by When I went to the hospital for my annual mammogram last year, I expected to be in and out within 60 minutes. Because I was a healthy woman without symptoms or major risk factors in the mid -40s, I knew that my chances of breast cancer were low. So I was more irritated than delivered when the radiologist also wanted to perform an ultrasound.
As a single mother of three boys and a doctor with a busy oncology practice of breast radiation, a typical manic working day with every hour booked was solid that day. I was more worried about lagging behind in my schedule than what was going on in my chest. But I stayed because the radiologist could get me quickly for the additional procedure. When he returned with the results, I knew something was wrong.
“You have at least five suspicious masses in the right breast and an abnormal -looking lymph node,” he said.
I did not hear the rest of what he told me when I concentrated on trying to stay calm. Because I had advised thousands of patients through their diagnosis of breast cancer, I was entirely aware of how not -discriminatory this disease could be. But I always thought that if I was ever diagnosed, it would be caught early because I underwent routine mammograms. I never expected that I had a high volume, lymph navigation positive disease.
Biopsies of the two largest masses and the lymph node attached breast cancer. I continued to undergo bilateral mastectomies and implant reconstruction. I chose to have the non -involved breast removed for prophylactic reasons. When I woke up from the operation, I thought the worst was over. Preoperative tests showed that I did not need chemotherapy or radiation. I should take endocrine therapy to block estrogen production for at least five years, but that was just a daily pill and a shot every few months.
When the last pathology returned, it revealed a more extensive disease than initially expected. As a result, my medical oncologist, who was a good friend, added chemotherapy and CDK 4/6 inhibitors to my treatment plan and told me that I had to remove my ovaries. I knew that radiation would be needed after a quick look at my graph. Knowledge is power, but it can also be frightening. In that one moment I imagined that I developed every important chemotherapy and radiation complication that my patients experienced. I was overwhelmed and destroyed.
I was looking for a second opinion at the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute. I knew my friend made suitable recommendations, but I was in such a denial that I had to hear from a neutral third party. As expected, the doctor agreed with the plan. He then inquired that my chances of 10-year-old disease-free survival were 85%.
Only 85%? I thought to myself. Four weeks earlier I was a healthy 46-year-old who never thought twice to see if I would live long enough to see my children start their own family. Now I learn that, even with all treatment, I have a 15% chance of developing metastatic disease – which means that I could die. I was in shock.
“Five percent is a good number,” he assured me.
But it’s not good enough for me, because I thought of my three sons. I have too much to live for. I want to be almost 100% as possible.
