Can a Lump in My Breast Mean Im Pregnant
A pregnant bump and the cancerous lump
The third trimester is usually filled with last-minute preparations. Nesting in the form of preparing baby's room, buying all the last minute items, and being showered by friends and family. Mine was kicked off with a diagnosis of breast cancer.
Earlier in my pregnancy, around 20 weeks, I had noticed a lump on my left breast. Pregnancy changes your body in so many ways, breasts included, so I didn't think much of it. But when the mass seemed to grow and become hard, I finally said something to my OB. My doctor felt the mass and said, "wow, that's pretty big. It's probably nothing but let's send you for further testing to be sure." I had an ultrasound and a biopsy performed that same day. Less than 24 hours later I received a call from a surgical oncologist saying that I had breast cancer.
I was at work at the time and my mind went blank upon hearing the words breast cancer. I had no family history of the disease and was otherwise in great health. My pregnancy had been fairly uneventful, I had not had any nausea and I considered myself lucky for that. I had started to feel a little uncomfortable by the added weight in my third trimester but it wasn't something I complained a lot about. I loved being pregnant. It was a special time and every kick from my baby brought a smile to my face. After my first pregnancy ended in miscarriage, I felt lucky to be pregnant again.
My husband and I had been together for over eight years, married for one when we decided to grow our family. I became pregnant within months and we told all of our friends and family. I couldn't bear the thought of losing another baby. The first trimester dragged on. Then the second began. It wasn't until week 20 when we had the anatomical scan and found out that we were going to have a daughter that I finally felt that I could relax and enjoy my pregnancy.
I was happier than I had ever been in my life. Nothing bothered me. We had recently moved to a new city and I was excited to be starting a family. My doctor had told me that I had placenta previa and would likely need a c-section, but I didn't let it get to me. I had wanted a natural birth but this was out of my control so I just accepted it.
Then cancer came into view. Starting at week 28, my life would revolve around doctor appointments. I had to leave my job because it had become nearly impossible to manage work, pregnancy and cancer. I had recently started pursuing a master's degree but since it was the summer and my due date was around the time of finals I had opted to take a break. That was a lucky coincidence.
I was told that the specific type of breast cancer was called Triple Negative Invasive Ductal Carcinoma, Triple Negative Breast Cancer for short. This was not a common form of breast cancer, only 15–20% of breast cancer patients have it, and it more commonly affected African-American or Hispanic women. I was a white 33-year-old. Triple Negative is an extremely aggressive form of breast cancer and has a higher rate of recurrence than other forms of the disease. Because I was pregnant, I could not go through the extensive testing needed to determine if it had spread. Doctors could only go off of an ultrasound and biopsy. With this information they estimated that I was Stage IIB.
Statistically, 1 in 3000 women receive a breast cancer diagnosis in pregnancy. I drove myself crazy with that statistic. I tried to be strong but the "why me" feeling kept creeping in.
I was presented with a choice: start chemotherapy while pregnant or have a mastectomy. Either way something needed to be done and quickly. My tumor was growing and I could not afford to wait until after the baby was born to take action.
For two weeks, I saw an endless sea of doctors, getting second and third opinions. I drove to nearby cities to see specialists. The consensus was that chemotherapy up front was the best option given the aggressive nature of this form of breast cancer.
Words cannot describe the shear terror I felt in those first few weeks. I was overwhelmed with information and the pressure to make a decision — treatment or surgery while pregnant — kept me up at night. I was told by all of the doctors that chemo would not harm the baby, something about the molecules being too large to pass through the placenta, and that this was the best option. The chemo would aggressively go after the cancer cells and might reduce my surgical needs to a lumpectomy later on. But surgery was imminent.
After countless hours of thought, my husband and I decided that chemotherapy was the best option. I began chemotherapy at 31 weeks pregnant. When I walked into the clinic, I scanned the room and quickly noted that I was the youngest patient by at least 20 years. The other patients looked at me and my pregnant belly with pity. I hated that.
I was told that the chemo would make me nauseous and would also come with a long list of side effects but it varied patient-to-patient so I would not know for sure what to expect until hit with a new symptom. But I would surely lose my hair. When most people think about cancer and chemotherapy, they immediately think of a hairless person. As a young woman, this hit particularly hard. The thought of losing my hair scared me and when it finally started to happen I was hit with so many emotions and a deep depression that I was almost embarrassed to admit.
Then, in week 34 of my pregnancy, I started to bleed. I had known that in the case of a placenta previa, that bleeding was pretty much inevitable. So, on a Sunday night, my husband and I headed to the hospital for what I thought would be a check up and a quick discharge. But after a doctor examined me I was told that our girl would be here in three days. We were shocked but excited to meet our baby. And once she came she brought us more joy than I can put to words.
During my hospital stay I went through a series of tests that revealed that the cancer had not spread beyond my left breast. My husband and I began crying as soon as we heard the words "no evidence of disease." We knew that the next year was going to be hard but we were ready.
One of the most heartbreaking aspects of my diagnosis was the hard reality that I would not be able to breastfeed. Having that bonding time with my child, the ability to provide her with nutrition that came from me, was gone in an instant. I scoured the internet looking for organic formulas and each website began with the judgmental caveat: breast is best. Reading that sent me into a tailspin. It made me angry that that sort of sentiment was out there, because there are so many reasons why a woman may not be able to breastfeed her baby and no one should be judged for that.
In the coming weeks friends, relatives and old classmates reached out to me with kind words, prayers and offerings. Some of these offerings came from new moms who had extra breastmilk that they were willing to donate. I took these offers gratefully and am still moved to tears every time I open my freezer and see the stockpile of frozen milk just waiting to be thawed and consumed by my growing girl.
In the last 11 months I have completed 16 rounds of chemotherapy, had three surgeries and have gone through 17 out of 25 radiation treatments. I have been challenged more both mentally and physically during this time than any other point in my life. But I have also met some incredible people who have gone through cancer treatment and have shown me that life after cancer is a wonder worth fighting for.
While this last year has been harder than anything that has ever happened in my life, I am grateful for so many things. I am grateful to be married to a man who makes me laugh, who challenges me to be better and who will help me out of bed and take me to the bathroom in the middle of the night. I am grateful for the friends and family members who stood by us in our time of need. I am grateful for the women who donated breast milk so that we could give our daughter the vital nutrients she needs to grow big and strong. She is now 9 months old and has given me so much strength in this during this time. She has given me the strength to push on when I feel at my lowest. She is my reason in this mess.
I am now in my last two weeks of radiation treatment and while I am excited to be reaching the end of a very long battle with cancer, I am nervous about this next phase. There are so many uncertainties in my future but one thing is for sure: I will never take another day for granted because I know all too well that nothing in this life is a guarantee. Throughout this experience I have told people that cancer was the best and worst thing that has ever happened to me. Worst for obvious reasons but best because it afforded me the opportunity to be present. Before cancer I was always looking ahead. Planning and stressing over things that were out of my control. This is not to say that I don't feel stress anymore, I do, but I have learned how to better deal with it than I had in the past. Sometimes I just allow the fear to consume me but once it has I move on. Life is too short, too precious and filled with too much possibility to allow fear, hate or anger to win. I'm not perfect, sometimes I cry and sometimes I'm angry that this happened to me. But cancer will not define who I am. I am a wife, a mother, a daughter, a sister and so many other things that I would rather focus on and celebrate.
Can a Lump in My Breast Mean Im Pregnant
Source: https://byrslf.co/pregnancy-and-a-lump-ab7abcefe8af