Guess I had my meltdown earlier this week, before any actual diagnosis. Am just kind of dull right now. Stayed home from work Tuesday and nursed the biopsied breast. Like any good patient ignored medical advice and got in the bathtub–what the hell, right? Dripped pissed-off tears into my lavender bubblebath and sort of got over it, but really wished I didn’t know what I knew. In a fit of solidarity the radiologist showed me the films. It was patently obvious with fancier imaging that what couldn’t be seen on mammogram was right where they thought it would be. Dunno how he found it in the first place. The regular mammogram looked pretty regular to me.
So yesterday one of my partners gave me the news. I’m so sorry to have burdened her with that (she looked more miserable than I felt), but I decided to have the breast center CC the report to our office. Through long experience I know the much-vaunted primary care system isn’t going to call me any time soon. No word from that quarter until last night. A sotto-vocce reading of the report by a minion who wasn’t comfortable doing it. Wonder how she’d have handled it if I was a layperson and she thought I didn’t know the words?
“Invasive ductal carcinoma…features of LCIS and DCIS.”
I’d be more optimistic about what they didn’t find (a really “aggressive” cancer) if there hadn’t been a another biopsy yesterday. This one, sampling calcifications further out, was also positive. So my fantasy of joining Angelina Jolie for a subcutaneous mastectomy and immediate reconstruction flutters to the floor. Sorta like the three-page birth plan. If I’m smart, I’ll take my patient Jamie’s advice (she’s nearly due with her first baby), and “just show up” for the event, leaving the rest to the professionals. Well, I’ll try, anyhow.