posted Tuesday, 28 June 2005
My surgery included two procedures:
• Lumpectomy
• Axillary Lymph Node Dissection
I met with dr d at 8:30am this morning, to discuss/finalize our plans. since there is no signifcant advantage to a mastectomy vs lumpectomy + radiation, and my tumor is still relatively small, i opt for the lumpectomy. i'm not sure who opts for the mastectomy (where they remove the entire breast)... perhaps people who are freaked out by the cancer and just want all of the offending party gone.
Since they believe that breast cancer spreads to the body through the lymphatic system, they will also be doing lymph node dissection. this will be a second incision, under my arm, to remove some lymph nodes, including the swollen one that dr d can feel and that "lights up on my artwork"... not a great sign (since that likely means that the cancer has infected at least that lymph node), but also still not anything that i'm going to get bent out of shape about... it is what it is.
Again, the worst thing about the surgery: No food or drink after midnight... and the surgery is at 2pm. So, after the 8:30am dr appt, mom & i have to entertain ourselves until noon, when we have to be back at the hospital. now, keep in mind, i can't eat, and neither one of us can walk well (i pulled off a pretty fantastic ankle sprain on sunday, playing ultimate frisbee & mom has a torn meniscus in her knee - waiting for surgery of her own!) so, we settle on "bed-shopping" i figure, i'm going to be having lots of company and i'm going to have to spend some time in bed recuperating... i might as well get a new bed... and a nice one at that ("Thanks to gravity and your body's natural heat, the unique surface configuration of Body Rhythm's high density Visco-elastic memory foam contours to your body for maximum support and comfort.") sweet.
then, back to the hospital for a noon check in. they take my temp, bp, etc... and then trot me off to an exam room to get ready. i change into my gown, hop onto the bed (despite the fact that i've been testing fancy mattresses, the bed on wheels is fairly comfortable. the woman on the other side of the curtain, however is very chatty... so i put on my mp3 player and tune her out. nurse pat starts an iv, and hands me a valium "to take the edge off". jen m has shown up (she is such a doll and offered to come and keep my mom company in the waiting room) and the two of them join me as we wait. i think perhaps they could have benefitted from some valium too.
eventually, a man shows up - he's my ride... and they wheel me off. he's pretty speedy... we race down the halls, with jen & mom trying to keep up. they say goodbye as he pushes me into the OR. here, they park me in the hallway, waiting my turn. the anesthesiologist stops by (i met him a week ago at pre-admin) and so does dr d. he offers me some more pain killers in my iv (again, "to take the edge off") but i pass... i'm surprisingly calm. i'm not sure how long it took before they took me into the actual OR.
the operating room itself was a bit intense. machines everywhere. there was dr d. phew. they scooch me over onto the operating table (not as comfy) and attach these "arms" to the table... it looks like the tables they use for lethal injections. yikes. they start to hook me up to all sorts of things - heart monitor, oxygen monitor, compressor boots (that look like leg warmers from the 80s- mine were pink in the 80s...these were tan) that keep my blood circulating, etc. then they strap me down. nice. dr d says "we'll be with you the whole time" to which the anesth. jokingly retorts "like she thought we might be headed for the beach as soon as we knock her out?" glad they were having fun. "we're just going to give you something to make sleepy............................." and that's all i remember.
next thing i know, they are waking me up - i am in the recovery room. apparently 3 hours have passed, but it felt like 3 minutes. dr d is there - "everything went really well, Linda". a nurse is there - "are you in pain?" YES "do you want morphine?" YES (check check). i go back to sleep. i think it was just too much for me to handle, so i slept to avoid dealing with it. over the next 3 hours, i floated in and out. they took off the breathing tubes on my face. mom & jen came in - they said i looked awful (thanks!). they finally tried to sit me up... woah... nausea... they gave me some zofran before i could put in my request for anzemet... oh well. i go back to sleep. around 8:30, i am finally becoming slightly aware of myself and i try to wake up. here's my favorite part... nurse donna has another patient coming in, so she wants to go over the discharge instructions... "don't drive... don't sign legal documents (good thing i moved my closing up to yesterday)... don't get the bandage wet..." then she asks me to sign the form. "wait! she just told me not to sign anything...." whatever... at this point, i really don't care about anything.
i eat 2 graham crackers and sip some juice. the nurse helps me get dressed. they put me in a wheel chair and send me downstairs. mom gets the car. on the ride home my head starts to spin. as i get out and start to walk inside, waves of nausea return. the graham crackers and juice will make great fertilizer in my lawn, i am sure.
Here are links for information about the surgery:
Lumpectomy: http://www.breastcancer.org/tre_surg_conssurg.html
Lymph Node Removal: http://www.breastcancer.org/tre_surg_lymphrem.html
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Friday, June 24, 2005
has it spread?
posted Friday, 24 June 2005
The next week is a total blur... I split my time between:
1. Meeting with those I care about to tell them the news
2. Trekking back and forth for a zillion tests to make sure that the cancer hasn't spread
3. Trying to organize things at work so that they are not a disaster when I leave
4. Final preparation to close on my house (which is the day after my surgery)
Items 3 & 4 are relatively non-interesting, but helped to contribute to one of the most insane weeks of my life... I'll elaborate a bit on items 1 & 2....
1) how do you tell your friends that you have cancer?
yikes... just the word sounds awful. i don't feel sick. i don't look sick. yet inside me, this cancer is prepping for battle. (little does it know, i too am prepping for battle).
• i start with my closer, local friends - those who knew about the lump to begin with. these conversations were quick and easy (relatively speaking).
• next, my close, local friends who were not yet in the loop.... these conversations were not so easy. i tried to do it face-to-face. i'd make a little small talk and then just drop the news like a bomb. actually, i kind of have a little script that i'd rehearsed, so it got easier the more often i practiced it.
• next, my close, distant friends... this was even tougher... "hey, haven't talked in a while... by the way, i have cancer". actually, i pretty much used the same script as above, but phone conversations are always tougher, especially this one.
• next, a smattering of other friends, co-workers, etc... those who aren't as close, but i'd still prefer that they hear it from me (as opposed to through the grapevine)
It's interesting to look at the way people react to the news. There are pretty much three reactions:
• Denial - "is there any way they misdiagnosed you?"
• Anger - "this is not fair!"
• Fear/Sadness/Confusion - "what does this mean? will you be ok? tears"
At first, I tried to mandate the reaction... "don't cry..." but i quickly realized that while i had had 1 wole week to acclimate myself to the situation, this was the first that my friends/ family were hearing... and they were entitled to their feelings of fear/anger/sadness. i guess i just didn't want to see the people that i cared about so upset.
I managed to stay relatively calm through all of these interactions. No tears (except for two conversations, which is pretty darn good). i guess it's hard not to cry when someone says "don't you put on a brave face here with me and then go home and cry alone at night in your bed" (ok - somebody knows me pretty well)...
In general, my story was matter-of fact... i have not been handed a life sentance, rather a 1-year term at a rather nasty institution. i wasn't going to guess how i would feel or what would happen... just take it as it came.
2) has it spread?
ok, so this part wasn't very fun either. i was scheduled for a mass of tests to check all the other organs in my body: lungs, liver, bones, blood, kidneys, etc. lucky for me, i am not afraid of needles, as most of these tests involved injection/infusion of some type of radio-active dye. unlucky for me, i get very grumpy when i don't eat... and most of these tests also involve a 4-6 hour fast prior to the test.
by friday, all my tests were done, but as i sat in the car on the way up to boston, nurse mary called - the pet scan was ok, but the radiologist wanted another picture. i needed to get a ct scan of my chest... no- not the barium again (the ct scan required me to drink 2 pints of barium before the test... imagine a chalky drink, the consistency of a mix of 1 part elmers glue: 1 part water. they give it an orange flavor, but that doesn't help much... i was slightly concerned - why do they need another test, but tried to put it out of my mind for the weekend. as monday rolled around, i was pleasantly surprised (no barium to drink this time) - i got a call from dr d that very night - all clear and ready for surgery the next day.
all told, i had (pretty much in this order):
• blood work (piece of cake)
• chest x-ray (piece of cake)
• ct scan of abdomen/pelvis (clear liquids for 4 hours; drink a 2 pints of barium before hand; injection during the scan for "contrast"; 10 minute scan)
• bone scan (radioactive injection 2hrs before the scan; 30 minute scan)
• pet scan (water only for 6 hours prior; 45 minute infusion of radioactive glucose; 45 minute scan)
• ct scan of chest (clear liquids for 4 hours; injection during the scan; 10 minute scan)
For those of you (like me) who fall a little on the dorky end of the spectrum, here's some info on each of the diagnostic tests they do http://www.breastcancer.org/testing_intro.html
The next week is a total blur... I split my time between:
1. Meeting with those I care about to tell them the news
2. Trekking back and forth for a zillion tests to make sure that the cancer hasn't spread
3. Trying to organize things at work so that they are not a disaster when I leave
4. Final preparation to close on my house (which is the day after my surgery)
Items 3 & 4 are relatively non-interesting, but helped to contribute to one of the most insane weeks of my life... I'll elaborate a bit on items 1 & 2....
1) how do you tell your friends that you have cancer?
yikes... just the word sounds awful. i don't feel sick. i don't look sick. yet inside me, this cancer is prepping for battle. (little does it know, i too am prepping for battle).
• i start with my closer, local friends - those who knew about the lump to begin with. these conversations were quick and easy (relatively speaking).
• next, my close, local friends who were not yet in the loop.... these conversations were not so easy. i tried to do it face-to-face. i'd make a little small talk and then just drop the news like a bomb. actually, i kind of have a little script that i'd rehearsed, so it got easier the more often i practiced it.
• next, my close, distant friends... this was even tougher... "hey, haven't talked in a while... by the way, i have cancer". actually, i pretty much used the same script as above, but phone conversations are always tougher, especially this one.
• next, a smattering of other friends, co-workers, etc... those who aren't as close, but i'd still prefer that they hear it from me (as opposed to through the grapevine)
It's interesting to look at the way people react to the news. There are pretty much three reactions:
• Denial - "is there any way they misdiagnosed you?"
• Anger - "this is not fair!"
• Fear/Sadness/Confusion - "what does this mean? will you be ok? tears"
At first, I tried to mandate the reaction... "don't cry..." but i quickly realized that while i had had 1 wole week to acclimate myself to the situation, this was the first that my friends/ family were hearing... and they were entitled to their feelings of fear/anger/sadness. i guess i just didn't want to see the people that i cared about so upset.
I managed to stay relatively calm through all of these interactions. No tears (except for two conversations, which is pretty darn good). i guess it's hard not to cry when someone says "don't you put on a brave face here with me and then go home and cry alone at night in your bed" (ok - somebody knows me pretty well)...
In general, my story was matter-of fact... i have not been handed a life sentance, rather a 1-year term at a rather nasty institution. i wasn't going to guess how i would feel or what would happen... just take it as it came.
2) has it spread?
ok, so this part wasn't very fun either. i was scheduled for a mass of tests to check all the other organs in my body: lungs, liver, bones, blood, kidneys, etc. lucky for me, i am not afraid of needles, as most of these tests involved injection/infusion of some type of radio-active dye. unlucky for me, i get very grumpy when i don't eat... and most of these tests also involve a 4-6 hour fast prior to the test.
by friday, all my tests were done, but as i sat in the car on the way up to boston, nurse mary called - the pet scan was ok, but the radiologist wanted another picture. i needed to get a ct scan of my chest... no- not the barium again (the ct scan required me to drink 2 pints of barium before the test... imagine a chalky drink, the consistency of a mix of 1 part elmers glue: 1 part water. they give it an orange flavor, but that doesn't help much... i was slightly concerned - why do they need another test, but tried to put it out of my mind for the weekend. as monday rolled around, i was pleasantly surprised (no barium to drink this time) - i got a call from dr d that very night - all clear and ready for surgery the next day.
all told, i had (pretty much in this order):
• blood work (piece of cake)
• chest x-ray (piece of cake)
• ct scan of abdomen/pelvis (clear liquids for 4 hours; drink a 2 pints of barium before hand; injection during the scan for "contrast"; 10 minute scan)
• bone scan (radioactive injection 2hrs before the scan; 30 minute scan)
• pet scan (water only for 6 hours prior; 45 minute infusion of radioactive glucose; 45 minute scan)
• ct scan of chest (clear liquids for 4 hours; injection during the scan; 10 minute scan)
For those of you (like me) who fall a little on the dorky end of the spectrum, here's some info on each of the diagnostic tests they do http://www.breastcancer.org/testing_intro.html
Monday, June 20, 2005
somehow i knew... days 1-16
posted Monday, 20 June 2005
Day 1: Somehow i knew... that despite the odds (you're too young... you have no family history... many women in their 20's find lumps and they are almost always nothing to worry about...), the lump i found in my left breast was not just going to go away. so between the time that i found the lump (sunday morning) and my appt with dr p (thursday), i must have felt myself up a thousand times... is it really a lump? is it getting smaller/bigger? and of course, to my very close friends... "here... feel this..."
Day 5: I trek the hour up to Dr P's office (hey - when you find a good gyn, you'll drive to see her). She performs an exam and confirms my finding "yup - you've got a lump". she sends me for an ultrasound. since the most common culprit of lumps in young women are cysts, which are filled with fluid, and ultrasound waves pass through fluid, only a solid mass will show on the ultrasound. easy enough. but mine showed up. after a quick consult w the radiologist, they scurried me across the hall (still decked out in my half-gown) to mammography. girls, the rumor is true: mammograms hurt like hell. especially for those of us with a "more athletic build". so they take shots from several angles and have me wait to make sure they got good films. at first, the women in the next room were chatting about their kids and then "wow... that is huge..." and the door shut. i know they were not talking about my rack. so they scurry me back to talk with dr p about what they found. dr p comes in and says she wants me to meet with a surgeon. she refers me to someone in princeton, who will meet me the very next morning. i was impressed with the pull dr p had in getting me through all my tests and in to the surgeon so quickly.
Day 6: I'm sitting in the exam room, in my gown, reading my "mental toughness training" book when i first meet dr d and nurse mary. little did i know how much mental toughness i would need to draw on in the coming weeks. Dr d shows me the films from the previous day and tells me what she sees. "i'm gonna be straight with you because i think it's important to be honest. the pictures here worry me a bit. these spots here are calcitrations, which often surround cancer. i'm going to do a biopsy to see what we find, but i want to take the lump out either way" woah - she just said the "c-word". like it was nothing. "you may wonder why bother with the biopsy if we are going to take it out anyways, but it will give us a better understanding of what we're dealing with and what we need to remove". ok. i think they were a little surprised that i wanted to watch the whole thing.
needle- anesthetic to numb (ok it hurt a little)
scalpel - small incision
core needle - pops out samples of the tissue (the 2nd one hurt, so they fixed me up with some more anesthetic)
scalpel - small incision
core needle - pops out samples of the tissue (the 2nd one hurt, so they fixed me up with some more anesthetic)
then some gauze, a bandaid & an ice pack... good as new... i meet with the surgery scheduler - the first date available is friday, june 23. ok... june 24/25 is easterns. the end-of-spring tournament that i have been busting my butt to get in shape for. is there any other date? june 27th. ok... that will work... i mean, it's a minor issue that i am closing on my house on the 28th and moving on the 1st, but we'll figure something out... at least i can play frisbee!
I should get the results of the biopsy by mid-week, so I am off - meet jen for breakfast, work a full day, summer league game (we won)... life goes on...
Day 10 (Tuesday): Is it mid-week yet? (Robin: No, not yet)
Day 11 (Wednesday): Is it mid-week yet? (Robin: Ok - you can call)... Dr D and Nurse Mary are not in on Wed, so they'll be calling me back the next day.
Day 12 (Thursday): Nurse Mary - no results yet
Day 13 (Friday): Nurse Mary - no results yet. ugh. i have to wait the whole weekend? she promises they'll be back on Monday and schedules time for me to come in and meet with Dr D.
Day 14: Our ultimate team has a weekend retreat in Lancaster, which is an excellent dirstraction. full day of practice, followed by team events. WICKED is born!
Day 15: More practice. When I get home, I work for a few hours, then turn my attention to surfing the web for info on breast cancer. bad idea. get pretty worked up as i prepare myself for the worst. Nothing like scaring yourself silly to help get to sleep at night…
Day 16: I work a full day, getting the team prepped for our meeting. I have no time to think about what is in store for me. They head out around 3:30... I do too... I pick up Susie, who is going with me to see dr d. she examines me quickly "yup-it's still there" and then asks me to get dressed. we'll meet in the conference room to talk. hmmm... if it was good news, i think she would have just said "Hey...great news! It's just [enter benign breast condition here]!"... not "let's meet in the conf room where it is more comfortable". she enters, bearing a big pink folder. hmmm.. then she pulls out the results from my biopsy: "invasive ductal carcinoma... poorly differentiated" ok... whatever that means. good thing susie was there. she is newly armed with a phD and asks all the smart questions. i sit and listen, absorbing more than i thought i would. i learned more about breast cancer in those 15 minutes than i likely ever would have. in fact, i became something of a mini-walking-statistics book on breast cancer. i guess it makes it easier to take a clinical look at things... this is what it is... this is what we do about it... wow. susie convinces me to skip my summer league game and go have mojitos on the patio at mediterra. (good call susie!) jaeger, abby, robin/katie, maupin, susan and blo join us. it's like a little party... but i know it's not really. i am glad to be there with my friends and to feel their support. but i tire early and head home, carrying the knowledge that i have cancer.
http://www.cancer.gov/cancertopics/pdq/treatment/breast/Patient/page1
1. Carissa left... 
Thinking of you :)
Monday, 22 August 2005 10:20 am
Thinking of you :)
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