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I'll never forget the last Monday night of October 1998. My husband of 12 years, Bob, was away on business. I was busy getting our daughter, Brooke, 8, and son, Blake, 7, into the bathtub before their bedtime, when the telephone rang. It was my ob/gyn, Dr. John Messitt.
"Donna," Dr. Messitt said, "How are you doing?"
"Well, I was doing fine before you called," I replied. "But something about the tone of your voice and the time of your call makes me think I'm not fine."
Dr. Messitt sighed and said that they'd discovered something suspicious on the routine mammogram I'd had last Thursday.
I'd been going for yearly mammograms since I'd turned 35, 8 years before. That's because when I was 30, one of my physicians thought she felt something unusual in my left breast during my annual gynecological exam. This discovery terrified me—but a baseline mammogram and subsequent ultrasound detected only a slight calcification. Thankfully, I was told it was just something to keep an eye on. Through the years, nothing had ever changed. Besides, I had no family history of breast cancer, and I was scrupulous about doing monthly self-exams.
Until Dr. Messitt's call, last Thursday's mammogram had faded from my mind. I'd been too busy being involved in my children's school, active in Bible studies, and volunteering, to give it a thought.
I should have been a wreck during my conversation with Dr. Messitt, but he kept me calm, especially when he discovered Bob was out of town. "We don't know what it is yet, Donna. It could be more calcification, but we need a closer look. I'm going to get you in at the hospital for a biopsy this Thursday."
My stomach knotted in fear. How I wished Bob were home! I didn't know what else to do except pray and ask my next-door neighbor and close friend, Laurie, if she could come over. As we talked, I could sense she was nervous. And when Bob called later that night and I told him the news, I heard the fear in his voice.
When we went into the hospital that Thursday, a radiologist and the mammography department manager, Linda, told me they thought I'd be an excellent candidate for a new, less invasive procedure called a core biopsy. Throughout the grueling three-hour procedure, I was awake and able to converse with the medical team, including Linda, who stayed with me much of the time. As we talked, I discovered she was a Christian. Linda held my hand and prayed for me throughout the biopsy.
At 8:00 Saturday morning, the phone rang, and Bob answered it. When he finished the call, I knew the news wasn't good. "That was Dr. Messitt, wasn't it?" I asked. Bob replied, "Yes. It's not great news, Donna, but it's not horrible news. You've been diagnosed with ductal carcinoma in situ (DCIS)—a contained cancerization of the milk ducts. The doctor says the biopsy got it all, but he strongly encourages us to consider some options. He's arranged for us to meet with a surgeon at 11 a.m. today."
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