I’m starting this 4 weeks into the fog that is cancer. I don’t know why I didn't’ want to write about it before. Maybe putting it into words makes it too real. I don’t mind talking about it, I just didn’t want to write it down.

I felt a lump. How did you know people ask. How did they find it. All of a sudden I felt a really big hard lump. None of this pea size stuff for me. Noooooooo. It felt like a hard super ball. I was having bleeding issues anyway so I called the gyno. I hadn’t been in a while and had an appointment scheduled in a couple of months anyway, but I thought I would go ahead and go early with these problems. I really thought the bleeding would be worse news than the lump. I had a lump removed from the other side years ago and it was just a cyst that had grown some. I thought this would be the same. Sure I would have to have the mammogram and probably a sonogram too because of the density of my breast tissue, but no big deal. I am one of the lucky ones, mammograms hurt, but they are not the excruciating procedures some people experience. Hurt, pinch, pressure but not bring you to your knees kind of thing.

The gyno was able to get me into the Breast Center quickly. Monday was the gyno appt. and by Friday I was in the center. The breast center is a warm reassuring place, up to a point. You change into gowns, that for most of us sitting there were too small. Why wouldn’t they make really large gowns. You can always drape it around you if it is too big, but too small is a definite problem. From the first waiting room you move into the second waiting room. A tv is blaring and the lights are glaring, however for a lucky few of us able to sit in the smaller quieter room, it isn’t too bad. The lights are dimmer and it is a quieter calmer place to be. I could sit and read without much problem.

Everyone has the same look on their faces going into the mammo. Kind of a don’t want to be here going through this but if I have to I have to. Sort of embarrassed sitting around naked from the waist up except for a skimpy robe. and mostly, sort of scared. I have to say, I wasn’t really scared. I was sitting next to an African American woman who must have just found out she was having a biopsy, because the poor woman was terrified. She kept calling on her faith and was reassured. I had been through the lumpectomy before so even if they found a lump, I didn’t think it would be anything other than a cyst. I knew I would have the mammo and then would have to have the sonogram, for definition. After that, they would tell me it is probably a cyst and it should be removed soon, but don’t worry not cancerous.

So here I go into the mammo. Trying to play it cool while this woman slings my breasts around into different places to squeeze. Not too bad. Then she comes out with the compression plates. These are smaller to give more compression and definition to the area they are trying to look at. Oh mama! Not fun, but ok for 5 seconds I can hold it and survive.

Back to the holding pen for more waiting while those pix are developed and read by the radiologist. No surprise, have to go for a sona. I know that drill too. It seems like these women have gotten nicer. They try to tell jokes and lead you into a small dark room. Did I mention it is cold. I am never cold and it was really cold in the whole center. God only knows why it has to be quite that cold. They cover you up and the sona tech comes in to work new magic on you.

Who ever thought up the idea that they could see inside someone using sound waves. That is really unbelievable. For many of us, sonograms are associated with being pregnant and seeing our babies. Not with cysts and lumps and tumors and cancer.


So I know what to do. Lie on the table and put your arm over your head. Putting some gel on you. Wand lets me pass sound waves through you to get a pix. The radiologist will then look at it and let you know. OK. No problem. This girl must be really thorough. She is doing a sona of my armpit, glad I shaved. Maybe that’s the new protocol. It has been a couple of years since I had one. Maybe this is what you do now. First tinge of fear, or maybe everything isn’t ok.

Another tech comes in and she does the sona again. Then the radiologist comes in and looks again at the screen. I can see it and it does look like a big bad blob. On the screen, it is giant. No one is saying anything to me and I keep waiting to hear that it is only a cyst and don’t worry. Now the radiologist is saying it looks suspicious and they need to biopsy it. Wait back up, suspicious. It’s just a cyst. Stop. Here is where the fog set in. Here is where people kept looking at me to lose it and I just sort of looked at them like a robot. I turned my head when someone talked to me, but I didn’t really absorb what they were saying. The radiologist said they would get a room ready for a biopsy today. it wasn’t sinking in. What does this mean and where does this lead. I sort of remembered having a biopsy of my other lump, but it was no big deal. I think it was just a needle biopsy. I had read about this, they stick a needle in the lump to aspirate it. Most of the time, the stuff comes out and it goes away - like a zit. So in the hall to wait now. Thank goodness I had my book. What was I reading - have no idea.

Finally into the room for the biopsy. The nurse is setting up all these needles and finally begins to explain to me what the procedure is all about. This is a core biopsy, not needle. OK this is a little more than what I thought it was going to be. Maybe something is really going on. Needles full of lidocaine to reduce the pain, however it still hurt. It was like a hole puncher, grabbing bits of tissue from the lump. Enough now. Doctor you have seen a lot of these. What is this? Well I wasn’t going to say if you didn’t ask, however, it is positive.

positive... positive...positive? positive!! positive! What the hell! This is a cyst, now it is positive for cancer. CRAP!! CRAP!!!!CRAP!!! Now the tears. I always cry. I cry at happy things. I just heard I have cancer and now of course I cry. This isn't[t fair. i am only 50. I have no history, no family history, no warning. I can’t have cancer. The radiologist is talking, what is she saying. The pathology report will be ready on Monday. OK maybe it isn’t true. no. the likelihood of it not being positive is very small.

Here is the name of a book to read Dr. Love’s Breast Book (don’t do it, more later) . Here is my card, she is president of the local Susan G Komen Foundation. Here is the phone number for the nurse manager to help facilitate appointments if you need it. Try not to worry. It will be ok.

Try not to worry. Isn’t that the stupidest phrase in the world. Of course I am worried. I HAVE EFFFING CANCER!!!! The first thing to do is get home. I am downtown on Friday afternoon. Just get out of the parking deck. No you have been around this level already, look for the word exit. one thing at a time. OK you are out. Now concentrate, get on the expressway. I just had to think of one small task at a time. Fulfill that and then move to the next one. Call Scott.

I have cancer. What did they say exactly. Can I remember. Scott asks. I try to remember exactly what the radiologist said. I think I was able to repeat it almost word for word. Just get home.

Stupidly, I called other people on the way home. Don’t ever do that. I was in a state of shock, but fortunately I made it home. Once there I was just overwhelmed. I didn’t yet know the extent of the bad news, but just the words “breast cancer” were enough to send me into a cold sweat.

I guess that night I was in a lot of denial. I was able to tell people without dissolving into pieces and the best thing was Gavan and Orla advising me to talk to Carlos Castillo, a medical oncologist who lives in the neighborhood. I really don’t remember what happened the rest of the weekend, except for a lovely dinner on Sunday night at Mary’s to keep Scott and I distracted. Mary’s babysitting of me continued the next morning going with me to the dog park and then for coffee.

That afternoon, I had a meeting of the architectural review committee and realized Carlos’ wife sat on the committee with me. Ever so gracious, Eunice had me talk with Carlos on his cell phone. He was one of the most reassuring doctors with whom I have ever spoken. I felt so much better hearing from him. Like I didn’t have to be in charge of this, he had it under control.

I didn’t get the results from pathology until the next day. The gyno’s office called. Not the doctor or even a nurse, but some sort of office manager called and said it was positive. I had spent the weekend reading the terrifying book recommended by the radiologist. Full of morbid charts and statistics, it was really only beneficial to understand terminology. Thus I was able to understand what invasive ductal carcinoma meant and it wasn’t good. The office manager was not helpful in the least. I told her I had talked to an oncologist and she was rather put out that I wasn’t going through her. To this day, I have yet to hear from my primary gyno to see if I have any questions about my treatment options. I have an annual in April, he will be hearing from me at that time - insensitive sob.

Anyway,I was on the phone with Carlos in a flash and he had me in his office that afternoon. Scott and I were told the different options and at that time we thought I would have surgery, then chemo, then radiation. It was harsh, but we were trying to deal with it.

The next day we were in with the surgeon. Carlos works as a team with the oncology surgeon and an oncology radiologist. It is a great idea and makes it easier to get in with any of them because of the closeness. Carlos had spoken with the surgeon and there was a new plan of action. Now they wanted to insert a catheter port and take the sentinel node first. Then do a round of chemo, then surgery to remove the lump and then radiation. Theoretically, this reduces the size of the tumor to make less invasive surgery and also stops any spread if it has gone to the nodes. Ok, another new plan. Well we can do that. This was late afternoon Wednesday and I was to call the next morning to get the hospital time for the catheter port. I called and called and called. Trying to get through to them was impossible. Finally, they told me to call the next day and they would be able to set it then. Meanwhile, I had a heart echo. Basically a sonogram of the heart. It was pretty cool to watch. They do this as a baseline to make sure the chemo does not hurt the heart. On Friday, I had to go to the cardiologist for an ekg and clearance for surgery.

Friday, I finally pinned down the surgeon’s office and they told me it would be another week before they could get into the surgery. Not acceptable I said. They tried again and I got in for Tuesday.