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...

Resolutions

As I write, I am sitting in Palm Springs. I have spent the holidays here with my kids and my extended family, and it has been bliss. One of the weird results of my surgery (and mastectomy surgery in general) is an odd, come-and-go tightness in my chest. This tightness gets worse in cold weather. Since it has been in the mid 70's here, I have been much more comfortable. I referred in a recent blog to "a steel bra, two sizes too small." This phrase was not my invention. I read it when I googled "post mastectomy chest tightness" and it described this sensation very accurately. I've read that this feeling can last for 6 months or more...some in the chat room were even a year out and still experiencing it to some degree. To me, this translates "You will remember your cancer and surgery well into 2012."

This afternoon, my family and I went and saw the movie "New Year's Eve." It was a feel-good movie that touched on birth, death, distance, closeness, creativity, reflection and projection. I am one of those people who still thinks in terms of resolutions come December 31st. I know that a person can decide to start over any day. But New Year's is just a good time to do some concentrated thinking and reflecting, planning and reorganizing.

"Resolution." Being a word freak, I looked closely at this word and broke it down. Re+Solution: to solve again. I've looked at my health and my body one way all my life. Now it's time to look at it again, differently. A new solution. Though my bout with cancer was short-lived, I am reminded constantly. Clothes fit differently. I sleep differently. I'm still on coumadin because of blood clots. I have this weird tightness that responds to weather for crying out loud! Breast cancer has changed me, and I need to think over some new solutions to these changes.

This blog has gotten a bit rambly. I hope it makes some sense. I'm in a pensive, post-holiday, vacation mood. I hope that as you look ahead to 2012, you are also thinking over some re-solutions. We've all got our "stuff"...right?

My First Christmas

This is my first Christmas.

It's my first Christmas in 25 years without my husband, it's my first Christmas as a single mom, and it's my first Christmas without my boobs. In some ways, this Christmas, for me, is about loss, which is odd, because Christmas is usually about gain. We gain "stuff" from the many generous folks who lavish us with love wrapped in paper and bows. (I am not being sarcastic here. I LOVE giving people things at Christmas as a tangible expression of how much they mean to me. It's cool.) We gain memories as we form new traditions and embellish old ones. We add photos to those scrapbooks. We gain a deeper knowledge, hopefully, of what it meant for God to send His only Son.

So, can a Christmas that's mostly about loss be a "good" Christmas?

I believe it can. A friend shared with me his thoughts about what it must have been like for Mary to receive the news that she would be the mother of the Messiah. Though Mary may not have grasped the magnitude of that proclamation at the time, it became clear as her boy grew. She would eventually lose Him. As she watched Him live, she knew He came to die. I have pondered these thoughts much as I parent my 17 year-old son. What would it be like for me to stand by Thomas as he lay down his life? It is overwhelming to consider. And yet Mary's response was, "May it be as you have said." Can I face loss with the same attitude?

I want THAT kind of faith. The kind that doesn't really understand it all, but knows that it's okay not to always understand. I do not understand why I was diagnosed with breast cancer, or why my husband was unfaithful. But I'm learning to navigate the losses. I am leaning on a strong God who is able.

My prayer for you this Christmas is that you will also lean on a strong God who is able. If you are experiencing loss this Christmas, lean harder. Joy is that thing, deep within, that has nothing to do with circumstance, but everything to do with this fact: He. Is. Able.

Merry Christmas, my dear friends and blog-followers. You mean the world to me.

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!

Giving Thanks

Count your blessings,
Count them one by one.
Count your many blessings,
See what God has done!

I love these words so much! I have been cooking this morning, (a crumb-topped apple pie and two kinds of stuffing!) and as I've chopped, sauteed, stirred and peeled, I've been counting my blessings. Wanna hear some?

My children. I have been abundantly blessed through my children. As a kid, I always wanted to be a mommy. I began this motherhood journey 23 years ago, and it has been a deep source of joy for me. Though my kids are now older, that joy has not diminished. Molly, Megan and Thomas are evidence that God is good.

My family. I have amazing people with whom I share a family connection. These people have been a tremendous source of encouragement to me. My brothers...my sisters-in-law...my mom, my stepmom...my stepdads: thank you for loving me and my children!

My colleagues. Few people get to work with the caliber of people I work with. I am humbled that God would surround me with such dear sisters in Christ...friends who I love dearly and who reciprocate that love.

Friends. Whoa. People who will hold my hand through procedures. People who will drive me, make me dinner, help me to the bathroom. People who pray for me, send me cards, books, flowers and uplifting e-mails. They have encouraged me more than simple words can express. I am filled with thankfulness.

(You know what's cool? Most of the things I consider to be my biggest blessings have names and faces and beating hearts. Think about it!)

Finally, I am thankful for my health. I am one of many who has taken her health for granted. This year, I have seen my health as a tremendous blessing. I want to be a person who oozes gratitude. It's so easy to get cynical in this world. But a glance around is all it takes to see that we have so much to be thankful for. I'm hoping you find time today to glance around.

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.

Phantom Pain

I've been thinking a lot about "phantom pain" lately. It intrigues me. The Mayo clinic defines it this way: "Phantom pain is pain that feels like it's coming from a body part that's no longer there. Doctors once believed this post-amputation phenomenon was a psychological problem, but experts now recognize that these sensations originate in the spinal cord and brain."

If you think about it, your brain has been wired since birth. It's the message-center. Imagine how many messages your brain sends to your body parts on any given day, without you even THINKING about it. Truly, we are fearfully and wonderfully made.

I have sensation two inches out from my chest. Two inches out, there is nothing. Zippo. Nada. Now, we all know that something does not have to be present to cause pain, but seriously, this is WEIRD!

My Dad died 13 years ago. Prostate cancer cut him from my life when he was only 65 and I was 38. And yet, there are days when I honestly think, "Oh, Dad will love to hear that story!" And I almost head to the phone to call him. It's phantom pain! I was so used to sharing joys and stories and laughter with him...it was wired into me after 38 years of being his daughter.

My life has changed in big ways this year. That breast cancer and a mastectomy was a part of it all has given me much opportunity to consider symbolism. Cancer invaded me. It was found. It was dealt with. I am forever changed by it. Is that a bad thing? Believing as I do in a Good God, I am going to say NO. It is not a bad thing.

Phantom pain is a reminder. It reminds me of what was, and what is no longer. By God's grace, I will be a more compassionate, kinder person because of this reminder.