The day I had been anxiously waiting for finally arrived. It was time for my mammogram and MRI — the first since surgery and radiation treatment. This appointment would give my medical team (and me) a clear picture of how well my body responded to everything: chemotherapy, immunotherapy, surgery, and radiation.
Yes, my surgeon and oncologist had already told me I was cancer-free after surgery. But in my mind, I couldn’t help asking: How do you really know? They saw the cancer before using ultrasound, mammogram, and MRI. So, if none of those tools were used right after surgery, how can you really be sure it’s gone?
I held onto their words and continued my oral chemotherapy, believing what they said—but deep down, I still needed confirmation. I needed those images.
So, let’s dive into how my day went and the results that followed.
Appointment 1: Physical Therapy
My morning started with physical therapy to address the lymphedema in my right arm and hand. The doctor explained that my swelling was mild—actually “rare,” he said—considering I only had three lymph nodes removed. Most of his patients have forty removed.
I laughed and told him, “I’m rare. I’m the exception to everything cancer-related. I get all the side effects no matter how small.”
He performed a gentle lymph drainage massage while showing me how to do it myself. Then he had me practice in front of him to make sure I got the technique right. After measuring me for a custom compression sleeve and glove, I was cleared to go.
I headed back to work for a few hours, counting down to the afternoon appointments.
Appointment 2: Mammogram
Back at Mayo, check-in was smooth — as always. The breast center runs like clockwork. Once I got called back, I answered the usual questions, got undressed, and braced myself.
Now, let me say this: whoever invented the mammogram machine clearly did not have breasts. The Shitty Titty (as I lovingly call it) is still sensitive and doesn’t feel fully healed, and yet here I am — flattening it like a pancake. My face and chin are mashed against the cold machine while my hips and arms twist in ways that would impress a yoga instructor.
Let’s just say, I was beyond relieved when that part was over.
Appointment 3: MRI
With three hours to kill before my MRI, I treated myself to lunch at one of the Mayo Bistros. I ordered a Baja Bowl — absolutely delicious — and could eat one every day.
Since my feet felt pretty good, I took a walk around campus, planting flowers in Pikmin Bloom and listening to a few podcasts. It felt peaceful. After an hour of strolling, I found a cozy spot outside my next appointment, watched a couple of YouTube videos, and waited.
Once called back, it was time for the IV. I always recommend my right arm because the veins are easy to find — but since that arm had lymph nodes removed, they tried the left instead. Poor nurse couldn’t find a thing. She called in backup, and the new nurse came armed with an ultrasound machine. Success!
Then came the fun part — lying face down, booty in the air, arms stretched above my head on the world’s most uncomfortable table. I swear I let out a little gas as I tried to position myself. (Hey, I’m still gassy, and my GI system hasn’t been the same since chemo!)
The tech told me it would take about 20 minutes. Of course, there’s no clock, so I had no concept of time. As the machine started, it made sounds that can only be described as a malfunctioning arcade game. I tried to count the changes in sound to track time — maybe seven cycles in total. Around the tenth deep breath, the tech asked if I was okay. I lied. “Yes.” (No, I was not okay.)
But finally, it was over.
The Results
The next day, the results hit my patient portal. My heart raced as I opened the app. I took a deep breath and began to read:
“No MRI findings of malignancy in the right or left breast.”
“No mammographic findings of malignancy.”
Those were the sweetest words my eyes have ever read.
My cancer is gone.
The war I’ve been fighting for the past year is over.
The mini battles I’ve braved and conquered — done.
Triple Negative Breast Cancer has waved the white flag.
As I finish my final round of oral chemotherapy (and yes, I will finish it), I’m filled with nothing but gratitude. I thank God for guiding every step — for surrounding me with a capable, compassionate medical team, and for giving me the courage to ask questions and make the right decisions for my health.
And I thank God for this body — scarred, strong, and still standing.
I know there’s still work to do. Killing cancer leaves behind pollution, poison, and debris that will take time to clean out. But I’m ready.
This body has carried me through war.
Now, it’s time to help it heal. 🌸
