You've been asking, so here's the story.
The surgery had two parts:
1. Tumor removal (including removal of margin of "clean" cells surrounding it). The whole thing is biopsied, to make sure that there are no cancerous cells near the edge, within the supposed cancer-free margin. If there is cancer there, they go back in and try to get the rest of it.
2. Sentinel lymph node biopsy. If the cancer has spread, it will have done so via the sentinel (first) lymph node. So if it is cancer-free, they can assume that the rest of the body is also. If not, I'll almost certainly get chemo, which involves the whole body. The danger of messing with the lymph nodes is the risk of lymphedema (fluid buildup), which is Extremely Unpleasant. The diagnostic mammogram did not show swelling of the lymph nodes, which is a good sign.
So, what we'll know on Tuesday is a) whether the entire tumor is gone, and b) whether the cancer has spread. It's up to the oncologists to decide whether radiation will be sufficient.
My uncle, who's had more cancer treatment than is right and proper in one life, has suggested I put off the chemo if it's recommended even if the cancer has not spread, and I will probably take that advice. If cancer has spread, it will be slow-growing, and holding off chemo for 6 months or indefinitely won't hurt.
Friday, July 29, 2011
So much for the easy part
Surgery went well, though delayed. And I had a nice surprise --- twilight sedation as opposed to general anesthesia! I was very relieved.
Baby backs from Fat Willy's nicely rounded off a day of no food or water. I'm trying to get through the next few days without the hydrocodone, though the need for it is finally coming on.
Unexpected side effect: Peed a lovely peacock blue this morning. Yikes.
I suppose this is true of all MD appointments, but... if you ever need surgery, be the first slot in the AM. Less likely to be delayed.
Results expected Tuesday. Next two weeks will also bring decisions on radiation (when) and chemo (whether... surgeon says "likely," due to my age).
Baby backs from Fat Willy's nicely rounded off a day of no food or water. I'm trying to get through the next few days without the hydrocodone, though the need for it is finally coming on.
Unexpected side effect: Peed a lovely peacock blue this morning. Yikes.
I suppose this is true of all MD appointments, but... if you ever need surgery, be the first slot in the AM. Less likely to be delayed.
Results expected Tuesday. Next two weeks will also bring decisions on radiation (when) and chemo (whether... surgeon says "likely," due to my age).
Friday, July 22, 2011
Grateful
Friends from both long ago and far away are checking in on the cough and my general mood. I feel so loved! Friends and family make life worth living.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Lungs
The child's bronchialytis seems to be reaching out, first to one of her caretakers, and now to me, with a cough and chest congestion. If this keeps up, I don't see how I can go under general anesthesia next week.
Mucinex.
Mucinex.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
X marks the spot
I wonder if it's possible to tattoo scar tissue.
I don't have any tattoos, but somehow marking the spot seems like it might be appropriate.
I don't have any tattoos, but somehow marking the spot seems like it might be appropriate.
Friday, July 8, 2011
Okay then.
The bad news:
The tumor is grade 3, which means that on a scale of 1 (best) to 3 (worst), it does not play well with others and is more likely to metastasize.
It also means, in combination with my age and other factors, that there may be a need for chemo even if the cancer has not spread. Since I liken chemo to drinking Drano for a few weeks, I am Not Happy about this. Won't know til after surgery whether it is necessary. It would be a drip, not a pill.
The good news:
There is probably little possibility that my daughter will have an elevated risk of breast cancer, since my family has no history of it (and thus, no gene mutation is suspected). This issue will be addressed at a later date, via genetics. First things first.
My fear about radiation close to my heart was somewhat lessened upon hearing the news that the current practice is to shoot the radiation parallel to the body, as opposed to directly into it.
It's stage 1, as I expected.
No MRI or additional pre-surgery testing will be necessary.
Because of the tumor location and size (and the size of other things, ahem), disfigurement is not expected. I'll believe it when I see it, but I'll give them the benefit of the doubt.
The hormone situation is good on all levels, which is apparently important.
It sounds as if I'll be able to get the 5-6 weeks of radiation within a couple of miles of home and work full time through it, with few side effects.
It also sounds as if I will not be given zombie-level pain meds for the days following surgery, as I was after my C-section. This is good news indeed, since I don't like being a zombie. Or the crazy all-night itching those meds brought me last time.
The other news:
The MDs say that the dozens of different drugs I shot up during my 12 months of IVF treatment probably accelerated the cancer, which they assume has been there for 1 or 2 years (my daughter is 2-1/2). I fully expect that in 20 years, it will be announced that some or all of those drugs cause cancer. Oh well. (Note: I brought up the possible connection, not the MDs.)
Although I was hoping for a surgery date of, oh.... say... tomorrow afternoon, I am pleased that it's scheduled for July 21.
The surgeon has hard, cold, clinical eyes. I suppose this is one wants in a scientist / professor.
The tumor is grade 3, which means that on a scale of 1 (best) to 3 (worst), it does not play well with others and is more likely to metastasize.
It also means, in combination with my age and other factors, that there may be a need for chemo even if the cancer has not spread. Since I liken chemo to drinking Drano for a few weeks, I am Not Happy about this. Won't know til after surgery whether it is necessary. It would be a drip, not a pill.
The good news:
There is probably little possibility that my daughter will have an elevated risk of breast cancer, since my family has no history of it (and thus, no gene mutation is suspected). This issue will be addressed at a later date, via genetics. First things first.
My fear about radiation close to my heart was somewhat lessened upon hearing the news that the current practice is to shoot the radiation parallel to the body, as opposed to directly into it.
It's stage 1, as I expected.
No MRI or additional pre-surgery testing will be necessary.
Because of the tumor location and size (and the size of other things, ahem), disfigurement is not expected. I'll believe it when I see it, but I'll give them the benefit of the doubt.
The hormone situation is good on all levels, which is apparently important.
It sounds as if I'll be able to get the 5-6 weeks of radiation within a couple of miles of home and work full time through it, with few side effects.
It also sounds as if I will not be given zombie-level pain meds for the days following surgery, as I was after my C-section. This is good news indeed, since I don't like being a zombie. Or the crazy all-night itching those meds brought me last time.
The other news:
The MDs say that the dozens of different drugs I shot up during my 12 months of IVF treatment probably accelerated the cancer, which they assume has been there for 1 or 2 years (my daughter is 2-1/2). I fully expect that in 20 years, it will be announced that some or all of those drugs cause cancer. Oh well. (Note: I brought up the possible connection, not the MDs.)
Although I was hoping for a surgery date of, oh.... say... tomorrow afternoon, I am pleased that it's scheduled for July 21.
The surgeon has hard, cold, clinical eyes. I suppose this is one wants in a scientist / professor.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Getting ready
Reading up on nutritional and exercise recommendations from Susan G Komen, Mayo Clinic, American Cancer Society. This thing is a good excuse to get the daily 30-min regimen back in gear. Also a good excuse to start regulating water intake again. After radiation, apparently I'll also get to use the enormous daily protein recommendation (70g/day) as a justification to eat more sushi.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Blink
24 hours ago, I was diagnosed with invasive breast cancer -- invasive ductal carcinoma -- via a core needle biopsy of a lump I found and a diagnostic mammogram. It is by far the most common type of breast cancer. 180,000 Americans are diagnosed with IDC each year. The survival rate for white American women between 45 and 50 is around 90%, for cases caught early.
My gut knew it was cancer before I got the call, though I've never had it before and am generally healthy. My gut is also preparing for a fight, partly because it is generally hostile to invasive forces and partly because every member of my father's family has had cancer of some sort... though not this particular sort. I hope this blog will document my utter unwillingness to let it take hold, spread, and kill me.
The lump is 2cm -- on the small side, from what I understand. The MD says it seems localized, meaning it probably has not spread to my lymph nodes and thus other organs.
I see the surgeon on Friday morning, thanks to the phone calls made on my behalf this morning by my primary MD. I am expecting her to advise a lumpectomy, which apparently usually comes with 5-7 weeks of radiation. The surgery and disfigurement don't scare me. The radiation does, especially since it's on my left side. I am expecting to be able to go on vacation in September as planned. I've already cancelled my July vacation.
Bottom line: I am a middle-aged single mother of a toddler .... via IVF and a donor I do not know. So there is no possibility that the father can take over in my absence. I frankly wouldn't consider it such an earth-shattering tragedy if this thing were to take me out. But I refuse to leave the baby alone. Period.
My gut knew it was cancer before I got the call, though I've never had it before and am generally healthy. My gut is also preparing for a fight, partly because it is generally hostile to invasive forces and partly because every member of my father's family has had cancer of some sort... though not this particular sort. I hope this blog will document my utter unwillingness to let it take hold, spread, and kill me.
The lump is 2cm -- on the small side, from what I understand. The MD says it seems localized, meaning it probably has not spread to my lymph nodes and thus other organs.
I see the surgeon on Friday morning, thanks to the phone calls made on my behalf this morning by my primary MD. I am expecting her to advise a lumpectomy, which apparently usually comes with 5-7 weeks of radiation. The surgery and disfigurement don't scare me. The radiation does, especially since it's on my left side. I am expecting to be able to go on vacation in September as planned. I've already cancelled my July vacation.
Bottom line: I am a middle-aged single mother of a toddler .... via IVF and a donor I do not know. So there is no possibility that the father can take over in my absence. I frankly wouldn't consider it such an earth-shattering tragedy if this thing were to take me out. But I refuse to leave the baby alone. Period.
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