Day 70: A few more "bet you didn't knows" for mastectomy 101 class.
A mastectomy patient can't cross their arms. And let me tell you how very frustrting this is to a woman who has spent her entire life cold and in need of the warmth that comes with crossing one's arms. Also someone who prefers to sit with arms crossed despite the negative vibe it gives off as being "uninterested, stand offish, threathened". Nope, that's me just bitterly cold. I long for the comfort of crossing my arms for any extended period of time. Before, right forearm over left forarm, right hand resting comfortably in the crook of left elbow resulting in a happy go luck Sally. Now, same stance but very uncomfortable chest region inderneath and an awkward looking outcome since my arms can't lie over the region below. Hard to fully describe, but trust me it's awkward, and I long for the return of my comfort zone.
A mastectomy patient who has undergone implant reconstruction can not comfortably live where the temperatures fall below 70. I don't know how women of the artic can be a candidate for this reconstructive surgery option. I found out last week when the temperatures took a drastic and unexpected dive that this is an impossible combination. What happens when you walk outside in the cold? You shiver. Well how does shivering happen? Clinching of muscles. Where does new implant reside? Carefully tucked under the filleted pectoral muscle. Cold -> pectoral muscle clinch -> internal screams from patient. And when I say clinch, I mean lockdown, as in will not release under any circumstance. I, the absolute most cold intolerant person on the planet, wishes I had scheduled my recon surgery in the comforts of june to allow for full recovery in the exhausting heats of summer. I do not know how I will survive the dipping temperatures of late fall. Smiling face on the outside, desperate uncomfortable and uncontrollable clinching on the inside. Bad news bears. The silver lining, I am healing so I am hoping the winterized pain will lessen even more in upcoming weeks. In the meantime, don't be surprised if I am dressed like an out of place eskimo at our next encounter.
Mastectomy scars have come a long way in arm many decades. My breast of old was opened and scooped out via a carefully placed incision that was glued back together for safe keeping. Two weeks later, said incision was reopened, synthetic contents carefully replaced and packaged, and incision once again glued back together for recovery. Almost 2 months later, scars are fading into the background - considering what they have been through. 20 years ago, mastectomy scars were a sight to behold. Jagged, randomly placed, sitting in multiples, sutured into place leaving needle marks behind. Go ahead, do an image search. It will leave a lasting impression as it did me when I started researchign this procedure. Just like hair cuts and dye jobs (excuse me, color services), incision techniques and placement have improved by leaps and bounds. I imagine I should give credit to both surgeons who worked hard and strategically to make my scarring minimal for hopes of preserving my sanity. Job well done, Mr and Ms surgeon! I commend your handiwork and applaud God who had a hand in the matter as well. So grateful to have been chosen for this procedure in this decade.
Oct 12, 2012 - For the Record
And for the record: I've never felt more loved by the people around me as I have for the past 3 months. Thank you for impacting my life in such a positive way! My cup still runneth over.
Oct 12, 2012- Day # 65 - The Practical Saint
Oct 12: Yesterday was my 4 year wedding anniversary. Ron and I had made plans to go out to dinner after work, but he wouldn't tell me when or where just to meet him at home. I had a late afternoon meeting at work and I got out a little later than normal, so all the way home I am panicking that I am going to be late. Of course, every car in the state of North Carolina lies between me and home this evening. It was like a barn yard of animals trying to get to the trough at feeding time. No matter what road I took I crawled about an inch an hour. I kept calling Ron to tell him to add 10 mins to my anticipated arrival time. He kept saying no worries, I built it cushion time. After a grueling knuckle gripping commute and 50 minutes later, I was home. I pull into the garage and notice a sheet of paper taped to the door leading in from the garage.
In said instructions:
· Enter the house and go straight to the master bedroom suite
· In the bathroom you will see I have drawn a bubble bath for you. Take all the time you need.
· When you finish with your bath, use the walkie talkie on the side of the tub to let me know you are finished. You will receive further instructions so stay put until I tell you otherwise.
· Dinner will follow your bath in the McCollum dining room.
· Dress code: causal PJs
· Happy anniversary
So I do as I am told and go straight to the bathroom where I find candles lit, bubbles in the tub, fresh flowers on the counter, and plates of crackers and cheese to tie me over. About 30 minutes later, I emerge from the tub, dress in my PJs (which makes me super excited), and use the walkie talkie to let him know I was finished with task #1. I'm then instructed to open the cards I find on the counter.
Contents:
· Sweet anniversary card
· Craigslist advertisement of Ron selling his motorcycle!!!!! He placed an ad that very morning. (Super happy as I am terrified of him riding it. Super super terrified. By the way, it sold today.)
After a few more minutes I get the "ok" to head to the dining room. I walk into the dining room to find an amazing table setting complete with more fresh flowers and a little white boxed placed in the center or my plate. I open this to find a beautiful new ring. You know a woman loves some accessories. I'm beaming from ear to ear. In comes Ron with salads to start, followed by filet mignon, bacon wrapped shrimp, gourmet mac and cheese, roasted garlic asparagus, and fresh sour dough bread. Put on some background music and talk about our day. There's nothing I adore more than dinner and conversation. We are both foodies, and I particularly love intentional conversation. So we sat and talked for quite a good bit. Follow that up with warm fresh baked cherry pie! After being stuffed to the core, we watched a movie and I became the happy recipient of a foot massage. I am an absolute sap for foot massages. I'm sad to report I fell asleep close to 9 pm out of sheer exhaustion from my work day, but what a fabulous evening and a ton of brownie points for my husband. You can check out Facebook for picture of the items described above. Don't think he was the only one shelling out items and I should be flogged. I did purchase him a round of golf much to his delight.
I tell this story not to flaunt the evening but because it speaks volumes to the heart of my husband. I've always ragged him a bit because he tends to fall on the side of "practical" which often pushes "romance" right out the window. Practical is a trait I crave in a mate, so it serves us well in everyday activities, but practical in the case of love can often result in missed opportunities. So I absolutely adore when Ron puts practical out the window instead. This was such an occasion. And I really needed that.
The last few months have left me feeling anything but romantic. In fact, I have felt so very far from that but by my own doing. It's difficult to factor in almost anything normal in life much less romance when you are struggling with the self-issues and physical limitations that often follow mastectomy. Everything in your day becomes a to-do list of drains, bandages, walks, appointments, exercises, and so on. And the exhaustion is so very powerful. You get caught in the everyday rut of healing. As a result, mastectomy can be a fast track to boring and a just-get-through-your-day mentality and understandably so. Women (and their spouses) have so much up against them that they have to be extremely purposeful to maintain any sense of normalcy in their lives during this recovery. The odds are stacked against them at every turn. Somehow, Ron and I fared extremely well mainly due to the amazingness of Ron. But I would be amiss if I didn't elude to the absolute need of being purposeful in your relationships as your traverse this territory. Life is already trying to break you on any given day, throw in a mastectomy and you have the perfect recipe for relationship disaster. I praise God that Ron and I recognized this early on and was able to focus on looking out for each other emotionally. He put me first, and I put me first too! Smile. Actually, he put me first and I did everything I could to look out for both of us. I can't imagine tackling this journey without a solid marriage in tow. So much of this story has been focused on me and my struggles and triumphs, but boy an equally incredible story lies with the spouses behind the patient. I wish I could talk him into to posting about his journey in this blog, but writing anything longer than his signature just about throws him into convulsions. He just detests it. (And maybe that is why he chose engineering). It's not lost on me though how intense this whole event has been for him. The emotions of worrying did we make the right decision, did we think every through, sitting through 5 hours of surgery - twice, suffering through my inconsolable sobs, supporting me when nothing made sense to me, the long hours of caregiving, lack of sleep, continuing to work only to come home to more work here. The list goes on and on. And yet, he stood by it all and came through with flying colors. It most certainly is a testament to his God-centered life and his commitment to marriage. He's a saint. And that is why he is so easy to love. And why we are stronger on the other side for it.
It's been 4 years- such a short time in the span of marriages- but it's been a four year span of incredible. And because of our commitment to each other and those 4 years, this mastectomy became just another relationship building notch on our marriage story. Of note, in those 4 years, I've had 4 major surgeries - left knee, right knee, both boobs off, and both boobs back on. I told you he was a saint.
(By the way, I got permission to post this story although I am sure he would embarrassed beyond words if you mentioned it in person).
Oct 10, 2012 - Day # 63 - Safety of the tiny white screen
My thoughts are a little jumbled this week as I attempt to gracefully balance life as we all do. I've crossed the threshold of all consuming boob thoughts to now a hodge podge of work, home, friends, family, travels, and a little boob thrown in for balance. The impostors have morphed into more of a secondary thought mainly popping up like a surprised guest during the cleaning ritual, changing clothes, trying to fall asleep, and randomly placed moments in my work day when I reach for something that is too high or brush up against something and feel the unmistakable tinge of discomfort. I'm sure you have noticed this transition as well in my updates. It's most certainly reassuring to fall back into a more familiar pattern. This week has been a compilation of a less normal non-boob mix. I'm still navigating thoughts around a friend who lost her 18 month old twin son a few weeks ago. That pops into my head at the strangest of times. Then, thoughts around the wedding we attended this past weekend. Next, I may find myself pondering the birth of a baby into my close network of friends. It has been over a month, but I still marvel at the newness of parenthood and all that changes that come with the arrival of a newborn. Now as of a few days ago, I am sorting through the thoughts and emotions of the suicide of my coworker who somehow felt there was no suitable solution to the thoughts that plagued her each day. She was a brand new mom and one of the most bubbly people you would ever meet. All smiles. All happy go lucky on the exterior. Shock rocks our work community as always does when something like this happens. I'm burdened by what must have been her feelings of confusion and utter despair. Then I ask myself how many others like her sit around me on any given day, and I have no clue? What responsibility do I have in life to those around me? I will never have that all figured out, but I do know I need to focus my attention less on self and more often on the lives of those around me. What if one simple and kind word out of my mouth could positively alter the course for another that lies in unannounced desperation? "What if" thoughts are everywhere for all of us in any given day. Pondering.
And my thoughts now transition back to the adorable wedding this past weekend. I'd be lying if I didn't admit I was super apprehensive about this event. Of course there was excitement to see this couple "take the plunge" and commit to a God-centered marriage. But mixed in with that excitement for them was a trail of anxiety and hesitation around self. This is how petty and self focused I can be at times particularly in the last few months and therefore leading to my "what if" thoughts of above. As the day started to approach, my worry fell to this not so fashionable, full-coverage, ill-designed sports bra that needed to be incorporated into a dress that may or may not have a neckline to support it and may or may not even fit anymore. I put it off, I put it off, and I put it off some more until finally Friday evening arrives and I can put it off no more. (Rest assured, I found a suitable option). This in turn reveals to myself (as well as to you) that this new accomplishment of mastectomy and breast implants on my life's "I wasn't planning for" to-do list has made me a tad more vain. Or maybe vain isn't the correct term, and self conscious should be substituted in its place. Add to those self-conscious thoughts the apprehension of the questions that might arise from those at the wedding who knew of my most recent journey. I see the irony there. Here, I type a mile a minute about anything and everything that might come up in any given mastectomy day as an outpouring of information and advocacy, but I clam up like an oyster when asked about it in public. In person I resort back to my days of privacy while in private I feel free to be open and out there. The safety of the tiny white screen with the black cursor. It sits in silence and accepts my pecking without evaluation of content and intent. Maybe the feelings that crowd my thoughts when approached in public are nothing more than a reflection of my self consciousness like my struggle with choice of clothing. Well, turns out the wedding went off without a hitch, I had a dress to wear, and the conversation of me was little to none. Oh how we find ourselves worrying about the silliest of things.
Today, I had my weekly clinic appointment with Lead Plastic Surgeon. I'm so eager to make this long term relationship more of a short term engagement. I love his team and all, but I've grown bored with the weekly show and tell. It does in fact get very old very quickly - as in I was tired of it 10 minutes into my very first appointment back in June. At what point does one start feeling comfortable with the flashing of one's impostors. I dare say never and if I do I need a sanity check. I recall the same feelings of invasion back during my lymphoma treatment when at the tender self-finding age of 16, I was expected on a daily frequency to strip down to nakedness and lie on a table for a zap of radiation therapy to my chest and abdomen. Months of this lovely occurrence. How is that a normal day for a teenager? (Maybe more on that later.) Despite the strip down, the best news of the day came when show and tell was over and he said he thinks Spot is improving. "Healing! But not healed." Surgeon had promised me last time I saw him that Spot would be healed before this appointment today, and you can be confident that I reminded him of that, but alas Spot has his own calendar and agenda. Regardless I'm delighted, exuberant, spectacular, and satisfied. I get another week break and back to see him in two. Two more weeks of every day life without the complications of working a doctor's appointment into your day. I will take it and run like the wind!
My brother turns 40 this week. How exactly did I get here with siblings in their forties and myself knocking on that door? Oh so many thoughts there that could find their way to this tiny white screen. Maybe another day. (But hey, my boobs aren't 40! They are a ripe old age of 2 months!)
And my thoughts now transition back to the adorable wedding this past weekend. I'd be lying if I didn't admit I was super apprehensive about this event. Of course there was excitement to see this couple "take the plunge" and commit to a God-centered marriage. But mixed in with that excitement for them was a trail of anxiety and hesitation around self. This is how petty and self focused I can be at times particularly in the last few months and therefore leading to my "what if" thoughts of above. As the day started to approach, my worry fell to this not so fashionable, full-coverage, ill-designed sports bra that needed to be incorporated into a dress that may or may not have a neckline to support it and may or may not even fit anymore. I put it off, I put it off, and I put it off some more until finally Friday evening arrives and I can put it off no more. (Rest assured, I found a suitable option). This in turn reveals to myself (as well as to you) that this new accomplishment of mastectomy and breast implants on my life's "I wasn't planning for" to-do list has made me a tad more vain. Or maybe vain isn't the correct term, and self conscious should be substituted in its place. Add to those self-conscious thoughts the apprehension of the questions that might arise from those at the wedding who knew of my most recent journey. I see the irony there. Here, I type a mile a minute about anything and everything that might come up in any given mastectomy day as an outpouring of information and advocacy, but I clam up like an oyster when asked about it in public. In person I resort back to my days of privacy while in private I feel free to be open and out there. The safety of the tiny white screen with the black cursor. It sits in silence and accepts my pecking without evaluation of content and intent. Maybe the feelings that crowd my thoughts when approached in public are nothing more than a reflection of my self consciousness like my struggle with choice of clothing. Well, turns out the wedding went off without a hitch, I had a dress to wear, and the conversation of me was little to none. Oh how we find ourselves worrying about the silliest of things.
Today, I had my weekly clinic appointment with Lead Plastic Surgeon. I'm so eager to make this long term relationship more of a short term engagement. I love his team and all, but I've grown bored with the weekly show and tell. It does in fact get very old very quickly - as in I was tired of it 10 minutes into my very first appointment back in June. At what point does one start feeling comfortable with the flashing of one's impostors. I dare say never and if I do I need a sanity check. I recall the same feelings of invasion back during my lymphoma treatment when at the tender self-finding age of 16, I was expected on a daily frequency to strip down to nakedness and lie on a table for a zap of radiation therapy to my chest and abdomen. Months of this lovely occurrence. How is that a normal day for a teenager? (Maybe more on that later.) Despite the strip down, the best news of the day came when show and tell was over and he said he thinks Spot is improving. "Healing! But not healed." Surgeon had promised me last time I saw him that Spot would be healed before this appointment today, and you can be confident that I reminded him of that, but alas Spot has his own calendar and agenda. Regardless I'm delighted, exuberant, spectacular, and satisfied. I get another week break and back to see him in two. Two more weeks of every day life without the complications of working a doctor's appointment into your day. I will take it and run like the wind!
My brother turns 40 this week. How exactly did I get here with siblings in their forties and myself knocking on that door? Oh so many thoughts there that could find their way to this tiny white screen. Maybe another day. (But hey, my boobs aren't 40! They are a ripe old age of 2 months!)
Oct 8, 2012 - Day # 61 - 200 square feet of space
Day 61: I’ve decided that everything in this entire journey is relative. What I may have experienced on Day # 17, Susie Q down the street status post mastectomy also day #17 has an entirely different day, vantage point, and impact. To each their own journey. At my last clinic visit, as I waiting to be called back, in walks a lady presumably about my age and falling right below her zip up jacket you see the unmistakable snake of drain tubes. Well, let me just say this woman in no way resembled me and my days of drains. She waltzed in with a big smile, unaccompanied by supervision, walking just as normally as the next person. I had been stiff, awkward, a little pouty, and nothing like this ray of sunshine I saw before me. Immediately, I wondered if I had over-reacted to my drains. Were they really all that bad? Had I over dramatized? This, I pondered for quite some time and caught myself people watching the full hour wondering about their story and trying to relate what I was seeing to my own experience on some level. There were all different kinds of faces. Some flat and absent of emotion. Discomfort. Bewilderment. Contentment. Contorted with laughter. Some chipper and energetic as the woman who had just walked in with drains in tow. Head scarves decorated the scalps of the less fortunate than I. I was so intrigued by the assortment of women (and men) in the waiting room. What a collection of stories that must lie in these 200 square feet of space. Yet, we all sat silently in our own cocoons.
I’ve never known anyone on a mastectomy journey. Sure, I’ve known people on the periphery and even mentioned them on my “wall of fame” in previous posts, but I’ve never gone through the depths of mastectomy with anyone. I didn’t have a single expectation or understanding about this journey on the front side. I went into it about as blindly as one possibly could go. I learned as I went. And in hindsight, I think that was absolutely naïve and absurd on my part. I didn’t know if what I was experiencing was “normal” or not. Was I completely off the wall? Could I have done something different to speed or alter recovery? I spent a majority of my time worrying about where I was on this charted course and being slapped in the face by every single new blind day. It was scary trying to navigate in the absolute dark. What was I thinking? Why didn’t I reach out to women who had traveled this course before? Maybe, knowing I didn’t have breast cancer made finding someone else in a similar boat a little tougher. I knew I would be faced with different emotions and outcomes than a woman carrying that diagnosis. But I could have searched harder. I mistakenly (or maybe God planned it that way) did this blindly, and I now feel the absolute necessity of needing to get my story out there for that other woman starting to chart the same course.
I do firmly believe that only about 10% (random number) of life is meant to impact you and you alone. Yet we so cautiously and carefully control what we allow people to see on the outside of our neatly landscaped lives. On any given day each of our lives are an unorganized field of engulfing weeds. We all have weeds, yet we only display the prized tulips. Shameful! Watered down! Unsalted! I was extremely close to falling in to that trap of self-censorship. Praise God that he removed my pride and prompted me to be open about this mastectomy. Believe me; it went against every fiber of my being to send that very first face book update 3 days afterwards. Even now, I glance back of some of my writings and wonder what in the world allowed me to speak so openly about such a sensitive topic in first person.
There are moments I wonder if I will ever regret someone knowing the painful moments of that first shower. The humility of vest changes. The uncontrollable sobbing. The exhausting acknowledgement of lack of control. The craziness of the woman of August. There are moments when I see one of you in person and immediately feel the vulnerability of you knowing the most personal moments of my life, the scenes of concave chests and now chest wounds, and I not even knowing where you work or the name of your spouse. But at every point of life I have to walk what I believe. Trusting God with my life translates to trusting God with my story and what plans he may or may not have for it. I felt to my core that you were to know my story. Every nook and cranny even if that goes against my extremely private make up. For whatever purpose and in disregard to how it may be received. I couldn’t be more surprised by the intensity of that conviction. So I listened and threw it all out there despite momentary relapses of wanting to climb under a rock. And you know what? Amazing things came of that transparency. Support from people I never dreamed of. Encouragement to get through the next day. A feeling of being in God’s will with each passing moment. Empowerment by the flow of words onto a page and the dialogues between old and new friends that would result. Seeing God change a moment in your life because of a transparent moment in mine. It truly does make every pesky drain incision worth the discomfort. And it makes me crave knowing the story of each woman in the waiting room in return.
Oct 3, 2012 - Day # 56 -Things I took for granted
Day 56: Mom gently reminded me that people are asking where my posts are. I guess working all day and coming home exhausted has left my computer screen neglected. Also, there isn't as much change from day to day this far out, so I didn't know how much people wanted to keep up with. But the people have spoken so here you go.
Last night, I slept on my side. Now to the majority of you you are thinking "what's the big deal"? Well, let me tell you it is very much a big deal to a woman status post reconstruction. You've read the endeavors of my nightly rituals of late with 14 pillows, numerous rearrangements, grunts of discomfort, and restriction to back sleeping only. Well 2 weeks ago, Lead Plastic surgeon lifted those restrictions and it has taken me 2 full weeks to be able to actually take him up on his oh so kind offer of resumption of side sleeping. It's been way too painful to put prolonged pressure on either side with the drain incisions being right below the arm pit, and impostors glued in place under stretched pectoral muscles and synthetic slings. Rolling on the left or right side could send one into a fit of anguish and choice words only to 1.5 seconds later find yourself on your back once again (if you ever made it off the back to being with). Two nights ago, I tested the side again and would make it about 15 mins before having to flip back over. Last night, at least an hour on each side. You will recall historically I am a side sleeper so this is a nice triumph to me. One more to-do list task checked off as successful and a much happier version of me with a better night of sleep. I'll add that the ultra firm (sleep on a slab of concrete) mattress may be due some credit as well, at least for improved back pain that has been plaguing me since the mastectomy surgery. Not so sure Ron is happy with the insertion of concrete into our slumber, but we are still testing that out. I have to remind him he was only invested financially in the mattress purchased and said "pick whatever you want. I can sleep anywhere." There may be an egg crate foam purchase in our very near future.
I know I took six weeks off of work. I know I was confined to extremely limited activity during my house arrest. I know I slept an enormous amount of time during that break. BUT I KNOW I need a vacation to get away and actually have some leisure time with Ron that I might actually enjoy. So we are searching for something within driving distance we can feasibly go to without forking out an arm and leg leaving Friday after work and coming home Sunday evening. Our anniversary is October 11, and we always travel by plane to some exotic location for our anniversary. So I am really bummed we can't do that this year. 1) I have no time off. And I mean none. 2) The surgery hit our pocket books. 3) The mastectomy recovery took way longer than I had led myself to belief up front. I am wanting to find something close by we can go to get away and enjoy some Ron/Sally time. I owe it to Ron after all the things he has had to do that "were not in the initial marriage contract". Clean wounds, share not so fun showers, endure emotional outbursts, bathroom time, appointment after appointment. emptying drains, change bandages, and the list goes on. I've decided I deserve time away too for good measure. We are kicking around Williamsburg. Have you been? Did you love it? What must we absolutely not miss? Let's hope we figure something out. I want to have that to look forward to in coming weeks. I definitely took my 8 weeks of vacation a year for granted now that they are all gone.
The Spot. It's still there. I think it has a fondness for me that I'm sad to report is not shared in return. In fact, I detest him. I tell him daily yet he still clings to the hope of a lasting meaningful relationship. He just can't take the hints! I'm thinking about sending it to counseling for dependency traits. Despite my careful and routine attempts to bandage and clean him out of existence he still looks the same to me that is has for the past week. I am refusing to go to the Surgeon's office today for my sanity. It's been 3 weeks that we know of. And this thing did not pop up over night so I am guessing we have had this little pesky wound for 4 weeks now. But it isn't worse according to the surgeon so I made and executive decision and am taking this week off. A week with no Doctor's appointments! Sign me up! Maybe a return of dignity is in my future when all is said and done.
So we bought pumpkins. Did I already mention that? I was like a kid in the candy store. We went to the farmer's market Sunday afternoon and you would have thought Ron was the parent and I the kid. I kept going from this one to that one getting Ron to pick them up for me to survey. That one is too tall and skinny. That one too flat. That one is adorable with it's quirky stem. I've already admitted I have some commitment issues when it comes to picking stuff out (flashback to the mattress selection process and you should see me with a restaurant menu). In the end, we got 3 to carve and 2 for decor in the kitchen. Thought I would have to talk Ron into that part but he was all on board. Have you seen the Apple Gourd Pumpkins? I just adore those. And it goes perfectly on my counter. We haven't been able to carve any yet. And come to think of it, I don't think I will be able to carve for a few more weeks. I struggle to even cut up a potato into wedges for roasting for dinner right now. I didn't realize how much you use your pectoral muscle with slicing and chopping. Let's just say me and the knife are struggling together. He just wants to do his job. I just want to be successful at chopping something. I can't imagine that gutting out a pumpkin and carving out a face are going to go over so well with said pectoral muscle. He rules my movements right now, and I miss my old willy nilly freedom to do just about anything I wanted. Maybe in a few weeks. So for now, they sit as harvest decor and will later hopefully morph into lanterns of fright.
One funny thing that may be too much information for a few of you....as I was walking on the treadmill this week- yes, I decided to give it a whirl again - I noticed that while the majority of my body moves around with each step, these impostors stay firmly (pun intended) in place. I couldn't help but cackle. Just another thing I didn't know before this mastectomy journey and the list is getting long. Where was the brochure that talked about all of this stuff? You know what else? While some parts of the impostors are numb which by the way is way, way, way weird, other parts have heightened sensitivity. I've mentioned that some in the past, but it still catches me off guard. I totally know how one woman put her impostor in a bowl of soup and had no idea. I had a similar experience with a steaming pot last week. I didn't know I was leaning over the steam until my face started hurting. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for these things because the concave chest didn't work out so well for me and they do the trick, but that doesn't mean I don't notice the weirdness of it all.
Things I took for granted. What else do you want to know? Submit your questions. = )
Last night, I slept on my side. Now to the majority of you you are thinking "what's the big deal"? Well, let me tell you it is very much a big deal to a woman status post reconstruction. You've read the endeavors of my nightly rituals of late with 14 pillows, numerous rearrangements, grunts of discomfort, and restriction to back sleeping only. Well 2 weeks ago, Lead Plastic surgeon lifted those restrictions and it has taken me 2 full weeks to be able to actually take him up on his oh so kind offer of resumption of side sleeping. It's been way too painful to put prolonged pressure on either side with the drain incisions being right below the arm pit, and impostors glued in place under stretched pectoral muscles and synthetic slings. Rolling on the left or right side could send one into a fit of anguish and choice words only to 1.5 seconds later find yourself on your back once again (if you ever made it off the back to being with). Two nights ago, I tested the side again and would make it about 15 mins before having to flip back over. Last night, at least an hour on each side. You will recall historically I am a side sleeper so this is a nice triumph to me. One more to-do list task checked off as successful and a much happier version of me with a better night of sleep. I'll add that the ultra firm (sleep on a slab of concrete) mattress may be due some credit as well, at least for improved back pain that has been plaguing me since the mastectomy surgery. Not so sure Ron is happy with the insertion of concrete into our slumber, but we are still testing that out. I have to remind him he was only invested financially in the mattress purchased and said "pick whatever you want. I can sleep anywhere." There may be an egg crate foam purchase in our very near future.
I know I took six weeks off of work. I know I was confined to extremely limited activity during my house arrest. I know I slept an enormous amount of time during that break. BUT I KNOW I need a vacation to get away and actually have some leisure time with Ron that I might actually enjoy. So we are searching for something within driving distance we can feasibly go to without forking out an arm and leg leaving Friday after work and coming home Sunday evening. Our anniversary is October 11, and we always travel by plane to some exotic location for our anniversary. So I am really bummed we can't do that this year. 1) I have no time off. And I mean none. 2) The surgery hit our pocket books. 3) The mastectomy recovery took way longer than I had led myself to belief up front. I am wanting to find something close by we can go to get away and enjoy some Ron/Sally time. I owe it to Ron after all the things he has had to do that "were not in the initial marriage contract". Clean wounds, share not so fun showers, endure emotional outbursts, bathroom time, appointment after appointment. emptying drains, change bandages, and the list goes on. I've decided I deserve time away too for good measure. We are kicking around Williamsburg. Have you been? Did you love it? What must we absolutely not miss? Let's hope we figure something out. I want to have that to look forward to in coming weeks. I definitely took my 8 weeks of vacation a year for granted now that they are all gone.
The Spot. It's still there. I think it has a fondness for me that I'm sad to report is not shared in return. In fact, I detest him. I tell him daily yet he still clings to the hope of a lasting meaningful relationship. He just can't take the hints! I'm thinking about sending it to counseling for dependency traits. Despite my careful and routine attempts to bandage and clean him out of existence he still looks the same to me that is has for the past week. I am refusing to go to the Surgeon's office today for my sanity. It's been 3 weeks that we know of. And this thing did not pop up over night so I am guessing we have had this little pesky wound for 4 weeks now. But it isn't worse according to the surgeon so I made and executive decision and am taking this week off. A week with no Doctor's appointments! Sign me up! Maybe a return of dignity is in my future when all is said and done.
So we bought pumpkins. Did I already mention that? I was like a kid in the candy store. We went to the farmer's market Sunday afternoon and you would have thought Ron was the parent and I the kid. I kept going from this one to that one getting Ron to pick them up for me to survey. That one is too tall and skinny. That one too flat. That one is adorable with it's quirky stem. I've already admitted I have some commitment issues when it comes to picking stuff out (flashback to the mattress selection process and you should see me with a restaurant menu). In the end, we got 3 to carve and 2 for decor in the kitchen. Thought I would have to talk Ron into that part but he was all on board. Have you seen the Apple Gourd Pumpkins? I just adore those. And it goes perfectly on my counter. We haven't been able to carve any yet. And come to think of it, I don't think I will be able to carve for a few more weeks. I struggle to even cut up a potato into wedges for roasting for dinner right now. I didn't realize how much you use your pectoral muscle with slicing and chopping. Let's just say me and the knife are struggling together. He just wants to do his job. I just want to be successful at chopping something. I can't imagine that gutting out a pumpkin and carving out a face are going to go over so well with said pectoral muscle. He rules my movements right now, and I miss my old willy nilly freedom to do just about anything I wanted. Maybe in a few weeks. So for now, they sit as harvest decor and will later hopefully morph into lanterns of fright.
One funny thing that may be too much information for a few of you....as I was walking on the treadmill this week- yes, I decided to give it a whirl again - I noticed that while the majority of my body moves around with each step, these impostors stay firmly (pun intended) in place. I couldn't help but cackle. Just another thing I didn't know before this mastectomy journey and the list is getting long. Where was the brochure that talked about all of this stuff? You know what else? While some parts of the impostors are numb which by the way is way, way, way weird, other parts have heightened sensitivity. I've mentioned that some in the past, but it still catches me off guard. I totally know how one woman put her impostor in a bowl of soup and had no idea. I had a similar experience with a steaming pot last week. I didn't know I was leaning over the steam until my face started hurting. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for these things because the concave chest didn't work out so well for me and they do the trick, but that doesn't mean I don't notice the weirdness of it all.
Things I took for granted. What else do you want to know? Submit your questions. = )
Sept 29, 2012 - Day # 52 - Some changes in plans
Day 52: Well, we've already had some changes in plans in just over 12 hours.
1) So did everyone but me know that Chinese food no longer comes in cute little petite white folding top boxes? Yes, I admit it has been years since I have done Chinese take out, but imagine my let down when I open the bag to find aluminum pans with clear plastic lids. Has the world gone mad? Also, we forgot to pick up the chop sticks, sauces, and fortune cookies while we were there. Who does that? The save of the night was Ron had ordered a side of white rice and out of the bag came the sole cute petite white folding top box of the evening. I feel like I should shellac it and put it on the hallway shelf. What a let down, but seriously, who would get worked up about the lack of little white boxes. We did throw on the PJs and watch a movie - and as crazy it is, I have no idea what we watched. I can't even recall the plot at this very second as I type- but we did not litter the table with white boxes.
2) Ron and I have also been self stripped of our Wound Monitor assignment. Now get this, last week two days before our appt, we both sat in agreement that the wound was looking angry and we were afraid what the surgeon would say (see post titled "in agreement"). I bebopped into the appointment on Wednesday and he was thinking it looked at least stable if not a tad better. Healthy skin underneath, come back in two weeks. Hallelujah. Well last night, when we went to do our nightly cleaning ritual Ron noticed the would appeared a bit larger and definitely deeper. Pull out trusty little makeup mirror and take a peak myself. "Oh no, Ron. It does look worse." So we snap a picture of the spot itself and emailed it to Lead Plastic Surgeon (and my mom because she is keeping close tabs, and my friend Amy who happens to like pictures of wounds??? Each to their own).
Mom emails me back immediately: "I've got extra prayers coming. So glad you sent this picture to the surgeon". Obviously she thought it was worse.
Amy emails me back: " Wow" "Ouch" and some other stuff. So she didn't like the look of it either.
Lead Plastic Surgeon: "Looks healthy to me! See ya in two weeks." ...and a few more thoughts thrown in as well about granulation tissue expanding and contracting.
Ron and I busted out laughing and decided we have no business assessing this wound anymore after two failed attempts. Clean, bandage, cover, go on with your day. Note to reader: I see wounds all the time in my every day job, and I feel pretty good at knowing when one looks angry. I think I have determined Lead Plastic Surgeon is ok with anything at all as long as it doesn't look infected.
My email response Back to Surgeon: "You've got a warped sense of healthy..... This sucker hurts and I want it gone."
We will see if he is still talking to me next week. Smile. I think he is so used to looking at all the muck of what lies underneath skin during surgery that his perspective of a little ole wound is simple. Well, he isn't the one with it laying under a bra elastic band getting crushed, or enduring the pain of the cleaning, or marveling at the ooze when you take the bandage off, or "eeeking" when you reach for something and the sides pull open. Well, so be it. No more would assessment for the McCollums. Watch and wait.
3) The plan was for me to wake up this morning for me to work on my work project upgrade while Ron runs my car in to get a new muffler put on (it's starting to rust from spending so much time in the northern snow). Easy cheesy, drop off, muffler in and out, back home to hang out and cook lasagna. Ron goes out to the garage to start that task....crank, crank, crank....nada! The battery is dead. We had been noticing a sluggish crank this past week so we already had it on the to-do list to pick up a new battery after the muffler appointment today. So instead of getting a new muffler today, he spent about 2 hours trying to get the old battery out and the new battery in. It isn't an easy feat in these newer model cars where the battery is tucked into a space only about 3 mm bigger than the actual size of the battery and all kinds of stuff in the way that has to be taken off and put back in. What a chore! And what a mood that put us in. (I know, first world problem.) But still.
4) Rain! Rain! Rain! All weekend rain! Now how exactly are we supposed to go for a fun filled afternoon(albeit short because of church and bible study) tomorrow at the pumpkin patch then back here for lantern carving? Guess we should have consulted the radar before we got excited about that plan.You know I love me some rain, but not on the one weekend we wanted to something out of our ordinary and be out in the field of pumpkins! Postpone, postpone, postpone.
Weekend of PJs and house cleaning maybe? Oh, that's awful to read in print. At least the potluck is still on and I get to see my old bible study group. That's enough heart warming to go around I imagine. Box Schmox, Wound Schmound. Muffler Schmuffler. Pumpkin schmumpkin.
The good news- there's plenty of time for more excitement (and sleep) in the weekend. And evidently the wound looks "healthy".
1) So did everyone but me know that Chinese food no longer comes in cute little petite white folding top boxes? Yes, I admit it has been years since I have done Chinese take out, but imagine my let down when I open the bag to find aluminum pans with clear plastic lids. Has the world gone mad? Also, we forgot to pick up the chop sticks, sauces, and fortune cookies while we were there. Who does that? The save of the night was Ron had ordered a side of white rice and out of the bag came the sole cute petite white folding top box of the evening. I feel like I should shellac it and put it on the hallway shelf. What a let down, but seriously, who would get worked up about the lack of little white boxes. We did throw on the PJs and watch a movie - and as crazy it is, I have no idea what we watched. I can't even recall the plot at this very second as I type- but we did not litter the table with white boxes.
2) Ron and I have also been self stripped of our Wound Monitor assignment. Now get this, last week two days before our appt, we both sat in agreement that the wound was looking angry and we were afraid what the surgeon would say (see post titled "in agreement"). I bebopped into the appointment on Wednesday and he was thinking it looked at least stable if not a tad better. Healthy skin underneath, come back in two weeks. Hallelujah. Well last night, when we went to do our nightly cleaning ritual Ron noticed the would appeared a bit larger and definitely deeper. Pull out trusty little makeup mirror and take a peak myself. "Oh no, Ron. It does look worse." So we snap a picture of the spot itself and emailed it to Lead Plastic Surgeon (and my mom because she is keeping close tabs, and my friend Amy who happens to like pictures of wounds??? Each to their own).
Mom emails me back immediately: "I've got extra prayers coming. So glad you sent this picture to the surgeon". Obviously she thought it was worse.
Amy emails me back: " Wow" "Ouch" and some other stuff. So she didn't like the look of it either.
Lead Plastic Surgeon: "Looks healthy to me! See ya in two weeks." ...and a few more thoughts thrown in as well about granulation tissue expanding and contracting.
Ron and I busted out laughing and decided we have no business assessing this wound anymore after two failed attempts. Clean, bandage, cover, go on with your day. Note to reader: I see wounds all the time in my every day job, and I feel pretty good at knowing when one looks angry. I think I have determined Lead Plastic Surgeon is ok with anything at all as long as it doesn't look infected.
My email response Back to Surgeon: "You've got a warped sense of healthy..... This sucker hurts and I want it gone."
We will see if he is still talking to me next week. Smile. I think he is so used to looking at all the muck of what lies underneath skin during surgery that his perspective of a little ole wound is simple. Well, he isn't the one with it laying under a bra elastic band getting crushed, or enduring the pain of the cleaning, or marveling at the ooze when you take the bandage off, or "eeeking" when you reach for something and the sides pull open. Well, so be it. No more would assessment for the McCollums. Watch and wait.
3) The plan was for me to wake up this morning for me to work on my work project upgrade while Ron runs my car in to get a new muffler put on (it's starting to rust from spending so much time in the northern snow). Easy cheesy, drop off, muffler in and out, back home to hang out and cook lasagna. Ron goes out to the garage to start that task....crank, crank, crank....nada! The battery is dead. We had been noticing a sluggish crank this past week so we already had it on the to-do list to pick up a new battery after the muffler appointment today. So instead of getting a new muffler today, he spent about 2 hours trying to get the old battery out and the new battery in. It isn't an easy feat in these newer model cars where the battery is tucked into a space only about 3 mm bigger than the actual size of the battery and all kinds of stuff in the way that has to be taken off and put back in. What a chore! And what a mood that put us in. (I know, first world problem.) But still.
4) Rain! Rain! Rain! All weekend rain! Now how exactly are we supposed to go for a fun filled afternoon(albeit short because of church and bible study) tomorrow at the pumpkin patch then back here for lantern carving? Guess we should have consulted the radar before we got excited about that plan.You know I love me some rain, but not on the one weekend we wanted to something out of our ordinary and be out in the field of pumpkins! Postpone, postpone, postpone.
Weekend of PJs and house cleaning maybe? Oh, that's awful to read in print. At least the potluck is still on and I get to see my old bible study group. That's enough heart warming to go around I imagine. Box Schmox, Wound Schmound. Muffler Schmuffler. Pumpkin schmumpkin.
The good news- there's plenty of time for more excitement (and sleep) in the weekend. And evidently the wound looks "healthy".
Sept 28, 2012 - Day # 51 - Raise the chop stick and plunge in the sauce
Day 51: I MADE IT! It is Friday! I am all in one piece. No worse for wear and tear (mostly) and not only is it Friday, it was one of the most productive days I have in quite some time! I’m probably over excited about that. Most of my team was out of the office today so I piled myself in my desk space, threw off the shoes, put on the head phones and marked check after check after check on the to-do list. I really do think I tackled more in that 9 hours than I have in the last week as a whole. I love the feeling of accomplished. And because I was in my own world and not being pulled in 100 directions with meetings and such, I was peaceful. Job well done, God. Top it off with a spectacular sighting on my way home from work. This enormous mutt hanging not out the window of his owner’s car, but out the SUNROOF! Is there anything better than that? That’s the life. A dog that makes the most of his opportunities, throws caution to the wind, and goes for the big prize. A panoramic view of just about anything! I was itching to get my hands into his fur. How can a grin not flood my face! You all know I love me a big dog gallivanting about as if he hasn’t a care in the world.
And to add to my productive Friday reward, Ron emailed me earlier today to see if I wanted to go to the pumpkin patch, pick out pumpkins, and make jack-o-lanterns this weekend. First, let me say I was floored as Ron isn’t really a make jack-o-lanterns kind of guy. Second, let me say I am super silly over the top excited! I imagine I am far from the Rembrandts or Monet’s of lantern design or carve (currently, I am one of the clumsiest people you will ever meet. Insert knife slip, loss of fingers and yet another plastic surgery visit), nor can I see me really even knowing what to do with it. Most likely the result will be Picasso style with a nose on top of the head and an ear down in the belly, but gosh darn it I will be carving some lanterns all the same. Really, of all the things he could have asked me I never would have guess this. I love when he catches me off guard. So there is my Sunday. Sleep in, group bible study, date afternoon with the boy, and pumpkin picking I shall go! If you are super nice, I just might post some pictures of the delightful (or maybe frightful) outcome.
Want to know what else lies in store for me this weekend? Huh, do ya? Some very much needed sleep. A conference call on Saturday (I know, on a Saturday!) followed by a potluck dinner with some old friends Saturday night. I, well most likely we because of the impostor limitations, will be putting on the chef hat and whipping up some smack your momma delicious lasagna. Ron may be biased but he says I make some of the best lasagna he has every tantalized his taste buds with. Don’t forget the pumpkin picking on Sunday. And tonight…little white boxes of Chinese takeout!!!! Really, I know most people do not find excitement in that, but I actually adore seeing scenes in a movie where the table is littered with petite little cubes of white flip top boxes. It’s truly a sign of a good night with friends, watching a movie in your PJs and a person with difficulty making menu decisions (Otherwise they would just have one box). I truly relate very nicely to all three of those things. So Ron and I will pull out the most comfy PJs we own, thrown in a flick, and pull out the chop sticks. For the record, I also like the same scene with pizza boxes for most of the same reason. I feel a bit younger with opening a flip box.
Hope got me through the hectic of the week and now I get to recoup the mind, body, and soul for a weekend. I welcome it. I embrace it. And I shall celebrate it with a raise of the chop stick and a plunge in the soy sauce. Note to self: must keep boob out of the hot and sour soup bowl. (see previous post)
Sept 27, 2012 - Day # 50 - Caution, merging traffic
Day 50: Recall how I was all worried about going back to work? Well, now I'm floundering through being back. I'm attempting to gracefully incorporate fatigue into leadership, wound-weary into deadlines, discomfort into decision making, and all around over it into living as a child of God. While I am embracing the normal routine and the appreciation of my old life coming back, I'm finding my old life now becoming a messy jumbled up intersection with that of my new. Balancing that merge is exhausting. I imagine it will soon be like an "x" shape, as the mastectomy life slows down more of the old life becomes visible and manageable again. But in this point of intersection and merging waiting for that to happen has me all bumfuzzled and teetering through any given day. It's like I don't know how to do any of it well, but rather skimping by on grace and true effort. Then, there are all of these thoughts and emotions I don't know how to communicate to those wanting to help me re-enter. I fear I leave Ron confused, coworkers unaware, and friends on the periphery. I go to work. I come home. I find a moment to feel frustrated and then I crash. I get up to do it again, desperately beckoning Friday to get here so that I have two days to recharge through some elements of sleep, activities of the norm, and a little excitement thrown in to remind myself life isn't about the house arrest of days gone by. But in ways, I feel like life around me is out running me. I am always about 4 steps behind and being aware of that propels me into well intended attempts to catch up. And the word attempts sums up the lack of success. I really needed to ease back in. Instead, I jumped right off the end of the dock (out of necessity) with cement shoes on. Some moments feel manageable. A good decision made, an outcome worth celebrating. Other moments, everything I described above.
Yesterday, I worked my way back to the treadmill since the surgeon cleared me to resume activities. It was a pitiful sight for anyone who has ever walked even a yard. 2-2.5mph huffing and puffy (I did at least have it on the incline setting), with many stops between I made it 40 minutes. Drenched, heavy breathing, puddle of skin. Today, I climb back up. 2 mph, 15 mins, < 1 mile done. Can't even get down on the floor to get my shoes off for fear I won't get back up. Frustration. Do you recall my instant gratification personality setting? That just isn't working in my favor right now.
I want to snap my fingers and be back to "normal". I want to last long enough after a work day to go out to dinner. I want to make it through a date night with my husband. Can I survive a night out with the girls? Three miles on the tredmill. A good dose of motivation with enough umph to follow through. Maybe I am supposed to bounce back slowly. Maybe all mastectomy patients struggle with re-entry. Maybe I am the only person that doesn't bounce back immediately? I simply want to be a step further than I am. Then, I feel guilty that I am not.
See, it's all one big bowl of mixed up vegetable soup. The great news is the concept of the mastectomy no longer bothers me. I 100% made the right decision and it finally sits well with my soul. Now, I'm simply struggling through the re-emergence of normal life after having gone through something not so normal. And I just don't have the physical stamina and well-being yet to match the demands of life. Then comes the dissappointment when I'm too tired to cook dinner as I always have for my family. The frustration of not helping out with life's chores. The failure of the tredmill. The inability to keep the fast deadline driven pace of a project while balancing the demands of two jobs that both feel 100% right now. And then there are moments of laughter, conversations with people around me, encouragement in the mail (card #75 this week thanks to my friend Mary), Ron hanging in there.
I'm like a sponge pulling in everything of God's provision. His plan far exceeds mine, this I know. I've always trusted that. But for some reason that provision and faith isn't taking out the fatigue, wound-weary, and discomfort that often mingles with expectations.
But I'm hopeful. And maybe that is all that matters in moments like these. I hear Hope changes everything, and I happen to agree. Tomorrow, I will be Jolly and positive. It's how I do life. Right now, simply aware of hope.
Yesterday, I worked my way back to the treadmill since the surgeon cleared me to resume activities. It was a pitiful sight for anyone who has ever walked even a yard. 2-2.5mph huffing and puffy (I did at least have it on the incline setting), with many stops between I made it 40 minutes. Drenched, heavy breathing, puddle of skin. Today, I climb back up. 2 mph, 15 mins, < 1 mile done. Can't even get down on the floor to get my shoes off for fear I won't get back up. Frustration. Do you recall my instant gratification personality setting? That just isn't working in my favor right now.
I want to snap my fingers and be back to "normal". I want to last long enough after a work day to go out to dinner. I want to make it through a date night with my husband. Can I survive a night out with the girls? Three miles on the tredmill. A good dose of motivation with enough umph to follow through. Maybe I am supposed to bounce back slowly. Maybe all mastectomy patients struggle with re-entry. Maybe I am the only person that doesn't bounce back immediately? I simply want to be a step further than I am. Then, I feel guilty that I am not.
See, it's all one big bowl of mixed up vegetable soup. The great news is the concept of the mastectomy no longer bothers me. I 100% made the right decision and it finally sits well with my soul. Now, I'm simply struggling through the re-emergence of normal life after having gone through something not so normal. And I just don't have the physical stamina and well-being yet to match the demands of life. Then comes the dissappointment when I'm too tired to cook dinner as I always have for my family. The frustration of not helping out with life's chores. The failure of the tredmill. The inability to keep the fast deadline driven pace of a project while balancing the demands of two jobs that both feel 100% right now. And then there are moments of laughter, conversations with people around me, encouragement in the mail (card #75 this week thanks to my friend Mary), Ron hanging in there.
I'm like a sponge pulling in everything of God's provision. His plan far exceeds mine, this I know. I've always trusted that. But for some reason that provision and faith isn't taking out the fatigue, wound-weary, and discomfort that often mingles with expectations.
But I'm hopeful. And maybe that is all that matters in moments like these. I hear Hope changes everything, and I happen to agree. Tomorrow, I will be Jolly and positive. It's how I do life. Right now, simply aware of hope.
Sept 26, 2012 - Day # 49 - Can't I take a toy truck instead?
Day 49: It must be my day today. Not only did I get a new mattress delivered to my house, I got what I am daring to call good news from Lead Plastic Surgeon. With a smile induced twinkle in his eye, "Sally, it's not worse, it may possibly be a little better!" Even I could see the relief on his face and the four other people he brought in the room for show and tell. I much prefer a barbie or toy truck to take to such events, but all I had were two boobs for the show. Evidently, I've been a teaching point for his resident and fellow and nurse, so they all purchased a ticket and came for the show. I really should get some money from that, don't you think? He feels like at the very least the spot has plateaued and very possibly a tad better, In his mind, because it isn't worse that means better and that put some spunk in both of our steps. I will take it, put a feather in my hat, and go on my merry way! Sort of...I'm certainly not out of the woods, but there is a clearing on the map and surely with all of this prayer coverage I will be basking in the sun soon! He is really hopeful that last week was my low point.
Where does that leave me? I'm so glad you asked. More of the same. Wet to dry dressings, but he did lift some of the arm restrictions (which I celebrated by hopping on the tred mill to burn off some of this stress from last week). He did comment on the amount of lingering swelling for both impostors and even had the nerve to ask me if I had noticed that. How in the world could I not have noticed that?!?! Anyway, it is what it is, and I get to decide if I go back to see him next Wednesday, as in if it worsens I go. Otherwise, I see him no matter what in two weeks for yet another show and tell. This time, I'm taking a stuffed Tigger.
Same, maybe a smidge better. Call me content.
Where does that leave me? I'm so glad you asked. More of the same. Wet to dry dressings, but he did lift some of the arm restrictions (which I celebrated by hopping on the tred mill to burn off some of this stress from last week). He did comment on the amount of lingering swelling for both impostors and even had the nerve to ask me if I had noticed that. How in the world could I not have noticed that?!?! Anyway, it is what it is, and I get to decide if I go back to see him next Wednesday, as in if it worsens I go. Otherwise, I see him no matter what in two weeks for yet another show and tell. This time, I'm taking a stuffed Tigger.
Same, maybe a smidge better. Call me content.
Sept 24, 2012 - Day # 47 - In agreement
Day 47: We conquered another wound cleaning tonight. Unfortunately, we both agree we aren't seeing improvement. I guess the good news is it isn't worsening, but it also isn't improving so I can't imagine that leaves us in a great place. So far, we don't see much sign of infection. Surely that carries some merit. Putting all of that together, I have no idea what it means. A third week of cleaning, wet to dry bandaging, and discomfort?
Really wanting God's will to line up with mine, but if not, the stamina for what lies ahead. We are tired. Boobs only entertain us for so many weeks. Calling all prayer warriors! Really wishing my appt was tomorrow so I could hear Surgeon's thoughts sooner. I may be known for my positivity and faith, but not so much my patience.
Really wanting God's will to line up with mine, but if not, the stamina for what lies ahead. We are tired. Boobs only entertain us for so many weeks. Calling all prayer warriors! Really wishing my appt was tomorrow so I could hear Surgeon's thoughts sooner. I may be known for my positivity and faith, but not so much my patience.
Sept 22, 2012 - Day # 45 - Instant Gratifier
Day 45: We had a date night last night and you will never guess how we spent it. Mattress shopping. How's that for romance! We are pitiful, yet practical, yet romantic in a weird sort of way. After a super tiring week back at work because of my lack of stamina, I wanted to better my chances of a good night sleep by getting that mattress I have been fantasizing about for 6 weeks now. Speaking of pitiful, you should have seen me attempting to give them a test run. I could barely even get on the super tall mattress displays (we have a platform bed at home) and once I made it on, I was a bit frankensteinish trying to lay down then get back up. Changes in position = changes in gravity = changes in pectoral muscle = shooting pains = not so happy Sally = insert Ron the test dummy (not that he is a dummy in any way shape or form.) Let's add that I still can't sleep or even roll on my side. This testing out just wasn't going so well for me so I kept making Ron go back and forth from this to that over and over. Roll on your side! Now your back. Try the stomach. Now compare the first one to the sixth one. What about the third one? It's important to note here that Ron could sleep like a baby on top of a nail driven brick slab. He may or may not have slept through hurricane Fran as well as a second hurricane on our honeymoon. So the only investment he has in this is financial. Well, I'm happy to report we came home with....wait for it, wait for it......nothing. Result of marrying an instant gratifier (me) to a quality bargain buyer (him). We did narrowed it down some, but now have to do the mattress online review search Ron style. Stay tuned for more hot off the press updates from the mattress front.
Survived the first week back at work. That's all I have to say about that right now. I am however extremely grateful I have a job and a job with great people. There so much to be said for that. But there absolutely was no easing back in. Hit the ground running and didn't stop until Friday when I got home. I'm trying to do as much of nothing that I can this weekend so I can survive next week.
The wound is still about the same. Ron says it may look a little better, but I still see a deep crevice so I'm just going to quit evaluating it until my next appt on Wednesday. It just is what it is. Back in the summer, when I was so worried about insurance coverage for the mastectomy, a group of my friends came together at a set time to pray about it. Next thing you know, insurance policy is changed and it includes prophylactic mastectomies. This week, they came together again at 8:45 and prayed for this wound. How can I not expect great things to happen as a result? (And if not for the wound, at least their own prayer walks.) You just can't beat that kind of commitment to a friend's journey. As they say, priceless.
I'm still having trouble with the mirror. The incision scars, the wound, the impostors, the weight gain. Having some body image barriers right now I am working through. I know, I know...beautiful inside and out, but society has warped that sense of thinking for centuries now, and we are left to muddle through the outcome. I would say the same words of kindness to you (and actually believe them) but when it comes to my own mirror these days, I'm still adjusting. No doubt God made us, but we have a way of warping us with our choices and such. So there is an outcome that must be dealt with. Thankfully, God is bigger than that so we are not stuck in outcomes, but made whole in Hope. A lifelong struggle for some of us, huh? I'm an instant gratifier remember?
So much has been slammed into the last 6 weeks that are requiring all kinds of adjustments for me. I know that is just part of any major process in life. Things happened so quickly, and now I'm left sorting through them with life coming at me at full speed. Managing the every day and also working through the days of past, well sometimes they seem to clash. And this event wasn't even life shattering! This past week I ran into Breast Oncologist who started this journey with me. He was asking me how I was progressing and was so kind to ask about how I was processing the emotions. How very kind of him to recognize this is so much bigger than a medical procedure. He offered me some great pieces of advice. (After yelling at me for being back at work with this wound. I reassured him it was still rather small and we had a plan). Anyway, I think our "chance" encounter was very much God driven perfect timing. I needed to have that dialogue exchange. I felt a bit more normal for feeling some of what I am feeling. Oh to be more like a boy...surgery today...no second thoughts about it....back to normal life tomorrow. Us women sure now how to complicate things.
Working very hard to get life back to normal as quickly as possible. I need it. Ron needs it. We need it. Now to get all the pieces and parts of body and mind to get on board. First on the list....annihilate this wound! He doesn't know what he is up against! Insert karate kick. (Did that sound scary and convincing?)
Survived the first week back at work. That's all I have to say about that right now. I am however extremely grateful I have a job and a job with great people. There so much to be said for that. But there absolutely was no easing back in. Hit the ground running and didn't stop until Friday when I got home. I'm trying to do as much of nothing that I can this weekend so I can survive next week.
The wound is still about the same. Ron says it may look a little better, but I still see a deep crevice so I'm just going to quit evaluating it until my next appt on Wednesday. It just is what it is. Back in the summer, when I was so worried about insurance coverage for the mastectomy, a group of my friends came together at a set time to pray about it. Next thing you know, insurance policy is changed and it includes prophylactic mastectomies. This week, they came together again at 8:45 and prayed for this wound. How can I not expect great things to happen as a result? (And if not for the wound, at least their own prayer walks.) You just can't beat that kind of commitment to a friend's journey. As they say, priceless.
I'm still having trouble with the mirror. The incision scars, the wound, the impostors, the weight gain. Having some body image barriers right now I am working through. I know, I know...beautiful inside and out, but society has warped that sense of thinking for centuries now, and we are left to muddle through the outcome. I would say the same words of kindness to you (and actually believe them) but when it comes to my own mirror these days, I'm still adjusting. No doubt God made us, but we have a way of warping us with our choices and such. So there is an outcome that must be dealt with. Thankfully, God is bigger than that so we are not stuck in outcomes, but made whole in Hope. A lifelong struggle for some of us, huh? I'm an instant gratifier remember?
So much has been slammed into the last 6 weeks that are requiring all kinds of adjustments for me. I know that is just part of any major process in life. Things happened so quickly, and now I'm left sorting through them with life coming at me at full speed. Managing the every day and also working through the days of past, well sometimes they seem to clash. And this event wasn't even life shattering! This past week I ran into Breast Oncologist who started this journey with me. He was asking me how I was progressing and was so kind to ask about how I was processing the emotions. How very kind of him to recognize this is so much bigger than a medical procedure. He offered me some great pieces of advice. (After yelling at me for being back at work with this wound. I reassured him it was still rather small and we had a plan). Anyway, I think our "chance" encounter was very much God driven perfect timing. I needed to have that dialogue exchange. I felt a bit more normal for feeling some of what I am feeling. Oh to be more like a boy...surgery today...no second thoughts about it....back to normal life tomorrow. Us women sure now how to complicate things.
Working very hard to get life back to normal as quickly as possible. I need it. Ron needs it. We need it. Now to get all the pieces and parts of body and mind to get on board. First on the list....annihilate this wound! He doesn't know what he is up against! Insert karate kick. (Did that sound scary and convincing?)
Sept 19, 2012 - Day # 42 - Not what I was hoping
Day 42: Summary of today's appointment.
What I wanted to hear: "Sally, we see this all the time, it will heal in it's own time. Let's be patient."
What I got instead: "Sally, We are dangerously close to being in a bad place."
And there you have it. It's not fun when you don't get what you want. (Insert the temper tantrum of the 37 yr old.) While the wound is still small, he was very disappointed that it had not yet healed or at least improved some. The tissue underneath is healthy looking right now so that is our hope, but he is still very worried about the risk of infection. I asked if we could stitch it up and he said a stitch would increase the infection risk. Basically, there's not much of anything we can control right now, and that's a helpless feeling. Let the body do what the body is going to do and hope for the best. He said "we are going to think positive!" Well, I asked him to be honest with me . What are we talking about?
Infection...then damage underneath...then infected implant...then implant out....wait many months....reconstruction again....end result the last 6 weeks was all for nothing.
Well talk about something smacking you in the face! Silence and cricket chirps.
So now I have landed:
It's not been a great day, but that is relative to what you compare it to. Thousands would choose my day over where they stand at this very moment. I can think of one woman I ran in to today in the waiting room. She would choose my shoes in a heartbeat. I'm going to embrace that. God is the great healer. He's the power over all anxiety and worry. This I know....I still need 12 hours to absorb and kick and scream about this current hurdle. I trust His plan, but I may not be eager to go through it. I desperately and selfishly ask LET THIS WOUND GO AWAY! The look of frustration on Lead Surgeon's Face spoke volumes to me.
Wound cleaning time. Fun for all involved.
What I wanted to hear: "Sally, we see this all the time, it will heal in it's own time. Let's be patient."
What I got instead: "Sally, We are dangerously close to being in a bad place."
And there you have it. It's not fun when you don't get what you want. (Insert the temper tantrum of the 37 yr old.) While the wound is still small, he was very disappointed that it had not yet healed or at least improved some. The tissue underneath is healthy looking right now so that is our hope, but he is still very worried about the risk of infection. I asked if we could stitch it up and he said a stitch would increase the infection risk. Basically, there's not much of anything we can control right now, and that's a helpless feeling. Let the body do what the body is going to do and hope for the best. He said "we are going to think positive!" Well, I asked him to be honest with me . What are we talking about?
Infection...then damage underneath...then infected implant...then implant out....wait many months....reconstruction again....end result the last 6 weeks was all for nothing.
Well talk about something smacking you in the face! Silence and cricket chirps.
So now I have landed:
- A more extensive cleaning regimen with wet to dry dressings 3 times a day. That is going to make work a load of fun.
- Back on restrictions- no lifting of arms or carrying anything heavy
- Weekly appointments
- No more bra (we bargained around that and came up with a compromise)
- Watch and wait and pray things go our way.
It's not been a great day, but that is relative to what you compare it to. Thousands would choose my day over where they stand at this very moment. I can think of one woman I ran in to today in the waiting room. She would choose my shoes in a heartbeat. I'm going to embrace that. God is the great healer. He's the power over all anxiety and worry. This I know....I still need 12 hours to absorb and kick and scream about this current hurdle. I trust His plan, but I may not be eager to go through it. I desperately and selfishly ask LET THIS WOUND GO AWAY! The look of frustration on Lead Surgeon's Face spoke volumes to me.
Wound cleaning time. Fun for all involved.
Sept 18, 2012 - Day # 41 - Stubborn
Day 41: Quick wound update. The darn thing is digging in its heals! I think it actually may have surpassed me in stubborness (definitely in stamina). It has increased in size a tad as well as looking a bit more angry. I have no idea what options are available. Any ole wound you usually wait it out. But no healing in a week? I'm skeptical. At least it is still rather small. I am able to feel it now. Grrr. Lead surgeon- If he can fabricate a boob with his bare hands, surely a wound is no challenge at all. Right?
So can you pray for this one last known hurdle? Ok, well that and his best friend, the pectoral muscle, that stays all cramped up and super uncomfortable. And then there is my aching back. And stamina. And clinic tomorrow. I also haven't looked in the mirror again while we are mentioning things. Did I turn Eighty over night????
Well, so maybe just a few more hurdles....
So can you pray for this one last known hurdle? Ok, well that and his best friend, the pectoral muscle, that stays all cramped up and super uncomfortable. And then there is my aching back. And stamina. And clinic tomorrow. I also haven't looked in the mirror again while we are mentioning things. Did I turn Eighty over night????
Well, so maybe just a few more hurdles....
Sept 17, 2012 - Day # 40 - What, you haven't been thinking about boobs?
Day 40: I survived the first day back at work (not that I ever thought I wouldn't actually survive)! It was everything I thought it would be for the struggles and more for the triumphs. Quick post because I promised so many of you to let you know how it went, but I will be fast since I'm so tired tonight.
I know many of you were praying for my sleep and my day. Thank you for all of the emails and messages of encouragement. I hung on to those at every point. Here's how it all went down. I had a stir crazy night last night. Sleep an hour, wake up for an hour to stare at my old friend "Mr Ceiling", sleep another hour, "Hello again,Ceiling!", and so on. Fine line of a love hate relationship. But some sleep was had so that passed my expectations, and I'm grateful. This morning, I also successfully navigated showering, drying, clothing, painting the face and so on in a mastectomy record time of 90 mins! Necessity my motivator and now to get it down to my usual 45. Then came the drive in. I purposely delayed my departure to avoid rush hour traffic, but I had forgotten how long that drive can be when you are clutching the steering wheel like a mad woman and feeling every single nook and cranny of the road underneath. I have never been more grateful to arrive at a work destination. I may have cut my commute time. I was driving so fast just trying to get one more mile under me on the stupid divot ridden highway. Good thing I didn't get stopped, I didn't have my Card Carrying Member Implant ID card on me (see previous post "Card Carrying Member"). Pull into the parking space- sigh of relief. Work would surely be a piece of cake after the drive in.
Elevator- 14th floor- open door. Totally anticlimactic and that made my day! Everyone was working away on their individual tasks and that allowed me to accomplish a low key slide in under the radar reentry and dive into my own tasks. The list was oh so very long for playing catch up, and I successfully knocked off 4 of those before noon. I was expecting a fast paced hustle and bustle, and instead I got slow paced work at my own speed relief. That really helped my anxiety of getting back in that morning. The afternoon, equally as successful with me catching up with my interim replacement (who has been a God send). I do feel like I learned more in four hours than I have in four weeks. So score one for my to-do list!
All that said and after another commute back home, I am absolutely exhausted. It is so difficult to stay up right in a chair for 6-8 hours when you have had a laying, lounging, sleeping, shuffling, change position every 30 minutes, walk in a 40 square foot radius kind of 6 weeks. I still battle awful stamina, muscle fatigue, and difficulty getting comfortable. While a lot of pain has resolved, I still have pectoral muscles that hate me (and I them) and back muscles that are retaliating from having to do all the extra work. Bending over a computer just plain ole sucketh! It kills the new boobs and murders the back and head. A few times I had to plop down in the floor and sit leaning against the wall just to get some relief. Don't know how professional I seemed, but it kept me at work a few more hours. Because so few people know about the impostors, that took some stress out about worrying how many people were going to ask me about them. I was able to hear the "welcome back", "so good to see you", "you have been missed" and leave it at that without going into details. That really worked for me. = ) Have I mentioned how much I love my work team?
Successful, exhausting, productive day. I left with a massive headache, but I held the whole day together without a single tear- or even a thought of one. Most of all I love that the day held no drama. God has his provisions, and I was so blessed to be the recipient. Now to find a way to do it all over again tomorrow. Back to clinic on Wednesday and that will bring its own set of challenges and hopefully triumphs as well.
I've turned the corner. Life will be back to normal. Work was everything it always has been and life still goes on around me. I will incorporate myself back in to it and will find myself once again swimming upstream again in a fast paced deadline driven project. But I would rather swim upstream against that than against the woes of mastectomy again. It's also a little weird to turn the corner. Every single day for the last 35+ days has revolved around boobs, the lack there of, then fake boobs. I know life outside my four walls didn't think about boobs even once in 40 days (Really, you haven't been thinking about boobs all this time???), but it's also strange experiencing that first hand and making non-boob thinking part of your new normal. Today revolved around patients other than myself. That was a nice and welcomed change. Still weird.
Back for another wound appointment Wednesday afternoon. It's not worse at last check, but it is not improving. I have no idea what that is going to mean for next plans. Watch and wait??? Anyway, it will be what it will be. Lead plastic surgeon hasn't let me down yet (well except for that first appointment with all the casual groping as if this was very normal for me, Glad we quickly got that all corrected.)
If someone had told me on August 7 how many emotions I would roll through in this journey I would have laughed in their face. Now I have a very great appreciation for and understanding of the chaotic face of mastectomy. God bless the other women who traverse it. NOTHING and NO ONE can fully prepare them, but that doesn't mean I won't try to!
Love to each of you and three cheers for conquering-
Sally
Click www.tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com to access other posts.
I know many of you were praying for my sleep and my day. Thank you for all of the emails and messages of encouragement. I hung on to those at every point. Here's how it all went down. I had a stir crazy night last night. Sleep an hour, wake up for an hour to stare at my old friend "Mr Ceiling", sleep another hour, "Hello again,Ceiling!", and so on. Fine line of a love hate relationship. But some sleep was had so that passed my expectations, and I'm grateful. This morning, I also successfully navigated showering, drying, clothing, painting the face and so on in a mastectomy record time of 90 mins! Necessity my motivator and now to get it down to my usual 45. Then came the drive in. I purposely delayed my departure to avoid rush hour traffic, but I had forgotten how long that drive can be when you are clutching the steering wheel like a mad woman and feeling every single nook and cranny of the road underneath. I have never been more grateful to arrive at a work destination. I may have cut my commute time. I was driving so fast just trying to get one more mile under me on the stupid divot ridden highway. Good thing I didn't get stopped, I didn't have my Card Carrying Member Implant ID card on me (see previous post "Card Carrying Member"). Pull into the parking space- sigh of relief. Work would surely be a piece of cake after the drive in.
Elevator- 14th floor- open door. Totally anticlimactic and that made my day! Everyone was working away on their individual tasks and that allowed me to accomplish a low key slide in under the radar reentry and dive into my own tasks. The list was oh so very long for playing catch up, and I successfully knocked off 4 of those before noon. I was expecting a fast paced hustle and bustle, and instead I got slow paced work at my own speed relief. That really helped my anxiety of getting back in that morning. The afternoon, equally as successful with me catching up with my interim replacement (who has been a God send). I do feel like I learned more in four hours than I have in four weeks. So score one for my to-do list!
All that said and after another commute back home, I am absolutely exhausted. It is so difficult to stay up right in a chair for 6-8 hours when you have had a laying, lounging, sleeping, shuffling, change position every 30 minutes, walk in a 40 square foot radius kind of 6 weeks. I still battle awful stamina, muscle fatigue, and difficulty getting comfortable. While a lot of pain has resolved, I still have pectoral muscles that hate me (and I them) and back muscles that are retaliating from having to do all the extra work. Bending over a computer just plain ole sucketh! It kills the new boobs and murders the back and head. A few times I had to plop down in the floor and sit leaning against the wall just to get some relief. Don't know how professional I seemed, but it kept me at work a few more hours. Because so few people know about the impostors, that took some stress out about worrying how many people were going to ask me about them. I was able to hear the "welcome back", "so good to see you", "you have been missed" and leave it at that without going into details. That really worked for me. = ) Have I mentioned how much I love my work team?
Successful, exhausting, productive day. I left with a massive headache, but I held the whole day together without a single tear- or even a thought of one. Most of all I love that the day held no drama. God has his provisions, and I was so blessed to be the recipient. Now to find a way to do it all over again tomorrow. Back to clinic on Wednesday and that will bring its own set of challenges and hopefully triumphs as well.
I've turned the corner. Life will be back to normal. Work was everything it always has been and life still goes on around me. I will incorporate myself back in to it and will find myself once again swimming upstream again in a fast paced deadline driven project. But I would rather swim upstream against that than against the woes of mastectomy again. It's also a little weird to turn the corner. Every single day for the last 35+ days has revolved around boobs, the lack there of, then fake boobs. I know life outside my four walls didn't think about boobs even once in 40 days (Really, you haven't been thinking about boobs all this time???), but it's also strange experiencing that first hand and making non-boob thinking part of your new normal. Today revolved around patients other than myself. That was a nice and welcomed change. Still weird.
Back for another wound appointment Wednesday afternoon. It's not worse at last check, but it is not improving. I have no idea what that is going to mean for next plans. Watch and wait??? Anyway, it will be what it will be. Lead plastic surgeon hasn't let me down yet (well except for that first appointment with all the casual groping as if this was very normal for me, Glad we quickly got that all corrected.)
If someone had told me on August 7 how many emotions I would roll through in this journey I would have laughed in their face. Now I have a very great appreciation for and understanding of the chaotic face of mastectomy. God bless the other women who traverse it. NOTHING and NO ONE can fully prepare them, but that doesn't mean I won't try to!
Love to each of you and three cheers for conquering-
Sally
Click www.tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com to access other posts.
Sept 15, 2012 - Day # 38 - Back Slope
Day 38: I just made a rookie mistake. After church (I drove! Ron was needing to stay late), I got in the car and headed to the grocery store as I often do when I leave church alone. Made my mental list, pulled into a space, opened the car door...BAM! A moment of recognition that under no circumstances am I going to be able to grab a grocery cart, pile it high with needed items while pushing it around, then once home, unpack the items to take in the house. I promptly closed the car door and came home holding my frustration in my hand instead of the gallon of milk we need for tomorrow. Sigh. There for a moment I guess I remembered the mastectomy but not the limitation of such. Maybe that is a silver lining that this is going to soon take a back seat.
38 days that seemed to last 78. Noah was stuck in an ark for forty. How in the world did he do it? And he had giraffes banging their heads on the roof top and monkeys swinging from the rafters. Today, I felt like banging my head. I got very little sleep last night and it definitely set the mood for my day. My pep is missing. I can't tell you how many nights 2 a.m has rolled around and I bolt straight up in bed wide awake. Then for the next 2-3 hours, I'm desperately wanting to be asleep but instead find myself mentally navigating navigating the complexity of this or that. Worry is my enemy these last few days.
Last night, it was the worry of returning to work in 2 days. How in the world am I going to pull that off? How is my stamina going to hold through the 8 hours? How about conquering the rush hour commute? How am I going to fit a wound cleaning into the middle of my day in a bathroom that shares 3 stalls and one common mirror. How am I going to fit sleep and getting ready in under 2 hours into each night and morning? How am I going to go back to my clinic space where this journey lies virtually untold? How am I going to dive right back in where I left off? I'm very aware that I alone am not capable of such a feat. I'm going to need a whopping dose of God by my side (or else I need to come into a large sum of money so I can stay in my comfy cozy cocoon of home). Remember those days of my going crazy for being on house arrest? Well, I am now reconsidering that nuisance. This, folks, is where I need some prayer coverage. I just don't feel ready. Regardless, Monday morning is coming with a vengeance. I better grab on.
Happy to report the spot/wound seems to be stable at last check yesterday. It's driving me a bit crazy, particularly during the cleaning, but there didn't seem to be any change in size when we checked it last night. Not getting smaller yet, but grateful to not see any progression either. Hopeful to have the same report tonight.
I've reached the point in this drama where I am now on the back slope. Not seeing many changes from day to day. I have to trend over a week to see what is improving. It's weird that I have found myself here. August seemed so life altering every single day. One day a boob, the next day a concave chest. Drains. Incisions. Reconstruction. Incisions again. Drains again. High emotions. Early September equally as challenging. Now, watch and wait. Wait for the swelling to resolve. Wait for the shape to settle out. Wait for the incisions to heal. wait for the wound to skidaddle. Wait for full strength and flexibility to return. Wait for side sleeping (that was disastrous!). Wait for the impostors to feel like family. Just a lot of wait. I guess I'm grateful and comforted that this is the stage I now find myself. Soon, this shall be yesterday's news, another niche in the story of me, and something else will come along to over shadow it's placement. Wonder what that will be? As I mentioned before in another post, I hope your story of triumph over what ever you face soon replaces mine. I'm anxiously waiting to see your opening line.
For now, back to the evening at hand go I (sadly, with no groceries in tow).
38 days that seemed to last 78. Noah was stuck in an ark for forty. How in the world did he do it? And he had giraffes banging their heads on the roof top and monkeys swinging from the rafters. Today, I felt like banging my head. I got very little sleep last night and it definitely set the mood for my day. My pep is missing. I can't tell you how many nights 2 a.m has rolled around and I bolt straight up in bed wide awake. Then for the next 2-3 hours, I'm desperately wanting to be asleep but instead find myself mentally navigating navigating the complexity of this or that. Worry is my enemy these last few days.
Last night, it was the worry of returning to work in 2 days. How in the world am I going to pull that off? How is my stamina going to hold through the 8 hours? How about conquering the rush hour commute? How am I going to fit a wound cleaning into the middle of my day in a bathroom that shares 3 stalls and one common mirror. How am I going to fit sleep and getting ready in under 2 hours into each night and morning? How am I going to go back to my clinic space where this journey lies virtually untold? How am I going to dive right back in where I left off? I'm very aware that I alone am not capable of such a feat. I'm going to need a whopping dose of God by my side (or else I need to come into a large sum of money so I can stay in my comfy cozy cocoon of home). Remember those days of my going crazy for being on house arrest? Well, I am now reconsidering that nuisance. This, folks, is where I need some prayer coverage. I just don't feel ready. Regardless, Monday morning is coming with a vengeance. I better grab on.
Happy to report the spot/wound seems to be stable at last check yesterday. It's driving me a bit crazy, particularly during the cleaning, but there didn't seem to be any change in size when we checked it last night. Not getting smaller yet, but grateful to not see any progression either. Hopeful to have the same report tonight.
I've reached the point in this drama where I am now on the back slope. Not seeing many changes from day to day. I have to trend over a week to see what is improving. It's weird that I have found myself here. August seemed so life altering every single day. One day a boob, the next day a concave chest. Drains. Incisions. Reconstruction. Incisions again. Drains again. High emotions. Early September equally as challenging. Now, watch and wait. Wait for the swelling to resolve. Wait for the shape to settle out. Wait for the incisions to heal. wait for the wound to skidaddle. Wait for full strength and flexibility to return. Wait for side sleeping (that was disastrous!). Wait for the impostors to feel like family. Just a lot of wait. I guess I'm grateful and comforted that this is the stage I now find myself. Soon, this shall be yesterday's news, another niche in the story of me, and something else will come along to over shadow it's placement. Wonder what that will be? As I mentioned before in another post, I hope your story of triumph over what ever you face soon replaces mine. I'm anxiously waiting to see your opening line.
For now, back to the evening at hand go I (sadly, with no groceries in tow).
Sept 14, 2012 - Mastectomy drains
Someone asked me recently about the mastectomy drains. I tried to find some pictures that didn't contain too graphic of a content. Dad said having four tied around my waist make me look like an orkin man coming to spray for termites. Leave it to Dennis to find some humor in the suckiness of drains. (Pun intend). Would really love it if I never visit with these drain again. Click link below to see illustration.
Sept 14, 2012 - Day # 37 -See Spot...grow?
Day 37: The all consuming new spot (see previous blog post), is rallying up in protest of the extensive cleaning regimen. I fear he is outsmarting us. Last night when Ron went to investigate and clean the spot, he noticed it might be looking a little larger and more irritated. This is NOT what we were going for. We decided we should probably start collecting real data by measuring it. (4 x 2 on some sort of unrecognizable engineer ruler Ron has). He also had the brilliant idea of taking a super close up picture of it so I could see it without freaking out from the impostor boob scar. Let's just say, after seeing it I no longer like Barkley, and it's apparent Barkley hates me. I'm stripping him of his adorable Great Dane name. "Spot" is all he gets now. I really need him to go away...and soon before other trouble sets in.
Back to work on Monday for a full 8 hour day in the office. I worked some from home yesterday and today to try and ease myself back. It's definitely going to require a good amount of transitioning from me. I think that's all I have to say about this right now. Adjusting.
Some random thoughts from this week since this is a short update:
Back to work on Monday for a full 8 hour day in the office. I worked some from home yesterday and today to try and ease myself back. It's definitely going to require a good amount of transitioning from me. I think that's all I have to say about this right now. Adjusting.
Some random thoughts from this week since this is a short update:
- After some dinner with friends the other night, I realized I'm not the only one critical of myself. We were laughing about how two have noticed their youthful acne has returned, another wants a more perky chest, another thinks her face has aged 10 years in 1 month, another marvels at how her kids now out run her in a sprint. We all complain of heat surges and think we are entering menopause. I guess the troubles of women in their late thirties is uniform. They made me swear to change their names if they showed up in an update- so here's to you Bertha, Frances, and Ethel. = ) With much love, Syvia.
- Since moving my updates from facebook to this blog, I am truly missing the back and forth dialogue from you all. It felt more like an informal sharing of each others stories than a monologue to an empty screen. While there is some personal comfort in the empty screen, the encouragement from you and hearing your own stories as a reader is greatly missed.
- When I head back to work, I'm going to miss my tattoo parlor hours I've been keeping. Not setting an alarm every day really works for me on just about every level.
- Happy to report my pain level is down to a 2-3 out of 10 as long as I am not driving or manipulating the wound. I have been really looking forward to that! My surgeon and I were laughing that we should change the pain scale from numbers (2 out of 10) to a scale of smiling boob faces instead. You would rate a frowny boob up to an ecstatic boob. These are the things mastectomy patients talk about after reconstruction. It's inevitable.
- Lastly, I'm intrigued that someone in Russia is following my updates (Along with canada, germany, tanzania, great britian, and mexico). I think know everyone except for maybe my Russian and German reader. I'd love to hear from you and find out more about you.
Sept 13, 2012 - Day # 36 - Your story will heal you.
Day 36: My friend, Caroline, sent a quote this morning. "When you stand and share your story in an empowering way, your story will heal you and your story will heal somebody else."
~ Iyanla Vanzant
Powerful, huh? When I sent my very first update on August 10 day #3 all I knew was I was very broken and facing a journey that I didn't think I wanted to tackle alone. I had to decide if I was going to crawl into a very private hole with my family and shelter myself from potential embarrassment, pity, and even judgment since my case was controversial. Putting something so personal as a mastectomy all out there for the world to see and judge could result in a personal disaster. I didn't know if I was ready for that. Under normal circumstances, I live a very compartmentalized life. Work separate from home separate from friendship separate from church and so on. And that works for me on a lot of levels. If one dam breaks, the rest of the compartments remain in tact and fully functional. Right or wrong, and most likely wrong, this is how I traversed my course. About a year ago, about the same time that I switched jobs, I decided to challenge that way of life. For the first time, I was going to open up the gates and let my life compartments start merging themselves into a soup of Sally. It was a scary moment for me as now I only had one compartment and if that one compartment broke, nothing was safe.
~ Iyanla Vanzant
Powerful, huh? When I sent my very first update on August 10 day #3 all I knew was I was very broken and facing a journey that I didn't think I wanted to tackle alone. I had to decide if I was going to crawl into a very private hole with my family and shelter myself from potential embarrassment, pity, and even judgment since my case was controversial. Putting something so personal as a mastectomy all out there for the world to see and judge could result in a personal disaster. I didn't know if I was ready for that. Under normal circumstances, I live a very compartmentalized life. Work separate from home separate from friendship separate from church and so on. And that works for me on a lot of levels. If one dam breaks, the rest of the compartments remain in tact and fully functional. Right or wrong, and most likely wrong, this is how I traversed my course. About a year ago, about the same time that I switched jobs, I decided to challenge that way of life. For the first time, I was going to open up the gates and let my life compartments start merging themselves into a soup of Sally. It was a scary moment for me as now I only had one compartment and if that one compartment broke, nothing was safe.
Sept 12, 2012 - Day # 35 - See Spot Run
Day 35: It's been a good day, but I'm exhausted. It's been non stop and you know I don't have the stamina for that these days. So you get my apologies for the delayed update. You know it's bad when you get an email from your mom saying "Go home and post. My phone is ringing off the hook!" When mom speaks.... I better get right to it.
Sally: "So Doc, I have what may be some bad news." (Me scrunching up my face and looking a little sheepish). Thankfully, he lets us get our greetings and niceties out before making me drop my gown. He's grown a bit in his bed side manner now that I've ragged him about it a bit. The very first time I met him he came running in the room like Kramer and went straight for the breast inspection. I never let him live that down.
Lead Plastic Surgeon: "Ut oh, let's hear it."
Sally: "Well you see, there's this spot...." (Surgeon's eyes getting a little wide at this point). So I go ahead and open the gown and show him the troublesome mind consuming spot. Me holding my breath and waiting nervously.
Lead Plastic Surgeon does a full exam of that area and more: "You have a scab." At that point I felt it was safe to exhale and breath normally.
Sally: "So I don't have tissue break down? My skin is safe? Hallelujah, I have been so worried. Best news ever"
Lead Plastic Surgeon: "You must have nicked it and not felt it or maybe it is from the skin rubbing against your tshirt." (See, I'm a good clinician, that was the exact scenario I had laid out as a possibility.).
"BUT, unfortunately, there is another worrisome spot we need to talk about...."
Sally: "So Doc, I have what may be some bad news." (Me scrunching up my face and looking a little sheepish). Thankfully, he lets us get our greetings and niceties out before making me drop my gown. He's grown a bit in his bed side manner now that I've ragged him about it a bit. The very first time I met him he came running in the room like Kramer and went straight for the breast inspection. I never let him live that down.
Lead Plastic Surgeon: "Ut oh, let's hear it."
Sally: "Well you see, there's this spot...." (Surgeon's eyes getting a little wide at this point). So I go ahead and open the gown and show him the troublesome mind consuming spot. Me holding my breath and waiting nervously.
Lead Plastic Surgeon does a full exam of that area and more: "You have a scab." At that point I felt it was safe to exhale and breath normally.
Sally: "So I don't have tissue break down? My skin is safe? Hallelujah, I have been so worried. Best news ever"
Lead Plastic Surgeon: "You must have nicked it and not felt it or maybe it is from the skin rubbing against your tshirt." (See, I'm a good clinician, that was the exact scenario I had laid out as a possibility.).
"BUT, unfortunately, there is another worrisome spot we need to talk about...."
Sept 12, 2012- Day # 35 - Waiting
Day 35: And I sit here waiting for Ron to come pick me up for our appointment. He's not due here until 1 (appointment is at 2:15), but you see I have this spot that's consuming my thoughts. Although, after another glance this morning, I feel almost, sort of, pretty sure, positive that it is just going to be a scab that has formed due to my skin getting chaffed against my clothing. The scar below the spot has a similar appearance. It's going to be nothing...I feel almost sure. = )
It kind of makes sense. Have I described to you yet what this skin feels like? You know when you have sunburn and you can't stand to have anything touch the burned area? That is what my skin has felt like since August 20th when we did the reconstruction. To make matters a little more tricky, for some reason God made us creatures that have a need to inhale and exhale. So every time I breath in (or out) my chest rises and falls and there goes the rubbing of the tshirt over the sunburned skin. The skin gets and stays pretty raw the whole time. Early on it was fairly intolerable. As weeks have passed, it now feels like almost healed sunburn. I asked a few other people if they had this sense of hyper awareness to touch in the boobiage area after recon, but no one has yet reported it back to me.
Maybe I am feeling it because all the nerves where taken out of the boob at mastectomy and now the nerves left behind in the skin have become heightened in sensitivity. It's weird to have heightened feeling in some places, dull feeling in some, and absolutely no feeling at all in others. All in a one foot radius. Phantom limb that is only partially phantom.
Last night, I slept 8 straight hours. (My almost 7 year old niece decided to check in on me with a wake up call early this morning. I can't be mad at her since I don't have kids of my own, and it's imperative I stay on her good side so she will care for me when I am old and feeble. Nursing homes scare me, so I need to ensure she will put me in her penthouse suite). Usually, I toss and turn, up to the bathroom, back to rearrange the pillow throne, sleep a few hours here, up an hour then sleep some more. So 8 hours straight is worthy of a celebration! I think I have turned the sleep corner. And I love me some sleep. Always have- always will. It's been beyond frustrating not having good sleep habits. My friend recently told me that I was keeping tattoo parlor hours this past month with me staring at the ceiling at 3 a.m. I very quickly need to fix this with me going back to work on Monday.
Did I say Monday?!?!?! I'm a little freaked out about this. Nothing new to you as I've mentioned it in a few posts, but I am starting to feel the urgency of this. So much to overcome in a few short days. While I can now fully dress myself (Sis, I need a sticker for my sticker chart) it still takes me almost 2 hours start to finish from shower to out the door. And driving, I tire out after about 15 miles, yet I have a 30 minute commute. My arms are not yet ready to commit to a long term relationship with the steering wheel. I've also not driven in rush hour traffic yet. My back detests sitting in a chair for much more than an hour, and I tire out big time come mid afternoon. Then, there is just the issue of readjusting. Some of my coworkers know about this journey. Some of my coworkers only know I'm out. Wonder if they are picturing me in the Caribbean? When I left, I wasn't quite sure how public I wanted to be about this super sensitive topic. Guess I (and God) blew that out of the water with this blog, but still, typing on a screen to people with no faces is a far cry from a one-on-one conversation at the water cooler about Smooth Round High Profile Implants. Where do you draw the line? One benefit of going back to work, my entire day won't be consumed with thoughts of boobs. I'd like to go one hour without thinking once about Impostors. Maybe being back at work will return some normalcy to my life or at least my thoughts, but I imagine the first week or two is going to be super hard on my everything. My psyche of adjusting, my physical stamina, my learning all that I missed (I'm leading a super high paced deadline driven project this year and things change on a weekly basis.) and my reincorporating myself back into all that it used to be. I do know this- I will be a better practitioner in many ways. I've always been good at relating to patients because I've been there myself, but now I have another adventure under my belt so that can only help me as I relate back to the kiddos in my clinic. The best news is I have great coworkers who have been extremely supportive of my journey from every aspect. I really need that.
Ok, so I'm still waiting. Kind of wish I could snap my fingers and the appointment be over with. I detest the poking and prodding (because the boob area is so sensitive), and what I thought was going to be a quick glance over appointment is now shaping up to be a let's dissect this spot to see what is underneath. Pull out the scalpel and scrape. Shallow breathing. Heart palpitations. Dread!
I REALLY need my got-it-all-together-can-tolerate-any-emergency personality back. My friend shed some light on this for me. She used to absolutely adore scary movies. The gore, the fright, the elevated heart rate and even the laughter at the silly parts! After her breast cancer diagnosis, she absolutely can't stand them. They freak her out. They anger her. She very quickly learned that in life, when yours is no longer guaranteed, that there is absolutely nothing entertaining at all about fear. She now understood what is like first hand to be very afraid of something and fear, even as portrayed in a scary movie, was no longer entertaining. I appreciated hearing that perspective. Maybe scars and needles and diagnoses now carry more emotion behind it for me. No longer do I look at your central line catheter and see a catheter, I see a very uncomfortable incision and the emotions behind the need for the catheter. Truthfully, I've always seen that and it made me a good clinician, but it's a bit more heightened right now. I need to reign that in a little so I can function better on clinic days.
Oh, oh, oh! Ron is here to pick me up. Wish me luck! I'll update you later.
It kind of makes sense. Have I described to you yet what this skin feels like? You know when you have sunburn and you can't stand to have anything touch the burned area? That is what my skin has felt like since August 20th when we did the reconstruction. To make matters a little more tricky, for some reason God made us creatures that have a need to inhale and exhale. So every time I breath in (or out) my chest rises and falls and there goes the rubbing of the tshirt over the sunburned skin. The skin gets and stays pretty raw the whole time. Early on it was fairly intolerable. As weeks have passed, it now feels like almost healed sunburn. I asked a few other people if they had this sense of hyper awareness to touch in the boobiage area after recon, but no one has yet reported it back to me.
Maybe I am feeling it because all the nerves where taken out of the boob at mastectomy and now the nerves left behind in the skin have become heightened in sensitivity. It's weird to have heightened feeling in some places, dull feeling in some, and absolutely no feeling at all in others. All in a one foot radius. Phantom limb that is only partially phantom.
Last night, I slept 8 straight hours. (My almost 7 year old niece decided to check in on me with a wake up call early this morning. I can't be mad at her since I don't have kids of my own, and it's imperative I stay on her good side so she will care for me when I am old and feeble. Nursing homes scare me, so I need to ensure she will put me in her penthouse suite). Usually, I toss and turn, up to the bathroom, back to rearrange the pillow throne, sleep a few hours here, up an hour then sleep some more. So 8 hours straight is worthy of a celebration! I think I have turned the sleep corner. And I love me some sleep. Always have- always will. It's been beyond frustrating not having good sleep habits. My friend recently told me that I was keeping tattoo parlor hours this past month with me staring at the ceiling at 3 a.m. I very quickly need to fix this with me going back to work on Monday.
Did I say Monday?!?!?! I'm a little freaked out about this. Nothing new to you as I've mentioned it in a few posts, but I am starting to feel the urgency of this. So much to overcome in a few short days. While I can now fully dress myself (Sis, I need a sticker for my sticker chart) it still takes me almost 2 hours start to finish from shower to out the door. And driving, I tire out after about 15 miles, yet I have a 30 minute commute. My arms are not yet ready to commit to a long term relationship with the steering wheel. I've also not driven in rush hour traffic yet. My back detests sitting in a chair for much more than an hour, and I tire out big time come mid afternoon. Then, there is just the issue of readjusting. Some of my coworkers know about this journey. Some of my coworkers only know I'm out. Wonder if they are picturing me in the Caribbean? When I left, I wasn't quite sure how public I wanted to be about this super sensitive topic. Guess I (and God) blew that out of the water with this blog, but still, typing on a screen to people with no faces is a far cry from a one-on-one conversation at the water cooler about Smooth Round High Profile Implants. Where do you draw the line? One benefit of going back to work, my entire day won't be consumed with thoughts of boobs. I'd like to go one hour without thinking once about Impostors. Maybe being back at work will return some normalcy to my life or at least my thoughts, but I imagine the first week or two is going to be super hard on my everything. My psyche of adjusting, my physical stamina, my learning all that I missed (I'm leading a super high paced deadline driven project this year and things change on a weekly basis.) and my reincorporating myself back into all that it used to be. I do know this- I will be a better practitioner in many ways. I've always been good at relating to patients because I've been there myself, but now I have another adventure under my belt so that can only help me as I relate back to the kiddos in my clinic. The best news is I have great coworkers who have been extremely supportive of my journey from every aspect. I really need that.
Ok, so I'm still waiting. Kind of wish I could snap my fingers and the appointment be over with. I detest the poking and prodding (because the boob area is so sensitive), and what I thought was going to be a quick glance over appointment is now shaping up to be a let's dissect this spot to see what is underneath. Pull out the scalpel and scrape. Shallow breathing. Heart palpitations. Dread!
I REALLY need my got-it-all-together-can-tolerate-any-emergency personality back. My friend shed some light on this for me. She used to absolutely adore scary movies. The gore, the fright, the elevated heart rate and even the laughter at the silly parts! After her breast cancer diagnosis, she absolutely can't stand them. They freak her out. They anger her. She very quickly learned that in life, when yours is no longer guaranteed, that there is absolutely nothing entertaining at all about fear. She now understood what is like first hand to be very afraid of something and fear, even as portrayed in a scary movie, was no longer entertaining. I appreciated hearing that perspective. Maybe scars and needles and diagnoses now carry more emotion behind it for me. No longer do I look at your central line catheter and see a catheter, I see a very uncomfortable incision and the emotions behind the need for the catheter. Truthfully, I've always seen that and it made me a good clinician, but it's a bit more heightened right now. I need to reign that in a little so I can function better on clinic days.
Oh, oh, oh! Ron is here to pick me up. Wish me luck! I'll update you later.
Sept 11, 2012 - Day # 34 - Ut oh, there's a spot.
Day 33: So there is this spot. This can't get it out of your mind spot. Not a big spot. Just a spot. You know when you go to dinner (mom, I hope you are reading this) and you look down on your freshly pressed white silk blouse to see a dropping of the most delicious lasagna you've ever treated your taste buds to? Gone, now, is the culinary amazingness of the lasagna you were just inhaling. You are looking at your friend across the table who was just telling you about her heart retching break up with Patrick. Two minutes ago you were hanging on her every word and offering condolences. "Beth, he was dog meat! Not worth a second minute of thought." Hoping she buys your story cause he really was delightful and he will be missed. Now you stare at her and all you see are lips moving. You thinking: Do you think the waiter sees this spot? How in the world am I going to get this out? Where is my Shoutastic pen? Really, I don't even remember dropping anything. I was so careful! Was this blouse on sale? I just got it!!! Maybe if I fold my arms just so....
"Sally, are you listening to me? PATRICK, just broke up with me!" Shock back to reality. A spot on a brand new shirt can consume your every thought (if you are a woman). "Beth, do you see a spot on my shirt?"
Well, I have an all consuming spot, but instead of it finding itself on my freshly pressed white silk blouse, it has landed itself on my brand spanking, newly fabricated, Smooth Round High Profile gel filled Impostor right Boob!!! (see previous post titled "Card Carrying Member".) Yesterday, when I was changing my clothes, I did a quick glance down. The surgeon wants us to look at both impostors regularly to search for changes- redness, swelling, bruising, change in size -oh there has been a change in size!- and so on. So, yesterday, I noticed this black scaling spot on my right boob strategically placed in an area I don't want it to be.
Sally from bathroom stage left: "Ron, come here and bring a flashlight!" I had Ron and my sister bring a flashlight once before back in August, so he knows this can't be good.
Enter Ron from bedroom stage left: "What's up babe?"
Sally with a slightly worried look on her face: "I need to you look at this spot, cause you know I can't go to the mirror and do it myself."
Sally stepping into medical mode: "Describe it to me."
Ron holding flashlight and kneeling before Sally in full investigator mode: "It's a black spot. Sort of like a scab, a tad smaller than an eraser, right in the middle of your Nipple (can I say that here?)"
Audience (Oliver the cat) trying desperately to help out: Meow!
Sally, trying to maintain composure: "It is bleeding? Or is it dried blood maybe?"
Ron leaning in for a closer look, glasses pulled down to tip of nose: "Not bleeding now, it's black, and maybe was once blood? Let me get a wet q tip and see if we can dissolve it, then we will know if it is blood."
Sally shifting back and forth on the stool at sight of Q tip coming toward her, now tightly closing eyes: "Ok, but you know I have lost all medical tolerance since August, so GO EASY!"
(30 second time lapse)
Sally with eyes cinched tight: "well are you going to scrub it or what?"
Ron: "Already did, why are you sitting there with your eyes closed? Unfortunately, Nothing came off."
(conversation above only slightly paraphrased)
I had forgotten that I had no feeling in that area of the Impostor so I had no idea he had been working away at the spot the whole time. Open my eyes and start brainstorming. It's likely not blood if it didn't dissolve in water. Could I have nicked my boob on something and not known it since I can't feel the boob itself? And how does one exactly nick a boob? Especially since I don't walk around with a shirt off. Do you think I would NOT notice running head on into a knife? Or NOT notice a falling scalpel from the sky that landed right in the middle of my chest? Not likely. Maybe it's chaffed skin from the tshirt rubbing on it all day long for 33 days straight? Could it be necrosis/dying tissue?
Please, oh please, don't let it be dying tissue. This is what the surgeon was so worried about from the get go. Because of all of the chest radiation in days gone by (see previous post titled "How this all came about") he felt sure I was going to have delayed healing and possibly lack of proper blood flow to the new tissue and skin. If that happened, the skin may start to die thus leading to another procedure and skin graft. But at my last appointment he told me we have most likley passed the worry point for dying tissue. I was good to go!
Surely, it's just dried on....something. Anything! I will take a dried on anything for it not to be dying skin. I am desperately not wanting to lose tissue after we have come so far. This morning, I looked again by glancing down and see there is now some additional scaling appearance in the skin around the area. So maybe this is a top layer of skin sloughing off? We lose skin every day, right? Eeek.
The Good news:
Because of God's timing, I already have an appointment with Lead Plastic Surgeon tomorrow afternoon. Perfect Timing as always. Now we just put it out of our mind and wait and see. But I wouldn't mind one bit if you add this little spot to your prayer list for today. I'm only slightly concerned. (That sounds believable when I type it. shallow breathing). Will update you tomorrow.
Funny story to add to this since we are talking about numb boobs. A friend of a friend had a mastectomy and reconstruction. Several months later her husband took her out to dinner. She ordered the yummy soup. Dinner arrived and they started eating and chatting about their day. Husband: "Um, honey, your boob is sitting in your soup bowl." She had been leaning over the table to sip out of the bowl and couldn't feel that she was actually leaning INTO the bowl. Can you imagine the laughter at that table? If you can't laugh, what can you do?
"Sally, are you listening to me? PATRICK, just broke up with me!" Shock back to reality. A spot on a brand new shirt can consume your every thought (if you are a woman). "Beth, do you see a spot on my shirt?"
Well, I have an all consuming spot, but instead of it finding itself on my freshly pressed white silk blouse, it has landed itself on my brand spanking, newly fabricated, Smooth Round High Profile gel filled Impostor right Boob!!! (see previous post titled "Card Carrying Member".) Yesterday, when I was changing my clothes, I did a quick glance down. The surgeon wants us to look at both impostors regularly to search for changes- redness, swelling, bruising, change in size -oh there has been a change in size!- and so on. So, yesterday, I noticed this black scaling spot on my right boob strategically placed in an area I don't want it to be.
Sally from bathroom stage left: "Ron, come here and bring a flashlight!" I had Ron and my sister bring a flashlight once before back in August, so he knows this can't be good.
Enter Ron from bedroom stage left: "What's up babe?"
Sally with a slightly worried look on her face: "I need to you look at this spot, cause you know I can't go to the mirror and do it myself."
Sally stepping into medical mode: "Describe it to me."
Ron holding flashlight and kneeling before Sally in full investigator mode: "It's a black spot. Sort of like a scab, a tad smaller than an eraser, right in the middle of your Nipple (can I say that here?)"
Audience (Oliver the cat) trying desperately to help out: Meow!
Sally, trying to maintain composure: "It is bleeding? Or is it dried blood maybe?"
Ron leaning in for a closer look, glasses pulled down to tip of nose: "Not bleeding now, it's black, and maybe was once blood? Let me get a wet q tip and see if we can dissolve it, then we will know if it is blood."
Sally shifting back and forth on the stool at sight of Q tip coming toward her, now tightly closing eyes: "Ok, but you know I have lost all medical tolerance since August, so GO EASY!"
(30 second time lapse)
Sally with eyes cinched tight: "well are you going to scrub it or what?"
Ron: "Already did, why are you sitting there with your eyes closed? Unfortunately, Nothing came off."
(conversation above only slightly paraphrased)
I had forgotten that I had no feeling in that area of the Impostor so I had no idea he had been working away at the spot the whole time. Open my eyes and start brainstorming. It's likely not blood if it didn't dissolve in water. Could I have nicked my boob on something and not known it since I can't feel the boob itself? And how does one exactly nick a boob? Especially since I don't walk around with a shirt off. Do you think I would NOT notice running head on into a knife? Or NOT notice a falling scalpel from the sky that landed right in the middle of my chest? Not likely. Maybe it's chaffed skin from the tshirt rubbing on it all day long for 33 days straight? Could it be necrosis/dying tissue?
Please, oh please, don't let it be dying tissue. This is what the surgeon was so worried about from the get go. Because of all of the chest radiation in days gone by (see previous post titled "How this all came about") he felt sure I was going to have delayed healing and possibly lack of proper blood flow to the new tissue and skin. If that happened, the skin may start to die thus leading to another procedure and skin graft. But at my last appointment he told me we have most likley passed the worry point for dying tissue. I was good to go!
Surely, it's just dried on....something. Anything! I will take a dried on anything for it not to be dying skin. I am desperately not wanting to lose tissue after we have come so far. This morning, I looked again by glancing down and see there is now some additional scaling appearance in the skin around the area. So maybe this is a top layer of skin sloughing off? We lose skin every day, right? Eeek.
The Good news:
- The spot itself is super small.
- It just showed up yesterday.
- It's only on one side.
- The skin around it that is sloughing looks very superficial.
- It adds character...maybe like a beauty mark? (ok, so I'm stretching it a bit there).
Because of God's timing, I already have an appointment with Lead Plastic Surgeon tomorrow afternoon. Perfect Timing as always. Now we just put it out of our mind and wait and see. But I wouldn't mind one bit if you add this little spot to your prayer list for today. I'm only slightly concerned. (That sounds believable when I type it. shallow breathing). Will update you tomorrow.
Funny story to add to this since we are talking about numb boobs. A friend of a friend had a mastectomy and reconstruction. Several months later her husband took her out to dinner. She ordered the yummy soup. Dinner arrived and they started eating and chatting about their day. Husband: "Um, honey, your boob is sitting in your soup bowl." She had been leaning over the table to sip out of the bowl and couldn't feel that she was actually leaning INTO the bowl. Can you imagine the laughter at that table? If you can't laugh, what can you do?
Sept 10, 2012- - Day # 33 - Meet the Trading in the Tatas Team for Komen race for the cure.
Meet the "Trading in the Tatas" team you so graciously supported. Thank you! We passed our goal of $1000 in less than 7 days. At last check, on Sept 9, we have raised $1070. The team survived their run and are all smiles at the end. Wish I could have been there to see it in person. Love to each of you.
Sept 9, 2012 - Day # 32 - Package Reveal (out there and loving every minute of it!)
Day 32: "I'm out there and loving every minute of it!!!" (Picture Kramer in one of the all time best Seinfeld episodes). I did get out there, but can't yet claim I was loving every minute of it. Last night, after posting my tribute to the value of hope, I got up out of the chair, immediately walked into the bedroom, looked at Ron and said "It's time, I'm finally looking." You should have seen the look of shock on his face. As if I had just told him we won the HGTV green home giveaway. There he sat jaw dropped and me staring back at him. I told him "how could I claim hope if I can't even trust God to get me through a little ole peak"?
So I trusted God and pulled off the tshirt - of course I was facing away from the mirror at this time. Ron kept cheering me on, but all I could hear was the ear numbing sound of my heart beat. It sounded like a indian tribal celebration minus the chanting and fun. Thump, thump, thump, thump. Quickly came the shallow breathing and suddenly all ambition flew out the door, almost knocking Ron over, and there I was left standing naked from the waste up. There I stood with my back to the mirror working up the nerve to do this one little task I had been avoiding like the plague for 31 days. Stand, shift my weight, stand, turn half way, turn back, stand, shift my weight, shallow breathing, thump, thump, thump (in the back ground Ron saying "you've got this Sally", "piece of cake", "it's not what you think it is.")
Suddenly, I got the brilliant idea that I could use my tshirt to shield my view, and then I could open the "package" in stages. That could work! Why hadn't I thought of that before now! See bits and pieces at a time before revealing the full blown masterpiece. So the first step was easy. Grab the shirt, hold it up to cover everything, then turn around to face the mirror. Done! That was so easy! I'm a super star. Coach is going to be calling me at any moment to pull me off the bench.
So now there I am standing actually facing the mirror. I've got this. Thump, thump, thump...Shaking my head, biting my lip, looking at Ron, turning back to the mirror, and this went on for a little while. Sally, remember II Samuel 22: 29-31. With my God I can scale a wall.... Inch down the t shirt to where it now looks like a bandeau top. Ok, so that looks pretty normal. Beautiful Job, Lead surgeon! Inch it down a little more to about mid-line. Ok, I've seen this before just looking down, so no surprises here. Lumpy boobs. Done. I'm making some huge strides here. But here is where I sent myself into new territory. I work up my nerve to so a millisecond drop and pull back up...one, two, three, GO! Now quickly pull up. Ok, so what did I just see?,,,, Nothing that made me run for the trashcan. Maybe a longer look to really prove I did this. Just a quick 4 second focus. I need to focus my eyes to below midline to see the scars. The scars have been what has freaked me out all along. I need to see those to say I'm good.
And what does Sally do? She turns back away from the mirror clutching the tshirt like my life depended on it. (Now let me tell you up to this point we have probably pushed 10 for 15 mins. I told you I was a sap.) "Ron, look at the scars and describe them to me." For some idiotic reason I thought if I heard about them first and could form a mental image, I wouldn't collapse in the floor from terror at my first look. So there goes Ron doing his best to describe the two incisions in all their glory. Bless him! Ok, so that doesn't sound like anything shocking. He described what every fresh scar looks like. I don't know why I thought I was going to get anything extraordinary there. (Insert some legendary stall and denial.)
Back to the mirror with the tshirt up around my neck. One, two, three.....ok, let's try this again...one, two three...."ok, Ron, I'm going to count to four"...one, two, three, four, five, six, seven ("Sally, you've got this!" in the background)...DROP!
And there they were staring back at me for about four seconds. I didn't recognize them as mine that's for sure, but they were SOMEBODY'S boobs that looked dimply, swollen, and scarred. Nothing worthy of a horror movie by any means, but you definitely won't see them on the catwalks of NY in this lifetime either. Honestly, for the four seconds they stared back at me and the whole time I felt sort of detached. Like I was looking at YOUR boobs. (Not that I know what your boobs look like, just saying.) There sat two envelopes of Smooth High Profile Gel (see "Card Carrying Member" post from two days ago) that had no emotional control over me. Sort of anti-climactic in fact especially after all the hyperventilation of August and dread and delay of September. Boring. Ho hum. Impostor Boobies. So I put my tshirt back on and said "well, that was that!" and walked out the bedroom door.
Go figure! I'm as amazed as you are. This doesn't mean I like them, nor that I want to see them again any time soon. I prefer to stay detached for now. It's working for me on some level.
So I trusted God and pulled off the tshirt - of course I was facing away from the mirror at this time. Ron kept cheering me on, but all I could hear was the ear numbing sound of my heart beat. It sounded like a indian tribal celebration minus the chanting and fun. Thump, thump, thump, thump. Quickly came the shallow breathing and suddenly all ambition flew out the door, almost knocking Ron over, and there I was left standing naked from the waste up. There I stood with my back to the mirror working up the nerve to do this one little task I had been avoiding like the plague for 31 days. Stand, shift my weight, stand, turn half way, turn back, stand, shift my weight, shallow breathing, thump, thump, thump (in the back ground Ron saying "you've got this Sally", "piece of cake", "it's not what you think it is.")
Suddenly, I got the brilliant idea that I could use my tshirt to shield my view, and then I could open the "package" in stages. That could work! Why hadn't I thought of that before now! See bits and pieces at a time before revealing the full blown masterpiece. So the first step was easy. Grab the shirt, hold it up to cover everything, then turn around to face the mirror. Done! That was so easy! I'm a super star. Coach is going to be calling me at any moment to pull me off the bench.
So now there I am standing actually facing the mirror. I've got this. Thump, thump, thump...Shaking my head, biting my lip, looking at Ron, turning back to the mirror, and this went on for a little while. Sally, remember II Samuel 22: 29-31. With my God I can scale a wall.... Inch down the t shirt to where it now looks like a bandeau top. Ok, so that looks pretty normal. Beautiful Job, Lead surgeon! Inch it down a little more to about mid-line. Ok, I've seen this before just looking down, so no surprises here. Lumpy boobs. Done. I'm making some huge strides here. But here is where I sent myself into new territory. I work up my nerve to so a millisecond drop and pull back up...one, two, three, GO! Now quickly pull up. Ok, so what did I just see?,,,, Nothing that made me run for the trashcan. Maybe a longer look to really prove I did this. Just a quick 4 second focus. I need to focus my eyes to below midline to see the scars. The scars have been what has freaked me out all along. I need to see those to say I'm good.
And what does Sally do? She turns back away from the mirror clutching the tshirt like my life depended on it. (Now let me tell you up to this point we have probably pushed 10 for 15 mins. I told you I was a sap.) "Ron, look at the scars and describe them to me." For some idiotic reason I thought if I heard about them first and could form a mental image, I wouldn't collapse in the floor from terror at my first look. So there goes Ron doing his best to describe the two incisions in all their glory. Bless him! Ok, so that doesn't sound like anything shocking. He described what every fresh scar looks like. I don't know why I thought I was going to get anything extraordinary there. (Insert some legendary stall and denial.)
Back to the mirror with the tshirt up around my neck. One, two, three.....ok, let's try this again...one, two three...."ok, Ron, I'm going to count to four"...one, two, three, four, five, six, seven ("Sally, you've got this!" in the background)...DROP!
And there they were staring back at me for about four seconds. I didn't recognize them as mine that's for sure, but they were SOMEBODY'S boobs that looked dimply, swollen, and scarred. Nothing worthy of a horror movie by any means, but you definitely won't see them on the catwalks of NY in this lifetime either. Honestly, for the four seconds they stared back at me and the whole time I felt sort of detached. Like I was looking at YOUR boobs. (Not that I know what your boobs look like, just saying.) There sat two envelopes of Smooth High Profile Gel (see "Card Carrying Member" post from two days ago) that had no emotional control over me. Sort of anti-climactic in fact especially after all the hyperventilation of August and dread and delay of September. Boring. Ho hum. Impostor Boobies. So I put my tshirt back on and said "well, that was that!" and walked out the bedroom door.
Go figure! I'm as amazed as you are. This doesn't mean I like them, nor that I want to see them again any time soon. I prefer to stay detached for now. It's working for me on some level.
Sept 9, 2012 - Day # 32 - I looked
Day 32: I LOOKED!!!! Even I can't believe it, but I promised you I would. Last night, after some reflection (see yesterday's post) I realized my hope was bigger than that mirror. More on the actual peek later when I have more time. Just a quick pat myself on the back for doing it.
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