Jeff and I went to the post-op appointment together on Thursday, September 12. We met with the surgeon’s PA (same one who missed my surgery because she got the ‘Rona). She was wonderful. Super upbeat and bubbly, very kind, but also gentle.
My pathology report came in literally just before the PA came in to meet with us. The nurse came in to let us know this and said it would just be a couple minutes more so the PA could quickly review it. Well, once it’s available to them, it’s available to me so I also looked it up.
I like to joke with my students that I’m a doctor but not that kind of doctor and this is one of those cases where it was very evident. I can read and interpret stuff but so much technical and medical jargon went right over my head.
When the PA came in, she went over it with us. The bad news is that while the radioactive tracer only led them to three lymph nodes, each of them came back positive for disease when they were dissected. The surgeon is concerned that even though the tracer didn’t identify any other nodes that there might be disease in them and we missed it.
What that means is that they want to do another surgery for nodal dissection just to be sure that we got it all. The best possible scenario is that they do this surgery and take node samples from the three places described to us and they are totally clear and we’re good. But this increases my risk for lymphedema (which you cannot cure if you get it; it’s just a management issue from then on) and part of me doesn’t want yet another surgery.
But I’m not an idiot either. I know the best possible way for us to ensure we got it all is to go back and check those nodes. So while I absolutely wanted to say “no thanks!” I knew the doctor would wear me down and convince me anyway so it was just smarter to not waste people’s time.
The other bad news is that since it was such a ragingly large tumor, despite them taking the entire breast, there were no clear margins (mostly because the breast was huge but so was the tumor). So chemotherapy will be needed. I was so hoping to avoid that. I haven’t always loved my hair but I also don’t want to lose it. And now that is inevitable.
Once the chemotherapy is done, it will be on to radiation and all of the fun that comes with that.
My goal has always been to return to work on October 21st. Now I’m having another surgery on the 1st. I may still push to be able to go back that day because I can do whatever I want in my job; literally no one cares. As long as I’m not beating kids or being a dick, I have free rein of my program and it’s awesome!!
I know being at school and having the kids as a distraction will be beneficial in the long run. But I worry about my fatigue level. I worry about being able to lift things and do the things I do if I still have some restrictions.
Everyone says I need to take care or self right now. And I don’t disagree. This is definitely a lesson in putting myself first. But I also know if I’m just at home with no end in sight and Jeff is back at work, I’m going to go stir crazy which won’t help anyone either.
I’ve been told that chemo and radiation are pretty easy to work around with a school schedule and I know my district will work with me to accommodate everything but it’s just so much to wrap your head around in such a short amount of time. Especially because I had such big plans for this school year and all of that has gone right out the window!
Fortunately, writing in this journal and processing all of this—including my pissed off emotions—is really helping. I’ve read a couple books written by women who took this journey that no one asks to be on and that’s been super helpful too.
It’s just a lot. A lot to process. A lot to manage in my brain.
I will push forward, because I always do, but I will also cry and be upset and wish that I didn’t have to do this. That I could just be at school with my students, making jokes, telling them not to make me give them my “granny glasses look” and just generally enjoying my life that I worked so hard to build.
When Jeff was helping me get into bed last night (because the recovery pillow system is tall), I just broke down and said I don’t want to do this. I want to just get off this train, go back to ignorance and move from there. In my weakest moments, that’s how I feel. I’d almost rather just not even know than be on this ride.
But then, I think of Jeff. How far we have come. I think of my girls, who are the reason I live and breathe. I think of my grands who I’d like to see grow up. I think of my students who need people in their lives who still believe in public education and still enjoy going to the job every day.
So while I will never say I’m grateful for this journey, I will say I’m thankful that it has awakened advocacy in me in new ways. I will capitalize on that and use it to make other people’s journeys easier if I can.
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