‹ Back

        I’ve been finding myself alone with my cancer lately.  On walks, while working out, driving to pick up the girls from school, pushing the cart at the grocery store.  I’m in this horrible limbo between diagnosis and treatment, and it’s agonizing.  I keep worrying that I’m falling through the cracks.  Let me tell you why.  

        My follow up appointment with my breast clinic was the same day as the Eclipse.  I had had that horrible MRI-guided biopsy the Wednesday prior, so it was plenty of time for my biopsy results to have been posted (my first biopsy results only took 3-ish days: biopsy was on a Monday afternoon, results on a Thursday afternoon).  But these weren’t.  I reached out to my breast clinic nurse to verify that we were still having my appointment, even though there wasn’t really anything to follow up on.  She said she would call the lab.  Come to find out, my specimen hadn’t even been assigned to a pathologist yet.  It had been 6 days, 4 of them being business days, so there was no reason why they shouldn’t have been processed yet. I think they had to pull a pathologist off a flight that was eclipse-bound for Texas.  

        Anyway, my breast nurse said that if we reschedule the appointment, it’ll be another 2 weeks!  Plus, they wanted to check a suspicious lymph node with the ultrasound machine anyway, so I may as well keep the appointment, but under the assumption that the recommendations might change with those biopsy results.  

        That’s what they call them–”recommendations.” It could be surgery or chemotherapy or radiation or a pill.  Those are all “recommendations.”  To me, they sound like “life-altering treatments that are going to make you shit your pants with side effects or recovery and possibly even kill you.” Well, except for the pill.  That one seems super innocuous until I realize it’s the same treatment that two women who were close to me received, and it ended up just simply DELAYING their death.  I mean delay is better than nothing, but geez.  These are all of my “recommendations” that may be offered.

Thankfully, the results populated just as I was entering the exam room (just in the nick of time!).  That’s when we found out the cancer was a little more extensive.  So that should mean it’s more of a priority to rip that sucker out, right?  Uh, well no.  It actually equates to MORE waiting. Now instead of just a lumpectomy, we have to remove the entire breast.  If I want the implant, we have to correlate schedules with Plastics.  Even if I don’t want the implant, the breast doctor encourages me to at least meet with them to see what my options are.  Check the box yes or no and pass it back. Your people talk to my people; we’ll do lunch.  More hurry up and wait. 

        To feel like we’re doing something, my breast doctor has me meet with the oncologist.  I absolutely love her.  She’s THOROUGH.  She’s got a really fun name with lots of syllables, but she goes by a shortened version.  I taught my 7 year old twins how to say the longer version.  I figure if I can teach them, any adult could learn it.  But I’m sure she got tired of people butchering her name and went with the shorter version.

        The oncologist is concerned by the multifocal-ness of my cancer.  In other words, I have the tumor, but I also have the two “nonmass enhancements,” so it’s occupying multiple areas of my breast.  Suddenly my cancer feels old.  Ancient.  Like it’s been just cooking forever.  She keeps using terms like “concerning” and “would not delay.”  She pronounces “genetic” like “heretic.” “Jenna Tick.” My cancer is not, by the way.  My Jenna Ticks are clear.

        She answers all of my main questions before I can even ask them.  She’s ordering a complete body scan plus bone scan.  That was my main concern–how do we know it’s not lurking somewhere else?  Especially considering that almost half of my breast is malignant.  This shit’s been plotting against me for a while.  

        She mentions that the receptor information hasn’t come in for my “nonmass enhancements.” (And by the way, that’s just what I call them. The doctor at the breast clinic got annoyed with me for referring to them as “nonmass enhancements” because that’s just a description of what the radiologist called them, but to me they will always carry this title because THAT’S WHAT THEY ARE–or more what they are NOT? Oh I don’t know anymore–they are dark matter for all I care. Dark malignant matter. The point is, the radiologist referred to them originally as “nonmass enhancements,” and obviously no one knows what the frig that means, but I can’t call them tumors or masses because they are nonmass and only enhancements…so, therefore, they are NONMASS ENHANCEMENTS.)

        Okay, so the receptor information is the hormone stuff.  The HER2 shit.  Remember, this is the biopsy that the results came back on Eclipse day.  That fucker that they pulled off the eclipse-bound plane to Texas or Maine to complete my pathology report didn’t do the receptor information. (And the pathologist wasn’t really on a plane to see the eclipse, but in my mind that’s why my results are getting the red-headed stepchild treatment).  The receptor info is important because that determines what “recommendation” route we’re going to take.  Some cancers are receptive to chemo, others are not.  Some need the 10-year pill, others won’t respond to that.  Ugh.  More waiting.

        My tumor (separate from my “nonmass enhancements”) is HER2-negative and hormone positive, which is good news because it should respond to hormone therapy (the 10-year pill).  Dr Super-kal-a-fragil-istic-expeed-alla-docious goes ahead and prescribes the pill.  It won’t push me into menopause (remember, I just turned 44), shouldn’t really have any side effects, and may or may not do anything to my tumor pre-surgery.  But we’re finally starting something!  

She told me with the scans, if I’m willing to drive further out, I should be able to get scheduled sooner. Yes ma’am!  I am willing to drive.  She schedules my follow up with her for May 7.  Three weeks away.  More Hurry Up and Wait.

        They didn’t call me to schedule the scan appointments.  They just sent me a mychart message letting me know they were scheduled.  For May 8th.  The day AFTER my follow up with Dr Ram-a-lam-a-ding-dong.  What the frig are we going to follow up on if there’s nothing to follow up on?  What a pain in the ass.  I mean boob.  AND it’s THREE WEEKS away.  I discovered this lump back in February.  That will be May already.  

It’s afterhours when I get that message, so I can’t call yet.  There’s no option to reschedule online (these are scans, not just regular appointments, so I don’t have the direct line or secret passcode to unlock the rescheduling capabilities).  More waiting.

        I call the nurse during business hours and have to leave a message.  Thankfully she calls me back within 15 minutes.  

        “Easy fix,” she says in reference to my scans being scheduled THREE weeks out.  “We’ll push your follow up to May 16th.”  NOOOO!  This is going in the wrong direction!

        I explain the expeditious nature of my situation.  “The doctor said ‘not to delay’ and that if I’m willing to travel, we can get scheduled sooner.”  The nurse said she would consult the doctor, but for now we’ll schedule May 16th.  More hurry up and wait.

        As I am writing this, the scheduler just called me to see if we can move the CT and Bone scans up.  “There’s one in Northern Uppity Town on Monday morning.  You’d need to be there at 8 AM.” Ewwwww.  Northern Uppity Town is on the other side of the erff from me (that’s Tyler the Creator’s way of saying earth).  I would literally have to take like 4 highways to get there.  It would be 40 miles, but like 40 years in Atlanta-traffic-involving-285 speak.  AND not to mention that my plastic surgeon appointment is at 3:45 PM that same day.  In West Bumble Butt.  Which is like 20 miles west of Northern Uppity Town, but still 45 miles from my house.

        Long pause.

        “Is there anything on Thursday?” I ask, in hopes of avoiding a humongous zigzag across the state of Georgia on Monday.

        “Oh, wow.  God is on your side today, Miss Melissa!  An opening just came available only 20 miles away in Outside-the-Perimeter Town on Tuesday.  2 PM with an arrival time of 1:30 PM.”

“I’ll take it!” Then I realize I’m tutoring in-person on Tuesday.  At 5 PM.  In Outside-the-Perimeter Town.  I tell the scheduler that.

        “God really has you.  And we have a bone scan on Monday at 9 AM at the Right Down the Street Hospital. Now, with the bone scan, you have to come in the morning for the injection, and then 3 hours later come back for the scan. So that would be 9 AM and 11:55 AM.” That’s like 6 miles away from my house.  I have to move my 1 PM student, and I still have to hike to friggin West Bumble Butt for the consultation with the implant people in the afternoon, but daaaaaang! That’s what I call serendipity!  

        I didn’t ask what the scans entail, but I’m sure they can’t compare to my skewered-to-the-table-by-my-boob scan.  I mean my MRI-guided biopsy.  And I will most definitely glow in the dark by Tuesday night.