After a very long day of waiting yesterday, due to the miscommunication of surgery times. I had my lumpectomy at around 3PM when I thought the whole process started at 7:45AM. I was mentally prepared for 7:45AM. Cue me having a (quiet) hangry hissy fit after having no liquid or food from 10PM the night before until I woke up, around 6PM.
For some reason, as I'm going in for MRI's, or speaking with nurses or techs, their number one question is, "How did you find it"? and I feel maybe I should get that out of the way? Mike found it! I know it was blasted out on the Jimmy Fund telethon and everyone has a mental image of me being fondled by my husband, but I thought it was worth repeating since almost everyone asks me. [Here's another page about another question I get a lot: why change your mind about which surgery?]
Anyhooters, I'm left with two scars and some soreness, mostly under my arm pit where they took my sentinel node. The definition of "sentinel" is this: a soldier or guard whose job is to stand and keep watch. And when it comes to your lymphatic system - which is part of your immune system - the sentinel nodes are the first road out to the rest of your body. They removed three of them to see if there was any cancer, and I'm so very happy to report: they were clear! If any cancer was found there, it would indicate it had spread outside my sweater puppy.
Now we wait on pathology for 7-10 days to see if what they scooped out has clear margins (no sign of cancer on the edges of what they removed). I'm praying those are clear as well.
Due to the grade of my tumor, which is the highest possible (3), and my status (HER2 positive, an aggressive form), I'm pretty sure they will put me on 3 more months of chemo before 6 weeks of radiation. Which blows, because some of my hair is growing back, and I'll just lose it again. But if it's a blast of assurance that they get all of this out of me, I'm more than willing to do it.
Fun things about yesterday: Right before going under, the anesthetist quickly told me that she went through what I did two years ago, and she is doing great, and that she was going to make sure I woke up without pain. Literally, I had a minute before the drugs kicked in but I looked up at her beautiful face, her full head of hair tucked back into her cap, and her bright smile, and I was given a huge surge of hope. It's a great way to go down. Especially when you wake up telling your nurse all about the cranberry bog you were just walking on, convinced you'd just left a little stroll, just minutes ago! Then I asked for cranberry juice, not remembering what I'd just said. The nurse just laughed at me.