I can't believe I'm doing this. It's been so long since I've posted on here that I've completely forgotten how to do it. I wish that I didn't need to re-learn. I wish that I didn't have anything to report. I wish that I wasn't sitting here reliving the nightmare that I survived 12 years ago, but I'm clearly not in charge. I have had a recurrence. It's the same cancer in the same spot. It's still stage 1. It's still estrogen-receptor positive. And apparently, it's completely and totally resistant to a bi-lateral mastectomy, a hysterectomy, and five years of Tamoxifen. What a stubborn, tenacious, cellular jerk.
Things have moved faster this time. In 2010, I found the lump myself and then it took six months, 3 ultrasounds, 2 mammograms, 2 gamma scans, 1 MRI, and 1 biopsy for the doctors to confirm what I already knew. It was a lot of waiting, a lot of confusion, and a lot of inconclusive results. My 2022 cancer experience has been markedly different. Here is a run-down:
March 26 - I noticed a lump in my left breast that felt like it maybe had aspirations to kill me.
March 28 - I called my oncologist (because I have one on speed dial. Doesn't everyone?) It was determined that the lump was likely scar tissue and the best course of action was to see my plastic surgeon.
March 29 - I went to see my plastic surgeon (because I also have one of those on speed dial). He felt the lump and right away agreed that we should treat it seriously and swiftly. He is one of my favorite physicians in the history of healthcare, by the way. If you need a referral, do let me know.
April 1 - I went to have an ultrasound, during which the radiologist recommended a biopsy that could go one of three ways:
1. Needle in, biopsy out. Easy-peasy. Lemon squeasy
2. Needle in, implant punctured. Oopsies all around.
3. Needle in, tumor is at an angle that is too hard to reach. Mission aborted.
I decided to go ahead with the procedure, hoping for scenario 1, but knowing that we could easily encounter 2 or 3. Six biopsies each the size of a grain of rice were taken. The implant was not damaged.
April 4 - I waited ALL DAY for results and finally decided that I didn't want to relive the 2010 diagnosis experience that occurred in my office cubicle. So, I went home. That evening, I got the call that it was not scar tissue and was, instead, a recurrence. SHIT. I screamed that into phone to my doctor. I swore ... out loud ... to a medical professional who was trying to help me. Then I apologized. Then he said, "it's okay. I swore, too."
April 5 - We went to see the oncology surgeon and learned that the best-case scenario was that I would have surgery and 4-6 weeks of radiation. Awesome. Super. I'm so glad to be here again. Worst-case scenario was that the cancer had spread to other parts of my body and was now incurable. Oh. That's less awesome. I see the difference, now.
April 8 - I went in for a PET scan. It showed that the cancer is contained to my breast which is news that caused waves of jubilation from all of those around me but I just kept thinking ... so what? I still have cancer.
April 20 - Surgery. My surgical oncologist took out the 6 mm tumor encased in 14 mm of my tissue that was not supposed to be inhabitable to cancer. And now you're up to date. I'm waiting for the appointment with my surgeon to tell me if we have clean margins. I'm waiting for the appointment with my medical oncologist to tell me if I will have radiation or chemo or both. I have cancer again. I did EVERYTHING I could to punch it in it's stupid little cancer face the first time and now ... I HAVE IT AGAIN.
It's unfair. It's infuriating. It's demoralizing. I am consumed with sadness and anxiety and guilt and fear. How many times am I going to be expected to do this? I took it the first time, understanding that statistically 1 in 8 women will have breast cancer in their lifetimes. Me having cancer means that 7 women in my family and friend circles won't. So, I took it. I shouldered it. I attacked it and did everything in my power to eradicate it. And, now, I'm sitting on the couch with an ice pack in my bra again.
What the hell? I mean, seriously. WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL?
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