In my adult life I have faithfully gone to every mammogram I've ever been scheduled for. I have exactly zero genetic family history, so to skip preventative anything seemed stupid and potentially reckless. So I went. And passed. Year after year I passed, not only with flying colors but sometimes I would get my notifications 10 days earlier than promised and that can really make a chick feel relieved.
And then I flunked a mammogram. In December 2012. I flunked double. Two somethings were lurking in one breast so I went for more diagnostics. Ouch to some of it, but I had an ultrasound and the radiologist was encouraging, said he thought the spots were not dangerous but I would need to have a biopsy to be sure.
Biopsy. Nightmare. Pain. Horror. Stereotactic biopsies should not be done while women are conscious. I may become an activist for general anesthesia with stereotactic biopsies. I will never be having another one, at least not unless I'm out cold. Google for details if you dare.
The next day we got biopsy results that no one wants to ever hear. Cancer. 2 malignancies. Must come out. Now. This was like being fully awake in a nightmare that no one wants to be in. And I knew it. And said it out loud even.... that I felt sure this was a time period that we would look back on as one of the biggest nightmares of our lives. The tension is incredible and at times I thought I might just vibrate on out of my skin just to get a little relief from the stress.
So we meet with our first 2 oncologists and talk immediately becomes about mastectomy due to the fact of two tumors. I felt I could cope with this but said I would prefer to have a double mastectomy to be done with cancer once and for all, and to also be symmetrical. The boss doctor looked at me like I had just lost my mind. Culturally it must not be done here is all I can figure. I liked both doctors but loved the Polish oberartz. Pleasant. Smiling. Reassuring. Surgery was scheduled and they told us that after a tumor meeting they would be able to tell me what surgery I would be having. That call came and they concluded they would try a lumpectomy. Lucky for me I had enough boob to hopefully handle all of the tissue removal. They did tell me that I would have to have guide wires installed in my breast so that the surgeon could find the way to the tumors without rupturing them. New terror. Great. I was still so traumatized from the biopsy that wires in the breast, ah, no thanks.
Hospital check in day came on January 29th and as scary as this was, I finally felt like I was moving in some positive direction. Room was not ready. So happy we got up at 5:30 a.m. to get there early as instructed. Spent the day going from one procedure to the next. Nuclear medicine x2, ultrasound, chest X-ray, blood work, and my favorite, a nice chat with a psychologist. You get services you never dreamed of with cancer. I cried and cried with the psychologist ONLY out of fear of the wires. From the time I walked into the hosptial everyone who would listen to me heard the words "Wires and total anesthesia AND I MEAN IT" in German. The psychologist went to bat for me instantly with the doctors. My cousin who is a doctor and who has experienced it all had told me the wires were not in the same league as the biopsy, and though I believed her I was still just a big, fat chicken. I was drugged for the process. Major drugged. Threw up drugged. Did not care I threw up drugged. And I'll be danged, the process was nearly painless. I had 2 radiologists. One put his arm around my shaking shoulders and held my hand. Thank you unknown doctor for your incredible kindness.
I was lucky enough to have terrific roommates. One turned out to be a neighbor in my town and all I can say is that I'm just kind of mad that I have not met her until now. Swedish, fluent in English and fabulous. She went home as I was coming in but we had a couple of hours to talk. Helpful. A 21 year old Russian girl, adorable, nose job. Why she was on the gyn floor is a mystery but I was happy to have her there. Luisa. She's going to have a gorgeous new nose. No pain, sweet and helpful. Fluent English too. Then I had two lovely German ladies. The one next to me seemed to have had a big problem with lots of uterine cancer but after her surgery her tumor was found to be the size of a cherry. Relief all around. Her battle is not over but she came back to our room instead of intensive care so this was a plus. Spoke high German so no problem. The other lady in my room, also cancer, spoke only Bairish and though I kept telling her I had no earthly idea what she was saying the dialect never stopped. She was nice anyway.
I love my Polish doctor. His name sounds like Gorilla (but isn't) but this is what I called him. I commented that his mother must be proud of him. He said "I was a very nice boy" which just made me laugh. He was pleasant to a fault, always smiling, confident without being arrogant and other doctors told me that they would be 100% confident with him operating on them...that he's just got the gift of making it all look easy. He's Meredith Grey! He's Dr. Bailey! NO, he's McSteamy! I asked him to call me Susan and in these here parts people do not always easily comply with such American informality. No prob. Surgery went fine he said, though it was a fight to remove one of the tumors near my thorax. He wondered what I thought about how things looked cosmetically. My comment was that my boob was still there, the scars were big, but I'm not 21 years old anymore and the cosmetics are not an issue. These may be scars to ultimately be proud of. I have a pirate boob.
As I was fretting before going into the hospital one night and playing Words with Friends, my friend Sandy King had the wisdom to say to me that as scared as I was (the wires again) that they were trying to save my life and I needed to suck it up. This was my chant the whole time. They are trying to save my life, suck it up. I teared up at times but I kept saying they are trying to save my life, suck it up.
I sometimes feel isolated here in Germany but I have to say that since the chips have been a bit down in my life for the past few weeks I do not think I will ever feel isolated again. Neola, there could be no better friend than you. Christine, you probably prayed enough for us all! All of you who have written and crossed your fingers and prayed and pushed your thumbs, and sent cards and called and visited, thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Step one, sucked up and survived. And good to be home.
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