I know a lot of you have heard this whole story of my diagnosis, but I figured I would outline it here for posterity. First things first– how did I even find out that I have cancer? Well, way back in Spring 2018, Greg and/or I felt a little lump in my right breast. Given that Greg's mom is a breast cancer survivor, he was extra vigilant about urging me to check it out. As part of my PhD student health insurance, if I want my medical services to be covered, I have to first go see a doctor at the Columbia University Student Health Center, who then can decide whether to refer me out for care. If any of you have been to a university health center, you may know that you go in with a cough and come out thinking you're pregnant. Not exactly the best kind of service for a goddamn 30-year-old woman.
So, I went to the health center in April 2018 with a little cold, and also because I needed a referral for a dermatologist (when you live 1.5 hours from campus, you try and consolidate a bit). After having to convince the doctor I saw that I indeed needed that dermatology referral, I told her about the little lump and asked whether I should come back for an examination. She told me not to worry and that regular mammograms don't start until age 40. Nor did she examine me or suggest that I set up another appointment. That left me with a pretty bad taste in my mouth, so, amidst planning our wedding and keeping up with PhD stuff, I eventually switched doctors and came back to the health center in July for another little issue, and to have the same mass examined. This second doctor that I saw did a 'manual' exam, and she told me that same lump was perfectly normal, a fibrous node common among women my age. She also told me it may change in size around my period. She did not send me out for any imaging or a mammogram. So, as you do with doctors after they examine you, I trusted her and didn't pay it much mind, especially because she said it may change.
Flash forward to the end of April/beg. of May 2019. Greg and I noticed the lump had gotten noticeably bigger. Despite it being a pretty crazy time at my consulting gig, Greg urged me to go check it out again. Because I have to go through that black hole of a health center, I made an appointment for the first Monday in May. At that appointment, the THIRD Columbia doctor I saw was noticeably concerned about the mass, and referred me out for both imaging/mammogram and for a visit to a breast surgeon right away. I went to do my imaging on Tuesday, and the radiologist there expressed that he was fairly certain that the mass was indeed breast cancer. On Wednesday, my mom had flown up to the city, and her, Greg, and I went to see the breast surgeon, who confirmed the radiologist's suspicions with 99.9% confidence. By Friday, we had the lab data to prove it, and voila! I was diagnosed.
Yes, I'm absolutely enraged that it took me seeing three doctors about the same issue to be referred out for imaging. I am SO deeply disappointed at the care I received at Columbia. When a doctor at one of the best universities in the world tells you you're okay, you trust them. Yes, I wish I was dealing with this a year ago, when the cancer was smaller, and potentially more contained. But alas, that's not how it went. And for now, we just have to move forward. But not without a word of warning, especially to the women in the house- if a doctor ever refuses you a service, ask them to have it noted in your medical chart. You know your body better than anyone.
Now, you may be wondering why it's taking so damn long to actually start treatment. Well, I'll save that for my next post, in which I'll briefly tell you all about a fun little thing called fertility preservation! More tomorrow!
With love,
Val
Val
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