Hi folks,
Sorry for how long it's taken me to get online. Figures, for this rabid writer/reader that the ranges of motion most effected by the surgery has been those most required by acts like typing or reading. I'm still struggling to hold a book open, and this email will still have to be short.
Today was my first post-operative dr appointment, so I have a lot of good news to share. The report whose name I forget (I keep wanting to call it the "toxology report" and that's because I've been watching too much HOUSE/Law & Order/etc... ) came back to say that (a) they are 100% sure there was no cancer in my sentinal lymph node (b) there was no detectible cancer in the right breast and (c) the tumor was .3 cm smaller than it appeared to be at the time of surgery. And all together that means my cancer was Stage One. Dr. DeWeese said it was the "best possible news" given the circumstace.
Chemo, he says, is not off the table, though. I will have an appointment with an oncologist soon to talk about life expentancies and rate of recurrance. But it looks good. It's very exciting news. And it's truly unexpected, insofar as I'm concerned. I feared the worst (what with my rock star lifestyle and all, ha ha).
The recovery process has both been way better than I expected and way, way worse than I expected. The first few days were WAY better than I expected. I was pretty well convinced I'd bounce back in record time. It wasn't until I got home from the hospital that things got really bad pain-wise. While I make small improvements every day ("Yay, today I can flush the toilet on my own!" "Yay, today I can get from standing to sitting!!"), it just doesn't seem like enough to me. I woke up this morning and burst into tears. I'm just sick of being in pain and sick of being a patient. When I told my doctor all this he basically said I was being too impatient. I could expect a week to ten days more before I feel better.
People have been awesome. My mother is pretty much convinced that I'm the most beloved teacher at my school based on the volume of cards, flowers, and food I've received. Every day a different teacher shows up with a whole bag of dinner. Ma has bent over backwards. Jason is home now and has been excellent about listening to me and helping me out.
Truth be told, I've been so preoccupied with the pain and my limitations that I've not started processing the more emotional elements of the surgery to any great degree. Over the past few days I have gotten out of the house a couple of times and my greatest self consiousness has been with the stoop of my walk and with the two grenade-sized surgical drains hanging at my waist (basically I have two muumuu type dresses and that's all I can wear until I get rid of these drains. It doesn't help that it's pushing 90).
Anyway, thank you so much for your love and concern. I feel very lucky right now despite my sour mood. I'm sorry I've been so quiet. Hopefully things will start heading back to normal-ish in the next few days.
xoxoMelissa
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Email #3: Here We Go May 28
Just a brief note to say thank you and love you to all of you. Thanks for the sweet emails, the cards, the flowers, the care packages, the general LOVE you have thrown my way these past few weeks. I am so lucky to have people like you in my life.
In a half an hour I can't eat or drink anything, so I am headed to bed. My mom arrived this morning (after an overnight weather-related delay-- I felt so awful, she was SO sad) and my uncle Tim arrived this afternoon. They are such great sources of support.
I'm sorry that I haven't gotten back to all of you lately. But I will be at Norton Suburban Hospital here in Louisville. And if you want to check up on my you're welcome to call my mom. Hopefully I will be in the hospital for two days or so, but it may be a few days before I am able to (or feel like) answering my own phone.Send me good vibes.
Love you all.
xoMRC
In a half an hour I can't eat or drink anything, so I am headed to bed. My mom arrived this morning (after an overnight weather-related delay-- I felt so awful, she was SO sad) and my uncle Tim arrived this afternoon. They are such great sources of support.
I'm sorry that I haven't gotten back to all of you lately. But I will be at Norton Suburban Hospital here in Louisville. And if you want to check up on my you're welcome to call my mom. Hopefully I will be in the hospital for two days or so, but it may be a few days before I am able to (or feel like) answering my own phone.Send me good vibes.
Love you all.
xoMRC
Monday, June 9, 2008
One Month, Two Days. Stage One.
And voila! Now you see them, now you don't.
It's been eleven days since the surgery and while I am still in a great deal of pain sometimes and my range of motion remains limited, I am pretty much back on my feet. I have a lot to catch you up on (although, thus far, no one has read this blog), so that will take some time.
The short story is this. The surgery was nothing like I thought it would be. I think that's thanks at least in part to the fact that I was so medicated by the time they prepped me for surgery that Hunter S. Thompson would have been proud.
If you remember, my greatest fear was the anesthesia. I must have mentioned that to someone at some point because I have zero recollection of being put under. None. Total blackout. I have little recollection of much after the nurse gave me what she called a "martini" (or two or three-- I seem to remember her adding more and more to my iv). And I have little to no recollection of waking up from the surgery. I just tonight found out that I pitched a fit with my patient navigator about not having my glasses. Long story which I'll try to fill in later. Seriously, the fam dropped the ball on that one.
The other big fear was the fact that I would wake up and get The News. Again, I don't remember much of this except not being able to articulate the question when I awoke. But in the end the answer was ringingly positive. The sentinal node tested clear. The cancer had not spread.
And the first couple of days-- the hospital/morphine days-- were way better than I thought they would be. Despite the fact that I barely slept in the hospital, everything else seemed really hunky dory. It might have been the dope. It might have been the euphoria of the good news when I had anticipated bad news. But I seriously felt as though recovery was going to be a piece of cake. My range of motion seemed good. I was reasonably comfortable (drugs).
It wasn't until I got home that things went to shit. I became stiff and every movement became an effort. I couldn't switch positions without help (you don't realize how dependant you are on your arms when it comes to leverage). I could only sleep, as though in a coffin, on my back, arms propped up, unmoving. I woke every four hours, max. I was peeing constantly and never pooping-- the constipation got so bad that on Sunday after the surgery, I OD-ed on laxitives and suffered the gut mangling consequences for two days. Every inch of my body hurt-- what didn't hurt from the surgery hurt from the awkward and unnatural positions in which I had to sit and lie.
By the sixth day after the surgery (thankfully, the day I had my first post-op dr's appointment), I was a weepy, angry, despondent mess. It seemed as though nothing was getting better, especially when I would wake up in the morning a mess of aches, painkillers worn off, still exhausted. After the highs in the hospital, the unanticipated depths of the lows when I went home made me feel as though something had to have gone terribly wrong.
And of course, the doctor said that everything looked as good as it should look. I was healing beautiful. The pain was to be expected. I might consider amping up the painkillers. Otherwise, I was just plain ol' being impatient.
More good news from the doctor. There was no cancer in the right breast. The tumor in the left breast was 1.7cm, and that's .3cm smaller than they thought it was from the ultrasound. The final analysis of the sentinal node says that it was, indeed, 100% clear (Megan-- the cancer survivor I met just before my surgery-- had her sentinal node test clear during her surgery and then unclear in the final analysis-- horrors).
And so all of this means that the girls and I were Stage One. We caught it early. All those piles of bad thoughts pre-surgery were just wrong. All that dread that I felt about my rock star lifestyle-- the heavy drinking, the more than 15 years of smoking, the lack of exercise, the taking of my body for granted-- all that certainty that this was PAYBACK-- well, it just goes to show you that I am one hell of a lucky S.O.B., now doesn't it?
I guess saying that I "dodged the bullet" is a bit like the broadcasters saying that New Orleans "dodged the bullet" after Katrina. Sure, NOLA DIDN'T get hit by the Big One. The Big One would have wiped out the whole city. But it was still devestation in grand scale. And I mean, Stage One is kind of a blessing in the larger scheme of things. But... it's still cancer. And I still lost the girls.
It's been eleven days since the surgery and while I am still in a great deal of pain sometimes and my range of motion remains limited, I am pretty much back on my feet. I have a lot to catch you up on (although, thus far, no one has read this blog), so that will take some time.
The short story is this. The surgery was nothing like I thought it would be. I think that's thanks at least in part to the fact that I was so medicated by the time they prepped me for surgery that Hunter S. Thompson would have been proud.
If you remember, my greatest fear was the anesthesia. I must have mentioned that to someone at some point because I have zero recollection of being put under. None. Total blackout. I have little recollection of much after the nurse gave me what she called a "martini" (or two or three-- I seem to remember her adding more and more to my iv). And I have little to no recollection of waking up from the surgery. I just tonight found out that I pitched a fit with my patient navigator about not having my glasses. Long story which I'll try to fill in later. Seriously, the fam dropped the ball on that one.
The other big fear was the fact that I would wake up and get The News. Again, I don't remember much of this except not being able to articulate the question when I awoke. But in the end the answer was ringingly positive. The sentinal node tested clear. The cancer had not spread.
And the first couple of days-- the hospital/morphine days-- were way better than I thought they would be. Despite the fact that I barely slept in the hospital, everything else seemed really hunky dory. It might have been the dope. It might have been the euphoria of the good news when I had anticipated bad news. But I seriously felt as though recovery was going to be a piece of cake. My range of motion seemed good. I was reasonably comfortable (drugs).
It wasn't until I got home that things went to shit. I became stiff and every movement became an effort. I couldn't switch positions without help (you don't realize how dependant you are on your arms when it comes to leverage). I could only sleep, as though in a coffin, on my back, arms propped up, unmoving. I woke every four hours, max. I was peeing constantly and never pooping-- the constipation got so bad that on Sunday after the surgery, I OD-ed on laxitives and suffered the gut mangling consequences for two days. Every inch of my body hurt-- what didn't hurt from the surgery hurt from the awkward and unnatural positions in which I had to sit and lie.
By the sixth day after the surgery (thankfully, the day I had my first post-op dr's appointment), I was a weepy, angry, despondent mess. It seemed as though nothing was getting better, especially when I would wake up in the morning a mess of aches, painkillers worn off, still exhausted. After the highs in the hospital, the unanticipated depths of the lows when I went home made me feel as though something had to have gone terribly wrong.
And of course, the doctor said that everything looked as good as it should look. I was healing beautiful. The pain was to be expected. I might consider amping up the painkillers. Otherwise, I was just plain ol' being impatient.
More good news from the doctor. There was no cancer in the right breast. The tumor in the left breast was 1.7cm, and that's .3cm smaller than they thought it was from the ultrasound. The final analysis of the sentinal node says that it was, indeed, 100% clear (Megan-- the cancer survivor I met just before my surgery-- had her sentinal node test clear during her surgery and then unclear in the final analysis-- horrors).
And so all of this means that the girls and I were Stage One. We caught it early. All those piles of bad thoughts pre-surgery were just wrong. All that dread that I felt about my rock star lifestyle-- the heavy drinking, the more than 15 years of smoking, the lack of exercise, the taking of my body for granted-- all that certainty that this was PAYBACK-- well, it just goes to show you that I am one hell of a lucky S.O.B., now doesn't it?
I guess saying that I "dodged the bullet" is a bit like the broadcasters saying that New Orleans "dodged the bullet" after Katrina. Sure, NOLA DIDN'T get hit by the Big One. The Big One would have wiped out the whole city. But it was still devestation in grand scale. And I mean, Stage One is kind of a blessing in the larger scheme of things. But... it's still cancer. And I still lost the girls.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Day 20: Ups & Downs
Good day/ Bad day.
It's clockwork, folks. I can only hope that that doesn't mean tomorrow will be a bad day.
Got a phone call tonight after 9pm from Mom. Hysterical. Hyperventilaing. Her plane missed the connection in Cleveland and she's stuck there for the night.
Immediately my spidey-sense care-for-others thing kicks in, and I cry with her on the phone but I also realize that it's more about her than about me.
Still, that news coupled with the fact that my dryer decided to break down today in the middle of drying the sheets I bought for her bed...
I don't mean to be melodramatic, but still. Two pieces of frustrating and bad news in three hours?
It's clockwork, folks. I can only hope that that doesn't mean tomorrow will be a bad day.
Got a phone call tonight after 9pm from Mom. Hysterical. Hyperventilaing. Her plane missed the connection in Cleveland and she's stuck there for the night.
Immediately my spidey-sense care-for-others thing kicks in, and I cry with her on the phone but I also realize that it's more about her than about me.
Still, that news coupled with the fact that my dryer decided to break down today in the middle of drying the sheets I bought for her bed...
I don't mean to be melodramatic, but still. Two pieces of frustrating and bad news in three hours?
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Day 18: the Perils of too much Alone Time
Overall, today has been a pretty good day. Yesterday was not so good. (I just gave the blog the once-over and realized that I'd added the tag "fears" to an early post. Yeesh, like EVERY post isn't about my fears).
Yesterday was my appointment with Glamour Shots. Probably, in the end, an enormous waste of money (what a racket that is! I had a coupon but still dropped some serious cash to order three 8X10's. Normally each photo you order is $60). The women there were very sympathetic and did seem to "hear" me when I stressed that the photos should "look like me, only better." I did engage in some serious eye-rolling when they whipped out the rose petals and sunglasses. But in the end, the hair and makeup person did a great job, and I found three nice pictures out of the several dozen that they took. The photo service will "glamourize" the photos with some serious airbrushing, but I couldn't get over the fact that even all made-up and gorgeous, I looked tired and old.
And if I hadn't been in a funk up til that point (and I was already calf-deep in the funk), that certainly sent me on a spiral downward.
I didn't really recover until this morning, and even then I don't know what put me back in a saner frame of mind. I guess being productive helps (I tend to make things a zillion times worse when I am blue by becoming a lazy lard-ass and then feeling even worse about myself for being such a slug). I graded around 30 papers this morning, probably more generously than normal. Then I headed out to the Kentucky Flea Market, which was, in the end, a fun goofy time. Swung by Borders and picked up a gift for a departing colleague and Lowes for some paint. Then passed by the house, picked up some cds that I'd loaded onto the iPod and brought them to Half-Priced Books, where I traded them for $20 and five bargain hardcover mysteries.
Then back to Quills. And here I am.
In retrospect, I didn't really get much of substance done today, but at least it kept me out of my own brain for most of the day.
There's a lesson to be learned here. Something about "it doesn't matter how much you think about shit... yadda yadda." Or something about "idle hands... yadda yadda." Mostly, "don't give into the dark side." Or something like that. Because let me tell you, I've been leasing to own in the dark side for the past eighteen days. And that ain't good.
It's also been very not good for me to be alone all this time. I swore up and down to Jason and to Ma that I would be A-OK for six days on my own. Not entirely true. Not entirely untrue either. I just should have been more proactive about finding someone to have fun with this weekend, rather than wallow 24/7 da solo.
Yesterday was my appointment with Glamour Shots. Probably, in the end, an enormous waste of money (what a racket that is! I had a coupon but still dropped some serious cash to order three 8X10's. Normally each photo you order is $60). The women there were very sympathetic and did seem to "hear" me when I stressed that the photos should "look like me, only better." I did engage in some serious eye-rolling when they whipped out the rose petals and sunglasses. But in the end, the hair and makeup person did a great job, and I found three nice pictures out of the several dozen that they took. The photo service will "glamourize" the photos with some serious airbrushing, but I couldn't get over the fact that even all made-up and gorgeous, I looked tired and old.
And if I hadn't been in a funk up til that point (and I was already calf-deep in the funk), that certainly sent me on a spiral downward.
I didn't really recover until this morning, and even then I don't know what put me back in a saner frame of mind. I guess being productive helps (I tend to make things a zillion times worse when I am blue by becoming a lazy lard-ass and then feeling even worse about myself for being such a slug). I graded around 30 papers this morning, probably more generously than normal. Then I headed out to the Kentucky Flea Market, which was, in the end, a fun goofy time. Swung by Borders and picked up a gift for a departing colleague and Lowes for some paint. Then passed by the house, picked up some cds that I'd loaded onto the iPod and brought them to Half-Priced Books, where I traded them for $20 and five bargain hardcover mysteries.
Then back to Quills. And here I am.
In retrospect, I didn't really get much of substance done today, but at least it kept me out of my own brain for most of the day.
There's a lesson to be learned here. Something about "it doesn't matter how much you think about shit... yadda yadda." Or something about "idle hands... yadda yadda." Mostly, "don't give into the dark side." Or something like that. Because let me tell you, I've been leasing to own in the dark side for the past eighteen days. And that ain't good.
It's also been very not good for me to be alone all this time. I swore up and down to Jason and to Ma that I would be A-OK for six days on my own. Not entirely true. Not entirely untrue either. I just should have been more proactive about finding someone to have fun with this weekend, rather than wallow 24/7 da solo.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Breast Cancer in SATC
I'm not sure I can figure out how to embed a video, but I was reminded today that Samantha from Sex in the City had breast cancer during the last season. There's a very sweet YouTube clip of the episode where she shaves her head. I'm hardly the Samantha type, but it's cute.
Day 16: Have I really been living with this for 16 days??
So, yesterday I went to see the new Indiana Jones picture with around 15 of my students. And how can you not hear that theme music and want to apply it to every aspect of your life? It's just so frigging victorious sounding. I need to download the themesong onto my iPod and have my mom play it over and over when I get out of surgery. Thank goodness that movie has some serious Girl Power in the person of the adorable and sassy Karen Allen. Did my heart good.
Otherwise, it's been a rough few days. It's just not getting any better and it's probably not going to get any better for a while. Ups and downs. Today my biopsy site began to hurt so bad that I called the doctor to make sure it was normal (it is). Way to have a delayed reaction, body! It's more psychologically painful than it is physically painful. It sucks to walk around with your breast hurting. And I swear the lump is getting bigger. I doubt it is, but it sure feels like it. I don't have to grope around anymore to find it; I can just hone in like a missile.
Today was the last day of school and the last day of work for me. Both a blessing and a curse. As much as I don't feel particularly connected to the school in the way that I was to my school in New Orleans, it's hard to be exacting myself from the community at a time like this. Knowing that after tonight (an end of the year party), I'm pretty much alone.
Much has been said about people wanting to visit and bring me food and whatnot. It's so nice that people even think that way, but I'm a terrible cynic. I gave everyone Ma's phone number and let them know that she'd be my PR agent for the first week or so.
I have been in touch via email with two young women who are breast cancer survivors and we're trying to hook up for lunch or coffee on Tuesday. I am totally looking forward to meeting them. It will be so nice to have that perspective.
I've also done something potentially very weird. I've made an appointment tomorrow at Glamour Shots to have a portrait done. Is that morbid and gross? I just haven't had a nice picture of me taken since my wedding, really (that was 9 years ago). I just want to have a record of the "now" me. A good one. Maybe not morbid and gross. Maybe just corny and naive.
One of the "nice" things about all of this is that it has put me back in closer touch with some long lost friends. And speaking of corny, but sometimes old friends really are the best. Got a great response from one of my college roommates saying, "This may be weird to say, but you're going to be GORGEOUS bald with your big Sinead [O'Conner] eyes!" That email may have been the highlight of my day.
Otherwise, it's been a rough few days. It's just not getting any better and it's probably not going to get any better for a while. Ups and downs. Today my biopsy site began to hurt so bad that I called the doctor to make sure it was normal (it is). Way to have a delayed reaction, body! It's more psychologically painful than it is physically painful. It sucks to walk around with your breast hurting. And I swear the lump is getting bigger. I doubt it is, but it sure feels like it. I don't have to grope around anymore to find it; I can just hone in like a missile.
Today was the last day of school and the last day of work for me. Both a blessing and a curse. As much as I don't feel particularly connected to the school in the way that I was to my school in New Orleans, it's hard to be exacting myself from the community at a time like this. Knowing that after tonight (an end of the year party), I'm pretty much alone.
Much has been said about people wanting to visit and bring me food and whatnot. It's so nice that people even think that way, but I'm a terrible cynic. I gave everyone Ma's phone number and let them know that she'd be my PR agent for the first week or so.
I have been in touch via email with two young women who are breast cancer survivors and we're trying to hook up for lunch or coffee on Tuesday. I am totally looking forward to meeting them. It will be so nice to have that perspective.
I've also done something potentially very weird. I've made an appointment tomorrow at Glamour Shots to have a portrait done. Is that morbid and gross? I just haven't had a nice picture of me taken since my wedding, really (that was 9 years ago). I just want to have a record of the "now" me. A good one. Maybe not morbid and gross. Maybe just corny and naive.
One of the "nice" things about all of this is that it has put me back in closer touch with some long lost friends. And speaking of corny, but sometimes old friends really are the best. Got a great response from one of my college roommates saying, "This may be weird to say, but you're going to be GORGEOUS bald with your big Sinead [O'Conner] eyes!" That email may have been the highlight of my day.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Alone now
So Jas left today. I took the day off and we both overslept til 1230pm. I panicked but more than made my appt at the hospital for pre-op tests and counseling.
Bless his heart, Jason stuck around long enough to help me finish painting the living room. He'd hoped to hit the road around 1 or 2 pm, but he ended up leaving around 7pm.
The parting was painful on my part-- perhaps on both of our parts.
I don't want to go through this without him. But I have to. Again, I don't want to talk about it right now.
Bless his heart, Jason stuck around long enough to help me finish painting the living room. He'd hoped to hit the road around 1 or 2 pm, but he ended up leaving around 7pm.
The parting was painful on my part-- perhaps on both of our parts.
I don't want to go through this without him. But I have to. Again, I don't want to talk about it right now.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
What constitutes a meltdown, anyway?
When I went to the polls today to cast my vote for Obama, I was surprised to find John Edwards still on the ballot. Gosh, a long time ago-- nearly a year, almost-- I went to see his wife speak in Lexington. She moved me to tears countless times, most of all when she spoke of her breast cancer and of the need for this country to declare "war against cancer." Cancer is curable, she said, as long as we throw enough money into research. If we just saw cancer in the same light that we saw terrorism-- as an enemy, as a threat to the world-- that we would find a way to conquer it.
Today was a grim day in the world of politics and cancer. As a former New Englander from a family that's been New Englanders since they arrived in this country, I am a card-carrying member of the Kennedy Fan Club. And dear old Ted was diagnosed as having a (so says the media) an inoperable malignant brain tumor today. Be well, sir.
Also today, President Carter's chief of staff, Hamilton Jordan, succumbed to a twenty year battle with cancer during which he endured more than three different types of cancer.
My Obama vote didn't do much good. Part of me wishes I'd just voted for Edwards. But I'll keep the faith.
I'm a political junkie, so presidential politics have been on my brain since the candidates first stepped onto the playing field (seemingly years ago). But since my diagnosis, I have to admit that my thoughts have taken a more fatalistic turn. When imagining worst case scenarios for myself, I find myself musing about how willing I would be to fight to live if we ended up facing four more years of a Republican president. Mawkish, perhaps. But I do go there.
It's been a relatively lousy couple of days. I'm not really sure what counts as "meltdowns." Did the fact that yesterday I couldn't get a dentist appointment, got off the phone, and bawled count as a meltdown? It was only tangentally related-- I feel like anything I can do to be "clean" when I have surgery will help me fight against the possibility of infection.
Does the fact that I'm already having (minor right now) insurance woes and cried because I got frustrated with that count as a meltdown?
I guess the biggest news right now is that, unbidden, my uncle/godfather is coming down from Massachussetts for my surgery. I was not consulted. I still haven't been consulted. My aunt called my mother and told her that my uncle had made a reservation.
I am weirded out, and perhaps weirded out most because there's a weird (that word again) little quirk in me that feels somehow like this is an honor. I'm not close to him, although I consider him-- now that I have lost both of my grandfathers-- in a fatherly sort of way. He is my father's eldest surviving brother, and when Dad was alive, they were best friends. Went to college together, played hockey together, pledged the same frat. He has three (gorgeous, perfect) daughters of his own. He's also a very important businessman whose family bemoans the fact that he works too much. It's hard to imagine him asking for time off (does he even have to ask?) to be with his niece during her mastectomy.
My mother thought I would be upset at the news that he was coming because of my neurotic need for privacy. But I never even thought to be upset. I'm happy for her; she shouldn't have to be alone during this. And, I guess I see this as his tremendously generous effort to be my father's surrogate during this difficult time.
These past few days when things have felt very dark, I've become worried about my ability to cope with the aftermath of this. But I don't think I want to talk about it right now.
Today I purchased two post-op mastectomy camisoles meant to comfortably hold my drains (the word makes me want to hurl) and replace, I suppose, my psychological need for a bra. They both also include little breast pillows to tuck into the shelf bra, so I can approximate a figure after my surgery.
Speaking of which, last night, for the first time, I dreamt about it. I dreamed that I had the operation and was leaving the hospital and it didn't hurt and I already had tiny little breasts. Generous A-cups maybe. I put my hands over my breasts, and they were hard, but they were breasts. And I thought, what's the point of doing any more reconstruction? I can live with these. Overall, a good dream.
I'm working on a handbook, mostly for my mother, with the nuts and bolts of directions to local grocery stores and passwords for my home wifi. But I'm also including a list of desires. Things like: "At least for a while following the operation, I hope to approximate a very healthy diet. I expect my sedentary recovery will negatively impact my weight. Without the blessing of my ample bosoms to offset the rest of my voluptuous figure, I expect that I might appear a bit chunky after surgery. I'd like to lose weight if anything."
Today was a grim day in the world of politics and cancer. As a former New Englander from a family that's been New Englanders since they arrived in this country, I am a card-carrying member of the Kennedy Fan Club. And dear old Ted was diagnosed as having a (so says the media) an inoperable malignant brain tumor today. Be well, sir.
Also today, President Carter's chief of staff, Hamilton Jordan, succumbed to a twenty year battle with cancer during which he endured more than three different types of cancer.
My Obama vote didn't do much good. Part of me wishes I'd just voted for Edwards. But I'll keep the faith.
I'm a political junkie, so presidential politics have been on my brain since the candidates first stepped onto the playing field (seemingly years ago). But since my diagnosis, I have to admit that my thoughts have taken a more fatalistic turn. When imagining worst case scenarios for myself, I find myself musing about how willing I would be to fight to live if we ended up facing four more years of a Republican president. Mawkish, perhaps. But I do go there.
It's been a relatively lousy couple of days. I'm not really sure what counts as "meltdowns." Did the fact that yesterday I couldn't get a dentist appointment, got off the phone, and bawled count as a meltdown? It was only tangentally related-- I feel like anything I can do to be "clean" when I have surgery will help me fight against the possibility of infection.
Does the fact that I'm already having (minor right now) insurance woes and cried because I got frustrated with that count as a meltdown?
I guess the biggest news right now is that, unbidden, my uncle/godfather is coming down from Massachussetts for my surgery. I was not consulted. I still haven't been consulted. My aunt called my mother and told her that my uncle had made a reservation.
I am weirded out, and perhaps weirded out most because there's a weird (that word again) little quirk in me that feels somehow like this is an honor. I'm not close to him, although I consider him-- now that I have lost both of my grandfathers-- in a fatherly sort of way. He is my father's eldest surviving brother, and when Dad was alive, they were best friends. Went to college together, played hockey together, pledged the same frat. He has three (gorgeous, perfect) daughters of his own. He's also a very important businessman whose family bemoans the fact that he works too much. It's hard to imagine him asking for time off (does he even have to ask?) to be with his niece during her mastectomy.
My mother thought I would be upset at the news that he was coming because of my neurotic need for privacy. But I never even thought to be upset. I'm happy for her; she shouldn't have to be alone during this. And, I guess I see this as his tremendously generous effort to be my father's surrogate during this difficult time.
These past few days when things have felt very dark, I've become worried about my ability to cope with the aftermath of this. But I don't think I want to talk about it right now.
Today I purchased two post-op mastectomy camisoles meant to comfortably hold my drains (the word makes me want to hurl) and replace, I suppose, my psychological need for a bra. They both also include little breast pillows to tuck into the shelf bra, so I can approximate a figure after my surgery.
Speaking of which, last night, for the first time, I dreamt about it. I dreamed that I had the operation and was leaving the hospital and it didn't hurt and I already had tiny little breasts. Generous A-cups maybe. I put my hands over my breasts, and they were hard, but they were breasts. And I thought, what's the point of doing any more reconstruction? I can live with these. Overall, a good dream.
I'm working on a handbook, mostly for my mother, with the nuts and bolts of directions to local grocery stores and passwords for my home wifi. But I'm also including a list of desires. Things like: "At least for a while following the operation, I hope to approximate a very healthy diet. I expect my sedentary recovery will negatively impact my weight. Without the blessing of my ample bosoms to offset the rest of my voluptuous figure, I expect that I might appear a bit chunky after surgery. I'd like to lose weight if anything."
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Day 11: Weekend Musings
So, Ma is coming on May 27. We talked on Friday when I heard about the surgery. I told her that she should plan on staying a week. She said, "No, ten days." I said, "Please make sure you make a reservation on Southwest or something you can change. You have to understand that I will only start feeling good when I can take care of myself." And we, I thought, left it at that.
She emailed me her flight plan this morning and she reserved for 14 days. Again, trying very hard to balance her needs and my needs. I thought 10 days was a fair balance. What do I say now?
The public-ness of my cancer is getting a little exhausting. Colleagues I don't even know ask me about my surgery. I'm getting emails from parents of students I've never taught. I'm grateful. Really. I don't want to sound like a shit who's worn out by all her well-wishers. It's just contrary to my nature. I have a well-earned reputation among my friends and family as being a person who hibernates when things in my life turn ugly.
I have no doubt that I have actually lost friends because of my solitary nature. Certainly during my divorce I turned away nearly every offer of help and solace that I was offered. I was embarrassed. (And believe me, that's a story for a whole 'nother blog) And that kind of pain is pain I would much, much rather sit on and let hatch into whatever ugly thing it was going to turn into.
But I find myself having to re-wire my brain to handle this.
There's a lot of re-wiring going on.
As I worked on "coming down" from my prom meltdown, I realized that I had only just begun to think of the larger, long term consequences of even a best-case scenario. Best case scenario being that I have the mastectomy, they test my lymph nodes and discover that it hasn't spread, and by some good grace they also decide to forgo chemo and radiation. Breasts gone, but otherwise only the reconstruction process to face. (Let's all pause for a moment to give a little cheer for best case scenarios)
Best case scenario, I'll never breastfeed a child. Okay. I can handle that. Truth be told, I've always been weired out by the idea of breastfeeding. Still, though, we all know now that breastfeeding is the way to go. Any future child of mine will not have the many advantages that breastfeeding offers. I wasn't breastfed.
Best case scenario, I'll never have sex with the girls again. In fact, I'll never find sexual pleasure from my breasts again. I'm still processing this. This, to me, seems like the best case scenario's greatest tragedy. And, I have a feeling, that as I lie in my hospital bed waiting for the surgery, I expect that this will be one of the things most on my mind. Truth be told, this thought has all the makings of Meltdown #2. I'm just not there yet. It's still just a ghost in the periphery.
But let's put that thought aside for now.
So, Jason leaves town on Wednesday. That means a whole week almost of me alone with the girls and my thoughts. He pressed me to have my mother come early (and in retrospect, if I'd pushed for that, maybe I wouldn't be looking at 12 days post-surgery with Ma). He said, "You may not realize it, but I've been subtly trying to keep you busy." I had realized it. This is his busiest time of year and yet he's been pushing for outings and projects. Today we repainted the front porch; and while the porch needed repainting, it's way low on the list of things we need to do around the humble abode.
Impending hospitalization and knowledge that it could be a month before I'm able to really "work" again is a good kick in the keister insofar as getting stuff done is concerned. This weekend not only did we repaint the porch floor and the front door, we planted my vegetable garden, weeded extensively; I cleaned out my car and got him a new battery. I've been better about cleaning up after myself and doing laundry and dishes.
I worry about keeping myself occupied during my recovery. Even when I go to bed at night, I dwell on the fact that I sleep best on my stomach or my side and that will be impossible for a while. Will I be able to hold a book? All I want to do is read. The crazy geek that I am, I thought that this might be a perfect time to learn a new language, and my first thought was that I've always wanted to learn sign language, but will it hurt too much to use my hands and arms in that way? I'm a huge TV fan, but recently our sattelite has decided that it can't "see" over a tree that grew gigantic during the spring. No local networks for us now. So I figure I can rent seasons of TV shows that I've missed, but what's really worth watching? So far all I've decided upon is Battlestar Galactica.
It's nice to dwell on minutia like that every once in a while. Better than thinking about sex without my breasts or whether or not chemo will fuck with my already questionable fertility. Or facing surgery without Jason to hold my hand. Or whether or not the fact that I've had weird cramps in my gut is a sign that the cancer has spread. Or that one in ten women have to have their breast expanders removed and reconstruction postponed because of infection. Or that I will most definitely not be able to use my ticket to Bonnaroo this year. Or that in the heat of June, I'll have to wear clothing that conceals the drain bulbs from my surgery. Or that I will not be able to weed and care for the garden of tomatos and peppers and peas that I just planted. Or that I will not be well enough to be able to use the $2300 grant that I received from my school this year. Or that I may have to have chemo and will lose the hair it took me three years to grow and that I may have a funny-looking head and will not be able to pull of the Sinead O'Connor badass cool look that I like to pretend I'll be able to pull off. I don't want to wear a wig. I want to be bald and beautiful if I have to. That's a big issue for me.
Sigh. Great thought process to have before I go to bed.
She emailed me her flight plan this morning and she reserved for 14 days. Again, trying very hard to balance her needs and my needs. I thought 10 days was a fair balance. What do I say now?
The public-ness of my cancer is getting a little exhausting. Colleagues I don't even know ask me about my surgery. I'm getting emails from parents of students I've never taught. I'm grateful. Really. I don't want to sound like a shit who's worn out by all her well-wishers. It's just contrary to my nature. I have a well-earned reputation among my friends and family as being a person who hibernates when things in my life turn ugly.
I have no doubt that I have actually lost friends because of my solitary nature. Certainly during my divorce I turned away nearly every offer of help and solace that I was offered. I was embarrassed. (And believe me, that's a story for a whole 'nother blog) And that kind of pain is pain I would much, much rather sit on and let hatch into whatever ugly thing it was going to turn into.
But I find myself having to re-wire my brain to handle this.
There's a lot of re-wiring going on.
As I worked on "coming down" from my prom meltdown, I realized that I had only just begun to think of the larger, long term consequences of even a best-case scenario. Best case scenario being that I have the mastectomy, they test my lymph nodes and discover that it hasn't spread, and by some good grace they also decide to forgo chemo and radiation. Breasts gone, but otherwise only the reconstruction process to face. (Let's all pause for a moment to give a little cheer for best case scenarios)
Best case scenario, I'll never breastfeed a child. Okay. I can handle that. Truth be told, I've always been weired out by the idea of breastfeeding. Still, though, we all know now that breastfeeding is the way to go. Any future child of mine will not have the many advantages that breastfeeding offers. I wasn't breastfed.
Best case scenario, I'll never have sex with the girls again. In fact, I'll never find sexual pleasure from my breasts again. I'm still processing this. This, to me, seems like the best case scenario's greatest tragedy. And, I have a feeling, that as I lie in my hospital bed waiting for the surgery, I expect that this will be one of the things most on my mind. Truth be told, this thought has all the makings of Meltdown #2. I'm just not there yet. It's still just a ghost in the periphery.
But let's put that thought aside for now.
So, Jason leaves town on Wednesday. That means a whole week almost of me alone with the girls and my thoughts. He pressed me to have my mother come early (and in retrospect, if I'd pushed for that, maybe I wouldn't be looking at 12 days post-surgery with Ma). He said, "You may not realize it, but I've been subtly trying to keep you busy." I had realized it. This is his busiest time of year and yet he's been pushing for outings and projects. Today we repainted the front porch; and while the porch needed repainting, it's way low on the list of things we need to do around the humble abode.
Impending hospitalization and knowledge that it could be a month before I'm able to really "work" again is a good kick in the keister insofar as getting stuff done is concerned. This weekend not only did we repaint the porch floor and the front door, we planted my vegetable garden, weeded extensively; I cleaned out my car and got him a new battery. I've been better about cleaning up after myself and doing laundry and dishes.
I worry about keeping myself occupied during my recovery. Even when I go to bed at night, I dwell on the fact that I sleep best on my stomach or my side and that will be impossible for a while. Will I be able to hold a book? All I want to do is read. The crazy geek that I am, I thought that this might be a perfect time to learn a new language, and my first thought was that I've always wanted to learn sign language, but will it hurt too much to use my hands and arms in that way? I'm a huge TV fan, but recently our sattelite has decided that it can't "see" over a tree that grew gigantic during the spring. No local networks for us now. So I figure I can rent seasons of TV shows that I've missed, but what's really worth watching? So far all I've decided upon is Battlestar Galactica.
It's nice to dwell on minutia like that every once in a while. Better than thinking about sex without my breasts or whether or not chemo will fuck with my already questionable fertility. Or facing surgery without Jason to hold my hand. Or whether or not the fact that I've had weird cramps in my gut is a sign that the cancer has spread. Or that one in ten women have to have their breast expanders removed and reconstruction postponed because of infection. Or that I will most definitely not be able to use my ticket to Bonnaroo this year. Or that in the heat of June, I'll have to wear clothing that conceals the drain bulbs from my surgery. Or that I will not be able to weed and care for the garden of tomatos and peppers and peas that I just planted. Or that I will not be well enough to be able to use the $2300 grant that I received from my school this year. Or that I may have to have chemo and will lose the hair it took me three years to grow and that I may have a funny-looking head and will not be able to pull of the Sinead O'Connor badass cool look that I like to pretend I'll be able to pull off. I don't want to wear a wig. I want to be bald and beautiful if I have to. That's a big issue for me.
Sigh. Great thought process to have before I go to bed.
Meltdown #1
Meltdown #1: Formalwear Freakout
Severity: Relatively minor (in the grand scheme of things, I imagine they could get much, much worse)
Circumstance: Getting ready to chaperone the school prom
Narrative: Last night was the school prom. One bitch of being scheduled for surgery in a couple of weeks, rather than next week as I had hoped, is that I don't really have any excuse to get out of some of the more tedious end-of-the-year hoopla at school. I could, I'm sure, whip out the Cancer Card, activate my doe eyes, and plead stress and chaos. But that's just not my style. (Tempting, oh yes tempting, though it is).
7:30pm rolled around to find me in my underwear, in my bedroom, surrounded by a pile of dresses like shed snakeskins. Jason passed by the door and peered in. "Whatcha doin', Boog?"
I can't remember what I said. Something snippy. I put on another dress, looked at myself in the mirror and stripped it off again. (Jason is my roommate, my best friend, but he was my boyfriend for many years; modesty is not an issue.)
"You seem upset," he said. I agreed. He asked why, and I asked him if he really wanted to know.
A little side note here: next to my mother, there is no one closer to me than Jason. In some ways, Jason knows me-- the current, 34 year old me-- better than even my mother. Next week, we will have known each other for six years now. Next month, we will have lived together for five years. He's been through my divorce (long-distance), our miscarriage, Katrina, the death of my grandmother, the uprooting from New Orleans... and now this.
But this is different. This is the first crisis we've faced together since we've been decidedly broken up (although, in spirit, we were broken up during Katrina, my grandmother's death, and our move). At my appointment with the surgeon, when the doctor asked us if we were dating, I said "he's my ex, but we're still best friends." Jason ammended it by saing, "But I'm really her Louisville family."
Anyway, I just thought I'd clear that up. I'm sure it only muddies the waters. The point is, I guess, that Jason has the dubious distinction of bearing the brunt of all of this. And sometimes I feel like I should swallow more than I do; I always strive to give him the choice of hearing the raw truth. And almost always, he wants to hear it. He's been the one all along who's been mad at me when I get mad at myself for being sad.
So, I said, "Do you really want to know the truth?" He said, "Of course."
And I started to cry. "I realize now that this will probably be the last time I dress up with my own boobs."
And Jason, bless his heart, stood in the doorway agape as I threw on the most modest dress I owned, and pushed past him toward the bathroom. I dried my wet hair in the bathroom, sobbing.
We never talked about it again. And by the time my hair (my long hair, hair I may sacrifice to chemo, hair that's longer now than it has been since I was a child) was dry, I'd gathered myself enough to put on makeup and finish my pre-prom ablutions. I do know, however, that he didn't leave my room for a good five minutes after I'd brushed by him.
The folks at Gilda's Club operate under the assumption that when someone has cancer, then everyone around them is sick too. Yes, of course.
Severity: Relatively minor (in the grand scheme of things, I imagine they could get much, much worse)
Circumstance: Getting ready to chaperone the school prom
Narrative: Last night was the school prom. One bitch of being scheduled for surgery in a couple of weeks, rather than next week as I had hoped, is that I don't really have any excuse to get out of some of the more tedious end-of-the-year hoopla at school. I could, I'm sure, whip out the Cancer Card, activate my doe eyes, and plead stress and chaos. But that's just not my style. (Tempting, oh yes tempting, though it is).
7:30pm rolled around to find me in my underwear, in my bedroom, surrounded by a pile of dresses like shed snakeskins. Jason passed by the door and peered in. "Whatcha doin', Boog?"
I can't remember what I said. Something snippy. I put on another dress, looked at myself in the mirror and stripped it off again. (Jason is my roommate, my best friend, but he was my boyfriend for many years; modesty is not an issue.)
"You seem upset," he said. I agreed. He asked why, and I asked him if he really wanted to know.
A little side note here: next to my mother, there is no one closer to me than Jason. In some ways, Jason knows me-- the current, 34 year old me-- better than even my mother. Next week, we will have known each other for six years now. Next month, we will have lived together for five years. He's been through my divorce (long-distance), our miscarriage, Katrina, the death of my grandmother, the uprooting from New Orleans... and now this.
But this is different. This is the first crisis we've faced together since we've been decidedly broken up (although, in spirit, we were broken up during Katrina, my grandmother's death, and our move). At my appointment with the surgeon, when the doctor asked us if we were dating, I said "he's my ex, but we're still best friends." Jason ammended it by saing, "But I'm really her Louisville family."
Anyway, I just thought I'd clear that up. I'm sure it only muddies the waters. The point is, I guess, that Jason has the dubious distinction of bearing the brunt of all of this. And sometimes I feel like I should swallow more than I do; I always strive to give him the choice of hearing the raw truth. And almost always, he wants to hear it. He's been the one all along who's been mad at me when I get mad at myself for being sad.
So, I said, "Do you really want to know the truth?" He said, "Of course."
And I started to cry. "I realize now that this will probably be the last time I dress up with my own boobs."
And Jason, bless his heart, stood in the doorway agape as I threw on the most modest dress I owned, and pushed past him toward the bathroom. I dried my wet hair in the bathroom, sobbing.
We never talked about it again. And by the time my hair (my long hair, hair I may sacrifice to chemo, hair that's longer now than it has been since I was a child) was dry, I'd gathered myself enough to put on makeup and finish my pre-prom ablutions. I do know, however, that he didn't leave my room for a good five minutes after I'd brushed by him.
The folks at Gilda's Club operate under the assumption that when someone has cancer, then everyone around them is sick too. Yes, of course.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Myself Together Again
So far, this has been the best resource I have found for understanding what will happen to me. This is, perhaps, a worse case scenario-- this woman had to delay reconstruction and undergo chemo. Right now, it looks like everything will happen for me at the same time. Chemo is still an unknown.
I found out today that my surgery will be on the 29th. 13 days and counting...
I found out today that my surgery will be on the 29th. 13 days and counting...
Email Update #2
Hi all,
Sorry, I know I told a lot of you that I would get back to you on Wednesday. I thought I'd have concrete info on Wednesday, but it took until today for them to schedule my surgery. Surgery is May 29, and we're looking at a bilateral mastectomy with simultanious reconstruction. I won't know about chemo or radiation or what stage it is or whether it has spread or... any of the really juicy stuff until after the surgery. All I know right now is that the girls have to go.
My plastic surgeon is a total dream; I couldn't have asked for a better match for my personality. Can you imagine how much it would suck to have a plastic surgeon like Dr. Spock or Doc on the Love Boat or Dr. Phil? I was seriously expecting to have to shop around for a surgeon who wasn't creepy or old or leery. Blech. But Dr. Thornton is cute (really cute) and very funny; it's almost easy to forget that he's rich and successful because women (and some men) are insecure about their bodies. (turns out insurance companies pay drs, like, practically nothing to reconstruct breasts, but a cosmetic boob job costs $8K at least... so much injustice!)
But the meeting itself, the idea of the process? Whoa. It's gross and complicated and I won't look like I want to look for more than a year. Probably more like 18 months. Wow. And it's TWO surgeries to rebuild the girls-- one to put in the expanders and one a few months later to put in the actual inplants.
I hate blood. I hate hospitals. I hate knives and needles. I am seriously, seriously squeamish. And the one and only time I've ever been under anethesia, I nearly had a heart attack anticipating it. They had to sedate me before anethestizing me. When the dude told me to "count backwards from ten," I said, "NO!" I know this sounds very weird but the thing I'm scared most of right now-- having to be under anesthesia TWICE!! Weird huh? I'm horrified by the idea.
Anyway, I'll send a better update later. It's Friday. Time to play.
Okay, Mastectomy Fun Poll of the Day: If YOU had only two weeks left with your boobs, what would you do with them? :)
(Uh, Bernard... you can improvise!)
Thanks again for all your love and support!!
xo
MRC
Sorry, I know I told a lot of you that I would get back to you on Wednesday. I thought I'd have concrete info on Wednesday, but it took until today for them to schedule my surgery. Surgery is May 29, and we're looking at a bilateral mastectomy with simultanious reconstruction. I won't know about chemo or radiation or what stage it is or whether it has spread or... any of the really juicy stuff until after the surgery. All I know right now is that the girls have to go.
My plastic surgeon is a total dream; I couldn't have asked for a better match for my personality. Can you imagine how much it would suck to have a plastic surgeon like Dr. Spock or Doc on the Love Boat or Dr. Phil? I was seriously expecting to have to shop around for a surgeon who wasn't creepy or old or leery. Blech. But Dr. Thornton is cute (really cute) and very funny; it's almost easy to forget that he's rich and successful because women (and some men) are insecure about their bodies. (turns out insurance companies pay drs, like, practically nothing to reconstruct breasts, but a cosmetic boob job costs $8K at least... so much injustice!)
But the meeting itself, the idea of the process? Whoa. It's gross and complicated and I won't look like I want to look for more than a year. Probably more like 18 months. Wow. And it's TWO surgeries to rebuild the girls-- one to put in the expanders and one a few months later to put in the actual inplants.
I hate blood. I hate hospitals. I hate knives and needles. I am seriously, seriously squeamish. And the one and only time I've ever been under anethesia, I nearly had a heart attack anticipating it. They had to sedate me before anethestizing me. When the dude told me to "count backwards from ten," I said, "NO!" I know this sounds very weird but the thing I'm scared most of right now-- having to be under anesthesia TWICE!! Weird huh? I'm horrified by the idea.
Anyway, I'll send a better update later. It's Friday. Time to play.
Okay, Mastectomy Fun Poll of the Day: If YOU had only two weeks left with your boobs, what would you do with them? :)
(Uh, Bernard... you can improvise!)
Thanks again for all your love and support!!
xo
MRC
In the News
OMG, seriously? Another story? Story #5 of the week, #3 of the day:
More Cancer Patients Choosing Mastectomies: "In the Mayo Clinic study, about 45 percent of breast cancer patients chose mastectomies in 1997. That declined to only 30 percent in 2003, then started to rise. By 2006, 43 percent were opting for the more radical treatment. The rise coincided with wider use in the clinic of MRI, or magnetic resonance imaging. Studies show it can detect far more breast abnormalities than ordinary mammograms but it also gives a lot of false alarms."
I was advised not to bother with the MRI-- it would just turn up more "clutter."
Enough already, MSNBC! Give me more stories about Ellen DeGeneres & Portia de Rossi's upcoming nuptuals or the split between Kate and Owen and/or Tony and Jessica!
Kidding. But still...
More Cancer Patients Choosing Mastectomies: "In the Mayo Clinic study, about 45 percent of breast cancer patients chose mastectomies in 1997. That declined to only 30 percent in 2003, then started to rise. By 2006, 43 percent were opting for the more radical treatment. The rise coincided with wider use in the clinic of MRI, or magnetic resonance imaging. Studies show it can detect far more breast abnormalities than ordinary mammograms but it also gives a lot of false alarms."
I was advised not to bother with the MRI-- it would just turn up more "clutter."
Enough already, MSNBC! Give me more stories about Ellen DeGeneres & Portia de Rossi's upcoming nuptuals or the split between Kate and Owen and/or Tony and Jessica!
Kidding. But still...
In the News
Obviously, when you're keyed into something, you suddenly "see" it everywhere. I'm not looking for breast cancer news; I'm not Googling it. I'm just reading MSNBC.com as usual, and here's the fourth article this week and second one today:
Drug Combo May Help Breast Cancer Patients: "A combination of two new-generation cancer drugs modestly delayed the time it took for cancer to worsen in a study of 300 women with very advanced disease who had stopped responding to other treatments. It was the first test of these two highly targeted drugs, Herceptin and Tykerb. Both aim at a protein called HER-2/neu that is made in abnormally large quantities in about one-fourth of all breast cancers. Herceptin blocks the protein on the cell's surface; Tykerb does it inside the cell."
It's enough to make you wonder whether or not someone at MSNBC is living with breast cancer or with living around breast cancer.
Drug Combo May Help Breast Cancer Patients: "A combination of two new-generation cancer drugs modestly delayed the time it took for cancer to worsen in a study of 300 women with very advanced disease who had stopped responding to other treatments. It was the first test of these two highly targeted drugs, Herceptin and Tykerb. Both aim at a protein called HER-2/neu that is made in abnormally large quantities in about one-fourth of all breast cancers. Herceptin blocks the protein on the cell's surface; Tykerb does it inside the cell."
It's enough to make you wonder whether or not someone at MSNBC is living with breast cancer or with living around breast cancer.
In The News
Vitamin D may benefit Breast Cancer Patients: "Only 24 percent of women in the study had sufficient blood levels of D at the time they were first diagnosed with breast cancer. Those who were deficient were nearly twice as likely to have their cancer recur or spread over the next 10 years, and 73 percent more likely to die of the disease.... But people shouldn't start downing supplements... Experts don't agree on how much vitamin D people need or the best way to get it, and too much can be harmful. They also don't know whether getting more vitamin D can help when someone already has cancer.... We have no idea whether correcting a vitamin D deficiency will in any way alter these outcomes,'' said Dr. Julie Gralow, a cancer specialist at the University of Washington in Seattle."
Harumph.
Harumph.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Booby Prize Thought of the Day
You shouldn't have to weep and beg and walk around with your cell phone surgically attached to your hand just to get someone to call you so you can make a plan to get your BOOBS CHOPPED OFF!!
The doctors have been awesome. The nurses have been wonderful. But the scheduling people? Holy crap!
A woman actually said to me, "You're anxious? Really? All women with breast cancer are anxious."
Thanks lady. Seriously. I would have appreciated it more if you'd just been honest and said, "BFD. Like I give a shit."
The doctors have been awesome. The nurses have been wonderful. But the scheduling people? Holy crap!
A woman actually said to me, "You're anxious? Really? All women with breast cancer are anxious."
Thanks lady. Seriously. I would have appreciated it more if you'd just been honest and said, "BFD. Like I give a shit."
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
In the News
Two news stories from the past two days:
Excercising as teen may stave off breast cancer: "Women who were physically active as teens and young adults were 23 percent less likely to develop premenopausal breast cancer than women who grew up sedentary, researchers report Wednesday in the Journal of the National Cancer Institute. The biggest impact was regular exercise from ages 12 to 22"
I definitely had that covered at least until 18 or so.
Breast fed women have lower risk of breast cancer. : "New research has found that women who were breast-fed as infants may be at lower risk of breast cancer than those who were not breast fed. However, there appears to be no difference in breast cancer risk in first-born children, regardless of whether or not they were breast-fed. "
Well, I am a first, and only, child, but I was not breast fed. So...
Excercising as teen may stave off breast cancer: "Women who were physically active as teens and young adults were 23 percent less likely to develop premenopausal breast cancer than women who grew up sedentary, researchers report Wednesday in the Journal of the National Cancer Institute. The biggest impact was regular exercise from ages 12 to 22"
I definitely had that covered at least until 18 or so.
Breast fed women have lower risk of breast cancer. : "New research has found that women who were breast-fed as infants may be at lower risk of breast cancer than those who were not breast fed. However, there appears to be no difference in breast cancer risk in first-born children, regardless of whether or not they were breast-fed. "
Well, I am a first, and only, child, but I was not breast fed. So...
Day 6: One week since the biopsy
Yesterday, I told my kids. (I'm a high school English teacher, not a mother.)
Let me tell you this, if you have to face a crisis while being a teacher, you can't go wrong facing it with the class of 2009. These kids have been so good, better even then some of the faculty. Pictures of grace and support. It was so tough to tell them, but it's really nice to be able to stand in front of them knowing that there aren't any secrets and that they have my back in some way. I've gotten some wonderful emails from kids. Two girls are trying to get together a "bring Ms. C something every week this summer" chain. They've promised to email. Some have promised to pray for me. There's this weird unmeasurable level of nobility in a seventeen year old boy (for example) who comes to you after class to say, "You're a very strong woman. I'll be thinking of you and I know you'll be okay."
Just this week, the LEO published an article about these kids and their trip to New Orleans to help out with Habitat. And I was quoted, talking about my former New Orleans students, as saying that teenagers are much more brave and resilient than adults. And I mean it.
People have been crawling out of the woodwork with messages of support and promises of help. I've often felt very alone, especially after I moved here away from a tremendous support system in New Orleans. Middle school teachers I've barely ever talked to have made the trip to my classroom just to make sure that I "have a plan." A fellow teacher asked her church of 350 people to pray for me daily. A writer I've only met once or twice emailed me with a detailed account of her bilateral mastectomy and what I can expect from various treatments.
It's weird to be given so much attention.
To some extent, I've invited it without really meaning to. It was me who decided that I needed to be 100% honest with the kids. I was told that I could just say that I am "having surgery." But I opted for honesty for a number of reasons, not the least of which because I will return (God willing) in the fall altered in a fairly significant way. And the potential for chemo is there, so I may be losing my hair. It seemed a disservice to the kids to keep this to myself; I didn't want them to feel like I couldn't trust them with something this big. One of my kids emailed me and said that my honesty made them feel very "special." And that's a nice by-product.
I wanted too to avoid speculation. If I come back boob-less and bald, people will know and wonder why I didn't say anything. Even if I get to keep my locks, boob-less would be pretty obvious in my case. Kids can be weird about stuff like that.
Tonight Jas and I are going to a Louisville Bats game. We'd already planned to go today before we found out that May 13 is Livestrong Day at the park. You gotta love that. After we found out, Jas asked if I'd rather go on Thursday, but seriously if you're going to have cancer, you might as well join the club right away. And it's not like it's going to be a "reminder"-- I'm in this all the way every moment of every day.
Speaking of which, last night I was able to get some Xanax from my doctor and enjoyed the first good sleep in a long time. Yesterday I was wiped out both from lack of sleep and the emotional drain of telling the kids, and I don't know what I would have done if I had had to suffer another sleepless night.
That's the worst-- the sleeplessness. Lying awake, listening to your body. Every bit of indigestion and every weird twinge is suddenly a sign that the cancer has spread, that you're dying and there's nothing anyone will be able to do for you.
I talked to my grandmother last night. She was brief and measured and it was by far the hardest conversation I've had even though it lasted just 10 minutes or so. "You'll be fine," she kept saying, "because you HAVE to be fine, right?" Right, I said. Yes, of course. I have to be fine.
Today, I got a phone message from one of my uncles, one of my dad's four brothers. That message seriously f-ed me up. I think he may have called me once before, maybe twice, in my lifetime. I seem to remember a message left during either my divorce or my miscarriage. But this one was shattering-- the choke in his voice, the repetition of how much he's thinking of me. Out of all of my family, he's the one who has most overtly carried my dad's death with him; he's always been someone I thought might have been a totally different person had my dad not died. (Although we all would have been totally different people had my dad not died-- most decidedly me.) Something else to carry with me. The knowledge that this is an echo of my dad that reverberates for a lot of people.
I told my boss today that it's almost easier that this is hard on the people around me. Being strong for them gives me something to do.
Tomorrow is the big day with the plastic surgeon and the day I schedule my surgery. Even though my appointment is in the morning, I'm taking the day off.
Let me tell you this, if you have to face a crisis while being a teacher, you can't go wrong facing it with the class of 2009. These kids have been so good, better even then some of the faculty. Pictures of grace and support. It was so tough to tell them, but it's really nice to be able to stand in front of them knowing that there aren't any secrets and that they have my back in some way. I've gotten some wonderful emails from kids. Two girls are trying to get together a "bring Ms. C something every week this summer" chain. They've promised to email. Some have promised to pray for me. There's this weird unmeasurable level of nobility in a seventeen year old boy (for example) who comes to you after class to say, "You're a very strong woman. I'll be thinking of you and I know you'll be okay."
Just this week, the LEO published an article about these kids and their trip to New Orleans to help out with Habitat. And I was quoted, talking about my former New Orleans students, as saying that teenagers are much more brave and resilient than adults. And I mean it.
People have been crawling out of the woodwork with messages of support and promises of help. I've often felt very alone, especially after I moved here away from a tremendous support system in New Orleans. Middle school teachers I've barely ever talked to have made the trip to my classroom just to make sure that I "have a plan." A fellow teacher asked her church of 350 people to pray for me daily. A writer I've only met once or twice emailed me with a detailed account of her bilateral mastectomy and what I can expect from various treatments.
It's weird to be given so much attention.
To some extent, I've invited it without really meaning to. It was me who decided that I needed to be 100% honest with the kids. I was told that I could just say that I am "having surgery." But I opted for honesty for a number of reasons, not the least of which because I will return (God willing) in the fall altered in a fairly significant way. And the potential for chemo is there, so I may be losing my hair. It seemed a disservice to the kids to keep this to myself; I didn't want them to feel like I couldn't trust them with something this big. One of my kids emailed me and said that my honesty made them feel very "special." And that's a nice by-product.
I wanted too to avoid speculation. If I come back boob-less and bald, people will know and wonder why I didn't say anything. Even if I get to keep my locks, boob-less would be pretty obvious in my case. Kids can be weird about stuff like that.
Tonight Jas and I are going to a Louisville Bats game. We'd already planned to go today before we found out that May 13 is Livestrong Day at the park. You gotta love that. After we found out, Jas asked if I'd rather go on Thursday, but seriously if you're going to have cancer, you might as well join the club right away. And it's not like it's going to be a "reminder"-- I'm in this all the way every moment of every day.
Speaking of which, last night I was able to get some Xanax from my doctor and enjoyed the first good sleep in a long time. Yesterday I was wiped out both from lack of sleep and the emotional drain of telling the kids, and I don't know what I would have done if I had had to suffer another sleepless night.
That's the worst-- the sleeplessness. Lying awake, listening to your body. Every bit of indigestion and every weird twinge is suddenly a sign that the cancer has spread, that you're dying and there's nothing anyone will be able to do for you.
I talked to my grandmother last night. She was brief and measured and it was by far the hardest conversation I've had even though it lasted just 10 minutes or so. "You'll be fine," she kept saying, "because you HAVE to be fine, right?" Right, I said. Yes, of course. I have to be fine.
Today, I got a phone message from one of my uncles, one of my dad's four brothers. That message seriously f-ed me up. I think he may have called me once before, maybe twice, in my lifetime. I seem to remember a message left during either my divorce or my miscarriage. But this one was shattering-- the choke in his voice, the repetition of how much he's thinking of me. Out of all of my family, he's the one who has most overtly carried my dad's death with him; he's always been someone I thought might have been a totally different person had my dad not died. (Although we all would have been totally different people had my dad not died-- most decidedly me.) Something else to carry with me. The knowledge that this is an echo of my dad that reverberates for a lot of people.
I told my boss today that it's almost easier that this is hard on the people around me. Being strong for them gives me something to do.
Tomorrow is the big day with the plastic surgeon and the day I schedule my surgery. Even though my appointment is in the morning, I'm taking the day off.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Deeper History
These thoughts have been swimming in my mind since I started having problems with the Girls. Since my diagnosis, they've been circling like sharks in the periphery of my mind. And only a few minutes ago did they finally come into focus, not to strike-- not yet, at least-- but to coalesce into something that I am able to articulate.
On October 1, 1976, my father died of cancer. I was three.
He was first diagnosed with Hodgkin's Disease when he was a senior in high school, 17 years old. He fought it, skipped the first year of college, and went into remission. He met my mom in college and married her in 1972. I was born on his 25th birthday. By that time, he was out of remission. There had been talk that he might not live to see me born. He did, of course. Ma or my grandmother-- someone-- always tells me that my mom went into labor on August 30 and he begged her to hold on until the 31st so I would be the best birthday present ever.
Ma hung on. And he hung on for three years. We celebrated our last shared birthday together in his hospital room. Our shared birthday cake had hockey and golf figures on his side and a dollhouse desk and chair on my side-- I was to enter day care soon, and I was smart.
I'm sure I'll be thinking a lot about him as I go through this, but the thoughts that finally came into focus a few minutes ago are these:
1) He was 17 when he was first diagnosed. When he came out of remission, he was married and his wife was pregnant. I've always admired his bravery. I owe it to him to be as brave.
2) My mother lost her husband to cancer. She never remarried. And now her only child has cancer. I can't imagine how that must feel. From this point forth, I need to carry that with me and understand what a horror this must be.
3) As of this morning, my mother had not yet told my grandmother-- my father's mother and my only living grandparent. When I asked her about it today, it didn't strike me how hard this would be for my grandmother to hear. I need to carry that with me too.
On October 1, 1976, my father died of cancer. I was three.
He was first diagnosed with Hodgkin's Disease when he was a senior in high school, 17 years old. He fought it, skipped the first year of college, and went into remission. He met my mom in college and married her in 1972. I was born on his 25th birthday. By that time, he was out of remission. There had been talk that he might not live to see me born. He did, of course. Ma or my grandmother-- someone-- always tells me that my mom went into labor on August 30 and he begged her to hold on until the 31st so I would be the best birthday present ever.
Ma hung on. And he hung on for three years. We celebrated our last shared birthday together in his hospital room. Our shared birthday cake had hockey and golf figures on his side and a dollhouse desk and chair on my side-- I was to enter day care soon, and I was smart.
I'm sure I'll be thinking a lot about him as I go through this, but the thoughts that finally came into focus a few minutes ago are these:
1) He was 17 when he was first diagnosed. When he came out of remission, he was married and his wife was pregnant. I've always admired his bravery. I owe it to him to be as brave.
2) My mother lost her husband to cancer. She never remarried. And now her only child has cancer. I can't imagine how that must feel. From this point forth, I need to carry that with me and understand what a horror this must be.
3) As of this morning, my mother had not yet told my grandmother-- my father's mother and my only living grandparent. When I asked her about it today, it didn't strike me how hard this would be for my grandmother to hear. I need to carry that with me too.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
