Life's Little Joys

I'm very thankful to be home in Ashcroft for Easter weekend.  Once again, I drove on Wednesday -- about the earliest I would attempt such a journey after chemo.  While I was tootling along, several things struck a cord with me and brought me immeasurable joy.  I thought I would share them with you.  I should have stopped for pictures to make the list more visual, but I was anxious to be home.

- Newborn calves gallumping through fields:  All baby animals are so cute but, to me, lambs and calves are particularly sweet (I used to raise sheep.)  It brought me great pleasure and a smile to my face to see so many calves running, jumping, and playing in the fields.

- Rice bowl man:  Driving through Surrey, there was a middle-aged man wearing one of those sandwich board contraptions, advertising a teriyaki rice bowl for $7.99.  He was soooooooooo animated, wearing a huge smile and waving enthusiastially to all the cars.  I admired him obviously loving his job, even though it was one I might consider "menial".

- Merging:  I HATE merging and I'm really, really bad at it.  Probably because I'm not an aggressive enough driver.  When I had to merge onto the #1 freeway, I happened to be right behind a semi truck.  Well, I just tucked in behind him, pretending to be joined at the hip, and all the oncoming cars moved out of "our" way -- effortless!!

- Boundless sun:  The sunshine simply would not end when I was driving home -- sublime!  And, since it was so sunny and beautiful ...

- Open car windows:  I drove the majority of the way home with at least one window down.  Breathing deeply, all that fresh air was incredibly invigorating.

- Burping less:  The Gas-X and Ranitidine are helping both my acidy stomach and my heartburn.  I'm joyful to report that I only burped 119 times on the drive home instead of the 246 during the same time period the day before.

- Comfort food:  Even though the "Home" restaurant in Hope was crazy busy, and even though it took an eternity to get my lunch, a grilled cheese sandwich and huge green salad never tasted so yummy -- definitely comfort food to me!

- Iced capp:  My dessert after the grilled cheese was a large Tim Horton's iced capp which I nursed all the way home.  Satisfying, settling for my stomach, and c-o-l-d!

- "Live For Now":  I can't quite recall where I saw this billboard.  It was a Pepsi advertisement (I don't drink pop), but I just loved the saying.  It is such sage advice, and something I hope I can adopt in my personal philosophy more and more.

- Being Home:  The greatest joy, on this Easter weekend, is spending this extra-special holiday in my own home, with my husband, sister Maureen, and daughters, Esther, Kate, and Moya.  "It is joy unspeakable, and full of glory!!"

Have a glorious Easter weekend!!

Acceptance

Do you ever wonder, walking down the street, how many people you pass are really falling apart inside??  If you passed me on Monday, between Safeway and Rachel's, I was crumbling ... crawling ... clawing my way to get home.  Would you have noticed or realized, or are my acting talents sufficient that I could have fooled you?  Even though I like to think of myself as a fairly intelligent woman, occasionally I make really dumb decisions.  Case in point, the decision to walk to Safeway on "Achy Monday"!!

When my head hit the pillow on Sunday evening, my nausea was at a minimum, and the anticipated aches had started to blanket my shoulders and travel up my neck -- expected, no surprise, I can handle this.  Two Tylenol helped minimally, and before long I was enjoying dreamland.  When my bladder insisted it was time for a washroom visit about 3 a.m., I was pleasantly surprised that the aches had pretty much stayed put and hadn't traveled to other parts of my anatomy.  By morning, I was far from 100%, but felt encouraged by the fact that my discomfort appeared to be considerably less than usual.

During chemo, it is recommended that you change things like your mascara and your toothbrush every month.  I figured this was an excellent excuse to make myself walk to Safeway (a mere 1.5 km away).  Part way there, I was questioning my decision-making ability as my legs quivered, my ribs pulsed, and my head split open.  Oh ... those nasty aches might be taking a bit longer to kick in this cycle, but I certainly hadn't averted them.   However, bent on running my errands (The "to do" list was in my pocket! I couldn't not check off the list!!), I soldiered on to Safeway.  Block-headed Efficient Yvonne!!  When the room started to spin slightly while I was checking out, I knew I was in trouble.  Did I call a cab? Did I phone Rachel to see if she could leave her coffee date?  Nope ... I crawled home.

The emotional and physical dreariness of the day gathered momentum as the hours went by.  I suppose it stands to reason that I'm at my worst, emotionally, when I'm suffering the greatest physical discomfort.  Kleenex did a killer business that day :)  I succumbed to the temptation to feel sorry for myself, and wallowed in self-pity and physical suffering for the remainder of the day.

Hindsight REALLY IS 20/20!!  As quickly as the next day, I realized that Days 3 and 4 each cycle WILL be achy and blue days.  I get it now.  I will expect it.  I will deal with it.  I will even let myself stay in bed all day, if necessary.

And, on those days, I will let the world spin of its own momentum, without my contribution.  I will hover at the remotest edge of my former life, knowing that tomorrow is another day and, usually, it's a less achy one!
  

Perfectionism

During a long conversation with a dear friend in Smithers last night, I told her about the oncologist saying I had gained weight and how much this bothered me.  This lead to talking about my need for perfectionism. Hence, my many thoughts on this subject as I lay awake in bed at 6 a.m. this morning.  The result is another poem ...

PERFECTIONISM

Growing up,
a father who accepted
nothing less than perfection.
High standards.
   "Reach, and exceed, this bar, Yvonne."
Daddy's girl ... I needed to please.
Worked, studied, slaved 
   to be perfect,
   to measure up.

I didn't ... so rebellion came!

Then, while a stay-at-home mom,
   more attempts to earn approval.
I'd be the "perfect" cook,
   "perfect" baker,
   "perfect" mom,
   "perfect" wife,
   "perfect" housekeeper ...
to the detriment of my girls' fun and play time.
Accommodate all ... except me!
Justify my existence ... with little satisfaction!
Measure up ... but I didn't!

An over-achiever teacher,
"First one in the door"
   is a badge of honour I wear.
The job is never done
   (well, ALL teachers know this!)
But, I'll do it perfectly ...
   somehow.

My weight is NEVER good enough ...
   work my butt off,
   receive beautiful compliments,
   win competitions.
Never satisfied ... I'm so critical...
                     of me!

Even wanting to be
the appearance of the
PERFECT cancer-fighter!
Smile always on my face ...
   sometimes genuine,
   sometimes painted on.

What fanciful measuring stick
am I using for myself?
Why is being perfect
so ingrained into my psyche?
Who is perfect?
What is perfection?

WHO DECIDES??

When will I ever realize ...

I am good enough
just the way I am?

Yvonne, March 2013

HALF WAY!!!

Chemo cycle #4 yesterday signified "half way" along my chemo journey!  I'm ecstatic!!

I thought I might give you a pictorial walk down chemo-memory lane:

Cycle 2, February 22, 2013

Cycle 1, February 8, 2013

Cycle 3, March 8, 2013

Cycle 4, March 22, 2013

Adriamycin being administered by nurse

Several things to note in the pictures ...

1.  The look of dread, anxiety, and tension I see in my face for cycle 1 has gone!  I thrive on "the known", and now that I know what to expect, I'm way more relaxed.

2.  First, I always get the Adriamycin administered from 2 syringes.  Yes, the drug is that bright red colour, hence the reason for the same colour pee (is this too graphic??) for 2 days afterwards.

3.  The cyclophosphamide is administered by regular IV drip along with saline dripping the entire time.

4.  It looks like I've started wearing a significantly larger amount of makeup, likely to feel like more of a woman :)

5.  In 3 of the 4 pictures you will notice a common theme among shirts.  Thanks, Maureen, for suggesting I purchase this beautiful Patagonia shirt with a half zipper for easy access to my port.  I hope I don't hate it afterwards because it will hold long-lasting chemo memories!!

This Week's Appointments ...

"Oncologist Wednesday" - Other than a 45 minute wait for Rachel and I, the check-up was rather uneventful.  It was so nice to have company, because young ears remember so much more than my aging ones do.  After visit #1 with Kate, it was astonishing how many details she remembered that I hadn't even heard, let alone recalled.  Her only bad news was that I'm gaining a bit of weight. Initially, I told myself I had bigger battles right now, but losing weight is so ingrained into my psyche that I just can't let that thought go.  The next day I went on 3 walks to burn some calories, and I've definitely started being careful with my food intake.  I guess carrots and cucumbers will have to be my food of choice when I'm trying to get that rotten taste out of my mouth.

"Blood Work Thursday" - Completely and totally uneventful -- yay!!  A slight lean forward (barely) was all it took for that beautiful, red blood to get flowing, and that tiny tube was full in no time.  The nurse was even able to leave my access in, so I was back down to one poke this cycle.  Excellent news!!  She did use a longer access needle, as the notes in my chart indicated this may help, so I had to be careful sleeping with that one-inch protrusion from my chest, but I'll take it :):)

"Chemo Friday" - HALF WAY!!!!! 

I had really good blood counts:  hemoglobin, neutrophils, and platelets all up from cycle #3.  Great news!  Rachel and I had a long conversation with the woman and husband next to me.  It sounds like her protocol is very similar to mine.  Since she switched to Paclitaxel, her cycles have averaged 6 hours at the Cancer Agency.  She had an allergic reaction the first time (very common), so they have slowed her drip down significantly.  I'm trying NOT to get freaked out about the possibility of allergic reaction, but it's difficult.  Benadryl will drip simultaneously with the Taxel to minimize the risk,and there are 5 or 6 nurses close at hand if I need them.  Unfortunately, neither Rachel or Kate will be able to accompany me for that many hours what with work and school.  Rachel noted driving home, that even though my cycles are half done, time-wise, I've probably only put in 1/4 of the required hours.  Oh well, I can sleep through my drug-induced state from the Benadryl, and the 4+ hours will fly by ... here's hoping :) :) 

Did you notice something new and different at cycle 4???

THAT'S RIGHT -- MY WIG ARRIVED!!  It's a big longer, lighter, and poofier than I've been wearing my hair lately, but I love it!  Here's a few more pics.

The lighting in Rachel's kitchen makes the highlights look almost grey.  They're not!!! It's a beautiful soft brown with blonde highlights.  Very happy with my choice.


My tummy's hanging in there today, and the nausea is not too bad.  Likely no walks today, as my energy level is low and will likely stay that way for a few more days.  Here's some spring pictures to leave you with from my 3 walks on Thursday  (sorry Char, while you're buried under snow).

My New Normal

Tuesday was my travel day from Ashcroft back to Victoria.  When I dropped down the hill from the highway into Ashcroft last Wednesday, it genuinely felt like I was "coming home".  I had wondered (and worried) if I would have that feeling, since we have only lived there for 2-1/2 years.  Of course, Ashcroft is where my sweetheart was waiting for me, and I realize that "home" is people, not a place.  Many, many years ago I did a cross-stitch picture that said "A house is built by human hands; a home is built by human hearts."  I love that saying -- I wonder where that picture is??

Victoria is an amazing city!  From the historical architecture, to the vast seascapes, to the miles of winding, beach sidewalks, to the funky, eclectic antique stores ... amazing!  But ...Victoria isn't my home.  Having three of my five daughters in Victoria, helps immensely.  My physical needs are well looked after -- each night, I sleep lay my head down in a comfy bed in a warm room, I have plenty to eat (just ask my oncologist about that one -- I could have punched her!!), I can trek around the beach, and have lots of quiet time if I need it.  But somehow, it all feels so foreign.

While home, I had a burning desire to wrap myself in normalcy.  Mission NOT accomplished!!  I felt out of sorts, in the way, a nuisance, almost like nothing was familiar. Please understand these were MY feelings -- nobody else was making me feel that way (David treated me like a princess!)  However, I truly believe I don't have a "normal" anymore -- or at least, it's a "new normal".  One I'm not particularly fond of ...

What's not "normal" anymore ...

- Work:  I don't get to do that!  Haven't for 4 months; likely not for 6 more (crying actual tears here).  As Joy would say, "I miss it like a beaver would miss his two front teeth!"

- Exercise:  Even walking seems to be more effort these days.  My oncologist tells me this is "normal" as the drugs damage my heart, but I'm trying to keep it up.

- Sleep:  Almost an impossibility each night, unless drug-assisted, which I hate doing.

- Eating: I eat too much (except on nausea-filled Days 1, 2, and 3)!   Now, this is difficult, mentally, for someone who has counted calories most of her adult life.  But, I have to get that yucky, metallic taste out of my mouth somehow!!  Also, I figure I have bigger fish to fry these days, and losing the pounds I gain can wait for 6 months.

My "new normal" ...

- Waiting:  My life is one giant waiting game.  Initially, it was waiting for tests, scans, surgeries, and results.  Now, it's waiting for oncologist visits, blood work, and the next chemo cycle.  My life boils down to "putting in time" until the next appointment.

- Jealousy:  TRUE CONFESSION TIME!!  I'm jealous that my friends and family get to go to work, get to go to morning workout, get to go for a run, get to have a NORMAL LIFE!!!!

- Boredom:  One would think being able to do whatever you want all day, every day would be a dream life -- WRONG!!!  Truly, it's boring.  (Well, it might be exciting if funds were unlimited, I was sitting on a tropical beach in paradise, and didn't have to fight cancer.)  Likely, I should make myself get out there and do more, but that all takes effort -- something that isn't unlimited these days.

It's temporary!!

Life will return to "normal".  Work will resume (and I'll be whining about writing report cards again ... can't wait!!).  Boot camp and 6 a.m. workouts will help me get back in shape.  My hair will grow -- and maybe even be curly for the first time in my life. Cancer will go find another dancing partner (I so wish this wasn't true, but it smacks you in the face when you see all the precious people at the Cancer Agency.)  Then, my "new normal" will be back to my "old normal" -- a life I love very much, thank you :)

Showered with Blessings

I am one BLESSED woman!!!! 
There is not enough space on this page, or time in this day to list all of the many, many blessings I have in my life.  Every one of them is a gift from God, and every breath I take is because of His grace and love.

- my four precious daughters, Joy, Kate, Esther, Rachel and son-in-law Stu

Rachel & Stu

- my "extra" daughter, Moya

Moya and Kate

- my extraordinary siblings, Maureen, Charlotte, and Kevin

- my parents, Mom & Dad ... aka Elizabeth & Bob

Dad, Me, Mom (obviously!)

- my "extra" parents, Evelyn & Oswald

- my husband, David

- my many rock-star friends ... Laura, Judy, Cheryl, Anne, Colette, Liza, Janice

- my nieces (Eva & Kim), nephew (TC), cousins (old & new), aunts, uncles

- I have a home waiting for me in Heaven

- a beautiful home on Earth

- going on vacations

Calgary Stampede 2012 with Joy

- sunshine coming in my window

- I live in Canada ... one of the most beautiful countries on Earth

- a good medical system

- Pacific Blue Cross extended health benefits

- a reliable car to drive

- mountains to hike

- exercise classes

I won $200 for being "Biggest Loser" at Boot Camp

- good, clean drinking water

- plenty of food to eat

- a great job with supportive colleagues and precious students

- TV ... I'm an addict

- books ... and I know how to read them

- animals, particularly cats and lambs (and Esther & Joy's horses)

Rachel's cat, Vic. I need to borrow this perch for Blood Work Thursday!!

- electricity

- running water

- long walks along the beach in Victoria

- scenery:  mountains, lakes, rivers, flowers, ocean ... such splendor!!

Waterton Lake, Alberta 2012

- my new laptop

- rainbows

- I'm 3/8 of the way through chemo and Neupogen injections

My check list ... then

... and now.  PROGRESS!!!

- excellent cancer treatment and a beautiful Cancer Agency

- being able to write a blog to get out all my thoughts, feelings, wonderings, and advice

- people ACTUALLY read my blog :) :)

- it's a new day, and I'm here to enjoy it!

I would LOVE IT if you would add more and more and more blessings by way of a comment!

A Day to Complain

I really do try to be an optimist.  I have SO MANY blessings to be thankful for.  But ... I just need to vent my complaints today, and I hope you'll grant me the license to do that.

COMPLAINT #1:  Neupogen injections.
You already know I hate doing them, and it doesn't get any easier.

My $300 worth of Neupogen waiting to enter my flabby stomach

COMPLAINT #2:  Heartburn and acidy stomach.
Ever since cycle #3, my nausea has changed to heartburn and acid reflux.  I googled it to see if this was a common side effect of chemo.  Yep!!  Apparently, the lining of the stomach contains quickly-dividing cells -- exactly the kind of cells chemo is targeting.  Most common side effect:  heartburn, acid indigestion, and acid reflux.  Extra side effects from this side effect -- a constant metallic taste in my mouth which gives me really bad breath.  Sorry, those of you who are in close proximity :(

COMPLAINT #3:  Burping
Complaint #2 causes me to burp like a logger, 24-7.

COMPLAINT #4:  PARTIAL hair loss
How does a hair cell decide if it's going to let chemo kill it or not??  As you can see, I am not totally bald.  My guess is that this is all the hair I will lose.  Head hair - 4/5 gone; nose hair - 4/5 gone; leg hair - 1/2 gone; arm hair - 1/2 gone; eyebrows - hanging in there!  eyelashes - hanging in there!  Extra side effect:  I sniff constantly because I don't have nose hair to keep all the goodies inside.

My meager hair supply that's left.  I'd rather be bald!

COMPLAINT #5:  Head coverings are hot!
Every time I get home from a walk or a shopping trip, the first thing I do is rip off whatever is on my head. (I also tend to be fairly claustrophobic, so this might be part of my problem.  How will I deal with a wig??)

COMPLAINT #6:  Alligator skin
Every square inch of skin on my body is incredibly dry, dry, dry.  It seems that no amount of lotion helps.  I've actually started to use oil on my scalp to try to relieve the dry, itchy feeling.

COMPLAINT #7:  No energy
After cycle 1, my approximation would be that, after Day 4 or 5, my energy returned to about 95% of normal.  After cycle 2, 85%; after cycle 3, 75%.  I don't like the look of this trend!

COMPLAINT #8:  Fitness Level
I had worked SO HARD to get back into shape in the fall, it just breaks my heart that I have no stamina, and get out of breath climbing a set of stairs.  Oh, how I long to return to 6 a.m. workouts and riding my bike!  If you're able to do either of these things, please count your blessings!

COMPLAINT #9:  Pregnant stomach
Combine together the inability to work out adequately with feeling bloated and full of gas all day, every day -- the result is "pregnant stomach".  (Drat!! The one part of my body I always prided myself on -- a flat stomach.  "Pride goeth before a fall!")
Hidden Benefit of pregnant stomach - lots of good fat for subcutaneous injections :)

COMPLAINT #10:  Inflations
I've whined enough about this event  that I anticipate with horror delight :) :)  Inflation #4 comes on Monday...yay!!!

COMPLAINT #11:  Paying for parking at the Cancer Agency
Now, I know cancer patients aren't any more "special" than the average Joe, but ... it irks me that every time I pull in the parking lot, it costs me $1.50/hour.  Sometimes (as in the case of blood work) I'm there for 3 hours or more!  By the time this is said and done, I will be able to wallpaper a large room in my home with all the parking ticket stubs.

COMPLAINT #12:  Wig is Backordered
That's right!  After painstakingly choosing exactly the style and colour I wanted, it was backordered out of Toronto and would likely take over a month to arrive.  As a result, I went in and chose Plan B, which I'm hoping is waiting for me when I return to Victoria in a few days.

COMPLAINT #13:  CANCER IS A GREEDY THIEF!!

Cancer steals so many things FROM my life!!  But, I FEEL STRONG today, and I will declare, "CANCER WILL NOT STEAL MY LIFE!!  I WILL trust and NOT be afraid!"

I promise that tomorrow I will share some of the trillions of BLESSINGS I have in my life!!

Should it be This Hard to Get One Tiny Tube of Blood??

[ I apologize for being AWOL for a few days.  I drove from Victoria to Ashcroft on Wednesday.  Although the trip was uneventful, I arrived exhausted.  I did start a post yesterday, but between cups of tea with friends and going to see my students (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! details later), I simply did not have the energy to finish it off. ] 

My chemo-week routine has become very predictable; oncologist visit Wednesday, blood work Thursday, chemo Friday.  I am thrilled to report that when I relayed my gory delightful details about nausea and vomiting to the oncologist, she prescribed an additional anti-nausea medication (I now have FOUR in my arsenal!).  I knew it was going to be good stuff when the pharmacist commented, "I see they've got you on the Cadillac version now!"  Yep -- only the best of the best for Yvonne :)

On "Blood Work Thursday", the nurse had a somewhat difficult time on this first-ever try getting blood return from my port.  At cycle #1 chemo, it had flushed like a dream, and, obviously, the drugs went where they were supposed to and accomplished their mission.  Well, at least I assumed all had gone as planned, otherwise I wouldn't be nauseated and bald, right??  We tried a few different "tricks of the trade" such as waving my arm in the air, deep breathing, and relaxation exercises.  (I will admit that, since this was the first ever blood-drawing from my port, I was just a wee bit tense!)  Eventually, she managed to get one tiny tube of blood.  THE BEST part of Blood Work Thursday was that the nurse taped over my port access and there was NO poke at chemo on Friday -- yay!!

Thank you, Lord, for Cadillacs!!  The new medication was amazing, and made a drastic difference in my "after chemo" experience.  Absolutely no visits to the big white bowl!  Minimal nausea -- still brought on by certain smells and the thought of certain foods.  But, WAY BETTER!!!

On "Blood Work Thursday" before cycle #3, the nurse flushed my port several times and then tried to get blood return -- NOTHING!  During the course of the next hour (yes, I did say hour), I was put through the ropes of every acrobatic pose known to mankind (by almost every nurse on the chemo ward).  "Wave your arms in the air; turn your head this way; no, that didn't work, turn it that way; cough really hard; umm ... ... ...; we're gonna put these blankets behind your back; OK try sticking your chest WAY out; lay on this bed, "starfish" your arms and legs; yes, pretend you're a starfish; stand on your head (no - this one is an exaggeration, but we did consider trying it!)".  Great intentions ... epic failure!!

My memory escapes me as to which acrobatic pose managed to produce a trickle of blood.  About 30 minutes later, one tiny tube of blood was full.  There! .... Done!

Later, while standing in line to pay for my next round of prescriptions, my cell phone rang in my pocket.  It was the lab ...  Can you guess what they had to say??  Since it took so long to fill the tube with blood, it started to coagulate and had to be thrown out.  Once the Neupogen was in the fridge at home, back to the Cancer Agency I went.

Nurse Kyla tried to get blood -- to no avail.  She called on "the resident expert", who was also unable to get any blood.  It was suggested they inject a "clot buster" into my port in case a clot was preventing blood return.  (I wanted to be all medical here and tried to google the drug name but, who knew there were hundreds of clot-busting drugs out there??)

After injecting the clot buster, I hung out in the waiting room for an hour for it to work its magic.  Let me just interject here to say THE VOLUNTEERS AT THE CANCER AGENCY ARE AMAZING!! There are always many ladies checking you in for appointments, showing you where to go, offering you tea, coffee, and Digestive cookies, or even just sitting to chat.  I love and appreciate every one of them!!  (I had several cups of coffee -- but no cookies -- while I waited.)

When I stuck my nose in at the nursing station one hour later, I was greeted with, "Here comes trouble!"  Apparently, I had earned quite the reputation and was the talk of the chemo ward that day.  Katie, the same nursing student that had taught Kate and I to do injections, had signed on to solve the "mystery case" of why I seemingly had no blood coursing through my veins.  "We're gonna get a gusher!" were her words as I sat down in the chair.  NO BLOOD!  We tried a bit of the coughing and arm waving again ... NO BLOOD!  Katie had one more trick up her sleeve, and she asked me to perch on the edge of the chair and lean forward while she tried positioning some rolled up blankets in the magic spot behind my back.  The instant I sat forward in the chair -- WE STRUCK OIL!!!  A GUSHER!!! Go figure??!!??

Later, Maureen would explain it as my port being "positional dependent", and told me I likely didn't need the clot buster at all.  Oh well, I'm good and cleaned out now, and will be ready to perch again on Thursday.

Experiencing Chemo Fatigue

It is raining today. Well, that's a gigantic understatement -- it is POURING!!  As in, torrential downpour, monsoons, the sky is literally gushing vast amounts of water.  It is the kind of rain we don't experience in Ashcroft (a semi-arid desert), but, in Victoria, is quite common.

The weather today matches the mood, emotions, and physical predicament I found myself in yesterday.  Other than the nausea of cycle #1, I'm quite convinced it was THE WORST I have felt.  I did not sleep well two nights ago -- actually, I haven't slept well for three nights, now.  My night was filled with weird dreams, strange imaginings, heartburn, aches, and worry.  What a combination!!

After a Friday chemo session, Sunday always marks the start of more Neupogen injections.  It is somehow reassuring to be able to predict when aches and pains will commence -- Sunday night. Apparently, it's a good sign -- an indication that my bone marrow is busily creating new white blood cells. True to form, about 5 p.m. on Sunday, I began to feel the aches travel across my shoulders, up my neck, and across the back of my head.  While I fitfully tossed and turned, the dull, throbbing pain spread down my rib cage to my waist and up to the tip of my head.  I had an extremely hard time forcing my tired body out of bed in the morning and, as my feet hit the floor, they were NOT running!

After eating my new favourite breakfast -- oatmeal with a teaspoon of almond butter and a sprinkling of raisins -- I traipsed upstairs to shower and accomplish the dreaded injection.  You would think that after completing 8 days of injections for cycle 1 and again for cycle 2, it would be no sweat.  NOT TRUE!  I still feel like I can't completely exhale each morning until the shot is over with.

Apres injection, I did something I NEVER do; namely, lay back down in bed.  I COULD NOT GET UP!! Now, I don't mean it felt so wonderful lazing around in bed that I didn't want to get up.  I LITERALLY COULD NOT GET UP!!!  My brain willed my body to sit ... stand ... walk.  My body simply would not respond.

My brain processed the knowledge that I was experiencing chemo fatigue for the first time.  My mind demanded, "Don't give in!  Don't give in! Get up out of this bed!!"  I COULD NOT GET UP ... STILL!! What a frustrating experience to not be able to control my body. Eventually, I gave myself an ultimatum ... get up by the count of ten, or else ...  I didn't know "or else what??"  Counting up, "one" ... "four" ... "nine" ... my uncooperative corpse didn't budge.  "Ten!" ... nothing!

Although I did eventually will my body out of bed, I remained achy, tired, and lethargic the entire day.  My only accomplishment was two loads of laundry -- that's it!  From this "To Do List", "Over-Achiever" gal, that's just not acceptable.

Thankfully, today is a better day.  Raining -- yes -- but, the aches are gone and some energy has returned.  I'm experiencing a level of guilt for "giving in", but, after all, fatigue is a feeling -- and I let myself feel it.  I couldn't help it!

  

What Ever Happened to Those Lymph Nodes??

I realized this morning that I had written about needing more lymph nodes removed, but had never told you the end of the story.

Returning home from my second surgery

On January 16, right after receiving injection #3 from the plastic surgeon (UGH!!!), I went to the surgeon's office for a check up.  She thought the incision looked really good and apologized for nicking my lung while implanting the port-a-cath.  I asked her about numbness in my armpit and upper arm -- I literally had NO feeling right to my elbow, which frightened the pants off me!  She let me know that many women who have this surgery NEVER get normal feeling back, but, with any luck -- luck????-- I would have most of my feeling return, but it could take up to a few years.  Oh, the delights they don't tell you about BEFORE the surgery -- probably a very good thing!

I then asked her how many lymph nodes she took out.  She responded with, "I don't know."  "What????" I'm thinking.  "You WERE there, right??"  It was then she explained that she had removed a "scoop" of nodes and tissue and we wouldn't know how many until the pathology report was back.  "Could you please check if it's back", was my next response.  She said she'd check, but it was unlikely.

As I redressed, she stuck her head back in the door and literally shouted, "TEN NODES -- ALL CLEAR!!!"  That was extremely happy news!!!

Since I was feeling pretty darn good, I had booked a flight to go visit my Mom, Dad, and sister in Trail.  I had a very early morning flight, so I stayed overnight at my daughter, Esther's in Kamloops to be closer to the airport.  That evening, and more pronounced in the morning, I noticed or felt a slight swelling in my armpit.  Some feeling was returning to my upper arm by this point, and I wondered if it was just that I was able to feel in that spot for the first time.

No -- that wasn't the case-- as my visit went on in Trail, my armpit got more and more swollen.  Once again, THANK HEAVEN my big sister is a nurse!!!  She checked it for more swelling, redness, and heat 25 times a day.  I was becoming more and more miserable as this giant, hairy orange grew in my armpit to the point where I had to hold my arm out from my body to be comfortable. Maureen, on a visit to the Foundation Office at the Trail Hospital, told them her sister was visiting and about my latest "development".  They insisted she choose a pillow to bring home to me.  What a Godsend!!  I walked, drove, and slept with that pillow in my armpit for weeks.

My "heart" pillow.
Thank you to the ladies in Creston who sewed it!!!

When I returned home, I visited the surgeon's office once again and had 60 cc of fluid aspirated from my armpit to relieve some of the swelling.  She termed it a "seroma", which I quickly googled to see how else I could help.  I found depressing stories stating that, often, a seroma (really just a build-up of fluid) can take up to two years to reabsorb into the body.  Thankfully, the aspiration worked and hardly any fluid returned to my armpit.  I could feel it sloshing about over top of my tissue expander for many, many weeks, though.

OK ... Lots of Side Effects

Back to chemo cycle #1! We had left the hospital and I was feeling pretty good.  Not great, but good.  I'm sure there was still a lot of uncertainty and anticipation bubbling just below the surface.  What would the evening be like?

It started out great, as it happens.  I ate a normal supper (mistake #1) because I was feeling so good.  I had taken my anti-nausea meds 30 minutes prior to chemo, and another one at 6 p.m.  About 10 p.m. I took a different anti-nausea med and quickly climbed the stairs up to my bedroom (mistake #2).  Within minutes of changing for bed, my mouth started getting that lovely over-salivating feeling that something's not quite right.  I dashed for the bathroom as quickly as I could, and just made it!  I threw up violently!!  I called for my #1 nurse, Kate, who came and sat with me in the bathroom, and then my bedroom for quite some time.  Since I was sure I had thrown up my last medication, I took one of my pretty, orange "rescue" pills.

I did manage to get 4 or 5 hours of sleep, but as soon as my feet hit the floor in the morning, there was that over-salivating happening again ... run!!  My stomach was NOT good!!!  Just the thought of eating, drinking, or smelling anything made me nauseous.  This was bad!  This was what was NOT supposed to happen, according to all the oncologists and nurses.

Kate and Moya set off for the grocery store to purchase lots of items on the "Foods that Help Nausea" list given to me at the chemo teach session such as ginger ale, club soda, and pretzels.  I tried very little bits of a few things, and they stayed down.   My eating was pretty meager for  several days (not that that would hurt my waistline at all).

Day 3 (Sunday) marked the day of my first Neupogen injection.  Since I had Nurse Kate on the scene, we decided she would do the first few in the back of my left arm -- a spot I would be unable to reach on my own while rotating injection sites.  It wasn't bad at all!  Mind you, someone else was in control of the needle and when it entered my body -- not me!

LESSON:

If you're somewhat of a caffeine addict, like me, start cutting back on caffeine a few days before chemo.  If you're nauseated, it will likely be the last thing you want, and then you'll develop this lovely caffeine-withdrawal headache on top of all the other side effects you're suffering from.

That evening, I started to develop aches and pains across my shoulders and up my neck.  This, piled on top of the nausea, was just too much to handle!  My sister, Maureen, called about that time and got a crying mess ... aka ME ... sobbing that I couldn't do this 7 more times over and I was walking away from the whole process!!  I got myself so worked up, that I started getting that over-salivating again and ran for the toilet, phone in hand.  Maureen (a remarkable nurse) talked me through it, got me to deep breathe, and I avoided another visit with the big white bowl.

The nausea gradually got better.  I was able to go for a short walk on Day 4, and back to fairly normal eating and drinking by Day 5-6.

I would be complaining heavily at my next oncologist visit that something had to be done because I couldn't live through days like that 7 more times!

PS:  Kate says people love pictures in blog posts, but I thought it best to leave the events of these days unphotographed :) :)

Two Chairs with a View

So, I'm taking a total break from the chronology this morning, to share a poem, as I threatened to do early on in my posts.  I would like to dedicate it to many people ... namely:  David, Charlotte, Kevin, Maureen, Rachel, Esther, Kate, Joy, Laura, Cheryl, Anne, Judy, Colette.  It's YOU I wish could sit beside me.

TWO CHAIRS WITH A VIEW

An invigorating walk

  causes my weakened heart

  to pound, almost palpitate.

My body, flabby …

   out of shape.

But fresh air coursing through my

   lungs clears some fogginess.

Tiring, I see two blue-lacquered chairs.

   Lonely against the seascape.

   Yet, beckoning, welcoming.

I sit … watch …

Wisps of dainty clouds

   gracing a soft, blue sky.

The sun, a knife slicing through,

   creates a dazzling, silver streak

   along the flat horizon.

Waves, lapping.

Gulls, flapping, fighting.

Reefs of intricate rocks …

They’re just like me.

Sometimes, strong and firm.

But soon, surrounded, then … overtaken.

Gone quickly, in an instant.

Simmering just below the surface.

Unnoticeable, drowning.

I imagine you here,

   in the blue-lacquered chair beside me,

   chatting easily with ready laughter.

You touch my arm,

   grasp my hand.

Now … I’m free as

   the bobbing kelp bulb or

   driftwood bouncing, carefree.

Carried by the water.

Free, yet secure,

   In a blue-lacquered chair.

     Yvonne, March 2013

A Necessary Evil

Today is chemo cycle #3.  It's one of those "I want it to come", "I dread that it's here", days.

Back in January, David was expecting to get called to Alberta to work any second.  He's a Project Manager, and works from contract to contract.  Last winter, he worked in northern Alberta for 3 months and, in November, had received a call to go back to work for the same company.  Of course, he didn't go then ... I was in the throws of diagnosis, waiting for surgery, etc. ... and he wanted desperately to be with me.  I'd have locked him in the nearest closet if he tried to leave!  David was keeping them abreast (no pun intended) of my situation, and would notify them as soon as he was able to come.  Once I knew what treatment would look like, we both felt I could handle him leaving.  He sat on pins and needles, waiting for the call to come, and waiting ...

Meanwhile, it was time for oncologist consultations and to get on with chemo.  Ideally, treatment needs to start within 2 months of surgery, so my chemotherapy should get started on or before February 7th.  Since we anticipated that David would be gone from Ashcroft, I needed to make a decision about starting treatment in Kamloops (one hour away) or travelling to Victoria where 2 of my 4 daughters live.  We weighed pros and cons for quite some time, and finally decided to ask to have treatment in Victoria.  That would free David up to leave on a moment's notice, and I would be well looked after by daughters.

This gorgeous sight is a 2-minute walk from Rachel & Stu's.

February 8th ... chemo cycle #1!!

Thankfully, Rachel didn't have to teach that Friday so, to help pass the time, we went for a leisurely walk, shopped, and had a delicious lunch out.  However, as 3 p.m. approached, I became more and more tense and nervous.  There were so many unknowns ... What would it "feel" like to have these poisons pumped into my veins?  How would my body react?  Would I be sick?  Would I sail through with no problems?  Would I have any energy or suffer the expected fatigue?

I don't do well with unknowns.  I'm a "sure thing" kind of gal.  I'm not the gambling type, and I felt like I was gambling with my body.  During my oncologist consultation, I was surprised when asked if I would consider chemo.  I guess there are actually people who opt against it.  My thinking was, if chemo can reduce the chance of reoccurrence by 30% (the stats I was given), OF COURSE I wanted it!  Two oncologists had reassured me that very few people actually get sick with chemo these days.  So many advances have been made with anti-nausea meds, that many people feel no nauseous side effects at all.

My Rock ... aka Kate ... came with me to the Cancer Agency.  I checked in and was shown to a large, horseshoe-shaped room capable of housing 15 chemo patients and their support people.  I settled into my chair, with Kate close at my side, and glanced around at my cohorts ... mostly older than me, but one young man who couldn't have been 25.  Cancer at any age is TRAGIC ... but, somehow, it seems triply tragic when someone in the vitality of youth is struck with this disease. Overwhelmed, tears immediately flowed down my cheeks, and I just couldn't stop them.

Cycle #1 ... once the tears stopped!

God sent me my big sister to be my nurse that day ... well, not literally, but the oncology nurse I had reminded both Kate and I SO MUCH of Maureen, that I felt like she was there with me in the room!  First thing, I took my two anti-nausea meds, had my port flushed, and waited to get started.  The first bright-red drug was in two large syringes that the nurse squished into a short line connected to my port.  Then, the second drug bag was hung on the IV pole, and would drip into my veins for 45 minutes -- relatively fast, I thought.  I was warned about experiencing hay fever symptoms from the second drug, but it didn't happen.

To help pass the time, a bubbly nursing student came and taught Kate and I how to give Neupogen injections -- something I would have to do on Days 3-10 every cycle to help build my white blood cells.  During a 3-week cycle, a body's white blood cell count will drop dangerously low (hence the susceptibility to infection) and then rebuild again before the next cycle.  Since I am on a 2-week cycle ("Dose Dense" because of my cancer's aggressive nature), my poor old body needs help to regrow white blood cells.  Once again, Kate was a rock star injection student ... I was hopeless :( :(

We packed up and left 1-1/2 hours later.  I felt fine ... nothing so far ... no nausea ... no vomiting ... hungry ... no side effects ... ... ... ... ... ...

Here a Port, There a Port, Everywhere a Port, Port

The government of B.C. can sometimes do wonderful things! They are VERY GOOD to breast cancer patients.  When my surgeon first offered me the option of immediate reconstruction during my mastectomy surgery, my first question was, "How much does THAT cost??"  Nothing!  Zip! Negatory! Zero! The government totally foots the bill for all reconstruction options available.  I didn't even have to think twice about whether or not I wanted reconstruction ... I wanted it!! If it was free of charge, and would give me back two matching breasts, why would I not want it?  I actually couldn't imagine that any woman wouldn't want it.  I had scrutinized umpteen pictures in my cancer book of women with one "normal" breast and one flat side with a long incision scar.  I did not want that to be me.  I wanted to look as womanly and "normal" as possible.

Here a Port ...

As I told you earlier, the TRAM flap was not a reconstruction option for me.  I had a deflated tissue expander -- kind of like an empty balloon -- placed behind my chest muscle in a space carved out by the plastic surgeon.  Then, post op, I have been "inflated" (3 times so far) with saline solution through a port in the expander.  This horrific exciting process will continue to happen until the expander is approximately the size of the eventual permanent implant.    In essence, the expander is making my chest muscle move to form a nice pocket where the implant will live indefinitely.  Once the permanent implant is in place, the government will even pay for a "lift" on the other breast -- new implants don't droop, and 54-year-old breasts do :)

I HATE GOING TO GET EXPANDED!!!  

Now, don't get me wrong.  My plastic surgeon is WONDERFUL!   He is fabulous at explaining procedures, he's kind and caring, and I couldn't have asked for better.  However ... the huge syringe freaks me out, I cringe when the large needle is punched through my skin into the port, and I can't even begin to describe the internal pressure in the hours and days afterwards.  I know it stands to reason that moving muscle hurts.  But, it is sooooo uncomfortable -- as if there's a huge fist inside me pushing outwards.  If I had to do it again ... I'm just not sure I would have reconstruction. After all, it's not like I'm a 30-year old young woman who has most of her life left to live.  I'm middle-aged, not trying to impress anyone, and now think I would be quite content with one breast.  As it is, I have 1-1/2 breasts right now.  Injections stopped as soon as chemo started (too high a risk of infection), so I'm one lop-sided woman!  I have had 3 of 6-7 injections, so all my "spared" skin is starting to unfold and look normal, but many lumps, creases, and bumps still make up what will, one day, be a "normal" breast.

Evidence of my very lopsided chest :)

The jury's still out on this one ... I'll keep you posted :)

There a Port ...

When my surgeon gave me my pathology report, she informed me that one lymph node with cancer necessitated more lymph node surgery.  At least the wait for this surgery wouldn't be long -- it would happen one week later, on January 10, 2013.  Even though I had not yet had an oncologist consultation, the surgeon guaranteed me that chemo would be a given because of the extent and aggression of the cancer they had found.

THANK HEAVEN MY BIG SISTER IS A NURSE!  My brain was always such a jumbled mess of thoughts, emotions, and information.  I never would have thought ahead about how the chemo was going to get inside my body.  In fact, exposing my ignorance, I didn't even have any idea that, under most circumstances, people need IV's to get their chemo.  (Remember me and needles and bad veins??)  My sister called me suggesting I ask my surgeon to implant a port-a-cath during my lymph node surgery.  It's a small device that is surgically implanted just below the skin with a tube directly into a vein.  Another option is a PICC line, but Maureen said they are harder to care for and can't get wet (No showers? A PICC line wasn't for me!).

An affirmative call came the next day that I could, indeed, have a port-a-cath inserted during surgery.  I would also be having an indefinite number of lymph nodes removed -- kind of like scooping a soup ladle's worth of nodes and tissue from my right arm pit -- that would be carefully examined for signs of cancer cells.  Both surgeries went well ... sort of. When the surgeon was inserting the tube into my vein, she kinda, mighta, maybe nicked my lung just a bit.  WHAT NEXT??

What DID come next, literally, was a series of FIVE (5) daily x-rays to check on the progress of my lung healing.  What are a few more electromagnetic radiation rays floating around my body, eh?

CENSOR'S WARNING: The photograph below is not for the faint of heart!!

Tape covering the incision, and notice the big "bump" under my skin ... that's the port through which I get all my chemo.

Now that I'm right in the swing of getting chemo --as of today, 2 down, 6 to go, with #3 coming tomorrow -- I'm SO THANKFUL to have a port-a-cath.  Most other patients at the Cancer Agency here have to get an IV each time.  THIS port is well worth it.  I recommend this one!!

Learning to Feel my Feelings

As I start to write, it is 3 a.m. in my neck of the woods.  Not being able to sleep is another part of my new reality.  I've just taken 2 Gravol tablets, not because I'm nauseous, but because they make me drowsy.  Last night when I couldn't sleep, I eventually resorted to a Zopiclone -- a pretty little blue pill that sent me into an altered, sleep-filled world.  However, I wasn't back among the land of the living until 9:45 a.m., and felt groggy for half the day. Hence, Gravol tonight.

I FEEL ALONE!  Is there anyone else out there battling this disease who can relate?  This feeling has come and gone, faded in and out, over the last months.  I try to be honest,  try to allow myself to "feel my feelings" (something I haven't always been very good at).  I attempt to explain to those who care about me what having this disease is really like.   They try to understand, tell me "you're strong", try to sympathize.  But tonight, right now, I feel alone.  At the center of a whirlwind, I see the faces of my family and friends whizzing past me.  Spinning around, I reach out to them.  Their warped faces go in and out of focus, barely out of my grasp.  They have their own lives -- they're busily living out their reality -- going to school, teaching, going to work.  My fingertips brush theirs as we pass, but I can't quite grasp their hands.  Life as I knew it is at a standstill ... I'm alone.

I really don't mean to sound bizarre or depressed.  I'm neither of those things.  However, so many times over the past six months, I have said,"I'm fine", when I'm not; said, "I'm strong!" when I felt the furthest thing from strong; and said, "I'm going to kick cancer's butt!", when I really felt like crawling into a hole.  So ... I'm learning to be honest, and learning to feel my feelings.  A brand new friend recently told me that I don't always have to be strong for everyone else... so tonight, I'm not strong!

In the days and weeks following my mastectomy surgery, I experienced similar feelings.  I was working hard to get physically strong again, and I was amazed that I seemed to be making progress faster than the books I had read predicted.  But, my dear sweet husband started telling every well-wisher that called, "Yvonne's doing great!  She makes this look like a walk-in-the-park.". WHAT???? A walk in the park?  My breast is history!  I'm having a second surgery to remove more lymph nodes! I can't wear anything but a button-up shirt because I can't reach my hand over my head! I sleep in a chair!   Inside my head I was screaming, "How the **** would YOU know how I feel!!!!"  Don't tell ME how I'M feeling, thank you very much!!

That was rather a catastrophic moment for me. It made me realize that if I appeared strong, of course those around me would assume that's the truth. I wasn't allowing myself to feel my feelings, let alone share those true feelings with others.  My entire life, I've been an accommodator.  Everyone else, and everyone else's feelings are always more important than mine.  As a wife, a mom, and even a teacher, I was used to putting others and their feelings ahead of my own.  Imagine, at the ripe old age of 54, having to learn to feel my feelings AND be vulnerable enough to share those feelings -- the good, the bad, and the ugly -- with others.

Guess you got "the bad" and some of "the ugly" today.  But, they're MY feelings, I'M feeling them, and I even shared them ... so proud of myself :)  Now, I'm hitting "Publish" before I change my mind ...





 

Bad Timing

IF ...

you're ever going to accidentally find a lump in your breast in the shower, don't find it in September!!  It just sets you up for a domino-effect of very, bad timing.

Under normal circumstances, after having my surgery on December 7th, I should have had my pathology results approximately 7 - 10 agonizing days later.  However ... because of the holiday season -- my "bad timing" -- the wait time for pathology results grew to be an excruciating TWENTY-SEVEN days!!!

IF ...

you are waiting for pathology results from your mastectomy and sentinel node biopsy, maybe steal yourself away to a quiet, remote, secluded desert island for Christmas.  It's not the time to be surrounded by family and friends --- honest!!!

I LOVE CHRISTMAS ...

Joy, Yvonne, Esther making sugar cookies ... yum!!

The tree's all ready to go, but where's my Christmas spirit gone???

Any other year, the Christmas season is my absolute favourite.  I love remembering the birth of Jesus, the majestic carols, the explosion of colours on houses and trees, the frustration excitement of shopping in over-crowded malls for gifts to give to those I love.  I LOVE IT ALL!!!  However, I can say from the bottom of my heart that, for a range of reasons too complicated and varied to go into here, THIS WAS THE WORST CHRISTMAS OF MY LIFE!!!

I endeavoured, as best I could, to put the pathology results out of my over-filled, over-anxious mind ... it didn't work!!  Every meal I prepared, every game I played, every movie I watched, every fake smile I plastered on my face ... the nagging, incessant question at the forefront of my mind was an unbroken record, "What will the pathology report say?"  My brain throbbed with aching to know.  That piece of paper would dictate my treatment, my prognosis, the remainder of my life.

The Pathology Report Arrives ...

On January 3, my surgeon went over each intricate detail of the 5-page report with me.  I would later read every syllable over and over, looking up and researching unfamiliar terms, wanting to understand what had, and likely still was, living and growing inside me.  This disease had changed the fabric of who I am and would be, and I wanted to know my dance-partner intimately.  

My Dance Partner:

- Estrogen Receptor: Negative

- Progesterone Receptor: Negative

- HER-2: Negative

The word "negative" is what we all want to hear in test results, right?? WRONG!! - "Triple Negative" breast cancer is the most aggressive type of breast cancer to have.  My dancing partner doesn't like to waltz, he likes to jitter-bug!  This is the reason my chemo cycles are only spaced two weeks apart -- to try to kill off my new dance partner ASAP!!  Most other types of cancer are treated with a 3-week cycle.

More about my dance partner:

# of tumors: 5

Lesion #1:  2.5 x 1.9 x 2 cm ... aka ... BIG!

Lesion #2:  2.5 x 1.7 . 1.9 cm ...  aka ... BIG!

Lesions #3-5:  small babies having the same "architectural and cytological pattern" as #1 and 2.

These 5 lesions were located within a large and irregular white/gray area with gritty consistency ... aka ... my entire right breast was a mess!

Sentinel lymph node #1:  full to overflowing with cancer ... aka ... TROUBLE! The cancer had started to leave my breast and travel through my lymphatic system.

Sentinel nodes #2 and 3:  all clear ... aka ... YAY!

Margins: all clear ... aka ... lots of normal cells surrounding the yucky cancer parts, so all my breast skin could be saved ... YAY!

LESSON ...

Ignorance isn't bliss!  Even though all the news I received wasn't good news, I knew what I was dealing with.  I knew I would need more lymph nodes removed to have them tested, I knew what chemo would look like, but ... I KNEW!!  A lot of the unknowing, and uncertainty, was gone.  

I can jitter-bug better when I know who my partner is :) 

Surgery, The Before and After

The phone call finally came announcing the awaited date when my surgeon and plastic surgeon could coordinate a 3-hour chunk of time in the OR together.  DECEMBER 7, 2012.

During the weeks of waiting, I can't even begin to describe the gamut of emotions and questions I experienced.  I begged the date to hurry up and get here.  I wanted to rid my body of these tumors ASAP -- cancer cells divide FAST and I wanted them erased.  Yet, they were cutting off one of my breasts!  How could I want that day to arrive.  Would I feel "less of a woman"?  Could I possibly still look attractive (At this point in time, I hadn't even considered that in a few months I'd be a fat, bald woman with mouth sores from chemo!)?  Would the surgery go well? Would I bounce back?  Would I have normal range of motion in my arm?

The day arrived ...   Psychologically, I was considering this date an "arrival", "the end".  Boy, was I wrong!  I would later realize that counting down to this date was rather like being pregnant.  You count down days, and count down, and count down some more ... only to realize afterwards, that birth is a beginning, not an end.  My surgery date was exactly the same.  The day HAD arrived, but it wasn't the end, I had barely crossed the starting line of the long and winding road ahead.

My family and friends are incredible!!  If I had a dime for every supportive phone call leading up to my surgery date, I would never have to teach again!  On the day of my surgery, I had an extensive support team ... my husband, David; daughters Esther, Kate, and Joy; and Laura, my friend and #1 motivator who flew in from Smithers to be with me.  The most emotional moment of my wait while gowned up and ready to roll was seeing Kate's face come around the curtain.  I lost it!!!  Esther had driven from Kamloops to Vancouver to pick Kate up and they had driven half the night to make it back to Kamloops for my surgery.

I was unusually calm waiting to be rolled away.  We all laughed and visited, blocking out the reason we were together.  Until ... they came to roll me away.  Then, uncontrollable tears streamed down my face.  I can't say why -- fear, relief, anger, grief.

I HATE "waking up" after any surgery.  It's such a bizarre sensation of lost time, no memory, pain, but why? Did those moments and hours really exist if I can't recall them?  After spending quite some time in recovery, I arrived in a semi-private room about 8 p.m.  I spent a sleepless night listening to my roommate groan in pain, and was relieved to see morning come.  However, when I was asked at 8 a.m. had my ride arrived yet, I was taken aback.  I knew I would leave at some point that day, but they apparently wanted me out of the way right quick!  I received some instructions on the care and fluid-measuring of my drain, and was on my way to Ashcroft by 10 a.m.  A whole 10 hours on the ward!

The best purchase we made prior to my surgery was a motorized recliner chair (am I allowed to say La-Z-Boy?? This is not an advertisement for La-Z-Boy, but this chair is Ama-Z-ing!!)  In the days and weeks following my surgery, I lazed in it, napped in it, and even slept in it every night.  There was no way I could lay prone or take the chance of rolling onto my "bad" side, so sleeping in the chair was the answer.  I HIGHLY RECOMMEND that if you are someone who is going to have a similar surgery, have a very comfy chair waiting at home.

In the first days at home, Kate was my personal care nurse.  It's uncanny how such circumstances bring out traits in your own daughter you never knew they possessed.  She was (and continues to be) my rock, my med-giver, my motivator, my nurse.  My personal physiotherapist was my baby girl, Joy.  She was the perfect mix of tough taskmaster and caring encourager.  Progress with my range of motion was slow, but steady, as I persisted with the regime of exercises 2-3 times every day.  Sticking with it is key!!

I have to give another advertisement here ... if I may.  My four daughters purchased me a garment called a "Brobe", made especially for women who have had a mastectomy.  The creators of this robe should win an award!  It has an inner bra which velcroes in the front and has pockets for ice packs, when necessary.  They even thought to include a pocket for the bulb of a drain!.  The fabric is an incredibly soft knit, and I lived in my Brobe for weeks after my surgery.

In my new Brobe from my girls.

Now, it was "hurry up and wait" time again.   What would the pathology report say???

More Tests, More Scans, & Preparing for Surgery

I physically could have kept teaching longer than I did (I lasted 2 1/2 weeks from when I told my students I would be leaving).  However, emotionally I was becoming a wreck!!  Breaking down in tears one evening, I shared with David that I didn't think I could continue teaching, even though I had not been given a surgery date yet.  I hated the thought of using up my sick days before I REALLY needed them, but I was "sick", after all.

In the weeks that followed my diagnosis, I had a head-to-toe bone scan, a CT of my abdomen, and a chest x-ray.  Apparently, once you have breast cancer, the next most likely places the disease will go party are lungs, bones, and/or liver.  Days and weeks of waiting and waiting dragged by once again, either waiting for a call to attend the tests or anticipating results.  I was still teaching during this time, however, every week was interrupted by at least one medical appointment.  Here is the end result of the tests I went through:

Bone scan - all clear!!
Chest x-ray - all clear!!
Abdomen CT - well, there's just a little something on your liver ... so ... let's do an MRI of the liver to try to determine what it is
Liver MRI - well, we think we see a "cavernous hemangioma" (a what????)  It's something to do with a blood vessel that's usually benign.  Further follow-up later!  (The follow-up CT STILL has not happened!!)

The exhaustion of planning, marking, and teaching on a daily basis, as well as zipping off to unpleasant ... but, hopefully, reassuring ... tests and scans was taking its toll on me emotionally.  It was time to say goodbye to my students, my classroom, my colleagues, and my school for many, many months.  Of course, my last day with my students was another emotional one.  We decided to take part of the afternoon to P-A-R-T-Y!!! After all, isn't that what the last day of school is all about ? :)  We ate cake, drank pop (shhhhh!!!!) and I was showered with an abundance of gifts, cards, and well wishes.  Here is what my chalk boards looked like on my last day ...

NOVEMBER 21 WAS A VERY, VERY SAD DAY,  indeed !!

During the weeks I had kept teaching, I felt like I had put my illness on the back burner ... almost as if  I wasn't acknowledging it was happening.  As long as I could keep concentrating on planning a day,teaching, or marking at night, I didn't have make time to focus on reading, researching, and learning about my disease and what I would face in the weeks and months to come.

I wanted to be an informed patient, so I started reading veraciously!!  I wanted to learn as much as I could about types of breast cancer (I didn't even know there were different types), what would happen during my mastectomy surgery, recovery afterwards, and reconstruction options.  I even made myself watch a YouTube video on one type of tissue-based reconstruction called a TRAM flap (short for "transverse rectus abdominus muscle flap").   It is a procedure in which a large section of skin and fat from your belly, along with a portion of one of the rectus muscles (providing the blood supply to the tissue) is used to fashion a new breast.  I thought that was the reconstruction option I desired ... even though the video made the procedure and recovery look atrocious!  I liked the idea of using my own tissue, as opposed to an implant.

The ironic thing is ... Boot Camp caused me to have to rule out the TRAM option.  I would leave my plastic surgeon consultation dejected.  I was told I did not have enough belly fat to have this procedure ... imagine! (Boy, that doc should see me NOW, after 3 months of little or no exercise!!) I would be having a tissue expander inserted under my chest muscle after the mastectomy was performed.

Now, all I needed was a surgery date ...