This just in: I'm gonna be cool again!

August 3 - Chemogirl walks out on 'God'

I've been able to determine one thing about myself.  I hate to wait.  Actually, under most circumstances, I will not wait.  For anything or anyone I feel I shouldn't have to wait for.  Expected or necessary waiting is fine.  I had a post-op appointment with the surgeon who put in my first - and second - port.  This doctor came highly regarded for what he does in the community and presumably in surgery.  He is, as I learned after the fact, equally notorious for ignoring the clock and thereby disregarding anyone with any kind of additional obligations outside his realm.  He is never, ever on time.  Had me and the nurses and the anesthesiologist waiting a full hour at the OR for my first surgery, the second surgery, gee only 45 minutes late.  Very unapologetically.  Sean calls it a 'God' Complex.  I can only tell myself this so many times before I realize that I have been sitting in 'God''s waiting room for 3 - YES THREE - hours.  Gee, I thought, I only waited two plus hours for the last two appointments with this doctor.  My last appointment with him lasted long enough for 'God' to say, "hello - I like your wig.  Your scar looks fine.  Make sure to apply Neosporin three times a day.  Good bye."  It was now 5:15 pm and my appointment was at 2:15 pm.  After taking a bathroom break, I return to realize the nurse took a woman whose appointment was 3:00 pm before taking me.  Being that smoke spewing from my ears does not accessorize well with my lavender embroidered headwrap, I did something I have never done before.  An angry, young bald woman - who spoke openly with the others in the waiting area about her Stage 3 cancer and openly about the three young children waiting on her - is not a sight too many wish to behold.  I approached the sliding glass door where this unlucky nurse waited on the other side.

"My appointment was at 2:15, you took that other woman whose appointment was at 3.  And how do I know this?  Because she and I became the best of friends in the 2 1/2 hours we've been waiting around and she told me her appointment was at 3 - and you took her first."  The nurse looked as though she was fighting back tears.  "Now I have an hour's commute in rush hour to pick up my three year-old twins.  I don't have this kind of time."  And I walked out.  "We'll reschedule you..." she calls out to me as I turn to leave.  "Please, don't bother waiting around too long for me to call you back," stirring up some muffled chuckles from the other four fools who opted to wait.  One of them followed me out the door.  Well, I thought...I just walked out on 'God'.  I can't go back now.  I am fortunate to live in a relatively affluent area with a plethora of highly skilled doctors of many specialties within a short drive's distance who respect the time and obligations of their patients.  I deserve better.  At least I can't complain I went gray waiting.  Time for a new doctor who can help me.  There are simply some matters that are not worth my anger.  Anger is energy that could be put to better use.  Anger is probably also veiled and misdirected sadness.  I am also gently reminded from above that it's time to reconnect with the Real One sometime very very soon...

August 18 - Tummy Tucks and Tattoos?

First consult with a new surgeon.  Again, highly regarded as the first, but verified as such by three independent people, one of whom was a former patient in his large group.  Walked into an empty waiting room.  I am already in a splendid mood.  I am strangely disappointed that I was not even given the opportunity to peruse the stack of magazines to busy myself with when I am called.  They were good magazines too!  OK!, Life and Style and People.

In less than 20 minutes since my arrival to the office, the new doctor confirmed what I suspected all along.  Yes, I must have a mastectomy.  Yes, the entire left breast.  No, there are no options.  No, nothing can be spared aside for a skin-pocket where reconstruction can fill the inside space.  This is aggressive and necessary treatment.  This is the only treatment.  This, along with vigilant future diagnostics, will save your life.

I am finally forced, for the first time in several weeks, to remove myself from my practical reality day-to-day living philosophy and take a step back to review the larger picture.  I am reminded, albeit graciously and quite respectfully by this thoughtful and stoic physician, how serious my health became and still is.  I have made terrific progress during chemotherapy; with two remaining treatments my mass is probably down to half its original size.  We must remove some lymph nodes.  There are really no questions to be asked here.  This is a relief in a way because there are no decisions here for me to make.

In the stillness of this small examination room, Sean and I stuck in pensive silence staring at one another, I still struggle to manage the crashing noise inside my head of a dashed hope.  For a long moment, it is deafening.  I can think of nothing to say.  I am amazed I can hold together my emotions on the outside.  I dreamed over and over that I could quickly and efficiently evict the squatter inside me but keep the residence intact.  I saw myself walking along a stretch of Jersey shoreline in a swimsuit, confidently, and I have my long, curly, strawberry blonde locks back dancing in the ocean breeze, and then realizing this walk probably will not happen until next summer.  Wishing for something that should not - and cannot - happen is no longer a practical option.  It probably never was.  I will be forever altered.  But as I'm sitting here, I already am altered.  I sense my outlook evolving as the physician goes over the many reconstruction options available to me.  I struggle to think up some intelligent sounding questions.  Or to at least give him the impression that I'm really listening objectively.  I'm scribbling nonsensical words and phrases in a notebook because that looks like the right thing to do.  But I'm thinking:  I can be rebuilt.  I have already been rebuilt in a way.  This is one more step on the road to a new me.  I have already taken so many.  I have seemingly lived so many lives and experiences in just a few short months that for better or worse have felt like years.  Just a few more steps.  Perhaps a lot more steps.  I had myself convinced that my hair loss would be most devastating aspect of this experience.  Perhaps once again I was wrong.  No, I was absolutely wrong.  I know this now.  This is a thick heap of sick tissue - most of it healthy too -  that must go away forever and never return.  It is as simple as that, right?  Is this still really no big deal?  My very own hair's going to come back.  My body WILL be reclaimed as my own.  The day until this happens grows ever closer.  I will be better than I was before.  On the inside, and perhaps, the outside too.  Wait, I already am.

I leave this office less than one hour after my arrival with a tentative surgery date - sometime during the week of October 9.  I have the name of a respected plastic surgeon who will work with him to reconstruct the new me.  I go home and make the call to the plastic surgeon who will see me at the end of the month.  I am promised an e-mail booklet outlining all my reconstructive options and urged to read it and write down questions prior to my appointment.  As expected, an informative patient consultative booklet was delivered to me a handful of hours later.

So this new body of mine might be even better than the original.  The plastic surgeon will first remove my port and clean up what is now a 2 1/2" scar near my collarbone.  Reconstruction can include tissue transfer from behind the shoulder, the other breast, tissue from one's rear end, a combination of places including an implant, or in many cases, from excess lower abdominal tissue.  Yes, read it folks - I can get a tummy tuck in addition to my reconstruction.  Ok, let's remember friends:  Three. Year. Old. Twins....Carried them to nearly 37 weeks.   I was so large Jefferson Township nearly issued me my own zip code.  Think I have enough extra down there to fashion a fabulous new sexy orb?  You betcha!  And I thought the answer was in pilates and yoga!

I read on with increased interest.  Mastectomy and reconstruction can happen in one very long surgical procedure.  Recovery is usually 4-6 weeks.  A few months following, one can also return on an out- patient basis for a reconstruction and/or tattoo of a nipple.  Again using a small piece of tissue from somewhere else.  Now I ask you - who would have ever thought one could get not only a tummy tuck AND a tattoo picked up by insurance under the diagnosis of treatment for breast cancer?


August 19th - Chemo Number 5

I am filled with more hope for the future.  It's time to start making plans!  I can - and want to - see the light at the end of this long winding and sometimes frightening tunnel.  In the morning I'm back in the groove on the elliptical.  That zone.  Everything's working.  After some eggs, back to the hospital for more chemo.

As luck would have it, stupid port #2 still refuses to give up a blood sample.  But after a one-hour flush, at least the chemo goes in.  I let Sean beat me in two hands of canasta.  I texted a friend to tell her I want to join her for the United Way Bridge Walk in Brooklyn in early October.  The Diet Coke I sip still tastes like it should.  Rather than fight my port, Rachel my nurse just grabs a blood sample from my arm and we call it a long day.  Talked with the doctor about radiation, which would begin after surgery.  I ask about the side effects.  "I don't expect it to be a big deal for you," he says to me.  "You barely complained about your chemo, and it would only be about four to five weeks.  After that, just pills."

The end of the darkness might be here!  I can smell my success.  I still visualize myself on the beach with an enviable rack and all my kinky hair back.  But now I can also see myself cancer free.

        

                  

Tiny Victories

August 10

The girls - Team Frickinfrack - are officially 50% potty trained.  Relief for the mama, and relief, well partial, to the wallet.  Ella is now talking about getting earrings.  We went from Dora pull-ups to earrings in the span of three days......<sigh>.  Gianna will come around.  Eventually.  Very headstrong, stubborn little girl.  Who I think may be choosing to stay in pull ups simply to assert her own choice.  Hm.  I don't know anyone like that!

August 11

Back to working out.  I felt in a bit of a rut the last three weeks.  Too hot.  Too this and too that.  Too easy to feel sorry for myself.  Stupid!  Back to 45 minute power walks.  With the amazing company of me, myself and I.  Walking allows me to get away from all that's negative and embrace everything that is simple and too easily forgotten or overlooked.  The shape of the clouds.  The sunrise.  The gorgeous breeze coming off the lake.  People and animal watching....most entertaining.  Saying "good morning" to the host of regulars on the path.  I can almost smell fall.  What a great week of weather it has been!  Actually, it has been an all-around great week.

August 12

Doctor's office called following bloodwork I had on Wednesday.  I can dump one of my prescriptions as I no longer need it.  See, when you have cancer and you have to remind yourself of this because physically you feel perfectly normal, and you HATE having to be dependent on medications, this is not a tiny victory but a huge one!

Then, the genetic counselor called....my genetic mutation testing came back negative.  I am on a streak!!!  Keep it coming.....