Repeat ultrasound - côté gauche

Don't ask me why I felt I should say 'left side' in french, it just seemed to feel right.....or rather, left.

So I'm really not quite sure what took so long but today, being my weekly check-in with an oncologist, I finally got the report from the October 10th ultrasound done on my left breast, which was a follow-up to the one they did just before our UK trip back in June. The results, while thankfully not indicating cancer at this stage, are nevertheless still somewhat vague and they've suggested another repeat in 4 months.

Admittedly I had felt at the time, that the technician doing the exam was really very thorough. She could feel/see the same lumpy areas that I had indicated and confirmed at least a couple of those appear to be just small cysts, which is actually quite common and nothing to worry about. I was even relieved when she showed me on the monitor that the couple of areas previously identified as perhaps a lump, are in fact spots where two adjacent ducts run parallel/criss-cross, which is what makes them palpable and only when the ultrasound wand is moved in a certain way do you actually see where the ducts separate as opposed to seeing them as a single, enlarged unit. That said, they do appear to be a little dilated - but hopefully not because of any cancer developing in there.

Basically the final report indicates an "atypical cyst" in the 3 o'clock position which seems unchanged from the previous exam (potentially a good sign) but they also add that it's hard to determine for sure "in view of the difficulty in comparing ultrasounds done on 2 different machines by two different operators". Great.

They also note a couple of other areas that look to be cysts (per above) that seem largely unchanged in size, as well as the two adjacent (palpable) focally dilated ducts.

All-in-all my left 'lumpy-bumpy' breast has a few areas to monitor but at least nothing too scary is showing at this point. Sort of a relief, I suppose, but not entirely. I guess we'll see how things look next February - hopefully without being examined by a third operator on a 3rd machine simply adding to the apparent ambiguity. Either way, at least I know they're on it ..... so to speak ;-)

Understandably perhaps, I'm not feeling out of the woods just yet - but then, I also suspect I may never have that feeling again, since this is just part of my new reality. Tagged for the foreseeable future. It will always be there, in the back of my mind, with every check-up, mammogram and ultrasound. The legacy of breast cancer gently poking me as a subtle reminder to never again take anything for granted. Not that I ever really did actually, especially not since the very sudden and untimely death of my dad back in '96, my brother Graham's heart attack in '07 (at just 33 years old) or Vicky's breast cancer in '09. I've never pretended that things can't all change at a moment's notice. While I've endeavoured not to dwell on this cancer thing, for fear it would immobilize me if I let panic set in, I strongly suspect it will always have a spot, tucked away in the corner.

Ho-hum, said Pooh.

Bag #2673

And so this is me, Bag #2673, for the next 4.5 weeks. Or rather 22 radiation sessions, daily Mon - Fri, from now until Nov. 2nd.

As luck would have it, Lorne didn't have to start work until 10am today so he came down to the BC Cancer Agency with me for today's initial radiation session.

I'm not sure where in the building Vicky did her radiation, but it seems to me that it's a bit nicer where I go - Unit 6. From the time I went with Vicky to one of her treatments, I recollect the area was sparse and in need of a paint job. But then I also don't really trust my memory on much theses days, so I could just be totally making it up in my mind. (And this is even before any effects of menopause.)

The staff were really friendly and Kerry, who walked us through the plan and general routine for the next few weeks, had a really dry sense of humour, which helped. She gave me my personal, marked up brown paper bag (as above), complete with a navy hospital gown that I will use for the duration and a rather cheery, Christmas candy-cane coat hanger so that, after each treatment, I can leave it hanging in the change area until the next session. It wasn't until I went to actually change, that I realized just how many bags are hanging in that area - and there are more areas just like that - a mix of paper bags and some fabric ones, marked up with number, unit and treatment end date, much the same as mine - reiterating just how many of us are on this same journey. Too many, it would seem.

We went over the radiation treatment plan that Dr N. had talked about a couple of weeks ago; 16 treatments to the whole area plus a further 6 'booster' treatments that would specifically target the area where just few cancer cells remained post-surgery.

Once I had undressed my top half and changed into my gown, Kerry led me into a room with a monster of a machine that immediately reminded me of an oversized food mixer (per the example on the left) where - as you can see from my photo (below) - I am positioned in the spot where the mixing bowl would ordinarily be.

Thankfully, having seen Vicky go through one of her sessions a couple of years ago, I wasn't too shocked by the size of the thing, although it's nevertheless quite daunting to be under there as it buzzes away and then swings overhead after zapping one side of my boob, ready to start again from the other side. I remain convinced it could quite easily eat me whole.

Me, ready to get zapped

Lorne stayed outside the room with the technicians (due to the obvious dangers of the radiation) and watched on the monitors while the radiologists used lines, beams, illuminated rulers, magic markers and my two new tattoos to line up everything ready for administering my first treatment. So precisely measured down to the exact half-millimetre that even the teeny-tiniest movement, sneeze, cough or otherwise would throw everything right off and the technicians would have to start measuring all over again.

With everything all set and ready to go, they checked I was still doing okay, then left the room. Seconds later a loud click heralded the start of my first treatment - noticeable only by the resonating "NNNRRRRRRRR" sound it emits for the duration. It's an odd thing to be laying there, getting zapped by invisible, refined beams of radiation, while everyone else has to vacate the premises and stand well clear of the 8" thick door that separates us.

In just a matter of minutes (or less) it was all done. Kerry and her team-mate came back in, helped me get down from the bed and cheerily wished me a good day and 'see you tomorrow' as they handed me my pink appointment card wherein they write the times for that week's appointments. I took my brown bag and stripey hanger back to the changing room, got dressed and dutifully hung up Bag #2673 on the rail - along with all the others.