Without a doubt, the biggest decision I made was whether to have a lumpectomy vs. mastectomy, or double mastectomy. I explained the choice I made (a lumpectomy) in one of my blog posts, here.
This is a complicated decision for many women, and one that is most often based on one question: How willing/able am I to bear the fear of the return of - or even a new - cancer? According to recent studies, more women are choosing double mastectomies, even with early stage cancer or with a lack of genetic mutations, in order to reduce the anxiety of follow-up. While the validity of that choice is under scrutiny in the medical community, the decision to have a healthy breast removed is still a highly personal choice and one that should be available to women who feel that the quality of their life would be compromised otherwise.
And I get that anxiety. For sure I do. I put a big, fat card into play 19 months ago, and this past week, it was time to ante up. I had my first abnormal mammogram post-treatment. This necessitated a return to the hospital for a diagnostic mammogram, then an ultrasound to get even more detail. By this point, I had mentally worked myself up to the next tier of scrutiny: biopsy. (Did I mention in my previous blogs that the biopsy was my least favorite cancer-related experience? Think of the sound and feel of a dentist drill but on really sensitive tissue -- yeah.) When a young technician returned with the radiologist's opinion that the abnormalities were likely small cysts that would need to be reevaluated in three to six months just to make sure, I felt no relief. I felt instead a deep sadness. Was this my life now? Callbacks? Weeks of worry? Biopsies until I looked and felt like swiss cheese?
Until...I remembered why I chose a lumpectomy all those months ago. I wanted the least invasive treatment, so that I could return to my family as soon as possible. My chance for recurrence was low; I had no family history; the cancer was highly estrogen-positive. Odds were in my favor, Effe. Knowing all these details, I told myself then that if the cancer returned against all those odds or even if I sprouted a new one (it happens, unfortunately), I could and would face it. So chin up, lady.
It did help, a little, to remember past-Kristen's reasoning. It didn't change the fact that Lucille still stalked me, panting hungrily on my heels like a relentless hunter. But if the Kristen who was in the middle of all the pain and treatment 19 months ago could stare down the long line of what-ifs, then present Kristen has no right to complain and worry. At least not too much.
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