lumped
Note: this post contains one disturbing image of a removed tumor. User discretion advised.
One year ago today, I delivered a healthy breast lump. His name was Leonard.
And because breast lumps are one of the best elephants in the room, here's a picture of us with an elephant. Also, I needed to put in a picture before Leonard makes his debut since I can't figure out how not to make him the title picture. Thus, the picture of us with an elephant.
At the time, I was pretty scared and did not want anyone to talk about my chest (of course, as soon as some people found out, they told other people, who told other people, who still told other people, who then talked to my parents and expressed their deep concern about my chest. Lesson learned: people like to talk about misfortunes, especially when they involve chests. Keeping such a topic secret is nearly impossible).
Hence, some may wonder why I am choosing to talk about this now. First, time helps. Second, awareness is important. Third, it's a good story. And fourth, I'm ready to share.
About a year and a few months ago (early April 2012), I went to the doctor for my premarital exam. I wasn't too worried about going to the OB/GYN like most girls are - I figured my first visit to this particular type of doctor would go along the lines of veni vidi vici.
And then the nurse practitioner discovered Leonard.
Of course, being young and naive, I had no idea he was there or that I was supposed to look for things like him. The nurse practitioner was surprised that I didn't feel him - usually people notice when they have golf-ball sized breast lumps. After expressing concern for how big he was, she sent me on my way with directions to contact the Huntsman Cancer Institute. I should also probably add that she told me she thought it was a fibroadenoma, a benign, rubbery tumor (the nurse compared it to an eraser - only he was a rather large eraser). Of course, the possibility of cancer had yet to be ruled out.
It's an interesting experience telling your fiance about the fact that you might have breast cancer. But David and my parents took it like champs, and we waited for my appointment and a more official diagnosis.
I can't remember when we first went to Huntsman. To be honest, all of last year from the time we got engaged to the time we got married is all one big, stressful blur (and to be even more honest, starting law school was a relief compared to all of the craziness from before). But I do remember that at that visit, the doctor conducted an ultrasound, chirped in with his hypothesis that it was a fibroadenoma, and gave Leonard's dimensions: 4 cm x 2ish cm.
Because Leonard was so big, the doctor suggested that we remove him, even though he was pretty sure that Leonard wasn't trying to kill me. So we went back up to the hospital another time to discuss options for surgery with Dr. N (I liked her, both because she has a quirky sense of humor (as seen below) and also because she was supportive of me going to law school).
Besides discussing dates for my surgery, this visit was also special because of the treatment I received from the receptionist. When I checked in at the desk, the receptionist initially thought I was there with my mom. When I explained that I was the actual patient, the receptionist commented on my age. I said something along the lines of "Yeah, I know I'm young. They only discovered the lump a few weeks ago at my premarital exam." Once the receptionist heard that, she placed her hand on her heart and acted as if me and my husband-to-be were star-crossed lovers. If she would have been Shakespeare, a new Romeo and Juliet (Oncology Edition) would have been written on the spot. I guess I should be grateful that she was trying to be sympathetic, but at the time, I was not very appreciative of it, mostly because I knew that she would be yet another person who would be talking about my chest (i.e. "Did you see that girl that just came in? She's about to get married and might have cancer! Poor thing...").
Fast forward another couple of months. David and I got married (huzzah!), and it was a great day. Two and a half weeks later I went under the knife. I was pretty punchy that day - the anesthesiologist and I were cracking up even before he stuck in the IV to pump me up with sleeping juices. I think he was relieved to have a younger patient that liked to laugh (I'm pretty sure most people he puts to sleep are understandably a bit more serious).
Before I knew it, I had woken up with Dr. N holding a mass of tissue close to my face saying, "Congratulations! You delivered a healthy breast lump! What do you want to name it?" Because I was still loopy, I said without hesitation, "Leonard. Lumpy Leonard." And thus my lump was named.
Gratefully, Dr. N did not let me hold Leonard or engage in kangaroo care. Instead, she took a picture of him for me and subsequently donated him to science. Later I learned that Leonard had nearly doubled in size from the time I had my ultrasound, measuring in at 7 cm in length. Although all of the test results came back showing that Leonard was indeed a benign fibroadenoma, Dr. N said it was a good thing we removed him when he did because he was so fast growing and could have caused other problems later on.
While I was still waking up, I said some rather funny things. Because my chest was wrapped like Mulan, I started singing "I'll Make a Man of You." It seemed like the proper thing to do at the time. Looking back, I can't think of a better way to wake up from a lumpectomy.
When we got home, I slept like a baby. David made sure that I had plenty of woodland creatures to keep me company when I woke up.
He also took very good care of me and was the best company I could have asked for.
I should also shout out to my parents (especially my mom) for accompanying me to the doctor's office and living with me during a time when I wasn't as nice as I could or should have been (hello lumpy Bridezilla!). David's family also was superb, especially his mom and brother who brought us dinner a couple of times while I was still recovering.
A few weeks later, I started law school. A few weeks after that, my stitches came out. Since then, I have been completely lumpless (although David has not). As a result of our experiences, we now joke that our future children will not have growth spurts. Instead, they will just have growths.
In all seriousness, I am grateful for this experience and the fact that everything turned out so well. David and I feel so blessed that (for now) we are healthy and that we aren't currently growing anything (as far as we know). As untasteful as it may be, we still have a picture of Leonard on our fridge as a reminder to be grateful when we think things are getting "rough." But more importantly, we are grateful to have grown closer to each other and to our Heavenly Father through these mini bumps and lumps that have come our way.
One year ago today, I delivered a healthy breast lump. His name was Leonard.
At the time, I was pretty scared and did not want anyone to talk about my chest (of course, as soon as some people found out, they told other people, who told other people, who still told other people, who then talked to my parents and expressed their deep concern about my chest. Lesson learned: people like to talk about misfortunes, especially when they involve chests. Keeping such a topic secret is nearly impossible).
Hence, some may wonder why I am choosing to talk about this now. First, time helps. Second, awareness is important. Third, it's a good story. And fourth, I'm ready to share.
About a year and a few months ago (early April 2012), I went to the doctor for my premarital exam. I wasn't too worried about going to the OB/GYN like most girls are - I figured my first visit to this particular type of doctor would go along the lines of veni vidi vici.
And then the nurse practitioner discovered Leonard.
Of course, being young and naive, I had no idea he was there or that I was supposed to look for things like him. The nurse practitioner was surprised that I didn't feel him - usually people notice when they have golf-ball sized breast lumps. After expressing concern for how big he was, she sent me on my way with directions to contact the Huntsman Cancer Institute. I should also probably add that she told me she thought it was a fibroadenoma, a benign, rubbery tumor (the nurse compared it to an eraser - only he was a rather large eraser). Of course, the possibility of cancer had yet to be ruled out.
It's an interesting experience telling your fiance about the fact that you might have breast cancer. But David and my parents took it like champs, and we waited for my appointment and a more official diagnosis.
I can't remember when we first went to Huntsman. To be honest, all of last year from the time we got engaged to the time we got married is all one big, stressful blur (and to be even more honest, starting law school was a relief compared to all of the craziness from before). But I do remember that at that visit, the doctor conducted an ultrasound, chirped in with his hypothesis that it was a fibroadenoma, and gave Leonard's dimensions: 4 cm x 2ish cm.
Because Leonard was so big, the doctor suggested that we remove him, even though he was pretty sure that Leonard wasn't trying to kill me. So we went back up to the hospital another time to discuss options for surgery with Dr. N (I liked her, both because she has a quirky sense of humor (as seen below) and also because she was supportive of me going to law school).
Besides discussing dates for my surgery, this visit was also special because of the treatment I received from the receptionist. When I checked in at the desk, the receptionist initially thought I was there with my mom. When I explained that I was the actual patient, the receptionist commented on my age. I said something along the lines of "Yeah, I know I'm young. They only discovered the lump a few weeks ago at my premarital exam." Once the receptionist heard that, she placed her hand on her heart and acted as if me and my husband-to-be were star-crossed lovers. If she would have been Shakespeare, a new Romeo and Juliet (Oncology Edition) would have been written on the spot. I guess I should be grateful that she was trying to be sympathetic, but at the time, I was not very appreciative of it, mostly because I knew that she would be yet another person who would be talking about my chest (i.e. "Did you see that girl that just came in? She's about to get married and might have cancer! Poor thing...").
Fast forward another couple of months. David and I got married (huzzah!), and it was a great day. Two and a half weeks later I went under the knife. I was pretty punchy that day - the anesthesiologist and I were cracking up even before he stuck in the IV to pump me up with sleeping juices. I think he was relieved to have a younger patient that liked to laugh (I'm pretty sure most people he puts to sleep are understandably a bit more serious).
Before I knew it, I had woken up with Dr. N holding a mass of tissue close to my face saying, "Congratulations! You delivered a healthy breast lump! What do you want to name it?" Because I was still loopy, I said without hesitation, "Leonard. Lumpy Leonard." And thus my lump was named.
Gratefully, Dr. N did not let me hold Leonard or engage in kangaroo care. Instead, she took a picture of him for me and subsequently donated him to science. Later I learned that Leonard had nearly doubled in size from the time I had my ultrasound, measuring in at 7 cm in length. Although all of the test results came back showing that Leonard was indeed a benign fibroadenoma, Dr. N said it was a good thing we removed him when he did because he was so fast growing and could have caused other problems later on.
When we got home, I slept like a baby. David made sure that I had plenty of woodland creatures to keep me company when I woke up.
A few weeks later, I started law school. A few weeks after that, my stitches came out. Since then, I have been completely lumpless (although David has not). As a result of our experiences, we now joke that our future children will not have growth spurts. Instead, they will just have growths.
In all seriousness, I am grateful for this experience and the fact that everything turned out so well. David and I feel so blessed that (for now) we are healthy and that we aren't currently growing anything (as far as we know). As untasteful as it may be, we still have a picture of Leonard on our fridge as a reminder to be grateful when we think things are getting "rough." But more importantly, we are grateful to have grown closer to each other and to our Heavenly Father through these mini bumps and lumps that have come our way.
I didn't know this happened... what an amazing story though. You guys are awesome. :)
ReplyDelete