It’s been a flurry of doctors and appointments and information and being asked whether I have any questions and being too overwhelmed to think of anything to ask.
I walked into this thinking I’d follow the same route my mother did: biopsy, lumpectomy, radiation. And then suddenly my doctor says, “well, we don’t want to give a 24-year-old radiation. That’s dangerous.”
And then she said, “mastectomy,” and the world froze.
But the more I thought about it, the more clear it was that I had only one way to escape this nightmare. And now I look in the mirror every day and think about how there are only a few more days until I don’t look like this anymore.
For my own amusement, I have kept a tally of how many people have touched at least one of my boobs during this whole ordeal.
1. Mammogram tech #1, Wendy, who took my initial films
2. Mammogram tech #2, who likes Enya, and was there when the dick radiologist told me that it was probably cancer
3. Cancer surgeon, who is wonderful but looked at me like I was an injured puppy
4. Cancer surgeon’s resident, the first dude to touch my boobs in a medical way
5. Radiologist who did my first biopsy
6. Radiologist’s helper
7. Mammogram tech #3, who took the films showing the little metal clip they left to mark my biopsy site
8. MRI tech, who was pretty cool
9. Physician’s assistant who was in charge of my second biopsy, disappointingly impersonal
10. Some other girl who was helping with the MRI-guided biopsy, no idea what her qualifications were
11. Mammogram tech #4, who did a cool digital mammogram and showed me the pictures on her computer
12. Radiation oncologist, dude #2, who is an excellent doctor
13. Plastic surgeon, dude #3, is very talented even if he didn’t let me talk very much
It’s possible there was another MRI tech in there, but I couldn’t really see what all was going on that day. This list entertained me more when I started it. Now it just reminds me how complicated having cancer is.
The first biopsy came back bad. High-grade ductal carcinoma in situ. It hasn’t spread, but it’s definitely cancer.
They did a second biopsy, mostly out of paranoia, and that was clean. That’s been my one shred of good news.
Next Tuesday, I check into the hospital. I feel like I’m not ready, but I have no clue how to ready myself. How does a 24-year-old ready herself to have her breasts removed? I feel like I’ve done all the research I can. I’ve got the support of all my friends and family and coworkers.
But I still feel alone and in the dark.
I just want it to be over. I want to be done with surgery. I want to breeze through the months of appointments with the plastic surgeon. I want time to speed up and this stupid year to be over.
