Stage 3A--Gulp, This Sucks

I found out in the hospital that my sentinel nodes tested positive for cancer during surgery.  I found out the day I returned home from the hospital that 4 additional nodes tested positive for cancer.  That is 5 our of 13 nodes that held this demon living inside of me. 

Since I am finally catching up with blogging--sorry I can only handle so much cancer talk each day--I met with the my oncologist yesterday.  I figure I should claim her, we are going to have a long term relationship.  

A few people have asked how I chose an oncologist.  Well I don't know anyone in real life who went through breast cancer at 28 recently or who lives in the area.  I really like the Piper Center, apparently it's one of the best cancer centers in the metro area, so I started an online search for the doctors who partnered with the center.  I found this lovely petite looking lady named Dr. T.  She was Harvard medical school with undergraduate degrees in biology and religion.  She seemed to have a strong but calm presence yet faith.  I looked at a few others, but ultimately kept coming back to Dr. T.  I guess she was it. 

After arriving in the serene office of Minnesota Oncology we were told by the receptionist that there was coffee and tea available.  Holy crow; they had real mugs.  In I'm sure what was an attempt to make the place a little more tolerable they had the hearts of Sam, my mom, and myself. Sign me up, I'll take a tea.  My mom had her tell-tale hot chocolate (I seriously think she has an addiction) and Sam had a cappuccino.  We waited patiently as many hairless people walked by.  

I felt like everyone was staring at me.  "That must be the new girl," is what I thought they were thinking.  I donned a healthy complexion, all of my hair, and the lovely lumps under my hoodie pockets which were my drain tubes.  I sat back nervously checking Facebook and drinking my chamomile tea.

We were called back and my weight and height was taken (seriously they really know how to ruin your day).  We got to our room and more vitals were taken.  The nurse came in to go over the 10 page health history I had filled out.  Ok, maybe not 10 pages, but probably 8.  She had a really odd sense of humor that no one was really sure how to take.  Before she left the room she asked what I was expecting out of the visit.  Heck, I've never done this cancer thing before.  I had no clue.  She asked if I had done any reading.  Umm, hell no.  I tried one night and the first thing Google showed me was the poor survival rates of woman under 30.  I immediately shut the computer and never went back.  I'm not paying Dr. Google, I'm paying my team of physicians.  I should listen to those I'm paying for their hard earned, very expensive opinion. 

Dr. T came in and started going through all of my test results.  The biopsy, the MRI, the genetics, and finally the surgical pathology.  This is what the doctors use to see exactly what is happening and how they will treat it, but also how they will stage my cancer. 

I kind of knew what was coming, but didn't really feel like hearing it out loud.  Breast cancer is staged at Stages I, II, III, and IV.  At stage III they break it into A, B, and C.  This is based on your tumor size, lymph node involvement, and how fast the cells are dividing.  My cells were now at a grade III out of III.  This means the cells are dividing very fast and growing quickly.  The primary tumor was still measured at 1.7cm and the secondary tumor of 7mm was a benign mass.  Again, I had 5 out of 13 nodes positive for cancer.  This puts me at a Stage IIIA.  

Because of my age, stage, lymph nodes, and cell division I have earned myself a ticket to chemotherapy, radiation, and medication for 5-10 years.  This sucks.  My mom put it best; aside from wanting another child, my second selfish request is to not lose my hair.  

Dr. T pretty much insured that I will lose my hair.  She gave me a prescription for a wig and told me the American Cancer Society will give a free wig.  I wonder what I will look like bald?  There is a 20% chance that chemo will put me into an early menopause.  So there is hope for a miracle baby when this is all said and done.  I do have the option to harvest and freeze my eggs, but with no guarantee we will need them and a $12,000-20,000 price tag Sam and I have decided it's not for us.  I have always talked about adoption and maybe one day that will be the way God completes our family.  There is light at the end of the tunnel, there is hope.  Thank you all for uplifting me in prayer, with kind words, and encouraging calls and cards.  I need each of you to beat this.