I used to be one of those people who didn’t pay much attention to breast cancer. I am Asian, don’t smoke or really drink, no family history, and small chested.
Until earlier this year, when I was diagnosed with early stage breast cancer. As a result of the diagnosis, I went through a needle biopsy, a lumpectomy, and radiation. All good so far, with tamoxifen for the next 5 years.
So naturally, I have lessons learned about this. Also what surprised me.
1. Listen to your instinct. My ex-gyn did not think it was necessary for me to have a mammogram because I was a low risk candidate for breast cancer. My gut told me otherwise, and I changed doctors. Sure enough, my mammogram showed cancer cells, looking like rice krispies on the screen. At that point, you go into shock. But I started educating myself very quickly on DCIS, and learned in most cases, it wasn’t fatal.
2. Get a mammogram if you’re supposed to. My cancer cells were behind my nipple: I had no lump. I would never have found my cancer through self examination. I am grateful for the technology that exists that can find cancer early. Yes, it’s uncomfortable. They tell you to hold your breath…”Really? I can’t breathe!” But it’s over fast.
3. Take care of yourself: I worked until my radiation was halfway done. It was 28 days, 5 days a week, 3 minutes at a time. I would go have the radiation, and then run to work. I tried moving my radiation appointments: mornings, afternoons. I finally conceded that I was driving myself crazy and took some time off.
4. Early detection dramatically changes treatment. Was the biopsy, lumpectomy and radiation easy? No, but it was absolutely easier than a mastectomy and chemo. Don’t put off the tests.
5. Try to remember the promises you made when you were scared. Cancer makes you rethink your priorities. I try to leave work at around 5:30 now, because I know that nothing can be taken for granted. Work can wait.
What surprised me:
1. The needle biopsy. I thought the doctor was just going to put a needle into me, that it would be quick. It wasn’t. I had to be in a mammogram machine so that they could see exactly how to position the needle. I was in the machine for over an hour. The room was hot, and I thought I was going to pass out. The first biopsy hit the wrong spot. The doctor asked me if I wanted to come back. I can’t print what was going on in my head at the time. The nurse later told me “I kept talking to you because a lot of women pass out.” I just thought she was bizarrely chatty. I was black and blue afterwards: I looked like someone had beaten me up. But I am grateful to him: his biopsy apparently took out the cancer cells: my lumpectomy came back clean.
2. Radiation: the table you lie on is hard, and really narrow so they can position the machine around you. They put tiny tattoo marks on you so that they know exactly how to position the machine. It lasts for only a few minutes. When they offer to help you up, take their hand. I almost fell off the table the first time.
3. People are unbelievably kind when you don’t expect it: it’s the people you don’t expect: the massage therapists, the intake nurse, the radiologists. The person who oversaw my radiation treatment was a nice quiet young man. He’d end the treatment saying “OK dear, you’re all done.” as if I was 100 years old. It was comforting.
4.Vanity. During radiation, I didn’t really see any changes, and then boom! My chest had a purple/dark tan. It was weird and ugly. I didn’t really want to look in the mirror during this period. But you keep putting on the cream religiously, and it eventually fades and peels like a sunburn. Yes, vanity still hits even when you have cancer.
5. I didn’t tell people you’d assume you’d tell. My parents, for instance. I can’t see the benefit of telling my parents, who live in Florida and are retired. I know them: they would wake up every day worrying and obsessing about me. More than they normally do. They’d have a thousand questions. They’d call me up continuously to be reassured. That wouldn’t help me. I told the people who could handle it.
