Today is D-Day, but not actual D-Day. It’s my D-Day, Diagnosis day. I have an appointment with Dr. Impossible to See, though right now, his office is making it easy for me to schedule appointment with him.

Things at work are crazy, we’ve just launched a new system that I helped train. And now I’m lending support for the morning. I’m leaving at noon but until then I’m trying to keep things together. I just went for the biopsy last week so I called the office to make sure the results are in. They are and now I’m ready to jump out of my skin. After I make the call, I take a break. Stay away from the computer, just stay away. I go back to my desk, take a few deep breaths, and log into my online account.

New test results available. My heart is pounding and my hands are shaking. And there it is in black and white…. Ductal carcinoma in situ, nuclear grade 2, micropapillary and solid  patern. DCIS covering a span of 0.5 cm. Possible small foci of solid papillary carcinoma. A follow-up  appointment with a breast surgeon is recommended. In english, DCIS. Breast cancer. WTF???

The rest of my day at work was a blur. I’m in shock. I’m anxious. And I am scared to death. I leave work at noon and my appointment is at 2:30. I go home to change and freshen up. I log into my online account again and start consulting with Dr. Google. What is nuclear grade 2, micropapillary, and solid pattern? And how the hell did this happen? 80 percent of what’s seen on mammograms turn out to be nothing. Well, this ain’t nothing. This is something. Something very real.

There are a few things I should mention before I talk about the appointment. First, the older of my two brothers is a doctor and he has been my go to for the past few weeks. I like to bounce questions off him and get reassurance that this is nothing. The second is that my husband’s 40th birthday is in three days and his party is in two days. There’s a tent. a band, 50 guests. many moving parts, and no turning back.

On my way to the appointment, Dr. Brother calls me to see how I’m doing. I don’t let on that I know anything so I tell him I’m on my way and I’ll call him when I’m done. I’m at the office and checked in. It’s not as packed as last time. I wait and right at 2:30, I get called for my appointment. The nurse weighs me and takes my blood pressure. It is sky high and my heart is pounding out of my chest. Nurse Gatekeeper and I make small talk. She asks if I’m doing ok after the biopsy. I’m not in the mood to chat so I keep my answers short. She takes me to the exam room and I change into my gown, everything off from the waist up, opening to the front. Then she’s gone and I’m alone with my thoughts.

There’s a knock at the door and the doctor come in, not Dr. Impossible to see, but the next of the many residents I will see. He introduces himself and sits down. No doubt he’s wondering how he drew the short straw, getting to tell the 41 year old that she has breast cancer. He’s handsome but extremely serious.  And he breaks down the diagnosis and treatment plan for me. Lumpectomy and radiation. Two words I was hoping I would never have to hear preceded by You need to have…..He assures me that I’m young and otherwise health. Everything will be just fine. I will learn to hate that assurance.

He leaves and comes back with Dr. Impossible to See and Nurse Amazing. The doctor explains everything that his resident already has but in more detail. None of this is foreign to me or even surprising. I already know what a DCIS diagnosis entails. Hearing the words, I can’t describe it. He also recommends genetic testing so that I can make a surgical decision. If I test positive for the gene, he explains, I may want to consider a mastectomy rather than just a lumpectomy. I agree to do it. I have no questions, I’m not sure I can think at this point. Doctor and resident shake my hand and they are out the door. Nurse Amazing steps out while I get dressed and she’s back soon.

She’s got a pink portfolio in her hands and a whole lot of reading material for me. She walks me through my diagnosis. Stage one. ER positive. PR positive. She takes the time to explain everything to me and introduce me to all of the resources that I may need in the next few months. She’s been involved in my care for several years and she tells me that no one was more surprised than she with the diagnosis. She tells me that someone from Medical Genetics will be in touch with me to set up the genetic testing.   She’s amazing. Once she gives me everything I need to know and need to do, we stand up to leave. She hugs me and tells me that everything is going to be fine even if it doesn’t seem to be right now. Dr. Impossible to See wants to see me back in two weeks. I will meet with my medical oncologist, radiology oncologist, and a social worker. Sounds like the perfect way to spend a Thursday afternoon.

I check out with my next appointment scheduled and head home. Mars is out in the yard cutting the grass in preparation for the tent delivery in two days. I get choked up just thinking about having to tell him. He sees me on the deck and stops the tractor. He comes up and hugs me. I feel like he knows but I explain everything to him. He hugs be a little bit tighter and a little bit longer. He tells me everything is going to be ok. I believe him, but I’m not convinced. He goes back to the task at hand I call Dr. Brother. He, too, assures me since I am young and otherwise healthy that I will be fine. After I hang up with him, I sit on the recliner for a long time and cry. Once it’s out of my system, I pack it away in its appropriate compartment. I’ve got a birthday party to pull together….

I scheduled my biopsy for a Friday. They told me I’d be sore afterward and I figured a three day weekend would ease the pain. I’d be a liar if I told anyone I wasn’t scared. I was anxious, nervous, scared, and just about to come undone. But I did what I did best, put my problem in it’s appropriate compartment, not to come out until the time was right….like when an half of a bottle of wine was involved. Surprisingly enough, Mars was handling the situation remarkably well.

Don’t get me wrong, Mars is a great guy, a great husband, and I love him with all my heard. However, he doesn’t exactly handle stress gracefully.  Even less so when things aren’t going as he feels they should or when he doesn’t understand something. That’s a story for another day, but when I had a meltdown after a bottle of wine the day I found I had to have the biopsy, he looked at me the next morning and said ” You had too much wine last night, but everything’s going to be alright.”

Another trip to Women’s Imaging, when do I start getting frequent flyer miles??? Maybe I should ask Colleen. Today’s not the day, though. I’m thankful that no one needs to come near me with a blood pressure cuff, I’m pretty sure I’d be spending some time in the ER if they did. On a typical day, most people would look at me and not be able to tell what I was feeling or thinking, today isn’t one of those days. I’m really scared.

When the ultrasound technician, Lori, calls me for my appointment, I go through the the drill. Take off everything from the waist up, put on a robe, lock up your belongings in a locker, and don’t forget to take the key. Not my first rodeo, I’m changed and ready to go. She takes me into the ultrasound procedure room and verifies my information. I can see that she already has my pictures from the last ultrasound on her computer screen. I assume the position on the table, with left arm behind my head and sort of laying on my right side. She makes a few passes over me with the wand and makes a few marks on the machine. She steps out of the room to get the radiologist and he comes right in and introduces himself. Dr. Bronx, I call him. He seems pleasant enough. He tells me he really wants to take a real time look at the ultrasound to make sure he sees what everyone else saw to make sure I even need the biopsy. Wouldn’t if be fantastic if this was all a mistake. Yeah, it’s not and he sees what everyone else has. The biopsy is going to happen.

Dr. Bronx explains how this is going to go down. First, he will give me a shot to numb the pain. Then while Lori is holding the ultrasound wand in place, he’s going to take five samples with needles. He shows me the instrument that he’s going to use. It reminds me of the kind of device that they use at the kiosk in the mall to pierce ears. He warns me of the sound it’s going to make and what I should feel. “Click, click, pop.” he says. And I should feel a little pressure. Try not to move. Try not to jump. Easy enough. He also tells me that once he is done with the biopsy, he’s going to insert a titanium marker so that when I have mammograms in the future, it will be present. He draws a picture of it on his paperwork. It’s barely the size of a grain of rice.

And here comes the needle to numb the pain. I convince myself it’s no big deal. It stings but it’s over before I know it. Oh, another shot, you say. Ok. Here comes the second shot to numb the pain, this time it goes in a lot deeper. It’s quick and I can already tell that I won’t be feeling anything. Back on my right side with my left arm behind my head, he starts with the needles to take the samples. There it is, click, click, pop. With the pop, I feel some pressure and say “Ouch”. It didn’t really hurt, it just felt like a poke and I wasn’t expecting it. Dr. Bronx stops. “Ouch”? I say no, not ouch, I just wasn’t expecting the pressure at the end. He does four more rather quickly, then sets the marker.

We talk for a few more minutes and during the conversation he says the word lesion and I’m fixated. I’ve consulted Dr. Google for weeks researching everything I could about mammograms, ultrasounds, and fine needle biopsies. Lesions are never good. And he’s the first one to call what he’s seen on my images a lesion. Ugh….Lori passes me off to Tracey to do a soft mammogram to make sure the marker can be seen. Dr. Bronx can see it on the image and he’s satisfied. He tells me I’ve been a great patient and we shake hands and part ways. I go back to the changing room across the hall to change and collect my belongings. It’s over. But Dr. Bronx and I will meet again…

I left the office feeling ok. I wasn’t as on edge as when I got there but the word lesion kept resonating through my mind. The numbing medication is still working but I can feel myself getting sore. I have a follow up with the surgeon in six days. And over the next six days, I realize that I can view the summary of my appointments and look at my test results on line. I will become obsessed. But for now, it’s Friday, time to put my problem back in it’s little compartment and carry on with my day. I pop two ibuprofen and head out to have my car inspected.

So today, I have another appointment, this time with the surgeon. Oncology surgeon. Scary, right? At this point, it sounds to me, much worse than it really is. After all, 80 percent of all things seen on mammograms turn out to be nothing. Fact. And I am going to quickly learn how a large specialty medical practice operates. Eye opening, really.

I show up well ahead of time for my 3:30 appointment, my punctuality can be exhausting for some. I’ve already done my recon, so I know that I need to check in on the third floor. There’s a huge waiting room with lots of people waiting. There’s a tiny check in area with lots of people waiting to be checked in. After waiting for a few minutes, with much time to spare, I’m checked in and sent to the waiting room to fill out the typical new patient paperwork. What past surgeries have you had, what’s your family history, when was your last mammogram, and on, and on, and on…

When I’m done with my paperwork, the observation begins, people watching, if you will. I look at people and wonder what their stories are. I wonder if they are thinking the same about me. Probably so, I’m pretty darn interesting. I check my watch over and over again. And surprisingly enough, the nurse calls for me promptly at 3:30. A positive sign, the office runs on time. This will be helpful for me when I have to adjust my work schedule.

The nurse introduces herself, collects my paperwork, and takes for my weigh-in and blood pressure check, not a great start. The blood pressure is high but I’m neither surprised nor concerned. I really shouldn’t be here. She asks a few questions about my mammogram, spot compression, and ultrasound. After we’re done, Nurse Keep the Office Moving Along takes me to the exam room. The drill is the same, everything off from the waist up, gown open in the front. Then, she’s gone, I change, and I wait.

What happens next is a very pleasant surprise. Dr. Cutie Pie walks in and introduces himself. He’s not the oncology surgeon, but one of his residents. And the dance begins. How am I feeling? What’s my past medical history? What’s your family history? Then we start discussing what will happen with the biopsy. A needle, you say. Needles don’t bother me. Oh, you meant a big needle, I’m still not scared. He tells me that he’s going to go and get the surgeon who will examine me.

Exit Dr. Cutie Pie, enter Dr. Impossible to See. He’s really quite lovely. And wait, who’s that with him? “Hello, stranger,” she says. I practically give myself whiplash when I hear the voice and whip my head around to see her standing there. Nurse Amazing. Nurse Amazing worked with my previous surgeon, Dr. Straight to the Point. When I heard Straight to the Point left the area, I wondered what happened to Nurse Amazing. Wonder no more, here she is. Through my journey, she will be the one person I know for sure that I can lean on when I need to. Thanks, Nurse Amazing!!!!

Dr. Impossible to See does and exam and confirms what I already know. There’s no lump or mass that can be felt. So, we talk. Yes, you need to have a biopsy. But no, you don’t need to worry. It’s probably nothing. We’ll get the biopsy scheduled next week and you’ll come back to see me in two weeks. We exchange pleasantries as everyone piles out of the room leaving me to put myself together. I check out and make a follow up appointment for two weeks out. Women’s Imaging will call me to set up the biopsy. I leave the office feeling confident that I have nothing to worry about and everything will be just fine.

After a restless night’s sleep, I drag my sorry self to work. I have to make the call, my logical and intelligent (reasonably) self knows that. But I somehow manage to put it off for half of the day. I need to find a quiet place to talk so I wander into my friend’s office. She’s traveling this week. Just do it, you’re an adult make the call.

So I call and the doctor agrees to see me on Thursday, two days from today. Can I leave it in its compartment until then. I try. Afterall, my obsession with Dr. Google has not yet begun, it will soon, though.

Thursday takes an eternity to arrive and I couldn’t be in a more foul mood. But I manage to put on a good front for Mars. We commute to work together every day because we also work together. It gets tense sometimes but we make it work. I leave midday for my appointment and I will come back afterward. My family doctor is a perfectly kind and competent doctor. We discuss family history and the state of my health before he begins the exam. Yep, there is definitely something there. It moves. Ok, let me step out and I will be back in a few minutes.

There I sit, in my gown open to the front – the first in a long line of gown open to the front exams. I wait and wonder and worry. There is no way this could be healthy for anyone’s blood pressure. But, if I go down, I’m in the safest place for it.

Doctor comes back in the room. Here’s what we’re going to do. Tomorrow at 1:00 pm you have an appointment for a mammogram at the Women’s Imaging Center. Monday, you have an appointment with the surgeon, Dr. Straight to the Point. Her specialty is breast surgery and she’s the best around. You’ll be fine and I want you to follow up with me in two weeks. We exchange pleasantries and he leaves me in the exam room to change back into my civilian clothes, nothing open to the front. My head is ready to explode. AND I get to go back to work.

I make arrangements for my next two appointments when I get back to work and I grab Mars to give him the abridged version of my visit to the doctor. We finish the day and head home for what will be a very tense and sleepless night.

So I had the spot compression last week followed by the ultrasound. Followed by a discussion with Dr. Arkansas that 80 percent of all that is seen on mammograms turns out to be nothing. Fact.

After the procedures. I treat myself with a trip to a Wednesday farmer’s market and flea market. It took me about an hour to get there but my heart wasn’t in it. Really strange since to me, shopping is sport. On my way there, Mars calls me. Dammit. He’s working and I don’t want to upset him by telling him about the biopsy. I try to keep the conversation light and I’m usually great at steering the conversation.

Yes. everything went well. No. it wasn’t painful. Oh, what’s that? Do I have to do anything from here? Yeah, I have to follow up in the next few weeks. For what? So, yeah, I have to go for a biopsy. I can’t unsay it and he can’t not know it. But you know Mars, 80 percent of what’s seen on these kind of tests turns out to be nothing. Fact. He’s unnerved and I’m freaked out. Time to shop.

The farmer’s market is a bust for me. I walk around aimlessly for about 30 minutes and it’s time for me to go. Not before I stop for some potato pancakes, of course. I sit in my Benz and eat one of the three pancakes. Time to head home and ponder and worry and then place my issue in its appropriate compartment. I’ll take it out in a few days when I get the call.

When I left the spot compression appointment, Dr. Arkansas said he would send the results to my primary care doctor and arrange for the next steps. So, I’m sitting in a training class at work when my phone rings, I can see it’s the doctor’s office. I step out of the room to take the call. Oh hey, it’s not the nurse, it’s the doctor. You had your spot compression. Did the radiologist speak with you about what he saw? And you know we’re recommending a biopsy? OK, I’ll have one of the girls call you back with an appointment. The doctor never calls, this is cause for concern.I begin to think about the possibilities of what may be happening. Dammit, dammit, dammit.

I step back into my training class and try to put my problem back in its compartment but it seems to be sitting there on my desk staring at me, poking me.  A little while later, the nurse from my primary care office calls me back. The appointment is set, two weeks and two days away. This shouldn’t be hard, right???

Over the next two weeks and two days, a few thing will happen. One, I will use Dr. Google to look up everything I can find about mammograms, spot compressions,  ultrasounds, and fine needle biopsies. Two, I will become obsessed and addicted to my on line health records.

More to come…

The appointment was like deja vu, I’ve done this quite a few times before. I breezed into Women’s Imaging and Colleen checks me in. The ID bracelet is on and I sit, I read, I wait. No surprises here. I’m honestly not worried. The past few days were a little unnerving but I’ve come to understand that things show up on mammograms all the time. In fact, 80 percent of the time, it turns out to be nothing. Fact.

The technician calls me back and shows me to the changing room. Did I mention that I’ve been here before? I take everything off from the waist up. change into the comfy short robe, and lock my things in the locker. I never forget to take the key with me. She is waiting in the hall to take me into the procedure room. I follow her in and we go through the usual questions. I verify my birthday and address. No, I don’t have any pain or discharge. No, I can’t feel any lumps. Yes, I’ve had a problem before. But, that’s a story for another day….

The technician explains the procedure. It’s the same as a regular mammogram, only different. We use a smaller plate with more compression. I take a deep breath, it’s not going to be comfortable but I have a very high tolerance for pain. I’m ready, let’s get this done.

But then I stop dead in my tracks. The image from my last mammogram is on the technician’s screen. I’ve seen my images before. including the problematic ones of a few years ago. What I see is now is nothing like what I’ve seen before. Now, I’m worried.

To say this mammogram is uncomfortable is an understatement of epic proportion. It’s a special form of torture reserved for those that have wronged others in a past life. Note to self, ramp up on the good deeds….soon. Once I’m done with the mammogram, the technician passes me off to the ultrasound technician. I’ve had ultrasounds before so I lay back on the table with my left arm behind my head. She goes to work and I take some deep breaths to try to keep my heart from beating out of my chest. A few minutes later, I’m done. Or am I??? The technician tells me that she’s going to step out to get the radiologist

And there you have it ladies and gentleman, the first indication that something isn’t quite right. Now, I’m nervous. This is not the way I hoped my Wednesday off from work would go. Prior to last year, I typically scheduled my mammograms during the week but for the last two years, I scheduled it on Saturday. During the week, there are radiologists in the office, not so much on Saturday. In the past, I’ve never had a radiologist come into the room. I usually get a no cause for concern, no evidence of cancer letter in the mail.

Enter Dr. Arkansas…..He comes in the room, introduces himself, and he and the ultrasound technician get to work. And a few minutes later, it’s over.  Dr. Arkansas, I later find out, is the Director of Radiology at the Women’s Imaging Center. We start talking family history. Yes, I have family history of breast cancer, my mom was 49 when she was diagnosed. Yes, she’s still with us. No, there’s no history of colon cancer in the family. No, there are no other major health issues in the family. I’m about to come unglued when he tell me there is no reason for panic. Yes, there may be something here on the image, but 80 percent of the time, it’s nothing. Then, he’s gone.

The technician takes me to the back waiting room. I’ve been here before. This is the room where they take you while they figure out whether or not you’re going to get good or bad news. I sit and wait. There’s a TV, books, and magazines, none of which I can concentrate on. I aimlessly flip through O magazine. I try to read Dr. Phil and Suze Ormond’s columns but concentration is futile. Enter Dr. Arkansas and the ultrasound technician, they cl0se the door behind them. Not good. Nothing good comes of closed doors. He explains what he sees and recommends a biopsy. He still tries to explain that there is an 80 percent chance this is nothing. I’m not convinced, not one bit. He explains the different types of biopsies and how they’re performed. Do I have any questions, he asks. I’m too speechless to articulate anything other than a no that sounds more like a whimper. They tell me that they will call to schedule the biopsy and just like that, they’re gone.

I slink back to the dressing room to change. I ask Colleen to cut my wrist band off before I leave. And now I have to tell Mars……

Time for a little background???

My real journey really began prior to April 27. 2013, it officially began July 15, 2007. Mars and I were still in the phase of our lives when it was possible to have a few cocktails on a Monday night and still function reasonably well the next day. Yes, I call my husband Mars for the obvious reason. I will come to find out much much later that my husband and I are truly Mars and Venus….but that’s a story for another day.

So. Mars and I were working at the same company in the same office. At this point. we’d been married for about three years. We are living together. commuting to work together, and working together…how cozy. But. it worked for us.

As I said. those were the days that we could go out and still go to work the next day….not so much today. but back then. it was possible. We met up with a few of our friends at a place around the corner from our office. We had a few and then a few more before we decided to head home. It was a school night, after all. Once we got home, the cocktails started doing what they should and the romance was on. We were still in the honeymoon phase. right?

After the romance. it happened. Mars says, “Um…so…I sort of felt something.” I tilt my head an look at him strangely. But I know what he’s talking about. A few days ago, I felt the lump and tonight is the confirmation of what I already know. There is really something there. I’m numb. Thankfully, I had a few cocktails. I will sleep tonight….the next few days will be a different story.

It was a Tuesday and I was sitting in the cafe’ at work with the Wolf Pack for our morning break….Lol…we don’t always call ourselves the Wolf Pack but we are a tight-knit group of co-workers, a great team, and close friends. We only get closer.

Our  company’s National Headquarters is freshly built and is notorious for having AWFUL cell service. But not me, I never have an issue. When my phone rings and I see the number,  it  only takes me a split second to recognize that it was doctor’s office. I immediately know what this is about. I haven’t seen my primary care doctor in a while, however, I just had a mammogram on Saturday.

Immediately had a bad feeling but the nurse was very matter of fact. She never said there was anything seen on the mammogram nor did she make it sound like there was anything wrong. She simply told me that the doctor recommended that I have a spot compression and explained to me that it’s just like a mammogram but more specific. I would be hearing from Women’s Imaging later to schedule an appointment.

A few hours later, Colleen called me to schedule my appointment. Come in next Wednesday, May 8th and we’ll do the spot compression and an ultra sound. Ok, Colleen, 8:30, it is, I’ll be there. Within the next week, my circumstances are going to change considerably. I’m not nervous yet, I have no reason to be. I’ve been here before, after all. But. that’s a story for another day….

I carry on with the rest of the day and the next eight  days with hardly a second thought about the callback. It’s really nothing, right????

It was exactly a year ago today that everything changed. Somewhere along  my journey, I decided that I would tell my story. And the one year anniversary just seemed like the right time.

So first, a little background. I tend to be a private person and I don’t love or desire to be in the spotlight. Therefore. talking to people about my problems is somewhat unnatural and uncomfortable to me. I’m also compartmentalize most aspects of my life. I keep everything  in its appropriate box until it’s time to take it out and deal with it. Maybe not the best way to handle things, but it usually works for me.

Looking back, the day was unremarkable. That’s how I try to plan all weekends, fitting in as much R&R as possible after a crazy work week. Mind you, I love my job but it tends to be insane. But this was the Saturday that I chose to schedule my yearly mammogram. Since I had just turned 41 two months before, it really should have been just routine.

I showed up at the Women’s Imaging Center and checked in with Colleen. Colleen is always there. In fact, I’m not convinced I have ever had to check in with anyone else besides Colleen. Insurance card and driver’s license in hand, Colleen attached an ID bracelet on my wrist. And I sat and waited to be called back. Not many pages into my book later, Maria called my name and I followed her into the changing area. Here’s your robe. Take everything off from the waist up, lock your clothes and purse in a locker, and don’t forget to grab the key. Come back out when you’re ready. The normal routine.

In the procedure room. Maria verifies my name and date of birth and we discuss my past history. But, that’s a story for a different day. Time to get down to business. First, the right side, then the left. Three images of each side. A little time in between each to change position and for Maria to make sure she had a clear image. It’s uncomfortable but not painful and it only lasts about five minutes. I thank Maria, return to the changing area, redress, put on some deodorant, and go to check out with Colleen. She cuts off the ID bracelet, I tell her to have a good day, and I’m on my merry way.

I left the office feeling good. See you next year, or so I thought…