- Share This Post
- submit
- 0
-
Sparkle (0)
October was breast cancer awareness month. October, 2006 was
significant for me because it was when I joined the ranks of the
178,480 women who received a diagnosis of breast cancer that year.
Every 3 minutes a woman in the United States is diagnosed with breast
cancer and in 2006 my alarm went off. My specific diagnosis was Stage
1, estrogen positive. I shouldn’t have been surprised to hear the news
- invasive breast cancer. Two of my 3 sisters have had breast cancer.
Nevertheless, I dropped the phone when the radiologist called with the
biopsy report. I thought “invasive” meant that the cancer had
hop-scotched all over my body. But luckily I was wrong. At www.breastcancer.org
I found a medical definition: “The single most important factor in the
personality of any breast cancer is whether it is non-invasive ("in
situ," which means "in the same place") or invasive. Invasive cancer
has spread outside the milk duct or milk-making glands and has grown
into normal tissue inside the breast.” Most importantly, invasive
breast cancer doesn’t mean a death sentence.
The diagnosis was something I’ve feared for 30 years, when a female
doctor tersely told me I had very diseased breasts and should have them
immediately removed. I had dense breasts with many small benign lumps.
But these lumpy breasts stayed with me for another 31 years. Through
frequent self exams I got used to the feel of my lumps and bumps. In
June of 2006, I detected something new – it was very small and hard. I
made a mental note of it and checked on it weekly, but sometimes I
couldn’t re-locate it. Then, other minor symptoms began to occur.
There was a tugging in that breast and also the outside of the breast
felt slightly itchy. Finally I made an appointment to see my
radiologist. The mammogram showed nothing, but this doctor knew my
history and immediately did an ultra sound which picked up a small
mass. He did a biopsy that day in the office. A few days later I got
his phone call.
I went to the Revlon Breast Cancer Center at UCLA for treatment. The
excellent care I received was only possible because of the many women
and men who have tirelessly raised money to fight for the cure. The
breast cancer movement began in 1982 with the launch of the foundation,
Susan G. Komen for the Cure. You’ve probably heard the story of its
origin – how Susan’s sister, Nancy, began the foundation to fulfill her
sister’s dying wish to fight for a cure to spare other women her fate.
Nancy started a revolution in women’s health. Since 1982, the Komen
foundation has invested more than $1 billion dollars to find a cure.
From this one group, many organizations have sprung up, all fighting
for the cure. A dear friend of mine who has lymphoma said, “All the
other cancers are jealous of breast cancer because of the amazing
amount of dollars raised each year.” It is true that more money is
raised for breast cancer than for any other cancer and more money is
spent per breast cancer patient.
In 1982 there was nothing like the Revlon Breast Cancer Clinic. I
found it with the click of the mouse, after my physician referred me to
the surgeon who’d just performed my husband’s hernia operation!
“Shouldn’t I see a breast cancer surgeon,” I asked? He waved aside my
concerns. “Oh no, not necessary at all,” he said. I raced home and
went on-line to find out what other doctors were covered under my plan.
And there it was – The Revlon Breast Cancer Clinic at UCLA – totally
covered by my plan.
My treatment at The Revlon Breast Cancer Center was one-stop
shopping. I had an entire team working on my case: a female breast
cancer surgeon, a plastic surgeon for re-construction and not only my
own oncologist but a team that she consulted with to determine a course
of treatment. Every doctor was a specialist in their field. Dr. Sara
Hurvitz, my oncologist, whom I deeply admire, is a young woman who is
very warm and accessible Dr. Hurvitz is also a rising star in breast
cancer research and is currently overseeing 5 clinical trials for new
breast cancer drugs.
Before a course of treatment was determined for me, I had a blood
test to determine if I carried the BRCA 2 gene as my sister, Eileen,
does. The genetic testing was available at the UCLA campus. You
could’ve knocked me over with a feather when I learned that I am part
of 5% of the population that carries this gene, and no, it didn’t make
me feel special. We think the mutation came from my father’s side of
the family – the Bina wing. But it’s not as though breast or ovarian
cancer ran rampant through his family. One of my
