Fighting Breast Cancer

It just so happens that the world famous Mayo Clinic has a facility in Scottsdale, Arizona, about 40 minutes from my home.  My husband absolutely insisted that I get, what he considers to be, the best medical care available.  He called our insurance company and they said that we were technically covered, but for the Mayo Clinic, there is a $10,000 deductible, plus you have to pay for any diagnostic work out of pocket.”

Basically, she made me feel like we were crazy for making this insurance choice.  My husband doesn’t care.  His response:  ”I have an American Express Platinum, a Bank of America card with a $36,000 limit, and an AT&T Universal card with a $20,000 limit.  I’ll bankrupt us if I have to.” 

I know that he really doesn’t want to file bankruptcy, so I reminded him of the high interest rates.  The response:  A.) “We’ll find a way and money isn’t important right now” and B.) “I don’t give a shit Karen!  You are going to Mayo and that’s that.” 

The idea that our medical bills are going to max us out has my stomach in knots. 

I just got off of the phone with Mayo and scheduled an appointment to see a surgeon in the Breast Clinic.  They won’t be able to see me for 2 weeks, but I feel better about going there for treatment.  In the meanwhile, they have requested that I have my biopsy slides, mammogram films and ultrasound images sent to their facility so that they can look at them and have an idea of what’s going on with me.

I feel very fortunate that they could get me in.  When one pulls up to the hospital, there is a hotel right on campus, and tons of out-of-state license plates in the parking lot.  In other words, it’s a good hospital with great doctors. 

Although we do live about forty minutes from the Mayo Clinic now, we used to live five minutes away.  I don’t know why we didn’t think about this to begin with.

Did I mention before that my husband is a neurotic crazy person?  Well, for once, his neurosis may have come in handy.  Since my cancer diagnosis, Michael has called every single person that he knows trying to get information and opinions about lumpectomies vs. mastectomies. 

I had already made up my mind that I was going to just have a mastectomy because Dr. S said that after they remove my breast, they will be able to pop an implant in while I’m still under.  That way, I won’t have to deal with what I like to call “The Uni-Boob Effect”.  Of course, when they do the mastectomy they will remove my nipple as well, so I will have to go back to the plastic surgeon for a series of procedures where they will construct and tattoo a new nipple.  Sounds nice, eh?  I can’t wait to for someone to ask me if I have any tattoos. 

“Yes, I do,” I’ll say. 

“Well, what’s it of?” they’ll ask. 

“A nipple.” 

Silence.

But, I digress.  All this talk about my nipple made me go off on a tangent.  Where was I?  Oh yes.  Michael has been worried sick.  Just as he was starting to go over the deep end, his friend from Mackinac Island, Jack called.  Jack put Michael in touch with a friend of his who is a Doctor of Oncology at Northwestern Medical School.  She is an extremely gracious person who spoke to Michael at 10:30PM about my diagnosis.  As soon as he read the pathology report to her, she interrupted him and asked, “How big is her tumor?” 

“About 3 inches, ” Michael replied. 

Incredulous, she stated: “Michael, you need to get her to another doctor right away.  I don’t know of any oncologist in the country that wouldn’t start Karen on chemo right away!  Surgery should come later.”

She then asked Michael to read Dr. S’s business card to her.  It stated that he was a “General Surgeon”. 

“He’s a General Surgeon?  That means that he does things like remove appendixes.  Call his office and find out how many mastectomies he has done.  If the answer isn’t ‘hundreds and hundreds’ I wouldn’t even consider him.  Karen really needs to see a Surgical Oncologist.  A Surgical Oncologist removes tumors.  I would get away from Dr. S if I were you!”

Michael called the surgeon’s office the following day and asked his chief nurse how many mastectomies the doctor had performed.  She hesitated a moment and then replied “a few.”

I guess it’s time to find a new surgeon…and fast.

When breaking bad news to people, I’ve always been of the School Of Thought which believes that you should just spit-it-out, as “they” say.  The sooner you relay the news, the sooner people can start to get over it.  However, after telling my parents that I have Breast Cancer, I’m beginning to think that I should have pulled the punch of my delivery a little and told them in a roundabout way. 

My Dad is a true-blue Republican…my husband is a hardcore liberal.  They couldn’t disagree more about anything that has to do with politics.  We try to avoid political discussions for the most part- at least while I have breast cancer. 

…but, I digress.  I thought I could break the news by saying something like, “Hey Mom and Dad.  I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I’ve decided to vote straight-ticket Democrat in all future elections, no matter who is running.  Also, Ronald Reagan was a very mean man.”

I would continue: “Just kidding! I only have breast cancer.”

Instead, our conversation went just like this:

Me:  “Hi Mom and Dad!  How are you doing today?”

Mom and Dad in unison on speaker-phone:  “Great!  We’re on our way home from seeing your grandmother in Indiana.  How are things with you, our only daughter, our precious angel, our most treasured God-given gift?”  (Okay, I made some of that up.)

Me:  “Um…not so good.  I have breast cancer.”

There was silence followed by a thud, which is when I think my mother dropped the phone.  I could hear her screaming, “No!  Oh God No!” 

My dad was fumbling for the phone so that he could talk to me.  I heard the fumbling.  When he finally got back on the line, he sounded despaired and confused, but at least he wasn’t crying.  I told him the whole cancer story, while in the background, I could hear my mother crying and screaming.  How did she know I was’t joking?

Dad says he’s going to “book the next flight out to Arizona” so that he and my mother can be with me through this ordeal.  This should be good.

I should have known better than to use my brother as a litmus test for telling my parents about my cancer.  As far as emotions go, he takes after my mother.  As soon as I told him, there was a pause of surprise (or maybe he was hoping that I was joking?)  Anyway, as soon as he spoke I could tell by the lilt in his voice that he was trying not to cry.  Then he wanted to pray with me over the phone (he’s a Lutheran Minister).  I said “no thank you” to the praying part.  I don’t know why.  I think that it might be because so far, I haven’t really fallen apart over this and I’ve felt pretty strong.  I think I just thought that if I prayed right then, it would be an admission of my own weakness.  Right now, I don’t want to feel weak.  I want to be strong and just get through this.  I’ll call on God when I really need him, thank you very much. 

I’m still torn as to whether I should tell my parents that I have cancer or not.  Since they live out-of-town, I would be able to have my surgery without having to tell them.  I just don’t want to put them through any pain.  My mother tends to be very sensitive and emotional, so I know that she will not take this very well.  My dad would be okay.  He handles anything really well.  I think I’ll call my brother and use him as a sounding board and gauge his reaction.

I can’t believe that this is happening to me.  I actually have to make a choice whether I should have my boob cut off or expose myself to radiation for 6 weeks.  Worse yet, how is my family going to react?  My mother is not going to deal with this very well, at all.  I mean, I’m envisioning her screaming and crying and becoming hysterical, and then fainting.  That is if she doesn’t have a stroke first.  This is not good.  This is not happening.  This is not happening!!!

My husband has no opinion on what surgery I should take.  He said, since survival rates are the same, it was my own personal choice…and believe me, he knew the survival rates were the same, because he spent the whole weekend reading about the lumpectomy vs. mastectomy deal.