When Life Hands You Cancer... (Part I)
I'm not sure what I'm doing here with this blog. I wrote it in my head sentence by sentence over the past few months, but actually putting it all together and sharing it is an entirely different animal. It makes the most sense to start from the beginning, but the last thing I want to do is follow up such a panic-inducing title with a discourse on the history of tumor formations and diagnoses, so before I get going, you should know that I'm going to be just fine.
I'm not dying, so nobody panic (or get excited, depending on how you feel about me). I do, however, legitimately have breast cancer.
It's in a really really early stage (which I'll get to), so please don't freak out or feel sorry for me, because if people start feeling sorry for me I'm going to cry, and if I cry I'm going to get pissed off, and if I get pissed off that's just one more thing I'm going to have to deal with.
Anyway, here is the painfully long odyssey of how I got to where I am now with an awesomely fun cancer diagnosis:
A ways back (like, a couple years) I found a lump. Since I was young, my doctor just ordered an ultrasound. The mass appeared to be a cyst, but she decided I should get a follow-up every year to make sure it wasn't growing or doing anything weird. November of last year was the last routine follow-up, and prior to that, the mass was just kind of sitting around taking up space and doing nothing. It was kind of like having an unwanted house guest who doesn't chip in for groceries and doesn't show any interest in leaving... except... you know... in my boob.
Then in January I started working out pretty hardcore, with the idea that exercise could help me deal with my depression sans-drugs. I lost 35 lbs and then gained back 10lbs in solid muscle and took my body fat from 23% to 17%. By March, the loss of fat and the addition of some sweet pec muscles pushed the "cyst" right out in the open to where it could be seen with the naked eye.
Seeing an enormous lump right in the center of my chest freaked as well as grossed me out, so I called my doctor and asked her to recheck the "cyst".
This is where it gets fun.
After laying dormant all that time the "cyst" had nearly doubled in size and was ugly and painful.
My doctor immediately ordered a needle core biopsy which is horrible enough for anyone, but when you're young and your tissue is really dense, they have to hack at you with the delicacy of Anthony Perkins ala "Psycho".
While they were in there, they inserted a microchip in the mass, presumably so that if the thing runs away from home, we can find it.
Anyway, the results of the biopsy revealed that my "cyst" was not a cyst, but rather a benign tumor that was still playing nice with the other tissue and organ systems, but needed to be removed. For one thing, benign tumors are a breeding ground for the Big Bad tumors, but for another, having a lump the size of a cherry tomato in your boob is totally creepy. Finally, the thing was just really g-damn annoying.
At this point I was referred to a really awesome surgeon who took one look at my charts and got giddy like a school girl. See, she's a pioneer in the field of cryogenic cancer treatments, so when a healthy 28-year-old with a big fat benign tumor strolled into her office it was like Christmas morning. (Cryo cancer treatments are thus far only FDA approved for benign tumors in women under 40, and apparently there's not a lot of people out there who fit that criteria. In fact, I was slated to be the first patient in the entire city of Austin to undergo the procedure.)
Basically, rather than excavate the tumor out like a she was on a damn paleontological dig, she was gonna blast the thing with liquid nitrogen, which, I'm not gonna lie, sounds both awesome and terrifying to me.
The next couple of months were pretty boring; since the procedure is still very new, she had to buy the equipment (no hospitals in Austin have it) and then get trained on how to actually use said equipment. Finally, my procedure was scheduled for the first week of June.
My mom came in to watch Jack, David took off work, they pumped me full of tranqs and pain meds, slapped me on a table, jammed a biopsy needle in to guide the liquid nitrogen tube aaaaaaaand...
"Uhhhh, the tumor changed shape."
"Excuse me, what?"
Essentially, my tumor went from a nice, easily nuke-able ball to an oblong shape similar to a jelly donut only less delicious. My doctor ordered more tests (tumors aren't supposed to do that crap), and I went home, heavily sedated and disappointed.
Ok, I'm tired of writing and this thing is getting stupid-long. I've decided to break it up into 2 posts so no one dies of boredom while reading it.
I'm not dying, so nobody panic (or get excited, depending on how you feel about me). I do, however, legitimately have breast cancer.
It's in a really really early stage (which I'll get to), so please don't freak out or feel sorry for me, because if people start feeling sorry for me I'm going to cry, and if I cry I'm going to get pissed off, and if I get pissed off that's just one more thing I'm going to have to deal with.
 |
| Here are some My Little Ponies to help you chill. |
Anyway, here is the painfully long odyssey of how I got to where I am now with an awesomely fun cancer diagnosis:
A ways back (like, a couple years) I found a lump. Since I was young, my doctor just ordered an ultrasound. The mass appeared to be a cyst, but she decided I should get a follow-up every year to make sure it wasn't growing or doing anything weird. November of last year was the last routine follow-up, and prior to that, the mass was just kind of sitting around taking up space and doing nothing. It was kind of like having an unwanted house guest who doesn't chip in for groceries and doesn't show any interest in leaving... except... you know... in my boob.
Then in January I started working out pretty hardcore, with the idea that exercise could help me deal with my depression sans-drugs. I lost 35 lbs and then gained back 10lbs in solid muscle and took my body fat from 23% to 17%. By March, the loss of fat and the addition of some sweet pec muscles pushed the "cyst" right out in the open to where it could be seen with the naked eye.
Seeing an enormous lump right in the center of my chest freaked as well as grossed me out, so I called my doctor and asked her to recheck the "cyst".
This is where it gets fun.
After laying dormant all that time the "cyst" had nearly doubled in size and was ugly and painful.
My doctor immediately ordered a needle core biopsy which is horrible enough for anyone, but when you're young and your tissue is really dense, they have to hack at you with the delicacy of Anthony Perkins ala "Psycho".
 |
| "No worries, Mrs. Goodman, a few more stabs and we'll be done." |
While they were in there, they inserted a microchip in the mass, presumably so that if the thing runs away from home, we can find it.
Anyway, the results of the biopsy revealed that my "cyst" was not a cyst, but rather a benign tumor that was still playing nice with the other tissue and organ systems, but needed to be removed. For one thing, benign tumors are a breeding ground for the Big Bad tumors, but for another, having a lump the size of a cherry tomato in your boob is totally creepy. Finally, the thing was just really g-damn annoying.
 |
| Do not ask me why, but for some reason, I keep anthropomorphizing my tumor into Chris Tucker's character in "The 5th Element". WTF, brain?!? |
At this point I was referred to a really awesome surgeon who took one look at my charts and got giddy like a school girl. See, she's a pioneer in the field of cryogenic cancer treatments, so when a healthy 28-year-old with a big fat benign tumor strolled into her office it was like Christmas morning. (Cryo cancer treatments are thus far only FDA approved for benign tumors in women under 40, and apparently there's not a lot of people out there who fit that criteria. In fact, I was slated to be the first patient in the entire city of Austin to undergo the procedure.)
Basically, rather than excavate the tumor out like a she was on a damn paleontological dig, she was gonna blast the thing with liquid nitrogen, which, I'm not gonna lie, sounds both awesome and terrifying to me.
 |
| "Prepare to be frozen, tooomaaaah." |
The next couple of months were pretty boring; since the procedure is still very new, she had to buy the equipment (no hospitals in Austin have it) and then get trained on how to actually use said equipment. Finally, my procedure was scheduled for the first week of June.
My mom came in to watch Jack, David took off work, they pumped me full of tranqs and pain meds, slapped me on a table, jammed a biopsy needle in to guide the liquid nitrogen tube aaaaaaaand...
"Uhhhh, the tumor changed shape."
"Excuse me, what?"
Essentially, my tumor went from a nice, easily nuke-able ball to an oblong shape similar to a jelly donut only less delicious. My doctor ordered more tests (tumors aren't supposed to do that crap), and I went home, heavily sedated and disappointed.
Ok, I'm tired of writing and this thing is getting stupid-long. I've decided to break it up into 2 posts so no one dies of boredom while reading it.
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