How long

I've been singing to my breasts.

This song.

(Ace? Who knew.)

With the new news, its hard not to wonder and I'm definitely feeling a bit like a betrayed lover. Ok, so I'm clearly not as health-conscious as some folks -even some of you people reading this- but I wouldn't say I have done anything abusive to my body. I maybe took it for granted a bit, but I was always there for it, every night with plenty of water and eight hours of sleep.

No, I'll upgrade that: I'm good to my body.

In fact, what is weird about this whole thing happening now is that I've really never felt better. Since graduating in June, I've been having such a nice time: eating well, having fun, getting rest, practicing yoga, hiking, walking, etc. I like my house, love my job... my future feels exciting.

I've been happy lately.

So, what to do with this outlier?

It's like finding out your boyfriend/girlfriend is having an affair with someone you find particularly reprehensible.

And you said you were never intendin'
To break up our scene in this way,
But there ain't any use in pretendin',
It could happen to us any day.


I promised you facts in the first post and fear I have careened into crazy wagon tracks. I think I'm still having post-cry hangover. A little giddy maybe.

Also, I owe you a little lift after all that heavy duty drama!

Today things got to feeling a lot better again.

When my surgeon told me the news last week, he said he had already called an oncologist (Getting fast-tracked! What does that mean? wailed my paranoia chorus) who he thought would be great for me to see this week, and to expect a call from her.

This morning, I spoke to her and, to my delight, she could see me today at 3:00 PM, before leaving for a two-week vacation. With apologies to my boss for skipping our board meeting, I met Sawyer at Huntsman and got down to business with Dr. B.

We both felt a huge surge of relief during this meeting. She is a breast cancer specialist (as is my surgeon) and is especially interested in "high risk family cancer" situations. Sawyer and I were both impressed with her understanding, empathy and ability to deliver information in a way that was informative, specific, and reassuring. Even with my new development and what they suggested, she seemed to feel my chance of a complete recovery were very, very good.

There is currently a scenario tree for what kind of treatment I am going to get, based on what gets turned up by the MRI I am having tomorrow and the surgery that sounds like it will be within two weeks.

With some younger women (in cancer treatment world, I officially get to be classified as "young". It is not really a distinction that gains many positive points here but I will take it for what it is worth at the sunset of my thirties) they reverse the usual protocol of surgery-radiology-chemo and start with chemo. My surgeon told me that could be a scenario with this new understanding that I had spreading cancer in my lymphs. However, Dr. B thought this didn't seem like the right fit for me based on a few of the known markers we have so far.

I need to back up and say that from weeks ago at my first diagnosis, I knew there was one big test to clear before any decisions about treatment, and I did a blood draw for it when I returned from BC a couple weeks ago. This is a test given to people with family history of breast cancer (my mom, at 50) for a genetic mutation called BRCA that if I tested positive for would effect treatment, and so Dr. B was very careful to draw in the scenario for if I did turn out positive.

I knew my results were on their way soon, but Dr. B had been proactive and had checked in with the genetic counselor on staff at Huntsman who had set up the test for me. Thankfully, we were interrupted in the middle of our consultation by a call from the genetic specialist, who had called the lab to see if my test was underway and found out that it had already come back -- negative!

This was really good news to get, and helped pare a few branches off the scenario tree. It also helped me breathe a huge sigh of relief for my sister, and her daughter. If I was positive, Lauren would have a 50% chance of carrying the gene and in turn a 50% chance of passing it onto my niece.

I want to end this post on a good note, though I still haven't gotten to the nitty gritty of what the scenarios really are, and what they are based on. I told you this may be TMI, right?

For now, I'll say this.

Tomorrow, and my MRI, are going to be interesting.

What other treasures are sparkling deep within my body? What else is going to be revealed?

I am wanting all of you reading this to focus on this image: a lovely, dark night with one bright moon and one bright north star.

Can you do that? *ooom*

Thanks.

What I am not hoping for, this time, is a bunch of stars, a milky way, an asteroid barreling through space, or orion.

OK, maybe I'll take the little dipper, but that's it.

The point is, I have at least one lymph node involved in this, which came as a surprise to my MDs. It's not what you typically see paired with an "itty bitty" cancer and it first suggests that there could me more nodes involved, in which case my treatment really gets based on how many nodes are affected. (something like 1-3 and I get a certain type of treatment that may not include chemo. At 4-5, another treatment with chemo, and so on up to scorched earth chemo methods that I really would love to avoid) Nodes don't have to be big to have cancer in them, and they are going to take out a bunch of them and test them all.

Then again, if the node they found has been talking to a primary cancer that is actually not the one we found, that could also make this a different story. It is unlikely that something large would be lurking back there without having been viewed on the mammogram, but it is possible. It is also unlikely that the primary cancer is somewhere else in the body, but again, I understand it to be possible.

And considering my luck thus far, I'm allowing the "unlikely scenarios" to be a part of my head space just enough that I won't have to surf upside down on a tsunami for two days if I get the news.

The sucky thing, of course, will be the waiting. What is going to happen is they will see a bunch of stuff on the MRI, which are known for being sensitive and registering all sorts of things, some of which won't be pertinent, but which they can't typically tell much about until they get inside my actual tissue. These MRIs are just a road map which will tell them where to poke around during surgery but I really won't know what is going on until well after surgery.

So, sorry, I wanted to end on a happy note, but I also wanted to harness the group energy into the collective vision of clarity, simplicity for my MRI happening at 6:15 MT tomorrow.

again - - *ooom*

That felt good.

Thank you.

* * * *

You people. YOU people.

I can't tell you how much each call, text, email has meant. Everyone so heroically offers to "do anything" and many of you express feelings of not being sure what it is that you *can* do but wanting to be of some tangible service.

And I just want you to remember that I asked you for something, and you're giving it. You're being here. Being present. Seeing me.

It's huge, and I'm humbled.

Thank you.