Well, Fudge

Yesterday morning I went to my mega-appointment with the breast people. (If you missed the first part of this story, pick up the thread here.) Matt and I got there just after 6am and stayed until after noon. We were finished talking to the surgeon BEFORE THE SUN ROSE. I am not kidding. There is nothing like getting a jump on the day, you know. The surgeon is an older lady who seems super-competent, but she's also warm in a no-nonsense kind of way. She put up a lot of images from my mammogram and ultrasound and talked to us about them. At this point, the student in me took over and I was just interested. She pointed out something about how part of the mass looks spiky-shaped, and I found myself saying, "Yes, that looks bad," and I forgot for a moment that I was talking about myself.

She told me that I would have an MRI that day and more xray and ultrasound to be sure, but she thought we were dealing with a bigger tumor than the previous report showed. Only a small part of it was palpable, the little lump that sent me in to be checked in the first place. But more of it was visible on mammogram. The takeaway from this part of the discussion is that a lumpectomy is not happening. She said that because of its size, and the fact that I don't have a lot of boob to begin with, that it would not have a good result, in cosmetic terms. So we are talking about a mastectomy, with reconstruction at the same time. Also she thought a couple of lymph nodes on that side looked abnormal, but they wouldn't know for sure until during the surgery.

Fuckity fuck fuck. As the poet says.

I was a little numb at this point but I was hanging in there, trying to process this information and all the different options she was talking about. Matt and I asked her a lot of questions. Apparently, if I wanted to throw all my energy into "breast conservation," that is, keeping as much of my boob intact as possible, doing chemotherapy for four months before surgery would be an option, in hopes of shrinking the mass into lumpectomy-range. Four months of chemo was just not something I wanted to say yes to. I asked her if there was a possible future in which I would have the mastectomy and need no follow-up. She said it was very possible, about "fifty-fifty."

So then I went off and had another mammogram just to check something on the opposite side (it was all clear), then an ultrasound, and then it was time to get ready for the MRI. I've never had one of those, but I thought it would be like an episode of House, where I'd lie on my back in a pool of greenish light while attractive young doctors worked out their personal problems behind the glass wall. Well, actually I had to get IV gadolinium and then lie on my stomach with my arms above my head, not moving, for thirty minutes. It was some kind of fancy breast MRI machine, so there were openings in the sliding drawer thingy for my boobs. Kind of like a massage table, except with extra openings. Oh, and no massage. Once again, the worst spa treatment ever. I am not a panicky or claustrophobic person, but even so, the sensation of being slid backwards into that machine was a little upsetting. Then the stillness. Oh the stillness and the not scratching of my nose. Then I zoned out.

I thought it would be funny if they got some plastic wrenches, toy chain, and plastic nails and stuck them to the side of the MRI machine. Maybe they've never thought of that. I forgot to mention it.

We left after six hours. I think we were both pretty wiped out. I know that I went home and took a three hour nap. Even after that, I was lacking in my usual zip. I noticed this because I was on the phone with my friend, I started a sentence, and I had to stop in the middle and rest, because the talking, how did I not ever notice how exhausting it is before? Always with the talking and saying words.

Normal Neighbor brought over lasagna and salad for everyone. She texted me beforehand, and I was like, "Everybody, hide last night's lasagna and DO NOT mention it!"

Today the surgeon called me to talk over the MRI. It had just confirmed what she suspected: a single mass, funny shaped, 4-5cm, two lymph nodes that look a little iffy. I quizzed her and she explained why a lumpectomy is not feasible. I have an appointment to meet a plastic surgeon on Monday. Matt is keen for surgery to happen as soon as possible, with or without reconstruction. He has told me this several times, that reconstruction is my decision and he knows it's important to me, but don't think it's important to him. But he has never been a boob man. Now, if I were dealing with butt cancer, this would be a whole different thing.

Today I felt fine, and Matt's mom and I went to Target and bought a lot of the Liberty of London stuff that I'd missed the first time. Kind of all of it, actually. So if you're looking for some of that, it's here at my house. Sorry! You will hear more about that, obvs. Thank you for all of your good thoughts and sweet words, my friends.