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?