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.

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.

I Must Have Been Meant To Cry Today

I saw the oncologist for the first time today since the end of May.  I don't mind these appointments, other than the fact that they never seem to run on time and I inevitably spend a lot of time sitting in a very cold (teeth chattering kind of cold) room wondering if they forgot about me.  Funny, today just at the exact moment I was wondering that very thing, the nurse comes in and says to me," We need to re-weight you!".  I admit, I was a little confused.  She said that "doc" was concerned because I seemed to have lost a lot of weight since the last time I was there (end of May.)!  This is good news, right?  

I had 15 minutes after being reweighed to laugh over the situation.  All through chemo, I hated being weighed. (And the oncologist knew that I was none to pleased by my chemo pounds!)  Those insane cravings that I had the whole way through chemo were not kind to the number on the scale.  Funny, now I don't mind being jumping on the scale (and letting everyone know exactly how I did it!)

Finally Doc appears.  On the agenda for today's discussion:

I don't really know what my future holds after my Radiation treatment is done.  My pathology reports came back very weakly ER positive. (Actually, the breast surgeon said she considered it ER negative.) What does this mean in cancer speak?  Well, it means that if they give me hormone blockers (more medication) after radiation, it will only kill 4% of any remaining cancer cells.  (Huh?  I thought that radiation was going to do that?  At this point, I am thinking that if chemo, surgery and radiation haven't killed them, they're probably not killable!)  Not very good odds, especially when we start talking side effects.  But, I'm going to hold off on making any quick decisions, and I'll let her explain her case to me when radiation is over.  Just one day at a time.  I've got 33 radiation treatments to get through first.

They're scheduling me for another echo-cardiogram to check and make sure that the Herceptin is not damaging my heart (this always frightens me- just the possibility that it's killing my heart... it kinda freaks me out).  They'll do these every 3 months....  So, by my calculations, that means only 2 more of those.  And then of course, she wants to do another PET Scan immediately following radiation.  Here comes the anxiety the everyone who has been in my shoes has told me about.  I didn't think they would do another one so soon, I just had 1 in May.  I guess that once the results arrive back in my lap, I will feel better for 6 months, until they order the next one, knowing that the sneaky little bastard didn't find his way to some other unsuspecting spot in my body.

My oncologist always sits down, and has a chat with me.  I always feel like she wants to know exactly how I'm feeling and what's going on in this goofy little brain of mine.  Today, we chatted a little bit about my energy levels, my weight loss, and how I was feeling in general.  Of course, she wanted to know what I was doing when I told her how good I was feeling.  

... And so. an hour and a half later, I was on my way to treatment.  I love to work the chemo room.  Everyone's got a story, or something interesting to tell me that will make me smile. And sometimes, it's my job to make someone smile.   Today was no different, although it was a whole new room!  I knew no one!  I did however get winked at by a 90 year old man- he was quite adorable.  His daughter apologized for him and told me he's a dirty old man. Great!   I found a cell phone in the bathroom, and thankfully was able to locate the owner because of the screensaver picture- she seemed quite shocked that I had returned it and not taken it!  I explained that one cell phone was enough, heck, there are days when I would gladly give the one away that I have.  

Then it happened.  It was somewhat inevitable I suppose.  In all the months of going to chemo, I didn't meet any patients that were terminal, stage 4.  But, it happened today, and it took everything I had in me not to cry.  Stupid cancer.  Stupid, dumb breast cancer.  Because it was breast cancer it hit me so hard.  I'm still feeling it 3 hours later.  Good God, I'm fortunate.   And what do you say?  I'm sorry doesn't really seem to cut it. I really didn't know what to say to her, but she was shivering, and shaking all over.  I got her a blanket, actually 2. I didn't have any words for this woman, but I could get her a blanket and cover her up. But I still felt horrible for not knowing what to say to her.  

Then it happened again. What are the odds?  (Apparently, the cards were stacked against me today!) I strike up a conversation with the woman sitting in the chair next to me.  (I had been trying to read, but I was completely unable to concentrate!)  Her husband is asleep in the corner with IV lines running into his arm.  She explains to me that he's got stage 4 mouth cancer that has spread to his throat, lungs, and lymph nodes.  She goes on to tell me that he's so sick from the treatment that he has lost 40 pounds- his only source of food is a feeding tube.   She goes on to tell me that she lost both of her breasts to cancer, part of her lungs, and some of her intestines.  She tells me that she's always been the sick one.  My heart really went out to this beautiful, old couple.  We talked for about 20 minutes.  As I was leaving, she hugged me and told me that I was going to be just fine, and told me to keep on fighting! 

I must have been meant to cry today.

Beam Me Up Scotty!

So, yesterday was my first real venture into the world of radiation therapy.  I had no idea what was going to go on, or what they were going to do to me, but I reported as scheduled, because I'm a sucker.  I'm not sure if this should concern me or not, but I sat in a patient room for about an hour hearing whispers (No, I am not crazy!  No, I am not hearing voices!) from the halls, "Where is Mrs. Pysh's chart?"  I still don't know where it was hiding, but they obviously found it.  I had a crazy thought that it would be so nice if just like my lost chart, my need for radiation would also get lost.  No such luck.

Finally, the radiation oncologist joins me in the room and asks, "So, you're done with the fills?".   He's a very laid back kind of guy who looks more like he should be climbing the side of a mountain than radiating cancer patients, but this does not impact my faith in him as a doctor.  I can't help but chuckle as I explain to him that if they fill me any more, I'm going to explode.  And on the off chance that I don't explode, I'm not going to be a very functional human being, I've already got serious challenges. I try to explain that me and the twins are going through some "growing pains".   He laughs at me and says, "So, you're happy with them?"  I can tell by the smile on his face that he's joking with me.  What else can we do at this point?  I would laugh about it, but I can't, it just doesn't feel right, so I will joke about it and take my chances that I don't feel the need to laugh really hard about my predicament, all the while praying that I don't sneeze.

I can honestly say that I have been impressed by the quality of my interactions with almost every person that has participated in my care at Florida Hospital. (With the exception of the bubble gum chewing bimbo that gave me chemo education- and she was just wrong on so many levels!)  I have never felt like a number, and I always feel like they give me their full and undivided attention- there's no rush to move on to the next patient.  Of course, I would like to think it's just because I'm special...  My radiation oncologist has done a fantastic job of settling my fears and concerns (and there were a lot of them... I had managed to come up with about 243 reasons why radiation therapy should not be in my future, or anyone elses for that matter.  Some of which I'm sure were new to him!) about radiation therapy, and I can honestly say that I am at peace with this treatment (This might be a good time to mention that my original radiation oncologist got all teared up and actually cried when I told her that I didn't think I could go through with radiation therapy!).  But, here I am, I am ready to go. Well almost.  There's some nasty business about some tattoos, and a pre-approval from my insurance company and of course the fact that I'm not cleared until August 1 to "GO!".

After I finished with the oncologist, I met my radiation team.  There are 3 gals that will be taking care of every aspect of my 33 (yes, that's how many times they're gonna hit me!) radiation treatments.  I have to say that while I was a somewhat modest person when this breast cancer business began, it no longer phases me.  I've stripped out of my clothes and put on a hospital gown that opens to the front so many times that I've lost count.  I've said it before, I'll say it again, if you wanna get flashed, you've got a pretty good chance with a breast cancer survivor- we just don't care.   I report to the radiation room sporting a beautiful blue (I chose it over the white, it looks better with my eyes and my complexion) hospital robe, open to the front.  Wouldn't you know, they don't want it open to the front, and the tech offers to step out of the room while I change it.  Ugh, just stay put.  Three people had already checked out the twins by that point yesterday anyway!

When they start marking me, it hits me just how much radiation I'm going to be getting.  I'm pretty sure it's enough to level an elephant or at least Stage IIIC breast cancer with lymph node involvement- left breast, right breast, left armpit, right armpit, and my chest bone: 20 minutes a day plus all of the prep and stripping that goes along with it.  (I am holding out hope that the radiation will cause permanent hair loss underneath both of my armpits- it seems like the least that I could ask for at this point.)  The whole process reminds me a little bit of my pet scans: a table that's as hard as a rock, and very weird noises.  The only difference at this point, my arms are propped above my head in a very awkward position, and my oddly displaced clavicle is digging into the board.  It is going to take serious concentration for me to hold still for 20 minutes a day in this position, and I've already decided that I'm going to practice for the next 2 weeks.

Believe it or not- I had a seriously good time with the radiologist!  She was a lot of fun, and we talked about 3000 different things as she worked to get done everything she needed to.  She's good at what she does because she managed to make me comfortable and forget that the reason that I am lying on this uncomfortable table is because I'm about to get radiated.  This is good, because when it gets frustrating to drag my ass over there every day for 6 1/2 weeks, I will be looking forward to seeing her and talking to her.

After 3 hours, I leave there with purple crosses all over my chest, my chest bone, and my torso.  I'm told not to scrub them off over the course of the next week. There are clear band-aids over top of them to prevent this from happening.   I will go back next week for my permanent freckles.  I didn't bother to ask how those permanent freckles are going to get on my body- it doesn't occur to me until this morning that there are probably going to be needles involved.  I think I'm over it.

Go! Get Out of Here and Stay Out!

Today was a day of bittersweet good-byes.  The place where my journey with cancer started, the place where I heard those 3 terrible words (YOU HAVE CANCER) for the first time, also became the place where my cancer ended, because technically, I am now cancer free.

Today I met with my breast surgeon, and her team for the very last time.  I felt like she was breaking up with me as one of the girls handed my envelope of films.  I was told they're a souvenir, and they are, they are a reminder of what I just fought.   She reviewed my amended (yes, there were errors) pathology report and smiled from ear to ear as she told me that she got it all, and that she couldn't have been more pleased with the results of surgery and chemo, checked out my surgery site, gave me a huge hug and then she said to me, "Go!  Get out of here, and stay out!  I don't wanna see you back here!  (One of the things that I really loved about my surgeon was her sassy, kick ass attitude, and it came out again today as we said our good-bye!)  And frankly, as much as I adore Dr. Kemp and her staff, those words were absolute music to my ears.  I couldn't be happier to be here, in this spot, right now!  I've still got a long way to go (there's the boob-less issue to take care of, and the 6 weeks of rads to kill off any pesky lingering cells, and my remaining 9 Herceptin treatments, but after all of this other business, that ain't nothing!)

I also parted with 2 of my drain tubes today.  Those, just for the record, were not bittersweet good-byes.  But for those of you who endure this after me, just know that having drain tubes removed is absolutely, positively nothing- I swear!  (As is my usual protocol before undergoing any type of procedure, I did a Google search yesterday to find out what  I was in for as far as having those tubes removed.  One survivor wrote that it was so bad she couldn't stand it, and recommended that you should take pain pills 1 hour prior to the appointment.  So, I was a tad nervous about how it was going to feel, but I didn't take the pain pills.)  I still have 2 drain tubes to contend with for another week, but on a positive note- I have been cleared for physical therapy type exercises on my arms and shoulders.  While I have a pretty good range of motion right now, there are a few things that are pulling and that feel a little weird.  I'm hoping these exercises take care of that- because when I go back next week, they're going to start inflating me... look out!

The past 10 days have been a little long, and more painful that I was anticipating.  I had to remind myself at least 100 times that this is temporary, and that pain is weakness leaving the body; believe it or not, that really helped me to think of it that way.  I've obviously got more to do to be recovered, but I'm definitely making progress, however slow it may be, and that is what will get me through this!   There were challenges that I wasn't ready for, but then I am not a person who handles slowing down and taking it easy well.  It's just not in my nature to be incapacitated.   But it is definitely in my nature to adapt to whatever situation comes way, and that is how I survived the last 10 days.  And this house arrest bullshit- is going to make me crazy.

However, I made it, and I'm moving on to the next phase... I survived the surgery, and the rather uncomfortable days following it.  And, my sense of humor is still intact... see?  (If I obey the house arrest rules, there may be a lot more pictures like the one on the left!)

This is Temporary. This is Temporary. This is Temporary.

So, day 2 (Wednesday) goes off without a hitch.  I am pretty much blissfully ignorant to any kind of pain within my body, I am uncomfortable, but for the most part numb.  I can handle it.  Every 3 hours, I grab a Percocet and drift back off to sleep.  I hate pain meds, they make me dizzy and I don't feel very stable.  I've never liked taking them, but I've been lectured about this.  I have to take them, and it's better for me to take them before the pain gets too bad.  So, I take the pain pills.  Getting in and out of bed, or out of a chair is extremely challenging and sends waves of pain through my upper body.  If you've ever tried to get up off of a toilet seat without moving a single muscle in your upper body, you can imagine the challenge that I faced. Go ahead, give it a whirl... (I'm not necessarily sure that advising a recent mastectomy patient to guzzle as much water as possible is the best or most relative advice.  While I understand the merits of the advice, it presents huge challenges.  If it didn't hurt so much to laugh, I would most certainly be laughing at this predicament that I've gotten msyelf into!  So, for now, I will make a mental note, and I will definitely have a good chuckle out of this at a later date.)  There is a positive to all of this crazy mastectomy business, I got flowers!  And they're absolutely beautiful!  (But, no, I wouldn't do it all over again just for the flowers!)

Day 3, is different.  It is easier to get out of bed, and a chair.   I'm not sure if this is progress or if I've just learned how to do it without making those horrific waves of pain shoot through my body.  My legs and my abs are definitely my friends in this situation, and the more I use them to do stuff, the easier my life is.  I still get stuck on the floor, because I forget that I am like a wounded bird without a wing and trying to fly just isn't an option.  But, I am used to being on the floor with my dogs and I forget...This situation, I cannot help but laugh at.  Mommy did an "oops" Lucy, and before I know it, she's wiggling all over the place, and I'm laughing even harder.  Huh, amazing, isn't laughter supposed to dull the pain?  Percocet is still my friend, and the numbing that they gave me at the hospital is starting to wear off, but I still know it's there. because I can't feel my armpits, talk about a weird sensation.  I had a long blissful shower on morning 3, after sleeping 2 nights on my back and straight up, this felt like heaven.  I didn't have a ton of bandages, but those are all gone now, and all that's left is this impossibly sexy sports bra.  As I was getting out of bed this morning, I had 2 hot pains, one left and one right.  These pains will revisit me every time I get out of bed, no matter how much much I use my leg and lower back muscles to pull me up, I am suspicious that these have something to do with the drains.

Day 4, I am a woman on a mission.  I must go to Orlando for my Herceptin treatment.  If I miss this treatment, I won't finish my Herceptin by the end of the year.  Besides, it's on the calender. Little do I know, there is great news waiting for me in the oncology department.  I definitely am feeling stronger today than I did yesterday.  Getting showered and dressed still isn't a barrel full of monkeys, but it's easier than it was yesterday, and every day, I get better and better at balancing like a circus act on one leg to put my pants on.  The ride to Orlando is torture, I am not a very good passenger, and my mother does not like driving in traffic.  Despite the fact that the GPS is programmed with step by step instructions, she still has no idea where she's going, it's like she is oblivious to the GPS.  I could have driven myself, I hadn't had any pain meds for at least 8 hours, but there's this nasty business of raising my arms too far before pains start shooting all over the place. (Just in case I've forgotten, however temporarily, that I've just had a double mastectomy and lymph node removal!)  I am pretty sure the steering wheel would have been just "too far".   

So, we make it to Florida Hospital.  Oh how I hate the site of this building.  Of course, I associate it with chemo therapy, and there isn't much about my memories of chemo that give me warm fuzzy feelings (except for my chemo friends of course).  On a mission to the bathroom, I run into my oncologist in the hallway who is shocked that I just had surgery on Tuesday and am standing in her office on Friday.  She asks if I've seen  my pathology report?  Pathology report?  Me?  No!  Bring it on!  My pathology report is 3 pages of great news, or at least that is what she tells me.  It's clean.  Everything is clean.  There is no cancer left in this body!  (I guess my Dear John letter really got to him!)  As I mentioned it's 3 pages long, and I'm not sure what most of it means, I will wait for the surgeon to go over all of that with me on Thursday, but for now, this news make the pain even more tolerable.  Actually, I managed a little dance, I just had to do it!  This is big!  (However, I probably won't be dancing again for a little while...)

On my way home from the oncologists office, my Cigna Case Manager calls.  I have a love/hate affair with this woman.  She never seems to call at a good time, I'm always in the middle of something, or there is always 15 things going on.  And I don't know for sure, but I suspect she is either a victim of dementia or chemo brain, because she always asks me the same question over and over until I just want to scream.  Friday was no different.  Oh, and did I mention, she's always on the hunt for complications.  She just asks over and over again if I have any complications. I view this as negativity and it makes my skin crawl.  Can't she just be happy that I haven't turned green?  I understand that she's just trying to help, but I've got a ton of doctors, and if I do have complications, rest assured I'll be calling them before I call someone sitting behind a desk 1000 miles away- that's why they're getting paid the big bucks!

Day 5, like an idiot, I decide that I am going to be brave today.  I decide that I am going to go pain med free, I just don't feel like I'm in the mood to be dizzy and disoriented all day long.  Where do I come up with these insane plans?  Must be residual effects of chemo brain that are making me take such idiotic courses of action.  Actually, it was not so bad.  I was highly functioning, but pretty damn uncomfortable, all day yesterday, which made me feel good (the highly functioning part).  I still have all of the same issues, but they're definitely getting better.  I do however notice that the back of my left arm is completely numb including my funny bone.....why do I suspect that the fun is just getting started?  My hardest time of day is changing out the drains.  For some reason, the suctioning hurts like hell, I can really feel it.  I am hopeful that these drains will be gone on Thursday at my post-op appointment.  Every day, there is less and less in the little bottles.  I have a feeling that I will feel a lot better once the drains are out.  There are 4 of them, constantly present and digging into me in weird places.  I made it until 8:00 last night without a Percocet.  Then it just couldn't be avoided, I knew I wasn't going to get a wink of sleep if I didn't take one...  

My cancer buddy asked me if the mastectomy was worse then chemo.  As painful as this has been, and will probably continue to be for several weeks, chemo was worse.  Chemo took over my whole body and just made me feel constantly crappy for 18 weeks, maybe even longer.  This is just pain, isolated pretty much to one spot in my body.  And while I can't do most of the things that I'm used to doing, I know that this is very short term, and that I can deal with it.  As long as I'm noticing even just a little bit of progress every day, I will be okay, I can do this.... I just keep getting closer and closer to the light at the end of the tunnel!

The New... The Improved... CANCER FREE M!

I'm back... And surgery is complete!  I cannot tell you how much better I feel to have this off of my "to do" list.  My husband and my mother laughed at me on Tuesday morning, Rob said I was way to "chipper" for someone heading off to surgery!  Can you blame me, I just wanted it over and done with- and I'm finding it's very hard to be apprehensive about something if you're putting all of your energy into concentrating on smiling, so that is what I did.  I concentrated on smiling.   We had to be at the hospital at 5:30 which meant that we were up at 3:30, in the car by 4:30 and walking into the hospital right at 5:30, and I was smiling, despite the fact that my hubby was drinking a cup of coffee that smelled pretty stinking fantastic and I was not allowed to have any.

There was a little bit of chaos at the hospital.  The plastic surgeon had ordered a block to help me with the pain post surgery.  But, the breast surgeon hadn't signed off on it, and none of the nurses were willing to do the block unless she signed off on it. I can tell you that I was not happy that the first news of my day was that I wasn't getting a pain block.  Then there was an issue with hooking all of my IV lines up to my port.  It just seemed to be one thing after another... way too many chiefs and not enough Indians.

My breast surgeon came flying into the room around 7:45 (15 minutes after we were supposed to be in surgery) with a huge smile on her face.  She always looks kind of like a military general about to storm a country- or a woman with a huge secret, I'm never sure which.   She asks me, "Do you want to see me next Wednesday or Thursday for your post op appointment" (I take this as a good sign, talking about the future means that I'm definitely going to come out on the other side of all of this breast removal nonsense.)  She tells me we're going to talk about my fantastic pathology results and how long I am going to live.  Sure, Doc- sign me up for Thursday, that's a conversation I definitely want to have.

My anesthesiologist's name was Dr. Perky (it would be kinda funny if he was a breast surgeon, huh?  I bet he hears that one a lot! ).   He promised me all kinds of wonderful drugs that were going to make me feel fantastic, and make everything a blur- I was okay with that...  Trust me when I say that I didn't feel a thing.  I remember talking to a nice woman named Mona as she wheeled me down the hall way- she is a breast cancer survivor- 10 years- woo-hoo, way to go Mona!  They wheeled me into the surgery room and I got a good look around, panicked a little bit because the room was such a mess that I was pretty sure I was in a supply closet and not an OR.  Thankfully the anesthesia kicked in before I was able to have a full blown panic attack over the messy OR.  I still don't know if that was in my head, or if it was real, I seem to remember thinking the same thing when I had my 1st surgery, but I'm not 100% sure.

And the next thing I remember was waking up in the recovery room.  I still felt nothing, and I couldn't keep my eyes open, I have no idea how long that went on.  There is no concept of time in a recovery room, it's a wild sway between consciousness and unconsciousness.  My awesome recovery nurse snuck my hubby in once I was able to keep my eyes open for more than 2 seconds and have a conversation with her.  He came with a whole cup of ice chips which made my day- I was so happy to see him and the ice chips- you can't even imagine.  

I was home and tucked in bed by 5:30 which felt really good.  There is just something about your own bed when you've been through an ordeal.  Nothing feels better!  And of course, I was very happy to see my boxer kids.  And, even happier yesterday afternoon when they both jumped up in bed with me, and settled in for a nap.  My boxers are such an awesome source of comfort, and I could tell that they were both very concerned about their mama!  How did I get so lucky?

Today is Day 3, and I'm definitely feeling better than I did yesterday.  The pain isn't as intense, and I'm feeling like I am getting some of my mobility back!  I am hoping that by tomorrow I can say goodbye to the Percocet, but we will see how the rest of today goes.  I hate the way that pain meds make me feel, very drowsy, and a little woozy- not 2 of my favorite feelings.  I was extremely happy to be able to get a shower this morning, and remove all of the bandages- but, I was so nervous to see my incision.  The pictures that you see online are very scary, but my incision looks nothing like that.  I've heard all kinds of stories about women freaking out post surgery. I did not freak out, I did not panic, actually I was pleasantly surprised.  Oh, sure, it's not black and blue yet, and I know it will be, but still, my surgeons did a fantastic job.   It was nothing like I was expecting.

I know that I was cussing as I pushed myself through lunges, squats and all kinds of ab exercises over the last several weeks, but I am so grateful for my strong legs and abs at this point, because I am counting on them big time.  It's my abs and my legs that are getting me in and out of bed, helping me make coffee, feed the dogs, and pick stuff up off the floor.  My abs, legs, and back are very vital at this point.  See, I just knew that was a good idea... but I didn't know this was why!

Do Not Ignore Your Armpits...

I have very good reason to be very sensitive about odd feelings in my armpits.  Truth be told, I'm a little afraid of them.  It's very easy to go from never thinking about your armpits unless they need shaved or they stink to becoming obsessed with every little twinge, trust me on this.  All of this cancer nonsense started with pain in my armpits, pain that was quickly dismissed as being a pulled muscle.    So now, I pay attention when they start sending me messages, at the very least I put some thought into why they might be acting strange.  The problem with my armpits is that unlike my breasts, they know that no matter how badly they behave, I can't remove them.  Sure, they can take the lymph nodes, but they can't take the armpits.  My breast isn't giving me any of this grief.

I'm trying to be thankful for the positive silver lining in the armpit situation, I really am.  After all, I have not had to shave my armpits in 5 months, and I don't really sweat any more.  (And thanks to radiation, I may never have to shave my armpits ever again!  Talk about a positive!  Who gets this lucky?)  But, I could use a little break here, really I could!

The last few days, my armpits have been screaming- tons of grief from these bad boys.    Not just one side or the other, but both sides.  Yes, they've hurt before through this whole process, but not like this.  (Is it possible that they've gotten word about what's about to happen to them?  Or are they just really mad at me for killing the lymph nodes off with chemo?)  I'm trying to figure out if it's something I should be paying attention to, or ignoring.  I'm thinking it might just have something to do with all of the working out that I've been doing, and nothing to do with this cancer business.  (Imagine that... an event going on in my life and my body that has nothing to do with cancer!  I swear I've reached a new milestone!)  It could have to do with the mad cleaning frenzy that I'm on.... or even the fact that I cut the grass last night (yeah, probably shouldn't have done that, but when the dogs stand on the edge of the porch refusing to move until they just can't hold it any longer because the grass is too high, it's time to act.).

I think the weird, achy, discomfort in my arm pits started after my 2nd or 3rd chemo treatment.  It was a completely different beast than the initial pain (that was dismissed as a pulled muscle).   It wasn't anything super bothersome, but I did ask the oncologist's assistant about it.  She said that it was completely normal to have some tenderness with chemo when the lymph nodes had cancer in them.  (I discovered that when dealing with her, no matter what I told her, she was going to tell me that it was completely normal.  I could have told her that instead of growing back hair on my head, the top of my head was covered in broccoli spears, and she would have said it was normal.)  So, in true superwoman form, I grabbed my cape and put the bothersome tenderness out of my mind.  I can't fly and pay attention to the pain in my stupid armpits at the same time anyway!

Moving forward a few weeks, I have another chemo treatment,  and now the mildly bothersome, tenderness (that I'm still trying to ignore) starts to move down my arm a little bit and I'm having a hard time getting comfortable at night to sleep.  At this point, I decide it's probably a good idea to have a discussion with the oncologist about it, not her assistant.  So, I tackle the wonky feeling in my armpit situation with her.  I wonder as she's talking to me if she really knows why my armpits hurt, because it sounds a lot like she's making it up as she goes.   I can't help but be shocked that no one has ever asked her this question before, surely I am not the 1st cancer patient to experience wonky feelings in her armpits during chemo treatments.  She does get points, however, because she didn't try to tell me that it's normal.  I guess we just have to face the fact that even though we've given these doctors permission to play around with our bodies, that sometimes they just don't know the answers- I'm not sure if this scares me or not...  I really think it does scare me big time.

I was so unconvinced by her response to my question about the armpits, that I don't even remember how she explained it.  She did tell me it was going to be okay, although she didn't mention when, which oddly, made me stop thinking about it once again.  You can thank your chemo brain for that, I've got the attention span of a 3 week old, or someone who's had 16 shots of whiskey.

At my post chemo consultation with my awesome surgeon, the topic of my lymph nodes came up once again.  For some reason, I had become obsessed with knowing how many of my lymph nodes had cancer in them, and would we be able to determine that from the pathology reports after my mastectomy.  I was told that unfortunately, no, we aren't going to know how many lymph nodes had cancer in them because the chemo breaks them down and makes them unrecognizable.  That was not the clinical version of that, just my interpretation of the situation, trust me when I say, it sounded very believable when she said it.   Maybe this is why my armpits hurt?  I haven't a clue.  All I know is, I will not be sad to see this pain in my armpits go away!