Fighting Breast Cancer

Dr. N was actually looking for me while I was in the chemo class.  He had the results of my PET scan and needed to speak with me right away.  I went into the examining room with my husband and my father.  Mom elected to wait in the lobby because she was too upset and nervous to hear the news.

I knew something was wrong when the door opened and Dr. N made a bee-line straight for me and locked me in a bearhug.  This meant that Dr. N thought that I was going to need comforting.  What did that mean?  Could things possibly be worse for me than they had been up to this moment.  The answer is, yes.  Things were horribly bad.

Dr. N pulled up the images of my body from the PET scan on his computer.  He explained that the areas of the images that glowed orange and yellow indicated cancer.  My body was lit up like a Christmas Tree.

“Here is the original tumor in your breast.”  It looked like E.T.’s heart light.  “The cancer has spread to the lymph nodes under your right armpit, the lymph nodes in your neck and the lymph nodes in your chest.  This is a close up of your lungs.  You have cancer here and here and here……”  He seemed to go on forever.  I must have had 50 or 100 tumors in my lungs.  “This is why you have been coughing so much.”  (I was starting to feel faint and light headed.)  “You have a couple of spots in your pelvic bone.  There are two vertibrae in your spine that have cancer and a couple of ribs.”

“So, my cancer is Stage 4.”

“I’m afraid it is.”

My dad looked dumbfounded.  Michael had tears streaming down his face.  He looked like he was going to throw up or faint.  Maybe both.

“What are her chances of beating the cancer?  What are her chances of complete remission?”  Michael asked.

“Karen’s cancer is so far advanced that we are not going to focus on curing her.  We just want to try to control the cancer.  She can possibly still live years…”  (He didn’t get specific time-wise, but we understood.)

“What are her chances for a cure!!!???”

“About three in a thousand.”

As soon as I heard that, I felt like a volcano was erupting inside of me.  Here I am 30 years old and the question of my mortality is being raised.  Will I live to see my 35th birthday?  How about 40?  Dare I dream to see 50?  Why the hell didn’t I insist on a mammogram last year?  Why????  I was so angry I was shaking.

This was bullshit.  I grabbed my purse and told the doctor that I had a chemo appointment to keep.  He stood up and tried to hug me, but I pushed him away and told him to save it.  Then I told my dad and Michael that I wanted to get the hell out of there.  I stormed out of the office to deliver the news to my mother while the men in my life trailed behind me in a daze.

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