How I Found Out, Part 1 - The Initial Diagnosis
To say finding out I had cancer was a shock to me isn't 100% accurate. All my life, I've kind of expected cancer. With the high incidence of numerous types on my mom's side of the family, several of which were aunts (and my own mom) with breast cancer, it wasn't like it couldn't happen. What did come as a shock to me was how soon it happened. While 41 might seem "old" to some younger folks, it's really not that old in the grand scheme of things. And when it comes to breast cancer, I was surprised to find out that 41 is actually considered too young.
In late January/early February, I felt a sharp, shooting pain in my right breast. Being used to monthly breast tenderness, I knew this wasn't anything related to that because it felt completely different. I'm very much in tune with my body, and this didn't feel like any pain I'd ever had, and if you've followed me for a while, you know I know pain. This was mean, it was evil, it was like being stabbed from the inside out with an ice pick. Since I'm so used to pains and aches, I gave it a couple of days before panicking. Things got worse, though, so I ended up feeling around, and sure enough, there it was. A giant lump.
Now, I have to admit I'm not the best at self-breast exams. I do them, but could probably do them more regularly. Regardless, I still do them and I still handle my breasts enough to know if there had been a giant lump before this. I didn't. I had no idea. This thing literally came out of nowhere.
I don't know if it's because I'm a pretty perceptive person, or if you just somehow know that you have cancer before you're formally diagnosed, but I immediately freaked out. It wasn't that I'd found a lump, it wasn't just the pain; it was that both were happening at the same time, which is never a good sign. And I just felt it. Even though I was hoping for a positive outcome, I just knew.
Not being one to play with my health, I immediately switched the reason for an upcoming doctor's appointment to THERE'S A BIG EVIL BALL IN MY BOOB, TELL ME WHAT IT IS. As the days passed and my pain increased, so did my anxiety. By the Monday before my appointment, I was in such a state of panic that I could barely function. I still don't know how I was able to conduct interviews for new staff that day, smiling and pretending I had my act together, when I was falling apart on the inside. I joke that I deserve an Academy Award for that performance, because it wasn't until I finally fell apart in front of my supervisor that I realized how much I was acting just to get by.
At my appointment, my doctor was stunned. He thought it was strange that I had such a large lump, and after palpating, he said it was possible I had an inflamed duct. He immediately asked if I was pregnant, which I'm definitely not. When I asked him why, he told me it felt like I was about ready to start lactating. This was confusing to both of us, especially because most people who lactate do it from BOTH SIDES. He was perplexed, but mainly concerned because of the kind of pain I was reporting.
My eyes were as wide as saucers when he was telling me the kinds of massages to give myself to see if any breast milk would start coming out, in case it was some strange situation. In the meantime, he was already putting in the order for a mammogram and ultrasound. He said with my family history, he didn't want to mess around.
Finally! A doctor who's properly terrified of my family history!
I had the screenings done a couple days later. Believe it or not, that was my first mammogram, even though I'd been begging doctors to order one for me since my 30s, again ecause of my family history. "You're too young," they'd tell me. "We'll cross that bridge when you're in your mid 40s."
Hrmph.
Both procedures were somewhat painful because of the lump, but I made it through. The ultrasound techs let me watch per my request (I am fascinated by innards), so it was all very interesting, even if I wasn't 100% sure of what I was looking at. When they were finished, they told me the radiologist would be in to tell me what the findings were. It was the longest wait of my life. At least, that's what it felt like.
In reality, she was back within five minutes with news I didn't want to hear. The lump was very "suspicious", so much so that she recommended an immediate biopsy because she was "extremely concerned". I made the This Is Fine Face, and told her that if they could squeeze me in that same day, I'd do it (there were some scheduling conflicts for the radiologist the rest of that week, and I didn't want to prolong the torture of the wait).
After much scrambling on their end, and more waiting in a thin gown for me (thank goodness for the warm blankets, because it gets cold fast!), they said they had the authorization from my insurance to go ahead with the biopsy. Or biopsies. Turns out there was a suspicious lymph node they had to investigate, too.
I had an ultrasound guided biopsy, so I got to watch some of that as well. Though I was given local anesthesia for the procedure, it was still extremely painful, especially when they were getting the lymph node sample. That part actually made me cry it hurt so bad, but they were very kind and gave me extra anesthesia before proceeding. The metal markers were inserted in the mass and the lymph node they'd biopsied (these are so they know where they've been when they go back in for surgery). My radiologist was firm but kind, and explained everything she was doing as she was doing it, which helped ease a lot of my anxiety. But she also told me scary things like how the next steps would be meeting with a surgeon and getting in touch with an oncologist, etc., etc., all said in matter-of-fact tone that might have felt routine for her, but was scaring me.
Oncologist? A surgeon, I could understand. The lump was pretty darn big and it makes sense to meet with a surgeon to have something like that removed. But an oncologist? Was she already telling me I had cancer without actually saying I had cancer? (Yes. Yes, she was.)
After all that, I was told had to have a second mammogram, to make sure the markers were visible and all was well. (Hooray! More being flattened like a panini!) Fortunately, this one was much more gentle because of the biopsies. When it was over, they gave me some adorable heart-shaped ice packs to put on my boob and under my arm, and my emotionally and physically exhausting day was over.
The next day, I saw that I had pathology results in my patient portal, but that they wouldn't be available til the following week. My anxiety being what it is, I knew there was no way I could wait five days, fully knowing the results were already in. So, I called my doctor and left a message for him to call me back with any information he had. It was Friday, February 23rd, and I needed to make sure my weekend wasn't filled with spinning in my own head. He called me back that evening and told me what I already knew.
I had breast cancer.
I think I handled the news well over the phone because I already kinda knew based on the radiologist's comments, and because I was already numb with shock from that day. My doctor explained that with the limited information he had at that time (staging is difficult with so few screenings), he could safely say I was at least at Stage 2. The fact that there was that evil lymph node looking all suspicious and snarky could mean a higher stage, but further testing would be needed to get to that point. Surgeons and oncologists would be able to explain it all in further detail, he said. He was extremely kind and compassionate, and promised me he was going to move me through the process quickly. "You're not going to have to wait months and months for your appointments. We're going to get started on your treatment right away," he told me. That both soothed and frightened me. If they're moving me along with such haste, didn't that mean that things were serious?
I'll never forget the end of that thirty minute conversation. It gave me the peace I needed to be able to sit with my diagnosis and process everything that had been thrown my way in just 48 hours. See, my doctor and I are very new to each other. After a couple of years with minimal insurance and access to some subpar doctors, I was grateful to have good insurance again through my job. But because of changes in the system, I had to completely switch medical groups and doctors, so I'd only met with my new primary doctor a couple of times. Still, I felt confident in his care from Day One, because he's the type of doctor that actually listens and takes you seriously. Being suddenly thrust into this kind of scenario with a doctor you don't have much history with can be a little scary, but I had to be okay with my current situation. If there's one thing I know about cancer is that you don't play around with waiting games, especially if it's cancer you can already feel.
So he was telling me that he was going to order a bunch of referrals for specialists and further screening, and to expect a ton of phone calls the following week. He told me to breathe and allow myself to feel the impact of the diagnosis, and process through the grief, fear and anger over the weekend, but not much longer. He stressed the importance of a positive attitude, and told me he was going to do everything he could on his end to support me.
"You're going to take care of me, right?" I choked through the tears I had been trying to hold in.
"I already am."
He said it with both quiet certainty and a crack in his voice that betrayed his emotion. And it was the last part that put me at ease. Yes, I was just told I had cancer and that it was already pretty far along. Yes, I had a brand new doctor that I was just getting to know. But the way he said he would take care of me... I wish I had a recording to share with you. It was like nothing I'd ever heard from a doctor, and I realized just how lucky I was to have him.
You see, what made him different was his humanity. That day, he showed me his human side - not his doctor side - at a time when I needed compassion and concern. That is what has been missing from medicine for far too long. I'm just grateful that it seems to be coming back in style, because it makes all the difference in the world, especially at a time when you're receiving news that turns your life upside down.
Little did I know just how topsy turvy life would get from that point! I'll share that in Part 2, because Holy Hannah, does cancer change everything, and I mean everything.
In late January/early February, I felt a sharp, shooting pain in my right breast. Being used to monthly breast tenderness, I knew this wasn't anything related to that because it felt completely different. I'm very much in tune with my body, and this didn't feel like any pain I'd ever had, and if you've followed me for a while, you know I know pain. This was mean, it was evil, it was like being stabbed from the inside out with an ice pick. Since I'm so used to pains and aches, I gave it a couple of days before panicking. Things got worse, though, so I ended up feeling around, and sure enough, there it was. A giant lump.
Now, I have to admit I'm not the best at self-breast exams. I do them, but could probably do them more regularly. Regardless, I still do them and I still handle my breasts enough to know if there had been a giant lump before this. I didn't. I had no idea. This thing literally came out of nowhere.
I don't know if it's because I'm a pretty perceptive person, or if you just somehow know that you have cancer before you're formally diagnosed, but I immediately freaked out. It wasn't that I'd found a lump, it wasn't just the pain; it was that both were happening at the same time, which is never a good sign. And I just felt it. Even though I was hoping for a positive outcome, I just knew.
Not being one to play with my health, I immediately switched the reason for an upcoming doctor's appointment to THERE'S A BIG EVIL BALL IN MY BOOB, TELL ME WHAT IT IS. As the days passed and my pain increased, so did my anxiety. By the Monday before my appointment, I was in such a state of panic that I could barely function. I still don't know how I was able to conduct interviews for new staff that day, smiling and pretending I had my act together, when I was falling apart on the inside. I joke that I deserve an Academy Award for that performance, because it wasn't until I finally fell apart in front of my supervisor that I realized how much I was acting just to get by.
At my appointment, my doctor was stunned. He thought it was strange that I had such a large lump, and after palpating, he said it was possible I had an inflamed duct. He immediately asked if I was pregnant, which I'm definitely not. When I asked him why, he told me it felt like I was about ready to start lactating. This was confusing to both of us, especially because most people who lactate do it from BOTH SIDES. He was perplexed, but mainly concerned because of the kind of pain I was reporting.
My eyes were as wide as saucers when he was telling me the kinds of massages to give myself to see if any breast milk would start coming out, in case it was some strange situation. In the meantime, he was already putting in the order for a mammogram and ultrasound. He said with my family history, he didn't want to mess around.
Finally! A doctor who's properly terrified of my family history!
I had the screenings done a couple days later. Believe it or not, that was my first mammogram, even though I'd been begging doctors to order one for me since my 30s, again ecause of my family history. "You're too young," they'd tell me. "We'll cross that bridge when you're in your mid 40s."
Hrmph.
Both procedures were somewhat painful because of the lump, but I made it through. The ultrasound techs let me watch per my request (I am fascinated by innards), so it was all very interesting, even if I wasn't 100% sure of what I was looking at. When they were finished, they told me the radiologist would be in to tell me what the findings were. It was the longest wait of my life. At least, that's what it felt like.
In reality, she was back within five minutes with news I didn't want to hear. The lump was very "suspicious", so much so that she recommended an immediate biopsy because she was "extremely concerned". I made the This Is Fine Face, and told her that if they could squeeze me in that same day, I'd do it (there were some scheduling conflicts for the radiologist the rest of that week, and I didn't want to prolong the torture of the wait).
After much scrambling on their end, and more waiting in a thin gown for me (thank goodness for the warm blankets, because it gets cold fast!), they said they had the authorization from my insurance to go ahead with the biopsy. Or biopsies. Turns out there was a suspicious lymph node they had to investigate, too.
I had an ultrasound guided biopsy, so I got to watch some of that as well. Though I was given local anesthesia for the procedure, it was still extremely painful, especially when they were getting the lymph node sample. That part actually made me cry it hurt so bad, but they were very kind and gave me extra anesthesia before proceeding. The metal markers were inserted in the mass and the lymph node they'd biopsied (these are so they know where they've been when they go back in for surgery). My radiologist was firm but kind, and explained everything she was doing as she was doing it, which helped ease a lot of my anxiety. But she also told me scary things like how the next steps would be meeting with a surgeon and getting in touch with an oncologist, etc., etc., all said in matter-of-fact tone that might have felt routine for her, but was scaring me.
Oncologist? A surgeon, I could understand. The lump was pretty darn big and it makes sense to meet with a surgeon to have something like that removed. But an oncologist? Was she already telling me I had cancer without actually saying I had cancer? (Yes. Yes, she was.)
After all that, I was told had to have a second mammogram, to make sure the markers were visible and all was well. (Hooray! More being flattened like a panini!) Fortunately, this one was much more gentle because of the biopsies. When it was over, they gave me some adorable heart-shaped ice packs to put on my boob and under my arm, and my emotionally and physically exhausting day was over.
The next day, I saw that I had pathology results in my patient portal, but that they wouldn't be available til the following week. My anxiety being what it is, I knew there was no way I could wait five days, fully knowing the results were already in. So, I called my doctor and left a message for him to call me back with any information he had. It was Friday, February 23rd, and I needed to make sure my weekend wasn't filled with spinning in my own head. He called me back that evening and told me what I already knew.
I had breast cancer.
I think I handled the news well over the phone because I already kinda knew based on the radiologist's comments, and because I was already numb with shock from that day. My doctor explained that with the limited information he had at that time (staging is difficult with so few screenings), he could safely say I was at least at Stage 2. The fact that there was that evil lymph node looking all suspicious and snarky could mean a higher stage, but further testing would be needed to get to that point. Surgeons and oncologists would be able to explain it all in further detail, he said. He was extremely kind and compassionate, and promised me he was going to move me through the process quickly. "You're not going to have to wait months and months for your appointments. We're going to get started on your treatment right away," he told me. That both soothed and frightened me. If they're moving me along with such haste, didn't that mean that things were serious?
I'll never forget the end of that thirty minute conversation. It gave me the peace I needed to be able to sit with my diagnosis and process everything that had been thrown my way in just 48 hours. See, my doctor and I are very new to each other. After a couple of years with minimal insurance and access to some subpar doctors, I was grateful to have good insurance again through my job. But because of changes in the system, I had to completely switch medical groups and doctors, so I'd only met with my new primary doctor a couple of times. Still, I felt confident in his care from Day One, because he's the type of doctor that actually listens and takes you seriously. Being suddenly thrust into this kind of scenario with a doctor you don't have much history with can be a little scary, but I had to be okay with my current situation. If there's one thing I know about cancer is that you don't play around with waiting games, especially if it's cancer you can already feel.
So he was telling me that he was going to order a bunch of referrals for specialists and further screening, and to expect a ton of phone calls the following week. He told me to breathe and allow myself to feel the impact of the diagnosis, and process through the grief, fear and anger over the weekend, but not much longer. He stressed the importance of a positive attitude, and told me he was going to do everything he could on his end to support me.
"You're going to take care of me, right?" I choked through the tears I had been trying to hold in.
"I already am."
He said it with both quiet certainty and a crack in his voice that betrayed his emotion. And it was the last part that put me at ease. Yes, I was just told I had cancer and that it was already pretty far along. Yes, I had a brand new doctor that I was just getting to know. But the way he said he would take care of me... I wish I had a recording to share with you. It was like nothing I'd ever heard from a doctor, and I realized just how lucky I was to have him.
You see, what made him different was his humanity. That day, he showed me his human side - not his doctor side - at a time when I needed compassion and concern. That is what has been missing from medicine for far too long. I'm just grateful that it seems to be coming back in style, because it makes all the difference in the world, especially at a time when you're receiving news that turns your life upside down.
Little did I know just how topsy turvy life would get from that point! I'll share that in Part 2, because Holy Hannah, does cancer change everything, and I mean everything.
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