A Significant Increase in Hospital Visits

I've said this countless times before, with my voice and on this blog, but I'll remind everyone anyway... Just because a cancer patient may appear to be cancer-free at any given moment, this in no way means the patient "beat cancer" or, an even sillier notion, "kicked cancer's ass".  

The fact is... and, yes, this is a fact and not just my opinion... that cancer patients have a significantly higher incidence of a recurrence of cancer compared to the incidence of a person who has never had cancer getting cancer for the first time. Until there is a true cure for cancer, the statistics show that the cancer patient is only buying time in getting beyond the first occurrence of cancer. 

Unfortunately, the time that Sheila bought (or perhaps "earned") by getting beyond her first occurrence of cancer is suddenly up. 

This all started last week, Sheila and I traveled up to Burlington last week for a mammogram. This is a standard, typical, repetitive thing... so typical for us that we don't even think about it... we've done this countless times before.

While we were waiting for the usual letter stating she was fine and to schedule her next mammogram (she was already a breast cancer patient so that means more frequent mammograms than for healthy patients), she instead received a telephone call from the Radiology/Oncology Liaison. Sheila retrieved this telephone message after-hours so this meant a night of worry until she could connect with the Liaison in the morning. I calmed Sheila down a bit with talk of the problem more than likely being about density changes due to age since the Liaison mentioned density changes in the telephone message.

The following morning, the Liaison told Sheila that there were some density changes in her breasts which now require additional testing. She said there was nothing alarming but we need to come in immediately for further testing.  

As expected, Sheila's anxiety instantly skyrocketed and she called me from work sounding a bit upset and frantic. I think her first words to me were, "I'm FREAKING OUT now..." and I could tell she was crying.

I calmed her down knowing she would now need to regain her composure enough to drive home. We talked for a bit and she calmed down a bit. I'm sure she was a bit upset and teary on her drive home but when she arrived home we immediately headed up to the hospital, together, for more testing. 

The Breast Care Center miraculously squeezed Sheila in for some ultrasound imaging to clear up any questions brought on by the mammogram. Sheila arrived home from work, we jumped into my car, and we headed up to the hospital. 

When we arrived at the hospital, we were rushed through and found ourselves in a quiet, darkened room for this ultrasound. 

As the radiology technician made small talk with Sheila while carefully sliding the ultrasound wand across her breast, I was closely watching the screen. 

I was able to identify the density changes that were mentioned by the Liaison... I was able to identify ribs... more tissue with density changes... more ribs... then, we came upon a surprise which I was clearly able to identify.

On the ultrasound screen was a big black mass that looked a bit like a Hershey's Kiss chocolate candy... sort of bell shaped... a half spindle shape... but with rather rough diffused edges. I knew this wasn't good. The technician proceeded to capture about 28 images of this mass before I asked if she could measure that for us. The size was a bit alarming too because this was larger than her first tumor in her other breast about eleven years ago.

When the technician left the room, Sheila and I had a chance to talk. I didn't think Sheila was able to see the screen during the procedure so I decided I wouldn't say anything about what I saw. It turns out that Sheila was looking at a different screen that was behind me and over my shoulder so she already saw it herself... and her thoughts were the same as mine... those thoughts were, "This is not good at all." 

After getting dressed we were then kindly and politely ushered to their comfy consulting room. This was a room far more fashionable and comfortable than our own living room. As we sat down, we looked at each other and said, "This can't be a room for good news."

Within a couple of minutes the doctor entered the room. It turns out that this is the same doctor who did Sheila's first biopsy eleven years ago. He was very polite... very concise... and carefully chose his words while watching us closely for our reaction. He told us that although there is no way to definitively determine cancer by ultrasound alone, between Sheila's history, this doctor's experiences with thousands of cancer patients, and considering the shape of this mass and irregularity of the surface of this mass (all things that we also noticed), that this is cancer. He said he's not going to call it a cyst... it is a tumor. He said he isn't even going to call it benign... it is malignant... it is cancer and we'll need to go in and take it out.

Typically, at this point, the doctor would leave the room to allow the patient and family a little time in this comfortable room to grieve for a bit and regain their composure enough to comprehend what happens next. 

We're experienced in this so although we were wiping tears from our eyes and holding our own, we immediately jumped into a frank discussion about the next steps... biopsy, lumpectomy, chemo... and we talked about whether or not radiation is even an option. Sheila had already had a lifetime dose of radiation the first time around so, for now, we have no definitive answer on radiation. Common sense tells me it is not an option but with pinpoint radiation this will probably be left up to the Oncologist and Radiologist. It would be a conversation for later. We did discuss the biopsy, surgery and chemo though.

We were immediately scheduled for a biopsy the next day. We didn't even have to leave our comfy consult room! The scheduler came to us. It is a relatively small consolation but this personal service and bee-lined service is really nice. There are some perks to this diagnosis.

We were now in the midst of the initial whirlwind of cancer. On the positive side, we're already versed in all of what cancer entails as well as "hospital life" so the shell-shocked stage never really appeared... the period of confusion never really appeared... the period of being completely overwhelmed never really appeared... the period when you can't hear a thing the doctors and nurses are telling you because your mind is elsewhere never really appeared. 

This initial whirlwind wouldn't swallow us up this time around...

That fact is...  we already had a well-versed checklist in our minds and knew exactly what to do and what to ask... we know what to expect... we know the typical schedule of events... we know and understand what is expected of us.

After we parted ways with the doctor and the scheduler, Sheila immediately contacted work... then she started calling the children... then her parents. On the way home, we stopped at the house of some friends for a bit of a change of pace... thanks Tom and Karen... and when we arrived home, Sheila's parents came to the house to provide Sheila with some love, concern and support.

The following morning, we headed back up to Burlington to continue the initial cancer whirlwind... she immediately jumped into the rather painful and invasive biopsy...

More to come...


NOTE:  Sheila and I discussed the idea of documenting this journey through cancer this second time around. Sheila quickly and readily agreed that it would be a good idea to share our journey on my blog so I'll be writing and photographing about our experiences whenever time and energy allows.