MRI…Done.

Mel and I had a good day today. Our ride to Columbia this morning consisted of discussing the “more positive than negative” news from Ms. Dottye, my Nurse Navigator, who has been a tremendous help and information go-to! She’s amazing. She keeps up with my appointment times and days and even called me on Saturday to chat. This morning, she called me with more information regarding the pathology report from my biopsies. (I know in 6 months I’ll look back at this post and chuckle at how little I knew. I’ve often done so looking back at my early posts after Mary Clare’s diagnosis…oh well, with time comes knowledge and understanding, and a better grip of all of the medical jargon.)

So, here is the “non-medical” lingo breakdown of my conversation with Dottye, nurse extraordinaire, as I understand it…

Dottye first explained that with any cancer, stage will ultimately be determined after they “get in there” and see it for themselves-the whole picture- and get the tumor out and chopped up and analyzed.

There are three important factors to look at right now (among others, but for now we focus on these): lymph nodes, tumor size and hormone status. (Dottye explaining that the latter, she believes, is most important.)

What Dottye failed to explain this weekend and last week during our conversations was that with my “red flags” (i.e., my young age, not much history) they were thinking I could be a “triple threat” which means unfavorable report status on three of the tests for hormone dependency and genetic factors. “Typically only women closer to menopause have hormone positive outcomes. The few women your age with your cancer typically will have unfavorable status and therefore have a very aggressive cancer-NOT good at all.” So, last week Dottye “and colleagues” thought I was a lame duck. Yikes. Glad she didn’t share that information with me last week.

So back to my hormones. Apparently, my tumor LOVES estrogen. And that’s a good thing, say, than feeding on other stuff that I’m not so sure of. It kinda likes Progesterone. Also my tumor was tested for the Her2/Neu receptor (Genetic stuff, which has to do with the speed of growth somewhere down the line.) My biopsy was Her2/Neu negative. Yay, I guess. Dottye said a yay isn’t too far off, so I’m going with it. If you gotta have cancer, better find the yays somehow, right?

And so I’ll remember:

Estrogen- positive 99%

Progesterone- positive 58%

Her2/Neu- negative

Another tidbit Dottye shared: IF my estrogen was negative that would have been a definite trip to chemo land.  The same is true if my Her2/Neu would have been positive. So, I’m crossing my fingers and toes and legs and everything else that I can continue to steer clear of that place. We’ll see. Another indicator of treatment will be an Oncotype DX test. It’s a 21 gene study of the tumor itself. It indicates whether my risk for recurrence is high or low. Obviously, that will happen after the tumor is out.

Another important piece of the info is the type of cancer. Drum roll please……

Invasive Ductal Carcinoma

After all of that testing, today was my MRI to continue on the path of gaining the most information possible to determine the best treatment plan. Once I meet with Dr. Sweatman on Thursday, he will take his findings and information to his panel of specialists. (Oncologists, plastic surgeons, etc. I’m secretly hoping he’ll confer with Dottye, too. I just love her.) The only downside to this is that the panel only meets on Wednesdays. Bummer. I’ll have to wait another week to really have an official plan together, but I’m hoping I’ll have an idea after meeting with Dr. S this Thursday.

My MRI today wasn’t bad at all. When the nurse told me that if I was still it wouldn’t take as long, I channeled my inner Baptist church girl from so many years ago. (When mom made us all sit in a row on the very front pew and dared us to make a peep or she’s jerk us out of the front door and show us how to be quiet.) After a quick shoot up of fluorescent IV fluid to light up my insides (which made me think of those Halloween glow sticks), I crawled up on the table, obviously built by a man, with metal squares in which to place my boobs. I laughed at what I’m sure was a silly sight. I only had on a hospital gown, open-faced like a sandwich top-down and my New Balances hanging over the edge of this massive device.

Glamorous, I tell you. She pressed a button and I was rolled in, as if on a conveyor belt. Forty-five minutes on my belly in a tunnel listening to what sounded like tennis shoes in a dryer and I was done!

I was handed a CD with the 2000 images and reminded of my appointment with Dr. Sweatman on Thursday. So far, so good.

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