The Prep Work

This is the lull phase. It’s the waiting between the diagnosis and the procedure.

People have been sliding gifts and well-wishes to me. LilSis sent an Amazon gift card and I bought specialty bras with a zip front. A coworker brought me a computer bag. She said that way you can take your laptop to all your appointments and make notes.

A childhood friend sent a prayer shawl. How did she know it matched my glasses?

Another online friend who is a jewelry maker sent earrings. I had requested some kind of little pink symbolic things, or really whatever she wanted to send. She sent a box with at least 5 sets. One set matches my work shirt.

Another friend from high school who had exactly the same DCIS years ago called to offer support.

Because I am mentally planning for radiation, I bought a product recommended by someone in the support group that is to be applied after a radiation session. It’s a healing ointment- who knew it was mostly petroleum jelly?

I’m still three days out from surgery at this point when the oncology radiologist called to say that he had received the results from the DCISionRT test. I didn’t know he had requested the test because the surgeon said they wouldn’t do any testing until after the lumpectomy. However, the surgeon had never heard of the DCISionRT test, only the OncotypeDX.

He said he was surprised at how low my score was. This test predicts the potential reoccurrence of DCIS in the next ten years with and without radiation. Without radiation, I’m at 9%. With radiation, I’m at 7%. This is big! This means I have no appreciable benefit of having radiation therapy.

I told him about my first cousin who was diagnosed last year with DCIS. She’s in her late 70s, she had a lumpectomy with a second lumpectomy to get clean margins, and her OncotypeDX results showed 5% without and 3% with radiation, so she opted out. She’s on a hormone suppressing drug, and I probably will be, too. Her mother and my mother were sisters, and she also had genetic testing with shows she doesn’t have BRCA genes, which was a relief to her because she has female descendants.

I’m happy with this news. It seems like a bright spot.

*****

Two days before the procedure, the scheduler calls to tell me that I need to be at the hospital at 8:25am. No food or water after midnight the night before. No lotions, creams, sprays, or roll-ons to be used. The covid19 test was negative like I knew it would be. I will go home the same day. I will not be able to drive home or to make big decisions because of the after effects of the anesthesia. I will most probably be in surgery by one to one-and-a-half hours after arrival. I will receive a phone call the day before surgery with a finalized arrival time.

I’m sitting in the car of the Publix parking lot, eating a salmon salad, trying to eat clean with greens and protein. I’ve stocked up with protein drinks and the BabyGirl sent specialty vitamins.

What have I neglected? Oh, I put everything on autopay so I won’t miss paying something important.

Now? More waiting.

The SaviScout

3/30/21: back to the hospital to the mammogram room for an implant clip called a SaviScout.

The nurse in Dr. Surgeon’s office explained that the SaviScout was used in place of a wire to mark the location of the DCIS. I was confounded by the word “wire”. Did you know that actual wires are inserted in a woman’s breast to mark the location that needs to be removed? I’m upset that women have to go through these things. It seems like butchery. We can talk more about that later.

The SaviScout is a locator clip that, when activated, gives off a signal that tells the surgeon where to excise. Of course, there is the equipment that activates the signal before the surgery and continues to read the location.

I’m back to the original mammogram room with the same nice technicians that I had before. The radiologist that is going to do the implanting is someone new to me. I was clamped in the machine much like before, but this time the clampage was such that the entry point was on my left lateral.

I had been told that this implant was going to be less traumatic than the stereotactic needle biopsy. I know I have to move forward in the process, but I don’t want to. Here I am anyway, clamped in the machine. The problem with this clamping is that my left arm has no where to rest. I’m reaching across open space to grasp the handhold, and I can’t easily maintain this position. My left hand is going numb. My arm is quivering, and I’m trying to hold it up with my right hand, which is also getting tired from the extra work.

The radiologist comes in the room behind me to my right. I never saw him, but his disembodied voice floated in the room. The technician asked him if he wanted a scalpel. He hummed and hawed and said “scalpel?” She said “yes, do you want a scalpel?” I wanted to tell them to stop saying *scalpel* because I can hear them. He decided that yes, he did want a scalpel, and I know that someone is going to get cut.

He moved into position to my left, still out of view, and told me that he was going to inject the area with a numbing injection. He asked me if I could feel pain, and I told him that no, I could only feel pressure. After inserting the device that would inject the clip, they had to take an x-ray to see if it was inserted in the correct position. They determined that everything was as it should be. In the meantime, I was moaning and quivering and my left arm was dead weight.

Finally, I am set free. It was not as painful and traumatic as the needle biopsy, but I don’t wish this on anyone.

The following Sunday was Easter. Dr. Surgeon is taking the week off, so that’s going to bump my lumpectomy to the week after. The nurse navigator is taking off the week of my lumpectomy. That’s usually the spring break week for this county because there’s a big golf tournament that usually takes place.

I’m scheduled for a COVID-19 test even though I’m fully vaccinated. This will take place 3 days before the lumpectomy, which is scheduled on Friday, April 16, 2021.

So the COVID-19 test. That was less than fun. I had an appointment at 10:30AM at a drive-through location across the street from the hospital. There’s a big medical RV parked in a back parking lot. A nice technician came out of the RV and approached my car from the passenger side. She asked for my name, and because she didn’t seem to understand what I was telling her, I pulled one of my medical bracelets off the gear shift and handed it to her. She then understood that I was who was supposed to be there, and I presented my ID.

I had to roll down my driver’s window, and she came around and explained that I would have to lower my mask in order for her to insert the swab that was as long as a knitting needle. She said that she had to leave it in position all the way back in my nasal passage in order for it to make contact for 5 to 6 seconds, and that some people had described the sensation like that of getting water up your nose, and that you might have a soft cough.

She inserted the swab gently but firmly, and I felt it go all the way to the back of my head. It was definitely a sensation of water in my nose, and then the cough came even though I tried to suppress it.

She withdrew the swab, and placed it in the medical tube, and said that I would be notified if the test was positive.

We’re on the countdown now. Three more days.