A tale of two boobs: Part 3
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.
- Mammogram tech #1, Wendy, who took my initial films
- Mammogram tech #2, who likes Enya, and was there when the dick radiologist told me that it was probably cancer
- Cancer surgeon, who is wonderful but looked at me like I was an injured puppy
- Cancer surgeon’s resident, the first dude to touch my boobs in a medical way
- Radiologist who did my first biopsy
- Radiologist’s helper
- Mammogram tech #3, who took the films showing the little metal clip they left to mark my biopsy site
- MRI tech, who was pretty cool
- Physician’s assistant who was in charge of my second biopsy, disappointingly impersonal
- Some other girl who was helping with the MRI-guided biopsy, no idea what her qualifications were
- Mammogram tech #4, who did a cool digital mammogram and showed me the pictures on her computer
- Radiation oncologist, dude #2, who is an excellent doctor
- 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.
I’ve been checking back daily for a status report. I’m definitely still thinking about you. I’m glad you have so much family/friends to support you with this. Will they be removing both breasts?
Comment by Lorie — 6/4/2008 @ 8:21 am
Well, I suppose I should begin by saying that even though I have never met you, I feel like I have known you for a long time. I have commented here before, and I have read your blog since maybe 2000 or 2001 back when we were both in IB. You always have such a tremendous outlook on things, and though I am sure you are still in shock about all of this, you seem to be looking at your situation with a clear head. I’ve been thinking about you since you first posted about this, and I will continue to pray for peace, calm, and a speedy recovery for you.
Comment by Tiffany — 6/4/2008 @ 2:07 pm
Hi, Katie–I only met you briefly at Jeff Butts’ birthday party last year, and just found out your situation today. My thoughts are with you ;)
Comment by Dave Sparks — 6/4/2008 @ 7:55 pm
I had colon cancer at 23–it was terrifying and I found out later just how much of a miracle it was that I am still alive today. I am just one of many miracle stories and it sounds like you will be one of them! I am now 37! I know it is not the same thing, but I can relate to the fear and the vanity in having your body marked with scars & having to go through chemotherapy. I, too, do not personally know you, but will keep you in my prayers. This will be a challenging journey for you, but stay positive . . that helps a lot. Try the Law of Attraction & lean on friends & family for support! Best wishes from a cancer surviver!
Comment by Jennifer — 6/7/2008 @ 12:10 am
My dear Katie, darling, I am so so sorry and wish you all the best. Know that your crazy friend, though far away in Istanbul, is thinking about you A LOT and wishing and hoping everyday that things for you are easy.
Comment by Barbara — 6/11/2008 @ 10:13 am
I have endometrial cancer. They caught it very early, so they say. I had convulsions with a still unknown cause last November for a week. That’s how they found the cancer, looking for a cause for them. It had nothing to do with the cancer, which is too small to do anything about. I’m still scheduled for more tests of God knows what, I lost track. Sometime this fall they will get rid of my bit of cancer, hopefully. They are too worried about the convulsions to bother with the uterus.They also found a heart murmur, thyroid trouble, COPD, a kidney stone (don’t fall off a horse in the middle of a field onto the only stone in the field, it does wonders for your kidney), blood clots and a corn under my left little toe. I take enough pills now that it looks like a smorgasbord in front of me in the morning. You’re young, you’ll be fine. Good luck, kid.
Comment by Kathy — 6/12/2008 @ 12:03 pm
How strange. I was brought here by StumbleUpon of all things, only to find out that we live in the same city and likely went to the same high school judging by your IB involvement.
I hope you don’t mind a more-or-less random person encroaching on your space here, but I hope everything goes smoothly and you come out okay.
Comment by Angelique — 6/14/2008 @ 3:25 am
Hope you don’t mind a comment from a random lurker. Yours was the first Blog that I ran across, some years ago, when I first found out what the heck a Blog was, so I check in on it now and then. I’m really sorry to hear what you’re having to deal with right now. Trust me I know about dealing with Doctors and Medical issues and all that it entails, I’ve been at it for a long time. I guess I just wanted to say I wish you all the best. Keep your head up, keep your heart true, keep on being who you are. While I’m not a particularly Religious person, my prayers are with you. I’ve found (the hard way) sometimes there’s really something to that. Whatever…I wish you well and just keep believing. Best regards, JD
Comment by JD — 6/18/2008 @ 8:28 pm
I can’t imagine what you’re going through. But I hope everything turns out well for you. I’ll be checking back. :) Hope you’re ok.
Comment by Jenny — 6/22/2008 @ 4:35 pm
Well I came here from StumbleUpon and I’m glad I did as your experience is certainly putting some things into perspective. You are two years older than me and I have no idea how I would feel if I was in your position. Best of luck to you from me, in Northern Ireland.
Comment by Cat — 6/23/2008 @ 6:59 pm
I’m not gonna blow sunshine up your ass, nor describe my sorrow for your condition (It sounds like enough people have done that before me)
I’m gonna tell you that scars are tattoos with better stories, and that painted china dolls are boring.
I’m gonna remind you of the title of your blog. It’s not “Here on Katie’s Tits”, now is it? All the moronic bimbos have boobs – you’ve got something those idiots don’t even know exists, let alone are able to comprehend.
You’re smart, funny, and – perhaps the best comment I can give – you are interesting.
Comment by dave — 6/23/2008 @ 10:35 pm
found you via stumble upon. praying for positive outcome and peace for you.
Comment by Peapodsquadmom — 6/24/2008 @ 6:52 pm
Used to read your blog every day several years ago and stumbled upon it again today. Sorry you have cancer. I hope things go well.
Comment by ben — 6/25/2008 @ 1:52 pm