One Year Later

Today marks a year since I got the call, confirming my suspicions of breast cancer.  With the help of an amazing team of doctors, I threw everything I could at the beast, and I feel I beat it.  This week's mammogram on the remaining breast came out "all clear," which was an amazing relief.  They tested 10 lymph nodes during my mastectomy, and three of them were positive for those pesky cancer cells.

When it's in your lymph nodes, it is easily carried to other parts of your body.  This is the annoying thing that keeps me on my guard.  Knowing that, even though chemotherapy ended six months ago and radiation ended four months ago, I had a clear mammogram.  That is comforting.

I've been pulled off of Tamoxifen, the hormone suppressing drug, because of my swelling and other symptoms.  An echo-cardiogram has been ordered for next Friday morning to make sure my heart hasn't been damaged.  I had one before my surgery that was good, so we have a baseline for comparison.  Worrying won't help, so I'll just wait.

All of my kids will be together on Wednesday evening, and I'm really looking forward to that.  It's a black-out week at work, so I couldn't take any time off, but Kevin was able to.  We'll try to do some fun stuff with them.  I'm glad there is something positive and fun for me to focus my attention on.  The bottom line is, I've survived a horrible year.  And I'm stronger for it.

Weekly Update

I suppose that is a fitting title, since it's been a week since I last posted.  It seems weird to say, but life is pretty much going on as normal.  I never thought I'd be so happy for a normal, boring, routine life.  I made it through a five-day week after 2 three-day weeks.  It seemed long, but we made it.

I have an appointment with my plastic surgeon on Wednesday morning.  It's the 2-month post radiation visit. He'll evaluate how hard it was on me.  I have some questions for him, too.  I think I'm going to have to see a physical therapist for my left arm, but I want his opinion before deciding.  I'm also hoping that he'll schedule surgery.  It'll be 4 months down the road, but I want a date to look forward to.

We're having our roof replaced, and they got partly done before a cold front and snow came through.  There is a tarp on my roof.  Anyone who has ever seen my crazy neighbor's house knows how I feel about that.  They're to be back to work tomorrow, though.  It should be done this week.  Here's hoping.

I caught some cold bug that was sticking around too long, and my oncologist thought I should see our family doctor.  I did, and he prescribed a Z pack for me to prevent it from turning into anything ugly.  I have been told that I'll have to be super careful about illness from now on.  I was NOT raised to go to a doctor for a cold, so I felt silly being there, but our family doctor agreed that I should be there.  I'm almost over whatever it was, finally.  Just a bit of a tickle left in my throat.

It's 8:00, and my body has decided that I should turn in.  I'm trying to listen to my body when it comes to how much sleep I need.  I push it a bit later on most Tuesdays to watch Parenthood, but sometimes I can't make it.  Thank goodness for DVR.  I hope my sleep patterns get back to a pre-chemo state, but it doesn't seem like it's moving that direction.  I know other ladies (who went through this journey at the same time as me) who cannot sleep more than a few hours at a time, though.  I am smart enough to be thankful for the sleep I get, no matter when I get it.

Goodnight!

Getting On With My Life

Wow.  I haven't posted for a long time.  You're welcome.  Busy season at work and changing back to my regular hours has found me pretty dang tired by the time I get home.  Too tired to type?  OK, that sounds pretty lame, but I honestly get home and do next to nothing.

Last weekend, I decided I wanted to go to St. Louis to see my aunt Charlene and her husband Pat.  The last time we were there, we said we'd do it more often because it didn't take long to get there.  That was 2 years ago.  I told Kevin that I wasn't going to do that anymore.  A year of facing  your own mortality will make a person stop planning and start doing.  It was a fun trip, although far too short.  We're already talking about what we'll do the next time we go.

I found the suspicious lump in January and had a biopsy in February.  I was diagnosed in March and had surgery in April.  I got back to work in June.  I finished chemo on September 19th and finished radiation on November 14th.  I have follow up appointments happening now, but that's about it until the exchange surgery, which will be late May or early June.  I should be super excited that I'm completing treatment, and I am happy, but I'm constantly unsettled.

I think that treatment kept me occupied.  I was doing something.  I was actively fighting cancer.  Somehow it isn't as easy as it should be to accept, "OK.  You're all better.  Go on with your regularly scheduled life now."  Your brain doesn't work like that.  I want to ask, "So that's it?" but then again, I don't want to ask that at all.

My hair is finally growing back.  It's not as long as a crew cut yet, but it's moved from "fuzz" to "hair."  LOL  The gray is a lot easier to see right now, but that's what hair color is for.  I'm just looking forward to the day that I have to "fix my hair" to go somewhere.  Silly but true.

I know some people see a therapist after cancer treatment.  I've never considered myself the type to see someone like that, but I see why some do.  I'm not even saying that I won't.  I just haven't decided yet.  I'm fine most of the time, but not all the time.  I know I'll never be the same as before, but I'd like to get past the anxiety issues that sneak up on me at inopportune times.

It makes me VERY thankful for my Facebook group of friends who have gone through this with me.  We are small enough to have gotten to know each other, but big enough that someone is on pretty much 24/7.  If I can't sleep and it's 2 am and I feel the need to chat, someone is there.  Someone to listen to me whine, or laugh at my jokes, or commiserate about the state of our skin after radiation.  So far, that's all the therapy I need.

Overall, I am fine.  I have been cancer-free since surgery in April.  The chemo and radiation were both "just in case."  That is a lot of ammo to go through just because there "might be a burglar out there somewhere," but it's what was advised, so that's what I did.  And I'm fine.  2012 is a year that I'll be glad to put behind me, but I got through it.

I've Been Deported

What an eventful day!  I went to work for an hour and a half, and then headed to radiation.  This was the first of five boosts.  The boosts are going to be MUCH quicker than the regular radiation.  They just do one blast to a concentrated area, instead of 6 blasts to various parts of my skin, chest wall, etc.  Today was the lining-up day, and starting tomorrow, it will go quickly.

After that I drove around to the other side of the same hospital to get my port removed.  I was so excited!  I'm not sure why, but I think it's because it's just one more step toward being done.  I got parked, in to the office, and checked in a full 10 minutes early.  I was ready to get this show on the road!

The nurse took me in and took my vitals, and then told me to undress from the waist up and put on a gown.  I couldn't wait.  When she came back, the Dr. was following her, as was his medical student shadow.  He started talking to the student about the fact that I was in active radiation, and they usually don't get to see patients until six months after.  Then he asked if they could see the radiation site because he rarely gets to.  Umm, sure!  Why not?  They talked as they viewed my raw skin.  Come on, guys.  Let's yank this port!

Finally, they were ready.  The nurse placed a special pad on my lower abdomen.  It was to ground me so the equipment wouldn't shock me.  Very interesting.  After that, the surgeon (I really like this guy) started disinfecting and then numbing the skin.  It was time to start!  He warned me that I'd feel a bit of pressure, and I could tell that he was slicing into me.  This was getting interesting!

As he was cutting, I said, "So...are there any rules against you giving the port to me?  I mean, can I have it?" He thought for a minute and then said, "Well, you paid for it.  Sure you can have it."  I got 17 kinds of excited!  I have friends and workmates who thought I wouldn't ask, and now I'd asked.  Not only that, he said YES!

As I was reveling in the fact that I was going to leave with port in hand, I noticed smoke rising from my chest, and I could smell burned flesh.  Umm.  Weird.  "Is that normal?" I asked.  He assured me that it was.  I then lamented, "That makes me want bacon."  By now, the whole room was laughing with me.  I love it when an act comes together.

At one point during the procedure, the surgeon said, "Wow.  This one is in there deep.  I did a really good job with this."  LOL  That made me giggle.  He was admiring his work, even as he dug it out of the scar tissue that had formed around it.  Funny stuff.  If it was so deep, that might explain why it didn't bother me, and some people complain about theirs.

Finally, it was done.  He had stitched me up, leaving only a 1 1/2" scar:

I think his stitching job was amazing.  I can only see the knot at the left side of this picture.  It will soon dissolve.  He cut along the same scar that was created when he placed the port to begin with.  The nurse offered to clean up the port for me so I could take it with me.  Sweet!  She brought it back wrapped in a towel and placed in a bio-hazard bag.  Awesome!  It sat on my desk all day:

I went back to work, grinning all the way.  I had forgotten how nice it was to visit with a doctor that I like.  I like all but one, but the one bad apple is the one that I'm forced to see once a week right now.  Seeing the wonderful Dr. Shook was SO refreshing.  I couldn't wait to tell my coworkers that I had my port with me!  In fact, I called a couple of them on the way to work!

Why did I want it?  I have several reasons.  I am weird.  They said I wouldn't ask.  I am weird.  It made me feel brave to ask.  I'm weird.  I want to freak people out with it.  I'm weird.  The nurse asked if I wanted her to cut off the catheter part (that went into my vein) and I said, "NO! Why?  I paid for the whole thing!"  She laughed and left it in tact.

I think I'll make a Christmas ornament out of it.  After Christmas, I'll fashion it into something that can hang from my rear view mirror.  What an awesome conversation piece that will be!  Yup.  It was part of my body for seven months.  I'm not going to just toss it aside.  Maybe I'll make a necklace out of it.   Wanna see it?  Do you?  OK, here goes:

See?  That's not gross!  The circle in the middle of the purple part is where they stuck the needle for blood draws and for chemo. It can be pierced over and over and over.  Such a cool little invention.  

I'm Being Deported

Tomorrow morning, I'm going to have my port removed.  I know that I've been done with chemo for a while, but having that removed kind of makes it official in my head.  I'm looking for all of the milestones I can find, and this is a biggie for me.

Also, as of today, I only have five more radiation treatments left, and they are boosts.  Boosts are higher doses, but to a smaller, more concentrated area.  The highest chance of my cancer coming back is for it to come back in the skin around the scar where the mastectomy was done.  These last five will concentrate on that area.  That means that the rest of the skin can heal.  I am SO ready to be done holding my left arm out away from my body and adjusting my bra, trying to find a few seconds of relief.

I'm also all done (emotionally) with that office/Dr.  That's all I'm going to say about that for now.  

Two months from now, I'll have a follow-up with the plastic surgeon to assess the damage to my skin and tissue.  I plan to have NO damage by then.  Yup.  That's my plan.  Four months after that, I'll have the exchange surgery.  No, not THAT kind of change surgery.  It's the one where they exchange the tissue expander for an implant, and do the surgery to the other side for symmetry.

Ahh, symmetry.  How I miss symmetry. 

Yup, the milestones are ticking by.  I wonder when I'll feel like this is over?  After radiation?  Nah.  Still daily reminders as I'm getting dressed. When my hair has grown enough to not require a head covering? After exchange surgery?  Maybe, but how long after?  When the scars have healed?  

I just can't wait to go an entire day without the C word entering my head.  I have a feeling it will be a long time before that happens, but I'm heading in that direction. 

What a Craptastic Day

Damn.  If there is truly something to the Monday curse, I found it today.  Everything I touched turned to crap.  Some of it was my fault, and some was just plain bad luck, wrong place-wrong time, or the mistake of someone else.

Natalie asked my dad if he'd take her to get her permit today.  He said he would, which took a load off us, and I made arrangements for the school to allow her to check out after first hour.  At that point, I waited to hear if she passed or not.  The next thing I know, she's trying to call me, but I was on my work phone.

The short version is that they got to the next town over for the test, and were told they needed her birth certificate.  DUH!  I knew that.  Well, I knew it two years ago, when Monica got hers.  I completely forgot to make sure she had the documents she needed.  I told her where she could find it, but she had NO idea what she was looking for, and wound up taking the hospital one, instead of the official one.

They found this out when they got to the next town over for the second time, and they still wouldn't let her take the test.  By this time, my dad is probably quite hacked off (and rightfully so) and Natalie is in tears.  Later, I found out that she also needs a bill or something to prove residency.  Remember, all of this is just a PART of the horrible Monday.

I got to radiation, and they got me back there right away.  Monday is Xray day, so I knew it would take a bit longer than other days.  No biggie.  When I lie down on that table, I am on my back, and I have to put my left arm behind my head, hanging onto this handle thing.  I must lie VERY still.  They reposition me the way they need me by pulling the sheet that I'm on, pushing me over, moving the table, etc.  I am NOT to "help" them move me in any way.  They even say, "Lay heavy" quite often.  It usually takes a couple of minutes to get me where they want me.  No biggie.

Today, it took them at LEAST 15 minutes to get me positioned properly, and they still didn't seem pleased with how things were going.  They kept moving me, moving the table, reading numbers to each other, moving me again, etc.  Finally, they took the Xrays, and then they moved me a bit more.  Finally, they did the radiation treatment.  I was lying perfectly still for 30 minutes instead of the typical 10.  When they announced I was done, my arm was dead weight.  Sound asleep.  So asleep that I had trouble getting dressed.

It woke up on the way back to work.  It woke up with an excruciating amount of pain.  My shoulder actually still hurts, but the rest of my arm is finally better.  They told me that they made a 5mm adjustment, and would take a couple more Xrays tomorrow, but that it is all normal and that is why they take them every week.  Umm, OK.  5mm seems like a LOT of adjustment for shooting radiation into my body, near my internal organs, but I'll trust the medical professionals.

Work didn't really go much better.  I know how to handle busy season, but I was filling in for someone else who was sick, plus trying to do my stuff, plus cleaning up several messes.  I got it done, but it sure made me crabby.  Those around me were having a similar day, so we all just did our best and powered through.  Tomorrow will be better.  I'm sure of it, and I plan to take that attitude in with me.

Now, if Natalie and my dad forgive me, I'm past the most bothersome part of my day.  The rest is just stuff.

Keepin' On

After tomorrow morning's treatment, I'll be 1/3 of the way through radiation.  I keep making little milestones like so it'll go faster.  It seems to be working.  I feel like this leg of my treatment is moving along more quickly.  It helps that I don't feel like crap for a week out of every two.  I often leave work, get half undressed, get radiated, get dressed, and get back to work, all within an hour.  The most it takes is an hour and 15 minutes.

I'm still not liking my radiology oncologist very well, but I'm hoping I'll change my mind about him.  I wait for 10 minutes for him to spend 30 seconds with me.  I had to find out online that I shouldn't wear deodorant, and when I asked his nurse about it, she confirmed that I should not.  Thanks.  That would have been good to know.  I can wear the organic stuff, though, so I bought some of that.

I have a little irritation on that side, but it feels more like the top of my rib cage than it does my skin.  I'll ask about that on Wednesday, but I don't expect him to have much to say about it.  He certainly doesn't spend the time and ask the questions like my medical oncologist does.  She even asks about my mental state and how I'm doing with working during treatment, etc.  Maybe she's spoiled me.

I get my port out on November 8.  I thought that was the day after my last treatment, but now that I'm checking the calendar, it's the Thursday before.  After I get it out, I have 4 more treatments.  They'll take it out during my office visit.  I find that odd.  I'll be glad to have rid of it, even though it really hasn't caused me any real problems.  It sometimes irritates me a bit, but from some horror stories I've heard, I've been quite fortunate.

I haven't gotten sick, even though I have no white cells fighting for me.  I've been pretty strict about avoiding sick people.  I noticed today that my eye was irritated, and by afternoon, it felt like I was getting a stye.  By the time we got home from mom's, the bump had developed.  Yup.  I have a stye.  I'm a bit concerned, since that's an infection, so I'll call my doctor's office tomorrow and ask them if I should just let it go (which I've always done in the past...styes take care of themselves in a few days) or if they want me to take antibiotic.

It was a good weekend, all in all.  I was happy to get to hang out at Dad's, see aunt Rena, and even visit a bit with a couple of uncles that I rarely see.  I've avoided Mom and Dad's place for two weeks, because Dad and aunt Rena had been sick.  They got better, so we got back to our weekend routine of going out there.

I feel pretty good, and from what I've heard and read, I'll keep getting better, bit by bit.  Although I'm really tired at the end of each day, and exhausted at the end of the week, it still beats the heck out of chemo.  There are times I feel almost normal.  My hair is slowly starting to grow, too.  it's just barely there right now, and it doesn't have any color yet, but I hope it will speed up soon.  I am also curious to see what color it is when the color returns.  I'm a walking science experiment.

Radiation

Wow.  I post that I got a new car, and then apparently drove off into the sunset in it, never to post to my blog again.  Or maybe I've been back to working full time, doing radiation treatments, and getting my social life back.  Boy, is it nice to accept dinner invitations again.

I started radiation on Monday.  I have a standing appointment at 8am every weekday.  On Monday, I left work too early because I didn't know how long it would take me to get there.  20 minutes is the most it takes, so I allow 30, in case there is traffic.  Yup, I'm driving straight into Kansas City during rush hour.  I haven't had any troubles, though.  Plus, I have an amazing new car to drive!

I got there Monday and they had to do some Xrays.  Because of this, I was there between 20 and 30 minutes.  I guess I'll get a couple Xrays every Monday, but not sure if it will take as long as the first time did. On Wednesdays, I will always have an appointment with my radiation oncologist.  I've found that I can leave work, go to the hospital, park the car, get to the radiation department, undress from the waist up, put on a gown, get radiation, change back into my clothes, and drive back to work....all in an hour.  40 minutes of that is driving!

Yes, it goes fast.  Those ladies know what they're doing, and they're super efficient.  It is a vulnerable feeling to be lying on that table in a big empty room while a machine shoots radiation into you, but there is no pain or discomfort of any kind involved.  They position me, leave the room, the machine does it's thing, and they reposition me again...three times total.

Most of the folks that I know who have had skin reactions do so around 4 weeks in or later.  I'm a week in right now.  I've done 5/33 treatments.  I have a ways to go.  A lot of them have been told to use a certain lotion or some such to the area from a week before starting to the end of radiation therapy.  I haven't been told to use anything.  Most people are told not to use antiperspirant, although some are allowed to use the organic kind.  I haven't been told either of these things.

My Wednesday appointment was a bit different because my Dr. was in a meeting that ran long.  He asked another doctor to see me so I didn't have to wait.  We were together about 90 seconds at most.  I have a couple of questions for this week (about the lotion and antiperspirant, etc.) but it still shouldn't take long.  I can't believe that the visits go that fast, but it makes it easier to keep up full time at work.

This Tuesday, I have an appointment with my medical oncologist as a follow-up to chemo.  I hope she tells me that I can stop being a germaphobe.  My father got sick at a MOST inopportune time, as I was just starting to feel like my old self!  I'm sure I'll be fine, but I want her to tell me so.  I do NOT want to wind up in the hospital again.

Wow, I get long winded when I wait a week to post.  That's all that is going on in the wonderful world of cancer.  I just keep moving forward.  What else can I do?  Move forward through treatment and move forward into our busy season at work.  I know I'm still supposed to rest when possible and not overdo it, so I'm being careful.  I'm just glad that, so far, I'm feeling a bit stronger each day.

Feeling Good (and Confused)

On Monday, I had my radiology consult.  By midday on Tuesday, the bone pain was nearly gone, causing me to take nothing more than Advil.  By Wednesday, I was back to feeling myself...or at least 90% myself, which is the most I could hope for these days.  It felt pretty darn good, too.  I'm back to being myself, and annoying my coworkers.  :)

Yesterday, I got a phone call from radiology, saying that they had my schedule ready, and I would have 33 treatments, starting Monday.  I wrote down everything she said, and was thinking about how to get my full hours in at work while attending an 8:00 appointment every morning.  After hanging up, it hit me:  NEXT Monday???  That's not even 2 weeks after my last chemo, and the oncologist said I'd have a month between for my body to rest and get back to normal.  Also, my whites are at their lowest today through Monday.  *sigh*

I emailed the oncologist's nurse and got back to work while waiting for an answer, although to say I was distracted would be an understatement.  I didn't get an answer by the time I left a bit after 2:00.  The nurse always said that if I don't get an answer, I should call, so as soon as I got in the car, I called in.  (I was on a bluetooth headset, so don't lecture me.)

The receptionist said that my usual nurse wasn't in (thus, the non-answer) but she would transfer me to the other nurse.  I got her voice mail.  *sigh*  I left a detailed message about what I wanted.  This was around 2:15 and her message said she was in until 3:30.  I never got a call back.  Even if she wouldn't have an answer until today, I wish she would have called to tell me that.

I woke up at 2:00 and immediately started thinking about it.  If the oncologist thinks it's too soon to start, I'll have to call radiology and change the plan.  If the oncologist leaves it up to me, I don't know what to do.  Having another couple of weeks off would be nice, but if I start Monday, I'll be done by mid-November.  That would be nice, too.  I just hope it's not up to me.  I want her (the oncologist) to tell me what to do, and I'm sure she will.  These swirling thoughts kept me from going back to sleep, of course.  Sheesh.

If I haven't heard from them by the time I leave today, I'm driving ot her office and talking to someone in person, whether they like it or not.  This is my last business day before I am to start radiation treatments, and if I DON'T start Monday, they deserve a bit of notice that I'm not going to show up.  I sure am fed up with cancer and all that it entails.

Tonight, though, Kevin and I are meeting some friends in Brookside for some dinner and an after-work drink.  I can't believe I'm going to do something like normal people do.  I'm really looking forward to it, too. By the end of the day, I'll have an answer to my radiation confusion, and I'll be hanging out with friends that I haven't seen in too long.

That's a "Yes" on Radiation

As I figured, I'll be receiving radiation.  Kevin and I met with the radiology oncologist this afternoon to discuss things.  He's a likable guy who is good at explaining things in an easy-to-understand way.  The most common side effects are fatigue and a diminished appetite.  I can handle fatigue, and my back side can handle a diminished appetite.

Of course, he had to tell me of some more serious possible side effects.  They have to prepare you for anything, but I sure hate hearing those things.  The percentage of a chance of those were quite small, though.  I'll consider myself warned, but try not to think about them.
 
He actually had me go across the hall while we were there for a CT scan and tattoos.  The tattoos are slightly larger than the period at the end of this sentence, and there are two of them.  He'll now look over the scan, come up with a plan for me, and then the technician will call me to schedule it.

I've heard horror stories of people having to pay a co-pay with each daily visit (x38 visits...you do the math,) but that will not be the case with Saint Luke's.  That was nice to hear.  I will have to go to the plaza location for treatment, but that's not as big of a deal as those who live near me may think.  That location is less than 7 miles from work, so I'll just do morning appointments and then go straight to work.

If I understand what my medical oncologist told me at my last visit, I'll have a month between the end of chemo and the time that radiation starts.  That equals three glorious weeks of feeling normal.  I'm really looking forward to some happy weekends.  I miss going to mom and dad's to just sit and shoot the breeze.  I miss getting outside and enjoying this perfect weather.  I miss going to school functions.   Yeah.  I'm looking forward to a bit of normal, even if it's just a few weeks.

Today was excruciating, much like the weekend was, so I've taken some pain meds and plan to go to sleep early.  If history holds true, I'll feel a bit better tomorrow, and the pain will be mostly gone by Wednesday, needing only an occasional Tylenol or Advil.  After that, look out, world!  I'm already conniving to get Kevin to take me to meet up with some friends after work on Friday for a drink.  I am so excited to even be thinking about that!

Now, I have some nurses to email with questions.  *sigh*  I can't wait until cancer and treatment are not the only things I think of.  LOL  Oh, and staying awake until dark.  That'd be a nice change of pace, too.  :)

Damn

The doctor was wrong.  I kinda figured this would be the case, but I had my hopes up to be the one who was wrong.  How often can you say that?  "Boy oh boy do I hope I'm wrong!"  The pain seemed to settle in a bit later, so by noon yesterday, I still had hope.  When I got home, though, I could tell it was getting worse and the football game was likely out of the question.

I took a pain pill and a nap, but when I woke up, it was even worse.  One more football game missed.  This morning, it's the worst it's ever been.  This time is different, though.  This time, I can chant "One more time.  One more time.  One more time."  I'm almost done.  This is the last time I have to feel this way.  By Tuesday or Wednesday, the pain will subside and then I get a month off.  A month of NO treatment of ANY kind.

After that month, radiation will likely start, but that'll be a cake-walk compared to this stupid Taxol.  It may make me tired.  Tired is something I can handle.  That's why they make coffee, I think.  Anyway, I'll know more about that plan on Monday.  Kevin will pick me up and we'll go for a consult with the radiology oncologist.  Then we'll know the plan.

For now, I'll sit right here.  I hurt, but I know it's going to end soon.  Somehow, that makes it better.  I've showered and moved to the recliner, so I am among the living.  This is likely the most activity I'll see today, though.  One more time.

Starting the Second Half

You know how, when you're watching a football game (I picture a high-school game here in our little town,) the team  heads to the locker room at half time?  If they have a rough first half, I imagine the coach tells them to pull it together and talks to them about the best way to turn it around.

If the team is winning when halftime gets here, they head to the locker room and talk about their strengths, how well they're doing, and how to keep the momentum rolling.  Of course, I've never been in a locker room during half-time of a football game, but this is what I expect.

Today, I start my "second half."  My body played a first half until the last couple of downs.  I had it pretty easy, looking like the star quarterback as I went through my first three treatments.  For my fourth treatment, though, cancer's team introduced some new players.  Big dudes from out of town.

My whites took a beating, leaving me in the hospital for three days.  My reds hit bottom, causing me to need a unit of blood.  I could do nothing more than come home from work and go straight to bed for over a week.  If my family wanted/needed something, they knew to come to my room.  It was a very depressing time.  Back to my football analogy, I was taking a beating and starting to feel like there was no way I could finish this game.

My whites bounced back over the weekend, though, and I felt better yesterday after receiving that unit of blood.  It's halftime, and I'm getting ready to start the second half.  Today is my first infusion of Taxol.  Most people who have had the Adriamycin/Cytoxan combo, and then had Taxol say that Taxol is the easier of the two.  I'm counting on that.  The coach is telling me that I'll get through this half with no problems, coming out the victor.

No matter what, the bell signalling the end of the game will ring on September 20.  Sure, I'll probably still need radiation, but chemo, as well as the assault on my white blood cells, will be over.  It feels good to say I'm halfway done.  Queue up the marching band and you guys go hit the concession stand and get a hot dog and a soda.  It's time for me to take the field for the second half.

JP Drains-TMI Again

This is another TMI entry. I'm warning you!  If I have to live this disgusting crap, then I'm dragging you down with me.  If you don't want to see the nastiness, or do not want to deal with my current reality, click here instead.

Today I'll explain the biggest current pain in my neck...the JP drains.  These drains are a necessary evil, because they carry the post-op fluids out of my body.  If the drain is pulled to early, it could cause a seroma (sp) that would need constantly drained with a needle frequently, because my body would not be able to absorb all of the extra fluids.   So yes, I get why it must stay.  Yes, I understand that it's for the best.  And yes, I now feel that I've typed enough that the squeamish folks could have clicked away without accidentally seeing anything.

Four times per day, I deal with these stupid things.  There are two long tubes that come out of my body from my left side, and the long tubes each end in a bulb.  The bulb is to be squeezed tightly and then capped, which keeps constant, gentle suction on the drain.  Four times per day, I uncap the bulb, drain the fluid into a cup with measuring lines on the side, and strip the hose from where it exits my body down to the tube.

This last step is to make sure there are no clogs.  It's difficult to strip it without pulling, and pulling HURTS.  I'm learning to pinch with one hand and use the other hand to strip the hose.  Whatever.  Since I already showed a picture of the drains leaving my body, I didn't do that again today.  It's the second image on this entry, although the coloring of my skin looks better now.

So I head into the restroom and get the drains ready.  As usual, drain one is nearly empty and drain two is full.  It hates me.

There are some variances in the color of the fluid, but the main difference with these two today is an optical illusion due to volume.  You can see that the bulbs are squeezed like I mentioned, to keep gentle suction going at all times.  If it is bulb shaped, meaning not squeezed at all, it's not drawing and I have to fix it.  I haven't had to do that since leaving the hospital.

Next, I get my lovely measuring cups out (don't worry if you ever come here for dinner...I don't use THOSE measuring cups,) and empty the contents from the bulbs into the cups.  I could empty drain #1 only once per day since it's so slow, but I always do it when I do the other.  Heck, I'm in there anyway.

Then, as you can see by the above image, I've squeezed the air out again (and stripped the hoses, see how empty they are?) and it's time to read the amounts from the sides of the cup.  Then, I can tuck them away in these discreet little pouches, which Velcro to the bottom of my bra.  Yes, very discreet.  That's not obvious at ALL!  Here they are:

The only way these aren't obvious is if I'm wearing a big ol' sweatshirt over my T shirt, and even then they aren't completely hidden.  This is the reason that, even if I felt amazing (I do NOT) I wouldn't return to work until the drains are gone.  Walking around with extra lumps, stopping to measure and log fluids, etc, etc.  No thanks.

Finally I log the drain amounts on the document in hopes of seeing the amounts drop (they are NOT dropping.)  When drain two gets below 30 cc per day, it can come out.  It put out 50 cc this morning (I slept longer than usual, but still!) so it's not coming out any time soon.  See?

So this is currently my life.  Tomorrow afternoon I have a follow-up appointment with my surgeon (the demo guy.)  He'll probably want to check this portocath, among other things.  (Don't worry, my chest is NOT as hairy as the one in the picture at that link.)  Then, on Thursday I have a follow-up with my oncologist.  I really want to know what the plan is.

I want with ALL of my being to NOT do radiation.  That would delay my reconstruction by as much as a year.  Chemo only slows it down a bit.  Whatever the plan is, let's get it moving.

And the Hits Just Keep on Coming

The ride home yesterday was a bitch.  There is no other way to say it.  Every little bump was a new lesson in pain.  Finally at home, I got comfy in my own bed, got drugged up, and settled in as much as possible.  Although I was never completely comfortable (and didn't expect to be,) I got 8 hours of sleep with only one wake-up for a bathroom break and medication.  That is tons better than I slept at the hospital.

Today, Kevin's mom came up and walked in the door with my favorite Sonic drink.  Win!  After that came a much needed shower.  I love my husband but consider myself very independent, so this was a humiliating and painful experience.  When it was over, though, I felt so much better.

As I started to drift off in the recliner, my phone rang and Kevin answered since I wasn't coherent.  It was the surgeon.  And it was what I was afraid of.

Of the 10 nodes that they removed, 3 contained cancer cells.  Chemo will be coming.  On May third, when I follow up with my oncologist, we'll talk about radiation.  DAMN, DAMN, DAMN.  This is not what I had in mind.  Just in case you wondered.  Not what I had in mind at all.  I think I'll go pout, now.