After the Whirlwind

When I opened this up and saw that the last post was a month ago, I was honestly shocked. Where has the time gone? It’s been a crazy month and a half for sure. So, to fill in the gaps…Just a warning–this update isn’t very entertaining. I’m not feeling very amusing or inspired today.

On March 31, I had to go back in for a third biopsy on a section about an inch over from the tumor. That biopsy was brutal. They took twelve samples from the site via laser and vacuum and I was left with a completely purple breast weeks. The samples were not cancer, thankfully, but were diagnosed as lobular carcinoma in situ, which is apparently “suspicious” and could be “pre-cancerous.” Even though the doctors decided that both the tumor and the LCIS needed to go, it didn’t change the plan we settled on–the lumpectomy/lymphectomy and reconstruction for Monday, April 10th.

On April 5th, I met with the plastic surgeon who would work alongside my breast surgeon. He explained the procedure and how he and the breast surgeon would work alternately to do their jobs and help me achieve the results I am hoping for both health-wise and aesthetically.

On Friday, April 7th, I walked into the hospital with a still-sore, half-healed, bruised right breast. I first got COVID-tested, and then I moved to the 5th floor to see my surgeon, who explained the procedure again, physical limitations after surgery, and had me sign my consent forms. One of the things my husband and I were warned about was that, in rare instances, the blue dye used during the procedure could turn me a sickly cartoonish shade of green, but that would be temporary if that were to happen. The minute she left, Joe grinned from ear to ear. “Oh, I really hope you turn green,” he said.

Then we went to nuclear medicine where I had dye injected into the tumor to see which lymph nodes it drained to. “Don’t worry,” said the nurse. “This one feels like a bee sting. It’s over fast.” They then had me walk around for an hour before having me go into imaging to see if the dye distributed.

Finally, three magnetic seeds were implanted in the surgical site to help guide the surgeon’s procedure. They were guided into position with long needles. It’s at this point I was just really tired of feeling like a pincushion. Yes, they give you local numbing to assist, and yes, it is tolerable. Barely. There’s only so much poking and prodding, pricking and mashing that you can tolerate. And just when you think you cannot tolerate anymore, you have to. If you want to free your body (hopefully) from cancer, you do what you have to do.

But it doesn’t feel brave. I wish I felt like some bad-ass, baring my wounds and stoically bearing the procedures, telling them to bring it on. Instead, I found myself taking a deep breath before disrobing in front of the newest stranger in charge of me, turning my face away from what they were doing, and squeezing my eyes as tightly as could until it was over. Sometimes the nurse or tech would rub my shoulders and tell me it was almost done, that I was doing so well. I didn’t cry or whimper, so I guess that’s a win.

On Monday, April 10th, I had the procedure done. I’m sore and ouchy in the places you’d expect, but my pain is well-managed and I’m getting up and walking around and doing my exercises. I have about a week to wait on pathology to see if we got clear margins or if there’s any cancer in the lymph nodes. I feel optimistic, but I don’t know why. I just do. Oh, and I did not (to Joe’s disappointment) turn temporarily green.

So now the waiting game continues…