It's Just Hair...

Late November 2015

So, a few weeks back as I was nearing the end of my patience with my hair extensions, I saw a blog post by Clare Bowen (Is she not just the most adorable person you have ever seen?) entitled "It's Just Hair". I had been debating for weeks whether I was going to put the extensions back or if I was going to embrace whatever hair had sprouted on my head.

Before reading that post, I was starting to draw my own conclusions that while my extensions were beautiful, they were also a huge expense and a serious pain the arse (I don't know about you, but I can think of a million other things that are more fun to do than spend 10, yes I said 10, hours in a chair at the salon). But, of course, I had some preconceived notions of my own about hair, naturally to spend the amount of time and money that I had on them, my notions must have been pretty potent. Reading her post made up my mind for me! I did a lot of soul-searching after seeing and reading that blog entry.

I have never considered myself to be obsessive with hair. Before having cancer, I made frequent trips to the beauty salon for cuts and highlights. But, I was never crazy about it. Often, I would wait way too long and get to the point of wanting to rip my hair out (and much to my stylist's dismay and frustration was not above taking the scissors to my own head when things got too bad). So, I was not one of these people who visits her stylist every three weeks, nor was I one of those people that ran to the salon every time a root peaked through. I washed, dried and styled my hair every morning, and then did not think about it the rest of the day, until I would pull it into a ponytail at the end of the day. I never carried hairspray or a comb: a rubber band: yes, styling tools: no! See, there is nothing really over the top there.

Early November 2014

As I have admitted many times, one of the first questions out of my mouth after hearing that I had cancer was "Am I going to lose my hair?". Looking back, clearly that was an absurd question. Regardless, the truth of the matter is that losing my hair terrified me. No matter how hard I tried, I could not rationalize that I was going to save an hour every morning on styling my hair,  or that I would be saving a ton of money on styling products and trips to the salon. And why the heck could I not grasp the concept that I was also, of course, going to be alive! Frankly, I felt so strongly about losing my hair that it was almost a battle between hair and living that shocked the heck out of me. I swear I grieved more about losing my hair than losing my breasts, actually I know I did.

I am sure you are wondering, if all of this is true, what the heck happened? Well, it's complicated. In a lot of ways, I guess I perceived not having hair as being unhealthy and looking sick. I have never liked "looking sick". Even when I have the flu or a head cold, I still do my hair and put on my makeup because I know that if I do so, I will feel better. And let's face it, we are living in a hair obsessed society. I never noticed exactly  how many hair commercials there were until I had no hair. Then I felt like every single commercial was about hair. I do not know how it happened, but during the time I was hairless, all of the car manufacturers, toilet paper companies, and all of the stores stopped advertising to make room for endless commercials about HAIR. I could not turn on the tv without seeing a woman tossing long, luscious, glorious hair over her shoulders. Seriously? No wonder I stopped watching tv and turned off the Direct TV service.

My obsession with hair, or should I say lack of it, started when I lost all of mine. While my mom (she's my mom, of course, she is going to say that I look cute no matter what) and many of my friends frequently commented on how cute I looked without hair, I was dreadfully unhappy. I guess I fell victim to the common thought in society than girls cannot be a princess without long hair (although, I am a little old for the whole princess thing, you get the idea). Without my hair, I most certainly did not feel like myself and I definitely did not feel pretty no matter how many times people commented about my adorable short hair. I felt broken. I desperately wanted not to feel broken.

Late November 2014 

I took some pretty drastic (and expensive) measures to make myself feel whole again. And, looking back, I guess that is where the soul searching should have begun. Why on earth did I need hair and lots of it to feel beautiful and loved? There is really something wrong with that. Frankly, my friends and family do not think anything less, or anything more of me because of the length of my hair or the lack of hair entirely.

So, in a rather abrupt move, almost two weeks ago (right after bringing Jazzy home) I made a phone call to start righting my "hair" ship. Fate intervened, and I was able to see someone about removing the extensions that day. Since I was only going for a consultation, I grabbed Jazzy and headed off to the salon. But, fate is one of those busy bodied things, and as I sat there that morning (with Jazzy in my lap) it turned out that I could have it done right then and there. Why wait? So, with my adorable puppy in my lap, I had my extensions removed, my hair washed, cut and dried.

Forgive me while I give a shameless plug to my four and a half-month-old puppy. She sat in my lap the entire time, with her head on a pillow, being what I would consider an exceptionally good puppy. Of course, she took that opportunity to charm the heck out of everyone in the salon, and as we left, we were told that she was welcome back any time! Good puppy! Have I mentioned yet how in love I am with this boxer?

As Jazzy and walked back to the car, I felt lighter. I felt better. For the first time in months, I felt like myself. I realized that those who love me, love me because of who I am as a person, and they could care less how much hair I have. While my family does not really have any say in "choosing me" so to speak, my friends have chosen to be my friends. I like to think it is because I am caring, funny, witty and a ton of fun to be around: long hair or short hair.

Shame on a society or any person that makes anyone feel like any less of a person because of "hair". I did not chose cancer and I most definitely did not chose to lose all of my hair. For some of us, it is a life-saving necessity. It made me think later that night when I saw a commercial for "It's a 10" hair products. The women in the commercial all had long, flowing hair and they were boasting about how they proudly support breast cancer research. Perhaps they could chose better when they select their models for their commercials because women who have endured breast cancer, for at least a little while; have short hair.

I have news for you Loreal, Nexxus, Revlon and all of the other "hair product" companies out there, there are a lot of gorgeous women running around out there with short hair. Look at Faith Hill or Halle Berry just to name a few.  Both of these women have been blessed to be noted as the world's most beautiful women. And just for the record, even though my hair is short, I still use shampoo and condition, gel, and leave-in conditioners are my friend, and hair spray flies in my bathroom every single morning. You are seriously missing a whole market... Just sayin'!

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'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...

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!

Nope, No Way, Ain't Happenin Here!

I realized yesterday as I was pouring my 4th cup of coffee that I am over 1/2 way done with my year of cancer treatment, yet still I am feeling very frustrated.  It's just taking too long!  I should be feeling as if I've accomplished something, right?  The cancer is gone- I no longer have cancer.  But, instead I'm stuck in place that's making me a little crazy.   I am so ready for all of this to be over and done with.  I'm not sure if it's the weird feeling in my chest (thank you little expanders) or the fact that I am on house arrest for another 3 weeks, but I'm experiencing some pretty high levels of attention deficit disorder and dare I say it "anxiety".  (Shh... don't tell the doctor- I'm sure there are pills for that, and I'm sure they would want me to take them!)

The ADD is why I haven't written a blog post in several days, I am completely unable to focus on anything for more than 5 minutes at a time. (And it takes me a heck of a lot longer than 5 minutes to do a blog post!)  The inability to focus on any one thing for any period of time is increasing my frustration because I am usually a very productive, goal oriented person and I can't seem to get anything done.

Nothing would make me happier than to wake up tomorrow morning and have everything be "normal"; with all of my hair back, normal boobs (the kind that don't move around or poke you when you move the wrong way), no tingling in my hands and feet, and well frankly, no more doctors appointments, tests, or infusions, and no restrictions when it comes to working out.  And, just for good measure, I would love it if I could reach the 3rd shelf of my kitchen cabinets without standing on my tippy toes and still wanting to scream!  Ooh, and wait, I'd love if I had my "normal" brain back. (I know, I want a lot right?)   But, I'm not quite there yet, and that is the source of my aggravation at this point.  Can't we speed up the process?  I am really going to have to work on having patience.

I've been told I'm being too hard on myself.  And I probably am.  I'm only 3 weeks post-op (Actually, it's exactly 3 weeks today!) and I've made great strides since surgery.  This is all going to sound funny, but I've had to really work on regaining my ability to do normal, every day activities.   For the 1st several days after surgery, I couldn't lift a cup to my mouth, straws became my best friend.  I couldn't put anything over my head,so all of my shirts had to be button-down.  (I'm not proud to admit this, but all I wanted was to sleep in one of my hubby's soft, comfy t-shirts.  So, I struggled to get it on, and nearly killed myself getting out of it the next morning.  Turns out that on was easier than off!  Thank God there were no video cameras around for that escapade.) I couldn't get dishes out of the cupboards, and I had a hard time putting on my tennis shoes.  All of this has changed- I am almost 100% back to normal in terms of mobility, I can do all of those things now.  My drains are gone, and my incisions are healing nicely.  And I get to go back for another "fill" this week.  (I never in my wildest dreams thought I would be spending my Thursday mornings having my boobs "filled".  Life is just funny like that!)

I'm struggling a bit with my left arm, I've got a ton of tightness down the back of my arm because my axillary nerve was cut to remove the lymph nodes from that arm.  The surgeon told my husband that she had a very hard time getting the nodes out of the left side, and her portion of the surgery actually took longer than expected because of it.  I was warned that my left arm might not ever be 100% and that the numbness might not ever go away. (You have got to be kidding me- are you sure you're looking at the right chart?) But, in the last several days, the tightness has eased, and some, but not all of the feeling has returned. (I still don't have full feeling in my elbow or my armpit, but I hit my elbow off of something this morning, and I definitely felt it.)  I will keep pushing that arm; stretching is the name of the game.  I am not willing to accept that my arm isn't 100%, and I know that I would never be okay with not having that arm be everything it was prior to this stupid cancer business.

So, at this point, there's no where for my frustration to go.  I can only keep myself so busy for so long when I can't really leave the house. I'm not allowed to work out, I can't lift, push, or pull anything over 10 pounds, and I've got a bad case of ADD.  I could cook and bake, but then I would have to eat it, right?   What's a girl to do? (I can tell you that there are 2 boxers that have gotten a ton of cuddles and treats in the last few days!)  If I can focus long enough, I am going to attempt to arm myself with a list of very short-term goals.  Things that I can do in 5 minutes or less, baby stepping it right though my to-do list.  Here's to baby-steps!

My Dear John Letter to Cancer...

I dedicate this post to my fellow cancer warriors, fight on ladies.  

We have definitely got this!  We are survivors!

Mary, Tricia, Christina and Katy:  

I love you guys and am truly honored to call you "friend".

Dear Cancer,

     I'm sorry to do this to you, but I just can't do this any longer...

     It's the eve of the day when my surgeons will remove the remnants of you from my body, and there are a few things that you need to hear straight from me.  You attempted to kill me, and  I'm sure you thought you could beat me.  You probably even looked at me and thought that I was going to be an easy target.  I'm sure you had no idea that I would attack you with all of the fervor and gusto that one little blonde could muster.  I have to give you credit, you gave it a good shot!  However,  you weren't welcome, and I was not the easy target you had me pegged for; turns out I was stronger and I wanted it more, imagine that.  I wasn't willing to let you ruin me, and I most certainly had no intention of letting you take the breath from my body.  I found resolve and strength that I didn't know I had in me.  You picked the wrong target, you would not beat me.  I need you to know that you have not won, and you are most certainly not welcome back here.

     Oh sure, you temporarily got  to me, I won't deny you that.  You started with my breast, and then raced to invade other parts of my body. But, as I'm sure you know, my spirit was untouchable and probably your worst enemy until the chemo started.  I know you happily would have gone further, you probably had your sight aimed on my liver or my kidneys.  However,  you became a challenge to me, and I had other plans.  I wasn't interested in your intentions or your stupid goals.  You had to be stopped.  You forced me to take the most aggressive action that my doctors could come up with.  I had to fight back with the same force that you invaded my body and life with.  With every day, my resolve to beat you became stronger, and my attitude more positive.  A positive attitude is your worst enemy!

     I always said that I would never put those toxic chemicals in my body.  But you left me with no choice but to do exactly that.  I'm only 39, I've still got a lot of life left to live, I've still got a lot left to do and tons to live for.  You had to be taken down, your evil intentions had to be stopped.  This was one battle that you were not going to be declared the victor of.  There was no way that I could do anything but fight back against you.
     
    The 18 weeks of chemo were no picnic... Chemo sucked.  I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.  I have never felt so awful or so tired in my life, and that's saying a lot.  It would have been so easy to throw in the towel.  It's not easy fighting back when you barely have the energy to stand up, and your body aches like it has never ached before, but I wasn't willing to concede.  I could feel the chemo working on you, breaking you down.  It hurt like hell, and many times the pain was so bad I thought I would pass out, but I didn't care.  Fight on chemo...  I'm sure it ticked you off every time I got back up, dusted myself off and went back for another round with even more fury than I had the time before.  And the smile on my face probably wasn't easy for you to see either.  My smile was my armor against you, and no matter how crappy you and the chemo made me feel, I smiled every day because it made me feel better and stronger and I knew you would hate it.  As crazy as it sounds, I even joked about your being in my world.  I made jokes at your expense as you gave killing me your best shot.  My sense of humor kept me sane.  

    I'm sure you know this, and probably take great delight in it, but your unwelcome presence in my body was so enormous that it could not be ignored, although I did try.  I laid in bed at night unable to sleep from the pain that you were causing me, both physically and mentally.  During the day, I had a hard time focusing because you were so strong.  And I refused pain meds as I wanted to be sharp enough to fight you.   I have never felt anything like it, at times I felt like I had been possessed by something more incredible than my wildest dreams.  You turned my entire world upside down,  you are pure evil.  I will never forgive you for choosing me and my body for your little game.  But, just for the record you have not broken me, actually you have made me stronger, although I know that was not your plan.  I will take my life back, and just as a little "gotcha", I promise you that it will be better than before you and your business.

     I lost my hair, my finger and toe nails are a mess, my brain is cloudy and it's just not as sharp as it was before you chose me.  It drives me absolutely crazy that I struggle to finish sentences and find words.   My sight has gone from bad to worse, and I can't read a darn thing without a pair of glasses.  Driving at night is more challenging than I care to admit.  I am full of weird feelings that were not there before chemo therapy enveloped every last crevice of my weary body. My fingers and toes tingle and my muscles are just now beginning to feel normal 6 weeks after my final chemo treatment.  I have a plastic device implanted in my body above my right breast that is a constant reminder of your existence.   It makes many things very challenging, and some days, causes me a great deal of discomfort.   As if all of that isn't enough, I've got 2 surgeons sharpening their knives to remove my breasts from body, and cut the lymph nodes from both of my arm pits.   But, I'm alive, and at this point all that remains of you in my body is scar tissue, and after tomorrow, that will be gone too!  

     I am confident that my hair and my finger nails will grow back, and just as an added bonus, I'm sure they'll be even better than they were before you.  I can't wait for you to see them!  And just so you know, I don't mind the glasses, they make me look more intelligent.  Those glasses are just one more reminder that even though you've been a part of my life, I have not been defeated.  Where this is a will, there is a way. The tingling and the foggy brain are already getting better, and I'm sure that soon, just like you, they will be distant memories.  You will see, I will accomplish great things.  While the breasts that you found a home in will be gone, I have complete confidence that my new ones are going to be spectacular!  When I look at them, I will not think fondly of you, however, I will rejoice in the fact that I am alive, and I am stronger because of my scars.

     As long as I'm airing my grievances with you, you should also know that I did not appreciate one bit the way that your existence worried and stressed out my husband, my family and my friends.  I will never forget the look on my husbands face when the surgeon told him that you had invaded my body.  He never should have had to worry about me that way, he didn't deserve that and my family and friends didn't deserve it either.  But, I bet you weren't counting on them fighting back too.  They rallied around me and gave me the strength and encouragement that I needed to kick you right to the curb.  We don't quit....  I have never felt more loved than I have in the last 6 months.  I had no idea how many friends I had, everyone was rooting for me!  I'm not the only survivor in this great race, my family and friends are victors against you as well, you have broken none of us- we're stronger than you will ever be.  I'm sure you'll never forget this bunch.  Maybe you'll think twice before you pick your next victim.

     What I have to say to you next is going to sting you even worse than the fact that you didn't kill me.  This business with you has resulted in many beautiful things.  I know that wasn't your agenda, and frankly, it ticks me off to even give you credit for anything wonderful or even anything remotely resembling a blessing.   I can only say that the miracles and the blessings that I am uncovering were in spite of your intentions.  You had no intentions of doing anything wonderful for me.  Your plans were only aimed at destruction.  But, I guess I'm not your typical victim, am I?  You're probably not used to your victims looking for silver linings in your dark, evil clouds, are you?  But that is exactly what I did, and believe me when I say not only did I find them, but I cherish them.

     I am stronger mentally and emotionally than I have ever been.  And as soon as this business with cutting you out is over and done with, and my body has once again had a chance to heel itself,  I intend to be stronger physically than I have ever been.  My body will never again be a place where you or any of your cronies will feel comfortable or confident.  As a matter of fact, it will be damn uncomfortable for you.  Becoming a cancer survivor has been one of the greatest challenges that I have ever faced in my life, and you can bet your last dollar that it has made me tough as nails.  I am a survivor.  I've got some battle scars, and a few remaining scrapes and bruises, but you're not going to be a part of my body anymore.  And while your scars will always be a part of my life and my body, they will never get me down.  They will never make me feel angry, or sad, or bitter, of that you have my promise.   You have already been given way too much attention in my world.  I will bear those scars with great amounts of pride knowing that they made a better person.

     I'm pretty sure by now you've had your fill of me.  You should be tired and weary and thinking it's time to move on, and you couldn't be more right.  I know your influence on my life isn't quite over yet.  I've got several weeks of recovery after they take you out of me, and radiation to make sure that there are no tiny parts of you lingering.  But, that's okay, because I know in my heart that you are almost gone from me, and all of these things are just steps to recovery.  I'm sorry to say that I won't miss you, nor will I be sorry to see you go.   I celebrate you leaving my life and my body, and I hope that I gave you the fight of your life because I certainly put up the fight of mine.

  .  

     

Nor-mal

As cancer patients, we find ourselves holding our breaths very often.  The days and hours waiting for news are filled with anxiety and tons of emotions that range from panic to fear.  We hold our breath and wait to hear that white blood cell counts are "NORMAL".  We hold our breath and wait to hear that MRI's are "NORMAL" and we hold our breath and wait to hear that PET Scans are "NORMAL".  All we want is "NORMAL" even though our definition of "NORMAL" has been forever altered by a cancer diagnosis.

Thankfully, even in my altered mental state, I was not stupid enough to hold my breath waiting for the results of my PET Scan, because I most certainly would have passed out by now.  But, I finally got the call.  The call that I tried not to think about too much this week, because in my heart, I knew what the results were going to be.  Call it women's intuition.  Call it being smart enough to listen to what my body is telling me.  Or just call it being positive.

I knew when I saw the call come up on my phone, they weren't calling to remind me that I have an appointment tomorrow.  They were calling to tell me that the results of my PET Scan were "COMPLETELY NORMAL!".  I was just about rendered speechless, and could barely speak to the women through my tears.  Suddenly, everything came into focus.  It no longer matters that I'm retaining 20 pounds of water and my ankles look like they belong on an elephant.  It doesn't matter that all of my fingernails are falling off.  And it doesn't matter that my head is covered only in light blonde peach fuzz.  I'm just gonna put on a pair of long pants, paint my fingernails and put my wig on and celebrate this news.

I am cancer free!

Making The Tough Calls

When I was diagnosed, everything was pretty much laid out for me by the surgeon, I didn't feel like I had massive decisions to make.  There really weren't any choices.  I either started chemotherapy, or breast cancer would take my life.  It was one or the other, we didn't really even toss the idea of not having chemo around, it was never even a topic of conversation.  I remember the intense dissatisfaction over not having any choices, not having any kind of control over what was going to happen to my body, to my life.  In retrospect, I suppose with everything that I had to do to prepare for treatment, that I didn't have to make a bunch of choices.  I probably wasn't in any kind of condition to make them anyway.

Just like that, the next year of my life would be mapped out on a piece of breast cancer pink (are you kidding me?) paper, a piece of paper with not 2, but 4 nipples.  (Was this some kind of sign?  An omen of what was to come?  Should I worry that I will awake for reconstructive surgery with 4 nipples?  Heck, I was worried about having none, 4 sounds worse.)  It disturbed me just a little bit that the surgeon didn't even have to think about it, she just started writing and drawing little arrows around the 4 nipples. How many times a day does she get to draw on the pink paper?

The pink paper would be posted to the refrigerator by my husband later that day where it would continue to hang for the course of my treatment.  He told me that he wanted me to cross the steps off as I went so that I could feel like I was making progress.  (I need to mark a bunch of steps off right now... oops!)  Progress is very important when your life is at stake.  I remember wondering at the time if we would get sick of looking at that pink paper hanging on our beautiful stainless steel refrigerator, the constant reminder that someone in the house had something wrong with her breasts.

And so the pink paper/4 nipple plan began, tests, labs, and more tests would start the ball rolling.  .... And she's off....  Oncologists, Radiation Oncologists (how does someone who doesn't even have a PCP end up with 2 oncologists in a matter of days?), MRI's, Echo's, PET scans....  Port surgery.  Start chemo.  Finish chemo.  Back to the surgeon to schedule surgery.

...Radiation.  And there is where the snag comes in.  I do feel like I have a choice.  I am not 100% sold that radiation therapy should be in my future.  I have serious doubts and concerns about radiation.  Doubts and concerns that I raised to my oncologist a few months ago in the midst of chemo.  She told me that we could discuss it once I was done with the chemo.  Well, I'm done, and there is going to be a big discussion in her office on Friday when I go for my stand-alone Herceptin treatment.

I have put on my medical cap, and read through all kinds of studies debating the merits of radiation therapy in a case like mine, and I've got to say, I'm struggling big time.  (I know I swore off internet reading back in February, but I have to be armed and dangerous, I have to be educated in order to make the best decision.)

On one hand, I don't want to do anything that is going to make it easy for the cancer to come back or spread to other parts of my body.  I really want it all gone- which is why I have chosen to have the double mastectomy.  There is going to be nothing left.  On the other hand, radiation can actually cause secondary cancers.  So, aren't I contradicting myself with this choice?  I'm also very concerned about my bones, I tend to take after my father's side of the family, and the bones aren't good to begin with.  What is radiation going to do to my bones?

I do not want to die of breast cancer, or any other cancer for that matter.  But, I also do not want to spend the rest of my life battling side effects from radiation therapy.  I have a feeling that already I am going to be dealing with some bizarre side effects from the chemotherapy cocktail that I just completed.  (Note to self, probably should quit calling it a cocktail.  When have I ever had a "cocktail" that made my hair fall out and my finger nails turn black... seriously?)  I do not wish to live in a bubble in a constant state of panic over what I can and cannot do, that's not living.  I feel like my body has been through enough, and I strongly believe that there are healthier, less invasive options for killing off cancer cells... although, I must say, I think that I have made my body such a hostile environment for cancer cells, that I doubt that there are any of them still hanging around, they're probably long gone.

Wish me luck, I have a feeling that this isn't going to be an easy choice to make, and I'm not entirely sure how receptive to these feelings my oncologist is going to be.  Hopefully, I have a clean PET to back up my argument.

Milestone... Crazy Chemo Done!

This is a very special post for me.  5 months ago, I started the journey down the road to being cancer free.  I was undeniably terrified and apprehensive  about what was going to happen to me, but I was determined to persevere, I was, and still am determined to be cancer free.   I hoped and prayed for the best, I hoped that after 6 treatments that the horrible cancer that had invaded my body, and upset my entire world, would be gone. I prayed that I wouldn't be too sick, that I would tolerate the chemo well, and of course that by some serious miracle, my hair wouldn't fall out... Okay, so 2 our of 3 ain't bad.  6 treatments later, here I am, a little worse for the wear (most definitely bald), and most certainly not feeling like myself, however, I can no longer feel the tumor in my breast, the horrific pain that kept me up most nights, and made me uncomfortable during my waking hours, is gone.  The signs of the cancer invading the skin, are gone!

Friday (05-09-14) was my 1st cancer milestone.  The 1st stage of my cancer treatment COMPLETE!  I'm sure it's hard to imagine, but I couldn't wait to get there on Friday morning.  I couldn't wait to be hooked up to those tubes, I just wanted to be done.

I was so thankful for a good nights sleep on Thursday night- the last 3 treatments I've undergone have been undertaken on -0- hours of sleep (which resulted in water-works in the doctors office prior to my chemo started- a tired baby is a cranky baby!).  It was great to make it through my consultation with the oncologist without bursting into tears over the fact that my ankles were swollen to 4 times their normal size, and the aching suspicion that I have that one of my finger nails may be getting ready to fall off (I've never hoped so much that I am wrong about something!).

As the poison (May I take this opportunity to add how ironic I think it is that "poison" would save my life?) trickled into my veins, I looked around that huge room, full of cancer warriors, the room where I have spent so many hours over the last 5 months.... almost 50.  I couldn't help but get a little nostalgic (I am a nostalgic, sentimental person by nature). There I sat, waiting to be finished with my treatment, surrounded by some of the kindest, caring, funniest, and feistiest people that I have ever met, people that I never would have met had it not been for cancer.  And then it hit me, I am a member of this of brave, feisty,  determined club.   I couldn't help but smile- I am in seriously good company.  CEO's of the worlds largest companies have nothing on a cancer warrior- only a real bad ass can take on cancer- this isn't for the faint of heart or weak of nature.  Believe it or not, over the last 18 weeks, I've had some pretty remarkable moments in the chemo room.  I've made a few friends, I've smiled, I've laughed, I've heard amazing stories, and I've celebrated a few "last chemo's".

Cancer survivors are a very elite group of people.  People of all ages, genders, and nationalities who can say that stared cancer in the eye, and won.  And as I'm finding out, there is a definite kinship for fellow warriors.  I have yet to meet a survivor who wasn't willing to offer words of encouragement, or share a funny story.  When you're in the throes of battle, those words are extremely crucial to survival.  They make you stop and think, "I can definitely do this!" and they make you feel like you're not alone.

There comes a certain peace in being surrounded by the words of others who are in the same place that you are, or who have been there.  I love reading the comments posted on my blog- part of it is knowing that someone is reading my blog, but it's also hearing that someone else is feeling just like I do right at that very point in time- that maybe the crazy chemo induced thoughts that race through my garbled mind on a daily basis aren't so strange.  While each of the cancer warriors are different, we're all alike in a lot of ways.  Most of us have the same thoughts, concerns, and fears, and we all strive for the same thing, to be healthy, and cancer-free.

Have a beautiful day fellow cancer warriors, and know that you've brightened my world....

The Challenge of Being Follicle-y Challenged

I remember the moment when I was told that I was HER2 +.  It was weeks after my initial "You've Got Cancer" discussion, and I was in the produce aisle of Sam's Club trying to decide if it was worth it to buy a 6 pack of baby cucumbers- would I, or would I not eat them all before they went mushy?  Probably not the ideal location to get more bad news, or really any kind of important news.  I remember asking, so exactly what does that mean in terms of my treatment, and the kind of chemo that I will be getting?   I had to feel for my surgeons assistant (whom I love dearly, not only because she's the most helpful person in the world, but because she's a sweetheart and I always smile after talking to her).  I know she was seriously tired of delivering horrible news to this smiling, bouncy little blonde- I know this because she told me.

Of course the HER 2+ definitely meant something, it meant that I would need a different kind of chemo than what was originally planned, my treatment schedule after surgery would be longer, and (don't they always save the best for last) my hair was going to fall out.  Wait... Hold up!  Not my hair?  All I could focus on, was the hair.  So, in the middle of Sam's Club, I'm sobbing like a baby.  Not only do I have cancer, but now I'm going to be a bald girl too?  Prior to all of this cancer business, I never carried kleenex in my purse- I just wasn't the kind of person who could break down sobbing at the drop of a hat... so much for that!

 Unlike the relationship with my breasts, my hair and I had a very good relationship.  I was blessed with a very full head of super thick hair.  Hair that pretty much did whatever I would ask of it.  Hair that took color and highlights, held curl when I wanted it to, and stayed straight when I demanded straightness from it.  Of course, I had bad hair days, usually when I had failed to make time in my busy schedule to run to the salon for the necessary hair pampering, so I never held that against my hair.  It was the kind of hair that on a day when I was feeling just a tad blah- it would pick me up, flowing effortlessly over my shoulders, bouncy in all the right places.

I had spent years growing my hair in from a super short cut that was a result of a bad decision- I was left with no other option but to chop it all off! (A perm- what was I thinking? It was a disaster of epic proportions- it was huge- I looked like a disco queen).  It took years, and it was rather painful, all of those super awkward stages, the moments when I thought this is ridiculous, I should just go back to my short hair.  But, I hung in there, and I was finally there, and to make it all even better, I had found the perfect stylist.  She understood my hair, and even more importantly understood that my hubby preferred my hair "super blonde".  For the last 2 years, I have been the owner of perfectly highlighted, perfectly cut blonde hair.

And then there was all of this cancer business... Cancer treatments were going to make my beautiful blonde hair fall out.  As a person who likes to take charge, I wanted to take charge of this situation as well.  I knew that loosing my hair was going to be traumatic, and I thought that if I cut it into a shorter cut before it started falling out, that it would somehow be easier on me.

Looking back on the situation, I'm glad I cut it, because the falling out process was ugly and would have been uglier with my long locks.  At least I had a bit of an adjustment period, although I'm not sure there is anything that can prepare a woman for being bald...

I had certain expectations of the hair falling out process, I thought it would go gradually, a hair there, a hair here.  What I did not anticipate was to be standing in the shower and pulling my hand away from my head with a full hand of hair- exactly 14 days after my first chemo treatment.  AAGH, What the hell is going on here?!  My reaction was probably quite comical- after all I knew that I was going to loose my hair, so why did I stand there for 5 minutes looking quizzically at the huge clumps of hair stuck on my fingers?  Why was my mind racing with the thought "What is going on?".

24 hours after my confusing incident in the shower, I marched into Wal-Mart, and marched back out with clippers- I was empowered and taking charge of the situation. There was no way that I was taking this hair loss process lying down...  If chemo wanted to play a game, I'd play right back... I'd whack it all off!  Then what was it going to do- whose follicles are you going to mess with now chemo?  Funny how much better I felt after my head had been shaved.  The process of my hair releasing had actually been painful, and now there was nothing left!

Fast forward 3 months and 5 chemo treatments... I miss my hair.  I miss my hair a lot.  Without my hair, I am reminded every time I look in the mirror that I have cancer.   Thankfully, it is starting to grow back.  I've got a funny little patch of fuzz on top of my head, I look a bit like a mad scientist, but it's hair, it's fuzzy and funny looking, but it's hair.  And you had better bet your last dollar that my hair regrowing ritual is going to be a serious one... I am a woman with a goal... the goal is to have enough hair by the 2nd week of August that I can get hair extensions in time for my 40th birthday.  I want to be cancer free (not hair free) on my 40th birthday...