CA 27.29 (Cancerventures Book Excerpt)

“My times are in Your Hands..” 

Psalm 31:15

Most of us don’t know about something in life until we need to know about it. The CA 27.29 Blood Test was one such thing for me.

Cancer.

Need to know now.

CA 27.29 (Cancerventures Book Excerpt)…

… In May of 2018, I had two nerve-wracking cancer appointments scheduled for the same morning. My CA 27.29 blood test was slated for 7:30, followed by my 8:00 appointment with the new surgeon taking over from newly retired Dr. M. 

So, let’s witness the fun. 

Just Ask:  

First, a tip about the lab, the place where all dreaded blood draws are done.  

In a conversation with Joy a couple of weeks before my appointment, I asked if it was possible to have a certain nurse draw my blood for this scary CA 27.29 test.  

Yes, it is! The art of the ask!  

So, I requested that a note be made in my chart, summoning my angel nurse of butterfly needles to do those early 7:30 a.m. honors. 

This angel gets it on the first stick. A 25- gauge butterfly needle (because of my teeny, squirmy veins), administered to the top of my left hand, in the vein right above my wrist bone, and voilà! In and out, little pain, no pin cushion. 

But I initially thought this request of mine was too fussy, even by my standards.  

(In a British accent) “Yes, Alfred, please bring me my personal bloodwork nurse. Have her meet me on the terrace.” 

But no, clinics do comply with such a request. 

The lesson here: when, in doubt, ask. Just ask. You never know what is possible. Maybe you could get your preferred individual instead of being at the mercy of a potential hatchet person. Just ask. 

The Bloody Waiting Before the Bloody Waiting:  

Anyway, the days before my blood test were filled with bargain-y attempts at mental preparation and readying myself for the bad news to visit my life.  

I envisioned cancer spreading. Just how seemed to be the bigger question mark. Cancer could go, seemingly, anywhere; it was the jet setter of disease. I had some issues with my eyesight in the past. Would it land there? I had a chronic muscular-skeletal back problem; would it show up there? What about my liver?  My lungs? My ovaries? My blood? My bones? 

And, of course, let’s not forget my scar site. Would it just camp out there, building bigger cancer campfires, roasting marshmallows on the remaining days of my life? 

Would tumors grow, making my chest even more uncomfortable? I was uncomfortable already. The possibility of Lymphedema was one thing. But what if the discomfort in my chest was, indeed, this full-blown cancer campfire? 

I teetered back and forth between trying not to lurk in that spot for too long. 

But, overall, my predominant thought was this; there was little I could do to change things now. Again, my favorite expression of resignation, “It is what it is.”  

It’s pointless to beat myself up for too much of or not enough of fill in the blank; it still wouldn’t change anything. I have tried to eat well, take care of myself and exercise. I’ve tried to deal with my complicated baggage, personal and family traumas, emotions, and spiritual idiosyncrasies. I’ve tried to overcome; I’ve tried to change. I’m still trying. 

But, since I have lived enough of my life in a troubling mind-set of “It’s not good enough,” I knew there was no such perfection possible.  

None of us can balance life perfectly, for all the talk of moderation and healthy living. That should be an uplifting thought, not one which sends a person nosediving into oblivion. Human beings are vulnerable. Period. Eventually, something, inevitably, breaks down or gets through the protective barrier. If not disease, then an accident, a catastrophe, old age. But something comes.  

We’re not meant to last forever in this temporary shell. 

So, I took an odd comfort in knowing I was already experiencing my test results, long before blood was drawn, and the CA 27.29 specimen was taken to the lab. I just had yet to hear what those results were.  

And hey, I’d already survived “D- Day,” my cancer diagnosis, itself. Some would say that was the worst of it. I don’t know. Part of my dread involved- and still involves- thinking about how much worse things were going to get. 

So, the days leading up to CA 27.29 were spent with me praying (come on, you’d pray too), writing, reading, doing laundry, talking to friends and family, running errands. It was the stuff of life. And that struck me how incognito I could be in my stuff of life. There I was, getting groceries, putting clothes into the dryer, seeing movies with Russell, typing on my laptop and no one was the wiser. Life kept going on, even if I felt stuck in cancer.  

Still, the mischief maker in me kept wanting to scream out, in the middle of an aisle five or a public space somewhere, “Attention: I have cancer and could possibly be dead soon.”   

But I haven’t… yet.  

I say that because, who knows? Maybe one day I’ll be in a theater or a Walmart or a Target and just let it rip. Crazier things have happened. People have yodeled and have gotten marriage proposals in these places. I’m sure my outburst would fit right in. 

About Butterflies…

If you have issues with needles and/or veins like I do, investigate the butterfly needle option. I believe they come in sizes, ranging from 18 to 27- gauge. But the most common appear to be the 21, 23 and 25. I love a 25-gauge needle like nobody’s business.  

So, ask for them. Because they’re used for pediatric patients and more challenging patients (like yours truly), any good clinic or hospital should have them on hand. I haven’t had to order them for myself yet, but, I suppose, if it came to it, I could, through the internet, obtain and supply my own stash for my bloodletting needs.  

“Don’t worry, I’ve brought my own!” I whip them out triumphantly whenever I arrive at the lab. 

Everyone at the clinic would probably talk about me during their lunch hour. They might even name me “Butterfly Lady.” Endearing. 

Drawing Out the Bloody Truth:  

So, the morning of the test arrived. I prepared myself as much as I could. I prayed (you know, the begging kind of prayer). I took my notebook with me to record how things went, to later transfer it into this book here. And, of course, I brought my travel cup filled with my woozy juice to prevent lightheadedness directly after I’m stabbed.  

I attempted to stay present, in the moment (I am so bad at that, still). I had my six- month checkup with a new surgeon I’d be meeting for the first time, promptly at eight a.m., directly following this 7:30 blood draw. I was trying not to get riled up. 

Trying.  

(Hubby) came with me for both appointments. We checked in with the Cancer Care downstairs. They wanted me to get this blood drawn in that lab there. I let the receptionist know my angel nurse was my preferred blood drawing person, if possible. I sat in the waiting area and read to pass the nervous time.  

Fifteen minutes later, “Sheryle?” 

I grabbed my woozy juice and greeted her, expressing my relief she was here, as requested. We strolled into the small blood draw station. 

She asked me, “Do you have a problem sitting? I know you prefer to lie down.”  

There was one regular light blue chair and one recliner-looking option I’ve used in the past. She struggled a bit to pull out the recliner. 

“You know, let’s just go back to a room to have you lie down.”

She took her keys and opened a drawer, getting her supply tray and we walked back into the inner sanctum. We entered an exam room with a hospital bed in it. 

I settled into it, reminding her of my fussy blood draw ways, telling her all about the winning combination of her expertise and a 25-gauge butterfly needle to the top of my left hand. She grabbed the butterfly with its tubing, an alcohol packet, and a cotton ball. 

“Do you mind if I go after this vein instead?” She pointed to a bifurcated squiggle from my original wrist bone vein. It looked like a green river tributary or a diving rod. 

“Whatever gets it on the first stick.” 

“Do you have a busy day? What are you going to do after this?”  

I closed my eyes and looked away, anticipating what’s to come. A little stick follows. 

“Writing. Just so you know, I’m writing about you. When you get a cancer diagnosis, you’re alert to the angels you come across.” 

“Awwwh.” She seems touched. I tried to remain still as blood is flowing, “So are you here all day?” 

“No, just an appointment with my surgeon to check my scar site.”

“Are you okay?” She continued collecting the sample. 

“Yes, I’m fine.” My eyes are still shut. 

She took, I believe, two vials. And within a minute, she put pressure on the top of my hand with the cotton ball. She moved over to the counter to seal and label the vials. 

“Thanks so much. You are the best nurse I’ve experienced with this. Usually, I encounter someone who gets it after the second or third try.” 

(I cannot stress enough how much I love nurses who can get a blood draw on the first stick. To you angels of mercy who make this magic happen, I love you). 

“Do you want tape, or do you want to be wrapped?” 

“Whatever’s easier.” 

“Kids’ Band Aids okay?” 

“Sure.” 

She made her way back over to me with a teal-colored Band Aid. It has yellow Tweety 

Bird heads on it, making different facial expressions. 

“Tweety! I love Tweety!”  

(I really have loved Tweety since I was a child. Again, cute thing).

“Yeah, most kids don’t even know who he is. They just see a bird.”

(Kids these days). 

I sat up and drank my woozy juice. 

“Are you okay?”  

“Yep, I’m fine. This is just precautionary.” 

We gathered our respective things, and she walked me to the swinging doors, back into the waiting area. 

“Have a great day.” 

“Have a great day. Thanks so much.” 

(Hubby) and I went upstairs to wait for my second appointment. 

 Ask for Band Aids.  

From this blood draw episode, I learned another helpful tidbit. I ask for Band Aids whenever possible. The tape nurses wind around the site is okay, but it can get in the way and catch on my clothes. A simple Band Aid, however, is the no muss, no fuss option which just sits there, being a Band Aid…

… The Bloody Results:  

That Tuesday came and went; no news arrived. I was anxious to hear, on the phone, about my test results. I wondered if, indeed, no news meant good news.  

That same day, (Hubby) also dropped Gracie at our vet for an all-day assessment of her health problems. This was one of the loneliest days of my life. Waiting for important news, one way or another. Beyond my own test results, I was filled with sadness for Gracie, my little Freckle Nose.  

The following morning, I called my oncologist’s office and again, requested my test results be mailed to me in hard copy form.  

When I heard back from the nurse later that day, she had good news for me. My results were normal. I was told I was 21. Normal. Normal.  

The nurse informed me what was next was to schedule a three-month follow-up, repeating the CA 27.29, every three months, in fact. I had now graduated into a “Survivorship Plan,” which meant monitoring. I was thankful. I tried to celebrate. But Gracie’s health issues made that celebration difficult. I waited to hear from clinic scheduling about booking that next appointment. 

CA 27.29 Explained:  

So, I was now christened with the distinction of “Survivorship.” The CA 27.29 blood test and its results were a part of that classification.  

Because I could not attend my appointment with my oncologist to discuss my test results, I asked them to be mailed to me instead. A few days after this request, I received an envelope from the clinic. My test results consisted of two pages of readings. I could not make sense of it. The only thing I could decipher was a line clearly marked, “CA 27.29,” next to my number: 21. Beyond that, I was baffled. 

Therefore, I called my oncologist’s office and asked for a translation of these levels. In other words, please explain this to me as a person who has never gone to medical school, was not brilliant with science and biology courses and was even more traumatized by anything related to mathematics (because ninth grade Algebra STILL haunts me). 

I had a wonderful nurse do just that. 

Level with Me:  

First thing: CA 27.29 refers to the cancer antigen. The test measures the presence of this antigen in the blood stream.  

Indeed, Breast cancer cells shed copies of the CA 27.29 into the bloodstream. The more shedding, the higher the number, and the greater probability there is tumor activity going on. 

Every three months, when this blood test is given, the numbers are compared to see if there is any spike, along with any breast symptoms or other body changes, like bone pain. A reading of 0-39 is considered “normal range.” 

Sometimes, like with other test results, there can be a false positive, boosting the reading. If, for instance, a test result showed a result in the 40s, with no breast or body change, the oncologist will order a retest in three weeks or a month, versus the three-month checkpoint, just to further study the findings. 

Like I said, my level was 21 out of 39. Okay, so, for my first round, I was normal. Great.  

But there’s other stuff recorded as well. What about that? 

My Blood’s a Chatty Cathy:  

Yep, there’s an awful lot my blood has to say. I wasn’t getting vitamin deficiencies checked per se. So, what was this other information about? 

Looking at my printed test results, I saw two main headings. The first included levels such as Potassium, Sodium and Creatine. The purpose for studying these results is to determine and monitor my body systems, like my kidney function. The second section of the test results, labelled as Hematology, includes Hemoglobin and Platelet count. This section registers how my immune system and bone marrow are functioning. The optimum is healthy systems working correctly, showing no impairment or infection.  

I suppose this becomes even more important if chemotherapy comes into play. That’s where a lot of talk about cell count, Platelets and infection are scrutinized even more so. Perhaps, because I had specifically not chosen to undergo chemotherapy, I would not be as at-risk for some of the infections and complications. Time will tell. 

Where to From Here?  

With the CA 27.29 blood test, it remains to be seen how things will roll out. I don’t know how long I can hack it. I may decide to stay this course; I may decide to jump ship. I could decide something else, entirely. A woman’s prerogative. But, yes, I am grateful for this first baseline result; I never thought I’d be so happy to be “normal.”  

And, I have a deeper love for Tweety Bird, my good luck Band Aid now.  

This is an option of a cancer treatment plan. Could/should you choose that option? You need to answer that question for yourself. Yes, there are answers found in the blood.  

Therefore, determine how important it is for your blood to speak to you. 

These morning appointments taught me about the monitoring element in breast cancer. There’s a significant amount of that being done, no matter who you are and what you choose to do. Keeping tabs. Keeping a close eye on the situation. These are the new norms, if you so choose, in your treatment approach... 

Copyright © 2025 by Sheryle Cruse