First Day of Chemo

 I made it, people!  The first day of chemo is over.  I survived and am feeling fine, so I'm off to a good start.  Now I'll just wait and see what happens after the Zofran and steroid potion wears off!

Today was the first day I've seen the scar from the port insertion.  I pulled the surgical strips off and still have quite a bit of bruising and swelling. 

 I was instructed to put a lidocaine cream over the port site 2 hours prior to coming for chemo and to just cover it with saran wrap.  I'm lucky enough that Stephen has a bunch of medical stuff in his "zombie apocalypse" stash of supplies, so my "saran wrap" was a bit more official looking.   

It almost felt like the first day of school--nervous feeling, new outfit, up early to get ready, new bag packed, took a picture by the front door, and my mommy got to take me.  {Even though I nearly insisted on going by myself--seriously, I just felt like I would be fine.  My mom tried to get me to let her go yesterday, but I took comfort in knowing she would be with the boys.  Later that evening, my Relief Society President, Lynette, called and just told me she couldn't shake the feeling that I shouldn't go alone.  She would drive me.  She practically insisted, explaining that she was NOT able to feel at peace with me going by myself.  I'm learning to let go and receive help, so I explained that my mom had already told me about her similar feelings and wanted to go.  Lynette offered to watch the boys so my mom could drive me to the appointment. As Lynette explained today, "the spirit just kept working on me, and something about you going alone didn't feel right.  I honestly had so many things going on today and kept trying to push the thought away since you told me that's what you wanted and that you'd be fine, but I just felt sick about it.  Once I knew I'd be coming over here, the day just opened up and everything was fine.  The Lord is watching out for you in more ways than you even know."}    

 We made it to the office and waited just a few minutes to figure out my cost for the day.  {The power went out right when I was called up to the desk, which was a little weird.  Maybe a sign?}

My vitals were taken--
BP 118/77
Weight: 173
{I forget the others}
That's my baseline pre-chemo.  It will be interesting to see the changes.

I chose the corner chair.

I only felt a small prink, like a tiny shot when the needle was inserted into my port.  No big deal.

Now, for the potions.
First, I received some steroids and nausea medicine.  I was feeling fine up to that point.  It felt a little warm and tingly in my abdomen.

Here's a picture of me at the start.  {I cracked up that my brother told me that "it basically looks like you're sipping pina coladas {virgin, of course} poolside.  Now all you need is a sun hat."}  It is kind of relaxing, and I can't feel guilty about the time it takes.  It's not like I'm going shopping or getting a massage and dropping the kids off with someone for no reason.  I get a little mommy's day out and can watch tv, read, blog, take a nap, play games, etc., but it's me time that is saving my life, not just frivolous activities. 

Potion #2: Benadryl.  This is to help my body deal with the Paclitaxel, which can have a high risk of reaction and anaphylaxis.  My doctor said that she will decrease the amount depending on how I react.  That's when I started to feel like my neck could no longer hold my held up.  I couldn't fight that feeling anymore, and I was OUT.  I think my mom said I slept for over an hour.  Deep, drooling sleep.  I tried to write a few things, read, and be a little productive, but that sleep potion took total control.  Here I am in my lounger, just minutes before getting some shut-eye. 

I had potion #3, Herceptin, while I was sleeping, so I have no idea if this affected me at all.

Then, I woke up, refreshed, and Dr. Naqvi came in to see me.  The first words out of her mouth were, "I have some good news!  Very good news.  The genetic tests came back negative!"  This means that my breast cancer was not caused by the BRCA1 or BRCA2 gene, as far as scientific research up to this point in time can tell.  It also means that my surgery options are not guaranteed to be a double mastectomy AND removal of the ovaries!  It ALSO means that my siblings and children are not encouraged to also have this expensive genetic test done because they are not considered to be at a high risk for this genetic type of cancer.  That is good news in many ways!  Thank you for your prayers on this result.  It is a great blessing, and a great relief to not only me, but my mom and many others who were worried about that.

Dr. Naqvi also explained that I shouldn't feel too bad with this chemo.  I probably would only need to take the Zofran for 2-3 days after chemo, and that my neuropathy probably wouldn't start for about 6 weeks, but she would give me some more potions at that time.

Lastly, came the Paclitaxel.  It felt warm throughout my chest.  Not painful, but I could just tell that something was moving through my body.  By this time, it was almost 1:00, so I was getting really hungry.  That was pretty much my only complaint.

They unhooked me, we packed my bags, and that was about it! 

I learned that I have to go in for a shot tomorrow and must have blood work done every week, a few days before chemo.   Man, they need to give me an itinerary for all of this stuff! 

All in all, it was pretty painless.  I'm feeling fine today.  I'm grateful for my warriors--those here with me physically and those with me in prayer.  Prayers are being answered daily, people.  It's humbling to get to witness such miracles and tender mercies on a day to day basis.

Pink Warriors

 How blessed I am to have such an amazing support system!  I know not everyone is as lucky as I am when they are going through these trials, and I am aware at what a silver lining that is in all of this.  All the positivity, prayers, texts, phone calls, emails, facebook messages/comments, cards, babysitting, meals, advice, flowers, and gifts has been overwhelming and so touching, not to mention a life preserver to lift me up on days when I'm weak.  As crazy as it sounds to some people, I also have this blog to get me through.  Not everyone deals with trials in this manner.  I know to some it seems weird to put myself out there like this and to share this process, but it's therapeutic for me.  I want to remember as many details as I can about this process and maybe be of some help to another young mother who will face similar trials in the future.  If I've learned anything in these 2 short weeks, it's how much we are connected as a human family, all brothers and sisters as children of our Heavenly Father.  This human experience is something we all share--in different circumstances and with different challenges, but we are all connected.  It's undeniable how much I've seen the time/distance/differences shrink and hearts of near strangers open up when we can connect through our experiences, especially in times of need.  It's so touching to feel that and to be a part of making even more connections.     

Last night--Chemo Eve--the doorbell rang around 7:45, as I was just finishing up dishes, about to put the boys {and myself} to bed before this chemo journey began.  I opened the door to see an army of friends on my doorstep, proudly displaying their pink-ribbon armor, with the theme song from "Rocky" playing.  It was awesome!

They brought me some battle weapons of a beautiful Vera Bradley breast cancer blanket and keychain, along with encouraging words and love from even more warriors who couldn't be standing by me on the battlefield at that moment, but were sending strength and prayers.   

You can tell I'm one tired warrior--but so happy and touched. 

Part of my pink sisters in battle to BTHO cancer!

Thanks so much.  As Stephen would say, "We can do this, America!"

Before Chemo

I'm enjoying the last few days before my life changes completely, in ways I can't even begin to imagine.  The preparation and pre-chemo days are over, and it's time to hit the ground running. 

Stephen and I have been able to go on a few dates in the last few days.  I absolutely soaked in getting a pedicure---probably the last "real" one until I'm done with chemo, due to the higher risk of infection.  

We went to a movie AND had popcorn and a coke.  A movie in itself is a rare treat these days, but treats, too?  Spoiled! 

We went out for Italian food--one of my favorites!  I savored every bite from the bread with herbs and oil, to the salad, to the pasta, and even dessert.  I needed that after such an awful day. 

I even cheated today and took a long bubble bath, feeling it was more important to be totally relaxed, mentally and physically, and prepared to take on this chemo beast tomorrow than follow the doctor's orders of no baths for 2 weeks.

 The laundry is caught up, I've planned as much as I can for beforehand, and now it's time to get this thing going.

As an amazing service to me, a talented friend of mine offered to document this journey in photos.  I really wanted one of Me.  The Me before cancer {B.C.}.  The me that will change and grow and be unrecognizable to the me of the future, after this refiner's fire has burned, and I've risen, like a phoenix from the ashes.  {Too dramatic?  Probably.  Can't help that dramatic arts popping up every now and then! ;) }  As I was saying, I really wanted a picture of the normal Mel before life is completely turned upside down.  So, here she is:     

Say, "So Long" to this girl--the way she looks, the things she thinks she knows about herself and her abilities/limitations, and what she's able to withstand.  Because it's all about to change, starting tomorrow. 

Mammogram and Ultrasound

Part of the shame in this cancer blog has been the lack of photos, so I'm going to try to work on that.  It's pretty typical for me to keep my camera/iphone handy to capture "blog worthy" moments to document our life story, so much so that it's even become quite a joke in our household.

However, during this story of breast cancer, I haven't been the one taking the pictures, and those pictures have mostly been of my insides and have been waiting for release from medical professionals.

 I finally got the "films" from my first set of pictures, the original mammogram and ultrasound taken on 1/14/13.  {Isn't it hilarious that they are still called films and I have to sign a release to "return" the originals to the office after sharing them with my doctor?  It's a disc, for crying out loud, and my doctor received them via the interweb, what feels like weeks ago!} I have always been a fan of science, so I'm intrigued by these scans.  {Maybe I should've gone into radiology!} I find these images so interesting and even kind of beautiful.  If only they weren't a display of a murderous breast mass! 

First, the mammogram:

I'm tempted to blow these up and hang them on a wall somewhere.  They remind me of looking into the universe and discovering some far away galaxy.  I think that's some of the calcification?  My experts will have to comment.   

The Ultrasound:
I know they told me all the specks that look like salt are calcification.  I've had quite a few ultrasounds in my day--of fetuses--and got pretty good at knowing what to look for and being able to pick out major features/organs.  I'm not so experienced at breast ultrasounds.  I just know there's a tumor in there, and we're gonna get it out.  {I joked with some friends who would tell me "Think pink! Think pink!" before each of the gender ultrasounds for my 3 boys.  The baby ultrasounds never turned out that way, and breast cancer pink was not the pink I wanted to hear after this ultrasound.  That's the way it turned out, though.  I'm now thinking pink.  Just not the way any of us ever wanted!}

There you have it.  The first pictures of my Mini Cooper 2013.  Thankfully, you won't be watching this baby grow.  She's on her way out.  Maybe we could come up with some awesome, evil names, though, like Maleficent, Urusla, Medusa, Cruella, Devlyn? 

Breakdown

Since being diagnosed with cancer 10 days ago, I've only cried a handful of times.  I've been very positive about beating this thing and have felt loved and supported beyond measure.  Sure, there's the shock and stress and worry of the unknown, but I've kept it together pretty well.

"Sure, I can still give a 15 minute talk about the Savior at church on Sunday!  And, you need me to teach Sunday school, too?  No problem.  Go to Young Women's and announce a personal progress activity on the fly?  No big deal.  Read to Kyle's classroom while trying to juggle a million doctor's appointments?  I'll make it work.  Oh, my mom's flight was canceled, and she won't make it here before my surgery?  Well, we can find someone to watch the kids, and she'll be here soon enough.  Of course I can still host a baby shower at my house on Friday.  I'll just need a bit more help with a few things and will simplify my ideas.  I got this........"

See, that's the person I've always been.  I'm stubborn and independent and blessed with enough creativity and smarts to handle the many challenges that I've faced up until now.  I moved away from home at 18 and have been away since, making things work without having that family security net to fall back on whenever I needed it.  I've been able to juggle just about everything, even the hard stuff, and do it fairly well.  Teaching school with a new baby, while my husband worked nights, and we only saw each other 30 minutes a day?  We survived.  Whipping up lesson plans on the fly because I had a great idea come to me in the shower that morning?  Aced them.  Forgot to study for that big test?  No big deal.  I could remember enough to fly by unscathed.  Get to church 3 days after surgery or having a baby?  Who doesn't do that?  Have a baby and raise a 2 1/2 year old Poop Scoop while my husband is in CRNA school, "working" all the time, and right in the middle of his Neuro rotations and can only get ONE day off?  Gotta do what you gotta do. 

I'm grateful for the talents that I have to multitask, to use creativity to problem-solve, and to have time for fun things like crafts, decorating, and parties while still getting the necessary things done, as well.

Well, today I broke.  I realized that I can't do it all.  I can't keep juggling all the plates and keep everything together and make it look easy.  Nothing about this is easy.  I can't keep making my "normal" plans and doing my "normal" multitasking because nothing about this is normal.  I have to slow down and say "No" and let things go and ask for help.  I have to admit that sometimes, no matter how much desire is in my heart or how much it pains me to do so, I'm not going to be able to make it all work.

I don't know how to be that person, and that is scary.

I broke down today and cried--a lot.  I am torn between being strong, positive, and moving forward with faith and scared, helpless, and full of despair.  I hate that I don't have the energy to be the kind of mom/wife/friend/daughter/sister/person I'm used to being.  I don't want to give things up.  I don't want people to feel like I'm not trustworthy and can't keep promises I've made.  I don't want to let people down.  I want people to be proud of me and inspired by me.  I don't like having to think about canceling vacations or parties or anything else on my calender.  I'm mad that my life is being sucked away by this unexpected cancer.  And the hard part hasn't even begun.

It's hard to be this raw and real, but I think it's part of the reason I'm going through this.  Maybe something about that "superwoman" I was trying to be is rooted a bit in pride.  I guess I'm being forced to be humble and receive service and have my imperfections, which are many, exposed.  Who knows what we will learn this year and how this experience will change us?  I'm sure at times it will feel like a refiner's fire.

In the last 10 days, I've been smooshed, scanned, poked, prodded, cut, stitched, bruised, injected with radioactive material, inserted with a port, and diagnosed.  I made it through all of things with only a few tears, but still strong and ready to take on the world.  So, what was the straw that broke the camel's back today?  A mouse in the house and mouse droppings in the pantry.  I HATE MICE!  And I HATE feeling dirty.  My first instinct was to start disinfecting the entire house.  As I was trying to pull everything out and clear out the pantry and clean up the droppings, I broke down because I realized that I shouldn't be working that hard or lifting that much while still trying to recover from surgery.  And, frankly, I should NOT be having to deal with MICE IN MY NEW HOUSE when I freaking have BREAST CANCER to deal with!

There must be something I still need learn and something the Lord wants to show me.  Maybe this was His way of telling me to let go of still planning to have a baby shower in my house 2 days after my first chemo treatment.  He's trying to gently force me into giving in to His ways.  I don't always like it, but I'll try to get used to it.  Because I'm going to need his help in unbreaking myself this year.

P.S.  Menstrual cramps right along with the first round of chemo and everything else today?  Really?!?  I feel like I'm having a Lt. Dan moment:
               "Come on! You call this a storm? Blow, you son of a B...! Blow! It's time for a showdown! You and me! I'm right here! Come and get me! You'll NEVER.SINK.THIS.BOAT!!!!"

 

Port Authority

 I am now the owner of a brand new port, which means chemo will start next Wednesday.

My surgery went amazingly well.  I'm so thankful for all the positive thoughts and prayers on my behalf and for those in the medical team working with me.  The day started early, as I now wake up rested, without my alarm, ready to go.  {Xanax just may be turning me in a morning person!}  We were at the hospital at 8 to register and pay---they actually tried to force us to pay the entire deductible and then some, as if in the last 14 days of procedures, starting with the mammogram, we'd really only put $4.20 toward our deductible, as the insurance was reporting to date.  Nice try, hospital money man.  Nice try.

After that bit of morning humor, we were led to the 2nd floor--Stephen into the waiting room and I into my hospital room.  I changed into my awesome purple "bair paws" hospital gown, which could be attached to a warmer.  It was fantastic, especially since I was freezing!  {96.1 temp, HR 62 BP 108/70} Then came the *fun part,* the IV.  I HATE IV's, simply because nurses have NEVER been able to get them in the first time.  There is always so much pain from the digging and moving and re sticking.  It's pretty much always the worst part of the entire procedure--all 3 of my boys' births, my D&C, the eye surgery I can remember as an adult.  My veins are tricky because they look great, but must be a bit crooked or roll.  Anyway, your prayers worked from the start because my nurse was an IV expert--first time, no digging, barely felt it.  MIRACLE!

After all the prep stuff, Stephen got to join me in my room.  Dr. Pollack greeted us and let us know that Dr. Naqvi had ordered axillary lymph node needle aspiration {a lymph node biospy} to the list of procedures today.  So, I'd probably be sore on both sides.

My CRNA came to greet us, "Hi, I'm Daniel, CRNA."  "Stephen Cooper, CRNA."  They shared stories and peeps.  {A friend had called the hospital and requested that I had the best.  It's good to have connections!}

Not long after that, it was time to roll down to the OR!  I'm quite fond of anesthesia.  Not only does it provide my husband a job he loves and a great living, but it makes surgeries amazing!  It's nice to not remember the pain or the trauma.  I only remember rolling into the OR, moving over to the bed, Dr. Pollack holding my hand, leaning close to my head to pray with me--I can't even remember the words, just the peaceful feeling--and that's it.

The next thing I can remember is being in the PACU, hearing, "Melodee?  Melodee, it's time to wake up."  I also remember thinking in the back of my head that I really wanted to take a longer nap!  But, I woke up, Stephen was there, I ate some ice chips and chatted, and not too much after that was back in my hospital room.  I was starving and ate some graham crackers and downed 3 glasses of cranberry juice.  Since that went so well, they were able to get me unhooked, remove the IV, I could change into my clothes, and we were outta there by noon!  My only instructions were to not lift anything over 10 lbs. for 14 days, to not shower for 24 hours, and to not bathe, swim, or jacuzzi for 14 days. 

How fun it was to be greeted with notes, pictures, and hearts all over the house.  And some beautiful flowers from my church sisters!  The boys and Claire were busy while I was gone making me a welcome home display.  How fun!  {My mom was supposed to be here, but the stupid Utah weather held her captive, shutting down the entire airport from freezing rain and making it that the earliest she could arrive was yesterday evening, after struggling through crazy amounts of connections.  Forget that.  She's heading here this morning on a direct flight.  Hopefully. Thankfully, Jordan and Julia had driven in for the day on Thursday so Jordan could eat lunch with Stephen, and they were willing to stay overnight and be here with the boys during my surgery.}
        

 

 Here's some pictures the kids drew for me.  I love that Kyle is starting to write.  So sweet!

Here's Kyle's latest family portrait.  I love the hats we're all wearing, and does anyone notice that Dad is a different color that the rest of his family?  Kyle told me "Daddy's a poop scoop, so I drew him green, like a poop scoop."

I rested a bit while the kids took naps.  Stephen and Jordan went grocery shopping.  Steve, Timee, Liz, and McKinley came over for a visit.  I got to talk to a few neighbors.  A neighbor brought over some dinner, and we were ALL ready for bed!

I felt pretty good, was able to do a few things---some laundry, tidy up, etc., but I made sure to not lift anything heavy.  This is going to be the hardest post-surgery instruction to follow.  It's natural instinct to pick up my kids, to help them down from somewhere, to grab a laundry basket.  I have to constantly remind myself to NOT do those things.

There was soreness, discomfort, and a little pain on the port side, to be expected.

For those interested, here's what the port looks like:
 

   

It's a small device--a triangular, quarter-sized shape--sealed with a silicone top, called a septum.  It's placed under the skin on my right chest and contains a catheter that is placed inside my vena cava, a large central vein that takes blood to my heart.  This way the chemo can have the best direct access to my bloodstream, I don't have to be stuck every week with IVs, and my veins won't be destroyed from all the medicine about to be pumped throughout my body.

When it's time for chemo, a special needle will be put into the septum to create access for the drugs, as shown here:

 I've been told that my port is "my new best friend."   We'll see how this relationship goes, but I'm pretty sure I'm just going to be using her for a few months, will just want to end it, being ready to break up about this time next year, never looking back.


So, here's the insertion point, a bit of bruising from the surgery, and the bump under my skin from where the device is placed. 

I'm now pretty much my own "port authority." 

In Good Hands

Having faith and trust in my medical care will be crucial in this process.

I truly feel like I am in good hands with the team of doctors that will help me beat this thing.

That is made even more clear to me each time I meet with one of them.

From the personal referral to my surgeon by one of the best doctors I've ever known to the testimony of a nurse that, "you are in good hands with Dr. Pollack.  God works through her.  I've seen miracles happen.  You're going to be fine."  Dr. Pollack's surgical nurse also spoke about God and told me "Dr. Pollack is amazing.  She prays before every surgery.  She will pray with you in the OR if you want.  If you don't want that, she prays anyway for herself."  I was filled with such peace just knowing that my Heavenly Father has given me 2 witnesses of His presence in that office.

Dr. Pollack says that Dr. Naqvi is the best.  Some lovingly call her "Dr. Nazi," just because she aggressively fights the cancer, and when she gives orders, they are followed.  That's exactly the type of doctor I want fighting on my side.  {Not the Nazi part of it, but you know what I mean!}  I've also heard that she is a wizard and a genius and that her mix of chemo and drugs will do miracles.  Again, the miracles and the description of amazing medical talents.

God was even brought up while meeting with my cardiologist today.

I'm truly in good hands with these doctors, and I believe it's because they all allow God to work through them.

And, really, aren't HIS the best hands for any of us to be in?     

The Stage

It's been a LONG week, and I can barely believe that I only learned about having breast cancer 7 days ago.  Since then, I've met with my surgeon, my oncologist, my surgeon again, had a CT scan/bone scan/brain scan, had a follow-up appointment with my oncologist, and saw a cardiologist.  I'm exhausted, and I haven't even had my port surgery!

We do have some results:

Dr. Naqvi came in and greeted me with, "we have good news!"  All of my scans came back clear.  That means that there are no masses throughout the rest of my body larger than 1mm, other than the breast tumor we already knew about and one small mass on the lymph nodes.

I also have my pathology results:

I'm ER +, PR -, and Her2 +

It's not the best, but it's not the worst.  Dr. Naqvi actually was guessing that I was triple positive, and was not surprised at all with the Her2 results.  She would rather it not be, but she wasn't surprised because of all the factors with my case.

This means I'll start Herceptin along with Paclitaxel every week for 12 weeks.  I was most shocked about being told to plan for FOUR HOURS to sit in that chair, hooked up to these drugs.  Hopefully it won't be that long everytime!  That's a lot of manpower for watching my babies.  So, my hair will thin and some will fall out, but it won't be so dramatic for the first 3 months.  {I have more time to get some pretty scarfs and find the perfect wig!}

After that, we'll wait about 10 days to let my body rest.  This actually works perfectly with a Disney cruise we had planned before learning about "the cancer," and I was SO happy to hear Dr. Naqvi give her consent for us to still go along with our plans!

Then, will come the FEC.  That's the "bad" chemo.  I'll do that every 3 weeks X 4. 

By then, we'll know which surgery will be needed.  The BRCA results take another 2 weeks, or so.  I could have just a lumpectomy along with radiation, a single mastectomy, or a double mastectomy.  That remains to be seen.  No matter which surgery I need, I'll have it after the second part of the chemo.

Then, it will be hormone therapy to deal with the ER + part of my tumor and radiation therapy if I only have a lumpectomy. 

During this time, I'll be going back to the Herceptin and will take that for a total of one year.   The tricky thing about Herceptin is that it can cause cardiomyopathy--{you might remember that the character of Hillary in Beaches develops viral cardiomyopathy.  That's where I first remember hearing about it.}  I don't want to develop any kind of cardiomyopathy, even though this Herceptin induced version is predictable and reversible.  If I start to develop it, they simply back off the Herceptin and allow my heart to heal for a bit before starting the process again.  Because of this, my heart does have to be monitored closely while on Herceptin.  I had to see a cardiologist today to have a baseline echocardiogram.  {For the medical people out there, my BP was 100/70 and my EF was 58%, which I'm told is "practically perfect."  The doctor also said my heart sounded "perfect," so no worries there.}  My cardiologist was actually more fascinated with my story and how he's seeing more and more young women with breast cancer.  He wanted to know how I discovered it, and noticed my hands, and began to ask questions about any possible connections on a genetic level.  It was fun getting to witness the inquisitive mind of a doctor who is obviously still highly intrigued by the discovery in medicine.  I loved how he told Stephen, "Don't be embarrassed, but did you find the tumor during "the sex?"  FUNNY STUFF, people!  He also talked about how "everybody is going to get something--heart disease, diabetes, some form of cancer, what have you.  If God is going to give a choice in the kind of cancer I got, I'd choose prostate.  And if I was a woman, I'd choose breast cancer."  I liked him a lot, which is good.  I have to have an echo once every 2 months for the entire year. 

So, I'm off to bed soon to get ready for my port surgery tomorrow morning. 

Chemo starts on Wednesday.

Let's pray that I DO NOT fall into that 10% of people who just don't respond well to chemo.  My chances are actually pretty great on this one.  But, prayers never hurt.

P.S.  Nothing like blowing through our entire flex spending account in 5 business days! 

    

Outpouring of Love

I found out about getting "the cancer" on Thursday.  By that night, there was already an amazing connection through facebook, prayer chains, and other links of people who were being made aware of this diagnosis and showering me with love and happy thoughts.

The bishop of our ward {our church family's ecclesiastical leader} called around 10 that night, saying he'd been in meetings, but there were about 5 messages blinking on his phone from people asking if he'd heard about Melodee Cooper and to call her.  He shared some of his own personal experiences of a loved one with breast cancer, reassured me that there was an army of people ready to support and love me, and offered to release me from my assignment to speak in church on Sunday.  I had already been preparing and studying about our Savior, Jesus Christ--my topic, and felt like I still wanted to speak.  He said that they'd all be there with their pink on, ready to support me.

Boy, was he right!  As I looked over the congregation on Sunday, the sight of pink ties, pink tops, pink ribbon pins, pink ribbons, pink jewelry, pink scarves, etc. was so touching and so strengthening.  I really feel like there is an army of supporters behind me, just in my home ward.

Beyond that, I know there are people in all the places we've lived that are praying, sending me positive messages, and caring about me and my family.  My neighbors---keep in mind we've lived here less than a year---are already sharing stories and giving me so much service.  As they share the story with their loved ones, I'm being put on prayer lists that reach far beyond our street, or even the state of Texas.    

I can't forget my family and friends who have already gone above and beyond in letting me know how much I'm loved and in doing more than any of us have planned or should be expected to "have" to do.  I got an amazing care package yesterday.  Awesome!

A neighbor watched my kids so I could go do something just for me---something fun, even, offered from another friend.

A friend dropped everything to spend all morning sitting in a waiting room of a diagnostic center with me.

A friend spent all morning at my house with the boys.

A friend has offered to pretty much take over school carpool, even with her own 3 boys!

My mom, and others, are already making plans to come down to help.

The positive phone calls, texts, and messages have been so comforting.

The list goes on and on....

I've had so many amazing offers of service, and I haven't even really begun this journey.

One more story to share:
Before the world nearly ended last Thursday, my side of the family was planning a family reunion for July of this year.  I've been in charge of booking accommodations, sending in the deposit for a great cabin we found, and making sure we had a great place to stay.  I hadn't even thought about how my chemo and the change in our entire life would probably make the family reunion a no-go for launch.  My sister called me last night and suggested making a change, offering to call Nancy, the owner of the property, to cancel our registration and see about getting our deposit back.
As I was looking up her number to forward on to Emmy, I had this feeling that I should just go ahead and call, since I've been the one in contact with Nancy during the planning stage.  I tried to push it away since I told Em I'd give the information to her and let her do it, but I just felt like I should call.  When Nancy answered, I said, "Hi, Nancy.  This is Melodee Cooper."  The next thing out of my mouth was going to be about how we were renting her cabin on July 24th, etc., but she immediately exclaimed, "Hi, Melodee!  How are you?  I just put your deposit check in the mail today, and I know you're going to love the place."  I then explained that our world has been turned upside down as I was just diagnosed with breast cancer, and we were going to have to cancel our family reunion.  She responded right away with, "I'm SO sorry about that!  That's terrible.  I totally understand and will get you your deposit back as soon as possible.  I have absolutely NO PROBLEM in sending you the entire thing back."
She then paused for a minute and said, "I'm going to take a chance in sharing this with you.  My brother-in-law was diagnosed with brain cancer about a month ago.  He's been in the hospital this whole time.  His entire life, he's been an atheist, even making fun of us believers and the Bible, calling it "Mother Goose."  A few days before his surgery, he had an experience.  God took him and showed him a very dark place.  He was literally taken out of his body from off the bed and shown a glimpse of the hell he would have if he continued to live as he was.  He is a changed man now.  And, God is Amazing.  He knows what we need much more than we do.  I believe that God knows how to put us through things that will make us so much better and stronger when we come out on the other side.  You're going to be fine, Melodee.  I'm going to pray for you.  I mean it.  You never know what God has in store, but we have to keep our faith in Him.  The whole world as we know it could end and He could come back again at any time.  Eternity is what it's about and keeping that in our minds at all times."
 At this point, I was just shocked and touched by this story and of how Nancy was sharing something so personal and life-changing with someone she's only communicated with through email up until now.  But, I just kept thinking about how my story has just made another connection in Durango, Colorado, and that there is one more person praying to our Heavenly Father on my behalf.  And, of how I might have never felt that connection if I hadn't called.   

I have no doubt that I can BTHO {Beat the Hell Outta, for you non-Aggies} cancer, thanks--in part--to the incredible outpouring of love and faith I'm witnessing.                

Silver Linings

I am feeling very calm and full of peace the last few days.  I've passed through the initial shock/sadness/fear and am feeling amazingly positive and calm, almost as if my body wasn't currently trying to kill me from the inside.

To keep going with that positivity, I'm trying to focus on the good things, the silver linings, in all of this breast cancer storm that's hit me.

Last year, one of my resolutions was to try to be more grateful for the little things in life and to realize that even small, everyday things can testify of God's love for us.  I felt, at the time, that I was doing this *just* as a mother of 3 young children, so I could force myself to slow down, breath,  and look at the big picture, without being bogged down in the trenches of unpleasant daily tasks of motherhood.  Some may call this trying to have more of an "eternal perspective."  I realized the other day that maybe practicing this has made me more grateful for every moment and more cognizant of how to not take anything in life for granted.  I was so thankful that my mindset had already been pointed in that direction and I didn't have to totally shift my way of thinking, especially while trying to deal with cancer.

Here's a few small things I've thought of in the last few days, a short list of the "silver linings."  

Silver lining #1: Even though the EXACT diagnosis hasn't even as of yet been confirmed, my doctor seem very confident that this is curable.

Silver lining #2: I have an amazing support system.  Words cannot express how much your kind words, prayers, service, and simple acts of love have buoyed me up this week.  I will continue to need it.  

 Silver lining #3: Breast cancer is well funded, has a high success rate, and the research and advancements in this area have been HUGE.  It's not "your momma's" chemo I'm dealing with.  It's so, SO much better.

 Silver lining #4:
Another tender mercy that came to me on Friday morning was a deeper testimony about the miracle of Evan's birth and the truth of God's timing in our lives.  A quick back-story: Stephen thought we were "done" after Ryan, but I wasn't sure.  I always wanted 3 children, and there was a part of me that wanted to see if we could have a girl.  We hadn't closed the debate, but suspended it until we were more sure of Stephen's job, a house, and were less "in limbo" of our plans.  While we were busy making OUR plans, God had a different plan, and we unexpectedly became pregnant with our unplanned baby #3.  {This, in itself is a small miracle, with our difficulty in getting pregnant and STAYING pregnant in the past.}  I have already had a testimony that Evan was supposed to be born to our family at the time he was and that we were supposed to have a 3rd child.  My outlook on that testimony changed on Friday, however.  I thought about how much more scary things would be right now if we had waited and gone with OUR plans on having a third child.  We would've waited until we were in a house and maybe had a little money saved up, or until Ryan was a little older, or Kyle was in school, so things wouldn't be so stressful for me.  If that had happened, I could have a brand new baby right now, would be breast feeding and wouldn't have been concerned--IN THE LEAST--about a "lump."  I also could be pregnant now and could possibly be faced with choosing between my own life or the life of my unborn child, or having the tumor be fed DRAMATICALLY by the highly increased amount of hormones in my body.  Or, I could possibly have to have my ovaries removed and not have the possibility of giving birth to another child.  How much more painful and terrible those outcomes sounded.  I was giving that silver lining in all of this, that the Lord is in control.  He is in charge, and he will carry me through any trial.  Immediately a scripture came to mind:
"I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me."  Philippians 4:13 {Not to get too off topic, but there's no comma in that sentence, and it can be read in different ways.  Is it just saying that Christ strengthens us, so we can do anything/all things?  Or, is it having a testimony--KNOWING  that we can do all things through Christ that strengthens us?  It's got to be both.}

Silver lining #5: I'm young.  I'm healthy {ish}.  I'm strong.

Silver lining #6: Social media, cell phones/texting, and blogs makes it SO much easier to keep people informed, to pass along information, to ask questions, to ask for help, to thank people, to have a therapeutic release on my emotional roller coaster, to coordinate child care for appointments, and to feel the love and support of so many people. 

Silver lining #7:  I already LOVE playing dress up and planning costumes.  Now I get to easily change my hair color whenever I feel like it.  I got a free wig today at my doctor's office.  Say hello to "Ginger."  {They had some nice wigs donated, and they went like hot cakes.   All that was left was a short, gray, "granny" style or a short, pixie platinum blonde.  I think I went with the best out of the 3.}

 
I'm sure there will be many more tender mercies and many more silver linings to see in the storm clouds ahead. 

Telling the Boys

Stephen and I were lucky enough to go out on a date on Friday night.  By that time, I was actually quite emotionally spent. 

Earlier that morning was the first time I'd been alone since hearing the diagnosis.  I woke up early and wasn't able to go back to sleep.  The boys were at Grandma's house, so my usual morning routine wasn't there.  I didn't have all these other people counting on me to be up and going, so my mind began to wander.  I started to think about the worst case scenario and of all the things I still needed/wanted to do before I die.  I kept getting emails, texts, calls, and updates on facebook of prayers, love, well-wishes, happy thoughts, and promises of cancer a$$-kicking.  The out-pouring of love was amazing and much-needed and overwhelming at the same time.  I cried several times that morning.  I also spent time finalizing my talk for church on Sunday, studying about Jesus Christ and feeling such comfort and emotion for that, as well.  I was scared and emotional and overwhelmed and mad and still wondering if it was all real.  I had shed a fair amount of tears before I even learned anything new from the doctor.

So, by the time I'd explained the diagnosis and treatment plan to family and as many friends as I could, I really was just starting to get numb.  Stephen finally got home, and we went to a local Thai place.  I didn't have much of an appetite, but thought some soup would be a good plan.

Over dinner, we talked more about the cancer, about plans, and about telling the boys.  We both felt that they are so young and won't understand much, but that we wanted to be up-front with them as much as possible and let them ask all the questions they wanted.

The next night at dinner, we told them we had something very important to tell them: 

You know how Mommy has been going to lots of doctors this week?  Well, we found out that Mommy is sick.  She is VERY sick.  She has some BIG boo-boos.  She'll be going to lots of doctor appointments.  She's also going to be sad sometimes and crying.  She is even going to lose her hair and have to wear a wig or look kind of funny and different soon.  There will be lots of people that will be coming over to help out or you might go to other people's houses.  Mommy might be throwing up and not able to do as much as she has been able to do.  We will need your help and for you to make really good choices.  We also need to say lots of prayers that Mommy will feel better and get all better soon.  

We asked Kyle if he had any questions and he didn't.

As I put the boys to bed that night, Kyle told me, "Mommy, I love you.  I'm going to say a prayer right now.  I'm going to thank God that you'll be better soon.  I'm going to pray everyday."

He's also been treating me as a little more fragile...."Mommy, I'll be soft with this and not throw it to you, since you're sick.  Mommy, you might need to rest a little more, since you're sick."

One of the hardest things for me is to realize that there really is no way that I'm going to be able to be superwoman through all of this.  I'm not going to be able to "do it all," {as if I do anyway.}  But, I really won't be able to pretend to juggle anything that's thrown my way.  I"m going to have to learn even more how to say no or how to let things go.  I'm not going to be able to do everything.  I'm also going to be humbled quite a bit.  I'm such a "DO IT MINE SELF" kind of person, but I'm not going to be able to get through this without the help of others.  I'm going to have to learn to ask for help, to accept help, and to let people serve.  And that's okay.

Because someday when I'm through this trial, I will be a stronger person for it and will then be able to give service to someone else who is in the middle of their own "I'm not superwoman and I need help" phase of life.

         

The Oncologist

The next day I met my oncologist, Dr. Naqvi.  {Knock-Wee}  I really like her.

Stephen had to work, but his brother, Jordan, was in town, and I asked him to go.  It was nice having someone with the same medical knowledge as Stephen to help me remember everything!  {I was, however, pretty upset about my appointment getting moved up 2 hours because that meant I couldn't go to my friend's birthday lunch OR Iron Chef, 2 activities I'd been looking forward to/had coordinated child care for all week!  But, my life is worth more than a few cancelled lunch dates, right?}

I had my picture taken, height/weight recorded, and BP checked.  For the second day in a row, a nurse commented on how low my blood pressure was.  At Dr. Pollack's, it was a bit higher, but the nurse said, "Wow! Even after just hearing a cancer diagnosis, your blood pressure is great."  And at Dr. Naqvi's office, there was almost shock in the nurse's voice at seeing 106/64 on the monitor.  "Wow! Your blood pressure in LOW!"  

We met with Dr. Naqvi in a room with couches.  She came in to discuss the biology of my cancer, the stage, and the treatment.  I felt the information was very thorough and that I was in good hands.  First, the biology:  My tumor is "invasive ductal."  There is a grade given, based on the rate at which it grows, which can be seen as the cells divide under a microscope.  Since my pathology results weren't even supposed to be in AT THE EARLIEST that very day, there was still not an official result to go off, but Dr. Naqvi estimated my grade is somewhere between 2 or 3, 3 being the worst.  The next part of the biology of a tumor is the results for the receptors--ER{Estrogen} and PR {Progesterone} and Her2.  These results name the types of substances that are feeding the tumor, causing it to grow.  Again, my results weren't in on this part, but she explain that the best case scenario is for +,+,-.  If the estrogen and progesterone are both positive, it's easy to treat by simply blocking those hormones.  If Her2 is positive, there is a special drug to combat that.  The worst case is all three receptors coming back negative, as they don't know what is causing the tumor to grow and cannot stop its source.  {So, we are all praying for any results but triple negative!}

Next, a cancer is given a "Stage."  At this point, Dr. Naqvi could not nail down an exact stage, but from the results she had, she guessed that my diagnosis is Stage 2.  This means that my tumor is large, is into the lymph nodes, but I don't have tumors in the rest of my body.  {A CT scan and bone scan next week with help confirm this.}  I will also have genetic testing {BRCA} done.  Because of my age and the lack of family history of breast cancer, there might be a genetic mutation in me that could be a contributing to the tumor.  If this test comes back positive, there is basically 100% chance that I will develop cancer again in the future, so a double mastectomy would be done, along with an oophorectomy {removal of the ovaries.} If the test comes back positive, I'm also encouraged to have my siblings and children have this test done to be aware of their possible risks.   

Dr. Naqvi then explained the chemotherapy with me.   My chemo will last a total of 6 months.  Chemo is designed to kill any cells in the body that are dividing rapidly.  Chemo cannot--at this point--differentiate between "good cells" and "evil cells."  It kills them all in order to kill the cancerous ones.  It's split into 2 main "cocktails."  First, is FEC, which would be every 3 weeks, 4 times.  This, to me, is the "typical" chemo that I think of.  There are side effects of nausea/vomiting, fatigue, immune suspension, hair loss, mucositis, constipation, and gray nails.  However, for each side effect, Dr. Naqvi explained that there are wonderful treatments and developments to help.  She told me that if I follow my drug prescriptions religiously I "will most likely not ever vomit, but may just be a little queasy."  They give Ritalin to help with the fatigue, "and you're going to need all the help you can get with those 3 boys!"  For the immune system, they will give me a growth factor for white blood cells.  This is to stimulate my bones to mass-produce white blood cells in defense of the chemo.  Even though chemo will kill off most of my supply, I'll be left with enough to keep me healthy.  The hair loss--there's really nothing to do about that.  "You will lose your hair.  You will lose it in 3 weeks, and it will be dramatic.  Once you lose that initial clump at around 2 weeks, most of my patients cut their hair very short or simply shave it off because it can be painful at the follicles."  She told me that I would get a prescription for a wig and that I should get one ASAP, especially for my boys.  "They are too young to understand, and you want to look normal to them and not scare them."  Again, I cried at this point of knowing I'd lose my hair.  {Silly, I know, to tear up over such a funny thing.  But, I FINALLY like my hair, have a great hair dresser, get compliments whenever I get it done.  And, now it's going to be gone.  However, just think of all the money I'll save this year in cuts and colors!}  And for the mucositis, she just told me to keep my mouth and throat cold, so I get to eat a lot of popsicles and ice!      
The second half of the chemo cocktail is Paclitaxel.  This will be given once a week for 12 weeks.  There is a shorter list of side effects of this half of treatment: neuropathy and nail changes.
 The only switch up in this treatment occurs if the results for Her2 come back positive.  There is a specific drug {Herceptin} they add to the chemo, but it can only be given with the Paclitaxel, as it can cause cardiomyopathy when combined with FEC.  If this were the result of that last set of tests, I'd just switch the order of the "cocktails," and then go back to the Herceptin, as it has to be given for a total of one year.  
Dr. Naqvi then did a physical exam.  The measured the tumor to be around 4.5-5cm.  She also seemed pleased that my lymph nodes did not seem to be enlarged.  "Thank God" was a welcome phrase at this point in the day.  The bad part about the size is that at 5cm, that is pretty much the border line of an almost certain mastectomy.  At that point and larger lumpectomy and radiation are not quite enough.
At that point, the schedules began to be made.  I am set up for my CT scan and bone scan on Wednesday.  I'll have a follow up appointment with Dr. Naqvi on Thursday.  Her office said that Dr. Pollack said she could put my port in on Friday, but that is not a confirmed appointment.  After that procedure, Dr. Naqvi likes to give around 3 days for the area around the port to heal and start chemo.  So, I should be starting my first round of chemo sometime before the end of January. 
Even though this is quite a bit to take in, It's nice to see all of the advancements in medicine.  Dr. Naqvi told me that 90% of her patients work full time and don't have to miss work for chemo.  To me that means that this will be tough, but I can make it.  It's not going to be without challenges, and I'll have to rely on help from others, but I'm going to be able to take it one day at a time.
 After that huge load of information and a few deep breaths, we were off to enjoy the healing effects of Mexican food and Dr. Pepper!   

The 1st Specialist

We didn't have far to travel to meet the breast specialist for breast cancer diagnostics.  Dr. Pollack is the one in charge of the surgical aspect of my treatment.   It helped that her office was just downstairs. 

Dr. Pollack was able to fit me right in for an initial consultation, thanks to a fast and personal referral from Dr. Schmidt.  At this point, none of my doctors even had a written final pathology report, as the radiologist would not yet give a written preliminary, but I am lucky enough to have doctors who would refer me and start my treatment plan just on an initial verbal report of "invasive ductal carcinoma."

Very matter-of-factly, Dr. Pollack explained to Stephen and me that because of my age alone, these tumors are usually very aggressive, can double in size in a month, and will require chemo.  "You will lose your hair, and it will be very rough."  At that point, the tears came.  I was crying; Stephen was crying.  {There are very few times when I've seen Stephen cry--when I broke up with him after we were first engaged, during our wedding ceremony, at the birth of each of our children, and maybe a handful of other times.}  This was hard because it started to hit home.  This definitely doesn't just affect me.  It would be far-reaching.

After an exam, Dr. Pollack gave us the basic run-down of the treatment.  In cases like mine, they don't just rely on surgery and radiation.  They do chemo first, leaving the tumor in as a way to monitor the shrinking.  She set me up to meet with the oncologist the next day and the plan was to put in my port for chemo either Wednesday, Thursday, or Friday of the next week.

Thankfully, I have a great support system and already had family at my house with the boys, an army of friends making plans and sending out positive thoughts, and so many phone calls and texts that my battery wad dead before we got home!  The prayers and positive energy were very uplifting and humbling.

We were still so in shock, seeing as our entire world was turned upside down in a matter of hours.    

  

Cancer--The Back Story

I was diagnosed with breast cancer today.

I'm shocked and completely blown away by this news.  I feel like it came out of nowhere, but there has been a short history behind the discovery of my tumor.

Back in November, Stephen found a lump in my breast.  I also had a little bit of discomfort and pain, but assumed it was from starting to work out again, maybe irritation from my bra, or just the pain of checking and rechecking the lump.  I actually felt pretty stupid even making any kind of big deal about it because I had fairly recently stopped breast feeding and thought the "lump" might just be remnants from the change in breast texture when pregnant/breast feeding, or it was just a lymph node, enlarged from being sick.

I called my OB/GYN because it was close to the time for my annual check-ups, anyway.  The official year date was right around Christmas, and they were booked until January.  At the last second, I just casually asked, "Would it make a difference in scheduling to mention that I found a lump in my left breast?  Should I just wait until January, or do you think it would be worth coming in earlier?"  The nurse recommended coming in for a breast exam ASAP, "just to be sure."  During the next few weeks, I asked Stephen several times to check that the lump was still there, thinking it might shrink before I went in and I'd be the girl who cried wolf, or in this case, "breast lump!"   

At that November exam, my doctor--whom I LOVE--felt the lump, said that it was probably lymph nodes, but we should schedule a mammogram/ultrasound to check it out further.  I scheduled a mammogram, but the soonest I could get in was a FULL MONTH, December 18.

One day before the mammogram, the billing department called to inform me that I would be responsible for $832 for the mammo the next day because that was the negotiated rate with our insurance and it was subject to the deductible that we had not met for 2012.  I decided to cancel that appointment and at least wait until January when $832 would go toward a deductible that would apply to something for more than 2 weeks of medical care.   {Hindsight says that $832 is better than letting an aggressive tumor potentially double in size, but at that point, I was still convinced that this was going to be a whole lot of hullabaloo about a lymph node.}  

I ended up finding another women's imaging center that would only charge $254 for my treatment, and set the date for January 14, 2013.  I went about as normal through the holidays, through my entire family being sick, through regular life, and the day of the mammogram arrived.  I went while Stephen stayed with the boys.  I had the mammogram, which wasn't nearly as bad as I've heard people describe.  The tech went to discuss results with the radiologist to determine if the mammogram indicated that an ultrasound was necessary.  It was, since there was quite a bit of calcification in my left breast, and the lump was suspicious.  The ultrasound was very thorough.  The tech went to discuss the pictures with the radiologist again.  He actually came in and did some more pictures.  He explained that there was calcification all over and that the lump is an area that we need to look at more closely.  He told me that in the 30 years he's been doing this that he's never seen a mammogram or ultrasound like mine and that he wanted to discuss with some colleagues for some second opinions.  {I just assumed that he meant---for my age, that amount in only one breast, etc. but NOT cancer.}  Dr. Abdo suggested doing a biopsy, and we scheduled it for Wednesday, 2 days later.

A friend watched the boys while I went in for the biopsy.  It was ultrasound guided and more painful than I had expected.  A needle with Lidocaine numbed me up.  Dr. Abdo covered my eyes, explaining that I probably didn't want to watch the collection and it would be better just to close my eyes and relax.  Each collection was made with a larger needle that was inserted to withdraw small cylinders (or cores) of tissue.  Each time the core sample was withdrawn, the needle made a loud-ish snapping noise.  Dr. Abdo took 3-4 specimens first and looked at them under x-ray to confirm that he collected calcium.  He gave me more local anesthesia because I was feeling some pain in holding pressure to stop the bleeding on the insertion spot while he was x-raying samples. He took more samples to make sure he had enough cells for pathology.  Finally, a small metal clip was inserted into the lump to act as a marker for future testing or possible surgery. 

I guess when the procedure was explained to me, I imagined the anesthesia needle and one or two samples going in, then one more needle to put in the marker.  I wasn't expecting 7 cores of cells being sucked out of my breast, all the maneuvering of needles to collect in the exact spots, the 'pop' of the core sample needle, and the emotional stress.  Toward the end, I just kept wondering how many more times they needed to dig out tissue.  How many more of those jolting clicks was I going to hear/feel?  I tried to keep it all together, but during the 2nd round of sampling, tears started to spill from my eyes.  I couldn't wipe them away because I had to hold still during the biopsy.  I kept thinking, "it's got to be almost done.  If I can just keep it together and they don't talk to me or notice the tears, I'll be fine."  But, the nurse and the ultrasound tech asked how I was, was I in pain?, and mentioned something about my boys.  I couldn't hold it back any more.  I started crying---bawling.  Luckily, the last sample was out, and I could move and wipe away the tears.  I just felt so stupid, alone, overwhelmed, embarrassed crying in front of practical strangers.  I'm so independent and try to keep it together.  But, the nurse and doctor stood there and held my hand, saying things like, "it is overwhelming.  It's a lot to deal with so soon into a new year.  You're an amazing patient."  {I do remember looking at the ultrasound machine and seeing a list of the rest of the day's patients with their birth dates---me at the top: 1979, x--1948, y--1955, z--1945.....the closest in age to me was someone born in 1961.  I just kept thinking, "I'm too young to be dealing with this crap!"  

Other than just feeling emotional after the procedure, I really still felt positive that the results were going to come back clear and benign.  The worst part was the unexpected amount of pain after the lidocaine wore off.  And that I couldn't take a bath {my daily relaxation ritual} for 7 days! I picked up my pain meds and was able to rest that afternoon.  {I also was kind of shocked that my breast looked almost "deflated" at the amount of tissue that was removed.  That image gave a few people a little chuckle!}

The results were scheduled to take 48-72 hours.  I was told that we MIGHT hear something by Friday, but to not count on it.  I still felt that it was just waiting and being on pins and needles to hear that it was nothing to worry about.  Stephen {and pretty much everyone else} felt the same way.

The shock came when I got a call the next afternoon that Dr. Schmidt wanted me to come in ASAP to discuss some initial verbal results from the radiologist and to get me set up with a specialist.  At that point, Stephen and I knew that it was something not good.  I still wasn't 100% sure it was cancer.  Maybe I just needed to have the lump removed and the "specialist" was "just" a surgeon.  {Part of the rush to meet with Dr. Schmidt included her giving birth on Friday.  So, maybe she was just tying up loose ends with my case before she was out on maternity leave, I told myself.}

Positive thoughts AND wearing pink "to ward off evil spirits," as Stephen put it just weren't enough this time.  The initial verbal diagnosis was breast cancer.  She didn't even have the final pathology results, but there were cancer cells present, and they wanted to get me on to the next step immediately.  Dr. Schmidt told me that if she had this diagnosis, she would see Dr. Pollock and Dr. Naqvi.  That recommendation was good enough for me.

We walked downstairs--in shock--to find out the next step in the process.