Post Op Appointment 10/17/2017

I’m not sure why this post is harder to write than the others so far, but it is. I have started and stopped writing. I have deleted paragraphs and started completely over, as I’m doing right now. I have wept for others and for myself. I have even lost interest in my own writing. I’m all over the map emotionally and I need to pull it together to share the next leg of this journey. I may have lots of time to write in the near future, it all depends on how the next course of treatment affects me.

Yesterday, was it yesterday? It seems longer than that. Anyway, yesterday, I went back to the Breast Center in Maplewood. To my relief, I was in the right building this time, yet it didn’t feel right.  Though, it’s the “new” Breast Center” the office I go to is shared with a vascular office. It makes it slightly confusing and most patients don’t appear to be there for potential breast issues.  Some, sure, but most, no. It would appear vascular or surgical in nature for the most part.

Anyway, I stood in line to check in, still sore from surgery. The office was pretty full at 145 in the afternoon, and there were two or three people in line ahead of me. An overweight, older man, who struggled to breathe points at me with his cane from a chair nearby. He informs me that he was in line in front of me, behind the pregnant lady who now stood next in line. He definitely seemed to need the chair, but it felt a little bit aggressive. I blew it off with a nod and an okay.

I also am waiting in line to wait for an appointment where we will potentially discuss the pathology of my surgery. I'm a ball of nerves. Have been for days. Dreading the results and what horrible news I might get. All the horrible what ifs from the days following the surgery had yet to stop circling my brain. His "aggressiveness" could have been just me being overly sensitive. Though I doubt it.

I stood there alone and nervous and at the same time just wanting this appointment over and done with. My mother is in the building across the street having her own mammogram done.

Since my mother’s appointment was before mine I had dropped her off and headed over to my building. I was about 45 minutes early and we both assume she would likely be with me before I even went in for my appointment.  I sat down, after having checked in, and waited patiently by playing the Witch Bubble Saga game on my phone. I, as usual, was not doing well. (Once you get past the first 30 levels, it really ups it's game on difficulty..or is it 50 levels? Either way, it's not as easy as it starts out). Just as I was about to lose my last life, (you get 5 ever 22 minutes or so) I was called in by a nurse I had never met before.  And it was ahead of schedule! I guess I was going in alone, but how can I argue with getting in sooner than later?

It wasn’t long before the doctor was in the room examining her handy work from the surgery. Happy with the healing thus far, we moved over to the chairs to discuss the results of the pathology.  (Halfway through my mother arrived and we did a little catch up for her benefit.) 

As I mentioned in a Facebook post, there was good news and bad news. They did, in fact, remove all of the cancer. Even the 8 millimeters of invasive cancer that had gotten out of the milk ducts, they had removed. I’m guessing (without the pathology report in hand) this would be what they call "the margins". No cancer in the margins. No cancer in the lymph nodes they removed either. Clean bill of health.  But before you put on your dancing shoes and that party dress, I was reminded that I was young (shut up...young for breast cancer), that I had triple negative receptors, and a portion had gotten out of the ducts. I will not be avoiding chemo or radiation. I will have to do both.

I will have a port installed, like cable, on November 1. I meet with the oncologist sometime next week to discuss the course of treatment.  To my horror, I just now learned that a port doesn't mean you escape pain of needles...so what is the point?  Frustrating, to say the least.

Anyhoo, my first thought, was okay that’s fine. I’ll get to live either way. The Dr said that with or without chemo my prognosis was very, very good, but no doctor that she could think of would NOT recommend chemo because of those other facts.

Then I thought, the wedding. It’s true, the doctor confirmed that I would be lucky to have peach fuzz by May 19^th. (that is an "attractive" picture - peach fuzz...on this mug?) So I will need to go wig shopping and hat shopping and scarf shopping.

Another friend stated he lost a lot of weight on chemo..hmm…so another hopeful bright side.  But the pain, the illness, the hair loss. If I were to lose hair on my legs, arms, arm pits, "face", that all would be well and good, but the idea of losing my eyebrows, eyelashes, and head hair..not good.

But I shan't look a gift horse in the mouth. I won't truly complain about this outcome, especially considering what it could have been. I guess, what it still could be down the road, but hopefully not. However, I will remain scared of the procedures, chemo, radiation, and needles.  

A little "before" chemo picture, to see how my hair changes when it grows back. Like how much will be silver? I don't actively dye my hair, but maybe more than I have now will come back that silver color?  If it is a lot, I will likely be at the salon a lot more than I am now.