I felt the urge to blog again, but didn't want to blog here. This turned into medical reports and procedure descriptions. Our lives have changed a lot and we're almost empty nesters. We're starting a new chapter in our lives. Thus, the new blog:
The Nest
Monday, June 12, 2017
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Still Healing
I had another appointment with my plastic surgeon today. He was horribly late today due to a guy who came in for a quick appointment and had a ton of difficulties that were not easy to fix. I don't mind waiting for this doc, though, so I played candy crush and waited. This is the doctor that always spends so much time with me and with Kevin, so I'm extra patient with him.
He said I'm healing better than he had even hoped! There's hardly any fat necrosis at all (it is a very typical thing that is usually expected) and he said he's thrilled with the size he did. It's slightly bigger than the other (reduced) side because the transferred muscle will atrophy, therefore getting smaller, and it will settle a bit (with gravity) and be a good match.
He wants to see me in 2 months, and in the mean time, I am to massage the scars with vitamin E cream. He and the nurse are both impressed with how I'm healing and getting around. He wishes that his other patients could see how well I'm doing. He's VERY impressed with the TRAM. In fact, he said, "Wow. I did a really good job on you."
That's right. I got good news at a doctor's appointment today.
He said I'm healing better than he had even hoped! There's hardly any fat necrosis at all (it is a very typical thing that is usually expected) and he said he's thrilled with the size he did. It's slightly bigger than the other (reduced) side because the transferred muscle will atrophy, therefore getting smaller, and it will settle a bit (with gravity) and be a good match.
He wants to see me in 2 months, and in the mean time, I am to massage the scars with vitamin E cream. He and the nurse are both impressed with how I'm healing and getting around. He wishes that his other patients could see how well I'm doing. He's VERY impressed with the TRAM. In fact, he said, "Wow. I did a really good job on you."
That's right. I got good news at a doctor's appointment today.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
My New Year's Eve Post
This time last year, I was SO happy to put cancer behind me. All that was left was to get my exchange surgery and let my hair grow back. What could go wrong? 2013 would be MY year.
Or not.
I did grow hair. I also had my exchange surgery. I spent 10 weeks in a sling, trying to get the implant to stay in place. It failed, though. The surgeon put another one in, and it failed, too. Radiation just proved to be too damaging to my tissue. We gave up and waited a few months so I could heal.
Oh yeah! I almost forgot! I also got lymphedema. Oh joy of joys. Lots of physical therapy, a compression pump, and a sleeve and glove became a part of my life. Permanently. With the lymphedema came cellulitis infections in my arm, and even a couple of stays in the hospital.
I've now had the TRAM flap surgery. It is healing marvelously. I'll return to work, probably next week, and get started on 2014. I'm not going to pin all of my dreams on this being some magical year of no problems. Every year has problems. I'm just going to put 2013 behind me, hold my head high, and move on.
Because I'm alive.
Or not.
I did grow hair. I also had my exchange surgery. I spent 10 weeks in a sling, trying to get the implant to stay in place. It failed, though. The surgeon put another one in, and it failed, too. Radiation just proved to be too damaging to my tissue. We gave up and waited a few months so I could heal.
Oh yeah! I almost forgot! I also got lymphedema. Oh joy of joys. Lots of physical therapy, a compression pump, and a sleeve and glove became a part of my life. Permanently. With the lymphedema came cellulitis infections in my arm, and even a couple of stays in the hospital.
I've now had the TRAM flap surgery. It is healing marvelously. I'll return to work, probably next week, and get started on 2014. I'm not going to pin all of my dreams on this being some magical year of no problems. Every year has problems. I'm just going to put 2013 behind me, hold my head high, and move on.
Because I'm alive.
Saturday, December 21, 2013
I'm Alive
I've mentioned before that I am in a Facebook group of gals who all went through diagnosis and treatment in 2012. We were bound by a horrible similarity to a group that we wish we didn't need. But we DID need each other. Terribly.
It has been a wonderful blessing, straight from God himself, that I had someone to turn to when some horrible new side-effect of chemo entered my life. Someone to commiserate with and point me toward a study or article to help cope. We all brought different strengths and weaknesses and were all exactly the same and drastically different.
The problem with starting such a group is that you're dealing with cancer. For some, breast cancer means increased scans and watch yourself closely going forward. For others, breast cancer means that you are dying and should put your affairs in order.
Most of us, however, land somewhere between those two extremes. We have surgeries, chemo, radiation, and fear. We shop for hats, try on wigs, learn about prosthetic breasts, and we worry. We make inappropriate jokes about cancer, baldness, poison, and death. We don't do this to make others uncomfortable. We do it to point out that we DO see the elephant in the room. We do it to laugh, lest we cry.
So we all reaped (and continue to reap) the benefits of fitting into this group. This group of ladies who, by now, are quite close. Closer to each other (most of whom have never met in person) than with some of our own family members. We text each other, "talk" on Facebook into the wee hours of the night, Skype, and Snapchat. We ask for advice, lean on each other, and lift each other up, and laugh.
Yup. It's an amazing thing. Except that one thing. Remember? It's a group centered around cancer. Women with cancer at all different stages. With that comes the possibility of losing one of our sisters to that evil disease. It happened this morning.
Dear sweet Michelle took a recent turn for the worse. We all knew she was stage four, but it was only recently that she found out that the treatment had stopped working. She decided to stop treatment and enjoy her last days with her husband and daughter. We all tried to decide what the best course was. Should we arrange for some meals or a housekeeping service or an uplifting floral arrangement? We spent about a day trying to decide.
And then, this morning, her husband notified one in our group that she passed peacefully this morning. Her sweet little girl will always associate Christmas with the season when she lost her mom. Her husband probably has a gift or two for her, all wrapped and ready. It's a horrible thing to process, and I'm not doing a very good job of it right now.
I've been pretty down about our financial situation. If we had about two more weeks before Christmas, we'd be fine. Kevin's checks have been short because of my surgery and hospitalizations. My short-term disability has kicked in, but no check has been received yet. I was starting to let myself slide toward a pity-party.
But I'm alive. My kids will have their mom at Christmas. My parents don't have to attend my funeral. We will eat, drink, laugh, and love. If my kids get gifts a week or two after Christmas, they won't be bothered in the least. They told me, in fact, that they would happily forgo gifts altogether. We have each other, and we're learning more every day about how much that means.
Rest in peace, Michelle.
It has been a wonderful blessing, straight from God himself, that I had someone to turn to when some horrible new side-effect of chemo entered my life. Someone to commiserate with and point me toward a study or article to help cope. We all brought different strengths and weaknesses and were all exactly the same and drastically different.
The problem with starting such a group is that you're dealing with cancer. For some, breast cancer means increased scans and watch yourself closely going forward. For others, breast cancer means that you are dying and should put your affairs in order.
Most of us, however, land somewhere between those two extremes. We have surgeries, chemo, radiation, and fear. We shop for hats, try on wigs, learn about prosthetic breasts, and we worry. We make inappropriate jokes about cancer, baldness, poison, and death. We don't do this to make others uncomfortable. We do it to point out that we DO see the elephant in the room. We do it to laugh, lest we cry.
So we all reaped (and continue to reap) the benefits of fitting into this group. This group of ladies who, by now, are quite close. Closer to each other (most of whom have never met in person) than with some of our own family members. We text each other, "talk" on Facebook into the wee hours of the night, Skype, and Snapchat. We ask for advice, lean on each other, and lift each other up, and laugh.
Yup. It's an amazing thing. Except that one thing. Remember? It's a group centered around cancer. Women with cancer at all different stages. With that comes the possibility of losing one of our sisters to that evil disease. It happened this morning.
Dear sweet Michelle took a recent turn for the worse. We all knew she was stage four, but it was only recently that she found out that the treatment had stopped working. She decided to stop treatment and enjoy her last days with her husband and daughter. We all tried to decide what the best course was. Should we arrange for some meals or a housekeeping service or an uplifting floral arrangement? We spent about a day trying to decide.
And then, this morning, her husband notified one in our group that she passed peacefully this morning. Her sweet little girl will always associate Christmas with the season when she lost her mom. Her husband probably has a gift or two for her, all wrapped and ready. It's a horrible thing to process, and I'm not doing a very good job of it right now.
I've been pretty down about our financial situation. If we had about two more weeks before Christmas, we'd be fine. Kevin's checks have been short because of my surgery and hospitalizations. My short-term disability has kicked in, but no check has been received yet. I was starting to let myself slide toward a pity-party.
But I'm alive. My kids will have their mom at Christmas. My parents don't have to attend my funeral. We will eat, drink, laugh, and love. If my kids get gifts a week or two after Christmas, they won't be bothered in the least. They told me, in fact, that they would happily forgo gifts altogether. We have each other, and we're learning more every day about how much that means.
Rest in peace, Michelle.
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
Drain Removal and New Belly Buttons
Warning! Graphic images and video that may freak you out!
You've been warned.
I had a follow-up visit with my plastic surgeon this morning. He is quite happy with how I am healing. In fact, it's better than he had anticipated. That was SO good to hear. I also got rid of two of my three drains today. I'm hoping to see the other one go on Monday. Fingers crossed!
During all of this process, I have taken some photos and had Kevin take a video. It's stuff that fascinates me, and I thought some others may be as warped as I am, so I want to share.
First, the new breast is made out of muscle, fat, and skin from my tummy. This means a few different things. For instance, I have a few stretch marks on the bottom side, because I had a few stretch marks on my tummy. Get it?
Another thing is that my belly button wound up on my upper chest, on the inside of the new breast. He sewed it closed, and it's healing, but I've been having fun pulling down the neck of my shirt and telling people, "Look! This was my belly button!"
This image, like all of these, have bruises, medical tape residue, and incisions. I did warn you, remember?
Usually, after the shock of seeing this wears off, the next question is, "So, Rachel, do you have a NEW belly button? What does it look like?" This is where it gets even more fun. My new belly button is a circle surrounded by stitches. We've discussed how much it looks like the CBC Sunday Morning sun (example at the end of this blog entry):
You've been warned.
I had a follow-up visit with my plastic surgeon this morning. He is quite happy with how I am healing. In fact, it's better than he had anticipated. That was SO good to hear. I also got rid of two of my three drains today. I'm hoping to see the other one go on Monday. Fingers crossed!
During all of this process, I have taken some photos and had Kevin take a video. It's stuff that fascinates me, and I thought some others may be as warped as I am, so I want to share.
First, the new breast is made out of muscle, fat, and skin from my tummy. This means a few different things. For instance, I have a few stretch marks on the bottom side, because I had a few stretch marks on my tummy. Get it?
Another thing is that my belly button wound up on my upper chest, on the inside of the new breast. He sewed it closed, and it's healing, but I've been having fun pulling down the neck of my shirt and telling people, "Look! This was my belly button!"
This image, like all of these, have bruises, medical tape residue, and incisions. I did warn you, remember?
Usually, after the shock of seeing this wears off, the next question is, "So, Rachel, do you have a NEW belly button? What does it look like?" This is where it gets even more fun. My new belly button is a circle surrounded by stitches. We've discussed how much it looks like the CBC Sunday Morning sun (example at the end of this blog entry):
There is also the talking point of my hip-to-hip incision. I debated about showing this because it would be WAY too revealing, had the bandages not been there. Oh well. All of my modesty has left me in this past two years, so here ya go. It still has the steri strips on at this point, but you can see the length of it:
Finally, with all of my history and experience with drains, I thought to ask Kevin to record the removal process. It goes really fast, but it's interesting. I added an image and a couple of captions to help explain things. I also blurred out the new breast, even though it doesn't yet look like one.
So there you have it. More of my body than anyone has ever wanted to see. And if you weren't sure what I meant by the CBS Sunday Morning sun, here you go:
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Recovering
I finally had my surgery on Monday. It seemed like the day would never get here, but when it did, I was scared to death. I wasn't scared of being put under. I wasn't scared of being operated on. I wasn't even scared of the pain that I'd been warned would come after. I was terrified that this, too, would fail.
My expander to implant surgery failed. The replacement implant failed. It's been a frustrating couple of years, and I just couldn't keep the optimism that I usually have. I had a cloud of dread over my head about this and I pictured myself going through the entire, painful recovery just to have another failure.
I told Dr. Magnificent about this fear when we came to see me in the pre-op room. He patted my arm and said, "Well, I won't jinx myself, but I don't want you to worry about it." What seemed like a few minutes later, he was talking to me in post-op and asking me if I wanted to feel it. He also told me that I wouldn't remember him asking...but I did.
He spent some time with Kevin (as always,) and eventually they brought Kevin back to see me and we headed to my room. Everyone in recovery and in my room kept commenting on how well I was doing for someone who had just had that major of a surgery. Everyone. Thank you, pain pills, and thank you to a tough blood line. My family is NOT made up of wussies. :)
On Tuesday morning, I was told that it was time to get out of bed and sit in the chair for a while. This was the biggest challenge yet, and the first time that I ever remember having a pain that would rate as a 10. I was in tears and shaking by the time I made this 4' move. That was the worst, though, and things are slowly becoming more tolerable.
On Wednesday, Dr. Magnificent came to see me, removed much of the dressings, and marveled at how well he and I did. :) He always finds a way to make me smile. He even made me tear up when he told me about the fear he saw in my eyes before surgery. Apparently, after he left the hospital, he called Kevin on his cell to talk to him about how everything was going and what to expect. We've never met a doctor like him and we feel so thankful for him and his nurse.
I am now at home, where I'll have a steady stream of babysitters until I'm allowed to be home alone. Aunt Rena will come today and Mom will sit with me tomorrow. When the pain pills wear off, I still hit somewhere in the 8 range on the pain meter, but other than that, it hovers between 3 and 6, which I can handle.
I am SO happy that this hurdle has been cleared. I'm ready for 2014 to be an amazing year. I had such high hopes for 2013, but 2013 had other plans. This is going to be my year. Look out, future. Here I come with a full head of steam! Now pardon me while I hobble toward the shower.
My expander to implant surgery failed. The replacement implant failed. It's been a frustrating couple of years, and I just couldn't keep the optimism that I usually have. I had a cloud of dread over my head about this and I pictured myself going through the entire, painful recovery just to have another failure.
I told Dr. Magnificent about this fear when we came to see me in the pre-op room. He patted my arm and said, "Well, I won't jinx myself, but I don't want you to worry about it." What seemed like a few minutes later, he was talking to me in post-op and asking me if I wanted to feel it. He also told me that I wouldn't remember him asking...but I did.
He spent some time with Kevin (as always,) and eventually they brought Kevin back to see me and we headed to my room. Everyone in recovery and in my room kept commenting on how well I was doing for someone who had just had that major of a surgery. Everyone. Thank you, pain pills, and thank you to a tough blood line. My family is NOT made up of wussies. :)
On Tuesday morning, I was told that it was time to get out of bed and sit in the chair for a while. This was the biggest challenge yet, and the first time that I ever remember having a pain that would rate as a 10. I was in tears and shaking by the time I made this 4' move. That was the worst, though, and things are slowly becoming more tolerable.
On Wednesday, Dr. Magnificent came to see me, removed much of the dressings, and marveled at how well he and I did. :) He always finds a way to make me smile. He even made me tear up when he told me about the fear he saw in my eyes before surgery. Apparently, after he left the hospital, he called Kevin on his cell to talk to him about how everything was going and what to expect. We've never met a doctor like him and we feel so thankful for him and his nurse.
I am now at home, where I'll have a steady stream of babysitters until I'm allowed to be home alone. Aunt Rena will come today and Mom will sit with me tomorrow. When the pain pills wear off, I still hit somewhere in the 8 range on the pain meter, but other than that, it hovers between 3 and 6, which I can handle.
I am SO happy that this hurdle has been cleared. I'm ready for 2014 to be an amazing year. I had such high hopes for 2013, but 2013 had other plans. This is going to be my year. Look out, future. Here I come with a full head of steam! Now pardon me while I hobble toward the shower.
Sunday, December 1, 2013
A Well-Timed Visit
In the midst of all of the pre-surgery anxiety that I've been experiencing, Thanksgiving weekend came along and offered a wonderful distraction. The fears did not completely disappear, but they certainly got tucked away for hours at a time as I laughed and ate and played.
Thursday was a wonderful day of indulgence. I indulged in food, drink, and family. My brother and his family were in town for the first time since before I was diagnosed with cancer. That seems like a lifetime ago. A lifetime of chemo, radiation, baldness, and fatigue.
I've loved my brother for a long time (not forever..ask my mother) but I have always taken for granted that we'd both be around forever. Having mortality stare you in the face will fix that nonsense in a hurry. I enjoyed his company and appreciated it like I never have before.
Saturday, we spent more time at Mom and Dad's. More laughter, more fun, and more food. Although we all consumed way too many calories over the past few days, we made the most of a short visit. Jim, Deb, and Lyndsay are on the way home now, and I am ready to face my last work week of the year.
When the worries creep in, I'm going to access the memories of the past few days and use them to keep my head where it needs to be. Family. What else matters?
Thursday was a wonderful day of indulgence. I indulged in food, drink, and family. My brother and his family were in town for the first time since before I was diagnosed with cancer. That seems like a lifetime ago. A lifetime of chemo, radiation, baldness, and fatigue.
I've loved my brother for a long time (not forever..ask my mother) but I have always taken for granted that we'd both be around forever. Having mortality stare you in the face will fix that nonsense in a hurry. I enjoyed his company and appreciated it like I never have before.
Saturday, we spent more time at Mom and Dad's. More laughter, more fun, and more food. Although we all consumed way too many calories over the past few days, we made the most of a short visit. Jim, Deb, and Lyndsay are on the way home now, and I am ready to face my last work week of the year.
When the worries creep in, I'm going to access the memories of the past few days and use them to keep my head where it needs to be. Family. What else matters?
Friday, November 22, 2013
The Countdown to Surgery
It's been a busy couple of days for me. Yesterday was the sleeve and glove pick up day. No more mummy wrapping! The sleeve is going to take some getting used to, but it's already better and SO much easier than the seven layers of wrap. I'm glad that is behind me.
Today started with a pre-op appointment at the plastic surgeon's office. It's pretty scary to hear how much pain I'm going to be in and that I'll be walking bent over for a while, and to not force myself to stand up straight. How I can't lift over five pounds for six weeks and how there is no way I'll be able to climb stairs and so on and so on. I'll have a pain pump for the first couple of days. I know I can handle it, but it's making both me and Kevin nervous.
One good thing that came out of the appointment was what might happen as a result of the surgery. Because the radiated tissue will be replaced with non-radiated tissue (with healthy lymphatics,) there is a possibility that my lymphedema may get better. Wouldn't THAT be amazing? That lifted our spirits after getting scared by the warnings.
This afternoon, the guy came to set up my compression pump and show me how to use it. It's not bad at all. For 50 minutes a night, I sit in the recliner while the pump does massage to move lymph fluid up and out of my arm. This is my new routine:
Today started with a pre-op appointment at the plastic surgeon's office. It's pretty scary to hear how much pain I'm going to be in and that I'll be walking bent over for a while, and to not force myself to stand up straight. How I can't lift over five pounds for six weeks and how there is no way I'll be able to climb stairs and so on and so on. I'll have a pain pump for the first couple of days. I know I can handle it, but it's making both me and Kevin nervous.
One good thing that came out of the appointment was what might happen as a result of the surgery. Because the radiated tissue will be replaced with non-radiated tissue (with healthy lymphatics,) there is a possibility that my lymphedema may get better. Wouldn't THAT be amazing? That lifted our spirits after getting scared by the warnings.
This afternoon, the guy came to set up my compression pump and show me how to use it. It's not bad at all. For 50 minutes a night, I sit in the recliner while the pump does massage to move lymph fluid up and out of my arm. This is my new routine:
So...two more weeks. Next week is Thanksgiving and I'm going to get to see my Georgia brother. The next week is a full week of work. The Monday after that, we'll head to the hospital to check in and get ready for a noon surgery. Yup. The time is finally almost here.
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Hair
I don't post because I don't want to reveal how sad and negative I am a lot of the time. That's not me. It's my blog and I can do whatever I want. However, to type the negative words is to give them power. (in my mind, anyway.) So I just don't blog. Today, I have something to blog about.
My friend Michelle nominated me for a Honey Baked Ham gift card, and I won. It was something about "foiling cancer" and I was thrilled to find out that I'd won a $75 gift card. That will be a HUGE help on Thanksgiving. Tonight, I stopped by the local HBH store to order a ham for next week.
There was only one more customer in the store, and it was a couple. I'm going to guess that they were in their late 50's to early 60's. She wore a knit hat and was obviously bald. As I left the store, they were following. I held the door for them and then asked:
"Did you win a $75 gift card by being nominated for fighting cancer?" She looked shocked and answered "Yes?" She seemed confused. I said, "Yeah. Me, too. I fought breast cancer for most of 2012." She asked when my last chemo was, and I told her that it was September 19, 2012.
This is where I teared up. She looked at her husband and said, "See? Look how much hair I'll have in a year!" I told her that I, too, struggled with the hair loss, felt it would never grow back, and now have had a trim and still have this much hair.
She smiled and then I did it. I asked if I could please give her a hug. She nodded and I hugged her. I hugged her hard. And while I hugged her, I whispered, "This will be over soon. I promise."
She nodded and we parted ways. I'll likely never see her again. I hope she keeps her chin up, and I promise to do the same. I have hair. I have hair, and she'll have hair next year. Maybe she'll lift up someone else who is struggling at that time.
Hair? Wanna see mine? OK!
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
More Boring Health Crap
When the cancer journey is over, I have NO idea what I'll blog about. I don't even want to blog about endless treatment crap, but I have nothing much else going on. Busy season at work and endless health crap. That's my life.
I have contacted out primary care doctor to prescribe the custom fit LE sleeve. He will send it directly to the lady who will fit me for it. The therapist also wants me to get a compression pump, because my arm, although slightly better, is still firm and not reacting as well as she'd hoped.
So I have to contact another company to find out of my insurance will pay for this piece of equipment that will work on my arm for an hour a day. I just sit and let it do it's thing, compressing my arm to get the fluid out. I may get to stop going to therapy within a week or so, too. That was nice to hear.
I was originally told that I'd likely be released to go back to work (after my December 9th surgery) on January 6th. I saw the paperwork filled out by my doctor today, and it has me out until January 19. That's not carved in stone, but that means they think there's a chance of my recovery taking 6 weeks instead of 4. I can't afford to be off that long, so we're going to make sure I go back by the 6th at the latest. Because I said so.
And now, back to your regularly scheduled programming.
Sunday, October 20, 2013
A Night With Friends
I've been teetering on the edge of bitterness lately. I'm tired of lymphedema and I'm tired of infections and I'm tired of not being "whole" and having to wear garments to even things out and I'm tired of cancer continuing to pop up with family, workmates, and friends. I struggle with wondering what I did to "deserve" cancer.
That is NOT a place that I want to be. I don't want to be bitter. I want to celebrate life and be thankful for the medical team that has been taking care of me. I want to rejoice that my cancer is gone. I want to happily look forward to my surgery in December without being impatient. I want to be happy about the 5 year survival rate studies and stop researching 10, 15, and 20 year studies.
With Kevin and the girls heading out of town this weekend, I decided to organize a girl's night in. I invited some coworkers over to drink wine and gossip. The plans continued to develop as the time drew nearer and my friends offered suggestions. It turned into something way more than I expected.
Five gals came, and we had a ball. We turned off every light in the house and played hide-and-seek. The "seeker" had an amazing automatic Nerf gun, and all of the "hiders" had smaller Nerf weapons. If you found someone, you fired. If you hit them, they were "it" for the next round. If a hider shot the seeker first, they had 10 seconds to run toward "base" before the seeker could return fire.
We laughed SO hard. It was an amazing time. For an entire evening, I didn't feel sorry for myself or even THINK about health issues. Not even once. Thank you, girls. It's just what I needed.
That is NOT a place that I want to be. I don't want to be bitter. I want to celebrate life and be thankful for the medical team that has been taking care of me. I want to rejoice that my cancer is gone. I want to happily look forward to my surgery in December without being impatient. I want to be happy about the 5 year survival rate studies and stop researching 10, 15, and 20 year studies.
With Kevin and the girls heading out of town this weekend, I decided to organize a girl's night in. I invited some coworkers over to drink wine and gossip. The plans continued to develop as the time drew nearer and my friends offered suggestions. It turned into something way more than I expected.
Five gals came, and we had a ball. We turned off every light in the house and played hide-and-seek. The "seeker" had an amazing automatic Nerf gun, and all of the "hiders" had smaller Nerf weapons. If you found someone, you fired. If you hit them, they were "it" for the next round. If a hider shot the seeker first, they had 10 seconds to run toward "base" before the seeker could return fire.
We laughed SO hard. It was an amazing time. For an entire evening, I didn't feel sorry for myself or even THINK about health issues. Not even once. Thank you, girls. It's just what I needed.
Thursday, October 10, 2013
I Love My Husband
Kevin and I got into a chat conversation yesterday that ended in typical Fierro fashion. I just had to share:
Sunday, October 6, 2013
2013 So Far - A Recap
Last year found me dealing with finding a lump, getting a painful biopsy, getting "the call" that I had breast cancer, and starting a long and scary journey. After meeting nearly a dozen doctors and specialists, my treatment began.
I had 16 weeks of chemo, lost my hair, battled fatigue like I'd never imagined, and learned that "chemo brain" is real. That was followed closely by 33 radiation treatments to the affected side, a huge area of burn from these treatments, and yet more fatigue.
After all of this, I was ready to move on. Put it behind me. Have my reconstructive surgery to make me "whole" again (in my eyes) and keep moving forward with my life. 2013 HAD to be better than 2012. Anything would beat cancer, right?
This year started off with healing time. Letting my body recover from eight months of abuse. Eight months of pure hell. It seemed to be healing just fine. The day finally came for surgery to remove the tissue expander and place the permanent implant. That lasted about four weeks before my incision opened up and we had to start over.
The second implant didn't even last as long as the first. My plastic surgeon gave up on that type of reconstruction, closed me up with no implant, and decided we'd go another route with my reconstruction. I gathered information about the TRAM flap procedure and got ready. And then I developed lymphedema.
Lymphedema is chronic, so it's important to start treating it right away to get it under control. I was referred to an LE specialist in the occupational therapy department and we started massage therapy and compression bandaging. A couple of weeks in, I developed cellulitis.
After a few days in the hospital on IV antibiotics, I was released and told to take a mega-dose of oral antibiotics for seven days. Everything seemed fine until day three after finishing that prescription. The infection reared it's head again. I was admitted into the hospital for another three days and referred to the infectious disease department.
They decided to change medication courses, and I was sent home with two very powerful and targeted oral antibiotics. These, on top of my existing daily meds, makes me quite nauseous. I had to add another pill to combat that. This infection delay was enough to throw my prospected surgery date out another 5-6 weeks.
I try to avoid posting when I can't be positive. I'm not always successful, but I try. I know that it's my blog and I can post whatever I want. I know that my friends don't mind if I need to vent. I know that it's OK to everyone else if I whine. It's not, however, good for me. I find myself getting bitter as I type the words.
So I try to stick to facts so people know where I am in my treatment. Yes, I try to stay positive and am pretty darn successful at it most of the time. I laugh, enjoy my family and my friends, and keep on working. I don't sink into a deep depression and I haven't given up.
I do cry. I do get frustrated. I do wonder "Why me?" and feel like I'm banging my head against a brick wall. I am human. I'm not this rock of strength who handles everything perfectly. I just don't show the sadness very often because sadness breeds sadness in me. It's like quicksand. The deeper I let myself go, the deeper in I am pulled.
So I stand at the edge. Teetering. Sometimes it's tempting to just dive in and let the people around me fight to pull me free. They would pull, too. But if I stay out of the pit of fear quicksand, they won't have to. I'm fine. Honestly. I am handling this the only way that works for me. I'm not hiding it or masking it. I'm learning as I go. Sometimes I succeed and sometimes I fail. As long as I come out on the other side, though, I will be victorious.
I had 16 weeks of chemo, lost my hair, battled fatigue like I'd never imagined, and learned that "chemo brain" is real. That was followed closely by 33 radiation treatments to the affected side, a huge area of burn from these treatments, and yet more fatigue.
After all of this, I was ready to move on. Put it behind me. Have my reconstructive surgery to make me "whole" again (in my eyes) and keep moving forward with my life. 2013 HAD to be better than 2012. Anything would beat cancer, right?
This year started off with healing time. Letting my body recover from eight months of abuse. Eight months of pure hell. It seemed to be healing just fine. The day finally came for surgery to remove the tissue expander and place the permanent implant. That lasted about four weeks before my incision opened up and we had to start over.
The second implant didn't even last as long as the first. My plastic surgeon gave up on that type of reconstruction, closed me up with no implant, and decided we'd go another route with my reconstruction. I gathered information about the TRAM flap procedure and got ready. And then I developed lymphedema.
Lymphedema is chronic, so it's important to start treating it right away to get it under control. I was referred to an LE specialist in the occupational therapy department and we started massage therapy and compression bandaging. A couple of weeks in, I developed cellulitis.
After a few days in the hospital on IV antibiotics, I was released and told to take a mega-dose of oral antibiotics for seven days. Everything seemed fine until day three after finishing that prescription. The infection reared it's head again. I was admitted into the hospital for another three days and referred to the infectious disease department.
They decided to change medication courses, and I was sent home with two very powerful and targeted oral antibiotics. These, on top of my existing daily meds, makes me quite nauseous. I had to add another pill to combat that. This infection delay was enough to throw my prospected surgery date out another 5-6 weeks.
I try to avoid posting when I can't be positive. I'm not always successful, but I try. I know that it's my blog and I can post whatever I want. I know that my friends don't mind if I need to vent. I know that it's OK to everyone else if I whine. It's not, however, good for me. I find myself getting bitter as I type the words.
So I try to stick to facts so people know where I am in my treatment. Yes, I try to stay positive and am pretty darn successful at it most of the time. I laugh, enjoy my family and my friends, and keep on working. I don't sink into a deep depression and I haven't given up.
I do cry. I do get frustrated. I do wonder "Why me?" and feel like I'm banging my head against a brick wall. I am human. I'm not this rock of strength who handles everything perfectly. I just don't show the sadness very often because sadness breeds sadness in me. It's like quicksand. The deeper I let myself go, the deeper in I am pulled.
So I stand at the edge. Teetering. Sometimes it's tempting to just dive in and let the people around me fight to pull me free. They would pull, too. But if I stay out of the pit of fear quicksand, they won't have to. I'm fine. Honestly. I am handling this the only way that works for me. I'm not hiding it or masking it. I'm learning as I go. Sometimes I succeed and sometimes I fail. As long as I come out on the other side, though, I will be victorious.
Friday, October 4, 2013
Just The Facts
In order to not make my pity party public (alliteration amuses me) I shall list only facts. No opinions or thoughts. Just facts.
1. I'm out of the hospital and back home.
2. The infection seems to be improving (again.)
3. My antibiotics make me nauseous (puking on I-70 at 6:30 am was a new experience.)
4. My reconstruction is now likely in December, instead of October.
5. I am never to play with my smallest dog unless my arm is wrapped.
6. I'm supposed to be scared of hangnails, never scratch bug bites, and avoid injury to the left arm.
7. I am the ultimate klutz.
8. My therapy for the LE has nearly started over.
9. My therapist will go on maternity leave within 2 weeks, and I'll be going to the plaza and meeting someone new.
10. Kevin doesn't think that Pringles alone can be dinner.
Those are the facts.
1. I'm out of the hospital and back home.
2. The infection seems to be improving (again.)
3. My antibiotics make me nauseous (puking on I-70 at 6:30 am was a new experience.)
4. My reconstruction is now likely in December, instead of October.
5. I am never to play with my smallest dog unless my arm is wrapped.
6. I'm supposed to be scared of hangnails, never scratch bug bites, and avoid injury to the left arm.
7. I am the ultimate klutz.
8. My therapy for the LE has nearly started over.
9. My therapist will go on maternity leave within 2 weeks, and I'll be going to the plaza and meeting someone new.
10. Kevin doesn't think that Pringles alone can be dinner.
Those are the facts.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
And The Party Never Ends
I took my last dose of oral antibiotics on Saturday. By Tuesday morning, the infection was back. By Tuesday afternoon, I was back in the hospital. This is quite frustrating, but at least they reacted more quickly this time. Here is the rundown:
I am on IV antibiotics again. I'm receiving my second dose as I type this.
I'll see someone from infectious disease today. After that, I'll know more what our plan is. I always feel better when there is a plan.
I'll likely go home with a PICC line to allow a prolonged course of antibiotics. Probably a month's worth, but we'll know for sure after "the plan" is in place.
Because of the prolonged course of antibiotics, my reconstructive surgery has to be postponed. They will NOT do surgery until all traces of infection are gone. I know this is the only safe way to proceed, but I feel like the carrot that has been dangling in front of me has just been stolen by a feral jackalope.
That is all I know for now. Kevin left yesterday to tend to me and get me signed in and settled, so he woke at 2 to get to work by 4:00 in order to make up some hours. I hate that he has to do that, but I sure do appreciate his willingness to do so. He's a trooper.
I am on IV antibiotics again. I'm receiving my second dose as I type this.
I'll see someone from infectious disease today. After that, I'll know more what our plan is. I always feel better when there is a plan.
I'll likely go home with a PICC line to allow a prolonged course of antibiotics. Probably a month's worth, but we'll know for sure after "the plan" is in place.
Because of the prolonged course of antibiotics, my reconstructive surgery has to be postponed. They will NOT do surgery until all traces of infection are gone. I know this is the only safe way to proceed, but I feel like the carrot that has been dangling in front of me has just been stolen by a feral jackalope.
That is all I know for now. Kevin left yesterday to tend to me and get me signed in and settled, so he woke at 2 to get to work by 4:00 in order to make up some hours. I hate that he has to do that, but I sure do appreciate his willingness to do so. He's a trooper.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Countdown To Surgery
Kevin accompanied me to the plastic surgeon's office this morning. The doctor was 45 minutes late, but I never get upset at him. He spent 30 minutes talking to and comforting Kevin after my last implant failure. He really cares and gives each patient all the time they need. If he did that for Kevin, I always think that he could be doing that for someone else.
When he did come in, he examined me and was VERY pleased with how much the skin has softened. He explained the TRAM flap procedure and told us of the other options, and that it was our choice, but he believed the tummy was the best place for donor tissue and I wouldn't need an implant at all. We agreed. Kevin and I had already discussed it, so we didn't have to think very hard about it.
I had a laundry list of questions, which he answered carefully and attentively. The nurse should call me in the morning to schedule the surgery. It will be 4-6 weeks from now. Late October or early November. I'm a tiny bit nervous, but MAJORLY excited. Let's get this show on the road. I'll be in the hospital for 2-3 days, and home from work for anywhere from 3-6 weeks, depending upon how I feel.
When he did come in, he examined me and was VERY pleased with how much the skin has softened. He explained the TRAM flap procedure and told us of the other options, and that it was our choice, but he believed the tummy was the best place for donor tissue and I wouldn't need an implant at all. We agreed. Kevin and I had already discussed it, so we didn't have to think very hard about it.
I had a laundry list of questions, which he answered carefully and attentively. The nurse should call me in the morning to schedule the surgery. It will be 4-6 weeks from now. Late October or early November. I'm a tiny bit nervous, but MAJORLY excited. Let's get this show on the road. I'll be in the hospital for 2-3 days, and home from work for anywhere from 3-6 weeks, depending upon how I feel.
Sunday, September 22, 2013
Home
The doctor didn't even come by my room Saturday until around 5:00. He said he was "on the fence" about letting me go home. Kevin, the girls, and my buddy Brooke, had been in the room with me since before 11:00, and I know how much they all wanted me to go home. I answered his questions and he agreed to let me go home with the condition that I see my primary care doctor within the first couple days of the week.
I didn't sleep worth a darn. I think I'll try the recliner tonight. The redness has gone down in my arm, but there is still a lot of heat in it. He doubled the amount of Bactrim that I am to take. Oh goodie. Twice as much of the medicine that makes me feel crappy. Oh well, if it works, it works. I finally forced a can of soup down this afternoon, but even that didn't sound good. I figured I should eat something before it comes time for the next dose.
I'll go back to work tomorrow and see how quickly I can get in to see our family doctor. If I get a fever, the pain gets too much, or the redness grows, I am to go back to the ER. *sigh* I'm supposed to find out my surgery date this Wednesday, and I'm scared to death that this is going to delay reconstruction. I sure hope not.
I had a little breakdown on the way to the store today. I hate it when I do that. Kevin doesn't know what to do and he wants to fix it. I try not to feel defeated too often, but it hits me sometimes. I was so naive last year. I made it through chemo and radiation by telling myself, "By this time next year, it'll all be over." Yeah right.
But we march on. It will do me good to get to work and start taking some calls. It's full-blown busy season, and it will be a great distraction. I'd much rather be helping customers solve problems than to be dwelling on my own.
I didn't sleep worth a darn. I think I'll try the recliner tonight. The redness has gone down in my arm, but there is still a lot of heat in it. He doubled the amount of Bactrim that I am to take. Oh goodie. Twice as much of the medicine that makes me feel crappy. Oh well, if it works, it works. I finally forced a can of soup down this afternoon, but even that didn't sound good. I figured I should eat something before it comes time for the next dose.
I'll go back to work tomorrow and see how quickly I can get in to see our family doctor. If I get a fever, the pain gets too much, or the redness grows, I am to go back to the ER. *sigh* I'm supposed to find out my surgery date this Wednesday, and I'm scared to death that this is going to delay reconstruction. I sure hope not.
I had a little breakdown on the way to the store today. I hate it when I do that. Kevin doesn't know what to do and he wants to fix it. I try not to feel defeated too often, but it hits me sometimes. I was so naive last year. I made it through chemo and radiation by telling myself, "By this time next year, it'll all be over." Yeah right.
But we march on. It will do me good to get to work and start taking some calls. It's full-blown busy season, and it will be a great distraction. I'd much rather be helping customers solve problems than to be dwelling on my own.
Thursday, September 19, 2013
Cellulitis Does NOT Mean You're Fat
After a couple of therapy treatments and faithfully wrapping my arm, I noticed a spot on the inside of my forearm, just above my wrist, that was hard under the skin. When I saw my therapist on Tuesday, she said that it could possibly be cellulitis due to the hardness and the warmth, and told me that she didn't want to do the massage because it could push the infection out into my body. She sent me upstairs to see my oncologist.
It was 7:00 am, so the nurse was the only one there. She looked at it, told me she'd contact my doctor and then call me. I went to work and waited until about 11:00 before calling to check in. "Oh yeah" she said. *sigh* She said that the doctor wanted to have me start a double strength bactrim right away. She told me she'd call it in.
After work, I stopped at WalMart to get it and they said nothing had been called in. I drove home mad (doctor's office was closed by now.) After I got home, I called the on-call line and immediately got a call back. My doctor was on-call! Yay! She didn't sound happy that the nurse had dropped the ball, and told me she would call it in right then. Now it involved a 30 mile round trip, but I got my medication.
Wednesday morning, the area was nearly twice the size. That afternoon, I called back in. The nurse called the doctor and she said to give the bactrim a couple of days to work, and to lay off the LE massage until next week. Fine.
This morning, I decided to keep my appointment with the therapist, just so someone would look at it. I got there, she unwrapped me and the area was larger still, and she was concerned about how warm my arm was. She thought I should go upstairs again. Same nurse was there. I showed it to her and she said that she agreed it was worse and that she would talk to the doctor when she got there. I went to work.
15 minutes into my day, the phone rang. The nurse told me to go to the ER for IV antibiotics. She told me to be prepared for the chance that they might admit me. I hurried to tie up some loose ends at work and headed back to where I'd just left. Kevin met me there and we waited. And waited. Finally they took me back, drew some blood, and hung a bag of fluids and a bag of antibiotic. It was four hours later before they had a room available, but they did admit me.
I don't know how long I'll be here. The were pretty vague. I assume they'll want to see how the arm reacts to the antibiotics. I am to get them every 12 hours. I don't feel horrible, the nurses are sweet, and the food is good. Things could always be worse. I also get some cute visitors.
It was 7:00 am, so the nurse was the only one there. She looked at it, told me she'd contact my doctor and then call me. I went to work and waited until about 11:00 before calling to check in. "Oh yeah" she said. *sigh* She said that the doctor wanted to have me start a double strength bactrim right away. She told me she'd call it in.
After work, I stopped at WalMart to get it and they said nothing had been called in. I drove home mad (doctor's office was closed by now.) After I got home, I called the on-call line and immediately got a call back. My doctor was on-call! Yay! She didn't sound happy that the nurse had dropped the ball, and told me she would call it in right then. Now it involved a 30 mile round trip, but I got my medication.
Wednesday morning, the area was nearly twice the size. That afternoon, I called back in. The nurse called the doctor and she said to give the bactrim a couple of days to work, and to lay off the LE massage until next week. Fine.
This morning, I decided to keep my appointment with the therapist, just so someone would look at it. I got there, she unwrapped me and the area was larger still, and she was concerned about how warm my arm was. She thought I should go upstairs again. Same nurse was there. I showed it to her and she said that she agreed it was worse and that she would talk to the doctor when she got there. I went to work.
15 minutes into my day, the phone rang. The nurse told me to go to the ER for IV antibiotics. She told me to be prepared for the chance that they might admit me. I hurried to tie up some loose ends at work and headed back to where I'd just left. Kevin met me there and we waited. And waited. Finally they took me back, drew some blood, and hung a bag of fluids and a bag of antibiotic. It was four hours later before they had a room available, but they did admit me.
I don't know how long I'll be here. The were pretty vague. I assume they'll want to see how the arm reacts to the antibiotics. I am to get them every 12 hours. I don't feel horrible, the nurses are sweet, and the food is good. Things could always be worse. I also get some cute visitors.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
The Beginning of LE Therapy
I had my first therapy session with the lymphedema specialist this morning at 7. She explained a lot of things, and then did the massage. She massages areas with all lymph nodes that she wants to get moving, and then my arm, trying to push the lymphatic fluids toward those working nodes.
After the 30 minutes of that (it will be 45 minutes during future appointments,) she started the process of wrapping my arm and showing me how to do it. I have to do it alone, because Kevin is long gone to work before I wake up in the mornings. Because of that, I unwrapped and re-wrapped it tonight, to make sure I could. I made Monica take pictures for me so I could remember everything. Wanna see?
First, I put on this sleeve. It's a lot like what they put on you before wrapping you in an old-school cast:
Then, I wrap this foam around me. It's not tight, but it is beneficial in some way. I don't remember how because that was 13 hours ago. LOL
After that, I wrap my fingers in this thin gauze wrap. She told me that it has to cross the back of my hand between each finger wrapping, and if it's done correctly, there will be nothing crossing on my palm. I got it right!
After that, I take the first of three bandages and wrap my hand and wrist. They look like ACE bandages, but they have different properties and push fluid out while keeping more fluid from building up. I have to use tape to hold them in place, because the little clips that you use with an ACE could nick the skin, and that would be a problem. For the rest of my life, I have to make sure that I don't get any injuries to that arm, because it will be prone to infection.
Finally, I use the other two (wider) bandages to go up my arm. They have to be uncomfortably tight. It doesn't hurt, but it's annoying as heck. It's going to be 15 minutes added to my mornings, and it's going to be uncomfortable, and it's hard to type. It's also not cancer. I'm trying to get my attitude in check and stop whining.
I can do this. I did chemo, which made me crawl into bed at the end of each day (sometimes crying) and couldn't move until I left for work the next day. I did radiation, which made my skin so raw that I had to wear special gel pads under my bra. I had 3 surgeries in 3 months. This is a wrapped arm. Just a wrapped arm. I've got this.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Lymphedema
Yup. I have it. I saw the LE therapist this afternoon, and start with her tomorrow morning at 7:00 am. I'll see her on Tuesday and Thursday mornings for up to four weeks, depending upon how my body responds. I found out that I am NOT guaranteed to wear a compression sleeve for life, but I'm also not guaranteed NOT to wear one. That made me feel better, because I assumed that I would have to.
Each session will involve her doing a very gentle massage that moves the lymph fluid out of my arm and toward the remaining lymph nodes. Some toward the opposite side and some down, toward my stomach/groin nodes. It won't hurt and some people fall asleep. Cool. Then, I get wrapped.
There is a thin layer of foam that will be wrapped around my arm, and then a wrap that looks like an ACE, but works completely differently. Instead of being immobilized, I am to use my arm as normal. The wrap will help push the fluid out of my arm, and prevent fluid from building back up. She warned me that it is hot, uncomfortable, and annoying. She also said to remember that it is temporary.
If the best case scenario comes to pass, my body will respond favorably and the swelling will go down. Then, I will get a compression sleeve. How much I wear it, and how long I wear it, will be determined later. I truly do feel better than I did before this appointment.
Oh, and I told Kevin that there was no need for him to go to this appointment. I didn't need him there. He met me there anyway, and it made a world of difference. I was able to tell all the details of the past year and talk in depth about things without tearing up a single time. Yup. I need him there. I have to stop arguing with him about that.
Each session will involve her doing a very gentle massage that moves the lymph fluid out of my arm and toward the remaining lymph nodes. Some toward the opposite side and some down, toward my stomach/groin nodes. It won't hurt and some people fall asleep. Cool. Then, I get wrapped.
There is a thin layer of foam that will be wrapped around my arm, and then a wrap that looks like an ACE, but works completely differently. Instead of being immobilized, I am to use my arm as normal. The wrap will help push the fluid out of my arm, and prevent fluid from building back up. She warned me that it is hot, uncomfortable, and annoying. She also said to remember that it is temporary.
If the best case scenario comes to pass, my body will respond favorably and the swelling will go down. Then, I will get a compression sleeve. How much I wear it, and how long I wear it, will be determined later. I truly do feel better than I did before this appointment.
Oh, and I told Kevin that there was no need for him to go to this appointment. I didn't need him there. He met me there anyway, and it made a world of difference. I was able to tell all the details of the past year and talk in depth about things without tearing up a single time. Yup. I need him there. I have to stop arguing with him about that.
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