I Don’t Have Breast Cancer

I don’t have breast cancer. I did two weeks ago, but I don’t anymore.

When I went in for my regular mammogram at the first of the year the nurse and I did the regular dance of step up, hold your breath, step back. Except after she scanned my left breast, she told me to wait. She wanted to scan it again.

“I’m sorry,” the nurse said as she pressed my breast flat against one panel, holding it in place as she lowered the other panel, which ground down the length of my breastbone until the machine met the resistance of the tissue. It could go no further.

“Hold your breath,” she said. There was the high squeal of the machine, then release.

“I’m so sorry,” said the nurse.

“Why would you be sorry?” I asked her.

“I know it’s uncomfortable.”

“Don’t worry about my being comfortable. Just take the best picture,” I reassured her.

“You’d be surprised how many women tell me they don’t get regular mammograms because it hurts.”

I’ve done this every year for over ten years. The doctors and nurses watch me closely. My mother died of breast cancer at 52. Several years ago a spot on one of my scans looked funny. I went back for a biopsy, which turned out to be fine. I got the news while I was having lunch with a friend in her kitchen. She opened a bottle of champagne and I went to the 1st grade program a little tipsy and very relieved.

This time it wasn’t exactly fine. My scan showed calcifications. The radiologist, who looked as if he were from central casting – tall, silver haired, glasses, experienced, but not too old – pointed to the screen. The image, charcoal background with my breast visible in lighter grey, showed two areas with sweeping dotted arches that looked as if someone had spilled powdered sugar across a soapstone counter as they spooned it from container to cup.

“This one I’m not worried about,” he said. “This one,” the slender tip of his silver pen made an arc over a series of the tiny white dots on the screen, ”I’m fifty percent worried about.”

I looked at the screen and turned back to him.

“I know you know what you’re looking at. If it’s cancer, just tell me.”

His gaze was steady.

“I don’t know that it’s cancer. But we should biopsy it.”

“What do you think it is?”

“I think it could be ductal carcinoma in situ.”

He and the nurses went on to use terms like, “pre-cancer,” “non-invasive” and “stage zero.” I felt as if I had some sort of cancer-lite. A bother, but no big deal.

One week and one procedure later as I left the room where the doctor had performed the biopsy, the nurse said, “Don’t worry. Ten years ago they discovered my cancer the same way. You’re going to be fine.”

She didn’t realize that until that moment I wasn’t worried. I thought I was fine. Fine, as it turns out, can have a broad definition.

I did have ductal carcinoma in situ. In the seven weeks since the original mammogram, I’ve had a biopsy, out-patient surgery, meetings with a medical oncologist and radiologists and an outpouring of love and support from my partner, family and friends that was not a surprise, but for which I am incredibly grateful.

Last night I was going through my mother’s medical records regarding her breast cancer following an appointment with my medical oncologist. There were details that I remembered and details that I had not retained. There were similarities in her cancer and mine. We were both diagnosed in our early 50s. I was shaken to see that her tumor was in the exact spot that mine had been. “Left breast, 3:00 position.”

This was unsettling. But there were also dissimilarities.

My mother’s tumor was 4 cm. Mine, which could not be felt, was 1.5 cm.

My mother’s cancer had metastasized. Two of her lymph nodes tested positive. My margins were clean.

My mother had a complete mastectomy. I had a lumpectomy, the results of which, even just a few weeks later, are minimal.

My mother’s prognosis was tentative. Mine is entirely positive.

My mother died just over a year after her diagnosis. I will have four weeks of daily radiation and take Tamoxifen for the next five years, not to treat my cancer – I don’t have cancer now – but as preventative measures against recurrence.

There are other lifestyle, and possibly biological, differences between my mother and me. But I believe the single most significant difference is annual mammograms.

My very early stage breast cancer was diagnosed through a regular annual mammogram. There is every reason to believe that I am fine because we caught this so early.

Please, get your mammogram. The discomfort, both physical and emotional, is far less than the physical and emotional toll of the discovery of an invasive tumor.

I’m fine. Get your mammogram.

 

 

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32 thoughts on “I Don’t Have Breast Cancer

  1. Of course you are fine! As a friend of mine said when we were in high school, “Mighty Fine”. Thanks for the reminder!

  2. Patricia, you write so honestly that I feel as if I know you. I urge you to write about this and your clear-headed confrontation of all it embodies.

  3. Thank goodness you are having radiation. My DCIS lumpectomy in CA was not followed by any other treatment and it came back, forcing me to have a mastectomy. In Idaho, where I live now, the protocol is like yours and the outcomes are excellent. I am well and healthy now and I know you will be too. Best wishes.

  4. Just went through the exact same thing.. first 5 month check up good but estrogen suppressant make me sick and I am trying to find alternative natural solution… Not so easy, like you I could not recommend more to have a regular mammogram !

  5. Thank you for this. It couldn’t be more timely and helpful. I am having a biopsy early tomorrow morning as a follow up to a 3D mammogram and a bilateral ultrasound. My daughter, who is 46, just finished a year of successful treatment for breast cancer and has now been pronounced cancer free. I appreciate and admire your calm, positive perspective very much.

    1. Georgia – I do hope the results of your biopsy were reassuring and congratulations to your daughter. These situations produce so much anxiety – I’m sending for an equally good outcome for you.

  6. Patricia, I’m always looking in at your blog, hopeful that there might be a new post. I wanted to see more about your attic makeover. Then I saw the photo of you and your mom and learned the news of your experience. I’m so glad you are doing well. You were so brave! Very inspiring. Over time you have shared a lot with us . Thank you.

    1. I wonder if some people think I have over-shared a lot. Thank you for checking in. I’ll post on the third floor shortly. Honestly, it’s such slow-going, you’ll be caught up in no time.

  7. I’ve followed your blog for a while now, but never commented until today. I’m glad that you were able to find it so early, will be thinking of you during your treatment, and thank you for the reminder to keep up the mammos. Best wishes.

  8. I am glad you are well and that you have a plan and support to tackle that bitch cancer. I had my first biopsy in graduate school and now at almost 69, it’s been a long road. Numerable biopsies. All benign. Same worry and doubt. A mother with breast cancer, but not her cause of death.

    I am so glad we are able to live with technology we have today. I remember when one of the doctors at KU Med had a hair-brained idea to link mammograms to a computer! Yes. I”m that old. And now for the 3-D images available. Wow! So much promise. Although I have said that if testicular cancer affected men and they had gotten the previous treatment women routinely got (lop ’em off and call it good), breast cancer survival rates, treatment, prevention would been much better, much, much sooner.

    I’ll be thinking about you. You are strong and smart. You have been through loss. You are a well-equipped warrior. All the best your way.

    1. Thank you. I am looking at this as a bump in the road. Looking forward to wrapping up in the next four weeks. Still, it’s opened me up to so many new and thoughtful people. I’m always amazed.

  9. my sister in law had the exact same thing last summer. she is good, you are good!! Go out and kick *#!

    1. So glad to hear that your sister did well. My friends are probably tired of hearing what a badass I am and now it comes up twice as often. Thanks for your good wishes.

  10. Patricia,

    Thank you for sharing this. It can’t have been easy, but if it prompts a reader to remember to get her mammogram, it[‘s worth it, right?

    I’ve read your blog for years and like at least one other commenter, I hadn’t posted – until today. I turned 52 last week, and at roughly same time, celebrated being one-year post radiation for a breast cancer that was maybe a slight bit bigger than yours.

    I had been so good about going starting at 40, but then I slacked off and thought, “Mom didn’t have it and my sister didn’t have it. In fact, no history that I was aware of at all.” But then my husband who is much better about going to the doctor than I ever will be, said to me, “I want you to promise to get your mammogram for my birthday.” His birthday is in November. So, I went the day he was getting back from a hunting trip and which also happened to be our 21st wedding anniversary, a Friday in Oct. 2016. I didn’t get the results until the following week. I had surgery in November and then started radiation in February 2017 and finished the treatments that month. And, like you, I’m taking an aromatase inhibitor.

    Every now and then, I think what if my husband hadn’t asked for my mammogram for his birthday? I ADORE him and our two children. I lost my mom when I was 11 (not from breast cancer) and can’t imagine not being here for them.

    Thanks again for sharing your story and giving me the opportunity to share mine.

    Take care and all the best to you!

    1. I’m so glad that everything worked out well for you. (And I’m applauding your husband.) Happy belated birthday! Here’s to many more.

  11. Dear Patricia,
    Your frank and so personal message is a strong reminder to all women to be vigilant about their health and faithful to yearly mammograms. Modern science has made remarkable strides in cancer detection and treatment, but first, we must show up.
    Thank you, and all good wishes for your future well being and equanimity.

  12. Dear Patricia,

    I always enjoy reading your blog, love hearing about the ups and downs of remodeling and decorating, and generally get a kick out of everything you write. This one was more like a kick in the gut, but I am so, so, happy you got your yearly mammogram, caught it early, and are OK. If even one woman remembers to get her exam after reading your blog (and there will be more than one), you have done a great service for womankind. Again, thank you for your very personal PSA. –And I am anxiously awaiting 3rd floor pictures! Hope the remodel is going as smoothly as possible and I hope your boys are doing well! Take care!

  13. Patricia,

    Thanks for the posting. All the best during the coming weeks of radiation. I have followed your blog for years and just ran onto this.

    Cant wait to see the results of the third floor renovation.

  14. I found my cancer two years ago…not a lump but an indentation which I promptly Googled to get info. Quickly came the tests and biopsies – besides a tiny tumor and DCIS, lots of microcalcification which turns out can be cancerous too. So now the breasts are gone – I miss them a lot but I’m still alive which is the bottom line. I’m glad you are too! It’s good to share the details with others because something may apply to them…

    1. Karen – that must have been so scary. You’re attitude is amazing and I’m finding it makes a huge difference. Wishing you the very best moving forward.

  15. Patricia,
    While the news is frightening and unsettling, I am very glad that you can move forward. I wish you the very best.

  16. Hello

    I also had DCIS but with a little different pattern. I had inflitrations at the edge of my lumpectomy, so ended up with a mastectomy and flap. I am on letrozole for 5 years but did not require the additional treatment . I am over 3 years past the surgery. If you would like to talk, email me and we can exchange numbers.

    Jamie Rett

  17. The “outpouring of love,” that’s the important part. Glad to hear that it went well.

  18. Congratulations on your recovery . My mother died of breast cancer at 52 as well. She did not have mamograms. I do. Realizing how important they are is necessary. I think your positive attitude is also a part of the equation.

  19. I am so glad to hear that you are well. Thank you for sharing such an important part of your life with us. I am 43 with no family history of breast cancer and have been getting mammograms every other year since I turned 40 (that is my doctor’s recommendation). This has made me reconsider the every other year part.

  20. Dear Dear Mrs. Blandings, (Patricia),
    I have missed you and just decided for a visit this morning and spotted your remarkable headline–“I don’t have Breast Cancer.” Thank the Lord, you don’t and double that for sharing your experience! I, too, like many women, many of my friends have shared your experience or the scare of it in one way or another. Thank you for for being so open! Warmest thoughts, Carter

  21. Thank God you are fine and that they caught it early. My mother was diagnosed at 35, I was 13. She is 72 now and Thank God is alive and well. I have been getting mamograms since I was 18. Cancer runs in the family, in addition to my mother, her mother had it, her 2 sisters had it, one of those sisters’ daughter died from it at the age of 37. Mamograms save lives. Thank you for the reminder to vigilant with our health.

    1. I do hope ALL your scans keep coming back clear! The research just keeps getting better and better.

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