Today was breast checkup day. This morning, I had a mammogram, scheduled for when the radiologist would be there to look at the films. Sure enough, she ordered an ultrasound to look more closely at the area that was biopsied this summer. I started getting nervous, but thankfully the tech reassured me a few minutes in by telling me it looked good so far. A little while later, the doctor confirmed that everything was fine; the area she had been concerned about was benign. She recommended another mammogram in a year.
She also told me that I’m an excellent candidate for a study that determines to what extent having Contrast-Enhanced Mammography every other year improves cancer detection compared to yearly 2D and 3D mammography. This is similar to the study I did before the biopsy this summer. Since I can’t have a MRI, this will be a nice additional screening tool. Participation is for five years.
This afternoon, I had my three month check up with Dr. Brufsky. Everything looks fine. They took bloodwork to check my liver numbers, which increased after I started chemo and immunotherapy. It looks like one of my numbers is still high; its increase started with my treatment, which is interesting. I have a feeling that Dr. Brufsky will have me see the liver doctor to follow up.
I saw something online recently that describes what it’s like to have cancer. The author is unknown but it’s worth sharing:
Imagine you’re going about your day, minding your own business, when someone sneaks up behind you…
You feel something press up against the back of your head, as someone whispers in your ear.
“Sssshhhhh…. don’t turn around. Just listen. I am holding a gun against the back of your head. I’m going to keep it there. I’m going to follow you around like this every day, for the rest of your life.”
“I’m going to press a bit harder, every so often, just to remind you I’m here, but you need to try your best to ignore me, to move on with your life. Act like I’m not here, but don’t you ever forget… one day I may just pull the trigger… or maybe I won’t. Isn’t this going to be a fun game?”
This is what it is like to be diagnosed with cancer. Any STAGE of cancer. Any KIND of cancer. Remission does not change the constant fear. It never truly goes away. It’s always in the back of your mind.
Please, if you have a loved one who has ever been diagnosed with cancer, remember this. They may never talk about it or they may talk about it often. Listen to them. They aren’t asking you to make it better. They want you to sit with them in their fear… their sadness… their anger… just for the moment. That’s it.
Don’t try to talk them out of how they are feeling. That doesn’t help. It will only make them feel like you are minimizing what they’re going through. Don’t remind them of all the good things they still have in their life. They know. They are grateful. But some days they are more aware of that gun pressing into the back of their head and they need to talk about it. Offer them an ear.
Here is hoping that 2024 will see nothing but positive check ups and a healthier year — for me, and all of you! Happy New Year!