Cancer Center Appointment

03-18-2020 I have an appointment with the oncologist and it’s for tomorrow morning. She won’t be able to tell me definitely what the path might be, as the tumor biopsy and the lymph sample will be the final judge, but in general, I’ll have a more firm path on which to focus. It’s hard to focus on something beyond the Covid19 news. I feel like we are living in a movie with the growing increase in the victims that have the virus. The numbers grow everyday. Mike and I have sequestered, with the exception of necessary shopping, and doctors, of course. I want to stay healthy so I can get the surgery done. 03-19-2020 Walking into the Cancer Center today was a bit unreal, as I was stopped and had my temperature taken before I was able to check in. Could have easily brought a weapon in, but no fevers, which was both sad and good. It was so clean and bright there, I’m sure to represent hope on some level, but the integration at the door, sort of put a damper on some of that hope. I had such optimism that this would be a simple process—remove the tumor, do some radiation, and done, but, this journey just moved into into the multi-fold road map that will never be the same, once unfolded. My HERS2 test came back positive, so I am unable to skip the chemo now. I met with the oncologist today, and she gave me the news, from behind her mask, (that everyone is wearing when near patients). It was hard to tell if this was just a normal, daily talk with cancer patients, but from my end, she was saying things that I didn’t understand, and I had to talk myself down to hear what she was telling me. It was a bit like listening to the teacher on the Charlie Brown cartoons. Wa, wa, wa, wa, is what the kids hear, and it was like that for a moment, until I reeled my thoughts back in and began to listen. I’m sure this happens to people all the time, trying to find where they are on the big, unfolded map of life that just threw up a roadblock that seems to prevent any thought from getting through, or around it. Right then, I was so glad I wrote down my questions before I went. Otherwise, I might have sat open-mouthed and feeling like someone punched me in the stomach. Remember to breathe. She said she didn’t feel anything in the armpit, (not saying there is nothing), so that was some hope, and she agreed the tumor is small. At least a year of treatment is in store, after the surgery, and it’s pretty exhausting to think about right now. And one of the drugs requires cardiac monitoring, so might be doing a stress test sooner than the one scheduled in April. I just don’t want to to wait forever to get the tumor removed. Of course, they are being super careful with keeping everything sanitary, to the point of not allowing Mike to be with me to go over potential treatment plans. I did get, from at least 3 people, that I will loose my hair, and it do think it’s such a small price to pay to save my life. I guess it’s a large topic with newly diagnosed patients with breast cancer. Surgery won’t be scheduled until after the surgeon and the oncologist talk to the cardiologist, the plan will be solidified, and I can begin to plan my life around all of this. Wee. Deep breath in, slowly release. The breast coach, Donna, found me after the exam and the explanation. She is very nice, and had some pretty good information and gave me a notebook full of information about dealing with, and what to expect articles and links. It also has calendars, etc to keep everything organize. She also filled me in on some of the procedures involved with the Herceptin treatment that will now be included with the chemo. She talked about getting a port put in for the medications, so that is something I’m looking into. Wee.