By the grace of God, a plastic rosary, and some Valium, I was finally able to endure the required breast MRI. The device is awful and I am appalled that it is still the torture of choice inflicted upon cancer patients. In addition to the day-to-day stress of worrying, waiting and dealing with a troubling diagnosis, someone came up with the idea that crawling into a metal tube, face down, arms extended overhead in a diver’s pose for twenty minutes would be a dandy way to push one right over the edge of their tolerance capacity. They were successful as far as I was concerned..
After failing the first attempt, I was determined to go the distance on the second go round. Thankfully, our daughter-in-law drove me and was my cheering squad. My stomach was upset, and between frequent trips to the bathroom, I had to keep reminding myself that I could make it. To my great relief and surprise, that’s just what I did. While I was lying face down with a lot of clanging and banging of the machine going on which headphones did little to muffle, I felt my grandmother’s hand holding mine. When I was four years old, my daddy was stationed in California during WWII as an airplane mechanic. My mother traveled west to join him, and I lived with my paternal grandparents. Because they were afraid I would roll off their high beds when I slept, they put a baby bed right next to my grandmother’s bed for me. Every night, I fell asleep holding her hand, so I firmly believe she was comforting me once more. Extremely relieved to have it over and done, I called to relay the good news to my husband. He was in the midst of saying his second rosary for me and I was certain that his prayers had been heard and answered. I knew what mountain climbers must experience once they reached the pinnacle of their chosen mountains.
Less than two hours later, our euphoria took a nosedive when the surgeon called with the results of the MRI. It showed three more areas that went undetected on the mammogram. Two of them were in close proximity to the original troublemaker and could be removed with a lumpectomy. However, there was a renegade on the opposing side of the same breast that was inaccessible via the lumpectomy. After discussing my options, none of which were particularly appealing, I told her I would sleep on it and make a decision the following day. The plan to get a good night’s sleep was thwarted by demons of uncertainly and a barrage of “What ifs”.
After a cup of tea and some back and forth discussion with family members, I decided to have another biopsy to determine the nature of the newfound intruders before discussing surgical choices. Fortunately, my cousin called me the following morning to review my journey thus far. As a renowned expert on breast cancer at Mayo Clinic, I was very grateful that he agreed with my decision. I asked if it was possible to perform two lumpectomies in different areas of the same breast and got an affirmative answer. However, when I asked my surgeons nurse, she explained that the areas must be in the same quadrant of the breast. “It would be too disfiguring to do in two different areas” and I wondered aloud if a mastectomy would be less so.
For now, I am on hold once more for ten more agonizing days and restless nights, vacillating between tears, fears and hope. I am following my surgeon’s warning to refrain from internet information and relying on the successes and encouragement from those who have already traveled these roads. Not sure what lies ahead at this point, but I pray that there will be no more MRI’s. Their initials stand for magnetic resonance imaging but I think it should be changed to monstrous repulsive instruments.
Thank you again, Mary Margaret! We are with you in prayers, friendship, and love.
Thinking of you and keeping you close in thought and prayer🙏