Cautious Optimism

The MRI
On May 28th Dave and I drove to Stanford for two appointments. The first one was for an MRI. In this previous post I describe the MRI experience I had in January here in Chico. (You should seriously click that link. It's from a time when my blogs were still pretty hilarious.) The MRI at Stanford was largely the same except for two things: the addition of an ivy league bathrobe and the fact I am now bald. Otherwise, boobs still in margarine tubs, face still pressed against crease making apparatus, deafening tones still annoyingly repetitious.

MRI Day in January 2013 (above)

MRI Day in May 2013

Ivy League Bathrobe Logo -- Ooh la la!

       

MRI Face in January 2013

MRI Face in May 2013

You'll notice, of course, that I am bald now. Well, not entirely bald. I actually have, as the picture shows, tiny, white, soft stubble all over my scalp. It never fell out and it never grows. This is how I maintain it:

I figure the rough cat tongue massage will stimulate regrowth along with the Rogaine I'll be using after my last chemo. Then again, I might just end up with an extra furry cat.

The Mammogram and Ultrasound
Next we went to lunch and then headed for another part of campus where they did a mammogram and sonogram of the right breast only. In the waiting room there was a TV showing nature scenery and playing new-agey relaxation music. I very nearly fell asleep. What kept me going was thinking about the other women in the waiting room, who were also wearing wash worn halter gowns. One woman was told she needed additional pictures. Another woman was awaiting the results of her additional pictures. There was worry on their faces. I'm guessing my bald chemo-gaunt look was of no comfort to them.

The mammogram was predictably squeezy and the sonogram gooey. The same woman did both scans. I got her name at the time but I can't remember it now. We'll call her Lauren.

Those of you who know me well know I am not a medicine taker. But this has been my reality lately, and is probably the reason I can't remember Lauren's real name, and other important stuff.

A tidbit about Lauren: she must work out a great deal, because she had fantastic arms! Anyway Lauren pulled up all my previous scans and reports and made a study of them before starting the sonogram. She had the 'money shot' of the tumor from January on one screen, and the current imaging on another. She referred back and forth the entire time. She seemed very thorough. She would freeze a frame digitally, then mark the corresponding spot on my breast with a skin sharpie. She would measure the distance from each of these spots with a little clear plastic ruler and then make notes. Given my concerns, it all made me very nervous. I tried to see what I could of the tumors on the monitor showing the current scans, but couldn't make heads or tails out of any of it.

While Lauren worked, I asked her if she liked her job. She paused a long time before answering. Then she said, "I appreciate my patients very much. And it's very important work. In that sense I like it. But just as with any job, there are aspects to it that are a challenge." I thought that was a very thoughtful, honest response. It speaks to the crap (politics, disputes, job stress) healthcare workers have to endure all while trying to put their patients' needs first. It can't be easy, and I'm grateful to those who endure it well for my sake.

There was a knock at the door. I expected Lauren to turn away whoever it was, considering I was lying bare chested on the exam table. But to my surprise she announced, "Come in!" I didn't know we were expecting company. It turns out it was the radiologist. A Dr. Ikeda. "It's just like the furniture store only with a D in there," she explained. I liked her immediately. She was very positive and cheery, which I found both likeable and disconcerting. She said, "Not all your MRI scans have been processed yet, but the ones I saw look great." She looked over Lauren's shoulder at the ultrasound images on the screen, and commented that they looked very "clean." Just as I was in denial upon my initial sonogram that I had breast cancer, it took me a while to gather that she was saying my tumors are gone. "There is no sign of any cancer," she finally said, to be clear.

My Thoughts
This post is titled "Cautious Optimism" because for some reason it is hard for me to accept this good news. I am waiting for the other shoe to drop, so to speak. Maybe it will and maybe it won't, but I'd rather be happily surprised that it doesn't, than shocked and disappointed that it does. This is what cancer--and chemo--have done to me . . . tempered my optimism.

You might be wondering, "Why go through with the mastectomy if the cancer is gone?" But Dr. Mazj was very clear on that point. The cancer is no longer visible in these scans, but it still exists on a microscopic level, and will be ready to grow back with a vengeance as soon as chemo is over. The breast still must be removed.

I haven't made a final decision on whether to remove just one or both breasts. I feel certain that at some future point I will suddenly just know what's right for me. And so I wait.

So Long and Thanks for all the . . . Bugs
Dave and I headed home after a long day of driving and waiting and waiting and driving. We left at 7 a.m. and got home at about 10 p.m.. I'd like to thank Julie Buckley and Suzie Norris for transporting and watching our kids all day. I am so blessed with a support network that always has my back. Thank you!!

We did our part to cull the bug population along I-5 on the way home.

What's Next
I am busily scheduling the kids for all kinds of trips in the month of July so they won't have to be home to see me ail, and I won't have to manage their activities while I'm recovering. It occurs to me that it is also time to start planning my Boob Voyage party. At the moment I don't feel much like partying. Chemo and pain meds and so forth have definitely curbed my enthusiasm. But my last chemo treatment is this coming Wednesday (June 5th), and I hope to be feeling normal again by mid June--just in time to give my boob/s the send off they/it deserve/s. So bring on the ideas!