Rewind

Of course the dinner in Morro Bay was not the beginning of this latest journey. It started much like a snowball before it rolls down hill. One minute all is well and the next someone has smacked you upside the head with a snowball. All else being equal, the snowball may sting for a minute but then it melts - unless of course it's made of wet snow and ice. This one was and, instead of melting, it picked me up and rolled me down hill with it. I think I'm still rolling.

Because of my cancer history, I get two screenings per year. I had had an MRI in August 2011 and it came back fine. In February, I had my regularly-scheduled mammogram. I set the appointment for a Wednesday morning so there would be plenty of time to prep for and make it to my two o'clock class. When you have my history, the technicians and doctors like to let you know your results before you leave - the idea being that you won't have the worry of waiting for a letter in the mail. They put you in a little "post-mammogram" waiting room while the doctor reads your images. I was there only a short time when the tech came in and told me they needed more scans; I didn't immediately panic because this has happened once or twice before. It wasn't until she said they needed to get my doctor's approval for a different kind of image that I started to get nervous. She wondered if I could wait in order to get everything done that day, and I told her I could stay for another little while but would then have to go to work.

In the little waiting room with me there was another woman. She was clearly distressed and after a few minutes, she made a cell-phone call to a loved one in which she said she was scared and feeling alone. When she hung up, I asked her if she wanted to talk or needed help, but she said "no". A few minutes later, a tech came in and took the woman to another room. I heard the tech say that her mammogram was fine and the woman's relief was as tangible as the chair I was sitting on.

I was now alone in the waiting room. After 30 minutes or so, the tech came back to say that they were having trouble reaching my doctor for approval. At this point, I texted Mike. His response was that it was probably some bit of scar tissue from previous surgeries. I knew this wasn't so, as well as I knew that this was his way of keeping things light. The doctors that read the images had all my previous scans so they know where the scar tissue is. Whatever they needed to see more of, I was certain it wasn't that. After another half hour, the tech came back to say they'd gotten approval but were also running way behind. She said they'd try to squeeze me in as quickly as possible. After another 40 minutes, I couldn't stand to wait any longer. Something that I thought would take an hour at most was now creeping into the two-hour-and- then-some range. I was worried about prepping my class, and restless from the whole set of circumstances. I told them I needed to leave and that I would make an appointment for the following Wednesday to get the additional images. I traded my class and my work for another week's wait. It also gave me another week of denial. I stopped at a bakery on the way to work and got a croissant and a slice of chocolate cake.  I never ate the cake.

The following Wednesday, back I went. There were some administrative glitches when I got there; it seemed they didn't know why I was there.The snowball was clearly still rolling me along. After I reminded them that they had, in fact, requested additional scans, they took me back and did an ultrasound, too. Whatever they were seeing on the mammogram, they could not find by ultrasound. I thought maybe the snowball was about to melt until they called the doctor who reads the scans in and she directed the ultrasound herself. Although they found nothing, she told me to get dressed as she wanted me to see the images for myself. Her office was dark so the scans showed up clearly. She showed me the scans from the past two years alongside the current ones. There was definitely something there that hadn't been there before. She said it was tiny but very obvious. It looked obvious to me, too. She recommended another MRI and regardless of those results, an ultrasound-guided biopsy. I called Mike from the car and gave him the news. I was scared. I think he was, too.

Overall, the process took something like a month from the first mammogram to that day in Morro Bay. The MRI showed the same suspicious blip. This is when I started to feel really out of control, as if my roll down hill would never end. The MRI in August showed nothing, so whatever was there now grew big enough in that short time to be seen on a mammogram. We scheduled the doctor who read the initial mammograms to do the biopsy she recommended. I was unsure about this, though. I wondered how they were going to do this biopsy via ultrasound if they were unable to find it that way before. This time, Mike came with me. I changed into a gown and the nurse explained the entire procedure to us. The doctor came in and introduced herself to Mike and the next thing she says is, "I don't know why you're here. I don't think we can do it this way.". I wondered why I was half-naked, sitting in front of her prepped and ready before it occurred to her to question the success of the procedure that she herself had recommended. Needless to say, I was not happy. Mike was not happy. I can't remember whether Mike asked to see the scans or whether the doctor offered to show him. After his first look, he walked away before he could look again and ask the doctor questions. Clearly not scar tissue.

In the end, they tried to do it but failed. This was the Wednesday before Spring Break, three weeks after my initial appointment. We planned to leave town on Thursday night for our annual Cambria getaway and I was devastated at the thought that we had to either give up our vacation or wait another week or more for the biopsy, let alone the results. After hearing of this fiasco, my oncologist moved mountains to get me a biopsy at a different place that Friday. We canceled Thursday night's hotel and packed our bags with one less change of clothes. Friday morning, they did the biopsy by ultrasound. Go figure. The new doctor had no trouble finding the blip; he said as it was so small, he was going to try to get it all out with the needle. I didn't look. It took very little time - so short for something so momentous to us. When I left, the nurse (who held my hand during the procedure) told me that I would need to put ice packs on the biopsy site every hour for the next 8 hours. They gave me a few cold packs but it wouldn't be enough. We stopped at CVS on our way out of town and got more. I faithfully changed them out as we drove to California, trying to look only at the horizon instead of at what might be around the next bend in the road.