I am NOT a Cryer!

I hate to cry and I seldom do. I've always been tough and able to deal with things in a very stressful world. I've always had a stressful job, worked long hours, volunteered a lot, and I just DO. NOT. CRY.

But now, I find tears running down my cheeks quite often. Commercials, Lifetime movies. . . .  LIFE!
I'm overly emotional about the tiniest things. Mood swings are out of control. I hate it! Suck it up, Buttercup, and get a grip! Cried several times on Christmas day.

I am having some weird side affects too with no explanation. Chills to the point of my teeth rattling with NO fever, then, 30 seconds later dripping in sweat. I cannot sleep. I barely doze on and off and start my days off totally exhausted. My nights are awful with very little sleep. I can only sleep on my side for a short period of time because my sides and underarms still hurt.

I've never been nervous or anxious. Now, I get a little scared just leaving the house. I don't want to become a recluse, but I'm just perfectly content to stay home. It has become a security blanket of sorts. . . . . a way to avoid anything happening outside my immediate world and family. I'm simply not the same person. At all. Stupid crappy cancer. . . . . I blame you for all of this!

Therapy begins: Fight or Flight

Here we go....therapy begins and I'm hesitant. Not scared or nervous, just doubtful. Aremidex is what they are discussing putting me on because I'm post menopausal. The side effects are frightening to read but that's true of any medication. However, my survival rate is a whopping 93.5%! Don't you just love it when they give you statistics? I'm a number now. 

More labs and tests tomorrow to see if I need chemo. Total waste of time because I'm not taking it. (A 2.1% cure rate isn't high enough to my way of thinking.) I've basically been in 'fight or flight' mode since my diagnosis and just when I think I'm pulling myself out of it and coming back to my "new normal" something else is thrown at me. 

These crappy meds cause depression and mood swings. Really? Like I haven't already been there, done that! Sleep deprivation. . . . makes me laugh! I haven't slept well in 2 months! Weight gain is another to look forward to, as though my fibromyalgia meds and hypothyroid haven't already put 30 pounds on me. 

I could go on and on but these are the ones that most women experience on this drug. And I'm supposed to take it for 5 years! WOOHOO! Crappy cancer just won't let me live my life. It's like a little black cloud over my head at all times . . . . Always reminding me. 

I'm still experiencing tenderness in my pits and sides which make it difficult to sleep or do anything physical. My scar is healing beautifully so THERE'S a bright spot in this journey! 

Warning! Warning! Warning! ⚠

PICTURE to follow below. 👇

My tattoo artist has artwork for me to look at and take measurements. I'm excited beyond words to see what he's come up with for me to look and feel feminine again. It's the one thing I have to look forward to! 

And of course I'll post pics of the process! 

I pray daily for all the pink sisters out there going thru this crappy cancer journey. You are not alone. My strength is from my Savior who walks with me and often carries me. My wonderful husband who continues to kiss the scars and tells me I'm beautiful is a constant source of strength and encouragement to me. Don't ever give up, and do what's right for you; for there is no "one size fits all" when it comes to crappy cancer. 

P.S. Dry skin I hate you too! (just another symptom of crappy cancer)

Beware: Grumpy Old Woman

It's NOT because I'm a woman! (That is a disclaimer for all the men reading this) It's because of the cancer, surgery, recovery and treatment. I've been having huge mood swings similar to PMS. (Some might say worse) One minute I'm happy and the next I'm crabby and rude. I'm also having anxiety and that's a new experience!  I couldn't decide if it was because I wasn't getting any sleep, from constant pain, or perhaps a hormonal change from the crappy cancer.

I was afraid I was alienating myself from my loved ones, and hated the way it was making me feel. My precious husband just keeps sticking with me, assuring me of his love no matter what.

After opening up to my support group and doctor, I'm told this is normal. Every single woman I talked to was having the same issue! Great! At least I'm not alone and losing my delightful personality!  :)

It's a journey that's not too pleasant with many different side affects. PTSD is not uncommon among cancer patients. I wouldn't go that far, but I was reassured it would get better. I feel like I need to wear a sign around my neck warning people: "This isn't who I am. It's only temporary. "

One woman told me her son made her a sign to hang on her door: "Beware of Grumpy Old Woman." She took that well!

So if I bite your head off or show annoyance, please bear with me and remember it's the crappy cancer and the treatment that's screwing with my body and mind. I'm trying to be cautiously aware of my snippiness. Crappy cancer, I hate you!

It's Weird

I can't explain it. I can't tell you why. But as I was taking a shower last night, I'm soaping up my chest and it just sorta hits me: Dang! My boobs are gone! Yeah, yeah, I know. . . . .they've been gone now for 8 weeks and this isn't the first time I've showered! There's just moments when it seems surreal, or maybe unreal?

There are times when I stand in front of the mirror and just stare at myself to get used to what I look like. The scar isn't bad at all. It's just a different look without the boobs. It's a different feel too. It feels weird. It looks weird.

I'm still a bit sore and tender. I still hug my heart shaped pillow to my chest at night and can't lay on my side for very long. There seems to be some sore spots where the drains were. It hurts to lift my arms above my head and I feel "tight" as though I'm going to pull something if I stretch out. It's not at all comfortable. It's weird.

Now gals, it really is freeing not to wear a bra; not to pull up those straps constantly slipping off my shoulders. I even experimented the other day by putting on a bra and my "fake boobs" which felt even weirder. I felt conspicuous.  . . . . just not normal and don't know when it will ever feel normal again. It's weird.

I've become somewhat of a recluse, enjoying my time at home wrapping Christmas gifts and spending time with family as I recover. I haven't gone back to church yet; and although I miss my class and Tom's lessons, I'm scared. I almost have a panic attack just thinking about how overwhelming it will be. All the hugs will hurt. "How are you" will be answered with the standard "I'm fine." The men will do their best NOT to look at my flat chest. The women will tell me I look great. (I really don't understand this comment. They just whacked off my boobs. My face, hair, and the rest of me all look the same. Did I not look great before?) I know, it's weird, right?

I'm just weird. I'm having weird thoughts. Weird emotions that are all over the place. Is only been 8 weeks. Maybe I'm expecting too much. I want to feel normal.  . . . . Well, my "new normal" whatever that is. It's weird.

You Don't Get It

You just don't get it. I know you think you understand because you knew someone with cancer. Perhaps your mother, or friend had breast cancer and so now you think you understand what I'm going through. You don't. 

This thought has been weighing heavy on my heart since my diagnosis. I thought I got it when my mom was diagnosed or a friend from church. I didn't. 

I didn’t get what it felt like to actually hear the "c" word. I was trying to listen to the details and pay attention, but really just wanted to keep a straight face for as long as it took to maybe ask one appropriate question and get the heck out of there to go get my husband waiting patiently in the waiting room. I didn't want to hear all the details until he was with me. We drove home under the weight of what we'd just been told. 
We sat in silence and disbelief much of the drive home. That day was the worst. I pretended everything was fine because I didn’t have any details yet and wanted to keep it private still. Roy was in denial the first week, not fully trusting the Oncology Radiologist until the biopsies came back. . . . ."She could be wrong" was his defense mechanism. I was positive I had crappy cancer and so my mind went straight to very dark places during that week. There's no way that you get it unless it's happened to you.

I didn’t get how hard the waiting would be. It was literally the worst part. The "official" diagnosis process seems to take forever. The different consults, the biopsies, the exams and procedures. I went through the motions trying to stay positive, but at that point, I had no idea what I was dealing with and the unknown was terrifying. How bad was it Knowing the cancer is there and not doing anything to treat it yet is an awful, helpless feeling. I wanted it O-U-T NOW! I’m sorry, but you just don't get it.

I didn’t get how awkward it was to tell other people the news. I just blurted it out! Shock value seemed to work best. No beating around the bush. . . . . .straight to the point with a brave face and deep breath. People didn’t know what to say. If they said anything, it was about me getting "new, perky boobs" which I had no intention of doing. There was some relief when the word started to spread. I didn't have to keep telling people and watch them struggle with being uncomfortable and not knowing the right way to react. This nasty secret was finally out. You don't get what it felt like to get the sad looks all the time. . . . . Shopping or seeing someone for the first time after finding out. I got the head tilt, sad smile, and a soft “How aaaare you?”  Which I quickly smiled and reassured them "I'm hanging in there” and change the subject. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated all the well wishes and concern, but it sure took a little while to get used to the pity. I’m sorry but you just don't get it. No, you don't get it.

I didn’t get how weird it felt to be called “brave”. It’s a word that gets thrown around a lot, but I had no choice but to be brave. I got through most of it just fine. I’m getting treatment because I HAVE to. That doesn’t really make me feel like much of a hero. You just don't get it.

You don't get how much I googled . . . . . searching for information, hope, stories like mine, reassurance from women who'd been there, done that. It was impossible not to. I had to educate myself on this crappy cancer. I wanted to know every "medical term" to help me feel in control of this situation I'd been forced into. I wanted to make informed decisions about my care and treatments.

You don't get what really goes on at all those “other appointments”. Why do they give you a gown when they are just going to uncover me and poke, prod, feel, and stick me with needles. You don't get the procedures that were humiliating or painful. You don't get how confusing “options” really are and how many doctors there are that want to see you ALL the dang time for next five years!!!  I wanted to be involved in my own care, but the stress of all the options was sometimes too much. I’m sorry, but you don't get it.

You don't get how it sometimes feels like I am all by myself. I have a great support system in my family and it was surprising the people who stepped up to help, bring meals, cards, and was just there when I needed to talk. You don't understand how much it hurt my feelings that some of the people I expected to be there were NOT. People acted differently towards me and it hurt, a lot. I'm not contagious! You don't get what it feels like to not have boobs and to have fluid in your chest wall. You don't get it when I can't sleep on my side because my incision is all the way around my chest and under my arms. You don't get it when I say I hurt or I'm uncomfortable. You just don't get it. . . . . unless you've been through it.

You don't get the mood swings. One day I might feel confident that I'd completely beat this crappy cancer with no problem; I felt like I could take over the world! Bring it on! And for no good reason, the next day I was just convinced I was going to be one of those sad stories people tell their friends about. The moods would sneak up on me without warning. Literally anything could’ve been a trigger. You don't get what it's like to not be able to lift your arms or dress yourself due to the dang underarms being swollen from lymph gland removal. You don't know what it fells like to look at yourself in the mirror and have a 28" incision staring back at you. My body changed so quickly.  It’s hard since my appearance is tied more closely to my identity than I'd like to admit and these were constant reminders of what I was up against. I just wanted to feel like myself again and MOVE ON past this crappy cancer. I am at 6 weeks now and still healing. It takes more time than I thought it would. I'm sorry, but there's no way you get it.

You don't get that when I said I was tired, I really meant so much more. Sure there are words like exhaustion and extreme fatigue, but there should really be a separate word just for cancer patients, because it’s crippling! Really! Some days I really wondered how I trudge forward. And then there were the days that I had lots of energy and was restricted from not lifting anything heavier than a carton of milk because I'm still healing on the inside. I reached up in a cabinet and pulled something. . . . . .  now it has to start all over to heal back again. You just don't get it.

I didn’t get how much time this really takes away from my life. I was told phrases like “Cancer is like getting another full time job” or “Life doesn’t stop for cancer” when trying to prep me for what I was about to embark on. But now they just seem like corny catch phrases. Stupid crappy cancer! It completely took over my life! I had to stop doing things I love, I had to cancel plans, church, vacations and other activities. I had to miss out on things that were important to me. Those things made me cry more than having the crappy cancer did. You just don't get it.

You don't get how much I worried about my daughters and my grand kids. I worried about how this was going to affect them. I worried about not being able to keep up with them or be able to enjoy them on my bad days. I can't even pick up my grand babies! I was concerned they’d be scared and confused. And honestly, I worried about leaving them. You just don't get it.

I understood that everyone promises “in sickness and in health” when you get married, but I still felt like he didn’t deserve this. I felt thankful when he would say “go sit down and let me take care of this" but my heart hurt thinking about a future that didn’t have me in it. Or him in it. What would I do without him? How do women do this alone? He was beyond caring and loving. He kissed my scars and told me I was beautiful, sexy even! (Love is blind) And I know you don't get the emotions of that. No, you don't get it.

I didn’t get that it never ends. Never. I used to think that cancer will be just a phase in my life. Just like high school or something. . . . . it seems like it drags on and on when you’re in it, but I know in reality this will all be a memory. But it is not a phase! The treatment won’t last forever, but I am changed forever now. The worrying won’t stop, the uncertainty won’t stop, the fear of recurrence or an awful end won’t stop. I live with crappy cancer. I will always live with crappy cancer and it's recurrence. The next five years seems to be that "magic" time frame that I will deal with this crappy cancer at least every three months. I hear that gets better but only time will tell. And time is precious. I’m sorry, but you just don't get it. You want to. But unless it's happened to you; unless you've had crappy cancer, you don't get it.

My eyes are up here!

Bras are completely optional for me.  . . . . That's right gals! Bring on the jealousy! One of my gal-pals told me her shoulder indentions hated me! Love that!

I'm rebelling against putting an uncomfortable bra on—-so I could put something uncomfortable and heavy inside, so that those around me are not uncomfortable! God forbid they should be uncomfortable around my flat chest. And good grief, let's not make everyone uncomfortable regarding my lack of curves.

Society and commercialism makes women feel like we have to be thin and have perky boobs. We must look feminine in our figure and attire. Sex sells. They attack our self-esteem. And there's so much information that bombarded me with reconstruction that it immediately turned me off. 

I chose no reconstruction. I'm trusting my gut. I've been asked multiple times why I made that decision and I don't mind sharing my reasoning.

First reason: I had 'foreign' (several in fact) crap in my boobs and wanted it gone. Why would I put something else foreign in my chest? I just saw the potential for more problems.

Second reason: New breasts would not restore an erogenous zone. I have no feeling in my chest due to cutting the nerves. Fake ones would have no feeling either. They could not nourish a baby. They would only fill out my clothes to make other people feel comfortable (which I don't care about)
and perhaps allow me to pretend that I had not had crappy cancer.

Third reason: Reconstruction would require more hours in the operating room and involve a plastic surgeon. There were a couple different options I could've chosen, including a 'free' (she said with sarcasm) tummy tuck, but that's another incision and longer recovery, along with added possibility of problems.

I refuse to believe that I must have fake boobs to be accepted, fit into what society thinks, or to make other people feel comfortable. I would feel so weird with fake boobs. And as I mentioned in an earlier post, (Lemonade) I'm looking forward to art on my chest!

I'm dying

I'm dying. I've been dying for 59 years. We all die. Survey says: 10 out of 10 people die!
Crappy cancer makes it all a little too real. I despise the dry, flaky skin. My eyeballs are floating because I can't seem to drink enough water to quinch the cotton mouth. And dang. . . . .I'm exhausted. My batteries are running out. However, I'm not 'struggling' or 'battling'. I'm LIVING!

There are so many afflicted with crappy cancer. I'm not unique. They are all around us if we pay attention. The financial strain it puts on a family is tantamount to the physical and emotional strain. And it has become crystal clear to me that it's a disease that happens to somebody else. Crappy cancer doesn't have a face to other people. 

And there is no such thing as "cured" by the way. We just go "into remission". So why am I referred to as a "cancer survivor?"
After the cancer is removed following surgery, we are given a stamp of being "cancer free". Then there is the treatment. Wo. Is. Me. That's the hard part. FIVE years of treatment. 1825 days. Really? Who decided that magic time frame? Why not 4 years, or 5 years and 6 months? Treatment isn't a fight against crappy cancer itself, but against 're-occurance'. . . . .which is an invisible devil! Is that when I become a survivor? When is the magic day that I can be declared as having won the battle? When will I celebrate a cancer free life?

Every day is a gift and I'm trusting God that crappy cancer was all a part of his plan. It really doesn't matter when I die or what causes my death; for I know this world is not my home and I shall live forever. . . . . just not in this diseased body.

Now don't misunderstand me! I would really like to stick around awhile longer and enjoy my beautiful grandkids! And yet, my name is written in the book of life and my days are numbered.

I ask God every day to show me how I can use my crappy cancer to help someone and bring Him glory. I may never know if I do but I'm sure gonna try. I consider myself blessed.

I've never asked "why me?" Why NOT me? I know the moment I will be cancer free forever, although I can't tell you the exact date or time. Only God knows. And as I meet my Lord in my heavenly home and perfect body, I will be cancer free.

2 Corinthians 4:8-9,16
We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed but not driven to despair; Persecuted but not forsaken; struck down but not destroyed; so we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.

Snack Attack

I'm a snacker. I'd rather snack all day than eat a meal. My precious grand-daughter is like that. 5 minutes after eating a meal, she's asking for a snack. We should all have her metabolism!

Crappy cancer has changed my eating habits. My appetite is far diminished from normal, so there's not a lot of cooking happening right now.

I'm supposed to eat healthy and cut out sugar and carbohydrates, which feed cancer. "Colorful" foods describe it best.

Now I really do like these food choices, but I also love chocolate and ice-cream. If they are colorful ice cream does that count?

Antioxidants are cancer fighters. I'm not going to go into the scientific explanation of what antioxidants do and why we need them because I'm sure you don't care. Unless you have crappy cancer. Then you care. Because cancer lurks somewhere in our bodies ready to come back again. We don't ever "cure" cancer. We merely put it in remission for a time. 

So as a "cancer survivor" of cervical and now crappy breast cancer, I dang sure want to give my body every chance of fighting off a third bout of this dumb crappy disease.

I most likely am facing another surgery to remove my ovaries. (Oophorectomy) Sounds weird, huh? Like it's an "oops" mistake. Wishing now that I would have insisted they come out in 1983 when I had my hysterectomy. I probably wouldn't be dealing with crappy cancer now, since ovaries put off estrogen and my lumps were estrogen positive. Hindsight and all that!

So I'm eating lots of colorful foods, avoiding sugar and carbs as well as red meat. I'm starving to death! But hey, maybe I'll lose some weight! That's it Charlotte, let's look on the bright side. Repeat after me: Food is only fuel for the body. Food is only fuel for the body. Food is only fuel for the body. . . . .

The Trouble With Cancer

Before my scheduled double mastectomy, the house got a good cleaning. I spent one entire day making my bedroom a place of comfort and serenity. I brought in a chair for visitors, along with pink bracelets to share and cards to hang in the shower with instructions on self breast exams. It will be three weeks tomorrow and I didn't have one bedroom visit. Not one.

I mostly spend my days in the recliner now that I'm able to move around the house better. I've had a couple visits from our church and besides my BFF, only family. I'm sometimes dealing with the mundane days of not being able to do anything because I'm supposed to "take it easy" or my drains will have to stay in longer. Crap. It's been 3 weeks and they are still pulling 35. (They have to get below 20cc in a 24 hour period.) I read. Think. I play on Pinterest, think, watch TV, nap, think and read some more. I'm bored. Bored l tell you!

The trouble with cancer is that as soon as you are diagnosed, everyone kinda disappears or fades away. Some might talk about your chances of survival in the third person, if they talk to you at all. Then comes the whirlwind of surgery and treatments and everyone suddenly stops talking.

Oh, I've received lots of cards in the mail. . . . . . And I'll make no bones about it, but I find myself getting irrationally angry at my peeps (and strangers as well) for going about their business of daily life. They are carrying on as if everything is normal! EVERYTHING has changed for me and they all act as if nothing happened! I get it. I do. Because I was on the other side once. What do you say or do when someone you know has cancer?

My precious husband has been my rock. . . . His gentle ways of making me feel like it's going to be ok. He holds me when I need held. He kisses my scars and tells me I'm beautiful. I hurt for any woman going through this alone.

Let's not forget this still unfathomable disease started with a tiny lump in my boob. Several tumours discovered in both boobs, in fact. My lovely boobs that were the perfect size. They were sometimes in my way and a nuisance but they helped conceal my belly bulge! I at least had curves! NOW I have the absolute weirdest figure of all time.

Admittedly, I'm usually pretty flippant about this whole cancer ordeal. I smile my way through it most of the time. Perhaps my moods are knocking on gloom's door today as I approach my first Oncology appointment. Or maybe it's because I desperately want to yank these dadgum nasty drain tubes out!!!!

I'm physically uncomfortable, sometimes in pain, and continually trying to wrap my head around my body image. I stare in the mirror at what crappy cancer has done to me and I'm shocked each time. The simple act of taking a shower is so arduous. I can't raise my arms or move them very much. There's huge swelling under my arms and my FLAT chest is still colorfully bruised. It's preposterous to assume I'll be able to "get on with my life" with crappy cancer as a stowaway. Welcome aboard crappy cancer! (She says with dripping sarcasm) I'm tired. So tired.

I miss my life as I sit here alone. I want to get dressed (without the drains) and drive to town. The holidays are upon us and I want to participate. . . . . I want to be ALL IN and not an observer. I'm actually working myself up to being ticked off! Crappy cancer makes me mad! And so you, the reader, whoever you are, is who I unload on.

I hope you'll forgive the honest reflection today. I promised myself that I would always be honest in writing this blog. My personal self (as opposed to my blog self) is fearcely private. I'm fine with spending time by myself and usually enjoy it. Sometimes my alone time is for other's protection and my sanity. I've even run away from home a few times to regroup. So why am I ranting?  I can't explain it. Cancer gives me dry skin, dry mouth, constipation and moodiness. I'll survive. Tomorrow's a new day. The End.

The Fun Continues

              Musings. Random thoughts.

I'm living in a world where crappy cancer has invaded.  . . . . .it's everywhere! It has taken a front seat in my life permeating my every thought. I'm meeting so many people who are all a part of this "sister-hood" club involving breast cancer. The women I've met through this crappy cancer have been amazing, as well as a resource of information and support.

I've never noticed other women who have had mastectomies and now I do. We are all part of a club we didn't ask to join.

I don't even bother with a gown in the doctor's office any more. Any assemblage of shyness or privacy fades with crappy cancer. I was poked and prodded, squished and smashed, multiple needle sticks, Xrays and Sonograms. My boobs were exposed and felt by multiple medical personnel. Besides, what would I be hiding? Just a bare chest here people! Nothing to see!

Crappy cancer is a taker. It takes away from your shyness and modesty, self esteem, and courage. It continues to take our finances, lifestyle, energy, emotions, health, security and time. Cancer takes a lot. Crappy cancer takes. a. lot.

I live with the constant reminder of cancer. It will forever be a part of my life. I was naive enough to consider that I wouldn't ever have to worry about breast cancer again.  . . . . .NOT! Will it come back? Probably. I need to be diligent and live a healthy lifestyle, and continue to cooperate with my team of doctors. Stupid crappy cancer.

I'm at the 15 day post-op and still experiencing pain and huge discomfort. Is the surgery worse because of the fibromyalgia, or is the fibromyalgia worse because of the surgery? I'm still mad at those that told me there was very little pain! I'm mad at crappy cancer for invading my life. And I'm mad that they whacked off my boobs! I'm mad that amputating my boobs leaves no guarantee that I won't get cancer again!

The bruising is spreading up my chest and my skin is extremely sensitive to touch. The muscles in my back are giving me grief and I'm convinced I fell off the operating table and hit my back. My underarms are the worst. But my incision is looking very good. If I could just get past the pain. . . . . Perhaps once the dadgum drain tubes are out I'll see improvement.

WARNING ⚠  WARNING  ⚠  WARNING
    PICTURE OF CHEST AND INCISION

WARNING  ⚠ WARNING  ⚠ WARNING

          WARNING   ⤵⬇ WARNING


                  15 days post-op incision

Hubster took me to get my flu shot. I sure don't want the flu on top of my recovery. Afterwards, we stopped at one of the "dollar" stores on every corner and bought some Halloween candy. It felt good to get out of the house for a short time but wore me out.

I hate crappy cancer. I hate that it's all I think about right now. I hate that I can't sleep confortably. I hate that I'm on limited activity and my sweet husband is having to take care of everything.

But I love that I have him to help me. I love that he's so supportive. I love that we caught crappy cancer before it was too late. I love that my family surround me with love. I love that I have excellent doctors. I love that the great physician, my Savior, walks with me on this journey. I love that HE'S in control. My faith has never wavered from Him because of this crappy cancer.

Just Keeping it Real

My days are filled with pain. I have not so good days and really bad days. I have to remind myself that it's only been two weeks. There are just days that hurt more than others. I know healing is taking place. Some days I'm brave and forge ahead and others. . . . . . well, crappy cancer kicks my butt on those days.

I want to get dressed but these drains are in the way and cumbersome. I want to sleep on my side but these drains are in the way and wake me up every time I move. Showers are difficult with these drains in the way. Are you seeing a pattern here?

I'm forbidden from driving yet or doing anything physical. Rest is prescribed. Right. Whatever! Stupid dumb crappy cancer has not only invaded my body but also every aspect of my life. My life is irrevocably changed for ever, because it will always be niggling at the back part of my brain. . . . . . . like the little devil that sits on my shoulder taunting me. Crappy cancer has forced me to face my mortality. It makes life more uncertain than ever before. This disease lays bare my vulnerability. I'm not in charge and I hate feeling vulnerable.

I've been so stoic and upbeat for the most part, I think. I know a positive attitude is important for my health. If you are newly diagnosed with breast cancer, listen up! Be real. Be honest.

Yes, it's important to have a positive attitude but don't force what you don't feel. People will make you feel like you have to put on a smiling face. It's not about them. Don't feel pressured to be strong for everybody else.

I get all kinds of sage advice from people who have never walked in these cancer shoes. "Be patient" they say. "It'll get better." "Don't rush it" is another popular answer. "This will all be a distant memory." I know they mean well and love me. At least they are saying something to be encouraging!!!! I have friends who don't know what to say so they say nothing and are noticeably absent.

Cancer isn't contagious but it seems people are so scared of this dreaded disease that they stay away. People are busy living their lives and don't want to be reminded that cancer exists. I get it! I was that person prior to September 9th. Crappy cancer happens to other people.

I'm different. I'm no longer the same person prior to my diagnosis. I will one day be pain free and discover a "new" me. Blogging has given me an outlet to be honest with myself and meet this crappy cancer head on. I realize that it's not for everybody. We all face our demons differently. If I've helped just one woman with my honesty, then baring my soul would've been worth it. I'm looking forward to getting past this pain to reclaiming my life.

Anatomically Correct B♭

I'm not a barbie with a perfect figure. Never have been. I was 30 pounds lighter before fibromyalgia. Because I'm not as able to be as active as I used to, and because of the meds, I'm carrying some extra pounds around.

My decision to go flat was very personal. I've explained those reasons ( see Lemonade) and I feel confident I've made the right decision and the best choice for me.

I'm no longer anatomically correct. My doctor took me seriously when I told him to get all that boobage out from under my arms. He did. My incision goes all the way to my back. And dadgumit, it hurts!

I'm glad I won't have that bulge (aka: boobage) under my arms any more. The healing and the pain is taking longer than I thought it would, even though I'm improving daily. Baby steps. But by golly, my pits feel like they've been sandpapered!

Crappy cancer has deformed and destroyed my body. It certainly wasn't that great before but now it's worse. And it occurred to me that even wearing a prosthesis, there won't be cleavage.

I need a tee-shirt with "B♭" on the front. I refuse to be ashamed or embarrassed about my body. It's real. I'm  alive. I pray I can help other women. I'm now known as a 'breast cancer survivor' (a title I never wanted) even though I'll live with crappy cancer the rest of my life; and more especially the next 5 years.

I'm still struggling with how weird it feels without boobs. I've searched my brain for a way to describe it and there simply isn't one. It's going to take some getting used to.  . . . . after all, I've had boobs for the better part of my life!

The struggle is real people!  I've struggled with back spasms, restless leg, chafing in my pits, pain and tenderness in my chest, exhaustion, and a killer of a headache. Yep, I had all I could deal with and finally cried. Boohooed is more accurate. (I didn't even cry when I got the news, so cut me some slack here) Cried really hard for a good 10 minutes while my hubster comforted me and held me in his arms. This is HARD! Stupid crappy cancer has forever changed my life and that ticks me off!

The Sandman Hates Me

He never sprinkles enough of his magic sleep dust in my eyes. Crappy cancer has chased him away. From the day I found my lump, September 8, I've not slept well. Those first two weeks were because I was scared. . . . . Plus I have a brain that doesn't turn off and is essentially thinking all the time. (Sign of intelligence, you know)

I was thinking constantly about the 'what ifs' as I researched and studied about all forms of breast cancer so that when I got my pathology report I would understand it. (The health industry has their own language)

Once I had the report and an actual date for my surgery, (I kinda freaked out here) my mind went into overdrive to get everything tidied up in a nice neat OCD package. Was there enough food in the house to sustain us while I recover; did I pay all the bills; oh crap, I need to get all the laundry done; and a hundred other details.

Once I came home, sleep alluded me because of the pain and I was just downright miserable. No other way to describe it, mis-er-a-ble! I couldn't get comfortable. I hate sleeping on my back all propped up with 18 pillows. . . . . Well, almost 18. . . . . .but I couldn't lay in any position that didn't hurt.

I suffered during the day and waited to take my pain meds before bed hoping I could get a few hours at least. I took Melatonin. I even resorted to sleeping pills. (Don't worry, I didn't take them all together) I've played meditation music to help me relax. I've read to turn my mind off and help make me sleepy. I'm telling you, the sandman hates me! And lack of sleep makes this girl cranky!

Stupid crappy cancer has stolen my sleep.

Today is day 11. I haven't hurt as bad today. I didn't even take an aspirin. I haven't had any visitors except family but today my BFF drove in to surprise me. We sat outside and got some vitamin D and it felt amazing! We called our gal pal from South Dakota and she was good for a giggle or two. Plus, I walked to the mailbox and back with the hubster and even showered all by myself!

I took off my binding before showering. My chest feels really weird.  The swelling is much better and most of the bruising is on the right side. You can see that there's barely an inch between the two incisions and they go all the way around under my arms. That's the worst because there's major nerves and lymph glands that were cut. It's the PITS! (pun intended)

WARNING ⚠  WARNING  ⚠  WARNING ⚠

           DO NOT SCROLL DOWN IF EASILY  GROSSED OUT OR OFFENDED

                           

                              WARNING ⤵





     WARNING  ⚠  PICTURE OF FOOBS  ⤵

Today was a good day! And even though I didn't get much sleep, I'm glad for the tiny steps of improvement!

Ticking Clocks in the Stillness

"Be still and know that I am God."
Psalm 46:10

I'm not good at being still and doing nothing. It's been 10 days that crappy cancer stole my TaTa's. I feel guilty in this recliner while my husband takes care of his job, our farm animals, household chores and meals. I want to recover NOW!

My fur baby trying to help me feel better. 

I've always been one of high energy. I thrived on stress and worked well under pressure. I liked to keep busy. In my professional world, I had a tendency to run on adrenaline and miss out on the tiny moments of memories.

We live in a world of faster and more. We're of a generation that stands in front of a microwave telling it to hurry! We are all attached at the wrist with a tiny computer we call our phones . . . . . but they are really more than just a phone.  . . . . they are our cameras, photo albums, calendar, alarm clocks, and more. And we want the latest, newest one!

I'm a type A personality, or if you are familiar with DISC, I'm a D. In my other life, (business woman) I was very busy in a professional world, involved in the community and served on several boards. It's been difficult for me to slow down.

I am bored sitting in this recliner listening to the clocks tick. I don't even have the energy to Bible journal, my favorite past time. I forget I can't move my arms much, until I do, then I'm reminded that crappy cancer took some lymph nodes from my pits! OUCH!

I tell myself that perfection is over rated. I'm blessed to have a hubster that loves me enough to do his chores AND mine so I can recover. He is waiting on me hand and foot!

God is filling my cup to overflowing with the blessings I've experienced so far from this crappy cancer. Who woulda thunk it?

I'm in a place of reflection, prayer and meditation. After all, I've got the time! So, I blog. I pray my journey will inspire other women to take care of your bodies, and know that you do not fight crappy cancer alone.

John 16:33 - "Take heart for I have overcome the world. "

Even a world with crappy cancer.

Did that clock just stop ticking?

Decisions

I see my Oncologist in two weeks. I've made the decision not to take chemo. Chemo-therapy has terrible success rates.  . . . . about 3%. My crappy cancer was not in the lymph nodes, so chemo won't be necessary, although it is often recommended as a preventative.

Now for all you health care professionals reading this, it isn't my intention to offend, so don't take what I say as a personal attack. Chemo kills more people than it cures. It steals quality of life, and is a huge billion dollar industry that does not consider patient suffering.

I'm told I will need hormone therapy since my crappy cancer was estrogen and progesterone positive. I would need to take it for 5 years. The side affects have me taking a step back and reconsidering whether it's right for me to take the risk.

I don't have hot flashes; 

I have power surges! 

The loss of estrogen can influence cognitive function, including verbal memory and fluency; can increase the likelihood of depression, anxiety, and sleep disturbances; and can lead to the loss of interest in sex. (This reason alone has me hesitating!)
Anti-hormone therapy also causes pain in the joints, and I'm pretty sure my fibromyalgia has that one covered. There is more evidence that it increases the risk of Alzheimer’s Disease. 

God created us as a fine tuned instrument, each part, cell, organs and hormones all working together, having an important role. It kinda freaks me out to consider what would happen without any hormones. 

At this point I've started to think of this crappy cancer as more of a chronic disease. 
It is not finished with me just because my 
TaTa's were whacked off. I'm not through dealing with it. In fact, the odds of it coming back is out there taunting me. 

I'll be having genetic testing soon. If I'm HER1 or HER2 I'll be looking at another surgery to remove my ovaries. This gene triggers the growth of cancer cells and I'd be watched even more closely. 

Crappy cancer has taken over my life for at least the next 5 years. Hey, at least I got my tooth fixed! 

Good News Bad News

My first week checkup with the surgeon after he whacked off my TaTa's was yesterday. I gave him kudos for getting all my underarm boobage out and for making a beautifully flat incision. He was slightly amused at my flattery.

Of course, I admonished him for passing up an opportunity to remove fat from my belly! He had a snarky comeback about plastic surgeons making big bucks . . . . .see? He's starting to get me!

Doc said we could remove two of my drain tubes (good) and left that up to his nurse. (Bad) I'm like: "Are you good at this?"

The first one felt like a snake crawled out of my chest; totally weird but not painful. The second one however . . . . . I almost throat punched her! (Bad) The look on my hubster's face was priceless. He refused to take pictures of this auspicious occasion so you'll have to use your imagination.

Once the color came back into my face and I began to breathe again, I was tightly wrapped in an ace bandage. (Bad) I'm told it will help with swelling and drainage but it's not comfortable. I hate it. It's a constant reminder of my crappy cancer.

The drive to Baylor and back totally wore me out. And I can't eat on my right side until I get this dang broken tooth fixed. That's something to look forward to: the dentist! (She says with a touch of sarcasm)

At least I was able to take a real shower and wash my hair. Lipstick . . . . .that's the trick to feel better!

Missing the Girls

Let's see. . . . . which emotional issues should I bury under deep layers of sarcasm today?

After my breast cancer diagnosis things got to rolling really fast and there wasn't time to grieve for my sacrificed body parts. They amputated both girls! And you wouldn't believe the COST of having my TaTa's removed! Wowza!

As a breast cancer WARRIOR who underwent bilateral mastectomy, I'm sure I'm not supposed to say I miss them. I probably shouldn't be thinking it. Don't get me wrong, I'm blessed to have found this crappy cancer early and gotten rid of it. I'm glad to be alive. But if I'm honest, I'm missing a couple body parts and I'm still trying to get used to that! I'm sure my hubster misses the girls too, even though he's been fantastic. (And think for a minute how he might be unfairly criticized if he were to openly admit that) There seems to be a certain amount of guilt involved when a breast cancer patient says she misses her breasts.

This may be a sensitive subject. . . . . the size of a woman's mammary glands. Clothes are made to fit us with boobage, unless you shop in the pre-teen department because you are an A cup. Who cares? Actually, it seems, everybody! Marketing uses boobs to sell almost everything from motorcycles to viagra.

As a young girl in Jr. High, our P.E Coach had us girls chanting "We must, we must, we must increase our bust" out loud. So, she was telling us girls how important our size was while we were all still in training bras! I hated those dang bras. I wasn't proud to get one and didn't want it. There were always those who developed early and wore mascara and lip gloss before I did. Of course, I grew into a B cup and before crappy cancer took them, I was a D cup. ('Generous sized' according to my surgeon.)

Shopping for bras (have you noticed there are 4+ aisles to choose from) is not fun. So many choices! Satin, damask, cotton, padded, underwire, pink, white, tiger print, leather and lace. We want to look curvy, but be comfortable. There's no such thing with those booby straps!!!

I gave up the underwire when I got fibromyalgia because they hurt. I hated padding because mine were, for the most part, bigger than I wanted due to the weight gain from the fibro. But I still miss them. There, I said it, (or wrote it) for posterity. It's out there in cyberspace for all to read and digest. I miss the girls. I grieve for them. Losing them was a BIG deal after all.  My hugs are different. . . . . man hugs. . . . . no padding between me and whomever I'm hugging.

I'm ok with that, are you?

Beauty VS Character

Society is teaching our young teens that their body and how they look on the outside is far more important than their character.

As a pre-teen, I think we were all obsessed with how big our boobs would be, and how our bodies looked as we grew into bras. We wanted to look thin and 'sexy' from age 13 and up into college. That hasn't changed 40+ years later!

Brands like Abercrombie and Fitch uses sex to sell their product. Topless males in their ads and in some cases, in their stores, and they don't offer plus size clothing assuring that only thin teens are wearing their brands. (Disclaimer: not a fan of this company and I urge all parents to avoid buying from them; otherwise you are assisting in their shameless marketing.)

Body image and self esteem issues haven't changed. We contribute to this by telling our little ones how pretty they are, suggesting it's importance. We all care about how we look and how others see us. Even at 59 years old, I want to look good in my chosen outfit for the day. However, I don't care enough to get reconstruction for others to feel comfortable; and even though I'm going flat, I still want to look attractive in my clothes and feel good about myself. What does that say about me?

It's hard to hide the drain tubes because they bulge out under my clothing, so I don't want to be seen in public until they're gone. Store security might detain me thinking I've shop lifted something! (This actually happened to me one time wearing a heart monitor)

We are all guilty of enjoying outward beauty in others and wanting to look our best. Now, I find myself in a place where my outward beauty has to take a back seat. Losing my TaTa's has forced me to reflect on my character. Am I all that God wants me to be? I know there's room for improvement there. I want my character to shine thru as beautiful.

"Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder," says that defining beauty can be difficult and not everyone will agree. However, God's words can lead us to discover what our individual meaning of beauty truly is and should be; that is to deter us from looking at physical appearance, for God looks at the heart in all people. Somehow, going flat is forcing me to find the real beauty in myself!

1 Peter 3:3-4

Circling the Drains

WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!

This post contains pictures of my scars! 

Not appropriate for everyone! 

🛇

Drains you SUCK! I hate you! I have 4 of them that must be emptied and documented every 10-12 hours. There's nothing funny about these drains. And believe me, I've tried hard to find humor or at the very least, sarcasm, in them. Not happening!

I can't take a really good shower with these crappy drains!

I can't sleep with these crappy drains.

Going to the restroom is a challenge to keep them out of the way.

Dumping the fluid is gross. Pumping or 'milking' the bulbs is weird.

I'm told I have to rest because if I do too much, I'll have more drainage and have to wear them longer. NO WAY do I want to have them in any longer than necessary. If I remove too soon, it can lead to infection. So, I'm trying to be a good girl and rest. . . . . .I'll take the pain and be glad to be alive! As much as I'm tempted to wallow in self pity, I'm not allowing it out of respect for the women who lost their battle with crappy cancer.

I finally got to shower, but that's a relative term. I just shower from the belly button down. It hurts to move my arms so I'm getting really good help from my hubster!

I hooked the drain bulbs to a lanyard around my neck to prevent them hanging freely from my body. They go in pockets otherwise. Crappy drain tubes!

WARNING

PICTURE OF 'FOOBS' BELOW

I'm keeping it real. Before my surgery, it was difficult to find pictures, so I'm posting mine, not for the curious, or sick minded, but for other women. It helps to have an idea of what your 'foobs' (flat boobs) will look like after surgery. I'm not ashamed. I'm not embarrassed. I'm a brave warrior and not the first to have a body part amputated! 

I'm not here to make the reader feel comfortable. I'm blogging for ME and for other women who need to see or hear what I've been through. I'm not alone or unique.

 I believe sharing this is a way to celebrate a life saved from early detection! MINE! And prayerfully hope it helps other women. 

If you are squeamish or easily offended don't scroll down!!!

WARNING!

If you are squeamish or easily offended don't scroll down!!!

Lanyard to hold drain tubes while showering. You can see there's a lot of bruising. 

This is day 5 after surgery. I think my 'foobs' looks good.  . . . . and FLAT like I wanted! Of course, there's still some swelling, but I'm pleased. No crying from this old gal!

I removed all the gauze dressing to shower. I'm completely numb over the incision. The majority of my pain is coming from under my arm pits where lymph nodes were removed and the four places where the drain tubes are going in my sides. I've got some pretty awesome bruises going on too!

I have to wear a binder around my chest. It reminds me that I had crappy cancer and that my TaTa's are no more. I'm looking forward to getting all this paraphernalia gone so I can begin to try to become a normal person again. What happened to the old me? She's not gone, just different. I see things differently thanks to crappy cancer. I'm seeing God in the little things. Like. . . . . my arm pit pillows are covered in birds to remind me of my BFF!

And my fur baby, Bitzy doing her best to make me feel better.  I'm concentrating on physical healing at this point. I want to get these crappy drains out.