I'm Sorry 2014, But I Can't Wait To See You Go!

You never know going forward into a New Year, what the year will bring, except that at this time last year,  I did know.  Mentally, I wasn't even ready for 2014. Hell, I was still writing 2013 on everything when my breast surgeon dropped the news on my husband and I that I had a very aggressive form of breast cancer and that treatment had to be started immediately if I didn't want to die.   It was January 3, 2014; a day that neither one of us will probably ever forget.  Even though it was a year ago, I still vividly remember the morning that the phone rang way too early, it was 7:30.  I remember the exact feeling in my stomach.  My husband was sitting at the counter, and I remember the conversation we were having when the phone rang.  I had just poured a cup of coffee, the dogs were laying on the kitchen floor praying that I would drop them some food, and I had just wondered aloud when my biopsy results would be back.  I was filled with anxiety, an anxiety that a whole bottle of Xanax and 2 bottles of wine, wouldn't have touched.  My husband was telling me that I was being negative as I tried to explain to him that I "just know".  That was when the phone rang.  The timing couldn't have been better if a movie camera crew had been standing by.  I wasn't really aware of it then, but 7:30 is when the breast surgeons office opens, and I was their first call of the day.

The day that my world turned upside down was a Friday,  the first Friday of the New Year.  I didn't want to hear "The doctor would like to see you immediately!"  And I really didn't want to hear, "Make sure someone comes with you."  Looking back, I wonder, how did I not drop my coffee cup, how did I not pass out right then and there? Those were not the words that would be uttered when a clean biopsy report was sitting in the hands of a breast surgeon.  I can remember having a hard time finding something to wear, and I couldn't seem to get my hair "just right." Who worries about what they're wearing and if every hair is in place when they're about to be told they have cancer?  I did, and it was probably one of the ways that mentally I was preparing myself for the battle that was ahead of me.  When you're at your worst, you have to look your best.  Looking at myself in the mirror before leaving the house, I assured myself that there was no possible way that I could have cancer, I didn't look one bit sick at all, and besides I had things to do.  My husband I were practically newlyweds.  We had only had 9 years together. There were things we wanted to do.  I was running a business, my husband depended on me, we had just opened another location.  (There were now 4 stores.  2 in Pennsylvania, and 2 in Florida, one of which was my responsibility.)  I had two adorable boxers to mother- one of which I was sure would probably collapse instantly if anything were to happen to me.   I've never been to Ireland.  I've never been to Europe....  These were the things that I thought of as we were driving to Winter Park that day.

The mental and physical chaos started that day at about 12:15.  After attaching the "C" word to my identity,   my surgeon pulled out a piece of pink paper with 2 nipples on it and laid out what was to be the next year of my life.  Just like that, here is what 2014 will hold for you. (Really, pink paper with nipples?  Are you kidding me?)  I was later thankful for that piece of paper, because suddenly I had so much to do, that I had no idea where I was supposed to be and when, although I truly grew to hate the sight of it.   That piece of pink paper hung on our refrigerator for most of the year, and I took great pride in crossing things off of my "Cancer To-Do List"  I remember thinking, "Just go!  The sooner you go, the sooner it will be over with."   You're not Marianne anymore, you're a breast cancer patient, and that bothered me more than you could ever imagine.   I had no idea at that point how true that statement was.  Cancer takes over your life and your identity.  Cancer will occupy your mind and your body 24/7.  Blood work. Chest x-rays.  Genetic Testing.  PET scan.  MUGGA Scan. Meet the Oncologist.  Meet the Plastic Surgeon.  Meet the Radiation Oncologist. Port Surgery.  6 rounds of extremely aggressive chemotherapy.  Surgery with horrible expanders (they didn't tell me that!).  33 Radiation Treatments.  Final Reconstruction (6 months after radiation ends...  They didn't tell me that either!)  For a woman without even a primary care doctor, all of this was way too much.  And they never told me how I was supposed to tell my family and friends that the big "C" had invaded my body.  How was I supposed to do that?

The fog created by this flurry of activity was nothing compared to the chemo fog that would soon settle over my brain.  I remember the exact moment that it became real.  I was lying in the hospital bed, waiting to be wheeled into surgery to have my port installed.  I wanted to jump up and run like the wind, this was all a dream.  There was no possible way that this could be happening to me, but I never would have had the nerve to rip all of the IV's out of my body, and the gown that I was wearing, well it had no back. There was no possible way that I was going to make it the whole way home wearing an open back hospital gown, and my mother had my car keys.  I'm weird about anything entering my veins, and very squeamish (or at least I was at that point.).   At 39, they were about to put a line into my chest so that they could pump toxic poison all through my body.  I kept thinking that I had to get out of there before they made a horrible mistake.  I remember looking around the room for a baseball bat, surely if I could just get my hands on a baseball bat, this would all be over.  Did I really think I was going to club my way through the entire nursing staff at Winter Park Hospital and my mother?  This was not happening to me, they had the wrong girl.  Obviously, the drugs they were giving me were good ones.

It became very clear 3 days later when I entered the infusion room for the first time.  I fought it, I really did.  I so badly wanted to be healthy I just wanted to be me again.  I will never forget the smell of that room or that office.  It just didn't smell right. Cancer has a smell.  I've never liked being stuck in bed for a day with a head cold, and now all of a sudden, a wild beast, capable of killing me was raging inside my body an was about to be attacked with a poison capable of knocking an elephant down.  I was going to be sick, and I probably wouldn't feel like myself for a long time, and inevitably, there would be days when I would spend a lot of time in bed (Thank God for the boxers!). That infusion room was a huge dose of reality.  There were bald people all around me.  Some of them looked really bad, but some of them didn't look sick at all.   I'll never forget the young man (he was probably in his early 20's, if even that) that threw up the entire time he was there, and he was so weak that he couldn't even walk out of the room. (Not what you want to see heading into your 1st chemotherapy treatment).   I'm not sure if that was what did it, but seeing that, I promised myself that I wasn't going to be sick, well at least not that sick.  I really thought that I had some kind of control over it, which I didn't.  You don't control cancer, cancer controls you.  The fight to keep everything in my life as normal as possible started at that moment.  My Inner Superwoman kicked in and I vowed to fight back with everything that I had.  This was not going to get the best of me.

And so it started.  The push within myself that previously had been used to make myself go to work when I hadn't had a day off in 6 weeks, and I was so exhausted that I had no idea how I was going to get through the day,  much less drive there in the first place,  was quickly changed into the push that made me get up every morning, get dressed, and put my makeup on.  What a drastic change!  I could so easily push to the back of my head that the entire room was spinning, every bone in my body ached like a had a 104 temperature, and I was so tired that I wasn't sure I could stand.  If I wanted it bad enough, I could somehow manage mascara and clothes that actually matched.  I fought the battle every day for nearly 5 months.  I just kept going.  I felt like crap, but I still fed the dogs almost every morning, and every evening.  I still did laundry, I still went places, and I still attempted to keep the house just as clean as it had always been.  No matter what, when my husband walked through the door at the end of the day, I managed a smile, a smile meant to convince him that yes, I was all right. And somehow, even with the chemo brain fog that took over my life, I managed to do all of the administrative tasks for the business that I was used to doing (and prepare a tax return for 3 businesses for the accountant), although I hated myself for all of the mistakes that I made.  I hated the fog, I hated that I was not as sharp as I was before.  My husband and brother have always teased me for being a dingy blonde, now it was actually true, except that my beautiful blonde hair was gone and this was far worse than any dinginess that I had ever displayed.  I'll never forget the day that I was unable to spell my last name at the pharmacy.  Sure, my mother is still laughing over it, but it was horrible and extremely embarrassing.

Somehow, through the grace of God, the support of my husband, mother & father, friends & family, and my 2 boxers, I made it through those 12, dreadfully long months. There were so many people rooting for me, and there was no way that I could let them down.  I had to do it.  I had to beat cancer! I finished chemo, I had a double mastectomy. I survived saline being pumped (with 2 needles that were longer than my arms) into the 2 bumps where the breasts that God had given me had been for the better part of 25 years. (yes, it definitely felt like an elephant was crushing my chest, but I managed.... not without a few choice words, but I did it!),   I reported 5 days a week for 6 1/2 weeks for radiation.  I smiled at the girls that set me up for radiation every day, even though the pain of lying on that table some days, was way more than I could bear thanks to my the dislocated scapula.  I had nearly 1 year of Herceptin infusions.  I lived through mood swings, night sweats, insomnia, nueropathy, bone pain, fevers, nausea, loosing my hair, my finger nails and my toe nails, and even the loss of my brain.  I did it!

And, throughout it all, I pushed and struggled to get back the body that I had prior to all of this cancer business.  At the end of 9 months of treatment, I found myself feeling like I had just been through a huge war, A very brutal, and bloody war.  I feel scarred, undeniably changed and scarred.  I was, and still am exhausted, and I definitely do not have the strength or the endurance that I had before cancer.  I work to accept the fact that someday, just not today, I will be able to do all of the things that I could do before. The mind is a very powerful thing.  I am grateful every day that my brain functions seem to be returning, and that every day, I do feel just a little bit stronger, but it's just not fast enough.  And I am grateful and blessed that the horrible disease that threatened everything I hold so dear, is gone from my body.    

After all of this, I was shocked that my sense of humor was still intact, how could it remain through all of the ugliness brought on by cancer?  And how was it possible that it was incredibly stronger than it had ever been?  My sense of humor as I went through treatment for breast cancer was my armor.  It kept me from crying, it kept me from being negative, and it kept me from thinking "What if?"  My sense of humor, my smile and my ability to find comical relief in just about everything I endured was what got me through it.  I push myself daily to keep going and not think about the "What ifs" or all of the side effects of the chemo and radiation that are a daily reminder of what I have endured during 2014.  I warrior on.

So, as I think about the end of 2014, and everything that I have lived through, I'm not sad to see it go.  I just can't look back fondly on all of the challenges and pain that we have endured during the last 12 months.  This has undeniably been the most challenging year of my life, and I'm glad that it's ending.  I hope and pray that 2015 is a better year for me and my family, and that we never have to go through this again.

And just for the record... I am sick of pink.

Cancer You've Made Me Cry, Again!

I'm not really sure what it is, or why it is, but since treatment, I don't cry very easily.  But, yesterday, the tears just wouldn't stop. In some ways, cancer has toughened me up a bit.   However, there are certain things that really get to me.

A few weeks back, I was contacted by a dear friend of mine from high school.  While we haven't really kept up with each other over the last 20 years, (yes, it's been that many) my heart really went  out to her when she messaged me several weeks back and told me that her sister had just been diagnosed with breast cancer.  I get a lot of these kinds of messages.  And it never gets any easier.  Every time I hear it, I feel like I'm being punched in the chest, and all of the memories of being diagnosed flood my brain- every single time I hear of a breast cancer diagnosis, I am flooded with these feelings.  I know what it's like.  I understand it.  I get it!  Fear.  Sadness.  Raw emotion.

This message was no different-except for the fact that there was definitely a close connection to this cancer diagnosis.  This was someone that I knew personally.  I feel so strongly that I was spared because God has bigger plans for me.  I don't know what they all are, but I am very strongly compelled to reach out and support other women who have just been diagnosed.  I feel as if my journey was meant to inspire others, and while it's hard for me, and it breaks my heart into tiny little pieces, when people reach out to me, I do my very best to give encouragement and guidance.  Somehow, I just do it, even on days when I think "I just can't!".

I've thought of this woman multiple times a day for the last several weeks.  My prayers have flown for both her and her family.  Cancer is never easy to deal with, and sometimes I think it's actually harder on the family than the patient themselves. But, I could tell she was having a rough time.  For the last couple of days, I haven't been able to get her off mind, and extra prayers flew.  I knew that she was in the hospital, and that there were complications.

Then yesterday, rather late in the day, I see a post that she had passed away yesterday morning.  Nothing could have prepared me for this news.  I couldn't even speak enough to tell my startled husband what was going on.  I had to say it 10 times before he understood what I was saying.  I am heartbroken.

Cancer the sneaky S.O.B. that it is, had snuck into her lungs.

Today, my thoughts and prayers are with her family and all of those people who loved her so much.  She was too young.  Cancer moved too fast.

Now, I am mad at cancer.

I'm Pretty Sure That I'm Being Haunted....

by Erma Bombeck... and although Jen Lancaster doesn't know it, she's helping.  I've come to this conclusion because it seems that every little bit of my day to day existence seems to resemble something from an Erma Bombeck book... (with Jen Lancaster thrown in for good measure!)  I don't have it all figured out yet, but I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to be writing a book....

This morning, as I was sprinting to the laundry room for a pair of jeans and a hoodie (God, it's cold in Florida... I think you hit the wrong button....) I realized something.  Yes, it took several weeks, but by God, I think I've got it.  We recently replaced our solid glass front door with an almost solid wood door to increase the amount of privacy in our home.  When we did this, out of the kindness of my heart, I opened the window blind and curtains in the office at the front of the house so that Duke could still terrorize the UPS guy.  This wouldn't be a big deal, except that the windows go almost to the floor, and face right out onto the street.  Let's just that say that typically when I'm running to the laundry room for jeans, I don't have any jeans on and we can leave it at that....

Last evening, my husband and I returned home to an empty laundry room.  Duke is always waiting for me in the laundry room.... ALWAYS!  Panic sat in as I frantically ran from room to room turning on every light in the house screaming for Duke.  My husband discovered him in the spare bedroom, where he had accidentally shut himself in.  The guilt is overwhelming.  What kind of a boxer mom forgets to close all the doors in the house before she leaves so that her children don't unnecessarily spend the entire day locked in a bedroom?  24 hours later and I'm still upset... and I think Duke is very traumatized.  My poor husband spent the remainder of the evening trying to turn off all of the lights in the house so that we wouldn't have to send an arm and a leg to the electric company.  I know in his mind he was wondering why if I had the time to turn on the light, why didn't I shut it off when I left the room?

In a blink of an eye last week, I literally went from having next to no hair, to 20 inches all over.  This is taking some adjusting.  It's really challenging to close the car door without getting caught in it, and it doesn't always occur to me right away why I can't move my head.  (Hey, I've been through a lot!  Give a girl a break!!) And all through chemo, I couldn't figure out why I had so many handbags that weren't shoulder bags.  So, I bought a couple of new shoulder bags.... and now I remember.  You can't have long hair and carry a shoulder bag, at least not gracefully.  And I strive for "gracefully".

Giving a new car to someone who has frequent moments of "chemo brain" mixed with constant "blonde moments" is a lot like giving a huge fire hose to a 5 foot, 90 pound woman and turning it on full blast all at once.  It's been a week, and I still panic every time the "ECO" drive kicks in and the engine shuts off.   My sales rep told me about it, but I forget to shut off when I get in the car.  I've had at least 15 of the these "OH NO!" moments in the last 7 days.  And moving the gas tank from the right side of the car to the left, what's that all about?  Who came up with that brilliant idea.  It should be a law, all gas tanks should be on the same side of the car.  This would eliminate a lot of confusion at the gas station.  They do stuff like this, just for people like me.  My first trip to the gas station was a real riot...  between not being able to remember which side the tank was on, and then not being able to figure out which way I needed to pull in... let's just say it was a long hour.  The night I brought the car home, hubby and I decided to go for a ride.  I look over and notice that the gas gauge is red and in the E zone.  Since neither one of us have a wallet on us, and we don't really want to walk home, we come back home.  I get up the next morning and start the car up... and wouldn't you know it.... I've got 352 miles to empty.  And here I spent all this time cussing out the dealer for not filling up the tank.   It was full, I just didn't know how to read it.

But, never fear.  I am making progress.  I turned the heat on in the car without having to pull over and get the manual out.  And this morning, I figured out how to turn the seat warmers on.... The little red seat icon on the screen... BRILLIANT!  Gotta hand it to them.  It was a stroke of genius...  I still refuse to hit the parking button... I'm just not ready for a car that can park itself.  I'm not sure I ever will be.

Last week, I cancelled my Hereceptin infusion.  Having a right hand that's completely numb just sucks.  Of course, the doctors assistant calls me, and of course, the current drug that I'm getting has nothing to do with the issues that I'm having.  The drugs that I stopped getting 8 months ago must be causing the problem...  and the high blood pressure, debilitating headaches, and severe anxiety... well there are other excuses for all of this stuff too.  I have an appointment with her tomorrow, so this morning I did my homework.... As I'm reading through the fine print of the Herceptin literature I start noticing that a lot of the "Issues" that I am having, are side effects of this drug.... not the other drugs.   Oh, she's in for a long morning tomorrow.  Here's me worrying about a brain tumor, a stroke from my blood pressure and taking meds for anxiety when they're pumping stuff right into my veins that is causing all of this stuff....  What's the matter with this picture?  There's gotta be some humor in this situation too... I just haven't located it yet... maybe if I didn't have a splitting headache....

I'd Like A Redo, Please!

I  have some business to clean up before going to my regularly scheduled blog post.  I have not been blogging much- there are 2 very good explanations for this.  The most pressing reason is that I have developed peripheral nueropathy in my right and left hands.  I am having a very hard time typing (and doing a lot of other things that require hand coordination) and it's making crazy.  The second reason is that I am swamped with work related stuff, and just don't seem to have a lot of spare time on my hands.

Now that my excuses have been made... an update from Life After BC.


At some point last week, I decided I wanted a re-do of my 40th birthday.  Yes, you read right.  I wanted to re-do my 40th birthday.  (I know, most people don't even embrace 40 once, who the heck would want to do it twice?)  I really had this day built up in my head- as I should have.  39 was a rough year for me, and I had a lot to celebrate.  But fate intervened and a whole bunch of other crap went on that other than my "girls day out" made my birthday really crappy.  I wasn't in a very good place mentally, I was scared to death of radiation, and just feeling out of place in general.  I know it sounds silly, but I really wanted to turn 40 looking like myself, not some altered by chemo and cancer version that I don't even recognize when I look in the mirror.   I guess I was expecting fire works, or at the very least some damn sparklers.  But, no.  A shit storm would have been a better description of my 40th birthday.  So, heck- I'm Superwoman.  If I want a redo of my 40th birthday, then by golly a redo I shall have.

I put a lot of thought into this and thought about what was really going to make happy if I were to re-do my 40th.  I decided that it was best to do a whole week, with the 3 month anniversary of my 40th right smack dab in the middle.  The first few days of my 40th birthday, I decided on several different activities that I was going to do that would brighten someone else's day.  Can I tell you, that just felt good?  I was so fortunate to have so many people doing "little things" for me during my treatment, that it was time to pay it forward a little bit.  I've decided that this just needs to be a regular practice in my life. It's so amazing to see people's reactions when you do something totally unexpected for them.  I really think if more people made a habit out of this, there would be just a tad less violence in the world?  Maybe people would smile more?  Just maybe...

In the middle of all of this re-birthday excitement I found myself with a brand new, shiny, white car that I love so much I'd like to sleep in it.  It smells so good in there, and it's sporty and energetic and a lot of fun.  It feels like me.  While I hadn't been planning on a new car, every time I got in my other car, all I could think about was going to chemo treatments.  So for me, this is a fresh start.  And thankfully, I still love looking at it, so I can always find it, and I haven't found myself trying to get into the wrong car....yet.

I did not get a chance to blog about that ridiculous incident.  Let me fill you in if you missed my Facebook post about it.  2 weeks ago, I committed to pulling a sweet little boxer girl from animal services on Tuesday morning on behalf of Florida Boxer Rescue.  Monday night, I decided around 8:00 that there was no way that I could go pick this little girl up without getting her an appropriate collar first. (My brain works in odd ways, and sometimes not at all, but I just have to go with it.)   So, I hopped into the car and went off to the pet store.  I was so pleased with the pretty pink ribbon collar that I picked out that when I came out, I didn't notice that I was getting into the wrong car.  Before you start thinking that I must have been drinking, the car was the same make, model, and color as my car, and it was parked right next to mine.  And... it was unlocked. (And... you should have seen this collar!)  I jumped in and attempted to start it.  No good.  It wasn't until a bunch of little alarms started to sound that I looked around me and realized that I was in a car with a black interior, mine was tan.   OOPS!  I did a quick survey of the area, hopped out of that car, and got the heck out of there.  I won't lie, I looked in my rear view for flashing red and blue lights more than one time.  I laughed the whole way home.  I've never done that before!  Hubby just shook his head.  I can say one thing about this chemo brain nonsense, it definitely makes for some really good stories.

The following morning, I sprung "Izzie" aka Charlotte from the Osceola County Humane society...  What a sweetheart!  She didn't smile until I put her in the car, and then she grinned from ear to ear and didn't stop the whole time she was with me.

I drove her to the Kissimmee airport where we met up with Pilots and Paws- a local group that flies a lot of boxers for Florida Boxer Rescue.  She and I spent about an hour that morning together, and boy did I fall in love with her.  Unfortunately, she had to go, and I hung around while they outfitted her with ear muffs and a harness and strapped her in for flight.  How cool is this?  How many dogs can say they've been flown around in a private plane?

This was my first "official" rescue.  While I've been a volunteer with FBR for nearly 2 years now, I've always stayed behind the scenes doing advertising stuff, and writing the newsletter and holiday letter.  But, this... this was fantastic stuff.  I can't think of a better way to spend a Tuesday morning, can you?  I'll definitely be doing that again!

On the eve of the 3 month anniversary of my 40th birthday (yeah, I know it sounds a little ridiculous), I walked into a salon sporting a barely there pixie cut, and walked out feeling like myself.  Amazing how miracles can happen right?  While I was so disappointed to not be ready for extensions on my actual 40th birthday, I was happier than a pig in mud to have them for the anniversary of this birthday!  I can't think of a better way to say "screw you" cancer, than by feeling absolutely fabulous, and I FEEL FABULOUS!

As my 40th birthday redo week winds to an end....  I really want to say how fortunate I feel to first of all be alive, but cancer free, and basically healthy.  Yeah, I've got some issues (hey, did I just say that?), but believe me, I am working around them.  While I wish that I could say that I am a kid again with no responsibilities,  that's not gonna happen.  I am proud of myself for finding ways to bring joy to my life, which somehow manages to over-ride all the blah of adult responsibilities.

What Doesn't Kill You.... Only Makes You Blonder....

My girl Miranda Lambert said it best... What doesn't kill you, only makes you blonder.  And I found this out this past week.  It may seem silly, but for me, returning to my favorite salon for cut and color was just what this little pixie needed.  I haven't stepped foot into that salon since January of this year when I decided that cancer and chemo weren't going to take my treasured long, blonde locks.  I was.   Maybe it was the stunning "platinum blonde" that found it's way onto my head, or maybe it was the fact that as I walked out of that salon, I realized how far I had come, but I certainly felt stronger and most definitely blonder.  When I got into the car, Miranda Lambert's "Platinum" was blaring from the speakers.  It most definitely was fate.  I was fated to return to my platinum locks, and even though they aren't the "locks" that I started with, I certainly felt more like my old self.

This week has felt like a celebration of how far I have come in this journey.  On Friday, after receiving my 4th to last Herceptin treatment, I returned to the place where it all started.  As I climbed the stairs (I always take the stairs, not because it's convenient, but because I can!) to the 3rd floor where my breast surgeons office is located, I became overwhelmed with anxiety.  You can't really blame a girl.  It was the place where I heard those dreaded words for the 2nd time in a few short weeks, "You have cancer".  I really had to talk myself out of a tizzy, and I chose the landing between the 2nd and the 3rd floor to attempt to rationalize with my overactive imagination.

Me:  You're being silly.
Brain:  I don't think I am.
Me: I'm only here to have my picture taken.
Brain: Yeah, but think about all of the bad stuff that's happened here.
Me: But, nothing bad is gonna happen today.  I really hate how you're always so pessimistic.  I don't think we belong together.  I might need to end this relationship.
Brain: Oh come on, you know I'm right. 
Me:  No, I don't think you are.  How about you shut up and go find somebody else to bother.  You never work when I need you to work anyway.  I've gotta go, I'm gonna be late.  Go away!

Thank goodness I was the only person on those stairs.

By the time I reached Dr. Kemp's door, I had managed to squelch the anxiety and the little voice in my head that calls itself a brain.  Granted, that office had been the place that I had heard bad news on more than one occasion.  But, inside of that office, was one of the doctors who saved my life.  Her positive, assertive, and brash attitude had given me confidence and peace of mind at a time when I was truly fearing for my life.  It was the way that she took control of the situation and told me "I've got this."  And for that, I can always be grateful. If you have to have breast cancer, this is certainly the woman that you want on your team.   While I had many painful experiences in that office (4 biopsies, 2 of which made me utter words worthy of a bar room brawl), I needed to also remember that Dr. Kemp and her staff always did a phenomenal job of putting my mind at ease.  And even on the day that I was tortured in that torture chamber, her nurse Jo managed to make me laugh.  And if I was able to laugh, it must not have been that bad.

And besides, I've never been photographed by a magazine before... so there's that.  Granted, I had to live through breast cancer treatment...

Dr. Kemp is the woman in the middle sporting the Superwoman t-shirt.  And I guess we all kinda do think of her as superwoman.  Here's a woman who spends 90% of her time telling women the worse possible news that they could ever expect to hear, and still manages to maintain a good sense of humor, and always a smile.

After the shoot, I hugged Dr. Kemp and thanked her for the beautiful work that she did removing the cancer and my breasts.  My results are nothing shy of phenomenal.  She just laughed and made me promise her that I wouldn't be running around topless on a nude beach somewhere!  I don't really think she needs to worry about that one!

You Can Stick "No Bra Day" Where The Sun Don't Shine

Before you get the wrong idea, there are a lot of things about "Pink-tober" that seriously resonate with me as a breast cancer survivor.  I am all for awareness, annual mammograms, genetic testing, and breast-exams.  Hey, if early detection can save another woman from enduring what I've endured the last 10 months... I approve 100%.  Pink-tober should most definitely be a celebration of those who have battled breast cancer.   That little pink ribbon means a lot to this survivor, and it's a great way of connecting one woman who has a personal story to another who has been there and done that.  I have many pink ribbons, and I will proudly display each and every one of them.  I am blessed to be a survivor, and more than happy to share my story, or my wisdom and advice from the journey that I have taken.

But, no bra day.  Oh, this one boils my blood.  And I'm not an angry person.  Do you mean to tell me that the above picture is respectful to a breast cancer survivor as a woman who has had her own breasts cut from her body?  I think not.  It's lewd.  It's disgusting.  And it's trivializing the importance of education and awareness.  Running around for 24 hours without a bra on really means nothing in the grand scheme of things, it's just plain old sensationalism.... and this breast cancer survivor hates it.  It accomplishes nothing at all.  This had to have been dreamed up by a man.  I'm sure of it.

Here's what got me started on this rant.... other than the above picture.  The last week, I have been cleaning out my closets and my drawers.  I couldn't help but get a little bit saddened by the fact that I have 2 full drawers of beautiful bras.  I have collected bras like some people collect porcelain figurines over the last 10 years.  There is no color that doesn't appear in those drawers.  I should probably have an insurance policy just for the bras.  If you're anything like me, you've probably noticed that a certain bra can completely change your mood.  For example, I have an adorable bra with black polka dots, and a pink ribbon.  It always cheers me up when I see it.

Several weeks ago, prior to starting radiation, I attempted to put one of my favorite bras on my "post cancer body".  I mainly wanted to see if my new chest was the same size or bigger than my old chest.  I can tell you quite honestly, it was a no-go.  The "breasts" that I am living with, are not in a good place for one of those gorgeous, lacy bras, and most definitely not for an under-wire.  My expanders were placed almost where my original breasts were, but had to be a little bit off to each side because of the need for radiation on my chest wall. (If you've ever wondered what a tissue expander feels like- here's a good analogy:  It's alot like having an entire breast that is as hard and as unforgiving as an under-wire.)

So, while I look completely normal, there is no lacy, sexy bra that's gonna work with these expanders.  I can't wear any of my gorgeous Victoria's Secret's bras. I haven't worn a bra since surgery, and I'm completely comfortable, but I miss my beautiful, lacy bras.  I suppose that once I have my exchange surgery, I'll once again be able to build a whole new collection of wonderfully sexy bras.  But, for the time being, not wearing a bra isn't a statement, it's the only option.  I could wear a sports bra, but that's a little challenging.  Getting one of those suckers off with these expanders is not pretty... comical maybe, but not pretty.  And my skin is still a tad on the dry side from radiation, so having something else rubbing against it, just isn't appealing.  This is much closer to the reality of the situation for a breast cancer survivor.

So, my suggestion is this:  If you'd like to do something to honor the survivors, and those who have lost their lives to this horrible disease.... how about sports bra day?  I'm sure that most of my fellow breast cancer warriors would agree, it's much more in tune with what we're living with on a daily basis.  There is nothing pretty about a mastectomy, and while I joke about getting fabulous new ta-ta's, it's really a serious matter, because nothing about this process has remotely resembled a "boob job."

So, I'm Not Okay With "New Normal"

Today marks 5 months since my chemotherapy ended.  It's a little hard to believe it's been that many months especially since the effects of those wonderful life saving toxins are still present, and boy do they remind me on daily basis.  It's almost as if my body is angry with me for letting them pump that horrific stuff through my veins.  Thank goodness it can't talk to me, because I'm sure it would have the mouth of drunken sailor combined with the mouth of a seriously angry truck driver.  Funny, but I remember last month right around this time looking at my fingers and thinking that the weirdness in my fingernails would probably be gone by the time I hit the 4 month mark.... It was shortly after that that my big toenail decided it was going to fall off.  (Just so you know, toenails grow back seriously quickly... it's incredible, so have faith if you find yourself in the same situation.) Boy, was I wrong.  Today, I'm looking at my fingernails and thinking that if grabbed the clippers and trimmed them, with the exception of 1 nail, my fingernails would look normal.  My eyebrows and eyelashes have also decided to return.  Score 1, or maybe 3 for normalcy, right?

...And then there is my brain, or lack thereof.  This is my biggest concern.  Is it ever going to function on a normal level again?  Will I ever be able to recall my date of birth without reaching for my drivers license and wondering, "Hey, who is that long haired blonde?"  Last night, I found myself standing in the middle of the garage with no clue, and I mean "ZILCH" why I was there. I asked Lucy and Duke both, but they weren't talking.  I think they might be starting to get a little concerned.  I still start doing things and forget what I'm doing.  I guess that's why at any given point in time, there are always at least 10 windows open in my browsers.  For 3 days now, I've been trying to order that miracle cream from Clinique that's going to make those lines around my eyes disappear.  I still haven't done it, so yes, the lines are still there.  I can't believe that on top of everything else that I'm adjusting to, I have deal with aging too.  Cripes, I'm only 40.

Friday, I saw the oncologist.  I've graduated to the point where I only see her every 9 weeks... hey, it's progress.  I'm just not sure my lack of patience would tolerate me seeing her every 3 weeks, my appointment was at 9:30 and supposed to be the 1st appointment of the day.  It was almost 11 by the time I saw her... I was getting ready to stick my head out of door and yell "Hey, anybody out there?".  I can't help but think that being that they are a cancer office, they should be able to appreciate just how precious time really is....  I seriously had to pee (yes, this is an ongoing problem with me...) and I was out of coffee.  I should just take a whole carafe of it when I have to see her, and maybe lacing it with something a little stronger is not such a bad idea either.  I had a long discussion with her about my brain, and it's refusal to cooperate on a normal level.  She laughed at me and said that I'm being too hard on myself, it's only been 5 months since chemo ended... I certainly hope that we're not still having these conversations 5 years from now.  On a very positive note, she mentioned that she spent a lot of time reviewing my pathology report (slow, and boring weekend at the lake, maybe?) and I am definitely not ER positive.  So, there will be NO TAMOXIFEN for this gal.  Woopie.  I was prepared to do battle on that one.

So, all along I have told myself that I have to accept the "new normal".  Then the other day, I was reading a post by another breast cancer survivor.  She raised a very valid point about new normal.  Does saying that I am okay with the new normal mean that I am settling, and accepting things the way they are?  So, I've been thinking about this in the way that someone who is mentally impaired thinks about something...  And the more I think, the more I realize that I AM NOT OKAY WITH NEW NORMAL.  While I have no desire to live so much in the future that I miss what's going on now, I realize that I am not okay with certain things the way that they are now, and rather than saying I'm okay with it, I need to take action and make plans to change the things that I cannot live with.  There are things that I know that I cannot change- I can't change the fact that I had cancer, and that I will always be at risk for an occurrence. Pet scans, and blood work will be a part of my life, for the rest of my life.  But, I am not willing to accept this fuzzy, uncooperative brain, and I'm not willing to accept the side effects of the cancer treatment that are bothering me.  It's time to take action and fix this situation.  I am a take charge kind of person, and I've never "settled" for things, why should I start at 40?  I mean come on, I kicked cancer's ass... I can kick the side effects of cancer treatment, right?

And that folks, Is A Wrap!

Well, I'm done...  (Yep, stick a fork in me, I am definitely done!)  Today was the day that I have been looking forward to for the last 6 weeks, the last day of radiation.  I was a little sad to arrive at radiation today to find out that 2 of the members of my radiation team were at some kind of training and were not going to be there for my last day!  But, hats off to Melodee and Darlene who did a fantastic job of whomping it up as I jumped up from the table for the last time!

I was excited to head to radiation today sporting this absolutely fantastic "Superwoman" t-shirt which was a surprise from my chemo angel... it arrived Saturday and I waited all weekend to wear it today!  And I had wonderful pink bracelets- one for each arm from my best gal pal, and my wonderful cousin!  So, I was feeling pretty special as I headed off for one last zap!  I think that Lucy and Duke were happy to hear that this would be the last time that I headed off for radiation too... even though I'm not usually gone that long!

Almost a Cancer Milestone

I got a little choked up driving to radiation this morning.  I am probably way too sentimental.

Today was my next to last radiation treatment.  Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled that I am almost done, but at the same time, I've really enjoyed my radiation team.  I actually look forward to seeing my radiation "angels".   32 times I've walked into that hallway, and said "Morning, Miss Mel" (yes, ya all remember Miss Mel of the "I've never seen anything like that" fiasco) as I was either coming or going.  I am most certainly going to miss my chats with that gang, and will probably find myself stopping in to see them every once in a blue moon.  (I hope that by entering the hallowed halls of the radiation department, I'm not tempting fate...)

So what's next for this feisty little blonde?  Well, I've been studying to take the Florida Real Estate Licensing exam.   I had a goal.  The goal was to be ready to take the exam by the time that radiation was over.  But, as usual, I didn't really factor in the fact that somewhere along the way in this caner journey, I suffered a brain injury or a loss of my mind.  I've been working on this since June, and I was skipping along at a pretty good pace. I was really pretty proud of myself, acing chapter exams like a true scholar! But, then I started to notice that my brain was holding the information, but only for a week after I had studied it, and when I would go back and do those chapter exams, I was flunking them.  It's like it's all new information.   Shit!  Now what?  I don't have that answer, but I'm getting frustrated that my brain isn't ready to play ball.  I'm going to have to figure out a new way to study the information and see if that helps.  

I have noticed that while I'm okay doing things that I already knew how to do, that sometimes I have serious challenges learning new things.  For example, the other day, I found an instructional yoga move that is supposed to be good for breast cancer patients.  I printed it out, and bribed the dogs with bully sticks so that I could lie down on the floor without becoming a jungle gym for boxers.  I grabbed my glasses and the instructions and hit the floor.  That's where it got messy.  I read, reread, and looked at the picture 10 times and I couldn't for the life of me figure out how I was going to accomplish what the person in the pictures was doing.  After about 20 minutes, and several words that I won't repeat here, I gave up.  I mean seriously, shouldn't a yoga pose designed for cancer patients take chemo brain into consideration?  2 days later, I was cleaning up the bedroom and picked up the paper again, intending to toss it in the trash.  Frustrated that something had gotten the better of me, I read it again.  I swear to you, balloons and streamers fell from my kitchen ceiling.  Bells rang!  Lights flashed!  You have got to be kidding me.  How is it that 2 days ago, I read that over and over, and couldn't make it happen?  But, now it's seems simpler that coloring in a circle with a crayon.  

And I know I've blogged about my attention span, but I'll tell you again about what's going on with that just because I like making people laugh, and this story had my physical therapist in tears.  Earlier this week, I decided that I should probably do some laundry.  So, I grabbed the clothes that were laying on the bathroom floor and walked them to the washer.  On my way back to the bedroom to get the rest of the dirty clothes, I noticed that there were dirty dishes in the sink.  Crap, let me just stick them in the dishwasher.  It's that very moment that washing machine dings to remind me that the door is open.  So, I stop with the dishes, and go back into the bedroom for the dirty clothes.  On my way back through the kitchen, I notice that something has been spilled on the floor, so I go for the mop.  Again, the bell chimes on the washer. I abandon the mop.  I walk back into the laundry room, throw the clothes into the washer, and remember about the dirty dishes in the sink.  Walk back into the kitchen, open the dishwasher and start to put the clean dishes away.  And there's the bell on the washer again.  Did I really not turn that on?  Back into the laundry room, but why is the mop out?  Oh, I remember.  Start mopping up the floor and remember that I need to turn the washing machine on.   Finally get the washing machine turned on, and wonder if I remembered to throw the little soap thing in?  Pick up the mop, and start cleaning up the floor when I notice that the dishwasher is open.  Why is the dishwasher open?  And crap there are dirty dishes still in the sink.  And mys husband wonders what I do all day?  Seriously?  When I look at moments like these, I wonder if I am being haunted by the great Erma Bombeck?

I seriously hope that this is going to get better....

I am off to plant the plants that are sitting next to my driveway.  Apparently, I bought them several weeks ago (according to the receipt from Lowe's) but have neglected to plant them.

Take It Back... Or Else

WARNING: THIS POST IS NOT LIKE THE USUAL, FUNNY, WITTY BLOG POSTS THAT I HAVE PREVIOUSLY POSTED.  I'M A LITTLE ANGRY, NOT AT CANCER, BUT AT THE SERIOUS AMOUNTS OF INSENSITIVITY THAT WERE EXPRESSED TO ME THE OTHER DAY, AND I HAVE TO VENT, BECAUSE THE DOCTORS SAY THAT I SHOULD AVOID STRESS AND THAT I SHOULD'T  HOLD THINGS IN, BECAUSE IT ISN'T GOOD FOR ME...  I HAVE COOLED DOWN FOR A FEW DAYS.... HOWEVER, I AM STILL A TAD MAD.

Maybe I'm being too sensitive, but I don't think I am.  Granted, I will admit that I am probably a tad more sensitive than what I was pre-cancer.  I am also probably a hormonal mess (thank you cancer drugs) however, I think it is very insensitive to be critical of the way that other people deal with challenging situations.

In case you've missed any of the saga that has been my life for the last 10 months let me sum it up for you:  I went for what I thought was going to a completely unnecessary mammogram a year ago December 16.  It turned into something completely different.  I was informed by a pimply faced, Doogie Houser type that I definitely had cancer before I could even plant my body in a chair.  All of this was followed by blood work, multiple biopsies, an MRI (that I was sure I wasn't going to live through), another biopsy (that I almost didn't live through), a Pet Scan, Chest x-rays, an echo cardiogram, surgery to install a port... and all of this was before chemo even started.  I had 6 rounds of chemo and spent the next 4 months of my life feeling like I had the flu, A REALLY HORRIFIC FLU.  I lost my hair, my mind, 2 toe nails, and nearly lost 10 fingernails.  My bones hurt so bad that I feared that by the time chemo was over that they would have completely disintegrated.  My hands and feet were swollen and the feeling in them was starting to disappear.  On top of all of this, I couldn't sleep, and food that was good for me tasted like crap.

Just when I was starting to feel like a normal human being again for the 1st time in almost 6 months, it was time for surgery.... Here we go again, right?  We all remember how much fun I had with that.  Can I tell you that I haven't had a decent nights sleep since all of this started (in December of last year, mind you).  Then came the fills and the fun... elephants on your chest, oh yes please!  The elephants had just started to go away when radiation started.  (I'm starting to see a pattern here.  Every time I start to feel normal, the torture starts all over again.)    Almost 6 weeks later, the elephants are back along with sharp, pulling sensations that scream across my chest at least a hundred times a day.  And I know I haven't mentioned it, but I'm so tired!  I am pretty sure that I could sleep for 3 or 4 days without ever waking up.  (I was driving home from somewhere today at noon, and almost fell asleep at a red light- I never know when it's going to hit,!  Not good.)

I've handled all of this pretty well, or at least I think I have, that's what they tell me anyway!  I stared death in the face, yes, I could have died.  I didn't.... and I'm not going to, well at least not any time in the near future.  I've managed to face chemo, surgery, and radiation  with a smile on my face, and a sense of humor that has kept all of my service providers, my family, and my friends entertained for the last 10 months.  I've stayed positive (even though at times it was challenging as hell), and believe me, looked forward to the day when all of this cancer business was over.  I have longed for my "normal" life for the last 10 months, and have done everything "normal" that I have physically been able to do.  The laundry has always been done, the house has always been cleaned, there has always been food in the refrigerator, and I have continued to do all of the purchasing, logistics, payroll and taxes for the business (which I can assure you was not without it's challenges)!

So, when someone tells me 3 days ago that it's time to move on, not "dwell" on it, that everything is back to normal, just because the cancer is gone, I wanted to jump on an airplane and personally choke that "someone".   (Can you seriously be that insensitive?)  Oh, but wait, I can't because I still have radiation, physical therapy, and Herceptin infusions to go to, and I probably won't make it through airport security because I have magnets in my chest.... and I have not yet been cleared to fly, yeah, there's that.  I am so glad that everything is back to normal.

OH
MY
GOSH!

I wish it were that simple.  In a lot of ways, I wish that everything could return to normal, I would probably kill for most everything to be just the way that it was on this day a year ago. Believe me, I never would have chosen this for myself had I been given a choice.  I had hair on my head, I didn't have raging headaches 24/7, and my whole chest didn't scream every time I moved.  I could sleep without waking up every 30 minutes to try to get comfortable. I could go out in the sun without feeling like I was going to pass out. I had toenails.  And most importantly, I wasn't constantly exhausted, out of breath, and trying to figure out what the heck I was doing; I could start a sentence and finish it.  I could snuggle up next to my husband, or my dogs without being in serious amounts of pain. I didn't have to consult with a physician to get approval before jumping on a plane. So while all of that sounds wonderful, instead I will be be finishing radiation, going for yet another PET scan, going back to see the plastic surgeon, finishing physical therapy, having another echo cardiogram, seeing the oncologist, and having another Herceptin infusion.  Just for the record, it's not really what I "want" to be doing, but I don't really have much of a choice.  So, if by finishing out the recommended, and prescribed course of treatment, I am "DWELLING" on cancer, so be it.

 I have accepted that my life will never be like it was before cancer, (and I've grown enough spiritually to accept that), cancer will always be a part of me, of who I am.  I will always have to return to oncologists offices, I will always be getting blood work done, and having pet scans.  While I can't wave a magic wand and make everything "normal" again, I am taking the necessary steps to move towards a "new normal" at the earliest possible moment.

Oh, and one more thing.  Believe me when I say, there is nothing "FREE" about my boob job.  Trust me.

It Was Such A "NON" Thing...

Despite my very best efforts to be tough going through radiation treatment, I have my moments where it's just a tad too much.  My brain, which only picks select moments to work, sometimes doesn't pick the right moments to work.  Yesterday was the perfect example of this.

Let me start at the beginning of this story so you know what I'm talking about.  4 weeks ago, in the early days of my radiation saga (hmmm.... calling it the radiation saga kind of makes it seem glamorous!)  a bright purple vein appeared on my chest (which was not very glamorous!).  It started on the left side, directly above my heart and ran across my breastbone to my right breast where it looked like a balloon full of purple ink had exploded.  It caused no discomfort, but just didn't look quite right.  So, I mentioned it to the doctor who did not brush it off, but said that he was "okay" with it and "not concerned".  Hey, who am I to question, while being a feisty cancer warrior, I am no doctor?  Just because I've spent countless hours gazing at this monstrosity in the mirror does not mean that it is anything to be worried about.

I am not sure that my lovely team of radiation angels (They are angels, each and every one of them are as sweet and lovely as can be.  Can you tell I love them?) agreed with the doctor, because we've had many conversations about this lovely purple splash across my chest.  Just about everyone, except for the guy that changes the light bulbs at Florida Hospital Cancer Center has had a chance to glance at this phenomenon.  And over and over again, I was told that it was nothing to worry about.  I've gotta admit, I had a hard time accepting that, there is no way that something so freaky looking could be nothing to worry about, right?  

Fast forward to yesterday.  Monday, September 15, 2014.  I report for my normal radiation appointment, and zip right through it despite the fact that I am starting to resemble a seriously overcooked egg- let's just say I am no longer "over easy".  Again, the radiation angels stand over me looking at the purple phenomenon and before I know it, I find myself sporting one of those lovely blue hospital gowns, you know the ones that are "air conditioned" in the back.  At least it was blue.

Enter Nurse Mel and Dr. Dill (who has finally decided to return from what I will just say was way too long of a vacation.), and guess what?  They wanna check out the purple phenomenon.  My heart sinks to my feet, and squeezes itself out of my toes as Dr. Dill tells Nurse Mel to get my plastic surgeon on the phone, and Nurse Mel exclaims "I've never seen anything like that before!".  (Oh yeah, I feel so much better!)  Suddenly my stomach is doing back flips and I've got a headache capable of shutting down an entire city.  OH NO!  SERIOUSLY, THIS CANNOT BE GOOD!

There are some things that should be approached delicately with a cancer patient, and some things that just should never be said.  One of the things that should never be said is "I need you to go now."!  The last time I was told that I needed to "go now", I spent half a day with my boobs in a vice only to be told before I could sit down that I definitely had cancer.  So, I'm a little sensitive about this phrase.  It most certainly does not evoke warm and fuzzy feelings in this cancer patient.

It's important to mention that I seriously had to pee.  The 3 cups of coffee that I had consumed before leaving the house were catching up with me.  But, I was so upset, and needed to find out what was wrong with me before I could take the time to pee- some things just have to wait. So, I jumped in the car, and attempted to back out of my parking space.  It would have been a lot more successful if I had turned the car on and put it into gear, but I was so upset that it took me a few minutes to figure out what was wrong.

The 35 minute drive made my brain kick in and the anxiety got seriously intolerable. Where the heck is the wine when ya need it?

Brain: You know this isn't good.

Me: No shit, Einstein.  Thanks a lot for mentioning that to me.  I hadn't really thought about it.

Brain: This could be really bad.  I mean, really bad.

Me: Yep, already know that. 

Brain: They might have to remove that expander.  Maybe it's infected.

Me: Oh, really?  I never thought of that.  Thanks for mentioning it, I feel a lot better now.

Brain: I'm just trying to help.

Me: And you picked this moment, why?  Funny, when I needed help backing out of a parking space under duress you were nowhere to be found.

Brain: You should be able to back out of a parking space on your own by now.  You're like 40 years old.  Maybe there is something wrong with your heart.

Me: Oh gosh, why didn't I think of that?  Seriously?  Have I told you lately that I hate you?

I decide that maybe if I jump in the fast lane and attempt to drive 90 MPH, my brain will shut off.  I was bound and determined to turn the voices in my head off, or at least turn them down a notch or two.  Weaving in and out of Orlando traffic takes tons of concentration and leaves little room for an over-active imagination.

I arrive at the parking garage in record time, leaving a lot of Orlando drivers dazed and confused as they are not used to seeing vehicles moving over 40 MPH, even on the highway.  It would figure that the parking garage is bursting at the seems,  the only spaces left aren't large enough for a golf cart, and in case you haven't figured it out yet, I do not drive a golf cart.  I zip around corners, tires screeching praying that there isn't anyone coming the other way.  (For some reason, when they built this shiny new parking garage, they forgot to include enough room for 2 way traffic.)  5 floors later, I spot a parking place, or what I thought was a parking space, but no, it was a dead end.  No wonder there's no one parked there.  Seriously?  God intervened at this point, and I spotted a Corolla vacating a parking spot- at the speed of frozen molasses, but vacating none the less.   Breath... GOOSEFRABBA! GOOSEFRABBA! GOOSEFRABBA!

I don't know why I was in hurry.  And I really don't know why I didn't take the time to pee.  I paid for this dearly.  I spent the next 45 minutes wearing a paper shirt that didn't fit quite right and dancing around like a 3 year old while trying to calm myself down.  Enter Dr. Peters just as I was contemplating making a run down the hallway for the bathroom.  "Let's see!"  He didn't have to ask me twice.  He cocks his head to check out the purple phenomenon, and pokes at my right exapander, twice.  He finally says "It's okay, I thought it was going to be much worse!".  I am guessing that the expander responded properly.  I am relieved to hear that this is more than likely caused by tissue and blood vessel regeneration, as the tissue and blood vessels that had been there for the first 39 years of my life had found there way into a hazardous waste pile back in June.

There has been a slight change in plan due to this recent development.  I have 4 more regular radiation treatments left, and then I am scheduled for 5 "BOOST" treatments which were to be aimed at my scars on both breasts.  Seeing as how the right breast is somewhat delicate, we are going to forgo the boost treatments on the right breast so that we don't risk damaging it.  

I spent the evening last night attempting to return my heart to a healthy rate and smothering my upper body with coconut oil which made me irresistible to the boxers....  I cannot stand feeling like me skin is about to crack right in half.

My body just doesn't handle stress well anymore, unfortunately.  I was very thankful last night for my sweet, adoring little boxers who refused to leave my side and my good friend M who most certainly always makes pulling me down off the ladder look very easy!

Thank God yesterday is over with! I hope I never have another Monday like that one ever again!

It's A Lot Like Groundhog Day, The Movie

Well, here I am.  Over 1/2 way through radiation.  I have now had 20 treatments, just 13 more to go.  It feels a lot like the movie, "Groundhog Day".   I just keep doing the same thing over and over, day after day.  Every day for 33 days (with a break on the weekends) at 10:45, strip down, jump up on the table, and try not to pay attention to the burning smell... After all, the smell is in your head and not real.  (Don't ask, I can't explain it!)

But seriously, I'm faring somewhat well with this part of my cancer journey.  My skin, other than a terribly itchy rash covered mess, is holding up quite nicely.  I have adapted a very interesting routine to keep it mending after they hit me every day: aloe, itch relief, aloe, itch relief, aloe, itch relief, and finally a nice paste of salt and baking soda to end out the day.  I get extremely tired every day around 6:00, it's a crazy kind of tired really, sometimes it's all I can do to hold my eyes open any longer.  Other than the tired thing, and the rash thing, the only other problem is that I can't really stand the sun and the heat right now.  I'm assuming that will go away once treatment ends.

I'm having an issue with my brain.  I'm not sure really why I am having these issues.  I can't concentrate on anything, and I don't seem to be accomplishing any of the items on my "to do" list.  It's making me crazy, I am a goal oriented person.  Or at least I was a goal oriented person.  I read something, and 5 minutes later have absolutely no recollection of any of it.   (If you need a partner in crime, I would probably be a good candidate, I'm not gonna remember anything!)  I start doing things, and can't remember what I'm doing.  I really thought chemo brain was gone, obviously it hadn't gone away, it just took a short vacation, and that sucker has returned.

I meant to blog yesterday (but forgot... see what I mean?) because it was my 4 month anniversary of my last mega dose of chemo.  Woo hoo... 4 months!  My body is starting to return to normal- my hair is growing in nicely (although not yet long enough for those extensions that I'm dying for), and my fingernails are almost completely grown out.  I'm having some issues with my eyelashes and eyebrows.  Both hung on the whole way through chemo, I thought I was going to be spared.  Then about a month after chemo ended, I noticed that my usually sparse eyebrows were even more sparse.  They didn't fall out completely, just in places.  Go figure.  I thought that was the end of the hair loss trials, but I was wrong.  2 months ago, I notice that no matter how much mascara I applied, my eyelashes just weren't "popping".... then it dawned on me, they must have decided to fall out too.  Again, I wasn't eyelash-less, they were just really thin.  (That's a funny story, I figured if I couldn't plump up my eyelashes with mascara, I would try applying the fake ones.  After gluing my eye shut about 10 times, and ending up with an eyelash on my nose, I called in the dogs and peed on the fire!)

And this folks, we call progress...

Blonde Moment, Or Chemo Brain?

This is complicated really. Probably too complicated for a brain that belonged to a blonde to begin with.  And definitely too complicated for a chemo brain, but then almost everything is too complicated for a chemo brain!...I've been doing some really bizarre things lately.  I'll never be able to figure out if these somewhat comical moments are caused by lingering chemo brain, or if I should be welcoming the return of my "blonde moments".  Frankly, I had thought the worst of the "chemo brain" was behind me.  I was pretty confident that the hair on my head would hold some of the brain cells in... I seem to be remembering much more (I haven't had to look at my drivers license to remember how to spell my last name in several weeks), and I am relying less and less on the post it notes (thank goodness for that, because I was contributing to a huge growth in sales at 3M all by myself!).

So I am left to wonder, is it chemo brain, or a blonde moment?  Last night, I went to bed with the back door open.  I mean the whole way open.  I had apparently, at some point before retiring let the dogs out, and forgotten to close the door.  I didn't know anything about it until this morning when Lucy jumped out of bed and ran like a crazed boxer straight through the kitchen and out the back door.  I panicked at first, even went as far as to yell, "Lucy, STOP!".  She was running so fast, and I didn't know the door was open, so I was pretty stunned when I didn't hear the sound of a boxer crashing into glass.  Now I'm left to wonder when the "Florida Critters" will start rearing their little heads in my living room.  There is bound to be complete pandemonium, I will be shocked if I do not have at least one frog and one lizard in the house (it wouldn't be the first time!).

I have a real problem with remembering if I closed the garage door (in my defense, my brother also has this same issue, so it's entirely possible that this could be hereditary).  And I worry about it, probably excessively because the door between the house and the garage can open if the pressure shifts and  hits it the right way (I worry that the dogs could get out if the door would blow open!).  Monday, I left the house,  and got the whole way out to the round about when I had that "uh oh" moment.  "Did I, or did I not close the garage door?"  That is the perfect moment to have these nervous breakdowns because I'm already in the roundabout (I swear that roundabouts were invented for people just like me- people who couldn't remember if they turned off the coffee pot, unplugged the iron, or shut the garage door!).  I returned home, and found the door was indeed shut.  But, it mustn't have been very memorable, because I got a mile further than I had originally, when I turned around to check the door for the second time that morning.  I sure hope my neighbors aren't paying attention- they would probably think it's early dementia- frankly I have my concerns.

Yesterday, I drove right past the bank.  Yep, right past it.  Wouldn't have been too bad, except I did it twice.  3rd time's a charm, right?  And my husband wonders why I usually set the GPS no matter where I'm going, it's usually the 1st thing I do when I get in the car, after I figure out where I'm going.  (The only complication with this fix is, I had to shut the voice off because it drives me crazy- YES, YOU CRAZY BITCH, I KNOW I'M SUPPOSED TO TURN THERE.... STOP TELLING ME!  So, if I forget to watch the screen (probability of this is very high...), it's easy to miss the turn.

I searched and searched the other day for my handbag.  I usually put it right on the kitchen counter when I come in the door.  I went back out to the car in the garage at least 3 times- I was a little concerned that I had left it in the buggy at the grocery store.  But, since the car won't start unless the key fob is in the car somewhere, I figured I hadn't done this.  Lucy and Duke sat and watched me like I had gone criminally mad as I ran from room to room, and out to the garage.... I finally found it.... in the refrigerator (I suspect L &D knew it was there all along....).  My husband wonders what I do all day...  Uh, hello!

I put food in the crock pot several days ago.  2 hours later, I could not figure out why the meat did not seem to be defrosting. I thought the crock pot was broken, and transferred the food into crock pot number two.  Why did it not occur to me to check the nob and see if it was turned on?  Sometimes, and only sometimes, food cooks faster when you turn the appliance in charge of cooking the food "ON!".  I'm just sayin.... Take it for what it's worth.

There are definitely more of these kinds of moments, but I'm sure it won't surprise you much to know that even though I know there are more of them, I cannot remember what they are.  I wonder if there are known side effects on the brain from radiation?....

What was I talking about again?

Speaking of which.... today was a milestone radiation day!  I am 1/3 of the way done!  So far so good, my skin is holding up really well- (although I have a rash on my chest that I can't figure out what is causing it.  I suspect the Herceptin might be to blame, because there have been some other weird things going on too!)  It is a tiny bit on the pink side, but I am religious about the aloe and the extra moisturizing cream at night.  I really do not want anything to knock me off schedule!  I need to get this done!

Gotta run, I know there is something I'm supposed to be doing....

Embrace That Inner Pixie, Girl!

 PIXIE: a cheerful mischievous sprite.  

It's kind of a funny thing.  Well, it's funny to me.  Everywhere I go, people are stopping me to tell me that they "love" my haircut.  Nice, right?  Well, as you all know, this isn't really a haircut.  It's the regrowth process that follows hair loss compliments of chemo therapy- at least to me, this is no fashion statement.  I really have no complaints (other than the fact that the growing phase is a little too slow) about this newly found hair on top of my head.  It's amazingly soft, and the color is beautiful and shiny.

When we were having dinner in Georgia, one of the servers came over to our table.  She proceeded to tell my husband and I that she wished that she had the "guts" to go that short.  As she was going on and on about not having the courage to cut her hair as short as mine, I battled with telling her the truth.  I mean here she is thinking that I'm some kind of trail blazing woman trying to make a statement with a super short pixie, and the truth is that I really didn't have a say in the matter.  And honestly, since I'm being super truthful, if I had a choice in the matter, I never would have said good-bye to my long, blonde locks.  The gushing got to the point where I had to tell her- actually she asked me how I found the courage to do it and that was the kicker, the moment of truth I couldn't let her continue to think that I was something that I was not.  I told her that I had just undergone chemo for breast cancer.  And suddenly the babbling stopped, she had no idea what to say to me, her face went white.  I hurriedly smiled and said, "It's all right, I'm gonna live!  I'm cancer free!"

At a gas station 2 hours outside of Atlanta, the owner of the gas station complimented me on my "beautiful hair".  (I looked over my shoulder to see who he was talking to, yes, I'm still getting used to having hair on my head again!)  He proceeded to ask me if I was Scandinavian, and said that I had "amazing cheekbones".  Uh, no!   Again, I battled with the telling him the truth.  And just yesterday as I was cruising the aisles of Ulta looking for miracle products to help my eyelashes (more on that in another post), a women comes up to me and tells me how "darling" my haircut is.  I just said "thank you" and moved on- after all, I was a woman on a mission.

This is a rather award stage for me.  I once again find myself in a position where strangers are curious about me, but for different reasons than the ones that were around a few months ago.  While I think I did a good job of not looking like I was knocking on death's door the whole way through chemo therapy, my bald head was a tell tale sign that I was a cancer patient.  More often than not, I found myself being approached in public places and being asked what kind of cancer I had- I have talked to a lot of cancer survivors in the aisles of Publix and Wal Mart.  Now, I'm being approached because of my "super daring" haircut!

Yesterday, I was leaving the "chemo" room, and I stopped for a quick chat with the gentleman next to me.  I had overheard him telling the chemo nurse that he had lost his wife to breast cancer in 2007.  For the obvious reasons, these are conversations that I find myself wishing to avoid, but I make myself do it, because the cold hard reality of the situation is I could have lost my life to breast cancer and having these conversations makes me realize how fortunate I really am.  I talked with him for a few minutes, and headed out.  As I walked past another patient, she looked at me and said, "You're so lucky you're out of here!"  I chuckled and said that I had paid my dues, been there done that.  She smiled at me and winked and as I turned the corner, I heard the gentleman that  I had spoken with say "Boy, she's a sassy little pixie, isn't she?".  I couldn't have been more touched by the words that I heard next from one of the chemo nurses, "She has been that way the entire time she has been in treatment, and she had one of the toughest breast cancer treatments."  Wow!

So, as I jumped in my car and prepared to head out to radiation,  I wondered what the definition of pixie is.  This morning I looked it up and realized that my hair, however unintentional, is somewhat of a compliment to the attitude that I have embraced throughout this cancer business.  I'm not making any promises that this pixie  (at least the haircut part anyway) will be around for any length of time, but I have made the decision to embrace her- because I truly am a mischievous little sprite with a cheerful attitude!

Sorry, Charlie- I Just Can't Accept That....

Call it women's intuition.

Call it a gut feeling.

Call it whatever you like, somehow I just knew that removing my axillary lymph nodes was going to be a problem.  As I sat in the office of a very pregnant radiation oncologist at the end of May discussing my concerns about radiation and lymphodema, and she assured me that there was no possible way that I could get lymphodema (because I am too thin, too young, too healthy, not diabetic, not a smoker, too active etc, etc, etc,) I had a gut feeling that she was wrong.  Somehow her instincts, or her gut feelings were a bit skewed by all of the hormones racing through her body.

As I raised concerns several times throughout the whole chemotherapy process about the horrible pain in my lymph nodes, I wondered if they weren't going to continue to be a problem.  But, I was told that pain in my lymph nodes during chemo was "normal".  I questioned the swelling throughout chemo in both my feet, my arms, and my hands.  It was all "normal".  Of course, there is no possible way that I could have had a lymphatic system in distress.... nope, not me.  It was not even up for discussion.

All along, I've had a gut feeling about my lymph nodes. (I really need to learn that my gut is pretty smart, and I should start listening to it on a regular basis, and sooner rather than later.).  I could even honestly admit that I have lost sleep over the swelling in my arms- it has concerned me for a very long time.  Maybe part of it is vanity, but more than that, I did not want to accept the limitations that were going to accompany lymphodema.  All along, my plan has been for a full recovery.  I knew that I was going to have to be extremely careful with my arms and hands.  No more manicures, no cuts, burns, stings, etc. to either one of my arms- any one of those things could cause an infection that would activate lymphodema in my arms.  But, there's even more than that with full blown lymphodema.  Being in the sun for long periods of time is completely out of the question, no hot tubs, no saunas, no jewelry on the affected side, no lifting anything over 15 pounds on the affected side.... and it goes on and on.  No, I was not prepared to deal with lingering problems like these.  These things do not fall under the category of "as good as new"....

Several weeks ago, I noticed that swelling in my left arm did not seem to be subsiding- despite the fact that I was doing the "Lymphodema prevention" exercises 3 or more times per day.   And this was at the 6 week mark from surgery.   My gut told me that there was a problem.  I immediately called the surgeons office and asked for a script to see a specialist.  It took me 3 weeks to get in to see a lymphodema therapist.  In the meantime, I've really been stressing about this.  And I'm probably over-reacting.  The swelling is not even that bad.  Unless you're really looking for it, you can't even tell that my arms are swollen.  But, I know it's there.  And this is not a condition that goes away, well not usually.... (I'm told that in very rare occasions, they have had women whose conditions disappeared several months after surgery, and after treatments have subsided.... so there is still hope!  And my radiation oncologist suspects that this is a combination of post-surgery swelling and swelling from the Herceptin treatments.)  There is also no known cure for this condition.

My therapist says my lymphatic system is definitely not functioning properly, but she is holding out hope, that with treatment, one or two of the little suckers left in my arm pit, will wake the heck up and start doing their jobs.  Yesterday was bad.  She did therapy on me and then proceeded to wrap my arm in 4 layers of stuff.  As I was making another appointment, trying not to look at my huge Michelan man arm, I noticed that my fingers were turning purple.  "MOVE EM!", she said.  I tried, I honestly did.  I wiggled em, and moved em like crazy, but it was getting worse, and the numbness was shooting the whole way up my arm.  So, as I was sitting in traffic, I was ripping off 4 layers of gauze.  I knew that wasn't going to last.

I'm sure it will come as no surprise that I have done a ton of research and reading on lymphodema.  I refuse to accept that this condition cannot be well managed, without huge changes in my every day routines.  (I just can't imagine never being able to soak in a hot tub again, I mean really?)  Actually, while I'm being truthful, I refuse to believe that this condition is really lymphodema and not just some post-surgical swelling with a little bit of a bad reaction to the Herceptin thrown in there just for good measure.  If it were truly lymphodema, the swelling would not subside with elevation... or so I am told.

So what are my options, and what can I do?  Well, if I had a horrible diet filled with tons of sugary and processed foods, I could eliminate those, but I already did that.  Supposedly berries (blueberries, raspberries, blackberries) are very good at stimulating the lymph system (so I've upped the intake of those), potassium is good- enter more bananas.  I have learned how to breath differently, I breath in through my nose while pushing my stomach out, and exhale while contracting my stomach muscles (that took a ton of practice!).... And supposedly one of the best forms of exercise for stimulating the lymphatic system- is jumping on a trampoline.  We did not have one of those.... but I found a very small one (46") that arrived this afternoon.  (I will be enlisting the help of 2 boxer dogs later this evening!)  Hopefully, I will be jumping in no time flat... I think I am gonna enjoy that.

This is what I am up against.  And I would be lying if I said that I am not frustrated with this situation.  I am more frustrated than anything that my physicians (3 of them) cannot seem to agree on what this is.  Are they just unwilling to admit that they were wrong?  Or do they just not know?  Maybe they're unwilling to admit that the Herceptin is so toxic that it's causing this horrible reaction?  I have no idea.  What I do know is that I am unwilling to accept that this is going to alter the way that I live my life.  I did not just go through hell to not be able to do any of the things that I like to do.  I'm just not okay with that... so If I have to jump for 45 minutes a day while sipping on blueberry-raspberry-blackberry-banana juice, breathing in through my nose and pushing out my stomach, and exhaling and sucking it in.... well then SO BE IT!

2 Down... 31 To Go!

Yes, I am counting it down.

Yes, I am ready to be finished with all of this.

So, I have had 2 of 33 radiation treatments.  The first one, nerve wise, was the worst.  I've always said that I can deal with things when I know what to expect, but not knowing what I'm getting myself into freaks me out a little bit. I was a nervous wreck walking in there on Wednesday.  I think if I'm to be honest with myself, this has just been an emotional week.

I'm going to try to take a picture today of the radiation machine, if they'll let me.  It's really not what I was expecting.  It looks a lot like a giant MRI machine, but with arms, and without the tube part.  Okay, it looks nothing like an MRI machine.   There is a big round arm that has little metal panels inside of it that move into different shapes.  It hovers over top of me, and buzzes.  I think that's the radiation.  When it's done with that spot, it moves around to the next spot.   They are radiating both of my breasts, my chest wall, my throat and both arm pits (because the cancer had spread to both sides.).  All said, I'm in and out of there pretty quick.  20 minutes tops.  I spend more time battling the stupid Orlando drivers there and back than I actually do there.

So, far the only thing that I'm noticing is that my entire chest feels really hot for several hours after treatment.  I am not burned so far- but there have only been 2 treatments.  I bought a pure aloe spray yesterday, and am spraying the entire area that they are radiating 3 times a day after treatment.  Honestly, the cold feels really good.

Yesterday I went for what should be my next to last Echo-cardiogram.  It's the first one I've had since my tissue expanders were placed, and she had a little bit of a hard time getting to my heart around those babies.  They are checking to make sure that the Herceptin is not doing damage to my heart.  Maybe I'm reading too much into this, but this is the first time she hasn't said to me "All good!" when she was done.  I've had the same girl every time I've been there.  I'll be nervous about that until the doctors office calls me with results, and they may not even call knowing that I will be there next Friday, but since I'm not seeing the doctor, maybe they will call.

Thursday I went to see a physical therapist.  I have a few post-surgery issues that I think need to be addressed.   I am not the kind of person that is just willing to accept things as they are because someone tells me that I have to.   I have a lot of swelling in my left arm- it comes and it goes.  Some days, it doesn't bother me at all.  I personally think it's the Herceptin, because it follows the same pattern every round, but because they took my lymph nodes out, lymphedema is a concern.  (A concern that I was told I didn't need to have- I'm not sure that's true.)  The other issue is my displaced clavicle.  The therapist could not believe that they are just planning to leave it that way- actually I was told "You'll have to live with that!"  She thinks that she can gradually work that back into place... for which I would be forever grateful.  To the untrained eye, it would be un-noticeable that I favor this left side- but I know it's a little off, and that bothers me.  So, we are going to work on that.

And that folks, is the update from the Breast Cancer Fighting arena.  I am off for round 3 of radiation, but first I am going to sit on the porch, with my coffee, and watch the incredible storm rolling in.

Rest, Relaxation, and A Complete Meltdown!

I know.  I have been missing in action for more than a week.  But, I have a lot of good excuses.  Seriously, I do.  It's been a very busy 10 days.

The week of August 3rd, Rob and I took the dogs and headed up to the Georgia mountains for a little- oh heck- strike that- A LOT of rest and relaxation.  We had an overabundance of peace, even though his cell phone still worked there.  (I will admit, I had secret thoughts about throwing that damn thing in the creek and pretending that I didn't know anything about it.  Lucy and Duke were no help, they're both past the point of chewing on things that they aren't supposed to be chewing on.  I secretly prayed that a little boxer mischievousness would come over Lucy, but it wasn't meant to be!)

We rented a cabin, in the woods on a creek in Blue Ridge, Georgia.  It was heaven on earth. (Doesn't it just scream come on in and curl up by the fire with a boxer?) And the Georgia mountains are absolutely fabulous.  Nothing but blue sky and tons of green trees for as far as you can possibly see.  I've never been in the Georgia mountains before, so I was completely blown away by how spectacular the skylines really are.  We just don't see miles and miles of green here in Florida.  And there are certainly no hills covered in green trees.  I am a Pennsylvania girl- a country girl- I miss the trees and the amazing hillsides.

We sat on the deck with Lucy & Duke every morning drinking coffee and listening to the creek.  Duke and I ventured down the hill a couple of mornings to collect twigs to build fires at night.  All I wanted was to roast a marshmallow or two, but somehow that never happened (maybe it was the little voice in my head that kept saying a marshmallow does not fall under the category of clean eating!).  The fires did happen, and they were amazing.  What is it about the smell, and the sound of a camp fire that just takes you back?  I guess I grew up around a bonfire, so no matter how far from the country this little girl gets- it will always be a part of me, and something that I enjoy immensely!  I was very happy to see that my fire building skills are still intact!  Yes, I was a Girl Scout.

The dogs were in 7th Heaven, and I was overjoyed to have them with us.  It's always the dogs that make me eager to return home from vacation- I always miss them so much when we're away, so it meant a lot to me to have them on vacation with us.  And Lucy, positively loved playing in the creek. (Duke was only willing to dip a toe in.  Shh... I didn't tell anybody that!) I was so proud of her- she did so well off leash.  Of course, Duke has always done well off leash- he is stuck to his mama like glue no matter where we go!  That boy isn't going anywhere where he can't see me.

I seriously could have stayed in Georgia.   Did you know that Georgia is in the wine business?  We didn't, but they are, and they are very good at it too!  Yes, I'm admitting to the fact that we drank way too much wine in the 5 days we were in Georgia.  We didn't eat any peaches, but we did have a cantaloupe that was as sweet as the ones my Grandad used to grow- that really took me back.  And the day that we bought the cantaloupe would have been his birthday- I think he would have really liked that.  He was always so proud of his melons.

We got home late on Thursday night- you can shorten a 9 hour drive considerably when you go 95 miles per hour.  I was thankful that none of the many state boys along side the road nabbed me, but radar detectors help a lot with that.  Friday was catch up day.  Why is that when I leave for 5 days, there are 30 messages on the voicemail, and 200 faxes that require my immediate attention?  It was just such a switch from the calm that I had just left.  All of the paper made me want to scream.  I would have loved to just stand over the trash can with it and pitch but that would have been a disaster of epic proportions.

Saturday was my birthday day with my 2 best gal pals.  I started the morning off with a trip to the Woodhouse Day Spa.  I had the most heavenly detox wrap.  (Of course, I was seriously in need of being detoxed... between the chemotherapy and all of the wine I drank in Georgia, my body was reeling from the shock!)  We followed our trip to the day spa with a long, girls lunch at Seasons 52, right on the water.  It was beautiful- until a storm of hurricane like proportions moved in and we were stranded.  (I'm guilty, it was all my fault.  I took the convertible thinking it was a great day for a ride with the top down.  And it never fails to rain when I have those kinds of thoughts!)  Lunch was amazing, and I had a blast with the girls.  I felt so spoiled and pampered- and blessed to have 2 friends who went to epic proportions to make me feel incredibly special.

Monday I reported to Florida Hospital for my radiation films- it was the appointment that had hung over my head the entire time I was on vacation.  It was my first time in the big, scary radiation machine.  While the process itself was not intimidating- it was just like getting an x-ray, the marks that they left all over my body really freaked me out.  I didn't know how bad it was until I got home and looked in the mirror to see my entire chest and throat covered in black and red marks.  I guess that up until this point, I just didn't know how much radiation I was going to be getting.  It seriously messed with my head.  I immediately grabbed a washcloth and a bar of soap and started scrubbing, but no matter how much I scrubbed, the image stayed in my mind.  Two days later, it's still there even though most of the marks are gone.

I know in my head that I have to do this if I really want to be sure that the cancer is gone. I know it's the best thing, it's the last step in this whole curing cancer business.  I know there could be nasty little cancer cells floating all through my body right now just looking for a place to grow, I have no way of knowing.  I'm praying that once radiation is over with, that I will have some peace of mind that I'm not going to be battling cancer all over again, but somehow I just don't think that thought is ever going to go away.  I think that once you have cancer, that thought is always a part of you.

They wanted to do my first radiation treatment yesterday.  But, somehow, having my first radiation treatment on my 40th birthday just didn't seem like a good idea.  I wanted no part of it.  So, today, August 13th is my 1st treatment.  When I was there on Monday, they gave me a schedule.  It only has 28 days of treatment on it, I was expecting 33, so I need to ask them today if the plan has changed.  Wouldn't that be a gift?  I'll probably have a melt down if they tell me that they made a mistake, but I'm going to wait and see what they say.

Monday was just too much for me.  For some reason, even with everything else I've been through, that radiation appointment was the one that sent me over the edge.  Maybe it's the fact that I've been so calm through all of this, maybe it was the calm after the storm.  I'm just not sure.  I just know that Monday night I just freaked out.  I'm sure it's sounds crazy that I went the whole way through multiple PET scans, 6 chemotherapy treatments, and a double mastectomy and then I went a little nuts.  I think the last 7 weeks of nothing going on was too much for me.  I probably would have been okay if everything had kept going, but sitting it out for 7 weeks gave me way too much time to think.  And the butcher at the grocery store who helped me find bones for the dogs, was just trying to be kind when he saw the marks all over my chest and throat.  But, his story about his wife's breast cancer returning not once, not twice, but 3 times made the idea of a straight jacket seem comforting.  If that wasn't enough, telling me that she lost her voice compliments of the chemotherapy just sealed the whole deal for me.  I hated to be rude, but I couldn't get away from him fast enough.

I really think that there is some room for improvement in the way that doctors deal with cancer patients post-treatment.  There is a huge disconnect that is challenging even for the toughest warriors.  You go through many months of endless doctors appointments, tests, and treatments, and then all of a sudden, there's nothing to do.  And for them, it's all over, but for the patient, the mind is left to wonder.

Never fear, I am okay today, good even.  My meltdown was something that had to happen.  But now, I am  ready to rock radiation, even if I am a tad nervous.  I will be better once the first treatment is done.  I think the meltdown was good for me- even if my husband thought it was completely insane.  Ironically, I still haven't gotten angry.  Now I am left to wonder if that's going to rear it's ugly head sometime in the near future.