New Family Additions

We have had two very recent additions to our family. On Thanksgiving weekend Sydny brought home a stray cat from her grandparents' place. Peanut (aka Purr Box aka Tinkerbell - even thought that's a girl's name) made a great addition and almost filled the gap left by the loss of Tazzy.

A week later, on an early morning stroll with Laurie, I heard the most bizarre bird call. Not finding the source, Laurie and I walked on but the sound soon grew very loud. We turned around and there was the tiniest, cutest little bundle of grey and white streaking towards us. The poor baby was starving and freezing and not able to fend for herself. She was not going to let us get away - she circled us and walked under our feet and wouldn't leave us. Laurie and I managed to get her back to Laurie's place - after she pooped on me and tracked mud and cow dung all over Laurie. I brought her home and took her to the vet to see if she had a chip (no) and we gave her the worm pill and her first shot and she's now known as Misty, weighing in at three pounds of pure energy. Both kittens are driving poor Sass crazy - but they get along better and better every day. I'm going to try adding a photo.....

Spinal X-Ray

Here I am on a dead Hallowe'en trying to use the quiet time to catch up on the blog and avoid eating so much candy that I throw up. Later, I'll throw up - but for now I haven't had so much candy that I can't write a bit.

The spinal exam was incredibly uneventful - except that I'm convinced that someone from Merivale Medical Imaging is on to me. My appointment was for 11:45 but MMI wants everyone there 15 minutes early to register and fill out any necessary forms. I didn't arrive until 11:35 - and yet no one yelled at me! I gave the registration desk clerk my health card - and instead of one of the meanies calling me over ten minutes later, the clerk herself hand-delived the card to me where I sat in the waiting area!!! Never in all my dealings with MMI had I seen such a thing! I gave a self satisfied smile to the old lady with the oxygen tank who sat across from me. Illness and lack of oxygen mean nothing to these people - but words are mightier than the sword - or at least than the oxygen tank in these circumstances!

The tech came out and called three of us into the back. I went into my little change room looking forward to another interminable wait in a suffocating box of a waiting area - but it was not to be! I was first - no waiting room for me! I was whisked right into the x-ray room. That got the next little old lady a satisfied smile from yours truly as well.

Meditation and Pre-Op

Last Monday my dear friend and former client, Jocelyne, took Kadriye and I to a meditation session.  It was truly blissful.  To learn to just sit in stillness and allow energy to flow through one is a challenge for me, but quite powerful at the same time.  The meditation leader, Lynne Cardinal, was very helpful.  One of the key things she said was that we can all take the energy we receive, both good and bad, chaotic and peaceful, and turn it into positive energy.  As Kadriye said after the session, we have the choice to allow all energy to "burst into light" or to take it out in alternative ways.  This may be a bigger challenge for me than kicking the bejeezus out of the cancer:)  Jocelyne, thanks so much for taking us here and you look like a million bucks btw.

Thursday was my pre-op session at the Queensway Carleton Hospital (QCH).  I highly recomend that this facility be avoided at all costs whenever possible.  It was horrid and has totally sucked all of the fun out of operation day.  First, the place is cold.  I am not referring to the attitude of the hospital staff - but I could be.  I mean it's physically freezing throughout the hospital.  I wore a long sleeve t-shirt, a zip up jacket (that I would wear outside for walking this time of year) and then a short trench coat over that because it was raining.  I never took off even the trenchcoat unless I had to for tests and then I put it back on asap!  It wasn't above 15 degrees in that place, I swear. 

I got to the hospital right on time (parking cost me $14 by the end) and went to the right window, where they took my card and told me to take a seat.  I sat for twenty minutes in a packed waiting room while a few of the staff argued back and forth about who was logged in where and who shouldn't be and the trouble it was causing.  Yay me.  Finally I was called to the desk and asked mundane questions that I had already been asked over the phone and was given a sheet and told to head down the hallway to the pre-op desk.

I meandered down the hallway following paper signs and found pre-op without adventure.  Two women were sitting behind the desk - doing absolutely nothing.  Seriously, they were sitting there gossiping about whatever.  They weren't even pretending to work.  One of them wasn't even sitting behind a desk.  They were just lounging around yakking.  I handed in my sheet.  Cut-backs my ass.

I sat in another freezing waiting room for another twenty minutes.  At one point a nurse or tech went behind my chair to do something.  She bumped me a number of times but I just sat reading my book.  It seems to me that the human race has totally forgotten the phrase "excuse me please".  Because the place was so crowded, they had put a chair directly in front of a station that the staff needed to use - literally with no room between the chair and the station for the staff to use it.  I sat and read and got bumped until the nurse/tech actually acknowledged my existence and turned around and asked me if I could move my chair forward.  Of course, I was happy to oblige - but not sure why the chair was there in the first place!

Finally a nurse came out and called my name.  No introductions, no "good morning", just "follow me".  Fine.  We measured my weight and height and then she took me into a little office to measure blood pressure - and then the jackets went right back on!  By this time my nose was frozen.  She didn't smile.  She finally did tell me that she was a nurse and what her name was - but only after I told her how to pronounce my name and that it was of Scottish descent and not French.  Yay me.

She went through a little booklet with me explaining what would happen on the day of surgery.  She answered my questions but clearly didn't give a flying.....anything....regarding the concerns I stated.  Imagine hearing, "That's just the way we do it.  It's the doctors.  There is nothing I can tell you." in response to my plea for freezing on finding out from her that the docs were going to insert a wire through my breast and into the tumour so the surgeon could find the damn thing  - WITHOUT FREEZING.  Since the experience WAS NOT AWESOME when they failed to freeze me for the biopsy, you can imagine my panic.  Apparently the needle they use to insert the wire is about the same size as the needle they use to freeze - so someone (male, I presume) decided it wasn't worth bothering.  Well, as the individual who is going to have some doctor (probably another resident with my luck) poking around inside my boob with a wire I say, "FREEZE THE DAMN THING".  There are nerves inside my boob too that the freezing needle doesn't directly touch but that would like to be frozen before the fucking wire does!  "That's just the way we do it..."  Seriously?  There may be a bout of fisticuffs before I ever see the operating room on the tenth.

After finishing with Nurse Warm and Fuzzy, I had the pleasure of returning to the waiting room so they could suck more blood from me and do an ECG.  This time I got to witness the same procedure by the station to which I had been subject.  A tech came out and bump, shove to the poor patient in the chair.  Seriously, I get that having that chair there impeding their access is a drag.  Instead of continuously hitting people all day however, I suggest either moving the chair altogether or learning the phrase, "excuse me please".  Rocket science this isn't - too bad good sense isn't common.

After another half hour I was called into the blood sucking back room.  Three techs in there.  One with me, one with another patient and one who just read e-mail - out loud to the other two - mostly about administrative matters as far as I could tell.  Again, cut backs my ass. The tech stuck me with a needle to draw blood.  Unfortunately, she missed the vein so she pulled the needle out part way and sort of moved it over (while still inside my flesh) to get at the vein.  Ouch.  When she withdrew the needle she applied pressure for a short while then removed the cotton swab, gave me a dirty look and said, "You're bleeding inside".  This is my fault?  Of course I'm bleeding inside - you were digging around in there!  Anyway, just don't use that arm and it won't be too bad she assured me:)  And it's not too bad - the bruise from the biopsy is still worse than my arms.

Finally, I was shown to the physiotherapy room where a nice therapist went over the exercises in the booklet that I was given at the beginning and gave me a number to call in the event that I can't remember any of them when I get home.  Then I was free.

Here is how the day of the operation will go.  I can't drive myself to the hospital (presumably b/c I can't drive myself home) - but they won't know if I drive myself in and someone drops mom off at the hospital later in the day and drives my car home...........

I have to be there by 06:30 and I am not permitted anything to eat or drink after midnight preceding, except one ounce of water to take my daily meds.  They are going to insert a wire through all my breasty flesh until they hit the tumour b/c no one can find the damn thing for certain manually.  They are going to inject me with dye in case they need to remove the nodes.  They will then give me paper gown and little paper slippers and sit me in a waiting room with other patients having the same thing done.  It's 15 degrees in there.  They told me that I can't have my phone, I can't wear my own house coat or slippers.  My surgery will be sometime between 09:00 and 15:00!  Seriously, when some foreign, cold hospital administrator was setting up this process, s/he failed to put patients into the equation!  I totally get that we don't want to have lapses in the use of the precious operating time, but seriously, this is the best that we can do?  I don't believe it.  If the average surgery is one and three quarters of an hour then bring us in staggered an hour or so apart.  Whom does it serve, and how, to have people sitting there, starving, freezing and cranky for the entire day?  I'll be hypothermic and I may pass out before I even get to the operating room!   In addition, no one is allowed to be with you while you sit and wait for surgery.  I was told that there was no room.  So, my poor mother is on call for any time between noon and six to come and fetch me from the hospital.  Good luck trying to find me!

Burst into light, burst into light, burst into light...........

Change of Date!

When I got home on Thursday there was a message on my phone from the surgeon, asking me to call him on his pager.  The worst thoughts run through my head:  could the radiologist have found something that wasn't in the crucial 500?!  Turns out that one of Mirsky's patients, who was scheduled for the table on November 10 has called to re-schedule.  Apparently she is travelling on the 10th and has asked Mirsky if she could re-schedule for some time in December.  Now, I don't know about others out there but I just want this damn thing out of me and get the treatment under my belt and get on with life.  Mostly I want it out of me before it spreads.  That is my foremost thought these days.  So far I consider myself to be extremely lucky.  I can't imagine what could be so important as to voluntarily walk around for another month with this thing inside me.  However, the other patients lunacy is now to my advantage, so live and let live!  The BIG DAY will now be November 10th.

Bone Scan

Back to MMI.  I have to go in the morning and then return in the afternoon.  I know that this means that they're either going to inject me with something foul or make me drink something foul.  I get the needle - which is better than the drink in my book.  Sadly however, I find out that what they've injected me with is radioactive!  Awesome!

My instructions are to drink and void continuously so that all of the radioactive junk not absorbed into my bones is out of my body asap so that it doesn't get absorbed elsewhere.  At this point I'm thinking that this was perhaps not such a great idea.  Can I drink enough to save my poor bones too?

Kadriye and I head off to IKEA.  There is no IKEA outlet in Victoria so she wants to browse for new ideas for her loft.  I'm looking for bookcases for my neglected and hence little used living room.  It was rather a harried trip to IKEA as I headed for the batheroom every ten minutes.  However, I can now navigate that store with my eyes closed!  I know all the shortcuts.  What I wouldn't do for a pair of adult diapers at this point.  More water please.

Back to MMI.  Kadriye and I sit in the waiting room - she didn't come with me in the morning as she was checking out a funky book/comic book store in the next mall where I park to avoid the reedonkulous $4 charge at MMI.  We sit in the waiting room and I can see Kadriye's brow start to actually furrow.  The front line staff here need some training.  One poor guy comes in to "register" for his appointment and the receptionist actually yells at him, "You were supposed to start drinking water and hour and a half ago!  We can't do the test if your bladder isn't full!"  Can you imagine how that poor bastard must have felt? 

I had been given a special slip so that I didn't have to wait in the registration line which is quite long.  I was told to just hand it to one of the other front line workers (I don't know how to refer to these women.  There are three windows and they sit at computers typing.  They call people up to give them back their medical cards - but they don't then take you in.  This is quite confusing for most of the people - many elderly who work very hard to get up to the window, often losing their seat in the crowded waiting room and who are then told to go back and sit down and wait until they're called - as if they haven't just been called!  I guess I'll call them receptionists, at least it's polite.)

When I walk up to the woman, I haven't said a word before she tells me that I need to go stand in the other line.  I just look at her for a minute while all of the different responses flutter through my mind.  It's a Schwarzenegger moment.  I maintain eye contact while I pull my special piece of paper out of my purse.  "Oh" is all she says and then tells me to sit down - as if there are any other options in this place.

It's a full half hour past my schedule appointment time and I'm still sitting in the waiting room drinking, peeing and napping on Kadriye's shoulder.  During that time my phone rings and I answer it.  The same "receptionist" is immediately on her feet pointint to the exit, "Go between the doors to talk on that phone" she yells at me.  Again, I maintain eye contact while I tell Debbie that I can't chat right now.  Then I hang up - the entire time looking at this woman.  Maybe it's just my generation, but what is the difference between Kadriye and I sitting chatting and Debbie and I chatting on a phone?  The place is now as quiet as a library until someone else's phone rings and is answered.  I fear the worst and Kadriye and I are both primed to let loose our tongues.  (For those who don't know her, Kadriye has an amazing ability to speak even more severely than I, but all coated in sugar....a skill I must learn.)  However, the "receptionist" doesn't bat an eyelash and the other "client" has a pleasant conversation in Spanish that doesn't seem to perturb any of my fellow Pergatorians.  Perhaps it's me?

Finally I get called.  I have to say that techs and others working in the back rooms of this place make up for what sits out front.  It's quite a difference in atmosphere and tone.  The techs are all courteous and efficient without being rude or hostile.  I begin to relax.  They know the state I'm in here and show me first to the bathroom and then ask me to have a seat in another tiny waiting room.  I'm not there too long before I get called in to the scanning room where I simply have to remove my jacket and empty my pockets and lie down.  Cue Angels singing.  I ask if I'm allowed to sleep and they say "Sure" and even tie up my arms and legs so that I can't move (I presume this is standard and not special treatment like out front) and then give me a blanket and I'm off to my happy place for about half an hour.  Ah.

When the test is over I'm told that I have to wait for the radiologist to read the film to see if there are more pictures required.  I ask if I can wait there with my glorious blanket on the table, but apparently they want to keep taking pictures and so I have to return to the waiting room.  Alas!

The doc wants more pictures of my hip.  I'm not surprised.  I have almost no cartilage in my left hip joint caused by a couple of decades of an undiagnosed or mis-diagnosed recurring impingement.  I've told them this - but if the doc wants me back on a table with a blanket - no problem.  Sadly, the extra hip pictures only take a few minutes and Kadriye and I are on our way home.  No more tests are scheduled.  There will be no more poking and bruising and cutting until the BIG DAY. 

Meeting the surgeon

Wow!  If all the hiccups along the road were payment for getting Mirsky as a surgeon then I would say that it was well worth it. 

I showed up at his office for the appointment and no one was at the reception.  I stood for a minute then grabbed the key to the washroom and left.  When I returned, Dr Mirsky was sitting at the reception desk and greeted me with a friendly, "You must be Donna".  He apologized that the receptionist (her name was something like Barb - so I'm going with that for the blog for now) was still out on lunch but he was confident that she had left me a present.  He scrabbled around on the desk and came up with the proverbial clip board and paperwork.  He told me that he had all the result from the tests Dr S had ordered and I surprisingly asked whether this included the MRI results - the only intervening day having been Thanksgiving Monday.  Nope - he didn't have those but he immediately logged on to the computer and got into the datatbase for the General and found the pictures.  They had taken a couple thousand he explained and he needed to look at only the top 500 or so criticial ones.  He did that while I filled out the paperwork.

Barb returned and we finished with the formalities and I was sent into the office without delay.  Mirsky first asked me what I knew and what questions I had.  He listened!  Men who are reading this - listening - actually listening - is probably the most fundamental thing for a woman in any relationship - EVER.  Mirsky spent two hours with me discussing my case and what the best approach would be and what the next steps were.  Jane:  he drew me pictures! 

He can't draw a breast worth a damn, but he got the message across.  We discussed lumpectomy vs mastectomy; local radiation vs general; chemo; endocrine therapy; the process at the cancer centre; which oncologist was worth her salt and which not; his opinion of the MRI pictures (although he is still waiting for the radiologist's report - which will likely only confirm what he saw on the 500); good websites that I can access; etc. 

His overview was definitely geared to a wide audience.  I literally bit my tongue when he explained to me that "infiltrating" and "invasive" (both terms used to describe my cancer) meant the same thing.  I smiled inwardly when he told me that "carcinoma" meant "cancer".  But when he got to the point where he began to define "unifocal" I had to say something!  I just couldn't take it anymore.  I burst out laughing and told him that if he used a term for which I needed an explanation I would ask.  I think this shows incredible personal growth - I'm developing amazing patience!!!:)

I left the office with four pages of pears drawn on them (seriously he cannot draw) and all the key terms scribbled all over with different colours for everything.  I couldn't have taken better notes if I was still in law school.  He was great. 

So, I remember everything we discussed and I can share the following:  it appears to be a unifocal cancer and no spreading has occured yet despite its invasive character; because neither I nor Dr S could find the tumour on a physical exam and Mirsky could only guess where it was based on the various images (he also did a physical exam and is not 100% sure), he will insert a wire an hour or so before the operation to ensure that he gets the right spot (this means no digging around once he's in there - for which I am immensely greatful); a sentinal node biopsy will be performed while I'm in surgery to determine whether additional nodes need to be removed but he will avoid this if at all possible;  he hates the term "lumpectomy" because he thinks it gives women false optimism, so he will perform a "partial mastectomy" unless one of the reports yet to come indicates anything surprising (the success rate for what I have for a lumpectomy vs full mastectomy is the same); this will be followed by breast radiation which reduces the chance of a local recurrence from 39% to 7%; the rest of the treatment process will be determined by the oncologist once they have removed the tumour based on the condition of the lymph nodes, the actual size of the tumour, the histologic grade of the tumour; the hormone receptors of the tumour and the Herz. 

I am currently scheduled for surgery November 17 but he has put me on his priority waiting list so it could be any time between now and then.  I can't wait.  The bruising and swelling from the biopsy is finally diminishing, the bruising from the MRI injection is peaking and the bruising from yesterday's bone scan is just starting to flower.  Otherwise, I'm feeling great if a little tired.  I've lost almost 20 pounds just from being away from the stress of work and I'm so busy running around doing things for my family, friends and the house that I seriously don't know whether I'll ever be able to go back to the office:)  Who has time for work?

I apologize for the lag in reporting on events here.  My mother has shown great patience in waiting for news.  It's sometimes difficult to find time to just sit and type.

I have taken up playing tenor sax since leaving work.  I'm horrible, but my band, New Horizons, is playing a concert at Dominion Chalmers Church on December 13 and the other members of the band are much better than me!  Not surprisingly, I'm in the beginner band, but there are two intermediate bands, an advanced band and a jazz band.  I heard them in concert last spring and they are well worth seeing so if you have nothing to do that day I'd love to see you there.  Seeing me play live will be something you can use in the future to blackmail me if you'd like (and if the need arises):).

It's almost 10 a.m. now and Kadriye is still a lump in bed, so I'm off to practice playing!  The tenor is especially loud and I manage to make the most obnoxious sounds with it!!

The MRI

The MRI went relatively smoothly.  Any medical exam where you get to lie down and relax is frankly a blessing and a reprieve. 

I had to have an injection for this one - that was the only bummer.  The tech who gave me the injection was quite young and friendly and started asking me a  myriad of questions regarding the cancer:  how did you find it?; how big is it?; when is your operation?; how old are you? and on and on and on....  Finally I just told her I didn't like needles so I was just going to have to read my book while she worked!  Did no one ever tell her that MRIs were supposed to be relaxing, zen times?  Seriously, I've seen less intrusive cross examinations.  Yes Jane, I said "zen".

Happy Thanksgiving

Hi everyone.  I'm off to the hospital for an MRI.  I hope everyone is doing something more fun than that this weekend!  (Actually, of all the tests I've been through lately, this one should be awesome - I get to lie down and sleep and it's totally non-invasive.  Oh, how relative everything is:))

Actually, I spent the glorious day yesterday doing the Perth artists' studio tour and today I'm heading to Calabogie, Chelsea and Wakefield for the same thing with Laurie. 

Enjoy the sunshine and warm temps.

Biopsy Results!

Dr. S starts by telling me that it's bad news.  She may have been thinking that I was holding out for that 5% chance that it was benign.  I can tell however that my body is trying to deal with something - so I haven't even really considered that - except maybe what it would be like, having started this blog and given everyone the bad news, to have to tell everyone that I don't have cancer!  That would have been embarrassing!

It isn't so bad - it could have been oh, so much worse!  The biopsy has confirmed that I have invasive, ductal carcinoma with an overall intermediate grade.  It is classified, on a preliminary basis only, as a Stage IIA cancer as the tumour is larger than 2 cm but not larger than 5 cm and has not spread to the axillary lymph nodes.  All of the test results are now in and there is no indication of any cancer anywhere else.  I have an appointment with a surgeon who comes highly recommended by a number of people Dr Mirsky, on October 11.  I'll be scheduled for surgery after that and about four to six weeks after surgery I'll begin courses of chemo and radiation.  All the details of the follow up treatment can only be determined once the lesion is removed and they can get a definitive grading and classification of the cancer.  So, not nearly as bad as it could have been - and I have nothing to be embarrassed about!

After giving me the news, Dr. S looks at me quite seriously and says, "I just don't want you to turn into a cancer survivor".  Now, there are  many ways that this could be interpreted!  I look at her and say, "I don't even know what you mean".  I'm trying to give her my friendliest questionning look. 

"Well, I don't want you to introduce yourself that way.  The Breast Cancer business is very political."  Again, what?

My cousin Kadriye intervenes, "I think what Dr s is trying to say is that she doesn't want this to identify you from now on."

Dr S agrees with Kadriye and immediately begins to shake her head.  "You're just not that type.  I won't worry."  Awesome!  She does want me to survive, she just doesn't want me to become militant and political and take on a "cancer-identity"!  I love Dr S, without her I wouldn't have found this this early.  But man, she cracks me up!

On a much brighter note, Logan has been selected to attend the biggest regatta in North America in Boston in two weeks.  He'll be the anchor in the four man boat.  Lots of excitement for him.

My cousin, Kadriye, is visiting from Victoria and we spent a glorious day walking to little Italy, brunching at Stoneface Dolly's and doing a litte shopping.  Tomorrow we're planning on sleeping in late and cruising Westboro in the afternoon.

Love to everyone.

A Super Huge Thank You

I just wanted to make sure that everyone knows how much it means to me to hear from all of you with your good karma!  I'm glad to know that you're thinking of me and dancing.  I appreciate all of the offers of help and support - and when I finally start treatment I will definitely be calling on all of you.  I appreciate the time you've taken to send me e-mails and comments.  I really had no idea that I would get this much of a response and it has truly made the world of difference.  Spiritually and physically I'm rockin' adn I'm going to keep that up as long as possible.  Much love to you all.

The Biopsy

Whenever I have to undergo something intensely unpleasant, I go to my happy place.  It's like meditation - I just envision a grassy little place under a tree.  It's where I go when I'm doing the plank (if you don't know what that is you need to work out more), when I'm stuck in an interminable meeting from which there is no reasonable escape, when I'm caught waiting anywhere and I've forgotten to bring a good book to read, and when I'm undergoing some form of unpleasant, invasive medical procedure.  This shouldn't be difficult really. I won't even really be present for it.

They've had a last minute cancellation so I get a call on Wednesday morning (September 28) asking if I'd like to have a biopsy at noon.  "Like" is not a term that I'm associating with this, I think about it knowing that I'm not really prepared for this, but really, what am I waiting for?  Better to get it done and over with - so I say sure, I'd love to.

Off I go to a building attached to the civic hospital.  I am not encouraged by the fact that they young lady on the phone can't really tell me where I'm going - but I have no doubt I can figure that out.  Being penis-less, I can always ask for directions.

I arrive on time at the right place (fortunately the buildings have their names written in giant letters on the front - who knew?).  The lady at the desk is very pleasant and we make each other laugh.  What a great start.

I am soon called into the back by the nurse where I'm given yet another glorious paper gown to wear.  I sit with four other women in another tiny waiting area.  I am soon called by the same nurse into The Room.  She explains to me basically what is going to happen.  It will be an ultra-sound guided biopsy.  She does the first US look and tells me that in addition to the big lump that is causing all the fuss, I have another cyst.  Joy.  No idea whether this is good, bad or neutral.

The nurse explains that, as a teaching hospital,  I will be seen by a fifth year resident as well as the doctor.  No problem.  With a sister as a doctor I understand the need to learn on realy people.  I can't tell you the number of times I had my reflexes checked by my sister.  I think I may still have a small scar or two from her practicing as well!

In comes the resident and explains again what will happen and I sign the consent (without reading it of course.  What would be the point?)  I then explain to the two of them that I'm going to put on my iPod and go to my happy place.  No need to explain anything else, just do what you need to do and get it over with.  I don't need to know as I have zero medical knowledge and I'm not really a participant in the process - I'm just the practice dummy.  I put on my earphones, close my eyes and merrily ease off to my happy place. 

I soon can feel little burning pricks as the freezing begins.  I can hear murmurs in the background.  I have no idea whether they are speaking to one another or to me.  I don't care, I'm almost asleep.  The incision is made.  My eyes fly open - "NOT FROZEN!"  I don't know whether I yelled this.  It's very difficult to tell how loud one is speaking while blaring CCR on the iPod.  The resident looks at me with big eyes.  "Oh.  We'll give you more freezing."  I go back to my happy place.  More little burns.

They take the first core sample.  As far as I can tell, this is done by "shooting" a long hollow tube through the incision and into the tumour.  It retracts with a core sample of the tumour inside it.  My eyes fly open once again - "NOT FROZEN!"  The resident now looks mildly concerned.  "Is it really pain you feel or just a slight burning?"  Seriously?  I can't believe this guy is asking me this.  I've had two children without drugs.  I know pain.  I indicate my willingness to share this pain with him.  He turns to the nurse and merely says, "Go get the doctor".  Holy Moly!

The doctor shows up and she calmly explains to him that he needs to freeze on the other side too.  Hello!!!  Shouldn't they have reviewed this prior to the procedure or something?  They proceed, I am blissfully frozen, I feel nothing but some pressure for the rest.  The resident makes a hasty exit as soon as he's done.

The nurse then explains that the MRI (scheduled for October 9) might indicate a need for a further biopsy, but I'm not to worry if that happens.  She manages this with a straight face as if this procedure has gone off without a hitch.  Often MRIs give false positives apparently so a need for more biopsy is not necessarily catastrophic news.  Well, if I do have to go back, it will be a resident-less procedure!

I am now the most unnatural shades of greens and purples.  I took a photo but I won't post it.  It's for the lawsuit:) 

Follow Up Ultra Sound (US)

Apparently it's not enough to know that I have a one inch tumour.  The medical profession needs to know all about it and needs to know whether I have others.  Fortunately, the search for other tumours is conducted via ultra sound testing and x-ray.  I can handle this!  What could possibly go wrong?  Back to Merivale Medical Imaging where they are seeing me often enough to great me by name on arrival!

The doctor has arranged my appointment - I get a call from MMI telling me of the time - Tuesday at 07:00 which suits me just fine.  This place is basically a strip mall on Merivale.  Guess what?  They now charge for parking!  Can you imagine paying for parking at a strip mall on Merivale?  I paid the first time here b/c I had no idea - $4.00 for 30 minutes it what it cost me that time.  Never again.  Now I park in the next strip mall and walk over.  Are radiologists so underpaid that they need to charge for parking at a strip mall?  Apparently they own the building......

Anyway, the usual check-in lady is not here - apparently she starts work at a more civilized hour.  I go over to the other desk where early patients are apparenlty processed.  I give her my card and explain that I didn't get any instructions for this test - despite having called numerous times and leaving two messages - that weren't returned.  She stares at me - I now fully understand the term "baleful" (foreboding or threatening evil).  Do I need a full bladder?  Did you know that I also need a chest x-ray about which I didn't get a call? 

"I don't work in that department" is the only response that I get.  "Go and sit down and wait and I'll see".  Ouch!  Soon she calls me back up to the desk.  "Did you know you were scheduled for a PVT ultra sound yesterday?  You didn't show up."  Presumably if I wasn't there it's because I didn't know about it.  However, I calmly re-state that I wasn't called for it and that it's a shame no one was available to speak to me one of the five times I called nor returned either of the two messages that I left, because then I might have found out about it!  And why would they schedule me for two ultra-sounds on different days?  (My theory is that they want additional parking fees!)  The baleful look comes out again and she adds, "I didn't work yesterday."  Is she truly that obtuse?  Is this possible?  This woman was hired to work directly with the public!  I look at her and explain as if I'm speaking to a neanderthal, "I'm not saying that you have personally done anything.  You are merely the representative of this office who is currently in front of me."  And then her gleefuul response, "The PVT is an internal ultra sound."

I would ask all readers to pause here and consider this:  an internal ultra-sound.  Think a little longer.  Damn, she wins!!!!!!

I return to my seat and wait.  Soon I am called by the US tech who is lovely and who has been made aware of the screw-ups by the darling woman with whom I've been dealing so far.  The US tech saves the day.  She takes care of everything, she doesn't weep but is professional throughout.  She starts by feeding me four cups of water just to ensure that I'm appropriately uncomfortable (unfortunate but necessary) and then takes me through over an hour of looking for bad spots on all my major organs (and I'm sure some minor ones as well).  We then head over to x-ray which takes less than five minutes and I escape.  Whew!

The good news arrives at the doctor's office later in the week:  nothing found by ultra sound or x-ray anywhere else.  I still need to have an MRI to confirm this - but this is definitely some positive news.  The MRI is scheduled for the morning of Thanksgiving Sunday - cancelling my planned trip north to visit my sister and her family.  Oh well, better to get it over with asap.  Next step:  BIOPSY (joy).

Telling mom

For those of you who've never met my mother, let me describe her:  she is smart, funny, generous and crazy.  I know that last one will come as an incredible shock to many of you, but it's true - I come from totally insane anscestors!  My mother has been worried about one of us getting cancer for years - again we've been focussing on other areas and I can't tell you how much fun it's been to have a colonoscopy just to get your mother to stop nagging.  (The drugs for that one were totally awesome however and my doctor for that was uber gorgeous - hence the need for large quantities of narcotics:))

Anyway, the worst fears have now come true and I have to tell my mother - but I really am putting this off as long as possible.  I know that she will be very upset and want to be there for everything.  This is not a criticism - it's just that we're very different.  Whereas I would have told no one if it hadn't been for Dr S and I will go to all appointments alone, mother will want to go to everyone.  She'll call while I'm still at appointments wanting to know the results.  This is going to be hard.

In the end, here is the e-mail that I sent to my family (on Wednesday, Sept 21) - and guess what?  Mostly it seems to have had the desired affect.

I have some bad news. I have invasive breast cancer that was discovered on a routine mammogram this week. More tests have to be done and eventually (hopefully soon), the lesion will be removed. Then there will be chemo and who knows what. I've been told that this thing will kick the shit out of me before I kick the shit out of it - but that is certainly the plan!

I've decided that one of the weapons I'm going to use is totally positive energy. I'm doing meditation and yoga and dancing to all my fave tunes and laughing. So, send me jokes, take me to comedy clubs and dancing - but no sympathy - no furrowed brows and keep the tears to yourselves as well!

I'll be calling on friends and family this winter to help out with the kids, etc. I should be back to work about this time next year - which is one of the bright sides!

Sorry to drop this on you in an e-mail - but it's the only way that I can do it. Anyway, process and then give me a call when you can. Cheers.

My mother's response:

It will be awhile before I'll be able to call you according to your terms! Do you know the cell? Have they caught it early? Will you be having a biopsy? When? Is there anything I can do right now to help you?
...and then....

If you can possibly arrange it, try to get yourself referred to Doug Mirsky (723-2323) - he's supposed to be the absolute best and evidentally he's a wonderful man as well.

...and then...

OK Donna, we're going to play this very positively. You're absolutely right - attitude can make all the difference. I will be as positive as I can possibly be. Let me know what your schedule is and how I can help.

And when I got home that evening my awesome parents were here with the kids, the house was upside down as Syd was making cupcakes for a bake sale/car wash fundraiser, and my parents had bought me four seasons of the Big Bang and a season of Mike & Molly - to keep me laughing!

Way to go M&F!  Keep it up!