a diagnosis

Over the years, I have come across stories of women who have overcome cancer while pregnant, becoming mothers and survivors at the same time.  I'd weep reading these stories, marveling at their strength, touched by the rawness of life and struggle and endurance.  These women are incredible.

And now, at 18w1d, I'm faced with a cancer diagnosis of my own.  I waffle between disbelief and tears.  I can't describe the feeling -- shock, maybe, feeling somewhat overwhelmed by the appointments and information pamphlets, thankful for nurse navigators and a support network, and scared for the outlook for my baby and me.  But incredible?  I don't feel incredible.  Perhaps incredibly unlucky.

It all started three weeks ago.  I was in the shower and my fingers noticed something in my left breast that wasn't there before.  I felt around for it, unsure, but there it was.  A lump.  There was definitely a lump.  I self-check regularly but had never felt a lump before.  My mind immediately started going to the worst case scenarios and I shut them down.  I was pregnant, and breasts could get lumpy during pregnancy.  On auto-pilot, I got ready for work, texted my husband who was away, presented at a meeting, and called the doctor.  They scheduled me to come in the following Monday, reiterating my own thoughts about all the things I could be when pregnant.  My OB referred me to Breast Health Services and I was there by Halloween.  We started out with an ultrasound and the radiologist requested a mammogram, despite me being pregnant.  I'd never had one before, and let's just say it wasn't the most fun experience.  So an "up to two-hour" appointment turned to four hours, and in the end the radiologist told me, "There's something there... highly suspicious for malignancy."  My BI-RADS score was 4C, which I understood to indicate a high risk of breast cancer.

It wasn't until I had walked safely back into my car and called my husband that the tears came.  I found that I was angry.  How could the radiologist have said that, before my biopsy, which was already scheduled for the following Tuesday?  It was unsettling.  I think holding on to anger was easier than facing the fear.  I reached out to a friend that had just gone through all of this within the last year, and she told me to trick or treat with my daughter.  So that's what I did.

That weekend, my husband and I celebrated our twelfth wedding anniversary, fifteen years together, with all of this in the back of our minds.  We spent a lot of time together and clung to hope.  Snuggled with our daughter and started the week like we normally would.

On Tuesday, I went in for my biopsy.  My sister assured me it would be a piece of cake, because I had a high pain tolerance.  I'd been poked with plenty of needles before, having gone through IVF and all.  The radiologist said she'd start me out with a lighter dose of lidocaine because I was pregnant, and I agreed.  I couldn't feel the incision, but as soon as the biopsy needle was in, I realized that I could feel it.  "Did it feel like a rubber band, or worse?"  "Worse," I replied, and it had definitely been worse.  The doctor gave me more lidocaine and two samples were taken.  My read appointment was scheduled for Friday.

While at my Maternal Fetal Medicine appointment on Thursday, I received a call.  Could I go in that afternoon for results?  After some deliberation and coordination with my husband, I decided it would be best.

A ductal invasive carcinoma.  It was cancer.  Not all of the results were back yet on the markers/proteins which would help determine the nature of the cancer and treatment options.  I was already scheduled with a breast surgeon the following day.

On our way home, my husband stated that the "c" word just makes it incredibly real.  Incredibly complicated with our baby.  Incredibly unfortunate.  Incredibly heartbreaking.

He keeps asking me how I'm feeling.  I'm not really sure, but feel the numbness settling in.  Still processing.  I'll let you know...