4/27/2009: PETscan Results

"Jennifer, your PETscan looks amazing ..."

Over the past couple of weeks I have fought a nasty case of bronchitis, gone to several concerts and festivals, took a trip to the beach with my friend Heather, and had my pre-surgery PETscan.

My PETscan was on Friday and the following Monday after work I drove to Reston Hospital and picked up the report without telling anyone. Through the medical “mumbo jumbo” I continued to see the word “normal” repeated. The report talked about my mediport, my “collapsed implant” (which is where they removed my breast on the left side), and something about the top of my left lung. I called my Mom waking her from a nap. “Hello,” she said. “My PETscan was normal,” I said calmly. Silence fell over the phone, and then I heard sniffing. This was the first test I had received that was normal. My family was moved to tears – only this time they were joyful.

The following week I went to see my Oncologist, Dr. David Heyer, to review my PETscan results and get my mediport flushed. (Even though I am no longer receiving treatment I still have to have my port accessed and flushed once a month to avoid infection.) Dr. Heyer entered the exam room with a big smile and a sturdy hand shake. He immediately commented about how long my hair is getting and how he likes it dark.

Opening my huge medical folder he looked over my PETscan images. “Jennifer, your PETscan looks amazing,” he said. I choked on the tears and swallowed hard. He brought the images over to me and sat down. He showed me visually the different things that the report was referencing so that I could see what they were referring to on the images. “So does that mean I can get my port removed on May 4 during my reconstruction?” I asked. “It does,” said Dr. Heyer smiling. “And you know what else? I don’t need to see you back for four months.”

Dr. Heyer did point out in my images a section at the top of my left lung that lit up. Apparently, the six weeks of intense radiation has damaged the top section of my left lung. This will never go away, but should heal and eventually scar inside my body. Dr. Heyer told me to be very aware in case I get a cough or any issues breathing. He said that the intensity of the radiation was necessary and that we will just have to keep a watchful eye on the left lung as we continue with my imaging.

Dr. Heyer listened to my chest and my back focusing on my left lung and said that he believed everything sounded good. In four months we will redo the PETscan and see how it has healed.

Leaving the doctors office the nurses and administration all came out to congratulate me with hugs, kisses and huge smiles. I had forgotten that they have been fighting right along side me in this battle and were experiencing emotions similar to mine. I left the doctors office feeling as though I had been given back some of my independence – some of my freedom. I called my boyfriend and my Mom sharing the good news and my sense of renewal. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief and rejoiced in the positive news. Finally!

2/2/2009: New Lump

I unbuttoned my blouse, took his hand and slipped it under my bra. I guided his fingers to the lump and said, "What the f&%k is that?" His eyes got bigger as he started pressing on the lump and pinching it between his fingers. "It feels like it is sitting on your rib. I'm going to need you to undress and put on a robe so I can examine you," said my oncologist, Dr. Heyer. He left the room and I crumbled into the chair. My jaw clenched with the onset of an anxiety attack and I could feel my heart surging out of control.

I was in the oncology office for my second to last Herceptin treatment and had not intended to talk to Dr. Heyer about my new found lump until I saw him in the hallway speaking to his assistant. I passed by making idle chit chat with the nurses and doctors. They all marveled at my thick black locks and gave me lots of loving hugs. They had all experienced my journey and were elated to see me healthy. Dr. Heyer must have noticed that I was acting different. He said, "Do you need to talk to me?" as he walked toward the conference room. I said, "Yes, but I need you to feel me up." He said, "Oh – then we'll need an exam room." (Is everyone just so used to my inappropriate comments that they just ignore them now?)

Dr. Heyer pulled my gown open and moved my implant away from the lump to ensure that it wasn't just the edge of the implant. He said, "This doesn't feel like a tumor, Jennifer. This feels like scar tissue or part of the implant. I can move it around. Talk to Wendy [my plastic surgeon] on Monday and have her look at it." He left the room and the tears ran down my face. Thank God I don't have cancer again.

Today I went to see Dr. Gottlieb (my plastic surgeon) to have my stitches removed from my left breast. I took her hand as I had Dr. Heyer's and laid it on the lump next to my right breast. She looked at me concerned. "I think we should biopsy this. With you, we'd rather be safe then sorry." I was shocked. I told her about my recent PETscan and her office called over to get the results. At the same time Dr. Gottlieb called my surgeon, Dr. Mason to get a second opinion on the biopsy.

"I have your PETscan results and I want to go over them with you. I am not good at reading these things, so I need for you not to freak out when I tell you what it says." I was numb and staring blankly at Dr. Gottlieb. Her lips were moving but all I could hear was the high-pitched horn of a truck running me over. "… newly enlarged right axillary lymph node measuring 13mm with abnormal FDG uptake with SUV of 2.6 is suspicious …" WTF was happening? I have cancer again … but on the other side??? But I did everything right, even giving up my right breast to prevent this. How did this test know that I drove an SUV? How could this happen twice to the same person???

I heard nothing else she told me besides the fact that I have to have a biopsy on Thursday morning in Arlington to test both the mystery lump (which everyone thinks is scar tissue) and now my "newly enlarged right axillary lymph node measuring 13mm." Walking alone to my car at Reston Hospital I called my mother. "I have bad news and I have bad news. The lump needs to be biopsied and I think I have cancer again." Silence. How many times must my family bend before we eventually break?

Dr. Heyer called me to review the report. I was in a meeting with my team at work and scrambled, stumbling over a chair to exit the room quickly. My voice shook on the phone with him while my throat tightened to keep me from bursting into tears. "Did you see the report? What is going on? I did everything right. How could I have cancer again? What do I do?" He waited patiently for me to get out everything that had built up for the last two hours.
He explained that he hadn't received the actual images yet (just the written report) so he doesn't exactly know what we are dealing with. He said that this lymph node had an SUV of 2.6 and my previous tumors had an SUV of 17 and 18, so this one is not 100 percent identifiable as cancer. He said it is very possible that the lymph node is simply inflamed from the surgeries I have had and that he isn't convinced that it is cancer. I told him how confused I was due to the fact that I never had cancer on my right side. He said that cancer is always a possibility for me but that he finds it highly unlikely. Even so, it needs to be tested so that we know for certain.

Thursday I will have my biopsy …

10/13/2008: Surgery Scheduled

MY SURGERY IS SCHEDULED FOR DEC. 17. That's right … two days before my 27th birthday!

Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! I finally will have boobies that are big and squish-y.

This past week I met with my oncologist, Dr. David Heyer and touched base with him now that my radiation is over. He examined my expander implants, lymph nodes (neck, groin, armpits and stomach) and how my skin is healing. He was shocked at how well my body is bouncing back. He still calls me his Bionic Woman.

We discussed a multitude of options for my preventative regimen and the medications I am currently taking. The problem is that most studies that have been conducted have been done on women who are twice my age. I am only +2 estrogen positive, which is extremely low, however it is enough to constitute hormone therapy. My situation is so different and my doctors are doing everything in their power to take all the necessary precautions and read between the lines when it comes to my stats. The next phase of my journey is a 5-year regimen of Tamoxifen. This is a hormone therapy that suppresses estrogen in my body. I always knew I was way too girly!

So now I have night sweats again, severe mood swings and basically feel nauseous 24/7. Let's just say that I'm a real joy! Additionally, Dr. Heyer and I had a mini-therapy session where I told him about how in 2005 I went through a traumatic experience and went on an anti-anxiety medication to help me gain weight. Coincidentally, my current medication does not mesh well with the Tamoxifen. So, he switched that medication to something new and cut it in half (eventually wanting me off the anti-anxiety medication completely). It's difficult to tell what medication is causing what side effect, but I feel pretty crummy.

I suppose the only good side effect is the fact that the seven pounds I had gained during chemotherapy has literally melted away over the course of last week. Let's just hope it stops and doesn't continue the drastic plummeting. I know I have the Victoria Beckham haircut (Or rather she has mine. I'm such a trendsetter!), but I don't want the skeletal frame.

Other than the medication side effects, brick-hard boobs, doctors appointments, imaging, two-toned skin, curling hair and the fact that my new clothes don't fit now … I am doing well. I am reclaiming my life by throwing myself back into work and my thesis. I am surprisingly happier than I have been in a long time. I know that the road is still long, but instead of dragging my feet with my head hung and kicking pebbles, I find myself skipping with my face upward toward the illuminating sunshine.

7/14/2008: Remission

My ears were ringing. My oncologist's mouth continued to move, but the buzzing was enough to cast over his words. The heat rose from somewhere in my back and I felt it surge quickly to my face. Clutching my jaw tightly I tried desperately not to cry. Did I just hear him correctly? I took a deep breath and interrupted my doctor. "I apologize, but I am trying not to cry. You have no idea what wonderful news that is," I managed to say as my voice cracked.

I am cancer free and officially in remission. Let me write that again simply to gloat. (After all I have been through, I deserve it!) I am cancer free and officially in remission. Can you believe it? I can't.

My mother and I visited my plastic surgeon's office for the second time this week to have another drain pulled. I had three drains pulled this week and only two left. Once they are all removed I can begin radiation and have my expanders filled. Hopefully next week the two remaining drains will be ready to be removed and I can continue my journey. At this point, I just really want a freaking shower.

After that appointment, we went to my oncologist's office to review the pathology report from surgery. The report showed that my surgeon removed thirteen lymph nodes from my left armpit and four still had residual cancer. The tissue removed from the breasts had no remaining cancer. Dr. Heyer explained that the chemotherapy was partially successful in that it got rid of the cancer in some areas and shrunk the lymph nodes considerably, but not completely. We discussed next steps, which consist of radiation for six weeks, Herceptin treatments every three weeks until February 2009 (one year), and five years of hormone therapy as a preventative measure to ensure that the cancer does not come back.

Once we had discussed some of my next steps, I asked Dr. Heyer, "So when am I officially in remission?" He responded, "Now." Obviously, I was elated and extremely thrown off by his response. He explained that the cancer is completely gone now from the chemotherapy and surgery. The radiation, Herceptin treatments and hormone therapy are preventative measures to eradicate any microscopic "leftovers" and ensure continued health. As far as he is concerned "our work here is done," however the journey is far from over.

I ended our appointment by unzipping my top and showing Dr. Heyer my new breasts. He looked at them and said, "Dr. Gottlieb does great work, but you need to lose those drains," … implying that the drains weren't particularly attractive. We all laughed. I zipped my top back up and we exited his office.

Mom and I met Dad back in Gainesville at our favorite restaurant called El Tio's. I find it interesting that our evening ended at the same restaurant that Dad celebrated his retirement and that we frequent on birthdays, holidays and special occasions. I could not have thought of a better place to enjoy my exciting news. Mom said, "Tonight you owe God a BIG thank you." Indeed I do. I am incredibly thankful and blessed.

6/18/2008: PETScan Results

"There is physiologic accumulation of FDG in the myocardium, liver, bowel and excretion tracer in the kidneys and urinary bladder," I read the PETscan results aloud to my mother as we stood outside my surgeon's office embracing the gorgeous sun for a moment. We looked at each other, both scared to say aloud what we were both thinking. Dear God, had the cancer spread?

My mom suggested I go talk to my surgeon about the test results. My stomach turned, my vision became blurry, my eyes swelled and I shook. I wanted to know what those words meant, however part of me could not bear hearing more bad news. I talked to Dr. Mason's assistant and she said that I could sit in the waiting area and Dr. Mason would be with me shortly. Sitting in the waiting area my heart raced with fear and panic. Do I have to have chemotherapy again? Will I spend the rest of my life fighting cancer? Am I going to die?

Dr. Mason entered the waiting room and said, "Everything looks great!" I jumped into attack mode. "What does that last line mean? What is FDG?" Dr. Mason smiled kindly and said, "Come on back, Dear." Dr. Mason ushered me into one of the examining rooms and I asked my questions again. I know Dr. Mason could see me shaking violently and my eyes swelling with tears. He said, "Everything looks great. I cannot remember what FDG stands for, but the G is glucose, which is sugar."

(Note: FDG stands for Fluorodeoxyglucose. When you have a PETscan they take your sugar level first, and then give you an injection of glucose. Cancer cells metabolize faster than normal cells, so the imagining can tell where the cancer cells are in the body.)

I said, "Does 'physiologic accumulation' mean that the cancer has spread." I couldn't believe I was able to actually craft the words. Dr. Mason looked at me with kind eyes, "I need you to take a deep breath and try and relax." He reached out touching my armpit, "Your cancer is all right here. It hasn't spread anywhere and I assure you that we will get it all. We're going to get it all, Dear" He repeated himself again in order for his words to resonate. I felt my body grow less tense. He told me that his only concern is the two lymph nodes still left in the armpit. However, they have shrunk and will be taken out during my mastectomy. I thanked Dr. Mason for being so wonderful and told him that I would see him on July 1 for surgery. "I expect your best work on surgery day," I joked as I walked through the door.

PETscan Findings
There is an abnormal enlarged left axillary lymph node with abnormal FDG metabolism and maximum SUV of 9.9. This mass is smaller than prior study. Smaller left axillary lymph node demonstrates a maximum SUV of 1.9. Left axillary seroma is smaller. Other axillary lymph nodes do not demonstrate abnormal FDG metabolism.

Previously seen left internal mammary chain lymph node is smaller and also demonstrates no abnormal FDG metabolism.

Left anterior 6th rib also no longer demonstrates abnormal FDG metabolism.

Findings are compatible with marked response to chemotherapy.

There is physiologic accumulation of FDG in the myocardium, liver, bowel and excretion tracer in the kidneys and urinary bladder

4/19/2008: Round Four

Round four of chemotherapy has been my best one so far! My nurses hooked me up and drew my blood first. My blood work came back better than it has any of the other times. I am still anemic, but my number was much better. And my white blood count (immunity) is higher than they expected, which means my body is making itself better on its own.

My nurses gave me my pre-meds (steroid for allergic reaction and another medication for nausea) which they always do as a precaution, then an IV of Benedryl. By the time my company got there (Aunt Patty and Ashley) my speech was slurred and mid-sentence I would forget what I was talking about. My guests were patient with me and understood that I was just dopey from the medication. They changed the order of my chemotherapy medications this time, however. They started with Herception, then Taxotere, since I have had allergic reactions to them in the past and wanted to give them to me following the Benedryl. Lastly, they gave me the Carboplatin. I had no allergic reactions, or any issues at all for that matter. The nurses also confirmed how great my MRI results were that I got back last week. This just lifted my spirits even more!

When I got home I was not my typical sleepy, cranky self. I laid out in my parents front yard and sunbathed. (Don't worry my nervous Nellie's, I asked my nurses for permission and wore sunblock to protect myself.) It felt so good getting some ray. I found myself in great spirits yesterday and pretty spunky. By dinner time I started having my typical side effects that I usually don't get until Monday (sensitivity with my hearing and sight, crankiness from starting to feel slowed down, numbness in my fingers and arms, shaky legs, etc.) ... two days ahead of schedule. Last chemo treatment my side effects came one day in advance, this time I am two days ahead of schedule. I am hoping this means that I will feel better sooner, too. Wouldn't that be nice for a change!?

All in all, I am doing better than I have with all my other treatments. I actually feel pretty good. Maybe I will layout a little this afternoon and try to sweat out some of this icky medicine. Sounds like a good plan of action to me.

Thank you all for your texts, e-mails, phone calls and gifts. It means the world to me. Four treatments down and only two to go. YAY!

4/6/2008: The Baby Grape

I was washing my red grapes today and the tears ran down my dry, peeling cheeks … I cannot remember ever appreciating things in my life like I do now, or being this fulfilled and happy.

I had my Herceptin treatment today that I have every Friday. Earlier this week I had some upper respiratory problems, so prior to getting treatment, my nurse Jessi had to get approval from my oncologist, Dr. Heyer, to continue the Herceptin. The nurses checked my oxygen and listened to my chest. Everything was great … even my blood work. I was told the rustling in my chest was most likely allergies and that the show could go on.

Dad and I sat during treatment and shared our favorite recipes as we watched the Cooking Network. Today was a good day and I was just beaming about the meeting I had this morning, my interview with Hannah from the Gannetteer yesterday, dinner with Dan who just returned from Egypt, time spent with Drew and the other events from the week. I know it cannot be easy for my Daddy to watch his little girl go through all this, but he still manages to give me a smile when those beautiful green eyes swell. When he gets to that point he offers me a Frappuccino or Ginger Ale that he always seems to have stashed away for my treatments. That's Daddy's cure for all ... he knows that a Frappuccino is the key to my heart.

Dr. Heyer came to visit me during my treatment, which was a pleasant surprise. He asked about the respiratory issues and how I was coping with my third round of chemotherapy. We talked and joked for awhile and Dr. Heyer asked how my incision was from where I had the hockey puck-sized lymph node removed mid-January. I told him other than some toughness along the actual incision I felt nothing unusual. He said he wanted to do an exam of the area and my breast after treatment. He said if nothing was there he didn't see a reason to do midway testing. I started pouting and he told me I could talk him into anything. He agreed to an MRI this Wednesday at noon. YAY! This will tell us how well the chemotherapy is working. Keep your fingers and toes crossed for great results.

After my treatment I went back to an examination room and undressed for my exam. Dr. Heyer came in and the first thing he asked me was "How's Dad holding up?" (Are you trying to make me cry, Heyer? Sheesh.) He said, "It must be so hard for your parents. I couldn't imagine my baby going through this. (I was choking back the tears.) Dr. Heyer felt around my incision then looked at me. He said "I don't believe this. Your lymph nodes have completely shrunk and feel normal. I really don't believe you've improved this much already." I just beamed. I could not hide my excitement. He completed the breast exam and said "I am very, VERY pleased." He said in addition to my lymph nodes shrinking, my blood work, weight, side effects … everything has been just extraordinary. Typically, they have to adjust treatment and change regimens with patients, but I have just been a stellar patient. (Again, I think Milano cookies have something to do with it.) He did his usual threatening of taking away my BlackBerry during office visits and I joked back with him to just try. He's an amazing doctor.

I left Daddy with a hug and a kiss, went to the grocery store and came home. Washing my grapes I reflected on the day and how truly blessed I am. I got to the last grape in the bag … it was the baby. I giggled a little remembering growing up when Daddy would go grocery shopping on the weekends and come home and wash the grapes like I do now. He would yell for me to come into the kitchen. He would tell me that he had found a "Jennifer-sized grape" … the baby. He always saved them for me. The tears rolled down my face holding the Jennifer-sized grape in my hand and marveling at how much I love my friends and family and how truly blessed I am. Today was such a good day.

3/31/2008: Round Three

Well, I had round three of chemotherapy yesterday ... which means I am now halfway through. YAY! I seem to be doing better this round then the first two, which is a nice change of pace. However, it was slow getting going yesterday. Once the needle was placed in my port (yuck) the nurse was unable to draw blood. I had to lean back in the recliner with my arms over my head to try to encourage the blood to come out in a steady stream. (Before they can administer the medications, they must first draw blood to get a baseline.) I asked permission to move the needle around inside of the port to try and get a good spot to draw blood. The nurse let me. (I am becoming so brave.) We got a steady stream and were off. My blood work was fabulous, which is always great to hear.

They started me with Benedryl (since I had the allergic reaction to Taxotere last time), the steroid for allergic reaction and another medication for nausea, which I have yet to actually get nauseous. Once I was completely doped up, my friends Kere and Bronwyn arrived and they began the chemo treatment. Kere taught me how to cross stitch during treatment and all five of us (including Dad and Joey) had great conversation. It certainly helps make the time go by quicker with friends there with me. When I go to my last medication (Herceptin) my heart started beating out of my chest and very irregular. They immediately switched me over to plain saline and took my oxygen, pulse, and listened to my heart. I had a couple of waves of this and my nurse seemed to think it was from mixing the uppers and downers which was confusing my body. It eventually evened out, but for a moment I was pretty frightened.

I am at my parents until tomorrow afternoon (Sunday). My body is already starting to slow down on me ... my mind is racing but I feel like I am moving in slow motion. (My little legs shake when I stand for too long.) The sensitivity in my ears is pretty unbearable, but all in all I am holding up pretty well. Please keep sending your warm thoughts and prayers my way. We are halfway there my friends. :) This Friday I have a follow-up appointment with my oncologist, Dr. David Heyer, in which he will probably refer me for mid-way tests, such as an MRI and PETscan, to see where we are at. All very exciting.

2/23/2008: Torn and Tattered

Dad, Joey and I arrived at the oncologists office Friday for my Herceptin treatment and the office was closed from the ice storm. We waiting for about an hour and no one showed up, contacted me ... nothing. Very frustrating! I am still waiting to hear what that means as far as keeping me on schedule. Hopefully I can get it Monday or just skip it, since I get Herceptin every Friday.

Well, my nurse tried to warn me not to be too surprised if day seven after chemotherapy was my hardest (since that's usually when your white blood count will drop the lowest, then start replenishing itself). I thought once I got through yesterday that I was safe ... I was mistaken when I awoke this morning to my disaster of a body.

Now, this isn't as bad as I felt earlier this week with the cold/sinus infection, but it certainly is a much weaker and tired version of me. Which frustrates me to no end. I hate being slowed down.

I have always envied Angelina Jolie's lips and dreamed of luscious plump pout, but oh my ... I don't want the pain that goes along with it, please! My lips are swollen, peeling and bright pink. If they weren't hurting and peeling, I would be ecstatic. Haha! In addition, if I open my mouth wide it cracks and bleeds. So just trying to eat has become extremely painful. The inside of my mouth, gums and skin, are swollen and raw. Ugh. Have no fear though, I am still eating like a crazy woman. Stupid steroids!

My nails started streaking brown and breaking terribly, so I went to get them done today so that they don't look so horrible. Some patients actually lose their nails completely from the Taxotere medication. Mine are just SUPER ugly. At least they don't hurt. I can deal with it just being a vanity issue.

My body is absolutely exhausted and my mouth is angry. I hope that this is the worst of it and that my body will start putting itself back together. I have a feeling this will be the ugly cycle after each treatment. Lord, give me patience and strength.

2/12/2008: Doom and Despair

Oh my ... Dad and I just met with the head nurse at the oncologist's office and it was all doom and despair. (Dun, Dun, Dunnnn.) Basically, she went over everything that could happen, but that wouldn't necessarily happen to me. I guess she is required to do that, but it was all a bit much for me and Dad and unfortunately when that happens I get a tad curt (to say it nicely).

I will be injected with Herceptin every week (including with my chemo treatments which are every third week). They start by giving me two hours worth of medication the first treatment, then 90 minutes the second, then 60 the third, then 30 for the remainder of a year. Herceptin effects the heart muscle in a negative way making it slow and lazy. Daunting thought, indeed! They will continue doing heart scans every three months to make sure my heart is still OK. Once the treatment is over, my heart will repair itself. Breaks my heart! (I know, a bit cheesy! OK, a lot cheesy.)

Taxotere and carboplatin are what I get every three weeks with a dose of herceptin. Taxotere is a beast! The possible side effects are horrible with this medication. This is the medication that kills the white blood cells, makes hair fall out, creates sores inside your mouth, and can even make your nails fall out. (Not that I am too concerned with vanity at this point.) It basically tracks down any cells in the body that multiply quickly (that it how it categorizes cancer). Unfortunately, that also includes the cells in your mouth, so while having treatment they are being killed and trying to repair themselves ... hence the sores in the mouth. Because this medication is so beastly, 24 hours after my treatment, I have to give myself an injection in my stomach to make my body create more white blood cells so that I can attempt to remain healthy and strong throughout this process. She suggested my arm, but when she tried to pinch some fat she realized I had none and said, "nevermind." If I ever wished to be heavier, it would be NOW. If you know me, you know how I feel about needles. Holy hell ... this is not going to be enjoyable. At this point though, I almost don't even care about being poked and prodded ... you kind of just accept it and move on after awhile. Ugh. Stupid needles. I have to just keep thinking of the cute boobs I will have when this is all over!

I have a ton of prescriptions to fill that I take the day before chemotherapy, the day of, and the day after. Most are to reduce nausea and allergic reactions. One is a low does of steroid which she said may make me gain 10-15 pounds of water weight. (Again, screw vanity at this point.) Apparently, the beastly taxotere has been known to cause some nasty allergic reactions, like fluid around the lungs and heart. UGH! My first treatment (this Friday, Feb. 15) will help them gage how I will react to the different medications. They told me to expect that my IBS would act up since my tummy is so sensitive. Awesome ... can't wait!

I know I sound extremely "Debbie Downer," but it is just my nerves. Once I survive treatment #1, I think it will put my mind at ease a bit. It's that whole notion of not knowing what to expect or how the medicine will make me feel. I am certainly ready to get started ... I am just scared. That's what it comes down to.

That's basically the latest. My hair is already falling out from stress ... I haven't even done chemotherapy yet. I am sleeping on average about four hours a night. (I have coincidentally gotten a lot of organizing and projects done around my condo though.) The port is still a pain and causing me grief. All in all ... I think I am losing it. (Just kidding!) I know I will be OK, but like I said before, it all just seems so daunting.

2/1/2008: Meeting the Oncologist

My family and I met with the oncologist yesterday afternoon for about an hour and a half and let's just say ... it was more than we could digest or bear to hear. It was very emotional. We are scared and devastated by all of the news. This whole thing has happened so fast that we haven't even had time to process it all yet.

The next step is the PETscan which is scheduled for Monday at 5:45pm. Drew will be taking me. I am holding my breath as to what the PETscan will show. I will need to have a "port surgically implanted and a breast biopsy of the area that showed some contrasting in the MRI report. I assume this will be done SOON, perhaps early next week. My oncologist said that if you divide the breast into four equal parts the contrasting in the MRI showed in the upper two quarters. He did also mention possibly having the breast partially or completely removed should most of it be grossly infected. I am TRYING not to jump ahead and get too worried about things that "might" be the case. One battle at a time!

It appears now that the cancer may have started in the breast and moved to the lymph nodes under my left armpit where I discovered the growth originally right before Thanksgiving. There is no way to tell how long I have had it, but he said in most cases, it has been a couple of years. I will begin treatments (chemotherapy and radiation) immediately after the port and biopsy are complete and the treatments will be for 16 weeks, every other week (8 treatments total). Every chemotherapy is different and mine will be made up of three different types of medication. The chemotherapy will cause my hair to fall out completely and my chances of having children down the road will be minimized due to the treatments. This bothers me A LOT. I am going to do EVERYTHING in by power to minimize the risk of infertility. They are treating this very aggressively and my oncologist wants to begin the treatment ASAP.

The oncologist showed us the treatment room (they have a section set up for treatments there in his office), and the port that would be installed. The port will be placed in the opposite breast and will have to remain there for the duration of the treatments. A lot to digest ...

The oncologist is having a second opinion made on the biopsy which is routine for his practice. Some cells were HER2 positive and some were negative. HER2 is a more aggressive form of breast cancer. If after further review they find I am HER2 positive, then after the 16 weeks of treatment (chemotherapy and radiation) I will keep my port in and undergo a year of antibody treatment for HER2 (which is like an antibiotic through an IV. My hair will grow back, etc.). Yes, they have created an antibody to completely destroy HER2. If I am HER2 negative, then I will only do the 16 weeks of treatment. My cells showed some positive and some negative reactors for estrogen, also. There are still several unknowns. They need a definitive answer as to the makeup of cancer in order to determine the ingredients for my chemotherapy recipe ... so to speak.

The next appointment with my oncologist is scheduled for this coming Thursday at 11:00am. By then, we should have the results of the PETscan and a definitive answer on whether I am HER2-positive and whether estrogen is a factor from the biopsy.

My family and I need tons of prayers and support, please. I will keep you posted as I learn more.