Second Surgery

Moving along. The next surgery happened on Friday, February 25, 2011 at 1:00 p.m. It was pretty much the same as the last one except that I did not get a mammogram and wire inserted beforehand in the tumor. Another change was the anesthesia. I had twilight sedation this time instead of general. I think my nurse called it a MAC. Nice name. I do like MACs, especially Apple’s.

The sedation and pain meds caused me to be quite talkative on the way home and for several hours afterwards. Greg’s Facebook update said, “Hi, here's an update. Leah came out of surgery feeling pretty good. And much more alert than the first time. Dr Runk was confident she found and removed all the scrofulous rebel cells. She's snoozing now and will be on pain meds for a few days. And ice pack 30 minutes every hour until later today. The doctor and nurse both said to expect more pain than the first surgery. Going back in tends to result in more discomfort. And she was really chatty yesterday after we got home. Geesh. blah blah blah You'd think she was on drugs! LOLOL”

First Surgery

Wednesday, February 9, 2011 was Get-the-Cancer-Out Day. It's sort of funny how such a small tumor (it was only 1.1 cm) caused such consternation. But it had to come out and I gave myself no other choices because I really did want it removed. My biggest worry was that I wouldn't come out of the anesthesia which is also humorous because if I didn't wake up from surgery I wouldn't even realize it and it wouldn't matter anyway (except to everyone else).

The day began at 7:00 a.m. with Greg driving me to The Christ Hospital Surgical Center on Red Bank Expressway. I met my nurse, Cathy, and got prepped for surgery. This included mammography of the tumor during which a wire was inserted into my right breast to mark the spot for my surgeon. This seemed challenging to me but the Imaging Center doctor and his assistant were up to the task and made me as comfortable as possible.

The next thing was to go back down to the surgery area and wait for my official time of surgery. My family was there waiting patiently near my bedside within the curtained area. Cathy had already inserted the needle in my left hand where the I.V. would eventually be hooked up and I was tubed and ready. Isaac, Wren, and Greg stayed with me while Fr. Manto prayed and then Dr. Runk popped in.

I remember being wheeled into the operating room and meeting the anesthesiologist and more nurses. Then they taped both of my arms out to my sides and at that point must have put anesthesia in my I.V. because I then found myself in a curtained recovery room sipping 7Up and munching Saltines. The anesthesia made me slightly dizzy and I think it took awhile for coherence to return and my brain to clear a bit. Actually, it's been a month already since the first surgery and I cannot recall many details. Greg and Wren keep reminding me that I asked the recovery nurses redundant questions and then forget their answers.

I believe we arrived back home about 2:30 p.m. and I got to lie on the couch and be pampered for the next couple of days. Greg, Isaac and Wren stayed with me for the rest of the day. Jon arrived the next day, I think, and stayed until he had to go back to Dayton to work.

The Jackson-Pratt drainage bag was an interesting appendage that lasted for a week. When Amanda, Dr. Runk's awesome nurse, removed it, there was quite a good pinching sensation but it was quickly over. I took antibiotics for a week and was off of the pain meds after a few days although I still took a teaspoon of the liquid Roxicet at bedtime as a sleeping aid because there was more pain during the nighttime. I was surprised at how energetic I felt and I even paid bills about five days after the surgery. This proved to have been a bad idea later, though, when I discovered that I had sent a check to the water company for the wrong account. Oh bother.

I went back to work after an 11-day hiatus counting two weekends. I think I readjusted to work quickly and it was great to see everyone. My bubble burst when Dr. Runk called to tell me that the pathology report showed cancer cells in one of the margins. It meant that a re-excision of the original lumpectomy site was necessary to get out the remaining rebel cells.

During all of this time, I had been relying on my Facebook Prayer Protectors Group to pray for me at every bend in this winding road. All of the prayers, kindnesses, thoughts, meals, flowers, cards, emails, FB messages and stuff were so meaningful to me and I was completely overwhelmed.

There was one evening prior to surgery when a dear friend and her husband came over to share their breast cancer experiences with us. She had, in fact, just finished her first draft of a book about it: Shaken Not Stirred, a Chemo Cocktail, by Joules Evans. I even got my own draft copy of said book and proceeded to read the entire thing over the next week. Joules is a GREAT writer and the book is witty, humorous and poignant.

Waiting

It seemed like it took a long time to get the MRI results but it was only 3 days. The fact that my surgeon turned out to have vacation scheduled for the week following the MRI was a bit disconcerting because I had hoped to get the tumor removed ASAP. But that would have to wait until the second week in February.

I called Dr. Runk Friday afternoon hoping that I would catch her before she left for vacation. She promptly returned my call with the results and said to call her scheduler, Kim, the following week to get my surgery on the calendar.

I called Kim early Monday morning of the next week and got a surgery date of February 9 at 9:00 a.m. Now I just had to sit tight for another week and two days! I didn't even try to guess what God was trying to teach me anymore. I was on the roller coaster ride of my life just hanging on to Him and His people.

Although I have to admit that my nervousness was gradually increasing as the big day got closer. Things at work were going well, I think, since I was able to wrap up several loose ends before the day ended on Tuesday, 2/8.

And while all of this was happening, our kitchen demolition was about to begin.

It's MRI Time not Miller Time

The next step in what seemed to be turning into a long process, was to have an MRI of both breasts which would tell Dr. Runk if there were any cancer cells in the left breast and any other tumors in the right breast. So, very early on the morning of January 25, 2011, I arrived at ProScan Imaging's location on Kennedy Avenue (there are so many of them), went through all the preliminary paperwork, consented to more stuff and followed the MRI technician through hallways whose walls showcased maybe 50 or so photographs taken by a doctor at the center. He must have taken them on vacation in Southeast Asia. I think his photos were a good distraction from the apprehension of being inside of a large tube for about 45 minutes. I've had two previous MRI's which were no biggie. But this one would be slightly different because I would be face-down in the tube instead of on my back like the others. AND, the technician would inject dye in my veins towards the end of the procedure which I'd never had before.

So, the technician gave me a headset to listen to music while in the tube. This is humorous to me because it's difficult to listen to ANYTHING while the magnets are banging. But, nonetheless, I was able to listen in between the banging noises and it was nice because the station I chose was Christian rock. And, I prayed a lot during the procedure. I mean, not for myself, for all the people on my prayer list which I was trying to picture in my mind. I had a little trouble picturing the names on the upper left quadrant of my list, though. My apologies to those people.

Then, towards the very end of the procedure, (by the way, the technician very kindly asked me if I was okay periodically during this whole thing), she notified me that she was injecting the blue dye in my I.V. and that it would be a very odd sensation. I'll say. It felt like there were waves washing through my entire body and then I had a strong urge to pee. However, all of it lasted for only 30-45 seconds. Then it was over and I was heading to work.

I added another notch to my belt of new experiences today.

Greg's B.D.

Snow. It was, for Cincinnati, not normally this snowy. But, during the past few years, the snow was consistently blanketing our region with several inches on many occasions. It meant that I would need to trudge through the stuff to clean off my RAV-4 and decide if I would head home or go to work which was just across the street from my motel.

Ok. Since it was Greg's 61st Birthday today and I was in a state of shock already, I decided to drive back home to Price Hill. According to the traffic websites and the TV broadcasters, the rush hour traffic should have declined by then since it was mid-morning. Wrong. I was in a brain fog and unthinkingly I got on the interstate. But the ramp to I-75 south was clogged and I looked over at the interstate and saw that the traffic was bumper-to-bumper and barely moving.

It's too late to change my mind. I was mired in 5 mph traffic and the pavement looked like a sheet of ice. I crawled south and it took 45 minutes to drive about 5 miles. Suddenly, the traffic opened up and the road was no longer icy and we drove along at 35 mph for the rest of the way home. How blessed it felt to make it home safely! I wondered if I would even make it that day.

During my conversation with Dianne Runk the previous evening when I got the invasive lobular cancer news, we had scheduled a time to talk for later in the afternoon.

Greg and I met our dear friend, Joules, at Dianne Runk's office and we banded together. I think we all felt we could defeat the cancer sheerly by strength in numbers. So Dianne Runk led us back to her office and we sat around a table plotting the attack. She drew out the battle plan and the options. The next step was to schedule an MRI of both breasts to see if there was cancer in the left breast as well as how big the tumor was in the right breast.

And this all happened on Greg's birthday.

Ultrasound Core Biopsy

Home again, home again, jiggity jig. R&R was the theme for the day. It was nice to get back to the house where Steve and Nancy had been moving stuff from there to Nancy's place. Steve, my brother-in-law, was visiting from Scituate for 2.5 days and the goal was to move some furniture to Nancy's house and continue going through the 50+ years' worth of accumulated stuff in our house. I appreciated Steve, Greg, and Nancy's efforts at this overwhelming task. They just kept chipping away at this project, little by little. And I enjoyed their company while I was sitting around trying to think happy thoughts. Their energy was contagious and their spirits were high which kept me from going towards the dark side. The doctor's office thought I should be off the entire day after the procedure and they were right.

Steve treated us to ribs and pulled pork sandwiches for dinner from City Barbeque. Oh, so delectable. Then, more Graeter's. It's a Hartlaub tradition to have at least three flavors of Graeter's ice cream stocked in the freezer at all times whenever the Kaplan-Hartlaub Crew is in town. This week was no different although three-fourths of the Crew remained in Scituate. We could not break with tradition.

The white death was predicted for the next day when Steve was scheduled to return to Scituate. I went to work very early along with my suitcase planning to spend the night in West Chester at Staybridge Suites. It might turn into my annual retreat. The motel gives us a great corporate rate for one snowy night's rest and relief from icy roads, a long commute and impatient drivers.

I expected Dr. Runk to call me Friday, not Thursday. So, when my cell phone rang Thursday evening while I was relaxing in retreat-mode and Dr. Runk told me that I had invasive lobular carcinoma, I was stunned. She wanted to make an appointment with me for the next day and I agreed.

From that point, I went into shock. I called Greg, Diane and Joules for support. But I went to bed that night with a great weight on my mind.

Blessed&Holy

Ok. So, I admit it. Now I was actually worrying. Every few seconds my mind would jump to a harrowing conclusion based on nothing. I mean, how could it keep coming up with such wild and crazy thoughts? I can't even remember now what any of the scenarios were. But they were emotionally draining. Mostly I imaged myself dead and my children motherless. And my husband spouseless. And my friends, well, friendless.

The ultrasound core biopsy procedure was scheduled for Wednesday, January 19, 2011 at 10:30 a.m. at ProScan's Red Bank Imaging Center. Coincidentally across the hall from Cincinnati Breast Surgeons. Greg, Wren, and Joules came with me as my cheering section. Even though I thought I was doing okay, just between you and me, I was a basket case underneath it all.

At the Imaging Center, I was escorted back to change into a gown and then taken to another room where I met Blessed&Holy (not her real name) (and you have to admit the meaning of her name is awesome) and the Trainee whose name I've completely forgotten and that bothers me because I'm good with names.

Blessed&Holy explained the procedure to me and the importance of lying PERFECTLY STILL during the entire thing so they wouldn't have to do it all over again. I was fascinated by Blessed&Holy's accent. Blessed&Holy said she came here from Russia about eighteen years ago. How cool is it to meet someone from Russia? I told her that my grandparents came here from Lithuania in the early 1900's. I thought we could bond because Lithuania and Russia are neighbors. Wrong. Turns out that Russians and Lithuanians (according to Blessed&Holy) are not fond of each other. They are, actually, hostile and hateful.

I apologized for my ancestors antics and backpedaled. Blessed&Holy was not offended that I brought up the subject but she did share an incident when an 80-year-old patient yelled at her for being Russian. For crying out loud. People who are prejudiced about stuff like this are just so rude. But my new Russian friend was very gracious and she forgave that cranky old woman.

In the meantime, Blessed&Holy proceeded to numb my right breast with a long needle. Then, and I'm not sure exactly how this all played out, I think she used the ultrasound wand to locate the 1 cm tumor that had taken up residence in me and explained how Dr. Runk would take a few samples of the tumor's tissue for the biopsy. The tool that the doctor would use made a strange click-click sound with every sample extracted. It was noisy but not painful.

I was done. We departed the Imaging Center and went somewhere to debrief. Where did we go? Hyde Park Graeter's for ice cream which somehow was not as comforting as I had hoped. We could have gone to Teller's of Hyde Park for a glass of wine because they were doing a fundraiser for the Karen Wellington Foundation but, at the time, I was emotionally exhausted and just wanted to go home. But we did stop by the Hyde Park Branch of the library to visit Isaac. Then we headed home to wait for the biopsy results which would take another 2-3 days.

Meeting Dr. Runk

The next step was to find an excellent breast surgeon. A friend who had a mastectomy two years prior to this, loved her surgeon, Dr. Stahl, but she was NOT in our network, damn it. My gynocologist recommended Dr. Dianne Runk, who, it turns out is in our network and is a damn good surgeon.

The appointment with Dr. Runk happened two days after the fateful mammogram/ultrasound shellacking. Greg went along to provide moral support; the gravity of it all hadn't sunk in yet, at least not with me. Dr. Runk did a typical breast exam and could actually feel the small tumor on the right side. I tried at home to feel it but couldn't, or maybe I didn't try very hard.

Dr. Runk is a straight shooter. She stated the blunt facts, looked directly into my eyes and pronounced that I needed an ultrasound core needle biopsy to determine whether the tumor was malignant or benign. Her scheduler, Kim, met with us to set up the biopsy procedure which would be done at the ProScan location in the same building as Dr. Runk's office. I still wasn't worried.

I come from a long line of famous worriers. My mom was great at imagining the worst case scenario for any situation. Or so I thought. It turns out that my Dad could out-worry my mom.

Now, what does worrying accomplish anyway? Even though I'm such an awesome worrier, it's one of my best traits BTW, God tells us not to worry. I'm supposed to be casting my burdens on Him. And not worried about tomorrow for tomorrow will care for itself because each day has enough trouble of its own. AND even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I fear no evil for YOU are with me. So there you have it.

I wouldn't have believed it was possible but I do now. What? Oh, that all of the prayers being said on my behalf have taken away my fears and worries. What's left? Simply to enjoy being with my fellow travelers on this road. Those who have gone down this road before me and those who haven't traveled it yet. Praying always in every situation for everyone else is all I can do.

"An anxious heart weighs a man down, but a kind word cheers him up." Proverbs 12:25

In the Beginning

In my past life, B.C. (before cancer), my intentions were to reflect Christ and in a very small way, I did. Not to be arrogant, but I think I did.

Now, after being diagnosed with intrusive lobular carcinoma, God is adjusting my focus. I am seeing Him more distinctly than ever before through my husband's, children's, and friends' caring, loving actions and prayers. They are His hands and feet, carrying me as I float through these weeks going from fear and worry to strength and faith. They are His army, like the army of angels that the Old Testament prophet, Elisha, prayed for God to show his servant. Elisha wasn't worried because God sent an angelic army to protect them. Intense spiritual warfare is being waged around us, too, but there are seen and unseen angels protecting us the same way.

Here's some background. January 3, 2011, my new gynecologist, Dr. Caroline Bohme, found some lumpy breast tissue in both of my breasts and recommended that I get a diagnostic mammogram and an ultrasound for a better idea of what was there. She mentioned fibrocystic breast disease and that sounded pretty benign to me after doing some research.

On January 12, the mammogram technician-lady and I joked around about how wimpy some small-breasted women can be while having a mammogram. I, being rather small-breasted, didn't really mind all the squishing. After having mammograms for the past 16 years, I was used to having a stranger place them in the proper positions for their photos. She did not make any negative comments so I was unaware of the presence of the tumor yet.

After lots of mammogram photos were shot, I was off to see the ultrasound technician named Gloria. Gloria took even more photos and my breasts are now immortalized at Mercy Hospital's x-ray department. Gloria left the room to find the radiologist who would interpret the photos immediately for me.

After a really long time, about 20 minutes, Gloria returned with the radiologist, a talkative, kind, young lady named Dr. Susan Cha. I anxiously listened to Dr. Cha, not because I was worried, but because I wanted her to finish talking so I could ask if she was related to Dr. Peter Cha, my orthopedic surgeon who repaired the labrum in my right shoulder on July 13, 2009. She told me loads of information for which I had no frame of reference but I listened politely. Finally, I realized she was trying to explain that I have a tumor that is slightly smaller than one centimeter.

Then, I blurted out, are you related to Peter Cha? She said, "yes!" and "He's my husband!" I told her about my shoulder surgery and said, "Say Hi to him for me," after she finished talking. We parted ways and I went to back to work, without any idea of what a one centimeter tumor could mean. I didn't feel sick. And I wasn't even scared or worried. Yet.