Just Breast Cancer

As challenging as it was to get through the holidays not knowing if they were going to be my last, I got to spend time with my family.  

Somehow, we made it through.  

We opted to think positive, and take a more careful approach to how we celebrated Christmas.  

We spent Christmas Eve day with only my parents and grandma.  

Lincoln and Maya were a little disappointed they couldn’t play for hours with their cousins, but they understood what the goal was, “Keep Mom safe.  Don’t get COVID.”

I have to tell you that as a mom and wife it has been extremely hard to ask my family to limit their activities and be extra careful to protect me. It seems like such a selfish thing to do.

On Christmas Day, the kids opened up their presents.  Lincoln was so excited and had been trying to wake up the whole family starting at 1:30 AM, but I negotiated to keep him in bed until 5:00 AM. 

There is something so special about experiencing the magic of Christmas through your children's eyes, isn’t there?

Lincoln was a little disappointed that Santa didn’t bring him the chinchilla he asked for.  That broke my heart more than I expected it to.  More on that a little later… 

We then spent the rest of the day hiking the trails at Token Creek with our dogs, Bucky and Bruno, and ice skating as a family.  

We made sure to take lots of pictures, in the event it WAS my last Christmas.

The days and nights leading up to my CT scan and first appointment with my medical oncologist are a blur.

I would be fine one minute and then break down sobbing the next.  The littlest things would send me into a tailspin.

Maya would be painting and singing quietly to herself, a sign that I know she is happy and in the “flow” with her activity.

Seeing her engulfed in her activity and singing so sweetly would cause me to sob uncontrollably as I thought, “What other things is Maya going to love as she gets older? Will she always sing to herself when she’s in the flow?” 

After what seemed like forever, Tuesday, December 28th arrived.  

My CT scan was scheduled before I met with my medical oncologist.  

I was so relieved that my CT scan was BEFORE my oncology appointment as I thought, “Great, we will have the results and be able to stage my cancer more accurately. It will be valuable information to have.”  

As we headed out for the appointments, the snow started to fall down.

“Nothing is going to stop me from getting to these appointments,” I thought as Tyler started to navigate through the snow and slushy roads. 

My heart was pounding OUT of my chest as we arrived at the clinic.  

I had to take several deep breaths, exhaling forcefully with pursed lips, as Tyler dropped me off by the front door before looking for a place to park.

“Okay Ashley, here we go.  We can do this.  It’s better to know.” I said to myself as I made my way to the radiology department to check in.  

They called me back just as Tyler arrived to take a seat by me.

The technician explained that I would need to drink three large glasses of water over the next hour that contained contrast for my CT scan.

Emotions were so freaking high.  Sweaty palms.  Upset stomach. Fast heartbeat.  You name it, I probably felt it.   

Tyler said to me, “How about we watch a little Ted Lasso to take the edge off?” as I started taking my first sips.

Before the days of airpods and kids for that matter, Tyler and I used to share headphones and listen to music or watch videos on our phones together all the time.

Now here we are again, sharing old fashion string headphones and watching Ted Lasso.  We needed this to take us away from the reality of our current situation.  

The hour passed quickly as we laughed and were whisked away from our worries.

Now here was the technician again to take me back for my scan.

“Shit. That’s right, I have cancer and I am here for my scan.” I said to myself as I was surprised he interrupted our escape from reality.

All the emotions and symptoms of anxiety came rushing back as I walked the long hallway to change my clothes.  My heart instantly picked up the beats, my hands were sweaty, the nausea crept up my stomach and my head began to throb.  

Not a headache like throbbing but rather a noise, almost so loud that I couldn’t hear what my instructions were.

As the technician left the room for me to change, I panicked, “Did he tell me I needed to take off my jewelry? Oh well, I’ll do it anyway just in case. Why is my head throbbing so loud?”

As I took off my clothes, I looked at my breast again and thought “It’s time to find out if the cancer is JUST in my breast.”  

I laid down onto the machine bed as they began looking for a good vein to poke for an IV.

“How many pokes is it going to take to find my vein this time?” I wondered. 

Once the IV was in, they began going over the instructions of what to expect.

I would need to hold my breath for a series of counts at various intervals and at some point they would be injecting me with a dye that would make me feel all warm and like I peed my pants.

“Oh great!  What’s that going to be like?” I thought.

Then they left the room, I found myself wanting to shut my hearing aid off so I could go into my inner Ashley. Unfortunately, I needed to leave it on so I could hear instructions.

My mind was racing, “Shit, how did I get here? What am I going to do if the cancer is somewhere else? How am I going to live out the rest of my life?”

“Hold your breath,” the technician stated over the loudspeakers, interrupting my train of thought.

I somehow manage to get through most of the scan without crying. It wasn’t until the very end where my eyes released a steady stream of tears.

The technician came in and saw that I was crying and grabbed a Kleenex.

“Thank you,” I said as I wiped my eyes, “I just didn’t expect to be 38 and doing all of this.”

“Hopefully, we will have the news you are looking for,” she said empathetically.

“I can only hope.  I am meeting with my oncologist immediately after this.  When I was making the appointment they said I should tell you to flag it as important so that the radiologist reads it and provides the results ASAP for my appointment.” I pleaded with her.

“Absolutely, we will flag it now.” She assured me as she helped me back to get changed.

I found Tyler waiting for me in the same place I left him.

“Well, how did it go?” Tyler asked.

“We’ll find out here shortly” I said.

We needed to drive to a separate location to meet with my medical oncologist at my assigned breast center.

The snow had been falling rapidly while we were inside.  

“I hope an hour is enough time for us to make our appointment with the snowy weather,”  I thought even though it should have taken us only 15 minutes to get there from where we were.

While Tyler was driving, I obsessively kept checking Mychart and my email for new test results to be posted. 

AND then there they were, my test results. 

A notification showed up on my Apple Watch just as we were pulling into the parking ramp.

“Okay Ashley, keep calm. No matter what it says, we’ll figure it out.” I said to myself. 

It took me two attempts to log-in because I was so nervous I kept making mistakes.

I clicked on new test results and this is what I read at the end of the results after going line by line:  CT ABD/PELVIS W CONTRAST IMPRESSION: No convincing evidence for metastatic disease within the abdomen or pelvis.

“OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!  IT’S JUST IN MY BREAST!!! IT’S JUST IN MY BREAST!” I screamed inside my head so enthusiastically.

I quickly clicked on the CAT SCAN OF CHEST WITHOUT result and at the end saw: IMPRESSION: Increased size and number of left axillary and subpectoral lymph nodes with normal morphologies are indeterminate but likely reactive.  Otherwise, normal chest.

“OKAY, OKAY.  I CAN GET THROUGH WHATEVER COMES NEXT.  IT”S JUST BREAST CANCER!!!  IT’S JUST BREAST CANCER!!” I screamed inside my head as a huge wave of relief washed over me.

Tyler found a spot to park and we made our way to the breast center to meet with the medical oncologist.

After the nurse roomed us and completed all necessary vitals and questions, I changed into my gown.

While we were waiting for the medical oncologist, I said to Tyler “My test results are posted!” 

“WHAT? How do you know?” he asked.

“Because I got a notification on my watch and looked at them while you were parking!” I added excitedly. 

“What did they say??” he asked.

“No evidence of metastatic disease in my abdomen or pelvis!” I said as tears left my eyes once again.

I reached for my phone and pulled up my results for Tyler to see.

“You knew this while we were parking and you are just telling me now?” Tyler demanded an answer.

“I’m sorry. I should have screamed and celebrated when I saw the results.  I guess I was just shocked and was still processing it myself.” I said to him apologetically as the medical oncologist and nurse practitioner walked in. 

The medical oncologist reviewed the results of the pathology and asked questions about family history of cancer.

“NOPE. Not on either side of the family.” I answered. 

Tyler asked, “What stage is her breast cancer?”

The oncologist pulled up a form in Epic. She input some of my information into it and the form  generated a Stage level.

The medical oncologist explained that several pieces of imaging suggested that my intramammary node was involved but it's hard to know with absolute certainty unless it’s biopsied. Unfortunately, such a biopsy would be challenging to do because of where it's located. But she was able to say that intramammary node involvement put me at a Stage III.

“WOW, Stage III sounds way scarier than Stage II,” I thought in my head as I hung on every word she said. 

She added, “The treatment that we would do doesn’t change from a Stage II to III.”  

She went on to explain that I would need to “start with chemotherapy followed by surgery and more chemotherapy and radiation as well as hormone therapy.”

She explained that I might be a good candidate for a clinical trial but after talking through it determined that I likely would need the harder chemotherapy drugs due to lymph node involvement and the aggressiveness of my cancer.  

“What about my CT scan results?” I asked.

“Are they available already?” the medical oncologist asked, surprised.

“Yes, I had the scan earlier this afternoon and results are posted.” I said as she was pulling the report up on her computer and started to read it out loud.

She confirmed what I had read, that there was no evidence of metastatic spread!!

I followed up with “because my CT scan showed no evidence of metastatic spread, is it likely that my bone scan will be clear too?”

“Yes, it's favorable that your bone scan will be clear too,” she said reassuringly. 

“What’s her prognosis?” Tyler added.

“Your prognosis is good.  Fifteen years ago, being diagnosed with HER2 positive breast cancer was not associated with good outcomes, but we have come a long way in research and treatment. Today, we have great targeted therapy for HER2 positive breast cancer.” She shared. 

She finished my appointment with a physical exam, as she was palpating the large mass that took up my entire left breast she stated, “I think you’ll be amazed at how much this tumor will shrink and become softer with chemotherapy before we do surgery.”

“I can’t wait!” I stated while dreaming of what that will be like, feel like. 

Tyler and I were so happy walking out of the breast center to our cars and driving home, grinning ear to ear, giddy almost.  

“IT’S JUST BREAST CANCER!!  WE CAN DO THIS! WE CAN GET THROUGH THIS!!” We repeated over and over feeling so relieved and ecstatic like we had just won the lottery.

The next year and half would be challenging but livable. God that sounded great!

“I can and will do ANYTHING to get this cancer out of me!  I will do ANYTHING to watch my babies grow up and grow old and travel the world with Tyler!” I told myself knowingly. 

We now had a plan. I LOVE a plan.  I NEED a plan.  My inner Ashley felt the best we had felt in two weeks.  

As a result of our “plan” we made the heartbreaking decision to cancel all our upcoming trips so we could focus on staying healthy and not delay my treatment with Omicron blowing up.

That meant Lincoln and my parents would not be traveling to Florida the following week. 

Nor would we celebrate our 10th wedding anniversary on the sandy beaches of Maui.

When we told the kids they handled it so well, too well. 

 It broke my heart how compassionate and understanding they were at 6 and 8. 

“It's okay Momma, I love you more than I love Disney.” Lincoln said to me.

Maya added, “Yah Momma, we’ll go back to Hawaii when you are all better.”  

Guess what? 

Even though Tyler and I swore we wouldn’t get any more pets.  

You know that chinchilla Lincoln wanted so bad from Santa?

Christmas came late for the Inda household, we added not one but two chinchillas to our family.  One for Lincoln (Stormy) and one for Maya (Snowflake).

I know, I know what you are thinking.  Domestic chinchillas can live up to 20 years Ashley, what were you thinking?!

AND to that I say, 

“Yeah, but I’ll be around for the next 20+ years to take care of them…I JUST HAVE BREAST CANCER!”