You have cancer.
Not the words one ever wants to hear, but unfortunately spoken many times a day to people of all walks of life. I’m sad to say these words were spoken to me this week.
I posted on Facebook in early September about going to my first mammogram. I talked a little crap, saying how it was so easy and people need to quit scaring us about it. Well, I never came back to say that they called me back for an additional zoomed in screening.
Microcalcification clusters. Not necessarily an indication that something is wrong, but in few cases it can be. They want to get a better look to be sure. I’m a little concerned, but not much because it is pretty unlikely at my “young” age that there is a real issue I’m told. We do the additional mammogram, this time a bit more uncomfortable than the first.
They take me back to my little private waiting room. I am told that the radiologist will immediately read the scans and determine if an ultrasound is needed, or if I am good to go. I wait in the room for a bit hoping they say it isn’t needed and I am good to go.
Part of my wish is granted! No ultrasound is needed! I’m told that the nurse will be by to get me soon to go over the results from the zoomed in mammogram. Perfect! If the nurse is going to be the one going over the results, that means everything is fine, right? Otherwise the doctor would review it with me. The nurse comes to get me and brings me to a room labeled “Consultation”. She tells me to have a seat then my heart drops when she says she is going to step out to get the doctor to review my results. Now I am really worried.
The doctor comes in and starts to talk about how dense my breast tissue is and how it makes it hard to see what is really going on under the microcalcification clusters. At this point, his voice is kind of coming and going and I can feel my pulse all over my entire body. He talks about the need for biopsies to determine that everything is fine. Apparently there are three separate microcalcification clusters, and he recommends one if not two to have biopsies. He is careful to explain that this in no way means there is cancer. It is highly likely that it is nothing like that at all. They just want to err on the side of caution, better safe than sorry and all that.
I nod and smile and all the expected things for normal conversation, but my mind is racing. Should I be concerned? I know that they say it is highly unlikely, but should I be concerned? The nurse takes me into her office to give me some pamphlets and to explain the biopsy process to me. I am trying so hard to focus, and then she draws me a diagram. The biopsy has to be mammogram directed. Huh? How does that work? My breast will be squished into a machine and they will perform the biopsy while it is in there? I had to stand for the mammogram. Will I have to stand for the biopsy? Nope, oh no. They have a special table with a hole in it. I get to lay facedown on this table, and shove my breast through that hole. They will then perform the mammogram under the table and based off of the real time scans, they will target the area to make the incision and insert the needle. But no worries! I will be numbed for the procedure. I feel numb now, but also overwhelmed at the same time. It is becoming a little too real what I am going to have to do, and my lips are trembling as well as my eyes tearing up. The nurse notices and is quick to reassure me that this is all standard and routine. Again, we are just erring on the side of caution. There is likely nothing to worry about at all.
I walk out of the medical complex so very conflicted. I call Patrick to give him the update and begin to cry. I am trying to keep it together and remain positive because after all, it is highly unlikely, right?
So all of this occurred within about a week. First mammogram September 1st, second zoomed in mammogram and results on September 8th. I was told by the nurse that someone would be calling me to schedule the consultation for the biopsy and the biopsy itself.
The consultation was scheduled for October 23rd. Almost a month and a half later. Are you kidding me? I have to wait so long to find out what is truly going on? I tell them to please put me on the wait list in case of any spots opening up sooner. Lucky for me, an earlier spot did open up, so we did the consultation on Oct 9th. Patrick, Jaxon, and I were supposed to be in Texas for Fall Break on October 9th, but we both agreed that too much was going on to continue with that plan. Honestly, the consultation didn’t really provide any additional information outside of what I already had been told. However, we were able to go ahead and schedule the biopsy for the original consultation date of October 23rd.
I kept myself pretty busy trying to keep my mind off of it, and trying to remain positive when I couldn’t. The hurry up and wait part of all of this was easily one of the hardest parts.
The morning of the biopsy comes, and Patrick and I make our way to the medical complex. I had asked him to come with me for moral support. We go through registration where I find out that I have to pay $745 out of pocket for this lovely experience. And that was after a 20% discount for paying for it same day. Then, we find out that Patrick can’t come with me. He has to wait in the waiting room. I had no clue that would happen. Instant anxiety like a switch flipped. Holding back tears in the interest of keeping my shit together, I follow the lady back to the same little personal waiting room I was in when this all began. I am to strip down my top half, put on the provided robe, and someone will be back to get me and bring me back.
A nurse comes to collect me, and walks me to the room with a table with a hole in it. She has me sit in a chair, and begins to explain the process in depth to me. While she is doing this, she begins to take my vitals. After the blood pressure cuff releases, I hear “Hmmm”. I asked if it was reading high. She says it is a little and asks if I am nervous. To which, of course, I respond with tears. She is very sympathetic and gives me tissues, and assures me that the procedure really isn’t that bad at all. Don’t they realize that it isn’t the procedure? Can’t they understand that it is the potential of what comes after? Either way, it is time to awkwardly climb up onto this table and put my breast into a hole that is centered in the table. This means that my feet hang weirdly off the end of the table. They get me into a specific positioning, and I am told that it is super important that I not move during this process. I literally laid in that same exact position for at least half an hour. My hands went numb. My neck hurt from being turned that way for so long. I was close to my monthly cycle, so my breasts were pretty tender which made the positioning of the mammogram painful. But, they were right, the biopsy itself did not hurt at all due to the numbing medication. The doctor took about 6 microscopic samples from the same area, and then he placed a tiny clip as a marker. That way in future mammograms they will be aware that the area has already been addressed. After the biopsy was complete, I was told to continue laying the same way as they applied pressure and dressings to the incision. Next was a final mammogram with me standing to make sure everything looked complete and that the clip was placed properly.
I was told that the results typically come in somewhere between 2-5 days after the procedure, and since it was performed on a Monday, the hope was that I would be told the results before the weekend. This was not the case. I finally got the call on Tuesday October 31st. On the last day of Breast Cancer Awareness month, I got the news that I have breast cancer.
I am very lucky that they moved the recommendation for the first mammogram back to 40 years old, because it was caught super early, and the prognosis is great. It is going to require surgery and some radiation, but luckily no chemo. The main concern, to my understanding, is trying to determine why this is happening at my young age and with no family history of breast cancer. There will also be genetic testing to determine if I am somehow predisposed to this or any other types of cancer.
Throughout this process I have learned a few things.
1) My comfort phrase is “You are not alone.”
2)The statement of “You’re going to be perfectly fine. You’re young!” brings me no comfort and actually makes me feel almost guilty for feeling upset or that my feelings are invalid.
3) Women can be amazing, wonderful, supportive, comforting, loving people. I forget that often because of who I am surrounded by in my professional environment, but I have been reminded this week that we can absolutely love on one another, support each other, and comfort each other.
You may ask why I would choose to share this deeply personal information/experience on such a public forum as social media. Remember my comfort phrase? “You are not alone” I am definitely not the only “young” woman going through something like this. For me, it is not only cathartic to speak on it, but I may also be able to provide some comfort to someone else.
-Rachel