When normality settles around you it's very much like fog. You have trouble seeing at a distance,and your senses are muffled to what is immediately outside of your sight. It makes the reality of the world less real, you are fooled for a short time. Blinded sailors find themselves impaled on rocks, pilots descend when they should pull up.
Normality is not my friend. It fools me into thinking that I'm OK and have nothing to worry about. The fog clears and I have to readjust to my reality and it's such a harsh blow. I go from normal to devastated and back to normal again.
My new friend sent me a journal entry about a mammogram that she had. Happily it was normal but, while she waited for her results she had a glimpse into what might be. She looked deeply into the unity she shared with her breasts. Their role in nurturing, alluring, and loving; the feelings that they absorbed and evoked. This was a nakedly honest moment and I am glad she wrote it down and shared it with me. Her writing moved me to tears.
My new normal will be breasts without sensation, they will never be alive with feeling and there is so much feeling in a woman's breasts. We rarely think about it but, when the fog lifts I do.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Friday, April 8, 2011
Day 14 Ambien To The Rescue
Today I got my Ambien. I had to pull the cancer card on the call nurse, lucky for me cancer trumps office procedure and they called in my prescription. This will probably be the last time cancer saves me time and money and I am relishing it.
This will potentially be an entire night without crying, nightmares that wake me, wakemares that make night endless. No thoughts of being maimed, infected, thrombosed or dead. Just sleep. Ambien, you are my hero.
Let it begin.
This will potentially be an entire night without crying, nightmares that wake me, wakemares that make night endless. No thoughts of being maimed, infected, thrombosed or dead. Just sleep. Ambien, you are my hero.
Let it begin.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Day 13 So Says The Surgeon - part I
Invasive lobular carcinoma
Nottingham grade: 2
Lymphatic vascular invasion: Absent
LCIS component: Present, moderate
ER: 92
PR: 95
Her2/neu: 1+
There's good news in there. See the ER and PR? Those are the measurements for Estrogen and Progesterone receptivity and they are very high. High enough that this surgeon thinks I may dodge the chemotherapy bullet and instead go the Tamoxophin all the way...that's if the margins are clean and the sentinal node biopsy is clear.
More I think than the mastectomy (which I dread), I am fearful of the lingering sickness of chemo and the stress that would place on everyone INCLUDING me. I do not enjoy being sick. Lest you think that's an overly obvious statement, let me say I know people who relish being sick. Being cared for and maybe pitied satisfies many of their needs. I am the opposite and probably equally twisted.
I have a pathological need to be independent. My husband loves doing things for me, but I have to will myself to let him. Being dependent, even on my most trusted partner, feels dangerous to me. I would do almost anything not to be sick. My recovery is going to require me to change big time.
The surgeon told me that I had to option to do a single mastectomy and that he recommends this. I see this as a typical Male response. The fact is, this type of carcinoma is known to reappear in the opposite breast in later years. Not a 100% chance by any means, but you have to keep a close watch on it. Who out there would willingly go this route again and, in the meantime, have to look at their remaining breast as a potential assassin? That's bullshit if you will forgive my barn talk. Plus, having two breasts that are different densities might unbalance me in the saddle, not to mention that one would age and the other would stay the same. Take them now, rebuild me, let me proceed balanced and perky.
I will have my second opinion Monday in Birmingham. This time with a female breast surgeon...let's see what SHE says.
Nottingham grade: 2
Lymphatic vascular invasion: Absent
LCIS component: Present, moderate
ER: 92
PR: 95
Her2/neu: 1+
There's good news in there. See the ER and PR? Those are the measurements for Estrogen and Progesterone receptivity and they are very high. High enough that this surgeon thinks I may dodge the chemotherapy bullet and instead go the Tamoxophin all the way...that's if the margins are clean and the sentinal node biopsy is clear.
More I think than the mastectomy (which I dread), I am fearful of the lingering sickness of chemo and the stress that would place on everyone INCLUDING me. I do not enjoy being sick. Lest you think that's an overly obvious statement, let me say I know people who relish being sick. Being cared for and maybe pitied satisfies many of their needs. I am the opposite and probably equally twisted.
I have a pathological need to be independent. My husband loves doing things for me, but I have to will myself to let him. Being dependent, even on my most trusted partner, feels dangerous to me. I would do almost anything not to be sick. My recovery is going to require me to change big time.
The surgeon told me that I had to option to do a single mastectomy and that he recommends this. I see this as a typical Male response. The fact is, this type of carcinoma is known to reappear in the opposite breast in later years. Not a 100% chance by any means, but you have to keep a close watch on it. Who out there would willingly go this route again and, in the meantime, have to look at their remaining breast as a potential assassin? That's bullshit if you will forgive my barn talk. Plus, having two breasts that are different densities might unbalance me in the saddle, not to mention that one would age and the other would stay the same. Take them now, rebuild me, let me proceed balanced and perky.
I will have my second opinion Monday in Birmingham. This time with a female breast surgeon...let's see what SHE says.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Day 12
The storm is rolling in. If you watch the local weather it should be apocalyptic, they are running the Fear Of God Doppler weather radar nonstop and the warning boxes keep popping up. Every two minutes the television emits a beeping, warning us that the end is near. I can hear it in the distance and it is thundering nonstop. It was 87 degrees today with 35 mph wind gusts, ominous. Tornado weather.
This is a normal Spring and early Summer event here in the Deep South. We have had a relatively easy severe weather season, so we are due for a blow. I hope it won't be bad.
We began our Spring Session at our facility today and I got to meet our new crop of students. Some new to the facility and some new to me, some known and long beloved. They are precious. I am so glad to be back at work. This is the best place for me. In spite of the fact that I haven't slept in 12 days (an hour here and there doesn't count) I felt an energy imbue me and a bright bubble surround me. I hugged my hero horse. From now on he will be referred to as Dallas The Diagnosticator. I mounted and rode for the first time since my diagnosis. Just a walk around the arena, but that wasn't the point. That ride put me back in the saddle again, so to speak.
Tomorrow I have my first consultation with a breast surgeon. We will discuss my prognosticators, and my procedure options, we will hash out recovery scenarios. After I will run to work, hopefully in time to cover my first class of the day. Post work I will meet one of my girlfriends for a martini and a salad, and hopefully some laughs. I guess it depends on what the Doctor says.
The storm is racing in now, just a short distance away and I am counting the seconds between the lightning and the thunder.
This is a normal Spring and early Summer event here in the Deep South. We have had a relatively easy severe weather season, so we are due for a blow. I hope it won't be bad.
We began our Spring Session at our facility today and I got to meet our new crop of students. Some new to the facility and some new to me, some known and long beloved. They are precious. I am so glad to be back at work. This is the best place for me. In spite of the fact that I haven't slept in 12 days (an hour here and there doesn't count) I felt an energy imbue me and a bright bubble surround me. I hugged my hero horse. From now on he will be referred to as Dallas The Diagnosticator. I mounted and rode for the first time since my diagnosis. Just a walk around the arena, but that wasn't the point. That ride put me back in the saddle again, so to speak.
Tomorrow I have my first consultation with a breast surgeon. We will discuss my prognosticators, and my procedure options, we will hash out recovery scenarios. After I will run to work, hopefully in time to cover my first class of the day. Post work I will meet one of my girlfriends for a martini and a salad, and hopefully some laughs. I guess it depends on what the Doctor says.
The storm is racing in now, just a short distance away and I am counting the seconds between the lightning and the thunder.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Day 11 Three Pink Watches and a Scarf
Last Summer I had the most overwhelming pleasure of hosting my dear friend's son for a month. They live in Yorkshire and are "horsey" folk, his intention was to work at our therapeutic riding facility while beefing up his university resume by doing so overseas. We had the best time firing off fireworks on the 4th of July, going to Hooters so that he could charm the servers with his British accent, sitting around and playing video games with all of the neighborhood boys, training horses and laughing. Mostly laughing. I think I lost two inches from my waist from all of the hooting and cackling that we did together. When he left, I cried. I didn't say goodbye to him, I just made him promise to come back.
The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, his whole family is really great. Fun, free spirited and all around good folks, I adore them all. We keep in touch through Facebook. Like me, they are practical for the most part, and pragmatic always. They are not pink people at all. But I just found out that everyone in the family (except their father, who is stationed in the Middle East) went out on a special shopping trip to purchase pink watches, which they intend to wear in my honor until I am well again. I cried when I got their message and I know every moment my watch ticks with theirs. An immense comfort.
A week ago someone I barely knew wrote me the most wonderful, supportive, heartfelt notes. It was one of those letters that take awhile to answer, mostly because they render you speechless. The spirit of that amazing person reaches out to embrace you and you are supported at your weakest. The note would have been enough, honestly, to install her in my heart forever, but today she surprised me with the gift of a very fashionable portable file (to carry my records back and forth.) It was stuffed with M&M's and gum and a pink pen on a lanyard. She also gave me her favorite basket and in it was her favorite book, nestled in her favorite scarf, surrounded by her favorite chocolates. All to keep next to my recliner during those weeks that I recover...I had no words to thank her. I think I just cried.
My wonderful Mother-In-Law has offered to let us stay with them for two weeks after the surgery. She will do the cooking and will care for and love on my kids, maybe get them through their finals. She even offered to hire a nurse so that my husband can get some sleep. I haven't answered her email yet. I sit down, but then can't find the words to properly thank her. I give up, I just can't face that generosity without losing it.
ALL of the support I have experienced has been astounding and overwhelming. My heart has to expand to allow it all in. I am filled with love and fear in equal amounts. They don't war with each other. They coexist side by side, both taking up more and more space. They are like tissue expanders for my soul. They are remodeling me.
This is the gift of Cancer.
The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, his whole family is really great. Fun, free spirited and all around good folks, I adore them all. We keep in touch through Facebook. Like me, they are practical for the most part, and pragmatic always. They are not pink people at all. But I just found out that everyone in the family (except their father, who is stationed in the Middle East) went out on a special shopping trip to purchase pink watches, which they intend to wear in my honor until I am well again. I cried when I got their message and I know every moment my watch ticks with theirs. An immense comfort.
A week ago someone I barely knew wrote me the most wonderful, supportive, heartfelt notes. It was one of those letters that take awhile to answer, mostly because they render you speechless. The spirit of that amazing person reaches out to embrace you and you are supported at your weakest. The note would have been enough, honestly, to install her in my heart forever, but today she surprised me with the gift of a very fashionable portable file (to carry my records back and forth.) It was stuffed with M&M's and gum and a pink pen on a lanyard. She also gave me her favorite basket and in it was her favorite book, nestled in her favorite scarf, surrounded by her favorite chocolates. All to keep next to my recliner during those weeks that I recover...I had no words to thank her. I think I just cried.
My wonderful Mother-In-Law has offered to let us stay with them for two weeks after the surgery. She will do the cooking and will care for and love on my kids, maybe get them through their finals. She even offered to hire a nurse so that my husband can get some sleep. I haven't answered her email yet. I sit down, but then can't find the words to properly thank her. I give up, I just can't face that generosity without losing it.
ALL of the support I have experienced has been astounding and overwhelming. My heart has to expand to allow it all in. I am filled with love and fear in equal amounts. They don't war with each other. They coexist side by side, both taking up more and more space. They are like tissue expanders for my soul. They are remodeling me.
This is the gift of Cancer.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Day 10 Birthdays
Birthday, birthday, birthday, birthday...That's what the MRI said. The odd arrangements of clanks and bangs, mixed with the buzzing and grinding spoke to me. A distinct male voice, just a little mechanical repeating birthday, birthday, birthday.
The tube was so much tighter than I thought it would have been. I felt some contact on my left hip and it made me want to move over. Of course that was out of the question, all I could do was try to relax and bear the contact. It resembled an over close seat mate, I wanted to get up and find a seat of my own. A seat with more room. The technician told me I could breathe, but to try not to move my chest wall, so my breaths were shallow. My naked breasts were hanging from my chest and pressed tight in their own little imaging cylinders. I had earplugs, but it was still very loud.
I am not, by nature, claustrophobic but I kept feeling this almost uncontrollable urge to move, like a surge of panic impelling me to flee or be eaten. In the breaks between mechanical sounds, when I thought they were moving the imager, I would take a deep breath, to sink into a deeper state of relaxation and let the man in the MRI machine speak to me. Dot, dot, dot, birthday, birthday, birthday.
Earlier, as I entered the imaging room, the technician put in my IV, when she was done her partner inserted a needle into the port and started injecting fluid, I asked what it was and he looked at me with a smirk and said "saline." Like it was an impertinent question. This is my new normal. I breathe and try to relax.
Birthday, birthday, birthday. I will celebrate every birthday after this with a party. Gifts aren't necessary, the only gift I need is another birthday. After this, that will be my new normal.
The tube was so much tighter than I thought it would have been. I felt some contact on my left hip and it made me want to move over. Of course that was out of the question, all I could do was try to relax and bear the contact. It resembled an over close seat mate, I wanted to get up and find a seat of my own. A seat with more room. The technician told me I could breathe, but to try not to move my chest wall, so my breaths were shallow. My naked breasts were hanging from my chest and pressed tight in their own little imaging cylinders. I had earplugs, but it was still very loud.
I am not, by nature, claustrophobic but I kept feeling this almost uncontrollable urge to move, like a surge of panic impelling me to flee or be eaten. In the breaks between mechanical sounds, when I thought they were moving the imager, I would take a deep breath, to sink into a deeper state of relaxation and let the man in the MRI machine speak to me. Dot, dot, dot, birthday, birthday, birthday.
Earlier, as I entered the imaging room, the technician put in my IV, when she was done her partner inserted a needle into the port and started injecting fluid, I asked what it was and he looked at me with a smirk and said "saline." Like it was an impertinent question. This is my new normal. I breathe and try to relax.
Birthday, birthday, birthday. I will celebrate every birthday after this with a party. Gifts aren't necessary, the only gift I need is another birthday. After this, that will be my new normal.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Day Nine Benedryl Blessings
I can't sleep at night. I can't nap either. It's been 9 days and I have run out of gas. My mind runs on and on and I can't stop it.
Before my shower I took two Benedryl and I hope that will do the job for me and for my husband. When I don't sleep neither does he. We both look just a little older than we did a week ago. My mind is not clear but my heart is full. I have been surrounded by support and love, so much that I can feel it. My husband cares for and adores me. I am being held up.
My stunt sons came by this evening, excited to tell me that their mother gave them permission to shave their heads in solidarity when I have chemo. They are so thrilled to go bald. I tell them that some people take chemotherapy and keep their hair. They are shaving their heads anyway. It makes me giggle.
I have received emails and Facebook posts that I want to print out and tie up with a ribbon like love letters. When I am through with this I want to look back and remember the goodness of humanity.
Why is it that, late at night, even these blessings can't help me sleep?
Before my shower I took two Benedryl and I hope that will do the job for me and for my husband. When I don't sleep neither does he. We both look just a little older than we did a week ago. My mind is not clear but my heart is full. I have been surrounded by support and love, so much that I can feel it. My husband cares for and adores me. I am being held up.
My stunt sons came by this evening, excited to tell me that their mother gave them permission to shave their heads in solidarity when I have chemo. They are so thrilled to go bald. I tell them that some people take chemotherapy and keep their hair. They are shaving their heads anyway. It makes me giggle.
I have received emails and Facebook posts that I want to print out and tie up with a ribbon like love letters. When I am through with this I want to look back and remember the goodness of humanity.
Why is it that, late at night, even these blessings can't help me sleep?
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