I tagged along to my mom’s cancer appointments in Fergus Falls on Wednesday. I’ve been saying that if I’m going to have cancer, my situation is the best possible situation – that’s not true. It’s much better to be my mother. She’s got Invasive Ductal Carcinoma, just like me. But only one 5mm spot to my two 8mm areas. Like me, she’s hormone receptor positive and HER2 negative. Her cancer is a Grade 1 (least aggressive) to my Grade 3 (most aggressive). She’s scheduled for an outpatient lumpectomy on January 4, and while final treatment will be determined by further testing during and after surgery, her oncologist’s best guess right now is that she’ll do a light 3-week course of daily radiation, and daily estrogen-suppressing drugs for five years (I’ll likely be on the same 5-year hormone plan).
It was interesting going through a second set of breast cancer treatment appointments so soon after my own. I was impressed with everyone we met. I hadn’t been too excited about the medical personnel in Fergus since the ER doc who accused my sister Megan of seeking drugs and sent her home, while an aneurysm was hemorrhaging in her brain. It really only takes one bad experience to assume the whole system is messed up. I can happily report that everything I heard with my mom meshed with what I’d learned in the big city.
Remember the $80 zip up tank tops I bought (well, insurance bought) to help with drain bottle storage? I absolutely hate them. They’re gathered across the chest, like a garment that expects breasts to go into the pockets. The sides cut high into my armpits. Basically, the seams of the shirt rub directly on the seams of my incisions. I tried making the arm holes bigger, but nothing worked. Terrible. That top is actually the very reason I ripped out the one drain early; I was trying to tug the fabric down to a place it wouldn’t irritate my incision, and I accidentally grabbed the drain through the shirt and tugged it right out. At the Fergus cancer center, this story somehow came up, and they offered me one of their Recovery Tees, a snap up t-shirt with internal pockets – and no irritating seams. I love it. I wish I would have known about these a month ago. I have an appointment to have this remaining drain removed next week – at that time, I will have had it a whopping five and a half weeks. The standard is two. Two weeks. I’m special, and by that I mean large, with a large incision area. It’s bullshit. More info on Recovery Tees can be found at www.couragetoconquercancer.com.