tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-546309873602820772024-03-05T17:11:47.784-05:00Be The Weeble{on not falling down during my trips through Cancerland}Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871829428496317388noreply@blogger.comBlogger62125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54630987360282077.post-31082992133540868192019-08-12T09:20:00.000-04:002019-08-12T09:20:40.748-04:00Love Letters<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When you're going through a health crisis, you cling to whatever little thing makes you feel better. See: My favorite, ancient pair of ratty pajamas from Gap Body. I don't know why. My body feels good in them, they're soft and soothing, it's sounding a lil' crazy here as I type it, but I often feel like I'm going crazy so . . . I just succumb to the ratty pajamas.<br />
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See also: Bobby Brown Creamy Concealer. My jam is "Sand." Every time I'm interviewed/write about "things I love," I laud this product. I think this might've been my very first premium cosmetic purchase, about 100 years ago when I was a junior litigator. As a woman who's part Lebanese, I have <i>always</i> sparred with the dark under-eye. The pruney color gets worse with crazy a schedule (junior litigator), lack of sleep (junior litigator, fresh parenthood, stale parenthood, shuttling a junior athlete around the country, insomnia since forever, cancer #1, cancer #2, chronic pain, explant exploration). This stuff makes me look like I actually might've slept. I am not a natural-born sleeper. I just dip my pointer finger in the little pot, schmear some magic under my eye (and into the inner corners, ladies! Life Lessons from Glamour mag!) and KA-BAM. If I can fool the world, I can sometimes fool myself. Been fakin' it 'til I make it for almost 25 years with this stuff. Kisses to you, Bobbi.<br />
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Neurontin/Gabapentin. Discovered by Gerhard Satzinger. OMG, ILY Gerhard! I first heard of this stuff years ago when my husband was prescribed gabapentin for chronic back pain (changed his life while he was on it). Then our DOG was prescribed gabapentin last December when she had an acute glaucoma flare and almost went blind (this has been A YEAR, <i>letmetellyou</i>). Then, last April, a doc suggested gabapentin to me when I could JUST NO LONGER SLEEP. We titrated me up to a 400 milligram dose every night and OMG, I loved my bed again for the first time in months. Still do.</div>
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My love for the stuff has only increased. A few weeks ago, I was desperate in Baltimore. Despite horrible pain and the inability to walk much, I'd had to travel with my daughter because my <i>husband</i> was having such severe back pain, he couldn't (again, "shit-show" cannot begin to describe this summer). My PCP and I had a long talk one afternoon about my back pain, my implant surgery, etc. and he suggested I try taking gabapentin during the day, just to see what it did for my pain. The mouthfuls of Aleve and Advil were doing nothing. </div>
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Well. I'm going on 3 weeks and I want to do a dance for gabapentin. I want to shout from the rooftops because a measly 100-milligram dose, 2x during the day has given me a window into a pain-free life. I went out to lunch with my daughter last week and DIDN'T GRIT MY TEETH THE WHOLE TIME. I went to Trader Joe's the other day - I didn't browse, but I could do a little shopping. Like 10 minutes, but still. Do you know how long it's been since I've been in a grocery store? Could this allow me to cook a meal? I dunno. But not having to lie on the floor or in bed all the time is AMAZING. I can sit up. I'm living a tiny bit better through chemistry.<br />
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Last one: Tylenol 8 Hour Arthritis Pain Relief. I found this at CVS a couple weeks ago . . . had to make an Extra-Strength Tylenol run (no anti-inflammatories as I want to be ready for surgery at ANY MINUTE). Each cap is 650 milligrams of acetaminophen, but they're enteric coated so they're "extended-release." I was skeptical - was this a way to charge me more for Tylenol? I queried the ever-present, Tiniest Pharmacist In The World at my "favorite" CVS. She told me it's legit and encouraged me to give it a go. You can take up to 6/day, I take 2 in the morning, 1 after lunch and 2 at night. This with the gabapentin has been amazing for my pain. I got the CVS version, FWIW. <br />
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Because you can't take the lawyer outa the patient, I've gotta say, "please speak with your physician before taking any medications," but as an ailing woman, I can vigorously urge you to immediately pull out your rattiest pajamas and slather on whatever concealer takes you out of the running for the cast of the "Living Dead."<br />
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Party on, patients!</div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871829428496317388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54630987360282077.post-30523800236357872002019-08-06T06:29:00.000-04:002019-08-06T06:29:29.795-04:00Suffering In Silence Is My SuperpowerWell lookie here. I'm back at this again. And this'll come as a surprise to a lot of you, I'm sure. No, I don't have cancer again, thank goodness, but once again, cancer has dramatically impacted my life, and no, not for the better.<br />
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A little background. You can see that grateful, joyful post below this one. The one from 2012 where I was about a year out from surgery and feeling really positive. I could work out again. I had energy. I was just back to being a mother, doing all the things. You know I love to do ALL. THE. THINGS.<br />
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But soon after, as I really got back to my workouts, I started having issues with shoulder pain. First one side. Then the other. Oftentimes, it'd go into my back and hips - again, switching sides. After trial and error with BPT (Bad Physical Therapy), I found an Awesome Shoulder PT (ASPT) who'd guide me through patching myself up. We thought it was me, being my over-zealous workout-ie self. So ASPT, who's also a strength and conditioning coach, helped me completely re-vamp my weightlifting world to use kettlebells - they're dynamic and self-limiting and would help me, we thought, not keep hurting myself.<br />
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But they didn't. So from 2012 to 2018, I was in PT every few months for shoulder and sometimes back and hip issues. Never any rhyme or reason to what was setting me off. I started to get suspicious. I'd NEVER had these particular issues prior to my surgery. What if something about the surgery and my implants were impacting my movement?<br />
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And so, in my usual way, I started to dig into medical journals and poke around online for anecdotal stuff and lo and behold . . . shoulder dysfunction due to implant placement under the pecs is A THING. Such a thing that surgeons have recently pioneered techniques to place implants above the pecs. ASPT supported me in this search, agreed that I'd never "presented as a typical shoulder patient," and validated all the anatomical stuff I was finding.<br />
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For background: Here's an over-simplified version of how my surgery went down. First, Breast Surgeon removed all the breast tissue in both breasts, leaving the outer flap of skin on both breasts so I essentially had an empty envelope in which to place two smooth saline breast implants. Then Plastic Surgeon entered, and cut each pec muscle at the bottom and slid each implant up underneath the pec so the implant sits between the pec and my chest wall. This is called "post-pec implant placement." PS then sewed me up beautifully to heal. So . . . if you can picture this, all those pec muscles that used to be flat against my ribs are now pushed out to the outside of my "foobs" (fake boobs). The foobs look pretty real. The sinister side of this is that all those pec muscles naturally reach up into and connect with your shoulder architecture. So when they get pushed out by implants, it throws the entire apparatus off. And this, my friends, is what's been happening for the last 8 years.<br />
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Back to my timeline: In October, 2018, I started a new kettlebell program and something went COMPLETELY haywire. My shoulder pain in both shoulders was OFF THE CHARTS. On the right side, the pain continued down both the back and front of my torso, involving my ribs, diaphragm, back, and hip. ASPT couldn't make any headway after weeks of trying. I was in such extreme pain that working out was out of the question. I couldn't even dress myself, couldn't sleep, couldn't walk the dog, etc. etc. etc. without extreme pain.<br />
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Off to the plastic surgeon I went - the woman who did my initial reconstruction. I wanted to see what options there might be to fix me. I wanted to be active and pain-free. Really, not a lot to ask. In the 10 minutes I sat with her, she told me that: 1) she had never heard of shoulder pain or dysfunction as a result of post-pec implant placement; 2) that she could not re-do my surgery to place my implants above the pecs because my skin is so thin and the risk of failure is too high (valid, could absolutely be true); and 3) she would not remove my implants altogether (an "explant," yep, the opposite of implant is explant) because it would be "an inferior cosmetic result." Wow. If that wasn't a dead-end, then . . . .<br />
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And so began months and months of painful breast PT (to break up scar tissue and restore shoulder function) and movement therapy to try to get me pain-free and able to work out. We'd make a little headway, then it'd be back to baseline bad news. Along the way in the last ten months, I've had scares related to bone metastases (thankfully, just a week of harrowing anxiety but no mets), numerous appointments with various MDs, lots of imaging (nothing to see here), spent gagillions of $ (very few breast PTs are covered by insurance, and when they are, they limit themselves to your upper half, even though "it's all connected" thankyouverymuch managed care), and spent a lot of nights, sleepless. Let's also add that I've been introduced to the living hell that is chronic pain.<br />
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So here I am at August, 2019. Some things are better than where I was in October - I can get dressed without extreme pain and I can sleep so long as I take a particular drug cocktail. But honestly, I'm worse. Since the beginning of June I've been unable to walk - laid up with what was first thought to be terrible plantar fasciitis, likely caused by my weird gait. Now thought to be a herniated disc. I spend hours on the floor or in my bed . . . . I am now dependent on medication to get even a glimpse of less pain. Though I haven't gone there and refuse to, I tell people, "this is how you get addicted to opioids." Only someone who's experienced chronic pain can understand the desperation it engenders.<br />
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The list of "can'ts" is so long, I don't even want to bore you: I can't go to the beach because my foot hurts too much. I can't cook. I can't shop. I can't bike or walk or do yoga. I have to wear running shoes ALL THE TIME. I can't paddleboard. I can't travel. I recently broke down and had my PCP authorize a disabled hang-tag for my car. My Peloton is a pipe dream. I am missing out on my own life and that of my friends and family. I have been taken out of the game. I'm not even benched. I've been told to not even show up.<br />
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Why didn't you know about this? It's nothing personal. Not very many people have been let in on the situation. I kept quiet because I have a "thing" about not bothering people with my junk. And I'd get a little better, and then worse again. So I'd have hope that I was pulling out and why bother with all the details? It's also so. damn. borning and awful to be in pain 24/7. I was also busy: Weeks full of doctor and physical therapy appointments. Just getting by and trying every avenue to feel better while also trying to take care of my family. Trying to get better has been my full-time job this year.<br />
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I decided in June that I was done. That I needed to explant, and ASAP. I have been consulting with surgeons, trying to find someone who can do this . . . it turns out that taking implants out is FAR more complicated than putting them in. In my situation, there are gray areas around how the procedure should best be performed. There are no doctors at the major Boston teaching hospitals who're are doing it by what's thought to be the "gold standard" method. In fact, it's hard to find a doctor at a major teaching hospital in Boston who's done more than a handful of explants, period. Even the doctors elsewhere, who're doing this the gold standard way have stated that for me, it might not be necessary. There is no research on this yet. It's in its infancy. I've consulted and am consulting with surgeons and scientists from California to Washington D.C., on down the East Coast to Florida, and in between in the Midwest. I am a research machine. Unlike with my breast cancer, in my situation, there is no clearly defined "right answer" for how to be explanted. What I will say, is that I have the unwavering support of my PCP, my oncologist, my physical and movement therapists, the few friends I've shared with so far, and my family. The medical professionals all agree that for any hope of reclaiming my life, the implants must come out. The family has watched my slow decline and are anxious for me to attempt to get back to the joyful life I'd purposely crafted for myself after two cancer diagnoses. For all this, I am so grateful.<br />
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I am hoping for surgery in the fall. I will almost definitely choose the more difficult, more risky yet most-thorough gold-standard methodology to remove the implants. It's belt-and-suspenders insurance for me in terms of making a full recovery from this. I will not be reconstructed or reimplanted. I'm done with monkey-business. I will have, much like my mastectomies and reconstruction, a long recovery period, highlighted by further incapacity to perform activities of daily living (back to being showered by others, not lifting anything over 5 lbs., no vigorous movement or driving for 8 weeks). It is, essentially, to be my second bilateral mastectomy. How many women can boast that?<br />
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So many of us wish for do-overs. I don't wish this on anyone. Stay tuned.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871829428496317388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54630987360282077.post-43310643269756855142012-05-24T13:25:00.000-04:002012-05-24T13:28:43.439-04:00A year ago . . . .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A year ago this Memorial Day weekend, I began my descent into breast cancer Round II hell. On Friday, May 27th, I underwent the MRI-guided biopsies that would change my life (and my body) forever.<br />
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A year ago, on the morning of June 6th, as my daughter was yelling for me to come dry her hair after a shower, the phone rang and I heard, once again, "you have cancer." I listened to the details, thanked the caller, and got my daughter to school. I walked her there, walked home, called my husband, and fell apart. On the eve of my 10-year survivorship anniversary, I was doing this whole fucking thing again.<br />
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The summer was ruined, I'm not going to sugarcoat it. We had some good times, some wonderful times with family and friends, but there was a dark cloud over it all. My impending mastectomies loomed large and it was difficult, even for a mind-over-matter girl like me, to get over the thought of what was going to happen to me. To get over the fact that once again, I was going to be forced to make what seemed like impossible choices. <br />
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I went through the motions, made the preparations, and on September 19, 2011, my breasts were amputated. I was hollowed out, implanted, sewn up, and set free to "recover." And therein began one of the most difficult periods of my life to date.<br />
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It's so, so hard to describe the myriad feelings I've felt in the last year. Terror. Warmth. Gratitude. Dread. Wonder. Longing. Happiness. Pain. And let's not forget, itchiness. I celebrated every little milestone - and some were very <i>little</i>: from making my own tea in the morning, to being able to shower myself, to the ability to be alone in my home once again, to finally . . . finally! being able to sleep on my side, to clearance to open the refrigerator and lift things heavier than 5 lbs., to clearance for exercise. But things were still dark. My body was banged up. My mind was running wild.<br />
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But then sometime around the 4-month mark, the light began to shine in my life again, physically and mentally. I felt myself, MY SELF, coming back. My strength and stamina were improving. I'd run into DI's office and say "look! it's 9:30 p.m. and I'm still awake!" I could rotate my arms in their sockets and I feel my entire body getting stronger, again, from the Pilates and (then very gentle) exercise I could again enjoy. I was becoming me again. Only stronger. More determined. More gleeful. More joyful. Could it be? I was RECOVERING.<br />
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Now, a year out from diagnosis and 8 months out from surgery, I'm so so so happy to report that I'm "recovered, plus." I have energy and drive and determination again. I am happy and strong and these surrogate breasts I have feel like a part of me. Sure, I'm irate and sad that I did all that again and that I'm forever disfigured because of stupid cancer, but I'm beyond that, most days. Most days I'm giving cancer the middle finger by working out hard, facing the sun and smiling, making plans for the future, stopping to smell my roses, enjoying my dear friends and family and by, well, merely continuing to live.<br />
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If not for the miracles of modern medicine, my friends, I would not be here today. That little cancer I had in '01 would've killed me by now. I'm, as another cancer blogger calls it, a "Darwinian fail." But here's the upside of that. I got a second chance. And then ANOTHER second chance. You think I'm going to squander these amazing opportunities on stagnancy and self-pity? Hell no.<br />
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You never, ever know what's coming 'round the bend. It could be shitty, or it could be great. Why not steer yourself toward the great <i>every single day</i> you have? Why not? Don't you deserve happiness and fulfillment? I think we all do. I <b>know</b> I do. Watch me go for it. I hope you will, too.<br />
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So cheers to years, my friends. The last one's been crappy, but I have a really, really good feeling about the one upcoming . . . 'cause you know what?<br />
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I'm. Still. Here.<br />
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xo,<br />
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SarahSarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871829428496317388noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54630987360282077.post-60837591033894145452012-05-07T14:30:00.000-04:002012-05-07T14:30:15.002-04:00Long time, no post! So much going on here, much of it wonderful, some of it "not so much." Click <a href="http://multimed.current-oncology.com/patients/harriet-and-survivorship/" target="_blank">here</a> for my latest CKN post, on the penance of survivorship . . . .<br />
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I promise to post an update soon - less than a month out from my 1 year Cancerversary - ?! Where has the time gone?<br />
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xo,<br />
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SarahSarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871829428496317388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54630987360282077.post-30448993034607087092012-03-06T20:10:00.001-05:002012-03-06T20:11:32.492-05:00New post on CKNThis time, <a href="http://multimed.current-oncology.com/patients/helping-others/">on volunteering</a> . . . it does a body good!<div><br /></div><div>xo,</div><div><br /></div><div>Sarah</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871829428496317388noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54630987360282077.post-16669421102321613022012-02-15T18:28:00.002-05:002012-02-15T18:29:10.435-05:00Have you seen the latest?My newest post for the Cancer Knowledge Network is <a href="http://multimed.current-oncology.com/patients/on-becoming-a-mother/#more-674">here</a>. All about babies . . . or lack thereof.<div><br /></div><div>xo,</div><div><br /></div><div>Sarah</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871829428496317388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54630987360282077.post-34929310394062413422012-01-30T16:28:00.002-05:002012-01-30T16:38:01.558-05:00Moving on . . . .Last night and today have been interesting. Poor L. got the stomach bug that's been going around, and so last night I stayed up with her, holding hair and wiping mouth. Washing my hands more times than any manicurist would condone. And as of 4:30 today, we're both still in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">jammies</span>, recovering. She's eaten, and is now asleep on the shag rug in the kitchen t.v. nook. I'm wondering if I'm coming down with what she's had or just reeling from the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ikitude</span> of vomit. I cannot STAND vomit.<div><br /></div><div>But here's what I realized today. On the brink of feeling sorry for myself (. . . my productive day is shot to hell, I can't go get fitted for the new bras I desperately want and need, I feel like crap from being up most of the night . . . ), I re-framed and realized that this is EXACTLY where I want to be. Just a normal mother who's home with a barfing child. This is my WORST PROBLEM today. And that is just so <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">frickin</span>' great. How's that for re-framing finesse?</div><div><br /></div><div>And to add to my good mood, an email came from the folks at the <a href="http://multimed.current-oncology.com/">Cancer Knowledge Network</a>. They've published an essay I wrote on how I learned to meditate during Cancer Round I. And they want more. I have a schedule of their upcoming topics and they want to do a series. Someone wants to hear what I have to say about living with cancer for the last decade?! You can see my latest <a href="http://multimed.current-oncology.com/patients/getting-to-om-how-cancer-drove-a-bulldog-litigator-to-meditation/#more-652">here</a>. And don't worry, I won't hesitate to shamelessly self-promote here when new stuff comes out.</div><div><br /></div><div>So here's to sick days and cancer . . . and to good moods in spite of them.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">xo</span>,</div><div><br /></div><div>Sarah</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871829428496317388noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54630987360282077.post-52601989756364783262012-01-20T10:53:00.010-05:002012-01-20T11:29:22.197-05:00Cold cold cold like an ice cream coneJust back from my first follow-up with my breast surgeon since surgery. She's the one who does the digging out of all the breast tissue and the sentinel node biopsies, and then steps aside for the plastic surgeon to rebuild you. I have felt a great fondness toward her over the 10+ years I've known her, and she is a surgeon to the stars - an expert in her field and with an unusual amount of humanity for a surgeon. She is special.<div><br /></div><div>But today's visit left me cold. I think it's me, but might be a little her fault, too. First off, I felt something akin to mild panic as I made my way to suite 9A again . . . the last time I was there was when my dear Dr. Y. told me and DI that he was a mastectomy advocate. And the time before that was our 5 hour, one room ordeal. I had to rush like a madwoman to make it there for my appointment early this a.m., only to wait over 1/2 hour for the doc today. My blood pressure and my ire were up already, going in.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then she arrives to do the exam. She doesn't remember "the rash," and passes the buck to anesthesiology to get a copy of the inter-op report over the the allergists, and then proceeds to tell me that things look, "really, pretty OK" and that "if you prop them both up into a bra, well, I bet you can't see any difference." And although, yes, I know that I am not the proud owner of a perfectly matched set of breasts (thank you, Cancer Round I), hearing your surgeon say something like this is stinging. Guess what? I'm not going to be in the book she shows to women contemplating this surgery. I'm only an "OK" outcome, cosmetically.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Whatev</span>. Moving on. Not new news. Topless dancing career is over, anyway. I tie my Johnny back up and she sits down to debrief me on the plan going forward. 1% chance of recurrence. No screening at all, ever again. That's right. She says no <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">mammos</span>, no <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">MRIs</span>. Ever, ever again. All the breast tissue that remains in me has been pushed forward to the surface - it's what makes up the wafer-thin envelope she left behind that encapsulates my implants. So if <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">something's</span> there, she says, I'll feel it. Like a "mosquito bite" that "won't go away" she says. </div><div><br /></div><div>OK, that's nice. But I've had 2 cancers, one very serious one, that were never palpable. And that 1% she's quoting is for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">DCIS</span> patients, and my first cancer was a crazy invasive wild-woman. Maybe my risk of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">mets</span> is the same from that, but now I'm down to 1% because I've had the amputations? I'm waiting to check in with Dr. Y. on this one. I see him in a couple of months.</div><div><br /></div><div>So I'll follow-up with her in a year, because "breasts are dynamic" - and although I know she means "changeable" and that's what my PT has told me, too, I smile inside to think of my super-hero implants and how now only do I have a dynamic personality, but dynamic tits. Yeah!</div><div><br /></div><div>But then there's this - "down the road," she says, "we may need to replace your implants." "You have a pretty good life expectancy," she went on, and I'm thinking "Pretty good? Why not excellent?" And she goes on to explain how they "might, at some point," need to swap out implants. I replied, "Well, I should HOPE I'll need them replaced as they've only got a 10-15 year life-span and I hope to be at least 80 before I kick the bucket." And she said "We have no idea how long they'll last," implying that they might last my lifetime. What the what?? Maybe I'll get lucky and get 20 years out of these things, but freak, I'm 42, can you IMAGINE that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">these'll</span> last for 40-some-odd years? I've never heard such a thing, even from the rose-colored-glasses-wearing implant manufacturers themselves. I think that's just plain dreaming.</div><div><br /></div><div>And that was it. Schedule a follow-up with her in a year, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">seeyalaterbye</span>.</div><div><br /></div><div>And yet again, I came out of there with mixed feelings:</div><div><br /></div><div><ol><li>Excited, because I don't have to have any more routine screenings if I don't want to;</li><li>Pissed, because I feel that some of her information was inaccurate, and if I were not a woman who researched things to death, off I'd go hoping that I'd have these water sacs in my chest for life, and thus be woefully disappointed when, in 10-15 years, I have flat boobs;</li><li>A little sad, because I've gone through all this and ended up with less than spectacular <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">foobs</span>; and</li><li>Set adrift. </li></ol> You are reading the words of a 42-year-old woman who currently sees no fewer than 9, yes 9 doctors regularly. And who, until recently, has gotten a mammogram annually, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">MRIs</span> EVERY SIX MONTHS. So if you do the math, I've been seeing some sort of medical professional or having some test (or both, sometimes 3 or more in a month) EVERY SINGLE MONTH OF EVERY SINGLE YEAR FOR THE LAST 10 YEARS. So while I applaud the gains in free time and the reduction in my consumption of contrast dye, I still feel a little like I went through a revolving door too fast and got spit out the other side. I don't quite know where I am right now.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'll find my way, I always do. And chatting w/Dr. Y. about real recurrence numbers and whether <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">MRIs</span> might really be helpful will put my mind at ease. But I guess what this a.m. did was pull me back by the collar a little . . . to say "Hey! Your head's not all wrapped neatly around this latest episode yet." It's a reminder that I'm fresh out of the box, still. A newly-minted "two-time survivor." </div><div><br /></div><div>And that I don't know what this means, yet.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">xo</span>,</div><div><br /></div><div>Sarah</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871829428496317388noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54630987360282077.post-11403166099508853342012-01-01T09:04:00.001-05:002012-01-01T09:04:38.318-05:00Today, a new page<div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow.</span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: center; ">~Albert Einstein</div><div style="text-align: center; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: center; "><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >We will open the book. Its pages are blank. We are going to put words on them ourselves. The book is called "Opportunity" and its first chapter is New Year's Day.</span></div><div><br /></div><div>~Edith L. Pierce</div></div><div style="text-align: center; "><br /></div><div>Here's to a new year, one filled with promise, health and abundant happiness for all. Thanks for getting me through the last six months, everyone. Couldn't have done it without you.</div><div><br /></div><div>xo,</div><div><br /></div><div>Sarah</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871829428496317388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54630987360282077.post-7305664388610233522011-12-20T15:31:00.006-05:002011-12-20T17:00:53.513-05:003 Month Postoperversary<div style="text-align: justify;">The times that I feel moved to post are further and further apart, and that's a good sign. Because what you want to happen when you go through cancer, is for it to begin to recede into the background, eventually. For it to not take up so much space in your head. For your body not to remind you every single minute that it's been traumatized. For your mind to dwell on other things.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Like your thighs.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I have always hated my thighs. They're sturdy. I am not built for speed, instead, I am, as my father has pointed out, built for famine. I am stocky and hardy - and no, not <i>willowy</i>. I always, always have wanted to be <i>willowy</i>.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Well, when I was first diagnosed with cancer in '01, I suddenly realized that I could care less about my thighs. I was so stressed out about not being able to have a baby, having to get chemo, what I was going to do about work, and, well, yes, <i>dying</i>, that my thighs zoomed down and off the "to-worry-about" list. It was refreshing, in a sick way. I was prioritizing, and really, what the hell was I going to do about my thighs, anyway? Gotta work with what you're given. Head down, fought the cancer. Won. Check!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Moving on, the hoopla washed away and gradually, the thigh-angst started up again. As before, I tackled them with squats & lunges and did the best I could to "play up my assets," as they say in <i>Glamour</i>.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And then, whammo, Cancer Round II. And who can worry about thighs when your breasts are being removed? Not me. Again, off the list. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">But you know what? They're back. In all their gelatinous glory. Three months of recovery has made me go a little soft all around the edges, and today, I really hit the wall with the thighs. I know it's not right. I'm a middle-aged woman. I'm not supposed to care. But I do. Now that the foobs are squared away, I'm back to squatting, lunging, and angsting. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's good, right?</div><div><br /></div><div>xo,</div><div><br /></div><div>Sarah</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871829428496317388noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54630987360282077.post-60583524679266157652011-12-08T13:21:00.004-05:002011-12-08T13:46:03.730-05:00Reminder: Mother Nature is in chargeI've been feeling pretty darn good lately, and it's been really exciting to be doing things again, seeing people again, being out of the house and into life again. But for the past few days, I've been really dragging. There, I'm admitting it. It's out there. <div><br /></div><div>I'd like to blame it on the season - we all know that responsibilities are quadrupled this time of year, right? Add to that keeping up with daily exercise, twice-a-week PT, solo-parenting for a week, participating in and even spearheading after-school and evening activities and events - well, even if I weren't eleven weeks post-op, I'd be dragging. <div><br /></div><div>So I have been <i>trying </i>to take it easy, but it's just been too tempting. And there's this little problem of there only being 24 hours in the day. I've been pushing through, I'll admit. A little draggy before spin class yesterday? No matter. A mug of gunpowder tea, throw on the spandex, strap on the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">heart rate</span> monitor, and I was there. I did the class, met a friend, came home, showered, met L. and a friend at school, hosted a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">play date</span>, made dinner, dealt with reservations, signed up for a class, and fell into bed around 10. Nada <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">problemo</span>, right? </div><div><br /></div><div>Well, wrong. I can do more today, but my body is really nagging me. It's like a toddler's pulling on my pant leg, whining, "When are we gonna lie down? Is now when we're gonna lie down?" So after I did errands this morning, I realized I needed to call the rest of the day off (until I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">chaperon</span> the Brownie field trip, that is - but that, my friends, is a non-negotiable). So I have. No <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Pilates</span> lesson for me, and although I know that this is the responsible thing to do, I'm pissed off about it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Remember how I was content the other day? Well today? Not so much. There - see? We knew <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">that'd</span> be short-lived. I guess I should clarify - I'm still OK with the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">foobs</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">yada</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">yada</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">yada</span>: I'm just frustrated that I can't have it all back right.this.minute.dammit.</div><div><br /></div><div>But <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">whoa</span>, step back, perspective time. I just closed out 10 weeks post-op. I've been told by more than a few experts that it will take a year to feel completely like myself again. I know I'll be doing more, well before that time, but I'm still at the front side of the continuum of sitting on my ass . . . to racing around like the maniac I am.</div><div><br /></div><div>My PT says it, over and over again: "Mother Nature is in charge, Sarah. We have to let Mother Nature do her job." Sigh. Just like you never want to admit your mother's right, so it goes with Nancy the PT. But often, both the PT and the mother know best. </div><div><br /></div><div>So I'm crawling into bed for the next hour, 'til I have to help shuttle 18 8- and 9-year-old girls through Whole Foods Market and talk about nutrition. After which, I will come home, perform the bare minimum of duties to satisfy my own maternal obligations, and collapse into bed. And tomorrow? I'm giving myself a time-out. 'Cause I can't stand a whiny toddler.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">xo</span>,</div><div><br /></div><div>Sarah</div></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871829428496317388noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54630987360282077.post-42876142800542760012011-11-30T20:49:00.004-05:002011-11-30T21:10:36.816-05:00The wonder of it allForgive me, friends, if I get soft and sappy here. Today was a really great day for me. I worked out for 90 minutes, did things around the house, got Lilah at school and took her shopping until dinner. I made dinner, cleaned it all up, tidied for the cleaners, put her to bed. And I'm still standing. Tired, but standing. That, friends, is what being NORMAL is all about. <div><br /></div><div>And having just put Lilah to bed and after having filled her Advent calendar with chocolate treats, I'm sitting here misty. And full of happiness and calm. I'm content. As I was putting away the leftover candy, tidying the kitchen, and thinking of crawling into bed with a book just now, it dawned on me . . . I'm at peace with all of this tonight. With the second cancer, with the mastectomies, with where I am right now. It's all OK, I'm going to be OK, and despite all the mess of the spring, summer and fall, I'm still <i>so</i> damn lucky and blessed.<div><br /></div><div>Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm sure there'll be times where I rail against it again. Bad days, days when I'm reminded of my limits, some day when I have to get these tires changed . . . but at the bottom, I'm still myself, I still have my life, and I'm feeling good enough again to really, truly, just get on with things.</div><div><br /></div><div>I also feel certain that something new and interesting and good is going to come of Cancer Round II. Yesterday and today, I started to really drill down on what I wanted to do to delineate pre- and post-op. Doesn't have to be major . . . it's just that I can't have gone through this and, well, just go back to laundry and carpooling like it never went down. (Not that it isn't every woman's dream to launder and carpool.) So whether it'll be an intensive cooking class, or breaking into the speaking circuit more formally, or taking <a href="http://www.semisweetonline.com/">Semi-Sweet</a> to new and different places, or overcoming my fear of clipping in and becoming a serious cyclist, or writing that book I keep toying with - it'll be <i>something</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>But for this moment, I'm going to wallow in contentment. Enjoy the Christmas season, conjure up surprises to delight my daughter, conspire with her to delight my husband, feel the rush and the crush of holiday preparations and celebrate being healthy and able-bodied again. </div><div><br /></div><div>Me again!</div><div><br /></div><div>xo,</div><div><br /></div><div>Sarah</div></div><div><br /></div><div>P.S. Tomorrow, I start back with my beloved Pilates instructor . . . 2 milestones in two days? Mind-blowing.</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871829428496317388noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54630987360282077.post-65058822579650885352011-11-23T07:02:00.002-05:002011-11-23T07:05:12.307-05:00A true ThanksgivingWhat I'm thankful for:<div><br /></div><div>a second, second chance</div><div>doing little things for my girl that make her insanely happy/excited</div><div>strong, hot organic Chinese gunpowder green tea</div><div>my unrelentingly supportive husband</div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Spanx</span></div><div>hugs</div><div>connecting with random strangers over breast cancer</div><div>Cheetos</div><div>spooning</div><div>putting my hair in a ponytail</div><div>browsing Target</div><div>reaching for things on high shelves</div><div>Chinese food</div><div>the smell of fresh-cut grass</div><div>my spunky daughter</div><div>waving my arms in the air</div><div>hydrangeas</div><div>books</div><div>outings</div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Wii</span> Just Dance</div><div>the beach</div><div>watching the seasons change</div><div>looking just the same as I always did, with clothes on</div><div>social media</div><div>poring over food porn</div><div>taking care of my family</div><div>nachos made in the microwave</div><div>sunrises</div><div>sunsets</div><div>listening to loud music in my car</div><div>micro ice cream sundaes from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Rancatore's</span></div><div>being able to dance again (but not so much in public)</div><div>the smell of crisp fall air</div><div>good neighbors</div><div>hot soup</div><div>having the energy to do more than one activity in a day</div><div>Ellen DeGeneres</div><div>cooking delicious meals</div><div>the mundane tasks of daily life</div><div>hard <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">cardio</span> to loud pop music</div><div>holidays</div><div>the loving support of friends - old, medium & new</div><div>Bobbi Brown creamy concealer</div><div>the loving support of virtual strangers</div><div>warm zucchini muffins with raisins and walnuts</div><div>long, shiny hair that's mine to keep</div><div>spin class</div><div>roast chicken</div><div>moxie</div><div>perspective</div><div>a shot at seeing my daughter grow up</div><div>sweating</div><div>belly laughing</div><div>the knowledge that every single thing in life is temporary</div><div>about a million, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">bagillion</span> other things</div><div><br /></div><div>I hope that all of you can find something to be thankful for tomorrow, and every day. I wish you the most wonderful Thanksgiving!</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">xo</span>,</div><div><br /></div><div>Sarah</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871829428496317388noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54630987360282077.post-50760316727996821722011-11-11T12:58:00.010-05:002011-11-11T20:01:35.873-05:00My meal ticket, or, how I got over myself and accepted helpLast night, our last meal was delivered. Some of you might not realize this, but EVERY SINGLE Monday through Thursday night since September 20, 2011, (plus some random and delicious off-calendar surprise meals!) a meal has been delivered to our home. And I'm not talking sacks of McDonald's cheeseburgers, I'm talking full-on, home-cooked, thought-through meals to serve our little family of three, and then some. Each night, Dave, Lilah or my mother-in-law Janet would go to the cooler on the back patio to bring in the goodies. The kindness bestowed upon us was simply amazing. <div><br /></div><div>And to think, I hate to ask for help.</div><div><br /></div><div>This trait of mine is surely borne of my experiences growing up, those as an adult with cancer and of my type-A personality. Why depend on others when you can just motor through and do it yourself? Why risk being a burden? Who KNOWS where <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">that'll</span> land you? I mean really - who gets cancer TWICE in 10 years? Avoiding being a pain-in-the-ass is practically a vocation of mine. I run from "needy." So when I realized that I was going to be unable to cook and care for my family for a while after surgery, well, my throat caught. And then I knew what I'd have to do.</div><div><br /></div><div>Duh. Ask for help. Oy.</div><div><br /></div><div>And it wasn't only meals, it was housekeeping and childcare, and shuttling my kid around, and shuttling me around, and picking up groceries, and and and and and. Imagine all the things you do all week and then imagine being able to do none. of. them. It's wild, really, especially for a doer like me.</div><div><br /></div><div>But you know what? People wanted to help?! It is the craziest, most awe-inspiring thing, the most restore-your-faith-in-humanity moment when you realize that people are willingly giving of themselves and their time to get you out of a jam. No strings, no consequences, no payback. Just <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">unadulterated</span> good will.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Thank you" seems like not enough to say to people who literally saved your rear at a desperate time in your life . . . but what else is there to say? I can't express fully the gratitude I feel for friends, family, and neighbors, some of whom I don't know well, but who stepped up and "did something" when they heard of my surgery. I really, truly, will never ever forget all those meals, all those gestures of love and kindness. They filled me up when I was feeling low . . . and kept me going once I started to get stronger.</div><div><br /></div><div>I still have a way to go 'til I'm back on top, but I'm prepared and cleared to do my own, simple meal prep and transporting. And while my energy will flag easily for a while, I'll rev myself up with thoughts of all of you, and draw on all those good wishes to push forward to the finish line.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thank you, all of you. We could not have done it without you. And while it's not over, with your help, we've certainly reached a milestone.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">xo</span>,</div><div><br /></div><div>Sarah</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871829428496317388noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54630987360282077.post-4499072613592314272011-11-09T11:05:00.010-05:002011-11-09T11:34:06.181-05:00Cleared for take offSaw my plastic surgeon this morning and I've been cleared! <div><br /></div><div>I can raise my arms above 90-degrees, push, pull, lift, do cartwheels, climb rock walls, cook (OMG, how I've missed cooking) . . . BUT . . . I need to "work up" to all this. She's "very very pleased" with how things look (although we may tweak again in several months, but we'll wait on that for now). I'm healing up well. The skin on Lefty has completely healed (that's the prior-irradiated side that was having issues). The intermittent swelling is normal and will come and go and I need to back off activity when I swell. How long will that go on? "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Everyone's</span> different," and "it could take months." Maddening, but good to know I'm within the range of "normal." Really, that's all I'm shooting for right now. I have time to work up to extraordinary.<div><br /></div><div>I was, of course, pretty pumped up for this appointment, and as with most of these meetings, it was momentous for me, but not for the doc. We were together all of 7 minutes. She took "after" pictures. Her PA removed the stitch from the revision she did a month ago. I'm following up with her in 6 months - 6 MONTHS!? This is so crazy different from cancer Round I, where I saw someone every other day, it seemed. So while I was doing a happy Scooby hop in my mind, there were no high-fives, no hugs, no shrieks of joy, no grins of glee from anyone else. I made my next appointment for May (<i>MAY?!</i>) and away I went.</div><div><br /></div><div>This is the way it always is. Anticlimactic. Another day's work for the doc, another <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">hashmark</span> in the "success" column. But when it's YOU, YOUR body and YOUR chance to return to life as you know it, it's momentous. So you gotta get out of there and celebrate. </div><div><br /></div><div>How am I celebrating? Well, first I hit the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">MGH</span> gift shop - seriously, a great store. Laugh all you want, I've gotten some wonderful things there. I stocked up on some stocking-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">stuffers</span> and stationary. I paid up, bid my Valet Parking buddies farewell for another month (follow-up with breast surgeon mid-December), and hit the road. Now I'm home, completely wiped out.</div><div><br /></div><div>Which brings me to the next point. Even when one's been "cleared," there is still a long way to go. In my mind, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">pre</span>-op, I think I thought of a switch being flipped at the 6-8 week mark: She'd say "go ahead" and I'd be back to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">burpees</span> in the basement. No ho-ho-ho, friends. This little body needs to ease back in. I think my greatest immediate obstacles are swelling and stamina. Got to keep that swelling at bay, and as we know, too much activity = puff-Sarah. And as for stamina - well, even morning rush-hour traffic knocked the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">stuffin</span>' out of me. This is Boston. Driving is a blood-sport.</div><div><br /></div><div>So where am I now? In bed, albeit with one of my favorite cozy OVER THE HEAD fleece PULLOVERS on. Toasty, ready to rest. </div><div><br /></div><div>Which brings me to my last point - one I'll write more on later - but thank goodness I am under the care of my amazing PT. Now she can take over and run the show . . . she knows what's safe to do and what's worth waiting for. I see her tomorrow and am so excited for a new sheet of exercises to help me get back to buff. I simply cannot imagine being cut loose by the surgical staff and floating out here, wondering what to do next. I can't stress strongly enough how important I think it is for us post-surgical girls to get in with a specialized physical therapist. I'm already ahead of the game motion-wise, just after 2 weeks of therapy with Nancy. And you <i>know</i> how I love to be ahead of the game.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm at the "shuffling around the hospital floor" stage, exercise-wise . . . one foot gingerly in front of the other . . . taking it really slow. But the point is, I'm finally allowed to work my way back, to climb up out of the hole, up into the sunshine. </div><div><br /></div><div>Can I get a hands-in-the-air hallelujah?? <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Wahoooooo</span>!</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">xo</span>,</div><div><br /></div><div>Sarah</div></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871829428496317388noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54630987360282077.post-7867162891720241942011-11-05T06:30:00.003-04:002011-11-05T06:41:26.613-04:00Happy cancerversary to meTen years ago today, I was diagnosed with a nasty little breast cancer. A grade 3, triple-positive (ER/PR, HER2) small-but-mighty killer. No positive nodes, but a question about vascular invasion. It was a miracle I was diagnosed (a whole 'nother post) and we were all scared. Heck, even my breast surgeon admitted last June that all my the docs were freaked out. They were really worried about my first few years out of treatment. Would I turn up with mets? A recurrence? I got the full battalion of treatments. Took almost a year. Then another year to feel like me again. And you know what?<div><br /></div><div>I'm still here.</div><div><br /></div><div>Six months ago, I would've told you I was planning a party to celebrate 10 years cancer-free. But that got yanked out from under me by creepy little cancer number 2. That little wimpy piece of junk has fouled up my fun and caused us to move to the finale, the full monty. The "this better be frickin' IT" surgery. It's been hard, physically and emotionally. But I'm doing great, all things considered, and I'm so thankful for what I've got. Another lease on life. A second, second chance. I'm bucking Darwin and I'm feeling lucky.</div><div><br /></div><div>So while I'm not throwing myself the party I'd planned, I am indulging in a little party in my mind. 'Cause you know what? After I finally heal up from surgery, I've got more time. Time to love my wonderful husband. Time to mother my daughter, and, knock-wood, to see my baby grow up. Time to experience more of what life has to offer; from the mundane to the fantastic. </div><div><br /></div><div>Not much in this life is certain. Since age 32, my life has been shaped by cancer. It changed the trajectory of my adult years. I don't define myself by my cancer experience, but it has affected every single aspect of my existence since it came on the scene. Surprisingly, in many ways, fabulously. Although I never, ever would say that having had cancer is a gift, I will tell you that my life is richer, more satisfying and more joyful post-cancer. </div><div><br /></div><div>You never, ever know what's around the bend, my friends. Sometimes it's a monster. I am so very, very lucky to have been able to survive meeting a monster twice. My life's still a work in progress: I still don't know what my take-away from Round II is yet, but while I figure it out, I am guided by the same motto since November 5, 2001: No regrets.</div><div><br /></div><div>Cheers to years, friends!</div><div><br /></div><div>xo,</div><div><br /></div><div>Sarah</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871829428496317388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54630987360282077.post-61702601976529871452011-11-04T18:00:00.002-04:002011-11-04T18:01:25.432-04:00Seriously?Drat. Being so good. Fruit under arms again. Maybe 'cause I stopped @ Whole Foods after PT and actually bought some fruit? Sigh.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871829428496317388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54630987360282077.post-64993495344906510532011-11-01T15:01:00.004-04:002011-11-01T15:04:06.389-04:00On the road againI did it. I drove, for realz. To Wellesley and home again for PT, <i>ALL BY MYSELF</i>. 40 minutes there, 40 minutes back (damn those Rt. 16 backups) and 45 minutes on the table. City driving, highway driving, executing turns and backing up. I'm pooped, but intact. <div><br /></div><div>xo,</div><div><br /></div><div>Sarah</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871829428496317388noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54630987360282077.post-12699893109006144492011-10-30T18:51:00.002-04:002011-10-30T19:03:24.650-04:00Whole lotta nothin'No news is good news, I always say. <div><br /></div><div>The swelling is back to baseline - lefty still a little puffy, righty pretty much "normal." But I've had to sit on myself all week to get here. No walking, no exercise. I'll start working my way back this week, just a little, to test the waters. I'm seeing the PT twice a week now, and she is helping to reduce the swelling and to increase my range of motion. Thanks to her and the silly exercises I do twice a day, the pain from the node biopsy is pretty much gone. Not bad for one week of PT.<div><br /></div><div>I'm able to concentrate and read again, so I'm reading like a fiend (a lifelong passion) . . . trying to look at this as "fun" - when does a stay-at-home mother get to read all day and not feel guilty? Unfortunately, only when you-know-what hits a fan . . . but I'm <i>trying</i> to be positive here.</div><div><br /></div><div>The best news is, I'm feeling a lot better. My spunk is back. I'm darn good during the day: still pooped in the evenings. Although I've given up my second nap altogether, I still rest frequently. I'm going to try driving more this week - new chair twisting exercises from the PT have made me feel more confident about backing up.</div><div><br /></div><div>So the report from the week is trending positive. Not "there" yet, but as friends reminded me last week, that's gonna take a while. It's a good sign, all this frustration I feel. I'm primed, excited, ready to go . . . just have to pace myself, 'cause I don't want to get tired too early in the race to get my real life back again. Feels like it's been a long time, but really, I need to remember that this is a marathon, not a sprint.</div><div><br /></div><div>xo,</div><div><br /></div><div>Sarah</div></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871829428496317388noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54630987360282077.post-89285683384032909142011-10-24T14:23:00.002-04:002011-10-24T14:36:29.923-04:00My mind is ready, but my body is notHere at the almost 5 week mark, frustration is setting in. This is exactly the point my breast surgeon flagged for me, months ago, when discussing my recovery. She said that around now, I'd start to feel much better physically, and that I'd want to do more, but that I would still have restrictions, and I'd need to "sit on my hands."<div><br /></div><div><b>And how</b>.</div><div><br /></div><div>After being cleared for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">cardio</span> last Wednesday, I took a decent-sized (all things being relative here, it was about 1.25 miles which is a <i>small fraction</i> of my former distance and intensity) brisk walk. No arms swinging - they were locked at my sides. I had my workout mix pumping, Map My Run (or Walk, as the case may be) tracking my time and distance . . . I felt AMAZING. Saturday, less so. I felt like I had a grapefruit under each arm - swelling. Plastic surgeon told me that swelling was a sign of overdoing, so Saturday I lay low. Sunday, swelling down - what better way to celebrate than with a power walk? So out I went - this time I did a little more distance, less intense. Today, a veritable fruit salad under the pits.</div><div><br /></div><div>I just came back from PT, where my dear friend Nancy set me straight. Reminded me that in the "olden days," I wouldn't even have been out of the hospital for that long at this point. That just 'cause I'm home and set "free" by the docs, doesn't mean I'm OK to go about my business. This is not the time to push through. This is the time to coddle. She pointed out that I only have one shot at a good post-op recovery period, and if I blow it, I'm screwed (Nancy is much too refined to use that word, that's me <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">talkin</span>'). So no <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">walkie</span> for me today and tomorrow while we let things simmer down. Then we do less distance and do alternating days of intensity. That way, I "trick" myself into thinking I'm exercising every day ('cause if you know me, you know this is a <i>thing</i> of mine), but I honor my healing body. </div><div><br /></div><div>Those of you who know me know I'm very into the mind-body connection, but that I have a hard time slowing down. It was far easier when I felt like junk. I had no choice but to be slow. Now I feel like I "should" be OK, and yet clearly I'm not. Swelling is the body's way of protecting a fragile area, and of signaling that something is not right, says Nancy. </div><div><br /></div><div>I mean, I love fruit, but not under my arms.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">xo</span>,</div><div><br /></div><div>Sarah</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871829428496317388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54630987360282077.post-62115907804644429772011-10-15T08:45:00.012-04:002011-10-19T14:55:40.419-04:00The deliciousness of being horizontal, and other developmentsAnother week down. Another hash mark on the wall of my mastectomy prison. All in all, a good week - few(er) complaints. I feel like last week was a meaningful turning point for me. I'm celebrating my 4 week <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">surger</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">versary</span>. My energy has been more consistently up, I'm feeling physically and mentally better. The strange feelings in my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">foobs</span> come less frequently, although moving a little more is bringing new sensations. I off Tylenol; down to only antibiotics. And although last Wednesday's revision has set me back mobility-wise, it's healing up nicely. My swelling's way down on the right, and although Lefty is still swollen, it's much better. In sum, all baby steps forward, which is the only direction I want to travel.<div><br /></div><div>So much has happened since last week! Where to start?<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Saturday morning, I tried something new, and it was terrific. After breakfast I was beat and needed to go back to bed. How many times have you wanted to take a nap after breakfast? Well, having a bilateral mastectomy gives you <i>just</i> the excuse to indulge . . . as I scooted up the stairs Dave muttered "<i>jealous</i>" under his breath. (I need to find a way to treat that man to something nice, but I digress.) The sleeping at 45 degrees thing was good for the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">foobs</span> but bad for the back: The upper back had been killing me the past few mornings. This <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">naptime</span>, I decided to try something radical. I stacked two of our king-sized bed pillows one in front of the other and lay down. I still used two smaller pillows on either side of me to support my arms (yes, people, since home from the hospital it's taken no fewer than 5 pillows to comfort me in bed), but I was NEARLY HORIZONTAL, and it felt DIVINE. I dozed and slept for more than an hour like that. Lying on my back, wondering at the feeling. Supported. Cozy. Less like a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">victim</span>. More like myself again.</div><div><br /></div><div>Saturday evening marked my first non-essential outing in a month: an early dinner at Super 88 with Dave and Lilah. I did fine, I was out! I was tired by the end (nighttime is still not the right time for me), but it didn't waste me and it was nice to be back eating at our favorite Vietnamese place, even if it was at an early-bird special hour.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then maybe it was precipitated by that delicious Saturday nap, but Sunday morning I got up and felt noticeably more energetic. I had a little spark that I hadn't had since 9/19. Saw our neighbor for the first time since the surgery and he asked, "so when did you feel like yourself again after surgery?" and I answered, "today!" That feeling has continued and has brought so much hope. I can honestly say that I can see a light at the end of the tunnel. It's still a longish tunnel, but there's a pinpoint of light down there.</div><div><br /></div><div>Also Sunday, I made Dave accompany me for my first driving experience. He authorized me to go "around the neighborhood," which as some of you know, is a very, very limited distance. Backing out of the driveway proved to be the most difficult - it's long and skinny and twisting around to look behind me (no, I don't trust that gimmicky back-up cam) was tough. Driving itself and turning corners was easy - this car is power-everything. I think with time and physical therapy, I'll grow more flexible and comfortable, but for now, I'm not driving much . . . although tomorrow I'm going to make a break for it to get waxed (3 minutes away). It's been almost 6 weeks and I'm usually on a every-three-week schedule. '<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Nuf</span> said on that one. It's time to take action.</div><div><br /></div><div>Monday, I saw an old friend, a physical therapist who specializes in women who've had breast surgeries. Her job is to help us regain range of motion, strength, and to ward off or treat nasty side effects like <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">lymphedema</span> (the swelling of limbs or even the trunk after lymph nodes have been removed). Nancy is such a sweetheart - one of those caregivers that causes you to exhale as you leave the office. She's on your case, she's measuring and monitoring and not pushing too much, but just enough. She is your cheerleader. I now have some very very simple range of motion exercises and another set of eyes on the swelling - she is not alarmed by the swelling and will help me with some massage in the coming weeks that will help take it down further. It truly sucks to be reunited with her under these circumstances, but here again, Cancer Round I has served me well - she fixed me up right after those three lumpectomies and sentinel node biopsy messed with my left arm, and she's going to bring me back from t-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">rex</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">dom</span> now.</div><div><br /></div><div>Today I followed up with my plastic surgeon. Lefty looks great to her - I'm going to continue with antibiotics for another week, but all systems are go. She showed me the simple massage I need to do now to prevent too much scar tissue from forming around my implants. Twice a day I need to squeeze and push the heck out of these puppies so I can feel them move. It's a bizarre feeling - for now, indescribable. It doesn't hurt, it's just <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">friggin</span>' weird. Any woman w/implant reconstruction will understand. For the rest of you, just take my word for it.</div><div><br /></div><div>But the best news, the most exciting news from today's visit with PS is that I AM CLEARED FOR <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">CARDIO</span>. Yes people, I can get the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">ol</span>' heart <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">pumpin</span>' again (and not just from fear of someone coming at me w/a scalpel or a needle). I can break a sweat. That is the great news. The bad news is: no arms. No arms for 3 more weeks 'til I follow up with her again. So no refrigerator, no cooking, no lifting, no pushing, no pulling, no swinging of those arms during exercise . . . so still quite limited, but I can stationary bike (recumbent), do the elliptical or the ARC trainer (no arms), power walk (no pumping of arms), etc. Been very jacked up about this all day, but just had a thought that tempers my glee: I still cannot put my hair in a ponytail. Sigh. That alone will probably limit my activity a little. Who wants to get really sweaty with long hair?? Thankfully, this is my biggest problem today.<br /><div><br /></div><div><div>So about half-way there, I'm struck by how the mundane gets elevated to the sublime after an experience like this. First it was just getting out of bed and standing, then shuffling across the floor at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">MGH</span>, then brushing my own teeth and washing my own face. Then the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">DIY</span> sponge bath and leg-shaving . . . moving into a real shower (albeit still with t-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">rex</span> arms and hair hanging over my face to wash). I've walked alone through my neighborhood, popped popcorn, gotten my daughter ready for school, spent entire days alone, moved to a horizontal position, gotten down on the floor and back up again (no arms - those <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">UFCs</span> (a la Jackie Warner) I did during my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">pre</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">surg</span>. workouts paid off, peeps!). Every time I make a stride forward, I'm rediscovering some tiny, long-lost joy.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>My world was made very small by breast cancer, but this past week, I feel like each day it's widening a wee bit. Although I will confess that I can't wait 'til driving, walking, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">erranding</span>, exercising and tasking are all mundane again, I want to remember and appreciate this deliciousness, 'cause it's been hard-fought and I'm better for the experience.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">xo</span>,</div><div><br /></div><div>Sarah</div></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871829428496317388noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54630987360282077.post-45401784649559010722011-10-13T12:30:00.003-04:002011-10-13T12:38:51.733-04:00Bra 911, part deuxJust back from my new <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">fav</span> place in town, Lady Grace, where I scored what seems to be the perfect solution to my uncomfy bra issue - nursing camisoles!? OK, so I never thought of this 'til last night when cruising the 'net for tanks with built-in bras, I saw someone on some pregnancy forum talking about how great they were - better than regular tanks with shelf bras because more supportive. <div><br /></div><div>Those of you who know me know that I never nursed - our daughter was adopted - so this solution never, ever occurred to me. The straps on these things tend to be thicker, there adjustable, and the chest band is wider, so more comfortable. </div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.bravadodesigns.com/shop/the-essential-nursing-tank">These are the ones I got</a>, I can step into them and they are cotton. Highly recommend to anyone going through a similar issue post-BMX! So I'm giving myself a kiss and rewarding myself for my effort by tucking into bed with a movie. Tanks are in the wash. (and no, don't worry, I didn't bring a load down in a basket from upstairs, I am committing an eco-crime by washing *just* the cami's!) I am bushed.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thanks to my fabulous friend for ferrying me over there in the rain . . . <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">mwah</span>!</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">xo</span>,</div><div><br /></div><div>Sarah</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871829428496317388noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54630987360282077.post-85947527266412054762011-10-12T19:06:00.004-04:002011-10-13T12:30:54.707-04:00Nipped & Tucked & PoopedThe <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Weeble</span> is exhausted. <div><br /></div><div>Quick update tonight: Saw my plastic surgeon this afternoon and she is unconcerned about the swelling. She said she'd be worried if it extended into the breasts (it doesn't, it's under my arms and down my sides a bit), or if I had a fever, it was hot to the touch, etc. This looks normal to her. It's worse on my left side because of the radiation I had 10 years ago - apparently it's harder for the fluid to absorb over there. So we'll watch it. She took a very careful look, felt it, and I'm seeing her next week again so she'll get another look.<div><br /></div><div>Then she did a revision - just what it sounds like - she revised my surgery on the left side. I had a little bit of black along my scar on that side. If you remember, they went in through my old scar from my lumpectomies in '01. That skin was dead, and she was worried that it might not scab off and that the scar would open up at some point. Yuck. So she shot me up with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">lidocaine</span>, cut out the black spot and stitched me up. The last time I was sutured while awake was when I was 13 and cut my chin open sledding. Still not a fan. No pain, just pulling and pressure and weirdness. At least I had the good sense not to look up at the lights, where I'd see my reflection. Then, I might've passed out. 20 minutes later I was out of the office, making a follow-up for next Wednesday. No fuss, no muss (let's hope - had so much fuss & muss that even her secretary was asking about The Rash).</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm relieved about the swelling - between her and the lymphedema PT on Monday, this will be followed. My fingers are crossed that the revision takes - she thinks it'll be just fine; because this skin is over muscle now (my mighty mighty pec), it's got a good blood supply. </div><div><br /></div><div>Now I need to set about finding a comfortable tank top with a shelf bra, STAT, because when I confessed that I was jettisoning my bra at night, she told me she wanted me in something, 24/7, for the next 4 weeks, most likely. </div><div><br /></div><div>Suggestions? Bonus points for adjustable straps, wide straps and something made of cotton. Free overnight shipping or availability in Boston might get you a kiss. But not a hug.</div><div><br /></div><div>xo,</div><div><br /></div><div>Sarah</div></div><div><br /></div><div>P.S. Editing this post to remind you guys that I need to be able to STEP INTO this camisole. Not glamourous. But necessary. No arms overhead! Low-fives, only . . . . </div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871829428496317388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54630987360282077.post-39437581206670289642011-10-11T08:45:00.006-04:002011-10-11T09:20:18.645-04:00Clawing my way back to normalYou know it's bad when Suzy Sunshine checks outa here. Suzy was hating life for a stretch there and disappeared, but Suzy's coming back. And although Debbie Downer's taken up residence in Suzy's stead, I see her fixing to pack her bags, and I'm not sorry to see her go.<div><br /></div><div>What's changed? Well, Sunday I phoned in a Bra 911 to a good friend. She took time out from her own family on one of the more gorgeous days of the year, on a long weekend, no less, to drive me to that bastion of frump and fit; Lady Grace Intimates. Some of you might not be familiar with LG. It's not where you go for sassy, sexy bras that impress, but these ladies know their stuff. I knew I needed a bra change, STAT. I looked up a few choices on the LG site and called their <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Waltham</span> store to see what they had in stock. They had one that would work and could order the one I really wanted, so my Savior drove me across bumpy hill and dale to get relief.</div><div><br /></div><div>Marlene met me - she was the one I'd spoken to on the phone, and by the number of times she called me "honey" and "dear" during our 5 minute conversation then, I knew I was going to be well taken care of. She is one of their certified post-mastectomy fitters. Calm, resolute, reassuring . . . well, you'd wanna hug her if you could hug anyone. She measured me up (still same size, even though I feel like a marshmallow, so that's reassuring) and whisked me off into a dressing room with a potential replacement bra.</div><div><br /></div><div>So . . . so far, the only people who've seen my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">foobs</span> are my docs, nurses, husband and daughter. There are many women who're open about showing their reconstructed breasts - I'm not one. I think that it's because I have my own outside parts, so really, aside from shape and size changes, these really still look like me. And as unabashed as I am about posting on the 'net about all this, I draw the line at flashing the goods. Anyway. It's hard to try a bra on without flashing the goods, so there was this brief awkward moment in the fitting room with Marlene, where I realize I'm going to have to get waist-up naked, and I said tentatively, "You want me to take this old bra off? You'll be able to fit me better." And she smiled gently and said, "I will. I do if you're OK with it." I said, "If you're not going to fall over backwards, I'm game," and she replies, "Honey, I've seen. it. <b>all</b>."</div><div><br /></div><div>Off went the bra, hitched up into the new one I got, and we inspected the situation. This is the ugliest thing I've ever worn, but it's FAR more comfortable than anything I've worn post-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">BMX</span>. Sold. She snapped off the tag so I could wear it home. She ordered up the super-comfy one I want and told me to make sure she or Roseanne, the other certified post-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">MX</span> fitter was around when I came back to try that one. "We know what you're going through and we know how to fit you best." And how. By the way, Marlene is 3 years out from chemo for ovarian cancer (the "silent killer" it is a Varsity-level cancer). We knocked on wood together. She gets how shitty all this is. Makes me want to hug her more.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway. The new bra has made me more comfortable the last few days. I still can't wear it to sleep - I'm too swollen for that, but my swelling has shifted and changed, so while I'm still quite uncomfortable, especially in the evenings and at night, I'm less afraid of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">lymphedema</span>. I also sent out a distress email to my old <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">lymphedema</span> physical therapist, who emailed me back last night. She reassured me that there is a huge range of post-surgical swelling that's normal, but said yes, I should be checked out. I'm calling her secretary this a.m. to make an appointment.</div><div><br /></div><div>And tomorrow is my follow up with the plastic surgeon. My intrepid husband is going to ferry me there. He's been on the front lines with this and between my list of questions, his sharp mind and ability to recall the progression of the swelling, we'll get to the bottom of this.</div><div><br /></div><div>Today, I will rest more, and walk more. I'm finally feeling like I might have the energy to get into a book. Yesterday I watch a mindless but fun chick flick in the a.m. I am taking it easy, but have relished being able to do more for myself and my family. This morning, I got teary as I mixed Lilah's pasta with basil pesto and loaded it into her Thermos. I am clawing my way back to the mundane, everyday tasks of living, raising my daughter and caring for my family. It feels so. damn. good.</div><div><br /></div><div>So I urge you all, today and in the days going forward, to take a minute to give thanks for what you've got. It can be trying, or boring, or downright awful to be you on any given day, but it could probably be worse. I know it could for me. So today, I'm giving thanks for small improvements, and for all the other things that are going so well in my life. Join me.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">xo</span>,</div><div><br /></div><div>Sarah</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871829428496317388noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54630987360282077.post-19413714228225725392011-10-09T04:24:00.004-04:002011-10-09T05:48:52.549-04:00Free floating anxietyIt's 4:24 a.m. I was still awake at 11:30 p.m. last night, then again at around 3 a.m. this morning. I have been anxious, restless. I have been in pain. <div><br /></div><div>The great thing about not having to see a doctor for a while after treatment, any kind of treatment for breast cancer, whether it's surgery or chemo or radiation, or some other form of intensive treatment is just that: you do not have to see a doctor for a while. And for anyone who's been on the doc circuit, you know how gratifying this is - you are free. Free! Schedule your life around YOU! It feels awesome, for a while.</div><div><br /></div><div>The bad thing about not having to see a doctor for a while after treatment is that you don't have anyone checking up on you. You are cut loose. You've been through major medical, in some cases a life and death situation, and you are <b>on. your. own.</b> And when stuff changes, and things comes up, you're left to your own devices with your mind, and Doctor Google at your bedside.</div><div><br /></div><div>Since last Wednesday night, I've had weird swelling. Pretty uncomfortable, painful swelling in a band around my upper chest. My once comfortable bra feels like a tourniquet, mostly at night. Wait - let's back up here - did you know that you have to wear a bra 24/7 after this surgery? You do. So that means while you're sleeping, and for you men out there, that may not make an impression, but I don't know many women who relish sleeping in a bra. Oh, and I think as an aside to my aside, I should mention that you also cannot sleep horizontally. Nope. I haven't slept lying down since I was knocked unconscious by general anesthesia on September 19<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">th</span>. Yes, that's right, you gotta be strapped in and at at least 45 degrees for comfort. Lately, I've preferred close to 90. Forget all about how I used to sleep on my side and stomach. That's a ways off, people. But I digress.</div><div><br /></div><div>Back to my ever-expanding torso. The feeling is of a thick and tight <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Theraband</span> being stretched around my chest, around under my arms to my back. The only thing I can point to that I did differently is that I bent over on Wednesday a few times - picking very light things off the floor. I am being honest when I say they were light. And if you noted my activity level - to a person who had not had a bilateral mastectomy with immediate reconstruction - it'd come across as <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">minuscule</span>. Ridiculous to even note. But apparently that level of activity can make one swell.</div><div><br /></div><div>I know, because after it got worse on Wednesday night, and better Thursday morning, I called into my plastic surgeon's office and had one of her nurse practitioners call me. Jill said that I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">must've</span> overdone it a bit on Wednesday and that all would likely be fine. You see, anytime you move around, your body creates more fluid, she explained. (Remember those drains? They took a ton of fluid out, and the docs did warn me I'd see an uptick in fluid if I moved around more). My body is getting used to having a foreign body implanted in it - sending more fluid to that area. I asked her if it was OK to remove my bra, and while she said they'd much prefer me to wear a bra, it was OK to take it off if I felt like it was cutting off my circulation. OK, makes sense. I wore my bra Thursday, and although the swelling got worse Thursday night, it was better again Friday. I decided not to call and to wait it out over the weekend. And now I'm worried.</div><div><br /></div><div>One of the things that makes you a good litigator is the ability to think situations through to various end points. The ability to think of all case-scenarios for your client, good and bad, is an asset. Particularly the bad case-scenarios, because that's what they want to avoid, right? The ability to think of all case-scenarios, particularly the bad case-scenarios is NOT a great quality in a cancer patient, because when stuff starts to hit the fan, your mind is at that nasty Point B faster than a jackrabbit. So in the last 36 hours my mind has gone all kinds of scary places with this. And the swelling has increased since yesterday. My unscientific measurements (how badly I feel like my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">foobs</span> might explode <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">outa</span> my body, the contour of the sides of my torso) say it's worse.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now, I have been eating saltier foods. I had half of a delectable whitefish salad sandwich on Friday that could only do bad things to a girl who's retaining water. And ate the second half of that Saturday for breakfast. A little leftover pizza, a yogurt (neutral) and some fruit (good) for lunch, and then some takeout for Saturday dinner that under normal circumstances makes me feel like junk day 2. Not good on the diet front. You see, when I haven't recently had my breasts removed, I cook most all our food from scratch. Our sodium intake is LOW. We eat so little processed food, we can control it easily. So eating all this "foreign food" can only be compounding the swelling. Duly noted. Today, that's going to change for sure.</div><div><br /></div><div>But what could it be? Well, as Dave has pointed out in desperation, it COULD be normal. (It might not be a surprise that I haven't been all that easy to live with this weekend.) I would be so <i>excited</i> if this pain were normal. If it's a part of the process I will delightedly suck it up and soldier on. But it also could be <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">lymphedema</span>, a chronic and painful condition that can occur after the channels that carry your lymph fluid are messed with: like say, having your breasts removed. It could also be the start of a painful and complicated bad surgical outcome called capsular <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">contracture</span> - where your body makes too much scar tissue around your implants and they get tight and stiff and they hurt and have to be removed. My fingers have been flying over the keyboard and Dr. Google has shown me all the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">nasties</span>. I've sent out a few SOS emails to contacts I have from Breast Cancer Round I to get going on an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">eval</span> for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">lymphedema</span>. I should anyway. But it's the weekend.</div><div><br /></div><div>Today is Sunday. My swelling is not reduced in the way that it was the last 2 mornings. I am awake early, determined to do one thing today: eat almost no salt. To drink a ton of water. To reduce what bloat I can. To do my part. And probably to meditate a bunch. Put my guided relaxation on an endless loop and plug in my <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">ear buds</span>. I'm paranoid. It's hard to stop. That follow-up Wednesday can't come soon enough.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">xo</span>,</div><div><br /></div><div>Sarah</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14871829428496317388noreply@blogger.com3