One Year Later...

It has been a year since my OB/GYN found the lump in my breast during a routine breast exam while I was in for my annual gynecological exam. Actually, it was a year on June 16th, but I went back for this year's exam today, June 20th. I don't mind saying that I was kinda holding my breath while she did my breast exam. I mean, I check myself regularly now. I didn't before the diagnosis, which leads me to see this as just one more time in my life (among countless others) when God showed me grace and protected me from my own idiocy.

Ladies,

DO MONTHLY BREAST SELF-EXAMS!!!!!

Anyway, despite the fact that I do my own exams regularly these days, I was still a bit concerned that she might find something I hadn't. I mean, she's the one who found the last lump. It was an irrational fear, I know, but I felt it none-the-less. I should let you know how much I love my OB/GYN. I've been going to her for years and years now. When I first found her, I lived quite a bit closer to where her office is located. These days it takes me closer to an hour to get there, since we've moved in the intervening years. But I don't mind the trip. Not for her. She is a master at making you feel comfortable and at ease in spite of what's going on. We always chat like we're sitting at a cafe table instead of with me naked as the day I was born with my legs up in stirrups. LOL  So while she was doing my breast exam we just chatted as usual. She was very thorough this time and I appreciated that. Not that she isn't always thorough, but she took a bit of extra time today. And praise God, she didn't find anything at all out of the ordinary. There was one funny moment when she felt my port beneath my skin and got a worried look on her face for just an instant before she realized what it was. We were both laughing about that.

We spent some time talking about my treatment, how it had gone and what I still had left to do. We talked about my not being able to take birth control pills ever again. This is an issue that has kind of confused both Mark and me since I was first told it by my Oncologist last year some time. My cancer was not hormone receptive. Most breast cancers are. So we kept trying to figure out why I had to avoid taking hormones of any kind since my cancer was negative for progesterone and estrogen. She said she'd heard it explained thus: If you think of breast cancer as a weed, then the hormones act kind of like a fertilizer. Since I have shown the ability to grow cancer, the last thing we'd want to do is "feed" my cells something that the cancer likes to eat. What a simple explanation!

Needless to say, I walked out of the office feeling a lot better this year than I did last year. The next big date will be my mammogram. That's coming up next month. It'll be my first since shortly before I got my official diagnosis last year. I've been x-rayed and scanned half to death plenty of times in the past year, but the mammogram is a big deal. One of my favorite sayings I've seen since I started my treatment is, "One more MRI and I'll stick to the fridge." I also like, "Any more radiation and I'll glow in the dark." There's also, "My oncologist does my hair." I put all these on t-shirts in my Zazzle store. There's a lot more than that, but these are some of the ones that still crack me up when I see them today.

So, what's happening a year later? What have I learned? Honestly, I don't know that I necessarily learned anything, other than the obvious experience of having gone through all the treatment. I went into it knowing I was going to need God to get me through it. And I have to say that He did. By His grace, I came through it all with flying colors. I don't know that I learned anything, per se, but I do know that I recognized a lot of things. I have spent this entire journey marveling at how much God has blessed me. Every step of the way, He supplied my needs, as He has promised us He would. But He went further and gave me so much more than just what I needed.

He didn't merely provide Mark with a job that would supply us with insurance. He gave Mark a job with the best insurance we have ever had, bar none. And this job also started out as a day shift job, working a schedule that allowed Mark to be off 2-3 days each week so that he'd be able to not only take me to my treatments, but be home on the first day or so afterward to take care of me. God didn't just supply me with treatment options, He blessed me with the option to get all my care at a location that was less than half an hour from home. He didn't just allow the medications I took to fight my cancer, He allowed me to take those medicines without enduring anything close to the worst of their possible side effects. God didn't just give me a husband who does his responsibility of providing for my physical needs, but He gave me a husband who loves me more than any other person on earth. One who made incredible sacrifices without complaint or reluctance. The list could go on and on and on.

I've recently taken part in an online conversation with a young man who in an atheist. He, like so many others, wanted us to explain to him, intellectually, how we came to believe in God. How we know God is real despite the fact that we have no proof. I wasn't the only one who responded that we do have proof. Aside from the fact that the Bible says that Creation itself is evidence of God's existence, I know God is real because I have seen the evidence of His hand touching my life. Oh, I know that atheists would call it coincidence or good luck or fate or a whole host of other things. But I know God is there. I have felt His touch on my life, heard His whisper in my ear, and witnessed His grace more times than I can count. There's a song that has been sung by many artists. I learned it courtesy of The Florida Boys. It's called, "My God Is Real."

There are some things I may not know, there are some places I can't go, but I am sure of this one thing, my God is real for I can feel Him in my soul.

My God is real, He's real in my soul, my God is real for He has washed and made me whole, His love for me is like pure gold. My God is real for I can feel Him in my soul.

I cannot tell just how I felt when Jesus washed my sins away, but since that day yes since that hour, God has been real for I can feel His holy power.

My God is real, He's real in my soul, my God is real for He has washed and made me whole, His love for me, is like pure gold. My God is real for I can feel Him in my soul.

Here's a video of them singing it, if you're interested:

As I recently told the young atheist, we can't provide him with scientific proof of God. For us, we believe God is real by faith, but countless experiences every day of our lives also confirm our faith. We see God everywhere, in everything. I know I certainly do.

And so, a year into living life as a woman with breast cancer, what I can say I have learned is that God is still real. He is still on the throne. Nothing happens by chance or luck or fate. Everything is part of His grand plan and He is never, ever far from our sides. I am so grateful for what He has given me. For His infinite love and patience and blessing, even when I don't deserve it. My God is real. And He's indescribably great!

Patience...

I am not a particularly patient person. (And before anyone suggests it, I am far too smart to actually ask the Lord to help me learn to be patient. Not gonna fall for THAT one! LOL) Having cancer pretty much forces a person to at least learn to accept that patience is indeed a virtue, whether you have it or not. The various treatments and tests and countless doctor's appointments leave a person with no choice but to spend a lot of time just sitting around, waiting. Chemo can take hours to get, all while sitting in a chair in a room with others who are in the exact same boat as you are. If you're at one of the larger treatment centers, this usually at least means that you have room for a companion to keep you company and a personal television to watch if that's your choice. I went to the closest treatment center I could find, which meant we were all in a tiny little room that barely had space enough for 3 treatment chairs and a medicine cabinet. I'm not exaggerating here. It's an incredibly small space. There is one television in the room that is on or off according to the whim of whoever gets there first. Which means you watch whatever they're watching, too. I saw several episodes of Bonanza, along with a few days of the new "Let's Make a Deal," "The Price is Right," and an assortment of soap operas.

Mostly I just hooked my iPad up to my headphones and listened to internet radio to drown out the TV. I'm not much of a fan of daytime television.

On a quick side note, KDH is building a new hospital up on top of the hill in Madison and the Cancer Treatment Center will be getting a new facility as well. Hopefully one that will give the nurses more room to work and the patients more room to relax during treatment. I certainly don't want to give the impression that I am anything but grateful for all those who took care of me during my treatment. As small as the KDH treatment center is, everyone there is beyond kind and caring. And while the size of the current center does make it difficult if you're hoping to have a friend or loved one present with you during treatment, that's hardly a reason to refuse to go there. Hopefully the new center will make it easier for everyone; nurses, patients, and the doctor as well. It's all due to be completed in approximately a year.

So, while I am not an inherently patient person, I have learned to tolerate the waiting. I have to say that having my iPad helped tremendously. It made it possible for me to listen to music, read, play cards, do crosswords, and countless other things while I was sitting there. Not to mention that I also use it to keep track of all my medical info. It's one piece of technology that has made my life easier and more convenient. Love the thing!

I've said all this to get to the point that despite almost a year of having to wait for one thing or another, I'm still not a patient person. I get antsy when I have to wait for something. Well, I get antsy when waiting for test results. I've done plenty of this already. From the day my OB/GYN first found the lump right on up until now, waiting to get some test and then waiting to get the results has been an ongoing theme. I don't really worry about what will be found. There's no point in that. From day one I've trusted that whatever came, God would get me through it. (And He certainly has!) But I'm a person who hates not KNOWING what I'm facing. It isn't that I think having knowledge will somehow change things, I just like being informed. I like knowing what's coming, good or bad. I am certainly not one of those people who would be comfortable burying my head in the sand and hoping for the best. I don't care if I'm facing a nightmare so long as I can go into it knowing what's ahead. This is why I researched every aspect of my cancer until I was going cross-eyed from reading. It's why I studied and read up on what the worst case scenario might be even before getting an official cancer diagnosis and stage. Having the info doesn't change what's coming, but it makes it easier for me to face it, I guess.

It has occurred to me that this could be part of the lesson I should be learning from this whole experience. Facing something WITHOUT knowing what to expect might just be the whole point. I'm sure God wants me to learn to trust Him fully, to rest in Him and not be so anxious even when I don't have a clue as to what I might be facing down the road. I'm trying to do that, Lord, I promise.

Okay, back to the issue that has me thinking about this in the first place. I had genetic testing done last week to see if I carry the currently recognized genes that are tied to breast cancer. It must be stated that geneticists believe that the handful of genes that are currently recognized are merely the tip of the iceberg, meaning that eventually there will be many, many more that will be found. So even if someone tests negative with the current BRAC Analysis, that doesn't mean they don't have some kind of genetic anomaly. It just means that if you're positive, then you have some serious thinking to do. I got the call yesterday afternoon that the results of my test are in. We weren't here at the time and by the time we got home, they were gone for the day, so I had to call the office first thing this morning. My radiation oncologist - Dr. Eileen McGarvey, whom I really like - prefers to sit down face to face to discuss the results. On the one hand, this is what I love about her. She's my kind of doctor, meaning she gives a lot of information about whatever it is she's explaining to you. My surgeon - Dr. Amy Gefaldi - is the same way. Love them both! On the other hand, this means I have to wait until tomorrow to see her and get the results of the test. And so, here I am, feeling antsy and hyper and just wishing I knew what they'd found so I could know if I'm going to be facing more testing and/or possibly surgeries, or if I will just be doing the regular routine of preventative healthcare in the future. The anxiousness won't change a thing, but I can't seem to help feeling it. Here's what I'm looking at:

If the test is positive, then I have to sit down and consider how I want to handle it. Being positive means I would be at a higher risk for not only another breast cancer, but ovarian cancer as well. That can be handled a number of ways. I could get more frequent testing, which would include regular monthly breast self exams and a breast exam performed by my doctor twice a year. The heightened risk of ovarian cancer would mean having ovarian ultrasounds twice a year. Of course these tests would be in addition to standards like a yearly pap smear and mammogram. These are what would be considered the most conservative options. From them we swing to the other side of the pendulum where we find more radical options. I could have a bilateral mastectomy, which would obviously reduce the chances of another breast cancer. Besides this surgery, I would have to decide on what kind of reconstruction I would want. More surgeries. And then there is the option to remove my ovaries, which would significantly reduce my chances of developing ovarian cancer. Significant meaning 75% to 90% less chance of getting it. Of course that means entering menopause for good, which would come with some issues of its own.

If the test comes up negative, that unfortunately doesn't mean I'm necessarily off the hook. As I said, the genes that are tested for are just the ones which have been definitively connected to breast cancer. I could be negative for them and positive for one that hasn't been mapped yet. Then again, the fact is that any one of us could be a cancer time bomb just waiting to go off. I've had it once, which means I'm more likely to get it again, but that's not such a big deal when you consider that everyone is cancer free until they aren't any more. Basically, cancer is like any other illness or accident or tragedy that might come upon anyone at any time with no warning at all. We can't lock ourselves in our houses and hide. We have to just live our lives and take on the challenges when they come our way.

It would probably make things easier if I wasn't always feeling so impatient. I see the doctor tomorrow morning to find out my test results. Between now and then I'm going to do my best to not stew on it. Like I said, it's not that I'm worried about what I'll hear. Either way, it's out of my control. But I hate the waiting. I want to get on with whatever will be coming next. [sigh] While I won't pray for patience, I will (and do) pray for peace and strength to not give in to my flawed nature. I'll be back tomorrow to let everyone know what the results are and what the next steps will be. Until then, keep on trusting God. I know I will!

"You'll scare yourself to death."

I was talking to the very nice nurse at my surgeon's office yesterday afternoon. I'd called to let them know the results of my biopsy. (This is the surgeon who is going to fix my hernia, and who I've asked to take care of the lumpectomy as well.) I mentioned to the nurse/receptionist that I was planning to do some research on the web about my cancer. Her reply, in a very nice & concerned tone, was, "oh, I wish you wouldn't do that. You'll scare yourself to death."

Turns out, the web research wasn't particularly scary. I'm that kind of person. I want to know all the details. I hit the web every time I, or anyone I care about, comes up against an illness I'm not familiar with. So, thank you ACS for all that in-depth info. Anyway, I went up to the hospital where my most recent mammogram was done to pick up the films & a copy of the radiologist's report for my surgeon. I got home this afternoon and got my first look at that report. First, I was mad that the OTHER surgeon didn't tell me what that report said. Namely, that I very likely had a primary cancerous tumor. He acted like he didn't know what I had. In fact, that's what he told my hubby when directly asked if they had ANY ideas about what it MIGHT be. No one was trying to ask for a definitive diagnosis, we just wanted some hint about what we might be facing. So, I get the report and low and behold, he knew good and well that I most likely had cancer but put me for more than a week until the biopsy results came in. Worse, he still didn't tell me that the mammogram revealed that my lymph nodes on that side are swollen and displaying signs of abnormalities. (This is where I started getting a little nervous.)

First, the biopsy revealed that my tumor was negative for hormone receptors, meaning my prognosis isn't as good & hormone therapy after the surgery is out. Second, the possible lymph node issue opens up a whole new area of concern. The size of the tumor alone is enough to push me into higher staging. If the lymph nodes are involved, then I'm looking at Stage III which has a significant impact on the survivability statistics. They hit the gutter if it's already metastasized.

I hate that he didn't lay all those cards on the table for me. As intimidating as it is, I would still rather know. I would much rather know I'm facing a tougher battle than to be coddled into thinking it's not so bad only to have my feet kicked out from under me when the ugly truth comes out.

But, this surgeon was not my kind of doctor. He didn't give me full disclosure, which is enough to make me not want to let him manage my care. As if I needed more convincing, though, on the day he did my biopsy, he walked into the room coughing. Have was kind enough to cover his mouth with his hand....the same hand he used to "clean" the area with, to inject the anesthetic with, to make the incision with and to operate the biopsy gun with. All without washing his hands, using antibacterial hand sanitized, or wearing gloves. That was one of the most unprofessional things I have ever seen. To top the whole thing off, after he gave me my diagnosis, I told him I wanted a second opinion, which he said he fully understood. He had recommended that I have a breast MRI, which I thought sounded like a good idea. My other surgeon's office said he ought to have no problem writing the order. We're talking about two different hospitals here, & the "non-quack" surgeon doesn't have privileges at the one that offers the breast MRI. So I called his office and asked if he would order the test for me. I got the call back this afternoon that he won't do it if I'm still planning to seek a second opinion, but he'll be happy to set it up if I agree to let him handle all my breast care.

Jerk. I wouldn't let him anywhere near me after that. Mark wants me to complain to his superiors, whoever that might be. I doubt it would do any good. We've been down that road before with his mom. On of her doctors put her on a high dose of an anti seizure med that I was already taking for migraines. I had plenty of experience at how hard it hit the body and how slow you had to go to reach the maintenance dosage. It took me weeks to get to my dosage and they started her off on a dose twice as high as mine. She was comatose. I kept telling them that they'd overdosed her. They ignored all our arguments, telling us, basically, that it was due to her brain cancer & we ought to just take her home to die. They were planning to kick her out the next morning so we called her neuro surgeon. He was livid. He called the department head. The surgeons words: "They overdosed her." They cut her dosage WAY down and low and behold, she woke up and started talking just fine. What happened to the doctor who started the whole thing? Nothing. It was all chalked up to a "miscommunication." Still ticked off about that. Moral of the story: doctors are not infallible. Only a complete idiot would trust them blindly. Which is why I do so much research.