The weeks that followed

(Catch-up of events from May 30 to mid-July)

The day I got my diagnosis Vicky insisted on dragging me out for a beer - so I reluctantly joined her kicking & screaming all the way ;-) She came to the pub armed with a book and binder of breast cancer information that she'd been given upon her own diagnosis in 2009. I took my biopsy report with me and we went through it together. In fact, as we went through it, Vicky explained more to me about my results than the doctor had! She's my best friend and ally in everything - and now even with this. It's just a bit ridiculous when you think about it. We're both young, fit and healthy women, who eat well, take care of ourselves and there's been no previous history of breast cancer in our family. Yet there we were, unexpectedly able to start comparing notes on a shared journey neither of us anticipated. It doesn't seem real. We even started laughing about how I've always copied her since we were kids and clearly this was no exception. "Yes, but I went one better," I bragged. "Mine's invasive!" Heck, if we can't laugh about this somehow, especially with each other, then it really has won. But we're made of strong stuff and together we're invincible, so this cancer thing had better start running, now!

In the weeks following (which I'll try to summarize for fear of waffling on forever) I went through a whole range of feelings - mostly wavering between anxiety, bewilderment and trepidation about what comes next. In talking about it with a few close friends it all feels very third-person, like I'm actually talking about someone else and while the words are about me, nothing feels real. I haven't yet really been upset or angry. In fact I haven't shed a tear and quietly wonder if that should be a concern but finding myself suddenly included among the breast cancer statistics being bandied about daily, especially in the media, I know it really isn't a case of 'why me' but rather 'why not me?'

I first met my surgeon on June 12, just 3 days before we left for England. It was very surreal to be going to the BC Cancer Agency (BCCA) and then sitting in the waiting room - along with a woman my age (who wore a wig and was obviously going through chemo) and a couple of others much older than me. I felt like I didn't belong. Like a fraud almost. As if I've stepped into someone else's life and I'm merely acting the part. Just weeks earlier I was working at the Cancer Society, now here I am waiting to see a surgeon about removing my own breast cancer. How things change in a short space of time.

Without any hesitation Lorne came with me to the appointment (and to subsequent ones I might add). His love and support has been incredible and I'm very grateful to have him right there by my side, even asking the questions I forget/hesitate to ask. Conversations neither of us expected we'd be having.

Dr McF is a mild-mannered, softly spoken guy with a sincere empathetic air. Through some rough, hand-drawn scribbles he outlined how my Ductal Carcinoma (invasive) differs from its close relative Ductal Carcinoma In Situ (DCIS) - basically the cancer cells had originated inside the milk duct (and would have been in situ at that point) but they had already started to extend outside of the duct, infiltrating the surrounding tissue in two very small areas, hence becoming invasive.

"Nevertheless," he assured us, "This is still very early stage, the affected area is no more than 6mm. The choice is yours, of course, but I'm confident I can get this just by going in for a lumpectomy."

He broke down the lumpectomy versus mastectomy scenario and I was actually quite surprised to learn both are that very successful in reducing the chances of recurrence - 5% chance of recurrence after a mastectomy versus 8% for a lumpectomy. While mastectomy is certainly an option, I certainly wasn't going to go that route unless I absolutely had to and nothing in our conversation seemed to indicate that would be necessary. (Suddenly I remember a good (male) friend whose attitude - when I first told him Vicky had breast cancer and would be having a lumpectomy - was surprisingly blunt, "She should just get both removed. Why take the risk of it coming back?" Always easy for a guy to say, but would a man opt for chopping off his penis at the first teeny-tiny sign of cancer? I think not!)

And so it was decided, Dr McF would carry out a lumpectomy (confirmed for July 9, just days after we'd get back from our UK trip) and they'd also take a biopsy of the sentinel lymph node at the same time, to verify whether any cancer has already gone into my lymph system - a pretty terrifying thought that I hadn't yet even considered. It would be a day surgery of just a couple of hours and about 4 weeks for full recovery. After that - and depending on the biopsy results of the removed tissue - the most likely follow-up would be for me to have about 3 weeks of daily (Mon-Fri) radiation treatments - basically the same routine Vicky had gone through.

So in the space of a few weeks I'd gone from annual mammogram to ultrasound, to biopsy, to cancer diagnosis and setting up a surgery date. Needless to say, I was still trying to wrap my head around it all but I was nevertheless impressed how quickly these things were moving along and feeling very grateful to be living in a city among some of the world's best cancer researchers and certainly one of the leaders in breast cancer research and treatments. There are times I feel extremely blessed for the life I live and for having the good fortune to live where I do - and this makes it all the more poignant.

In all the attention paid to my right breast, I mentioned to Dr McF that I felt an underlying concern that no-one had yet really checked my left side - except for during the mammogram - and yet I can feel a couple of areas there too that feel similar to what we now know to be cancer in the right breast. As a precaution I was squeezed in for an ultrasound June 14. I was in there for about an hour, the exam was reassuringly thorough but my mind wasn't put at ease any since the Dr who reviewed the results indicated "there are a couple of small areas that we should keep an eye on. Nothing big enough for us to biopsy at this point, but we should probably repeat the ultra-sound in 3 months. I'll forward a report to your doctors."

We left for England the next day and were away until July 4th. We had booked our trip back in March, blissfully unaware of how impeccably well-timed it would turn out to be. The perfect distraction; great to get away, spend time with family, travel round Scotland, drink fabulous single malts and not be sat at home counting the days till surgery. (If this blog wasn’t so ridiculously behind at this point I’d write more about the trip, but that’ll have to be for another day.)

Suffice to say it was therapeutic to be able to detail so openly and honestly about the preceding weeks of tests etc. and the surgery that awaited me within days of getting back to Vancouver. We didn’t dwell on the topic but somehow its presence added a greater depth to our trip, a stronger bond and understanding coupled with that re-awakened awareness of just how much my family means to me, and me to them, and that we just don’t see enough of each other.