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.