In early 2010 when we returned from Ireland, I did a Medical Terminology Course.  I just loved it and had to learn over 200 medical words and be tested weekly on them.  We learned about root words, suffixes, joining vowels and combined forms.  We were given words like laryngopharyngitis and pyhaemothorax  and had to break them down and explain their meanings (inflammation of the larynx and throat, and pus and blood in the chest cavity).  We had to do things such as give as many combining forms as we could for a tendon, or two root words for urine. It had been years since I had to memorize anything other than PIN numbers and passwords, so they were plastered all around the house as I  learnt them. I made up acronyms for many body systems so I could recall them in our weekly tests.  Little did I know at the time how useful I would find this course in relation to my own health just two years later.

I was thinking about this course on the Thursday morning when we had to go back to the hospital for my biopsy results.  I was fine at first, but then the nerves set in.  We were both very quiet as we walked into the hospital.  Would the margins of my tumour be clear?  Would the lymph nodes be clear?  This was even more crucial, as if they weren’t, it would reveal that the cancer had spread to other parts of my body and I was really up for a fight in that case.

I had forgotten to take my patient card with my number on it, but the receptionist was understanding.  We looked for a seat and I couldn’t find one, but having only had surgery six days prior, I wasn’t going to stand around and ended up sitting on a table between two seats.  My husband stood and leant against the wall with his kindle.  But I knew he wasn’t concentrating.  Every time someone entered the room he looked up. We glanced at each other frequently – a look of connection that only couples who have been together for years and years can do and say so much without a word.  Each time one of the doctors came out we both looked up and listened, to hear if it was my name being called.    Again the wait was long.  I started sighing, a sure sign I was nervous.  I just wanted to KNOW.

Eventually, my surgeon came out and called my name.  My mouth was dry and my legs felt weak as we followed her into her room.  My heart was racing as we sat opposite her at her desk.  JUST TELL ME! PLEASE!  

She asked how I had been and I muttered a quick ‘fine’.  She looked at her computer screen and said, ‘Now I have your results here’.

YES?  I leaned forward.

‘I’ll print them.’ She said.

JUST TELL ME.  IS IT THAT BAD?

‘Oh this silly computer, where is the print screen?’

It felt like half an hour as she dealt with the old, slow hospital technology.

Suddenly she said ‘Well your lymph nodes are all clear and so are your margins’

Relief flooded through me and tears welled up in my eyes, a lump rose in my throat and my nose ran.  My husband and I instinctively reached for each other’s hands and mumbled ‘Oh thank goodness’ or something like that.  I sniffled and the surgeon automatically reached for the box of tissues and placed it between us on the desk.

All I could think of was how fortunate I was.  They had removed all the cancer.  I could call myself cancer free now, even if that seemed a bit premature to some people’s thinking.

She printed the report,  a three page document.  Even my medical terminology course couldn’t help me decipher all these words.

It was titled:  *Final Report*  Histopathology.

I knew hist/o was a combining form meaning tissue; pathy was disease and o/logy was study of.

The report contained sections called Clinical notes; Macroscopy, Microscopy and Summary.

‘This is what you need to know,’ she said, pointing us to the Summary section.

I saw in capital letters:

INVASIVE TUMOUR:  Grade 2.  (I was glad it wasn’t Grade 3)
IN-SITU TUMOUR: Type: DCIS.  Grade, Intermediate.
TUMOUR DIMENSION 16mm.
LYMPH NODES:  SENTINEL: 0/2; INTRAMAMMARY: 0/1

So she had removed two sentinel nodes and one other and they were all clear.  Whew!

Next was the IMMUNOHISTOCHEMISTRY and this would play a big part in the type of treatment I would receive.

Hormone receptors are proteins in a cell that allow hormones to bind to the cell.  They must be present for the cell growth to be influenced by hormones. There are two types, oestrogen and progesterone.  My report showed that I was positive for both oestrogen and progesterone – ER+ and PR+.  HER2 status is also reported on and affects the type of treatment given.  I was HER2 negative, so wouldn’t need Herceptin, an intravenous medication given over a number of months.

The doctor then said the final decision on treatment would be up to the Medical Oncologist, whom I would see next week.  She said she felt sure I would need radiotherapy and I would need 5 years of hormone treatment and maybe chemotherapy, but it may not be necessary.

So I still didn’t quiet feel out of the woods yet regarding chemotherapy.

Next she checked my wounds and removed the waterproof dressing.  One scar bleed a little as she took off the dressing, but she only needed to apply steri-strips to both and said it was ok to get them wet, but not to let soap onto them, or direct hot water running on them.  She seemed very happy with her handiwork and we mentioned we didn’t expect a vertical scar, but were very impressed with how small they both were.  The lymph nodes scar was about 4cm long and the other, beside my nipple was only about 3cm.

Then we made appointments for the following Thursday with the Medical Oncologist and another  to see the Radiation Oncologist.

This seemed like it was going to be the pattern of life for a while.  Keep Thursdays free, because that is Breast Clinic Day!

<<Previous     Next>>

Table Of Contents