My Facebook Memories told me last weekend that I posted “What’s a girl to do when she can’t sleep cuz of post chemo side effects? Well she watches the Royal Wedding with kitty Chloe, who gave it two paws up.” The chemo at the time was, as I dubbed it, Taxol the Terrible, due to the truly awful pain it inflicted post chemo, for which even morphine hardly made a dent. After eight treatments I was done with chemo in mid June. To have chemo and cancer treatment behind me was a thrilling, invigorating, liberating feeling. My hair started growing back about six weeks later, and I looked forward to a cancer free life, even though I knew there was a chance it could return. A good friend of mine, who also went through breast cancer, had it return, and I knew friends of friends who had experienced the same. But I did not dwell on that, and instead looked forward to putting cancer behind me and moving on with life, making vows to live a healthier lifestyle, including exercising more and eating better. Life was good.

However the return to normalcy didn’t last long. Fairly early last fall I started feeling some pain in my left upper outer back area, right below the shoulder blade. Occasionally over the years I have pulled a muscle in that area, and it usually improved within a few days or a week. However this was not the case this time, and I begin noticing similar pain in the same area on the right side. It’s age I thought, I’ll take longer to heal. Or maybe bad posture. Like many people for my job I spend a great deal of time sitting in a chair in front of the computer. I need a better chair I thought. The one I was using didn’t provide much in the way of back support. So I got a spiffy new ergonomic, back friendly chair, I messed around with where my computer was placed on my desk and really worked hard on maintaining good posture, taking breaks to move around, etc.

I did the same at home, rearranging furniture and working on good back alignment. Still the back pain didn’t get better. In fact, it got worse, sometimes making it difficult to sleep at night. I finally went to see my doctor, my primary physician, First she recommended alternating heat and ice (which helped temporarily.) But still no long term relief, so back to the doc again, and she recommended back Xrays (which looked normal) and physical therapy. I gave it my best shot, and even though the stretching felt good overall, in general the PT didn’t seem to be making any improvement. It actually seemed to make it worse. I tried modifying the exercises. By now, months have gone by.

Enter a new twist in the story, when I found a small bump/lump in my upper abdomen, which seemed to literally come from nowhere. So off I went to Dr. A., my oncologist, to get it checked out. (Dr. A. is short for her incredibly long Indian last name. It’s not my nickname for her. Pretty much everyone in her Kaiser world calls her that, including Dr. A. herself.) Dr. A. seemed extremely optimistic. I am pretty sure its nothing, she said, but we better get it checked out with an ultrasound, which found it looked irregular, and the techs recommended a biopsy. Still Dr. A. was confident. I still think it’s nothing, she said, but just to be safe, let’s do a biopsy. Since Dr. A. is so extremely hopeful I am too, so I, and Dr. A., were quite surprised, when the biopsy finds that the small bump/lump is indeed malignant and is the same cancer found when I was diagnosed with breast cancer in the fall of 2017. Dr. A. still maintains her air of confidence. She says we best to some scans, but is thinking all we do is remove the lump, do a little radiation and bing bang, we’re done.

I am CAT scanned on a Saturday afternoon and then the waiting game, which turns out to be agonizing, begins. I forget to ask how many days it might take to get the results. In my head I am thinking surely Dr. A. will have the results Monday, which comes and goes without hearing anything. I call Dr. A.’s office and am told they don’t have the results. My catastrophizing brain with its vivid imagination already has Dr. A. telling me the cancer has spread everywhere and I have two months to live. What will happen to kitty Chloe I wonder?

Tuesday I am off on a road trip with a co-worker to a meeting a couple of hours away. She knows my story, and that I am anxious to get the results. I make a little joke – “well if I am going to die in a few months I won’t have to get all that dental work done” (I’ve got a bunch I need done and I am a HUGE denta-fraidy-cat, but that’s another story). My co-worker, who generally has a great sense of humor, does not find this amusing and screeches Leeeesa, I can’t believe you just said that.

I incessantly check my phone all day for a message from Dr. A, but nothing. Wednesday I am in a meeting and see on my phone that Dr. A’s office is calling. My stomach does flip flops. I check my email and see that Dr. A. has scheduled an appointment with me the next morning. More tummy flip flops and a few heart palpations. After the meeting is over I call her office. I tell the Dr. A. staffer that if Dr. A. has the results I want her to call me and share them with me NOW. I am very insistent. Shortly after Dr. A. sends me an email and says she really want to share the results in person and hopes that I will understand and be patient. Friends are optimistic about the possible diagnosis, but not me. I know the news is not going to be good. The question is how bad will it be.

Thursday morning I head downtown to Dr. A.s office, fully prepared for the worst, but feel oddly calm as I walk down the Kaiser hallways (all those prayers from people, I think). Nurse Annette, checks me in and, of course, weighs me. My last recorded weight I think. (And I am actually down a few pounds, which would be good if they recorded your weight on a death certificate – do they do that?!). More odd, random thoughts pop into my head, and I am cheered by the thought that I can take an exotic trip in my last few months of life with all that money I will save on not having to do the expensive dental work. Where will I go? Greece has been on the top of my list for awhile.

Nurse Annette brings me into the exam room, and I wait for Dr. A. I don’t have to wait long and in she walks, looking a little nervous. In summation, she tells me, and shows me, that the CAT scan indicates the cancer has spread to my bones in my upper back and to my lungs, which has numerous small spots. It is metastatic breast cancer. A bone scan will later show in more detail where the cancer is in my bones, including some ribs and the upper/thoracic back area, which, finally many months later, explains the back pain. Dr. A. shares the treatment plan, during which she says “do you need any dental work done?” Uh, funny you should ask, yes. Apparently a component of the treatment is an infusion of a drug, which, if you need dental work while taking it, can possibly cause a truly horrible sounding side effect called Osteonecrosis of the jaw. I cringe when Dr. A. describes it.

On the not so great side of this diagnosis, metastatic cancer is serious business, and from what I understand it’s something you can treat and hopefully refrain from spreading even more, but most of the time never completely eradicate. On the plus side Dr. A. says we caught it early. I am not sure we would have if not for the small lump/bump.

One question I have is why didn’t someone on my health team didn’t make the correlation sooner between the back pain and the cancer? My Dr. Googling shows that the bones are one of the first places breast cancer spreads to, especially to the back/spine area that can result in back pain as a symptom. And also why wasn’t I doing my own research so I could be my own health advocate? Dr. Google isn’t always a bad thing.

Now back to that dental work. Time to buck up and get it done.

And big, huge, giant thank you to all my friends and family and their continuing support. Remember I love and receive great satisfaction from cards, especially humorous ones, phone calls, etc. Keep ’em coming.

(So true) … there’s always going to be a little pee.

The second card reads in the great swimming pool of life there is always going to be a little pee. 🙂

Lisa, Cancer Warrior