She's so unusual

When my surgeon's nurse practitioner gave us the update last week, I held my tears until she left, and then sobbed on Nick.

I'd been given the choice of mastectomy, or lumpectomy with radiation. I chose mastectomy.

This was supposed to be straightforward. Mastectomy would fix it.

But as it turns out, I'm unusual.

My surgeon came in and said this was completely unexpected. My tumor was so tiny, in the middle of my breast. And caught so early. 

In surgery, they typically remove 1-5 lymph nodes, two on average. With me, she removed only one lymph node, which looked fine. 

Until oncology examined it. 

At which point they found a tiny—.3mm—point three, not three, millimeters not centimeters, bit of cancer. Like, a pinprick worth.

A pinprick of cotton candy would be one thing. A pinprick of cancer is still cancer.

It's one lymph node. But she only took one. Because typically with tiny tumors, caught early, there is no spread.

One. So it's 1/1 that's positive. Not 1/2 or 1/3. Just one. 

So, like 100% of the ones they removed.

Fuck.

She said, started to say, "Your case is so interesti..." She caught herself. 

I'm sure it is interesting, scientifically speaking. I didn't begrudge her the finding it interesting, though I myself do not. I find it traumatic.

"Your case is unusual. You're an outlier. I'm going to be taking your case to the cancer conference on Tuesday."

I've heard other doctors refer to it as the "tumor board"—which my friend Brian said sounds like the worst kind of charcuterie platter ever. 

Come over! We'll have a nice pinot noir and a tumor board!

If I were under 50, I'd be getting chemotherapy as a matter of course. But I'm not.  There is the possibility of radiation. But the benefits may not outway the risks.

I'm in a grey area. I've heard this over and over.

Twenty positive lymph nodes, and it would be one very clear course. None would be another.

However.

This is unusual.

Some years ago my mom told me that shortly after we moved to the US and I was starting college and my brother was starting high school, he brother asked my mom if she thought he'd ever have a normal childhood.

We'd just moved from India. Our dad had recently attempted suicide for the second time.

And she said no. That ship had sailed.

My dad was mad at her for dashing my brother's hopes of normalcy.

Which, I think we can all admit, is hilarious.

In college, I tried so hard to blend. I was surrounded by people who looked like me, and I felt nothing like them.

I never really did blend, but as I got older, normal ceased to be a goal. Far from it. As India likes to say, "Who wants to be a normie?"

Not me. Except right now.

They sent the tumor off to Oncotype, which analyzes the genetics of the tumor, which are different than one's own genetics, and you get back a statistical analysis. 

They give you a score, which says how likely it is to recur somewhere else in the body.

Hopefully that comes back next week and gives them some guidance.

She also set me up with CT and bone scans. 

Which I was supposed to get today. 

But because American health care is dictated by for-profit, parasitic insurance companies who have yet to approve these scans, the NP canceled the the scans so I wouldn't be stuck with a huge bill. 

A CT scan with contrast can approach $7,000. With no guarantee of reimbursement.

We paid $650 out of pocked for a necessary but not-yet-approved MRI, which insurance approved days later. We are awaiting reimbursement.

I've been up and down, but honestly, on the whole I'm pretty good.

Some days I have to force myself to have a good fucking attitude. I make myself count my blessings.

But a lot of days, I just do. I'm grateful for so many people, so many things. Physically, ever day is better than the day before. This has been the case since day two.

Like I said before, I'm healing really well. I can raise my arms up close to my ears. Not quite as close as I usually can, like in warrior one, but close. They want me doing this, so my scar tissue doesn't restrict me.

I keep asking them if I can do yoga yet, and they say no, not yet. But can I hang from a bar? Also no. Go upside down on the inversion table? What? No.

They don't get those particular questions all the time.

Not from the normies, anyway.