Surreal (Or What It Felt Like to Get My Breast Cancer Diagnosis)

In May 2023 I noticed some left breast tenderness. Not to worry, I told myself. My mammogram and ultrasound in January had been completely negative. I figured I was probably just consuming too much caffeine and vowed to back off of my coffee intake. After all, I have been a physician assistant for over 20 years now. No need to panic. I just needed to give it a little time to resolve on its own. But by June there was an obvious lump and I decided to schedule some imaging. My appointment for a diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound was set up for August 30th, so I vowed not to worry and go about life as planned.

August 30th rolled around and I went to my appointment at OU Breast Imaging. I met a fabulous physician doing her fellowship. She radiated joy. We chatted as she conducted my ultrasound and as I watched her, her brow furrowed. She grew more serious. And I knew.

Luckily I was able to have a biopsy the same day as my imaging. As I prepared for the procedure, I was in the room alone. As the tears came, I steadied my breathing and just prayed. I visualized friends in the room with me, their arms around me, calming me. Six punch biopsies later, I was reunited with my husband. We discussed the possibilities...and then, because I am a foodie, I took solace with food at Velvet Taco. Tacos are never the wrong answer.

Several days later my pathology results were in. Invasive Ductal Carcinoma. I still had to wait on a few more markers to know if hormone receptors were involved, so a surgical consult was arranged. Everything was moving rapid fire. I told the people closest to me, but I wasn't ready for my children to know, so I kept my news guarded until I had more information. The day I saw my surgeon the information came across that I had triple negative invasive ductal carcinoma which was aggressive. I was told I was stage IIb due to the size of the mass and possible involvement of an axillary lymph node. Based on this information, it was determined that I would start chemotherapy before having surgery to remove the cancer. My surgeon told me to see two different medical oncologists before deciding on which one to see for my treatment. She also had me leave a saliva sample for genetic testing. After talking all day, my mouth was dry. I had been in a conference room with the surgeon, a nurse, my husband and my close friend. I made them all leave the conference room, because I wasn't about to let all of them watch me try to spit in a test tube!

Just a few days later I was scheduled with the first of two medical oncologists to consult about chemotherapy. The first oncologist I knew from reputation. She was firm and direct. I loved her immediately. She explained that she helped set up the oncology program in my hometown. She said the treatment protocol for triple negative breast cancer would be the same no matter where I went for treatment. She suggested I seek treatment in my hometown to reduce travel. She then explained all of the preliminary imaging that I would need prior to chemotherapy and she referred me to have a port placed for treatment. She told me to explain everything to my kids, and then go cut my hair really short just to prepare myself for the hair loss that would begin after a few chemo treatments. And then I cried. I cried because I want my kids to feel safe and live with as little fear as possible. I cried because I didn't want them to see their mom look ill. Then, I remembered to ask about the Disney World trip that we had planned for the second week of October. I was afraid the oncologist would tell me that we shouldn't go. She emphasized that she wanted me to have at least one chemo treatment before leaving for the vacation, but otherwise I could go with my family as planned. My friend Joni drove me back to her house after the appointment. Before I left her house to drive home she grabbed me by the shoulders and gave me a stern look in the eye. "You call me, day or night, anytime you need me. I mean it," she said. She knows me. She knows I'll try to be as brave as I can for as long as I can. Awkward joking. Don't let anyone see me cry.

A few days later I saw the oncologist who practiced in my hometown. He reiterated the same protocol of chemotherapy. Dates for imaging of my bones, chest, abdomen and brain were scheduled. I met my team of amazing oncology nurses. Then I had to plan on how to tell my children, extended family and my friends. I decided to live as close to normal as I could. We took family photos. I told my children one at a time and explained I would lose my hair. I then scheduled my hair for a pixie cut and allowed my daughter to help cut it. I had my shrubby eyebrows tattooed because I couldn't imagine my face without them.

A procedure was arranged to have a port placed to use for my treatments. Then the first chemotherapy was arranged the week prior to our Disney vacation. I was given standard pre-medication of Dexamethasone along with an anti-emetic and oral Benadryl. Immunotherapy with Keytruda, a tri-weekly treatment, was started. Then Taxol and Cisplatin, the first chemotherapy agents, were administered back to back. I was to have the chemotherapy agents once a week over the course of twelve weeks, then switch to two different chemotherapy agents. My face became puffy and rosy within the first few days after treatment...and the abdominal bloating. No one mentioned the bloating!

Disney World happened. Roller coaster rides felt necessary. I immersed myself in its vibe. Then we came home. My family unloaded the car and went inside. I stayed back. I needed a cry because I knew it was time for the bigger challenges. None of it felt real...and one year later, I still feel like I am off script...like I wandered into someone else's story.

Getting hugged by a Wookiee ALWAYS helps!!