Three Months!

Today marks three months since I had my bilateral mastectomy, which I will (in order to make you laugh) henceforth refer to as my BM.

A lot has happened since October 18th! I've kept you up to date on most of the biggies, like blood clots, swimming a mile, and the mysterious Mondor's Disease (which is healing up nicely, thanks for asking!) I'm still on the coumadin for the blood clots...that'll end in April, hopefully. Coumadin is one of those lifesaving/pain in the ass drugs, like prednisone. I have had my clotting time checked (via finger-prick, AT the doctor's office, with a $25 co-pay each time, 11 times so far.) This is necessary to make sure the coumadin is at a "therapeutic level." If it's not, I risk another blood clot if my blood's too thick, or bleeding to death from a razor nick if my blood's too thin. Fun times, huh?

Okay, moving on. There IS life post BM. The only thing I still have trouble doing is laying on my stomach, reaching the top shelf in my kitchen, and filling my C-cup bras, which is why, a couple weeks ago, I got rid of them. This was a big day, a symbolic day. Who knows why I even kept them that long? 'Coulda chucked them on the morning of October 18th. Maybe I secretly thought I'd be the exception and mine would grow back.

I've packed about 100 boxes, as I am in the process of selling my home. I have lifted almost all of those boxes, made runs to the dump, and numerous trips to Goodwill. I have painted and scrubbed, and as of two days ago, I've even shoveled snow. So, YES. I have my strength and range of motion back. I'd put both at 90%.

I was told by my dear Dr. F that the best way to make BM scars diminish is to rub them with aloe vera. I have a friend who donated one of her aloe plants to the cause, and it now resides in my bathroom, where every couple days, I cut off a chunk and...well, I'll stop there. Let's just say the scars are looking good. I still am mostly numb, which is strange, but common. Nerve regeneration is a slow process. I still occasionally experience phantom pain. Go figure.

I'm kind of wondering how long to keep this blog going. I feel that my cancer journey was rather short compared to some who have to endure chemo and/or radiation. I am thankful that those treatments are not a part of my days right now, as they would likely flatten me at a time when I have a lot to get done. God is merciful and good. I will stick to my word and write the compression-tight blog that I promised so long ago. Maybe I'll end with that...we'll see.

I guess I didn't really give a lot of thought to what life would be like after my BM, so I haven't had any expectations dashed. Recovering from anything is a process, and like any recovery, there are good days and bad days. I have days when I grieve the loss of my breasts. Most days, though, I'm just happy to be zipping along.

Until next time...

Mondor's Cord

Hah! You thought I disappeared! Many of you have seen on facebook that I was blessed with a wonderful surprise at Thanksgiving. My stepmom flew my firstborn home for the long weekend. I walked in the door and saw her face and heard her say, "Hi, Mom!" It took me a minute to register that she was REALLY home! I had wrapped my heart around the fact that this would be my first Thanksgiving in 23 years without her. And then there she was! We wept, both of us, and neither of us are "weepers."

After further analysis, I realized the reason behind the tears. First, I have not seen Molly since my cancer diagnosis, so it seemed like I went through a lot without her. Second, I have cried so many tears in the last few months, but these were the first tears of JOY in 4 months! It felt GOOD! Anyway, we had a wonderful visit and I consider this one of the very best surprises ever.

Now. On to Mondor's Cord. Doesn't that sound like something out of Star Trek? An episode name, perhaps: "The Cord of Mondor." Well. Instead it's the name of a complication that I'm experiencing. I had my last visit with Dr. F on Monday. The scar looks great, and for the first time, no draining was needed. He ended with "Seeya in 6 months!" Then I asked him to look at this "thing." One day while looking in the mirror, I noticed a stripe running down my rib cage, vertically, about 7 inches long. Honestly, it looked and felt like a piece of drain tubing that was left inside me, just under the skin. In fact, everyone I showed it to asked, "Did you have drains?" Well. Dr. F took one look and nodded. "It's Mondor's Disease" he said. I thought he was kidding. No, really! I guffawed and played along, "So...what's the solution?" And he then explained it. About halfway through his explanation, I realized he wasn't kidding. Google it if you're interested. It's really no big deal. But he did say that it's "very rare" and that he only sees one case every couple years. He called me a "rare bird." For some reason, this made me feel good. Anyway, this cord-thing should resolve itself in a couple months with a little heat and a little tylenol. I'll keep you posted.

Other than my sidekick Mondor, I am doing well. I will write another blog about the steel bra, 2 sizes too small. Bet'cha can't wait!

Range of Emotion

Part of bouncing back after major surgery is restoring the range of motion of the affected parts. This has been an interesting process. My exercises have included something called "wall walking." Do you picture me as Spider-Woman? Good. I like that. But truthfully, the only thing that's walking on the walls is my fingers. I stand about 10 inches from the wall and walk my fingers like little mountain climbers, up the wall. All that it takes to progress in this exercise is to make it further up the wall today than yesterday. I am also using a yardstick (SO high-tech!) to do some exercises recommended by the American Cancer Society for mastectomy patients. Getting in the pool has done wonders, and I actually swam REAL laps on Wednesday. It felt great. I am getting my range of motion back.

Then there's the range of emotion. This is, to be grammatically sloppy, a whole nother story. Healing from a mastectomy is a different kind of healing than say, from an appendectomy or gall-bladder surgery. In both of the above, a body part is lost, true. But few people grieve the loss of an appendix or a gall-bladder. (Do they? If you have, let me know---I'll take back what I said, I promise!) I AM grieving the loss of my breasts. They were, after all, an outward expression of my femininity. My range of emotion in any given week since surgery (4 weeks and 3 days already!) runs the gamut from "I am a cancer-free miracle!" to "I'm. So. Freaking. Ugly." At the end of the day, I gather up the fallen-leaves of emotion that have gathered and swirled and take a look. Thankfully, most days end with the positive messages winning. But it's a range, that's for sure.

I guess one of the strategies for a full-recovery that I'd recommend would be to give yourself a little more room. Just as I am having to make time in my day to work my way back up to a full range of physical motion, I need room in my day to work my way back up to expressing a full range of emotion. Life IS different, and to pretend otherwise is...well, pretending.

Reflection

Before I had surgery, one of the big questions simmering in the back of my mind (and yours, too...admit it!) was "What's it like to look at yourself in the mirror for the first time after having a mastectomy?"

I chose not to do a lot of "googling" before my surgery, because I didn't want to get all crazy with anxiety. I felt it best for me to steer clear of input from the masses and just process what was about to happen to me on a very personal level. That's just me.

So, the day after surgery as I was being readied to go home, the nurse came in to change the dressing on my wound. I endured this without so much as a glance-down. When I got home, I changed into my comfy jammies, again, without looking. It wasn't until the next day that I took a look. And it wasn't a mirror-look, it was a glance-down look. I didn't cry. I didn't even gasp. I just marveled. Where once were breasts are now two nine-inch scars crossed with steri-strips. Just like that.

I'm sorry if this is too much information. It's just so WEIRD processing an amputation. I am blown away that modern medicine has made this whole thing possible, from detection to amputation. Three months ago I knew nothing. Now I am a cancer survivor. I am in awe of the fact that Dr. F did something SO invasive and today, 15 days later, I'm home, doing laundry, getting in the pool, driving my car. My body looks SO different to me when I look in the mirror. I don't love it. But then I never really LOVED my body. Clothes DO fit me differently. My bra-basket sits in my closet, dejected over being utterly ignored. My chest feels tight, like there's duct tape wrapped around me. I am flat as a pancake. My friend Judy and I joke that I need a 38-T bra..."T" standing for "trainer."

I am adjusting to the new way I look. I have my moments, believe me.

But mostly I just marvel.

Pool Party!

I'm on day 14 of post-op fun-n-games. I decided it's time to get in the water! Dr. F okayed this. In fact, he said, "the sooner, the better." Getting my arms moving increases the flow of good fluids (like lymph) as well as bad fluids (like the stuff I've been getting drained out of me by Dr. F). So, before my next (and maybe last) visit to the doc on Friday, I'm gonna stimulate this stuff as best I can. Anyway, it was SO good to get in the water. One of my posse-girls, Gayleen, is actually a pool therapist, and she helped me tremendously in figuring out which muscles needed exercising and how best to do it. I found that there are stretches I can do in the water that are impossible on land. For instance, I cannot lay flat on my stomach at home, but I can do that in the water. If you are recovering from a mastectomy, I recommend you ask your doc about getting in the water.
P.S. Does this bathing suit make me look flat?

A Part of the Picture

Hi! Sorry it's been a while. I'm actually doing great. I walked up to our church's Harvest Party earlier today and saw some of my precious preschoolers. It was good to reconnect. One mom told me how very worried her child was...tears, etc. Though I do not like the thought of children crying, this compassion warmed my heart.

Anyway, in the coming days, I am going to share some of the different parts to the picture I am living in now. Put together, they'll give you a good idea of MY cancer experience. This post is a tad graphic, so be warned!

Above is a picture of my "going home" outfit when I left the hospital. It's called a "mastectomy cami." Those bottles hanging down are the drains. When this picture was taken, those drains were still connected to me. I am standing just to the right of the picture. One drain tube entered my right side, one, my left. The fancy cami has "hidden" pockets into which these drain bottles fit. Every 8 hours or so, these drains were emptied by my faithful posse. The "contents" were measured and recorded, noting amount and color. (Makes you wanna think twice before offering to help a newly mastectomied person, doesn't it?)

On the Monday after surgery, I had these drains removed. I was dreading this procedure, mostly because Dr. F had told me point-blank: IT HURTS. Plus also, there was no offer of anesthesia, local or otherwise. Rats! So, here's the scene...me, laying on a table. Posse-girl Dawn holding my hand, eyes closed; Posse-girl Lorie standing by my side, watching for details. Dr. F removes the stitch which was holding the drain in place and like a master gardener starting a lawn mower, pulls that bad boy out of my right side. TEN INCHES of tubing was snaked inside of me, people! TEN! It felt so nasty and it hurt like a...lot. But then, just as Dr. F had promised, relief! But then? Dread. There was another drain. He repeated the above and I was FREE! I wanted to hug him. (This wasn't the first time).

The drains were not my favorite. Sleeping, showering, etc. with drains in you is...awkward. I am so happy that they are out. BUT here's the thing. All that "stuff" that was draining into those bottles is now draining into ME! So, Friday I went back to Dr. F's office and he, with a syringe, removed about a half-a-cup of Christie-fluid from my left side. Thankfully, this was painless, since I am still completely numb there.

So, there's the drain part of the picture. Sorry if you got more information than you bargained for. More tomorrow! (Bet'cha can't wait, ha-ha!)

It takes a Posse

This is me with the Posse Leader, my middle daughter, Megan. This pic was taken 4 days after surgery.

On Tuesday, October 18th, this child of mine stuck to me like glue. She drove me to the hospital and sat next to me as I was introduced to the pre-op process. This process included, but was not limited to, getting my nose swabbed 4 times to prevent mersa, donning very fashionable compression tights, getting a blood-thinning shot in my belly, AND the much anticipated shot of blue dye into each breast up in the "nuke med" wing of the hospital. (which, may I add, was NOT painful, so quit yer cringing!)

Our pastor came back to the pre-op room and prayed for me/us. My sweet child was a trooper, and finally it was time for me to get wheeled up to the OR. Megan then returned to the waiting room where some more posse members were waiting. I was taken back for surgery about an hour late, 1:30pm. The cute anesthesiologist started me with versed which he promised would give me a "buzz." Next thing I knew, I was being wheeled to the recovery room at 3:30. It's a strange feeling, waking up from surgery. My mind felt weird: "Wait-where-am-i-oh-i-am-still-alive-i-wonder-how-it-went-and-i-want-to-see-my-people."

I was in the recovery room a little longer than expected due to a blood-pressure dip. I was in my room by 7PM. What a day!

Knowing that my posse was waiting, praying, worrying made ALL the difference. It was a long day, and they hung out all day long, checking the hi-tech reader board which tracked my progress. Dr. F came out with the news that it went well and that he was 95% sure that the cancer had not spread.

It's now Monday, 6 days later. I head in to the doc today to get the pathology report. There's more to write about the last 6 days, but I'll save it, lest this post get too long. Have I thanked you for lifting me up? THANK YOU!