3%

3%

He thinks there is a 3% chance of reoccurence.  He, the oncologist.  I think I can live with 3%.  I probably have a greater chance of getting smacked by a bus while running across the road to get coffee one morning.  There's probably a greater chance of dying from stupidity now rather than cancer.

I think I'm ok with 3%.

There is a possibility to lower that even more if I wanted to engage in a drug regime.  Right now, I think I'm ok with the 3%.  My husband reminded me that this is not a static decision and that we can reevaluate later, if we want.  The side effects and risks of the drug regime may not be worth the extra percentage point reduction.

I'm still processing this scenario.  For the last year, we have been focused on the "plan".  Now, aside from getting some areolas tattoed, the plan is complete.

Now what?

Does there need to be anything else?  

While adhering to the plan, I felt like I was doing something.  I was taking an active role is combating cancer and not letting it kill me.  Now I need to be comfortable with a less active strategy.  Yes, I need to eat healthier, exercise more, increase my calcium intake (but that is due to going through menopause twenty years earlier than normal) and other general health initiatives, but am I ok with not having an active fight on my hands.  I know that seems crazy, but I'm trying to challenge myself to not worry about that 3%.

And with that challenge, do I remove myself from this cancer-centric community I've created.  Can I even do that?

What do I write about now, if not cancer?  Do I write about my experience with other women that are going through this?  Do I keep updating people on my fake boobs (um, no).  There are still plenty of issues that I am going to struggle with that pertain to breast cancer.  I have baggage.  I have twenty years of baggage.  Keeping myself in a positive head space may be a real challenge for me.  How do I keep myself from extrapolating my mother's experience to my own?  How do I not become consumed with fear that this disease will affect my young daughter's life before we are prepared for it?

It'll be interesting to see what I want to keep writing about.  Maybe it will be canning or Junior League or guns..... stay tuned.

Pink vs. Purple

Oh October.

You month of cooler weather and football.  You month of autumnal colors of yellows, oranges, reds, browns...pinks and purples.  Don't think those last two fit?  Think, "boobs" and "bruises".

October is National Breast Cancer Awareness (pink) month and Domestic Violence Awareness (purple) month.  

You kind of forgot about the purple, didn't you?  

Yep, October has been pink-washed.  There are ribbons everywhere, tshirts, NFL shoes and gloves, pink ribbon bagels, pink-outs at high school football and softball games, and special pink-labeled products for just about everything you can imagine.  It's everywhere...you can't escape the pink.

Purple...not so much.

Breast cancer is easy for most people to identify with.  Have a friend with breast cancer?  Hold her hand, drive her to chemo, bake her a chicken enchilada casserole after her surgery and joke with her about future cup size and crazy wig styles.

Have a friend whose significant other is beating her?  Not so easy.  Do you get involved?  Do you say something to the authorities?  Do you even fully believe her?

I don't want to be negative against the pinkified movement.  I have benefitted from the pink.  I received amazing care and support when I was diagnosed and many of those things were made possible by funds raised through "pink" merchandise (although, I would STRONGLY encourage everyone to know where their funds are going when they purchase their next bottle of 10W-30 or vibrator...um yeah, seriously).  One of the reasons I persevered through years of screenings and appointments was because of the media attention that the disease received and I knew I was in a high-risk category.  Given that my course of action is so fresh in my memory, there is a part of me that thinks about how my situation would be different if I was in an abusive situation.

Let's just work through that exercise.

As someone in a controlled relationship, I would not have been allowed to go see my doctor on a regular basis.  If I was allowed to see my doctor, my partner would have been with me every step of the process.  Not to offer support, but to make sure that nothing about the abusive relationship was revealed.  Those pesky medical professionals and their court-mandated reporting.  My personal health would not have been a priority.  I would have been focusing on my partner and doing anything possible to keep from being abused or having my child abused.  Maybe my partner would have allowed me to see a doctor or I would have been able to sneak into the office, but I wouldn't have been able to pay for the the copay or the deductible because he controlled all of our funds and any money that I needed to spend had to be itemized and accounted for...by him.  Maybe I would try and confide in a family member about my inkling that I might be having a health issue, but my partner would have spent the years eroding my relationship with my family and convincing me that they are part of the problem and that they don't understand our "love".  

It would have been a much different scenario.

Why go through that icky exercise?  One in four women will experience domestic violence.  Arkansas is routinely in the top ten for most violent states in the US.  Domestic Violence is still a HUGE issue.  It's not a cancer that can be cut out or zapped or poisoned.  It starts in a manipulative, seemingly loving manner and develops into something that kills and injures (physically, mentally, emotionally) too many women (I acknowledge that men are victims of domestic violence as well, but 85% of victims are women).

Thank you from the bottom of my heart (which is behind my fake boobs) for your enthusiasm about and devotion to breast cancer awareness.  Thank you for carb-loading in the name of my boobs and in memory of too many of my sweet family members and friends.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.  

Now, let's turn that enthusiasm and devotion towards the issue of domestic violence awareness.  Let's talk about it openly and OFTEN.  Let's teach our young boys and girls about healthy relationships and treating EVERYONE with respect.  Let's be sensitive to situations in our workplace, church, book club, basketball team, etc.  Speak up when someone says something that is negative and demeaning.  Open your eyes and ears.  It's all around us...all the time.

Enjoy those fall colors....

#ebj35

I threw myself a birthday party.
It was awesome.

Starting last fall, I told myself that 35 was going to be the difficult year.  35 was the age my mother was when she was diagnosed with breast cancer.  35 was the age that I referenced over and over when discussing with doctors about my family history and risks.  35 was going to be a bitch to get through mentally.

35 is going to be a breeze.  
I welcome 35.
I embrace 35.
35 is the year that I will get this whole cancer thing behind me.

So, back to my party.  It was held at my new/old favorite bar, Maxine's.  The owners, Rebekah and Hannah, are formidable Downtown Fayetteville Mafia broads that I love.  They know how to throw a fun event and take care of the birthday girl.  Make sure you frequent their local businesses, Maxine's, Little Bread Company and Terra Tots.

Now that 35 has happened, it's time to work on my personal goals for the coming year.  Here is my list, in no particular order:
-  Learn how to back up a truck and trailer effectively, without taking out any other cars, kids, etc.
-  Become range certified and start teaching women's handgun classes.
-  Build my napping house.
-  Convert over to Wordpress (sooner rather than later)
-  Engage in more public speaking, maybe even an open-mic night (eek)
-  Try something that makes me uncomfortable...maybe pilot lessons or scuba diving...maybe coloring my hair.

It's going to be a good year.  Even if it isn't, it's going to be another year and I am thankful for that.

Fipples

"Oh no, I can't do that Wednesday.  I'm getting nipples that afternoon.  Can we schedule my hair appointment that next week?"

Ok, so not your typical rescheduling excuse, but it was mine.

Nipples are coming...or at least fipples (fake + nipples = fipples).

When it comes down to it, I guess I could forego the nipple reconstruction and just live happily ever after with my nice Barbie breasts with the scars across the front, but what is the fun in that?  If I'm going to be living with these fake knockers for the next sixty years, I should have some nipples or at least fipples.

The Promoter

In the last couple of weeks, I have had a number of people tell me that they have been reading my blog and that it has helped them through their own difficult time.  I've met some of these women face-to-face and some have messaged me.  It is actually a little overwhelming for me.  I started this blog as kind of a vent session, free therapy, f-you to cancer.  "Take that cancer.  I'm going to fight you tooth and nail and I'm not going to let you take a foothold in my life.  I'm going to be funny and irreverent and I'm going to let everyone marvel in how well I'm handling it all."

You like the slight overtone of martyrdom in that line of thinking?

I've had people tell me that they just don't know how I keep things so positive and that they would never be able to have such a good attitude about something like this. It's challenging to respond to those types of comments.  I almost want to apologize or try and minimize my situation.  Look, it's been a shitty, but people go through all kinds of hardships and trials in their lives.  I've had a number of years to think about this possibility and to wrap my head around it.

Do I feel sorry for myself sometimes?  Yes.

Do I wish I could go hang out at the beach for a week rather than hanging out in bed watching Firefly (I could write a whole post about why that show needs to be brought back)?  Yes.

Do I want my old body back without the eight latest scars and combined 800 cc's of silicone.  Yes.

Did it kill me?  NO!

So, there you go.  It didn't kill me and some would argue that it has made me stronger.  I'm not sure about that, but it has definitely helped me relate to other people that are going through similar things.  And this is how I've realized I can help other people.  I'm that plucky, slightly unpredictable friend that is going to offer to do anything to help you get through your difficult situation.

I'll listen. 

I'll acknowledge that it's not fair, but neither is life.

I'll help you come up with a plan.  I'll remind you that the plan will change and we'll change with it.

I'll advocate for you.

I'll fight for you....and I mean backwoods, Madison County fight.

I'll add people to your team.  You probably already have them waiting on the bench, you just need some encouragement to put them in the game.

I'll tell you all the things the doctors won't and help you get ready for them.

I'll tell you that you are strong, resilient and that you are ready for this fight.

I'll show you my boobs...if you thought that would help.

Not everyone can handle every aspect of that friend in their life, but you can choose which part of me you want (except the boob showing, that really needs to be in-person and only special situations).  Read what you want, skip over the other parts that annoy you.  This is me.  I'm a Virgo, a fixer.  I'm the "Promoter" personality on the DiSC profile.  I was voted Most School Spirit in high school.  I want to help you realize your potential.  You can do this!  You too, will get through this. It may not turn out the way you wanted and the path may be difficult and rough, but there will be bright spots and there will be positives.

And really...what's the alternative?

A Hysterectomy Door Wreath

Well, I made it through!

The surgeries went great and everything turned out the way they wanted it to.  The breast surgeon said everything looked good and now I just need to heal again (they should have installed a zipper the first time).  The gynecological surgeon said that nothing surprised her and that the edge of my liver is beautiful (never heard that one before).  I've been home recovering for the last week, but things have been so much easier than the first round of surgery.  I've been in hardly any pain and having complete use of my arms is very luxurious.

Have you heard of this new trend, Birth Wreaths for your hospital door?  They are cute and fluffy and have all kinds of doo-dads hot glued to them that give the average passerby an indication that behind the door is a new mother with her sweet bundle of joy.

I saw a couple of them at the hospital last week.  To be honest, I kind of felt left out.  I should have thought ahead and had someone make me a hysterectomy/salpingoopherectomy wreath.  I'm in Junior League and I know gals that can make some kick-ass wreaths.  I think the wreath would have been made with fire red, metallic mesh and had little bottles of merlot hanging from the bow.  Maybe some cold compresses and prescription bottles of Xanax.  Just a thought.  It definitely would have been quite the contrast to the pastel blue wreath that was hanging next door.

For some reason, I find so many things funny at the hospital.  Here are a couple (besides the door wreaths):
-  When I woke up in my room after the surgery, the first thing I saw was the phone number for the lactation nurse.  Had I been a little less sedated, I probably could have played a pretty good practical joke on said nurse...especially when she found out I didn't have nipples.
-  Again, when I came out of anesthesia, my vision was blurred and I felt so gassy.  Nothing like having a bunch of nurses telling each other, "she's complaining of a lot of rectal pressure."  You should have your full wits about you when rectal pressure is being discussed in the room.
-  The early morning housekeeping aide asked me if I had a boy or girl the day before.  Um, neither.
-  The anesthesiologist thought it would be funny to joke about my pre-op pregnancy test.  Um, no.  Not funny.

So, I'm taking it easy for a little while longer before heading back to work.  I promised my husband that I would study for and pass the HAM radio exam and I want to clean out the refrigerator.  I figured I should be able to accomplish both of these things even if I'm in the middle of hot flashes.

"Make that three-star spicy with the bubble tea"

I'm getting ready to go on an uber-exclusive vacation.

Or, at least that's what I'm telling myself.  It'll be an adventure.  I'm sure I will get to experience many new and exciting things.

I'll have a double order of the salpingoopherectomy...make that three-star spicy.  Oh, and with the steamed rice.  This tasty dish will be served up at the all-inclusive Willow Creek resort in the exotic town of Johnson, Arkansas.  They have the latest in all-cotton lounge gowns and I've heard that the wait staff is impeccable.

What I've packed to get ready for my trip:

-  Pro-biotics

-  Stool softeners

-  Front-closure tops

- Hibiclens

-  Germ-X

- Color-coordinated meds organizer

- My advance directive and Power of Attorney

I know that you are all wondering how you can book a trip like this.  Well, it's a pretty exclusive guest list.  It took me years to work my way into the inner circle of this club.  I'll see if there are any palms I can grease on the inside and get you invitation.

This week I continue my procedures to beat this pesky breast cancer.  I'll have the next stage of my breast reconstruction. They will replace the turtle-shell expander implants with the silicon implants (remember, I'm going with the implants that offer more "projection"). Hopefully they will be softer and a bit more comfortable.  I will also be having my uterus, Fallopian tubes and ovaries removed.  My breast cancer was estrogen/progesterone positive so we need to cut off those hormones in case we didn't get all the cancer.  Because I am BRCA II positive, I'm also at a higher risk for ovarian cancer, so the Naomi's (refer to "The Naomi's" blog post) need to come out.  

Needless to say, I'm not excited.  I feel that I've been a relatively balanced person when in comes to my hormones (my husband might disagree).  Things were always on schedule and I never felt like I couldn't control what was happening to my body.  Getting pregnant was easy and my pregnancy and birth was a very positive experience.  It seems a shame to get rid of those parts that have served me so well.  It's not as if I want more kids - we decided long ago that we were a one-and-done family, but I like having options.  It's kind of like four-wheel-drive.  I never use four-wheel-drive, but I do like having it as an option.  Guess it's that independent streak in me.  So, after this round of operations, I'll have less options.  I'll also have to bring more people into my circle to help me through this.  This last month I've added an acupuncturist and a compounding pharmacist to the list...oh, and I met a good tree guy...not directly related, but it's important to have a good tree guy.

A big thanks to all that are currently in the circle and have offered so many kind words of support.  I love you all!

A Recalibration of Expectations

Do you like that term?  I made it up a few weeks ago and have been using it more and more.  I feel like it accurately describes what I don't do often enough. I seem to just keep ticking along in my life, without readjusting my outlook.  I've had some major changes recently and for a while, I was not recalibrating my expectations.  I thought that I could keep doing things that I used to do or feel the same way as before the event.

Sometimes the situation calls for a recalibration of other people's expectations...in the south, we call it a "come to Jesus meeting".   I've been having a few of these interactions as well lately.  These don't have to be confrontational interactions, just a good time to let the other party know how your expectations have changed.  Either they can change with you or you can work on being comfortable with the new dynamic.

Isn't that what most of us desire?  We just want to know what is expected of us so we don't let anyone down or we can manage the desired results early in the process.

How I have recalibrated recently:

-  I will not expect my house to be clean except for the first hour after my cleaning gal leaves and we aren't home.  I will continue to expect that the house will pass the sanitary standards of the local convenient store bathroom (maybe even a step above), but I won't stress out about other things.  It's not worth it.

-  I will not expect to have the same schedule I did before my surgery.  While I'm not sick or in much pain, I still don't have the energy that I used to.  It's important for me to be home most evenings and get a full night's sleep.

-  I will take more time to enjoy the small moments with my husband and sweet kiddo.  I will forego bigger events to spend more time with them.

-  I will not expect my body to look or function like it used to.  I have had a major change and I will have a new "normal".  I need to stop comparing the new with the old.

-  I will expect more time for myself and I will work on not feeling guilty about it.

So think about it.  Do you need a recalibration of expectations in your life?  Do you need to recalibrate the expectations that someone has of you?  Now is as good of time as any.  You can even call it a "come to Jesus meeting" if you want....but only in the south.

More Projection Please

Last week was my consultation with the reconstruction surgeon.  He said that everything looked good and that we should not do any more fillings (woot woot).  We talked about finished size and what I could expect.  The surgeon dug through the drawer and brought out multiple implants in various sizes.  Little did I know that the implants come in various shapes.  For me, we have chosen the implants with more projection.  They aren't as wide and flat as the standard implant.  They should fit my frame better and keep me from having big side boobs (because that look was so 2012).  When we left the office, I told Walter that I shouldn't stress out too much about the decision because I'll have to have the implants replaced in 10-15 years.  So, I'll have nice projection for the rest of my thirties and into my forties and then I can choose a different look for my fifties...maybe they will have implants in the shape of pyramids or dollar signs (who is John Gault) by that time.

My next round of surgeries has been scheduled.  I'm doing both the implant exchange and full hysterectomy and oopherectomy at the same time so I only have to go under one more time.  The gynecologist is saying that I should expect 4-6 weeks recovery time, but I'm not accepting that.  I'm going to shoot for 2.5 weeks.  I'm nervous about how my body and mind is going to react to having 80% of my estrogen cut off in one fell swoop.  I'm more nervous about this than I was the mastectomy.  I know my body and I trust what it tells me.  Systemically, I have been a pretty healthy person and have known when things aren't quite right.  I hope that I will be able to find this balance again and be able to trust my body.  I also hope that I don't do anything drastic that causes irreparable damage to any of my relationships due to crazy hormone swings.  Maybe everyone can cut me a little slack for a couple of months.

Again, if you need me for any high-emotional situations this summer, I'll be for hire! 

We Were a Hit!

At least, I'm pretty sure we were.  May 30th was the Northwest Arkansas Listen To Your Mother show.  There were fifteen readers this year and they were all fabulous!  I knew a few of the women before the table read a few weeks ago, but getting to know them more, was a real treat.  They were women (and one man) with such a talent for telling a good story.  The stories were so heartfelt and sincere.  They were funny and sad.   Most importantly, they were real.  As one of the contributors, I was not able to hear everyone on stage, but from what I did hear, the audience LOVED it!  I have also had many people reach out to me since the show and tell me what a great time they had.

A huge thanks to Lela Davidson and Stephanie McCratic for bringing the show to Northwest Arkansas last year and continuing this year.  I think the show will continue year after year and grow in momentum.  It was such a good experience for me.  I submitted a story last year and was not chosen.  My story wasn't very focused and I received good feedback.  With my recent cancer diagnosis, my writing was much more focused and I was happy with how it all came together.  

I know that they would love to hear from you next year.  There are so many good local story-tellers and I'd love to be in the audience next year when they are on stage.  So, put that pen to paper or those fingers to the keyboard and get your story down!

Thanks to all that came to the show and showed support for everyone.  Thanks to everyone that said that my turtle-shell temporary boobs looked great in my new dress.  ;)

Got To Vs. Get To

Lately I have been assessing my capacity for crap...more specifically, negativity.  

I've come to the conclusion that my capacity and therefore tolerance for crap is low.  Maybe with the recent health issue, some things have been put into perspective and I'm just maturing (eek).  

I'm working on a theory (please don't expect anything groundbreaking): there are two types of people, "Get To" people and "Got To" people.  I wish I could come up with something more catching than that (you know, like "leaning in"), but along with my waning capacity for crap is also my waning capacity for creative thought (which, I'm told will get worse as I cut off all the estrogen in my body with one fell swoop...more on that later).  The last few weeks I've been highly sensitive to complainers and whiners - at work, on Facebook (always a favorite place to vent), in some of my social circles, etc.  I understand that there are people that don't have good sounding boards at home and that sometimes if you don't vent, the consequences could be dangerous, but seriously folks, at what point to do you suck it up and just move on to something positive.  Are you continually going about your day saying, "I've got to do this and I've got to that" or are you saying, "I get to this and I get to that"?  

When you are on the receiving end of the "got-tos", you begin to believe that you are a burden on that person.  If my child is always hearing me express my frustration about the things I've got to do for her, at what point does she stop asking me things...important things.  At what point do I stop asking grumpy coworkers for help, if all I ever hear from them are complaints about all the other things that they have to do for other people?

So, I get to.

I get to spend time with my sweet husband and funny child.

I get to go to the office.  

I get to go there under my own accord and not be in debilitating pain.  

I get to volunteer for my community.  

I get to do this with women that I really like and enjoy.

I am lucky.  I have a lot of "get-tos".  There have been a couple of "got-tos" in the last few months, but those things have turned into "get-tos" and hopefully, they will provide me with even more "get-tos".

Don't stress, I'll still listen to you bitch and moan, but I'd love if you would conclude your vent session with something positive and a way you are going to change the "got-to" into a "get-to". 

Health Update:
I went and saw my fabulous gynecologist yesterday.  It is confirmed.  I'm getting gutted.  It's all coming out this summer.  The ovaries (the Naomies), the tubes, and the uterus.  No reason to keep the uterus if I don't have the ovaries and the Tamoxifen (scheduled to start in December) does a number on the uterus that requires some extra "maintenance".  This procedure will be scheduled with the implant exchange, so I should only need to go under one more time.  The bright spot in all of this is that she's going to start me on a slight dose of "happy pills".  This will allow us to watch for any side effects and then help transition me into an estrogen-free life (one filled with a tenor voice and frequent chin-waxing).  I am happy (no assumptions, I'm not on the drugs yet) about this.  Why make it more difficult?  Do I really need to experience the extremes of the mood swings to fully appreciate them?  I say, no and I think those around me would agree.

To Pink or Not to Pink?

Last weekend was our area's Komen Race For the Cure.  I have been involved in the past as a team leader and participant and wanted to participate this year.  Walter said that he wanted to join me, so we made it a family affair with Scout lounging in the stroller while we walked the 5k.  I had planned on trying to meet up with a couple of survivors that had been so helpful throughout the last couple of months, keeping in contact with me and sharing their personal stories.  As soon as I entered the survivors' area, I was very overwhelmed.  There were so many people and there was so much pink.  The breakfast line was half a mile long and the coffee was at the end of it (note to any event planners: easily accessible coffee makes everyone VERY happy).  By the time I got some breakfast and coffee, all I wanted to do was sit and drink my coffee.  They called for the survivor photo and parade and I just couldn't do it.  I felt very much on display.  To be honest, I am very conflicted about the whole thing.  I like that Komen contributes to local programs, programs from which I have benefitted.  I like that they provide gap funding for some screening programs for women that can't afford screening.  But the event is so commercialized and there are so many vendors pushing their products and so many people jockeying to get product.  I will probably not put a lot of support behind the group.  I know there is a lot of debate about the organization and I am aware why people don't support it anymore.  I, personally will probably through my weight behind a different group.   I'd love for there to be a cure or at least a very clearly defined path to prevention in the next 20 years before Scout starts dealing with the issue.  It's difficult to outsmart your genes, but why not?  I'm glad I participated in the race although it brought up a lot of conflicting feelings.  A big thanks to my Junior League sisters that hosted a FABULOUS brunch at a local hotel after the race.  It was great and so relaxing and fun.  I really love hanging out with those ladies!

I'm excited to start volunteering for a program that matches survivors with recently diagnosed survivors.  This will be coordinated through the local breast center.  I've benefitted tremendously from being able to talk with other women who had recently gone through their experiences.  Hopefully I can help other women through my own experiences.

Ibuprofen and a Chevy

I got through this week with a little help from my good friend, Vitamin I.  I had a filling of my expanders on Wednesday and it about stopped me in my tracks.  I don't know if I've hit the point where they really are stretching things past the original size or if I just tweaked something leaving the office.  My chest was so tight and I felt like the expanders were pushing on my heart and lungs and trying to kill me from the inside (i would love to see that in an obit, "woman died from traumatic injury of internal organs caused by her tortoise shell implants).  Of course, instead of taking some ibuprofen and going home for the afternoon, I went back to the office, ran errands and spent the last three hours of the day in meetings.   I could hardly get out of the bed that evening.  I know the reconstruction process isn't a cake walk and there will be times that I experience some pain and discomfort, but I was definitely questioning the whole process earlier this week.

Someone in FB nation had posted an article about breasts and how normal breasts don't look like plasticized stripper boobs that we see everywhere - what, you don't see them everywhere?  Women should be proud of their asymmetrical, saggy selves and not succumb to pressures to look like Barbie.  I started thinking about that and how (or even if) it applies to my situation. I started to feel a little guilty for getting reconstruction.  Maybe I should have just lived with the mastectomies and chalked it up to "character building".  Then I thought about it for another ten seconds and thought, "nope".  I've had my character built up just about enough for a while.  It made me think of a past "character building" incident.  When I was in high school, I drove my dad's 1978 white Chevy pick-up with an extended bed and a large pipe with a chain wrapped around it on the front for the bumper.  One night while he was parked on the side of the highway working a traffic accident, a gal came around the corner and smashed in the driver's side door.  Once the insurance settled, Dad and I headed to the salvage yard and found a replacement door...a brown replacement door.  I begged my dad to let me paint it (there was a time in junior high when I was pretty good with auto body work).  He said the brown door built character and we would leave it.  Awesome.  Did it kill me to drive the big white truck with the brown door?  No.  Would I have rather had a white door?  Yes.  I'm not trying to draw an analogy between Chevy trucks and my breasts (I'd have to think about that one a while to come up with anything witty), but I'd like to have the front half of my torso look somewhat like it did.  And you know what?  If it looks bigger, perkier, and a little like Barbie, I don't care.  They will be man-made in every sense of the word and I'm not going to be apologetic.  Someone else can drive the old truck around for a while and work on their character.

Fairy Fingers

Since I've been back at work and logging lots of hours behind the desk, I've started to get tense and tight like I used to.  I was getting ready to call my usual therapist when I remembered that I could book a massage through Highlands Oncology for $35/hour.  You can't beat that price and since I'm officially a patient at HOG, why not.  I showed up at the office which was decorated with very relaxing, typical Asian-inspired decor.  The nurse/therapist was very nice and had a calming manner about her.  I got undressed and propped up on the table so nothing was uncomfortable and started to relax in anticipation of a good deep tissue massage.  After a couple of minutes of fairy fingers, I told her that I wasn't sensitive and she could use more pressure.  And this is where the relaxation ended.  She began to inform me that due to the fact that I've had a couple of lymph nodes removed, I am in a risk category for lymph edema.  One of the things that is on the no-no list is deep-tissue massage.  There are a lot of other things on the no-no list.  Here's a sample:

-mani/pedis

-long flights

-heavy lifting

-strenuous exercise

-bug bites

Needless to say, I was not relaxed when leaving the massage.  The nurse sent me with a large stack of pamphlets and tasked me with getting compression garments for my arms in anticipation of an upcoming trip to D.C.  I started to call the list of medical supply businesses to find out if they had compression garments and if they would even fit me (I have the wingspan of a condor).  I asked one of the gals what the garments were made of and she said they were simple, Spandex sleeves.  I said, "so, kind of like Spanx for your arms?"  "Yes, very similar."  Well, then I definitely don't have a risk of developing lymph edema in my ass.

The whole thing struck me as very funny and I know that I'm not at great risk for lymph edema.  I haven't had any symptoms, I don't smoke, didn't have chemo and am not over-weight.  Even though the price is tempting to go back to HOG, I don't think I'll be going back to the sweet, informative nurse with fairy fingers.

"They're sisters, not twins."

Today was a pump-up day.  Every two weeks I go to the reconstruction surgeon's office to have my expander implants filled a little more.  The nurse looked at me and said, "You want to go bigger?"  I kind of thought that was the point.  Last week, we filled each side with 50 cc's.  This week we went 75.  Combine that with the previous fillings and I'm almost to the size of a small Honda motorbike (in regards to volume and engine displacement, etc.).  Probably not the best of comparisons, but it's what comes to mind.  I had some questions for the nurse about how things looked and felt and she said it was all normal.  She looked at me and said, "You're riding a little lower on the left.  Remember, they are sisters, not twins." Good reminder.

On the way out of the office, I noticed something new at the check-out counter.  A stack of small envelopes with a pretty font saying, "Gratuity".  Interesting.  I'm not sure how I feel about that.  "Thank you kind nurse for helping restore me to some semblance of how I used to look before I was diagnosed with cancer and had my chest 'melon-balled' out.  Here's an extra $20."  I have to remind myself that there are many other elective procedures that take place at the office and it's not just mastectomy patients.  I do think they try and schedule us at different times.  I mean, why would a microdermabrasion or Botox patient want to mix it up with us mastectomy patients?  Speaking for myself, I haven't spent much time on my personal appearance over the last six weeks, but have finally graduated to washing my hair every other day.  I am probably not a good representation of some the doctor's finer work and therefore not a good advertisement.  Don't get me wrong, my doctor is doing good work.  It's just that most folks (sorry) aren't going to see them.

Next week, Harley size.  ;)

"Want to see them?"

I did it.
I got through my first full week back at the office.

It wasn't bad.  It was time and I was ready to be back.  I was happy to get back to all of my clients and coworkers and start making things happen.  Of course, everyone wants to know how I feel and how I'm doing, so I've developed a line.  "I'm doing good.  Everyday is better and all the doctors say that I'm tracking the right direction".  It sounds like I'm describing a tropical storm.  That actually might not be too far from the truth.  I'm trying not to think too much about going through forced menopause later this summer.  Who knows, there might be warnings for tropical storm Eileen.  Hopefully, it won't become a full-fledged hurricane.  As a confident, fairly assertive corporate woman, there are times when I receive feedback that I should work on "softening" my style.  This feedback has come during times of free-flowing estrogen and hormones.  How "soft" will my style need to be after I'm gutted of the last vestiges of my woman-hood and sent back behind the desk.  Who knows, with my voice a couple of octaves lower and chin stubble, I might get respect from a whole new demographic of peers and clients.  I should use this to my advantage...

Well, I gave my first show-and-tell this week.  I met with a friend who is a couple of months behind me with her breast cancer diagnosis.  It felt good to answer her questions and be the open-book about this topic I said I would be.  And at the end of lunch, I said, "you want to see them?"  I had a friend show me her new breasts six weeks after a double mastectomy with reconstruction and it was very helpful.  It was good to see the results of the surgeons cutting out the life-threatening cancer with the context of the individual that was trying to get back to her life.  It gave me some peace-of-mind and the confidence to keep pushing forward.  If I can help give some of that to other women, I'll be flashing my boobies all around town (don't get too excited).

"If you want to eat a soybean, eat a soybean".

Well, I'm on track. 

I finished all of my doctors' appointments for the week and they all gave me glowing reviews.  First was the reconstruction surgeon's nurse that gave me a filling of 50 cc's on each side and told me that I already have good 'projection'.  I'm going to take that as a positive thing....I mean, who wouldn't want good projection.  Next was the breast surgeon and he took his first look at me since my surgery and said, "Wow, they look fabulous!"  I told him that he sounded surprised and he reminded me that it is a very complicated surgery (everyone needs validation).  And lastly, the oncologist today.  He is a really nice guy that listens really well, which means he doesn't say too much, which means I end up talking a whole lot.  Anyway, he said that everything with my pathology report looked good and that there isn't a need for any treatment at this point.  

Next month I'll be meeting with my gynecologist to discuss whether I need to just have my ovaries out or go for the full hysterectomy.  Awesome.  I'm really not looking forward to going through forced menopause, but surely something positive can come out of this.  I should make a list of situations where a slightly more elevated emotional volatility might come in handy (sappy movies, Real Wives of NWA try-outs, kindergarten graduation) and save them for my menopause.  If anyone wants to contract me out for some royal throw-downs, just let me know.  I now have something new to focus on since the breast cancer issue is put to bed for a while.  Without my normal estrogen production, I'll be at risk for some other health issues.  I've been advised to increase my exercise and start weight training to help with bone density.  When talking about estrogen and how it is bad for my cancer risk, I told the doctor that I've been trying to avoid things that would act as an estrogen replicator (parabens, etc.).  He said, "If you want to eat some soybeans, eat some soybeans".  Whew.  I've really missed soybeans.

I went back to work a week early this week, but just for half days.  It's been good to be back and my stamina is improving.  I'm pretty tired in the evenings, but that's to be expected.

Again, things are on track and that's a good thing.

Everything looks better when tan.

Today was my first day back in the office.  I decided to go back a week earlier than scheduled because I felt like it and daytime television was making me stupid.  I was under strict orders from everyone except my doctor to not overdo it and I only stayed until lunch.  All of my coworkers have been great and I couldn't ask for a better team or assistant.  They have all been incredibly supportive during the last few months.

I have a few doctor's appointments this week and hope the oncologist doesn't come up with anything surprising.  Although my treatment plan is fairly simple compared to most survivors, I'm ready to have confirmation from everyone involved and to start moving forward.  

I found out I can attach my magnetic-backed work name tag directly to my breast due to the metal ports in the expander implants.  I doubt I will really have an opportunity to show that off unless I look at financing some tanning salons or bikini manufacturers. 

Well played.

Well, I played it.  I was withholding it for something good, but the week before my double mastectomy, I played it.  There were many times that I was tempted to play it, but didn't.

Don't worry, I didn't bilk people out of funds or get an undeserved dinner reservation to some swanky restaurant.

I auditioned for a local essay show about motherhood.  The show is called Listen to Your Mother Listen To Your Mother - Northwest Arkansas and it appears across the country at various locations.  I submitted an essay last year and auditioned, but was not selected.  I refined my submission for this year and was able to draw on some recent happenings to sincerely express some of my thoughts about motherhood.

When I told my husband that I had been selected, he said, "you played the cancer card, didn't you?"  I didn't 'play' it, but I did write about it.  How can I not?  For the last twenty-plus years, cancer has been a big part of my life.  How can I write about motherhood and my relationship with my mother and cancer not be an element?  Of course, there is so much more to my past and current relationships than the battles with cancer, but it has been something that has defined me and helped shape my priorities and outlook on life.  

So, check out the show if you are not familiar with it.  It was a fabulous show last year that had the audience laughing, crying and sighing in recognition.  If you are interested, buy your tickets soon, as the show will sell out.

Thanks to all who have been following me the last couple of months.  Keeping this blog has been very therapeutic and saved me the money I would have spent on professional counseling.  I think I will use the funds to get a tattoo (aside from the pair of nipple tattoos I'm scheduled to receive later this year) and a motorcycle.

vroom.
vroom.

The list...well, at least one of them.

I'm a list person.  I make lists all of the time.  I don't strictly adhere to them, but I do find that by the very act of making them, I feel a bit more organized and maybe even motivated.  So, of course, I've made a list over the last few weeks.  Below are some of the things that I found helpful throughout the recovery.

1. Hibiclens Soap.  Infection can be a risk.  Start washing with the Hibiclens a week before surgery so you don't introduce any bacteria into the surgery theatre.  You will be disinfected, but they don't wash your whole body before surgery.  I also washed the clothes I would be going home in and packed them in a ziplock bag.  That might have been a bit over-kill, but why not.
2. Sleeping mask.  Throw one in your hospital bag.  The nurses will be coming in the room a lot throughout the night and they always seem to leave a light on.  
3. Pro-biotic.  You'll be put on a stiff anti-biotic, so taking a pro-biotic can help with any stomach issues you might have.
4. Stool softeners.  The pain meds and anti-biotics can do a number on the ole bowels, so be prepared.
5. Anti-anxiety meds.  I didn't have these, but wish I had.  There were many times that I wasn't in pain, but just couldn't get comfortable.  It would have been nice to just be a bit more relaxed.
6. Wet wipes.  You don't really feel like showering for a while, but you will want to freshen up.
7. Disposable tooth brushes.  Having some of those little single-use brushes would be very nice to have close at hand.
8. Binder clips.  Use them to keep your phone/iPad/Kindle/iPod chargers attached to your bed sheets.
9. Large safety pins.  I found that it was more comfortable to pin the drains to something around my waist rather than wear them in the fancy little neck pouches someone gave me.
10. Flexible straws.  
11. Front closure sports bra.  Hanes makes one that I found at Walmart.  They will send you home with extra dressings and ace bandages.  The ace bandage is fairly comfortable, but does get hot and annoying after a while.
12. Soft, front closure shirts.  Shirts that are soft cotton and slightly stretchy seem to work the best.

I'm sure there are many more things that might be useful, but this list is a start.

Meet me at the hot tub.

Today was a good day.  

Today the nurse removed the last of my drains!  This set was the smaller of the two and they came out nice and easy.  I also received clearance to drive....woot, woot!  The nurse still wants me to take it easy and not lift anything over 20 pounds (there goes my Cross Fit PR) and be careful doing anything too strenuous.  I'm supposed to be doing the "spider-up-the-wall" exercises.  You stand arm's length away from the wall and walk your fingers up the wall as far as they will go (I'm going to turn it into a new work-out craze that involves special see-through pants and fasting...there's a pop culture reference in there somewhere).  I still have some work to do, as I can only get my arms up about sixty percent of the way.  I'm not very effective at calling the Hogs right now.

The reconstructive (plastic) surgeon's waiting room was full of mastectomy patients today.  We are pretty easy to spot.  Hair isn't the cleanest.  Clothes are loose and usually button in the front.  Clear, plastic bulbs are sticking out from under our clothing.  We are accompanied by a chauffeur.  Once we got back into the exam room with the nurse, I mentioned that it was all mastectomy patients today.  The nurse didn't really have a reason, just said that's how it worked out.  I joked that all the other patients were off on Spring Break showing off the surgeon's handiwork at the beach and ski slope hot tubs.  I don't think she thought is was as funny as I did.

Now, off to find the closest wall and do my best brown recluse impression....itsy bitsy spider....

Concealing the six-shooters.

Yesterday was a big day.  I went on a dump run (we don't have a trash service out here in the sticks) with Walter and then ran some errands and did some craft/fabric shopping.  Every day I feel stronger, but there definitely is a limit to regular activity.  It probably doesn't help that I sleep in increments of three hours (reminds me of when Scout was an infant).  I can only sleep flat on my back and after a few hours, things start getting very uncomfortable.  I'd compare it to a bad sunburn on your chest, wrapped in an ace bandage with your twelve-pound cat sitting on it.  I dream about an increased range of motion where I can turn my lower body one direction and my upper body the other.  I dream of sleeping on my stomach.  Oh well, I'll get there.  It takes time.

Dressing for an outing takes a bit of thought.  I still have two drains and they have small (about the size of lemons) clear plastic bulbs at the end to collect the drainage.  For the first week, I wore the bulbs in these cutsie fabric necklace pouches that hung around my neck (courtesy of the Cancer Support Home in Fayetteville), but they started to feel very heavy and get annoying.  My solution to this was a very fashionable scarf tied around my waist with the bulbs pinned to it...think, holster style.  This style is much more comfortable, but makes is a little difficult in picking out the right top.  I guess I could go around in a midriff, but some people get queasy easily, so I try and conceal the bulbs.  It's much like dressing if you are carrying concealed.  You need a top that is long enough and loose enough as not to cling, otherwise you will be accused of "printing" and therefore aren't technically concealed.  So, most of the time, I'm out and about in one of Walter's button-up shirts.  The weather has turned warmed, so all of my long cardigans just won't work.  Only a few more days and the last of the drains will come out!  Woot, woot!

Everyone enjoy their St. Patricks day!  I've been trying to work on an appropriate limerick, but my poetry skills are fairly minimal....  This is as far as I got:

There once a gal who was somewhat crafty.
Whose tatas had become way too snarky
So she lopped them both off
And tried not to scoff
And now she is cancer-free.

Recovery...Downton style.

You've probably gathered from earlier posts, that I have been watching a lot of Masterpiece's Downton Abbey.  I can't get enough of melodramatic British romances.  This is not a love that my husband shares, but then, I don't love British zombie flicks, so we each now have our "own thing".  Given that the reason I actually have the time to watch 30+ hours of this series, I started drawing some correlations between my situation and the series about half way through Season 1.  So, I have compiled a guide to recovery based on Downton Abbey.

Recovering from a Double Mastectomy Using the Downton Abbey Method

1.  Employ LOTS of help.  
      I'm not saying hire your own lady's maid, footman or under butler (still can't believe Thomas, I mean Mr. Barrows, weaseled his way into that position in season 3), but take your friends and family up on the offer to help.  They want to help, so let them.

2.  Pillows, lots of pillows...and comfortable bedding.
    Think Lady Grantham when she is fighting off the Spanish flu or any of the bedroom scenes with the ladies of the house (except the unfortunate incident with the Turkish diplomat from season 2....you aren't going to feel like a romp in the hay for a while).  Copious amounts of good pillows will help get you situated into the most comfortable position for resting.  You'll be spending a fair amount of time in bed, so try and enjoy it.

3.  Storm the larders.
   It's important to maintain a good diet that is high in lean protein while you are recovering.  Was it season 3 where Mrs. Levinson saves the day by orchestrating an in-house picnic with fruit, cheese, ham, chicken, etc.?  Adopting a similar diet might not be a bad idea, although I would probably bump up the fiber content, as a side effect of the pain meds is sluggish bowels (I know, that's very middle-class of me to talk of such things).

4.  Find your own Mr. Branson.
   You may not want to take on the debate of British/Irish historical relations, but being chauffeured around town after a week or so is a marvelous idea.  You'll want to get out of the house for short periods of time.  So have your chauffeur take you down to the village to a nice flower show or over to Lady Somethingorother's for tea.  

5.  Have someone help you with your hair.
   It's going to take a while to be able to raise your arms above your eye-brows and you are going to start to feel a little frumpy.  Have someone help you with a shower and washing your  hair.  Lay out all of the accouterments de coiffure and let them dry and fix your hair (think O'Brien when they all went to the Highlands in season 3).  If you don't like that idea, have your own Mr. Branson drive you to the salon for a shampoo and style.  You may mess it up within a couple of hours, but you will feel fabulous in the mean time.

6.  Plan recovery-appropriate activities.
   You are going to start to get a little bored with mindless daytime television programming, so now is a good time to explore some other hobbies that you haven't in a while.  Suggestions:

• Hand sewing or embroidery (Lady Grantham is always embroidering upstairs in the library while Anna is always working on the mending downstairs.)  Queue up Pinterest and knock yourself out
• Letter writing.  Get some nice cards and/or stationary and write some letters to your friends.  It's somewhat of a lost art, but those that will receive your sentimental notes penned in your own hand will be thrilled.  If you want to stir things up, you can make vague references to some kind of brewing family scandal and then close the letter by saying that they will have to wait for your next letter or the next time you travel to London before you tell them what is really going on.
• Floral arrangement.  You will probably receive multiple beautiful floral arrangements right after your surgery.  After about a week, the arrangements will start looking a little tired.  Get out all of those mason jars from the failed Pinterest projects and the scissors and start snipping and rearranging.  You'll end up with more arrangements that you can spread about the drawing room, library, foyer and sitting room.

7.  Engage in light physical activity.
   It is important to get up and move around.  Staying in bed all day can pose some blood clot risks and you'll feel better after moving around.  So, think about how all of the ladies walk around the well-manicured grounds at Downton...arms neatly at their sides or in a slightly bent position while fidgeting with a dainty handkerchief, small measured steps and never anything that would cause them to get too out of breath or sweaty.

I, personally, have drawn a lot of strength from the Dowager Countess.  She is my kind of gal.  At first I thought I might identify more with Cousin Isobel, but she just isn't quite caddy enough for me.

I'd love to hear some suggestions from others on how the Downton Abbey method can be applied to your recovery.  Next week I will be writing about the strong correlations between raising a teenager and The Walking Dead.