The Story begins...
back last fall (October 2011), when I noticed a slight dent in one side of my right breast. It was near the armpit and I remembered reading somewhere that that is a sign of breast cancer. But, I was quite uniformed about what in my lifestyle might have contributed to breast cancer. Nobody in my immediate family on either side has had cancer of any kind. I am the most physically active in my family and I was eating healthier than most folks I know, so, I thought the chance of having breast cancer extremely remote. I came up with a plausible explanation. Due to the drought, I had been struggling twice a day mightily with stemmy, stubborn round bales, using my right arm more and therefore, the muscles were stronger on that side. I mentioned it to my husband and he too was not up on the facts concerning breast cancer, so we ignored it.
A couple of months later, I noticed a lump in the same general area of the same breast. It was a little harder to think that exercise would cause that. But, I reasoned, there are other reasons for lumps. Coffee for one. I drank two to three cups of coffee a day. Every day.
By February, both of us were noticing the lump was larger. Kevin began to be concerned. "Maybe you should go get it checked." He suggested tentatively. Breast cancer is something men are uncomfortable talking about. I told him that if I went in to have a mammogram, that the pressure of the procedure could rupture the tumor (if it was a tumor) and release the cancer cells to spread. I reminded him that we had discussed many times that if we got cancer, we wanted to fight it with nutrition and exercise, not with chemo. "If I go have a mammogram done, it will certainly show a lump. We know there is one. So, do we want them suggesting we climb on the cancer treatment tractor beam?" We both decided to do some research first. I surfed the internet and found all sorts of claims, conflicting information and come ons. It was overwhelming. I decided to just wait to see if the Lord would steer us in a certain direction; I didn't want to wade around in the mire any further; I was bogged down.
So, my journey began with evidence the medical world gives prompt attention when you mention 'breast cancer'. Statistics are now saying that 1 in 8 women over 55 will develop breast cancer. One site said that number will soon be closer to 1 in 3! The reason that I decided to start this blog is the increasing awareness of breast cancer in our population. I wanted to share my experiences with those who suddenly find themselves in this corner. We soon realize we are not alone. There are women all around us who are surviving or are in treatment or are just beginning to BBC (battle breast cancer). And we each probably know someone who didn't survive it.
My doctor was candid with me. She said after doing a breast exam (not a mammogram) that she was sure it was cancer: that the signs were textbook. The dent/dimple shows the tumor is pulling at the flesh (distorting the tissue around it). That's what invasive cancer does. It invades. But, back to the more accurate diagnosis later. All I was told that first time was that she knew it was cancer, and since it was clear it was a sizable tumor, I didn't have to have a mammogram done (I told her why I didn't want to have one and she didn't try to persuade me to do one). Rather, she gave me the name of a surgeon. She didn't really tell me why she chose that one (I asked her for advice since I didn't know any surgeons personally). She said that she'd had a friend who used this particular surgeon and her friend was convinced she was good at what she does. I wasn't eager at all to go see a surgeon, but I sat in the parking lot outside my doctor's office and made the appointment. They said (again they rushed the process in a way that was quite sobering) I could come in two days later. The nurse scheduling the appointment also said that the doctor would want to do a mammogram when I came in. I told the nurse why I was opposed to that. She then asked if I would be willing to have the doctor do a sonogram, there in their office. I agreed to that without a qualm.
During those two days I did a LOT of praying, thinking, and wondering how I could have gotten breast cancer. Once I started researching the causes, I realized I was actually a prime candidate. Here are just the main things that probably contributed:
1. Sleep deprivation (one European study showed that people who don't get melatonin due to not sleeping properly have a 20 per cent higher risk for cancer). As God would have it, I had only a week before done a sleep study that confirmed what I already knew, I had severe apnea. The way the LORD got me to go in for the sleep study was through a nightmare. In it I drowned. I really believed I was dead. When I came out of it, I was gasping for minutes to restore oxygen to my body. I had had nightmares all my life about choking, being asphyxiated, being smothered...after the sleep study I realized that it was my brain's way of waking me to breathe! The sleep study showed that my oxygen level got as low as 67 during the night. Below 90 is cause for concern. 67 per cent is serious!
2. Hormones. After menopause, the hormones seem to be more one's adversaries than support team. I began to put two and two together. The reason my breasts and skin seemed youthful was due to more estrogen than is usual for someone at my stage of life.
3. Overweight. Fat contains hormones. And toxins.
4. Never having had children. For every child a woman bears, she has a 20 per cent less chance of getting breast cancer.
5. Eating LOTS of dairy/animal products (all high in estrogen)
6. Not eating much in the way of fruits or vegetables. My diet consisted primarily (80 per cent) of pasta, grains, meats, and dairy products.
7. Environmental exposure to estrogen laden products. For example, for a few months before we tapped into the public water supply, we bought water in plastic gallon jugs and HEATED those in the microwave before pouring them over ourselves. We realized after doing this a while that it was stupid and stopped. But, when one puts on fat while engaging in stupidity, some of that stupidity is stored in the fat cells. When one loses weight later, those toxins are released into the blood stream. So, even though we may repent of certain habits, the consequences may haunt us later.
Back to that first week in the medical realm. Tuesday afternoon, I called a friend of mine who had benefitted from the local organizations for breast cancer assistance. She strongly exhorted me to go the very next day to the Breast Cancer Resource Center at St. David's. Because I was struggling with the anxiety over seeing a surgeon, I received the exhortation seriously. The next morning, on the same day I was to go to the surgeon, I marched myself into the BCRC and met a wonderful, sweet, kind cancer survivor who shared her story with me and fielded my fears and gave me some questions to ask the surgeon (as if I didn't already have enough of those!).
Some of my fears and concerns at that point were:
1. If I do chemo, how will I manage to live in the unsterile environment I occupy. We live on a ranch and dirt, dust, flies, dog hair, and manure are all things I interact with at least twice daily.
2. I had for decades been determined to never do chemo no matter what. I asked the BCRC buddy bluntly, "why do intelligent women keep opting to do chemo when the surgeons almost universally say they think they 'got it all' but they want to do chemo or radiation to 'be sure'." She explained, as my doctor had, that the immune system, even if it is functioning well, sometimes fails to recognize cancer as the enemy. It ignores it.
3. How much of a wife could I be after surgery and chemo? I didn't want to be a burden. My husband depends on me to be his 'help mate'. I don't do all I do just because I should, but because it fulfills me and it is the job God gave me. I wanted to be VERY sure that if my role was to change from supporter to supportee, it was HIS reassignment .
4. I was afraid the surgeon would railroad me into something I was opposed to doing. When I mentioned who the surgeon was, I was told she is a 'breast conservationist'. That sounded much better!
5. I was afraid of being hideous. I won't explain that. If you are in this you know what I mean.
That afternoon, Kevin and I went to see the surgeon. She looked at the breast with a sonogram. She, like my MD, said she was sure it was breast cancer and she estimated it to be about 3 cm, stage II A or B. B would be if one or more lymph glands were involved.
She persuaded me (not easily) to have a biopsy of the lump done. She explained that would be better than a lumpectomy at the diagnostic end for these reasons:
1. it would leave the lump to serve as an indicator whether any chemo treatments were effective.
2. if chemo reduced the lump, removing a smaller lump would leave more breast to conserve.
3. it would allow diagnosis of the type of cancer so a 'cocktail' could be specifically compounded to fight it.
So, the biopsy was scheduled for the next day! (Mind you, from being told I should 'go get it checked' on Sunday, I was now going to have a biopsy done five days later!
Now, I'm sort of torn. Should I tell you about the biopsy? Do you want to know what it was like? I didn't go in knowing what they were going to do exactly. I thought they would use a narrow needle, deaden the area totally, and suck out a few cells to test. That is what my little pamplet showed for a needle biopsy. But, what I was scheduled to have was actually a core biopsy.
When I got to the office for the outpatient procedure, I was joined within minutes by the kind woman from the BCRC. They are in the same building. She stayed with me from when I checked in at the receptionist desk and all through the preparation and the biopsy itself. She held my hand, she answered my questions. The nurse, too, was amazingly supportive, kind, gentle and both of them together were who the LORD provided to get me through it.
Kevin hadn't come because of his work pressures and because I had thought it would be a simple, little 10 minute gig. The actual biopsy itself didn't take much more than 10 minutes, but there was the 30 minutes beforehand, the 10 minutes in the procedure room when they used an ultrasound to identify what they were going to biopsy and then the shots (like at the dentist) to deaden the area. What I didn't know, was that a 'core biopsy' is quite a bit more involved than a 'needle biopsy'. I soon was enlightened. I also hadn't realized that a tumor can have blood vessels and nerves IN IT. Nor had I known that anesthesia sometimes doesn't penetrate the tumor's exterior, so, those nerves inside the tumor aren't deadened. The LORD may have well have kept me ignorant of these facts. I'm a little reluctant to share them with you, too, if you are facing one of these. But, I do remember thinking that if I had been informed I would have psyched myself up for more. I have never had a root canal, but I think this core biopsy was LESS difficult than that would be (for comparison). The sensation, when the instrument was positioned to 'fire' (my word, not theirs) was a dull thump. Not bad. But, then after the thump it felt like a staple gun had been used against my breast. I don't mean that it felt like the staples were inserted, NOT that sort of pain, but the sound and the impact, shaking the breast, seemed much like a staple gun. I was told that they wanted to remove three to five core samples. The first one wasn't too bad. The second one hurt more, but still not severely. The third one hurt the most of the four and made me ask if we could just stop with three. But, they wanted to get four to be sure they had enough and I was thinking that they had better get enough because I wasn't likely to agree to doing it again! After the fourth punch (sample), they had only to 'place the marker'. This is (I'm told) a piece of metal about the size of the end of Lincoln's nose on the penny). They put it inside the incision made by the wide needle for the biopsy, to mark where the biopsy was done. Supposedly, sometimes the tumor shrinks so much that the surgeon can't even find it! The marker tells the surgeon exactly where it was. That sounded like a good idea. But, oddly, (they assured me that placing the marker wouldn't/shouldn't hurt) it hurt badly. It kept hurting for almost 10 minutes. I was alarmed and frightened. It made it worse being told that it shouldn't hurt. But, the explanation the nurse gave made some sense; she said that the tumor, once disturbed, gets upset and once it settles down it wouldn't hurt. I was quite concerned (since it wasn't supposed to hurt in the first place), that once the anesthetic wore off, the pain would be awful. Gradually, I began to realize that if the anesthetic hadn't deadened the interior of the tumor in the first place, it wouldn't make any difference when it wore off. And, I was told, the anesthetic wears off faster than it does when you have your gums deadened in the dentist office. The effects of the anesthetic were pretty much already worn off as I was voicing the fear. The surgeon herself didn't perform the biopsy, she had offered to, but said it would be the following week before she could do it herself. Since I would be alone the next week (with Kevin out of town), I opted to have it done on Friday by a person at the Breast Center who does them all day long, that the surgeon trusted to do it well. But, what I was told after the procedure was done, was that the surgeon does another type of biopsy. She would have actually taken 12 samples (instead of four!) I was really glad to hear that I hadn't had to subject my touchy tumor to that sort of attack for fear it would have been even more upset!
The nurse could understand my fear the pain would resume during the night or the next day. She promised to call me the next morning to see how I was doing since Kevin would be gone. He was leaving to drive to Minnesota for his son's wedding. I was staying to work my deadline week at work and to take care of the livestock at home. I was to fly up to join him the next weekend. So, the fact I would be alone the next day did concern the nurse. Interestingly, the pain in the breast, where the tumor was, decreased so much that by the time I got up the next morning it had less feeling in it than it had had prior to the biopsy. But, there was pain in my armpit for a couple of weeks. I definitely believe(d) some lymph nodes were also upset. Nobody yet has explained if disturbing a tumor can cause distress to nearby lymph nodes. Sort of sympathetic pain? But, I have read that when the lymph nodes are having to strain stuff that needs to be evacuated from the area (as it would after such a procedure) they (the lymph nodes) swell and get clogged to some extent. That might be why they complain.
Now, about that weekend with Kevin gone. I did a lot of praying. I discussed dying with the LORD. I suddenly began to think about the actual steps involved in dying and how it would affect Kevin and my family. And friends. And co-workers. And neighbors. And animals...But, mainly, I was thinking about how it might be done. Dying I mean. I have watched it quite a few times and I know vicariously quite a bit. I discussed it with the LORD and came away prepared to do it if that's what He wanted. I knew He would be with me every step of the way and it would be easier (as it already had been), than I was anticipating because He would attend to the myriad of things that I would not know to worry about. And He would repeatedly tell me to give Him my fears, worries, cares...I would learn to do this.
I received the first information from the biopsy on Monday morning. It was confirmation that it was invasive lobular breast cancer. Wednesday, I was told it was estrogen/progesterone positive (+/+), and the growth rate was 5 on a scale of 3-9. And that something like 12 per cent of the cells were rapidly reproducing (a high rate would be 20 per cent). So, I was fairly certain that meant that the pressure to hurriedly decide what to do was lifted. I don't do 'hurry' well at all. But, thanks be to God, I had some breathing room. On friday I was told it was Her2 negative. That meant it wasn't the aggressive type that needs intensive treatment.
Armed with this information, I began to look on line for what that diagnosis meant. Having these specifics did help guide me into more helpful information. My BCRC mentor also was willing to listen as I waded through all the information. She was the one that strongly exhorted me to make an appointment with an oncologist. My surgeon had recommended one. I was extremely uneasy about stepping into that territory.
I spent the week between the Biopsy and the wedding studying on line about various types of treatment. Searching for what is good or bad to do or eat with breast cancer led me to an extremely well researched website foodforbreastcancer.com (that's my first link for you!)
Using that website (but bringing to bear what I know about GMO and soy products since those were not taken into account on that site) I began to radically revamp my diet. I had that week to explore the new boundaries. At first it seemed like I couldn't eat ANYTHING that had come to be a staple of my diet: no sugar, no dairy (except non-fat unsweetened yogurt and kefir), no peanuts, nothing fried, no lima beans, no avocados, no shrimp or scallops... (the list goes on and on!) So, I began slowly to explore new nutritional territory. To make the expedition even more treacherous, I had to be wary of GMO foods, artificial sweeteners, foods high on the glycemic index, foods I just don't like, foods I couldn't find any relevant information about on the website I was using (like Stevia, coconut sugar, goat milk...). That first week I felt like there was just about nothing I could eat in my fridge, on campus, in any restaurant in walking distance of work...I lost about three pounds due to subsisting on nothing but fruit, nuts, and salad greens!
I had wondered about whether I would be up to the trip to Minnesota for the wedding. My flight was scheduled for mid afternoon of the same day that I was to be at Bass Concert Hall on campus for our annual Graduate School Ceremony. I had to be at Bass by 7:30 a.m. I did my duties (which involved helping hundreds of students across the stage) for 5 hours. I left at 12:30 to go catch a bus to the airport. I moved my car out of the parking garage (where it couldn't be left for five days) and drove it to a place where I could leave it for the duration. Then, I caught a bus that took me downtown to the corner where I could catch the 'Airport' bus. I waited there (it was about 90 degrees, but there was a breeze) for about 40 minutes. The bus came in good time and then I lugged my luggage into the airport, on the wrong level, up to the next floor, down to the other end of the airport, through the line, got my boarding pass, went through security, then down the long terminal to the end where my flight was to leave. LOTS of carrying and walking. But, compared with changing planes in Denver, it was nothing! I was actually rather impressed by how well I got through that ordeal in Denver. I realized I was stronger than I'd thought. I got off the plane in one terminal, at the very end of it, and I had brought a carry-on that weighed about 20 pounds. My purse weighs another 6. The carry on didn't have rollers on it. Believe me, I will NEVER make that mistake again! Anyway, I thought maybe I could rent one of those luggage carriers in the airport terminal. They didn't have those. I was told that to get to the next plane I was to board, I would need to go all the way to the other end of the terminal I was in, get on the train that would take me to another terminal and then go all the way to the far end of that one! I am quite sure that the total distance I ended up walking was a couple of miles. Carrying 26 pounds! I stopped a lot. I was hungry. I was thirsty. In each terminal they had a 'food court'. There was absolutely nothing I could find in either of those that I could eat! I paid $1.50 for a bottle of water and dug out some nuts I had brought along with me. Then trudged down those terminals determinedly. I noticed that there were elderly people also trekking and they looked even more stressed than I was! Why weren't there provisions for people like us! Anyway, I did thank the LORD for the strength to manage it. It was a blessing that the time between flights was more than adequate and I didn't have to hurry.
When I arrived at the Airport in Minneapolis, I was again faced with a formidable hike to where Kevin could get to me with the truck. By the time he did, I was REALLY hungry. It was after 11:00 p.m.. I hadn't eaten in twelve hours (except for some nuts). I had walked, carrying 26 pounds, literally miles. I had envisioned going a short distance to a motel. But, Kevin, informed me that we were actually staying at the farm which was about 40 miles away! I gave up the idea of eating. I wanted, instead, to just go to sleep. But, Kevin was in unfamiliar territory and it was very very very dark. The roads were narrow. Some miles of them weren't even paved. Almost none of them had signs on them. We got lost. He knew we were close to where we should be, but in the dark, we couldn't even be sure of which direction we were going. It was overcast. No stars to guide us. We saw only two or three cars in all that wandering. Most of the farms we passed were dark. Everybody had gone to bed. It was too late to call for help without waking our host. Pretty much anybody else in our family already at the farm wouldn't know where we were to help us. Finally, after wandering up and down roads that began to be too familiar (we'd crossed them before), and with our fuel gauge indicating we were getting near empty, I saw a vehicle behind us. I told Kevin to stop and let me get out to flag them down. Standing in front of a car approaching, driven by total strangers, in deep darkness, at 1:30 a.m. on an unmarked road seemed a perfectly logical solution to our dilemma at that point! I did choose to approach them at a stop sign. So, I guess technically I didn't flag them down; I just made sure they could see me in their headlights and that my hands were empty. I walked up to the passenger's window and peered into the cab of a small pickup truck. I halfway expected to see some guys coming home from a bar. I was surprised to see two women, the driver in her forties and the passenger in her late teens or early twenties. When I told them what road we were looking for, they easily explained where it was: only 1/2 mile on down the road we were on! That's how close we were! The LORD certainly did send the right help to us at that hour! Our truck was making warning ding ding ding (fuel low) sounds when we pulled into the farm. It was after 2:00 a.m.!
We didn't have to get up early the next morning, since the wedding was in the afternoon. I was pleased to awaken with relatively little pain considering what I'd put my body through in the previous 24 hours. I was fed farm food. Our host has a small dairy. I got to watch him milk his cows and that was so much nicer than being in a motel! Out their breakfast room window was a birdfeeder and there were dozens of birds coming to it. Beautiful birds we don't have at home. I saw a wild turkey cross their yard as I was staring out the window. Being there was a mini vacation for me even in the midst of all the excitement of the wedding. It was a perfect place to just walk about in the pasture, ramble through the huge old barn, sit in the midst of a family I've married into; that I am growing each year to appreciate more and more. I was very glad I'd gone; it was a wonderful wedding with many uniquely personal moments. It was God honoring throughout.
