This is the fifth in a series of blog posts about my experiences as a cancer patient and survivor. Before we begin, I want to be clear that all opinions expressed here are my own. Nothing that I say in these posts should be taken as medical advice. If you have any questions or concerns, you need to reach out to a licensed medical professional immediately.
Although I am a wordsmith at heart, this cancer experience has given me a whole new appreciation for numbers. They’re everywhere around me now, and I’m constantly paying attention to this number or that number. Here are just a few of the “numbers”.
Four – There are four types of breast cancer. Mine was invasive ductal carcinoma, which is the most common (something like 70-80% of cases). There’s also ductal carcinoma in situ, metastatic, and inflammatory breast cancer. And if you want to get really specific, you can break it on down from there into the receptor types: estrogen, progesterone, and HER2/neu. My cancer was negative for estrogen, lightly positive for progesterone, and 100% positive for HER2/neu. This is where you will hear women talk about being “triple negative” because they have no receptors associated with their cancer, or being “triple positive” because they have all three.
Five – I will have to take Tamoxifen, a hormone therapy pill, for five years. That’s actually not so bad–a lot of women I’ve talked to have had to take it for ten or fifteen years. Tamoxifen blocks cancer cells from getting the hormones they need to grow.
Twelve – I have to have twelve months of Herceptin therapy. Herceptin is the IV chemo drug that specifically targeted my cancer (and killed it pretty effectively, I might add). So, every three weeks, I go to the cancer center and get hooked up for my infusion. I have six more infusions to go before being proclaimed a free woman!
Twelve is also an important number for me because it represents the goal for my hemoglobin. My numbers have been below for awhile, but they are getting closer every single appointment. I think my last bloodwork had me at 11.6. We’re almost there!
563 – The amount of money I’ve spent on bandages, gauze sponges, Bacitracin, Aquaphor, and silicone tape since my surgery in December (and that doesn’t count the random packages that we’ve bought here and there at the grocery store–these are just the direct expenses from the pharmacy). If I add in the money from Amazon orders (which I had to start doing when Walmart, Walgreens, and CVS were out of supplies) and guesstimate the amount that we spent at the grocery store as well, I’ve spent just under $1,000 on BANDAGES. I’m putting someone at Curity and Band-Aid’s children through college.
1,628 – the number of miles I’ve traveled between here and Owensboro on various visits to my surgeons, the hospital, and physical therapy. This doesn’t count, of course, the trips I’ve made to the hospital and cancer center here in town. Almost every journey has been made with my faithful husband at the steering wheel–I think I’ve only had to make two trips solo this entire journey, and bless him, he sits in the parking lot and patiently waits for me to come out, no matter how long it takes (stupid COVID rules).
91,163.50 – the cost of my current chemotherapy infusion (every three weeks). Herceptin is an expensive drug. I’m extremely grateful for the insurance coverage that I have that has allowed me to have these infusions with the regularity that I have. Just so you know, the full appointment (including blood work and doctor consultation) runs $94,236.20 a visit. That’s $1,130,834.40 by the time I’m done.
$140,959 – the cost of my mastectomy. I had a team of surgeons (four in total, I think–Dr. Kittinger and Dr. Raque, and I *think* Dr. Kittinger’s wife and another surgeon from their practice was there, but I don’t really recall much about what I heard that day. I was a bit groggy). I opted to have my reconstruction done at the same time as my mastectomy, using my own tissue. They were also able to repair two hernias that I had from previous surgeries.
$209,390.55 – the cost of my previous chemotherapy infusions (I had six of these prior to surgery). These infusions included four drugs as well as Benadryl and Pepcid for allergic reactions and nausea medications as well. When you add in the blood work and doctor consultations, those visits were 209,540.55 each, for a grand total of $1,257,243.30.
When this is all finished, I plan to sit down and total everything–every doctor’s visit, scan, and receipt–just to see exactly how expensive this all was. It’s been a lot for my family to process–but we have been so fortunate. I am covered on two insurance policies (my own employer policy and my husband’s employer policy) and I also had an American Fidelity cancer policy. Here’s one last number for you: $276.25. That’s how much I’ve personally paid since June 2020.
God has blessed me. Because I have good insurance, I have received amazing care. Every test my doctor has wanted to perform, insurance has approved. Insurance didn’t have to approve the type of reconstruction I wanted–but they did. In a few days, I’m going to have a MUGA (multigated acquisition) scan done, because the heart echoes we’ve done every three months up to this point can no longer be done thanks to my scar tissue.
What makes me sad is this last number that I am going to give you: 60 percent. Women without insurance are sixty percent more likely to die of breast cancer, once diagnosed. They’re also 2.6 times more likely to be diagnosed with a more advanced form of the disease than insured women, since they are less likely to go to the doctor early (like I did). And that’s why I donated to the Mahr Cancer Center in October–so women without insurance would have more access to mammograms.
I know there’s a lot of noise about different cancer programs and organizations, but I encourage you to consider donating to your local cancer screening program. My early detection has made a process that could have been life-ending something that is just going to be a small bump in the road. I will always be an advocate for others to receive the same quality of care that I have.
Micki Clark is a wife, mother, teacher, and breast cancer survivor. Read more about her cancer journey here: http://micki-clark.com/category/survivor/.