Test Results

I had my biopsy during the week of Labor Day so that prolonged the results a bit. Then, I received a phone call from the surgeon's office to let me know that it would be delayed even more because the lab was doing some specialized staining tests on my lump. When I asked why, I was told that they wanted to be sure of the results and needed to do further testing. In my heart I knew it was because there was something there that wasn't supposed to be there. Looking back over the whole experience I can honestly say that waiting for those results was the most trying experience. Even if they gave me a cancer diagnosis, at least I would know what it was, but not knowing and being delayed and delayed. I would go to work and try to be busy so my mind could relax, but I felt anxiety all through me, out to the very nerve endings in my skin.

In my heart I wavered because I thought, "I'm a Christian and I have faith, so I shouldn't be so afraid." Then I read some words from Dave Dravecky (a cancer survivor and believer) and it comforted me so much. I realized that the fear is part of the journey. I knew that Jesus was with me and that my life was in His hands, but my human nature was naturally fearful of possible death and the unknown. I kept reminding myself of the verses in chapter 4 of Philippians. I would repeat to myself Philippians 4:6-7, "Don't be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." I craved God's peace. I knew what it meant to be desperate for Him like never before. It was a daily exercise: Reminding myself of God's promises, deciding to trust in Him and His love, trying to think of the things I was thankful for, and just making it through each day until I would hear the results.

Almost a week after my biopsy, the surgeon's office called me on my cell phone. I was in a Hallmark store looking at cards when it rang. "Dr. Billy wants to see you Monday to talk about your test results." With a lump in my throat, I agreed. I hurried home to John, who hugged me as I came in the door crying. I knew what it was. We talked with our daughters and prayed together. Now to wait the whole weekend before talking with Dr. Billy.

Monday came and it seemed to last an eternity! Finally I sat in Dr. Billy's office, on the exam table. John had met me there. Dr. Billy looked uneasy as he got right to the point, "The tumor turned out to be malignant. I was really surprised because it looked to me like a benign growth. It is invasive ductal cancer, the kind that can spread through the lymph nodes if not caught early enough." John and I just listened and looked at him, dumbfounded. "I recommend you have a mastectomy. We can get you scheduled for this Friday."

Biopsy

No eating or drinking after midnight, a little bloodwork, then off to the operating room! First, they have to mark the place where the notorious lump is located. These days, due to so many liability issues, they have to write on you with a marker to show which side the surgeon is supposed to work on. (I suppose so he doesn't operate on the wrong part of your body!) Dr. Billy peeked his head in my waiting room to say "Good morning" and "It will all be fine." The anesthesiologist comes in to talk with me and tell me what he is planning to do. Anesthesiologists, in contrast to surgeons, seem to be more "social" and more apt to joke around to put your mind at ease. That's fine with me! It does help. They put a little stretchy shower cap on my head and wheel me away. The operating room is noisy with preparations for the procedure, running water for washing of hands, clanking of metal instruments, the doctor and nurses talking with one another, the rustle of the sheets and blankets placed on my legs. I look up to the big surgical lights over my head and hear the anesthesiologist tell me that I'll start to feel sleepy. Before he even stops talking to me, my eyes close and I'm asleep.

When I wake up, it seems I time-traveled because it was only an instant ago they were preparing me for the task. It is now several hours later and I've got a big, padded bandage across my left breast. I force my eyes open and groggily look around to get my bearings. They offer me a Sprite. That tastes so good. Once fully awake, they wheel me back to the waiting room and John is there to visit with me and help me get dressed to go home. As we drove home I was thinking "In a few days we will have the test results and this whole ordeal will be behind me, just a memory."

Dr. Billy

I've come to a conclusion about surgeons. Their personalities are distinctively different than family doctors, pediatricians and the like. They are much more task-oriented and to the point. No need for a lot of small talk, let's just get this thing taken care of. The quickest appointments I've had have been in surgeon's offices. Dr. Billy was this way, but at the same time he had a paternal kindness about him that eased my mind. From the looks of his white hair and receding hairline, glasses, and steady but wrinkled hands, it seemed to me he had been a surgeon for many years.

He examined me and told me he'd see me the next day for the biopsy. Once again, it all seemed very routine. His office manager Cathy, who is also his wife, told me where to go and about the procedure. They run a tight ship at that office.

It's probably nothing

This short phrase was at first my brushing off the initial flush of panic I felt when I first discovered the little lump in my left breast. It was the end of August, 2003. I was getting dressed after my shower and was checking myself as I did at least monthly. I felt it right away and knew it was not there before. I checked the other side, then the left side again. It's still there, it feels solid. Several thoughts shot through my mind in a split second with an accompanying burst of the nervous feeling you get sometimes in your stomach: "What if it's cancer?" "Maybe it's just my hormones and I'm lumpy this week." "It's probably nothing."

I called my doctor that very day (in case it was more than just "nothing") and had an exam later that week. They sent me for a mammogram the next day. I sat there in the waiting room of the imaging center, trying to blend into the crowd of patients and family members who were chatting, looking at magazines that don't really interest them, watching the news on the TV, scanning the bland nondiscript artwork on the walls, or sleeping.

I was thinking that I wished I had asked my husband to come along. Then I remembered that Jesus said He would always be with me, and I closed my eyes and tried to imagine him sitting in the waiting room chair beside me. It was a comfort.

They performed the mammogram and asked me to wait. If you've never had a mammogram, they are nothing to be afraid of, but are very weird. They put your breast on this little platform that you stand next to. (It is heated - thank goodness) Then they lower a plastic paddle onto the top of your breast. They continue to lower it until your breast is flattened about as much as is humanly possible, then they tell you to stand completely still while they x-ray. As if you could do anything but stand still with your breast in the clamp of this machine! It does not hurt, but just feels tight for a moment. I was so thankful the technician was a woman and that it was over so quickly. She came back in after checking the films and told me that nothing appeared on the mammogram, but since we could palpate the lump they were going to do an ultrasound.

The ultrasound was more helpful. A small,1 cm solid lump was definitely in my left breast. The radiologist on staff came in to tell me about it and said that since it was solid it should "definitely come out." That didn't sound very good to me, but I told myself that doesn't necessarily mean anything bad. It's probably nothing. He even said that it could be any number of things. Women have lumps all the time that are benign, but need to be checked nonetheless.

So, my doctor's office set me up with a surgeon for a consultation and to set up a biopsy. It all seemed very routine, but I was starting to feel a little anxious about my little lump.

"It's probably nothing," would change from a brushing off of initial fear to a cry of hope, a desperate hope that I wouldn't have to face cancer or some other life-threatening disease. Friends and family would say this little phrase to me many times before I found out what it really was. We were all hoping it was nothing.

New Venture

Having benefitted from reading a "blog" about someone else's journey and experience with breast cancer, I decided to step out and share my experience. I'm hoping someone who needs encouragement and a sense of camaraderie as they face the unsettling diagnosis of breast cancer will find something in my words here to help them along. I believe anything is easier to face when you realize that you are not alone. Even though I believe that God is with me through everything that I encounter, I also believe that we need other people. There is great comfort in hearing the story of someone who has already been through a terrible situation; how they prevailed and what it was like, so that you can keep treading on, feeling strengthened.

So much of fear comes from facing the unknown, so maybe if you hear what I know (and mind you, I don't know that much) it may help alleviate some fears and uncertainties for a passer by.

So...I open my heart and mind to anyone who cares to read along.

God be with you!