It’s a Numbers Game

 

I'm  healing amazing well; my doctors are quite impressed. I'm just a little sore. And after the first of 4 weekly fill'er-up's, my right boob looks just a bit deflated and a tad bruised, but that's all. After the last fill, it will be a mirror image, a matched set, 2 peas in a pod. Astonishing, huh? If that were the end of the story, I'd be doing cartwheels....or some other similar enthusiastic expression of joy within my realistic set of physical abilities.  

But, to go all Shakespearean on you, "alas, my precarious situation, is engendered by a sense of foreboding." In medicine, we refer to it as a "sense of impending doom." You see, my definitive test results (Oncotype DX Breast Reoccurrence Score), along with an appointment with a renowned oncologist, occur on Halloween....10 days away.  These results will ultimately be read as a number between 1 and 100. If that number is ↓18, then there’s "little to no chemotherapy benefit, as there’s a low risk of distant reoccurrence," and only hormone therapy will entail. If the number is between 18-30, likewise, there is "no substantial chemotherapy benefit, "and again, only hormone therapy will be necessary. 

But if the number is ↑31, the studies have shown that chemo does have a "significant statistical benefit."  And then a new nightmare begins.

 

Interestingly, my plastics MD said my ultimate reconstruction wouldn't be until after about 3 months of the last fill...that works out to about Valentine's Day. My surgeon said if it comes down to getting chemo, it would start about 4 weeks after surgery and last about 12 weeks...which works out, again to Valentine's Day. Either way, I'm gonna need a shit-load of chocolate.

 

So, I wait….and everyday I think about the possibilities, and it terrifies me.