I have been handing off my classes for the past week. Bringing in a new teacher, introducing them to my students and showing the instructor what we are up to in class. Next week I will walk out the door, leaving them in someone elses hands. My progress notes are up to date so they can be referred to in my absence. Our first annual fundraising trail ride is on track, volunteers and raffle items are in place. There are 3.5 weeks left in the session after I leave, mission accomplished.
This weekend I will try to tie up the loose ends at home. We will install a dog door, a small one so my 15 week old Miniature Blue Heeler Fanny can come in and out but the larger dogs remain outside except when intentionally admitted. This will cut down on the mess and the chaos. My large German Shepherd/Irish Wolfhound X is scheduled to be shaved on Monday to assure his comfort in the heat. Fanny's new Invisible Fence receiver is in the mail and should arrive any day...she's going to hate this, but it will keep her from herding the increasingly angry walkers in the neighborhood. Puppy or no, she knows her job and those walkers will keep moving.
Post surgical camisole are ordered and will be delivered to our office on the day of my surgery. Just in time for me to return. My post surgical wardrobe is determined: camisole, drawstring pajama bottoms with pockets (for my cellphone), one of my husband's button front shirts (sized XXL, I'm hoping the look is endearingly adorable, not ridiculous.)
Bought a camera that my husband can use to record this journey. I can count the number of photographs he has taken of me, or taken period on one hand. If I was hit by a truck tomorrow there would be almost no photographic evidence of my existance. What makes me think he will do this? If he does then that's incontravertable evidence that Cancer changes everything.
The first week of my recovery will be at my wonderful, generous In-Law's home. This will allow my husband to work during the day and possibly sleep at night. I am unsure about this since I will be on less than my best behavior during my recovery. Adjectives such as: crusty, anxious, and downright mean would be appropriate to describe me NOW...what am I going to be like post surgery?
There is hushed talk of hiring a day nurse for the first week, hushed because I don't think I will need it, and the idea that I will makes me angry. My husband does not want to confront me on this, he's doing it "behind my back." I am letting him because there is no arguing with him on this point, he won't discuss it and is treating me like a child who doesn't know what she needs. I have resolved that he and my in laws are doing it out of love for me and I am trying not to fight against it. I hope she has a sense of humor or, if it's a man, he's ruggedly good looking.
I have enrolled my mare in another month of training, and my dear friend has also agreed to keep my puppy for the first week of my recovery. This might be the end of our friendship since this hardheaded dog will completely dominate her household and is imperfectly housetrained.
My sister in law is managing the meal delivery through an amazing website that organizes that sort of thing. I can't imagine this being less than overwhelming and I am so grateful to her for her generosity and grace as well as the gift of those lining up with their loving meals.
I have a stack of notes and charitable gifts that I have to acknowledge, plus the meals already being promised. My personalized notecards should be delivered next week. I hope 50 is enough, it was all I could afford at that moment. Maybe I should have ordered 100 just to be safe. Why was it important for them to be personalized?
Food in the fridge is dwindling, I am on track to clean it out on Tuesday. Joy.
No Kindle yet...carpets need cleaning but I think it will be OK. I am so ready for this to be over and be looking at this from the other side where I can regain some perspective so small things don't look large and normal things don't look huge and my "to-do" list doesn't seem so important.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Day 27 Pitching
May 5th. That's the morning of my surgery. I found out two days ago, but haven't been able to write about it. Today I received the presurgical packet from the reconstructive surgeon and it was full disclosure heavy, very intimidating stuff. I have to sign every page, there are 7 of them and each one basically says "this might not work or worse." I am still waiting on the breast surgeon's package, that should be a kick.
I told the girls at work about my date and we started hammering down teachers to cover my classes. Already they are coming in to shadow me, each one is a relentless reminder that my presurgical days are ticking away and the searing pain of having my breasts cut away is hurtling at me like a fastball pitch.
This is such an edgy time for me, I am snappy and dangerous to be around. Yesterday I missed a baseball game with my family. Though I am not a big baseball fan, hot dogs and beer in the moist, simmering southern evening is such a treat. We are lucky enough to have a local farm team for the Devilrays and games are big fun. Through our friends, my son was awarded the last minute honor of throwing out the first pitch and because of work I was going to miss it. I pitched a fit and refused to go to the game at all. I stayed at home and ate scrambled eggs while everyone else partied their socks off. Childish.
My anxiety is also making it difficult to ride. Today I got a lesson on my wonderful green mare who is under training with my friend. We trotted, she rushed, I tightened and wasn't easy on her mouth, my hip angle kept closing, I sat too hard, my weight wasn't balanced, when I asked for the stop I clenched with my legs and butt. All wrong, I just couldn't get through the anxiety, the ever present feeling that I am going to die kept surfacing. Realistically, I know I am saving my life, not dying but fear is irrational and so am I right now.
I told the girls at work about my date and we started hammering down teachers to cover my classes. Already they are coming in to shadow me, each one is a relentless reminder that my presurgical days are ticking away and the searing pain of having my breasts cut away is hurtling at me like a fastball pitch.
This is such an edgy time for me, I am snappy and dangerous to be around. Yesterday I missed a baseball game with my family. Though I am not a big baseball fan, hot dogs and beer in the moist, simmering southern evening is such a treat. We are lucky enough to have a local farm team for the Devilrays and games are big fun. Through our friends, my son was awarded the last minute honor of throwing out the first pitch and because of work I was going to miss it. I pitched a fit and refused to go to the game at all. I stayed at home and ate scrambled eggs while everyone else partied their socks off. Childish.
My anxiety is also making it difficult to ride. Today I got a lesson on my wonderful green mare who is under training with my friend. We trotted, she rushed, I tightened and wasn't easy on her mouth, my hip angle kept closing, I sat too hard, my weight wasn't balanced, when I asked for the stop I clenched with my legs and butt. All wrong, I just couldn't get through the anxiety, the ever present feeling that I am going to die kept surfacing. Realistically, I know I am saving my life, not dying but fear is irrational and so am I right now.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Day 25 Artists, Surgeons and Strangers
Saturday I went to the wedding of someone I did not know. Of course they knew my husband, but since it was through work I was not aquainted. A second joining, their wedding party was exclusively the children and stepchildren. Everyone lit a unity candle and it was lovely, very symbolic. If the best intentions make for a good outcome they should be OK.
I hate these things and I love these things; the idealized lovestory part of them makes me feel a little lacking. I never had a big wedding with a poufy dress and veil, instead I opted for the small intimate wedding with few guests and a great deal of personal meaning. This was my choice entirely. Still, when I see the vision of perfection marching down the aisle to her properly dumbstruck-with-wonder groom I feel I might have missed something. This one of the hazards of the road less travelled. When faced with a fork in life the one with the most overgrowth and fewest footsteps is usually the one I choose.
Often people I know make me more nervous than people I don't know. I like having the latitude to speak to people who have few preconceived notions about me and about whom I know nothing. It's great fun to get to know a stranger for just a little while at a wedding, or a bar, or any kind of affair. I like the whole confessor scene that plays out: they don't know you, you don't know them and together you exchange all sorts of secrets and information that you might never exchange with someone you actually knew. Mostly you walk away and never see that person again, passionate intercourse with no ties...naughty.
I met a gifted musician, a pianist who has backed up Elton John and others. He was fascinating and very OCD. We spoke about art, music and books. He is also a Physician's Assistant in surgery, ironically he specializes in the type of surgeries I am about to have. Without prompting he recommended the reconstructive surgeon I had chosen just that morning to do my new boobies. He says this surgeon is one of the best in the country and he would choose no other. I am having these full circle moments more and more often now, they delight and terrify me.
Before he returned to the piano which he played as a favor to his newly married friends, he asked for my favorite Elton John song so that he could play it for me. I hesitated to tell him it is Levon, from Madman Across the Water. We agreed that it is a wonderful, dark, complicated song and NOT wedding material. He returned to his set, sang Your Song. He sang it for me:
I hate these things and I love these things; the idealized lovestory part of them makes me feel a little lacking. I never had a big wedding with a poufy dress and veil, instead I opted for the small intimate wedding with few guests and a great deal of personal meaning. This was my choice entirely. Still, when I see the vision of perfection marching down the aisle to her properly dumbstruck-with-wonder groom I feel I might have missed something. This one of the hazards of the road less travelled. When faced with a fork in life the one with the most overgrowth and fewest footsteps is usually the one I choose.
Often people I know make me more nervous than people I don't know. I like having the latitude to speak to people who have few preconceived notions about me and about whom I know nothing. It's great fun to get to know a stranger for just a little while at a wedding, or a bar, or any kind of affair. I like the whole confessor scene that plays out: they don't know you, you don't know them and together you exchange all sorts of secrets and information that you might never exchange with someone you actually knew. Mostly you walk away and never see that person again, passionate intercourse with no ties...naughty.
I met a gifted musician, a pianist who has backed up Elton John and others. He was fascinating and very OCD. We spoke about art, music and books. He is also a Physician's Assistant in surgery, ironically he specializes in the type of surgeries I am about to have. Without prompting he recommended the reconstructive surgeon I had chosen just that morning to do my new boobies. He says this surgeon is one of the best in the country and he would choose no other. I am having these full circle moments more and more often now, they delight and terrify me.
Before he returned to the piano which he played as a favor to his newly married friends, he asked for my favorite Elton John song so that he could play it for me. I hesitated to tell him it is Levon, from Madman Across the Water. We agreed that it is a wonderful, dark, complicated song and NOT wedding material. He returned to his set, sang Your Song. He sang it for me:
If I was a sculptor, but then again, no
Or a man who makes potions in a travelling show
I know it's not much but it's the best I can do
My gift is my song and this one's for you
Or a man who makes potions in a travelling show
I know it's not much but it's the best I can do
My gift is my song and this one's for you
And you can tell everybody this is your song
It may be quite simple but now that it's done
I hope you don't mind
I hope you don't mind that I put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world
It may be quite simple but now that it's done
I hope you don't mind
I hope you don't mind that I put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Day 20 Through the Looking Glass
I am drinking 3 whey casein protein shakes a day, have quit drinking alcohol, and am eating fruit, vegetables and lean protein meals. That's when I am hungry enough to eat a meal as the shakes are very filling. The theory is that I am giving my body what it needs to build strong healthy cells, epithelial, and muscle tissues. This will enable me to heal well and fight infection effectively. It takes a concerted effort to make a protein shake that I can stomach and then proceed to stomach said shake. It is taking up alot of time and effort and I hate those shakes, they are not nearly as comforting as a glass of red wine and a steak. Sigh.
My days of eating what I wish are over. Now I eat to live and nourish a healthy body and immune system. I do not eat what cancer craves.
I also own two brand new recliners. Given my new healthy eating plan I find this silly and it illustrates my wacky new life.
I shop online for camisoles with concealed pockets for drains and fake booby pillows to simulate a normal shape. They are so expensive I have to file insurance to afford them. So much for my miserly TJ Maxx pricing standards.
My husband did the ironing today. Nothing makes sense anymore.
My days of eating what I wish are over. Now I eat to live and nourish a healthy body and immune system. I do not eat what cancer craves.
I also own two brand new recliners. Given my new healthy eating plan I find this silly and it illustrates my wacky new life.
I shop online for camisoles with concealed pockets for drains and fake booby pillows to simulate a normal shape. They are so expensive I have to file insurance to afford them. So much for my miserly TJ Maxx pricing standards.
My husband did the ironing today. Nothing makes sense anymore.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Day 18 Justice
When the surgeon asked me: "Why do you want the Diep Flap procedure?" I said "Justice." This was my idea of a give and take negotiation with my cancer, a deal with my devil so to speak. You take my breasts and I can take all of this unwelcome fat around my middle and move it up. Justice.
It took a lot for me to surrender to the tissue expanders. My surgeon had to go into all of the stuff that I knew but had depressed. Tissue death being the major here, followed by radiation damage. She told me she crys when the Tram and Diep Flap patients have to undergo the radiation which shrinks the breast. A donor tissue breast cannot be rebuilt, ever. Implants can be redone if needed. Lots of stuff can kill your donor tissue, the procedure is very long, anethesia is high risk. Recovery takes months, not weeks.
Heavy sigh. I was looking at this like my silver lining and I am shocked by how disappointed I am. I hate my tummy and it is never going away. I love my breasts and they are. I cry half way home while my husband holds my wet, snotty hand.
Sometimes that is what you need to turn yourself around, a rollicking pity party with just you and your dearest friend. After I was finished being weepy I looked at what I did have: Healthy children, a loving husband, a job I love (not to mention a job in this economy,) my husband has a steady job, we have two cars in good repair, my fridge is full of food, my in-laws are always right there if I need help, I am surrounded with people and animals who love me, I have a roof over my head, my insurance is good AND I bought cancer insurance several years back. I will continue to have all of that along with pretty implants and a tummy, I will be zaftig. That's Yiddish for round, curvy, or literally "juicy." And, because of Cancer I will from now on, know that I have more than enough.
Justice.
It took a lot for me to surrender to the tissue expanders. My surgeon had to go into all of the stuff that I knew but had depressed. Tissue death being the major here, followed by radiation damage. She told me she crys when the Tram and Diep Flap patients have to undergo the radiation which shrinks the breast. A donor tissue breast cannot be rebuilt, ever. Implants can be redone if needed. Lots of stuff can kill your donor tissue, the procedure is very long, anethesia is high risk. Recovery takes months, not weeks.
Heavy sigh. I was looking at this like my silver lining and I am shocked by how disappointed I am. I hate my tummy and it is never going away. I love my breasts and they are. I cry half way home while my husband holds my wet, snotty hand.
Sometimes that is what you need to turn yourself around, a rollicking pity party with just you and your dearest friend. After I was finished being weepy I looked at what I did have: Healthy children, a loving husband, a job I love (not to mention a job in this economy,) my husband has a steady job, we have two cars in good repair, my fridge is full of food, my in-laws are always right there if I need help, I am surrounded with people and animals who love me, I have a roof over my head, my insurance is good AND I bought cancer insurance several years back. I will continue to have all of that along with pretty implants and a tummy, I will be zaftig. That's Yiddish for round, curvy, or literally "juicy." And, because of Cancer I will from now on, know that I have more than enough.
Justice.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Day 17 So Says The Surgeon Part II
Woke at 5:30 a.m. in preparation to see the surgeon in Birmingham. This one was recommended by one of our relatives who happens to be a reconstructive surgeon. He operates with her and says that She is the one He would send his wife to if she was ever in my position.
She was younger than I by about 9 years, but I guess that stuff happens when you get older. She was very straightforward and to the point. She recommends the double mastectomy, no tram flap or diep flap. The sequelae is too risky and the tissue would be destroyed if I happened to need radiation, which is a distinct possibility. She sees tissue expanders and implants following to be the most expedient and least risky reconstruction option. After her lengthy and patient explanation I am seeing the light on this issue.
Let's face it, she's a woman and I have to assume she has placed herself in this position at least as many times as she has had patients. She has seen the results of all her treatment options from a female perspective. I appreciate that. I also appreciate her bedside, or table side, manner and intelligence. We did not discuss as much as debate and she was on her game the whole time. I forgot to ask about her preferred pain management protocols, but I will fire her an email later.
She will give me until the beginning of May to have my surgery. A blessing since I have so much to do at work and at home. I don't know if I can do it all before the surgical date.
Ambien has been great. Only the last two nights I have woken at 2:00 and not been able to get back to sleep. Of course I have been taking only 1/2 a tablet. Tonight I will take a whole dose. NEVER considered that I would take sleep medication, not in my life. How things change.
She was younger than I by about 9 years, but I guess that stuff happens when you get older. She was very straightforward and to the point. She recommends the double mastectomy, no tram flap or diep flap. The sequelae is too risky and the tissue would be destroyed if I happened to need radiation, which is a distinct possibility. She sees tissue expanders and implants following to be the most expedient and least risky reconstruction option. After her lengthy and patient explanation I am seeing the light on this issue.
Let's face it, she's a woman and I have to assume she has placed herself in this position at least as many times as she has had patients. She has seen the results of all her treatment options from a female perspective. I appreciate that. I also appreciate her bedside, or table side, manner and intelligence. We did not discuss as much as debate and she was on her game the whole time. I forgot to ask about her preferred pain management protocols, but I will fire her an email later.
She will give me until the beginning of May to have my surgery. A blessing since I have so much to do at work and at home. I don't know if I can do it all before the surgical date.
Ambien has been great. Only the last two nights I have woken at 2:00 and not been able to get back to sleep. Of course I have been taking only 1/2 a tablet. Tonight I will take a whole dose. NEVER considered that I would take sleep medication, not in my life. How things change.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Day 15 The Fog
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)