I am a 44-year-old mother of two girls, ages 12 and 14. In the summer of 2002 I began a rigorous workout program at a local athletic club. It felt wonderful to be exercising on a regular basis. We had just moved to this town after two stressful years in the previous town we lived in and I felt liberated to pursue things I enjoyed.
In late July, while exiting one of the machines, I ran smack into the arm of it, hitting my right breast. With an "ouch" and a "geez," I moved on to the next one. A week or so later, I noticed that the breast began to swell and just chalked it up to the fact that I had hit it on the machine.
My breast didn't hurt, I couldn't detect anything abnormal, it just grew in size. I have always been small-chested, in fact there is no boasting when it comes to being a 34A. My brother used to tease me when I was young saying I was the head of the "itty bitty titty committee." Naturally, it took me a long time to accept the fact that I'd never be large breasted. But now my right breast continued to grow. In fact, it was perkier and larger than it had ever been. The irony of it all.
Finally, on August 22, I decided that since the breast wasn't getting smaller I should have it checked. I went to the doctor. A physician's assistant took one look at it and by the look in her eyes I knew that something wasn't right. She had me get a mammogram that day. It showed no real change from the one I had had done in December 2001, except that the skin seemed to be thickened. In fact, the radiologist was so concerned that the mammogram didn't show enough—hard to get much out of a 34A breast size—that he asked to personally examine the breast. It was at this point that I began to get a bit nervous.
By the end of the day, I had an appointment with a surgeon. I had to take my X-rays to him at the hospital and I read the report from the radiologist on the way. It was on that report that I first came in contact with the words Inflammatory Breast Cancer (IBC).
The surgeon decided that he wanted to do a rather invasive biopsy procedure and, initially, I agreed. I went home and discussed my decision to have a biopsy with my husband and some trusted friends. We decided that since the biopsy was so invasive I should first get a second opinion. I cancelled the biopsy and contacted another doctor, who sent me to a breast oncology specialist. My appointment was on September 11, 2002. He did an ultrasound and while doing so asked the technician to save two pictures to disc. I now knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was in trouble. I said this to him. He looked at me and said he was pretty sure it was cancer. It was at this point that I mentioned IBC.
He asked where I'd heard this term, since this type of cancer isn't often discussed. I explained that I'd read the radiologist report. He told me it was quite possible but didn't want to say for sure until he had performed a biopsy. It was at this point I broke down and cried an endless river of tears. I knew I had cancer. The biopsy was to be performed on Friday the 13th. I went home and researched IBC on the web. By the time Friday rolled around I knew what I was facing. When I came out of the anesthesia the doctor came in and confirmed my worst fear. I had IBC and we had about a year's worth of work to do. The hardest part of dealing with IBC is that you don't really have time to deal with it. Any time wasted can affect the overall prognosis.
In the course of two short weeks my family had to deal with major decisions that had immense impacts. How to tell the kids? How to get them involved in the process? And so on and so on. We also decided that one of the first things we'd do was shave my head and have an ice cream sundae party.
Today, December 29, 2002, I have 10 days left of my initial chemotherapy treatment. I became involved in a clinical trial on chemo delivery. There are many trials that are going on in the area of breast cancer chemotherapy treatment. My trial involves an initial 15 week regimen where I receive Adriamycin weekly, take Cytoxan daily, and give myself a white cell booster shot daily. It is dose dense chemotherapy. Even today, as I sit writing this, I'm not sure if I will modify my trial and whether next I will take Taxol or have my surgery. It is definitely a step-by-step, day-by-day process.
Everyone who has died in my family has died of some form of cancer, no two the same. I attribute some of this to the areas where they were raised, prior to pollution control standards. I was prepared for some form of cancer in my life, figuring the odds weren't on my side. But never in my life would IBC have been one I would have expected. I knew about breast cancer. I did all of the things we are told we are supposed to do, like monthly exams and mammograms. But IBC is not detectable by those means and is always initially staged as IIIB or IV. More people need to be informed about this aggressive form of cancer.
Please tell us how helpful this article was for you:
Very helpful
Helpful
Not helpful
