Follow The Bouncing Ball
Let's bring you up to speed and paint a vivid picture of the whirlwind that swept through my life from discovery to the commencement of treatment. Big kudos to my incredible care team at Corewell Health for their swift actions—unlike the seemingly lost-in-the-void UofM second opinion request (which was requested on January 16 and still hasn’t gotten a response).
December 23, 2023 - Discovered The Lump
January 2, 2024 - Had Referral appointment with doctor’s office (because they wouldn’t call it in for me without seeing me… but we’ll leave that piece of our broken healthcare system for another time).
January 8, 2024 - Imaging (Mammogram & Ultrasound)
January 10, 2024 - Ultrasound-guided Biopsy of Mass & Enlarged Lymph Node
January 12, 2024 - Official Diagnosis of TNBC that has Metasticized into my Lymph Node
January 16, 2024 - Breast MRI
January 18, 2024 - Met Care Team (Medical Oncologist, Radiology Oncologist, Surgeon, Social Worker, Geneticist, and Nurse Navigator)
January 19, 2024 - Had IUD Removed
January 23, 2024 - MRI Guided Biopsy on 3 additional spots
January 24, 2024 - Echocardiogram
January 25, 2024 - Chemo Education & Port Placement Surgery
January 26, 2024 - Genetics Appointment
January 28, 2024 - Brain MRI
January 31, 2024 - Started Chemo
Now, let's delve into the experiences encapsulated within these timelines and what they truly meant for me.
Imaging - Initially, I approached the imaging session with a positive outlook, dismissing the possibility that it could be anything serious. However, the vibe in the room and the sudden urgency of the medical staff hinted otherwise. As the gel-glopped scope roamed over the mass, my nonchalant demeanor faded when it shifted to my armpit— they were looking for something I didn’t even know was there. This was the moment that marked the first utterance of the "C" bomb in this journey. Although they never definitively confirmed cancer, the doctor made it clear we were likely dealing with some form of breast cancer.
PS - A heads-up for the curious souls: cancer appears as black on ultrasound. I can’t say this definitively for other types of cancer, but at least for breast, if you’re looking at a lump or mass and it shows up as black, start mentally preparing.
Ultrasound Guided Biopsy - Picture this: lying on a table, awake, with incisions made into your breast and armpit, a tool collecting pieces of your insides, and a loud snapping/popping sound with each sample. Not the most pleasant experience, to say the least. I envisioned a super teeny tiny little melon baller that just kept snapping little cancer balls. Amidst the discomfort, however, I played it cool, inwardly yearning for it to end.
Official Diagnosis - Left breast…Poorly differentiated invasive mammary carcinoma
Left axillary lymph node… Metastatic mammary carcinoma
Estrogen Receptor (ER) Status: Negative (less than 1%)
Progesterone Receptor (PgR) Status: Negative (less than 1%)
HER2 by Immunohistochemistry: Negative (Score 0)
Fuck… I cried. That’s it.
Breast MRI - Described as the Cadillac of imaging, the breast MRI was far from a joy ride. You lay on your stomach over a device were your ladies get to free-hang into holes while your entire body weight is resting on your breast bone. With dense breast tissue (a playground for cancer), the MRI (which is supposed to appear black) resembled a cityscape at night. Three additional areas of concern were identified—a not-so-welcome revelation.
MRI Guided Biopsy - Given my experience at the previous biopsy I REALLY didn’t want to do this one. In the position I described above but armed with Xanax to ease nerves this time, I endured a face-down biopsy where my surgeon smashed my boob from the side, drilling in to collect samples. In the days following the procedure, my left breast bruised like I didn’t realize they could. Pick a shade from Purple to Green to Yellow, I was sporting them all (and I still am). Amidst the discomfort, a comforting nurse and negative biopsy results marked a small victory.
Echocardiogram - A seemingly routine procedure, yet vital before embarking on chemo. This simple check ensures my heart is up for the challenge, especially with a chemo med that can cause heart failure. The good news: my heart is solid.
Port Placement - Often underplayed, port placement is more than a quick procedure. While pain management is handled well during the surgery, the recovery period is undeniable. A port is essentially an access site instead of using an IV but they put the access site under your skin and then feed a catheter up through your jugular vein in your neck and then feed that into your heart. They tell you that a port can be used as soon as the procedure is done, but if anyone reading this ever has to go through this… I highly encourage you to give yourself a few days to heal before you let someone poke at it.
Brain MRI - Another venture into the MRI tube, this time "just to make sure." Chronic headaches raised concerns, and this MRI aimed to rule out any cancer spread to the brain. The reassuring outcome: no cancer detected.
Started Chemo - It was time to take the plunge into the unknown. Nerves buzzed, uncertain of what to expect, but aware that this would define the next six months of my reality. Mechanics aside, a separate entry will unravel the intricacies once I complete my first full week.
Feeling like a test subject in recent weeks much has unfolded to bring me to this stage. I share this not only to answer questions but to extend a helping hand to anyone embarking on a similar journey. Moreover, it's a personal reminder, etched here, for when this becomes a distant memory. Stay tuned as I navigate the uncharted territory of cancer, armed with openness and strength.