Goodbye, July.
Nearly a month later, I finally have my car back from the shop. And now I can officially say goodbye to the July that will go down in history as perhaps the most unfortunate month in my life. TMI warnings for the content of this post.
I already shared that July 1st was the day of the news. And July 3rd was the closing of the new house, which is largely positive, although we spent all of the downtime (while paperwork was triple checked) making phone calls to oncology offices to get in for new patient consults. And though getting keys is always a good thing, no one is excited to hemorrhage money at a house closing. I digress.
July 4th was the day of the move. Yes, a holiday. It was a 16 hour move, and we moved five miles up the road. I cannot make that up. Granted, we didn't have nearly enough stuff packed, thanks to everything we were dealing with in the lead up. But we paid the movers for packing a few hours the day before the move, and...well, there were five of them and 16 hours is just absurd. I felt for everyone carrying out the bulk of the labor.
On July 5th, I had my MRI. It was fine and I likely didn't need the valium they gave me in preparation (should have saved it for the bone scan). I requested copies of the images, as required by the oncologists I would be visiting in the coming weeks. They told me to come back in an hour, so we escaped for a nice lunch and I took the opportunity to request copies of all of my radiology records. That was the first time I saw my actual pathology report and addendum. I read that I was positive for estrogen and progesterone receptors, and the HER2-neu protein. Triple positive. My immediate question was: what about all the soy I've been eating? And then my second question was, "WHAT ABOUT THIS MIRENA?!"
Months before my body drove me to my OB's office to be checked for a cyst, it had driven me to my OB's office to talk about the heavy and irregular bleeding I had been experiencing. I tried going on a low estrogen birth control to manage it, and within 30 days, I knew it was a bad idea. I told the doctor that I didn't like how it was making me feel: a little more anxious and irritated and emotional and a host of other things. That was sign one: my body told me this estrogen infusing me was bad. Then I decided to try the Mirena. There were promises of extended periods of no bleeding with the Mirena after your body acclimated. My body didn't acclimate. I had two months of becoming iron deficient. This was sign two: my body told me this progesterone infusing me was bad. But it was still in place as I read this report telling me that both tumors are fed by estrogen and progesterone. And not a little bit: the larger tumor was 90% receptive to estrogen and 80% receptive to progesterone and the other was 80/60. Imagine if my body didn't give me signs! I immediately called my OB's office and requested removal, and miraculously they got me in 30 minutes later while we were in the area.
I will say, there was a highlight on this day: when we went back for the MRI discs, my report was already completed and signed off by the radiologist, and I could see that the MRI detected no other evidence of disease in my breasts, lymph nodes, or chest wall, which was fantastic.
So fast forward three days, I was attempting to travel to Charlotte. I know, I know. Why would I be trying to travel in the midst of a life-changing diagnosis and a brand new move into a house. The answer is that I had been invited to the my employer's Black Executive Leadership Summit for the first time. I was ecstatic, and loathe to miss a tremendous opportunity. I went to the airport...and began having extraordinarily heavy bleeding. I will spare all of the gory details, but by the time I threw in the towel and called my doctor, I was on my third pair of pants at the airport. Not surprisingly, my doctor said I did not need to be traveling and needed to come in to be seen.
And so on July 8th, I was not only leaving the airport and missing this big opportunity, but I found myself getting an ultrasound and then an endometrial biopsy to look into the small mass identified in my uterine lining. Seriously. Two biopsies in nearly as many weeks. (Thankfully that biopsy was clear and the mass appears to be a polyp.)
The following week on July 15th, 16th, and 18th I was inundated with oncology appointments: surgical oncologist 1, medical oncologist 1, blood work, surgical oncologist 2. Hours of critical appointments and information dumping.
Then Saturday, July 20th, I was driving Vivian to swim lessons. I had come up to a light that was briefly red and turned green, but the car in front of me was not moving. I was stopped long enough to wonder why the car wasn't moving, why she didn't have her turn signal on, and question whether I should go around her...and I was slammed from behind. The truck hit me hard enough to propel me into the car in front of me. To this day, I'm not sure what happened other than I had seen the truck in my rear view mirror probably 100 yards behind me last I had checked. Who knows. The car in front said she had been waiting for a bike to clear her path before driving. Thankfully, everyone stayed until the police arrived and took statements, but I was a mess. I was shaking and trying to hold and console a wailing, scared three year old who was traumatized that her breakfast had gone flying and her knee hurt. A nice woman stopped to make sure we were okay, and offered snacks to Vivi. She assured me that everything would be okay, and I started sobbing: "I know it will, but I was just diagnosed with breast cancer and this is too much." She didn't falter, and said "I know it seems like a lot, but it's all in God's hands." And as soon as she showed up, she left. Vivi and I were checked out at the hospital due to some pain post-accident, and suddenly I was managing car accident logistics on top of making critical medical decisions that would affect my next year. No pressure at all!
Just six days later, on July 26th, I was going in for the surgical procedure to have my port placed. For some reason, I didn't grasp that it would be as big of a deal as it was. It was fine, but I had trouble dealing with the anesthesia and was incredibly nauseous after the procedure and had a brutal recovery, sending us back to the ER to deal with horrible tape and gauze reactions.
To round out the month, July 29th was my echocardiogram (thankfully all clear), and July 31st was "chemo class," in which I learned in detail about all of the horrible side effects I would be expected to endure during chemo.
Needless to say, greeting my now beautiful car yesterday - nearly a month after the accident - was a breath of fresh air and an opportunity to close the chapter on the Month I'd Like to Forget. But since there is no living in the past, I will just express gratitude that today is August 17th. And not still July.
I already shared that July 1st was the day of the news. And July 3rd was the closing of the new house, which is largely positive, although we spent all of the downtime (while paperwork was triple checked) making phone calls to oncology offices to get in for new patient consults. And though getting keys is always a good thing, no one is excited to hemorrhage money at a house closing. I digress.
July 4th was the day of the move. Yes, a holiday. It was a 16 hour move, and we moved five miles up the road. I cannot make that up. Granted, we didn't have nearly enough stuff packed, thanks to everything we were dealing with in the lead up. But we paid the movers for packing a few hours the day before the move, and...well, there were five of them and 16 hours is just absurd. I felt for everyone carrying out the bulk of the labor.
On July 5th, I had my MRI. It was fine and I likely didn't need the valium they gave me in preparation (should have saved it for the bone scan). I requested copies of the images, as required by the oncologists I would be visiting in the coming weeks. They told me to come back in an hour, so we escaped for a nice lunch and I took the opportunity to request copies of all of my radiology records. That was the first time I saw my actual pathology report and addendum. I read that I was positive for estrogen and progesterone receptors, and the HER2-neu protein. Triple positive. My immediate question was: what about all the soy I've been eating? And then my second question was, "WHAT ABOUT THIS MIRENA?!"
Months before my body drove me to my OB's office to be checked for a cyst, it had driven me to my OB's office to talk about the heavy and irregular bleeding I had been experiencing. I tried going on a low estrogen birth control to manage it, and within 30 days, I knew it was a bad idea. I told the doctor that I didn't like how it was making me feel: a little more anxious and irritated and emotional and a host of other things. That was sign one: my body told me this estrogen infusing me was bad. Then I decided to try the Mirena. There were promises of extended periods of no bleeding with the Mirena after your body acclimated. My body didn't acclimate. I had two months of becoming iron deficient. This was sign two: my body told me this progesterone infusing me was bad. But it was still in place as I read this report telling me that both tumors are fed by estrogen and progesterone. And not a little bit: the larger tumor was 90% receptive to estrogen and 80% receptive to progesterone and the other was 80/60. Imagine if my body didn't give me signs! I immediately called my OB's office and requested removal, and miraculously they got me in 30 minutes later while we were in the area.
I will say, there was a highlight on this day: when we went back for the MRI discs, my report was already completed and signed off by the radiologist, and I could see that the MRI detected no other evidence of disease in my breasts, lymph nodes, or chest wall, which was fantastic.
So fast forward three days, I was attempting to travel to Charlotte. I know, I know. Why would I be trying to travel in the midst of a life-changing diagnosis and a brand new move into a house. The answer is that I had been invited to the my employer's Black Executive Leadership Summit for the first time. I was ecstatic, and loathe to miss a tremendous opportunity. I went to the airport...and began having extraordinarily heavy bleeding. I will spare all of the gory details, but by the time I threw in the towel and called my doctor, I was on my third pair of pants at the airport. Not surprisingly, my doctor said I did not need to be traveling and needed to come in to be seen.
And so on July 8th, I was not only leaving the airport and missing this big opportunity, but I found myself getting an ultrasound and then an endometrial biopsy to look into the small mass identified in my uterine lining. Seriously. Two biopsies in nearly as many weeks. (Thankfully that biopsy was clear and the mass appears to be a polyp.)
The following week on July 15th, 16th, and 18th I was inundated with oncology appointments: surgical oncologist 1, medical oncologist 1, blood work, surgical oncologist 2. Hours of critical appointments and information dumping.
Then Saturday, July 20th, I was driving Vivian to swim lessons. I had come up to a light that was briefly red and turned green, but the car in front of me was not moving. I was stopped long enough to wonder why the car wasn't moving, why she didn't have her turn signal on, and question whether I should go around her...and I was slammed from behind. The truck hit me hard enough to propel me into the car in front of me. To this day, I'm not sure what happened other than I had seen the truck in my rear view mirror probably 100 yards behind me last I had checked. Who knows. The car in front said she had been waiting for a bike to clear her path before driving. Thankfully, everyone stayed until the police arrived and took statements, but I was a mess. I was shaking and trying to hold and console a wailing, scared three year old who was traumatized that her breakfast had gone flying and her knee hurt. A nice woman stopped to make sure we were okay, and offered snacks to Vivi. She assured me that everything would be okay, and I started sobbing: "I know it will, but I was just diagnosed with breast cancer and this is too much." She didn't falter, and said "I know it seems like a lot, but it's all in God's hands." And as soon as she showed up, she left. Vivi and I were checked out at the hospital due to some pain post-accident, and suddenly I was managing car accident logistics on top of making critical medical decisions that would affect my next year. No pressure at all!
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| Before |
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| After |
Just six days later, on July 26th, I was going in for the surgical procedure to have my port placed. For some reason, I didn't grasp that it would be as big of a deal as it was. It was fine, but I had trouble dealing with the anesthesia and was incredibly nauseous after the procedure and had a brutal recovery, sending us back to the ER to deal with horrible tape and gauze reactions.
To round out the month, July 29th was my echocardiogram (thankfully all clear), and July 31st was "chemo class," in which I learned in detail about all of the horrible side effects I would be expected to endure during chemo.
Needless to say, greeting my now beautiful car yesterday - nearly a month after the accident - was a breath of fresh air and an opportunity to close the chapter on the Month I'd Like to Forget. But since there is no living in the past, I will just express gratitude that today is August 17th. And not still July.
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| Surgeon's description of my port procedure |
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