Let the Games Begin

The Lump

It felt like a grape – juicy, fruity, bouncy, more of a Riesling than a Merlot. 4 months ago? 6 months ago? I can’t remember. All I remember is – in the shower – a painless irregularity, a slight ‘bump’ on the underside of my left breast. Dr Google is pretty certain it’s a cyst. No worries mate.

Mid May, the grape shifted. It changed into a harder, more Australian-grown-McCain-pea-sized ‘stone’ and made its way up towards my armpit. Mmmmm, perhaps – just perhaps, I’ll get ye olde GP to check-that-out.

A few weeks later, I booked in for the long appointment ($190+ so need to make the most of it): get the undercarriage and the sunspots on the back of my neck checked out, plus a lube and oil change and a script for the weird, unsightly rash on my face. Oh, and by the way, is this lump on my left breasticle anything to worry about?

Bi-annual service complete, everything present and accounted for. Sunspots on the neck all ok, remember to slip-slop-slap-slide-slurp. Seems the Box Office is in need of some repair – a first and a drag. Hard core antibiotics required. No drinking. Rash on face could be leprosy or monkey pox, here’s a script for some cream. Oh, and best get that grape scanned.

Mood Monitor: 😐

I’m bleeding money. Gap payments and prescriptions. Scan – with a biopsy if required – will cost $900+. Can’t really afford it as have just paid car insurance and rego. Don’t have health cover anymore, premiums are outrageous for a single middle-aged woman. Depressing. #

The Scan

Cold, rainy Canberra day. Great. Make my way to Jamieson Centre (where the fuck is that?!). QScan. First I have a mammogram. That’s a delight. Boobs handled adeptly and kindly by the lovely technician. She apologies often for flattening my fun-bags between two metal plates, on various angles – it would be ok if I was into S&M but I’m much more a massage, baby oil kind of gal. But it is medical procedure and she is respectful and efficient.

Next on to the scan with Savannah, ‘Vannah’. Did I know this was part of the referral? That’s ok, I’m into being thorough. ‘Vannah is equally as professional and kind. She swishes around with the lube and probe, clicking/selecting here and there. My boobs look like a moonscape on screen. I could definitely see myself raising a flag or two there. What is also apparent is that every bit of the ‘moonscape’ looks the same – how do they pick out the good from the bad? I am pleased I have my QScan team on the job, they are thorough. I’m calm, cool. I know it’s just a cyst. Dr Google is usually spot on + I’m an armchair expert + no history in the family + healthy (except for dermatitis and the damn box office issue) + what are the statistics?? No worries.

‘Vannah goes through the motions then indicates she is going to consult with the radiologist – she claims she is usually good at analysing these but mine she’s not so sure of …. I told her, I love giving people a challenge, don’t want to make life too easy for them. She returns with Sean, the radiologist. He too has a look around the moonscape and advises he is ‘concerned’ about the lump – can he do a biopsy? Yes he can. It involves needles, local anaesthetic and the removal of a few tiny threads of flesh. Now is as good a time as any. My tummy is rumbling. I look at the scope, 11:50am, no breakfast. The equipment arrives and Sean and ‘Vannah carry out the biopsy (which I ask to see out of morbid curiosity … it is literally two tiny threads of tissue, like something you would extract from your teeth with dental floss). Sean sits next to me. He looks serious (behind the mask – we’re all wearing masks). He states “I’m very concerned”. Mmmm, my mind ticks over. No longer concerned but “very” concerned. He continues, “It’s not a cyst. It is cancer, you need to have it removed. There will be further treatment required – chemo and/or radiation. The biopsy will go to the Canberra Hospital, you will need to go to your GP for a follow-up when the results come back – in 3 to 4 days time. I’m sorry”. OK. Thank you.

The lovely doctor Sean leaves the room. ‘Vannah is complimentary of my ‘handling the news so well’ … though she senses I am a little discombobulated. She asks whether I have someone at home? Do I have any questions? I most certainly do!! I know she can’t tell me but there are three BIG questions (worst-case-scenario of course): will I have my boobs cut off? will I have to undergo chemo (and lose all my hair – why is the hair so important??!) will I die? I know that dear ‘Vannah can’t tell me that. I thank her and leave to reception. And then I lose it.

Gina at reception has been worded up to try and reduce the payment required. I don’t expect this, I am humbled and it makes me cry more knowing that people are being compassionate. It’s almost as if they know what’s ahead (and that I have just paid my car insurance and rego …) I am in a small suburb of Canberra, it’s cold, raining, I’ve had some tough news and no breakfast or lunch. I quietly weep in the reception area, thankful for the mask. After a time, the bill is settled and I head off. To Coles.

Mood Monitor: 😨😢

Dynamo and Sard are ½ price. Bargain. Also need some tissues …

I message my work colleague – I want to touch base re. work – or do I? She is inducting two new starters.

Message Simon asking if he is able to talk. I don’t explain, I know he will get to it in his own time. He has a full day with limited breaks. After a time I wish I hadn’t sent him a message as I know how busy he is and I don’t want to interrupt the flow of his day. Too late.

Drive home in the rain, trying not to cry (dangerous). Focus focus. Consider buying a bottle of champagne, taking it home, drinking it … then realise I’m on antibiotics, not a good mix. Think about work: surely they’ll lay me off if/when they find out I’m crook and not up to the job. Think about Simon: surely he will leave – who wants to be with a woman who is sick, loses her boob(s) and/or her hair. Let alone die. I don’t want him to waste any of his life on me. His children are more important. If it comes to it, I will tell him to walk away. I’m not into taking everyone down with the ship.

Can’t write anymore today. My breast aches after the biopsy and is starting to bruise.

Surprise! You’ve got breast cancer

Friday, 10 June 2022
10 June 2022 was not a great one. After some ‘technical difficulties’ I managed to speak with my GP. She was keen to see me F2F – but Simon and I had gone to Queensland for the Queen’s Birthday long weekend. Kind of ominous when they ring the day before to request an appointment – and F2F – usually means it’s something they’re not comfortable discussing on the phone. I’ve known my doctor for over 10 years, her sons were a couple of years ahead of Sam at school, I sometimes saw her at the school rowing sheds at sparrows. She’s a kind, pragmatic woman.

Let’s get straight to it: mammo, ultrasound, biopsy confirms invasive ductal carcinoma. It has to come out. You will need radiation therapy and/or chemo afterwards.

Public or Private? Public. She will send referral to Canberra-based surgeons this afternoon.

I didn’t write any more that day. I was numb, just wanted to ignore it all.

Mood Monitor: 😢😠

What did I do to deserve this? I thought I was a good person – I look after small children and baby birds, I help old ladies across the street (unless they’ve seen-me-in-a-previous-life and start chasing me down the train carriage – true story). I work hard, I’m honest (though I may have stretched the 5km rule during lockdown). I obey (most) road rules, pay my taxes hold the lift door open for others, change the toner cartridge in the printer, say good morning to the team at the coffee shop. I drink, I don’t smoke. I eat well (except for the odd Dirty Bird). I don’t exercise enough but enjoy getting outdoors – walking with the doggo and climbing hills when I can. I breast fed my baby and floss my teeth. I consider myself a pretty well-behaved, healthy human being. So how, why has this shitty little cancer critter taken up residence in my body??

The Referral

Wednesday, 15 June 2022
Finding a specialist was proving to be a little problematic. What I didn’t realise was often you needed to pick up the phone and call the surgeon’s office to follow up the referral (stupidly I thought they would ring me ….) I rang the first of the two – it was a colorectal surgeon. He did bums not boobs. The second one advised they would contact me once the doctor had had a chance to review the referral – they encouraged me to call back if I hadn’t heard back from them within 1-2 weeks …

So only a single referral to be treated as a public patient. My heart sank. My feisty aunts and uncles rallied and insisted I seek private referrals as well – somehow The Family would find the funds. I contacted my GP and was provided details for three private surgeons. I started the demoralising task of calling their ‘suites’.

Dr No. 1 – Currently on leave, returning 30th June. Ring back then.
Dr No. 2 – Currently on leave, first available appointment 20th July (yes, I’ll take it thank you).
Dr No. 3 – Receptionist away so no one to review his calendar and/or make an appointment.

Slow progress. Feel depressed. Can’t be bothered spending more energy on this today.

Friday, 17 June 2022
Dr No. 3’s receptionist rings me. Yes, Dr Majeed can see you on 28th June and he takes private and public patients. I never thought I would be as pleased to see a doctor as I am now – yahoo!

The Low-down

Tuesday, 28 June 2022
Today was Calvary Hospital Day. Nothing like scrapping ice off the windscreen in -5 degrees. Swing past for my cup of coffee then hoof it down Parkes Way to The Other Side of Town.

I’m curious re. Calvary. Obviously it has ties to the church – how does this gig work if I don’t pray?

A shout out to the security guard who was helpful and kind when I peered over my mask with the where-the-fuck-do-I-go look. Turn left, turn right, green corridors, yellow doors to Specialist Centre then waiting room. Blow me down, 8:30 on the dot, Karen, the Breast Cancer Specialist Nurse comes through. Things are going well.

My first meeting with Dr Majeed. A gentleman who spoke directly, clearly – though not simply! He apologised in advance for the words, terminology that would be used. He spoke, I listened. He did the obligatory touch-up just to make sure the tumour was still there and not a figment of my imagination. He explained what was going to happen over the next few weeks. Here’s the summary:

The cancer is approximately 3cm which is not huge but it’s not small. They will take a few extra millimetres around the tumour, being the ‘margin’. Once removed, the beast will be sent off to the pathology lab at Canberra Hospital, to be sliced and diced, marinated and served up with a nice Chianti. Once they’ve analysed just how evil the little fucker is, the oncologist will then be able to determine treatment (at this stage, most likely to be radiation therapy).

They will also remove a few lymph nodes from my armpit and carry out a sentinel node biopsy to determine whether the cancer has spread beyond the primary tumour into the lymphatic system.

When do I get it cut out?
In the next 2 – 3 weeks, 4 at the very latest. I asked the doctor (and the nurse later) whether ‘going-private’ would mean surgery would (magically) be scheduled quicker. The answer: you may get in within one week instead of two. In my mind, that’s not worth $10K +++. The surgery will take approximately 2 hours (though sounds like there’s a lot of farting around beforehand …) Should only require an overnight stay (phew – I detest hospitals).

Instead of my nice C-cup (of which I’m quite fond), I may be rocking a lop-sided double-D for a few days due to swelling. Plus the wound might leak (oh so glamorous). Painkillers will be provided. Unfortunately the DD will be short-lived and my left breasticle will become a tad … smaller than the other one. But good news, there are bras made for these things – and I’m getting one! Plus there’s a dedicated shop that specialises in tit-mits, who knew?!

Tomorrow I am booked in for a PET scan … which apparently – and disappointingly – has nothing to do with cats and dogs. More hanging around in masks and machines, sigh. The worst part is you have to follow a strict diet 24 hours beforehand – no caffeine, no alcohol, no sweets, no carbs, lots of protein, some veges including asparagus and lettuce. Yay. Then nothing 6 hours before the scan. I’ve warned my colleagues I won’t be caffeinated until after 2pm tomorrow ….

The “Bosom Buddies” Show Bag
This was a tickler. The bag contained:
* a folder filled (packed!) with handy info on the medical lingo as well as support groups, apps, resources
* a soft, curved, handmade pillow to rest your bruised breasticle on post surgery
* a hand-made cuff to slip onto your seat belt to cushion bruised breasticle for the ride home
* a crafty cloth satchel made to drape over your should to carry your ‘bag’ in if you’re leaking(!)

Bosom Buddies: such a lovely network of people!


So much paperwork: admissions, consent, claims, medical history, allergies, NOK

The type of cancer I have is hormone receptor-positive or HR+ in that the breast cancer cells have progesterone (PR) receptors. It means I have to have the Mirena removed pronto. The Mirena releases small amounts of (synthetic) progesterone which the little beast ‘feeds’ and grows on. More stuff I didn’t know.

Roadblock

1 July 2022
Happy New Year! A joyful day for us accountants, we can wash away a years’ worth of mistakes, wipe the slate clean and start afresh (a bit like religion – without the self-flagellation). Yay for us!

9:00am. Appointment with GP to have Mirena removed (due to the little cancer fucker feeding on the progesterone released (in minute amounts) by the IUD (not to be confused with DUI or IED).

Doc running on time – it’s a miracle.

Do you mind if a med student sits in on the consult?
Not a problem.
Oh, and would you mind if she examined your breasts – so she can feel what an abnormal lump feels like?
Happy to oblige. All in the name of education and medicine.

Now stripped off – like completely – including my socks.

First stop: the undercarriage. Speculum too short, need a bigger one. Running commentary from the doc for the benefit of the med student, she is very descriptive and thorough. I feel like a walking piece of art. I’m advised the extraction procedure may cause the cervix to have a bit of a conniption. I may experience some pain, bleeding, dizziness or feel faint/pass out (WTF?)

I assume the position. The GP and the med student (bless her) having a little fossick around for The Thread.

It’s gone.

The IUD is MIA.

My GP asks whether I have ‘felt the string recently’. I admit no, I haven’t been fossicking around down there recently (should I have been checking??) ​I’m seriously hoping it’s fallen out because if it’s still in there, worst case scenario is it will need to be removed in theatre under anesthetic. I kind of suspect that’s what may be required … I’m not pregnant and I’m not menopausal so the contraceptive is obviously still effective. GP: you will need to go for an ultrasound to determine if the Mirena is there and if so, where it is. I’ll write you a referral.​

I got a Mirena just over 5 years ago to reduce period pain, discomfort (cramps, heavy bleeding). The contraception provided by the Mirena was a bonus (or at least would be if I was getting the donut stuffed on a regular basis …🍆 🍩) I’ve had no issues with it, was literally set-and-forget. Bit like a crock pot.

Fast forward 5+ years and I discover I have a tumour growing in my body. A mutation that has a strong ‘link’ to hormones. In particular, progesterone – which is what the Mirena and mini-pill release (a synthetic form of) in teeny tiny amounts. Enough to prevent pregnancy.

While there are some types of breast cancers that involve no hormones, most are hormone-positive.

If you google ‘link between breast cancer and Mirena’ you will find pages and pages of theories. In summary, there is no conclusive evidence. Lot of statements like ‘… there’s not enough data …”; “more research is needed”.

Like any medication you take or anything you put into your body, it is about weighing up health benefits and health risks. BIG question: would I have had the IUD inserted 5 years ago knowing I would receive this diagnose 5 years later?

Monday, 11 July 2022
It’s been a few days since I’ve updated my blog. To be honest, I am weary of the scans, the phone calls, the appointments, the driving. My petrol gauge is permanently sitting at less-than-a-quarter-of-a-tank, I have two running calendars: one of EOFY tasks and the other a schedule of all breast cancer biz that needs tending to. I sleep it, live it, breathe it. Give me a good old balance sheet any day.

There have been some roadblocks along the way … keep an eye on the tab above for a taste of some entertaining shit sandwiches.

Nurses rock. My friends rock.

Surgery booked for Tuesday, 19 July 2022.

Mood Monitor: 🥴😩🦝

Tuesday, 12 July 2022
Good morning! says the technician and her student-nurse-assistant.
Hi (me with whoppingly full bladder, no time for niceties)
Did they tell you would be having an internal scan today as well as an ultra-sound?
No, they did not

Yay. Oh man, was not prepared to have anything stuffed into the bearded clam today … if I’d known, I would have squeezed in some thoughtful lady-scaping. No matter.

She goes to town with the ultra-sound, pressing down firmly on all the nether regions – including greatly engorged bladder – giving a running commentary to the student nurse (who knew my left ovary was further away than my right? apparently you can make out the bowel from the ovary because it’s ‘moving’. Really? I feel violated someone is looking at my ‘bowel movement’ – that wasn’t on the referral…) Some paper towels handed and off to the toilet to empty my bladder ie. take a piss. She makes a point of telling me to squeeze extra hard, make sure it’s all out! I will. Thank you.

Time for The Probe. Pants off, gown on. I always take my socks off. Seems weird to leave them on … right? I assume the position and there we go. A bit of lube and she sails on through. If any gents are (still) reading, believe me there is no joy/thrill/divine, celestial moment being on the receiving end of this penetrative device. It makes me feel ill. I just want it out and for it to all go away.

Good news!” I can see the Mirena – and the thread, it’s in the right place, your GP should be able to remove it.
How?
You will need to speak to your GP about removal. Here’s some tissues. Clean yourself up. Get dressed. Best of luck!

That will be $298, thank you.

That was Tuesday. On Thursday I received an auto-message from my GP offering ‘results’ but the link took me to make a non-urgent-booking. Within the next 4 weeks.

Long story short: the Mirena is yet to be moved.

Score:
Tit Tumour: 1
Beared Clam aka Supermax Unit: 1
Dignity: 0