How could it possibly be two days away from Thanksgiving? And how can it be that I have not posted anything since June? I guess I have been too busy ... LIVING!
Life is a whirlwind these days -- kids, travel, school, exercise, work, social life. I will have to take some time to reflect sometime soon. That's what the end of the year is all about -- for me anyway. Reflecting on all that has happened. What a difference a year makes.
I find that the more stressed I am and the busier I am, the deeper I dive in to my Mac, and the more Shutterflying I do. In the last week, I have made countless numbers of photo books on Shutterfly. Every promo code gets used in my house! I have so many years of my life archived on the Shutterfly site. And I love that at any given moment I can find a photo and in one click have it printed out.
As I started working on my end of year photo book that I do every year, I was surprised. When I look at January, the first album of the year was entitled "2010_01_Last chemo" and there I was wearing my long haired wig, hanging out my BFF Satchel at my last chemo session. That seems like a million years ago. Then, as I go through the spring, I see all of these photos of me with my various wigs on. I am not the biggest fan of how I have looked this year, but I have had such amazing memories. And as my mother lectured me, "It's not how you look in the photo -- the fact that you are IN the photo is what's important." I looked back at the photo books I made for me and my husband's trip to Napa, our family trip to the beach, our romantic get-away to Paris, the smiles of my kids and our friends, parties, and life, and while I do notice the crazy hair styles and the puffy face I've donned this year, the most important thing I notice is my smile. I am happy, healthy, surrounded by my husband, my amazing kids, my wonderful family and my fantastic friends. I'm in love with my life and I have a lot to smile about! And one day I will look back at those photo books and snapshots and all of this cancer and hair obsession will be a distant memory.
I'm thankful for Shutterfly -- because they have helped me capture all of my fun memories, and have given me a happy place to dive in to when life gets too stressful!
Much more to write and catch up on-- but for now I have to go finish up my projects on Shutterfly! Christmas is right around the corner and it's gonna be a Shutterfly holiday!
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Saturday, June 26, 2010
A Scare, A Deep Breath, and Guided Hands...
Life is full of tests, trials, reminders and, and, as I have been keenly aware of for the last two years, guided hands. A few weeks ago, I was trying my best to decelerate back to a "normal" pace of life after a few months of intense crunch time at work. After coming home from a big sales conference that my company hosted, and I helped manage, I was consumed with the after math of a week of my colleagues' endless comments about my "chic" and "sassy" and dramatic hair cut. And the curls -- oh the curls. I was baffled and confused that so many people forgot that last year I had donned the same micro pixie, which was dramatically different from the long, flowing, think brunette mane that I had for decades.
My trainer sent me an article, and as I read the words, I had to remind myself that I had not written them myself. I had been digging deep, and appreciating the fact that, albeit very difficult, I was not my hair. And my hair is not what makes me a devoted mom, a loving wife, and a true friend. Here is the article -- it's a good read with many parallels, however I have not had the courage to quit corporate life and follow my bliss. Perhaps I'm still trying to figure out what that bliss is. I think about it all the time, and ponder life via day dreams, especially with my girl Rose often times we are in the car traveling to our corporate jobs. But find that I have had far too many other distractions, and my life as a marketing manager, albeit hectic, is a good, stable part of who I am and who I have become in my last 16 years in the corporate rat race. Let's not forget, also, that the insurance from this stable spot in the working world has paid for half a million dollars of medical coverage for the drama that has been my life the last two years. It's my security blanket in so many ways. And the fact that I can meet the bus every day and work from my kitchen in my gym clothes is a bonus that I give thanks for *most* days.
As I took a week to take a deep breath after months of hard work, I was elated with life. I felt accomplished, happy, and stress free. Finally, after continuous chaos, life was good, and I was enjoying every minute of it. I am a big anniversary date kind of gal, and this time of year is a little unnerving for me. It was this time of year two years ago when I heard the words "The mass is malignant." And it was this time last year when I heard the words "The cancer is back. I don't know what to say." July 2, 2008 and July 10, 2009 are my "cancerversaries" -- so pardon me if paranoia sets in just as summer kicks off.
That Thursday evening, I checked my calendar and was reminded of the upcoming appointment with my plastic surgeon to have my second nipple tattoo -- I was two months away from having perfect, small, pink nipples, and finally would be put back together again. I dreamed of these crazy curly locks grown out, and cancer way in the rear view mirror of my life. I even had a conversation with myself and said, "I am not going to touch my breasts until after we get back from Paris in the fall. I have so many fun things planned. Life is good. And I am savoring every minute of my drama free existence." But those of you who know me personally know that I am way too curious and not a woman who can appreciate or handle surprises with grace. So, before I knew it, I was touching my right breast ... poking around and ensuring that everything was smooth as silk. Until, the lump. The tiny little hard knot. Quickly my hand flew away from my breast. Then, I had to feel it again to make sure I was not losing my mind. My heart skipped a beat and before I knew it I went outside to our new patio where my husband was working on our new grill. "What's wrong? You look freaked out." he asked. "Oh nothing. Well OK, I felt something. Can you feel it?" He did. Rats -- I'm not just being paranoid. "I'm sure it's nothing but you should call the doctor in the morning." No. No. No. Tell me this isn't happening.
The next morning was the first grade end of year picnic that I was volunteering at. After the kids were dropped off, I found my fingers dialing the number of my dear friend who lives down the street, who is also a pink sister in survival, and had a bilateral mastectomy with reconstruction two years ago as well. "Hi! What's up!" she answered the phone. Tears streamed down my face and I could not even utter a word. "Hello?" she said. My quivering voice replied, "I feel something in my breast. I know we have to get to the school." "Come over NOW," she demanded, and before I knew it I was in her home office, with my shirt off, a sharpie pen pinpointing the lump, and her hand on my breast. I could tell by the look on her face that she felt it too. Our breast cancer surgeons are partners, and she thought I needed to get in ASAP. Now I was scared. Nobody was telling me not to worry. The pit in my stomach grew stronger and tears started to fall. Tell me this isn't happening. Then, as she started feeling her own breasts, she said, "Wait, I feel something on mine?" Oh! That is such great news! What made me feel better made her feel worse. As we headed off to the school party, we left frantic messages for our surgeons and headed off to the school picnic. As we watched the adorable first graders hoola hood and jump rope, I got a call from my other 30-something, mom of two young kids, pink sister in survival who recently had her implant exchange surgery after her bilateral mastectomy with reconstruction, chemo, and radiation. Turns out she had an open would and possible infection and had just visited her plastic surgeon who was not pleased with what she saw. Just when she thought she was at the final leg of the race she, too, was blindsided with a curve ball. It was on the black top that morning that I realized that me and these ladies had a life long bond. That when shit hits the fan, we get out our "Bat phones" and call each other for an ear, a hug, a touch, or a vent. We are connected by the pink ribbon, and take turns being angels for one another. It's so upsetting because that morning, we should have been enjoying our first graders, not wondering if the dark cloud of cancer or losing a breast, again, was looming overhead. I keep saying things happen for a reason...and one day we'll know what that is.
I heard from my surgeon and since it was already Friday and my surgeon was off, I could not get in until Monday, and found myself grateful for my busy suburban life and weekend plans that focused on my kids and family and friends, and less about the lump.
Monday morning could not get here fast enough, and it was great to see my surgeon. Not only do I trust her with my life, but I really like her as a person. I could not wait to hear the " You are being silly" diagnosis from her. Instead, she felt my lump and said, "One minute, let me get the ultrasound." Gulp. As she moved the wand over my breast, the black mass appeared on the screen and the look of concern grew on her face. No! Why can't I just be paranoid? Why do I have to be right about these things?! "There is a mass. Here's the thing...everything looks the same on an ultrasound -- scar tissue, recurrence, and a million other things. Last year I thought it was nothing and I was wrong, so this year I'm going to keep my mouth shut until we are proven it's nothing. None of us will have peace of mind until we cut this out."
As the salty tear fell down my cheek, I said, with a trembling voice, "Surgery? OK, let's do it. Can you do it tomorrow?" I said, half joking but dead serious. As she glanced down at her computer pad, she said, "I'll squeeze you in on Wednesday morning." She gave me a hug and said, "We will just have to wait and see and hope for the best."
I could not get out of there fast enough before the tears fell. Tell me this is not happening! What the F*CK! You have GOT TO BE F'ing kidding me. I tried not to tell my friends, but I wear my fear on my sleeve, and I am surrounded by so many people who love me. I realized more than ever that this has not been my journey alone. I may be the one with the scars, the awful curly short doo, and the physical transformation. But my family and friends have been with me every step of the way. And there was no way this was happening to US all for the third time in a row.
I had called my friend earlier to ask if she could take O to the bus on Wednesday morning so I could get to the hospital with my husband for my morning surgery. Then, on Tuesday morning, I got a terrifying call from her. "My sister-in-law will be here in the morning for the bus, and O is welcome to still come over. I got squeezed in today and my lump is suspicious as well. My surgery is tomorrow morning as well." You have got to be kidding me. What are the odds? Isn't this why we had bilateral mastectomies in the first place?
That night, I had a long talk with one of my lifelong friends, Lew. We talked, and we prayed. Suddenly I had peace and clarity. I am a Christian. If I am truly a Christian, then I need to have faith in the Divine Plan. When life presents us with challenges, we need to realize that we can only do so much...that ultimately we do not have control. Faith. That is why we call it faith. The next morning I woke up with peace in my heart, knowing whatever the outcome that I would be OK...because it's all part of The Plan. And it's all happening for some divine reason.
Crazy as this sounds, but heading to the hospital for another surgery did not phase me. I now know some of the nursing staff and it's more of, "Oh hi! Great to see you!" instead of "Oh no, what is going to happen to me." As they opened my door, I saw my neighbor unconscious being wheeled down the hall to recovery. Now, that was weird. I was hoping and praying that all went well with her surgery. I kissed my husband good-bye, and before I knew it I woke up with him by my side. Surgery is easy for the patient, and tough for those in the waiting room.
I was in a post-anesthesia haze, offering loving praise for my surgeon, according to my husband. She didn't want to tell me this in advance, but she had arranged for a pathologist to be in the OR, and they did a frozen section right then and there. "There's a 90% chance it's not cancer. They didn't see anything in the frozen section." Praise God! I knew then in my heart I was going to be OK. Less than 24 hours later, I got the call with the good news. It was my surgeon's nurse who I've grown close with. "I just saw your results and had to call you right away. It's NOT cancer! You are fine!" Hallelujah! Then, I heard a few hours later that my friend's pathology came out benign as well. Phew. Sigh of relief. Deep breath.
This surgery was a breeze. I was a little concerned that due to the fact this was my fourth surgery in less than two years, and that less than a year ago I had 35 high dose radiation treatments that it would not heal well. Fortunately that was not the case. I am very grateful for my body, and how resilient it is to the brutal attacks it has undergone at such a young age. I may hate the way I look right now but I am once again proud of my body and am so glad I'm alive and well.
Aside from my direct boss, I did not tell anyone at work about my surgery. No need to get everyone involved in the drama. Two days after my surgery, before we left for the beach, I spoke with one of my coworkers. Ant, a full-of-life 54 year old has been a dear friend on my team for nearly six years. I told him about my recent drama, and we had a chat about vacations, and ended up talking about how life is short, and how you have to live fully and enjoy it. Last year he was in an ATV accident around the time I was going through chemo. We both had perspective, and were both lucky to have second chances at life. Early on the fourth of July, I got a call from my other coworker. Turns out, my friend Ant was on a motorcycle with his girlfriend the night before, and after going around a sharp turn, hit a Volvo head on. His girlfriend flipped over and hit the windshield. Thank God, she was OK. Ant thought he had broken his hip. Turns out, he crushed his pelvis, and that caused internal bleeding. He died on the fourth of July. He was doing what he loves most, riding his Harley, with the woman he loved the most, on the day that he loved the most. He was living life to the fullest.
I have had a few chats with Ant since I heard the news. First, I was in shock and did not believe the news. Then, after I saw the hundreds of Facebook posts on his wall, I cried. Then, I got mad at him, and remember telling him last year to please act his age and stop riding ATVs and motorcycles. I recall him saying, "Not a chance." I had peace in knowing that he lived his life. And whether it's cancer or a motorcycle or a benign lump or whatever...you just don't know when your time will be. It's a good reminder that every day is an opportunity to do something kind for people...leave a legacy of hope and happiness. Life is short. Live well. Be happy. Be grateful. Give thanks.
Needless to say, the last three weeks have been a whirlwind. The last two years have been life changing. As I near my thirty-eighth birthday, I am more grateful than ever before. I have two healthy, beautiful children. I have a loving husband and the most amazing family a girl could ask for. I have the best circle of friends that have brought smiles to my face in the darkest times. I have a home, a good job, health insurance, and a team of the top specialists looking out for me at every turn. Life is full of blessings and I will try with everything I have to not lose the perspective I have earned.
There are so many people that have touched my life, and now I'm realizing how many people's lives I've touched. I'm not sure where this life will lead me or what I will do with all that I have learned in the last two years, but when the time is right, I know it will be made known to me.
In the mean time, I have packed away my wigs, scarves, hats, and I am going to enjoy my summer, my family, my friends, my life.
I'll report back from time to time. After all there are women out there who need to know how the nipples turn out. And how the hair turns out. And, if I actually fit in to my goal jeans by Paris.
Be happy. Tell someone you love how much they mean to you. Give thanks. Pay it forward. Do a random act of kindness from time to time. Keep the faith. And live each day to the fullest...
xoxo
My trainer sent me an article, and as I read the words, I had to remind myself that I had not written them myself. I had been digging deep, and appreciating the fact that, albeit very difficult, I was not my hair. And my hair is not what makes me a devoted mom, a loving wife, and a true friend. Here is the article -- it's a good read with many parallels, however I have not had the courage to quit corporate life and follow my bliss. Perhaps I'm still trying to figure out what that bliss is. I think about it all the time, and ponder life via day dreams, especially with my girl Rose often times we are in the car traveling to our corporate jobs. But find that I have had far too many other distractions, and my life as a marketing manager, albeit hectic, is a good, stable part of who I am and who I have become in my last 16 years in the corporate rat race. Let's not forget, also, that the insurance from this stable spot in the working world has paid for half a million dollars of medical coverage for the drama that has been my life the last two years. It's my security blanket in so many ways. And the fact that I can meet the bus every day and work from my kitchen in my gym clothes is a bonus that I give thanks for *most* days.
As I took a week to take a deep breath after months of hard work, I was elated with life. I felt accomplished, happy, and stress free. Finally, after continuous chaos, life was good, and I was enjoying every minute of it. I am a big anniversary date kind of gal, and this time of year is a little unnerving for me. It was this time of year two years ago when I heard the words "The mass is malignant." And it was this time last year when I heard the words "The cancer is back. I don't know what to say." July 2, 2008 and July 10, 2009 are my "cancerversaries" -- so pardon me if paranoia sets in just as summer kicks off.
That Thursday evening, I checked my calendar and was reminded of the upcoming appointment with my plastic surgeon to have my second nipple tattoo -- I was two months away from having perfect, small, pink nipples, and finally would be put back together again. I dreamed of these crazy curly locks grown out, and cancer way in the rear view mirror of my life. I even had a conversation with myself and said, "I am not going to touch my breasts until after we get back from Paris in the fall. I have so many fun things planned. Life is good. And I am savoring every minute of my drama free existence." But those of you who know me personally know that I am way too curious and not a woman who can appreciate or handle surprises with grace. So, before I knew it, I was touching my right breast ... poking around and ensuring that everything was smooth as silk. Until, the lump. The tiny little hard knot. Quickly my hand flew away from my breast. Then, I had to feel it again to make sure I was not losing my mind. My heart skipped a beat and before I knew it I went outside to our new patio where my husband was working on our new grill. "What's wrong? You look freaked out." he asked. "Oh nothing. Well OK, I felt something. Can you feel it?" He did. Rats -- I'm not just being paranoid. "I'm sure it's nothing but you should call the doctor in the morning." No. No. No. Tell me this isn't happening.
The next morning was the first grade end of year picnic that I was volunteering at. After the kids were dropped off, I found my fingers dialing the number of my dear friend who lives down the street, who is also a pink sister in survival, and had a bilateral mastectomy with reconstruction two years ago as well. "Hi! What's up!" she answered the phone. Tears streamed down my face and I could not even utter a word. "Hello?" she said. My quivering voice replied, "I feel something in my breast. I know we have to get to the school." "Come over NOW," she demanded, and before I knew it I was in her home office, with my shirt off, a sharpie pen pinpointing the lump, and her hand on my breast. I could tell by the look on her face that she felt it too. Our breast cancer surgeons are partners, and she thought I needed to get in ASAP. Now I was scared. Nobody was telling me not to worry. The pit in my stomach grew stronger and tears started to fall. Tell me this isn't happening. Then, as she started feeling her own breasts, she said, "Wait, I feel something on mine?" Oh! That is such great news! What made me feel better made her feel worse. As we headed off to the school party, we left frantic messages for our surgeons and headed off to the school picnic. As we watched the adorable first graders hoola hood and jump rope, I got a call from my other 30-something, mom of two young kids, pink sister in survival who recently had her implant exchange surgery after her bilateral mastectomy with reconstruction, chemo, and radiation. Turns out she had an open would and possible infection and had just visited her plastic surgeon who was not pleased with what she saw. Just when she thought she was at the final leg of the race she, too, was blindsided with a curve ball. It was on the black top that morning that I realized that me and these ladies had a life long bond. That when shit hits the fan, we get out our "Bat phones" and call each other for an ear, a hug, a touch, or a vent. We are connected by the pink ribbon, and take turns being angels for one another. It's so upsetting because that morning, we should have been enjoying our first graders, not wondering if the dark cloud of cancer or losing a breast, again, was looming overhead. I keep saying things happen for a reason...and one day we'll know what that is.
I heard from my surgeon and since it was already Friday and my surgeon was off, I could not get in until Monday, and found myself grateful for my busy suburban life and weekend plans that focused on my kids and family and friends, and less about the lump.
Monday morning could not get here fast enough, and it was great to see my surgeon. Not only do I trust her with my life, but I really like her as a person. I could not wait to hear the " You are being silly" diagnosis from her. Instead, she felt my lump and said, "One minute, let me get the ultrasound." Gulp. As she moved the wand over my breast, the black mass appeared on the screen and the look of concern grew on her face. No! Why can't I just be paranoid? Why do I have to be right about these things?! "There is a mass. Here's the thing...everything looks the same on an ultrasound -- scar tissue, recurrence, and a million other things. Last year I thought it was nothing and I was wrong, so this year I'm going to keep my mouth shut until we are proven it's nothing. None of us will have peace of mind until we cut this out."
As the salty tear fell down my cheek, I said, with a trembling voice, "Surgery? OK, let's do it. Can you do it tomorrow?" I said, half joking but dead serious. As she glanced down at her computer pad, she said, "I'll squeeze you in on Wednesday morning." She gave me a hug and said, "We will just have to wait and see and hope for the best."
I could not get out of there fast enough before the tears fell. Tell me this is not happening! What the F*CK! You have GOT TO BE F'ing kidding me. I tried not to tell my friends, but I wear my fear on my sleeve, and I am surrounded by so many people who love me. I realized more than ever that this has not been my journey alone. I may be the one with the scars, the awful curly short doo, and the physical transformation. But my family and friends have been with me every step of the way. And there was no way this was happening to US all for the third time in a row.
I had called my friend earlier to ask if she could take O to the bus on Wednesday morning so I could get to the hospital with my husband for my morning surgery. Then, on Tuesday morning, I got a terrifying call from her. "My sister-in-law will be here in the morning for the bus, and O is welcome to still come over. I got squeezed in today and my lump is suspicious as well. My surgery is tomorrow morning as well." You have got to be kidding me. What are the odds? Isn't this why we had bilateral mastectomies in the first place?
That night, I had a long talk with one of my lifelong friends, Lew. We talked, and we prayed. Suddenly I had peace and clarity. I am a Christian. If I am truly a Christian, then I need to have faith in the Divine Plan. When life presents us with challenges, we need to realize that we can only do so much...that ultimately we do not have control. Faith. That is why we call it faith. The next morning I woke up with peace in my heart, knowing whatever the outcome that I would be OK...because it's all part of The Plan. And it's all happening for some divine reason.
Crazy as this sounds, but heading to the hospital for another surgery did not phase me. I now know some of the nursing staff and it's more of, "Oh hi! Great to see you!" instead of "Oh no, what is going to happen to me." As they opened my door, I saw my neighbor unconscious being wheeled down the hall to recovery. Now, that was weird. I was hoping and praying that all went well with her surgery. I kissed my husband good-bye, and before I knew it I woke up with him by my side. Surgery is easy for the patient, and tough for those in the waiting room.
I was in a post-anesthesia haze, offering loving praise for my surgeon, according to my husband. She didn't want to tell me this in advance, but she had arranged for a pathologist to be in the OR, and they did a frozen section right then and there. "There's a 90% chance it's not cancer. They didn't see anything in the frozen section." Praise God! I knew then in my heart I was going to be OK. Less than 24 hours later, I got the call with the good news. It was my surgeon's nurse who I've grown close with. "I just saw your results and had to call you right away. It's NOT cancer! You are fine!" Hallelujah! Then, I heard a few hours later that my friend's pathology came out benign as well. Phew. Sigh of relief. Deep breath.
This surgery was a breeze. I was a little concerned that due to the fact this was my fourth surgery in less than two years, and that less than a year ago I had 35 high dose radiation treatments that it would not heal well. Fortunately that was not the case. I am very grateful for my body, and how resilient it is to the brutal attacks it has undergone at such a young age. I may hate the way I look right now but I am once again proud of my body and am so glad I'm alive and well.
Aside from my direct boss, I did not tell anyone at work about my surgery. No need to get everyone involved in the drama. Two days after my surgery, before we left for the beach, I spoke with one of my coworkers. Ant, a full-of-life 54 year old has been a dear friend on my team for nearly six years. I told him about my recent drama, and we had a chat about vacations, and ended up talking about how life is short, and how you have to live fully and enjoy it. Last year he was in an ATV accident around the time I was going through chemo. We both had perspective, and were both lucky to have second chances at life. Early on the fourth of July, I got a call from my other coworker. Turns out, my friend Ant was on a motorcycle with his girlfriend the night before, and after going around a sharp turn, hit a Volvo head on. His girlfriend flipped over and hit the windshield. Thank God, she was OK. Ant thought he had broken his hip. Turns out, he crushed his pelvis, and that caused internal bleeding. He died on the fourth of July. He was doing what he loves most, riding his Harley, with the woman he loved the most, on the day that he loved the most. He was living life to the fullest.
I have had a few chats with Ant since I heard the news. First, I was in shock and did not believe the news. Then, after I saw the hundreds of Facebook posts on his wall, I cried. Then, I got mad at him, and remember telling him last year to please act his age and stop riding ATVs and motorcycles. I recall him saying, "Not a chance." I had peace in knowing that he lived his life. And whether it's cancer or a motorcycle or a benign lump or whatever...you just don't know when your time will be. It's a good reminder that every day is an opportunity to do something kind for people...leave a legacy of hope and happiness. Life is short. Live well. Be happy. Be grateful. Give thanks.
Needless to say, the last three weeks have been a whirlwind. The last two years have been life changing. As I near my thirty-eighth birthday, I am more grateful than ever before. I have two healthy, beautiful children. I have a loving husband and the most amazing family a girl could ask for. I have the best circle of friends that have brought smiles to my face in the darkest times. I have a home, a good job, health insurance, and a team of the top specialists looking out for me at every turn. Life is full of blessings and I will try with everything I have to not lose the perspective I have earned.
There are so many people that have touched my life, and now I'm realizing how many people's lives I've touched. I'm not sure where this life will lead me or what I will do with all that I have learned in the last two years, but when the time is right, I know it will be made known to me.
In the mean time, I have packed away my wigs, scarves, hats, and I am going to enjoy my summer, my family, my friends, my life.
I'll report back from time to time. After all there are women out there who need to know how the nipples turn out. And how the hair turns out. And, if I actually fit in to my goal jeans by Paris.
Be happy. Tell someone you love how much they mean to you. Give thanks. Pay it forward. Do a random act of kindness from time to time. Keep the faith. And live each day to the fullest...
xoxo
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
All About the Nipple...
Life has been a whirlwind in the best, normal, suburban way. Cancer is far from my daily thoughts, and life has been focused on my kids, my husband, my family, working out nearly every day, hanging out with friends, and work. My energy level has been high, and there are days when it's hard to believe that just under 5 months ago I finished my last chemo. I said I wasn't going to blog until June 1, but given my latest adventure, I could not wait to get this out of my head...so here goes.
Warning, this is all about nipples, so if you are curious, read on. If you know me too well and don't want to know TMI about my breast reconstruction, close now. I gotta get this out...consider yourself warned.
After a bi-lateral mastectomy with expanders, an implant exchange surgery with silicone implants, another partial mastectomy and 35 rounds of radiation, thanks to the pesky local recurrence, my poor boobs have been through so much over the last 20 months. But again, my strong body has been resilient and the healing has been amazing. In clothes, bras, swim suits, and dresses, my breasts look great. They are perky, round, and allow me to enjoy the benefit of walking around sans bra most of the time.
I often get comments like, "Well the silver lining of breast cancer is you have great boobs." That's all relative. Yes, they look great in clothes. Yes, they are perky. Yes, it's great to not have to wear a bra. But, they are scarred and are missing something very essential...a nipple. After all I have been through, the lack of nipples seems insignificant, but now that I'm feeling well and not thinking about cancer much, I am ready to have the final stage of reconstruction...I'm ready for some nipples.
Many survivors would say after all the surgery and radiation, the last thing they want to do is have more surgery and more pain. It's a very personal decision. I was seriously considering getting a 3-D tattoo versus the surgery, but after a long consult with my plastic surgeon and long conversations with my husband, I decided to go for it. I am ready to take my "Barbie boobs" all the way to the end of reconstruction.
There are many ways to reconstruct nipples, but there is such little information out there. I turned to Dr. Google and was having a hard time understanding the full scope of this undertaking. So, I decided that I have full trust in my skilled plastic surgeon. She helped save my life--and my breasts--so I put my complete trust in her gifted hands. I did not realize it would be a painful four month process. I am keeping my eye on the prize, and despite a few tears and moment of feeling like humpty dumpty, I know that my queen's horses and my queen's women will put me back together again.
The process, as I understand it, requires multiple stages. First, I get a funky half-star shaped tattoo. Then, 4 weeks later, I will get another tattoo treatment. Once she is happy with the color, I will go in to the OR where she will turn the half star in to a nipple. Then, about 4 weeks after that, I will go in for 2 more tattoo treatments to create the circle --- aka the aereola. OK, that all seems do-able. I was not really expecting it to hurt...or to open a box of emotions that I had carefully tucked away.
The night before my appointment, my husband and I were watching TV and I grabbed the Mac and turned to Dr. Google. If I am going to get brand new nipples, I needed to do my research. I first Googled breast nipple reconstruction, and quite frankly those images were very discouraging. So, I decided to Google "boobs." Well, that just brought up some nasty porn sites (which, by the way, made me scared for all the kids out there who have unsupervised access to the internet!) So, I turned to the old stand by...I went to playboy.com. "Honey, what do you think?" I am sure it's a little awkward nipple browsing with your wife, but if you are going to get new nipples, why not pick ones that you want?! It's amazing how many different colors, shapes and sizes of nipples there are o
ut there.
It was great to see the staff at my plastic surgeon's office. I was called back by the friendly nurse, and the first step in the process was selecting the color. Seems pretty easy, right? I'd like pink. Ha! I am a color mixer by nature. I mix paint colors for my house. I usually have at least 2-3 shades of lipstick on at any one time. And this was no different. She pulled out a color chart and we starting mixing up different colors and applying them on my skin. I felt like I was at the Mac counter at Nordstrom looking for the perfect lipcolor! Too light. Too dark. Too pink. Too coral. Too brown. How about we add a little of this with some of that and a bit of this with a smidge of that. My anxiety started running high at this point...I had no idea it would be so difficult! I told the nurse that I wanted to get my doctor's opinion, and she could tell I was getting a little overwhelmed. So, she handed me two small, round band aids. "Put these on your boobs where you think you'd like your nipples to be." Really? I want them perky. Right? That required standing in front of the mirror and using my imagination. That proved to be just as challenging. Rarely do I stare in the mirror at my boobs. Finally I stuck the band aids on and waited for the doctor to come in.
It is always great to see my plastic surgeon. She's a young, beautiful, tiny Asian woman who is an absolute perfectionist. She is so skilled but so loving. We have become very close over the last 20 months. She could tell I needed some help. "I trust you with my life, and now I trust you with my nipples. I know you will help me pick the perfect placement and the perfect color. My nipples are in your hands." It all sounds so funny. Nipple Nipple Nipple. Once she figured out where they would go, she got out her marking pen and drew the craziest little alien-shaped half star. I know she is the expert so I did not ask questions. But, I did take
pictures. I spent hours Googling this and found nothing. So here it is. This is what will become my nipple some day. I am still confused but have full faith in my surgeon.
Once she was done marking, we went back to the color matching. After several minutes of mixing and matching and mixing, we came up with a great color. I watched her grab a big needle. "I am going to numb up your breasts -- lay down." Hmmm. Wasn't expecting shots. I closed my eyes and tried to get lost in the Josh Groban CD that was playing in the background. As she pierced my breasts over and over with the needle filled with numbing medicine, I winced and shut my eyes tighter and tighter, as if the tighter my eyes would shut would some how make the piercing needles hurt less. She could tell I was in pain, and seemed so elated. "OHHHHH, I see you have sensation in your breasts! That is great!" Uh, yes, I can see the silver lining here. I do have sensation in my breasts, which is a bonus for sure. It's also a testament to my skilled surgical team and my resilient body. But damn, this hurt. She left the room for about 10 minutes so the medicine could work. As I laid there, I gave myself a pep talk. This is the last step. I am cancer free. I will soon be done with all of this once and for all. I will have beautiful breasts. Eye on the prize. Final step. You can do this. You are the trail blazer for 15 of your young friends who are deciding whether to get nipples or not. Be strong. Mind over matter.
She came in 10 minutes later, and within 5 minutes she had filled in my alien-shaped symbol with ink. This has officially cured my craving for any type of tattoos! I was ready to get out of there.
I went to my mom's house to pick up Cookie, and as we sat in the park, I realized it was a lot more emotional than I was really expecting it to be. But as the sun shined, I watched my beautiful little girl laugh and giggle and scoot across the monkey bars with pride and ease, and I thanked God for my life. I am so blessed. My kids, family, and friends are such amazing gifts.
My breasts were very sore -- I could not tell whether it was from the shots or from the tattoos. But here, a day later, I am feeling much better. Inside out. As I tuck in my kids and say my prayers, I am humbled by the amazing life I have. I am still a little in shock at my reality. That at 37, I'm growing out my hair for the second time, and that I'm a two-time breast cancer survivor. It's just a little weird to have this reality that seems so unreal. I have such wonderful people in my life and know I'm stronger with each passing day. Some days it's hard to take a step back and take a deep breath, but I work on it every day. And not a day goes by that I don't stop, smell the roses, hug my family, and thank God. Yes, even if you are sore or tired or stressed...every day is A Great Day.
Nipples...stay tuned.
Warning, this is all about nipples, so if you are curious, read on. If you know me too well and don't want to know TMI about my breast reconstruction, close now. I gotta get this out...consider yourself warned.
After a bi-lateral mastectomy with expanders, an implant exchange surgery with silicone implants, another partial mastectomy and 35 rounds of radiation, thanks to the pesky local recurrence, my poor boobs have been through so much over the last 20 months. But again, my strong body has been resilient and the healing has been amazing. In clothes, bras, swim suits, and dresses, my breasts look great. They are perky, round, and allow me to enjoy the benefit of walking around sans bra most of the time.
I often get comments like, "Well the silver lining of breast cancer is you have great boobs." That's all relative. Yes, they look great in clothes. Yes, they are perky. Yes, it's great to not have to wear a bra. But, they are scarred and are missing something very essential...a nipple. After all I have been through, the lack of nipples seems insignificant, but now that I'm feeling well and not thinking about cancer much, I am ready to have the final stage of reconstruction...I'm ready for some nipples.
Many survivors would say after all the surgery and radiation, the last thing they want to do is have more surgery and more pain. It's a very personal decision. I was seriously considering getting a 3-D tattoo versus the surgery, but after a long consult with my plastic surgeon and long conversations with my husband, I decided to go for it. I am ready to take my "Barbie boobs" all the way to the end of reconstruction.
There are many ways to reconstruct nipples, but there is such little information out there. I turned to Dr. Google and was having a hard time understanding the full scope of this undertaking. So, I decided that I have full trust in my skilled plastic surgeon. She helped save my life--and my breasts--so I put my complete trust in her gifted hands. I did not realize it would be a painful four month process. I am keeping my eye on the prize, and despite a few tears and moment of feeling like humpty dumpty, I know that my queen's horses and my queen's women will put me back together again.
The process, as I understand it, requires multiple stages. First, I get a funky half-star shaped tattoo. Then, 4 weeks later, I will get another tattoo treatment. Once she is happy with the color, I will go in to the OR where she will turn the half star in to a nipple. Then, about 4 weeks after that, I will go in for 2 more tattoo treatments to create the circle --- aka the aereola. OK, that all seems do-able. I was not really expecting it to hurt...or to open a box of emotions that I had carefully tucked away.
The night before my appointment, my husband and I were watching TV and I grabbed the Mac and turned to Dr. Google. If I am going to get brand new nipples, I needed to do my research. I first Googled breast nipple reconstruction, and quite frankly those images were very discouraging. So, I decided to Google "boobs." Well, that just brought up some nasty porn sites (which, by the way, made me scared for all the kids out there who have unsupervised access to the internet!) So, I turned to the old stand by...I went to playboy.com. "Honey, what do you think?" I am sure it's a little awkward nipple browsing with your wife, but if you are going to get new nipples, why not pick ones that you want?! It's amazing how many different colors, shapes and sizes of nipples there are o
ut there.It was great to see the staff at my plastic surgeon's office. I was called back by the friendly nurse, and the first step in the process was selecting the color. Seems pretty easy, right? I'd like pink. Ha! I am a color mixer by nature. I mix paint colors for my house. I usually have at least 2-3 shades of lipstick on at any one time. And this was no different. She pulled out a color chart and we starting mixing up different colors and applying them on my skin. I felt like I was at the Mac counter at Nordstrom looking for the perfect lipcolor! Too light. Too dark. Too pink. Too coral. Too brown. How about we add a little of this with some of that and a bit of this with a smidge of that. My anxiety started running high at this point...I had no idea it would be so difficult! I told the nurse that I wanted to get my doctor's opinion, and she could tell I was getting a little overwhelmed. So, she handed me two small, round band aids. "Put these on your boobs where you think you'd like your nipples to be." Really? I want them perky. Right? That required standing in front of the mirror and using my imagination. That proved to be just as challenging. Rarely do I stare in the mirror at my boobs. Finally I stuck the band aids on and waited for the doctor to come in.
It is always great to see my plastic surgeon. She's a young, beautiful, tiny Asian woman who is an absolute perfectionist. She is so skilled but so loving. We have become very close over the last 20 months. She could tell I needed some help. "I trust you with my life, and now I trust you with my nipples. I know you will help me pick the perfect placement and the perfect color. My nipples are in your hands." It all sounds so funny. Nipple Nipple Nipple. Once she figured out where they would go, she got out her marking pen and drew the craziest little alien-shaped half star. I know she is the expert so I did not ask questions. But, I did take
pictures. I spent hours Googling this and found nothing. So here it is. This is what will become my nipple some day. I am still confused but have full faith in my surgeon. Once she was done marking, we went back to the color matching. After several minutes of mixing and matching and mixing, we came up with a great color. I watched her grab a big needle. "I am going to numb up your breasts -- lay down." Hmmm. Wasn't expecting shots. I closed my eyes and tried to get lost in the Josh Groban CD that was playing in the background. As she pierced my breasts over and over with the needle filled with numbing medicine, I winced and shut my eyes tighter and tighter, as if the tighter my eyes would shut would some how make the piercing needles hurt less. She could tell I was in pain, and seemed so elated. "OHHHHH, I see you have sensation in your breasts! That is great!" Uh, yes, I can see the silver lining here. I do have sensation in my breasts, which is a bonus for sure. It's also a testament to my skilled surgical team and my resilient body. But damn, this hurt. She left the room for about 10 minutes so the medicine could work. As I laid there, I gave myself a pep talk. This is the last step. I am cancer free. I will soon be done with all of this once and for all. I will have beautiful breasts. Eye on the prize. Final step. You can do this. You are the trail blazer for 15 of your young friends who are deciding whether to get nipples or not. Be strong. Mind over matter.
She came in 10 minutes later, and within 5 minutes she had filled in my alien-shaped symbol with ink. This has officially cured my craving for any type of tattoos! I was ready to get out of there.
I went to my mom's house to pick up Cookie, and as we sat in the park, I realized it was a lot more emotional than I was really expecting it to be. But as the sun shined, I watched my beautiful little girl laugh and giggle and scoot across the monkey bars with pride and ease, and I thanked God for my life. I am so blessed. My kids, family, and friends are such amazing gifts.
My breasts were very sore -- I could not tell whether it was from the shots or from the tattoos. But here, a day later, I am feeling much better. Inside out. As I tuck in my kids and say my prayers, I am humbled by the amazing life I have. I am still a little in shock at my reality. That at 37, I'm growing out my hair for the second time, and that I'm a two-time breast cancer survivor. It's just a little weird to have this reality that seems so unreal. I have such wonderful people in my life and know I'm stronger with each passing day. Some days it's hard to take a step back and take a deep breath, but I work on it every day. And not a day goes by that I don't stop, smell the roses, hug my family, and thank God. Yes, even if you are sore or tired or stressed...every day is A Great Day.
Nipples...stay tuned.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Ciao -- For Now...
When I started blogging 18 months ago, I had no idea what a therapeutic healing tool it would be. It started as a way to communicate with my friends and family after my initial diagnosis and to keep everyone posted during my treatments. It turned in to way more than that. It has been a gift to me, and hopefully it will be a gift for my children to read years from now. I just went back and read entries from Scarlett's Journey, and earlier entries from A Great Day, and often times can't believe those are words that I wrote. And, quite frankly, can't believe any of this has happened to me. I wish more than anything I could wipe this all away and go back to July 1, 2008...the last day before I became a breast cancer patient. And now, a two-time breast cancer survivor. It's so hard to believe that this has really happened to me. To us.
The last two months since my final chemo treatment has been a lot of fun, for the most part. I have had great times with my family and friends, and life is good. Finally. I feel strong on the inside, and strong on the outside. But, I don't look like me, and that is really, really bothering me. I have been very vocal about the fact that I miss my hair. But I am finally ready to say out loud that I miss my old body, too. (On a side note, my peach fuzz is growing every day -- still only peach fuzz but at least I know it's growing back!)
A year ago, I joined a new gym and started working out regularly, and met a trainer that I have met with nearly weekly for the better part of a year. Last week she did the first workout we ever did together, and even with another surgery, 35 rounds of radiation, and 4 rounds of chemo, I'm so much stronger than I was a year ago. I feel strong, but I am finally determined to get my body back in shape.
The other day I was on the treadmill and had an a-ha moment. I have battled cancer twice now, and am ready to put that behind me. I often quoted "a dream is a goal with a plan and a deadline." Being a project manager at work, I tend to thrive with structure and a plan. The last two months since I finished chemo, I've been enjoying good times with family and friends. It's way too easy to fall in to a mindset that "I've been through all this crap, I'm going to drink and eat whatever I want because life is too short." But, that is no way to live a healthy life. It's time for a plan.
What I appreciate more than ever is that this body of mine has been through hell, and really deserves some focus and dedication to maximize good health. I am not going to do anything crazy or drastic, and I'm not going to go for the quick fix. Rather, I'm going to do my best to live life to the fullest, but spend the next two years getting myself back to optimal health.
My ultimate goal is to be fabulous, fit, and cancer-free on my fortieth birthday. That gives me a little over two years to work hard, but also enough time to enjoy life and have some fun! It's all about the 80/20 rule, and finding a balance between good health but enjoying life.
Goal? Check. Deadline? Check. Plan...working on it right now. Dream...will come true. It's times like this where being a competitive Type-A comes in handy. I owe this to myself. I owe it to my children. I owe it to my family and friends. When we were in college, my roommates and I had a weekly workout chart on the fridge. It had 5 smiley faces on it, and we had to cross off a smiley face with every workout. No wonder we were in great shape! I am actually writing down my fitness plan, and will have it out for anyone who wants to see. I will be accountable to this, not only to myself but to anyone who wants to keep me honest.
So, cancer, adios. I don't have time to worry about you anymore. Instead, I'm going to fuel my body, mind, and spirit with all things good to keep you out of my body. Out of my mind. Out of my heart. Out of my life. FOREVER.
To those of you who are my loved ones who have faithfully read my blogs, thank you for caring. Thank you for taking time to read what has been going on in my life and in my heart. For those of you I have never met, I hope I have touched you in some way, for there is a reason you stumbled upon this out in internet land.
With that, this is my final entry for a while. I will be enjoying life and focusing on optimal health. Wine, I will miss you in March, but will drink you again soon. To my family and friends, please continue to encourage me and love me. You mean the world to me and continue to uplift and inspire me every day. YOU are the reasons I have fought so hard. I love my life, and it's so worth fighting for.
Nothing tastes as good as feeling healthy. And nothing is more fun than fitting in to your skinny jeans. Mine are hanging in my closet, and I fully intend on wearing them in Paris this fall.
Love you all. Thanks for saving my life. And I look forward to fun, happy, healthy times ahead.
Monday, March 1st is the first day of the rest of my long, happy, healthy life. To keep myself accountable, I will post my progress on June 1, 2010. So, if you remember, or if you are curious, check back. I promise to give you an honest update! :-)
Ciao -- for now...
xoxo
The last two months since my final chemo treatment has been a lot of fun, for the most part. I have had great times with my family and friends, and life is good. Finally. I feel strong on the inside, and strong on the outside. But, I don't look like me, and that is really, really bothering me. I have been very vocal about the fact that I miss my hair. But I am finally ready to say out loud that I miss my old body, too. (On a side note, my peach fuzz is growing every day -- still only peach fuzz but at least I know it's growing back!)
A year ago, I joined a new gym and started working out regularly, and met a trainer that I have met with nearly weekly for the better part of a year. Last week she did the first workout we ever did together, and even with another surgery, 35 rounds of radiation, and 4 rounds of chemo, I'm so much stronger than I was a year ago. I feel strong, but I am finally determined to get my body back in shape.
The other day I was on the treadmill and had an a-ha moment. I have battled cancer twice now, and am ready to put that behind me. I often quoted "a dream is a goal with a plan and a deadline." Being a project manager at work, I tend to thrive with structure and a plan. The last two months since I finished chemo, I've been enjoying good times with family and friends. It's way too easy to fall in to a mindset that "I've been through all this crap, I'm going to drink and eat whatever I want because life is too short." But, that is no way to live a healthy life. It's time for a plan.
What I appreciate more than ever is that this body of mine has been through hell, and really deserves some focus and dedication to maximize good health. I am not going to do anything crazy or drastic, and I'm not going to go for the quick fix. Rather, I'm going to do my best to live life to the fullest, but spend the next two years getting myself back to optimal health.
My ultimate goal is to be fabulous, fit, and cancer-free on my fortieth birthday. That gives me a little over two years to work hard, but also enough time to enjoy life and have some fun! It's all about the 80/20 rule, and finding a balance between good health but enjoying life.
Goal? Check. Deadline? Check. Plan...working on it right now. Dream...will come true. It's times like this where being a competitive Type-A comes in handy. I owe this to myself. I owe it to my children. I owe it to my family and friends. When we were in college, my roommates and I had a weekly workout chart on the fridge. It had 5 smiley faces on it, and we had to cross off a smiley face with every workout. No wonder we were in great shape! I am actually writing down my fitness plan, and will have it out for anyone who wants to see. I will be accountable to this, not only to myself but to anyone who wants to keep me honest.
So, cancer, adios. I don't have time to worry about you anymore. Instead, I'm going to fuel my body, mind, and spirit with all things good to keep you out of my body. Out of my mind. Out of my heart. Out of my life. FOREVER.
To those of you who are my loved ones who have faithfully read my blogs, thank you for caring. Thank you for taking time to read what has been going on in my life and in my heart. For those of you I have never met, I hope I have touched you in some way, for there is a reason you stumbled upon this out in internet land.
With that, this is my final entry for a while. I will be enjoying life and focusing on optimal health. Wine, I will miss you in March, but will drink you again soon. To my family and friends, please continue to encourage me and love me. You mean the world to me and continue to uplift and inspire me every day. YOU are the reasons I have fought so hard. I love my life, and it's so worth fighting for.
Nothing tastes as good as feeling healthy. And nothing is more fun than fitting in to your skinny jeans. Mine are hanging in my closet, and I fully intend on wearing them in Paris this fall.
Love you all. Thanks for saving my life. And I look forward to fun, happy, healthy times ahead.
Monday, March 1st is the first day of the rest of my long, happy, healthy life. To keep myself accountable, I will post my progress on June 1, 2010. So, if you remember, or if you are curious, check back. I promise to give you an honest update! :-)
Ciao -- for now...
xoxo
Friday, February 19, 2010
Thankful...
Life has been a whirlwind since returning to my cancer-free world. In my work world, I'm in my busy time, and it seems like I am finally in a groove. With the 30"+ of snow that fell recently, we had loads of fun times and togetherness with our family and neighbors. Please, spring...hurry up! We really need some sunshine!
A silver lining of going through cancer treatments for a second time in such a short time is the rare opportunity to leverage the hindsight and lessons learned from the first go-round. My family and friends have been through so much with me on this journey, and these last seven months have been hectic and emotional but with a powerful strength, confidence and closeness that was a true gift only received from experience. Last year at this time, I still had the roar of fear and cancer ringing in my head. I am convinced it was a sign to not let my guard down. Now, I am done with treatments and have an amazing sense of peace and tranquility that the cancer has been wiped from my body...and the fear has been erased from my soul.
When I was first diagnosed eighteen months ago, I did not ask, "Why me?" Instead I had faith that all of this was happening for a reason, and instead of questioning the Big Plan, I said that one day I would have an a-ha moment of clarity.
It seems that young women are coming out of the woodwork with new breast cancer diagnoses. They are not strangers I have met in a support group. They are not women that I have gone searching for. They are friends of friends...strangers in a waiting room...former colleagues. I find myself spending time with these women who have been diagnosed, and with a calm sense of confidence, I share my story, and I offer lessons learned. When I was first diagnosed I was alone. I did not know anyone else who had breast cancer, and along my journey I have met women who will forever be angels in my life.
Recently, I met up with one of my angels and a new member of the pink sisterhood for dinner. She was about to have a bi-lateral mastectomy with reconstruction, and will start chemo next month. The three of us spent over four hours at dinner, talking and laughing and sharing. The evening included a couple of trips to the bathroom. One trip, the three of us lifted up our shirts and showed the handy work of our skilled surgeons. I took off my wig and let her see my bald head, and she tried on my wig to get a sense of what it might be like to look different. Here we were in the bathroom like school girls, giggling and not caring who walked in as we played dress up. No longer were we strangers.
I got a call from a woman I had met in the waiting room at CW. She needed someone to talk to as she was about to shave her head, and wanted to know where I got my wig that she admired. After thirty minutes, she was no longer a stranger. Her tears turned to laughter, and she thanked me for being there for her.
The other day, I got an email from an old colleague who through a mutual friend found out about my journey, and told me about her diagnosis. As a mother of young children and a woman in the same profession, we talked and by the end of the call, we were connected. Her surgery went well and she just closed her email to me with, "Your words have really helped me."
I have not been to a formal support group, yet I have the most amazing support. I started writing down their names the other night, and there are 17 women that I consider my pink angels. Seventeen. Amazing. The youngest was 26 when she was diagnosed. Most are under 40. Why on earth are so many young women getting breast cancer? Am I more aware of it now that I have a pink ribbon myself? Or is it an epidemic that is getting out of control?
Whether I am the one in need of comforting, or the comforter, I am so blessed to have these women in my life. I have no idea about the day-in and day-out of their lives. But we have all been there for each other, and I find strength in all of them for different reasons. Whether it's hearing their words, or hearing myself speak and realizing how far I've come along on my journey, it's strength none the less.
Yesterday, my husband took me to the hospital for my port removal. He has taken me to so many appointments and procedures, and I am so grateful to see his beautiful face as I drift off to the OR. My favorite nurse happened to be working there, and we embraced like long lost BFFs! She knew me when I had long hair, has seen me with my short hair, and has smiled just the same as I donned my sassy scarf, concealing my bald head. You know it's bad when you personally know the staff at Interventional Radiology at the hospital! The procedure was a piece of cake, and now I'm left with one more scar to add to the lot. It's OK though...I'd rather have a scar from my port removal than needing to have a port.
Just as predicted by my oncologist, my hair just started sprouting baby peach fuzz. It's daunting to think of growing out my hair...again. BUT, I'm cancer free, and surrounded by my darling kids, my wonderful husband, my amazing family, and my kick-ass friends. I may look like hell but I feel like the luckiest woman in the world. I will see my plastic surgeon in a couple of months to discuss my final reconstruction. Until then, I'll enjoy the benefit of perky boobs sans bra.
Time to live my cancer-free life -- happy, healthy, full of energy, and eyes wide open. Life is good...savor each day.
And to all of my peeps -- and you know who you are -- thank you for giving me so many reason to smile, fight, and live. I love you with all of my heart!
xoxo
A silver lining of going through cancer treatments for a second time in such a short time is the rare opportunity to leverage the hindsight and lessons learned from the first go-round. My family and friends have been through so much with me on this journey, and these last seven months have been hectic and emotional but with a powerful strength, confidence and closeness that was a true gift only received from experience. Last year at this time, I still had the roar of fear and cancer ringing in my head. I am convinced it was a sign to not let my guard down. Now, I am done with treatments and have an amazing sense of peace and tranquility that the cancer has been wiped from my body...and the fear has been erased from my soul.
When I was first diagnosed eighteen months ago, I did not ask, "Why me?" Instead I had faith that all of this was happening for a reason, and instead of questioning the Big Plan, I said that one day I would have an a-ha moment of clarity.
It seems that young women are coming out of the woodwork with new breast cancer diagnoses. They are not strangers I have met in a support group. They are not women that I have gone searching for. They are friends of friends...strangers in a waiting room...former colleagues. I find myself spending time with these women who have been diagnosed, and with a calm sense of confidence, I share my story, and I offer lessons learned. When I was first diagnosed I was alone. I did not know anyone else who had breast cancer, and along my journey I have met women who will forever be angels in my life.
Recently, I met up with one of my angels and a new member of the pink sisterhood for dinner. She was about to have a bi-lateral mastectomy with reconstruction, and will start chemo next month. The three of us spent over four hours at dinner, talking and laughing and sharing. The evening included a couple of trips to the bathroom. One trip, the three of us lifted up our shirts and showed the handy work of our skilled surgeons. I took off my wig and let her see my bald head, and she tried on my wig to get a sense of what it might be like to look different. Here we were in the bathroom like school girls, giggling and not caring who walked in as we played dress up. No longer were we strangers.
I got a call from a woman I had met in the waiting room at CW. She needed someone to talk to as she was about to shave her head, and wanted to know where I got my wig that she admired. After thirty minutes, she was no longer a stranger. Her tears turned to laughter, and she thanked me for being there for her.
The other day, I got an email from an old colleague who through a mutual friend found out about my journey, and told me about her diagnosis. As a mother of young children and a woman in the same profession, we talked and by the end of the call, we were connected. Her surgery went well and she just closed her email to me with, "Your words have really helped me."
I have not been to a formal support group, yet I have the most amazing support. I started writing down their names the other night, and there are 17 women that I consider my pink angels. Seventeen. Amazing. The youngest was 26 when she was diagnosed. Most are under 40. Why on earth are so many young women getting breast cancer? Am I more aware of it now that I have a pink ribbon myself? Or is it an epidemic that is getting out of control?
Whether I am the one in need of comforting, or the comforter, I am so blessed to have these women in my life. I have no idea about the day-in and day-out of their lives. But we have all been there for each other, and I find strength in all of them for different reasons. Whether it's hearing their words, or hearing myself speak and realizing how far I've come along on my journey, it's strength none the less.
Yesterday, my husband took me to the hospital for my port removal. He has taken me to so many appointments and procedures, and I am so grateful to see his beautiful face as I drift off to the OR. My favorite nurse happened to be working there, and we embraced like long lost BFFs! She knew me when I had long hair, has seen me with my short hair, and has smiled just the same as I donned my sassy scarf, concealing my bald head. You know it's bad when you personally know the staff at Interventional Radiology at the hospital! The procedure was a piece of cake, and now I'm left with one more scar to add to the lot. It's OK though...I'd rather have a scar from my port removal than needing to have a port.
Just as predicted by my oncologist, my hair just started sprouting baby peach fuzz. It's daunting to think of growing out my hair...again. BUT, I'm cancer free, and surrounded by my darling kids, my wonderful husband, my amazing family, and my kick-ass friends. I may look like hell but I feel like the luckiest woman in the world. I will see my plastic surgeon in a couple of months to discuss my final reconstruction. Until then, I'll enjoy the benefit of perky boobs sans bra.
Time to live my cancer-free life -- happy, healthy, full of energy, and eyes wide open. Life is good...savor each day.
And to all of my peeps -- and you know who you are -- thank you for giving me so many reason to smile, fight, and live. I love you with all of my heart!
xoxo
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Another New Chapter...
What a week!
Several months ago, Satchel, Mel and I bought tickets to see Eddie from Ohio at the Birchmere. We didn't realize at the time that it would be a perfectly timed night out! Sunday evening, before my first day back at work, the three of us headed to The Birchmere for a "folkin' good time!" I have been listening to Eddie from Ohio for over 18 years now. And the lead singer is a breast cancer survivor, and the writer and singer of my motivational anthem "Great Day." If you haven't heard of them, you should check them out.
We had a fun night filled with cold Blue Moons, delicious bar food, great music, amazing friends, and of course the random Suzy SweetPotato who had to share our table at the last minute. Thank goodness for iPhones and text messages. (ha) I can't wait to do it again next January! (Thanks S and M...you guys are the best!)
Monday morning I headed back to work. I had worked intermittenly since my diagnosis in January, but the last five weeks I took off to get through the holidays and complete chemo. I coulda/shoulda stayed out longer, but I was starting to think about all I had to do at work, and the time seemed right to head back. I thought I'd ease back in to it, but it was no surprise that within a day I was drinking from a fire hose. My neighbor teased me that I looked stressed about not stressing about stress. Ha! The good news is that I am fortunate to work from home most days. I'm trying to take each day as they come, and get through it without stress. That is a little tough for a type A like myself. But I'm doing the best I can, and really working at it.
Yesterday, I had my chemo closeout appointment with my oncologist. As I sat in the CW waiting room, I could not wait to get in and out and outta there. I am very thankful that CW and all of the smart docs and nurses have helped me beat cancer twice in the last 18 months. But, it's a place I don't want to visit again. I will go in for check ups every 3-6 months, and it's comforting to know that they will stay on top of me for the next few years...and then yearly for the rest of my life. It kind of sucks that I will technically be a cancer patient for the rest of my life. I love my oncologist, and if she weren't my doctor, I'm pretty sure we'd get along great as friends. She's one of the top breast cancer oncologists, and I trust her gut. She thinks I'm good now, and seems to think that in 10 years we'll be talking about "cute shoes and kids." Sounds good to me! She said, "I think you are going to be OK. And I don't get to say that to a lot of my patients." As nice as she is, she is not a hugger, and she is a tough cookie. So if she's optimistic, I know she is not blowing sunshine up my ... well you know. I asked about my port, and she said, "Get it removed...you don't need it anymore." Woot! If she thought I'd need more chemo any time soon, I'm sure she'd have said, "Well, let's keep it in for a year or two." But if she thinks I don't need it, then ciao, port. I am going to see if my plastic surgeon can help with the removal, because while the docs at Interventional Radiology are very nice and skilled, they are not very precise at closing the incision. Perhaps I've now become a sutcher snob, seeing the amazing work of my breast cancer surgeon and plastic surgeon. Either way, I'll be glad to get the port out.
I'm off to walk with one of my Bosom Buddies. We were supposed to meet for coffee talk, but turned it in to a coffee walk. I met her through my girlfriends who asked me to talk to her after she was diagnosed last summer. We hit it off right off the bat, and she did great through her treatments. Then, after I was diagnosed again, we ended up going through treatments together. She is a wonderful friend and I have a feeling we'll be friends for a long, long time. I have a huge network of support from my family and friends, and I am so thankful for being so blessed. And, through this journey, I have met (way too many) young women who have been through a similar journey. I am so thankful for their friendships. I don't know what happens in their life on a daily basis, but anytime a fleeting thought going through our heads, we are all an email, text, phone call or coffee date away. It's amazing how you can talk about (and show) the most personal things ever to a stranger...because they are not a stranger, they are earth angels, put in our lives divinely to get us through all of this. And together, we find strength in numbers. To all of my pink earth angels...and you know who you are...I love you!
It's been good to get back in to working out. My toenails have been destroyed by the chemo and they hurt. Strange, I know. As if there weren't a laundry list of things to fix! I guess it's time for a podiatrist. Ick. I have an adversion to feet anyway, and this is just makes it worse. It's so bothersome I can't even write about it. I need to change the subject.
My girlfriend just turned forty this week, and I can't wait to celebrate with her and her family in a couple of weeks when they come down to visit. When I asked her what she was doing for her birthday, she said, "Nothing big, just a hair cut. And, I might even get my nails done too." All I could think was how heavenly that sounded. When I turn 40 in 2.5 years, my prayer is that I will be cancer free, have my long hair, a fit body, and good nails. And I will celebrate with a workout, a hair cut, a mani/pedi, and some fun with those I love! Seems like a good goal.
Last year when I was done with treatments, I never really had peace that I could turn the page and start a new chapter...even though I really really tried. This time, I have peace in my heart, and an outlook on life that comes with going through a year and a half of hell. It is sometimes hard to draw a line in the sand and say, "OK, ready for a new beginning" because things have happened, and as much as you want them to go away, they won't. Everything I've been through can't be erased or forgotten. Rather, it will be a part of the fabric of my life. And that just makes the fabric a little more detailed...a lot stronger...beautiful...and appreciated. Life isn't perfect, but it's great to be alive.
I have been trying my best to live for the now. Don't dwell on the past. Don't stress about the future. Appreciate all I've experienced, and embrace the scars and flaws, because those are badges of courage. Embrace the moment, and appreciate each day as a gift. And every day here on earth with my husband, kids, family, and friends is a Great Day. I really can't express how much my husband, kids, family and friends have done for me. It's been a long road for all of us, and I love and appreciate them more and more each day. I'm ready to focus on new things...which is hopefully lots of joy and happy times for each and every one of us. We all deserve some big smiles and good times! If I haven't said it enough, thank you. You know who you are, and you know how much I love you.
As my friend told me last year, cancer is a part of my story. It's not my entire story. It is a chapter somewhere in the middle. I'm ready for a new chapter! A whole new year awaits. Hallelujah! Thanks be to God...
Several months ago, Satchel, Mel and I bought tickets to see Eddie from Ohio at the Birchmere. We didn't realize at the time that it would be a perfectly timed night out! Sunday evening, before my first day back at work, the three of us headed to The Birchmere for a "folkin' good time!" I have been listening to Eddie from Ohio for over 18 years now. And the lead singer is a breast cancer survivor, and the writer and singer of my motivational anthem "Great Day." If you haven't heard of them, you should check them out.
We had a fun night filled with cold Blue Moons, delicious bar food, great music, amazing friends, and of course the random Suzy SweetPotato who had to share our table at the last minute. Thank goodness for iPhones and text messages. (ha) I can't wait to do it again next January! (Thanks S and M...you guys are the best!)
Monday morning I headed back to work. I had worked intermittenly since my diagnosis in January, but the last five weeks I took off to get through the holidays and complete chemo. I coulda/shoulda stayed out longer, but I was starting to think about all I had to do at work, and the time seemed right to head back. I thought I'd ease back in to it, but it was no surprise that within a day I was drinking from a fire hose. My neighbor teased me that I looked stressed about not stressing about stress. Ha! The good news is that I am fortunate to work from home most days. I'm trying to take each day as they come, and get through it without stress. That is a little tough for a type A like myself. But I'm doing the best I can, and really working at it.
Yesterday, I had my chemo closeout appointment with my oncologist. As I sat in the CW waiting room, I could not wait to get in and out and outta there. I am very thankful that CW and all of the smart docs and nurses have helped me beat cancer twice in the last 18 months. But, it's a place I don't want to visit again. I will go in for check ups every 3-6 months, and it's comforting to know that they will stay on top of me for the next few years...and then yearly for the rest of my life. It kind of sucks that I will technically be a cancer patient for the rest of my life. I love my oncologist, and if she weren't my doctor, I'm pretty sure we'd get along great as friends. She's one of the top breast cancer oncologists, and I trust her gut. She thinks I'm good now, and seems to think that in 10 years we'll be talking about "cute shoes and kids." Sounds good to me! She said, "I think you are going to be OK. And I don't get to say that to a lot of my patients." As nice as she is, she is not a hugger, and she is a tough cookie. So if she's optimistic, I know she is not blowing sunshine up my ... well you know. I asked about my port, and she said, "Get it removed...you don't need it anymore." Woot! If she thought I'd need more chemo any time soon, I'm sure she'd have said, "Well, let's keep it in for a year or two." But if she thinks I don't need it, then ciao, port. I am going to see if my plastic surgeon can help with the removal, because while the docs at Interventional Radiology are very nice and skilled, they are not very precise at closing the incision. Perhaps I've now become a sutcher snob, seeing the amazing work of my breast cancer surgeon and plastic surgeon. Either way, I'll be glad to get the port out.
I'm off to walk with one of my Bosom Buddies. We were supposed to meet for coffee talk, but turned it in to a coffee walk. I met her through my girlfriends who asked me to talk to her after she was diagnosed last summer. We hit it off right off the bat, and she did great through her treatments. Then, after I was diagnosed again, we ended up going through treatments together. She is a wonderful friend and I have a feeling we'll be friends for a long, long time. I have a huge network of support from my family and friends, and I am so thankful for being so blessed. And, through this journey, I have met (way too many) young women who have been through a similar journey. I am so thankful for their friendships. I don't know what happens in their life on a daily basis, but anytime a fleeting thought going through our heads, we are all an email, text, phone call or coffee date away. It's amazing how you can talk about (and show) the most personal things ever to a stranger...because they are not a stranger, they are earth angels, put in our lives divinely to get us through all of this. And together, we find strength in numbers. To all of my pink earth angels...and you know who you are...I love you!
It's been good to get back in to working out. My toenails have been destroyed by the chemo and they hurt. Strange, I know. As if there weren't a laundry list of things to fix! I guess it's time for a podiatrist. Ick. I have an adversion to feet anyway, and this is just makes it worse. It's so bothersome I can't even write about it. I need to change the subject.
My girlfriend just turned forty this week, and I can't wait to celebrate with her and her family in a couple of weeks when they come down to visit. When I asked her what she was doing for her birthday, she said, "Nothing big, just a hair cut. And, I might even get my nails done too." All I could think was how heavenly that sounded. When I turn 40 in 2.5 years, my prayer is that I will be cancer free, have my long hair, a fit body, and good nails. And I will celebrate with a workout, a hair cut, a mani/pedi, and some fun with those I love! Seems like a good goal.
Last year when I was done with treatments, I never really had peace that I could turn the page and start a new chapter...even though I really really tried. This time, I have peace in my heart, and an outlook on life that comes with going through a year and a half of hell. It is sometimes hard to draw a line in the sand and say, "OK, ready for a new beginning" because things have happened, and as much as you want them to go away, they won't. Everything I've been through can't be erased or forgotten. Rather, it will be a part of the fabric of my life. And that just makes the fabric a little more detailed...a lot stronger...beautiful...and appreciated. Life isn't perfect, but it's great to be alive.
I have been trying my best to live for the now. Don't dwell on the past. Don't stress about the future. Appreciate all I've experienced, and embrace the scars and flaws, because those are badges of courage. Embrace the moment, and appreciate each day as a gift. And every day here on earth with my husband, kids, family, and friends is a Great Day. I really can't express how much my husband, kids, family and friends have done for me. It's been a long road for all of us, and I love and appreciate them more and more each day. I'm ready to focus on new things...which is hopefully lots of joy and happy times for each and every one of us. We all deserve some big smiles and good times! If I haven't said it enough, thank you. You know who you are, and you know how much I love you.
As my friend told me last year, cancer is a part of my story. It's not my entire story. It is a chapter somewhere in the middle. I'm ready for a new chapter! A whole new year awaits. Hallelujah! Thanks be to God...
Friday, January 15, 2010
OOH La La...Laissez Les Bon Temps Roulez
A goal is a dream with a plan and a deadline. I have written that a few times over the last 6 months. My dream...to be cancer free and live life to the fullest. My plan...surgery, 35 radiation treatments, 4 rounds of high dose Adriamycin chemo. My deadline...January 4, 2010. Status: Complete, on time, on plan. Woot! A project manager's dream. My dream. Our dream.
It's time for a long overdue update. I am not sure where to begin or where to end. My mind swirls with thoughts from time to time, and others it is life as normal. Here goes -- for now anyway...
TGIF...Thank God it's Friday. Well, kind of. I am excited to greet the weekend, so I can play with my husband, O and Cookie. There's nothing like a good 'ol family weekend filled with basketball, errands, naps, and all around quality family time. It's a little bittersweet this Friday, because on Monday, it's back to work for me after a five week break. "Break." Ha. Isn't that ironic. My mind is quickly erasing the hell that has occurred over the last seven months, probably because in the midst of hell was a big slice of Heaven. Time. Time to heal. Time to play. Time to think. Time to organize. Time to clear things off the to-do list. Quiet time. Busy time. Me time. Family time. Precious time...
We had the most amazing holiday break. And, on Monday, January 4, it was back to reality. The kids went back to school. My husband went back to work, and Satchel and I returned to CW for my fourth and final chemo. There was a part of me that was excited to get it done and be over it once and for all. And, there was another part of me that dug my heels in the sand, dreading it, because at this point I knew good and well what a date with the red devil meant. Or did I?
Satchel came to pick me up, and off to CW we went. As we walked in to the infusion ward, it was filled with sickly older people, and quite a few young'uns like me. That is always strange. We just don't fit in there...but as I am learning, being in your thirties with cancer is no longer an anomaly. At this point, Satchel and I know the nursing staff well, and they all greeted us with smiles, knowing that we'd be up to our cheerful antics. My counts were really low, so they had to do another CBC to make sure that my nearly null white blood cell count was high enough to endure chemo. And, by the grace of God, it was. As she accessed my port, I said, "Wait one minute..." and I looked at Satchel. "You know what time it is." And as any dutiful BFF would, she got up out of her comfy chair and did her ritual shuffle-tap-step. I got a few extra shuffles and taps. And smiles appeared on the many sickly faces that filled the infusion ward. "OK, we can start now." The nurse just laughed and the infusion began. There was an adrenaline rush that day, and for some reason, as the red devil filled my body, we just talked, laughed, snapped a few pictures, and went about our business. A few of the nurses who have gotten to know us over the last 18 months came by to say hello. Before we knew it, 1.5 hours later, my nurse said, "You're done. Sit tight, I'll be right back." A few minutes later, the nurses came out with a paper ribbon, a paper crown, and a Certificate of Completion of Chemotherapy that was signed with loving notes from all of the nursing staff. Satchel put on the crown, I put on the medal, and we hugged everyone and waved as we left. It was more like a paparazzi farewell than a patient leaving a chemo ward. As we left, I got a bonus shuffle-tap-step Satchel. See ya CW.
Off we went to a celebratory lunch at one of our favorite spots, and then it was time hug good-bye and part ways to greet our kids off the bus. I was all smiles, and had a sense of relief, accomplishment, and peace. One of my great friends took O for another 5-hour play date, and off I went to bed. I suddenly went from giddy and excited to tired and queasy. Before I knew it, I had a wave of fatigue and nausea that I have never had before. Ever. For the next four days, all I did was sleep, eat bagels, drink lemonade Vitamin Water, pop pills, and did I mention sleep? And there were a few tears. I have never felt this horrible, and I never ever want to feel that bad ever again. This was the first cycle where I didn't have anything to get up for. No parties. No Thanksgiving. No Christmas. My poor body was like, "Finally, girl...let me rest!" It was clear to me that it was by the grace of God that I made it through this chemo regimen without a sniffle, without missing a single holiday, play date, dinner date, school function, etc. But, it was finally time to rest. I could not talk on the phone. I could not get on the computer. I couldn't really watch TV. All I needed was a quiet house, a comfortable bed, and...did I mention bagels? Scrambled eggs and cheese on a toasted everything bagel with a plop of ketchup. Wow, am I in college? Classic hangover food!
There is no way I could have made it through that week, or the last 7 months, without my family and friends. Between meals, rides, childcare, hugs, messages, cards, emails, etc. After a solid work week of rest, I started feeling better. My body is still achy. I am not sure how I got in daily 1-2 hour workouts before. But this week, I dusted off a gift certificate I've had and got a wonderful full body massage. And, I used one of my sessions at the gym to have a one-on-one stretching/yoga session with my trainer. Slowly, I'm feeling like me. I do not have my taste buds back. Last night at dinner with my ladies I did not have the wine. The good news is the kier royale tasted delightful! Probably a good thing wine doesn't taste good, because I do not need to be drinking right now!
I have had a great week filled with lunches, coffee dates, and phone calls with my friends, and good quality time with my family. I am hoping that when I get back to work next week, I remember how to do my job! I have a final check up with my Oncologist, and then I won't have to go back to CW for six months. Hallelujah!
Last year when I finished, I was happy but was never at peace. I always felt like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Which it did. But now, after another surgery, 35 radiation sessions, and 4 more rounds of chemo, I am at peace. I feel in my heart that this cancer chapter will be closed. It will always be with me. And it has shaped who I am as a person. I have met people along the way that have changed my life, and I believe in my heart that I have changed the lives of people I have met along the way.
I believe I have earned the title of cancer survivor. That is hard to say out loud, and it is hard to believe that I had cancer, twice, and I will forever be a cancer patient. My family and friends are survivors, too. There is no doubt in my mind how much I am loved. I can't imagine how hard it must be to watch your wife, mom, daughter, daughter-in-law, sister, sister-in-law, niece, friend, co-worker go through all of this crap...not just once but twice in an eighteen month period. But in the end, we all have new perspective on life, love, friendship, motherhood. I think it helps us all put life in perspective. And, hopefully it will help us all live lives that are filled with thanks, love, and happiness. You never know what each day will bring, but every day is a gift. And every day with those you love is a Great Day. Thank you to everyone who was by my side for this journey. If you are reading this, you know who you are. I do not take any of you for granted, and feel so blessed to have you in my life.
Seven months ago, I had a fresh new scar on my right breast. Now, that scar has faded and you can barely see it. I know it's there, but I don't think about it much. Three months ago, my right breast had massive burns and blisters on it. Now, the skin has healed and it is as perfect as ever. I read about my days on the radiation table, and they seem like a distant memory...one I don't think about much anymore. But hair. Oh the hair. Coming from a hair ball, who spent most of her life with a head full of long, thick locks, this has been very difficult. Days when I have my wigs on, I feel like my old self. Days I look in the mirror bald, I think, "Wow, who on Earth is that in the mirror." But, I'm ready for it to grow back. And while I am not looking forward to the dreaded grow-out that is so indescribably icky, I'm so thankful that it will grow back (despite my recent nightmares that it didn't), and I'm thankful that hopefully the red devil that killed my hair cells have zapped any bad cell that may have been floating around. Life is way more important than hair. But, man, have I mentioned how much I miss mine?!
Right before I started chemo, I had coffee with one of my young survivor friends. She planned a trip to Paris with one of her girlfriends. That got me thinking, "I have always wanted to go to Paris." With two young kids, the dream trip of a ten-day European vacation is just a dream. But, my husband and I take weekend trips. Why not do a long weekend in Paris? When you are traveling without kids, a 7.5 hour red-eye direct flight to Paris seems like a great idea! For our 9th wedding anniversary, I was in the midst of chemo and had just cut off 14 inches of hair. For my 10th wedding anniversary, I was in the midst of radiation and we went to Disney with the kids. And now, for our 11th anniversary, we are going to Paris for a long weekend. I can't wait! The Eiffel Tower. The Arc de Triomphe. Visiting the Mona Lisa at The Lourve. A boat ride down the Siene River. Sipping coffee in a cafe. Sharing a bottle of red wine with some bread and fromage. Sounds like a good idea to me! October in Paris. Now that is something to look forward to!
Laissez Les Bon Temps Roulez...let the good times roll!
It's time for a long overdue update. I am not sure where to begin or where to end. My mind swirls with thoughts from time to time, and others it is life as normal. Here goes -- for now anyway...
TGIF...Thank God it's Friday. Well, kind of. I am excited to greet the weekend, so I can play with my husband, O and Cookie. There's nothing like a good 'ol family weekend filled with basketball, errands, naps, and all around quality family time. It's a little bittersweet this Friday, because on Monday, it's back to work for me after a five week break. "Break." Ha. Isn't that ironic. My mind is quickly erasing the hell that has occurred over the last seven months, probably because in the midst of hell was a big slice of Heaven. Time. Time to heal. Time to play. Time to think. Time to organize. Time to clear things off the to-do list. Quiet time. Busy time. Me time. Family time. Precious time...
We had the most amazing holiday break. And, on Monday, January 4, it was back to reality. The kids went back to school. My husband went back to work, and Satchel and I returned to CW for my fourth and final chemo. There was a part of me that was excited to get it done and be over it once and for all. And, there was another part of me that dug my heels in the sand, dreading it, because at this point I knew good and well what a date with the red devil meant. Or did I?
Satchel came to pick me up, and off to CW we went. As we walked in to the infusion ward, it was filled with sickly older people, and quite a few young'uns like me. That is always strange. We just don't fit in there...but as I am learning, being in your thirties with cancer is no longer an anomaly. At this point, Satchel and I know the nursing staff well, and they all greeted us with smiles, knowing that we'd be up to our cheerful antics. My counts were really low, so they had to do another CBC to make sure that my nearly null white blood cell count was high enough to endure chemo. And, by the grace of God, it was. As she accessed my port, I said, "Wait one minute..." and I looked at Satchel. "You know what time it is." And as any dutiful BFF would, she got up out of her comfy chair and did her ritual shuffle-tap-step. I got a few extra shuffles and taps. And smiles appeared on the many sickly faces that filled the infusion ward. "OK, we can start now." The nurse just laughed and the infusion began. There was an adrenaline rush that day, and for some reason, as the red devil filled my body, we just talked, laughed, snapped a few pictures, and went about our business. A few of the nurses who have gotten to know us over the last 18 months came by to say hello. Before we knew it, 1.5 hours later, my nurse said, "You're done. Sit tight, I'll be right back." A few minutes later, the nurses came out with a paper ribbon, a paper crown, and a Certificate of Completion of Chemotherapy that was signed with loving notes from all of the nursing staff. Satchel put on the crown, I put on the medal, and we hugged everyone and waved as we left. It was more like a paparazzi farewell than a patient leaving a chemo ward. As we left, I got a bonus shuffle-tap-step Satchel. See ya CW.
Off we went to a celebratory lunch at one of our favorite spots, and then it was time hug good-bye and part ways to greet our kids off the bus. I was all smiles, and had a sense of relief, accomplishment, and peace. One of my great friends took O for another 5-hour play date, and off I went to bed. I suddenly went from giddy and excited to tired and queasy. Before I knew it, I had a wave of fatigue and nausea that I have never had before. Ever. For the next four days, all I did was sleep, eat bagels, drink lemonade Vitamin Water, pop pills, and did I mention sleep? And there were a few tears. I have never felt this horrible, and I never ever want to feel that bad ever again. This was the first cycle where I didn't have anything to get up for. No parties. No Thanksgiving. No Christmas. My poor body was like, "Finally, girl...let me rest!" It was clear to me that it was by the grace of God that I made it through this chemo regimen without a sniffle, without missing a single holiday, play date, dinner date, school function, etc. But, it was finally time to rest. I could not talk on the phone. I could not get on the computer. I couldn't really watch TV. All I needed was a quiet house, a comfortable bed, and...did I mention bagels? Scrambled eggs and cheese on a toasted everything bagel with a plop of ketchup. Wow, am I in college? Classic hangover food!
There is no way I could have made it through that week, or the last 7 months, without my family and friends. Between meals, rides, childcare, hugs, messages, cards, emails, etc. After a solid work week of rest, I started feeling better. My body is still achy. I am not sure how I got in daily 1-2 hour workouts before. But this week, I dusted off a gift certificate I've had and got a wonderful full body massage. And, I used one of my sessions at the gym to have a one-on-one stretching/yoga session with my trainer. Slowly, I'm feeling like me. I do not have my taste buds back. Last night at dinner with my ladies I did not have the wine. The good news is the kier royale tasted delightful! Probably a good thing wine doesn't taste good, because I do not need to be drinking right now!
I have had a great week filled with lunches, coffee dates, and phone calls with my friends, and good quality time with my family. I am hoping that when I get back to work next week, I remember how to do my job! I have a final check up with my Oncologist, and then I won't have to go back to CW for six months. Hallelujah!
Last year when I finished, I was happy but was never at peace. I always felt like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Which it did. But now, after another surgery, 35 radiation sessions, and 4 more rounds of chemo, I am at peace. I feel in my heart that this cancer chapter will be closed. It will always be with me. And it has shaped who I am as a person. I have met people along the way that have changed my life, and I believe in my heart that I have changed the lives of people I have met along the way.
I believe I have earned the title of cancer survivor. That is hard to say out loud, and it is hard to believe that I had cancer, twice, and I will forever be a cancer patient. My family and friends are survivors, too. There is no doubt in my mind how much I am loved. I can't imagine how hard it must be to watch your wife, mom, daughter, daughter-in-law, sister, sister-in-law, niece, friend, co-worker go through all of this crap...not just once but twice in an eighteen month period. But in the end, we all have new perspective on life, love, friendship, motherhood. I think it helps us all put life in perspective. And, hopefully it will help us all live lives that are filled with thanks, love, and happiness. You never know what each day will bring, but every day is a gift. And every day with those you love is a Great Day. Thank you to everyone who was by my side for this journey. If you are reading this, you know who you are. I do not take any of you for granted, and feel so blessed to have you in my life.
Seven months ago, I had a fresh new scar on my right breast. Now, that scar has faded and you can barely see it. I know it's there, but I don't think about it much. Three months ago, my right breast had massive burns and blisters on it. Now, the skin has healed and it is as perfect as ever. I read about my days on the radiation table, and they seem like a distant memory...one I don't think about much anymore. But hair. Oh the hair. Coming from a hair ball, who spent most of her life with a head full of long, thick locks, this has been very difficult. Days when I have my wigs on, I feel like my old self. Days I look in the mirror bald, I think, "Wow, who on Earth is that in the mirror." But, I'm ready for it to grow back. And while I am not looking forward to the dreaded grow-out that is so indescribably icky, I'm so thankful that it will grow back (despite my recent nightmares that it didn't), and I'm thankful that hopefully the red devil that killed my hair cells have zapped any bad cell that may have been floating around. Life is way more important than hair. But, man, have I mentioned how much I miss mine?!
Right before I started chemo, I had coffee with one of my young survivor friends. She planned a trip to Paris with one of her girlfriends. That got me thinking, "I have always wanted to go to Paris." With two young kids, the dream trip of a ten-day European vacation is just a dream. But, my husband and I take weekend trips. Why not do a long weekend in Paris? When you are traveling without kids, a 7.5 hour red-eye direct flight to Paris seems like a great idea! For our 9th wedding anniversary, I was in the midst of chemo and had just cut off 14 inches of hair. For my 10th wedding anniversary, I was in the midst of radiation and we went to Disney with the kids. And now, for our 11th anniversary, we are going to Paris for a long weekend. I can't wait! The Eiffel Tower. The Arc de Triomphe. Visiting the Mona Lisa at The Lourve. A boat ride down the Siene River. Sipping coffee in a cafe. Sharing a bottle of red wine with some bread and fromage. Sounds like a good idea to me! October in Paris. Now that is something to look forward to!
Laissez Les Bon Temps Roulez...let the good times roll!
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Chemo 2.4...Done and Done
I'm done with chemo. I am all smiles on the inside but have absolutely no energy to tell you all about it. I have never been so exhausted in my life. It seems all I can do is sleep. I have no energy to watch tv, talk on the phone or even write. I have a lot to share, but for now just know that I'm done with chemo and ready to put this all behind me and live life.
To be continued when I wake up...
To be continued when I wake up...
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