Two weeks post-op, and I head back to Rochester go for a few days of fun filled follow-up visits. I’m still under restrictions, so I cannot drive myself there. Both Brian and my Mother-In-Law tag team chauffeur duties. The first appointment is with my Surgical team to check my post-op progress. The second is with my Oncology team to discuss my pathology report and further treatment. The third is with Radiology to discuss potential radiation. The forth is with Plastic Surgery to go over my Reconstructive options. The fifth is back to the Surgical team to remove my drain. And the sixth is back to Plastic Surgery to begin the first stage of the reconstruction process.
During the follow-up with surgical team, they toss me the standard line of questioning regarding my physical condition, and examines my surgical sight. I am healing like a champ, no signs of infection or distress. They are satisfied with the results of the robotic mastectomy. I am a Blue Ribbon, text book case study for the robotic clinical trial. They are content with handing me over to Plastics to handle my “body work”. I am cleared to proceed with reconstructive surgery…YES!
Next is a visit with Oncology to go over Lumpty Dumpty’s full pathology report. A barrage of fancy terminology and numbers: Word Salad with a splash of Math Vinaigrette. To put it simply, my numbers are good. So good in fact, that there is no benefit to chemotherapy. My tumor, although the invasive type, had only spread to 1 auxiliary lymph node which was also removed during surgery. There is no cancer left over for Chemotherapy to kill-off, rendering it unnecessary. I can undergo chemo as an extra precaution if I choose so, but it won’t affect my odds much. My rate of recurrence WITH chemotherapy is 3%. My rate of recurrence WITHOUT chemotherapy is 4%. That 1% difference is not enough for me to justify putting my body through that shit. I witnessed what chemotherapy did to my Mother. Her body wasted away, she lost her hair, she lost her strength, she lost her quality of life, and the cancer still killed her. Knowing the hell my Mom endured, I am elated to discover that chemotherapy is not in my cards. The Oncology team informs me that I may need radiation to kill off any remaining cancer cells that may be lingering in my artpit area. Radiology would need to run my numbers to determine this.
Oncology informs me that endocrine therapy is the next logical step, considering my Cancer is receptive to estrogen. They explain that my cancer feeds off estrogen, so they want to stop my estrogen production as a preventative measure. The easiest way to do this, is to stop my ovarian function. I undergo a blood test to determine my estrogen levels and my menopausal stage. My bloodwork reveals that I’m pumping out copious amounts of Estrogen. I essentially have the ovaries of a 20 year old…which seems odd considering I’m 47. As a result, I am prescribed a drug called Goserelin: an implant placed in my abdomen every 12 weeks which shuts down my ovaries. With the Goserelin, I’m literally being put into a state of medically induced menopause…hot flashing my pant off. I’m also prescribed a daily oral pill called Tamoxifen, an estrogen blocker, which I am to take for the next 10 years. My Oncology team explains that my body will be entering into a menopausal state very fast, and that my symptoms will be hard & fast compared to that of a woman entering natural menopause. On my behalf, they schedule an appointment with the Women’s Clinic at Mayo, explaining that they will be able to help me through the process. I do not qualify for hormone replacement for obvious reasons, but there are other treatments to ease my symptoms if they become problematic. Hearing this freaks me out a bit, until I consider the alternative: chemotherapy. The way I see it, menopause is a natural part of a woman’s life cycle. I will hit that biological milestone at some point regardless, so I might as well get it over with early. I’d much rather deal with an inevitable process like menopause than rot away on chemotherapy.
Next up is a visit to Radiology. They throw a bunch of calculations at me, which sound very similar to Oncologies Math Salad. Their numbers add up to me NOT needing radiation…hell yeah! Much like the chemotherapy determination, the benefit of Radiation is so minuscule, that it’s not even worth putting my body through it.
I immediately recognize my good fortune amidst this gutter of bad luck: no chemo, no radiation, low chance of recurrence, and a high survival rate. I’m not taking it for granted.
A few days later I meet with my Plastic Surgery team. I only want to be restored to my original size, to look like cancer never even happened. The Plastic Surgeon informed that she would have a hard time making my new breast match my existing breast due to my small size. The simplest route would be to add a small implant in my existing breast to make it symmetrical with my future new breast, so I would be a larger size regardless. I can go as large as I please, as large as I’m comfortable with. I don’t need to settle on a size yet, as I still need to go through the expansion process. To explain the expansion process, I need to backtrack a bit. During my mastectomy, after my breast tissue was removed, a tissue expander was placed where my breast used to be. This expander is inflated with saline in stages to slowly stretch the skin to make room for the final implant. I return to Mayo every 2-3 weeks to get my expander inflated until I’m satisfied with the size.
Learning that I can pick my new breast size rocks my world a bit. I’ve always been content with my tiny boobs. So small, they don’t even fill an A cup…if they were to be graded, they’d get an A minus. My tiny boobs never got in the way. I didn’t need to wear a bra. The only reason I wore a bra at all was to keep my nipples from being noticeable through my shirt when I was cold. I never considered anything different…until now. After a discussion with my husband, I decide that the prospect of a new set of big, beautiful breasts is a consolation prize for cancer taking away what I once had, my silver lining. Go Large or Go Home!
A few days later I return to meet with the surgical team to have my drain removed, followed by another appointment with Plastic Surgery for my first expander inflation. My Mother-In-Law, Janet, did the driving this particular day, which was very sweet of her considering she hates driving in cities as large as Rochester. While sitting in the waiting room, we joked around about my last moments with my Love Sack. I asked Janet if she wanted to give my Love Sack a farewell squeeze, which she did…and, of course, I had to take a photo of!
Unfortunately, Janet was having issues with her leg, rendering her nearly unable to walk after while..and there is a lot of walking to be had at Mayo Clinic. I found a wheelchair for her. We laughed at the irony: I’m the patient, yet she’s the one in the wheelchair.
After finishing up with my appointments, I treated my Mother-in-Law to Victoria’s Italian Restaurant to show my appreciation for driving me around and keeping my company. We had such a good time hanging out, in spite of the circumstances. I’m lucky to have her! Love you, Ma!