“When you’re in the midst of the diagnosis and staging process, and the tumor information is coming back in bits and pieces, at many different times, it is an extremely stressful time in your life.
Uncertainty really stinks! But you will feel SO much better once you know what you’re dealing with, when your treatment plan has been worked out, and you start your treatment. Only then does much of that dreadful uncertainty lift, and you finally feel that you are doing something to get rid of the problem.” —Marisa Weiss MD
Well that’s good news. ’Extremely stressful’ is an understatement.
So far, all I know about the cancer is that that it IS cancer and that it is 2.5mm big.
My liver ultrasound and chest x-ray both came back looking clean (except for gallstones—oh JOY now there is something else to look forward too lol!). Finally a happy surgeon visit.
It’s been an entire month since I first saw my GP about the lump in my breast. A month. People keep asking me ’How did you find it?’ I can only stare at them blankly and say ’Well, you can’t miss it. It’s this big [show them with finger gestures] and it’s right there [point at breast]’.
A month. A month of waiting. Waiting in doctors offices, waiting at the imaging place, waiting at the hospital today, waiting for results. Waaaaiiiiting.
I finally have surgery on Tuesday afternoon. I have to wait until Monday to find out what time they want me in there on Tuesday. I stay until probably the weekend, well as soon as they take the drains out of my armpit and breast. And then I wait until the middle of the following week (at the earliest) to hear the results of the operation. How invasive it is, how aggressive and fast is it, is it ductal or lobular, has it reached the lymph nodes. And will I need a mastectomy? On Tuesday my surgeon is giving me breast conserving surgery (meaning lump plus margin plus axillary lymph node removal). If things don’t come back as nicely as we like, I go back in to have my breast removed.
In a month’s time I will finally get to see an oncologist. Correction. Two oncologists … a medical oncologist (for chemo) and a radiation oncologist (for radiotherapy). Chemo would start first, and will take anywhere from three to six months depending on what the oncologist thinks is best. Once chemo is finished then I will have radiotherapy. This is regardless of what comes back after surgery. Unless the thing has hormone receptors (meaning that hormones feed the tumour) then I have hormone therapy as well. Praying for a big no on that one.
I went to the hospital earlier this week and met with the local Breast Care Nurse. She is a godsend. She will be with me for information and support throughout this whole journey. I am finally ’in the system’ now and the system is working. The cogs are turning. The oncology social worker rang me yesterday to introduce herself. And this morning I had pre-admission clinic at the hospital, where an admissions nurse completed all the forms, did all the screening (apart from bloods which were done earlier in the week) gave me all the info on my stay in hospital. And then I saw the anaesthetist who will be looking after me on Friday. It turns out he is the same guy I had for a pre-cancerous cervix operation back in 1997. Something stuffed up there … I ’woke up’ before the paralysing drug wore off. Couldn’t open my eyes, talk, move …. or breathe. I thought I was dying and then I just greyed out. So this time the operation is a LOT longer than that one and the paralysing drug will have worn off long before the anaesthetic does, thank GOD. I was terrified of that happening again.
I’ll be taking a truckload of stuff into hospital with me this time, I’ve decided. I’m taking my own pillow for a start. I’m taking a lovely little lap quilt my mother made and quilted for me a few years ago. I’ll be taking a framed photo of Liam. My mp3 player and headphones, and a heap of study gear! Might as well, I’ll be stuck in bed for hours on end. What better time to read Great Expectations? (oh noooooooo I can’t stand Dickens and that book puts me to sleep), To The Lighthouse, Pride & Prejudice & The Crucible. Doable? nah! but I’m going to study I swear. I have six 200 word paragraphs I need to write for my writing class. Plus an 800 word essay. Plus a 1500 word + quiz for my lit class. Luckily I have been given a special extension of time until 31 August to complete my courses. That’s two, nearly three months extra.
I spoke to both of my course coordinators yesterday and they are in full support of me continuing to study ’through my illness’ (I find that confounding … I’m not ill! I feel and look perfectly healthy). My writing class coordinator continued doing her Masters/PhD in English while she was having a brain tumour removed! Both her and my Lit prof agree that it would be something positive to do through treatment and are willing to help me in any way possible. They are fantastic, non-assuming wonderful women. I am very disappointed not to be meeting them at residential school this semester, and we all really hope to meet at the res school NEXT semester. Particularly my writing prof. We nattered for ages.
So. I have to accept that my emotions are on a journey all of their own right now. One day I wake up happy and have a generally good day, the next I wake up miserable and frightened. Others I feel just plain little and fragile. The feelings are definite, last a while, can change during the day, but so strongly that they stay a while. No wishy washy feelings here, one way OR the other. Still can’t get over that anger I felt. I have no idea from one day to the next. The anxiety is obviously there, but hidden deeply. I had quite a strong anxiety attack in bed last night for what seemed like no reason at all. I am getting more nervous as Operation Day looms. But on the other hand I want this bitch out of my breast.
Oh, and I bought my first scarf today. 🙁 It’s a lovely semi-sheer silk thing with a Picasso print on it but still – it’s a scarf. I had the hardest time trying to tell the girl I needed a scarf to tie around my head. She kept giving me long skinny ones, thinking I meant as decoration. I kept saying, ’no, I need square ones’. She just didn’t get what I meant and I had to eventually say ’I’m going to be having chemo’. ’Ooohhhh … the light dawned and we were on our way looking at appropriate scarves.
Buying a scarf was another step of acceptance I guess. And here I need to say one thing in case any readers misunderstand. Accepting that I have cancer is NOT the same as giving in to the cancer. Not in a million years. It is there, it is fact, and no amount of denying it will happily make it go away in any sort of New Age way “Do not accept you have cancer and it will go away!” I’ve heard that one before *rolling eyes*.
I’m exhausted all of the time. I’ve said that a million times already I am sure. At least while I’m in hospital it means I’m not rushing around for appointments. They’re all coming to me!
I’m going to bed now … probably to not sleep …
Oh! No I’ m not! Something funny to tell… One of my aunties gave my mother The Secret on cd for Christmas. You know The Secret. The Secret which is about the usual positive thinking and positive affirmations, just repackaged as something mystical and secret and making some Australian woman richer than God. Mum and Dad and I had a giggle about it originally. But now Mum has passed it on to me. Thinking, well it might help me get through the low times at least. Buck me up a bit. Ah God that’s so funny. I will give it a listen. If only for the entertainment value!