September 27 will be 2 years from the date of my first fateful mammogram. No clue how I will spend the day, but I do want to spend some time reflecting.
I took my wig and some others that were given me, along with the baby caps I had, over to an organization that used to be called "Why Me Org." They were grateful for the donation and I was glad I could pass it forward.
Apparently I will be the first one, in my of my various circles of friends, to turn the big 50. That is not this February, but 2012. One friend suggested going on a cruise and getting together as many friends as possible to join us for said cruise. In mulling this option, I decided that I don't think I want to do that. The number one reason would be that I would be the only person on the cruise going as a solo so I would have to be a third wheel in someone else room. (Very heavy sigh)
Showing posts with label mammogram. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mammogram. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Friday, April 30, 2010
Dates to remember
Someone asked me the other day what the date was that I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I recall that the date of the first mammogram was on Saturday, September 27, 2008. The following Monday they called me to schedule a second mammogram because they found spots and/or lumps that did not look good. I don't recall what date I went back for the follow-up. As for the actual day I was "diagnosed", I would have to say I do not recall because it seemed like everyone I was talking to at the time, all the doctors anyways, refused to use the "C" word and I was actually the first person to utter the dreaded word itself.
The lumpectomy was performed December 4th(?) and the reduction was performed January 9. Other then that, the rest of the dates are kinda fuzzy. So, I guess the question of when I was diagnosed sparked my follow-up question of, "What is my 'anniversary' date? Do I celebrate being cancer-free? and if so, what date? Having awoken from my year long coma, so to speak, I don't know that I would want to remember most of it, but I feel a small urging in the pit of my tummy to celebrate something. I want to celebrate getting my life back and having much smaller boobs. Do I pick a date for that, and if so, what date do I pick?
The lumpectomy was performed December 4th(?) and the reduction was performed January 9. Other then that, the rest of the dates are kinda fuzzy. So, I guess the question of when I was diagnosed sparked my follow-up question of, "What is my 'anniversary' date? Do I celebrate being cancer-free? and if so, what date? Having awoken from my year long coma, so to speak, I don't know that I would want to remember most of it, but I feel a small urging in the pit of my tummy to celebrate something. I want to celebrate getting my life back and having much smaller boobs. Do I pick a date for that, and if so, what date do I pick?
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Tired of the dance.
It was with great trepidation that I headed West to Loyola yesterday for my mammogram. I don't know why, but this one seemed to bother me. It wasn't that I really thought they would find something, but I just couldn't shake the feeling that I really just didn't want to go.
When I arrived late, I spent very little time waiting before they called me in for my mammogram. I have to tell you, it was less painful and difficult when I had huge tits to smash. Now that I have small ones, it seems they are hell bent on pulling them off my chest to clutch them in the vice grip of death. The huge scar on the right side, from the port being ripped out, hurts like hell when they pull and stretch and squeeze. They went ahead and did both sides because I still had the fluid pocket in the right breast.
For all of my underlying bad vibe feelings, I was not prepared for the afternoon from hell. Yet again, it started with the tech coming back to inform me the doctor wanted more views and different shots to examine "spots" (trust me, their word, not mine) that the radiologist had seen on the first series. The took a new set of completely different angle shots and these hurt like an SOB. I was very relieved when she informed me that I was finished and could wait again. It was now 3:30 (my original appointment having been for 1:20) and any hopes of meeting Amy at the VA to discuss something she wanted me to read for her, were dashed.
After what felt like an eternity, I was told that I would have to have an ultrasound of the right breast because the doctor was concerned with the lump. It was like deja vu all over again! Fortunately, Amy had decided to come over and meet me at Loyola and I took great comfort in knowing she was in the waiting room for me. I just lay on the table with a small sense of dread and a clear knowledge that I was not up to another long drawn battle.
Fortunately, everything is fine. The lump is getting smaller, and while it is taking longer then hoped to dissipate, they do think it will eventually go away. I will live another day to fight the fight. I just hate this particular dance.
When I arrived late, I spent very little time waiting before they called me in for my mammogram. I have to tell you, it was less painful and difficult when I had huge tits to smash. Now that I have small ones, it seems they are hell bent on pulling them off my chest to clutch them in the vice grip of death. The huge scar on the right side, from the port being ripped out, hurts like hell when they pull and stretch and squeeze. They went ahead and did both sides because I still had the fluid pocket in the right breast.
For all of my underlying bad vibe feelings, I was not prepared for the afternoon from hell. Yet again, it started with the tech coming back to inform me the doctor wanted more views and different shots to examine "spots" (trust me, their word, not mine) that the radiologist had seen on the first series. The took a new set of completely different angle shots and these hurt like an SOB. I was very relieved when she informed me that I was finished and could wait again. It was now 3:30 (my original appointment having been for 1:20) and any hopes of meeting Amy at the VA to discuss something she wanted me to read for her, were dashed.
After what felt like an eternity, I was told that I would have to have an ultrasound of the right breast because the doctor was concerned with the lump. It was like deja vu all over again! Fortunately, Amy had decided to come over and meet me at Loyola and I took great comfort in knowing she was in the waiting room for me. I just lay on the table with a small sense of dread and a clear knowledge that I was not up to another long drawn battle.
Fortunately, everything is fine. The lump is getting smaller, and while it is taking longer then hoped to dissipate, they do think it will eventually go away. I will live another day to fight the fight. I just hate this particular dance.
Friday, January 1, 2010
It's a new one!
I read somewhere that almost half, if not more, of a group of people who were polled said that this past year was by far the worst year in a long time. With unemployment rates skyrocketing, homes being foreclosed in huge numbers and the economy tanking the way it did, it is a wonder anyone who did not formerly have billions in the bank survived to tell the tale.
As we ALL know, this past year for me was a bad year, medically speaking. Technically it all began in '08, but the vast majority of my medical issues consumed 2009. With that said, I am still thankful to be alive, glad I got the girls reduced and happy to have lost a few pounds. I am not happy about the whole hair thing, but it is saving me TONS on haircare and maintenance. (Yes folks, still riding that gravy train!)
I am happy to report I am starting the new year with a new phone and a temp gig that should last at least a day or two into the new year. It is always nice to go into a new year with a pending paycheck!
The bad news, or alternatively, the other shoe, is the fact that my mother is awaiting the results of her needle biopsy. They found a small lump in her breast and she had the biopsy on Wednesday. Because of the holiday, she will not have her results until Monday, at the earliest. The good news is that neither her mammogram nor her biopsy were so clearly definitive that performing the actual lab analysis were merely part of the protocol. In my case, even I could tell from the mammo and the biopsy results that my news was bad right away. The lump was obvious to a legally blind person on the mammogram and the lab tech told me that while healthy cells are pink and float, cancer cells are white and sink. I was immediately informed that I had, "...a lot of sinkers".
I had described in detail what they do for the "needle biopsy" (NEEDLE MY ASS) and how it was more like a rotorooter. Those who read the post regarding this whole nightmare are fully aware that this was a highly disturbing thing to endure. My mother said that my recitation of the facts and issues, in addition to a graphic description of the procedure, were spot on and she actually found herself chuckling through the procedure. The lab tech said my description of the thing as a rotorooter was the best she had heard.
Let's all be thankful we pulled out of the last year in reasonably good shape and keep my mom in your thoughts and prayers. NOONE should have to go through this.
As we ALL know, this past year for me was a bad year, medically speaking. Technically it all began in '08, but the vast majority of my medical issues consumed 2009. With that said, I am still thankful to be alive, glad I got the girls reduced and happy to have lost a few pounds. I am not happy about the whole hair thing, but it is saving me TONS on haircare and maintenance. (Yes folks, still riding that gravy train!)
I am happy to report I am starting the new year with a new phone and a temp gig that should last at least a day or two into the new year. It is always nice to go into a new year with a pending paycheck!
The bad news, or alternatively, the other shoe, is the fact that my mother is awaiting the results of her needle biopsy. They found a small lump in her breast and she had the biopsy on Wednesday. Because of the holiday, she will not have her results until Monday, at the earliest. The good news is that neither her mammogram nor her biopsy were so clearly definitive that performing the actual lab analysis were merely part of the protocol. In my case, even I could tell from the mammo and the biopsy results that my news was bad right away. The lump was obvious to a legally blind person on the mammogram and the lab tech told me that while healthy cells are pink and float, cancer cells are white and sink. I was immediately informed that I had, "...a lot of sinkers".
I had described in detail what they do for the "needle biopsy" (NEEDLE MY ASS) and how it was more like a rotorooter. Those who read the post regarding this whole nightmare are fully aware that this was a highly disturbing thing to endure. My mother said that my recitation of the facts and issues, in addition to a graphic description of the procedure, were spot on and she actually found herself chuckling through the procedure. The lab tech said my description of the thing as a rotorooter was the best she had heard.
Let's all be thankful we pulled out of the last year in reasonably good shape and keep my mom in your thoughts and prayers. NOONE should have to go through this.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Lunch and the Reality Bites
After spending allllllllllllllllllll morning at Loyola, determining for myself that it was cancer, and then having the radiologist agree that the lymph nodes needed to be viewed on the ultrasound, Mom and I decided that lunch was in order. Because the doctor had indicated that they wanted me in for a biopsy ASAP, we chose to eat close to the hospital. Driving through Forest Park, we found a plethora of dining choices along Madison Ave. Mom and I were both pleased to find a sister restaurant to our favorite, La Sorella, and were thrilled to find parking just across the street.
Lunch was the first good food I had been able to get down in a very long time (more on the neausea later) and it tasted good going down. Just as our food arrived, Mom looked at me and declared, "Crap! I forgot to feed the meter." I grabbed my jacket, phone (the hospital could call at any second) and my wallet and went running out into the street. JUST as I crossed the street, the parking police had pulled behind the car and the officer was about to write me a ticket for an expired meter. While Mom and I had both noticed the meter, neither of us actually went to feed it. LOL. Because the officer didn't seem to want to back down, I informed him that I had pretty much just been diagnosed with breast cancer and we had stopped for lunch and forgot to feed the meter. He immediately expressed his sorrow for me and agreed the last thing I needed was a parking ticket.
Like I said, lunch was actually very good and I ate almost all of it. During lunch I tried to express my fears and concerns and to let Mom know that it was pretty much a foregone conclusion that I actually had breast cancer and that I needed to start making plans. Mom, like everyone else, kept saying, "It might be nothing, you don't know until they know for sure." What I wanted to scream, but actually calmly stated, was that "nothing" does not grow tendrils nor potentially invade your lymph nodes. I had to start making plans for the worst and hope for the best. Or did I?
Lunch was the first good food I had been able to get down in a very long time (more on the neausea later) and it tasted good going down. Just as our food arrived, Mom looked at me and declared, "Crap! I forgot to feed the meter." I grabbed my jacket, phone (the hospital could call at any second) and my wallet and went running out into the street. JUST as I crossed the street, the parking police had pulled behind the car and the officer was about to write me a ticket for an expired meter. While Mom and I had both noticed the meter, neither of us actually went to feed it. LOL. Because the officer didn't seem to want to back down, I informed him that I had pretty much just been diagnosed with breast cancer and we had stopped for lunch and forgot to feed the meter. He immediately expressed his sorrow for me and agreed the last thing I needed was a parking ticket.
Like I said, lunch was actually very good and I ate almost all of it. During lunch I tried to express my fears and concerns and to let Mom know that it was pretty much a foregone conclusion that I actually had breast cancer and that I needed to start making plans. Mom, like everyone else, kept saying, "It might be nothing, you don't know until they know for sure." What I wanted to scream, but actually calmly stated, was that "nothing" does not grow tendrils nor potentially invade your lymph nodes. I had to start making plans for the worst and hope for the best. Or did I?
Present Tense or My Third Trip to This R O D E O
I almost forgot to mention that they had only recently (beginning of Sept. ish) ruled out uterus cancer. They had no idea what was causing such heavy bleeding or such horrible cramps, but all parties involved agreed this was NOT a good thing.
Bringing it forward to September 27th of this year, I was sent forth for my annual mammogram. The VA no longer performs mammograms, or so it appears, so I was sent to Loyola Breast Health Clinic (Boobs R' Us). They seemed very professional and I was given a very thorough screening. A very short time later I was called to say that they had found a conspicuous lump in my left breast. I was not surprised to hear this and kinda blew it off. The nurse went on to say that because the lump was so troublesome, they wanted to schedule me to come back ASAP. Because this was being done through the VA, "immediately" became Oct. 23. My boobs were being "recalled". Apparently all of my parts were beginning to wear out.
Because I had been here, done this, I was not too concerned until I read that the small indentation I had noticed on the underside of my left boob was one of the big indicators of cancer and it meant REALLY NOT GOOD things. Armed with this knowledge, I made arrangements to spend the night before the mammogram at Mom's so she could take me the next day. During this period I had mentioned to Mom that while I was not so terribly upset, it would suck if things went south. (No pun intended.)
On Oct. 23, my worst fears were confirmed. Even I could tell from the original mammogram that things were far worse then I was led to believe. The lump was both highly discernable and appeared to have sprouted legs. It was obviously invasive and I was not medically trained. Little thoughts that had crept into my head in the past few weeks came at me like a freight train.
This could kill me! This would devastate the boys! I was going to die alone with no one special in my life! No one would be there to take care of me! I was broke already but this was not doable from a financial standpoint! OMG! OMG! OMG!
Bringing it forward to September 27th of this year, I was sent forth for my annual mammogram. The VA no longer performs mammograms, or so it appears, so I was sent to Loyola Breast Health Clinic (Boobs R' Us). They seemed very professional and I was given a very thorough screening. A very short time later I was called to say that they had found a conspicuous lump in my left breast. I was not surprised to hear this and kinda blew it off. The nurse went on to say that because the lump was so troublesome, they wanted to schedule me to come back ASAP. Because this was being done through the VA, "immediately" became Oct. 23. My boobs were being "recalled". Apparently all of my parts were beginning to wear out.
Because I had been here, done this, I was not too concerned until I read that the small indentation I had noticed on the underside of my left boob was one of the big indicators of cancer and it meant REALLY NOT GOOD things. Armed with this knowledge, I made arrangements to spend the night before the mammogram at Mom's so she could take me the next day. During this period I had mentioned to Mom that while I was not so terribly upset, it would suck if things went south. (No pun intended.)
On Oct. 23, my worst fears were confirmed. Even I could tell from the original mammogram that things were far worse then I was led to believe. The lump was both highly discernable and appeared to have sprouted legs. It was obviously invasive and I was not medically trained. Little thoughts that had crept into my head in the past few weeks came at me like a freight train.
This could kill me! This would devastate the boys! I was going to die alone with no one special in my life! No one would be there to take care of me! I was broke already but this was not doable from a financial standpoint! OMG! OMG! OMG!
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