In February I had my annual mammogram. When I was done, the technician came in and said the radiologist who had looked at my films said everything looked fine and they’d see me next year. Randy’s sister, Kristine, was visiting and accompanied me to the Breast Center in Venice so we picked up our stuff and started home. About half-way there I got a call from the radiologist who said she’d taken another look at the films and missed something she wanted to evaluate further. Kristine and I turned around and spend another couple of hours at the Venice Breast Center. Before we left, the radiologist recommended a biopsy of calcification in my left breast. My 2 previous cancers were in the right breast.
I sought a second opinion, and my medical oncologist ordered a breast MRI. That showed a second spot they didn’t see on the mammogram. So now I was facing 2 separate biopsies on the left breast. Both biopsies came back as malignant. The surgeon then ordered a PET scan (done May 27) to determine if there is any cancer spread to other parts of my body. Thankfully, they did not see any other “hot” spots anywhere. What they are calling cancer is confined only to the 2 spots in my left breast we already knew about. One of the spots is so small and early it barely lit up on the PET scan, but the doctor says it’s only a matter of time.
Because of my history, and facing surgery again, the breast surgical oncologist recommended a double mastectomy. Another lumpectomy is an option, but it also comes with a recommendation of radiation and a nearly certain outcome of significantly disfigured breasts.
I’ve done a lot of research. Even before this latest baloney started, I’ve been questioning the wisdom of continuing to have mammograms. Does it make sense to you that radiation causes cancer, but they use radiation to find cancer? In retrospect, I wonder if all the breast cancer treatment I had in 2008 didn’t contribute significantly to the problems I’m facing now. It’s water under the bridge though, and I have to deal with what is.
When I heard in February that I had other suspicious areas, I vowed I was never going to have another mammogram when it is over. When I met with my surgical oncologist last week, the first thing she said to me is “your breasts are trying to kill you.” That got my dander up. I certainly am not going to let my breasts kill me. It makes the most sense to me at this point to choose the mastectomy. Since this latest ductal breast cancer hasn’t spread (it’s a new, primary cancer) it’s logical to me that removing the breast ducts would prevent future occurrences of the same type.
But who knows? It sure seems like the medical professional doesn’t really know. For all the money they spend studying cancer and inventing new, expensive treatments, isn’t it odd that they still can’t find a cure? You can’t convince me they don’t know what causes it, and they certainly know what feeds it and makes it spread. So why don’t they treat it by teaching people how to starve it, deprive it of growth? Instead they’re focused on studying its genetics which has proven over and over again to be virtually useless. And their super expensive treatments which carve up, burn, and poison people make cancer patients worse off than they are with the cancer. I can only draw the conclusion that breast cancer is a cash cow for the medical and pharmaceutical industries. And in the end, everyone dies anyway.
But…. I didn’t come here today to bash anyone.
I’ve written many times on this blog that I am perfectly aware of, and comfortable with, the fact that none of us get out of here alive. Birth is, in effect, a death sentence. Each of us has a life exit point. We don’t think about it much, but it’s true.
Over the last few years, as I’ve delved into more metaphysical and spiritual (not necessarily in a religious context) matters, I have given that exit point more thought that I ever have before. Some of what I’ve learned makes more sense to me than some of the unexplained things the bible says we need to take on faith. And some of it just casts a little different light on the things we learned in the bible.
Take the eternal life of our souls, for instance. Christianity teaches that our bodies die here on earth but our souls are eternal. What happens to them between earthly death and the return of Jesus Christ is a little vague, but it’s generally thought that we (if we’re good enough to go in a positive direction) exist in heaven. Ask any Christian. Heaven is also a vague, though wonderful, place. We all aspire to go there.
The new age, metaphysical spirituality also believes our souls live on and on as energy. Some believe that energy reincarnates in different bodies over time (although they don’t believe in time as linear). I won’t go into all of it here as there’s too much to explain in a 1,000-word blog post, and most of you would find it all too kooky to take seriously anyway. But the point I’m trying to make is that what we know about life and life energy on earth is miniscule. And as I’ve said often before, the more I know I don’t know, the more I know I don’t know.
What I do know is this: I don’t identify with my body or its parts, my emotions, or my experiences or lack of them. I am unusually comfortable in my skin. I’ve learned to take the curveballs life throws at you in stride. What choice do we have, really? We assess the situation we’re in, make the best decision about how to move forward, and just keep putting one foot in front of the other. We aren’t always able to choose WHAT happens to us, but we sure as hell are always able to choose how we respond to what happens to us.
So, probably before the end of the month (so I have enough time to heal before Randy and I depart on our epic 50th anniversary grand adventure road trip!) I’m going to have all my breast tissue removed. The plan is in doing that, there will be nowhere for future ductal carcinoma cells to find a nice, comfy home and I’ll live happily ever after again, at least for several more years.
But there are no guarantees. My exit point might come tomorrow morning as I’m walking through the neighborhood and get hit by a garbage truck. We just never know how, but we sure do know that none of us get out of here alive.
Enjoy today while you still have it.
P.S. I’ll be sure to let you know when the surgery is scheduled. And if you want to get put on an update list, send me a private message.
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