May 28: The Toughest Day Yet
Pre-surgery procedures started in the morning. I woke up early, showered, dressed, blended a protein smoothie, and - for the first time in weeks - took a Xanax. I needed the edge taken off for what was coming.
SCOUT placement
First stop was radiology for SCOUT placement - a tiny tracking device that guides the surgeon to the exact spot of concern. Because I had no visible tumor, accuracy was everything.
I sat in a chair with my breast compressed in a mammogram machine.
Two nurses and a doctor studied the images, debating the perfect locations.
They decided I needed two SCOUTs.
A long, thick needle went in, the machine clamped down again, another image, adjust a millimeter, image, adjust - until both devices were finally in place.
Looking sideways and seeing two huge needles sticking out of my breast was surreal and horrifying. They finished with yet another mammogram to confirm placement. I felt exhausted and it was still first thing in the morning.
Lymph-node mapping with radioactive dye
No breather. We headed straight to nuclear medicine.
I lay on a wide table while the tech chatted calmly, trying to distract me.
The doctor injected radioactive dye right at the edge of my areola. It burned so intensely that I sucked in my breath. He muttered, “If I had told you how bad it hurts, you wouldn’t have let me do it.” He was probably right.
A scanner hovered over me, taking images to pinpoint which lymph nodes were closest to the cancer site.
A small sweet victory
When it was finally over, my husband drove me straight to get a strawberry milkshake - a tiny reward for surviving the morning. We went home, and I spent the rest of the day resting, knowing that tomorrow is the big day.
Surgery is less than twenty-four hours away. I am scared, exhausted, and strangely relieved all at once. One more sleep, and then the real healing can begin.
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