cells throughout the tissue in my breast. That means I will most certainly be having a mastectomy, chemo, radiation and reconstructive surgery. I was stunned. I was in no way prepared to hear any of that. I just kept nodding my head as they talked to me.
They're going to conference about my case today, to determine in what sequence things will be done. I have a fairly rare form of breast cancer and it's manifesting in unusual ways. This man who performs breast cancer surgery every Monday, Wednesday and Friday hasn't ever seen a case where cancer cells are so rampant in one breast, with no lymph node involvement. The cancer is low grade, but everywhere. I'll need to have a bone scan and CT scan of my liver. I'd really like to get that over with immediately so I could just breathe a little easier about the whole metastasizing issue. I found out today that my next appointment won't be until mid-September. After the tests, I'll meet with the medical oncologist (as opposed to surgical oncologist) to get results of the tests and be informed as to what comes next.
Once again, the hardest part was calling people and telling them the news. Without exception, everyone started crying. Oddly enough, the only time I felt like I was going to cry was when my surgeon hugged me. I generally have a distinct aversion to being touched by men I don't know extremely well. I guess after someone has cut out huge chunks of breast tissue, there's no reason to stand on formality.
I think it may be easier to be the patient sometimes than the person who loves the patient. There's a profound sense of helplessness when it's happening to someone you love. Since it's happening to me, I've already come to terms with my own helplessness. It doesn't bother me that much anymore and it only takes a couple of seconds for me to weed out the things I can or can't control. After that, it's just a matter of ongoing distraction. Because of my childhood, I am absolutely outstanding at distracting myself. People around me are awed.
I keep telling people that I'm fine for right now. When my hair starts falling out and I have a missing breast, I may not be so cheerfully detached.
