Just Hangin' Loose

Tonight was my breast MRI (magnetic resonance imaging) in preparation for my half day appointment with the Spectrum Health Breast Cancer Multispecialty Team (MST) at the Lemmen-Holton Cancer Pavilion next Monday.  [Oye, that's a mouth full.]

After my diagnosis, the people at Betty Ford referred me to the MST and they took over my tests and care.  From the surgeon through the oncologists on down to a "nurse navigator" and social worker, the MST will cover all the bases and help develop a plan for me moving forward.  [Seriously, check out the link above, it is a one-stop cancer care shop.]

My next step was the breast MRI, which will give a different picture of what is going on inside me.  When the nurse called to schedule it, she explained a bit of how it would be done, including that I'd be on my stomach for about 40 minutes.  Now, I don't know about you, but the thought of being on my stomach for breast imaging, smooshed up against a - what - glass table sounded terrible. 

Oh, was my image off.

And, oh, was it even more ridiculous.

The nurse explained that while I would be on my stomach during the test, the table had ... well ... two holes in it.  SERIOUSLY?  I took the nurse by surprise when I - the patient who recently learned she has breast cancer - could NOT stop laughing. 

Actually, I think she was getting annoyed because the giggles kept starting over.

Because I'm an adult with the occasional maturity level of a 12 year old boy. [No offense to 12 year old boys out there.]

I arrived tonight in full-on dread mode completely untempered by any happy hour drink because SOMEONE at MST told Olivia (the extremely pleasant administrative assistant there) that I could not have any.  Someone was wrong.  I asked upon arrival and I TOTALLY could have had a drink before slipping the ladies into two holes and hanging loose for 40 minutes. But I digress.

I arrived, slipped into one of the oh-so-sheek hospital gowns (open in front please) and sat while first Drew and then Kim patted, rubbed, and slapped my veins around in vain trying to find one for an IV.

I hate IVs.

My veins hate IVs. 

I'll give props to Kim, though. She only stuck me once.  Granted, it was a dreaded back-of-the-hand IV but it worked.  So, now I'm in hospital gown (open in front) with an IV on my right hand and am presented with ... the table:

See that slightly purple/lavender head/breast rest?  Yep.  With the open sides in case anyone needs to move anything around in there.  I spent 40 minutes with my girls hanging through those holes, my face resting in the deceptive 'you could be having a massage' holder, with my arms straight out in front of me, IV on top of the right hand, and a squishy ball in the left that would serve as my panic button should things get too intense for me during the procedure.

"What music would you like to listen to?"

Huh?

"What music would you like to listen to through the headphones?"

He should have asked what music would I want to hear set to loud buzzing and clicks but I appreciated it nonetheless.  [For the record, I heard some Struts, some Rixton, and, I believe, a Vamps song during my face-down time.] 

So, face down, arms overhead, headphones on, contrast pumping into my arm with both a sting and a chill, and praying that the panic ball would be unneeded, I proceeded to focus on my breathing for 40 minutes.  [Little bit claustrophobic over here.] 

And then it was done.  Up you go, out comes the IV, on goes a bandage, here are your clothes, and here's the door.  Wham, bam, thank ... you get the idea.

And now I wait. 

Monday afternoon will include individual appointments with three doctors - the surgeon, the medical oncologist, and the radiology oncologist - all of whom will give me a breast exam.  That will make roughly 9 people who will have felt me up in 2016 so far. 

Loose indeed.

Just A Little Bit ...

... of cancer.

I've sat here staring at the white page for a while now.  I'm not sure what to write.

But those were the words that turned everything surreal.

"Just a little bit of cancer." 

Less than a week out from my boring, smoosh 'em session, a nurse from Spectrum called to let me know that my mammogram showed some asymmetric tissue and they wanted me to come in for further images.  The next afternoon. 

No problem.  I know multiple people who have had to do the same. So, the next day, I again donned the stylish wrap half-gown (in plum this time) and allowed another stranger (extremely nice) to position my body and breast, and then I held my breath, and repeated the process several times.  The staff at the Betty Ford Breast Center in Grand Rapids are incredible.  And they don't send you home after taking a few images.  They have you wait while a doctor examines them in case more are needed.

More were needed.  So they took more.  And I waited.

The doctor requested ultrasounds of both breasts.  And, no, I didn't have to set up a new appointment and return again.  They did the ultrasounds while I was still there.  And the doctor reviewed them immediately as well.

I just wasn't expecting the results.  "Just a little bit of cancer." 

I had watched the screen as the technician tried to find the tiny spec showing up on the mammogram of my right breast.  She never did.  The report officially says my right breast is "unremarkable." 

                           Oh, if I had a nickel ....

She had then moved to my left breast.  My words a few seconds after she began, "Well ... that's a bit different."  Even I could see the black hole (at least that is what it looked like to me).  It's only 11 mm across.  Tiny, really.  Of course, it seemed massive on the screen. 

"Just a little bit of cancer."

So surreal.

It still is.

I'm not so much frightened as I am annoyed.  The doctor ordered a biopsy then went on to explain that the cancer is small - hence, "a little bit" - and immensely treatable.  I worried aloud about my Ireland trip in September (again, surreal), and he replied that, barring any unforeseen complications, he believes this will be in my "rearview mirror" by that time. 

Good. 

Okay. 

Right. 

Now what.

Oh, biopsy, right.  Let's schedule that.  Tomorrow morning? Let's do it.

So I returned to the Center Thursday morning where five core biopsies were taken from "the mass" and two from a suspicious looking lymph node under my left arm. 

Again, the people at Betty Ford are incredible.  I didn't feel a thing.  Actually, I found myself staring at the ceiling where some designer had installed a light panel that looks like a blue sky complete with a tree branch covered in blossoms.  Meanwhile, the doctor, nurse, and ultrasound technician all prepared me for the biopsies. 

"Does anyone here watch The Walking Dead?"  -- my all important question.

The answer was yes. 

                                "I'm just going to look at the flowers." 

     [Psst. Don't click that link unless you know what I'm talking about already 'cause SPOILERS.]

Chuckling from the watcher.

The area was numbed and then the doctor used ultrasound to guide her to the exact locations.  I heard several clicks as a hollowed needle took samples from the area but felt nothing.  Yay, Novocaine!

Then the waiting game began.  They had hoped that the results of the biopsies would be received in time to call me on Friday. 

They weren't. 

Hey, do you know what makes a winter storm weekend even longer?  Waiting for confirmation that you have breast cancer.

Just a little bit of breast cancer.

This afternoon, I finally received the call confirming it.  As in ... about an hour ago.  The good news is that the testing on my lymph node was negative! Yay!  The bad news is that I have cancer. 

Just a bit. 

Again, even with the diagnosis, I'm not scared; I'm annoyed.  And that's a good thing.  As they've told me, this is small, it is early, and extremely treatable.  And, it is small, it is early, and extremely treatable because I did not put off my mammogram any longer than I did.  I am so lucky. 

I am blessed by living in Grand Rapids with such easy access to the excellent nurses, doctors, and specialists at the Betty Ford Breast Center and Spectrum.  I am blessed to be catching this so early.  I am blessed to have excellent insurance.  I am blessed to be surrounded by incredibly supportive friends and coworkers.  And I am blessed to have family who are willing to drop anything if they are needed. 

So I am annoyed with just a little bit of cancer.  But I am blessed immeasurably more and look forward to the day I see this annoyance in my rearview mirror.