By Ellen
Sometimes a life event occurs that is common, in one sense, and totally uncommon in another way.
A new year began.
Relatively recently, I’d learned about the breast cancer events in three female relatives from fifteen-plus years ago. I read up on familial breast cancer on good medical websites like mayoclinic.org and webmd.org to refresh my memory on risks. I kept the women’s stories in the back of my mind and didn’t worry about it. Then, I heard of another friend who was diagnosed just one year prior. Statistics say 1 in 8 women will be diagnosed with breast cancer (some say 1 in 5) and I thought, “I should probably get a mammogram.”
For the next few weeks of 2019, I kept in contact with my friend about her biopsy, surgery (lumpectomy) and ease of recovery from surgery. She noted minor discomfort and a quicker return to normal life than expected. Good news. After radiation treatments, this chapter in her life closed with hope of no recurrence and a reminder to get a mammogram each year. Whew! We shared the relief.
Before I knew it, fall arrived. I still had not had a mammogram. I’d thought of it in the middle of the night and, by morning, forgot all about it.
For several weeks, I had stiffness and pain in my shoulders from “frozen shoulder,” an annoying and painful situation which limits movement. My 20-month-old grandson was energetic and agile and liked to sit on Grammy’s lap with a clipboard filled with paper and a handful of Crayons handy so he can draw. But, due to shoulder pain, I couldn’t lift him to my lap. I taught him to climb — put his leg up on the lounge chair and I scooped him up with my palm under his thigh. We had a system, until one day…
He caught me by surprise with a burst of energy and babbling words as he rushed to get up on my lap and, instead of putting his leg up first, he grabbed my nightgown to pull himself up. Only under the nightgown were braless, defenseless breasts and his grip was a painful grab to the right breast nipple area. I released his tiny, powerful fingers from their grasp. Ouch! I say aloud, and rub the area. The sting calms down after a few minutes while he sat on my lap for drawing time.
Two days later, I put my bra on and arranged “the girls” by putting my left hand inside the bra cup and tugging a little to put the breast in a comfortable position. As I withdrew my hand, I felt wetness and looked to see my fingertips were wet. I had not just come from the shower. I swirled the wet spot with my thumb, confirmed a liquid was present, and scooped my hand back onto the nipple. Yes, it was wet and it wasn’t water, but breast milk.
Well, this can’t be good, I thought. I recalled reading years ago that milk discharge after menopause can be a sign of something’s awry. I was many years past menopause.
The next day, I called to arrange for a mammogram.
Within a couple of days, I was at the office for my mammogram. I explained the milk leak episode and the staff agreed it was smart and appropriate of me to take it as a clue but not to worry. A mammogram was the beginning of getting to the bottom of the symptom.
They found one shady area in each breast and suggested having a biopsy on each. “Go for it,” I said. “If there is cancer in there, we need to know and you need to remove it!” The left biopsy came back as benign tissue and the right one…
I waited for the doctor in a cozy seating area bright with sunshine coming through a big window. I didn’t know what to think so I didn’t think. I just waited, still in the daze I’d been in since first learning of the yet to be revealed mammogram findings.
The doctor walked toward me smiling, then said, “Well, you have ductal carcinoma in situ in the right breast and it’s at Stage Zero. That’s good news. If you’re going to have breast cancer, this is the one to have. Technically, it’s a precancer, but it’s cancer.”
“There’s a Stage Zero?” I asked, truly surprised since I’d never heard of such a thing.
“There is a Stage Zero. Yes. It’s great!” she replied, showing optimism I didn’t yet absorb. I knew it was good news but my brain seemed to be on “this does not compute” cycle. As the goodness of the news sank in, I smiled too, sighed with hopeful relief and asked, “What’s next, then?”
The oncology doctor sat beside me and explained how effective treatment should progress and offered me the services of a local hospital affiliated breast cancer center just down the hall. I went immediately to set up appointments with a breast oncology surgeon. A couple of days later I met a lovely, mid-fortyish woman surgeon, who was friendly, knowledgeable and confident. She encouraged me by repeating the good news about Stage Zero.
Everything for treatment was well thought out and coordinated. There was a team to help me medically and guide me emotionally and factually. Wow, I thought. I get a whole team for this itty bitty cancer. Yes, it may be small and contained but cancer is mean, angry and evil and not one cell can be allowed to survive! They let me know they agreed and fixing it was their goal.
I was scheduled for surgery within two weeks.
While prepping for a lumpectomy on surgery day, I mentioned my surprise about the classification Stage Zero to the technician. “Would I have been able to feel this during a self exam?” I asked. I’d felt a little stupid or guilty, knowing I hadn’t kept up with self exams, let alone mammograms. She replied, “Oh, no, it’s microscopic, tiny.” She added how they only recently got the 3D Mammogram machines and they wouldn’t have caught my tiny, contained cancer cells with the old machine.
“What? Wow. Because if I’d had the mammo months ago, it would have come back as clear and I wouldn’t have thought about it for at least another year, probably! Meanwhile, the little cells would be growing and who knows how fast and where they would go in me!” I said. She replied, “That’s true.” I marvel.
God’s timing, I thought. God knows I’m prone to procrastination (putting off a mammogram) but, more than that, his timing is always perfect. My grandson’s unwitting grab of the right place set a huge blessing in motion.
God is good.
One of Billions 