Tag: Breast

And they thought it wasn’t possible

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“They” thought it wasn’t possible or at least it was highly unlikely.  I recently got home from my ten-year bone cancer scans and I remain cancer-free!  Okay, no one has ever said that, they say “no evidence of disease,” but I’ll take it.  And although my surgeon told me at the end of the appointment that he would see me in a year (as he has every year recently, before it was much more frequent), his after-visit summary posted online said so much more.  More on that a little later.

My bone cancer was a very rare and very aggressive sarcoma and the prognosis was not favorable.  You can find all the details in earlier blog posts.  So, each year that passed without a recurrence was both wonderful and remarkable.  Every visit to my surgeon for monitoring scans caused so much stress and anxiety and I often wondered how many years follow-up was necessary and responsible.  After about seven years, when I would ask my surgeon at each appointment (I suppose I was hoping the answer might someday change), he would respond that I had good insurance, so why not?  I would think “Why not?  Because each and every time I have to visit with you my PTSD kicks in with full force.”  I discussed this topic many times with my counselor.  He would always say I would know when/if the time was right to stop these appointments.  My intuition would let me know.  My intuition and I are not on as good terms as I would like.  I spent the first many years of my life living completely in my left brain.  There was no room for “feelings” and especially no room for listening to them if I had them.  Heading into each appointment I would pray that if I was to determine I was followed long enough I would be given some sort of confirmation.  Let me clarify something here.  I was not trying to stop monitoring my cancer status one second before I responsibly should, but I also didn’t want to keep putting myself through this solely out of fear.  So, I asked again this visit and his response was “why, do YOU want to stop monitoring this because it IS always your call, but your insurance will cover it?”  That may sound like a benign response, but my surgeon (in my opinion), although brilliant in the operating room, is very passive aggressive in person.  I’ve heard people refer to it (in relation to him) as “a God complex.”  That comment was very much said as if he did not recommend it, but if I wanted to override his recommendation he couldn’t stop me.  I made another appointment for next year on my way out.

This is why I was so surprised and excited when I read his after-visit summary.  He would never say anything the least bit encouraging during an appointment and was even more careful to not put anything remotely encouraging in writing.  But there it was.  Under the heading of “Plan” it said “At this point, it has been 10 years.  Chance of recurrence is very low, but not 0.  Her options are to follow-up as needed or we see the patient back here for routine oncology surveillance follow-up in 12 months with appropriate imaging studies as ordered.”  No doctor can ever tell anyone their chance of cancer is zero, but for him to put in writing that my chance of recurrence is very low and to offer the option of following up as needed going forward felt like exactly what I had been asking both my intuition and God for.  So, I canceled my 11-year follow-up appointment.  I won’t hesitate to schedule an appointment, if there is any question about something, but I really feel that was the confirmation I was requesting.

My Undifferentiated Pleomorphic Sarcoma bone cancer was so aggressive it doubled in size between the initial find and final diagnosis three months later.  Many of my other doctors have expressed their opinion that if any of this cancer was still remaining in my body it would have shown itself by now, but my surgeon never said anything like this even when I would ask him point blank.  So, his note spoke volumes to me.  I am reminded of my initial prognosis all those years ago and the bleak odds even though I did surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation.  There was no one in the medical field that I spoke with who really thought I’d be here ten years later.  But my family and I decided to take it one day at a time and never give up hope.  To my doctors I say thank you, to my family and friends I say thank you, but most importantly to God I say thank you.  I do not have my head in the sand, I am well aware there are no guarantees in life.  I will continue my ongoing scans/appointments for my more recent breast cancer diagnosis, but for now I am going to live each day choosing to believe I am healthy (even on the days my fear creeps back in).  When I reflect on my initial prognosis and if any other health concerns arise in my future, I will try to never forget something I have attempted to remember every step of my journey (some times more successfully than others).  People may count you out in this life, BUT GOD…

 

Seeing others through the lens of your heart

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Last week I found myself sitting in the waiting room of a breast imaging office.  It had been one year since my surprise breast cancer diagnosis and I was back for my annual scans.  In the past year I have undergone surgery, radiation, and the necessary follow-ups, but this was the first time they were specifically looking for any new developments.  To say I was anxious was an understatement.

As I was waiting to hear my name called by the Radiation Tech I noticed a woman, sitting a few seats away, with tears in her eyes.  I recognized the look of fear and uncertainty, as I am sure I have had a similar look many times over the last few years.  My heart immediately went out to her and I said “These scans can be really scary, can’t they?”  She began to cry and went on to explain she had recently noticed a lump, had a mammogram, and was referred to a breast surgeon.  She had seen the surgeon this morning and was now waiting to be called back for her biopsy.  As she continued, she expressed fear that it was cancer (as breast cancer ran in her family), she didn’t know if the surgeon she was referred to was a good one, and that this time of year was such an awful time for all this to be happening.  I was immediately drawn back to last year when I was experiencing the exact same emotions and concerns.

I asked her who the surgeon was that she had just met and the name she mentioned was my surgeon.  He was wonderful!  So compassionate, caring, willing to take whatever time you needed, and so knowledgeable and experienced in his field.  I immediately told her what great hands she was in and shared my very positive experience with him.  I also shared that I knew exactly what she was going through, as I was sitting where she now is just one year ago.  She asked me many questions about my diagnosis and subsequent treatments and seemed a little less fearful and alone.  I was never so thankful for an appointment running behind before and knew God had placed me in that exact seat, at that exact time, for just this reason.  We exchanged names and I told her I would be praying for her in the coming weeks.  She began to cry again, but this time from a place of some relief and a feeling of being heard and understood.

Just a few short years ago I don’t think I would have noticed a woman, emotionally distraught, sitting in a waiting room with me.  If I had I am not sure I would have engaged, as I wouldn’t have had any idea what I should say.  But that day I was there, present and willing to connect with another human being in need.  I was willing to see with my heart and not just my eyes.

I was called back just a few minutes later and prayed for her as I changed for my scans.  The wonderful news is my scans were clear and the surgeon doesn’t feel I need to be scanned again for another year.  I am so thankful, but am also very aware that it doesn’t always go that way.  My mammogram friend has been so on my mind and in my heart over the last week.  I will continue to pray for her as she awaits her pathology results and makes any necessary decisions over the next few weeks and months.  And I continue to be grateful that I was there that day and was able to see someone in pain instead of just being lost in my own fear over the tests of the day.

As this holiday season fast approaches, let’s all look for ways to see others through our hearts and not just with our eyes.  There are so many hurting people all around us who need our smile, kind glance, or willing ear.  Be on the lookout for opportunities to be for others what we sometimes need others to be for us.  Wishing each of you a peace that passes all understanding during this holiday season.

 

Radiation, but no chemo!

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Consultation after consultation.  More doctors’ appointments than I could keep straight.  I just looked back through my calendar and this is the list of who I saw just in January: Surgeon, Oncologist, Palliative Care, Dietician, Cancer Rehab, Radiation Oncologist, and Social Worker.  Thank goodness for good insurance.  The consensus was no chemotherapy was warranted (thank God), but daily whole breast radiation with a boost to the tumor site was recommended.  That began in February and completed in March.  April is mainly dedicated to recovery from the radiation treatment, physical therapy/rehab, my covid vaccines, and the start of daily maintenance meds (an aromatase inhibitor to suppress my estrogen production) for the next five years.  Please pray the side effects from that medication are minimal.  I am thankful for modern medical advancements, but am tired, both physically and mentally.

That was a long way to say I am well on the road to recovery and thank each one of you for your kind words, thoughts, and prayers over these last few months!  A cancer diagnosis is something no one ever wants, but far too many of us experience. We can do all we know to do to reduce our chances, but there is nothing that is guaranteed to make us bulletproof.  So, I continue to eat healthfully (whole food, plant based), work on my mental health (PTSD is a very real part of these journeys), and pray this is the last time I face this disease.  I know many of you have been affected by cancer or have someone close to you who has.  There is so much fear associated with this diagnosis.  I recently read “Courage is fear that has said its prayers.” So, I pray.  I pray for courage to just do the next thing and a peace that passes all understanding.  I pray that for every one of you as well.  Let’s embrace the comfort and hope that is found in community and continue doing this thing called life together!

 

Back in the fight

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It began just like any other day.  It was two weeks before Christmas, I had errands to run, and my annual mammogram and ultrasound scheduled.  And then it happened, “there is an abnormality on your ultrasound.”  “Most likely a glandular mass.”  “Recommend a biopsy just to be safe.”  Life went into slow motion.  What if it’s cancer again?  I can’t do this again!  I scheduled the biopsy for the following week.  The day arrived and the physician agreed with the original radiologist that it looked like a glandular mass (not a concern).  I would have the pathology in two days.  Those two days moved like molasses in winter.  And then the call from my GYN, it was Breast Cancer.  Cancer, a word I NEVER wanted to hear again in my life.

I saw the surgeon the week of Christmas and was scheduled for surgery the week between Christmas and New Year.  What a holiday season it was.  What-ifs weighed heavy on my mind at all times, even though I knew focusing on it every second wouldn’t change anything.  The day of surgery arrived.  First, I was sent for a sentinel lymph node injection and locating, then on to a needle localization (a wire is inserted into the mass using imaging guidance, that was fun).  Finally, it was time for surgery.  I was so thankful I was able to do all this as an outpatient, especially given the current Covid situation.  Now to start the surgery recovery and await the pathology.  The lab was really backed up with two holidays in the previous two weeks and the understaffing because of the pandemic.  What should have been two to three days dragged on to nine, long days.  When it finally came back this past week the results were favorable (as favorable as a cancer can be).  I will see the surgeon for follow-up this coming week and get more information then.

Then, I’m off to the oncologist.  I am hoping the next steps won’t include chemotherapy!  There’s that work, Hope.  It seems to appear more in my life in the last few years than ever before.  Hope is so important, but sometimes so elusive. There have been so many times in my cancer battles that hope felt all but lost.  Yet here I am!  I am left wondering what the purpose is in all these diagnoses, but I choose to believe there is one.

So, I am firmly back in the fight again.  A place I never wanted to be once, no less twice.  Questioning why my immune system seems to not be able to contain rogue cancer cells before they become something more.  I have changed my eating choices to the most inhospitable for cancer growth (whole food, plant based), am at a healthy weight (most of the time), work on my stress management (not always too successfully, if I am being totally honest), but here I am.  So I ask you, my Hopeful Survivor friends, to send well wishes and/or prayers my way during these next few months.  I think community is so important and I consider each of you mine.  And never forget, as you face your own road you never wanted to travel, that there is always hope!  It is not only my blog byline, but a constant theme in my life.  Wishing you all a healthy and peaceful new year and sending so much love your way!