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Breast Cancer
In The Third Person
She feels like she's looking through a kaleidoscope, only no turn of the wheel ends up on a pretty picture. No flowers. No butterflies. No vistas resembling a peacock’s plume.
“We can’t give you the easier chemo,” her oncologist says as tears stream down her face.
“Why am I finding this out now? Why did you tell me you were going to do what’s kinder on my health?” she asks incredulously.
“All of that changed the moment we received your HER2 results. Your cancer is too aggressive to be treated any other way.”
“Give a girl a heads up next time so I could have had some time to prepare! [Pause.] So, I’m definitely losing my hair?” she inquires in the midst of her sobs.
Her oncologist nods. She asks for a few minutes to herself to call her ex-boyfriend from Philadelphia. She listens to his words of wisdom, realizing that there's no reason to prolong the inevitable. Given the lab results, this is the normal protocol.
As she walks into the "Infusion Center," one nurse comments:
You have the most beautiful hair.
“Fuck,” she replies.
The treatment itself isn’t as bad as she had expected. Thanks to the mediport, she barely feels the eight IV bags that give her fluids, chemotherapy, herceptin and antibiotics. She tells the nurses about her propensity for nausea and vomiting and is assured that the current medicines are much better than they used to be.
“Most people just get nauseous with chemo these days. You probably won’t even throw up,” her nurse informs her.
"Wow! That would be great!"
She goes home and has a light dinner before watching Love Actually with one of her friends. For a few minutes, she actually thinks to herself that this might not be that bad.
Morning brings exhaustion, which is to be expected. But then, she can’t stomach sips of water or ginger ale. Hours later, she ends up on the phone crying to the doctor’s office, while lying on the Oriental rug in the fetal position.
It feels like she's starring in her own Lifetime movie.
Her friend brings her to the Infusion Center. Two hours of fluids and anti-nausea meds do the trick, and she heads home with a smile on her face and a little of her appetite back. Her man comes over that evening and says words so sweet that she wonders if they might actually make it through this together.
He wakes her up with warm kisses on her face, telling her that she will always be sexy to him. When she sends him on his way to work, she hopes that the worse is behind her.
But, alas, that's not the case.
That evening requires her to go to the Emergency Room for more fluids and anti-nausea medications.
And then, the following day, she returns to the Infusion Center for more IVs. She may be new to the world of chemo, but she is a savvy enough patient to realize that three consecutive days of IV therapy after treatment are not the norm. Only at that time does the Head Nurse mention that she might need to be admitted to the hospital during treatment.
In her dehydrated haze, she forgets to ask:
This time or next time?
But, she’ll remember before she goes to get her second round of chemo in October. You can bet on that. She will do whatever she can to ensure that this Lifetime movie does not turn into a miniseries.
She reminds herself that she is one of the lucky ones.
She is blessed.
This was caught early.
She won't lose her hair for another week or two.
The next year is just one year in a lifetime of years.
Moment-by-moment, she will get through this.
She sobs. For right at this moment, there is nothing else she feels like doing.
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Celebrate The Tatas on 10/26!
My motto since my diagnosis has been that there's no need for a pity party. I'd much rather rejoice in the wonder that is second base and have a titty party! I had planned to wait until after I'm finished with treatment to celebrate, but my amazing and talented web designer and friend, Melanie Spring of Sisarina Inc, suggested that we have a website launch party to coincide with Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I loved that idea, especially since we'll also be raising money for the Breast Cancer Research Foundation.
If you're in the Washington, DC area on Tuesday, October 26th, please join me at Hudson Restaurant from 6pm-9pm. Hudson is located at 2030 M Street, NW, near the Dupont Circle and Foggy Bottom Metro Stations.
Please RSVP here.
Thanks to the following for their generosity in donating prizes for the raffle and giveaways:
- 1789 Restaurant (@The_89): $100 gift certificate
- Coup de Foudre Lingerie (@coupdefoudredc): Two $50 gift certificates
- Clyde's Restaurant (@clydes): $50 gift certificate
- Jordin's Paradise (@JordinsParadise): 3-class pass ($117 value)
- Old Ebbitt Grill (@oldebbitt): $50 gift certificate
- Fezelry Jewelry(@fezelryjewelry): Pink quartz and sterling silver necklace and bracelet ($70 value)
- Madame M.'s (@MadameMs): $50 gift certificate
- PQ Photography (@DCPrincessQ): 8x10 print in matte or glossy ($20 value)
- Hey Love Designs (@HeyLoveDesigns) 4 dozen mini-cupcakes ($36 value)
- Monavie (@swannrmonavie & @charswann): 1 bottle of Monavie ($45 value)
- Enjoi Cupcakes (@EnjoiCupcakes): 1 dozen cupcakes ($35 value)
- Shop318 (@Shop318): $10 off coupons to the first 100 attendees
- California Tortilla (@CalTort): Free chips & queso for all attendees & 2 free dinners for 2
I hope to see you next Tuesday! For those of you who don’t live in the DC area, my tatas and I feel your support from afar ;). xoxo
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Round Two
Her hair is gone now. In only four days, she has lost half of her long, thick red mane. She donates the rest to Locks of Love and shaves her head. She thinks that losing her hair will make her incomprehensibly sad, and yet, it doesn't. She finds a way to rock the G.I. Jane cut and realizes that she doesn't need her hair to be sexy.
Prior to her second round of chemotherapy, she calls her oncologist and has her internist do the same. She is not going to go through such a horrible round of chemo – complete with three days of vomiting and IVs – again.
Her oncologist finally takes her seriously and appreciates that her health history makes her a unique patient. He orders three days of IVs after chemotherapy, but decides to administer those IVs proactively (before she gets sick), rather than reactively. He also gives her five new drugs to take during chemo week.
She hopes that the second round will be better, but it's just different. Side effects from the drugs cause her to be irritable and suffer from temporary amnesia. For five days, she walks around like a moody, forgetful zombie. She has little, if any, memory of conversations she had or emails she sent during those days. The Type-A lawyer who is used to being in control is anything but that.
Her body responds to chemotherapy in the opposite manner of most people. The average patient is exhausted. She can’t sleep for more than six hours a night and isn't able to nap much. The typical female never gets her period again following chemo. She starts to hemorrhage. Most people lose weight from chemotherapy. She gains weight. In 20 days, she has only one day without a chemo-related side effect. Her body is drained.
On October 26th, she loses her friend to colon cancer. He was her partner in the fight against this disease. In three days, she cries more than she’s cried in months. Her heart is heavy.
Four more rounds of chemotherapy and six weeks of radiation await her. And, she knows that nothing about the next four months will be easy.
This experience is the toughest thing that she has endured physically. But then, she reminds herself that:
She
Is
Tougher.
She will get through this, and she is so very lucky that this was caught at Stage One.
Since early detection is what is saving her, she feels compelled to encourage her friends and readers to check the American Cancer Society’s Early Detection Guidelines.
If you notice an abnormal growth on or under your skin, get yourself to a doctor!
For the female readers:
Breast self-exams every month starting at age 20. If you’re not sure how to do a self-exam, watch this three-minute video;
A clinical breast exam at your annual gynecologist appointment. You should be screened for cervical cancer via a Pap smear three years after you first have sex or by the age of 21 (whichever comes first); and
Annual mammograms starting at age 35 if there’s a history of breast cancer in your family and at age 40 if there’s not.
She cares.
Comments (23)
How Is Chemo Like Sex?
I find myself being able to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I’m halfway through chemotherapy. Halfway. Three down and three to go. The end is in sight.
How did my third round go? It was…different. I learned that my iron and red blood counts were low from hemorrhaging after my second round. I needed five days of iron IVs, in addition to my normal three days of post-chemotherapy IVs, to try to bring my counts up before my next treatment. Between the added IVs and the fact that my pressure was dangerously low at 63/44, my oncologist advised me to do a whole lot of nothing for ten days. The hope is that all those IVs and taking it easy will help my counts increase. If they don't go up by November 22nd, my next treatment will be postponed. Positive thoughts and prayers are currently being accepted since I don’t want my treatment to be delayed.
I’ve been thinking lately that chemotherapy and sex have a lot in common. (Yes, you read that correctly.)
Let me count the ways:
1. Everybody and every body are different. I try to include disclaimers with every Sex Advice post that what works for one person in the bedroom might not work for another. It’s important to know your body and listen to your partner’s body to ensure the best possible experience.
When it comes to chemo, oncologists prescribe different combinations of chemotherapy drugs, depending on the type of cancer, the severity or stage, and the patient’s health. The same cancer can be treated in a variety of ways, and every patient responds uniquely;
2. You never know how long it’s going to last. With sex, you don’t always know going in if it will be a quickie or a two-hour, multi-position marathon. With chemo, some low-dose regimes are given every day in a row for only two or three weeks. Stronger chemotherapy drugs are typically administered once every two or three weeks for a minimum of four rounds;
3. Hair matters. In the bedroom, personal grooming south of the border is important. Paging Model Boy… With respect to chemo, it’s an unfortunate rite of passage if you are given a powerful form of chemotherapy that causes hair loss;
4. You might not be able to predict how you’ll feel afterward. There’s no rhyme or reason as to why one person can feel perfectly content after a one-night stand or sex with an ex-partner, while another feels more negative emotions. Biologically, women experience an endorphin rush after reaching orgasm, while men experience a reverse sensation and feel like sleeping. How many times have you finished having sex and come out of the experience with a distinctly different take or energy level than your partner?
Having chemo is very similar in this regard. Two people can respond to the same treatment in very disparate ways. One person can just feel tired after chemotherapy, and another person has every possible side effect;
5. The purpose varies. Sometimes sex is just sex. Sometimes sex is an expression of love. Sometimes sex is a way to say, “goodbye,” at the end of a relationship. And, sometimes, sex is like a drug.
Chemotherapy serves a variety of purposes, too. For some, it provides hope, while for others, it’s used to prepare the body for transplants. And, in the roughest of cases, it’s administered as a last resort; and
6. The Finish Line! Hey, I’m not knocking the enjoyment to be had during the process, but don’t we all hope to cum by the time we’re done having sex? It’s not called climax for nothing! With chemotherapy, the finish line is also the goal. All that matters is getting there.
How is chemo not like sex?
One is my favorite thing to do, and one is my least favorite thing to do. But, I think that’s stating the obvious. xoxo
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The Bald Truth
She looks in the mirror and doesn’t recognize her own reflection. She’s bald. The bags under her eyes display how little sleep she has gotten over the past few months. She undresses and sees her curves. Since her diagnosis, she’s gained 15 pounds, which is unfortunately the norm for her type of cancer. Much like the sky on a gray day in winter, there is no beauty to be found here.
Once a week or so, she logs onto Facebook to look through her old photographs. She smiles at first, feeling nostalgic, before the tears begin to stream down her face. There was a time when she was the girl with the striking red hair. There was a time when she could see her godson whenever she wanted without risking an infection that could delay her treatment. There was a time when the majority of her social life didn’t consist of regular visits to the Chemotherapy Room. There was a time when she wasn’t:
Cancer Girl.
She’s prided herself on being able to process her emotions and then move past them, but that’s become tougher. The fatigue, the steroids, the pain, early menopause and how much her life has changed have taken their toll. She wants her hair back, her body back and her old life back.
People ask her if treatment is working, and that’s a question that she won’t be able to answer anytime soon. See, she has an aggressive type of cancer that was caught at the earliest possible stage. With this type of cancer, there’s a high risk of a metastatic recurrence (also known as stage four cancer or the party is probably over) within five to ten years. She’s following the protocol that has been shown to drastically reduce her risk of recurrence, but only time will tell whether treatment has been successful.
She confesses that she has had a few pity parties since she started chemotherapy. But, then, the clouds part, and the sun returns.
She receives a call from a friend who has found a breast lump and wants to know what to do.
She puts on some lingerie before her man arrives and reminds herself that she doesn’t need to feel sexy to be sexy.
An old family friend writes her that she’s getting her first mammogram in over 20 years.
A man opens up to her about how breast cancer has affected him.
She gets involved in a project to raise awareness and funds for breast cancer prevention, research and education.
People – with and without cancer -- approach her on the street and thank her for being brave enough to go out in public bald.
She realizes that she will be a stronger advocate against the use of carcinogens in sex toys because she has had cancer.
Strangers send her messages that they’ve started doing breast self-exams or scheduled their first mammograms after reading her blog.
If her experience can be about more than just her, then how can she cry for that long? This is part of God’s plan. She silently repeats Joyce Meyer’s quote:
The opposite of fear is faith.
She dries the few tears that have fallen down her cheeks and prepares to go for a short walk. There will be bad days until she’s done with treatment in March, but today is a good day. And, she trusts that there will be many, many more good days in her future.
For that, she is grateful.
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Graduation Day
She dresses in layers on a bitterly cold morning in January, as she heads for the doctor’s office for her last round of chemotherapy. Her eye twitches from three months without enough sleep. Her pale face turns beat red with every hot flash. She’s crabby from all the steroids. Her taste buds are almost completely gone, replaced with a constant taste of dull metal in her mouth. And, she’s still nauseous and throwing up from the last round of chemotherapy three weeks ago.
“You look kind of glum,” her doctor commented with a note of surprise.
“I’m so over this,” she replies. “I don’t want anymore.”
“Given how you’ve been feeling, you have to expect that this round will be the worst. The effects are cumulative. You probably won’t feel better from this round for six weeks.”
“Six weeks?!?” she exclaims.
She goes in the bathroom and cries. The average person recoups from a round of chemotherapy in a week to 10 days. The average person just needs one day of IVs per round, and that’s it.
For her, six rounds of chemotherapy translated into 26 days of IVs. (Her body really didn’t respond well to chemotherapy so she needed more drugs and fluids to alleviate the side effects.) She knows that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, but she doesn’t want six more weeks of feeling this poorly.
She takes a night to process that the next six weeks will be rough and then decides to focus on the positive. As the week progresses, she feels worse physically, but better emotionally. By mid-February, the effects of chemotherapy will be a thing of the past. This was caught early. She is lucky. And, she has faith that she will fall within the 85% of people whose cancer doesn’t return in five to 10 years.
She thinks of all the many blessings in her life. She has the best health insurance and medical care available. She has never had to go to the chemotherapy room alone. Her friends were by her side at each and every visit – all 26 of them.
As the week draws to a close, she returns for her last day of chemo-related IVs. She sees a 32-year-old woman getting her first round of chemotherapy. The young woman looks like a deer in headlights.
“I’m sure this seems surreal. I was there, too. You’ll get through it, though, and if you need anything, just call me,” she tells her.
A few hours later, the last drops of fluid drip from her IV bag. She and her friend watch, holding hands with tears in their eyes and smiles on their faces. The nurse comes over with tears in her eyes to announce to the room that she has graduated. She knows that she will remember that feeling for the rest of her life.
She did it.
She’ll begin 30 sessions of radiation later this month. And, because her type of breast cancer is hormone-resistant, she’ll need to receive an IV of a drug called Herceptin once every three weeks through September.
The light at the end of the tunnel almost blinds her from its brightness. She wipes tears of pride, joy and gratitude from her cheeks and smiles.
She’s done.
She prays that she will never have to go through that again. And, she vows to continue doing what she can to raise awareness and funds for breast cancer prevention and research.
We all need to have a plan after graduation, don't we?
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Chemo Room Musings
I spent 26 days in the Chemotherapy Room over a period of three and a half months. In that time, I observed a lot and learned a lot. Here are some of my musings:
1. A female always accompanied male patients to the chemotherapy room, whether as a daughter, wife, girlfriend or mother. By contrast, female patients were rarely accompanied by a male friend or loved one. Women battling cancer surrounded themselves with the females in their lives.
That observation made me think about stereotypical gender roles with respect to caretaking. Do women choose to be around other women at a difficult time because many women instinctively know how to care for others? Or, is it related to how men and women perceive the value of men’s work outside of the home versus women’s work outside of the home?
Women comprised my support system during my treatment. These females just did what needed to be done without me asking for it. Or, they would offer to help in specific ways and be available to me at specific times. (Some of these women worked outside of the home with traditional hours, while others weren't working or had a more flexible work schedule.)
The men in my life had to be told how they could help me, and none of the men I’ve written about in this blog ever accompanied me to get IVs. Several friends and readers commented that they wish I had a man who would be by my side through every part of this experience, but I didn’t. I think of how the majority of my friends’ significant others deal with care giving, child rearing, and health issues, and I’d much prefer to have someone by my side who knows what needs to be done and just does it.
2. I was the only bald woman in the Chemotherapy Room 24 out of 26 days. Think about that for a minute. A woman is going to receive chemotherapy, and that’s typically the only activity that she will be doing that day outside of her home. She will be in a room with her doctor, nurses and other cancer patients who are going through similar experiences. As she dresses, she puts on a wig, hat, scarf, or some combination of all three. What does that say about how she views herself and conventional standards of beauty and femininity?
The wigmaker for the Washington Opera Company kindly offered to help me pick out a wig that was similar to my natural hair color and length. I love the wig that we chose, but it doesn’t always look good on me. (Wigs made of human hair need to be washed and styled. When they aren’t well-maintained, they look rather funky.)
I had a great head of hair. Now, I’m bald because of chemotherapy. Why should I feel less sexy, beautiful or feminine because of that? Why should I care about making others feel more comfortable about my experience? Why shouldn’t I make people think about cancer while they’re out shopping at Whole Foods, dining at Hudson, or grabbing a drink at L2?
In the Chemotherapy Room, other female patients would come up to me, saying how brave I was to go bald. And, at least one person approaches me when I’m out in public, saying how beautiful I look or sharing a story about how cancer has affected them. Last month, I put my wig in the corner of my closet and decided that’s where it should stay. I’m the girl, walking around town with a baldhead. I've realized that feeling comfortable with my baldness and talking about my experience with breast cancer can help to educate others. That's important to me. I view my baldness like a badge of honor because I earned it.
3. The experience was tougher than I thought it would be, but I’m stronger than I thought I was. I knew that chemotherapy wouldn’t be easy, and I knew that it would hit me harder than most given my other medical conditions. But, I didn’t expect to require 20 additional days of IVs than the average person. It wasn’t easy, and I wasn’t always the most chipper person to be around. (My friends, especially Autumn and Tricia, deserve a medal for putting up with me.) But, I relied on my faith, counted my blessings that this was caught early, and reminded myself that this is part of God’s plan for me.
4. I came away from the Chemotherapy Room with a few epiphanies about my life and the direction that I want it to take. I’ve realized with a sense of calm and certainty that it’s time.
“Time for what?” you might be wondering.
That, my friends, is for another post. In the meantime, I’d love to hear your thoughts about stereotypical gender roles when it comes to caretaking and how you’ve reacted to seeing someone who has lost her hair from chemotherapy. xoxo
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Cancer Actually
After Mr. Agency left my place, I pulled out my laptop to log into Facebook. Within 10 seconds of scanning my news feed, I burst into tears. My friend, Rod, had passed away from colon cancer while I was at my blog fundraiser.
Two weeks ago, I headed out-of-town with three female and two male friends. All four of us females lost our mothers to cancer. All four of us.
Earlier this week, an acquaintance, Larry, died of leukemia. The first time I met Larry was on December 31, 2004, in Dewey Beach. Nineteen of us rented a beach house to ring in the New Year. Since then, two of those nineteen people have passed away from leukemia. Two out of nineteen.
Today, I’m heading to meet the parents of a friend of mine who was recently diagnosed with the exact same type of cancer that I had (triple-positive breast cancer). When I’m finished, I’ll walk through Sibley Hospital to the Cancer Center to receive my 27th radiation treatment.
My oncologist had suggested that I take a month off to rest between chemotherapy and radiation. I told them to schedule me for radiation as soon as possible. When I had a cold earlier in the week, the doctor asked if I wanted to postpone a treatment or two. I declined. I've plowed forward with my 30 sessions of radiation so that I can finish on March 9, 2011, with two goals in mind:
1. March 10th: One day after my final radiation treatment, I will be walking in a charity fashion show to raise money for uninsured women battling breast and gynecological cancers. If you’re in the DC area, please join me at the 2nd Annual Critters (and Couture!) for the Cure Fashion Show Gala at Bloomingdale’s Chevy Chase to help support this wonderful cause; and
2. March 11th: I am heading up to New York City to celebrate the birthday of one of Rod’s best friends. One week after Rod died, I went in for my next round of chemotherapy. Many of our mutual friends made a point to reach out to me to offer their support and prayers in the midst of mourning Rod. I admire their strength and appreciate their kindness more than words can adequately express. As exhausted as I might be next week, I wouldn’t miss attending the birthday soiree and giving Rod’s best friends the in-person hugs and thanks that they deserve for anything.
Yesterday, one of the nurses in the Cancer Center commented that patients often find the end of treatment to be anti-climatic. She said:
People can feel like it’s a let-down when they’re done. They go from a daily routine that involves treatment to wondering what to do with themselves.
I’ve found myself very reflective as the end of treatment nears, but also incredibly motivated. After Critters for the Cure, there’s the Pink Jams! photo exhibit on April 19th, the Komen 5K on June 4th, the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society Walk on October 1st, and the Pink Jams! runway show in late October. I also have a few breast cancer awareness ideas in the works. I’m not about to let the end of treatment get me down because I have far too much to do.
Since my Mom died, there hasn’t been a day in which I didn’t miss her or think about what cancer has taken from me. I never imagined, though, that I would be facing the end of treatment and thinking about what cancer has given me. It is my turn to give to others now.
If you feel comfortable sharing, I would love to hear what life-changing event has motivated and inspired you.
* For those of you who are fans of Love Actually like I am, this post originated out of the idea that cancer, rather than love, is all around. But, by the end of this post, I realized that the two aren't mutually exclusive. Cancer and love are all around. I couldn’t have gotten through one without the other.
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But, I'm done!
I finished radiation yesterday. I thought that I would be elated, but I’m honestly in too much pain and too exhausted to rejoice right now. I hope that this post helps to clarify why I haven’t been blogging as often as I normally do, and why the end of treatment isn't all jubilation for me.
Since I started radiation six weeks ago, I wake up and just lie in bed for at least an hour a day because my body aches so much.
But, I’m done.
My white blood count and neutrophils are the lowest that they’ve been since I started treatment. If I’m exposed to a cold before my counts go up, there’s a risk of a serious infection.
But, I’m done.
Radiation tightens tissues. So, my right breast looks as though I've had a lift, while my left breast hangs low. Trust me when I say that it's not a good look.
But, I'm done.
I’m still 14 pounds over from my pre-treatment weight. (At my highest, I was 23 pounds over my normal weight. Lucky me to have the cancer and treatment that cause one to put on the pounds!)
But, I’m done.
I have more hot flashes in a day than I can count on two hands. (When I heard older women talk about hot flashes, I tended to react dismissively. I don’t anymore. I have such admiration for women in high visibility positions who experience this every day and function like nothing is happening. My face turns beat red so everyone around me knows that I’m having one.)
But, I’m done.
I've lost 15% of feeling in my hands and feet because radiation has triggered my neurological symptoms.
But, I'm done.
I nap in the afternoon and still have trouble keeping my eyes open after dinner.
But, I’m done.
I’m so weak that my physical therapist won’t even let me exercise with the lightest resistance band.
But, I’m done.
Over the past two weeks, I've lost parts of my eyebrows and almost all of my bottom eyelashes. (Apparently, it’s normal to lose them after you’re done with chemotherapy, as the hair on the rest of your body starts to grow back.)
But, I’m done.
My back is concave, my rib cage is out of alignment, and I’m in pain every time I sit up.
But, I’m done.
I still need one IV every three weeks through September to decrease the risk of recurrence of the aggressive strain of cancer that I had. I also need to be on hormone therapy for five years.
But, I’m done with chemotherapy and radiation.
I feel more drained than sad about all of the things that are going on with my body right now. The past nine months have clearly taken their toll on my health, and it will take several more months at a minimum before my health and my life return to normal. I know that there will be a day, though, in the not-so-distant future when I’m able to go about my daily routine free of symptoms. And, I can't wait for that day to come!
Thankfully, I AM DONE!!!
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Her reflections
Prior to heading into her last radiation treatment, she went online and logged onto Facebook. She saw a notification that it was Rod’s birthday. Tears came to her eyes, as she realized that her dear partner-in-treatment still found a way to be there for her, even from Heaven.
For her final treatment, she had a substitute radiation technician since her usual technician was at a conference. That technician unfortunately hadn’t been relayed some necessary information about how to treat her. She went into the treatment room dancing and smiling because it was her last one. She left dry-heaving, crying from the pain and cursing like a sailor.
A day later, adrenaline thankfully kicked in and she walked with other cancer survivors in the Critters for the Cure fashion show. The event raised $25,000 for uninsured DC-area women battling breast and gynecological cancers.
Photo Credit: Fido Journalism
She looks at that picture and still doesn’t recognize herself. One might think that almost six months without her long red locks would have changed that, but that’s not the case. She wonders if it’s her own way of coping. As much as she was the poster child for not covering her bald head during treatment, that doesn’t mean that she has liked what she sees when she looks in the mirror.
Friends have commented about her perfect head shape, how good she looks, and how inner beauty is what matters. She responds with a smile, a simple thanks, or by saying, “I can’t wait for my hair to be back." Deep down, she knows her friends are right. But, emotions, vanity and a desire for her old life to be back often outweigh logic.
A year ago, she looked like her avatar.
And, now she doesn’t.
Her appearance serves as a constant reminder of how much has changed over the past year. Her fingernails are half-dead. She's now sporting a buzz cut and doing her eye makeup differently to compensate for her lack of eye lashes. It’s taking a lot longer to lose the chemotherapy weight than it did to gain. Her blood counts and blood pressure are still low, and she’s exhausted and weak.
On Saturday, she felt especially sick. Her friend found her in the bathroom, lying on the floor. While at the doctor's office yesterday, her blood pressure was a very low 80/40, and she had the chills. She sat there shaking, even though she was wearing a hooded coat and silk underwear, and holding a hot pack in her hands. Radiation might have ended, but the side effects continue.
Two weeks ago, there was an afternoon when she felt good. Really good. She looked at her friend, smiled and said:
I’m done! I don't have to have anymore chemotherapy or radiation!
She knows that there will be more and more moments like that with each week. But, she still isn’t ready to celebrate that she’s done. Her heart, body and mind just aren’t there yet.
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Take that!
A year ago this week, I found a lump in my right breast, as I was trying on clothes for the Fashion For Paws runway show to benefit the Washington Humane Society. That same weekend, I noticed that my very shy rescue dog, Flake, began sleeping as close as she could to my right side. A year ago this week, I also decided to hold off on submitting the initial paperwork to start the adoption process because I had a feeling.
My intuition and my dog's sense of smell turned out to be correct, and I was diagnosed with breast cancer on June 22, 2010. (I later read articles about medical studies regarding dogs' ability to sense the presence of breast cancer with 88% accuracy.)
Since finishing chemotherapy and radiation a month ago, I’ve been fielding a lot of comments like:
Wow! Your hair is growing! You must be feeling better!
You’re done with treatment! So, everything’s good now, right?
Unfortunately, though, being cancer-free hasn't felt freeing. Yes, I'm done with treatment, but I'm still not feeling well. The low blood counts, muscle weakness, exhaustion, and forgetfulness continue. I dyed my buzz cut back to red in the hopes that I would feel more like myself, but that didn’t do the trick. I want my long hair back, and I want my body to look like it did before all the steroids. I realize that everything is a process, but patience has never been one of my virtues.
Something happened over this weekend, though, at this year's Fashion For Paws. I was finally able to let go of the bitterness and sadness that I’d been feeling over the fact that I haven’t rebounded as quickly as I – or the doctors – would have liked.
I let it all go with the toss of a wig.
“The toss of a wig? What does that mean?” you might be wondering.
Well, when I found out that I would be wearing a Betsey Johnson outfit for the fashion show, I had an idea. I suggested to Jane, the manager of the Betsey Johnson store in Tysons Galleria, that I wear a wig down the runway and toss it into the crowd.
Me: That’s probably too crazy for Fashion For Paws, though.
Jane: I love it! It’s like Betsey’s last show. Do you have a minute to watch a video?
I nodded my head, while Jane switched the DVD on the television screen in the store. The finale of Betsey Johnson’s Fall 2011 show in New York City featured Betsey's store managers walking with Betsey-inspired makeup and blond wigs. The last manager fiercely took his wig off, roared and tossed it into the crowd.
Jane pitched the idea to the team from Fashion For Paws Executive Director and The Aba Agency, and I was told that I should go for it! The wig toss turned into the “Wig Finish,” when I learned that I would be closing the show. My excitement grew, as did my nerves, at the thought of pulling this all off in front on a crowd of 1,800 people.
Adrenaline kicked in, and I was instructed to take my wig off in an exaggerated way.
Lollie from Betsey Johnson Georgetown: It needs to be really, really big! Don’t just pull your wig off. Tear it off! Rip it off your head.
Me: Okay. Should I roar like the manager in the show in New York did?
Lollie: Yes! And make it exaggerated so that everyone knows what you're doing.
So, I went for it. I really went for it.
And, when I tossed that wig into the crowd, I tossed with it all of the negative emotions that I’ve been struggling to process for the last month. Over the past year, cancer has won more than its share of battles against me. Through one toss, I was able to remind myself that I have won the war!
Take that, Sergeant Aggressive Strain! I’m getting IVs every three weeks to make sure you don’t come back.
Take that, Colonel Cancerous Tumor! I do self-exams so I found you!
Take that, Admiral Abnormal Calcifications! I get annual mammograms so my radiologist saw you sneaking in.
Oh, and Captain 15% Chance of a Stage Four Recurrence, I’ll bet against your victory any day! You are not coming back here anymore! I'm taking hormones every day for the next five years to ensure that!
My body may not be up for celebrating yet, but my mind finally is.
That that!
Comments (53)
Join me!
Every 23 seconds, a woman is diagnosed with breast cancer.
Every 69 seconds, a woman dies of breast cancer.
When I was diagnosed with breast cancer last year, I made a vow to do whatever I could to raise awareness and funds for breast cancer prevention and research. And, I’m thankful that so many friends online and in real life have been so supportive of the cause as a whole and me in particular.
Long before my diagnosis, breast cancer had touched my life and the lives of several of my close friends. Advancements in research and public service campaigns about the importance of self-exams and early detection have made a huge difference in the mortality rates, but there is still a long way to go.
DC has the highest breast cancer mortality rate of any city in the United States. In the past year, 4.5 million dollars in funds raised by the Susan G. Komen Global Race for the Cure were invested in education, outreach and projects in the National Capital Area. These projects focus on addressing gaps and unmet needs in underserved populations in the DC area. Three out of every four dollars generated by the Komen Global Race stays in the DC with the remaining funds supporting efforts to address breast cancer incidence and mortality internationally.
This year’s Susan G. Komen Global 5K Race for the Cure will be held on June 4, 2011. Please join my dear friend, Kate Michael, and me by:
Running for the Cure;
Walking for the Cure; or
Sleeping-In for the Cure (a great option for out-of-towners or those who can’t spend the morning on the National Mall with us).
How can you register to join us in person or in spirit?
1. Go to K Street Kate & City Girl’s Blog’s team page here.
2. Click on ‘Join Team’ above the team roster; and
3. Fill out the remaining forms.
40,000 people descended on the National Mall for last year’s Global Race. I hope that this year's event is even more successful in terms of the number of participants and the amount of money raised to help end breast cancer. xoxo
Comments (6)
The lumps that aren't so lovely
I know boobs. I love tits. And, I'm all over breast health. In fact, since I was diagnosed with breast cancer last June, it seems that I’m all about the tatas.
With the disclaimer that I’m not a doctor nor do I play one on TV, here are some responses to questions that I’ve received about the boobies:
Question: I found a lump, and I’m freaking out. What do I do?
Answer: The first time you find a lump is definitely scary. Breathe, do something that helps you relax, and try to remind yourself that you don’t have enough information yet to truly lose it. Breast tissue changes throughout the month because of hormones, and those changes are completely normal.
Wait until after your next period is finished, and do another self-exam. If the lump is still there, then it’s worth making an appointment with your gynecologist or a breast surgeon. (If you're a guy, I would also wait about a month and then make an appointment with your internist.)
Question: You had breast cancer, City Girl! Since I found a lump, I’m worried that I have it, too.
Answer: My health history and my family health history put me at a much greater risk for breast cancer. Please remember, though, that my story is far from the average young woman’s story. The average age for a breast cancer diagnosis in the United States is 61 years.
Over your lifetime, you have a one in eight chance of being diagnosed with breast cancer. But, in your 30s, only one in 233 women receives a positive diagnosis. The odds are slim that a lump that you find in your 20s, 30s, or 40s is cancerous.
I don’t write and talk about breast cancer as a scare tactic, but rather to make young men and women more aware and empowered. It’s important to:
1. Know your body, including your boobs;
2. Work with knowledgeable health care professionals and obtain online information from reliable medical sources;
3. Take control of your health from an early age (and not just so you can look great in a swim suit);
4. Reach out to others who have health problems with compassion; and
5. Talk about health, sex and other medical issues without fear or embarrassment.
Question: I’m worried because I have a lump in my breast that’s painful.
Answer: Pain is never fun or easy to tolerate. However, most painful lumps are benign (non-cancerous). If the lump doesn’t decrease in size and remains consistently painful, you can always schedule a minor surgery to get it removed.
Painful lumps are also common for women with fibrocystic breasts. More than 50% of women deal with this at some point in their lives, and these lumps are completely benign.
Question: I waited until after my next period, and the lump is still there. Should I call the gynecologist?
Answer: That depends. If you’ve never worked with a breast surgeon or had a mammogram before, then yes. I would call your gynecologist to make an appointment for a Clinical Breast Exam. If the gynecologist feels the lump, too, he or she may suggest that you return in six months for a follow-up. Depending on your insurance coverage, I’d ask: 1) for the name and number of a breast surgeon; 2) for the name and number of a breast radiologist; and 3) if you can return in three months.
A breast surgeon’s Clinical Breast Exam will last two or three times longer than the exam that your gynecologist performs. Why is that? The breast surgeon deals with just breasts, while the gynecologist is trained more in issues involving your gynecological and reproductive health. There are general surgeons who perform breast exams and surgeries, but I prefer going to a surgeon who deals with the breast exclusively.
If the gynecologist recommends that you receive a breast ultrasound or mammogram, then make sure that the facility you go to uses digital mammography and has at least one breast radiologist who deals with breasts exclusively.
If you don’t care to wait six months for a follow-up, you don’t need to. You know your body better than anyone. (Check with your insurance provider about coverage for these appointments. Also remember that you can ask any medical provider if you can pay your balance in installments. If you don’t have sufficient coverage, inquire if there’s a clinic in the area. If you’re in the DC area, it’s worth the trip to Sibley Hospital if you have insurance, and the Capital Breast Care Center if you don’t.)
Question: I’ve never felt any lumps. Are there other things that I should be looking out for?
Answer: Yes! Make an appointment with your doctor if:
1. There’s pain under your armpits;
2. There’s discharge from your nipples, or a change in your nipples' color or size;
3. Your breast changes in size or shape;
4. The skin on your breast looks different;
5. You are a man and feel pain in your chest or notice abnormalities in the appearance of your nipples or pectoral area; and/or
6. Anything doesn’t sit well with you. Trust your instincts!
What happens if the doctor wants you to get a sonogram, mammogram or biopsy? What if you or a loved one receives a breast cancer diagnosis? I'll tackle those in future posts. Comment on here or Formspring, Tweet or email me at citygirlblogs (at) gmail with any other questions.
PS If you’re interested in joining my Komen Global Race for the Cure team or making a donation, click here. You can join the team under the “sleep in” option even if you don’t live in DC or are unable to participate in the 5K. There's a promotion code through May 31st to save $5 off the registration fee. Enter HIGH5 in the code box.
Comments (3)
A Cancer-versary Thank You
A year ago today, I was sitting in my stylist’s chair at my hair salon, when my cell phone vibrated in my lap. I saw that it was Sibley Hospital and excused myself to answer the call. As I remember how I felt when I heard the news from my doctor that I had cancer, I have tears in my eyes and goose bumps on my arms.
I think of the moments in my life that helped shape me into the person I am today, and being diagnosed with cancer at 37 years of age is definitely high on that list. I wouldn’t wish the past year on my worst enemy, but in the midst of the lows of treatment, I’m grateful for all my blessings.
I’m thankful for:
1. Knowing My Body. I've been vigilant about conducting self exams and contacting my breast surgeon, whenever I found a lump;
2. Early Detection. I had an aggressive strain of cancer that was caught early during my annual mammogram. Health technology isn’t perfect, but getting mammograms every year is the best thing that women can do for their breast health;
3. A Great Medical Team. At Sibley Hospital, I've worked with doctors who are experts in the field because they deal with breasts exclusively;
4. Health Insurance. Every step of this process is expensive, and a recent study discussed how many people with cancer are forced to declare bankruptcy. I appreciate that in the midst of such a difficult year, I didn’t have to worry about medical coverage;
5. My Other Health Problems. Treatment and the side effects were horrid, but I'm glad that I never became clinically depressed or questioned whether I was going to make it. I know far too many women who were not that lucky – either because they were diagnosed after the cancer had spread or they hadn’t ever emotionally processed major health issues before. I was as prepared as I could have been for surgery and treatment, and am fortunate enough not to be among the 30% of women who suffer from anxiety or depression after beating cancer;
6. This Blog. I had a forum through which I could express myself. With every post that I wrote, I was able to process my emotions and let go;
7. The Cause. Early on, I vowed to make this about more than just me. In the past year, I’ve volunteered, advocated and raised money for breast cancer awareness, prevention and research. Through helping others, I found a sense of peace as to why I was diagnosed with breast cancer. And, on the advocacy front, I know I'm just getting started;
8. The Wisdom to Know the Difference. There were loved ones who had a difficult time processing my cancer. They either couldn't help me out at all during treatment or had to make it all about them. There were acquaintances that clearly were uncomfortable with the fact that I didn't wear a wig. There were a few people who thought that I used my diagnosis to get attention. There were those who assumed treatment was easy because it was caught at Stage 1 or they would see me in public with a smile on my face. There were those who told me that I must be feeling fine when they saw that my hair was growing back.
I could go on and on, but everyone else’s thoughts and feelings were just that – everyone else’s! I couldn't take other people's comments or actions personally, and I knew better than to try to own their feelings about my illness;
9. Mr. Exec for letting me go without a fight;
10. Philly Matt for convincing me to continue with my treatment plan, even though the doctor had changed my protocol at the eleventh hour;
11. Mr. Agency for reminding me that I was sexy no matter how I felt or looked;
12. Best Boy for being there. When the going got rough, he stayed and helped;
13. My Cancer Crew. (I can't type this part without sobbing.) AB, AF, LF, TL, NP, LV – I honestly don’t know what I did in a past life to deserve friends as giving and wonderful as you. I can’t imagine those people who have to go through treatment alone, and because of you all, I never had to. Thank you will never, ever seem sufficient. I love you all with all my heart;
14. My Friends. Every note, every virtual comment, every care package and every visit meant so much to me. The compassion, support and love you’ve shown me helped get me through the many days in which treatment got the best of me. There’s a reason why friends are the family we choose for ourselves, and I’m very blessed to have such an amazing support system; and
15. YOU! Yes, YOU! The overwhelming kindness of my readers and online friends was humbling, motivating and so very appreciated. I hope that there will be a day in the future when I can give you a hug in person. Your emails, comments, gifts and tweets always brightened my day and my spirits.
In one year, I’ve grown more than I have in the past decade. Thank you for joining me for this portion of my journey and for being so supportive. I hope you’ll continue to come along for the ride. xoxo
Comments (22)
The Evil Cancer Med
If a person is diagnosed with breast cancer, a doctor runs tests on the cancer cells to determine if they are:
1. Estrogen receptor positive;
2. Progesterone receptor positive; and
3. HER2/neu positive.
What does that even mean?
Well, for the first two, do estrogen and progesterone (hormones that naturally occur in the body) cause the cancer cells to grow? Approximately 75% of breast cancer patients test positive for estrogen receptors, and 66% of patients for progesterone receptors. Hormone receptor positive cancer grows slower than cancer that isn't hormone receptor positive.
The latter category, HER2/neu, occurs when there's a gene mutation and the cancer tests positive for an excess of proteins on the cells. These proteins cause the cancer to be aggressive and fast growing. Only 20% of patients test positive for HER2/neu.
I had triple-positive breast cancer since I tested positive for the hormone and protein receptors. My aggressive strain of cancer was thankfully caught early, and I can benefit from the use of drugs that help prevent a recurrence and lower the amount of estrogen and progesterone in my body.
Once every three weeks for a year, I receive an IV of Herceptin to kill the protein receptors on my cancer cells and reduce the change of this returning. (Thanks to chemotherapy, radiation and Herceptin, my rate of a Stage 4 (metastatic) recurrence within 10 years went from a minimum of 60% to 15%!)
Compared to chemotherapy, receiving an IV of Herceptin is a breeze! The side effects are mild, and the IV takes only 30-40 minutes out of my day. Once I finish receiving Herceptin in late September, I should be done with visits to the Chemo Room!
If you meet someone who says that she has triple negative breast cancer, she has the most aggressive type of breast cancer. Aside from surgery, chemotherapy and radiation, there’s nothing yet available to help prevent the cancer from recurring. I hope and pray that research will advance in the very near future to change that.
For those of us who are hormone receptor positive, the most commonly prescribed oral medication to block estrogen in our system in the hopes of preventing a recurrence is tamoxifen.
I prefer to call the drug: The Evil Cancer Med.
Tamoxifen is taken once a day for five years. When I read about the potential side effects, I was concerned. I talked to my oncologist about the fact that tamoxifen causes a lot of the side effects (nausea, vomiting, dizziness, headaches and fevers) that I already have from my other health conditions. By early May, I was finally starting to feel more like myself, and I honestly didn’t want to be sick again.
My doctor assured me that the majority of patients tolerate tamoxifen well. Tamoxifen has been used for over 30 years, and it's as essential to preventing a recurrence as chemotherapy.
“Okay,” I thought to myself. “This is important.”
I said a prayer before I took the first dose. That evening, I started to feel nauseous and then vomited. Several hours later, I got a very bad migraine. I took my strong migraine medicine, but the pain and vomiting lasted through the morning.
I called the oncologist’s office, and they suggested that I switch to a half dose of the medication. As the week progressed, the side effects – even on a half of a dose – increased. I was still nauseous with a dull headache. I felt dizzy, I had trouble sleeping, and I would cry for no reason. It took me an entire afternoon to edit a few pages that I wrote. And, sapping my body of estrogen sent my sex drive from 100mph to 0mph. (Did I still have sex? Of course. But, I had a really hard time reaching orgasm.)
I’ve had hot flashes since early November when I started to have chemo-induced menopause. But, the tamoxifen quadrupled them.
This is City Girl.
This is City Girl having a hot flash.
Notice how my face matched the color of my hair and dress!
I wondered how my body would handle the full dose of tamoxifen – everyday for FIVE years! But, then, something happened that made my doctor stop my use of the drug immediately.
To be continued…
Comments (6)
The Evil Cancer Med - Part II
In late May, I started an oral medication, tamoxifen, to block the estrogen in my body in the hopes of preventing my cancer from returning. (Research has shown that tamoxifen is as helpful as chemotherapy in that regard.)
On one full dose and four half doses over the course of five days, my body expressed much displeasure! I couldn’t concentrate much or sleep well. I was nauseous, vomiting and dizzy. I had an almost constant headache and intense hot flashes.
I had plans to attend a charity event on a Friday evening in late May, but I cancelled them because I felt so nauseous and tired. An hour later, as I was watching some guilty pleasure television, I had a dark thought. Correction, a really dark thought.
That’s not my personality so I had a confused expression on my face. (Imagine me looking at myself oddly, if that’s possible.) I decided to just keep focusing on my show. An hour later, another really dark thought entered my head.
I thankfully know myself very well. I’m not one who gets that stressed or depressed about health issues. I’ve also never questioned whether I would survive treatment or whether I wanted to survive. (Of course, I would and I do!)
I knew that tamoxifen had caused me to have these thoughts. I picked up the telephone and called one of my best friends. After talking to her for 15 minutes, I called my oncologist on his cell phone. I apologized for bothering him on a Friday evening, but acknowledged that I didn’t think this should wait until Monday. He agreed, saying:
This isn’t you. This is the medication. This side effect is a very rare one, but I know that it has happened to some of my patients over the years. Stop the tamoxifen immediately. It will take time for the drug to get out of your system. Try to be patient, and we’ll figure out another drug for you to take when I see you next.
My normal thoughts and sex drive returned within 36 hours. I started sleeping better and concentrating with greater ease within a week. But, the headaches, vomiting and intense hot flashes persisted for another three weeks.
When I saw my oncologist next, he commented that one in 20 patients has this reaction.
"5%?" I inquired, as he nodded. "That's not a very rare side effect!"
I’m not one who believes that the pharmaceutical industry is one big conspiracy or that the health care field is trying to take all our money. But, the more I read about tamoxifen, the more concerned I am about why this drug is oncologists’ first resort.
EHealthMe recently analyzed 49 FDA reports and surveyed patients about their reactions to tamoxifen. The study determined that 49 people out of 6,123 patients reported suicidal thoughts while taking the drug. That’s 8% of patients, and this is NOT listed as a possible side effect of the medication!
It worries me that patients and oncologists aren’t talking about the potential risk before starting treatment, especially given how many women are taking tamoxifen. The drug has also been linked to increasing risks of uterine and liver cancers, estrogen receptor negative breast cancer, and blood clots.
If you have breast cancer, tamoxifen might be the right choice for your treatment plan. I know several women who are taking the drug and have tolerated it well. There also are other drugs out there with similar purposes and less known side effects.
Research supports that the benefits of tamoxifen or similar estrogen blocking medications outweigh the risks. Nonetheless, I'm not exactly looking forward to starting a new medication in July.
Have you or a loved one taken tamoxifen? If so, how was the drug tolerated?
What would you do if you had an alarming reaction to a medication?
How do you deal with a medical problem that happens after typical office hours?
Comments (4)
I'd rather be bald!
When I went to the Infusion Room last month, the nurses all looked at me with surprise and excitement.
Nurse: Your hair is growing so fast!
Me: I know!
Manager: It looks great.
Me: Thanks! But, I’d rather be bald than have short hair.
And, I honestly would. I appreciate that an overwhelming majority of women feel differently from me on this issue, but I’m always going to be upfront about my views.
I’ve received compliments on my hair from friends and strangers. To my friends, I respond:
Thanks! I hate it, though.
Friends: You do? I think it highlights your face and looks sexy! Why don’t you like it?
Me: It’s not me. When I was bald, no one assumed that I chose that look. With short hair, people think I did. I like short hair on other people, but I don't like it on me. Never have. My long hair is part of my identity.
When strangers ask me where I get my hair cut, I reply:
Umm…this is from chemo.
They look at me with worry in their eyes, and I assure them that I wasn’t offended in the slightest by their comment.
Me: No worries! I appreciate the compliment. (Hey, I've never denied being vain.)
But, I still don’t look in the mirror or at photographs of myself and see me. It might be my mind’s way of coping with a change over which I've had no control, or it might be that I don’t consider my recuperation finished until my old long locks are back.
The goal is this:
Photo Credit: Guest of a Guest at Hudson Restaurant
But, I promise to stop rolling my eyes and whining when my hair reaches my shoulders. For those of you who know me, do you really see me with a modern pixie or a soccer mom bob? Really? It's going to be a rough two years between my current Sheena Easton 'do and long hair!
Since this post is all about what I’m missing, I’ll also add eyelashes and fingernails into the mix. My eyelashes had finally started growing back, but I lost half of them last week taking my mascara off. And, just this week – more than SIX months after my last round of chemotherapy, my last dead fingernail fell off. I never imagined that losing fingernails would be so painful, but it still hurts a bit to type or text.
There are many things that I will never take for granted again. Ponytails, frizz, long lashes and healthy nails are all high on that list!
Thanks for indulging me during my Cancer-versary Week! I’ll get back to dating stories, product reviews and sex advice posts tomorrow. xoxo
Comments (10)
Radiation boobs
Radiation therapy may be used during cancer treatment to shrink the tumor and kill the bad cells. In some cases (like mine), radiation has been shown to reduce the rate of the cancer returning or spreading.
When I went for my consultation with my radiation oncologist, I received a packet of information with guidelines. For seven weeks, I couldn't use my normal deodorant because it contains aluminum. (Thankfully, this doctor allowed me to use Tom's of Maine, but I heard that some oncologists ban even natural products.) I couldn't take any antioxident vitamins because they might interfere with the effectiveness of radiation. And, I couldn't wear normal bras because underwires and satin or microfiber might exacerbate the side effects from radiation. (Radiation can cause rashes, pain, redness and burns.) My large tatas were not meant to be smashed into a cotton sports bra for weeks on end, but I didn't have a choice.
Prior to surgery and treatment, my right breast was ever so slightly smaller than the left breast. The two cancerous areas were in the right breast so when the surgeon removed the bad cells, the right breast became even smaller. Then, I injured my right breast by having sex too soon without a bra after surgery. (In case you're wondering, that's not my fault! The doctors didn't say that would be a problem!) That caused an increase in swelling, bleeding and scar tissue.
Radiation hardens tissues so after receiving 30 radiation treatments on the one breast, my right boob looks like I got a breast lift. The right boob is all high and perky, and to paraphrase Flo Rida, my left boob is hanging low, low, low, low, low, low, low, low. That's not hot, and I want my practically perfect tits back!
The doctor also advised me to apply a homeopathic ointment, Calendula, to my right breast three times a day to decrease burns and irritation. The ointment is clear and doesn't have a strong odor, but it's not intended to be ingested.
“Umm…why would anyone be ingesting your anti-burn cream, City Girl?” you might be wondering.
Well, in my interactions with both Mr. Agency and Best Boy during the months of February and March, they both inevitably went for the right boob first during foreplay or sex. I didn't want to break the mood by saying:
No! You can't do that! I have anti-burn ointment on my radiated, formerly cancerous tit!
So, instead, I would shove my left tit in their face. I felt like a nursing mother! (Again, that's not sexy.) Lucky for me, the guys just wanted some titty play and were content with whichever boob was there. I continued to play the boob shoving game in the guys' faces until I was done using Calendula.
I'm happy to report that thanks to Sibley Hospital's use of prone position radiation (lying on my stomach instead of my back), I didn't get any burns or residual skin irritation. And, I no longer have to shove a boob in a guy's face. Or, rather, I'm no longer limited to only shoving one boob in his face ;).
Image by NatalieDee.com.
PS As I think about my partners over the years, all of them have gone for the right boob first. Has anyone else encountered or done the same thing?
Comments (5)
The Breastern Front
I’m so close to being finished with treatment that I can taste it.
My last IV is scheduled for September 14, 2011. I can get my mediport (the small, implanted device through which I receive medications) removed later that week. And, then, I’m done.
DONE.
Hopefully.
For the past month, I’ve had this feeling that something was off. I hadn’t felt any lumps, and both of my oncologists said that my Clinical Breast Exams were clear. I wondered if I was experiencing some anxiety or depression, as happens with 30% of breast cancer survivors out of fear that the cancer will return. Yet, that’s not normally how I react to health issues.
The last time I had this feeling was spring 2010 when I thought I had cancer. (And, we all know how that turned out.)
I haven’t written or told anyone that I sensed that there was a problem in Tata-ville because it just comes off as unnecessarily negative. I knew that I had a mammogram scheduled so I tried to remind myself that I didn’t need to stress about a concern that didn’t exist!
Yesterday, I had my mammogram. The technician took four films of my two breasts, and then I was sent to a small waiting room. (One of the many reasons I love Sibley Hospital is that they give you the results before you leave the Center. Most places send you home, and then you receive a letter or call to let you know whether the films look good or there’s an area of concern.)
The first woman in the waiting room received notification that all was quiet on the breastern front. She was free to go. One of the technicians then opened the door and signaled for me to come back inside.
Me [smiling with a slight laugh]: No! I know what that means!
Tech: You’re fine.
Me: I’m fine then?
Tech: Well, the doctor just wants more films.
Me: Exactly. I want to go out the ‘Exit’ door. Not in for more! [We laugh.]
In total, I was brought back into the mammography room four separate times so that my left breast could be photographed eight different ways.
My left breast.
For those of you who don’t remember, I had cancer in my right breast. If anything is abnormal in my left breast, this would be deemed an unrelated problem to what I’ve gone through over the past 13 months.
When the doctor finally came out to speak with me, she said:
You have enough calcifications in there to feed a small army. [We laugh.] Wait…is it okay that I said that?
Me: Definitely. I know that there’s a lot of mass there.
Doctor: Well, I can see an area of abnormal calcifications in the left breast that wasn’t there last year. I don’t want to put you through anything if it can be avoided, but I think that we should do a biopsy.
Me: I figured after the second time that I was brought back.
80% of all biopsies are benign or non-cancerous. Over the years, I’ve had 11 biopsies and only two of them came back positive. This is probably nothing.
I’m not sad or mad, but I feel numb.
I don’t want to deal with this again.
I want to be planning my party to celebrate the end of treatment, not contemplating:
What if?
I’m tired of my breasts looking like a patchwork quilt.
I want life to go back to normal.
My biopsy is scheduled for Monday, and I should have results a week from today.
It’s going to be benign. It’s going to be benign. It better fucking be benign.
Comments (25)
A huge up and a bit of a down
Words can’t do justice to how elated I felt when I received the call from Sibley Hospital that my biopsy was benign! I don’t have breast cancer! I don't have to go through this all again! All is calm on the breastern front!
A day after that call, I started taking a new cancer medication. This non-chemotherapy pill has been proven to lower the chance of estrogen-positive breast cancer returning. (For those who aren’t familiar with what estrogen-positive breast cancer is or are unaware of my horrid experience with the first medication I tried, click here.)
I had polled several of my doctors about trying a second drug that’s designed to block the estrogen in my body. Most of them agreed that it wouldn’t be a good idea, given my other health issues and how badly I reacted to tamoxifen, the first drug. My head oncologist implored me, though:
This medication [fareston] is metabolized in the body differently. I have a group of patients that can’t take tamoxifen and tolerate this well. These drugs are as important as chemotherapy in preventing a recurrence.
Me: I think you should know by now that I’m not most patients. [Pause.] I’ll try it out of spite. [He looks at me with wide eyes.] I’m guessing that I’ll last three to seven days on this drug before the side effects are too severe. I’d love if you're right, though.
My doctor then began to examine me, as I continued:
I wish you could actually bet money with your patients because I would so be winning this bet! [He doesn't say anything, but stares at me with a scared expression on his face.]
So, how did my body respond to fareston?
On only two doses of half of a pill, I noticed that I was really, really tired. I had trouble keeping my eyes open during the day, and I slept very deeply at night. No matter how much I slept, I didn’t look rested. It reminded me of taking Nyquil.
I thought about five years like that, and I had decided that if excessive fatigue was the only side effect, I would find a way to deal with it. The benefits outweighed the risks. Maybe the doctor was right about this drug after all?
On the third day, I felt a fair amount of pain in my low back, and my vision was slightly distorted like I had a few cocktails. My mood would also go from pleasant to volatile in one second flat! (Thankfully, I don’t believe that any of the tourists or other drivers heard me screaming at them from my car!)
By the fourth day, I was dizzy, nauseous and vomiting. When that persisted for more than 24 hours, I called my oncologist to let him know that I had seven of the side effects about which you’re supposed to immediately tell your doctor. The head nurse returned my call.
Head Nurse: Stop the drug.
Me: Thank you.
Head Nurse: The doctor told me that he wants you to try it again in a couple of weeks, but I told him that I bet you’re done with this.
Me [chuckling]: You know me well!
Head Nurse: I reminded him that your other health conditions might explain why you're reacting the way you are.
Me: Probably! My other doctors and I are in agreement with you. I’m not spending the next five years feeling like this.
I tried. And, even without the drug in my system, I’m still tired, dizzy and getting sick. I've been making an effort to go out for charity events and to socialize, but everyone is saying how I look "off," "exhausted," and like I'm fighting "a bad cold."
Within a few weeks, though, those problems should abate.
So, after the fareston is out of my system, what’s left?
- Three more IVs between now and September 14th;
- Getting the medical port taken out; and
- Celebrating with you!
We’re long overdue for a blog party, don’t you think?
Comments (15)
Great is all relative
A month from now, I’ll be done with cancer treatment. I’m sure I’ll celebrate with close friends after I recover from the mediport removal, and I plan to hold a larger party to benefit Pink Jams in early October. But, celebrations seem bittersweet right now.
I’m beyond lucky and blessed that this aggressive strain of cancer was caught early. And, I’m thankful that I’m almost done with treatment. I also appreciate that my life has been enriched and my relationship clarified because of my diagnosis.
“Then why is this bittersweet, City Girl?” you might be wondering.
The short answer is that I still don’t feel like myself. I was the girl who would receive compliments from strangers about her hair on a daily basis. I was the woman who could get a guy to notice her just by a flip of her long, red locks. I was the 36-year-old who was approached by a modeling agent because of her height, weight and hair.
Then, I was the girl who got attention for being bald. I might have felt ill and frustrated by the weight I had gained from the steroids, but I could justify that. I was a walking advocacy opportunity.
Now, with my short hair that curls at the end thanks to chemotherapy and the inability to lose those last ten pounds, I look like I’m auditioning for a middle-aged woman who can blend in the crowd. And, suffice it to say, I hate blending in a crowd.
Are all of these concerns vain? Completely.
Are all of these feelings valid? Yes.
I keep asking people not to talk about my hair, and I just smile and say thanks when people say that I look great.
It seems nicer than saying: Yes, it’s great that I’m not still in chemo and that you feel more comfortable because I now have hair.
“But, your hair will grow back!” I’ve heard.
Yes, it will -- in approximately three years! You don’t tell someone who’s starting law school that they’re almost done, right?
I have been doing more over the past two weeks, and for that, I am thankful. But, I’m still getting sick almost every day from the non-chemotherapy cancer medication that I took for only five days last month!
This, too, shall pass, I realize. And, I fully appreciate that this could be so, so, so much worse. But, please, let me be vain and angry and not have to roll my eyes with all the well-intentioned comments about how beautiful I look and how short hair flatters me.
If you have a couple of minutes, this scene with Maura Tierney from Rescue Me (at about 4:30-5:30) captures what I want to do anytime people say how great I look or how wonderful it must feel for this to be almost over.
PS Back to the next readers' choice in my dating adventure tomorrow! Have you decided how I should meet new people yet?
Comments (26)
Celebrate with me!
What are you doing on Thursday, September 15th?
Join me to celebrate my end of treatment and raise money and awareness for Pink Jams -- in person or virtually!
If you’re in the DC area and free at all between 6-9pm, please join me at Lincoln Restaurant to celebrate my end of treatment and raise money and awareness for Pink Jams!
If you’re not in the DC area or have plans during those hours, please consider making a small donation to help promote breast cancer awareness to men and women under the age of 40.
What are we celebrating again?
On September 14, 2011, I will be getting my last cancer IV. After that, I’m officially done with treatment. No more IVs. No more oral medications. No more regular visits to see an oncologist. I will be done!
The past 15 months of biopsies, surgeries, chemotherapy, radiation and other cancer-related medications haven’t been easy ones, but they have been inspiring and motivating ones.
Right after I was diagnosed, I realized what I was meant to do with this experience. I was meant to talk and write about what I was going through so that other women would think about breast cancer and their breast health.
Although breast cancer is most common after the age of 50, women of any age can get breast cancer. A self-exam and a mammogram thankfully ensured that my aggressive strain of breast cancer was caught early. All of us need to know our bodies and check for lumps or changes. (That goes for you guys, too!)
Photo Credit: Shoot for Change
Last October, I met Christa Floresca, the founder of Pink Jams. Pink Jams is a Washington, DC area non-profit promoting early detection and breast cancer awareness to young men and women. By combining an important early detection and awareness message with fashion, art, social events, and live music, we are reaching out to men and women under the age of 40 – our target audience.
Christa launched Pink Jams in 2009 after the losing her best friend to breast cancer at 35. Pink Jams works with local breast cancer organizations, young survivors and their families, media and news organizations, and medical professionals to advance its mission. In the end, the goal is to save lives and to eradicate the misconception that breast cancer screening should begin at age 40.
You know when you meet someone and you just click. That’s how I felt when I met Christa. We teared up together, we laughed together, and we got mad and inspired together – all within an hour! The mission of Christa and Pink Jams is my mission, too, so I’m asking for any funds raised in honor of my end of treatment to go to Pink Jams. You can make a tax-deductible donation here.
Can you spare $5 or $10 for the cause? I hope so.
What: Celebration Happy Hour and Fundraiser
Where: Lincoln Restaurant (1100 Vermont Avenue, NW, Washington, DC 20005)
Metro Stations: McPherson Square, Farragut North
When: Thursday, September 15, 2011, 6:00-9:00pm
There will be a DJ on the patio and complimentary hor d'oeuvres. The first 20 guests will also be given a glass of Prosecco to start the celebration off right! Cash donations to Pink Jams will be accepted at the door. No donation amount is too small!
Lincoln is kindly extending Happy Hour prices for the entire event! Enjoy wine, spirits, cider and sharing plates for just a Lincoln ($5 bill).
I hope to see you there or that you’ll join in the celebration virtually. Let’s raise awareness and help save the tatas together! xoxo
PS For those of you on Twitter, let's stick with the #savehertatas hashtag that was used at last October's website launch fundraiser. The message is still the same, but there are many, many more tatas out there on which to focus!
Comments (6)
The light
There’s a light bulb, brightly illuminating the room that represents my life.
When my mom died in 1997, that light dimmed. Permanently.
Everyone experiences grief and loss differently, but that’s how I see it. I still get excited about all that life has to offer, and I can laugh and smile with the best of them. But, my smile is slightly narrower and my laugh is just a touch softer without my mom in my life.
As I’ve reflected on the past 15 months, I've realized that I knew from early on in my diagnosis that I would do what I could to raise breast cancer awareness and funds for research, treatment and advocacy organizations. My diagnosis enhanced and enriched my life.
I didn’t need chemotherapy to fulfill that mission, though. Nonetheless, I was forced to receive six treatments and 20 more IVs to deal with the side effects.
I look in the mirror, and I still don’t see me.
“It’s a new you,” a friend told me.
“No, this isn’t me,” I replied.
It took me a few weeks to figure out exactly why I have such a visceral response to comments about my short hair. And, then I saw the light, or rather, the light analogy. The light in the room has dimmed again, and somewhat surprisingly, chemotherapy, not cancer, was the cause.
Three years from now, my long hair will be back, but I won’t regain what chemotherapy took from me.
“That doesn’t mean that life isn’t good, right?” a friend inquired.
“Of course it is! I’m thankful this was caught early. I’m grateful for all the blessings that I have. And, I know what I’m meant to do with my life and who my real friends are. I love the wisdom and the clarity piece, but I can’t go back to the person I was before,” I explain.
The logical side of my brain knows that everything happens for a reason. I am the person that I’m supposed to be at this time in my life. But, my heart and my vanity really wish I could have skipped this life lesson.
The light has dimmed again.
However, given the aggressive strain of cancer that I had, I will always be appreciative of the fact that the light is still on at all.
The chemotherapy drugs may still be coming out of my system, but when it comes to dealing with my cancer, it’s time to close that chapter of my life. There is still – and always – much to celebrate.
If you’re in DC, please swing by Lincoln tonight to join me for my End of Treatment Celebration and Fundraiser to benefit Pink Jams. If you can’t attend, please consider making a $5 donation to an organization committed to promoting breast cancer awareness to young men and women here.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart for all your support. Your comments, Tweets and emails have meant more to me than words can adequately express. (Yes, I’ve said that before, but it bears repeating.) xoxo
Comments (13)
Glass Half Full
Found out I’m in remission, but I’m not that happy.
When I saw those words appear in my Twitter feed, I immediately replied to my friend:
I’m grateful that you are done with treatment, but I get it. Call me if you want. Love you!
My telephone rang one minute later.
We talked about how people who haven’t been through it can only sympathize so much, despite their good intentions. I let her know that as someone who loves her, I am thrilled that she’s cancer-free. But, as a fellow cancer survivor, I appreciate all too well that her life doesn’t just return to how it was before her diagnosis.
Our perspectives have changed. Our priorities have changed. And, our relationships have changed.
We faced a "new normal" during treatment, and now, we're adjusting to another "new normal" with the end of treatment. Life is full of trials and tribulations like this but that doesn’t mean that they are easy to process or for others in our age group to understand.
I have always been cognizant of and thankful for the many blessings in my life. Even on my lowest days, my glass has been at least half full.
But, when your glass is half full, it’s also half empty. That analogy applies to how I feel like now that I’m done with treatment. I’m elated to be finished with chemotherapy, radiation and herceptin IVs, but the experience still looms over me like a dark cloud in the distance.
1. It’s a hairy situation. Chemotherapy causes the hair on your head to grow at a slower rate than normal. The chemicals also cause most women's hair to curl. Because of how thick and curly my hair is coming in, it’s growing up, rather than down. There’s also a curly, short femullet thing happening.
I have to do more to maintain my hair now than when it was down to the middle of my back. (Before cancer, I went for a blow out once a week, and that was it.) Now, I sit in the chair at the salon with sunglasses on so the other clients don’t see me crying.
I appreciate that to others with perfectly good intentions, the presence of hair on my head makes them more comfortable. But, to me, the presence of a never-ending bad hair day is a constant reminder of what has happened.
There’s also some irony that hair doesn’t return at the same pace all over. One friend and I were kvetching the other day about how we now have more hair on our legs than we've ever had before. And, my old aesthetician is baffled as to why my eyebrow hair is growing like a Chia Pet in some spots, but not in others.
2. Keeping everything in check. One friend was diagnosed with breast cancer in early 2010. She's been in remission for over a year, but she's still in the process of getting reconstructive surgeries. The idea that mastectomies and reconstruction are done in one surgery is false!
I’ll be seeing my oncologist, radiation oncologist and breast surgeon at four-month intervals. I’ll be getting one mammogram a year and one breast MRI a year. The reason for such vigilance is that when you’re diagnosed with breast cancer at a young age, there’s a greater chance of recurrence. I have between a 20-30% chance of breast cancer returning within five years. That percentage could be much higher, but it could also be lower. I can’t give much energy to a distant possibility, but I can’t ignore it either.
During my biopsy in July, my doctors commented that I have a lot of mass and fibrocystic breasts. I reminded myself then that only 2 biopsies out of 13 over the years came back as malignant (cancerous). However, it's highly likely that I will need more biopsies in the future. Being vigilant about health matters is empowering, but worrying about whether cancer has returned is very unpleasant.
3. The change. A year ago this week, I started hemorrhaging. By the end of the month, I was in menopause. I went out of menopause in late July, but my hormones now resemble those of the average teenage girl. I’ve had one period in a year. (For those of you who are wondering, I'm not pregnant. Thankfully.)
4. Ports Ahoy! My medi-port, the small device implanted under my skin through which the doctors administered medicine and took blood, is still in me. The nurses recommended that I keep it in for a while since my veins are so bad. It’s somewhat odd to think that the only reason the medi-port would need to be used is if my cancer returns. (Hey, cancer, go away! Don’t come near me! Better yet, don’t go near anyone anywhere! A girl can dream, right?)
My glass is still more than half full, but it’s a bit of a rude awakening that no longer having cancer doesn’t exactly translate into being done with cancer.
No matter what I go through, I’ve found peace when I focus on others and the cause as a whole.
With that in mind:
If you haven’t felt your boobies this month, please do!
If you find a lump, make an appointment with a breast surgeon!
If you haven’t gotten your annual gynecological appointment yet this year, please schedule one now. Make sure your gynecologist performs a clinical breast exam in addition to a pap smear during that appointment.
If you see any abnormal moles, please call a dermatologist.
Guys, feel your balls and look at your chest, too. Call the doctor if there are any abnormalities or pain.
I care. xoxo
Comments (18)
Earning Stamps in My Passport
My friend and fellow breast cancer survivor and advocate, Jennifer Harlow, spoke at the Capital Breast Care Center (CBCC) Gift of Life Breakfast. The following line from her talk continues to resonate with me:
Cancer is the passport to the life that you were meant to lead.
Posing backstage with Jennifer Harlow (pictured left).
Jennifer is right. There’s a sense of clarity and purpose that I have now that I didn’t two years ago. I think of the first time I went overseas for my sophomore year in high school and the difficult transition I experienced when I returned to the States. You can go home again, but it’s not the same because you aren’t the same.
The past week has taken me to places that I never expected to visit, even after I was diagnosed. I feel blessed to be an advocate and to be talking about issues that I feel need to be addressed.
My main platform is that each of us must take the time to know his or her own body. We must be our own best health advocates and call the doctor if there’s anything that feels or looks off.
I obtained a new stamp in my "passport" when I spoke to Health and Human Services about this issue. My testimonial is here.
My second platform is that cancer and sex aren’t mutually exclusive. The media, books and the medical community need to change how they handle this issue. It should not be ignored, and practitioners need to encourage patients to prioritize their sexual health. (If you tell a woman with breast cancer that she'll lose her sex drive at a time when she’s already struggling with her body image and her femininity, then her sex life will definitely suffer!)
I was featured in Women’s Health magazine about this topic, and I also spoke on The Tommy Show on 94.7 Fresh FM about this last week.
I wasn’t looking for another platform, but as I was back stage at Pink Rocks The Runway, I heard the following from a black survivor sister:
After my mastectomy, all they had was a white prosthesis.
Another survivor commented:
You can contact the American Cancer Society. They can get you a black one.
I tried not to display the shock and disgust on my face. The racial breakdown in DC is 54% black and 40% white. DC has one of the highest African-American breast cancer mortality rates in the United States. The CBCC is diagnosing breast cancer at twice the national rate.
After a woman has been diagnosed with breast cancer and learns that she needs a mastectomy, she should be focused on getting through surgery and getting well. A black female patient should not have to worry about either having a white prosthesis inside her bra or making extra calls so that she can obtain a prosthesis that matches not only her race, bur the race of the majority in Washington, DC.
I believe that oncologists, case managers and social workers, the American Cancer Society, and specialty bra boutiques and online retailers can work together to remedy this problem. And, trust me when I say that I will be doing my part to bring attention to this issue.
I guess it’s just another stamp that I have to earn in my passport.
How did Pink Rocks The Runway go on Friday? It was amazing! Moshe Zusman, the event's official photographer, has some great photos of Christian Siriano's collection, the survivor models and backstage preparations here.
My Studio D’Maxsi original dress by Afua Sam featured a removable collar that then revealed a one-shoulder dress. I felt like a Queen!
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Getting ready to take the collar off!
Loved the train by Designer Afua Sam (pictured right).
Comments (10)
Visiting the breast surgeon
I am girly-girl in all the traditional interpretations of that stereotype. My love of pink has carried over throughout the decades. (The owner of Nido, a Georgetown boutique, has commented that she can't look at a pink purse without thinking of me.)
I don't know how I feel about people sporting pink in October in honor of Breast Cancer Awareness Month, though. What message does that color send to women about their gender and sexual identity? Does all that pink really translate into people taking more responsibility for their own health? Where does the money that is raised from the sale of pink ribbons and other similar items go to? There have been so many advancements in breast cancer research and acceptance about the disease. But, have we become to immune to how much more still needs to be done before there is a cure? Does pinkwashing lead to better preventative and early detection practices? Or, does it just dilute the message and the cause as a whole?
What are your thoughts on the pink?
Yesterday, I had to visit my breast surgeon. Here's why:
And here's what my breast surgeon said:
The pink don't mean a thing if you ain't feeling your boobies! If you'd like to read more about preventative mastectomies, here's some information from the Mayo Clinic.
I care. xoxo
Comments (14)
Summer Session
I picked when I’m teaching next summer based upon when I might need to get a double mastectomy.
That’s one of those sentences that I never imagined typing.
Getting over cancer isn’t like getting over a cold. It’s unfortunately not that simple.
I pride myself on my ability to keep stress about “What ifs?” to a minimum. Life is filled with unknowns, and I’m not about to limit what makes me happy in the present because of a distant possibility in the future.
My health situation doesn’t fit neatly in that box, though.
The nurses suggested that I keep my medi-port in for at least a year.
My breast surgeon said that I’m a strong candidate for a double mastectomy given my health history, my mother’s health history and the fact that I can’t tolerate hormonal therapy. Getting a preventative mastectomy in the non-cancerous left breast would reduce my risk of breast cancer to 5%. Getting a mastectomy in the right breast where there was cancer would reduce my risk in half to somewhere between 10-15% of recurrence within five years.
From a cosmetic perspective, the breast surgeon noted that my breast were saggy. (Hey, big naturals aren't known for being perky.)
The breast surgeon recommended that we talk about mastectomies next year.
The subtext of the surgeon and nurses’ comments:
Let’s wait a year to see if your cancer returns or not.
I don’t like to assume what people are saying without asking them directly. When I inquired with my breast surgeon if that was where she was coming from, she nodded.
Me: You realize that you and the oncologist's office are on the same page, but everyone is assuming that I would do chemo again if this returns. I can't say that definitively. [My surgeon looks at me with wide eyes.] We'll cross that bridge if -- God forbid -- we need to.
I’m not about to approach my life any differently than I have in the past. (Well, at least with respect to my health…) Aside from my biopsy in July, I don't allow myself to give much energy to the thought that my cancer will return.
However, I do need to be cognizant of the fact that there is a strong chance that I’ll need several surgeries next year. I’d rather teach my class early in the summer and then have the flexibility to deal with this issue in July and August.
There’s a fine line between not stressing about “What ifs?” and being prepared for the “What is likely to be.” I’m straddling that line like it is a pommel horse. I try to allow myself a few minutes to feel angry, sad and confused, and then I let it go until the next time those feelings hit.
The next time you meet someone who has beat cancer, you might consider asking how he or she is really doing. Until that person has reached the five-year cancer free mark, the answer might surprise you.
Are you making any plans now for 2012? What things do you expect to occur in the coming year?
Comments (13)
A Blip
During my interview 14 months ago with Let’s Talk Live, I mentioned that cancer would be “a blip” in my life. By “blip,” I meant that there was a clear beginning, middle and end. I would beat it, and then I would be done. I wish I could be so blissfully ignorant now.
After I was diagnosed with cancer in June 2010, I didn’t start treatment for three months. My breast surgeon was on vacation the week I was diagnosed. I needed three weeks to get an MRI and receive four more breast biopsies. Then, I had my lumpectomy and another surgery to remove just the right amount of clean breast tissue. And, then, we waited for a lab in California to return with the results about what type of breast cancer I had. When the results came in, they differed from the results from a lab in Maryland so another test was run.
The waiting was annoying, but I had one of the best summers that year. My life consisted of boys, blogging, breast biopsies, minor surgeries, and bopping around between charity and social events. That summer was so wonderfully vapid!
In the summer of 2010, I would have easily responded to you with a list of loved ones who would be there for me if I needed chemotherapy. I never imagined that some of my closest friends wouldn’t be there for me. Those people are not among my close friends anymore. Either you are in or you are out when it comes to being there for those you love. I wish I didn’t know at such an early age who would be there for me when the chips are down.
In the past two weeks, I’ve encountered several people who I apparently met earlier this year, yet I have no memory of meeting. I’ve also heard three stories from friends about events that transpired during treatment of which I have no recollection. I appreciate that I was given medicines that can cause temporary amnesia, but I still find that disconcerting!
My doctors regard the success of my treatment based on how long I go without my cancer returning. Decades are obviously better than years, and years are better than months. If my cancer returns within five years, my oncologist would talk about odds and the difficulties of being diagnosed at a young age with an aggressive type of cancer. He might even mention my family history of cancer or my own unique health history. He wouldn’t understand my perspective.
If my cancer returns in the next few years, I would not feel as though my treatment was worth it.
If my cancer returns next year, I would not do chemotherapy again. Period. I believe that life is meant to be treasured and that we need to respect our bodies. But, life is also meant to be lived! I required three or four days of IVs for every day of chemotherapy. To me, that does not consitute living life to the fullest.
I trust that God has a plan for me. That doesn’t mean that I need to like every stage of this journey, though. In the meantime, I'll try my best to keep my tears and frustrations to a minimum. I'll try to focus on how all the blessings in my life and trust that all of the treatment worked. But, that doesn't mean that a day goes by in which I don't miss my long hair, my old body and how carefree I was before treatment started.
I hope and pray for the day in 2016 in which I'm so much wiser than I was when I was diagnosed, but with the same amazing hair flip!
Comments (12)
My thoughts on People Magazine's cover story
My heart goes out to Giuliana Rancic. I admire her strength in dealing with fertility issues and now breast cancer in a very public eye. I join her millions of supporters in keeping her health, recovery and hopes in my thoughts and prayers.
When I saw Giuliana on the cover of People Magazine, I felt her pain through her words and photographs. I also felt thankful that we now live in a society in which we can talk about breast cancer openly. There was a time not so long ago when that wasn't the case.
With those disclaimers, I had some problems with the medical information included in the article:
“That recovery [from a double mastectomy with immediate reconstruction] is expected to take two weeks.”
Two weeks?!? Two weeks? I’ve fought a cold longer than two weeks!
People Magazine, I realize that you’re not known for investigative journalism, but I still hoped for more accurate information from your publication!
Following a double mastectomy with immediate reconstruction, a woman is likely to be hospitalized for several days to a week. She may be sent home with drains coming out of her breasts. Depending on where the extra tissue came from (her back, underarms and stomach are all possibilities), she may also feel a significant amount of pain in other areas.
The recovery time for reconstructive surgery alone is six to eight weeks. That estimate is increased when mastectomies and reconstruction are done simultaneously because that’s a more traumatic procedure on a female’s body.
The surgical recovery time also fails to factor in the need that many women have for physical therapy once they are recouped. Mastectomies and reconstruction make it difficult for women to move their arms, stretch their chest and rotate their shoulders. Physical therapy might be required to assist with increasing strength and mobility.
And, what about the emotional recovery piece? We live in a culture that reveres breasts as symbols of femininity. Battling cancer and frequent hospital visits and surgeries can also take their toll on a woman’s peace of mind. An estimated 30% of women beat breast cancer and experience depression. Another 20% suffer from body image issues.
I also cringed when I read the statement in the article from oncologist Dr. Guiliano that “in some conditions…it [attempting IVF after surgery for breast cancer] is quite safe.”
I’m not a doctor, but it doesn’t take a medical degree to put the pieces of this puzzle together.
If a woman has breast cancer that tested positive for estrogen receptors, the cancer fed on estrogen and hormonal imbalances. About 75% of breast cancers are estrogen positive. IVF, pregnancy and childbirth cause dramatic fluctuations in the hormones in a woman’s body.
The decision to try IVF or get pregnant after battling certain types of cancers should not be a precipitous one. Women understandably look up to and identify with a public figure like Giuliana Rancic. People Magazine, it was worth throwing in a disclaimer that each woman’s experience with the disease and fertility is unique and that each woman should consult with her doctor to determine what is in her best interest.
Giuliana, I pray that your recovery is as quick and painless as possible.
People Magazine, I hope you recognize that you can empower women to be better health advocates and be more informed through your publication.
Readers, the year is almost over! What can you do to take care of your health more in 2012? Are there medical appointments that you need to be making?
Comments (5)
The New Tatas Timeline
In the super, amazing, epic news that’s actually epic column, I’m cancer-free! To say I feel thankful and grateful would be an understatement. After the doctor left the examination room, I put on my clothes and cried many happy tears.
It’s interesting that as elated as I am, I’m not in a celebratory mood. That might stem from the fact that I don’t look in the mirror and like what I see post-chemotherapy. Or, and more likely, I know – with 99% certainty – that my journey isn’t over.
If I take the doctor’s news and do nothing medically, I have a 30% chance of my cancer returning within four years. Typically, when cancer returns that quickly, it spreads beyond the area of original diagnosis. After those four years, I’d have a higher chance than the average woman of having breast cancer again. The genetics specialist believes that my mom and I have a gene that has yet to be discovered. (There is much talk of a Breast Cancer Gene, but there isn’t just one single gene that causes breast cancer.) And, I’ll need more biopsies based on the fact that I have fibrocystic breasts and many abnormal calcifications. In the past 12 years, I’ve had 13 biopsies. Eight of those were in the past four years.
When my breast surgeon recommended a lumpectomy over a mastectomy after my diagnosis, there was the assumption that I could tolerate hormonal medications after treatment. As it turns out, I can’t.
So, here I am…cancer-free…going to consultations about mastectomies and reconstruction. Tears of sadness and fear have replaced my happy tears.
Things I learned after meeting with the reconstructive surgeon:
1. 70% of women who get mastectomies with immediate reconstruction end up going in for a second corrective surgery. Out of the remaining 30%, the majority of women override their doctors’ recommendations to have a second surgery, instead choosing to live with noticeably disproportionate breasts.
2. The surgeon wouldn’t recommend me getting immediate reconstruction for several reasons:
a. I’ve had four lumpectomies over the years on my right breast alone. Scars impede blood flow to the skin. Immediate reconstruction would stretch the weak skin and jeopardize blood flood throughout.
b. I couldn’t get implants larger than a ‘C’ cup because the skin wouldn't be strong enough to support more than that. I haven’t been a ‘C’ cup since I was a teenager, and given my current size, I wouldn’t feel comfortable with that.
c. There would be an increased risk of infection for any patient, especially those with other health issues like me.
3. I will need more surgeries and the process will take much longer than expected. The general timeline is as follows:
a. Mastectomies – leave from the hospital with drains that I need to empty and clean myself and keep in place for two weeks. [Insert wincing expression here.]
b. Expanders – I will have expanders put inside my breasts that will help stretch the skin out to my desired size. Each week, I will go into the surgeon’s office, and she will inject saline into each breast to expand them. I will be awake for this. [Insert more wincing expressions here.] She estimates that it will take four-six weeks for this process. I'm larger than a DD now, but I feel like I'll be saying, "when," by that point.
c. Wait a minimum of four to six weeks for everything to settle.
d. Have another surgery to put the permanent implants inside.
e. And, once the scars have healed (in a relative sense), have surgery or an appointment with a tattoo artist to have nipples put on.
Because of my teaching responsibilities, I won’t be getting the initial surgery until May or June, and I won’t be getting the implants put in until December. The psychic saw more surgeries in my future, but said to view them as rebuilding and strengthening. I like that in theory, but I'm going to need some time to wrap my head around that.
I’ve said before that being cancer-free doesn’t mean being done with cancer. Last week exemplified that. The thought of the expanders evokes a visceral response from me. The thought of losing my big naturals saddens me. The thought of really being done with this in a year calms me. And, when those buoyant DDs are inside me, I’ll sigh with a fair amount of relief that I have only a 5% chance of getting breast cancer in the left breast and a 12% chance in the right breast...for the rest of my life.
Comments (16)
The 'C' Cup Clarification
I realized that I threw a lot of information at you in my post earlier this week about mastectomies and reconstruction. For a year and a half, my world has revolved around breast cancer. That thankfully isn't the case for 99% of you.
To clarify, I do not have a choice about whether or not I have immediate reconstruction after getting mastectomies. The doctor – who specializes in breast reconstruction – does not recommend that I get immediate reconstruction because of: 1) the increased risk of infection; 2) the concern that I would lose blood flow to one side of my right breast because of the scars from my previous four surgeries; and 3) the fact that most women who decide on immediate reconstruction still require a second surgery.
So what choices do I have?
1. Do I get the surgeries at all? Can I do nothing? I guess so. But, there are legitimate reasons why my oncologists and breast surgeons would advise against the wait and see approach.
I wasn’t able to tolerate hormonal therapy for five days, let alone five years. That therapy would have cut my risk of recurrence in half.
I’ve had seven breast biopsies since June 2010 alone. My breasts are fibrocystic and dense with a lot of calcifications. There’s no crystal ball to tell me whether or not my cancer will return, but there’s no doubt that I will need more biopsies.
I have a 30% risk of recurrence within the next four years and a higher risk than the average person after that. My health has rarely fallen within what’s typical. If I’m meant to get cancer again, I will, but I don’t want to question whether or not I could have done more to prevent a recurrence.
The only reason I won’t get the surgeries is if my internist and neurosurgeon are both in agreement that doing so would significantly increase the chance of complications with respect to my other health conditions. My doctors are great about working together as a team so I’ll let them figure this out next month.
2. When do I get the surgeries? I could get the surgeries as soon as possible and miss several weeks of class. But, I love teaching, and I want to do more of it. It doesn’t seem wise for me to take an extended leave for a surgery that I don’t have to get right away. (That’s a huge benefit to being cancer-free.)
Several readers’ comments about cup size got me thinking about the following hypothetical:
If the surgeon had said that I was a candidate for immediate reconstruction, would I have gone through with that surgery and come out with a ‘C’ cup?
I think I would have with the understanding that I would go in for a second surgery several months later to get larger implants.
I would have viewed ‘C’ cup implants much the way that I do my short hair. I would have tolerated them. I would have looked in the mirror and reminded myself that it’s most important that I’m reducing my risk of recurrence. But, I wouldn’t have felt comfortable with my reflection. This isn’t about whether long hair is better than short hair, bigger boobs are better than smaller, or society’s views of femininity and sexuality. This is about my personal comfort and the norm for my body. It’s been 25 years since I’ve had hair this short or boobs smaller than a ‘C’ cup. We all deserve to feel our best, and long hair and boobs of a certain size make me feel better about myself.
I’ve had enough changes in my life since my diagnosis. I don’t care to add more permanent changes into the mix. I will do what I can to ensure that my risk of recurrence is as low as possible. But, I hope to look back on all of this a year from now and feel stronger on the inside and more content with the outside.
What can you do to stay on top of your health more in 2012?
Mark your calendars now for when you should schedule your annual physical with your doctor and any other medical appointments (pap smear, mammogram, dentist, eye doctor, etc.). If you aren't in the habit of getting an annual physical, make a note to call the doctor on the first day of your birthday month. That way you'll never forget!
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April 25th
I’m cancer-free.
And, I’m so thankful for that.
But, that’s not the end of the story for me.
I haven’t wanted to celebrate because I knew what was likely on the horizon. I haven’t been able to fully exhale since I knew that mastectomies and reconstruction were looming. They’re like this large, nebulous cloud overhead (or maybe two large, nebulous clouds).
My mastectomies are scheduled for April 25th. This is real. This is happening.
I had planned to schedule the mastectomies for the summer, but I shifted around my schedule to allow the surgery to happen sooner. I'm much calmer since I no longer need to wait five months.
It’s an interesting part of the journey to observe people’s confusion and reactions at the fact that being cancer-free doesn’t mean being done with cancer. Kind and well-intentioned friends and acquaintances want me to be healthy; they want my life back to normal. I get that, and I want that, too. But, that doesn’t mean that it’s a simple road from here to there.
On the chance that you’re wondering why I’m getting mastectomies now, here are the reasons:
1. I’m 38 years old, and I’ve had 13 breast biopsies and four lumpectomies. My breasts are fibrocystic and dense with a lot of calcifications. That’s why I’ve had so many biopsies, and it’s expected that I’d continue to have biopsies every year if I did not have the surgeries;
2. I was unable to tolerate hormonal therapies, which have been shown to significantly reduce a woman’s risk of recurrence. (When my doctors recommended lumpectomies in 2010, they assumed that I would be able to tolerate this class of medications);
3. I was diagnosed at 37, which means that I have a higher rate of recurrence than older women;
4. Because of my health history, I’m ineligible to participate in any studies for new breast cancer drugs or vaccines; and
5. The thought is that my mom and I have a breast cancer gene that has yet to be discovered.
A few hours after I scheduled the surgeries, a friend sent me the following quote by Vaclav Havel:
Hope is not the conviction that something will turn out well but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out.
I don’t believe that my breasts are killing me, and I could have the surgery and still get breast cancer again. But, I have a significantly higher chance of getting breast cancer again if I don’t get mastectomies. To me, this game of life is a numbers game. I’m playing my hand according to the probabilities.
Comments (12)
From Can't to Can
I’m 5’9 ½. Over the years, my weight has varied from 123 pounds after college to 167 in 2004 after three years of steroids. By 2007, though, the steroids were out of my system.
From 2007 to 2010, my weight was stable. I weighed between 133 and 135 pounds. I ate when I was hungry, and I ate what I wanted. I didn’t think much about my body, weight or fitness regime.
Cancer totally shook my body and my body image up, though. I never expected to gain weight during chemotherapy, let alone 23 pounds in four months. My oncologist prescribed a lot of medications to alleviate the vomiting that I experienced in the first round. In so doing, he threw my digestion for a loop. With the disclaimer that everybody poops, I typically eliminated once every 10 days during the four months of chemotherapy. (I cringe when I think about how many drugs were stuck in my body during that time.)
Upon completing chemotherapy in January 2011, I lost 13 pounds by April. My scale seemed stuck after that, though. However, in the past month, I’ve moved from 10 pounds to seven pounds over my pre-cancer weight. To some, that might not seem like a big deal (slight pun intended). But, as a young, female cancer survivor, there are larger issues of body image and sexuality here. There’s also the reality that many of us face:
We’re done with treatment, but we don’t look in the mirror and recognize ourselves.
Our bodies have changed.
Our hair has changed.
For some of us, our breasts have changed.
And, our lives have changed.
It’s been an effort to look at myself in the mirror without detesting what I see. (And, yes, I used the word, “detest,” purposely.) I recently realized, though, that I couldn’t encourage my students and readers to love their bodies if I didn’t start doing the same. So, I’ve moved from a place of detesting to a place of tolerating.
I also started thinking about what I could do to change my routine. There’s a part of me that would love to lose those last seven pounds. More importantly, though, I need to do whatever I can to strengthen my body before my mastectomies on April 25th. The surgeons will be removing tissue and muscle from my back and my chest (all the way to my shoulders), and I already have weak muscle tone in those areas.
I have a lot of restrictions with respect to exercise:
- I can’t do yoga because increasing flexibility isn’t a good thing for one of my conditions.
- I can’t lift more than the lightest weights because of my limited muscle strength.
- If I do more than 15 or 20 minutes of exercise, I end up exacerbating my fever disease.
- I can't do exercises in which my head is below my heart. (My pressure is already low as it is.)
- I can’t build up my endurance and stamina so that regular exercise will allow me to do more in a month or two. More than 15 or 20 minutes of exercise a day will increase my fevers, dizziness and muscle fatigue.
For the past five years, my doctors have allowed me to do 10-15 minutes of physical therapy with a resista-band at home and walk as much as I can. I love walking, and it’s the one thing that I can (almost) always do. And so, I’ve walked and walked. I try to walk at least two miles a day, and that hasn't impacted my health negatively. But, walking hasn’t changed my weight or my muscle tone either.
With Fashion for Paws and double mastectomies in April, I’ve been asking myself to focus less on what I can’t do and more on what I can do.
- I can do five to seven minutes on an elliptical (at the lowest level). That small amount will help me build some muscle tone in my upper body.
- I can do 15-20 minutes of a barre class, water aerobics or a recumbent bicycle.
- Weight machines, even on the lowest resistance, offer me more than my resista-band or two-pound weights at home.
- I can start physical therapy next month to allow me one month of preparation in advance of my surgeries.
I joined a gym last week. For some, that’s not newsworthy, but for me, it is. I’ve wrapped my head around the fact even 10 or 15 minutes of exercise can help. I’m also accepted that the membership fees are money well spent to make a commitment toward my overall physical health.
I’m working past what I can’t do and working toward what I can. I can’t do more than that, right?
What obstacles are you facing right now? What small changes can you make in your life to alleviate those problems? How can you replace a “can’t” with a “can?”
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Pop Quiz!
There’s a lot of misinformation about breast surgeons, mastectomies and reconstruction out there. Let’s separate some of the facts from fiction!
True or False:
- You can’t see a breast surgeon unless you have breast cancer.
- A majority of women only require one surgery for mastectomies and reconstruction.
- Women can get mastectomies without having breast cancer and insurance will cover it.
- If a woman gets mastectomies, her chance of developing breast cancer is less than 1%.
- After mastectomies, a woman will have no sensation in her breasts.
Answers:
- You can’t see a breast surgeon unless you have breast cancer.
FALSE. You can see a breast surgeon if you’ve found a lump, require a more thorough clinical breast exam than your gynecologist provides, or have a family history of breast cancer. I’ve been working with a breast surgeon since I was 26, even though I wasn’t diagnosed with cancer until the age of 37.
2. A majority of women only require one surgery for mastectomies and reconstruction.
FALSE. Most require at least two surgeries. Doctors do not advise women who have had or will have radiation to obtain immediate reconstruction since radiation affects the strength of and blood flow through the skin and the tissue. Immediate reconstruction also increases the risk of infection and is more traumatic to the body. A majority of women who are eligible for immediate reconstruction end up getting a second surgery for aesthetics.
Women who are not eligible for immediate reconstruction can choose to stick with the results post-mastectomy or have tissue expanders placed on top of their chest wall. The expanders help gradually stretch the skin out to handle a subsequent surgery during which the expanders will be replaced with permanent implants.
3. Woman can get mastectomies without having breast cancer and insurance will cover it.
TRUE. Women who test positive for BRCA-1 and BRCA-2 genes have a much higher risk of developing breast and ovarian cancer. These women can choose to be frequently monitored via mammograms and breast MRIs. Or, they can choose to obtain preventative mastectomies. Women who have also had breast cancer may choose to get mastectomies after they are cancer-free. Insurance covers mastectomies and reconstruction since companies know that these are not surgeries that women do precipitously.
4. If a woman gets mastectomies, her chance of developing breast cancer is less than 1%.
FALSE. If a woman has never been diagnosed with cancer, mastectomies can bring her risk of developing breast cancer down to approximately 5%. If a breast cancer survivor gets mastectomies after she has completed treatment and is cancer-free, her risk of developing breast cancer again is between 10-15%.
5. After mastectomies, a woman will lose sensation in her breasts.
TRUE. The nipples are removed during mastectomies, and with that, the nerves and sensation in that erogenous zone will also be gone. After a patient has recovered from the surgeries, she can elect to have nipples tattoed or reconstructed.
So, readers, how did you do on the quiz? Any questions?
* Lawyer-turned-Blogger Disclaimer: I am a breast cancer survivor and advocate, but I’m not a health care professional. I’m committed to conveying accurate health information, but please check with your doctor if you have any specific questions or health concerns.
Comments (1)
Doing It Anyway.
I’m scared, and I’m doing it anyway.
That was my response, when my friend, Lauree Ostrofsky, asked me how I’m feeling about my upcoming surgery. I didn’t hesitate to answer her with one of her trademarked catchphrases as a life coach and motivational speaker with Simply Leap. Lauree urges others to acknowledge their fears since that makes it easier for people to deal with them.
So, with that in mind, what am I scared of when it comes to my mastectomies on April 25th?
- I’m scared of the pain. From mastectomies through reconstruction and physical therapy, this will be a minimum of a six-month process.
- I’m scared of developing an infection or having a reaction. I’ve been told by many a doctor that my body is a medical mystery. I don’t react to medicines and surgeries like the average patient. On a few occasions, that’s meant that I’ve recouped faster than others. More often than not, though, I’ve experienced rare reactions and complications.
- I’m scared of losing more friends. Yes, I’ve gained a lot of friends through my diagnosis and treatment, but I’ve also lost several old friends or seen friends’ true colors. I accept that not everyone is good in a health crisis, but prior to chemotherapy, I never imagined that four old and loyal friends would be cruel or unsupportive.
- I’m scared of this affecting my relationship. We’re in a good place that’s drama-free. This surgery is a significant occurrence, especially for a couple that hasn’t dated for that long.
- Most importantly, I’m scared that I will do this, and I will still develop cancer again. Mastectomies greatly reduce my risk of recurrence, but they don’t eliminate them. There’s still a 5% chance of getting cancer in my left breast, and a 12% chance in my right breast. As I’ve told my doctors, if I develop cancer again before I’ve adopted a child, I will not do chemotherapy again. (Yes, you read that correctly. I have fears, but death is not among them.)
For the next six weeks, I will work hard to face my fears and shower myself with reminders as to why I’m doing this:
- My chances of recurrence are in the 30% range right now.
- I wasn’t able to tolerate the recommended hormonal therapy treatment.
- I’ve had 13 biopsies in 12 years, and I don’t want more.
- The doctors believe my mom and I have a genetic marker for breast cancer that has yet to be discovered.
- My other health conditions prohibit me from participating in vaccine studies.
- This is the one thing left that I haven’t tried. There are so many unknowns in life, but that is known.
- My entire medical team agrees that this is the best course of action.
- There is so much more I want to do with my life. I want to be as healthy as I can be.
I’m scared, and I’m doing this anyway.
What are you scared of and doing anyway? What happens when you face your fears?
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From Mounds to Expansion to Implants
“So, Doctor, how long should I expect to recoup after my mastectomies?”
“One month.”
I stare at my breast surgeon and give a slight nod of my head with a disconnected expression in my eyes.
“You should prepare to just putter around the house for a month and only leave to see the doctor.”
“How much help will I need at home?”
“I would say 24-hour nursing care for two to three days, and then eight-hour nursing care for two weeks or so.”
“This sucks,” I say without eloquence or pretense as I shake my head back and forth.
So, barring any unforeseen complications, what’s the timeline for my upcoming surgeries?
April 25th: Double Mastectomies
Until the surgery, my doctor won’t know if there’s enough viable skin on my right breast to create the new mound. (Four lumpectomies and a month of radiation have taken their toll.) If there is enough viable skin, then I’ll be released in one day. If not, and the surgeon is required to take muscle and tissue from my upper back, then I’ll stay in the hospital for three or four nights.
I’ll be sent home with two to six drains and a lot of pain medications. I’ll also leave the hospital with expanders inside my chest. As Johns Hopkins' site explains, “a breast tissue expander is an inflatable breast implant designed to stretch the skin and muscle to make room for a future, more permanent implant.”
The media tends to highlight the stories from women who are eligible for immediate reconstruction. I think it's easier for us to put our heads around that procedure sociologically and psychologically. However, the overwhelming majority of breast cancer patients who have needed or will need radiation are not eligible for this procedure. Immediate reconstruction also increases the risk of infection, and over half of the women who choose this option end up getting a second surgery at a later juncture.
May 9th: Pump ‘Em Up
Hopefully, the last of the drains will be removed when I visit my surgeon for the two-week follow-up. At that point, the doctor will inject saline into the expanders.
I’ll see the surgeon weekly for the next four to six weeks so she can expand my breasts to the desired size. (I'm assuming I'll end up with a DD cup, but we'll see.) I might need to post photos in a bathing suit top of the expansion so you all can see how they plump up!
Late June: Rest!
After the expanders are at the desired size, we wait for four to six weeks for the tissue to settle.
Early August: Implants Time!
I’ll have surgery to replace the expanders with traditional breast implants.
I’ll be in physical therapy to increase my mobility and upper body strength in the summer and fall. Once my breasts have healed, I’ll have my nipples reconstructed.
This sucks. But, like countless women before me and after me, I’ll get through it. I just keep reminding myself that this is worth it to reduce my risk of recurrence.
Comments (7)
On attachment and feelings
As the youngest in my class in 5th grade, I watched a few of my friends get their first bras. One afternoon, I stuffed tissues down my shirt and giggled with my friends about what I would look like with boobs.
In 7th grade, I missed over a month of school due to health issues. When I returned to a reduced schedule, I was 5’3” and 75 pounds.
In 9th grade, I started filling out. I went from wearing a training bra to a C-cup seemingly overnight. I wasn't self-conscious about my curves, but I didn't fit in socially either.
When I moved overseas in my sophomore year in high school, I vowed to reinvent myself. My braces were off, my hair was longer, and I began to embrace my body. I wanted attention from the boys and invites to all the parties, and that’s exactly what I got!
Through that time, I began to associate my boobs and long hair with my power and sexuality. As my breast got bigger and bigger and my hair got longer and longer, that increased exponentially.
I wear between a 34F and a 34G bra right now. I am very attached to my tits. (If I could write that sentence 500 times in all capitals and bold letters, it still wouldn’t do my attachment justice.)
When I come to after surgery on April 25th, I will be an A-cup for the first time in 26 years.
I an angry at cancer.
I'm disappointed that I’m not eligible for immediate reconstruction.
I am sad that I have to go through this all without my mom. (She passed away from cancer in 1997.)
I am heartbroken that through chemotherapy and this upcoming surgery, I will have lost the physical attributes that I’m most attached to. My hair and my tits were my signatures. Cancer will have taken both of them from me.
I’m slightly concerned that even after mastectomies, I will still have a 5% chance of developing breast cancer in the left breast and 12% in the right breast.
And, I’m very disappointed that so much misinformation is out there for women wanting to learn about the process.
Do I have faith that I will get through this experience? Of course.
Will I live my life as though cancer is never returning? Yes.
Do I take comfort in making this experience about more than just me? Definitely.
Do I stress less, cry less and put up with less crap than I did before cancer? Sure.
Do I laugh less than I did before cancer? Yes…unfortunately.
Do I know that my worth and my identity are more than the sum of my physical parts? Deep down, I do.
Do I look forward to the day when this experience is a distant memory? Every. Single. Day.
What are you attached to?
Comments (17)
Trying to Exhale
The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say. ~Anaïs Nin
I write because I love doing so. I write to process my feelings. I write to make others laugh, cringe or think. I write to educate. And, thanks to the reach of the blogosphere, I write as a way to communicate with friends from all stages of my life and receive support from others.
The compassion and strength you all showed in your comments last week meant so much to me. Processing the emotions surrounding my upcoming mastectomies isn’t linear. Most times, I’m comfortable with my decision, and my emotions are calm. Other times, though, I’m edgy, angry and sad. I wrote last week’s post about my surgery when all those emotions were coming to a head. You got that and were able to offer support without judgment or platitudes. Thank you!
In my pre-op appointment with the reconstructive surgeon last week, she informed me that she won’t be taking my back muscle and tissue during this surgery. That’s very good news! I’ll be out of the hospital in a night or two. I hopefully will be able to sleep on my back, and I won’t need as much physical therapy. (There’s a slight chance that the surgeon might need to take from my back muscle during reconstruction, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.)
Over the past two weeks, I’ve lined up care from home nurses, dog walkers and friends. Given my health history, I can’t predict how my body will react after surgery, but I can take control of certain elements. (For those of you who might be wondering, my best friend will be with me at the hospital, but The Man insisted on joining us. Yes, he's a good guy.)
I’m sure I’ll be writing more about surgery in the coming week, but for now, I’m able to focus on my blessings. I keep reminding myself of the reasons why this is the recommended course of action for me. I close my eyes, exhale and think of myself a few years from now, hugging my daughter with my long ponytail blowing in the breeze.
Why do you write?
Comments (6)
Support
My mastectomy surgery is in two days. How do I feel about that?
Supported -- in every sense of the word.
A huge thank you to my friend and photojournalist, Moshe Zusman, for the concept, execution, and letting me be a part of this shoot!
Comments (8)
The New Normal
Thank you to everyone for the outpouring of support over the past week!!!
I'm recouping well from my double mastectomies, and I'm thrilled to report that the surgery was infinitely easier on my body than chemotherapy. (Excuse me while I knock on wood in the hopes that my recuperation will continue as such.)
Earlier this month, I did a series of videos for BreastCancerAnswers.com. This video addresses how to process your emotions after being diagnosed with an illness such as breast cancer.
Do you have any advice to share with others?
Comments (3)
What if your partner isn't supportive during a health crisis?
It's been two weeks since I had a double mastectomy, and I'm thankfully continuing to recoup well. The pain is minimal enough that I was able to stop pain medications last week. I unfortunately still have two drains coming out of my armpits, and they are uncomfortable and limiting. I also find myself getting out of breath often and losing focus easily. I'm hoping to get the last two drains out on Monday and receive clearance to drive and walk my dog by Memorial Day. I feel very glad that my doctors and I decided upon this course of treatment, and I'm incredibly grateful that I'm able to do as much as I can. Progress, not perfection, right?
During a recent interview with Breast Cancer Answers, I was asked about my thoughts on dealing with an unsupportive partner during a health crisis like breast cancer. Here's what I had to say:
Have you or a loved one had to deal with this? What thoughts do you have?
Comments (5)
Two Weeks After My Double Mastectomy
This is me -- two weeks after my double mastectomy with my surgical bra, gauze pads and drains.
It's not gross. It's not sexual. It's just real.
Comments (5)
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