Following up on yesterday's blog

Richard and I went to MD Anderson today and spoke with my lead oncologist. Between her and her wonderful nurse (who spent a good deal of time with me on the phone yesterday) we now have a clear understanding of the issues involving reconstruction--and me.

Generally speaking, if a woman had breast cancer of the "normal" variety, ie not aggressive, and not metastasized, then when surgery took place, that patient would have the option to get "expanders" to stretch her skin to allow for implants later down the road. If the patient was going to have to face chemo and/or radiation after surgery (as most do--surgery, chemo, radiation, or as in my case--chemo, surgery, radiation) she would have to wait for her skin and tissues to heal from all the procedures to have the final reconstruction, but in the meantime, her skin would be stretching. After healing, with one reconstruction surgery she could go on her merry way, checking in regularly for pet scans showing her body cancer free. Yay!

I applaud the women who get this far and by no means am I minimizing their trials. Their trials are my trials exactly, and they stink. I guess I just thought my story would end the same as what I just described. I could just keep moving down the conveyor belt, taking my medicine, waiting to reach the end of the line when I get to jump off the belt, punch out, and go grab a beer. (Or a very nice, very cold, bottle of champagne.) To go home and only come back once or twice a year for check-ups.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

During lumpectomies, or mastectomies, the surgeons, of course, try to cut away all cancerous cells and nodes. But there is always the possibility breast cancer will return anyway, if one little malignant cell slips the hangman's noose and goes rogue. Stretchers can pose a problem in discovering these cancerous cells. The cells can hide behind the stretchers, or in some cases the stretchers cause infection, delaying treatment and allowing for cancer cells to grow.

This delay may not be critical for a "normal" acting cancer. In other words, if a woman had surgery, and opted to have stretchers, then found out she had abnormal cells, a delay in finding these cells of a short amount of time--weeks, a month, two, would probably not prove deadly. (Thank you, Lord!) If the cancer (as I understand it) doesn't make it to stage four, there is a plan of action to follow. And most breast cancers shouldn't progress to stage four that fast.

Unfortunately, IBC, the cancer I have, is fast acting.

The nurse kept calling my current diagnosis "locally advanced." And with a "locally advanced" cancer, she said, it is critical to find the new cancer cells immediately after surgery, should they recur.

Me: "Why so critical?"

Nurse: "So we can keep them in the same stage as they began."

Me: "Which is?"

Nurse: "Locally advanced."

Me: "Uh huh. What does that MEAN?!"

She kindly explained a locally advanced cancer means a metatastic cancer, already beyond the first two stages of cancer, but not yet at stage four.

I finally understood. "Locally advanced" equals stage Three a or Three b. (That's where I am now.) And today I got the last piece of the puzzle. Stage four means the initial cancer has metastasized into another part or organ in the body.

So. Putting all the pieces together. Surgery puts the body into hyper-cell-drive as it tries to heal. Hopefully, all cancer cells will be gone-daddy-gone. But if they're not, they are in hyper-cell-drive along with the rest of the body. That's where radiation comes in--to burn the little suckers out of existence.

They'll map out my radiation patterns after my surgery. If I chose to get stretchers, and one of them blocked my mammary lymph nodes where cancer cells could hide if they'd survived the chemo and the surgery, the stretcher would have to be removed. Ug.

Enough already, you say. Forget the #@!% stretcher.

I know. I am. Because...and this is the part Richie and I have decided they didn't really want to tell us, hoping to spare us....if the cancer recurs, and we don't catch it immediately, and it jumps to another part of my body which, with IBC can happen in weeks, there is no cure. Treatment, yes. Cure, no. Chemo. For the rest of my life!

Hell no.

I pray the chemo has worked, and the surgery will be successful. I pray the cancer will not recur. But that is not in my control. The position I place myself in is in my control. I will wait for all reconstruction, as advised, for as long as it takes. Should the cancer recur, something that evidently happens with IBC not infrequently, we'll find it and start this whole crazy process again, and I'll live.

Don't get me wrong. I really think we'll beat it at surgery, or at the very least during radiation. And the good news is, IBC is fast growing, so we'll know pretty soon if we've beaten it. Statistics show, if it doesn't recur in the first couple years, it's gone.

But it's a long road to normal. That's all I'm sayin'. Longer than I'd planned or expected.

I'm sure you can tell I'm a bit bummed. But I don't want to give the impression I'm staring out the window with a comatose look on my face. I'm not. I'm sick, and, thank God, I'm living in an age when there's medical advancement sufficient to tackle my illness. Don't for one second think I'm not grateful for that. And for the fact I did catch this IBC early. And that I have such a loving family and friends who treat me like I'm the most special girl in the world. I sometimes feel guilty I've got it so good. :-)

Someone recently said to me, "There's always someone who's got it worse." (She wasn't lecturing, more like expressing her opinion, and wondering if I felt that way too.) I know this might sound strange, but there are some things in this world that would break me. Really crush me. But what I'm going through now isn't one of those things. It's just life, and I feel God's presence with me every day, filling me with a belief that this is all part of the plan.

Dates to keep in mind:

Feb 3rd--PET scan

Feb 7th--FINAL CHEMO!!!