In 2016, after the second year in a row with really high platelet and white blood cell counts in her annual medical checkup, she asked twice. The doctors didn't prescribe it. Yokie was too young. She was too Asian. Not enough family history. No symptoms. .. ...
Finally, in 2017, pain. Her doc once again said no mammogram. Normal ageing pains. Yokie forcefully argued for a mammogram. It was straight up awkward.
Finally, they relented. Mammogram.
Finally, they relented. Mammogram.
Results: inconclusive.
First of many inconclusive results. Testing is less scientific and more interpretive that you'd think.
So, a more detailed follow up. We got that notice in the mail. Nice bedside manners.
Here's when you know you're fucked:
you're sitting there with your daughter, wife's been inside radiology way longer than advertised, and who comes to get you? Not your wife. No. First bad sign. Not a Nurse or a Doctor, nope. A fucking Breast Navigator.
A Breast Navigator. That's her title.
A Breast Navigator. That's her title.
Birthed in the bowels of a group in Cambridge, this must have seemed a great idea. Who better to break the news? Certainly not a doctor or nurse. A navigator. .. .. to guide you. . . . .
The only thought you can have when she introduces herself, and takes you to her office, which is like a pink ribbon supernova, is: Cancer. Capital C.
When she takes you there, and then leaves you alone, absentmindedly entertaining your daughter, surrounded by coffee table books lauding the aesthetic beauty of bras, you couldn't be more inundated with the reality of breast cancer. It's palpable.
When she takes you there, and then leaves you alone, absentmindedly entertaining your daughter, surrounded by coffee table books lauding the aesthetic beauty of bras, you couldn't be more inundated with the reality of breast cancer. It's palpable.
Perhaps that's the goal. Carefully choreographed. You'll figure it out... ... Better to just not break the news. No words. Just dunk you in the disease, and leave you to marinate. With your daughter.
Next up was a breast biopsy. . . More waiting. They don't call when they promise. They never do. They call later. Sometimes a day later.
In that day, your family sits around the cell phone, pretending to live.
The radiologist calls. Aggressive, invasive . Both the radiologist and the cancer.
No next steps. Just a dude relaying a note. Like somebody calling to tell you your headlights are on in your driveway. Dude was a bit pissed that I had followup questions. Put off. It was 5pm. He had shit to do. Couldn't wait to get off the phone.
No next steps. Just a dude relaying a note. Like somebody calling to tell you your headlights are on in your driveway. Dude was a bit pissed that I had followup questions. Put off. It was 5pm. He had shit to do. Couldn't wait to get off the phone.
That was June 7th.
48 days later, still no diagnosis.
48 days later, still no diagnosis.