I had an abnormal screening mammogram.

I think this a level up from what I had. In situ ductal carcinoma means it’s still just inside the ducts; infiltrating means it’s gotten out of the ducts. Lumpectomy should get it all out, if your margins–the non affected area around the site–are good. They’ll tell you after surgery how good or small your margins were. You may have some follow-up treatment, which your medical providers will discuss with you re the best course to take in your situation.

Best of luck with your next steps. And a hug.

My consultation is on Monday, and he will probably order an MRI. They’ll go from there.

It sounds like they caught it very early, which is a good thing. Sending best wishes. If there’s any way I can be of help, please let me know. Off hand, I am most likely to be of assistance with crucial tasks like sending puppy pictures, but I am also good at lending an ear, and I know the best swear words. {{{hugs}}}

Dang.

Mine was “invasive ductal carcinoma” (IDC). I had a lumpectomy and three weeks of radiation, no chemo. It was estrogen-positive, so I’m on Arimidex for at least five years (it’s an estrogen-blocker, functionally similar to Tamoxifen, but for post-menopausal women).

I’d like to recommend the message boards at breastcancer.org. They’re VAST, but there’s a ton of information if you can wade your way through it. The one thing that I’ve found is that you likely won’t find any other woman whose case is exactly like yours, because the variations are so many.

This is doable and you will get through it. It’s an unwelcome surprise, but the fact that it was caught so early is a huge plus. Many [del]thousands[/del] millions of women have gotten through this and if we can do it, you can do it. The picture is different from when your mom got her diagnosis decades ago. Still very sorry you got the bad news. :frowning: Big hugs to you!

Your mom is still here, remember that.

Perhaps you can confide in her for comfort?

I am so sorry you are having to go through this! I hope your treatment plan swiftly conquers it and puts you in recovery very quickly. Wishing you all the best of luck and care.

Damn. Not good, but not yet a disaster nor necessarily even a disaster in the making.

As ThelmaLou said, one thing is very much true. Breast cancer treatment today is nothing like the prancing witch doctors of 34 years ago. It is truly remarkable how far we’ve come in a short time. Much of what your Mom internalized then as truisms is simply outdated and wrong now.

Being worried, and treating this like the risky situation it is is 100% appropriate. Sorta like holding onto a rattlesnake. You don’t need to scream or try to crush it. But you do need to pay strict attention and not let go of it.

The process now will be a maddening alternation of big rushes to get tests done Today Dammit, followed by a week of silently waiting for the results and them formulating a plan for the next steps. It’s almost designed to make one crazy.

You might find this approach helpful: “My job is to learn more about what I *do *have, not what I *might *have. I won’t try to get down the road beyond where we know we are now.”

Good luck and keep us posted.

My mother found a lump, had it biopsied, and had a mastectomy when it came back malignant. We found out later that the biopsy got it all, but we didn’t know that at the time and that’s just how things were done in the early 1980s. And that’s OK, because it saved many, many lives.

My grandmother was still living, in a retirement village, and one of her friends was a 50-year survivor! :cool: My mother had never known this about her, and imagine what things were like at THAT time. This woman saw her 100th birthday, too.

Honestly, I was never optimistic about this whole thing. I’m just glad I KNOW, and that I found out this early.

Prayers are there, my friend.

For now, I’m going to avoid those “support” networks. The ones I’ve seen frighten me, and seem to be for people with advanced, relapsing, etc. disease. I don’t need to see those stories right now.

I know what you mean. The great majority of posters are dealing with something much more serious than you or I, and it’s mind-boggling what they have gone through.

For myself, I didn’t see that site and the one that the American Cancer Society operates as “support.” I saw them as information resources. I was interested in things like post-surgical weirdness, drug side effects. I didn’t hang around enough or post enough to develop any online relationships. What I wanted was real women’s experiences to compare with my experiences. For example, my oncologist’s nurse tended to blow off side effects of Arimidex, so I felt validated when I went to BreastCancer.org and found others who had the mild, but puzzling side effects I was experiencing.

Not to harp on this, but I suggest you do some independent research and get well-acquainted with the terminology and acronyms related to your diagnosis. The nuances and variations are endless, and you will want to be able to ask well-informed questions. It’s a necessary crash course in a subject you never wanted to have to know anything about. :frowning:

You may want to see if your local community has cancer support groups. My Pink Ribbon Ladies were a godsend.

Ask questions. Make sure you understand everything. Have someone come with you to the appointments to help you remember.

I had another cancer, but I felt the same way. I still do! Hugs.

These are my thoughts exactly.

Keep in mind that Bill Berry recovered fully from a frightening aneurysm. I saw him perform (in California) just a month later, in 1995, and he was in great form.

Just sayin’. :slight_smile:

Prayers for your immediate and full recovery.

Regards,
Shodan

Nearwildheaven, it appears we’re reluctant sisters with a common disease. I was diagnosed with Breast Cancer on 9/25 after a mammogram detected what was ultimately deemed to be a Triple negative Grade 3 Invasive 1.3cm tumor. Thankfully, MRI revealed no more tumors in either breast, and the doctors could detect no evidence of lymph node involvement. So current profile is Stage IA, Grade 3.

FYI, what kind of treatment you will get will probably be dictated by the type of tumor you have. It’s really good that it’s small, but they also have to type it to see what your options are. Mine was triple negative, meaning hormone-delivered treatments wouldn’t work on it, so my only option was chemo. Surgery of my choice will follow after chemo is administered. They are doing chemo first as they’ve discovered it’s the best way of killing any rogue cancer cells floating around.

My ultimate goal is to be declared cancer free after 18 weeks of chemo (4 rounds of A/C and 8 to 10 rounds of Taxol). I started my first treatment 2 days ago. After allowing myself a full week to grieve and wail, I turned a corner and started accepting the news. And now I’m fighting. I went back to work this week because I was going neurotic at home, and am so much happier being as “normal” as I can. I have absolutely no intention of dying anytime soon. Chemo so far is just fine, but I’m supposed to have my worst days this weekend. My hair will probably fall out next week, and that sucks, but it’s a small price to pay in the grand scheme of things. It’ll grow back, and at the end of the day, it’s. just. hair. I already have some chemo caps ordered from Headcovers.com.

Nearwildheaven, I’m so sorry for the news, but am very glad that we are both living in an age where excellent health care is available to us. Susan J Komen Foundation, etc has really made strides in improving the amount of dollars funded to fight this disease, and many, many women have gone before us to improve our treatment plans, our quality of life while we battle it, and our ultimate outlook.

IM me if you want to chat. What you need to keep telling yourself is that this is a life-changing diagnosis, but not a life ending diagnosis. It might have been, had you not caught it so early. So high five to you, my friend! :smiley:

Get your screening tests, everyone! They can be life savers!

My hair started falling out after my second treatment. I started crying in the shower, but then I realized if the price of permanently keeping my breasts was temporarily losing my hair, I would be glad to pay it. P.S. You will lose hair EVERYWHERE. Even your nose hair will go away. I had a chronic cough the last weeks of my chemo because my nose hair was gone.

For me the hardest part was the Neulasta shots. They give you that the day after chemo (although I understand there’s a new method of delivery that does not entail a second visit to the doctor) to boost your white blood cells. I’d have chemo on Monday, Neulasta on Tuesday, and by Thursday I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. Your bones get busy churning out more white blood cells and it is not comfortable. But, I got through it. You will too.

It’s going to be a difficult day but at least I know what to expect. Knowing is half the battle sometimes.

[quote = ivylass]
For me the hardest part was the Neulasta shots. They give you that the day after chemo (although I understand there’s a new method of delivery that does not entail a second visit to the doctor) to boost your white blood cells. I’d have chemo on Monday, Neulasta on Tuesday, and by Thursday I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. Your bones get busy churning out more white blood cells and it is not comfortable. But, I got through it. You will too.
[/QUOTE]

Yes, the Neulasta is given via an OnPac now. It’s a little gadget that the nurses attach to the back of your arm (or abdomen) after treatment. It starts injecting Neulasta 27 hours after treatment ends. I believe that it’s an optional treatment, and that you can forego it if you’d like. You’ll just have to wait until your body naturally builds up the white blood cells, which of course increases treatment time.

It’s been a weird, bizarre ride so far, but I’m managing fine. Trying to keep drinking and walking to get the toxins out.

Go see your dentist. They need to know you’re on chemo and will help you keep your teeth healthy during treatment.

I’m just glad they’ve come so far that nausea and vomiting is no longer a side effect of chemo. I had one morning of feeling queasy, but that’s just because I didn’t take my Compazine fast enough. I also can’t drink Ensure anymore…I was drinking those because I just didn’t feel hungry. One evening I realized I hadn’t eaten all day. I wasn’t hungry so it didn’t occur to me to eat.

As soon as hair does start loosening, consider doing either of these things:

  1. go get a short, but still stylish ladies haircut.
  2. get it buzzed like the male army recruits.

Hair loss, especially if you have a lot of typical or longer hair, is a real mess in bed, in the bathroom, and in the shower. Plus everywhere else in the house. It’s depressing as hell to have it coming out in handfuls. If you go with door #2 the mess will be far, far, far less.

If you go with far less radical door #1 you’ll still reduce the mess by 90%. And you’ll have a week or two of getting used to seeing yourself with a bob rather than just fuzz. If you’re used to a big full doo it can be liberating to see yourself still looking like a woman but with a lot less hair. There are many flattering short styles now. A couple weeks of that before near-baldness sets in can be a more soothing way to wade into the water.

As it starts coming back you’re gonna pass through that short style period going the other way. And it’s not a quick climb back for most people. So you’ll probably be wearing short cuts for awhile afterwards. May as well test hop the idea know.