I am not travelling uncharted waters nor am I Captainless. Many have been here before me. Yet, I feel like an old Spanish galleon floundering bottom heavy with my topside whittled away. And while my personal experience with ships on high seas is limited, something does not seems right. My maneuvering, try as I might, is lumbersome and awkward and I long for my pre-mangled body.
All this to say, to slide into bed, stretch one arm up under my pillow and pull my upper leg up for support has long been my preferred position for sleep. Oh how I took that simple luxury for granted. The removal of lymph nodes makes stretching difficult and I wonder if I'll ever have full use of my body again.
Stretching is an unappreciated pleasure until you lose it and the older you get the better the chance it'll trigger a charlie horse. I'm glad these bodies are temporary!
Showing posts with label mastectomy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mastectomy. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
December 4th 2008, Hot turkey
Phoenix for doctor day. We met with Dr. Kato(my oncologist who replaced Dr. Thakker when he quit). We received a letter from Dr. Kato's group informing us that Dr. Kato has given his notice and that I was being assigned to doctor number 3! I couldn't have written this script. Do you need an outline? However, it turns out I get to move with Dr. Kato to his new practice. He's taking 5 of their people with him including my chemo nurse! I guess this practice has chased off 3 of the younger doctors interested in the latest chemo movements over this past year. They're not into new ideas. Dr. Kato is waiting on my healing before he resumes my last 3 chemos.
On to Dr. Mosharrafa. He was so wonderful and apologetic and compassionate. He told me he felt devastated by what had happened to me. I got my drains out(and never have to have them again - and believe me that's a blessing). We headed to Phoenix with my intending to go cold turkey - no pain meds for the drain removal torture but Dr. Kato said why? This was no time to play "hero". Turns out the pill Nazi came prepared. I'm sure it helped but geez man it still hurt!
Anyway, I was released from all my bandaging which with the 3 feet of tubing felt like what I imagine a corset might feel like. So glad to live beyond that era.
We could see that Dr. M had closed up all but one small remaining wound which we will let heal now. Shoyei and I left feeling really good about him and so relieved to have another chapter behind us.
Our third stop was to visit Bonnie at "Tina's Treasures". If you know anyone going through this you must tell them to visit Bonnie. She's been through the whole ordeal and is loving, compassionate and funny! I left with some new (prosthetic) lingerie to help me feel a little girlier again.
It was a good day.
On to Dr. Mosharrafa. He was so wonderful and apologetic and compassionate. He told me he felt devastated by what had happened to me. I got my drains out(and never have to have them again - and believe me that's a blessing). We headed to Phoenix with my intending to go cold turkey - no pain meds for the drain removal torture but Dr. Kato said why? This was no time to play "hero". Turns out the pill Nazi came prepared. I'm sure it helped but geez man it still hurt!
Anyway, I was released from all my bandaging which with the 3 feet of tubing felt like what I imagine a corset might feel like. So glad to live beyond that era.
We could see that Dr. M had closed up all but one small remaining wound which we will let heal now. Shoyei and I left feeling really good about him and so relieved to have another chapter behind us.
Our third stop was to visit Bonnie at "Tina's Treasures". If you know anyone going through this you must tell them to visit Bonnie. She's been through the whole ordeal and is loving, compassionate and funny! I left with some new (prosthetic) lingerie to help me feel a little girlier again.
It was a good day.
December 2nd 2008, Recovering Anew
Pain is an odd thing and different for everyone. It seems to be all about the nervous system. I am a lot more comfortable today even though I feel as if I’m starting over with both breasts assaulted, tight bandaging and drains. No bathing for three days. But the extreme pain of the right expander and the discomfort of the leaky drain are gone. I have numbness on the breast area but so far it has been a blessing. My doctor says feeling will return slowly. True?
I have odd nerve feelings down my right underarm all the way to my wrist – the lymph node chain line I assume. The expanders were never supposed to be filled to start with. Seeing the thinness of my skin my doctor felt it would prevent the expanders from pushing through by being filled enoucgh to round the edges. In fact, he told me at my initial consultation that the chance of rejection from partially filled expanders was too risky and he didn’t subscribe to it. So imagine my surprise when I awoke to just that. In hindsight, I feel he should have chosen to close me up and plan on the alternative journey I am now on. Oh well, God has been busy working on me. I am not much of a sit still person so it has been a good time for me in that regard.
I have odd nerve feelings down my right underarm all the way to my wrist – the lymph node chain line I assume. The expanders were never supposed to be filled to start with. Seeing the thinness of my skin my doctor felt it would prevent the expanders from pushing through by being filled enoucgh to round the edges. In fact, he told me at my initial consultation that the chance of rejection from partially filled expanders was too risky and he didn’t subscribe to it. So imagine my surprise when I awoke to just that. In hindsight, I feel he should have chosen to close me up and plan on the alternative journey I am now on. Oh well, God has been busy working on me. I am not much of a sit still person so it has been a good time for me in that regard.
December 1st 2008, Emergency Surgery
Another surgery complete. Today's 45 minute surgery ended up being 2 hours which had my husband a bit freaked out. Turns out my body was rejecting both tissue expanders. At least my pain was justified! And once again I have the pleasure of tubes and drains and the anticipation of their breath taking, literally, removal. Either my sense of humor is returning or I'm losing it, but this strikes me as funny. Ladies, did the shocking pain of childbirth stop you from baby #2? Why not? It's sort of fascinating.
Today's semi-emergency procedure was at St Joseph's Outpatient Surgery Center in Phoenix and it was first class - no complaints. My experience was an A+. I'm not really planning on a personal analysis of all local hospitals but I've experienced 4 now so feel free to contact me for my opinion.
My sense of humor is gradually returning - gosh I've missed her.
What I learned during this round? That even when I wanted to turn my back on God, He stuck to me like glue and didn't hold my weakness against me. I am humbled
Today's semi-emergency procedure was at St Joseph's Outpatient Surgery Center in Phoenix and it was first class - no complaints. My experience was an A+. I'm not really planning on a personal analysis of all local hospitals but I've experienced 4 now so feel free to contact me for my opinion.
My sense of humor is gradually returning - gosh I've missed her.
What I learned during this round? That even when I wanted to turn my back on God, He stuck to me like glue and didn't hold my weakness against me. I am humbled
November 28th 2008, Rejecting Expander
To say one has not suffered enough sounds martyrish and to some foolish. But who has not faced some great challenge and later realized the value of experience in relating to new challenges.
So, here I am. During this morning's dressing change, my husband was clearly alarmed and called the doctor to report he could see the expander. I was horrified. Monday I will go back into surgery to remove my right expander. I have in the short span of a few hours cried, felt self-pity, been angry and blessedly feasted on words of Hope. It is one more stage to pass through. It will add months(3 I think) to my total treatment. Months to learn more and hopefully see God at work.
When I was first diagnosed with this cancer, I understood there was opportunity in the danger(Chinese for crisis). But here alone on the high seas of the storm it is often difficult to keep that perspective. At the end of each day though, I'm simply happy for another day even of trials. Another opportunity to tell you if you are receiving this email it is because I love you and am grateful for the chance to tell you so.
So, here I am. During this morning's dressing change, my husband was clearly alarmed and called the doctor to report he could see the expander. I was horrified. Monday I will go back into surgery to remove my right expander. I have in the short span of a few hours cried, felt self-pity, been angry and blessedly feasted on words of Hope. It is one more stage to pass through. It will add months(3 I think) to my total treatment. Months to learn more and hopefully see God at work.
When I was first diagnosed with this cancer, I understood there was opportunity in the danger(Chinese for crisis). But here alone on the high seas of the storm it is often difficult to keep that perspective. At the end of each day though, I'm simply happy for another day even of trials. Another opportunity to tell you if you are receiving this email it is because I love you and am grateful for the chance to tell you so.
November 26th 2008, Dr. Report
Saw the doctor and he drained 240 of the 300cc of saline from my right side where the expander was just about to bust through! Gross - it's like Alien(the movie)!
I feel 1000% better!
I feel 1000% better!
November 23rd 2008, Nitty Gritty
Writing an open journal has its drawbacks. My concern for the sensibilities of the reader have sometimes rendered me mute. There's a lot of gross stuff going on. You may choose to read no further or your curiosity may have you wondering.
I will further confess, between the oxycodone(Percoset) and the Valium my thoughts tend to take strange and unexpected tangents which is fun for me but confusing for you. Sorry in advance but the requirement for pain management has far exceeded my expectations.
It really did seem like the worst thing I had left to contend with was the tube protruding from my right side about halfway between my armpit and my waist which had the nasty habit of leaking. When we headed down for last Tuesday's visit to the doctor it was with the anticipation of a child on Christmas morning. Something good was definitely happening today. I was to be "unplugged" (and left with mellower music?).
Nothing could dissuade my enthusiasm. I took a Percoset halfway down the two hour drive to Phoenix anticipating some discomfort. 30 minutes out, the pill Nazi hands me a second Percoset. "I already took one," I remind him but he says "just in case". He knows something, I think to myself.
When the moment arrives, Dr. Mosharrafa tells me to take 3 deep breaths and then he pulls...and he pulls...and he pulls - the friction of 18 inches of plastic tubing rubbing against my raw wound. I'm left clinging to my husband, panting and in shock at what felt something like having a sword pulled out of one's side. But, like childbirth, its over and nearly forgotten. The left side is less shocking and soon. I'm free! It's an amazing feeling. I can shower!
When I tell Dr. Mosharrafa that Dr. Kato is fine with waiting on chemo until I'm healed, he seems very pleased. "Eight weeks," he says. "From surgery?" My husband asks. "From today," he answers. To heal or not to heal - that is the question of the day and tomorrow - etcetera etcetera(I'm hearing the King of Siam in my head).
The party line is this: some women have thin skin which makes healing more difficult. It is meant to explain the numerous open wounds across my chest. The words "burn" and "cauterize" are no longer mentioned. Dr. M explains that unlike our parent's(I'm probably old enough to be his) who believed in letting air dry the wound and form a scab, today's thought is to keep it moist and let it heal from the inside out.
Eight more weeks of twice a day dressing changes, the task at which my husband's expertise is critically important. I ask Dr. Mosharrafa what chance he thinks I have of avoiding tissue expanders rejection. I've spoken with two friends who took a long time healing but finally did. "And that's exactly what I expect," he says. We walk out on a cloud.
Next we go to see Dr. Corn. She is mainly just curious since at this point I'm solely in the surgical care of Dr. Mosharrafa. She oohs and aahs about how great I look and how she's "seen much worse. This is nothing, you'll be fine!" I like her but I don't believe her. She would be more convincing on a cheer leading squad. I mean I believe I will heal but she makes me feel like she's selling it. "I skinned you good," she asserts proudly.
A friend of a friend has recommended another surgeon for a second opinion. The idea hangs in the air between us for a few days before we whittle away at the distance and agree we are not up to that battle at this stage.
We are so excited at the end of the "tubes and drains" chapter that we jump on the freeway and head home for a celebration dinner. However 30 miles from nowhere, Shoyei realizes we're out of gas(a first time experience for my 747 captain) so we call AAA and wait. By the day's end, we're simply happy to get home.
We settle into the routine of dressing changes. Shoyei performs his task with determined efficiency but his enthusiasm for the job has waned which I interpret to mean this is actually grossing him out. Or he is just exhausted. I sneak a peak and decide on the grossed-out theory. I think he is struggling to remember the girl he married with a full head of hair, eye lashes and eyebrows(mine have finally gone), smooth skin(he lovingly rubs lotions on my shoulders and back where I cannot reach and where a lizard scale has taken over), and this dessicated torso. He reminds me of the occasion in Vietnam when he had to shove a man's intestines back in his belly and struggle to hold them there while they awaited medical aid. "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do" - I smirk at the phrase, at the surprise I felt when my eight year old son stated it with such manly determination as he took his dose of asthma medicine. Shoyei is diligent as if it is up to him alone whether I avoid rejection.
I am having good days and bad days. One day I feel great, I exercise, eat well and get by on 1 1/2 Percosets. The next day I take 5 Percosets and a Valium, have no appetite and feel as if someone somewhere is working me over as a voodoo doll. Shoyei and I alternately analyze the possible reasons for my day-to-day condition. Did I lift something? Was the ace bandage too tight and therefore moving the expanders? Perhaps the fluid that is still leaking is in some sort of Ninja battle to keep the absorption "in house".
Anyway, I remain in a good frame of mind with a planned trip to Tucson for Thanksgiving with my daughter and her husband and the arrival of my son for an extended Christmas visit.
Day-by-day, Day by day
O Dear Lord these things I pray:
To see thee more clearly,
Love thee more dearly,
To follow thee more nearly,
Day by day by day by day.
I will further confess, between the oxycodone(Percoset) and the Valium my thoughts tend to take strange and unexpected tangents which is fun for me but confusing for you. Sorry in advance but the requirement for pain management has far exceeded my expectations.
It really did seem like the worst thing I had left to contend with was the tube protruding from my right side about halfway between my armpit and my waist which had the nasty habit of leaking. When we headed down for last Tuesday's visit to the doctor it was with the anticipation of a child on Christmas morning. Something good was definitely happening today. I was to be "unplugged" (and left with mellower music?).
Nothing could dissuade my enthusiasm. I took a Percoset halfway down the two hour drive to Phoenix anticipating some discomfort. 30 minutes out, the pill Nazi hands me a second Percoset. "I already took one," I remind him but he says "just in case". He knows something, I think to myself.
When the moment arrives, Dr. Mosharrafa tells me to take 3 deep breaths and then he pulls...and he pulls...and he pulls - the friction of 18 inches of plastic tubing rubbing against my raw wound. I'm left clinging to my husband, panting and in shock at what felt something like having a sword pulled out of one's side. But, like childbirth, its over and nearly forgotten. The left side is less shocking and soon. I'm free! It's an amazing feeling. I can shower!
When I tell Dr. Mosharrafa that Dr. Kato is fine with waiting on chemo until I'm healed, he seems very pleased. "Eight weeks," he says. "From surgery?" My husband asks. "From today," he answers. To heal or not to heal - that is the question of the day and tomorrow - etcetera etcetera(I'm hearing the King of Siam in my head).
The party line is this: some women have thin skin which makes healing more difficult. It is meant to explain the numerous open wounds across my chest. The words "burn" and "cauterize" are no longer mentioned. Dr. M explains that unlike our parent's(I'm probably old enough to be his) who believed in letting air dry the wound and form a scab, today's thought is to keep it moist and let it heal from the inside out.
Eight more weeks of twice a day dressing changes, the task at which my husband's expertise is critically important. I ask Dr. Mosharrafa what chance he thinks I have of avoiding tissue expanders rejection. I've spoken with two friends who took a long time healing but finally did. "And that's exactly what I expect," he says. We walk out on a cloud.
Next we go to see Dr. Corn. She is mainly just curious since at this point I'm solely in the surgical care of Dr. Mosharrafa. She oohs and aahs about how great I look and how she's "seen much worse. This is nothing, you'll be fine!" I like her but I don't believe her. She would be more convincing on a cheer leading squad. I mean I believe I will heal but she makes me feel like she's selling it. "I skinned you good," she asserts proudly.
A friend of a friend has recommended another surgeon for a second opinion. The idea hangs in the air between us for a few days before we whittle away at the distance and agree we are not up to that battle at this stage.
We are so excited at the end of the "tubes and drains" chapter that we jump on the freeway and head home for a celebration dinner. However 30 miles from nowhere, Shoyei realizes we're out of gas(a first time experience for my 747 captain) so we call AAA and wait. By the day's end, we're simply happy to get home.
We settle into the routine of dressing changes. Shoyei performs his task with determined efficiency but his enthusiasm for the job has waned which I interpret to mean this is actually grossing him out. Or he is just exhausted. I sneak a peak and decide on the grossed-out theory. I think he is struggling to remember the girl he married with a full head of hair, eye lashes and eyebrows(mine have finally gone), smooth skin(he lovingly rubs lotions on my shoulders and back where I cannot reach and where a lizard scale has taken over), and this dessicated torso. He reminds me of the occasion in Vietnam when he had to shove a man's intestines back in his belly and struggle to hold them there while they awaited medical aid. "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do" - I smirk at the phrase, at the surprise I felt when my eight year old son stated it with such manly determination as he took his dose of asthma medicine. Shoyei is diligent as if it is up to him alone whether I avoid rejection.
I am having good days and bad days. One day I feel great, I exercise, eat well and get by on 1 1/2 Percosets. The next day I take 5 Percosets and a Valium, have no appetite and feel as if someone somewhere is working me over as a voodoo doll. Shoyei and I alternately analyze the possible reasons for my day-to-day condition. Did I lift something? Was the ace bandage too tight and therefore moving the expanders? Perhaps the fluid that is still leaking is in some sort of Ninja battle to keep the absorption "in house".
Anyway, I remain in a good frame of mind with a planned trip to Tucson for Thanksgiving with my daughter and her husband and the arrival of my son for an extended Christmas visit.
Day-by-day, Day by day
O Dear Lord these things I pray:
To see thee more clearly,
Love thee more dearly,
To follow thee more nearly,
Day by day by day by day.
November 13th 2008, Progress Report
Up until know my cancer treatment has been pretty easy. At least nothing as bad as I first feared. I even felt guilty for not suffering enough. On Tuesday my husband and I drove down for my two week check up expecting to have the drains removed. So I was terribly disappointed when Dr. Mosharrafa said he wanted to wait one more week. But worse news followed. He said he was concerned about the possibility that my skin was not healing. It's paper thin because Dr. Corn aggressively got all the tissue she could. The hope is that the remaining skin will get enough circulation to thrive. He says we'll just continue the twice a day dressing changes for the next 6 to 8 weeks! This does not compute. I hate this part and can't imagine 6 to 8 weeks more of it. Could be worse I tell myself thinking of a friend who is presently in a burn center. He says he will not do anything to compromise my treatment which is to say its up to my oncologist, Dr. Kato, who we'll see tomorrow. The possibility is that my body is rejecting the expanders. Last night I experienced two hours of violent shivering. I had a fever of 100. This morning it is 100.6. So we are awaiting a call back from the doctor.
Either way, I feel at peace. I have the most incredible support group - prayer warriors par excellence starting with my daughter who sends such wonderful encouragement. The blessings from this cancer are beyond my expectations.
I confess this has not been all mountaintop experience. I have shaken my fist at God but it seems the moment I do, he sends a saint to lift me up!
And yes, I would still do this again if it were up to me.
Either way, I feel at peace. I have the most incredible support group - prayer warriors par excellence starting with my daughter who sends such wonderful encouragement. The blessings from this cancer are beyond my expectations.
I confess this has not been all mountaintop experience. I have shaken my fist at God but it seems the moment I do, he sends a saint to lift me up!
And yes, I would still do this again if it were up to me.
November 8th 2008, Recovering
The first week few days home from mastectomy surgery aren't bad. Medication controls the pain. Nine well placed pillows prop me and I am, surprisingly, able to sleep on my back. Two of these pillows are little flannel hearts that fit comfortably under my armpits to prevent chafing. God bless the hands that sewed them. I am wearing an ingenious garment. It is a camesole of the softest cotton knit with thoughtfully constructed interior pockets to hold drain bulbs, tubes and prosthetic breasts(which are empty). The bulbs attach to tubes running from each under arm acting as suctions siphoning off body fluid until the lymphatic system kicks in and takes over. Twice a day my husband removes each bulb and squeezes the murky contents into a measuring cup to record the amount collected. He manages this task with great attention to detail and a deft touch for my comfort. It's the way he approaches everything. One day as he was absorbed in these ministrations my mind flashed back 35 years ago- I was a flight attendant and my husband was the captain of our DC10. Upon descent into to Boston's Logan Airport we lost an engine. The older flight attendants assured us we had nothing to worry about, Captain Yamauchi was at the helm. His reputation as a skilled airman dispelled all fear and he gently set our big old bird down, passengers none the wiser. These are the same hands that care for me now I am thinking.
We saw my plastic surgeon three days ago. He removed the bandages and we got our first look at my massacred chest. From my vantage point, I can't see too much which I'm sure is a blessing. I prefer to investigate later in private. For now, looking down I can see the outline of the tissue expanders creating little malformed mounds. I check out my husband's expression. He wavers between curiosity and horror. I love him for trying to control this transfer of thoughts to expression but his heart is clearly broken for me. We are entering a whole new kind of intimacy.
Dr. Mosharrafa points to a place on my left, heretofore healthy "breast", and explains,"this is a burn where Dr. Corn was cauterizing" outlining 4 square inches and two 1/4" holes of skin damage. Its said matter-of-factly and I'm too stunned to respond. Considering the rest of the devastation, it seems to makes little difference now. I'm not up to assessing this new information and neither is my husband. We are two weary warriors and this information is more than we can deal with right now.
There is a lot more pain the second week because twice a day Shoyei has to change my dressings. I realize now that I'd never thought this far out. It's a nasty job and seems too much to ask. But this too he does with love. Did I mention he was a child prodigy - he played piano with the San Francisco symphony, he played for the king and queen of Norway. He has a feather touch and my skin is numb anyway so I can't feel the wiping or stinging. Unconvinced, he continues his gentle ways. What I feel a is a deep aching pain that has me sucking in air and concentrating on my diaphragm breathing.
This new regimen has me doubling my pain pill intake but Shoyei's stingy with my meds. For one thing he's afraid I'll become addicted. Yesterday afternoon he tried to get me to hold out between doses. "On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you describe your pain?". Like the hospital nurses would ask. I tell him I am a 4(10 being childbirth). I know perfectly well he doesn't want me to suffer. He plunks a heavy naturopathic tome on my lap and points to the paragraphs he wants me to read. It states that narcotics(i.e. my Percoset pain pills) may actually contribute to the spreading of cancer. Two of my doctors have already poo pooed this. I feel caught in the battle between traditional, heavily documented medicine and the naturopathic approach which sounds good but what about pain? Right now I vote for the route of pain relief. I've become hesitant to call Shoyei for a pill only to have him look at me like a junkie. My prescription says 'take 1 to 2 every 4 hours as needed for pain'. I take 3 to 4 a day but my nurse Ratchet would like to see that down to 1 or 2. So I guess it's obvious I'm growing grouchier by the minute.
Finally we agree to call the doctor who tells us both if I hurt, I get a pain pill. But they also agree to alternate my medication between Percoset and Valium, the latter is a muscle relaxant. Perhaps muscle cramps are a partly responsible for my pain. I'm happy to report, 24 hours later, it's already making a difference.
There has been a wonderful highlight to this week. We have been blessed with meal after meal provided by some women from my church. Flowers and gifts and cards have helped me through some of the toughest days. I keep reminding myself how very blessed I am.
Kathleen
"O Joy that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to Thee,
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not in vain,
That morn shall tearless be."
-George Matheson
We saw my plastic surgeon three days ago. He removed the bandages and we got our first look at my massacred chest. From my vantage point, I can't see too much which I'm sure is a blessing. I prefer to investigate later in private. For now, looking down I can see the outline of the tissue expanders creating little malformed mounds. I check out my husband's expression. He wavers between curiosity and horror. I love him for trying to control this transfer of thoughts to expression but his heart is clearly broken for me. We are entering a whole new kind of intimacy.
Dr. Mosharrafa points to a place on my left, heretofore healthy "breast", and explains,"this is a burn where Dr. Corn was cauterizing" outlining 4 square inches and two 1/4" holes of skin damage. Its said matter-of-factly and I'm too stunned to respond. Considering the rest of the devastation, it seems to makes little difference now. I'm not up to assessing this new information and neither is my husband. We are two weary warriors and this information is more than we can deal with right now.
There is a lot more pain the second week because twice a day Shoyei has to change my dressings. I realize now that I'd never thought this far out. It's a nasty job and seems too much to ask. But this too he does with love. Did I mention he was a child prodigy - he played piano with the San Francisco symphony, he played for the king and queen of Norway. He has a feather touch and my skin is numb anyway so I can't feel the wiping or stinging. Unconvinced, he continues his gentle ways. What I feel a is a deep aching pain that has me sucking in air and concentrating on my diaphragm breathing.
This new regimen has me doubling my pain pill intake but Shoyei's stingy with my meds. For one thing he's afraid I'll become addicted. Yesterday afternoon he tried to get me to hold out between doses. "On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you describe your pain?". Like the hospital nurses would ask. I tell him I am a 4(10 being childbirth). I know perfectly well he doesn't want me to suffer. He plunks a heavy naturopathic tome on my lap and points to the paragraphs he wants me to read. It states that narcotics(i.e. my Percoset pain pills) may actually contribute to the spreading of cancer. Two of my doctors have already poo pooed this. I feel caught in the battle between traditional, heavily documented medicine and the naturopathic approach which sounds good but what about pain? Right now I vote for the route of pain relief. I've become hesitant to call Shoyei for a pill only to have him look at me like a junkie. My prescription says 'take 1 to 2 every 4 hours as needed for pain'. I take 3 to 4 a day but my nurse Ratchet would like to see that down to 1 or 2. So I guess it's obvious I'm growing grouchier by the minute.
Finally we agree to call the doctor who tells us both if I hurt, I get a pain pill. But they also agree to alternate my medication between Percoset and Valium, the latter is a muscle relaxant. Perhaps muscle cramps are a partly responsible for my pain. I'm happy to report, 24 hours later, it's already making a difference.
There has been a wonderful highlight to this week. We have been blessed with meal after meal provided by some women from my church. Flowers and gifts and cards have helped me through some of the toughest days. I keep reminding myself how very blessed I am.
Kathleen
"O Joy that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to Thee,
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not in vain,
That morn shall tearless be."
-George Matheson
November 3rd 2008, Pathology Report
Dr. Corn just called with the pathology report. Cancer was found in the one sentinel node only. The other four they tested were clear which was thrilling news. She doesn't have to go back in to remove nodes, she removed the sentinel and all surrounding tissue. I'm so happy although I was prepared to hear worse news and not be too upset by it.
There's a woman who runs the Iditarod, a dog sledding race in Alaska, who's had a double mastectomy and 22 nodes removed. I figured I could deal with it either way but its nice to get good news.
There's a woman who runs the Iditarod, a dog sledding race in Alaska, who's had a double mastectomy and 22 nodes removed. I figured I could deal with it either way but its nice to get good news.
October 30th 2008, Surgery, Hospital stuff and Home
THURSDAY. Home again. One sleepless night in the hospital is enough. My husband is beyond exhaustion. His task is difficult. He feels so responsible for my care and I suppose he is.
TUESDAY. Today we met with Dr. Mosharrafa, my young blue-eyed plastic surgeon in Phoenix. He specializes in mastectomy reconstruction and is gifted with the necessary manner to deal with women faced with this option. I'm so grateful I've found him. He draws lines across my chest as I stand naked before him, my husband looking on with keen interest in the details. Shoyei asks the questions of a detached medical student and Dr. Mosharrafa enthusiastically responds. I feel like a class project. The lines are for my oncology surgeon, Dr. Corn, to follow when performing my double mastectomy tomorrow. It's like laying pattern pieces out on the fabric of my skin. A few bold pen strokes and he has marked out a plan for the new me. Like a visit to my tailor. Reconstruct - to build up, as from remains, an image of the original. Perfect. When Dr. Mosharaffa inserts the expanders and sews me up, I think to myself, I will be well along in the process of rebuilding Katrina(Spanish for Kathleen) after hurricane Cancer. I smirk at my private little joke while the boys are discussing the procedure as if I'm not there. Shoyei inquires as to his chances of being in the OR to watch. I raise an eyebrow knowing he can't stand the sight of blood. Fortunately, for all, its not an option.
Afterwards, Shoyei and I meet a dear friend who happens to be in town. We wander in Old Towne Scottsdale and find a great little restaurant where we dine on elegant salads and catch up in the intimate manner of old friends - a delightful diversion which takes my mind off tomorrow.
WEDNESDAY. I've slept well but Shoyei has been up since 3AM. We get ready in silence and then we are off to Thompson's Peak Hospital, a new hospital with state-of-the-art equipment and patient comforts. I was there for my port implant and have almost looked forward to another visit. I'm quickly ushered into radiology where the male attendants are disappointingly cold and impersonal despite the fact they refer to me as "dear". I overhear enough to know they are afraid of a chewing out by the radiologist. "Where are your mammograms?" I'm queried in a you-forgot-your-homework-again tone."My mammograms? What? No one asked for them. Why? Nothing showed up on my mammograms," I explain. "The radiologist is going to want to see those mammograms" I'm told."The ones that show nothing?" I ask. "He's here," they say softly. I hear him ask to see the mammogram and their whispered response. He marches to my side where I lie in undignified repose. "No mammograms." He says. I'm not sure if its a question or a statement but I explain their uselessness. Nonplussed, he seguays to the subject at hand, leaving me wondering at the twittering techies.
"I'm going to inject four shots into your right breast. We don't anesthetize for this because that would still mean four stings," he says. After the first injection I tell him I didn't feel a thing. "I'll try harder next time," he says. I appreciate his effort at humor in this humorless place. The injections are radioactive isotopes. This is a "sentinel node" procededure to locate which lymph node guards the path to the whole chain of nodes under my right arm. The table I'm on glides feet first into position for pictures. Turns out I have two sentries. No one says if this is a good thing or bad. The radiologist runs a geiger counter over the nodes and adds two more marks to my tattooed chest. I later learn Dr. Corn is annoyed by this over stepping of her power. Apparently politics abound even in hospitals.
I'm taken upstairs to Pre-Op by wheelchair, my husband taking over the sentry role. What is the deal with hospitals not letting you walk on your own volition when you're able and then making you amble about when you don't fell up to it? My assigned nurse here is a gem. She's exudes warmth and competence and I find myself relaxing. I'm outfitted in my hospital gown, socks, an IV is started and Shoyei and I settle in for a two hour wait. Dr. Corn, the OR nurse and anesthesiologist stop by one at a time to check in with me. I'm amazed at the peace I feel. When noone is looking. I take one last peek down my gown at the part of me about to be cut away. "Farewell," I whisper wistfully. I glance at my husband. He looks afraid and I pray for him. I'm so sad he's refused all offers of company for his waiting but he's adamant about preferring to going it alone. The anesthesiologist is ready to take me. "Now's the time for the hug and kiss" he tells Shoyei. I'm surprised to feel my face crumple as we cling to each other. It's the last I remember until I awake in recovery.
Recovery is the hard part. They are under staffed today, they tell me. I'm in pain and unable to position myself for relief in the bed. The nurses are overwhelmed and impatient. They are in the ninth and tenth hours of their twelve hour shifts. Its unrealistic of me to expect the best of them. I'm given a pain killer which quiets me down. I'm kept waiting and waiting because there are no rooms ready (because they are short handed there too?) which for these nurses means double the patient load. I can hear another patient coughing and the distress is is causing her. They are comforting her. Suck it up I tell myself but the drugs render me weak and selfish. I seek the comfort of my Lord and He is there but I am concerned about my husband and anxious to see my daughter. It has been hard for Shoyei to let me out of his sight. My protector. I hear a recovery room nurse taking a call. She is explaining to my husband why I am still here where he cannot be with me.
Finally, I'm wheeled to my room where my husband, daughter and son-in-law are waiting. I am so happy to see them so why am I still so irritable. It took me so long to get into a semi-comfortable position my room nurse wants to make me "more comfortable". I just want her to leave me alone. Actually I want her to leave completely. Shoyei is all the nurse I need. I'm "under the influence" and behaving badly. I hear my daughter apologizing for me. "Did you know my mother before?" she asks, "because, this is not how she normally acts." "I'm embarrassing you," I say. Shoyei makes a stab at a joke and I tell him to drop the jokes for a while. They're annoying me. Later I'm mortified, tearful and ashamed apologize to everyone.
Shoyei shares the doctors post-op reports. They are both giddy with excitement at how well I've done. It's good to know I behaved during surgery. Dr. Mosharaffa has inflated my tissue expanders halfway already which had not been his intention "because her muscle is so strong". Must be all that protein I've been eating. It also explains why I feel as if I have a rubberband around my chest. The expanders are under muscle.
.The new nurse, Shelli, seems on guard, as if she's been warned. But I start off by telling her how out of control I feel. "It's normal," she says, "the anesthetic does that". She's beginning her shift and appears to be conserving her energy. She gets me settled. I eat a little but fail to keep it down. My husband holds the bucket. For better or for worse, he's pulling his end.
I feel myself again, my alter ego has thankfully gone missing. The pain is under control and I'm sleepy. The nurse helps my husband convert the couch into a bed, gives him sheets, blanket and a pillow and he collapses for about 3 hours. I smile with gratitude for his soft snoring. I try to doze off but there are pressure "socks" alternately massaging one leg then the other every 10 seconds to prevent blood clots. My "vitals" are monitored throughout the long sleepless night. At 3AM I need to use the bathroom and call for Shoyei's help. He calls for the nurse to help us with the tubes. She comes to help, instructing me to put my weight on the bed rail, which collapses sending pain up my torso and her tripping past my husband. No harm done, we all laugh. Through the night she forgets to restart my pressure socks, put on my oxygen tube and re plug my IV drip after I use the bathroom. She's annoyed at first when I call each time to ask about these things then acknowledges "we" forgot to reconnect you. She's lovable but I'd like to go find that pre-op nurse. I finally sleep from 5:15 to 6:15 when an attendant attempts to slap a blood pressure cuff on my arm after loudly announcing "sorry to wake you". He missed the big sign on my board saying no blood pressure readings from either arm. "Oh yeah," he remembers, "I saw that on your chart". I ask for a pain pill. "I'll let Kelly know,"he says. "Who's Kelly?" I ask.
My husband is getting breakfast I'm told. I'm hungry and wonder when breakfast is served. I turn on the flatscreen TV and discover the coolest thing about this hospital. I hit menu and order oatmeal, brown sugar, milk, berries and an english muffin.
Dr. Corn pops in, loosens my bandage(I finally take a full breath) and signs my release. My delicious hot breakfast arrives and I am thinking about staying one more night. Until Kelly shows up. He's not mean but right up until I'm released no shadow of a smile attempts to brighten his face. I am so anxious to get home.
HOME. Shoyei gets me settled experimenting with the right pillows to make me as comfortable as possible. I absolutely cannot imagine a gentler, more conscientious nurse than Shoyei is being. He is grouchy but mighty short on sleep. His is a volunteer position. I take in the beautiful view out my window and the two vases of flowers each of my children have given me. My daughter and her husband are here to help. My mother is here. My family has called and friends email their love. I feel cherished and very grateful.
TUESDAY. Today we met with Dr. Mosharrafa, my young blue-eyed plastic surgeon in Phoenix. He specializes in mastectomy reconstruction and is gifted with the necessary manner to deal with women faced with this option. I'm so grateful I've found him. He draws lines across my chest as I stand naked before him, my husband looking on with keen interest in the details. Shoyei asks the questions of a detached medical student and Dr. Mosharrafa enthusiastically responds. I feel like a class project. The lines are for my oncology surgeon, Dr. Corn, to follow when performing my double mastectomy tomorrow. It's like laying pattern pieces out on the fabric of my skin. A few bold pen strokes and he has marked out a plan for the new me. Like a visit to my tailor. Reconstruct - to build up, as from remains, an image of the original. Perfect. When Dr. Mosharaffa inserts the expanders and sews me up, I think to myself, I will be well along in the process of rebuilding Katrina(Spanish for Kathleen) after hurricane Cancer. I smirk at my private little joke while the boys are discussing the procedure as if I'm not there. Shoyei inquires as to his chances of being in the OR to watch. I raise an eyebrow knowing he can't stand the sight of blood. Fortunately, for all, its not an option.
Afterwards, Shoyei and I meet a dear friend who happens to be in town. We wander in Old Towne Scottsdale and find a great little restaurant where we dine on elegant salads and catch up in the intimate manner of old friends - a delightful diversion which takes my mind off tomorrow.
WEDNESDAY. I've slept well but Shoyei has been up since 3AM. We get ready in silence and then we are off to Thompson's Peak Hospital, a new hospital with state-of-the-art equipment and patient comforts. I was there for my port implant and have almost looked forward to another visit. I'm quickly ushered into radiology where the male attendants are disappointingly cold and impersonal despite the fact they refer to me as "dear". I overhear enough to know they are afraid of a chewing out by the radiologist. "Where are your mammograms?" I'm queried in a you-forgot-your-homework-again tone."My mammograms? What? No one asked for them. Why? Nothing showed up on my mammograms," I explain. "The radiologist is going to want to see those mammograms" I'm told."The ones that show nothing?" I ask. "He's here," they say softly. I hear him ask to see the mammogram and their whispered response. He marches to my side where I lie in undignified repose. "No mammograms." He says. I'm not sure if its a question or a statement but I explain their uselessness. Nonplussed, he seguays to the subject at hand, leaving me wondering at the twittering techies.
"I'm going to inject four shots into your right breast. We don't anesthetize for this because that would still mean four stings," he says. After the first injection I tell him I didn't feel a thing. "I'll try harder next time," he says. I appreciate his effort at humor in this humorless place. The injections are radioactive isotopes. This is a "sentinel node" procededure to locate which lymph node guards the path to the whole chain of nodes under my right arm. The table I'm on glides feet first into position for pictures. Turns out I have two sentries. No one says if this is a good thing or bad. The radiologist runs a geiger counter over the nodes and adds two more marks to my tattooed chest. I later learn Dr. Corn is annoyed by this over stepping of her power. Apparently politics abound even in hospitals.
I'm taken upstairs to Pre-Op by wheelchair, my husband taking over the sentry role. What is the deal with hospitals not letting you walk on your own volition when you're able and then making you amble about when you don't fell up to it? My assigned nurse here is a gem. She's exudes warmth and competence and I find myself relaxing. I'm outfitted in my hospital gown, socks, an IV is started and Shoyei and I settle in for a two hour wait. Dr. Corn, the OR nurse and anesthesiologist stop by one at a time to check in with me. I'm amazed at the peace I feel. When noone is looking. I take one last peek down my gown at the part of me about to be cut away. "Farewell," I whisper wistfully. I glance at my husband. He looks afraid and I pray for him. I'm so sad he's refused all offers of company for his waiting but he's adamant about preferring to going it alone. The anesthesiologist is ready to take me. "Now's the time for the hug and kiss" he tells Shoyei. I'm surprised to feel my face crumple as we cling to each other. It's the last I remember until I awake in recovery.
Recovery is the hard part. They are under staffed today, they tell me. I'm in pain and unable to position myself for relief in the bed. The nurses are overwhelmed and impatient. They are in the ninth and tenth hours of their twelve hour shifts. Its unrealistic of me to expect the best of them. I'm given a pain killer which quiets me down. I'm kept waiting and waiting because there are no rooms ready (because they are short handed there too?) which for these nurses means double the patient load. I can hear another patient coughing and the distress is is causing her. They are comforting her. Suck it up I tell myself but the drugs render me weak and selfish. I seek the comfort of my Lord and He is there but I am concerned about my husband and anxious to see my daughter. It has been hard for Shoyei to let me out of his sight. My protector. I hear a recovery room nurse taking a call. She is explaining to my husband why I am still here where he cannot be with me.
Finally, I'm wheeled to my room where my husband, daughter and son-in-law are waiting. I am so happy to see them so why am I still so irritable. It took me so long to get into a semi-comfortable position my room nurse wants to make me "more comfortable". I just want her to leave me alone. Actually I want her to leave completely. Shoyei is all the nurse I need. I'm "under the influence" and behaving badly. I hear my daughter apologizing for me. "Did you know my mother before?" she asks, "because, this is not how she normally acts." "I'm embarrassing you," I say. Shoyei makes a stab at a joke and I tell him to drop the jokes for a while. They're annoying me. Later I'm mortified, tearful and ashamed apologize to everyone.
Shoyei shares the doctors post-op reports. They are both giddy with excitement at how well I've done. It's good to know I behaved during surgery. Dr. Mosharaffa has inflated my tissue expanders halfway already which had not been his intention "because her muscle is so strong". Must be all that protein I've been eating. It also explains why I feel as if I have a rubberband around my chest. The expanders are under muscle.
.The new nurse, Shelli, seems on guard, as if she's been warned. But I start off by telling her how out of control I feel. "It's normal," she says, "the anesthetic does that". She's beginning her shift and appears to be conserving her energy. She gets me settled. I eat a little but fail to keep it down. My husband holds the bucket. For better or for worse, he's pulling his end.
I feel myself again, my alter ego has thankfully gone missing. The pain is under control and I'm sleepy. The nurse helps my husband convert the couch into a bed, gives him sheets, blanket and a pillow and he collapses for about 3 hours. I smile with gratitude for his soft snoring. I try to doze off but there are pressure "socks" alternately massaging one leg then the other every 10 seconds to prevent blood clots. My "vitals" are monitored throughout the long sleepless night. At 3AM I need to use the bathroom and call for Shoyei's help. He calls for the nurse to help us with the tubes. She comes to help, instructing me to put my weight on the bed rail, which collapses sending pain up my torso and her tripping past my husband. No harm done, we all laugh. Through the night she forgets to restart my pressure socks, put on my oxygen tube and re plug my IV drip after I use the bathroom. She's annoyed at first when I call each time to ask about these things then acknowledges "we" forgot to reconnect you. She's lovable but I'd like to go find that pre-op nurse. I finally sleep from 5:15 to 6:15 when an attendant attempts to slap a blood pressure cuff on my arm after loudly announcing "sorry to wake you". He missed the big sign on my board saying no blood pressure readings from either arm. "Oh yeah," he remembers, "I saw that on your chart". I ask for a pain pill. "I'll let Kelly know,"he says. "Who's Kelly?" I ask.
My husband is getting breakfast I'm told. I'm hungry and wonder when breakfast is served. I turn on the flatscreen TV and discover the coolest thing about this hospital. I hit menu and order oatmeal, brown sugar, milk, berries and an english muffin.
Dr. Corn pops in, loosens my bandage(I finally take a full breath) and signs my release. My delicious hot breakfast arrives and I am thinking about staying one more night. Until Kelly shows up. He's not mean but right up until I'm released no shadow of a smile attempts to brighten his face. I am so anxious to get home.
HOME. Shoyei gets me settled experimenting with the right pillows to make me as comfortable as possible. I absolutely cannot imagine a gentler, more conscientious nurse than Shoyei is being. He is grouchy but mighty short on sleep. His is a volunteer position. I take in the beautiful view out my window and the two vases of flowers each of my children have given me. My daughter and her husband are here to help. My mother is here. My family has called and friends email their love. I feel cherished and very grateful.
October 29th 2008, Day of Surgery
I awake after a good night's sleep and begin praising the Lord for my peace and joy. I am fully prepared, buoyed on the prayer of the saints - thank you! Only the grace of God can account for the incredible excitement I feel! Thank You Lord for the gift of wisdom and skillfulness you've imparted to my doctors. Thank You for this incredible opportunity for healing through medicine and prayer!
On Monday I woke upon seeking God and not sensing His presence. Where are You? I need You now. I went to His Word. "I am not alone for my Father is with me" John 18:32. There You are! I picked up my Blackberry and a friend encouraged me from His Word, "Blessed shall you be when you come in, and blessed shall you be when you go out... The Lord will command the blessing on you in your storehouses and into all to which you set your hand... and the Lord will grant you plenty of goods, in the fruit of your body...." I went to work and friends there prayed for me. There You are! I opened my mail from an elder. Sweet and tender words tell me You are pleased with me. There You are! A woman from my new church whom I've never met called to arrange delivering a meal. There You are! Another calls in the evening to pray with me. I've not met her yet either. Family an friends call and send me morsels of Your Word. I smile. Lord, thank You. I saw you everywhere!
This is the most wonderful journey. You are my trail guide and my eyes are upon You.I praise Your Holy Name - my sweet Lord.
On Monday I woke upon seeking God and not sensing His presence. Where are You? I need You now. I went to His Word. "I am not alone for my Father is with me" John 18:32. There You are! I picked up my Blackberry and a friend encouraged me from His Word, "Blessed shall you be when you come in, and blessed shall you be when you go out... The Lord will command the blessing on you in your storehouses and into all to which you set your hand... and the Lord will grant you plenty of goods, in the fruit of your body...." I went to work and friends there prayed for me. There You are! I opened my mail from an elder. Sweet and tender words tell me You are pleased with me. There You are! A woman from my new church whom I've never met called to arrange delivering a meal. There You are! Another calls in the evening to pray with me. I've not met her yet either. Family an friends call and send me morsels of Your Word. I smile. Lord, thank You. I saw you everywhere!
This is the most wonderful journey. You are my trail guide and my eyes are upon You.I praise Your Holy Name - my sweet Lord.
October 9th 2008, Marilyn, the girls and me
When my younger brother was very small he pointed at a framed photo hanging in my father's home office and declared "Mommy"! Only it wasn't our mother. It was a nude Marilyn Monroe in all her well endowed glory. It hung there for many years unapologetically setting the bar for my sister and I and I suppose my brother. That it seems wholly inappropriate in hindsight to display such a photo with all the respectability the title "pin-up girl" could offer before the eyes of young children is an understatement. The subtlety with which that photo embedded our forming views of what standard was acceptable to attract the affections of the opposite sex was very effective. To be fair, my father was not alone. Post World War II movies often depicted the scantily clad pin-up girls as a sailor's reminder of what he was fighting for. My role was cast. I only had to grow into it.
I was twelve when my mother purchased my first "training" bra and though it was unclear to me what was being trained, my girlfriends and I faithfully practiced a bust developing exercise to the chant: "We must, we must, we must improve our bust. 'Tis better, 'tis better, 'tis better for the sweater." Some girls resorted to stuffing their bras with socks but I resisted this trend after observing with horror a sock escaping its restraint and poking its way out of my friend's blouse. I would let nature take its course and throw in a few extra chants for good measure.
My posture improved dramatically over the next few years as I thrust my chest out in an effort to draw attention and admiration for my developing form. And I was not without success. Cat whistles confirmed I was growing into the young women my father could be proud of. To be fair, I don't believe this was ever my father's thought but it was definitely the unintentional effect.
It was too late for me by the time "Twiggy" reached cover girl status. The popular "skinny" model didn't fool me. I knew what boys liked so it came as no surprise when Twiggy was replaced by the likes of Raquel Welch, whose poster now adorned my brother's room with my father's snickering approval. Try as they might, the feminists had failed to stuff Marilyn back into Pandora's Box. That her life ended in misery from all the wrong attention was unsurprising. If the bra burning 70’s were supposed to make some statement of liberation, I was lost on me.
At the age of 18, my first breast lump appeared and I was hospitalized at Stanford, a teaching hospital, for a biopsy. Imagine my horror when a group of gawking med students came into my room to "observe my condition". With attention I hadn't bargained for my breasts were now the source of clinical curiosity. I escaped the experience intact with only slightly bruised dignity.
Breasts took on a new purpose with children. New to me that is. That I was equipped to nurture my babies providing their sole sustenance was a marvel to me. It was both humbling and empowering to be their source of survival. The days I held my children to my breast are the most precious of memories.
I never achieved "Marilyn" standards for which I am not unhappy. At this later stage of life the fascination is lost on me. I tried to present a different standard for my children although the battle is largely cultural. It always was I guess but I can attest to the role a father plays with sons and especially daughters in setting beauty standards. My mother recited "pretty is as pretty does" throughout my childhood but my father’s open admiration of Marilyn's unwittingly spoke a thousand words.
Now I face their removal, the "girls" are going away. The big scary word ‘Mastectomy’ that once struck horror in my soul is now an imminent fact on my horizon. I find myself grateful they are not the major part of my identity they once seemed, that this is taking place now instead of twenty or thirty years ago and that I didn’t miss the baby bonding pleasure. But most of all, I am grateful to have a husband who bravely faces this with me as it will be his loss also. They will be replaced by perky imposters; I've permitted myself this vanity. It will be my effort to feel normal again and to one day put this all behind me.
I was twelve when my mother purchased my first "training" bra and though it was unclear to me what was being trained, my girlfriends and I faithfully practiced a bust developing exercise to the chant: "We must, we must, we must improve our bust. 'Tis better, 'tis better, 'tis better for the sweater." Some girls resorted to stuffing their bras with socks but I resisted this trend after observing with horror a sock escaping its restraint and poking its way out of my friend's blouse. I would let nature take its course and throw in a few extra chants for good measure.
My posture improved dramatically over the next few years as I thrust my chest out in an effort to draw attention and admiration for my developing form. And I was not without success. Cat whistles confirmed I was growing into the young women my father could be proud of. To be fair, I don't believe this was ever my father's thought but it was definitely the unintentional effect.
It was too late for me by the time "Twiggy" reached cover girl status. The popular "skinny" model didn't fool me. I knew what boys liked so it came as no surprise when Twiggy was replaced by the likes of Raquel Welch, whose poster now adorned my brother's room with my father's snickering approval. Try as they might, the feminists had failed to stuff Marilyn back into Pandora's Box. That her life ended in misery from all the wrong attention was unsurprising. If the bra burning 70’s were supposed to make some statement of liberation, I was lost on me.
At the age of 18, my first breast lump appeared and I was hospitalized at Stanford, a teaching hospital, for a biopsy. Imagine my horror when a group of gawking med students came into my room to "observe my condition". With attention I hadn't bargained for my breasts were now the source of clinical curiosity. I escaped the experience intact with only slightly bruised dignity.
Breasts took on a new purpose with children. New to me that is. That I was equipped to nurture my babies providing their sole sustenance was a marvel to me. It was both humbling and empowering to be their source of survival. The days I held my children to my breast are the most precious of memories.
I never achieved "Marilyn" standards for which I am not unhappy. At this later stage of life the fascination is lost on me. I tried to present a different standard for my children although the battle is largely cultural. It always was I guess but I can attest to the role a father plays with sons and especially daughters in setting beauty standards. My mother recited "pretty is as pretty does" throughout my childhood but my father’s open admiration of Marilyn's unwittingly spoke a thousand words.
Now I face their removal, the "girls" are going away. The big scary word ‘Mastectomy’ that once struck horror in my soul is now an imminent fact on my horizon. I find myself grateful they are not the major part of my identity they once seemed, that this is taking place now instead of twenty or thirty years ago and that I didn’t miss the baby bonding pleasure. But most of all, I am grateful to have a husband who bravely faces this with me as it will be his loss also. They will be replaced by perky imposters; I've permitted myself this vanity. It will be my effort to feel normal again and to one day put this all behind me.
September 25th 2008, Thoughts on 4th day of Chemo
Did I mention my aversion to boredom? Well, these doctors keep things changing. I asked Dr. Kato, since he didn't plan my therapy, did he agree with it. He said he did believe in neoadjuvent therapy(chemo before surgery) but he would have preferred a three week schedule rather than a two week schedule to give my body a better chance to recover between. So I feel especially blessed that I have done so well. And, he said, since it appears my lymph nodes have shrunk already, he'd like for me to go ahad and have my surgery. so three weeks from today(I'm now receiving what I pray will be my last AC cocktail - the last of the "bad ones") and then reume the remaining four treatments as a "clean-up". Makes sense. I like his plan. But it threw me.
When I was 18, my annual tip to the doctor revealed a lump. I remember it was Monday. The doctor scheduled to put me in the hospital Tuesday night to operate Wednesday morning. I still remember thinking I wasn't old enough to schedule that appointment without my parents.40 years ago SOP called for putting me to sleep, taking a biopsy, sending it to the lab while still under anesthesia, and if it was positive, to perform a radical mastectomy on the spot. That Wednesday morning, when I awoke from surgery, I reached for my heavily bandaged breast. a nurse rushed over, grabbed my hand and smiled. "You're all in one piece," she said. Ah sweet reprieve.
Not to be repeated, Shoyei and I have just had back-to-back visits with my cancer surgeon and plastic surgeon. I am further encouraged. My surgeon is encouraged. She can't feel a thing! The chemohas done its job and there is the possibility the lymph nodes will be clear. She will take about 5 of the 50+ nodes to test. 3 or less with cancer could mean no radiation. The reconstruction will begin immediately. So now I await a dat for the big "M". And though I don't need someone to arrange for my surgery, I still feel unqualified toauthorize thisplan. /though I've had 3 months to get used to the idea, I suffer from Scarlett O'Hara syndrome. I don't want to think about it today. "I'll think about it tomorrow."
One mor month to wrap my head around the reality of double mastectomies. I remind mhself there is so much to be grateful for. This surgery can save my life. I'm 57 this time, not 18. I think of young women who've not yet had or raised their children or the many for whom no options remain.
I am grateful for the chance to live and serve and this sacrifice of flesh a small price. So okay now. I'm ready. More or less(no pun intended).
When I was 18, my annual tip to the doctor revealed a lump. I remember it was Monday. The doctor scheduled to put me in the hospital Tuesday night to operate Wednesday morning. I still remember thinking I wasn't old enough to schedule that appointment without my parents.40 years ago SOP called for putting me to sleep, taking a biopsy, sending it to the lab while still under anesthesia, and if it was positive, to perform a radical mastectomy on the spot. That Wednesday morning, when I awoke from surgery, I reached for my heavily bandaged breast. a nurse rushed over, grabbed my hand and smiled. "You're all in one piece," she said. Ah sweet reprieve.
Not to be repeated, Shoyei and I have just had back-to-back visits with my cancer surgeon and plastic surgeon. I am further encouraged. My surgeon is encouraged. She can't feel a thing! The chemohas done its job and there is the possibility the lymph nodes will be clear. She will take about 5 of the 50+ nodes to test. 3 or less with cancer could mean no radiation. The reconstruction will begin immediately. So now I await a dat for the big "M". And though I don't need someone to arrange for my surgery, I still feel unqualified toauthorize thisplan. /though I've had 3 months to get used to the idea, I suffer from Scarlett O'Hara syndrome. I don't want to think about it today. "I'll think about it tomorrow."
One mor month to wrap my head around the reality of double mastectomies. I remind mhself there is so much to be grateful for. This surgery can save my life. I'm 57 this time, not 18. I think of young women who've not yet had or raised their children or the many for whom no options remain.
I am grateful for the chance to live and serve and this sacrifice of flesh a small price. So okay now. I'm ready. More or less(no pun intended).
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
July 7th 2008, Day 1 Cancer
I march resignedly into the examination room ahead of my husband and anxious for an end to the suspense. I expect the worst. Waiting for the biopsy results has been it's own journey.
"How was the drive down?" Dr. Corn asked, blond curls bouncing irreverently, her blue eyes targeting mine. A contradiction of impertinence and compassion which I interpret to mean the news is not good.
I shake my head and waive my hand deflecting her nicety. My fate hangs between us like an unclaimed short straw. "Just tell me the news," I answer a bit rudely.
"Oh," she says, "you have breast cancer, honey" delivered in a tone suggesting this can't be a surprise. Her small feminine hand, a breast surgeon's hand, rests on my shoulder assuming an intimacy we will soon have. Its always struck me as suspicious being called "honey" by someone younger than me. I'm not sure I trust her.
Breast cancer. The words bounce around my mind like a steel ball in a pinball machine, bumping against the many scenarios I'd conjured up in anticipation of this moment. Cancer. Ping. Chemo. Ping ping.
I look at my husband. Stricken. Apparently my captain has come unprepared. Had he missed the clouds forming on the horizon? My heart cries out to him: "Too far south! We've sailed too far south. We have no choice now! We'll have to sail through this one and hope for safe harbor beyond."
His hand nervously rubs my neck vigorously,annoyingly, wanting to DO something, I can't focus. The blood rushing in my ears is making it hard to hear.
She's answering questions with a practiced voice of gentle concern, experienced in the art of delivering bad news. Do they teach that I wonder? Bedside manners 101? She deserves a gold star. The Emily Post award for physician manners.
Cancer! She's talking. There it is again. I'm not paying attention and there are so many questions.
"Can you write it all down for me?" I say. "I'm not getting all this." "Sue will write it down for you" she gestures to the girl at the desk of this two woman office. My doctor appears too young, unable to deal with the reality of her chosen vocation. The words from the Sound of Music come to me - how do you solve a problem like Maria(Christa) how do you catch a wave and pin it down? She's excited with the anticipation of her impending trip to Europe. She assures me the resulting delay of surgery will make no difference. At once I am thankful for the delay and curious - if cancer is roaming my body searching for a place to land, does a e week delay gove it the advantage? Subvert squatting rights so to speak? But hey, my doctor deserves her vacation.
My husband chats with Sue who is busy scheduling appointments for a plastic surgeon, radiologist and chemo doctor. I'm on my cell phone delivering the 'news' to my daughter, my son, my mother,sister and my co-workers with careful words of hope for the ones not ready to give me up. I call my brother last. He's been through this five times! Some unusual free floating malignant tumors in his abdominal cavity. I remember thinking God was trying to get his attention. And He did. Finally. It was somewhere between his 4th and 5th surgery. His response reveals his experience in tired resignation. He is SO sorry I have to go through this. A shivver of fear ripples my soul.
"How was the drive down?" Dr. Corn asked, blond curls bouncing irreverently, her blue eyes targeting mine. A contradiction of impertinence and compassion which I interpret to mean the news is not good.
I shake my head and waive my hand deflecting her nicety. My fate hangs between us like an unclaimed short straw. "Just tell me the news," I answer a bit rudely.
"Oh," she says, "you have breast cancer, honey" delivered in a tone suggesting this can't be a surprise. Her small feminine hand, a breast surgeon's hand, rests on my shoulder assuming an intimacy we will soon have. Its always struck me as suspicious being called "honey" by someone younger than me. I'm not sure I trust her.
Breast cancer. The words bounce around my mind like a steel ball in a pinball machine, bumping against the many scenarios I'd conjured up in anticipation of this moment. Cancer. Ping. Chemo. Ping ping.
I look at my husband. Stricken. Apparently my captain has come unprepared. Had he missed the clouds forming on the horizon? My heart cries out to him: "Too far south! We've sailed too far south. We have no choice now! We'll have to sail through this one and hope for safe harbor beyond."
His hand nervously rubs my neck vigorously,annoyingly, wanting to DO something, I can't focus. The blood rushing in my ears is making it hard to hear.
She's answering questions with a practiced voice of gentle concern, experienced in the art of delivering bad news. Do they teach that I wonder? Bedside manners 101? She deserves a gold star. The Emily Post award for physician manners.
Cancer! She's talking. There it is again. I'm not paying attention and there are so many questions.
"Can you write it all down for me?" I say. "I'm not getting all this." "Sue will write it down for you" she gestures to the girl at the desk of this two woman office. My doctor appears too young, unable to deal with the reality of her chosen vocation. The words from the Sound of Music come to me - how do you solve a problem like Maria(Christa) how do you catch a wave and pin it down? She's excited with the anticipation of her impending trip to Europe. She assures me the resulting delay of surgery will make no difference. At once I am thankful for the delay and curious - if cancer is roaming my body searching for a place to land, does a e week delay gove it the advantage? Subvert squatting rights so to speak? But hey, my doctor deserves her vacation.
My husband chats with Sue who is busy scheduling appointments for a plastic surgeon, radiologist and chemo doctor. I'm on my cell phone delivering the 'news' to my daughter, my son, my mother,sister and my co-workers with careful words of hope for the ones not ready to give me up. I call my brother last. He's been through this five times! Some unusual free floating malignant tumors in his abdominal cavity. I remember thinking God was trying to get his attention. And He did. Finally. It was somewhere between his 4th and 5th surgery. His response reveals his experience in tired resignation. He is SO sorry I have to go through this. A shivver of fear ripples my soul.
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