My last week or so has been filled with test after test, allowing the docs to establish a baseline before they start to wreck me with poison and radiation. I've had CT scans, been drawn on with sharpies, tattooed for radiation, had my first bone scan, blood has been drawn and tomorrow I have a muga (heart) scan. All to be sure that what is going to cure me isn't going to kill me. My life-long hatred of needles has been tested, and yes, I still hate them.
The importance of fitting in things that make me happy has never been more important. I'm still recovering from surgery, and in a fair amount of pain much of the time, but some things don't need a whole lot of energy or freedom from pain to do. Case in point: the tanning bed. I love the tanning bed. I haven't visited one in years, but it was one of the first things I signed up for when the big diagnosis came down. Tanning beds make me happy. Being tan makes me happy. God bless my radiation oncologist who gave me the thumbs up as long as I cover the ta-tas. THAT, I can do.
And here is another thing that makes me happy: Waterloo
I love the movie "Muriel's Wedding." And I do love Abba. Perfect to hum while you're being injected with something radioactive, as I was this morning. Perfect for the tanning booth, or the commute.
It's important for all of us to know what makes us happy. Needles don't, but tanning and Abba both do. Life is good.
Showing posts with label breast cancer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label breast cancer. Show all posts
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Thursday, April 19, 2007
42!
The biggest surprise of today's multi-doc appointment: I actually had 42 lymph nodes removed!!! Only 1 had cancer in it, though. Apparently my body is an over-achiever in the lymph node department, as the average number of pit nodes hovers around 25. I've got more. Or I did. None now, which helps me understand the rather slow recovery and the weird tingly feelings I have in my upper arm. And maybe, someday, my armpit will have feelings again. TMI? I just wish my body would choose to over-achieve in something slightly more attractive, like six-pack abs, or an amazing singing voice...
It's no surprise that I will be having chemo, radiation and hormone therapy. I am signing up to be part of a clinical study that might change my treatment somewhat, and put a short, intense course of radiation before chemo, but I won't know that for a few weeks. My next focus will be doc appointments getting me ready for the study: xrays, ct scans, blood draws, etc. Nothing big, but all headed me down the road to the goal: No More Cancer, Ever.
Oh, and the tumor margins were good, but this stuff acts in bizarre ways, and can send off little arms here and there; hence the reason for the chemo. If cancer IS anywhere else in my body it's gonna get nuked. I'm calling in the big guns and declaring war. The 42 lymph nodes are just the first casualties.
It's no surprise that I will be having chemo, radiation and hormone therapy. I am signing up to be part of a clinical study that might change my treatment somewhat, and put a short, intense course of radiation before chemo, but I won't know that for a few weeks. My next focus will be doc appointments getting me ready for the study: xrays, ct scans, blood draws, etc. Nothing big, but all headed me down the road to the goal: No More Cancer, Ever.
Oh, and the tumor margins were good, but this stuff acts in bizarre ways, and can send off little arms here and there; hence the reason for the chemo. If cancer IS anywhere else in my body it's gonna get nuked. I'm calling in the big guns and declaring war. The 42 lymph nodes are just the first casualties.
Monday, April 16, 2007
A Farewell Poem to My JP Drain
Oh little drain
so foreign
yet sewn into me
so you become me
and I feel like Frankenstein.
Tomorrow I say goodbye to you
and I will not be sad
because you hurt.
Your yard of rubber tubing
and flattened bulb
are a miracle of fluid collecting wonderment.
But I will take my miracles in other forms.
so foreign
yet sewn into me
so you become me
and I feel like Frankenstein.
Tomorrow I say goodbye to you
and I will not be sad
because you hurt.
Your yard of rubber tubing
and flattened bulb
are a miracle of fluid collecting wonderment.
But I will take my miracles in other forms.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Surgery Nitty Gritty
I had a long surgery yesterday, followed by a night's stay in the hospital. Cancer was found in one lymph node which was removed, as was the lump. I have a drain at the back of my armpit. It feels about as good as you might imagine. It will remain there for probably 10 days. Or more.
Final pathology won't come back until next week, so until then there is no further information on tumor margins or anything else. I will post it when I know it.
My mom is staying with me so I am well taken care of.
This does mean that I will have chemo for sure. But I am not thinking about it right now. Right now I am just concentrating on recovering from this surgery.
When I am feeling a little more like myself I will write up a rant about the horrors of hospitals and incompetent nurses... Let's just say I'm glad to be home!
Final pathology won't come back until next week, so until then there is no further information on tumor margins or anything else. I will post it when I know it.
My mom is staying with me so I am well taken care of.
This does mean that I will have chemo for sure. But I am not thinking about it right now. Right now I am just concentrating on recovering from this surgery.
When I am feeling a little more like myself I will write up a rant about the horrors of hospitals and incompetent nurses... Let's just say I'm glad to be home!
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Break Down
Baby breakdown
Go ahead and give it to me
Breakdown honey take me through the night
Breakdown now I'm standin' here can't you see
Breakdown it's all right
It's all right
-Tom Petty
It was only a matter of time I suppose. Today the tears started. Racking, dramatic, heaving tears while I told God over and over and over again that I'm not brave enough for this. I don't have a high enough pain threshold to get through this. I'm not the right person - it was supposed to be somebody else. I have a LIFE to lead. Kids. Friends. Job. Stuff. No time for cancer! No interest in cancer! Lots of places I'd like to go, things I'd like to see and experience, but not this!
The phone has been ringing off the hook and I'm too distraught to talk. I let the well-meaning messages pile up on the answering machine. I hope everyone will understand. I just can't keep talking about it. Especially when I'm feeling so emotional and afraid and the very thought of putting on a brave face makes me want to crawl into bed and not come out. Ever. If I have to hear one more story about somebody's friend or aunt or cousin who had breast cancer and was fine I'm going to scream. Because quite frankly, right now I don't feel fine. Right now I'm scared shitless.
Here's the reality. Every tumor is different. Every body is different. Oncology is not an exact science. My cancer is it's own little being. I get to become an experiment. But I won't know what kind of experiment until I have surgery. That's when it all is going to get very real. I have 1 more day of what might be blissful ignorance before I find out what I'm really dealing with.
And that is scary.
Break down indeed. Only the first of what I'm sure will be many.
Go ahead and give it to me
Breakdown honey take me through the night
Breakdown now I'm standin' here can't you see
Breakdown it's all right
It's all right
-Tom Petty
It was only a matter of time I suppose. Today the tears started. Racking, dramatic, heaving tears while I told God over and over and over again that I'm not brave enough for this. I don't have a high enough pain threshold to get through this. I'm not the right person - it was supposed to be somebody else. I have a LIFE to lead. Kids. Friends. Job. Stuff. No time for cancer! No interest in cancer! Lots of places I'd like to go, things I'd like to see and experience, but not this!
The phone has been ringing off the hook and I'm too distraught to talk. I let the well-meaning messages pile up on the answering machine. I hope everyone will understand. I just can't keep talking about it. Especially when I'm feeling so emotional and afraid and the very thought of putting on a brave face makes me want to crawl into bed and not come out. Ever. If I have to hear one more story about somebody's friend or aunt or cousin who had breast cancer and was fine I'm going to scream. Because quite frankly, right now I don't feel fine. Right now I'm scared shitless.
Here's the reality. Every tumor is different. Every body is different. Oncology is not an exact science. My cancer is it's own little being. I get to become an experiment. But I won't know what kind of experiment until I have surgery. That's when it all is going to get very real. I have 1 more day of what might be blissful ignorance before I find out what I'm really dealing with.
And that is scary.
Break down indeed. Only the first of what I'm sure will be many.
Friday, April 6, 2007
A Road Bump
I knew when my internist left a message to call her home phone number that the news wasn't going to be good. Did I cry? A little. Am I still in shock 3 days later? Maybe.
A routine mammogram isn't supposed to lead to this. It's just supposed to be that: routine. Boob-squishing and annoying, but routine. Maybe some extra films are called for but CANCER? Well apparently yes. I am that one in however many. That 20% of biopsied lumps that aren't benign. As much as it might suck, this is the road I'm traveling. More than one friend has said, however, that it's just a road bump in my life's journey. Something to get over. And through. So here I am. Staring down the road but only as far as the next appointment. Knowing it's one hellava bump.
I've met my cancer-fighting team of uber docs, have surgery scheduled for next week, have friends and family clamoring to help. The kids have been talked to and work has been apprised of both my desire to work through this, and the impossibility of predicting what my capabilities will be. I've worn myself out trying to keep everyone in the know. I don't like talking about it so much. Maybe I am still in shock but right now I just want to live my normal life. I bought a polka-dotted binder and I'm going to hole-punch all my medical papers and put them in there. I'm going to attack this road bump with, at the very least, brightly colored polka-dots and some semblance of organization. Something we ought to bring to everything we do in life.
A routine mammogram isn't supposed to lead to this. It's just supposed to be that: routine. Boob-squishing and annoying, but routine. Maybe some extra films are called for but CANCER? Well apparently yes. I am that one in however many. That 20% of biopsied lumps that aren't benign. As much as it might suck, this is the road I'm traveling. More than one friend has said, however, that it's just a road bump in my life's journey. Something to get over. And through. So here I am. Staring down the road but only as far as the next appointment. Knowing it's one hellava bump.
I've met my cancer-fighting team of uber docs, have surgery scheduled for next week, have friends and family clamoring to help. The kids have been talked to and work has been apprised of both my desire to work through this, and the impossibility of predicting what my capabilities will be. I've worn myself out trying to keep everyone in the know. I don't like talking about it so much. Maybe I am still in shock but right now I just want to live my normal life. I bought a polka-dotted binder and I'm going to hole-punch all my medical papers and put them in there. I'm going to attack this road bump with, at the very least, brightly colored polka-dots and some semblance of organization. Something we ought to bring to everything we do in life.
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