Annnnnd - Exhale

After a whole day of watching the clock at work and an hour of sitting in the exam room waiting for my oncologist who was running terribly behind, I was finally greeted with the news:

Well you had your scans and everything came out okay...

...and then he kept going on about something, but all I could say was, "Wait, back up. What was that?"

The one spot on my lung is exactly the same as it was just about a year ago. If it had been cancerous, it would have changed size one way or another. But it's exactly the same. They'll be checking it again in another year. Well, it was supposed to be every six months, but the doc said because it's so small (4mm) and insignificant, they'd put it off for another year. Yay! I think I'm going to push it back to the following January though so I can bypass the extra unneeded holiday-time stress.

Everything looks great. Well, except for my weight, which he didn't even bring up - I did. I told him I'm looking forward to getting this extra weight off, to which he replied, "Just be aware that it's harder to lose weight when you're on Tamoxifen. Give it a good try though!" Ugh! Now it's time to go all Han Solo on him and this fat.

So it's all good. It's time for me to get through this week and next and kiss this year goodbye!

Playing the Waiting Game with the What If Monster

I had my 6-month scans on Friday. A mammogram and a CT scan, both quick and easy (much unlike my time at the mall in Milwaukee in-between visits), and I was done.  Results to be learned at my doctor's appointment on Tuesday afternoon.

I didn't think too much about them over the weekend, which is amazing considering I really didn't do anything over the weekend other than apply for a job or two with my rear end firmly planted in my recliner.  Today is a different story though.

Today the What If Monster has reared his ugly head again. You know, I really wish I knew how to kill this guy - or at least subdue him. I've tried using logic, knowing that it's only been 6 months since I ended chemo, I've been on tamoxifen since September which is even more effective in suppressing the cancer than the chemo. There's no reason why anything new should pop up. I know this, but I'm still anxious.

I guess it's that dang CT scan. When I first had it done, there were two tiny things that popped up that the doctors weren't concerned about. One was a tiny triangular spot on my lung, that they determined at the time was some sort of scarring. From what, I don't know, but they didn't think it was anything bad. Another was a small something on my liver. Again, they gathered that it was something like a cyst or something similar and nothing dangerous. All of my doctors saw the results, told me not to worry about them because CT scans show EVERYTHING whether it's bad or not, and said we'd only have to look at them two more times down the road just to make sure.

Enter the What If Monster...

I didn't realize this was a real thing.
It's a children's book. Maybe I need it.

Just to make sure? Aren't you sure now? What if they came to the wrong conclusion? What if it turns out that spot on my lung was really cancer? What if the whatever it is on my liver turns out to be something worse than a cyst? What if the cancer ended up spreading and now I only have a year to live?

OH MY GOD, SHUT UP!!!!

Is it always going to be like this? Every time I'm waiting for test results? I can't live like this - with this anxiety every time I'm uncertain about something. I think the fact that I was so sure that I was fine around this time last year only to find out how wrong I really was has turned me against my own sense of reason. Am I going to be dwelling on this until tomorrow at 4pm? Maybe I should just shut myself in a room away from other people until then.

Can someone please kill this monster - or fix my brain?

Give Me A D!

Well, I finally decided it was time, and thanks to Victoria's Secret's helpful bra-fitting tool, measured myself to get a new bra.  Men of the world, rejoice! You've got another woman in the world who wears a D cup. Now I just have to get used to wearing one of these for over 8 hours a day again.

Who Won?

I'm sure you're all just dying to know if the sloth or the beast came out this morning.

I'm happy to say, it was the beast!

Well, not a very vicious beast. Kind of a slow, lumbering beast.

Like a panda...with a serious case of bead head.

Sloth Mode

I ain't no size two either, Meghan.

Okay, I've been cleared for exercise.  I am soooo happy because all of this extra poundage has got to go.  This is just about the heaviest I've ever been.  No bones about it, I am fat.

Hoooooo!

People can look at me and tell me I'm not, and it's nice of them to want to make me feel better, but I'm not fishing for compliments. I know the numbers on the scale and the size of my pants.  I know I've gained a huge amount of weight over this year and now I know it's time to take it off.

There's only one problem.

Sloth Mode

It's December, it's cold, it's always dark outside.  I have no energy and I just want to sleep. 

Oh, I started out with a bang. I exercised 3 out of the 4 mornings that I was on my excursion to Texas. I was on a treadmill and I honestly didn't mind because the surroundings were new. Sure, I felt a little intimidated when members of a college football team were in there at the same time, but I was finally back at it and it felt great!

My friend, the Texas treadmill

So, I decided that when I got back from Texas, I'd start getting up at 5am again and start doing FocusT25 again to kick my own ass.  Yup - me and Shaun T were gonna be morning buddies again.

My friend, Shaun T

And then the morning came and the 5:00 alarm went off and I turned it off and rolled over and went back to sleep.  Fail #1. When I did finally get up, I resolved to hop on the treadmill when I got home from work to at least do something.  And I did.  It was sad and pathetic, but I did. And I swore that I'd get up and start Focus T25 the next morning (today).

And then the morning came and my alarm didn't go off. Fail #2. (We spilled water on it yesterday.  We thought it was fine, but...guess not.) So I've resolved to get on the treadmill when I get home from work to at least do something.

I'm wondering how long this trend will go on.  I can't let it. I have to get from Sloth Mode into Beast Mode pronto or I will have no right to complain.  At. All.

Errr.... More along the lines of this:

Tomorrow, I resolve to get up at 5:00 am and hang out with my friend, Shaun T. I will be cold, I will be tired, but I will get up and sweat and swear at my out-of-shape body and it will be glorious because I will know that I'm actually doing something again.

I'll let you know if the beast or the sloth shows up in the morning.

Random 14

I never thought I'd actually be happy about putting on an underwire bra again.  It's on, but it certainly doesn't fit right.  Looks like my next purchase will be a new over the shoulder boulder holder.

This Is My Jam*

Yet another post lifted from my other blog.  I swear I'm not lazy.  Sometimes they just work on both.

I first heard this song back when Thor came out on DVD.  (I never went to see the first one in the theater because it didn't interest me.  Ha!  How times have changed.)

The quality of this video is terrible.  And it's slowed down. I apologize, but I can't seem to find any others on the interwebs.
Not long after that, I ended up downloading Wasting Light because I was in desperate need of new music and though I'd never really considered myself a Foo Fighters fan before, I didn't really mind them.  As the album became part of my running playlist, and I listened to it more and more, it (along with the rest of the band's music) really grew on me.  But this song always stuck out and it was one of my favorites. 
Fast forward to this year.  
There are certain songs that I can identify with certain phases of this carcinoma adventure.  I still can't listen to Pharrell's Happy without feeling nauseous.  I hear Katy Perry's Roar and think of the car ride to the hospital on mastectomy day.  But this song...let me give you a scene.
It was about a month after my mastectomy and I could finally start getting some exercise.  Nothing too major yet - I had to ease my way back into physical activity.  I was still bouncing back from everything my body had been through, chemo, fatigue, weight gain, major surgery, having my pectoral muscle re-attached over a foreign object, physical therapy.  I decided at least I could start by walking my old jogging route.  I put on my running shoes, cued up my old running playlist and headed out.
It felt good to be out there getting fresh air again, feeling like I was doing something good for myself.  About 15 minutes into my walk, this song came on, and though I'd heard it hundreds of times before, the lyrics hit me differently.  A smile came over my face and my pace increased.  And then it hit this part:

You keep alive a moment at a time

But still inside a whisper to a riot

To sacrifice but knowing to survive

That first decline another state of mind

I'm on my knees, I'm praying for a sign

Forever, whenever

I never wanna die

I never wanna die

I never wanna die

I'm on my knees

I never wanna die

I'm dancing on my grave

And running through the fire

Forever, whatever

I never wanna die

I never wanna leave

I'll never say goodbye

Forever

Whatever!

Forever

Whatever!!

I was still smiling, I was still walking fast, but now tears were streaming down my cheeks.  That's when it hit me that this was exactly what I was living.  This was the song that would always remind me of getting back up after the crap that I'd been through.  This was me not being complacent, not feeling sorry for myself, but moving forward, doing what I can to keep myself healthy, living my life as fully as I can, and being the best person I can be in the time I have left in this life - be it ten years or forty.
This, my friends, is why this song that many people feel has been tremendously overplayed means the world to me.  
And the fact that it's in Thor doesn't hurt.




*I am so sorry to use that phrase, but now you understand why.

Just Look at the Flowers...

I lifted this post from my other blog.  Don't hold it against me...

I haven't really been in the mood to take selfies lately since the few times I've tried, I've looked incredibly large or old in them. (It's basically the only way people can see updated pictures of me since I'm the only one in the household who takes pictures and I don't go out for others to take pictures of me. It's a fun life I lead.)  People have been wondering what stage my hair is in now.

Well, last night I discovered that my hair is now like Carol's in The Walking Dead.  Actually, my son had mentioned it weeks ago, but it didn't really register until I saw the show last night (she was actually in it again) and I saw these little whispy hair things on the back of her head.

I have those whispy things too!  (Perhaps that means I'll have some sort of a wave in my hair now?) I think her hair is just a smidge longer than mine is right now, eh...maybe not, but anyway it's pretty dang similar...except mine is blond, not grey.  And mine's not quite as messy up top, but maybe I'll have to figure out how to do that, 'cause I kinda like it.

Too bad it's not Halloween - I'd have the perfect costume.  I could be "Chubby Carol"!

And I could be totally badass and go around telling people to "Look at the flowers..."

Sorry - if you don't watch The Walking Dead, you have no clue what I'm talking about.  

It might be better that way.

Random 13

As I was applying my lip gloss this morning, I had to start laughing.  Why?  Because this lip gloss was given to me by my plastic surgeon's office.  They throw it in your pre-op bag as a little treat, so basically you come home from your pre-op visit with a bag that contains anti-bacterial cleansing cloths to use for two days before your surgery (helps prevent infection), a million sheets of instructions and warnings, lanyards for any drains you might end up having afterwards (yuck), a tracking sheet for said drains (double-yuck), and a tube of lip gloss so you can feel pretty despite stitches, swelling, drains and drugs.

Uhhhh....thanks?

An Open Letter to My Brain

Dear Cerebrum,

What exactly are you trying to do to me?  While I understand that we can't really exercise the rest of the body right now and it's driving us crazy, it doesn't mean that you can start running faster and faster thereby making me start overthinking things and creating potential life-threatening dramas where there are none.

Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about.  You made my day yesterday absolutely terrible for a while.  I get that it was a boring day and you needed something to do, but you shouldn't play with me like that.  Not only was I feeling stuck in my job and feeling fat and unattractive, you had to go and make me start getting worried about nothing.  You made me cry.  At work.  Unacceptable!

A lymph node in my neck that's been barely swollen for weeks was the molehill at the base of the mountain of craziness you created.  For some reason you decided that it sounded like a good subject to run with, and boy did you run in overdrive.  The ideas you were feeding me were so freaking ridiculous, but somehow you jumped over that logic hurdle and kept sprinting.  You told me that the gland was about three sizes bigger than it actually was, that it meant it was obviously full of cancer and it was spreading to my brain.  Once that hit I'd only have a year, tops.  I wouldn't see my son graduate high school.  He'd have to somehow struggle through the rest of his school career after a huge loss.  Would he be able to do it? And on, and on and on.....

It got so bad that I actually ended up calling my doctor to see it I should get it looked at.  Seriously!  You told me that I had brushed off the lumps that were in my breast as cysts for months before I called a doctor and look how that worked out for me, and how you don't want that to happen again, do you?  When I called them, I even said It's probably nothing but...  They were so sweet and agreed that it was probably nothing, but to come in to be 100% sure.  Right after I made the appointment, I was about to call back and cancel right away, but then you started running again and I made the decision to go just to make you stop!

I got up this morning and, though once again tempted to call and cancel today's appointment, I kept it to make sure that you wouldn't start in again.  (I guess I should stop here and thank you for letting me sleep the past few nights.  It's been greatly appreciated.)  I drove to the doctor's shaking my head and laughing at myself for letting you get me going this much, but I continued on.  When the nurse got me all checked in, I told her that it was crazy for me to even be there, but she said that she couldn't blame me after what I've been through.  Once the NP came in, I told her that I was going to call and cancel my appointment, but she reassured me that this is what they're there for.  After she examined my neck, she told me the following:

It feels like a lymph node.  A perfectly normal lymph node.

I apologized profusely for wasting her time, but she reassured me that they rely on us to know when we have any changes in our bodies or concerns, and that this early on I'm going to be a little jumpy, but it will fade away as time goes on.  She told me what to look for and what's normal/what's not, so that you don't have as much power over me.

So, there you have it, grey matter of mine.  You're going to be on a leash from now on.  A short one.  And once you start running too far away from me, I'm going to be pulling you back in.

Consider yourself warned.

Your person,
Rebecca

Post-Surgery Instructions

I meant to post these a while ago, but never got around to it.  (Okay, I guess surgery wasn't that long ago now that I think about it, but still...)

I was given a list of restrictions and a whole bunch of Don'ts when they shooed me out of the hospital a couple of weeks ago.  Some are stellar...

• Do NOT drive a car for 24 hours or as long as you are taking pain medications.  Well, duh.  This one is a no-brainer, right?
• Do NOT take part in activities requiring coordination or judgement for 24 hours (using lawn mowers, power tools, stoves, food processors, etc)  I apparently glossed over this one on the sheet as I realized that I had forgotten to turn the burner off after making my dinner that night.  Oops.
• Do NOT make important decisions for 48 hours (signing contracts, wills, etc) Because the first thing you want to do after coming out of surgery is write that will you've been putting off for decades.
• Go directly home and have a responsible adult available to help you.  What is considered a "responsible" adult is probably up for some debate.  And anyway - I wanted to go from the hospital to the lawyer's do draft my will, then mow my neighbor's lawn and build a shelving unit.  Who needs rest? Who needs help?!  I'm on drugs and I feel invincible!!!

New Sensation

The expander is out and the implant is in!  Woohoo!

Thursday's surgery went very well.  The plastic surgeon told Chris everything went perfectly.  They might still have to do some fat grafting after all the swelling goes down and things shift into their permanent positions, but that would be done at the same time the augmentation of the other breast happens - in a few months.  But no drains and no compression because they didn't do the fat graft means an easy recovery for me.  (Okay, I had a bit of mild disappointment that he didn't do the fat graft because he was going to take from my belly and "make it worth my while".  Oh well, I'm just meant to work this fat off naturally.)

Now I'm sitting here in a really tight surgical bra that I'm supposed to wear 24/7 (except for showering) for the next 6 weeks.  I'm afraid this thing is going to become a part of me by then.  At least it's not as hideous as those nasty camisoles I had to wear after the mastectomy.

The thing that's making me smile though is that now it's a breast again.  It's not just some hard dome of flesh that's sitting on my chest, this is soft and pliable and it jiggles when I move.  Funny thing is that I got so used to the under-armor of the expander that the movement is actually a new sensation that I have to get used to again.

Oh, I'm not complaining.  Not at all!

Heatlthy as A Horse...Except for that whole cancer thing

I had my pre-op appointments yesterday.  Three quick appointments and a whole lot of driving in construction to get there and back.

The first appointments were at the plastic surgeon's office where I had to read through huge packets of information about what could possibly go wrong and sign my consent forms.  How we sign off on those forms after reading all those terrible things that could go wrong is beyond me, but we do it.  Then I got to listen to things I didn't want to hear - like all of the restrictions and recovery I'll have after this.  A simple outpatient surgery and there's still a long list of things.  No raising my arm over my head for a week, having to wear a surgical bra for probably 6 weeks, if they have to do a fat graft, I'll have to have compression over the donor site for a few weeks, no exercise for a month, no pools for 8 weeks, oh - and I might get stuck with a drain again.

We won't know until surgery.  I love all this not knowing stuff.  It all depends on what needs to be done to make the boob look like a boob again.  I guess for that sake, it's worth it, but still...

Anyway, after I was done over there, I had my pre-admission testing.  You know, where you go over all of your medications (I have one) and they check your heart if necessary (it wasn't) and weigh you (I don't want to talk about it) and make sure you're all healthy and ready to go under the knife.  My questions went quickly and the nurse practitioner who I saw was impressed by how well I did during my last surgery.  She felt the need to show me my EKG and said that normally it goes up and down , but mine was steady during the whole four hours.  Between that and the lack of illnesses I've had, she called me an extremely healthy person, to which I responded, "Well, yeah - except for that whole cancer thing that I had."

Eh, crap.

Anyhoo...surgery is good to go on the 30th.  I'll be spending Halloween watching scary movies on painkillers.  If you have any suggestions of movies that might pair well with narcotics, pass them along.

The Truth Comes Out

I've been struggling with posting this one.  It brings up so many emotions that I've been pretty good at not feeling any more.  The fear, the panic, the uncertainty.  It makes me feel vulnerable and I don't like showing that side of myself.  (Wonder Woman, you know?)  At the same time, I don't want to hide what it feels like to find out news like this.  I wouldn't wish these feelings on anyone.  Man, we've come a long way since New Year's Day...

I called the following Monday to see if my results were in as my radiologist had said, but found out that my doctor was on vacation until after the first of the year.  Oh, happy holidays.  Ok, what’s a few more days to wait?  It wasn’t anything anyway.  I’d get a happy-go-lucky phone call on Thursday and she’d let me know it was benign and what/if anything should be done about it.

I got up on New Years Day and nabbed the laptop that I only get to use when my husband is asleep.  He had been working until 4am that morning, so I figured I had plenty of time to myself.  Facebook, Twitter, blog...I got through them all and then figured that just for shits and giggles I’d check my medical records online to see if the test results happened to be there.  And they were.  Yay!  I don’t have to wait any more.  I clicked on the link and after a bunch of terms I didn’t recognize, I saw the words Invasive Ductal Carcinoma.  Carcinoma...that’s cancer, right?  No, that can’t be right.  Google, tell me I’m wrong!

This is what I saw:

No!  No.  No no no no no no no.

This isn’t possible.  These have to be the wrong results.  They had to have posted it on the wrong patient’s file.  Under closer examination, I noticed that there were samples from three separate masses and those samples were named the same thing that I heard the radiologist tell the nurses.  

This was me.  I had cancer.

I sat in my chair, shaking, hand to my mouth as if trying to hold back a scream.  I was too shocked to cry.  I didn’t know what to do.  After what seemed like an eternity, I looked at the report again to try to make sense of what it was telling me.  Sizes I could understand, but what was this “Grade 3” thing and why were they checking for positive or negative estrogen and progesterone?    What was good, what was bad?  Most importantly - how long did I have to live?

I went back to the internet and found some of the information I was looking for.  I quickly read up on grading and staging and receptors.  None of this sounded any good.  I took the information I had, gave myself my own completely uneducated staging and then did the one thing I knew I shouldn’t - checked the mortality rates.  And then I started shaking again.

My husband was still sleeping.  He’d only been there for a couple of hours.  Do I wake him up to tell him the news?  Do I let him sleep and try to pretend I don’t know any of this?  It was too big for me to hide.  He’d be able to see it on my face right away.  I could let him sleep a little longer, but the kid would be up shortly and I didn’t know what to do about him.  Oh, god!  My son!  How is he supposed to deal with this?  I hated to do it, but I had to tell my husband right away.

I walked into the bedroom and closed the door behind me.  He was sleeping so soundly and had no idea that our worlds were changing forever.  I couldn't do it.  I hated this.  I hated myself.  I kneeled down on the side of the bed and started sobbing.  The sobbing woke him from his slumber - it’s so rare that he’s ever heard me do it.  He pulled me up on the bed next to him and all I could get out in the gasps of breath I could take from time to time was “I’m sorry.  I’m so, so sorry.”

This is where I stopped writing regarding breaking the news to family.  Things were still too new, too raw for me to continue, though I jumped ahead and I'll post that another time.

We did end up telling Xander that day because we knew we wouldn't be able to hide the fact that something was wrong.  It was a rough beginning to the year for all of us.  

I went to work the next day and called my doctor, leaving her a message that said, "I saw my results online, so you don't have to worry about calling and ruining my day.  I just need to know what we do next."  I was supposed to be doing year-end reports.  Yeah, like that was going to happen.  After I talked to the doctor and confirmed the results, made my appointment with the breast surgeon who she recommended at Froedtert in Milwaukee, I left work and went to tell my parents.  There's something you never really prepare for - telling your own parents that you have a disease that could kill you.  

Though my doctor was pissed that I found out the way I did, I'm somewhat thankful.  I didn't want to find out via a phone call at work, or in the doctor's office in front of a complete stranger.  It was good that I was by myself in those first moments.  It gave me time to process things without having to put on a show.  

My next post won't be so depressing...I promise.

Biopsy (Black and) Blues

So, let's recap, shall we?  The mammogram and ultrasound didn't go the way I had planned.  I wanted them to clearly show cysts so I didn't have to have any more testing, but that wasn't the case.  An appointment was made for the day after Christmas to have biopsies done on the masses that were found.  Joy.

Here's the tale of the biopsy, complete with photos of the bruising that came along with it in glorious color!  Yes, this was written when I was still clueless about what was really going on.

Christmas came and went with nary a thought of my boob until it was time to go to bed and I had to get up the next morning and go in.

I had the same ultrasound technician that I had before.  It was also the same radiologist who had looked at my pictures last week.  I had figured it would be one or two little needle pokes and I would be out, but I guess that was wishful thinking on my part.

Step 1: Use the ultrasound to find the masses again.  There were t two prominent ones and also a tiny third that was further in the tissue and very tiny - just beginning to form.

Step 2: Numb the area using needles and numbing medicine

Step 3: With a large needle (and I mean large - like one of those turkey injectors), take out 3-5 samples from each mass for examination and then place a marker on each mass for future scans so the tech can see that they were already biopsied.

I had been dreading the needles with the numbing agent the most.  I'm fine with needles when it comes to taking blood and administering shots.  You know, in your arm.  Sticking needles in my already sensitive breastal area was something I was not looking forward to.  Fortunately, I barely felt them at all.

The big-ass needles that were used to take the samples didn't really even bother me that much, it was the sound that they made when taking the tissue.  They have a loud plastic-sounding click that sounds like a really cheap toy gun, but it's really a needle deep in your boob.  Sigh.  Anyway, the doctor would warn me when it was coming, but I always twitched a bit when it happened...the 10 times it happened.  (He took 4 samples from each of the large and 2 samples from the tiny one.)  In between each stick, he or the tech would apply pressure both to the entry point and to where the lesion was to help prevent serious bruising (which is almost impossible when I bruise so easily anyway) and to help stop the bleeding.  Oh there was plenty of blood.  I'd see it on his gloves, on the gauze, on the ultrasound wand, and then I felt it trickling down my side.  I guess it makes sense though, there was a lot of tissue being ripped into.  I just didn't think of it ahead of time.

When all the samples were taken, the doctor thanked me for my patience, I replied "Where else am I going to go dressed like this?" he took the samples and left.  Once all of the bleeding had finally stopped (I'm a bleeder), they applied a couple of bandaids, advised me to wear a sports bra, apply ice, and take it easy for the rest of the day.  I would feel bruised and sore and be swollen for the next few days.  Lovely.  The left breast was already larger than the right - now it was going to be even worse?  I followed their directions for the rest of the day and let me say right now, keeping ice on a breast while trying to keep it from your son is not an easy task.

I was a little apprehensive of getting into the shower the next morning.  I hadn't taken a look at the breast since the procedure was done.  I knew that it was swollen - I could feel that, I just didn't know that I wanted to see it.  But, I can't shower in a sports bra, so off it went...

Quick - call HuffPo!  Sideboob!

It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.  Still not a pretty sight, but not quite as black and blue as I had envisioned.  Well, yet anyway.  Once I took the bandaids off, the puncture marks were clearly visible with a large bright bruise between the two.  My hubby decided we could just think of it as a hickey just like he used to give me back when we were young and silly, and it wouldn't seem quite so icky.  Eh - nice try.

The second day after the procedure was a little darker - the bruising and my frame of mind.  The fear and uncertainty set in.  The ohmygodwhatifitreallyiscancer monster made an appearance again.  Damn thing.  I was trying to make a list in my mind of who I would tell in person, who I would call, who I might text.  How long would I wait to post something on Facebook, tell my boss, etc.  It wasn't a fear of my own mortality.  I'm young and healthy(ish) and am pretty sure I have the nads to get through it all, it was the reactions of everyone else that I was dreading.  My parents, my son, my husband.  I was thinking of how our world would be thrown in such a loop with medical bills piling up and I didn't know if I'd be able to continue working and my insurance was really going to suck this year, and on and on and on.  Damn you monster. Damn you breast cancer fear-mongering.  And damn you hormones and the PMS that I was most likely going through at the same time for bringing me to this place.  Time to shake it off and move on.

I was fine for the next few days, except for the bruise.  That thing got ugly.  Really black and purple and huge.  A whole third of my breast was now this rainbow of ugliness.  Knowing me it wouldn’t be going away anytime soon.

Just FYI - that nasty bruise lasted a month.  One full month of Technicolor tit.  It changed from the deep red/purple to a lovely green/yellow.  Anyone who saw it (and there were many who did) winced in pain for me.

In the Beginning

When I first started getting scans and tests after we found the masses in my breast, which was about a year ago, I had started working on a epic blog post that was supposed to be all about breast cancer mass-hysteria and how just because you find a lump in your breast, it could be one of a myriad of things.  Ha!  Joke was on me.  I continued writing through the whole process of testing, finding out, and the beginning stages of meeting with a doctor.  It was getting a little too hard for me to keep up though.  I was still quite emotionally raw and the details of some of the earlier things were beginning to escape me.

I thought, since there's really not much going on right now, that I'd share bits and pieces of it with you.  I'll start at the beginning.  Keep in mind, when I began writing this, I was sure it was all nothing...

My husband found it during....uh...extracurricular marital activities.  Poor guy.  It was a lump in my left breast, very close to the surface, right underneath the nipple.   What a great way to kill the mood.

No, I don't perform monthly breast exams. Why?  I'm not 40 and I have no history of cancer in my family whatsoever.  I know, I know.  Everyone on both sides of my family go from strokes or heart disease - those are my main areas of concern.

Now, cysts on the other hand, are a different story.  My mother and my grandmother both had them.  Honestly, I completely forgot about that until I saw the look of alarm on my husband's face and then reassured him that that's most likely what it was.  My mom was right around the same age as I was when she found her first one.  I wasn't terribly worried.  I consulted the mighty internet and found (after having to bypass a million breast cancer websites) that I'm just the right age to start getting cysts, that they're genetic, that you can live with them, have them drained or have them removed.  In my mind, not harmful = let it go.

But I kept getting questions from my husband. "Are you going to call the doctor about that anytime soon?"  I pish-poshed it off for a while.  And then he happened to have another friend confide in him that she had the same thing.  Unlike me, she had history of cancer in her family and was getting it checked out.  This made him push me even more.  I agreed to make an appointment, but first I had to find a new doctor because the one I had been going to had gone to another system and the other one I had tried had absolutely zero personality.  I had to do a little searching first.

And then I noticed that my breast started to hurt.  Not a sharp pain, just an ache.  Sometimes dull, sometimes a little more harsh.  I didn't like that.  Now it's like there was really something in there that I had to do something about.  I double-checked and saw that the pain was pretty common for cysts as well - especially depending on what part of the menstrual cycle you're in.  They also changed size during the cycle, but I wasn't about to keep feeling it to see if it was doing that.

Frankly, it grossed me out.  I know what my body is supposed to feel like - I've had it for 38 years.  This was a foreign body that wasn't there before and it was hard and painful and gross.  I was sure my husband felt the same way about it (along with his fear of my meeting an early demise).  He's a breast man - mine felt wrong.  That's not cool.  How would he want to touch it and still be aroused?  How would my daydreams of hooking up with celebrities ever come true if they reached out  and grabbed a bodacious ta-ta that had some creepy lump in it ?

Then we came up to the beginning of December and found out that my employer-based insurance was going to go downhill as of the first of the year, so if I was going to get this taken care of, I had to make a decision fast.  I found a doctor that people seemed to like and made an appointment.  As soon as you gave the person scheduling my appointment the reason of "I have a lump in my breast," the tone and the volume of their voice goes down by 10 notches and they sound like they're trying to soothe a crying child.  People - do I sound distraught?  I really don't think I do, because I'm not.  It's just such a sensitive subject for some stupid reason.  I'll get to that.

I got in, started answering all of the questions the nurse threw at me, her voice did the same dang thing when she got to "reason for the visit" Sigh.  The doctor came in, examined me, was totally nice - I really liked her.  I think she was thrown for a loop that I was pretty matter-of-fact about things and not in some state of panic.  She did from time to time rub my arm in that "it will all be okay" way, but it was an improvement over madam bedside manner of a robot.  She recommended I go in for a mammogram and ultrasound so they could see what was in there.  I had a feeling that was coming, and there was no way around it, so I scheduled them for the next week.

Mammogram Day!  Oh, how I was looking forward to this.  It was nice to have a day off, but I didn't really want to spend the day smelling (they don't want you to wear deodorant because it shows up incorrectly on the scan) and getting my boobs flattened on a cold machine.  I wasn't afraid of the outcome, mostly I was afraid of running into anyone I knew.  It's a small town.  If someone sees you in the radiology waiting room, they make a beeline straight for you and ask you why you're there.  And then word travels.  Quickly.  I didn't need that.  I checked in and quickly found a seat in the corner where hopefully no one would see me.  Thankfully they called me back and I was in the clear.

The mammogram process is very interesting.  A very nice lady brought me back and explained the process.  They were doing a diagnostic screening, so they would be taking 2 pictures of each breast   She put little stickers on my nipples (nipple markers - technical term) and another sticker where the lump was, so it was clear.  I figured it was pretty clear enough without it, but what the heck.  I was a little put off by all the pink in the room (automatic thought of cancer again), but other than that it was pretty comfortable.  Until it was time to take the pictures.  She warned me that she had to get me positioned just right, so she was going to be pulling and pushing and tugging, and boy she meant it.  She would finally get me into position and then came the squishing.  Yikes!  Being younger (finally a reason to call me younger), the breast tissue is still pretty dense, so they really have to press it to get the image they want.  Oy!  When my breast starts to hurt after just touching the lump a little, I knew this was going to be something really painful when it was all over.  Anyway, a few minutes after she would take the picture, it would show up on her screen.  It was pretty dang interesting.  Lo and behold, there was a bright white spot on my left breast!  I coulda told you that without all the fancy pictures.  The right was perfectly clear.  Yay!

When we were done, she sent the images to the radiologist to make sure she didn't need to get any more angles, which thankfully she didn't, and then it was off to ultrasound.  I watched the images on the monitor as they came through and found that there was not just one foreign body in there, but two.  Lovely.  After consulting the radiologist again, the ultrasound tech told me that he wanted to do a biopsy on what they found, and with that I was set free.  Damn.

You see, I was really hoping that the images would be so clear, so unmistakably cysts, that we could just move on from there and take care of them.  Instead, I have to go confusing people and prolong things even further.  The mammogram technician called me about an hour later and set up the appointment for the day after Christmas.  Exactly how I wanted to spend my time off from work!  She explained the procedure to me and it didn’t really sound all that bad.  They’d numb me, take a couple samples with a needle and send me on my way with a bandaid.  Simple enough.

The thought of a biopsy put a little dread in my mind.  I had a few days of doom and gloom clouding my mind. It got even worse a couple of days later when I was in a ton of pain.  Apparently I had a delayed reaction to all of the squeezing and pulling from the mammogram.  I was trying to enjoy our holiday potluck, but sharp, burning twinges of pain would radiate through my breast.  I wanted to cry, but instead wallowed in 3 different kinds of cream-cheese based dips.  Thankfully, the pain was gone the next day.


Next time...The Biopsy

The Phases of my Follicles*

It's a slow news period around here these days, so I thought I'd take a look back through my pictures to see how my looks have changed since my carcinoma adventure began.  Well, my hair anyway - I guess the rest of me is basically the same except for extra poundage....oh, and this expander thing in my chest, but that'll be gone soon enough.  (Exchange surgery is scheduled for October 30th, if you haven't heard.)

Anyway....  Here was me at the beginning of all of this.

Totally lifted this from my husband's blog.

On February 6th, I started chemo.  My hair started coming out about two weeks after that and we shaved my head on February 22nd.  Funny how you remember those dates, isn't it?  Anyway, here I am a day or two later.

It was February and it was freaking cold!

Classic cancer patient look, isn't it?  Well, I decided to try to not look that way and a day or two later took this one so the world could see me sans hair.

It seems like this was eons ago.

Remember the wig?

Ha!  Nope.

I still had a bit of stubble, but eventually that went away as well and I was left with a shiny, yet well-shaped, scalp.

This was half-way through chemo

If it wasn't too cold out, I'd go around home without anything on my head, but when I went to work, I'd throw on a scarf or a hat.

I had just come from work.  

During Memorial Day weekend, I had absolutely had it with trying to coordinate headwear with my work clothes.  Accessorizing jewelry is bad enough.  I was just starting to get some peach fuzz on my head (Yay!)  I went natural from then on.

My last day of chemo: June 26th
Note: No eyebrow hair or eyelashes in this pic.  Yay for makeup!

Actual hair started growing in along-side the peach fuzz, but it was growing in platinum blonde (not grey!), so it kind of blended in and looked like a halo in the right wrong light.

In the sun mid-July

Finally, the fuzz went away and it was all hair.  Short.  But it was actual hair.  And it was getting a little darker as it came in.  It was like natural highlights.

My last day at work before my mastectomy.

Now I think I can say I have something along the lines of a pixie cut.  I think I might actually have to get a trim pretty soon!

Celebrating "Drink Beer Day" on Sunday.

Looking forward to the "awkward hair" phase for the next few months, but at least it's hair again and I don't get the double-takes that I used to get.

*I was going to title this "Follicular Phases", but then I noticed on the interwebs that there's a completely different definition for that that has nothing to do with my head.  

Forward Progress

It's been a non-eventful yet quite eventful couple of days here depending on how you look at things.

Monday, I got my stitches taken out from where they removed my port.  Nothing there now but a lovely scar that I'm going to try to get rid of.

Yesterday was another day spent in Milwaukee.  First was physical therapy.  I'm doing so well that I don't have to go back.  Yay!  I've been cleared to exercise as long as I listen to my body and don't overdo it.  Seriously, I don't think this is going to be a problem.  I'm basically starting at square one again.  Doing exercises with two-pound weights makes my arms shake.  It's so sad.  But, between that and Couch to 5K, (and eating better) I'll be starting to get back into shape again and will eventually (hopefully) be able to get back to the point where I can do the old Focus T25 workouts or even Insanity again.  Time to kick my own ass again!  Well, I'll get there.  And there will be another hiatus when I have my next surgery - the exchange.

After a fast-food lunch, our last stop in Milwaukee was a conversation with the plastic surgeon (and his nurse, and a resident...I have so many more people to add to my list of people who have seen me topless) regarding what to do next.  I had to choose between using my own tissue or going with an implant.  Though I would love to use my own belly tissue (I've got plenty to spare), it means being in the hospital for an average of 5 days and I just don't have the vacation time any more.  It was eaten up with my first surgery.  Swapping out my expander with an implant is outpatient surgery.  I can handle that.  Anyway, my boob has been ordered and the scheduler should be calling me within the next 7 business days to give me a date.  All I know at this point is that it will be sometime this year (I'm thinking early November).UPDATE: Surgery is scheduled for October 30th.

Unfortunately, the surgery to augment the other side won't happen until next year.  They have to wait until the other side is healed and settled to make sure they get the symmetry right.  Sigh.  Oh well, there's still progress being made and once I get into a bra, an actual underwire bra with support and such, it'll all be good.  (The expander doesn't fit into a bra with actual cups, so I've had to wear the equivalent of a light-support sports bra this whole time.  Doesn't provide much help to my other side if you know what I mean.)  Thankfully, the only person who will see the difference that I'll have for a little while will be my dear husband who has been looking at this armor-hard pseudo-boob with a nasty incision since the end of July, so it will be an improvement.

The implant (possibly plural if they decide to do an implant on the other side for symmetry's sake) will end up having to be switched out down the road - ten years or so.  I can always make the choice at that point to use my own tissue.  We'll see how things go.  I don't know that I want to be a seventy-year-old woman with implants.  The thought of that makes me giggle.

Anyway, no more appointments for me until I have to go in and sign consent forms for my surgery.  Yay!!!  What is this, the first time in 9 months that I've gone with absolutely no doctor or lab appointments for at least a week?  It's a miracle!

Random 12

Phantom nipple pain.

That's a new one.

The Question

The question I get asked most often (other than How are you feeling?) is some variation of  "Is your cancer gone now?"  

I've never known how to answer this one, because really - how do we know for sure?

So, I had to ask my oncologist, who I just happened to have an appointment with yesterday, what to tell people.  He said that I can officially say yes.  He said I can say I'm in remission (though I've read that that's not really said until 5 years of being cancer-free) or that I'm a survivor (ugh), that I've won the battle (double-ugh).  Because as far as we know, they've gotten rid of everything, my treatments are done and I'm moving on.

Then he went on to say (exactly as I stated above) that we never really know for sure.  He equated it to pulling weeds.  We pull them, try to get all of the roots, but we never really know if there's a little root left behind or a seed that landed somewhere else until the weed shows itself again.

He said we watch things closely, we do our best to make sure it doesn't come back, and that if it does, we find it early and deal with it quickly.  (I love my oncologist - he's honest, well-educated, and above all a human being.)

So, I've decided that the next time someone asks me "The Question", my standard response will be:

As far we know, yes, it's gone.

I don't want to sugar coat things for people and give them false hope that it will never come back.  I think most people know of that risk, but I can't sound like I'm living in some sort of fantasy world either by saying, "Yep, it's gone - I'm all better."  There is no cure.  There's only the hope that it is actually gone for good thanks to the treatments I received and the medication I'm on now for the next 5-10 years.  Odds are pretty good that it'll all be fine, but there's always that chance.  As my doc says, "If it's in the cards, it's in the cards," and I totally get that.

Anyway...so yeah.  As far as we know, it's gone.  

I'm sorry - I couldn't resist.  Ha!

What About Me?

I hate it when my ego gets the best of me.  I really do.  It's unpleasant and ugly, so thank goodness it doesn't show its nasty face more often.

You know my work story - working from the chemo chair, working from home 2 weeks after surgery until I was good enough to get to the office.  Full-time all the time, blah, blah, blah...

Today was our employee appreciation party and I was bitter.  I've never been thanked for doing this work.  If anything I've gotten the opposite because HR wasn't happy that I was working from home because it might send the wrong precedent for other hourly associates.  (But those managers sure were happy when they started getting their reports again. And again - no thanks.)  My co-worker was nominated for Associate of the Month for picking up some of the slack while I was out, but me - the one who was working into the evenings to make sure they got their commission checks...nada.  Don't get me wrong - I was glad she was nominated for her help, but she wasn't picking up all of the slack because I WAS STILL WORKING!

I wasn't even going to go to the party except 1) I wanted to support my co-worker and 2) it was a football theme so we could wear something to support our favorite team and I'm always happy to wear my Matthews t-shirt.  Anyway, I went, I ate, I clapped half-heartedly for the nominees and the winners, didn't win any prizes, and went back down to my office, closing the door behind me.  I wanted to be left alone.

And then I started laughing at myself.  What a whiny, selfish bitch I was!  One shouldn't expect to be thanked, though common courtesy would kind of dictate it in a situation like this, it still shouldn't be expected.  I was blaming them for being so selfish when I was doing exactly the same thing.  Shame on me.

Then this song popped into my head.  This is an oldie and you've probably forgotten about it, but this was one of my favorite moody pre-teen wallow in my own self-pity while I crank up my boom box and sing along songs.  Enjoy!

"I guess I'm lucky, I smile a lot, but sometimes I wish for mooooooore!!!"

Oh yeah, belt it out and cry, little girl.  Belt it out and cry.

Stupid Cancer Memes

Oh, how I hate this one:

Oh, were it only the one thing that we wanted, it would be so much easier.  Just because we have cancer, the rest of the world doesn't stop. Life carries on.  We have work, family, friends; lives that hold happiness, sadness, stresses that have nothing to do with getting rid of cancer.  That's just another huge component of our lives that's been added on to everything else.

We want to "win the battle" (another phrase I can't stand), but at the same time we're worrying about bills, getting our work done, insurance, normal everyday issues that pop up like broken cell phones, cars that need fixing, our children and their schoolwork, our significant others and their lives, their stresses over what's going on with us, our treatments, how they affect us, how to carry on with regular life. WANTING to carry on with regular life, while this silly "battle" wages on.

Please, when you see this pop up in your Facebook feed, be one of the supposed "97%" who won't re-post it and instead, shoot a friend who might be going through a cancer-related stress - be it their own cancer or a family member or friend - a message just letting them know that you're thinking about them.  Check in on them, try to make them laugh, or just say Hello, I'm thinking about you.  It's so much more helpful and supportive than re-posting a meme.

The Awesome Hair

This is the hairstyle that I keep getting compliments on. Co-workers, doctors, nurses, people at the store. It's a big hit. They just don't get why I'd want to grow it out because it looks so good! The "cut", the color...all superb. (I wash it and dry it with a towel in the morning, that's it.)

I want to be me again. The me I remember had long hair. If, after I've grown it back out, I decide to go short again, so be it, but I need to go back to normal first.