Yesterday I saw the surgeon who is temporarily replacing my previous surgeon. My friend Eileen came with me, taking notes expertly, and we were both impressed. He’s got great bedside manner coming out of his ears – he’s funny, and reassuring but honest. He said I could live another year, 10 years or 20 years depending on whether the cancer responds to treatment. I also spent a long time with a lovely nurse, and then, to my great delight, with the breast clinic’s new patient navigator. Last fall I wrote an article for MORE magazine about patient navigators, and mentioned that Ontario had very few, but they’re starting to pop up and I’m happy to have one available to me now. They operate differently in different jurisdictions – this one is working with patients only through their diagnoses, not through treatment -- but their role is to act as a single point of contact with patients, to educate, troubleshoot, liaise with other health-care providers and be available to answer questions. I’ve already had cause to get in touch with her a couple of times, to ask whether I could restart my anti-inflammatory drugs after my biopsy, and to get advice on bleeding, and reaching her was a lot easier than trying to get through to a doctor.
So – the surgery to remove the mass in my armpit will take place on Thursday, January 29. It promises to be more painful than the breast lumpectomy was five years ago, and I’ll need a month to recover. I’ll have a drain – God, that sounds yucky – that will have to be checked daily by a nurse for a week or so (I think), and I won’t be able to do any lifting for some time. When I had my lumpectomy five years ago, they removed only one lymph node (a relatively new technique then called sentinel-node biopsy), so I didn’t have to endure much arm pain or a drain or long recovery time (as I recall, I threw a Halloween party about five days after surgery). This will be a tougher one.
To prevent bruising, I could stop taking my NSAID, but that’s up to me – I’m not sure I could tolerate more back pain in addition to arm pain, and codeine really gums up your system. I asked about mastectomy, and the surgeon said he’d happily do it at the same time because he’d make more money (doctor comedy), but he feels that since mastectomy would require even longer recovery time, it would impede getting on with the next treatment stage, and trying to get rid of those bone tumours is more important at this point.
Contrary to what I wrote yesterday, he does not think it’s a good idea to try to shrink the tumour before removing it. He says if they’re going to radiate my armpit (which I still doubt is an option anyway), it’s better to do it after the tumour is gone so that the rest of the area can be fully covered.
I pointed out to him that my left breast has for some months looked kind of discoloured and veiny, something I chose to ignore. He explained that that is probably because of the tumour – the lymph drainage is impaired in that area. I can’t believe no doctor noticed this, and I didn’t tell anyone. Maybe I did, but I can’t recall.
So as soon as I'm healed, they'll start throwing all kinds of chemo and radiation at me for God knows how long -- I'll have a better idea in a week or two. Looks like I’ll be off work for several months. The chemo that my oncologist mentioned last week will definitely cause me to lose my hair, and one of the side effects is bone pain! Figure that one out. I may also get peripheral neuropathy (I won’t be able to feel my feet). But she says I might not throw up too much. I’ll believe that when I see it.
I’m not sure whether I will use this forum to write about my feelings and attitudes right now, but I’ve decided that I’m going to regularly record a “Pollyanna moment.” I have learned that all the clichés about positive thinking, half-empty/half-full glasses, etc., stop seeming like clichés when you are really up against a diagnosis like this. Like many breast-cancer patients, I don’t believe it’s all pink ribbons and heroic stories and inspirational poetry and women giggling over wigs and eyebrow pencils. But when the choice is between succumbing to despair, fear and pain, and taking some hope from the strength of people like Erika Heller, whom I interviewed for Look Good Feel Better magazine last year (see page 62) or focusing on silly, nice things that might slip by during an otherwise bad day, I am finding the latter to be preferable. Even though many of my friends complain that I’m a doomsaying fatalist. I have always needed to walk up to the edge of the cliff and take a look, but I don’t have much of a taste for hanging out on the ledge for any length of time. I simply like to acknowledge the grim possibilities (I was a Girl Guide), have a rough plan in my mind for all of them, and then retreat into the now as much as I can. My anxiety level is high right now, and concentrating on my Pollyanna moments really helps, so there you go.
Pollyanna moments yesterday:
- The surgeon was a laugh-riot, standing there in his parka and looking like the janitor (apparently he’s very skilled at his cutting).
- Eileen was a rock, and we went out to Golden Thai for dinner afterward while the snow was drifting softly over the city, and for once Eileen probably ate more than I did. We love the chandeliers in that restaurant. The combination of the light inside the room, all green and warm, and the snow outside was exquisite.
- Yesterday at 8 a.m. the doorbell rang and it was my house cleaner – I had got my dates mixed up and wasn’t expecting her for another week. So my house is clean.
- The patient navigator was a treat, and looked stunning in black suede high-heeled boots and a fetching red suit.
- My 13-year-old neighbour plans to come over after school and help me out (“I’m good at cutting vegetables,” he told me).
- So many people have phoned and emailed and offered to help me out.
- My friend Liz invited me to watch the inauguration today. Go, Obama!
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment