I don't know yet my stage. According to Laurie (my "Oncology Navigator"), I am not Stage 1. But whether it is 2,3 or 4 is up in the air until tomorrow. For those new to this world as I was, all cancer sucks. Stage 4 cancer sucks the most as that means it has spread to other parts of the body, which decreases the survival odds.
Not that I don't understand that those government issued odds are based on the entire population of women in the United States, it includes senior citizens, women who don't have insurance or access to the top medical professionals, or even nutritious food. It incorporates women who don't follow their doctor's orders as well as those without a strong support system. None of that applies to me. I know if someone collected survival statistics that match my demographic particulars it would be a different number. It is still hard not to keep thinking about "what if I'm Stage 4?"
I also don't know yet when the mastectomy will take place and when chemotherapy will begin. Because the area caught on the mammogram seems large (the MRI I'm doing today will pinpoint the size), they may try to shrink it via chemo then cut it out.
Tomorrow though, my answers to family and friends about what is going on should cease to be: "I don't know." I will be able to start planning accordingly. As much as I've been frustrated of having a week in limbo, there's been a degree of peace in it because other than assembling my medical team and alerting family and friends so they can circle the wagons, nothing I could do. Even when I start to worry about the possibly of it being Stage 4 this past week, I could calm my worries, with a "you don't know that yet."
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