Consultation with Surgeon #2

Note: This post contains no candy-coating and is not much fun. So skip it if you aren't in the mood.

On Thursday I met with Surgeon #2 ("Dr. C."), whom I like and have decided to go with. Conveniently she is in my health insurance group. As on Wednesday, B. and my mom were with me.

Dr. C's report was not quite as sunny as Surgeon #1's. Here are the main reasons:

• The areas the MRI uncovered that need to biopsied are not exactly "nothing". They are quite possibly something, as in more cancer. But we won't know for sure until they're checked out.

Dr. C. explained that originally I got the 2nd mammogram because the first one revealed calcifications (which are stage 0 cancer). Unexpectedly the biopsy picked up evidence of invasive cancer. Invasive cancer can be hard to see by mammogram on young women because it can look like just another part of a dense breast.

But MRIs can be very good at detecting invasive cancer. That's why young women with invasive cancer go get an MRI, so they can figure out just how much there is.

• Dr. C. also said that although we won't know for sure until after surgery, I might need to have chemo.

The decision whether to do chemo is based on a multitude of factors (not just on whether cancer has spread to the lymph nodes.) One of those factors is age (again, it sucks to be young with this disease). She pointed out a few indicators in my pathology report that are not in my favor to avoid chemo, also.
 
The invasive cancer they've already found looks small, which is good. We'll just have to see if there's any more.

I asked a lot of questions about a lot of things. Dr. C. is very warm and encouraging and also very direct. I found the whole appointment very upsetting and had a meltdown both during and after. There's just a lot to take in and it's very overwhelming.

Emotionally speaking, going to these appointments and learning new things about what I have or what I might have and what I have to do next and what I might have to go through feels like being hit with a baseball bat. Swift, shocking, and painful.

I've reached out to get some assistance with coping with the stress. I haven't been sleeping well, and I'm not very hungry. I think about this a lot, like approximately 4000 times a day. I think that's all very understandable, and yet I know that repeatedly spinning out in my imagination about awfulness ahead is not helpful.

I thought a lot about whether to try to underplay here how bad I've been feeling the last few days. There's a part of me that wants to package this experience I'm having in a certain way and hand it off to you so that I don't burden you with too many painful details.

But I decided that I'm just going to write what emerges when I sit down to write and give you some prior warning if it's dark (darker than the usual post in a cancer blog!)

I am increasingly aware of how important all of my friends and family are to me. It helps me to think about you and know that you're rooting for me. That may sound kind of corny, but it's true.

And although I'm scared and worried, I'm also digging out the positivity and strength.

Next steps:

1. Genetic counseling appointment February 23.

2. Ultrasound February 29 (hopefully sooner if there's a cancellation). If they can spot the new mystery areas with ultrasound, they'll biopsy them.

If they can't see those areas, I'll need MRI-guided biopsies (separate appointment). Then a couple of days after that, the pathology reports should be in.

So there's more waiting around to find out what exactly is going on and what I'm going to do about it.

In the notes from my appointment with Dr. C. she wrote, "Hang in there - you'll get through this!" 

I'm really hanging onto her words and will hold her to them.

In the meantime, you can help by thinking positive for me!