The Latest Cast Member

We met with the Medical Oncologist on Thursday, December 21st.  He was not Mister Happy News and I don't like that about him.  But he did put the whole damn thing in the box which, ironically, relieved me.

What started out as the doctors announcement "you will not be able to work during your 18 week chemo treatment" and my ensuing temper tantrum about a lesser dose chemo, sort of evolved into, "let's flip-flop nine times to confuse the hell out of the doctor".

Where we THINK we landed:  Chemo to shrink the tumor(s) for 18 weeks, followed by surgery the tumor(s) followed by daily radiation five days a week for 3-6 weeks (let’s just bet on the 6 weeks since things are going so well).

We THINK.

What this routine would potentially do:  We can see if the chemo will work on the cancer.  If I have surgery first, it's kind of akin to taking out the engine of the car and then trying to see if the check engine light will go off.  You can't.  This could shrink the tumor (which the MRI placed, size-wise, at 3 cm and its little buddy at a little over 2 centimeters.  BTW, the MRI over exaggerates its size.)

The Start Of It All

On November 28th I went in for my first EVER mammogram.  By November 30th I was being called back for more views.  Luckily I was able to leave work for the half hour I thought I would be gone.  Minutes after my second mammogram, I was told to go across the hall for an ultrasound.  Well, this is thorough, I thought.  I guess it will be a bit more than half an hour.

"We see something suspicious," said the radiology doctor, "and we want to do a biopsy."

Six days later, I was being biopsied.  The same radiology doctor did the procedure.  She reacted very well as we both looked at the ultrasound screen at the large black mass and I blurted, "This doesn't look good, does it?"  "We are already scheduling a team for you," she said.

Because it's me, and I am an information whore, I already had a copy of my mammogram and ultrasound results which stated BIRAD 5.  6 is known cancer.  There was an 86-97% chance we were looking at a malignant tumor.  She was fantastic about giving me as much information as I asked for because I not only wanted to know the next step, I wanted to know the next eight steps.  All while lying on a table getting band aided up from the needle.  Nope, not vulnerable or anything.

December 8th, while in the school parking lot, surrounded by a great group of friends, I received the news that the biopsy showed Invasive Mammary Carcinoma, grade 2, 2 cm.  I was inundated with doctor appointments for the following week and the ball started rolling downhill really fast.

I learned on December 13th that I was HER2 Positive, which brought in a new cast member, a medical oncologist rather than just a radiation oncologist.  This new guy would bring news of chemo treatments and Herceptin treatments and all sorts of other shit.

My cute little cancer that was just supposed to be cut out of my body and then radiated daily for a few weeks, that is now deemed aggressive, might have also brought buddies.  The MRI scan Friday the 15th showed things they want to ultrasound and then MRI biopsy.

The brakes came out when they wanted it scheduled for December 29th.  I have a hockey game that day, so NO.  "I am procedured out and apparently I've developed an opinion," I told the nurse, "Not to mention that you want to put me in a tube, tell me to be SUPER STILL as you want to poke a needle in my dangling boob.  TIME OUT!!"  I think she'll still talk to me someday, but we'll see.

The MRI is on hold until I've talked to the Medical Oncologist.  I'll know more then and will post more.

Until then, most days are good.  At first it was "Piece of cake; surgery, some fun meds, radiation that might make me tired..."  Naive stuff like that.  Last night was crap.  HER2 Positive, more lesions, chemo.

I've never felt like this was going to kill me; haven't even gone there except to tell a friend, "Maybe I'm just stupid.  If it is, wanna help me drain my 401 so I can travel?"

Nature of the Beast, I guess.  Up one minute, down the next.