"The test came back and you have invasive lobular carcinoma." It was as if the doctor was speaking a different language. I had to ask for her to dumb it down for me, and she knew what I needed to hear - yes, that is cancer. She quickly tried to reassure me that it was only stage 1, very easy to cure, etc., but my mind had already gone into panic mode and the tears started flowing. It doesn't seem to matter the stage or cure rate, when we first hear we have the dreaded disease, our hearts sink and our minds begin to picture all possible outcomes. That was how my news came down, and my response was immediate grief and fear. No one wants to hear that they have cancer. This killer disease not only poisons and destroys you, but it ensures a life full of painful treatments and surgeries, enormous expenses, and multiple lives affected by your illness and possibly death. I believe the fear of getting cancer is one of the big ones of our society today. Studies show that about 50% of Americans will get some type of cancer during their lifetimes. We all hope that at least it waits until we are 80 years old, but that isn't always the case.
I found a lump in my breast in early September 2024. I knew that it was bad. It felt large and hard, and I told my husband about it. We agreed that I needed to schedule an exam as soon as possible, so I started calling around the next day to find a place to give me a mammogram. I had a "regular" doctor, but I really only went to her if I was very sick or to get a wellness check every few years. Like many people, I dread anything medical and avoid it if I am healthy, even for regular checkups. I was about to turn 41, and already considering starting to get an annual exam, especially since I had been suffering from terrible headaches off and on for a few years. But now I suppose I'll be a regular at doctor's offices until I'm done with my life journey.
It was incredibly difficult to find a place that would take me, as all of the mammogram places wanted a referral from a doctor, or were simply not taking new patients. My own doctor's office is notoriously difficult to reach, but I finally got through and scheduled an appointment with her so she could send me somewhere to get the mammogram. She had me come in for a wellness check, bloodwork, and paperwork, and then gave me the referral. Everything seemed fine other than the lump, which was a relief. The bloodwork showed I was almost pre-diabetic, so the doctor advised me to cut out sugar and build up my healthy diet.
As the ladies know, a mammogram isn't pleasant, much less so when you're sure you already have a problem. My first one was scary and painful, and I nearly fainted, but managed to pull myself together after some water and a few minutes of calm. They went ahead and did an ultrasound as well, since it was diagnostic, but could not see much on either exam. They told me I had to come back in a week for a biopsy. The doctor was pretty sure everything was ok, but he said the biopsy would let him know for certain. He tried to be realistic about either outcome, but I left hoping I was fine. I wondered if it wasn't cancer, what it was, and how I would get rid of it. The next week I came back for the biopsy. At this point, I hadn't told anyone but my husband and kids, since if it was nothing I didn't want people to be concerned. The procedure was quite scary, but it was quick, and my biggest trouble was working the bandage off later that they had sealed on me like super-glue. I was sore for several days, and had been told to wait up to 10 days for the results. Meanwhile I visited my sister and tried not to think about it. I went ahead and told my family just in case it turned out to be bad news.
Nine days later, in the middle of a conversation with my husband, I got a call from my doctor. I let it go to voicemail since we were discussing something important, but knew it was probably the results (I still very much expected it to be fine). I called her back, took several tries to reach her, but then got her at last. She thought the biopsy people had already called me but I told her they hadn't, so she told me the results. It was so difficult to understand the words, and I asked her to email me or text me so I could look it up and know what I had. Then I held it together enough to get her recommended surgeon, said goodbye, and burst into tears. My husband came to see me and it was minute before I could choke out what she had said. We finally got the email and saw the words ourselves, and of course started Googling definitions and what it would mean. My husband wanted to believe it would be ok with a small surgery, and not to worry. I wasn't so sure.
We had our first meeting with the surgeon two weeks later, yes, all of these appointments take so long to get scheduled, so by now I have had cancer for nearly two months with no way of curing it. She was very cheerful and examined me, ordered several tests, and very frankly told me what I was in for - mastectomy, radiation, hormone blockers, and possibly chemo. My heart couldn't take that! I left the office in shock and grief realizing I had the full fledged diagnosis and was about to be yet another victim of this cursed disease. No simple surgery could cure me, and I would endure horrors I wasn't ready for.
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