Yesterday was my birthday. This spring I was realllllly dreading it. 38, okay. Turning 39 -- seems so much... closer to ... 40. And when you feel like you're 28, how does this math compute? But there is nothing like having breast cancer at 39 that makes you feel super duper, like, totally young. I don't know where I've been in breast cancer education, but I had no idea that it was something you usually get after 50. And I did not know that usually when you have it at a young age, it's not pretty. It's probably very aggressive and rampant. This is one time I do not mind being a freak.
I love it every time a doctor or someone says, "You're sooooo young to have breast cancer..." I've never had so old a birthday and think it is so young! And, as one doctor told me, every birthday from here on out will all the more special.
So this is how it went: found lump myself, saw primary care Dr. Woo the next day, got signed up for a mammogram two weeks later at Ballard Swedish Hospital on Friday May 29. Mammogram actually came back normal, but there was obviously a lump there, so they went on and did an ultrasound. The lump showed up on that imaging. Now they had to determine if it was benign or cancerous. To do that they sent me to the other side of town to Cherry Hill Swedish that same day for a biopsy. My biopsy was ultrasound guided, meaning they used that to see where to stick the needle in (your lump area is locally anesthetized). They stick that in and pull out core samples of the lump that get sent to a lab to see if it is cancerous. The doctor had a hard time getting those because my lump kept moving around.
The results came back much quicker then they said they would -- Monday afternoon, June 1st. That's when I got the lovely phone call with the fabulous news. One of the only things the nurse could tell me from the biopsy about this new cancer stuff in me was that the lump had scored a 3 out of 9 on the Bloom-Richardson test. They grade it in three categories, so the lowest you can possibly get is a 3. These categories grade the tumor: things like its shape, aggressiveness, how much the cancer cells look like their counterpart normal cells, etc.
One surgeon told me that usually when women as young as me come in they almost always score a 9 out of 9. And of all her patients, she usually only sees one to two 3's walk through the door a year. So, in a way it seems I have the hormones more like a 70-year-old. I am, as another surgeon said, "really, really strange..." I will most gladly take strange, thank you very much.
I mention all of this because I've had shared with me quite often the very, very kind words of people's experiences that, for example, their mom had breast cancer and all they did was remove the lump and she was good to go, so don't worry about it, you'll be fine, no big whoop. This can be many (older) women's experiences, thank goodness. And while my inner 70-year-old and I may actually be a little similar in their lower-impact experience, most young women with breast cancer are not facing a simple journey. The 9 out of 9 is not a place I'd want to be. I would like to share this as I had no idea either, that while it is less common to get breast cancer younger, it is usually a much more aggressive and potentially very devastating cancer. Thought I'd throw that out there.
So, as my birthday wrapped up the first 30 days of this lump that's change my life, I still haven't had much time to reflect. It has been CRAZY. No one tells you that for the first month or so, your life is going to be completely insane. A million doctor appointments, that run into other appointments, meeting surgeons, 2nd opinions, 3rd opinions, oncologist, radiation oncologists, radiologist, genetic counselor, social worker, plastic surgeon, lab work, tests, blood drawn, MRI, nutrition counseling, mental counseling, 4,000 new cancer-related vocab words and test name acronyms, lost films, information total overload. Not to mention if you've been given options for surgery (how super great!) like me... you have to make some really major decisions. Soon. (And then there's the rest of your life that you hate to put on hold. Did I mention I ran a half-marathon last weekend and moved? Help me.)
I look back at my notebook and see all these things I wrote down June 3rd, when my naturopath gave me the 2-hour lowdown of what the process was going to be -- and how now I understand all that was once jibberish. No one tells you that your cancer is going to be a FULL-TIME job the first month, and really, good luck trying to work. And if someone told you what it will be like, you won't believe them anyway.
I hardly remember last week. I had so many appointments and I was trying to fit in work here and there. One day I said, "Tomorrow I will definitely be in for two hours," thinking this was an entirely attainable goal. Nope. At 3pm when I was finished with my second half-a-day appointment, I needed to get my films to bring with me for when I see the to second-opinion surgeon. Apparently no one could find them, and I spent the next two hours trying to track them down. It's like dealing with the government. So much for going back to work. And so much for not being exhausted. (Note: one thing I have learned -- keep your films in your possession at all times. Never give them to nobody, no matter how nice, trustworthy, organized, or official they may look. Nobody.)
The next day I had to use my lunch hour to pick up the copy of my mammogram that they were reprinting back in Ballard... because they still could not locate my films. It wasn't ready when they said it would be, so I decided to run over to this tiny but awesome take-out place, Green Go Food, while I waited for them. I walked in the door and asked some questions about their yummy yum yum super yummy menu. This little kid off to the side (in fact if you click on the Green go link you can see a picture of him) started showing me his airplane toy. "Oh, cool," I said. "Did you get it on a flight somewhere?" "No, I got it at the airplane store." I decide this kid is a-ok.
I'm bleary-eyed I'm SO insanely exhausted from the week and it's only Wednesday, lunchtime, but I really don't mind his incessant airplane talk. His smooshie-cute parents are in the kitchen, his mom yells, "Cypress. Please let the lady eat her food." The plane flashes red which he insists are the engines blowing up and he has to put them out. Over and over. All these mishaps. "That plane has got a lot problems," I comment. "I know," says Cypress. "It just keeps catching on fire."
I like his exploding plane play. Finally he comes over and climbs up on the stool next to me to show me yet another feature of the plane. Then he says:
Are you my friend Cooper's mom?
No, I am not.
Are you sure?
Yes, I'm sure. I'm not a mom.
Are you a grandmother?
(oh, thanks kid!) Nope. You have to be a mom first before that.
Well, you look like Cooper's mom. You remind me of her.
pause
Why aren't you a mom?
pause
pause
pause
pause
pause
He stares at me with blue eyes and blond hair. I stare back at him with mine. For what feels like 10 minutes. My stomach hurts for a second. Why didn't I tell this kid to scram when I had the chance?
That's a good question. I don't know. It just never happened. I guess I never got around to it.
Why not?
It's ... complicated. But... I would like to be a mom. I'd like to have a nice, fun little boy like you to talk with. This triggers something in him. I think he thought I thought he was a baby.
He jumps up and shows me his fingers. "Hey! I'm FOUR!"
Wow! Does that mean you go to kindergarten next year?
Yup... in the fall... when the leaves drop to the ground. He makes a graceful gesture as he says this, his hands and fingers making slow, tiny movements of leaves falling off trees and landing. Is this kid a mini-poet or what?
And by then...maybe I'll be FIVE! He totally cracks himself up with this and smacks his face with the whole palm of his hand.
When's your birthday? Do you know it?
February 3rd. It always has the same name every year: February 3rd... it never changes. When is your birthday?
Well, hey! My birthday happens to be next Tuesday!
Which Tuesday?
Today's Wednesday. (I count my fingers) Then Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday...Tuesday. Six days.
His face totally changes with enlightenment.
Heyyyyy. I know. I should get you balloons. And I should make you a cake!
Ohhhhhhhh my gosh. Huh. What a wonderful thought! Thank you for thinking of me!
Dad walks by.
Hey, Dad -- can we get her balloons and make a cake for her birthday Tuesday?
ADULT WORLD ENTERS.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhh... I don't know how we can do that..."
But it's her birthday. Cypress looks back at me incredulously with palms up, face like Johnny Trav in Saturday Night Fever reading, "Wha? Wha's the problem here??"
I decide it's time for me to take off, relieve Cypress's poor dad from signing up to personally cater my birthday, and hope that stupid mammogram film is finally ready. I still can't stop thinking about Cypress though, and how at his age anything really is possible. Cypress thinks it's completely realistic to schedule balloons and a make a cake for a perfect stranger. I swear I will try to think of a few things that could be possible too.
Showing posts with label mammogram. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mammogram. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Frequently Asked Questions
-Did you find the lump or your did your doctor?
I did, May 17th. We'd just had our neighborhood parade and a great bbq afterward. I was taking a bath later that night, sitting up, and I was sooooo happy I was literally splashing and singing something like "Rubber Ducky" when I went to move soap suds from my neck down to my armpit and on the way my hand went: **bump bump** -- over some crazy huge lump. I yelled out loud to the shampoo bottle, "Wait...seriously... WTF is THAT ???" The shampoo bottle blinked and said, "Wow. I really don't know..."
I calmed myself down and went over what Dr. Woo had told me the year before when I sheepishly admitted for the umpteenth annual exam (same conversation every year), "No, I have NOT been doing self-exams, what is it that I'm looking for again?" And then he always says, "Something the size of a pea, and hard." This wasn't like that. It just felt like a cyst. Or something swollen. I wasn't worried. Sort of.
-What size is it? What does it feel like? Where is it? Can I touch it? Does it hurt?
I don't have an exact size of it yet. I can't remember if that happens when I meet the surgeon, or when I get an MRI. And I'm not sure if they measure the whole thing or just the cancerous part. To me the mass feels about the size of a large apricot pit. It feels like that too, but if you made it slightly gummi-like. But it changes. It gets really big, then sometimes it seems small, sometimes it feels hard other times it feels swollen.
It's on the top part of my right breast, closer to my neck or heart than my armpit, which apparently is good. The closer to the arm, the more chance of lymph node problems I think. See photo.
Right here.
And I'm holding onto my hat so it doesn't blow away.
I did, May 17th. We'd just had our neighborhood parade and a great bbq afterward. I was taking a bath later that night, sitting up, and I was sooooo happy I was literally splashing and singing something like "Rubber Ducky" when I went to move soap suds from my neck down to my armpit and on the way my hand went: **bump bump** -- over some crazy huge lump. I yelled out loud to the shampoo bottle, "Wait...seriously... WTF is THAT ???" The shampoo bottle blinked and said, "Wow. I really don't know..."
I calmed myself down and went over what Dr. Woo had told me the year before when I sheepishly admitted for the umpteenth annual exam (same conversation every year), "No, I have NOT been doing self-exams, what is it that I'm looking for again?" And then he always says, "Something the size of a pea, and hard." This wasn't like that. It just felt like a cyst. Or something swollen. I wasn't worried. Sort of.
-What size is it? What does it feel like? Where is it? Can I touch it? Does it hurt?
I don't have an exact size of it yet. I can't remember if that happens when I meet the surgeon, or when I get an MRI. And I'm not sure if they measure the whole thing or just the cancerous part. To me the mass feels about the size of a large apricot pit. It feels like that too, but if you made it slightly gummi-like. But it changes. It gets really big, then sometimes it seems small, sometimes it feels hard other times it feels swollen.
It's on the top part of my right breast, closer to my neck or heart than my armpit, which apparently is good. The closer to the arm, the more chance of lymph node problems I think. See photo.
Right here.
And I'm holding onto my hat so it doesn't blow away.
Yes, please ask me to feel it. I want to educate people what it may feel like. Nope, it doesn't hurt. And I feel fantastic. Still running 6-8 mile runs a few times a week and in great spirits. But that's the hard part. I feel SO healthy and yet I've got this stupid bump hanging on me like a monkey on my back. Except he's on my boob.
-What was the diagnosis?
So far they are calling it an infiltrating ductal carcenoma. Welcome to my non-medical world where I'm on an insane learning curve of lingo and acronyms and so much information coming at me from so many different people my head is going to pop off.
Anyhoo, from what I understand --and could be completely wrong-- it sounds like a bunch of cells blob together and form a neat little mass. And this state is called 'in situ'? I think I have this somewhat right. My cancer is in milk ducts and it's gone from in situ to starting to hang out a little bit on the inside of these tubes and on the outside. Hence the 'infiltrating' and the 'ductal'. Anyhow, this is what they've determined so far from just the initial mammogram and the ultrasounds and all the stuff that happens with the biopsy. So who knows, this could change.
-So, wait, go back to the bathtub again
Oh yeah. So I calmed down thinking there weren't any hard peas to be found and as always I very easily talked myself out of any kind of worry that anything was wrong (this is how I ended up with a staff infection in the past) but some reasonable tiny part of the back of my brain was a bit shaken and got me over to the phone to leave a message for Dr. Woo at 11:30pm to please try and fit me in the next day, Monday May 18th. I had bad sleep and weird dreams. Awoke to his office at the Swedish Clinic calling me at 7:15am saying they had time at 10. Good.
Well, Woo thought there was definitely some cyst-like thing there and I shouldn't get worried because he couldn't feel anything hard...but... "we need to get this looked at and confirmed. You know, just to make sure." (Wait. That step wasn't supposed to happen. He signed me up for a mammogram. Um, ok. I was supposed to be dismissed like the last time I came to him with a mystery lump four years ago and he said it was nothing and to go home.) Oh, and they only do Fridays at the Ballard Swedish Hospital and this coming one was booked. I have to wait two weeks. Argh!
Friday May 29th, I have an 8:30am mammogram appointment, so excited to get this over with and have a day off. It's hot, I want to go swimming!
I'll speed this up: paperwork, paperwork, gown, leave pants and shoes on, go by machine, get squished, mushed, pinched, vice-griped, don't move, and if we see something not quite right we'll do an ultrasound. Go in little cold room, wait...wait...wait... Uh, Jenny, we'd like to do an ultrasound. Lie down, cold chair, cold gel, lots of talk about on the screen, I'd like a picture of that... and that... and that... ok, go change and meet the doctor in the waiting area. Well, we definitely found something but the only way we'll know if it's cancerous or not is to get a biopsy. It's Friday, is there anyway you can do this as soon as possible, like Monday or Tuesday? (Me: Ummmmmmmmm, what's happening? Where's the part where we all laugh that it's just a cyst and we did all this silly testing for nothing. Let's go home and see you after 40 when you are supposed to start having mammograms. Ho ho ho ho ha! Oh and wait -- my parents are coming Monday... how is this all going to work??)
In the meantime the doctor runs away. Nurse is talking to me about stuff I cannot even remember. Doctor comes back, sits me down and starts saying that if I can get up to First Hill Swedish Hospital across town and sit it the waiting room for a couple of hours, she spoke to her colleage up there whom she loves, trusts and is the best, she'll try to fit me in for a biopsy today. The results can take up to four business days so she'd rather have me get it in before the weekend. Oh yeah, and you CANNOT go swimming. (First of many notes to self right then and there: this process is really annoying and inconvenient.)
I am driving up there and I'm like "WHAT is going on here? This is crazy over-reacting!" This is getting long so I will leave out most of the details of some amazing events during this same day like when two couples in two pick up trucks drove up and asked me if I wanted the abandoned dryer in my backyard... and let's just say that by the end of this interaction the women said they were Prayer Warriors, honked their partners to stop driving away and the four of them deliver a pentacostal-like prayer in the alley for me ending in hugs and tears all around. They said the dryer was going to keep me from having bad cancer and drove away. My Dryer Angel. And then after my biopsy I met Brenda, this colorfully patterned and bedecked older black woman (man? transgender? I really could not precisely tell you) with a giant hat, silver teeth and a wheeled-walker, she (?) and I had a fantastic 15-minute talk in about a 30-yard stop-n-stroll together ending with her placing her giant warm hand on my shoulder and delivering a long, loud prayer of hope and love for me in front of First Hill Swedish Hospital's parking garage.
At this point I knew I might possibly be screwed. I hadn't even gotten back the results of the biopsy and beautiful strangers were already praying for me.
The biopsy results did not take four business days. I had it done late Friday afternoon and they called me Monday June 1 with the news at 3pm. It was so soon I wasn't ready for it. And at that very moment my parents were somewhere in the sky on a plane flying out, a trip they randomly planned a couple of months before. Hi Mom and Dad! Guess what's new?! Oy. But perfect of course. They were here, such great support and my mom could go to a couple of long appointments with me and get the big low-down which I am so, so, SO thankful for. I can't imagine relaying that all by phone... with a 3-hour time difference. And no facial expressions.
-Mammograms, ultrasounds, biopsies -- do you have insurance?!
YES thank goodness. I have been paying through the nose for a plan that was canceled a couple of years ago. They weren't making $ on it so they gave it the boot to newcomers. Instead they have been punishing me with a premium of $327/month. OUCH. I meant to look into cheaper plans because why am I paying for this when I am so ridiculously healthy? And really, I was in perfect health (I thought) before ol' lumpty dumpty showed up. Please please please, have someone who might understand look over your insurance and see what is actually covered. It looks like even with this great insurance I will still have to pay $10-15k out of pocket. But it sure beats $100,000 to $200,000... **whew**
-So what happens next?
In the past two weeks I've been tested, poked, prodded, blood work, peed in a bottle for 24-hours, pelvic exams, informational appointments. And I didn't know how hormonally tied breast cancer is. You need to get this test done on the 23rd day of your cycle, MRI on days 5-7, pee in the bottle day whatever...
This is why I feel like this lump is just a big annoyance. It's seriously cramping my summer style. It's been BEAUTIFUL in Seattle this year, we're on day 25 without rain! It's not fair! And now it's tests, appointments, vitamins, supplements, phone calls, all of this information to know and remember. COME ON!!! Anyway, that's what I've been up to since June 1st.
**************
Anyway, I meet with a surgeon on Wednesday June 17 and I think I will maybe know the size and we'll definitely discuss surgery options (um, because she's the surgeon. I'm getting so tired writing this so late...) Right now it sounds like the two basic ideas are (1) lumpectomy with radiation, maybe chemo (I think chemo is unlikely) and (2) mastectomy and none of that other stuff. And then little variations of these possibilities.
I got back two important test results (ER+ and PR+ tests and HER2neu test -- I won't go into it all because it's boring and I'm confused anyway) -- BUT... they came back as really good results indicating that it's a slow-growing, less aggressive cancer which is GOOD NEWS! Apparently breast cancer in young women is usually very aggressive and they were pleased to see this unusual result. Yeyyyyy!
**************
I am sure that you are as sick of hearing about this stupid lump as I am by now. If all this gives you any insight into my foggy brain of information overload. But I have to say this: I AM SO LUCKY. I'm lucky I have small breasts and found this lump two months before when my next annual exam would have been, I'm lucky that I have someone helping and guiding me through this entire process (more on this Angel-on-Earth later), lucky my parents and sister were here the first week of this, lucky my sister works in a hospital (= interpreter of medical info), Lucky that this is breast cancer. There's no way I will die from this and there are so many more horrible things that can happen to your health. All I can complain about is missing a couple of days of swimming.
But most of all, I am so lucky to have so many friends and family with so much amazing support and love and help and good vibes and good recipes and good stories and jokes. It makes this lump almost fun! (I just say that to keep myself from getting faklempt...)
Seriously, I love you all.
(And future entries will not be this long winded...)
-What was the diagnosis?
So far they are calling it an infiltrating ductal carcenoma. Welcome to my non-medical world where I'm on an insane learning curve of lingo and acronyms and so much information coming at me from so many different people my head is going to pop off.
Anyhoo, from what I understand --and could be completely wrong-- it sounds like a bunch of cells blob together and form a neat little mass. And this state is called 'in situ'? I think I have this somewhat right. My cancer is in milk ducts and it's gone from in situ to starting to hang out a little bit on the inside of these tubes and on the outside. Hence the 'infiltrating' and the 'ductal'. Anyhow, this is what they've determined so far from just the initial mammogram and the ultrasounds and all the stuff that happens with the biopsy. So who knows, this could change.
-So, wait, go back to the bathtub again
Oh yeah. So I calmed down thinking there weren't any hard peas to be found and as always I very easily talked myself out of any kind of worry that anything was wrong (this is how I ended up with a staff infection in the past) but some reasonable tiny part of the back of my brain was a bit shaken and got me over to the phone to leave a message for Dr. Woo at 11:30pm to please try and fit me in the next day, Monday May 18th. I had bad sleep and weird dreams. Awoke to his office at the Swedish Clinic calling me at 7:15am saying they had time at 10. Good.
Well, Woo thought there was definitely some cyst-like thing there and I shouldn't get worried because he couldn't feel anything hard...but... "we need to get this looked at and confirmed. You know, just to make sure." (Wait. That step wasn't supposed to happen. He signed me up for a mammogram. Um, ok. I was supposed to be dismissed like the last time I came to him with a mystery lump four years ago and he said it was nothing and to go home.) Oh, and they only do Fridays at the Ballard Swedish Hospital and this coming one was booked. I have to wait two weeks. Argh!
Friday May 29th, I have an 8:30am mammogram appointment, so excited to get this over with and have a day off. It's hot, I want to go swimming!
I'll speed this up: paperwork, paperwork, gown, leave pants and shoes on, go by machine, get squished, mushed, pinched, vice-griped, don't move, and if we see something not quite right we'll do an ultrasound. Go in little cold room, wait...wait...wait... Uh, Jenny, we'd like to do an ultrasound. Lie down, cold chair, cold gel, lots of talk about on the screen, I'd like a picture of that... and that... and that... ok, go change and meet the doctor in the waiting area. Well, we definitely found something but the only way we'll know if it's cancerous or not is to get a biopsy. It's Friday, is there anyway you can do this as soon as possible, like Monday or Tuesday? (Me: Ummmmmmmmm, what's happening? Where's the part where we all laugh that it's just a cyst and we did all this silly testing for nothing. Let's go home and see you after 40 when you are supposed to start having mammograms. Ho ho ho ho ha! Oh and wait -- my parents are coming Monday... how is this all going to work??)
In the meantime the doctor runs away. Nurse is talking to me about stuff I cannot even remember. Doctor comes back, sits me down and starts saying that if I can get up to First Hill Swedish Hospital across town and sit it the waiting room for a couple of hours, she spoke to her colleage up there whom she loves, trusts and is the best, she'll try to fit me in for a biopsy today. The results can take up to four business days so she'd rather have me get it in before the weekend. Oh yeah, and you CANNOT go swimming. (First of many notes to self right then and there: this process is really annoying and inconvenient.)
I am driving up there and I'm like "WHAT is going on here? This is crazy over-reacting!" This is getting long so I will leave out most of the details of some amazing events during this same day like when two couples in two pick up trucks drove up and asked me if I wanted the abandoned dryer in my backyard... and let's just say that by the end of this interaction the women said they were Prayer Warriors, honked their partners to stop driving away and the four of them deliver a pentacostal-like prayer in the alley for me ending in hugs and tears all around. They said the dryer was going to keep me from having bad cancer and drove away. My Dryer Angel. And then after my biopsy I met Brenda, this colorfully patterned and bedecked older black woman (man? transgender? I really could not precisely tell you) with a giant hat, silver teeth and a wheeled-walker, she (?) and I had a fantastic 15-minute talk in about a 30-yard stop-n-stroll together ending with her placing her giant warm hand on my shoulder and delivering a long, loud prayer of hope and love for me in front of First Hill Swedish Hospital's parking garage.
At this point I knew I might possibly be screwed. I hadn't even gotten back the results of the biopsy and beautiful strangers were already praying for me.
The biopsy results did not take four business days. I had it done late Friday afternoon and they called me Monday June 1 with the news at 3pm. It was so soon I wasn't ready for it. And at that very moment my parents were somewhere in the sky on a plane flying out, a trip they randomly planned a couple of months before. Hi Mom and Dad! Guess what's new?! Oy. But perfect of course. They were here, such great support and my mom could go to a couple of long appointments with me and get the big low-down which I am so, so, SO thankful for. I can't imagine relaying that all by phone... with a 3-hour time difference. And no facial expressions.
-Mammograms, ultrasounds, biopsies -- do you have insurance?!
YES thank goodness. I have been paying through the nose for a plan that was canceled a couple of years ago. They weren't making $ on it so they gave it the boot to newcomers. Instead they have been punishing me with a premium of $327/month. OUCH. I meant to look into cheaper plans because why am I paying for this when I am so ridiculously healthy? And really, I was in perfect health (I thought) before ol' lumpty dumpty showed up. Please please please, have someone who might understand look over your insurance and see what is actually covered. It looks like even with this great insurance I will still have to pay $10-15k out of pocket. But it sure beats $100,000 to $200,000... **whew**
-So what happens next?
In the past two weeks I've been tested, poked, prodded, blood work, peed in a bottle for 24-hours, pelvic exams, informational appointments. And I didn't know how hormonally tied breast cancer is. You need to get this test done on the 23rd day of your cycle, MRI on days 5-7, pee in the bottle day whatever...
This is why I feel like this lump is just a big annoyance. It's seriously cramping my summer style. It's been BEAUTIFUL in Seattle this year, we're on day 25 without rain! It's not fair! And now it's tests, appointments, vitamins, supplements, phone calls, all of this information to know and remember. COME ON!!! Anyway, that's what I've been up to since June 1st.
**************
Anyway, I meet with a surgeon on Wednesday June 17 and I think I will maybe know the size and we'll definitely discuss surgery options (um, because she's the surgeon. I'm getting so tired writing this so late...) Right now it sounds like the two basic ideas are (1) lumpectomy with radiation, maybe chemo (I think chemo is unlikely) and (2) mastectomy and none of that other stuff. And then little variations of these possibilities.
I got back two important test results (ER+ and PR+ tests and HER2neu test -- I won't go into it all because it's boring and I'm confused anyway) -- BUT... they came back as really good results indicating that it's a slow-growing, less aggressive cancer which is GOOD NEWS! Apparently breast cancer in young women is usually very aggressive and they were pleased to see this unusual result. Yeyyyyy!
**************
I am sure that you are as sick of hearing about this stupid lump as I am by now. If all this gives you any insight into my foggy brain of information overload. But I have to say this: I AM SO LUCKY. I'm lucky I have small breasts and found this lump two months before when my next annual exam would have been, I'm lucky that I have someone helping and guiding me through this entire process (more on this Angel-on-Earth later), lucky my parents and sister were here the first week of this, lucky my sister works in a hospital (= interpreter of medical info), Lucky that this is breast cancer. There's no way I will die from this and there are so many more horrible things that can happen to your health. All I can complain about is missing a couple of days of swimming.
But most of all, I am so lucky to have so many friends and family with so much amazing support and love and help and good vibes and good recipes and good stories and jokes. It makes this lump almost fun! (I just say that to keep myself from getting faklempt...)
Seriously, I love you all.
(And future entries will not be this long winded...)
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