Can my divot be turned into a candy factory?

I hate to say it, but if they're going to steal my "second base", I almost wish they would take the entire second base so I can at least be even!  I am already worried enough about there being a divot in my left boob and not my right.  I was thinking about it though, and if I have to have a divot in my boob from where they took the lump, I would like it to be a fun game.  I have this vision of children being able to drive their toy cars on the road (aka my boob) and have to go down in the valley and back up the hill.  

My other thought is the divot can be a perfect place to store candy.  I have this vision of me being an infamous grandma that pulls candy out of a little pocket in my boob.  When the grand kids bring their friends over they'll get excited and tell their friends to ask if I have any candy.  When I pull it out of my boob pouch they will be speechless, both in utter amazement and horror.     

Squirrels never disappoint!

It was almost like Kelly knew Nurse Betty's package was a huge disappointment and she wanted to make up for it.  Sunday a couple of packages were delivered right to my door!  Yes!  Right to my door!  These packages were much more up my alley, although at this point do I have to admit cancer packages are also up my alley?  Nah, I'm still in denial...

Fingers crossed it's all just another "lump" in the road email

Happy Tuesday!

First of all, thank you for the kind words and messages you have sent this week.  I really do appreciate it!  They mean a lot to me.  I apologize for the delayed responses, hopefully you will forgive me!  Oh, and I have to give credit to my mom for the subject of this e-mail, she's all about this "lump" in the road joke.

Now that all of the niceties are out of the way, here's what I know... now don't hold your breath hoping I will be super informative, turns out a lot of the details won't come until after surgery.  Jerks to that!

Yesterday morning started off with a phone call from Nurse Betty.  I thought for sure she was calling to tell me the pathologist mixed up my biopsy results with some poor old woman and turns out this was all a terrible joke (for real, I somehow still keep thinking this could actually happen - denial much?).  Nope, no go on that.  Betty wanted me in early so they could take images of the right side (as of now, everything looks all good in the hood on that side).

My mom, Matt, and I were at the hospital from about 10:15am-late afternoon.  We met with my surgeon, hung out in breast imaging (while I was watching Tiny House Hunters, doing laps, and other exercise moves in the waiting room my mom and Matt had a nice "get to know you" chat), had lunch, met with surgeon again, then met with a nurse (she filled us in on what we missed because we missed the cancer support group meeting).  The way the UofM works is they have a "tumor team" (hopefully they're at least half as impressive as the A-team) that looks at your chart and together they make decisions about how to proceed.  The tumor team is made up of all the doctors that could possibly be involved in any given cancer case.

Okay, okay, so the deets - as of now they're classifying my cancer as Stage 1.  They say my cancer resembles cancer commonly found among old ladies (perhaps all this time working with the oldies finally rubbed off on me...?).  Turns out being 33 with old people cancer is much better than being 33 with a fast growing cancer, though!  If I were, say, 30 years older they may not be as concerned, however given my age they are not certain of anything.  Every time I tried to get the doctor to tell me what the best case scenario was in my future she would play along, but only for so long because there is still so little known about the tumor (kind of like after the biopsy when the doctors made me state my name and from which breast they took the biopsy.  I said, "the right."  They laughed for a hot second, then turned real serious and made me quick say the correct answer.  I'm finding doctors can play along, but they have their limits, which makes sense, I suppose).  There are more tests that need to get done (e.g. genetic testing), but as of now the plan is to move forward with a lumpectomy followed by radiation (hopefully not chemo, but again apparently nothing can be determined until after surgery and they know more about the tumor).

Next steps:
1. Meet with reproductive endocrinology & fertility doctor to discuss options regarding treatment post surgery
2. Meet with genetics folks and get tested (seeing as I am a serious outlier, doctors seem to be quite intrigued and need all the information they can get on me)
3. Schedule a surgery date (they'll call in the next couple of days to schedule - surgery will probably about 4 weeks out)
4. During/after surgery they will be able to tell if the cancer has spread and whether radiation or chemotherapy is the best option for post surgery treatments

People have asked if it is okay to tell others about this.  Sure, go ahead.  Whether or not I like it, I have cancer and it is going to be a large part of my life, in particular for at least the next three months, if not more.  Also, I know I can be long winded in e-mails - as you can imagine, there is just so much information and so much going on in my head.  I figured today I would send answers to a few questions I think most of you are asking - along with a few anecdotal stories, of course.

Hoot!  Hoot!

Email breaking the news

Hello again,

Well, I figured I should probably give you an update on my week.  Some of you already know some of these details, but I'm going to go ahead and write them as if this is the first time for everyone.

Tuesday morning I went in for my biopsy.  Patrick and Matt went with and waited in the waiting room (I was gone for two hours, when I returned they were surprised to see me back so soon. Apparently they got wrapped up in a good conversation).

There were 5 other people in the room helping with the procedure. They took 5 samples, which looked like little worms swimming in solution.  It was interesting watching on the ultrasound while they went in with the needle and took the samples. They also implanted a marker in there, when they were finished, which is kind of weird. The marker makes it easier for them to locate the spot during future procedures.  It was even weirder to watch them shoot it into the "tumor". I was able to crack some jokes during the procedure, which was nice.  All in all it wasn't a terrible experience. My boob appears to be healing well from the procedure.  For a day and a half it hurt like someone punched it or something!  Now it has a bruise like someone punched me (I know, right, who thought I would bruise from such a procedure?  I never bruise! Ha ha ha...), but the pain is gone.

That being said, the doctor called yesterday with results.  It appears they find results quickly when the news isn't as we had hoped.  The results came back and... "I have cancer!" (when you read that you're supposed to read it with excitement, and imagine me throwing my hands up in the air like it's something fun.  Similar to when Oprah used to give away cars and she say, "And you get a car, and you get a car...!"  Just insert cancer in place of car ;).  I have very little information right now.  What I can tell you is that it is "Grade 1" which means it is slower growing.  Further tests need to be done to determine if it has spread beyond the known source.  I get the impression these tests may be done when I meet with the surgeon.  The next step in this process is waiting for a phone call from the surgeon's office to schedule an appointment (hopefully they'll call today.  The referral went in after the doctor informed me of the exciting news).  The doctor said generally these appointments are on Mondays.  From the sounds of it that appointment is not a short one and is where I'll get thrown up on with a ton of information.

The first step, says the doctor, is surgery.  I'm crossing my fingers for a lumpectomy with radiation therapy - that seems to be the best case scenario and least invasive.  The possibilities after that are a mastectomy and/or chemotherapy.        

The doctor said there is a lot of misinformation out there, so if you are interested in doing your own research on the matter she suggested you check out this site: http://www.cancer.org/cancer/breastcancer/

This is all still really new to me and I am trying to take it all in.  I am not sure how to handle it and how to tell people, so I hope this e-mail is okay.  I apologize for notifying you via e-mail, but I feel like it was the best way for me to do it at this time.

Lots of love,

Megan (your new poster child for cancer patients, yippee!!... ;)

Nurse Betty

It only took about 24 hours before the call came in that I had cancer.  "Do you have a minute to talk, Megan?"  I was still convinced the doctor only wanted a "minute to talk" because she was kind and knew I was going to have tons of questions about this benign tumor thing inside of me.  Boy was I wrong.  That conversation went as you can imagine.  Megan asking questions, doctor trying to answer them, but having such little information.  Looking back on the situation this is how I imagine it going down - 1.) Pathologist takes one look at my biopsy, not even a look, just a glance really, then looks at their peon next to them and says, "she's got IT, she tested positive, call her doctor NOW!" 2.) Peon picks up phone next to them and calls doctor 3.) Doctor answers, hangs up, calls me

The next day, Thursday, I was en route to a treat yo'self day at the movies with my $3.50 popcorn and $3.50 pop in tow when the phone rang.  I've got this hospital number down pat by now.  The thing about the number though, is when it rings, you don't have any idea who will be on the other end, just that it's cancer related.  Anyway, so I answer and this woman immediately starts talking at a fast rate.  I have no idea what she is saying.  Monday.  Be there.  Be there all day.  Bring someone.  Park in P1, where you parked for your biopsy.  Ummm... whoops, we parked in P2 for the biopsy and long story short, it was a 15 minute shit show of Patrick, Matt, and I getting on and off of elevators, climbing stairs, asking people, and somehow eventually finding where we were going, only to look out the window and see "P1" parking right outside our final destination.  Half-way through the shit show Patrick says, "We have 4 people with college degrees, you'd think we could figure this out."  Yes, you read that right, he said 4, we were only 3.  Perhaps that was our problem?

The main take away from Nurse Betty, which I finally got at the end of the conversation, was I would be receiving a package in the mail.  This package should arrive the next day(!) or Saturday(!) at the latest(!).  In this exciting package I would find a cancer book, a real quick 8 page health questionnaire, and an informational DVD!  The way I took her telling me about this was like it was the most exciting thing on earth - "the package will arrive via UPS, they'll deliver it right to your door!  Yes, you heard that right, right to your doorstep!  Come on down, you're the next contestant on The Price is Right!  What do you win?!  A weellccooome to caaaannnccceer packet!"  I have to admit, I was slightly disappointed when I opened the packet and it didn't say, "So, you have cancer" on the front.  That's what I was hoping for.  It arrived on Saturday.

         

Jokes told during biopsy

Sometimes I like to think I am pretty funny, especially in a room full of doctors, nurses, and ultrasound technicians.  And yes, there might be a theme here... turns out the sexual humor I've inherited from my mom really likes to come out when I'm nervous.

1. Is that like a condom for the ultrasound machine?
2. Wait, so you're in me right now and I can't feel you?  ...That's not something your boyfriend ever wants to hear (said while looking at the image of my tumor on the ultrasound machine with a needle entering it)
3. When asked for my name and from which breast they took the biopsy I answered, "the right."  Doctors like that one, but for only so long.

I watched as the doctor implanted a marker in my tumor.  It was like nothing I've ever seen.  It reminded me of those informational videos they show you in grade school/high school where the sperm fertilizes the egg - the thing shot right into the tumor.    Perhaps my tumor and the marker are in cahoots and are making a super cute baby in my boob as I type this!  As long as it is not another tumor, I guess I'm okay with it.  Not only did the marker impregnate my tumor, but the doctors' reaction to the final landing of the marker resembled that of NASA employees watching a shuttle land.  "Nice shot!"  Who knew it was so exciting!?

Post mammogram/ultrasound email

Well, I figured I should probably give you an update on my week.  Some of you already know some of these details, but I'm going to go ahead and write them as if this is the first time for everyone.

Tuesday morning I went in for my biopsy.  Patrick and Matt went with and waited in the waiting room (I was gone for two hours, when I returned they were surprised to see me back so soon.  Apparently they got wrapped up in a good conversation).

There were 5 other people in the room helping with the procedure.  They took 5 samples, which looked like little worms swimming in solution.  It was interesting watching on the ultrasound while they went in with the needle and took the samples.  They also implanted a marker in there, when they were finished, which is kind of weird.  The marker makes it easier for them to locate the spot during future procedures.  It was even weirder to watch t hem shoot it into the "tumor."  I was able to crack some jokes during the procedure, which was nice.  All in all it wasn't a terrible experience.  My boob appears to be healing well from the procedure.  For a day and a half it hurt like someone punched it or something!  Now it has a bruise like someone punched me (I know, right, who thought I would bruise from such a procedure?  I never bruise!  Ha ha ha...), but the pain is gone.

That being said, the doctor called yesterday with results.  It appears they find results quickly when the news isn't as we had hoped.  The results came back and... " I have cancer!" (when you read that you're supposed to read it with excitement, and imagine my throwing me hands up in the air like it's something fun.  Similar to when Oprah used to give away cars and would say, "And you get a car, and you get a car..."  Just insert cancer in place of car ;)  I have very little information right now.  What I can tell you is that it is "Grade 1" which means it is slower growing.  Further tests need to be done to determine if it has spread beyond the known source.  I get the impression these tests may be done when I meet with the surgeon.  The next step in this process is waiting for a phone call from the surgeon's office to schedule an appointment (hopefully they'll call today.  The referral went in after the doctor informed me of the exciting news).  The doctor said generally these appointments are on Mondays.  From the sounds of it that appointment is not a short one and is where I'll get thrown up on with a ton of information. 

The first step, says the doctor, is surgery.  I'm crossing my fingers for a lumpectomy with radiation therapy - that seems to be the best case scenario and least invasive.  The possibilities after that are a mastectomy and/or chemotherapy.

The doctor said there is a lot of misinformation out there, so if you are interested in doing your own research on the matter she suggested you check out this site: http://www.cancer.org/cancer/breastcancer/

This is all still really new to me and I am trying to take it all in.  I am not sure how to handle it and how to tell people, so I hope this e-mail is okay.  I apologize for notifying you via e-mail, but I feel like it was the best way for me to do it at this time.

Lots of love,
Megan (your new poster child for cancer patients, yippee!!...;)  

Beginning of the end email

I am sure it is nothing, but I figured I would let you know I found a small lump in my breast last week.  After visiting my primary care physician I was referred to the breast imagining folks.  Yesterday I had a mammogram and an ultrasound.  I now know the great joys of a mammogram (only on the left side though.  I considered asking them to do the right one too, just so I could even out my body, but I refrained).  

The ultrasound is where they could better see the "nodule."  It looked like a black-ish circle on the screen.  They think it is nothing to be concerned about, but couldn't give me a 100% answer.  I forgot what they think it might be, but it is something more common among younger women who find lumps in their boobs.   

The good things about my lump are: 1.) It appears to move.  It moved while the doctor rolled the ultrasound camera over it - really weird feeling 2.) It is hard and you can easily feel it.     

The reasons my ultrasound results were abnormal are: 1.) the lump wasn't a perfect oval, apparently the doctor thought it might be more of a barbell type looking thing 2.) It wasn't consistent in color.  

Since they couldn't tell me with 100% certainty it is nothing, they ordered a biopsy.  So... I have an "ultrasound-guided breast biopsy" scheduled for next week.  I will be awake for the procedure.  They will use local anesthesia and use a needle to take samples.  Sounds like fun!    

And so it begins

It was an average Monday night, nothing out of the ordinary. We were laying in bed, winding down for the night, Matt had his hand on my boob. "What's that?" "What's WHAT? WHAT IS THAT?!?" And so begins my journey of just another "lump" in the road.

I called the next morning to make an annual exam. Three months out, they were booking. (Side note, I find it amazing how far out they are booking annual exams these days!) "Uh... okay and before you hang up, I found a lump in my left breast..." "Ah, yes, we have an appointment on Friday! See you at 1:50. Click."

Sure as shit, the day after I found the lump, my roommate (who had no idea about my recent finding) came home and told a story about her student's siblings and how they had died in unique ways.  His older sister, she said, found a lump in her breast and died two months later.  Yes, you read that right, she died two months after she found her lump!  So, as you can imagine, I quickly decided I have 2 months to live, I just know it!  I best get on doing everything I've ever wanted to do... but what is it I've wanted to do?  I wish I knew!  

Fast forward to Friday, I clearly told the doctor I had already officially received my death sentence and knew I had two months to live.  As the doctor was feeling up my boobs she felt something in my left boob, but NOT what I felt.  As soon as she found the this second "thing" I quickly realized a second lump decreased my life from 2 months to 1 month and informed the doctor of my realization.  She shook her head and said she was at a loss of words.  No, the second thing she felt wasn't anything about which to be concerned, but the initial lump was worthy of a mammogram and ultrasound.  Referral submitted.