It started with a dull discomfort, from which I discovered a lump, about a month ago. Within a week to my PCP, who sent me to imaging. A week later: mammogram, ultrasound, biopsy. Because I had signed up for an electronic health portal (sure, why not? I figured), my email pinged when the pathology report was completed and posted to the portal. Which means I got to read the report before anyone else did, including my PCP. So I was reading “invasive ductal carcinoma” on a Monday evening, after-hours and on my own, trying to decipher the report in its intractable medicalese. It would be over 48 hours before I got to talk to an actual doctor about the rest of the alphabet soup on the report, or about what would be coming next, which was a rough time. My memory of how I spent it is already hazy. A lot of just pacing in the house, I think.
The tumor is aggressive, and large. But it's one of the types for which there is a “targeted” chemotherapy that is very effective, or so I am told. My new surgeon said it is urgent that we start treatment immediately, on the fast track. So balls began rolling across multiple floors in one wing of my local large hospital... my surgeon had already “assembled my team” before I had even walked in her door. So I have a “team” now. Yay. Go team!
I'm now about two weeks into my diagnosis, and still in the stage where every medical appointment spawns three more, and the days fill up. Genetic testing. Surgery to install a “port” for delivering the chemo soon to come. Baseline echocardiogram. Patient navigators and support networks. Calls to my insurance company to make sure the providers are covered. Trying to find a second opinion. Everything has to happen as soon as possible. Chemo will probably start next week. So much information. So many phone calls to and from the hospital. The first person I told was my mother, a breast cancer survivor for over 45 years. No better source for perspective on how far modern medicine has come.
So I'm grounded for a while I guess. I can't count the number of posts I've read here, encouraging struggling people to take care of their health and healing first, and worry about flying second. It's a good speech, and if you don't mind giving it just one more time, I could probably use to hear it one more time.
The tumor is aggressive, and large. But it's one of the types for which there is a “targeted” chemotherapy that is very effective, or so I am told. My new surgeon said it is urgent that we start treatment immediately, on the fast track. So balls began rolling across multiple floors in one wing of my local large hospital... my surgeon had already “assembled my team” before I had even walked in her door. So I have a “team” now. Yay. Go team!
I'm now about two weeks into my diagnosis, and still in the stage where every medical appointment spawns three more, and the days fill up. Genetic testing. Surgery to install a “port” for delivering the chemo soon to come. Baseline echocardiogram. Patient navigators and support networks. Calls to my insurance company to make sure the providers are covered. Trying to find a second opinion. Everything has to happen as soon as possible. Chemo will probably start next week. So much information. So many phone calls to and from the hospital. The first person I told was my mother, a breast cancer survivor for over 45 years. No better source for perspective on how far modern medicine has come.
So I'm grounded for a while I guess. I can't count the number of posts I've read here, encouraging struggling people to take care of their health and healing first, and worry about flying second. It's a good speech, and if you don't mind giving it just one more time, I could probably use to hear it one more time.
