Can you believe it's been 6 months since my first mammogram? That means it is time for my 6 month follow up. So this morning I made the trip through Minneapolis rush hour traffic to the Piper Breast Center for my 6th! mammogram since February 28. But it's been so long I almost forgot what it was like. OK, not really. I'm a seasoned veteran down at Piper, so I knew the routine pretty well. State your name at check-in, pay the co-pay, hold your arm out for the wrist band, bring your check-in sheets to the volunteer. I only had to wait a couple of minutes before I was led to the changing room. This time I got a robe! Yay! No hospital gown for me! I think I've figured it out. If you're wearing a robe, you're just in for a mammogram. If you're wearing a gown, you're having a procedure done. If you're wearing a gown AND they don't offer you a beverage, you're having surgery. Now I know how to tell what the other patients are there for. Ha!
The mammogram technician called me in and asked to confirm my history. So you had cancer? Um, not really. But it says here that you had DCIS on the stereotactic biopsy. Yeah, but they changed it to ADH after the surgery. But the core biopsy said cancer. Yeah, I know, but they're treating me like ADH, not DCIS. Well, the biopsy said cancer, so that's what I'll put down, she said. Hmmm, we don't get a diagnosis change like that very often, so it's a little confusing. YOU THINK? I thought to myself.
Anyway, she asked to see the scar and made a little slash line on the computer illustration of my right breast. That doesn't look like my scar, I said (always the comedian, I am). Well, I'm sort of limited with this program, she replied. I know, I was just joking. Then it was time for the big squeeze. You know, no matter how experienced the tech is, there is no way to perform a mammogram and NOT have it be the most awkward experience of your life.
I only had to wait about 15 minutes and the report was done. I was handed a nice letter that stated, Dear Ms. Stromberg: Your mammogram was read out and we are happy to inform you that it is NORMAL (no cancer). Wow, I haven't had one of those letters before. So that's what it feels like to have a normal mammogram. I took my letter and proceded to keep myself busy (mainly by rollerblading around the Mpls lakes and taking myself out to Panera for lunch) until my 1 o'clock oncology appoinment. Back to the oncology buliding across the street from Piper. I feel guilty going there because I don't have cancer and I assume everyone else there does.
The oncologist came in, all effusive and happy. He shook my hand like 3 times. He had just come back from the Monday noon lunch meeting, which is about breast cancer. Funny, he said. We were talking about people just like you. People with ADH or noninvasive cancer who choose NOT to take tamoxifen. Your surgeon was there and she (being a surgeon, wants to FIX everything) can't believe that anyone wouldn't take the drug. But I see the shades of gray, and I know it's not for everyone. And with the side effects you had (which, by the way, was not only hot flashes and mood swings, but also the heaviest bleeding I've ever had) it's not worth ruining your quality of life for a miniscule improvement in odds. Good. So we were in agreement on that. He did a pretty full exam and deemed me too healthy for oncology. So you're kicking me out? I asked. Well, I'm always here if you need me. He wants to send me to the High Risk Breast Clinic back at Piper for my follow ups.
So that's it. A clean bill of health. My next appointment will be an MRI in 6 months. I'm not sure if I'll stick with my surgeon (whom I like, even if she tried to talk me into a mastectomy and doesn't have a very good bedside manner) or if I'll try the the surgeon and internist who work at the high risk clinic. I have a few months to make that decision.
I'd like to say that all is well and I'm happy, but there's a part of me that can't figure out what this means for my life. Like I want to take this experience and become a better person for it, but I don't know how, or if I even need to. Is it a life changer? In some ways, yes. But here I am 6 months later and what really has changed? Is it possible to change at the age of 41? Do I even need to change my life or my personality? Or could I accidentally change it for the worse? What is the meaning of life anyway? More mental processing needs to go on to figure those questions out, that's for sure. Until I figure it out, or figure out that I don't need to figure it out, I'll continue to schlep my way through the days and hope that the world is a better place for it.
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