Knock, Knock...Who's There?...MRI...

Knock, Knock...Who's There?...MRI

MRI stands for Magnetic Resonance Imaging and it is truly a wonder.  Some very smart people figured out that if you clang a bunch of giant magnets together inside a giant tube you can look inside people without cutting them open.  That is the extent of my understanding of the process, having carefully avoided taking physics classes at any stage of my education. If you really need to know more, Google it...I'm not going to be much help. I have had three encounters with the giant magnetic tube in my life. The first time was a brain scan after a seizure in 1991. Besides the horrendous banging noise and the sense of being trapped in a tiny tunnel, my overriding memory of that experience was the doctor looking at me in the followup appointment and saying with a straight face, "There's nothing there."  *crickets*  A few moments later he realized by the panicked look on our faces that he had misdelivered the diagnosis and quickly corrected himself by adding the word "abnormal" to the sentence.  My husband and I changed doctors immediately after that. His interpersonal communication skills left a lot to be desired.

My second experience was a few years ago when I injured my left knee severely.  Again, there was the noise but since only my legs had be swallowed up in that gaping tunnel, I didn't experience the claustrophobia. I had to remain perfectly still for almost an hour so I just pictured myself relaxing at a spa and even managed to doze off.  Fortunately the MRI noise masked my snoring.

Today I had an MRI of my breasts, part of the pre-surgery workup to give my surgeon a complete 3D picture of the two tumors and a scan of my other breast to be sure it wasn't feeling neglected and growing its own problem areas.  Instead of comfortably lying on my back I was positioned as the picture above shows: on my stomach, breasts through two openings in the platform, hands straight ahead (Cathy, the technician called it the Superman position...I almost corrected her to Superwoman but thought better of it...she was holding the IV syringe and thus in the position of power).  I had an IV  port in my arm with a contrast dye waiting to be injected mid-way through the procedure to light up my innards.  She promised me music so I requested some Mozart and Beethoven symphonies since they would be soothing and I could gauge my time in the tube by which movement was playing.  That's when things started to go a little wonky.  She fitted me with ear plugs and a pair of headphones which struck me as a little odd and the next thing I heard was a few distant notes from a violin and then nothing.  Apparently the intercom went dead which also meant I couldn't hear her.  The procedure began and the clanging, banging, thumping, humming, screeching and high frequency shrilling drowned out everything else.  At points I could hear a voice but could not make out what she was saying...I just prayed it wasn't instructions to do anything I wasn't already doing.  I felt the coolness of the contrast dye traveling up my arm and held rigidly still for what seemed liked an eternity, probably about 45 minutes.  

A few minutes into the procedure the tickle in my nose started.  I desperately wanted to scratch the itch but knew that would set us back to square one.   I also remember Cathy telling me that if I lifted my head I would bang it on the interior of the tube and I envisioned myself damaging a piece of equipment that probably cost more than I had earned in my entire lifetime.  So I stifled the urge.  I could feel my eyes tearing up but I was afraid to do so much as wrinkle my nose.  Finally the noise stopped, Cathy was at my side and I was out of the tube.  A sublimely delicious nose scratch followed.  As she helped me to a sitting position I realized that my left leg had gone completely numb due to the angle I had been positioned.  I was mortified that I would stand up and fall flat on my ass so I asked if I could sit for a moment.  Cathy was wonderful.  She said she need to remove the IV anyway so I could sit for as long as I wanted.  Fortunately, a few seconds later I felt the feeling return to my leg and could stand up.  She showed me to the dressing room where I quickly changed and went out to assure Brendan that I was still alive. He had been waiting patiently in the outer waiting area for two hours .  He looked very relieved and told me later that he had seen patients go in after me and come out before me and was mildly concerned that I had exploded in the MRI. (He has even less of a grasp of the science of the process than I do!) I told him that the little girl ahead of me had apparently experienced some issue during her procedure so it ran long.  She was brought into the inner waiting room as I was waiting for my MRI and was given some juice, a little candy and a stuffed unicorn by one of the technicians.  I was hopeful but, alas, I did not get a stuffed ANYthing. Bummer!  (Just kidding...the candy would have been enough)

So now we await results, hopefully within the next day or early next week at the latest.  I would love to celebrate Christmas with Brendan, Meredith, Kevin and Liam with a plan on the books for our next step. Fingers crossed!

I continue to be humbled and so grateful to the innumerable people who have kept me in your prayers, sent words of encouragement, checked up on me, made me laugh, told me of your success stories and, in general, been there for me through this.  The fight has just begun and already I am feeling completely confident that I will have cancer in a retreat mode with its tail between its legs (now, there's a visual for you!).  And remember, Ladies, GET THAT MAMMOGRAM!!! And Guys, hound the women in your life to get theirs and don't take no for an answer!!  

Game On, Breast Cancer!

Game on, Breast Cancer!

One week ago today I learned I was that 1 woman in 8 who develops breast cancer.  It has been a surreal experience, initially tinged with fear, denial and anger but ultimately I have come to feel a deeper sense of gratitude and relief that the diagnosis is a curable one with a very positive prognosis. It has been an incredibly amazing experience to feel the support and concern of so many people from all phases of my life.  I am especially blessed to have a wonderful husband who has made it clear that he is by my side for the duration (as much as I know how  squeamish he is about anything medical...he has been a true hero through this!❤️)

Today we met with my surgeon, Dr. Teller at the Maine Breast Care Center.  She immediately put us at ease and then spent nearly 90 minutes going over my case in the greatest detail, explaining in terms that were neither beyond our comprehension nor condescending.  She struck the perfect note of optimism and pragmatism. It was clear she is going to see this through to a successful outcome.

My cancer(s) are two separate tumors in the left breast, both stage 1 (early) and grade 1 (slower growing).  They are "fed" by hormones (estrogen primarily but also progesterone) which will be an important factor in my long term treatment and recurrence prevention.  They are small (each under 1cm) and it appears there has been no spread into the lymph system.  All of this is good news for treatment.

My first step will be an MRI next week.  Dr. Teller will use that to determine the exact structure in a 3D sense of the tumors and, since both breasts will be imaged, to ensure that there is no evidence in the right breast.  Assuming all is as it appears at this point, I will undergo a lumpectomy (or partial mastectomy) in early January to remove the cancerous areas.  She will use a radiotracer dye to identify the lymph node(s) that could potentially have received any cancer cells from the tumors and remove them for biopsy.  These are called Sentinel nodes because of their proximity to the cancerous site.

One month after the surgery I will begin radiation treatment on the areas where the cancer was removed.  I will go in Monday through Friday for three weeks to receive a short concentrated dose of radiation to the sites.  I will also begin taking a hormone blockade drug (along the lines of tamoxifin or another estrogen inhibitor) for five years to suppress hormone levels and deter a recurrence in either breast.

It was a lot to absorb in our meeting but Brendan and I both left with a clearer sense of what we are up against.

I can't say enough positive about the Maine Breast Care Center and every single member of the staff we dealt with.  Special thanks go to Karen Phelps, the Nurse Practitioner I first met with last week.  Very much as Dr. Teller did, Karen took the time to explain the biopsy procedure, do followup and answer my (MANY) questions.  The biopsy staff, Meredith, Theresa and Dr. Cox were gentle, relaxed and genuinely concerned with my comfort level during this procedure.  And Amy Boyington, my Patient Navigator has done a wonderful job of steering us through this maze of information and procedures.  How lucky we are to have such a terrific resource in our area. The facility is beautiful, filled with art, plants, natural light and, most importantly, people who seem passionate about their work and the patients they assist.

So, the journey has begun.  It feels good to have a plan of action, even if it ends up getting tweaked here and there. And I anticipate there will be a few potholes and maybe a detour along the way. But the important thing is that my goal of a cure looms ahead awaiting my arrival, whenever that may be.
And I draw no small amount of hope and energy from the amazing amount of support from so many people around me.  Thank you all for being there for me during this sudden and terrifying turn of events.  Your calls, emails, cards, phone calls, Facebook responses and in-person conversations have kept my spirits high.  Laughter feels so good (and boosts those magical endorphins) so let's keep THAT coming!  

Cancer sucks...but it ain't gonna beat me, no way!  And, Gals, don't forget to make that appointment for YOUR mammogram.  A five minute boob-squeeze could save your life!

Betrayal of the Ta-Ta's

Betrayal of the Ta-Ta's

I've always had a problem with the month of November.  I call it my jinx month.  It seems to wait for me most years with a reminder of my human frailty...a Grand Mal seizure, a freak accident that rips off half a thumbnail, a stumble that forces a faceplant on a city sidewalk (at the expense of a front tooth) or a slip at work that tears my MCL ligament and pulverizes a part of my knee bone.

This year the November jinx was on like Donkey Kong...and it truly took the prize (a booby prize...bad pun as you will see).  Friday, November 1st I went in for my yearly Mammogram.  I used to routinely get called back because of those effin' "dense breasts".  A few years ago they switched to the 3D mammography process and the call backs stopped (since they could really see what was in there). So, imagine my surprise when I got a call to come back the following Tuesday.  They did the followup and then asked me to stick around for an ultrasound.  The red flags started popping up in my brain with a vengeance.  After the ultrasound, the radiologist came in, asked if I was here with anyone. My husband had come with me and waited in the waiting room so they went to get him.  I was NOT getting good vibes, to say the least.  The radiologist explained that there were two areas "of concern" in my left breast.  The upshot was he wanted me to have both areas biopsied.  This was a new and definitely not welcome departure from past years.  The earliest they could schedule me was this early December so we spent a month in limbo.  Thanksgiving week with my daughter, son-in-law and new baby grandson was a bit of a distraction but I had a gut feeling that things were not going to go well.

The biopsy went well...the staff at the Breast Care Center was truly amazing and the Nurse Practitioner  went above and beyond to put me at ease, showing me all the previous test results and assuring me that things would be ok. I prayed like a crazy woman for a benign diagnosis.

The results came with a call three days later. They weren't what we had been hoping for.  Both sites were malignant (bad news) but  were Stage 1 (early) and Grade 1 (slow-growing).  But they have to come out asap!  The options include Lumpectomy followed by radiation OR Mastectomy.  The prognosis is excellent because of the early detection but it will make this Christmas a little different from past years, for sure.

Now, lest you think I am planning a pity party, nothing could be further from the truth.  I am grateful for so much: the early detection and promising prognosis, the availability of excellent medical care, health insurance which will blunt the financial blow of the treatment substantially and most importantly, a boatload of support from friends and family, including a husband who will do anything to keep me around a lot longer. (He claims he can't do anything by himself...not ENTIRELY true!) We've been married for 43 years and he is extremely resistant to change.

I have a sister, Betsy, who is a Nurse Practitioner in another state.  I called her immediately to get her take on the situation.  She immediately said "Mastectomy...and if your insurance oks it have a double".  She has seen many lumpectomies that resulted in reoccurrence and told me about a mutual friend who was in my situation and had a double mastectomy.  When they examined the non-affected breast they found evidence of early cancer in that one too.  Jennifer has been cancer-free for over ten years now, an outcome that would likely have been different had she not done the double.  As she said, "At your age the girls have done their job and now they are just trying to kill you."  I did laugh at that one!

So, now I await my appointment with the surgeon with much to think about and an unknown road ahead.  I am confident the outcome will be a positive one but I would be less than truthful if I said I was facing it without a certain measure of fear and trepidation.

There is, however, one irrefutable lesson in all of this.  MAMMOGRAMS SAVE LIVES!  These malignancies did not show up a year ago on my mammogram and I shudder to think what might have happened if I had decided to skip a year, as some of my fellow 0ver-65 gal pals have discussed.  It might have been too late.

According to the National Breast Cancer Foundation:

GET YOUR YEARLY MAMMOGRAM...IT COULD SAVE YOUR LIFE!!