I got myself worked up into a tizzy about getting the PET scan. No, not because I feared the results. Well, I did fear the results, but more on that fear later. I was afraid to do the actual scan. Somewhere between the start of junior high and adulthood I convinced myself I was completely claustrophobic. I say it came on in junior high because I know in elementary school the idea of crawling into my brother's accordion case and letting him carry me around the house thrilled me. Anyhow, the thought of the PET scan was freaking me out. I looked at pictures online of the long white tubes and thought, "There is no way I won't lose it in there." I called Steinberg Diagnostic and they told they could medicate me. No way. I was not interested in any drugs. After the three days on pain meds following the first surgery I had sworn off any drugs that weren't required for saving my life. They told me to come a little early so I could check the machine out. Turns out, I had nothing to fear. I'm pretty small so the tube was actually quite roomy for me. I had an IV injection of some sort, drank a gross chalky drink and then sat quietly for about 45 minutes. Okay, I tried to sit quietly. The gal doing my scan was darling. So kind, and when I had a chance to talk with her, she shared with me how much she loves her job. She even had some tattoos on her arms that paid homage to her work. By the time she slid me into the tube I was enjoying a great book on my audible account and I might have even dozed off for a minute or two during the process. The PET scan itself was a breeze. When I was done, I studied the tech's face as she looked at the machine in her office where I was sure the results were displayed. I tried to read the look in her eyes, but she, like so many other technicians have a poker face that could take down Steve Wynn's empire.
The next day I had a lunch date with my friend Teri Stolworthy. I really wish someone would record one of our get togethers. You see, both of us can talk. Not like regular talking, no, we can both REALLY talk. Our lunch dates last for hours and often when we finally say goodbye we are both rushing off to get dinner for our families. It was the perfect way for me to kill the time before seeing Dr. President that afternoon.
At 5:00PM Doug and I found ourselves in the same exam room we had been in when we got the happy news about the phyllodes tumor. This time Dr. President entered the room with a little less spring in his step. Uh oh, where was Dick Van Dyke? The PET scan revealed something suspicious- high metabolic activity in my right breast.
At 10 am the following Tuesday I was back at Steinberg Diagnostic for a biopsy. I am completely over my fear of needles by the way. I have been poked and stuck so many times in the past two months I hardly even wince anymore. This biopsy was nothing like the first. The first biopsy, on the gigantic phyllodes tumor was a breeze for the doctor. I mean, it was like hitting a beachball with a baseball bat. The technician during the first biopsy took about two minutes to get the necessary ultrasound pictures and then one, two, three, the biopsy was done in three quick clicks. Oh, for those of you that have never had a biopsy, they aren't too bad. I mean it hurts, but really the most uncomfortable thing about it is the noise the needle makes when it's doing its thing. It reminded me of a the noise an electric stapler makes. That noise, coupled with the fact that you are probably at least a little bit anxious due to the fact that something irregular showed up on an earlier test, makes the entire process nerve wracking. This biopsy was going to be more difficult to do than the "one, two three, and done" on the phyllodes I had experienced the month prior. Just like last time though, the technician performed an ultrasound to get a clear look at the lesion. If you have ever had an ultrasound before you know the wand and jelly routine. When you're expecting this experience can be pleasant. When the technician is searching for cancer, instead of a baby it's dreadful. I knew after a minute or two something was wrong. This sweet technician did not have the poker face of the gal I had met during my PET scan. She left the room to get the doctor. A gentle middle aged man came in. He informed me that the ultrasound showed two lesions. What? Two lesions? How could this be possible? I had a mammogram just weeks ago when the biopsy was done for the phyllodes tumor. He explained that sometimes women with dense breast tissue get inaccurate reads on mammograms. I already knew this as Dr. President had explained it to me the last time I saw him, but I let this nice man explain it to me again as tears tumbled down my cheeks. He told me he needed to call my insurance to get approval to do two biopsies instead of the one that was ordered before he could go on. He and the technician left the room and I lay alone there crying miserable tears. After what seemed like an hour they came back and the procedure was over in no time at all. I was sick with worry as Kristie drove me home but I tried to keep myself on the sunny side of the street.
Last time I had a biopsy it had taken three days for my doctor to get the results. If the same was true I would hear on Friday afternoon. I had an appointment with Dr. President Friday morning and hoped he would have the results when we met. I didn't want the news of the results to come from anyone but him.
Can we take a minute to think about Dr. President. Can you imagine going into a room and telling a friend, anyone, for that matter, that he or she has cancer? Can you imagine trying to deliver that horrible news? Sometimes when a loved one or we ourselves our ill, I think we forget about the health care providers and the terrifically difficult job they have. In times of a health crisis we are so caught up in our own cares that we might forget how painful this process must be for them, particularly in cases involving a friend. Sitting there in the exam room as he explained the results of the needle biopsy to Doug and I, we could tell he was clearly saddened.
The biopsies on the right breast produced two different results. The first, a benign mass. (Finally my fibroadenoma arrives at the party.) The other, the one Dr. Thummala was concerned about, was cancer. Not a phyllodes tumor, but a more commonly had breast cancer. The needle biopsy indicated a ductal carcinoma. We learned from Dr.President 80% of all breast cancers are ductal carcinomas. We discussed my options, lumpectomy or mastectomy. Again, I was thinking, "Can you go get your scalpel and take care of it right now?" I already had my shark bite where the phyllodes had been, I didn't care at this point about aesthetics, I just wanted that stupid cancer out of me. We quickly decided I would have a mastectomy on the right side. Dr. President had his surgical scheduler look for an opening in his schedule. There weren't any, so instead of having me wait, he decided he would perform the surgery after a full day of work the following Monday. (Again can I get a holler for Dr. Presdient? I don't even want to grade papers at night and here he was willing to work well into the night for my benefit.)We would be headed back to Mountain View in just a few days for my second surgery in three weeks.
When we were driving home I shared with Doug that I had been praying for Dr. President earlier that morning. Something in me knew that he would be delivering bad news to me that day and I wanted nothing more for him than peace that day.
No comments:
Post a Comment