Day of tests

The black dot on the right?
One of my new bad-ass tattoos.
© kittelberg writes

Today started bright and early at the cancer agency. Turns out I was scheduled for a CT scan, not a CAT scan.

The CT scan, as I told my friend Brandee today, ensures the radiation is aimed precisely, all the better to kill off stubborn cancer cells that may or may not be there, and save my organs from being inadvertently fried.

You may have also heard women talk about getting their tattoos, which help with setting up the radiation therapy machine properly.

These new tattoos may not look like much, but with all due respect to the artists who gave me my other tattoos, I think they're way more bad-ass than any other ink on my body.

Now I wait - up to 10 business days - for my radiation oncologist and her posse to refine my treatment, then start. No fuss, no muss.

Mammo me

After a quick visit with my colleagues, I head to Mount Saint Joseph for my mammogram. This is the stressful part. After all, it's about the unknown.

The technician has me wait while she has a doctor look at my results before either sending me off, or having me stay for more tests. I'm sitting outside the ultrasound room, and notice the happy baby poster which had me bursting into tears last time I saw it. Nothing like a reminder that treatment could leave me barren!

This time? No tears. I'm pretty much resigned to the fact that George and I are "one and done" when it comes to children.

A lifetime ago

Then I see the couple. They look younger than me, late 20s or early 30s. She's on a gurney, he's following. I wonder if she's here for a fine-wire placement, which will show her surgeon exactly where her tumour is. Does she have breast cancer, or some other type of cancer? Is this her first surgery?

Less than six months ago, I was in her hospital-issue fuzzy socks, scared out of my mind. My husband was the guy waiting in the hallway, trying hard not to lose his shit.

My ultrasound tech comes over and tells me I can get changed and go home. No more tests today. This must be a good sign. After all, the last time I had a mammogram, I stayed for an ultrasound, then was told I had to come back again for a biopsy. We all know what the result of that was.

I get changed and am ready to cartwheel out the door.

Then I walk past the young man, still waiting. He looks up at me and gives me a nervous smile. I smile back.

I get outside and wish I had said something to him. But what? I hope his loved one is okay. I hope I'm okay. Maybe I'll meet his Mrs. at my next mammogram, and we'll cartwheel out the door together. One can hope.

When kancer guidelines kollide with experience

My mom mailed me a care package, including the April issue of Alive which is chock-full of articles on the cancer - I highly recommend it. However, one article, "Breast Cancer Screening", left me confused.

New breast kancer screening guidelines

Last year, the Canadian Task Force on Preventative Health Care released new breast cancer screening guidelines. Highlights pertaining to women 40-49 that jumped out at me:

• Routine screening mammograms: not recommended
• Regular self breast exam: not recommended
• Regular breast exam performed by a doctor: not recommended

An unremarkable history

At 39, I'm a year shy of being a member of this age group. I've always been sporadic about performing self exams, because I didn't fit into the high-risk category.

There is no breast cancer in my family, except for my cousin Pam, and we are not related biologically. I'm active on a regular basis. I drink (or rather, drank), but limited it to weekends, generally moderately. I quit smoking several years ago. I breastfed.

In other words, I'm like a lot of women my age.

My kancer diagnosis

Like I said, I was sporadic with the self exams. I noticed some skin that looked off on my left breast. I get eczema, so thought little of it at first. Then I decided to check. Aha! A lump.

I booked an appointment with my family doctor. He checked. "I've felt a lot of cancer, and this doesn't feel like it. But because of the skin discolouration, let's send you for an ultrasound," he told me.

I was referred to Mount Saint Joseph in Vancouver, which I learned is *the* place to go for screening and treatment. They decided to give me a mammogram, then ultrasound.  And the rest, as they say, is history.

Where does this leave women

So the new recommendations have me wondering what women are supposed to do. I turn 40 later this year. Friends who have already reached the milestone and have been putting off their first mammogram have told me they'll now get it because of my experience.

I didn't think I had cancer. My doctor didn't think I had cancer. And my surgeon and oncologist agree I didn't fit into the high-risk category. 

That mammogram may have saved my life.

My humble opinion and a pitch

Trust your gut. If you think something is wrong, pursue it. If you don't agree with a doctor, get a second opinion, or a third. Be your own best advocate!

And in honour of Daffodil Day, I plug Mount Saint Joseph's fundraising campaign for a second mammogram machine.

There is a fundraiser on Saturday, May 12 at the Riverside Grand Ballroom. Tickets cost $75 a pop.

If you can't go, want to donate a different amount, or want more info, contact: 

• Nidhi at 778-928-9085 
• Satinder at 778-323-1078
• msjrabc@providencehealth.bc.ca