October 23, 2014

It's been over a month since I received the devastating news. No words could ever begin to describe how it feels. How you feel. How your life comes crashing down around you. I don't want to die. I'm not ready to die. That's what I remember feeling the most and the exact words I cried out in utter despair to my boyfriend, Dan, and my parents when I found out.

I was at work. It was approximately 4 pm on Thursday, October 23, 2014. I wasn't even worried. It's nothing, right? 'Cause see, I had seen a surgeon in March who told me my mastalgia, fancy medical term for breast pain, was nothing. "Are you sure it's growing?" Yes, I'm sure, and yet, I shouldn't worry about it. He was sure it was just fibrocystic related. Sent me on my way with a prescription note pad that said: 1) Drink less/avoid caffeine 2) Limit alcohol 3) Take evening primose oil. So I tried, but the pain didn't stop. I still wasn't worried though. The thought of it being cancer never crossed my mind. Cancer doesn't hurt.

"It doesn't look good. I'm so sorry, sweetie." Those are the words permanently ingrained in my head. The words that sent me to my knees, bawling in the middle of my boss' cubicle. My doctor said I wouldn't remember what she was saying to me, but to make sure I had someone close to me and that they needed to take me home. She was right. All I remember was that it was cancer and that my pathology came back as Grade III. Grade III? What does that even mean? How bad is it? Am I dying? I'm dying aren't I? Just tell me! But they don't. Because they don't really know, but they don't tell you that. They let you agonize and stew over every horrible outcome you could ever possibly imagine, and then 12 hours later you get some answers. Some. I wrote mine on a diner place mat while I was forcing myself to have breakfast with my mom the next morning and pretend my life was normal.

Grade III - aggressive, abnormal cells are growing rapidly. 

Invasive - cancer cells have broken beyond the breast duct.  

Stage? An answer you don't get until surgery. There are several factors that determine staging. Not scary at all, right?

I've been through a lot since October 23. Most of it left my head spinning, my stomach in constant knots, 10 pounds lighter, and stressed beyond belief. It really feels like forever ago though. 

Surgeon consult 

Breast MRI with contrast

Chest, abdomen, pelvic CT

Bone scan 

Genetic counseling 

Sentinel node injection/scan

Lumpectomy and sentinel node dissection surgery

Medical oncology consult

Fertility consult

Thyroid ultrasound

Radiation oncology consult

Echocardiogram

Port placement surgery

Since my diagnosis, it's been fairly good news. As good as anyone could hope for with cancer. My tumor was removed successfully with good margins, meaning the surgeon cut out additional tissue surrounding the tumor and the margin tissue was cancer free. In simpler words, it's all out! During surgery I had 3 lymph nodes removed. They remove them to test them for cancer, too. This is how they know if it's metastasized and could be else where in your body. My lymph nodes? Clean. My tumor at it's longest length was 2 cm. What does this all mean? I am stage 1. Stage 1. It's pretty amazing.