Today I went to my chemotherapy orientation. I agreed to be part of a research study that compares the effectiveness of different types of chemotherapy drugs. The study is nationwide, involving over 4,600 volunteers. I will randomly be assigned one of two different treatments. One of the two treatments is a combination of two chemo medications initially prescribed for me (CA), and the other chemo medication is a drug (Taxol) that is normally used after CA for women with more aggressive cancer. (I think I got this correct.) This trial is not blind, so I will know which chemotherapy drug I will be given. Either drug will only be given over four treatments: every other week for eight weeks. The side affects are similar with both drugs. However, the Taxol appears to have less severe side affects. I decided to volunteer because I believe that the surgeon removed all of the cancer, and either chemotherapy treatment will be effective. I also feel that many women, much more brave than I, volunteered for many other trials that were much scarier than this trial, making it possible for me to become free of cancer.
Unfortunately, my veins failed chemo class. Two infusion nurses - chemotherapy administers - checked my veins today to check if they could find one good enough to take the 2-3 hour IV drip of chemotherapy. Chemotherapy cannot be given via veins inside the elbow -the veins that are normally used for drawing blood, nor can it be infused through the veins in the wrist - the veins that are often used for regular IV drips. So, I must have a port inserted under the skin that will receive the IV and send the drugs to the rest of my body. The insertion of the port will require another day surgery. Yep, another battle scar on my chest. I am beginning to look like the screen on a GPS.
The laundry list of side affects are:
Temporary lowering of white blood cells - I will need to avoid anyone sick or with a cold. This will be difficult since someone in this house is always sneezing or coughing.
Temporary lowering of red blood cells - causing tiredness or shortness of breath. I am half way there already.
Temporary lowering of the number of blood platelet cells - meaning it I get a cut, it will take longer for it to stop bleeding - so much for my new job at Benihana's.
Hair Loss - they gave me a prescription for a wig today. That's one prescription you don't take to the pharmacy. Insurance covers the cost of a wig, but I am going to pass. In this heat and humidity, I would feel like I was wearing a fur hat!
Nausea & vomiting - this is my biggest fear, especially since I was nauseous for five weeks after my surgery. They said that there are a lot of drugs to counteract this side affect, and promised that it shouldn't be too bad. I hope their crystal ball is more clear than mine.
Skin & nail discoloration - gross. I wonder if they can give me a prescription for pedicures and manicures.
Sores in mouth and/or throat - gross and yuck
Urine may turn red - strange
Sensitivity to sunlight - my pasty white Irish/Norwegian skin is already sensitive to sunlight
Allergic reaction to the Taxol - if this happens they give the patient Benadryl. Isn't Benadryl amazing?
There are a couple of rare side affects like heart problems, etc - but I am not going there.
The schedule for these fun and games:
July 8 or 9: Day surgery to insert port. It will probably be at Beverly Hospital.
July 12: Blood Test - I will always go in the day before the chemotherapy treatments for a blood test.
July 13: "Cycle 1" This is what they call the first treatment of chemotherapy.
July 26: Blood Test
July 27: Cycle 2
etc.
The two nurses working with me gave me a tour of the infusion area. I prefer to call it chemo corner. I was so disappointed by this area! It looked like a bad emergency room from the 1950's, and this hospital is only a couple of years old! The area is arranged in alcoves containing 4 beds in each alcove, two on each side, with a window in the middle exposing a view of the parking lot. The lighting was harsh fluorescent lighting that made everyone look like they are cancer patients. If I recall correctly, the walls were a pasty, sick yellowish or bluish color - kind of matching the skin color and mood of the patients. Each bed had a standard hospital chair next to it, it's own t.v. mounted on the ceiling, and a privacy curtain that no one seemed to use. This area took depressing to a level that I didn't know existed before today. After seeing the beautiful, tranquil, and almost spa like atmosphere at Addison Gilbert Hospital in Gloucester, with it's rain glass, soothing lighting, beautiful views all the way out the ocean, I was very bummed by the Mass General North chemotherapy treatment area. I mean, very, very bummed and almost depressed. I am staying at Mass General North because of the doctors. After I have my first treatment, I am going to write a letter to Mass General regarding this awfully depressing chemotherapy treatment area, with recommendations on how to improve it. Really, I am.
Maybe my next career will involve decorating chemotherapy centers for hospitals.
Whacky thought for the day...
"If you need someone to do something for you, ask the busiest person." -Agnes McNamara, aka Nana
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Bob and Mike Are Back...
The fourth week after surgery I decided to do some gardening, aka weeding. I wore my pink gardening glove on only my right hand as a reminder to not use my left hand or arm. I was a sad Michael Jackson imitator as I scooted along the edge of my garden, pulling weeds with only one gloved hand. Last week, my fifth week after surgery, I wore two gloves and did a little more aggressive gardening; transplanting and planting. I felt okay, just a little tired. These last few days I did more grateful dead-heading and weeding.
Yesterday I ventured to the grocery store for some minor, two-bag shopping. The bags weren't too heavy. I carried one bag in each hand.
Last night I paid the price for doing too gardening, too much lifting, too much stretching and too much reaching, too soon. My underarm swelled up to about twice the normal swollen size. My body ached all over, especially my surgery sites. I placed ice under my arm as I went to sleep, hoping to decrease the swelling. When I woke this morning, I discovered that the ice worked, and I am back to my normal swollen size.
My home nurse visited today and was very concerned about the swelling episode. She called Dr. Chief's office and spoke to his nurse about me and my swelling. Minutes after she left, I received a call from Dr. Chief's office. The nurse told me that I was "lucky" and that I am doing too much too soon. Too much? I feel like one spud short of a couch potato. The nurse told me that because I had only three lymph nodes removed, (some women have up to 20 removed,) that the swelling didn't move to the arm - this time anyway. She said that it take 6-8 weeks to recover from this surgery, and I just completed week 5. Okay, I've been warned.
Now, I am back to the one-gloved, sit on my butt and scoot gardening. I need to put a pen back in my left hand and resume my Robert Dole stance. This waiting to recover stuff is the pits. Today, after my little talking to by Dr. Chief's nurse, I was a complete couch potato - complete with sour cream, broccoli and cheddar cheese.
I learned that I have three more rides on this cancer carnival before I start chemotherapy: 1. Chemotherapy Orientation with Dr. Banana Split's nurse - I am guessing that I will learn all the ins and outs of chemotherapy before it begins. (My last orientation was in 1979 - my freshman year at Santa Clara. That was way more fun, and I told a lot more lies!) 2. Heart Scan - Dr. Banana Split ordered a heart scan before I begin chemotherapy. Evidently chemotherapy is not only hard on the hairdo, but hard on your heart too. 3. Physical Therapy - I can only lift my left arm approximately parallel to the ground. This lack of motion is common after a mastectomy and lymph node removal. I need to get my left arm to have a full range of motion for the radiation. During radiation, your arm gets contorted as you are radiated.
I am still fighting this nausea thing. It comes and goes. No, I am not pregnant.
Whacky thought for the day...
Does anyone even use the word "hairdo" anymore? For those of you who don't have a thesaurus, "hairdo" is a synonym for "hair style." Does anyone even use a thesaurus anymore? For those of you that don't know what a thesaurus is: a thesaurus is a book of synonyms - a standard high school graduation gift in the "old" days. It was an essential tool for writing papers in college.
Yesterday I ventured to the grocery store for some minor, two-bag shopping. The bags weren't too heavy. I carried one bag in each hand.
Last night I paid the price for doing too gardening, too much lifting, too much stretching and too much reaching, too soon. My underarm swelled up to about twice the normal swollen size. My body ached all over, especially my surgery sites. I placed ice under my arm as I went to sleep, hoping to decrease the swelling. When I woke this morning, I discovered that the ice worked, and I am back to my normal swollen size.
My home nurse visited today and was very concerned about the swelling episode. She called Dr. Chief's office and spoke to his nurse about me and my swelling. Minutes after she left, I received a call from Dr. Chief's office. The nurse told me that I was "lucky" and that I am doing too much too soon. Too much? I feel like one spud short of a couch potato. The nurse told me that because I had only three lymph nodes removed, (some women have up to 20 removed,) that the swelling didn't move to the arm - this time anyway. She said that it take 6-8 weeks to recover from this surgery, and I just completed week 5. Okay, I've been warned.
Now, I am back to the one-gloved, sit on my butt and scoot gardening. I need to put a pen back in my left hand and resume my Robert Dole stance. This waiting to recover stuff is the pits. Today, after my little talking to by Dr. Chief's nurse, I was a complete couch potato - complete with sour cream, broccoli and cheddar cheese.
I learned that I have three more rides on this cancer carnival before I start chemotherapy: 1. Chemotherapy Orientation with Dr. Banana Split's nurse - I am guessing that I will learn all the ins and outs of chemotherapy before it begins. (My last orientation was in 1979 - my freshman year at Santa Clara. That was way more fun, and I told a lot more lies!) 2. Heart Scan - Dr. Banana Split ordered a heart scan before I begin chemotherapy. Evidently chemotherapy is not only hard on the hairdo, but hard on your heart too. 3. Physical Therapy - I can only lift my left arm approximately parallel to the ground. This lack of motion is common after a mastectomy and lymph node removal. I need to get my left arm to have a full range of motion for the radiation. During radiation, your arm gets contorted as you are radiated.
I am still fighting this nausea thing. It comes and goes. No, I am not pregnant.
Whacky thought for the day...
Does anyone even use the word "hairdo" anymore? For those of you who don't have a thesaurus, "hairdo" is a synonym for "hair style." Does anyone even use a thesaurus anymore? For those of you that don't know what a thesaurus is: a thesaurus is a book of synonyms - a standard high school graduation gift in the "old" days. It was an essential tool for writing papers in college.
Friday, June 18, 2010
The Early, The Better...
On Tuesday I went to Molly's final Brownie meeting for the year. One of the moms sitting with me confessed that she has never had a mammogram. What?!
A mammogram takes less time than getting your teeth cleaned. And, depending on your flossing habit, it can be less painful. A mammogram takes less time than getting a pedicure. Granted it is not as relaxing, but it is better for your. A mammogram takes less time than driving all the way to Starbucks, waiting in line, and then waiting while they make your fancy coffee drink. As far as I know, very few people have died from from dirty teeth, ugly toes or lack of caffeine. However, too many women die from breast cancer every day.
You - ladies and gentlemen - need to ask your wives, mothers, daughters, sisters, friends, and others that you care about, "When did you have your last mammogram?" Breast cancer affects both young and old. It does not discriminate by age, and you are never out of the woods.
Yesterday I met my new medical oncologist and radiation oncologist, and learned that I caught my cancer fairly early. Would you believe that this is my fourth medical oncologist? First there was Dr. Ice Milk, then Dr. Vanilla Bean, then Dr. Hot Fudge, and now Dr. Banana Split. (Banana Splits are the complete package - fruit, ice cream and chocolate - doesn't get much better than that!) Dr. Banana Split told me that I only need 4 doses of chemotherapy! I will receive the chemotherapy every other week for 8 weeks. The reason I need only 4 doses is because I caught the cancer early. Even thought the tumor was huge, 5.2cm, there were only small amounts of the cancer in just one lymph node. I will start chemotherapy after July 8th. (My mom, dad, sister, brother-in-law, and nephew are visiting July 1-8,) The moral of this story - the earlier you detect the tumor, the better the outcome, and the easier the treatments.
The radiation oncologist, Dr. Dad, said that I will have 6 1/2 weeks of radiation. Radiation is daily, Monday through Friday. I can pick a time between 7:30 a.m. and 5:30 p.m. It will begin about a month after chemotherapy ends. Dr. Dad got his nickname because we spent a good amount of time talking about our kids. He has four children, with one the same age as Riley. We commiserated about having 15 year olds.
Every single doctor that I have met, and who is connected to Mass General, has asked me if I have children, their ages, gender, and how they are doing. It appears that Mass General doctors have a genuine interest in the whole family and not just the patient.
Back to lists. There is a pre-operation list that needs to be given to patients.
1. Slippers - The standard issue of the hospital is a pair of socks with rubber marks on the bottom. These socks are similar to the socks that toddlers wear with rubber on the bottom to keep the from slipping, except the hospital sock are a very dull khaki color. When your walk the corridors or go to the bathroom, it just feels a little better to walk in a nice new pair of slippers than in oversized toddler socks.
2. Bathrobe - Hellooooo, the back of the hospital gowns are open! When you walk the corridors, you don't want to be giving everyone a show at the same time. A nice bathrobe makes you feels a little better dressed when your wear it over the ultra-drab hospital gowns.
3. Nightgown - I brought a button front nightgown, but never changed into it. It seemed that it was much easier for the nurses to empty the drains by unsnapping the hospital gown at the shoulders, so I didn't bother with changing.
4. Remove all jewelry - I showed up for surgery with my wedding ring on my finger because my fingers were more swollen than a kielbasa sausage. The pre-op nurses had to cut my wedding ring off my finger! Yes, I had surgery before the surgery. I asked them to put it in an envelope, and had Chubba place it in his front pocket. He was going to just stuff it in his pocket with his loose change.
Anyway, back to getting a mammogram. The next time you pick up the phone to make an appointment for anything, also make that appointment for a mammogram. Cancer sucks. You don't want to find this out first hand.
Lecture over.
A mammogram takes less time than getting your teeth cleaned. And, depending on your flossing habit, it can be less painful. A mammogram takes less time than getting a pedicure. Granted it is not as relaxing, but it is better for your. A mammogram takes less time than driving all the way to Starbucks, waiting in line, and then waiting while they make your fancy coffee drink. As far as I know, very few people have died from from dirty teeth, ugly toes or lack of caffeine. However, too many women die from breast cancer every day.
You - ladies and gentlemen - need to ask your wives, mothers, daughters, sisters, friends, and others that you care about, "When did you have your last mammogram?" Breast cancer affects both young and old. It does not discriminate by age, and you are never out of the woods.
Yesterday I met my new medical oncologist and radiation oncologist, and learned that I caught my cancer fairly early. Would you believe that this is my fourth medical oncologist? First there was Dr. Ice Milk, then Dr. Vanilla Bean, then Dr. Hot Fudge, and now Dr. Banana Split. (Banana Splits are the complete package - fruit, ice cream and chocolate - doesn't get much better than that!) Dr. Banana Split told me that I only need 4 doses of chemotherapy! I will receive the chemotherapy every other week for 8 weeks. The reason I need only 4 doses is because I caught the cancer early. Even thought the tumor was huge, 5.2cm, there were only small amounts of the cancer in just one lymph node. I will start chemotherapy after July 8th. (My mom, dad, sister, brother-in-law, and nephew are visiting July 1-8,) The moral of this story - the earlier you detect the tumor, the better the outcome, and the easier the treatments.
The radiation oncologist, Dr. Dad, said that I will have 6 1/2 weeks of radiation. Radiation is daily, Monday through Friday. I can pick a time between 7:30 a.m. and 5:30 p.m. It will begin about a month after chemotherapy ends. Dr. Dad got his nickname because we spent a good amount of time talking about our kids. He has four children, with one the same age as Riley. We commiserated about having 15 year olds.
Every single doctor that I have met, and who is connected to Mass General, has asked me if I have children, their ages, gender, and how they are doing. It appears that Mass General doctors have a genuine interest in the whole family and not just the patient.
Back to lists. There is a pre-operation list that needs to be given to patients.
1. Slippers - The standard issue of the hospital is a pair of socks with rubber marks on the bottom. These socks are similar to the socks that toddlers wear with rubber on the bottom to keep the from slipping, except the hospital sock are a very dull khaki color. When your walk the corridors or go to the bathroom, it just feels a little better to walk in a nice new pair of slippers than in oversized toddler socks.
2. Bathrobe - Hellooooo, the back of the hospital gowns are open! When you walk the corridors, you don't want to be giving everyone a show at the same time. A nice bathrobe makes you feels a little better dressed when your wear it over the ultra-drab hospital gowns.
3. Nightgown - I brought a button front nightgown, but never changed into it. It seemed that it was much easier for the nurses to empty the drains by unsnapping the hospital gown at the shoulders, so I didn't bother with changing.
4. Remove all jewelry - I showed up for surgery with my wedding ring on my finger because my fingers were more swollen than a kielbasa sausage. The pre-op nurses had to cut my wedding ring off my finger! Yes, I had surgery before the surgery. I asked them to put it in an envelope, and had Chubba place it in his front pocket. He was going to just stuff it in his pocket with his loose change.
Anyway, back to getting a mammogram. The next time you pick up the phone to make an appointment for anything, also make that appointment for a mammogram. Cancer sucks. You don't want to find this out first hand.
Lecture over.
Monday, June 14, 2010
The List...
When you go to summer camp, you are given a list of things to bring to camp. For the first day of school, each student is sent a supplies list. Even Santa has a list. If you have a mastectomy, you are sent home from the hosptial with a handful of prescriptions, that's all.
Why does no one give women undergoing surgery for breast cancer a list of supplies that would be useful when they get home from surgery? This list belongs inside the cancer binder that all surgeons should give to their patients. Following is my supplies list that I would pass on to others. (This list is specifically for someone that had a single mastectomy, lymph nodes removed, and a tram flap reconstruction.) It would be easy to modify it for other types of breast cancer surgery.
1. Pillows - lots of pillows. Because of the stomach surgery, I sleep with two pillows under my knees. I sleep with my head propped up on 2-3 pillows. It is most comfortable for my stomach incision to sleep in a V position. I also sleep with a pillow supporting my left arm because of the lymph nodes being removed. (In the hospital they used pillows in all the same places.) I use a total of six pillows when I sleep.
2. Nightgowns that button up the front and have pockets. Button front is essential because it is difficult after surgery to put anything over your head. I turned the pockets inside out, and put the drains in them from the inside. This is much more comfortable that pinning them to the inside of your pjs. But, do you now how difficult it is to find pjs that button and have pockets? There are a ton of Aunt Bea-type house dresses available, but you must show your AARP card to purchase one. I was very lucky to find a decent nightgown by Ellen Tracy at Nordstrom - the funny thing is that I bought it for the buttons, and later found the pockets, and their usefulness.
3. Washcloths - tons of washcloths. I went through at least 6-10 washcloths a day. I would lay down a clean washcloth by the bathroom sink every time I emptied my drains - twice a day. I used 1-2 clean washcloths when I washed out the measuring cups for the drains. I used 3-4 when showering because you must be very careful when cleaning the incisions. Whenever I did anything related to the surgery, I used a clean washcloth for a sterile surface.
4. Loose sweat pants or shorts with pockets. I found it much more comfortable to place my drains in pockets that to pin them to the inside of my clothes, or pin them to the waistbands.
5. Large button front tops. Buttons are essential because it is difficult to pull anything over your head. The largeness is to hide the drain tubes and drains that might be pinned to your waistband or stuffed inside your pockets.
6. Step stool. Because of the stomach incision, it is a little bit challenging to climb into bed. I use a little step stool to help me get in bed. For people with normal-length legs, they might not need this item.
7. 2-step step stool. I sat on the second step when I was was emptying my drains in the bathroom. I also used it as an extra rack right outside the shower for towels, clothes, etc. When I didn't need it, I could fold it up and set it aside.
8. Clipboard. After surgery it is important to keep track to your medications. I always forget whether or not I took my medicine. I think it is important to keep track of your medications - when and how much - in a log.
9. Square band-aids and neosporin. After the drains are removed, a square band-aid with super strength neosporin was placed over the point of entry. They must be changed every day. I learned Curad and Band-Aid make two different sizes. I prefer the larger Curad brand. The doctor's office had even larger, oval shaped band-aids that worked the best. I took a handful of these larger band-aids before I left the examining room, but when four drain holes to cover, I went through them quickly.
10. Extra pair of glasses in the bathroom. Yep, I'm getting old and need glasses to read little print. Every time I emptied my drains, I needed glasses to read the measuring cups so that I could write it down in my log. It was so much easier to have everything I needed for drains set up in the bathroom. (No, I do not read on the toilet, and do not need glasses in the bathroom for this reason.)
11. Home nurse. If insurance allows it, get a home nurse. (At first I didn't think that I needed or wanted one.) It is comforting to have a medical professional check up on you twice a week. She checked the incisions, the drains sites, and answered any questions. She has direct contact with my surgeon and his assistant. My home nurse has called the doctor's office twice on my behalf.
12. Last and most importantly - help. If you have children, it is great to have extra help. My mom was critical to my recovery. With me in Boston, and the girls needing to get ready and off to school, and Molly needing to be picked up, there is no way Chubba, the girls and I could have made it without my mom's help. She made life much easier to handle for the girls while I was in the hospital, and also after I got home and was all drugged out. She was the stabilizer for our rocky boat.
I am sure that I forgot something essential from my list, and will remember at 3:30 in the morning.
Tonight Molly asked when do I have to go back to stay in the hospital. I told her that I don't have to go back, and that all the surgery is done. She said, "What about the floppy and the not floppy boob? Are you going to make them the same?" I asked her if they look bad when I wear a bra with clothes. She replied, "Well, they do look a little different because one sticks out farther, but it doesn't look that bad." I think she approves... It is hard for me to even entertain the thought of that surgery right now. Dr. Chief is all ready to do the surgery so that I "match," but he has to wait in line behind chemotherapy and radiation.
Whacky thought for the day...
Who needs mirrors when your have daughters?!
Why does no one give women undergoing surgery for breast cancer a list of supplies that would be useful when they get home from surgery? This list belongs inside the cancer binder that all surgeons should give to their patients. Following is my supplies list that I would pass on to others. (This list is specifically for someone that had a single mastectomy, lymph nodes removed, and a tram flap reconstruction.) It would be easy to modify it for other types of breast cancer surgery.
1. Pillows - lots of pillows. Because of the stomach surgery, I sleep with two pillows under my knees. I sleep with my head propped up on 2-3 pillows. It is most comfortable for my stomach incision to sleep in a V position. I also sleep with a pillow supporting my left arm because of the lymph nodes being removed. (In the hospital they used pillows in all the same places.) I use a total of six pillows when I sleep.
2. Nightgowns that button up the front and have pockets. Button front is essential because it is difficult after surgery to put anything over your head. I turned the pockets inside out, and put the drains in them from the inside. This is much more comfortable that pinning them to the inside of your pjs. But, do you now how difficult it is to find pjs that button and have pockets? There are a ton of Aunt Bea-type house dresses available, but you must show your AARP card to purchase one. I was very lucky to find a decent nightgown by Ellen Tracy at Nordstrom - the funny thing is that I bought it for the buttons, and later found the pockets, and their usefulness.
3. Washcloths - tons of washcloths. I went through at least 6-10 washcloths a day. I would lay down a clean washcloth by the bathroom sink every time I emptied my drains - twice a day. I used 1-2 clean washcloths when I washed out the measuring cups for the drains. I used 3-4 when showering because you must be very careful when cleaning the incisions. Whenever I did anything related to the surgery, I used a clean washcloth for a sterile surface.
4. Loose sweat pants or shorts with pockets. I found it much more comfortable to place my drains in pockets that to pin them to the inside of my clothes, or pin them to the waistbands.
5. Large button front tops. Buttons are essential because it is difficult to pull anything over your head. The largeness is to hide the drain tubes and drains that might be pinned to your waistband or stuffed inside your pockets.
6. Step stool. Because of the stomach incision, it is a little bit challenging to climb into bed. I use a little step stool to help me get in bed. For people with normal-length legs, they might not need this item.
7. 2-step step stool. I sat on the second step when I was was emptying my drains in the bathroom. I also used it as an extra rack right outside the shower for towels, clothes, etc. When I didn't need it, I could fold it up and set it aside.
8. Clipboard. After surgery it is important to keep track to your medications. I always forget whether or not I took my medicine. I think it is important to keep track of your medications - when and how much - in a log.
9. Square band-aids and neosporin. After the drains are removed, a square band-aid with super strength neosporin was placed over the point of entry. They must be changed every day. I learned Curad and Band-Aid make two different sizes. I prefer the larger Curad brand. The doctor's office had even larger, oval shaped band-aids that worked the best. I took a handful of these larger band-aids before I left the examining room, but when four drain holes to cover, I went through them quickly.
10. Extra pair of glasses in the bathroom. Yep, I'm getting old and need glasses to read little print. Every time I emptied my drains, I needed glasses to read the measuring cups so that I could write it down in my log. It was so much easier to have everything I needed for drains set up in the bathroom. (No, I do not read on the toilet, and do not need glasses in the bathroom for this reason.)
11. Home nurse. If insurance allows it, get a home nurse. (At first I didn't think that I needed or wanted one.) It is comforting to have a medical professional check up on you twice a week. She checked the incisions, the drains sites, and answered any questions. She has direct contact with my surgeon and his assistant. My home nurse has called the doctor's office twice on my behalf.
12. Last and most importantly - help. If you have children, it is great to have extra help. My mom was critical to my recovery. With me in Boston, and the girls needing to get ready and off to school, and Molly needing to be picked up, there is no way Chubba, the girls and I could have made it without my mom's help. She made life much easier to handle for the girls while I was in the hospital, and also after I got home and was all drugged out. She was the stabilizer for our rocky boat.
I am sure that I forgot something essential from my list, and will remember at 3:30 in the morning.
Tonight Molly asked when do I have to go back to stay in the hospital. I told her that I don't have to go back, and that all the surgery is done. She said, "What about the floppy and the not floppy boob? Are you going to make them the same?" I asked her if they look bad when I wear a bra with clothes. She replied, "Well, they do look a little different because one sticks out farther, but it doesn't look that bad." I think she approves... It is hard for me to even entertain the thought of that surgery right now. Dr. Chief is all ready to do the surgery so that I "match," but he has to wait in line behind chemotherapy and radiation.
Whacky thought for the day...
Who needs mirrors when your have daughters?!
Thursday, June 10, 2010
I'm Free, I'm Free...
Yesterday I had the last two remaining drains removed. No more tubes. No more twice-day empty and measure. No more drain log. The only gross thing left for me to do is to change the bandages over the four spots when the drain tubes came out of me. I can wear my own clothes because I no longer need Chubba's oversized shirts to hide the tubes, drain, and lack of bra. I even wore one of my super-soft mastectomy bras today for the first since the surgery, and my right side appreciated the support. I look a little uneven in a t-shirt, but not too bad.
They also took off the large waterproof bandage covering the stitches for the reconstruction. Dr. Chief said that I look good, and he doesn't need to see me for three months. I asked about the stitches that go all the way across my belly and my chest. He said that they will dissolve over time. He said that I have about 5,000 stitches in all. I am sure this is a bit of an exaggeration - at least I hope so.
On this trip to the hospital, I finally remembered to go back to the breast cancer center and give blood for genetic testing. Evidently the sample I gave locally for genetic testing didn't work. The Images Boutique is next door to the breast center. It is a small retail store will all sorts of things for women with breast cancer: wigs, hats, scarves, specialty bras, specialty swimsuits, prosthetics, jewelry and more. I bought four hats in preparation for chemotherapy. I am a lover of hats. In my closet I have four hat boxes stuffed with hats. Most of my hats are too fancy for everyday wear. I have worn hats to weddings, sales meetings, holidays and other events.
I am using my left arm now, but no lifting at all. So long Bob Dole! My cousin warned me of not overdoing it too soon, and I am heeding her warning. (My cousin went through this same garbage last fall.) Getting dressed is a lot easier when you can use both arms. I had to dress differently when I was only right armed. We right-handed people usually put our right arm in first, etc. When you don't use your left arm, you must dress left-handed, left arm first. Here's a challenge, try dressing left handed, and you will see how spastic you feel doing something so simple.
Today, I think Chubba did his first solo "big" grocery shopping since we moved to New England. When he got home, he was excited to inform me that the 24 pack of toilet paper is less expensive than buying two 12 packs of toilet paper. Can't you just see him in the toilet paper aisle, studying the toilet paper, and getting all excited by this discovery? I think he was also a little surprised at the total bill, and was a little bummed when I didn't show the same shock.
This week I have slept more than the three previous weeks combined. I think all the sleepless nights caught up with me. I am finally sleeping through the night. After I get up in the morning to help Molly off to school, I usually go back to sleep until around 1:00 p.m! The days go by quickly when you spend so much of it asleep. I still am dealing with constant pain that sometimes spikes a bit, but nothing too bad. The skin on my stomach feels like it is constantly stretching. It feels a little numb and tingly. The left side of my chest and left underarm just ache all the time. Sneezing and coughing gives me a good jolt.
Whacky thought for the day...
Since two of the women followers - Bridget (not my sister) and Laura (cousin), and I have had breast cancer, the rest of you should be good to go. You can thank us for falling on this sword for you.
A belated Happy Birthday Hannah!!! - June 8th.
They also took off the large waterproof bandage covering the stitches for the reconstruction. Dr. Chief said that I look good, and he doesn't need to see me for three months. I asked about the stitches that go all the way across my belly and my chest. He said that they will dissolve over time. He said that I have about 5,000 stitches in all. I am sure this is a bit of an exaggeration - at least I hope so.
On this trip to the hospital, I finally remembered to go back to the breast cancer center and give blood for genetic testing. Evidently the sample I gave locally for genetic testing didn't work. The Images Boutique is next door to the breast center. It is a small retail store will all sorts of things for women with breast cancer: wigs, hats, scarves, specialty bras, specialty swimsuits, prosthetics, jewelry and more. I bought four hats in preparation for chemotherapy. I am a lover of hats. In my closet I have four hat boxes stuffed with hats. Most of my hats are too fancy for everyday wear. I have worn hats to weddings, sales meetings, holidays and other events.
I am using my left arm now, but no lifting at all. So long Bob Dole! My cousin warned me of not overdoing it too soon, and I am heeding her warning. (My cousin went through this same garbage last fall.) Getting dressed is a lot easier when you can use both arms. I had to dress differently when I was only right armed. We right-handed people usually put our right arm in first, etc. When you don't use your left arm, you must dress left-handed, left arm first. Here's a challenge, try dressing left handed, and you will see how spastic you feel doing something so simple.
Today, I think Chubba did his first solo "big" grocery shopping since we moved to New England. When he got home, he was excited to inform me that the 24 pack of toilet paper is less expensive than buying two 12 packs of toilet paper. Can't you just see him in the toilet paper aisle, studying the toilet paper, and getting all excited by this discovery? I think he was also a little surprised at the total bill, and was a little bummed when I didn't show the same shock.
This week I have slept more than the three previous weeks combined. I think all the sleepless nights caught up with me. I am finally sleeping through the night. After I get up in the morning to help Molly off to school, I usually go back to sleep until around 1:00 p.m! The days go by quickly when you spend so much of it asleep. I still am dealing with constant pain that sometimes spikes a bit, but nothing too bad. The skin on my stomach feels like it is constantly stretching. It feels a little numb and tingly. The left side of my chest and left underarm just ache all the time. Sneezing and coughing gives me a good jolt.
Whacky thought for the day...
Since two of the women followers - Bridget (not my sister) and Laura (cousin), and I have had breast cancer, the rest of you should be good to go. You can thank us for falling on this sword for you.
A belated Happy Birthday Hannah!!! - June 8th.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Home Alone...
Today I was alone for the first time in three weeks. It was very strange to not have someone around. Am I too old to say that I miss my mom? I am one of those odd birds that doesn't mind being alone. I lived alone in my 20's and loved it. There is something free about being alone; no questions to answer and no behavior to maintain. However, I didn't feel that freedom today. I kind of felt trapped- trapped by the surgery, trapped by the tubes, trapped by cancer. I can't do anything that involves more than ten pounds of lifting, or bending over, or reaching, or twisting. (I can't even lift my 2-ton cats!) Laundy -no. Cleaning-no. Emptying a large vase-no. Getting out the sewing machine to repair a skirt-no. Making Rice Krispie Treats - the world's most perfect food - no. Gardening -no. Drive to the store - no. Crying-yes. I know, I know, you are thinking that "no" to all these chores sounds good - it's kind of like "the grass is always greener on the other side." (Actually, Chubba did a great cleaning yesterday, and Roo did the laundry tonight.)
So, for the last three weeks I have not:
Gone to a grocery store -don't miss it. (Henry's Market w/ my mom doesn't count - it is like a deli on steroids.)
Drop off or pick up Molly from school-miss it.
Wear only my own clothes-miss it.
Eat whatever I want - don't need it.
I had an appointment to get the tubes removed today, but I had to cancel due to they are still draining too much. I rescheduled the appointment for Wednesday. One drain in my tummy will definitely be ready, but not sure about the one left under my arm.
I am starting a healing wall in my bedroom, next to my bed. I am going to put up all the cards and notes I have received. In the middle will be this beautiful poster/card from Molly's Brownie Troop with several 3rd grade handwritten notes - mostly about my pink hair. The Troop also made me several butterflies that will brighten the wall. The reason I can cover a wall is because, believe it or not, for four years I have had bedroom walls that had wallpaper partly removed, and need to be painted. (We have a mega high ceiling in our bedroom.)Where has time gone?! Chubba wanted "us" to finish removing the paper and paint the walls the week before surgery. Yeh, right. Riley's room was much more fun, and way easier.
I am not sure about this reconstruction thing with the mastectomy. I guess it was better to get it all done at once. It just seems to be prolonging the recovery time. By the way, the tummy tuck thing -totally overrated. I just look like I had the 3 day flu, not 200 days of sit-ups. Anyway, I didn't do the tram flap for the flat stomach, I did it because I don't have to worry about rejecting the implant. With the radiation, the implant would have a 50% chance of failing.
Whacky thought for the day...
Can you imagine not going to the grocery store for 3 weeks? Yep, I'm bragging!
So, for the last three weeks I have not:
Gone to a grocery store -don't miss it. (Henry's Market w/ my mom doesn't count - it is like a deli on steroids.)
Drop off or pick up Molly from school-miss it.
Wear only my own clothes-miss it.
Eat whatever I want - don't need it.
I had an appointment to get the tubes removed today, but I had to cancel due to they are still draining too much. I rescheduled the appointment for Wednesday. One drain in my tummy will definitely be ready, but not sure about the one left under my arm.
I am starting a healing wall in my bedroom, next to my bed. I am going to put up all the cards and notes I have received. In the middle will be this beautiful poster/card from Molly's Brownie Troop with several 3rd grade handwritten notes - mostly about my pink hair. The Troop also made me several butterflies that will brighten the wall. The reason I can cover a wall is because, believe it or not, for four years I have had bedroom walls that had wallpaper partly removed, and need to be painted. (We have a mega high ceiling in our bedroom.)Where has time gone?! Chubba wanted "us" to finish removing the paper and paint the walls the week before surgery. Yeh, right. Riley's room was much more fun, and way easier.
I am not sure about this reconstruction thing with the mastectomy. I guess it was better to get it all done at once. It just seems to be prolonging the recovery time. By the way, the tummy tuck thing -totally overrated. I just look like I had the 3 day flu, not 200 days of sit-ups. Anyway, I didn't do the tram flap for the flat stomach, I did it because I don't have to worry about rejecting the implant. With the radiation, the implant would have a 50% chance of failing.
Whacky thought for the day...
Can you imagine not going to the grocery store for 3 weeks? Yep, I'm bragging!
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Settle For The Best...
A week or so ago my surgeon, Dr. T. Best, called to check up on me and to tell me that I need to schedule my appointments with the medical oncologist and radiation oncologist. Because I had mentioned to her earlier that I would prefer to have the treatments 10 minutes from my home rather than driving into Boston weekly(chemo) or daily (radiation), she recommended two doctors at Mass General North. Actually, her words were, "I like to work with medical oncologist, Dr.____, and for radiation I want you to see Dr. ____ because he has the best experience with radiating a tram flap. Please make an appointments with these two doctors." One of the doctors is the Director of his specialty, but not sure about the other. I am confident that she will only hook me up with the absolute best in their respective field.
So the appointment phone call chain begins. My first I call Mass General North I had to give a screener person my entire story, Dr. T. Best's name, the two doctors I would like to see, and get my name on a list for the appointment person to call me back. The med. oncologist scheduler called me back right away and set up an appointment with my requested doctor. However, she could not schedule the radiation oncologist, and another person would call me back for that appointment. When the rad. oncologist appointment person called to schedule, she put me with another doctor, not the one requested by Dr. T. Best. Her reason for the switch in doctors was confusing, some reason about being in the clinic, or not in the clinic. I very nicely explained that I wanted to see the recommended doctor and asked what would it take to see this person. I also asked if it would be easier if Dr. T. Best called the recommended doctor, and she emphatically said no, and she would call me right back. Guess what? I got the doctor that was recommended, and more importantly that I wanted to see. I have a feeling the Dr. T. Best can wield a big stick - at least dropping her name got me to where I wanted to go. I know, it is all confusing - thank God I was off the meds or who knows what would have been scheduled!
I learned in this medical business that you must keep gently pushing, be patient, be nice, and eventually you will get what you want.
So the appointment phone call chain begins. My first I call Mass General North I had to give a screener person my entire story, Dr. T. Best's name, the two doctors I would like to see, and get my name on a list for the appointment person to call me back. The med. oncologist scheduler called me back right away and set up an appointment with my requested doctor. However, she could not schedule the radiation oncologist, and another person would call me back for that appointment. When the rad. oncologist appointment person called to schedule, she put me with another doctor, not the one requested by Dr. T. Best. Her reason for the switch in doctors was confusing, some reason about being in the clinic, or not in the clinic. I very nicely explained that I wanted to see the recommended doctor and asked what would it take to see this person. I also asked if it would be easier if Dr. T. Best called the recommended doctor, and she emphatically said no, and she would call me right back. Guess what? I got the doctor that was recommended, and more importantly that I wanted to see. I have a feeling the Dr. T. Best can wield a big stick - at least dropping her name got me to where I wanted to go. I know, it is all confusing - thank God I was off the meds or who knows what would have been scheduled!
I learned in this medical business that you must keep gently pushing, be patient, be nice, and eventually you will get what you want.
On June 17 I have an appointment to meet with the medical oncologist and radiation oncologist at Mass General on the North Shore. These two people will decide what kind of chemotherapy I will be taking, and how much radiation I will need. To me, chemotherapy sounds like something only other people, or other families experience. It is strange that I will actually be having chemotherapy. I am a little scared - not about the hair loss, but about the nausea and throwing up stuff. As I mentioned before, I was nauseous the entire time in the hospital just from pain medication. I must completely recover from the operation before the chemotherapy begins. (Chemotherapy is first, radiation second.) The way I feel right now, I would welcome chemotherapy because it would mean that I am over this feeling crappy from the operation. I'm hoping it will begins around the second week of July.
Yep, I still feel yucky from the operation. I still have two drains, with the hopes of having them removed on Monday. The output must diminish to a certain level before they can come out. One is ready, but unfortunately the other one is still producing almost twice the amount required for removal. I have a constant, manageable pain level of about 2/3. I tire unbelievably quick. Other than that, all is good.
Oh yeh, I've become nocturnal again. I told my neighbors that I am officially the neighborhood watch captain! The last few nights I have watched a lot of thunder and lightening. It was so fun- we never got weather like this in California.
Whacky thought for the day...
I have the coolest 80-something Godmother. She sent me the funniest card:
Outside reads: "When life hands you lemons, make lemonade."
Inside reads: "But when life hands you a load of crap, don't make anything."
Happy Birthday Courtany! Yikes-21!
Congratulations CSUS Graduate Brittany!
Thursday, June 3, 2010
What A Pain...
I am afraid of pain. The worst pain I ever experienced was when I was 17 years old and burnt my finger while making the popcorn balls that I was sending to my brother at tennis camp. Burns are the worst. So, I think I can say I have never been in excruciating pain. Even my #9 pain in the hospital, on a scale of 1 to 10, was not earth shattering. I must have inherited some, maybe even a tiny bit, of my dad's unbelievably high tolerance for pain. So, why am I so afraid of pain?
The worst part of this whole cancer inconvenience has been the lack of education regarding pain management. No one at the hospital explains the pain meds, how quickly they work, at what level of pain do you need to take them, and at what level should you stop taking the meds. (Pain is measured on a scale of 1-10. Level 5 seems to be considered the threshold where you say ouch. The pediatrician has the same scale but with a smiley face at one end, and face with big tears at #10.)
I mentioned before that I never felt any pain in the hospital, other than the one night. I just kept pushing that morphine button because I was afraid of pain, even though I was not in pain. If someone would have explained how fast the morphine will cut pain once it starts to increase, I might have not been watching the clock for every ten minute mark where I could push the magic button. I still do not know how fast morphine works, only that it works very well! Did I push the button more than needed? I don't know. Does it really matter? I don't know. What I do know it that I took too much pain medicine, when I got home.
I was sent home with seven prescriptions. I had so many meds that I kept a clipboard by my bed where I wrote down, on a daily basis, and as I took the meds, the time I took every pill, the type, my pain level, and sometimes my temperature. On a separate sheet I wrote down every medication with a description of how many, how often, and what for. I wrote the name of the med with a big black sharpie on each bottle cap and side of the bottle. (The eyes are going, and I didn't want to make a mistake.) Poor Chubba, the lights were on and off all night as I was logging my drugs.
Dilaudid, a narcotic, was my pain medicine. The bottle reads 1-2 tablets by mouth every four hours. One of the nurses told me that I could take one every hour. Another nurse told me to take 1-2 tablets every two hours. I was confused, and so afraid of pain, that I took two Dilaudid every two hours - double the dose on the bottle. One morning I woke up and noticed that I went 5 hours without a pain pill, so I took three pills; pain level was a 5/6. I got so wrapped up in not missing the two hour slot for taking medicine, that I got a timer to wake me every two hours to take this darn Dilaudid. As I'm reading over my drug log right this moment, I noticed my pain was rarely above level 2/3 - no wonder. I told my home nurse after a couple of visits that I thought I was taking too much pain medicine. (My insurance pays for a nurse to visit me 3 times a week to check drains, vitals, etc.) When she read my log, she said that I took enough Dilaudid to sedate a horse! By this time I already began weaning myself off of Dilaudid and onto Extra Strength Tylenol.
So, I went through detox, my own little mini rehab. I had to get the morphine and Dilaudid out of my system. One side affect of detox was that I had incredible restless leg syndrome at night. I didn't sleep more than one hour, three nights in a row. I had conversations on the phone that I don't remember. I was hot. I was cold. I was hot and cold at the same time. I had the most bizarre dreams, but none that I can remember. Fortunately, this detox wasn't that bad, I just felt strange and uncomfortable. The girls never even knew that I was having issues - just same ol' whacky mom.
The most frustrating part about this pain management/detox experience is that it was completely avoidable if someone at the hospital had explained to Justin, my mom, or me how the pain meds work. I understand that everyone has a different toleration level, but there must be some standards regarding how quickly they work, and when you can back off or ramp up. The lack of education explains why so many people have problems with pain medication. I don't think there is a medical specialty for pain management other than anesthesiology. Not enough attention is paid to pain management by hospitals, and I think this needs to change!
I only take Extra Strength Tylenol a couple of times a day now. I have a constant level of pain around 2 or 3. It's minor and livable.
Today I went on a little outing to a nursery and Henry's Market with my mom. (I am going to miss her so much when she is gone.) About a hour after we got home, I hit the wall and was wiped out. My energy level has a ways to go.
Whacky thought for the day...
Toes are so handy and underutilized. Toes can pick up a pencil. You can pick up clothes off the floor with your toes. A dropped washcloth in the shower can be retrieved with your toes. But, a bar of soap is impossible.
Yesterday, June 2nd
Happy Birthday Bridget!
Happy Birthday Vincent!
Isn't it strange that I have a sister and Chubba has a brother with the same birthday? Bridget would be quick to point out that she is 5 years younger than Vincent!
The worst part of this whole cancer inconvenience has been the lack of education regarding pain management. No one at the hospital explains the pain meds, how quickly they work, at what level of pain do you need to take them, and at what level should you stop taking the meds. (Pain is measured on a scale of 1-10. Level 5 seems to be considered the threshold where you say ouch. The pediatrician has the same scale but with a smiley face at one end, and face with big tears at #10.)
I mentioned before that I never felt any pain in the hospital, other than the one night. I just kept pushing that morphine button because I was afraid of pain, even though I was not in pain. If someone would have explained how fast the morphine will cut pain once it starts to increase, I might have not been watching the clock for every ten minute mark where I could push the magic button. I still do not know how fast morphine works, only that it works very well! Did I push the button more than needed? I don't know. Does it really matter? I don't know. What I do know it that I took too much pain medicine, when I got home.
I was sent home with seven prescriptions. I had so many meds that I kept a clipboard by my bed where I wrote down, on a daily basis, and as I took the meds, the time I took every pill, the type, my pain level, and sometimes my temperature. On a separate sheet I wrote down every medication with a description of how many, how often, and what for. I wrote the name of the med with a big black sharpie on each bottle cap and side of the bottle. (The eyes are going, and I didn't want to make a mistake.) Poor Chubba, the lights were on and off all night as I was logging my drugs.
Dilaudid, a narcotic, was my pain medicine. The bottle reads 1-2 tablets by mouth every four hours. One of the nurses told me that I could take one every hour. Another nurse told me to take 1-2 tablets every two hours. I was confused, and so afraid of pain, that I took two Dilaudid every two hours - double the dose on the bottle. One morning I woke up and noticed that I went 5 hours without a pain pill, so I took three pills; pain level was a 5/6. I got so wrapped up in not missing the two hour slot for taking medicine, that I got a timer to wake me every two hours to take this darn Dilaudid. As I'm reading over my drug log right this moment, I noticed my pain was rarely above level 2/3 - no wonder. I told my home nurse after a couple of visits that I thought I was taking too much pain medicine. (My insurance pays for a nurse to visit me 3 times a week to check drains, vitals, etc.) When she read my log, she said that I took enough Dilaudid to sedate a horse! By this time I already began weaning myself off of Dilaudid and onto Extra Strength Tylenol.
So, I went through detox, my own little mini rehab. I had to get the morphine and Dilaudid out of my system. One side affect of detox was that I had incredible restless leg syndrome at night. I didn't sleep more than one hour, three nights in a row. I had conversations on the phone that I don't remember. I was hot. I was cold. I was hot and cold at the same time. I had the most bizarre dreams, but none that I can remember. Fortunately, this detox wasn't that bad, I just felt strange and uncomfortable. The girls never even knew that I was having issues - just same ol' whacky mom.
The most frustrating part about this pain management/detox experience is that it was completely avoidable if someone at the hospital had explained to Justin, my mom, or me how the pain meds work. I understand that everyone has a different toleration level, but there must be some standards regarding how quickly they work, and when you can back off or ramp up. The lack of education explains why so many people have problems with pain medication. I don't think there is a medical specialty for pain management other than anesthesiology. Not enough attention is paid to pain management by hospitals, and I think this needs to change!
I only take Extra Strength Tylenol a couple of times a day now. I have a constant level of pain around 2 or 3. It's minor and livable.
Today I went on a little outing to a nursery and Henry's Market with my mom. (I am going to miss her so much when she is gone.) About a hour after we got home, I hit the wall and was wiped out. My energy level has a ways to go.
Whacky thought for the day...
Toes are so handy and underutilized. Toes can pick up a pencil. You can pick up clothes off the floor with your toes. A dropped washcloth in the shower can be retrieved with your toes. But, a bar of soap is impossible.
Yesterday, June 2nd
Happy Birthday Bridget!
Happy Birthday Vincent!
Isn't it strange that I have a sister and Chubba has a brother with the same birthday? Bridget would be quick to point out that she is 5 years younger than Vincent!
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Two Down, Two To Go...
Today I had a follow-up appointment with Dr. Chief. While waiting for my name to be called I realized that The Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery office at Mass General must be one of the nicest waiting areas. Just after we arrived, three beautiful flower arrangements were delivered for the waiting area; a large one for the reception desk, and two small one to sit by the magazines in two different areas.Unfortunately I could not fit one of the small arrangements of pink gerbera daisies, snapdraggons, small pink roses and lemon leaves into my purse. The decor and lighting in this area is very comforting. I think the soft lighting is to hide the reason we are at the plastic surgeons in the first place. I was amused by the pamphlets on the table sitting next to the TIME magazines. For example, there are two different pamphlets on male breast reductions - didn't Seinfeld do an episode on this subject with the mansiere? Anyway....When I got into the office, they removed two drains, and left two in. I could possibly get them removed by Friday, but if not Friday, probably Monday. This is the first time that Chubba met Dr. Chief. He was too thrilled with him because Dr. Chief doesn't seem too serious/attentive, he talks fast and then moves on. I, on the other hand, really like his funny, sarcastic and flippant demeanor. When he asked how I felt, I told him that I felt like crap. (I had an episode with a barf bag on our drive into the hospital. So much for the time I spent on my make-up.) His response to me was, "It doesn't really matter how your feel, but how you look. And you look really good." I think this is a mantra that they teach all young inspiring plastic surgeons in medical school.
So the roommates...Ugh.
My hospital room was on the burn and plastic surgery floor. In my double room, I got the outside bed, by the door.. My side was quite small, with only a curtain as privacy that I had to keep asking to be closed. The other bed had a view of the Charles River! Maybe if my surgery didn't take the extra 2 1/2 hours, I might have snagged the bed with a view, and more importantly, closer to the bathroom. If you have ever had abdominal surgery, this being my third, then your know that those first trips to the bathroom are like walking miles through the desert with a 500 pound pack on your back, all the while someone is constantly poking you in the gut with a sharp stick. Nice imagery?
My first roommate was of Chinese descent. She and her husband talked (in Chinese) NON-STOP! Justin asked the nurse for ear plugs, and they sent them up from MRI. The nurses kicked her husband out at midnight, but it took many efforts to get him to leave. I think the woman had a lumpectomy. The next day her two middle/high school aged kids and several others came to visit. (One wore an Andover High lacrosse sweatshirt.) They all chatted loudly NON-STOP all day! Not even the morphine could help this pain. However, I thought it was sweet when her son - about 8th grade - took his mom by the arm to help her go for a walk in the corridor.
Roommate number two was a total pain in the ass. She was a 25 years old WASP who was having some difficulties with her implants. Her implants were not due to cancer, but from wanting something bigger than her God given size. Here parents were really this issue, not so much the girl. They showed up with two big bags of food from Whole Foods and set up a buffet in her section of our room, describing everything they are eating. All during this, I am completely nauseous, trying my third medicine to quell the nausea. I kept thinking I would pay anything right now for some Bose noise reduction headphones. The father was full of bravado, and felt it necessary to step outside the room to talk loudly on his cell phone about self-important matters. Stepping outside the door meant his was closer to me and now I got the privilege of listening even more clearly to his conversation. I don't know why this family didn't walk down to the lounge area to have their mid-day feast because the girl was perfectly capable of walking around. Yes, the next morning before she left, they brought in another bag from Whole Foods with assorted breaskfast-type items. If they keep feeding like this, she might be back for liposuction.
Number three was a very sad situation. I actually prayed for her a couple of times. She was in her twenties and had some terrible infection in one finger that I heard her say she got from a nail salon in Lynn. Ick. They made her soak it a couple of times, and she was in excruciating pain. She would hop around when she had her 20 minute soak and whine out some words in Spanish. They hospital wanted her to go home the same day as me, but she said that she had no one to pick her up. I heard her speak to her mom and dad, and later someone else. She told the nurses that no one would have a car until the next day. One nurse even snappishly suggested she take the bus. They hospital ended up driving her home in a wheelchair van. Poor gal.
I'm feeling so, so. I am trying to not do too much and stay rested. I still fight the nausea thing all the time. My left underarm, left chest, and stomach are in constant ouch, not necessarily pain. My appetite is just beginning to come back - stay away! stay away appetite!
Whacky thought for the day...
Keval's philosophy on cell phones: There are only two people that need cell phones 24/7: someone waiting for an organ donor, and the surgeon performing the transplant.
So the roommates...Ugh.
My hospital room was on the burn and plastic surgery floor. In my double room, I got the outside bed, by the door.. My side was quite small, with only a curtain as privacy that I had to keep asking to be closed. The other bed had a view of the Charles River! Maybe if my surgery didn't take the extra 2 1/2 hours, I might have snagged the bed with a view, and more importantly, closer to the bathroom. If you have ever had abdominal surgery, this being my third, then your know that those first trips to the bathroom are like walking miles through the desert with a 500 pound pack on your back, all the while someone is constantly poking you in the gut with a sharp stick. Nice imagery?
My first roommate was of Chinese descent. She and her husband talked (in Chinese) NON-STOP! Justin asked the nurse for ear plugs, and they sent them up from MRI. The nurses kicked her husband out at midnight, but it took many efforts to get him to leave. I think the woman had a lumpectomy. The next day her two middle/high school aged kids and several others came to visit. (One wore an Andover High lacrosse sweatshirt.) They all chatted loudly NON-STOP all day! Not even the morphine could help this pain. However, I thought it was sweet when her son - about 8th grade - took his mom by the arm to help her go for a walk in the corridor.
Roommate number two was a total pain in the ass. She was a 25 years old WASP who was having some difficulties with her implants. Her implants were not due to cancer, but from wanting something bigger than her God given size. Here parents were really this issue, not so much the girl. They showed up with two big bags of food from Whole Foods and set up a buffet in her section of our room, describing everything they are eating. All during this, I am completely nauseous, trying my third medicine to quell the nausea. I kept thinking I would pay anything right now for some Bose noise reduction headphones. The father was full of bravado, and felt it necessary to step outside the room to talk loudly on his cell phone about self-important matters. Stepping outside the door meant his was closer to me and now I got the privilege of listening even more clearly to his conversation. I don't know why this family didn't walk down to the lounge area to have their mid-day feast because the girl was perfectly capable of walking around. Yes, the next morning before she left, they brought in another bag from Whole Foods with assorted breaskfast-type items. If they keep feeding like this, she might be back for liposuction.
Number three was a very sad situation. I actually prayed for her a couple of times. She was in her twenties and had some terrible infection in one finger that I heard her say she got from a nail salon in Lynn. Ick. They made her soak it a couple of times, and she was in excruciating pain. She would hop around when she had her 20 minute soak and whine out some words in Spanish. They hospital wanted her to go home the same day as me, but she said that she had no one to pick her up. I heard her speak to her mom and dad, and later someone else. She told the nurses that no one would have a car until the next day. One nurse even snappishly suggested she take the bus. They hospital ended up driving her home in a wheelchair van. Poor gal.
I'm feeling so, so. I am trying to not do too much and stay rested. I still fight the nausea thing all the time. My left underarm, left chest, and stomach are in constant ouch, not necessarily pain. My appetite is just beginning to come back - stay away! stay away appetite!
Whacky thought for the day...
Keval's philosophy on cell phones: There are only two people that need cell phones 24/7: someone waiting for an organ donor, and the surgeon performing the transplant.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Either, Or...
Either I am a bit of a wimp, or having a mastectomy with a tram flap reconstruction really sucks. Maybe a bit of both.
Here's a quick run down of my the last two weeks.
Surgery on the 18th took 7 1/2 hours. I was supposed to take only 5 hours, but they found a little more cancer than they were looking for. It looks like they got all the cancer. The biggest tumor was 5.5cm! Plus there was a 3.1 cm, and a few small satellites.
Lymph nodes - yes some cancer. However, it was only in the sentinel node - the main one - and had not spread to the others. They removed 4 lymph nodes. Because I was afraid of lymphedema - this nasty thing where your arm and pits swells up, I am keeping my left arm glued to me as if it were in a broken-arm sling. If you put a pen in my hand, you would swear I look just like Robert Dole.
Little or no pain except one nasty night in the hospital. My thumb was glued to the magic morphine button. Nausea was a constant problem.
Three distinctly different roommates; two of which were annoying.
Four nights in the hospital. They wanted to kick me out after three, but I made them let me stay another night because my pain and nausea flared up. They changed my narcotic from percocet to dilaudid, with the addition of compazine.
Because of poor directions by the hospital regarding pain management , I over-medicated myself at home on dilaudid. I felt totally out of it - cried too much, slept too much, didn't want to read or even look at a magazine, and no interest in writing (obviously). Nothing. I felt great one minute, and slammed into the wall the next. I had to put myself through detox.
Drain tubes are gross, and you don't get use to them. I have four! Clothes became an issue because of the drains. Poor Chubba, he doesn't have a clean button front shirt left in the closet. Any big short or sweats with pockets (for drains) were pretty much taken over by me too. When I got dressed at the hospital to come home I said, "Look I have balls." I know, sick, but it made Riley and Molly laugh. When Molly and I were snuggling at home the first night, and she leaned against the drains on my side, she said, "Mom your drains do make you feel like you have 'man privates'." Don't get the wrong idea. She was just reinterating what I said earlier in the day at the hospital, but with more tact. Out of the mouths of babes...
I left a lot of detail out, but will fill in later. (The roommates were too much!)
Today is the first day that I started to feel like myself again, as long as I don't look in the mirror.
The biggest bummer was I missed Riley and My Mom's Birthdays - May 20. However, I did have the nurse write "Happy Birthday Riley" and "Happy Birthday Mor Mor" on my whiteboard.
Tomorrow I go in for my first follow-up appointment. I am hoping the drains come out.
No whacky thought for the day...
But
Thought for the day...
1 in 8 women have will get breast cancer. So, if I ever even started to feel sorry for myself, I kicked myself in the ass because millions of women are going through this right now with me, and many millions of women bravely paved the way before me.
Happy Memorial Day. Let's not forget those men and women who serve on our behalf. God Bless Them.
Here's a quick run down of my the last two weeks.
Surgery on the 18th took 7 1/2 hours. I was supposed to take only 5 hours, but they found a little more cancer than they were looking for. It looks like they got all the cancer. The biggest tumor was 5.5cm! Plus there was a 3.1 cm, and a few small satellites.
Lymph nodes - yes some cancer. However, it was only in the sentinel node - the main one - and had not spread to the others. They removed 4 lymph nodes. Because I was afraid of lymphedema - this nasty thing where your arm and pits swells up, I am keeping my left arm glued to me as if it were in a broken-arm sling. If you put a pen in my hand, you would swear I look just like Robert Dole.
Little or no pain except one nasty night in the hospital. My thumb was glued to the magic morphine button. Nausea was a constant problem.
Three distinctly different roommates; two of which were annoying.
Four nights in the hospital. They wanted to kick me out after three, but I made them let me stay another night because my pain and nausea flared up. They changed my narcotic from percocet to dilaudid, with the addition of compazine.
Because of poor directions by the hospital regarding pain management , I over-medicated myself at home on dilaudid. I felt totally out of it - cried too much, slept too much, didn't want to read or even look at a magazine, and no interest in writing (obviously). Nothing. I felt great one minute, and slammed into the wall the next. I had to put myself through detox.
Drain tubes are gross, and you don't get use to them. I have four! Clothes became an issue because of the drains. Poor Chubba, he doesn't have a clean button front shirt left in the closet. Any big short or sweats with pockets (for drains) were pretty much taken over by me too. When I got dressed at the hospital to come home I said, "Look I have balls." I know, sick, but it made Riley and Molly laugh. When Molly and I were snuggling at home the first night, and she leaned against the drains on my side, she said, "Mom your drains do make you feel like you have 'man privates'." Don't get the wrong idea. She was just reinterating what I said earlier in the day at the hospital, but with more tact. Out of the mouths of babes...
I left a lot of detail out, but will fill in later. (The roommates were too much!)
Today is the first day that I started to feel like myself again, as long as I don't look in the mirror.
The biggest bummer was I missed Riley and My Mom's Birthdays - May 20. However, I did have the nurse write "Happy Birthday Riley" and "Happy Birthday Mor Mor" on my whiteboard.
Tomorrow I go in for my first follow-up appointment. I am hoping the drains come out.
No whacky thought for the day...
But
Thought for the day...
1 in 8 women have will get breast cancer. So, if I ever even started to feel sorry for myself, I kicked myself in the ass because millions of women are going through this right now with me, and many millions of women bravely paved the way before me.
Happy Memorial Day. Let's not forget those men and women who serve on our behalf. God Bless Them.
Monday, May 17, 2010
10, 9, 8, 7, 6, ...
Countdown to take-off, T minus 10 hours.
Today the girls, my mom and I visited Mass General Hospital. I know, with all the istorical sites to see in Boston, we visited Mass General. After my shot, we checked out The Healing Garden on the 8th floor. It is very zen-like... calming and beautiful. The designer was masterful with the plant selection. Trees, grass, scultpures, a large square floor fountain, and private seating areas cover 6300 square feet. The entry is a floor to ceiling glassed atrium with big, large-leafed plants and sitting areas. I think that Chubba and the girls will probably visit it a couple of times during my stay.
The nuclear shot took about five minutes. When I was nuked previously, I was told that I was highly radioactive and shouldn't have small children sit on my lap. So I asked the nurse if this was the case with this injection, and she said no because the previous shot was 200 times stronger than this shot. However, she did give me a card to carry in my purse that states that I have been injected with radioactive material. (Why was I not given this card with my two other nuclear shots?) She said that I need to carry the card for three days because if I go to an airport, a city dump, or the White House, I might set off the radioactive detectors. The city dump? What? I guess no household nuclear waste at the local dump. I must say, though, Michelle was very disappointed when I had to cancel our dinner tonight.
Bubble Wrap sent me an e-mail today, saying that she is going to wear pink tomorrow in honor of me. So to everyone reading this...think pink!
Off to sleep to get ready for slicing and dicing. I'm sure there won't be much sleep tonight...back to the flipping and flopping like a freshly caught fish.
Today the girls, my mom and I visited Mass General Hospital. I know, with all the istorical sites to see in Boston, we visited Mass General. After my shot, we checked out The Healing Garden on the 8th floor. It is very zen-like... calming and beautiful. The designer was masterful with the plant selection. Trees, grass, scultpures, a large square floor fountain, and private seating areas cover 6300 square feet. The entry is a floor to ceiling glassed atrium with big, large-leafed plants and sitting areas. I think that Chubba and the girls will probably visit it a couple of times during my stay.
The nuclear shot took about five minutes. When I was nuked previously, I was told that I was highly radioactive and shouldn't have small children sit on my lap. So I asked the nurse if this was the case with this injection, and she said no because the previous shot was 200 times stronger than this shot. However, she did give me a card to carry in my purse that states that I have been injected with radioactive material. (Why was I not given this card with my two other nuclear shots?) She said that I need to carry the card for three days because if I go to an airport, a city dump, or the White House, I might set off the radioactive detectors. The city dump? What? I guess no household nuclear waste at the local dump. I must say, though, Michelle was very disappointed when I had to cancel our dinner tonight.
Bubble Wrap sent me an e-mail today, saying that she is going to wear pink tomorrow in honor of me. So to everyone reading this...think pink!
Off to sleep to get ready for slicing and dicing. I'm sure there won't be much sleep tonight...back to the flipping and flopping like a freshly caught fish.
The Tasmanian Devil...
I think the Tasmanian Devil from Bugs Bunny is a female. And, she is either about to give birth or is about to have surgery for breast cancer.
Last week I felt like the only time I sat down was when I passed out. I made a list longer than Santa's. I completed most of the list, even though some days I felt like someone pulled the plug on my energy.
build a fence -check
weed garden- check
clean house-check
surprise extreme makeover Riley's room while at school-check (Thanks to Mary's help)
two trips to mall and Target for some power shopping-check
organize stuff for Riley & Mom's birthday-check
get broken storm window fixed-check
get someone to build shelves-check (Thank you Bob the Builder! (Mary's husband))
break dryer-check
find someone to fix dryer-check (with Chubba's help)
clean house some more-check
re-pink my hair-check
get nails done-check
edge and weed whack yard-check
fill house with groceries-check
have parish priest over for dinner-check
receive Sacrament, Anointing of the Sick-check
other stuff-check
On Saturday night I picked up Molly from a slumber party at 9:30p.m. (She has a hard time sleeping overnight.) When I got home at 9:50, there was a strange car in my driveway. When I went inside, Riley and four of her friends presented me with a gift - a large fleece blanket they made during the day! It is solid pink on one side, and has patterns of breast cancer ribbons, the words "mothers and daughters" and other graphics on the other side. It is so very special! I thought Riley was at a birthday lunch for D.K. and the beach with her friends on Saturday, but she was actually at someone's house tying this beautiful blanket. I learned later that the girls gave up a pool party to make this for me. This is proof that high school girls can be wonderful, thoughtful, and selfless. A giant, loving thank you to B.J., D.K., E.M., K.M., Roo, Wild Kingdom, and Colorado Mama!
Today Riley, Molly and my mom are going with me to Boston while I get a shot of nuclear medicine to make my armpits (lymph nodes) glow. I think this is a good opportunity for the girls to see the hospital, visit the cancer resource room, and check out the Healing Garden. Their last experience scared them, and they only sat in the car while was picked up after day surgery! I am hoping that his trip will ease a little of their anxieties about the surgery. Maybe it will ease some of my anxiety too.
Last week a Mass General nurse called for a pre-admission interview. She told me that I will be probably be in the hospital for 5 days. Ugh! She said that I will have a button to push to self administer the morphine for pain. I think I will just bring some duct tape and tape the button down for a constant drip. I don't do pain well. She also explained that after the surgery I will be laying in a jackknife position. Lovely. (Whenever I hear the word jackknife, I think of a big rig clogging up the freeway.) On Friday, when I told one of Molly's teacher's that I will be in a jackknife position, she said, "Oh, you mean like a martini glass." Maybe we should check her water bottle for floating olives.
I hate to admit this publicly, but I am more nervous than a hen in a wolf den. This whole reconstruction thing is causing the majority of the anxiety, and it is the reason for the jackknife position. If I just did the implant then it would be fewer days and easier recovery. But, then I would have a foreign object in me rather than my own body parts. I know it is better for me in the long run, but yikes, it's freaking me out. (I am way beyond this tummy tuck deal - I know I could get a flat stomach back on my own. Did it once before.)
Last night Fr. Jack came for dinner. Last week he asked me if I would like to receive the Sacrament of Anointing of the Sick. When I told the girls about receiving the sacrament, Molly got a little freaked out because she learned the Seven Sacraments, and thought that Anointing of the Sick was when people are dying. I explained to her that it changed years ago. Chubba arranged for him to come to dinner. After some laughs, lots of sarcasm, good conversation, dinner, and an apple pie -that was excellent if I do say so myself, Fr. Jack gave me the Sacrament. Molly was in the bath during this, which I think was a good thing because for some reason Riley appeared a little uneasy. It was beautiful and I feel blessed to have received the sacrament from such a wonderful priest as Fr. Jack. Now the only sacrament left for me is Holy Orders; but I think I will skip that one...I don't see a future as a nun.
I only have one more day to play the sympathetic cancer card. I use it liberally in an attempt to get what I want out of my family, but it doesn't work anymore. (The other day Fr. Jack trumped my cancer card with his liver transplant card. Darn!) Yesterday, after I said to my family, "I only have two more days to use the cancer card," Riley responded with, "Yeah, but then you will use the chemotherapy card." I hate being predictable!
In 24 hours and 38 minutes I will be in surgery. It is schedule for 8:00 a.m. I feel like throwing-up.
Whacky thought for the day...
There are only two people who need to be connected with cell phones 24/7 - a person waiting for an organ transplant, and the surgeon performing the operation.
Happy Birthday Timothy!
Belated Happy Birthday to KiKi and Katie Shea!
Last week I felt like the only time I sat down was when I passed out. I made a list longer than Santa's. I completed most of the list, even though some days I felt like someone pulled the plug on my energy.
build a fence -check
weed garden- check
clean house-check
surprise extreme makeover Riley's room while at school-check (Thanks to Mary's help)
two trips to mall and Target for some power shopping-check
organize stuff for Riley & Mom's birthday-check
get broken storm window fixed-check
get someone to build shelves-check (Thank you Bob the Builder! (Mary's husband))
break dryer-check
find someone to fix dryer-check (with Chubba's help)
clean house some more-check
re-pink my hair-check
get nails done-check
edge and weed whack yard-check
fill house with groceries-check
have parish priest over for dinner-check
receive Sacrament, Anointing of the Sick-check
other stuff-check
On Saturday night I picked up Molly from a slumber party at 9:30p.m. (She has a hard time sleeping overnight.) When I got home at 9:50, there was a strange car in my driveway. When I went inside, Riley and four of her friends presented me with a gift - a large fleece blanket they made during the day! It is solid pink on one side, and has patterns of breast cancer ribbons, the words "mothers and daughters" and other graphics on the other side. It is so very special! I thought Riley was at a birthday lunch for D.K. and the beach with her friends on Saturday, but she was actually at someone's house tying this beautiful blanket. I learned later that the girls gave up a pool party to make this for me. This is proof that high school girls can be wonderful, thoughtful, and selfless. A giant, loving thank you to B.J., D.K., E.M., K.M., Roo, Wild Kingdom, and Colorado Mama!
Today Riley, Molly and my mom are going with me to Boston while I get a shot of nuclear medicine to make my armpits (lymph nodes) glow. I think this is a good opportunity for the girls to see the hospital, visit the cancer resource room, and check out the Healing Garden. Their last experience scared them, and they only sat in the car while was picked up after day surgery! I am hoping that his trip will ease a little of their anxieties about the surgery. Maybe it will ease some of my anxiety too.
Last week a Mass General nurse called for a pre-admission interview. She told me that I will be probably be in the hospital for 5 days. Ugh! She said that I will have a button to push to self administer the morphine for pain. I think I will just bring some duct tape and tape the button down for a constant drip. I don't do pain well. She also explained that after the surgery I will be laying in a jackknife position. Lovely. (Whenever I hear the word jackknife, I think of a big rig clogging up the freeway.) On Friday, when I told one of Molly's teacher's that I will be in a jackknife position, she said, "Oh, you mean like a martini glass." Maybe we should check her water bottle for floating olives.
I hate to admit this publicly, but I am more nervous than a hen in a wolf den. This whole reconstruction thing is causing the majority of the anxiety, and it is the reason for the jackknife position. If I just did the implant then it would be fewer days and easier recovery. But, then I would have a foreign object in me rather than my own body parts. I know it is better for me in the long run, but yikes, it's freaking me out. (I am way beyond this tummy tuck deal - I know I could get a flat stomach back on my own. Did it once before.)
Last night Fr. Jack came for dinner. Last week he asked me if I would like to receive the Sacrament of Anointing of the Sick. When I told the girls about receiving the sacrament, Molly got a little freaked out because she learned the Seven Sacraments, and thought that Anointing of the Sick was when people are dying. I explained to her that it changed years ago. Chubba arranged for him to come to dinner. After some laughs, lots of sarcasm, good conversation, dinner, and an apple pie -that was excellent if I do say so myself, Fr. Jack gave me the Sacrament. Molly was in the bath during this, which I think was a good thing because for some reason Riley appeared a little uneasy. It was beautiful and I feel blessed to have received the sacrament from such a wonderful priest as Fr. Jack. Now the only sacrament left for me is Holy Orders; but I think I will skip that one...I don't see a future as a nun.
I only have one more day to play the sympathetic cancer card. I use it liberally in an attempt to get what I want out of my family, but it doesn't work anymore. (The other day Fr. Jack trumped my cancer card with his liver transplant card. Darn!) Yesterday, after I said to my family, "I only have two more days to use the cancer card," Riley responded with, "Yeah, but then you will use the chemotherapy card." I hate being predictable!
In 24 hours and 38 minutes I will be in surgery. It is schedule for 8:00 a.m. I feel like throwing-up.
Whacky thought for the day...
There are only two people who need to be connected with cell phones 24/7 - a person waiting for an organ transplant, and the surgeon performing the operation.
Happy Birthday Timothy!
Belated Happy Birthday to KiKi and Katie Shea!
Saturday, May 8, 2010
More Forms To Complete...
Every time I see a new doctor, go for another test, or have another procedure like a biopsy, I am given a mountain of forms to sign. The insurance forms, privacy act form, and the list of medications forms are the most common. The medications form is easy because I typed up a list: name, dosage, and how often, down to the most benign medicine - Tylenol, and attach the list to the form. The privacy act form is a piece of paper stating that I was given the privacy act policies, read and understood them. Does anyone ever really read this privacy act stuff? I just sign it and move on to the next form. Insurance usually consists of two forms; one saying that I have insurance, and the other stating that it is okay for the office to bill the insurance. I always use my own pen because I have become a germaphobe over the years. Just think, everyone at the doctor's office is there because they are sick. Do I really want to use a pen that some sneezed-in hands used? Pediatrician's offices must be the most germ-ridden places on the earth. I do not understand what there are toys in the pediatrician's office, especially that ever present bead maze. (Because of our moves, we have visited about 6 different pediatrician's offices, and every single one had that gross bead maze.) I have observed every runny-nosed, sneezy, feverish-looking, coughy sick child play with that maze. What are they thinking? Is this just a ploy to insure repeat customers? I always brought my own toys to the office, but for some reason, that darn bead maze was a magnet, pulling them in as I was pulling them away. Wow, did I ever digress.
This week I picked up my new mastectomy bras at Nordstrom. Before I paid for them, I had to sign two insurance forms. Yes, I am standing at the Nordstrom lingerie counter filling out a couple of insurance forms...who would have ever thought? The very nice saleswoman asked me if I wanted to go into a fitting room to complete them, but I declined - it was only a couple of signatures and address. Plus, if it makes one woman think about breast cancer and her need for a mammogram/MRI, then give me the big pen! (Isn't it strange that my insurance pays for these bras, but I'm struggling with Blue Cross to pay for asthma medicine that doesn't make the girls' heart race and make then feel like they are jumping out of their skin?)
The bras are made out of the softest cotton imaginable. The fabric is infused with vitamin E and Aloe that lasts for up to 35 washings. (I am curious if they make garments for burn victims or people with severe skin conditions out of this fabric.) It is the softest cotton I ever felt, and I worked in the apparel business for 26 years. The bra has four hooks in the center front, and the shoulders have a hooking system so that they can be removed that way too. The range of motion is compromised after surgery, especially for a double mastectomy. It takes a while to be able to lift your arms up past parallel, past your shoulders or over your head. I wonder if these bras will be like maternity pants, after you no longer need it, you kind of miss it - the comfort!
Last night I was asleep by 10:30p.m.! This is like 5:30p.m. for normal people. I rarely fall asleep on the same day I awake. As a result, I woke up at 4:15a.m. I went scrounging around in Riley's room in the dark, looking for her computer, and I awoke & scared her. She was back asleep before I made it out her door...remember those days...
Whacky thought for the day...
Why do I have the best hair day on the day before a haircut appointment?
HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!
This week I picked up my new mastectomy bras at Nordstrom. Before I paid for them, I had to sign two insurance forms. Yes, I am standing at the Nordstrom lingerie counter filling out a couple of insurance forms...who would have ever thought? The very nice saleswoman asked me if I wanted to go into a fitting room to complete them, but I declined - it was only a couple of signatures and address. Plus, if it makes one woman think about breast cancer and her need for a mammogram/MRI, then give me the big pen! (Isn't it strange that my insurance pays for these bras, but I'm struggling with Blue Cross to pay for asthma medicine that doesn't make the girls' heart race and make then feel like they are jumping out of their skin?)
The bras are made out of the softest cotton imaginable. The fabric is infused with vitamin E and Aloe that lasts for up to 35 washings. (I am curious if they make garments for burn victims or people with severe skin conditions out of this fabric.) It is the softest cotton I ever felt, and I worked in the apparel business for 26 years. The bra has four hooks in the center front, and the shoulders have a hooking system so that they can be removed that way too. The range of motion is compromised after surgery, especially for a double mastectomy. It takes a while to be able to lift your arms up past parallel, past your shoulders or over your head. I wonder if these bras will be like maternity pants, after you no longer need it, you kind of miss it - the comfort!
Last night I was asleep by 10:30p.m.! This is like 5:30p.m. for normal people. I rarely fall asleep on the same day I awake. As a result, I woke up at 4:15a.m. I went scrounging around in Riley's room in the dark, looking for her computer, and I awoke & scared her. She was back asleep before I made it out her door...remember those days...
Whacky thought for the day...
Why do I have the best hair day on the day before a haircut appointment?
HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!
Friday, May 7, 2010
Liftoff Stays On Schedule...
Dr. T. Best called yesterday to inform me that the biopsy from April 26th came back negative. There is no cancer in the right breast, but some other lobular stuff is floating around in there. This other stuff is normal tissue. I asked her if this normal tissue can turn into cancer, and she said no. She also said that any chance of getting cancer in the right side will be cut in half by the Tamoxifen, a pill version of chemotherapy that I will take for five years. The Tamoxifen is taken in addition to IV chemotherapy and radiation.
With no extra cancer, the surgery remains scheduled for May 18th. I will go to the hospital on the 17th to get injected with some nuclear dye. Yep, nuked again. The dye lights up my lymph nodes so that the doctors can see them more easily during surgery. Nothing better than glowing armpits. (Why is Debbie Boone's "You Light Up My Life" going in my head right now?) This process of injecting the dye will take about 5 minutes, and then I go home. On the 18th, I check in at 6:00 am, with surgery scheduled for 8:00. No, I am not taking the train this time. Chubba gets to drive me and sit for hours and hours. Maybe the nurses will give him a floor show too. Heck, if he's not a deer in headlights, he'd probably join them.
I lost track of the countdown...I think 11 days.
On Thursday night, Molly, little miss keep-it-all-inside, confided in me that she is scared because she said that I am "sick with pneumonia and asthma and cancer." Through her silent tears I was able to convince her that the three medicines will cure me of the pneumonia and asthma; and after the surgery I won't have any more cancer in my body. At least I think I convinced her. I must be scary to only have the understanding of a 9 year old.
Whacky thought for the day...
What is the difference between worrying and stressing?
Bridget and I were trying to figure this out. We came up with the idea that worrying is in your head, and stressing involves the whole body.
With no extra cancer, the surgery remains scheduled for May 18th. I will go to the hospital on the 17th to get injected with some nuclear dye. Yep, nuked again. The dye lights up my lymph nodes so that the doctors can see them more easily during surgery. Nothing better than glowing armpits. (Why is Debbie Boone's "You Light Up My Life" going in my head right now?) This process of injecting the dye will take about 5 minutes, and then I go home. On the 18th, I check in at 6:00 am, with surgery scheduled for 8:00. No, I am not taking the train this time. Chubba gets to drive me and sit for hours and hours. Maybe the nurses will give him a floor show too. Heck, if he's not a deer in headlights, he'd probably join them.
I lost track of the countdown...I think 11 days.
On Thursday night, Molly, little miss keep-it-all-inside, confided in me that she is scared because she said that I am "sick with pneumonia and asthma and cancer." Through her silent tears I was able to convince her that the three medicines will cure me of the pneumonia and asthma; and after the surgery I won't have any more cancer in my body. At least I think I convinced her. I must be scary to only have the understanding of a 9 year old.
Whacky thought for the day...
What is the difference between worrying and stressing?
Bridget and I were trying to figure this out. We came up with the idea that worrying is in your head, and stressing involves the whole body.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Yep, One More...
It's 3:50a.m. and not even the Zithromycin, Prednisone and Codine cough medicine can help me with my nocturnal tendencies. Goodness gracious, I have pneumonia! Yep, one more health issue. I know what you're thinking, "Who says "goodness gracious" anymore?" Isn't that a great retro expression? I have 13 days until surgery, but who's counting, and I need to knock this stuff out of my lungs. I chose the most aggressive course of treatment offered to me.
My mom is coming on May 15 to take care of her little girl and her little girl's little girls! (With the assistance of Chubba, of course.) She will be here for three weeks. Yep, one more Californian descending on New England. However, she's a native Alaskan, but, she never saw Russia from her front door in Ketchican. She's been going rogue for seventy years, long before it was fashionable, and without the use of insipid quips. (No offense, SP fans.) I am blessed that my mom is able to come here and bestow her magical motherly love and care.
Whacky thought of the day...
When you don't feel well, why do saltine crackers and 7-Up taste better when your mom gives them to you than when you get them yourself?
My mom is coming on May 15 to take care of her little girl and her little girl's little girls! (With the assistance of Chubba, of course.) She will be here for three weeks. Yep, one more Californian descending on New England. However, she's a native Alaskan, but, she never saw Russia from her front door in Ketchican. She's been going rogue for seventy years, long before it was fashionable, and without the use of insipid quips. (No offense, SP fans.) I am blessed that my mom is able to come here and bestow her magical motherly love and care.
Whacky thought of the day...
When you don't feel well, why do saltine crackers and 7-Up taste better when your mom gives them to you than when you get them yourself?
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Sometimes We Need To Lie...
Last night, a rare event took place, Molly and I sat on the couch and watched the evening news. I generally do not let Molly watch the news because of all the awful stories about rape, murder and the U.S.Congress. Normally, I watch the news from a distance, catching about 30% of what is said, while making dinner and helping with homework - regular chaos. However, for some cosmic reason we found time to sit down and watch the ABC evening news. The last story was about the death of actress Lynn Redgrave. She died of breast cancer! Eeks! Molly got an "oh my God" look on her face. I explained that she did not have the same breast cancer as me. (I really don't know what type she had, so I lied.) Molly replied, in a self-convincing manner, "But, she didn't die from breast cancer." I agreed, (again lying.)
Honestly, I had an "oh my God" moment myself. I thank God every day that the cancer is isolated in the breast and not spread to my organs.
Whacky thought for the day...
To whom is it okay to tell "white lies?"
When is the last time you told one?
Honestly, I had an "oh my God" moment myself. I thank God every day that the cancer is isolated in the breast and not spread to my organs.
Whacky thought for the day...
To whom is it okay to tell "white lies?"
When is the last time you told one?
Monday, May 3, 2010
The Countdown Begins...
Countdowns can be very exciting: countdown until your birthday, countdown until Christmas, countdown until the last day of school, and countdown until liftoff. But, there are also countdowns with dreaded anticipation: countdown until finals or countdown until the first day of school. I think surgery falls in the latter group.
I feel that I need to do a million things to do before the surgery. I have that nesting-type of feeling that women get before having a baby. You know, that silly feeling of thinking the house needs to be perfectly clean, including stove, oven, closets, drawers, etc. (Like the baby would even know if the house is clean.) Why do I think that I need to run all the errands that I repeatedly put off until another day? You know, the annoying little trip to home depot to return the bbq grate that is too small, or finding a place to repair the cracked storm window. (Californians, a storm window is an extra window on the outside to help keep the frigid cold out and expensive heat in!) Talking about windows, they should be washed too.
Fortunately, this feeling of needing perfection, and getting everything done in a short amount of time, dissipates before I act on it...one advantage of getting older. When I was younger, I would have tried to conquer it all, and more.
There are fifteen days until surgery. But who's counting?
Whacky thought for the day...
If you want to make someone smile, color your hair pink!
Over the last few days, several strangers have looked at me and smiled. I smile back. A few minutes later I realized that they were smiling because of my hair.
Whatever it takes!
Happy Birthday Chubba!
I feel that I need to do a million things to do before the surgery. I have that nesting-type of feeling that women get before having a baby. You know, that silly feeling of thinking the house needs to be perfectly clean, including stove, oven, closets, drawers, etc. (Like the baby would even know if the house is clean.) Why do I think that I need to run all the errands that I repeatedly put off until another day? You know, the annoying little trip to home depot to return the bbq grate that is too small, or finding a place to repair the cracked storm window. (Californians, a storm window is an extra window on the outside to help keep the frigid cold out and expensive heat in!) Talking about windows, they should be washed too.
Fortunately, this feeling of needing perfection, and getting everything done in a short amount of time, dissipates before I act on it...one advantage of getting older. When I was younger, I would have tried to conquer it all, and more.
There are fifteen days until surgery. But who's counting?
Whacky thought for the day...
If you want to make someone smile, color your hair pink!
Over the last few days, several strangers have looked at me and smiled. I smile back. A few minutes later I realized that they were smiling because of my hair.
Whatever it takes!
Happy Birthday Chubba!
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Chemo Diet...
I've been doing a little cancer reading these past few day while home feeling nauseous and looking green. With my red and pinkish hair, I looked the Incredible Hulk with his hair on fire!
It is a fact that the majority of women undergoing chemotherapy treatments gain weight! I call foul play! Unfair! How can this be so??? I though it was just the opposite! Oh no. Not the case. I was hoping that my weight loss would be: 6 months @ about a pound a week = approx 20 pound loss. (Who said I wouldn't ever use my math degree?) This Thanksgiving Day balloon doesn't need anymore helium!
Besides losing the hair on my head, I might also lose my eyebrows and eyelashes. Not the eyelashes! Anything but the eyelashes! I won't wear a wig, but I will wear false eyelashes; professionally applied so I don't end up like Lucille Ball in the movie, "Yous, Mine, Ours." I wonder who Tammy Faye Baker used?
Whacky thought of the day...
If you are under 45, do you even know who The Incredible Hulk, Lucille Ball and Tammy Faye Baker are? (The original "Yours, Mine, Ours" with Henry Fonda and Lucille Ball is one of my all time favorite movies! Yes, I own it - not on video, but on DVD!)
It is a fact that the majority of women undergoing chemotherapy treatments gain weight! I call foul play! Unfair! How can this be so??? I though it was just the opposite! Oh no. Not the case. I was hoping that my weight loss would be: 6 months @ about a pound a week = approx 20 pound loss. (Who said I wouldn't ever use my math degree?) This Thanksgiving Day balloon doesn't need anymore helium!
Besides losing the hair on my head, I might also lose my eyebrows and eyelashes. Not the eyelashes! Anything but the eyelashes! I won't wear a wig, but I will wear false eyelashes; professionally applied so I don't end up like Lucille Ball in the movie, "Yous, Mine, Ours." I wonder who Tammy Faye Baker used?
Whacky thought of the day...
If you are under 45, do you even know who The Incredible Hulk, Lucille Ball and Tammy Faye Baker are? (The original "Yours, Mine, Ours" with Henry Fonda and Lucille Ball is one of my all time favorite movies! Yes, I own it - not on video, but on DVD!)
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Heart and Soul...
Nurses are truly the heart and soul of a hospital. (Same at Memorial Elementary School.) They spend more time with patients than anyone at the hospital. From my observation, not only do nurses provide medical care, they also are psychologists, entertainers, company for the lonely, magicians, and the public relations people for their hospital. If you were to ask anyone about their stay at a hospital, the first comment is usually regarding the quality of care by the nurses. They leave indelible impressions on their patients.
If nurses are the first comment, the gourmet hospital food is usually the second comment made by a former patient. Just think, if nurses could cook the food too...!
My nurses on Tuesday were no exception. When I arrived at pre-op, I felt welcomed to their little corner of the world. My pre-op nurse made sure that I understood the procedure, if I had any questions, and in her own, discreet way, checked to see if I was comfortable with the (minor) surgery. She said that she was sorry that I had to be there, and about the upcoming mastectomy. I gave my regular response,"It's just a boob, nothing important to keep my body functioning." When I was asleep, she turned off the light. When I was cold, she somehow knew to bring me a warmed blanket. (I love those blankets right out of the warmer! Wouldn't it be nice to have a warmed blanket every night during these frigid New England winters?!) When I looked bored, she came in for a little chit chat. (She just got back from visiting her son's family in Burlingame, CA. She said that her son, and half the families in her grandchildren's school, are renters because of the home prices. She was shocked to see a 2bed/1bath home for $1.2 million! I know, crazy. Welcome to the Bay Area...and people think the North Shore is expensive.)
I was impressed by how fit all the nurses are in day surgery. I have never seen so many fit co-workers in one place, other than at Nike. The grandma pre-op nurse was amazingly fit and strong. She is a avid bike rider. They must all be enthusiastic cyclists because some other nurses were talking about the Boston to Provincetown ride and a ride from somewhere in Canada to Portland, Maine. It takes a great deal of strength to constantly be moving patients, equipment and beds around. Plus, they are on their feet all day, unless they are putting on a floor show with strange equipment, or singing "I Left My Heart In San Francisco." However, their strongest muscle was their attitude, and it went a very, very long way!
Shout out to Mer P. - We all know that you will be one of these super nurses! Start working on your song and dance too.
Whacky thought for the day...
Television is grumpifying teenage girls. Bring back "Happy Days" with silly teenagers.
I have observed for many years that 97.6% of all American teenage girls have a huge chip on their shoulders, or they walk around completely aloof, bordering on terminal rudeness. The only time they show any semblance of joy or enthusiasm is when playing a team sport. (Unfortunately, this happy attitude is left on the field or court when the game is over.) If you watch shows targeting this demographic, all you see is drama, drama, drama. Very rarely will a character smile or show genuine happiness. It is not cool to be happy. It is not cool to show any signs of excitement. It is not cool to enjoy the moment. Even Riley slips into this teenatitude periodically, but fortunately Molly is usually nearby, doing something goofy, making Riley snap out of it.
Nowadays, high school girls act like grumpy old ladies, and nurses (sometimes) act like silly teenagers. I'll take silly teenagers any day of the week!
If nurses are the first comment, the gourmet hospital food is usually the second comment made by a former patient. Just think, if nurses could cook the food too...!
My nurses on Tuesday were no exception. When I arrived at pre-op, I felt welcomed to their little corner of the world. My pre-op nurse made sure that I understood the procedure, if I had any questions, and in her own, discreet way, checked to see if I was comfortable with the (minor) surgery. She said that she was sorry that I had to be there, and about the upcoming mastectomy. I gave my regular response,"It's just a boob, nothing important to keep my body functioning." When I was asleep, she turned off the light. When I was cold, she somehow knew to bring me a warmed blanket. (I love those blankets right out of the warmer! Wouldn't it be nice to have a warmed blanket every night during these frigid New England winters?!) When I looked bored, she came in for a little chit chat. (She just got back from visiting her son's family in Burlingame, CA. She said that her son, and half the families in her grandchildren's school, are renters because of the home prices. She was shocked to see a 2bed/1bath home for $1.2 million! I know, crazy. Welcome to the Bay Area...and people think the North Shore is expensive.)
I was impressed by how fit all the nurses are in day surgery. I have never seen so many fit co-workers in one place, other than at Nike. The grandma pre-op nurse was amazingly fit and strong. She is a avid bike rider. They must all be enthusiastic cyclists because some other nurses were talking about the Boston to Provincetown ride and a ride from somewhere in Canada to Portland, Maine. It takes a great deal of strength to constantly be moving patients, equipment and beds around. Plus, they are on their feet all day, unless they are putting on a floor show with strange equipment, or singing "I Left My Heart In San Francisco." However, their strongest muscle was their attitude, and it went a very, very long way!
Shout out to Mer P. - We all know that you will be one of these super nurses! Start working on your song and dance too.
Whacky thought for the day...
Television is grumpifying teenage girls. Bring back "Happy Days" with silly teenagers.
I have observed for many years that 97.6% of all American teenage girls have a huge chip on their shoulders, or they walk around completely aloof, bordering on terminal rudeness. The only time they show any semblance of joy or enthusiasm is when playing a team sport. (Unfortunately, this happy attitude is left on the field or court when the game is over.) If you watch shows targeting this demographic, all you see is drama, drama, drama. Very rarely will a character smile or show genuine happiness. It is not cool to be happy. It is not cool to show any signs of excitement. It is not cool to enjoy the moment. Even Riley slips into this teenatitude periodically, but fortunately Molly is usually nearby, doing something goofy, making Riley snap out of it.
Nowadays, high school girls act like grumpy old ladies, and nurses (sometimes) act like silly teenagers. I'll take silly teenagers any day of the week!
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Clocks With Batteries...
Yesterday I had to be at Mass General Hospital in Boston at 7:30a.m. for a 12:45 p.m. surgery. I decided to take the 6:25 a.m. train, and risk being a little late, which proved to be no problem. (Yes, I took the train by myself because I didn't want Chubba sitting around. I kind of like this time alone on the train. Really, I had a root canal that took more time than this day surgery.) I set my alarm clock for 5:30, giving me plenty of time to beautify myself before the surgery. I slept terribly, flipping and flopping all night like a freshly caught fish on the deck of a boat! I slept for about 20 minutes at a time. After one stint of sleep, I decided to give a one-eye peak at the clock. It was flashing! The power went out! What time is it?! I stumbled downstairs to the cable box clock, the only reliable clock after a power outage, and discovered that it was on 3:30. Phew! Chubba's alarm clock has back-up batteries, but they were dead. I guess I better change then when I change the smoke alarm batteries - which I never do. I usually change the smoke alarm batteries when they make the obnoxious, high-pitched beeping sound in the middle of the night. Does anyone other than firefighters, and my friend Bubble Wrap, actually change the batteries in their smoke alarms as recommended, on daylight savings?
The pre-op instructions said no make-up. I try to not go anywhere without mascara for fear of scaring small children. At 5:45 a.m. I was thinking about the song "A Little More Mascara" from La Cage Aux Folles, so I plastered it on! Why can I remember a song from a Broadway musical I saw a million years ago in The City, aka San Francisco, with my brother, T, but I get the words "asthma" and "cancer" mixed up? Maybe I need brain surgery too.
I arrived at 7:50 for my 7:30 check in. Fashionably late. I had to put my necklace - 40th birthday gold locket with pictures of the girls in it, and wallet in the safe. They asked me to remove my wedding ring, but they would have to cut off my finger to get the ring. Since moving to the East Coast, I somehow managed to blow up like a Macy's Thanksgiving Day balloon. I am still looking for the release valve. Can you say, "s t r e s s - e a t i n g?"
After changing into a stylish hospital ensemble, pants, top & robe, I sat in the waiting area for only a short time. I walked to a curtained off pre-op"room" that was only big enough for the bed, a chair, an IV stand, and a few instruments. There were over 25 of these "rooms." I was curtained off only on the sides, which made it possible for me to watch the parade of doctors - some frighteningly young, nurses, med students, and techs go by. Since I was only divided by curtains, I could hear the people talking on either side of me. One neighbor, who sounded like an older lady, has had two hips replaced, two rotator cuffs replaced and was there for her back. She must be bionic by now. She kept telling the doctor that he looked too young to be a doctor. He kept telling her that botox made him look that way. I bet he was barely into his 30s. After a short time, I was wheelchaired off to radiology for another mammogram. Been there, done that. The nice young girl wheeled me through the bowels of the hospital to get to radiology. Clearly, remodeling has not hit everywhere yet. This area and the pre-op area could use a good cleaning with Mr. Clean Magic Erasers. (If you haven't tried these magical cleaning tools, you need them!) Dr. T. Best told me that Day Surgery will be in the new building currently under construction, adjacent to the main building. It will be open next year, 2011, for the hospital's 200th anniversary. Mass General is the third oldest hospital in the US. Remember that little tidbit for your next Trivial Pursuit game.
I had another mammogram on the right side. After this smashing event, I went into another room where a I was put into another mammography machine, but with a moon-shaped cut out in the upper smasher paddle, and a light projecting grids onto my smashed object. The radiologists were pinpointing the tiny metal marker that was placed inside my breast after the MRI biopsy several weeks ago. Next, they numbed the skin with a shot and inserted a wire down to the marker. I had to look away so that I wouldn't get poked in the eye. (During this procedure the saying, "That's better than being poked in the eye with a sharp stick" kept coming to mind. And the revised version, "Better than being poked in the eye with a long breast wire." The original is much better.) During surgery, Dr. T. Best followed this wire down to the marker and removed a mass around it. As the radiologist we doing the procedure, the two radiologist, x-ray tech and I were just chatting away. It would have been a nice little coffee klatch, except there was no coffee, and I was partly naked.
I was told not to move my right arm for fear of moving the wire. I kept it locked to my right side like a tin soldier.
Back in my curtained room, I watched more of the unending parade, read a little bit, and then finally feel asleep. When I woke up, I was famished. All I could think about was an In-N-Out cheeseburger with grilled onions, hold the tomato. Sorry non-Californians, you have no idea what you are missing! Five Guys in Gloucester is the closest we have found to In-N-Out, but not quite. (I am nauseous right now, so this writing this is not a good thing.)
At about 1:30 Dr. T. Best and a surgical nurse wheeled me into the operating room. Fashionably late. I think, this is the first time I actually had the surgeon wheel me in and out of the operating room. (I had 3 major surgeries - two resulted in babies, and 1 day surgery prior to yesterday.) Moving the bed around is no small feat because there are only millimeters for clearance on either side of the bed and the doorways. The surgery only took about 30 minutes. There were 4 RN's in the room and Dr T. Best. One nurse sat by my head that was curtained off from the rest of my body during surgery. She was the one who gave me the cocktail so that I wouldn't feel anything. Actually, we talked about cocktails as it was taking affect. And would your believe, she commented on my eyelashes, saying they were the longest eyelashes she had ever seen. See, La Cage was right, you should never go without mascara! I was awake the entire time and only felt a couple of sharp pains near the end of the procedure - no biggie. Dr. T. Best lived up to her nickname. Since the surgery - no pain, no swelling and no bruising. I have not even taken the prescribed vicodin.
The six of us ladies also had a bit a chit chatting before and after the procedure. Within the topic of conversation, I said something to Dr. T. Best about having a life. She said that being a breast surgeon is great because there are almost zero complications, and she very rarely gets phone calls when she is not at work. She clearly enjoys her job. I also learned that she goes to a dude ranch near Steamboat for vacation. I will give Steamboat a shout out as a great family ski destination.
The recovery nurses were quite entertaining. I didn't realize that a floor show was included. They were singing, looking up shoes on the computer I could see from my bed, and wheeling each other around with some weird contraption that looked like a bike mechanic's stand, pretending it was a pump for a well. One nurse was leaving in a couple of weeks for a trip to Northern California. She was spending one day and night in San Francisco, focusing on Chinatown, but didn't know where to stay. I recommended The Orchard and The Juliana on Bush St., and The Golden Gate Hotel on Post St. as smaller boutique hotels located close to Chinatown. Again, I wonder how I can remember the name of these hotels and the streets, but I get "asthma" and "cancer" mixed up?
I observed one odd, and somewhat disturbing situation while in recovery. Since there were a lot of unused curtained rooms, a young female doctor sat with an even younger male doctor - hopefully a med student, sat down in the middle of everything, for all to see and hear, and went over pain medications. The young woman doctor wrote down the numbers 1-9 on a piece of paper and asked the young guy to tell her what he knew about pain medications, and where they fit on the list. He went blank, and could not think of anything! I wanted to shout out: Codeine, Vicodin, Demerol, Morphine, Oxycontin, Tylenol, Ibuprophen. I kept thinking, "Holy shit! I hope this guy doesn't make any decisions!" (Oops, my 80-something Godmother is now reading this, and I better watch my language. Actually, I think I heard her say those exact words at my niece's recent wedding. After all, she raised a house-full of rambunctious kids. Hell, she is probably one that taught it to me.) Anyway, I didn't stare at the woman doctor and guy when they were talking; sometimes I pretended to read or sleep. Actually, I didn't listen to too much of their conversation because it wasn't that interesting. I read several chapters in my book, "The Women." It is about Frank Lloyd Wright and the women in his life. (When I grow up, I want to be an architect.)
Just as I was getting dressed to come home, I got very nauseous. A nurse gave me a nice parting gift of crackers, a gingerale, and a barf bag. I know this sounds strange, but it was a nifty barf bag. I was a collapsible blue plastic bag with one end stretched over a circular cardboard ring. Fortunately I didn't use it, and will keep it in the car for any carsick emergencies.
When Justin and the girls picked me up, the girls were uncharacteristically quiet. I don't think they said more than 3 words each on the entire ride home.
Later in the evening, Riley(almost 15) privately confessed to me that she was very scared when she saw me be wheeled out in the wheelchair. She said that I looked so helpless. What?! My hair looked good, I was dressed in my finest, and I even had on lipstick! I told her to tell me immediately when she feels this way, so I can assure her that I am okay. I also said that I will be honest when I don't feel okay.
I had to coax Molly (9), aka Little Miss Keep Everything Locked Inside, to tell me how she felt when she saw me in a wheelchair. She finally admitted that she is afraid that "all of this" is going to happen to her. I learned that this is a very normal reaction for someone her age. With the negative results on the BRCA genetic tests as evidence, I told her that this isn't something she can get from me, unlike her short height and her clever wit. I said that when I was her age, I was afraid of stuff like this too, but I'm not afraid anymore. (Well, sometimes I have my moments.)
Today I feel nauseous if I am up for too long. This is why it has taken me all day to write this jibberjabber.
Whacky thought for the day...
Why do zoos get a bad rap?
I was recently talking with a breast cancer survivor that is suffering her fourth infection since her reconstructive surgery two years ago. I mentioned that I am going to Mass General, and she said that she didn't go there because she heard it is a "zoo."
Why when places are busy or chaotic, we say it is like a zoo?
Have you been to a zoo lately? They are very neat and orderly. They are better shape than most kids' rooms. Mine included.
The pre-op instructions said no make-up. I try to not go anywhere without mascara for fear of scaring small children. At 5:45 a.m. I was thinking about the song "A Little More Mascara" from La Cage Aux Folles, so I plastered it on! Why can I remember a song from a Broadway musical I saw a million years ago in The City, aka San Francisco, with my brother, T, but I get the words "asthma" and "cancer" mixed up? Maybe I need brain surgery too.
I arrived at 7:50 for my 7:30 check in. Fashionably late. I had to put my necklace - 40th birthday gold locket with pictures of the girls in it, and wallet in the safe. They asked me to remove my wedding ring, but they would have to cut off my finger to get the ring. Since moving to the East Coast, I somehow managed to blow up like a Macy's Thanksgiving Day balloon. I am still looking for the release valve. Can you say, "s t r e s s - e a t i n g?"
After changing into a stylish hospital ensemble, pants, top & robe, I sat in the waiting area for only a short time. I walked to a curtained off pre-op"room" that was only big enough for the bed, a chair, an IV stand, and a few instruments. There were over 25 of these "rooms." I was curtained off only on the sides, which made it possible for me to watch the parade of doctors - some frighteningly young, nurses, med students, and techs go by. Since I was only divided by curtains, I could hear the people talking on either side of me. One neighbor, who sounded like an older lady, has had two hips replaced, two rotator cuffs replaced and was there for her back. She must be bionic by now. She kept telling the doctor that he looked too young to be a doctor. He kept telling her that botox made him look that way. I bet he was barely into his 30s. After a short time, I was wheelchaired off to radiology for another mammogram. Been there, done that. The nice young girl wheeled me through the bowels of the hospital to get to radiology. Clearly, remodeling has not hit everywhere yet. This area and the pre-op area could use a good cleaning with Mr. Clean Magic Erasers. (If you haven't tried these magical cleaning tools, you need them!) Dr. T. Best told me that Day Surgery will be in the new building currently under construction, adjacent to the main building. It will be open next year, 2011, for the hospital's 200th anniversary. Mass General is the third oldest hospital in the US. Remember that little tidbit for your next Trivial Pursuit game.
I had another mammogram on the right side. After this smashing event, I went into another room where a I was put into another mammography machine, but with a moon-shaped cut out in the upper smasher paddle, and a light projecting grids onto my smashed object. The radiologists were pinpointing the tiny metal marker that was placed inside my breast after the MRI biopsy several weeks ago. Next, they numbed the skin with a shot and inserted a wire down to the marker. I had to look away so that I wouldn't get poked in the eye. (During this procedure the saying, "That's better than being poked in the eye with a sharp stick" kept coming to mind. And the revised version, "Better than being poked in the eye with a long breast wire." The original is much better.) During surgery, Dr. T. Best followed this wire down to the marker and removed a mass around it. As the radiologist we doing the procedure, the two radiologist, x-ray tech and I were just chatting away. It would have been a nice little coffee klatch, except there was no coffee, and I was partly naked.
I was told not to move my right arm for fear of moving the wire. I kept it locked to my right side like a tin soldier.
Back in my curtained room, I watched more of the unending parade, read a little bit, and then finally feel asleep. When I woke up, I was famished. All I could think about was an In-N-Out cheeseburger with grilled onions, hold the tomato. Sorry non-Californians, you have no idea what you are missing! Five Guys in Gloucester is the closest we have found to In-N-Out, but not quite. (I am nauseous right now, so this writing this is not a good thing.)
At about 1:30 Dr. T. Best and a surgical nurse wheeled me into the operating room. Fashionably late. I think, this is the first time I actually had the surgeon wheel me in and out of the operating room. (I had 3 major surgeries - two resulted in babies, and 1 day surgery prior to yesterday.) Moving the bed around is no small feat because there are only millimeters for clearance on either side of the bed and the doorways. The surgery only took about 30 minutes. There were 4 RN's in the room and Dr T. Best. One nurse sat by my head that was curtained off from the rest of my body during surgery. She was the one who gave me the cocktail so that I wouldn't feel anything. Actually, we talked about cocktails as it was taking affect. And would your believe, she commented on my eyelashes, saying they were the longest eyelashes she had ever seen. See, La Cage was right, you should never go without mascara! I was awake the entire time and only felt a couple of sharp pains near the end of the procedure - no biggie. Dr. T. Best lived up to her nickname. Since the surgery - no pain, no swelling and no bruising. I have not even taken the prescribed vicodin.
The six of us ladies also had a bit a chit chatting before and after the procedure. Within the topic of conversation, I said something to Dr. T. Best about having a life. She said that being a breast surgeon is great because there are almost zero complications, and she very rarely gets phone calls when she is not at work. She clearly enjoys her job. I also learned that she goes to a dude ranch near Steamboat for vacation. I will give Steamboat a shout out as a great family ski destination.
The recovery nurses were quite entertaining. I didn't realize that a floor show was included. They were singing, looking up shoes on the computer I could see from my bed, and wheeling each other around with some weird contraption that looked like a bike mechanic's stand, pretending it was a pump for a well. One nurse was leaving in a couple of weeks for a trip to Northern California. She was spending one day and night in San Francisco, focusing on Chinatown, but didn't know where to stay. I recommended The Orchard and The Juliana on Bush St., and The Golden Gate Hotel on Post St. as smaller boutique hotels located close to Chinatown. Again, I wonder how I can remember the name of these hotels and the streets, but I get "asthma" and "cancer" mixed up?
I observed one odd, and somewhat disturbing situation while in recovery. Since there were a lot of unused curtained rooms, a young female doctor sat with an even younger male doctor - hopefully a med student, sat down in the middle of everything, for all to see and hear, and went over pain medications. The young woman doctor wrote down the numbers 1-9 on a piece of paper and asked the young guy to tell her what he knew about pain medications, and where they fit on the list. He went blank, and could not think of anything! I wanted to shout out: Codeine, Vicodin, Demerol, Morphine, Oxycontin, Tylenol, Ibuprophen. I kept thinking, "Holy shit! I hope this guy doesn't make any decisions!" (Oops, my 80-something Godmother is now reading this, and I better watch my language. Actually, I think I heard her say those exact words at my niece's recent wedding. After all, she raised a house-full of rambunctious kids. Hell, she is probably one that taught it to me.) Anyway, I didn't stare at the woman doctor and guy when they were talking; sometimes I pretended to read or sleep. Actually, I didn't listen to too much of their conversation because it wasn't that interesting. I read several chapters in my book, "The Women." It is about Frank Lloyd Wright and the women in his life. (When I grow up, I want to be an architect.)
Just as I was getting dressed to come home, I got very nauseous. A nurse gave me a nice parting gift of crackers, a gingerale, and a barf bag. I know this sounds strange, but it was a nifty barf bag. I was a collapsible blue plastic bag with one end stretched over a circular cardboard ring. Fortunately I didn't use it, and will keep it in the car for any carsick emergencies.
When Justin and the girls picked me up, the girls were uncharacteristically quiet. I don't think they said more than 3 words each on the entire ride home.
Later in the evening, Riley(almost 15) privately confessed to me that she was very scared when she saw me be wheeled out in the wheelchair. She said that I looked so helpless. What?! My hair looked good, I was dressed in my finest, and I even had on lipstick! I told her to tell me immediately when she feels this way, so I can assure her that I am okay. I also said that I will be honest when I don't feel okay.
I had to coax Molly (9), aka Little Miss Keep Everything Locked Inside, to tell me how she felt when she saw me in a wheelchair. She finally admitted that she is afraid that "all of this" is going to happen to her. I learned that this is a very normal reaction for someone her age. With the negative results on the BRCA genetic tests as evidence, I told her that this isn't something she can get from me, unlike her short height and her clever wit. I said that when I was her age, I was afraid of stuff like this too, but I'm not afraid anymore. (Well, sometimes I have my moments.)
Today I feel nauseous if I am up for too long. This is why it has taken me all day to write this jibberjabber.
Whacky thought for the day...
Why do zoos get a bad rap?
I was recently talking with a breast cancer survivor that is suffering her fourth infection since her reconstructive surgery two years ago. I mentioned that I am going to Mass General, and she said that she didn't go there because she heard it is a "zoo."
Why when places are busy or chaotic, we say it is like a zoo?
Have you been to a zoo lately? They are very neat and orderly. They are better shape than most kids' rooms. Mine included.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Down The Drain...
Warning: If you get squeamish reading about medical stuff that involves body liquids, you might want to skip the next paragraph.
I mentioned drains a couple of times. This is what I know and remember...Drains are put in after surgery to remove excess fluid that builds up under the armpit by the lymph nodes, but only on the operated side. (One side = one drain. Two sides = two drains.) The surgeon connects the drains during surgery, and they stick out of under the armpits. The drain is a long, clear, rubbery, 3 foot long tube with a clear football shaped ball at the end to collect fluid. The ball is about the size of the pump on a blood pressure cuff. The drains remain in until the fluid production ceases, which can be as long as 10 days. Yes, I will be walking around with tubes hanging out of my armpits, under my baggy clothes. I only hope that it is cool weather. Twice a day I will empty the fluid into a measuring cup, write down the amount of fluid in a journal, and then flush it down the toilet. The fluid starts our pink because it might have a tiny amount of blood. Dr. T. Best told me that it only takes a tiny drop of blood to made the fluid pink. By the end, the fluid turns yellowish. Isn't this lovely?! My friend, Nurse O. Canada said that she will help me with the drains, and I am going to hold her to it! Yuck! Gross!
Yesterday I said something weird to Molly. She has terrible asthma right now, so I told her, "Take your inhaler so we can control your cancer." What the heck?! I am such a knucklehead. I quickly corrected myself. I think that she is having the toughest time of all of us with the cancer, oops breast cancer, and that her asthma might be triggered by the stress. (Stress has triggered my asthma at times too.)
Today I got pink spikey hair! I really like it, although I look like an aging rocker. The pink doesn't totally stand out and somewhat blends with my normal, reddish hair, unless you look closely in the light. It's subtle, just like me! Riley thinks it's cool because some of her friends told her that if her mom gets pink hair, she will have the coolest mom in Manchester. Molly is not too keen on it. She asked me today how long it will take to grow back. She might have a tough time with this bald thing in a few months. I will have Riley take a picture of my hair and post it later this week. Thank goodness she is taking photography in school this semester and becoming proficient in Photoshop! She said that she can make me look better than ever!
I left off some stories of plastic surgeon, Dr. Chief, that Chubba thinks I should share... When Dr. Chief first came into the examining room and sat down, he said, "Tell me your story." I responded, "What do you want me to tell you?" He said, "Just tell me your story." Soooooooo, I started my story with, "I was born a poor bl-" pause, he finished the sentence, "black child....Steve Martin." I replied, "Then you know the story." It was nice to know that Dr. Chief had a sense of humor, and that he saw the Steve Marin movie. He said one other thing that greatly impressed me; he referred to his assistant- (not sure if she is even a nurse) as "my associate." By calling her his associate, he put her on equal footing. Boy, talk about checking your ego at the door!
Tomorrow I have day surgery to remove a chunk of my right breast. Dr. T. Best is looking for any sign of microscopic cancer cells. The surgery is at 12:45 p.m., but I have to be there at 7:30a.m.. What am I going to do for 5 hours before surgery? I know I have to get drugged up, but for 5 hours! I guess I'll start a new book or knit. The surgery will only take about an hour. I will recoup for a couple of hours, and then go home. The information sheet in my cancer binder states that it takes 7-10 days to get the results from the biopsy. I am guessing that Dr. T. Best has some power and will speed up that process. If it comes back negative, then May 18 stands as the surgery date. If is comes back positive, then I'm not sure if the date will change or we can stay on schedule.
Whacky thought for the day...
I was thinking of writing on my right breast, "Biopsy me!" so they get he correct side.
I mentioned drains a couple of times. This is what I know and remember...Drains are put in after surgery to remove excess fluid that builds up under the armpit by the lymph nodes, but only on the operated side. (One side = one drain. Two sides = two drains.) The surgeon connects the drains during surgery, and they stick out of under the armpits. The drain is a long, clear, rubbery, 3 foot long tube with a clear football shaped ball at the end to collect fluid. The ball is about the size of the pump on a blood pressure cuff. The drains remain in until the fluid production ceases, which can be as long as 10 days. Yes, I will be walking around with tubes hanging out of my armpits, under my baggy clothes. I only hope that it is cool weather. Twice a day I will empty the fluid into a measuring cup, write down the amount of fluid in a journal, and then flush it down the toilet. The fluid starts our pink because it might have a tiny amount of blood. Dr. T. Best told me that it only takes a tiny drop of blood to made the fluid pink. By the end, the fluid turns yellowish. Isn't this lovely?! My friend, Nurse O. Canada said that she will help me with the drains, and I am going to hold her to it! Yuck! Gross!
Yesterday I said something weird to Molly. She has terrible asthma right now, so I told her, "Take your inhaler so we can control your cancer." What the heck?! I am such a knucklehead. I quickly corrected myself. I think that she is having the toughest time of all of us with the cancer, oops breast cancer, and that her asthma might be triggered by the stress. (Stress has triggered my asthma at times too.)
Today I got pink spikey hair! I really like it, although I look like an aging rocker. The pink doesn't totally stand out and somewhat blends with my normal, reddish hair, unless you look closely in the light. It's subtle, just like me! Riley thinks it's cool because some of her friends told her that if her mom gets pink hair, she will have the coolest mom in Manchester. Molly is not too keen on it. She asked me today how long it will take to grow back. She might have a tough time with this bald thing in a few months. I will have Riley take a picture of my hair and post it later this week. Thank goodness she is taking photography in school this semester and becoming proficient in Photoshop! She said that she can make me look better than ever!
I left off some stories of plastic surgeon, Dr. Chief, that Chubba thinks I should share... When Dr. Chief first came into the examining room and sat down, he said, "Tell me your story." I responded, "What do you want me to tell you?" He said, "Just tell me your story." Soooooooo, I started my story with, "I was born a poor bl-" pause, he finished the sentence, "black child....Steve Martin." I replied, "Then you know the story." It was nice to know that Dr. Chief had a sense of humor, and that he saw the Steve Marin movie. He said one other thing that greatly impressed me; he referred to his assistant- (not sure if she is even a nurse) as "my associate." By calling her his associate, he put her on equal footing. Boy, talk about checking your ego at the door!
Tomorrow I have day surgery to remove a chunk of my right breast. Dr. T. Best is looking for any sign of microscopic cancer cells. The surgery is at 12:45 p.m., but I have to be there at 7:30a.m.. What am I going to do for 5 hours before surgery? I know I have to get drugged up, but for 5 hours! I guess I'll start a new book or knit. The surgery will only take about an hour. I will recoup for a couple of hours, and then go home. The information sheet in my cancer binder states that it takes 7-10 days to get the results from the biopsy. I am guessing that Dr. T. Best has some power and will speed up that process. If it comes back negative, then May 18 stands as the surgery date. If is comes back positive, then I'm not sure if the date will change or we can stay on schedule.
Whacky thought for the day...
I was thinking of writing on my right breast, "Biopsy me!" so they get he correct side.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Free Books, And More...
On Tuesday I arrived at Mass General 1 hr 45 min early for my appointment with the plastic surgeon, Dr. Chief. I was at the mercy of the train schedule, so I had extra time to spend at the hospital. I decided to visit the cancer resource center, located one floor below the breast cancer center, to look for guidance on how to help Riley and Molly through my cancer. (Last week was a difficult week for the girls. An adult made an insensitive cancer-related comment to one daughter, and the other found herself in an uncomfortable situation due to my doctor's appointment.) The resource center reminded me of a combination of a small study hall in college, and counselor's office, and an United Red Carpet room. To the right was a bank of about 6 desktop computers. To the left was a wall of bookshelves loaded with books relating to all types of cancer. They are coded on the binding, making it easy to find a book related to your particular cancer. Breast cancer is a red triangle - just in case you are in the area and drop in. In the center were two more sets of shelves filled with pamphlets/booklets on specific topics related to cancer. Several cushioned chairs were spread throughout with a few tables. And of course, there is the 1,000 piece puzzle on a table. I wonder if puzzles are supposed to be relaxing. At one corner sat two La-Z-Boy recliner-type chairs. I could never have one of these in my home, however, they did look very comfortable and inviting. (My mom always said, "Never say never." I think it is safe to say never in this case.) I will even admit that when I visit the resource center the next time, I might even plop my La-Z-Butt in that La-Z-Boy recliner, as long as there are no pictures for evidence. Coffee, tea and water were also available for self-serve.
As I was looking through the books about kids coping with mom's cancer, a very nice woman approached me and offered her assistance. When I explained what I was looking for in the bookcase, she said that she has some books in back, and to have a seat. She walked out with a large package of information. She gave me three books, not to borrow, but to keep. One book is titled, "The Blue Day Book For Kids," by Bradley Greive. I wholeheartedly recommend this book to parents for children of all ages, to be used on those days when your child comes home after a bad day at school. It uses photographs of animals to acknowledge the crummy feelings, but by the end the book your child can't help but smile.
The second book is a national bestseller, "Ida B," by Katherine Hannigan. It is written from the perspective of a 9 year old girl who's mother has cancer. (It does not tell what type of cancer.) Ida must go through a lot of changes in her life while they are dealing with her mom's cancer. It has a happy ending. I am going to read this aloud to both girls together. Molly, 9, enjoys when I read chapter books to her, and Riley always sneaks in to listen too.
The last book is for Justin and me, "Raising An Emotionally Healthy Child When A Parent Is Sick." The little that I have read has been helpful. As I have written several times, my biggest concern during this cancer ordeal is how it is affecting the girls. This is why the two situations last week were such a tremendous blow to me. I know the girls are strong, and put on a good front, but they are children. I think that often people forget that children are children. At least, my children are still children, and don't pretend to be older or wiser beyond their years. (Also, I refuse to let them get too big for their britches.)
The caring woman gave me two journals with a matching pen for the girls to write down their thoughts. Molly has gone to town in her book, filling several pages. I am curious to see what she has written, assuming she gives me permission to read it. She also gave me a little booklet written for teens on dealing with their parent's cancer. I didn't read it, but I saw Riley going through it.
At the resouce center I picked up some pamphlets on a variety of topics: chemotherapy, mastectomy surgery, biopsy surgery, etc...real page-turners!
It is through generous donations that resources centers like this exist. Thank you everyone who donated to make it possible!
Happy Anniversary Mor & Smurf, aka Mom & Dad - 53 blissful years! - 7 Children (7 bachelor degrees, 4 masters, 1 Ph.D), 11 Grandchildren, and 1 Great Grandchild in the oven!
As I was looking through the books about kids coping with mom's cancer, a very nice woman approached me and offered her assistance. When I explained what I was looking for in the bookcase, she said that she has some books in back, and to have a seat. She walked out with a large package of information. She gave me three books, not to borrow, but to keep. One book is titled, "The Blue Day Book For Kids," by Bradley Greive. I wholeheartedly recommend this book to parents for children of all ages, to be used on those days when your child comes home after a bad day at school. It uses photographs of animals to acknowledge the crummy feelings, but by the end the book your child can't help but smile.
The second book is a national bestseller, "Ida B," by Katherine Hannigan. It is written from the perspective of a 9 year old girl who's mother has cancer. (It does not tell what type of cancer.) Ida must go through a lot of changes in her life while they are dealing with her mom's cancer. It has a happy ending. I am going to read this aloud to both girls together. Molly, 9, enjoys when I read chapter books to her, and Riley always sneaks in to listen too.
The last book is for Justin and me, "Raising An Emotionally Healthy Child When A Parent Is Sick." The little that I have read has been helpful. As I have written several times, my biggest concern during this cancer ordeal is how it is affecting the girls. This is why the two situations last week were such a tremendous blow to me. I know the girls are strong, and put on a good front, but they are children. I think that often people forget that children are children. At least, my children are still children, and don't pretend to be older or wiser beyond their years. (Also, I refuse to let them get too big for their britches.)
The caring woman gave me two journals with a matching pen for the girls to write down their thoughts. Molly has gone to town in her book, filling several pages. I am curious to see what she has written, assuming she gives me permission to read it. She also gave me a little booklet written for teens on dealing with their parent's cancer. I didn't read it, but I saw Riley going through it.
At the resouce center I picked up some pamphlets on a variety of topics: chemotherapy, mastectomy surgery, biopsy surgery, etc...real page-turners!
It is through generous donations that resources centers like this exist. Thank you everyone who donated to make it possible!
Happy Anniversary Mor & Smurf, aka Mom & Dad - 53 blissful years! - 7 Children (7 bachelor degrees, 4 masters, 1 Ph.D), 11 Grandchildren, and 1 Great Grandchild in the oven!
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Out The Window...
I always considered myself a modest person. I try to never show cleavage, which unfortunately is a lot of cleavage to hide. I know, those that have it don't want it, and those that don't have it want it. Having breast cancer has thrown modesty right out the window. Last Thursday I had five different doctors give me a breast exam. By the fifth person, I felt like saying, "Alright already!" Yesterday, I had an appointment with a plastic surgeon, Dr. Chief. (He is the head of the plastic & reconstructive surgery department.) (There are no lightweights on my medical team!) Anyway, at first I had to undress, except for my panties and have pictures taken of my stomach and chest by the assistant. The first thought going through my head was "I wish I wore prettier underwear." No, they didn't get my face in the photos, and I deny that they are not pictures of me! Then after a long discussion with Dr. Chief about the different options available for reconstruction, he looked at me sans clothes, with his assistant in the room, to show me how reconstruction would look. If I had a modicum of modesty left, it shattered the window on the way out! He grabbed my belly and agreed that there was enough fat to make a breast. Great for one's self esteem. However, during our long discussion, he did call me YOUNG a couple of times. If you hear that from a plastic surgeon, it must be true.
There are two options for reconstruction, implants or a tram flap. The tram flap, which I call "trans fat", tunnels the fat from you belly up to your chest to make a breast. I think it should be called "trans fat" because you are transferring fat from your belly to your chest. (I tend to call a spade a spade - if you haven't already noticed.) Basically, you get a tummy tuck and boob job all at once. I think he said that he has been doing these procedures for 7 years. The benefit is that you are using your own tissue to make a new breast, leaving no chance of rejection, unlike a man-made device, an implant, that does have a risk of rejection. However, the recovery time is longer, and the stomach muscles are compromised - so no more sit-ups...so much for those 200 I do every morning. I guess if I actually did the 200 sit-ups every morning, the tram flap, or trans fat, would not be possible. The silicone implants are the same as always. The only hitch is that if I have to do radiation, there is a 50% failure rate in the implants. Not good odds. If this happens, he can replace the implant with another implant or do a tram flap after radiation is completed. Radiation can also affect the tram flap by reducing the size, but the chances are much lower than 50%. Decisions, decisions. What kind of boob do I want? It is difficult to think that this is even a decision process. It seems somewhat silly to me with all that's going on in our lives and the world. I am leaning toward the tram flap.
There are two options for reconstruction, implants or a tram flap. The tram flap, which I call "trans fat", tunnels the fat from you belly up to your chest to make a breast. I think it should be called "trans fat" because you are transferring fat from your belly to your chest. (I tend to call a spade a spade - if you haven't already noticed.) Basically, you get a tummy tuck and boob job all at once. I think he said that he has been doing these procedures for 7 years. The benefit is that you are using your own tissue to make a new breast, leaving no chance of rejection, unlike a man-made device, an implant, that does have a risk of rejection. However, the recovery time is longer, and the stomach muscles are compromised - so no more sit-ups...so much for those 200 I do every morning. I guess if I actually did the 200 sit-ups every morning, the tram flap, or trans fat, would not be possible. The silicone implants are the same as always. The only hitch is that if I have to do radiation, there is a 50% failure rate in the implants. Not good odds. If this happens, he can replace the implant with another implant or do a tram flap after radiation is completed. Radiation can also affect the tram flap by reducing the size, but the chances are much lower than 50%. Decisions, decisions. What kind of boob do I want? It is difficult to think that this is even a decision process. It seems somewhat silly to me with all that's going on in our lives and the world. I am leaning toward the tram flap.
Monday is the day surgery biopsy. If it shows cancer in the right breast too, and a double mastecomy is needed, then decision regarding reconstruction changes. I do not have enough fat for two breasts. Good news, bad news. or Bad news, good news. With double implants, I will be like every other Californian!... okay, not all women in California, only half the women in California...well, not quite half, but many.
I liked Dr. Chief. He seemed very bright and appears to be on the cutting edge of technology, but he also has a relaxed and approachable demeanor. He the first doctor to print his e-mail address on his business card. He told me to e-mail him if I have any questions or concerns. I have 15 cards from doctors in my cancer binder, and Dr. Chief's card is the only one with an e-mail address. He received a cell phone call during our meeting, and apologized for needing to take the call. I thought, okay, he is probably arranging for Red Sox tickets. But after he told the caller that he needed to call back because he was with a patient, he explained that the person was head of the group funding his lab. You never ignore the money people! I'm not sure if I mentioned this before, Mass General is a research and teaching hospital affiliated with Harvard Medical School.
Whacky thought for the day...
Why is menopause called menopause? (I haven't experienced this wonderful rite of passage yet.) Shouldn't it be called womanopause, periodopause or nomoreopause? I think it is called menopause because it is a warning for all men when questioning a woman going through it...danger: men, pause before you speak.
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