DCIS timeline ... don’t miss the art
27 September 2024: turns out the morning after a hurricane (Helene) is not the best time to turn up at an imaging center for a routine mammogram, since staff have to come over bridges that are closed
21 October: rescheduled routine mammogram; in the middle of the second set of scans, a tickle in my throat gets about as insistent as a Karen chasing down your manager, and eventually I cough, but the tech doesn't think it has any effect
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13 November: insurance deductible reset = ouch
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14 November: follow-up mammogram – no, my coughing fit actually wasn’t a problem; they’ve spotted something
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2 December: scheduled for two biopsies, and during the ultrasound-guided one, the radiologist anxiously asks whether I’m on blood thinners, because he apparently hits a blood vessel (I come away looking like I’ve taken a line drive to the tit); the second one gets postponed because the mammography machine isn’t functioning properly
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3 December: a “you’ve got labs!” message from Orlando Health Corporate leads me to learning I’ve been diagnosed with DCIS by e-mail; trusty mayoclinic.org explains that DCIS stands for “ductal carcinoma in situ;” stage 0 = noninvasive
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3 December: referral to a surgeon who raises my hackles … not only is her office staff about as organized as kindergarteners at recess, she looks – I’m sorry – like she’s probably a supporter of Felon47, and later in the week a friend tells me a story about her experience with this surgeon that sends me screaming for the hills
11 December: stereotactic biopsy is mammography-guided, but Jesus Christ in high heels, doesn’t it seem like the machine is designed for the machine and not the human?
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11 December: another “you’ve got labs!” message … the second area of concern is nonmalignant (yay)
18 December: consult with a much-preferred surgeon; lumpectomy (you’d think there’d be a more elegant Latin term for this, but “massectomy” [from “massa,” lump] would sound too much like “mastectomy”) scheduled for 4 February 2025, but first will come consults with an oncologist, my PCP, and a radiologist, plus blood work and and an EKG​
19 December: feeling calm about the DCIS diagnosis and prognosis and confident in the treatment I’ll be receiving
31 December 2024: capable, engaged oncologist sort of accidentally answers the question I’d been struggling to formulate: “Do we know now all we need to know for my case?” No; everything hinges on the Final Pathology Report, which comes after the lumpectomy, based on extensive analysis of that tissue; surgery scheduled 4 February, but on stand-by for earlier
aggravating that HRT gets addressed as a matter of “patient preference,” its risks downplayed, given that Command #1 after DCIS diagnosis was “stop with the progesterone” (feeds many types of breast cancer ... I’d rather have kept having a period than risked contributing to abnormal cell development)​
6 January 2025: lumpectomy moved forward to 13 January because why wait?
7 January: attend a collage-making session at the Dalí Museum with friends ... not subtle:
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9 January: oh, but wait ... the hospital isn't staffed enough to put me on the roster, so 28 January is now the date for the lumpectomy
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10 January: whac-a-mole (OR edition), anyone? Lumpectomy now scheduled for Tuesday, 14 January​
15 January: affixing google eyes to the other breast cracks up the radiology team, one of whom even added a smile in blue pen
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couldn’t comment on how those in the OR reacted ... the anesthesia hit about 2 seconds after the guy announced the second injection would give a “spicy” sensation in my arm where the drip zzz
staff are humane and professional and engaged to a person
surgeon pronounces the procedure a success
soups and pizza and hot dish delivered from friends most welcome!
3 February : “simulation” in the context of radiation treatment is (1) when technicians stick a beanbag under your head and shoulders, vacuum out the air, and have a mold for when you come back, so you’re always in the same position, and (2) they mark your skin and tattoo dots for even more precise calibration
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should find out by 7 February what the schedule is for the 15 visits for 7 minutes of partial breast irradiation
11 February: machine components out of alignment means 6:30 am appointment gets moved to 10
sad how effusive the desk clerk is in her gratitude that I am not being mean to her about it
worth the trip to see the nearly-full moon setting in the pre-dawn sky
nasa.gov
18 February: other than midday sleepiness and some swelling that may send me back to sleeping in a bra, the worst part about the whole thing is the interminable stop lights at St Pete’s north-south thoroughfares​
stand by for a full report on the second googly eyes-on-treated-breast prank of radiotherapy techs ... how else do you mark a birthday?
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21 February: the receptionist appreciates the googlied cheater glasses I’ve put on when I first arrive
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1 March: a googly-festooned bag of clementines for the techs to celebrate the end of radiation scores a hearty crack-up
the receptionist seemed to enjoy her pair of googlied clementines
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thank-you notes for all put grade-school Valentine’s Day in mind
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10 March: turns out medication following radiation is largely to protect the other breast ... the side effects still give me pause, but I have three months to decide​
14 April 2025: still deciding...
19 February: these
15-mile drives to radiotherapy and back make for diverting photo op-spotting ...
