Okay. So, just so y'all know that I'm totally human - I woke up this morning and wasn't quite all the way awake, but definitely I wasn't asleep either. You know what I'm talking about. Anyway, I entered full-consciousness with the thought that I need to write a letter for Shane's next wife. I mulled it over for a couple of hours before telling him about it. (I went to Zumba, pumped some iron, and picked up a birthday cake.) Bless his heart, he said something to the effect of "Don't worry about it. You're just facing your own mortality. You're going to be just fine." It wasn't just the way he said it, either, it was his nonchalant tone that comforted me and reassured me. He validated my fear by telling me about some of his thoughts, and the unease left me.
Anyway, I know some of you want to hear more detailed information about the cancer stuff. If that's not you, you can skip the rest of this post. :)
Dr. Tittensor spent a great deal of time with us (me, Shane, my mother, and Shane's mother) on Thursday. The nurse took my history, including our family's cancer history, and the Doc performed a quick ultrasound and exam. "Oh, yep, there's the cancer." It's pretty obvious when you're small-chested. Then she asked if I would like a genetic panel performed. If your insurance covers all but $375 (or less) of the test, it automatically goes through, so they just need to be sure you can handle a $375 bill if it shows up. Yikes. That's a lot for us, but, Mom is there and I look to her and she nods yes. I know if we can't cover it, she will help. I feel that this test is important, and Shane was impressed by how extensive it is. There is more than a little cancer in the family, and my results may help my siblings, of which there are seven, not to mention their children (and mine) as well. After my blood is drawn, Dr. Tittensor comes back in to discuss my treatment options. She has an outline-format information sheet to take with me, and she explains step by step the options and associated risks. After I tell her I'm pretty sure I want a mastectomy, but am uncertain how I feel about the other side, she recommends I meet with the plastic surgeon. She says most of her patients feel confident in their decision after meeting with him, whether they change their minds to a lumpectomy, or a double mastectomy. I am all ready feeling like I want a double mastectomy, but I hope Tuesday as I meet the plastic surgeon that I will feel confident in my decision!
Then, she recommends an MRI. It is scheduled for the next day, which is also my youngest's third birthday. I scramble to find babysitting, and think "I really need to get organized about who is willing to help with my kids before this process gets worse!" Many, many sweet friends have immediately volunteered to help with the kids when they hear about my cancer. I think they all can imagine themselves in my shoes, and I am so grateful for their offers. My MRI is the same time as one of my classes, but the professor furnished us with the times she teaches other sections, so I call my mother-in-law and stick her with the kids while I attend early, and then she comes with me to the MRI. She (or someone she knows) had a bad reaction to the contrast in an MRI once, and doesn't want me there alone. I am grateful for her company, even if I leave too late to get to my appointment on time, and then drive us to the wrong hospital. She knew better, too, and tried to tell me! But, they are a little behind at the right hospital, so no harm done. My technologist is bubbly and friendly. I change into hospital pants and gown(s). I start by putting on the pants backward, and laugh at myself as I turn them around. When I'm all dressed she inserts an IV (I hate IVs, but she did a great job) and takes me to the machine. It has a special attachment for a breast MRI. I'm going to try and find a picture, because words will not do it justice!
Yep. That pic paints a pretty accurate picture. A raised platform to lay on with two holes in it for you to hang out. Super fun, and super comfortable! <sarcasm!> "Don't lift your head at any point during the scans or in between the scans, even if you have to talk to me." Instructs the technologist because if you lift your head it moves your ... assets. I practice pranayama (deep breathing) and meditate during the exam. I break meditating a few times to respond to the technologist over the intercom, so she knows I'm not asleep. She tells me what to expect for the length of each scan throughout the exam, and especially lets me know when the contrast is dispensed into my IV. I really appreciated the warning! It wasn't bad, but it was cold running into my arm, and made the rest of my body feel funny-warm as it made its way through my systems. I wish I had my phone with me to take a picture of the red mark the cradle left on my head and chest. No, I wouldn't have taken a picture of my bare chest, good grief people! But, the red mark extended high enough on my chest I could have taken a pic with a low shirt on and you would be able to see it. I laughed pretty well at myself when I looked in the mirror in the changing room! I asked the tech for a copy of my images for my husband. She gave me the disclaimer "It's unlikely you will know what you're looking at..." and I remind her he's been through medical school, and assure her that he will want to see them. She tells me "We expect a certain variation in the images due to breathing, but yours hardly moved at all. At times I was worried you weren't breathing any longer!" I explain about yoga, and think "I'm glad I responded vocally to her prompts over the intercom a few times so she knew I was fine!" All said and done, I was in the machine for just about thirty minutes. It was loud, but they provide earplugs. The images are beautiful, but no, I won't be posting those either!
Anyway, I know some of you want to hear more detailed information about the cancer stuff. If that's not you, you can skip the rest of this post. :)
Then, she recommends an MRI. It is scheduled for the next day, which is also my youngest's third birthday. I scramble to find babysitting, and think "I really need to get organized about who is willing to help with my kids before this process gets worse!" Many, many sweet friends have immediately volunteered to help with the kids when they hear about my cancer. I think they all can imagine themselves in my shoes, and I am so grateful for their offers. My MRI is the same time as one of my classes, but the professor furnished us with the times she teaches other sections, so I call my mother-in-law and stick her with the kids while I attend early, and then she comes with me to the MRI. She (or someone she knows) had a bad reaction to the contrast in an MRI once, and doesn't want me there alone. I am grateful for her company, even if I leave too late to get to my appointment on time, and then drive us to the wrong hospital. She knew better, too, and tried to tell me! But, they are a little behind at the right hospital, so no harm done. My technologist is bubbly and friendly. I change into hospital pants and gown(s). I start by putting on the pants backward, and laugh at myself as I turn them around. When I'm all dressed she inserts an IV (I hate IVs, but she did a great job) and takes me to the machine. It has a special attachment for a breast MRI. I'm going to try and find a picture, because words will not do it justice!
Yep. That pic paints a pretty accurate picture. A raised platform to lay on with two holes in it for you to hang out. Super fun, and super comfortable! <sarcasm!> "Don't lift your head at any point during the scans or in between the scans, even if you have to talk to me." Instructs the technologist because if you lift your head it moves your ... assets. I practice pranayama (deep breathing) and meditate during the exam. I break meditating a few times to respond to the technologist over the intercom, so she knows I'm not asleep. She tells me what to expect for the length of each scan throughout the exam, and especially lets me know when the contrast is dispensed into my IV. I really appreciated the warning! It wasn't bad, but it was cold running into my arm, and made the rest of my body feel funny-warm as it made its way through my systems. I wish I had my phone with me to take a picture of the red mark the cradle left on my head and chest. No, I wouldn't have taken a picture of my bare chest, good grief people! But, the red mark extended high enough on my chest I could have taken a pic with a low shirt on and you would be able to see it. I laughed pretty well at myself when I looked in the mirror in the changing room! I asked the tech for a copy of my images for my husband. She gave me the disclaimer "It's unlikely you will know what you're looking at..." and I remind her he's been through medical school, and assure her that he will want to see them. She tells me "We expect a certain variation in the images due to breathing, but yours hardly moved at all. At times I was worried you weren't breathing any longer!" I explain about yoga, and think "I'm glad I responded vocally to her prompts over the intercom a few times so she knew I was fine!" All said and done, I was in the machine for just about thirty minutes. It was loud, but they provide earplugs. The images are beautiful, but no, I won't be posting those either!
I come home from the MRI and decide we need to have a party for my youngest, so I call on two of her friends and invite them to come over tomorrow at 2. I head to Costco and buy paper plates, bowls, cups, utensils, and gasp at the cost, but I know they will cut down on work and stress over the next month or so. Our Relief Society President brings us pizzas and visits with me, then I have to take care of the eleven year old's ingrown toenail which includes buying more epsom salts, so we take the youngest to Wal-Mart and let her pick out a present. She decides she wants Doctor dress up clothes. I am tickled. None of the other kids really expressed an interest in dressing up or playing Doctor, even though their daddy's life has revolved around it. The party was super cute, and both of our guests' mothers volunteer to babysit for my appointment Tuesday.
Then, a dear friend I haven't seen in years came and took me to Aveda salon in Provo for pedicures, and to Cubby's afterward! I picked pink polish for breast cancer awareness. I love that my toenails will be pretty in the hospital, and the catch-up session with my friend was priceless. I also cried just a little bit because it was so kind of her, and I felt so pampered. I've also been trying to remember to invite women I know to feel my lump, so they know what to look for in their own breast exams. It's not awkward since mine is located just under my shirt line by about an inch - my bra doesn't even cover it. This may be just one way something good will come from my experience.
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