Lump . . . Gulp

A few weeks ago I woke up with a huge lump in my right breast.  I just finished some antibiotic eye drops and thought that might have messed something up with my internal flora, but no.  This lump was weird - it literally came out of nowhere.  I remember it was a Friday and I noticed it as I put my bra on - it felt weird despite being an old worn in bra.  When I moved a little it hurt a little too - cause my breast was so large that the edge of my bra put pressure on it when I moved  a certain way.  I said if it was still there on Monday I would make an appointment.  It gradually got a little smaller on Saturday and Sunday but it was still there on Monday.  I called.

My appointment was relatively soon with a doctor I had seen a couple of weeks ago for an eye stye.  She was also about 6 months pregnant.  She felt the lump and said it was so weird that it appeared so suddenly and that she would refer me for a mammogram/ultrasound but that since it was movable and appeared so suddenly that I shouldn't worry too much.

I made the appointment for the first available timeslot that they gave me.  It was at a very inconvenient time, but I wanted to get it looked at as soon as possible.  My Dear Husband (DH) kept asking me when it was . . . and a couple days before he reminded me that my appointment was coming up (I knew too, but it was nice that he cared).

I go to check in and they give me a questionnaire with some pictures of boobies on the bottom - nice!  since the waiting area is right in the middle of a walkway and is a waiting area for a couple of different areas.  For some reason I thought the ultrasound was first, but it wasn't, the mammogram was.  The technician took me into the room and had me put on a gown.  She diligently cleaned off the machine and explained the process to me.  She then but a bunch of stickers on my boobies - ones on the nipple, one on the lump - and a different one on a mole on my armpit.  I then stepped up to the mammogram machine, um I mean modern instrument of torture.  For those of you lucky enough to have never had one, you put your ta-ta on the table of the machine, then a plexiglass top part comes down on it - and I mean hard.  So hard I let out a whimper each time and was on the verge of tears.  They have to take 4 images - two of each breast.  The first one is just squeezed in there.  The other one you have to lean over and give the machine a hug.  Oh and when it is time to take the "picture" you have to hold your breath.  I'm not sure of the significance of this, but I was on the verge of crying and I was whimpering, both of which stopped when I held my breath I wondered if that was the reason.  Then the machine releases pressure and you can breathe again.  It is kindof like a blood pressure cuff - you know how sometimes the cuff tightens so much it hurts and then when it releases it is like whew.  Only squared.  Or cubed.  Or to the infinity power.

Then the technician said she had to talk to the doctor and that he may want a spot view and for me to have a seat and try and relax.  Yeah, there was no relaxing.  It was more torture - waiting to find out if you were going to have to be beat up again.  If she had said I needed another one I would have started bawling, I just know it (I was on the hairy edge of crying already but managed to hold it in).

I then got to wait down the hall, still in my gown, for the ultrasound tech to call my name.  I normally break out my phone whenever I have to wait, and did this time but couldn't find anything I wanted to play or look at - I just wanted to crawl in bed and cry at that moment.  I settled for staring into space as I very slowly started to come back to reality.

Then she called my name.  I laid down on the table as she did an ultrasound.  I could see there was a black mass - but I knew this as I have a lump that I can totally feel.  She then said she had to talk with the doctor.  At this moment I knew it wasn't good.  Maybe it is because I have never had a "good" ultrasound, but I know when the doc needs to see you it isn't good.  The technician said that the doc wanted to do a biopsy.  OK, that isn't so bad right, then I will know for sure.

So she has to put it in the system and I have to wait in the chairs in the hallway again.  It seemed like a long time, but probably wasn't, before she called my name.  The technician then is getting everything ready as I just chill (yeah right) on the bed and sign a consent form.  The doc then comes in and starts by explaining everything to me.  He thinks it may just be excess fluid and that if he goes in there and can get it all out that he will not even need to do the biopsy.  He also said in cases like mine there is about a 10% chance it is cancer.  Not too bad, huh?

Since my breasts were still sore one of my questions was how much will it hurt - and they use a local anesthetic so all I felt was the initial prick of the needle that delivered the drugs.  Kindof like the dentist - all you feel is the initial needle then they can do whatever and you don't feel a thing.  I was able to watch the whole thing on the screen.  He didn't say so at first, but I knew he was aspirating because I could see the mass getting smaller.  But it reached a point that he couldn't make it smaller even after changing needles.  He then said he was going to do the biopsy and explained the process to me again.  And he was very good about asking if I had any pain.

I was sent off with an icepack in my bra (can you say awkward) and instructions to email my primary care physician to have them tell me the result when available.  Despite feeling like a punching bag/pin cushion I left feeling ok.  I went back to work but couldn't concentrate so I left early.

The next day I got a couple of calls from this weird number.  I had my phone out at work but didn't answer because I didn't recognize the number.  They didn't leave a message either.  I googled the number.  Kaiser Medical.  At that moment I knew it wasn't good.  They don't call you 24 hours after a biopsy to tell you good news.

They called again just before 5pm and I answered as I went into an empty office.  She explained she had my pathology report and they found a carcinoma.  Crickets.  What do you say when they say that to you.  Even though I suspected something there was a stunned silence.  I finally managed to ask some questions, but basically at this point they don't know anything other than it is infiltrating duct carcinoma and she said that surgery will be needed.  I don't know the stage, I don't know if it has spread, I don't know the treatment plan.  She offered me a special kind of appointment - one where i get to meet with different doctors - the oncologist, geneticist, plastic surgeon and I forget the fourth.  At this appointment they will talk with me about my options and we decide on a plan together.  This appointment is scheduled for May 3rd at 1:30pm and I can bring a family member.  She called me brave and strong, but really it hasn't sunk in yet.

When I got home DH asked if everything was OK.  I said no to which he asked why.  All I had to say is "I got my results back" and he knew and hugged me.  That is the beauty of being together for so long - we don't need a lot of words.  And agreed to go to the appointment with me.

Until then all I can do is wait . . . and worry, but I'm trying not to do that.

Re-posted from my other blog . . . I thought given the situation that a new, specialized blog was more appropriate.