A Boob By Any Other Name

Hey, it's just a couple of boobs.  We refer to them as mammaries, breasts, TaTa's, the girls, boobs, boobies, breasts, baby pacifiers, baby bottles, hooters, knockers, chest bumps, crumb catchers, pillows, jugs, melons, puppies, air bags, hooters, tittie's, muchacas . . . . . . and a few not so nice words that some man probably came up with. Who knew they had so many names?

                 Here is a blue footed boobie!

They are gone. But I feel them. . . . . It's what is called 'phantom' pain. Of course I hurt from the top of my head to my bellybutton. It's a good thing God made women so strong! I swear they must've slapped me around while I was asleep because I feel beat up.

This bruise travels under my arms. I'm sure there's more under all this wrapping and gauze.  I'll know more when I try to shower today. Of course, that's open to interpretation because I can't get my drain holes or incisions wet, so it'll be more of a sponge shower.

I donated the 'old girls' to science. . . . . . even tho I did consider (for about 1 minute) bringing them home in a jar.  I figured we might as well get some useful research from them. Not that I believe they'll find a cure using my TaTa's but hey, they stood a better chance of living beyond their 59 years in a research lab than in a jar or the trash!

So carry on old girls! Make yourself useful as you travel beyond my chest wall. I'm not mourning your loss yet.

Home Again Jiggity Jig

I left my surgeon a note on my dressings to remind him not to leave any flaps of skin.

He told my hubster after surgery that he was unable to leave me a note due to all the gauze, but that he worked hard to make me as flat as possible.

I was released in less than 24 hours to come home.

I was feeling pretty good and boy, did I have a healthy appetite! Thank you Sonic! The drive home was a bit over 2 hours and I spent the afternoon in the recliner.

My parents brought vegetable soup (homemade of course) and an apple pie. It even had a pink ribbon engraved in the crust!

Bedtime was rough. I'm not a back sleeper and even though I have pillows all around me, comfortable I was not. The pain hit me in the middle of the night.  . . . . . I feel like I've wrestled with a sumo and lost.

propped up with all my pillows and fur baby

I was told by many that there is little to no pain. They lied. Stupid crappy cancer. Laying on that operating table for four and a half hours has my back aching. Most of the pain is from the neck, shoulders, and under the arms. I have handy heart pillows the hospital gave me to keep under my arms, but if I raise them I regret it instantly. It feels like the devil himself touched my pits. That is from the lymph node removals.

I have a monster of a headache too. That could be from sleeping (NOT) on this wedge. Laying flat is impossible at first. Getting out of bed is a gymnastic exercise.

And let's not forget these obnoxious drain tubes. I have four of those. The hubster drains them every few hours for me and records the amount. The more I move around, the more they drain.

And yet, even after all that griping and complaining, I'm grateful. I'm grateful to be alive. I'm grateful to be home and see my family. I'm grateful for a husband who is very attentive to my needs. I'm grateful for a Christian surgeon, anesthesiologist, and team of health care professionals. I'm grateful for a God that answers prayers. There was no crappy cancer in my lymph nodes!

I know each day is going to be better than the day before, because I kicked this crappy cancer's butt!

Sarcasm is Funny

I'm sarcastic. It's a gift, actually. I use it in numerous situations even if somewhat inappropriate, but it has certainly helped me deal with this stupid crappy cancer. 

The beauty of using sarcasm is that once you look at things from that vantage point, you can’t stop. And if you commit yourself to coming back with funny anecdotes (funny to me at least) you start to look for the humor in everything. It's a great tool that keeps me from the mullygrubs, and puts a smile on my face! It's really the only way to deal with crappy cancer and the other pits of life.

So today, I'm heading to Baylor for several folks to 'play with the girls' all day before I lose them. I'm going into this without much knowledge of what they are going to do, so I'll have to explain it all in a later post. I'm showing up. I'm trusting these people and placing my total faith in God. I am going to have a discussion with my surgeon about reaching through the incision to get all that fat out from under my arms though! And while he's in there, could he reach way down and suck some of this fat out of my stomach? A girl can ask, can't she?

And while I'm at it, let's stop acting like this is normal. . . . . . A "mastectomy" is a euphemism for an amputation! That's the English word used prior to 1950. But of course, we are more polite in our speech these days. Why has the removal of a woman's breast become so completely normal these days? If I had bone cancer in my leg and it was amputated, would that be normal? What if it ran in my family and I had it removed to be safe, as women sometimes opt for with their breasts. The whole PINK campaign to make women (and men) aware of their breasts have feminized it and made it a normal occurrence. There's nothing 'normal' to me about having my girls whacked off! How do I prepare myself for this? I'm so vulnerable and NOT in control. I haven't even begun to experience the physical and emotional pain from this 'amputation'. I'm not trying to make the reader feel uncomfortable here, but 'awareness' (although a good thing) has become so commercialized that it seems perfectly 'normal' for a woman to have breast cancer and loose her mammaries! That's definitely a downside to October going 'Pink' and I'm not quite sure how I feel about that yet. 

Today is the last day I have to wear a booby strap!  That's not normal. With a personality like mine, who needs boobs?

Lemonade

Life gives us lemons. Lots of lemons! It's life. We all have crappy things that happen to us, but we have to get back up and keep going. We have to live. I have a life to live! I'm not special or unique. I'm not the first person to have crappy cancer and I won't be the last. I understand that this world is not my home, and I've been trying to stay positive and upbeat. So, I'm listening to gospel music, meditating, and thinking about the "after".

I'm going to make lemonade out of this. I feel like God has given me an opportunity here. . . . . . It's important how I deal with it. So, I've been coming up with a list of the positives to have no "girls" on my chest and here's what I've come up with so far:

• I'll never have to wear a bra again, unless I choose to wear prosthesis. (I'm told they are heavy and uncomfortable, so maybe tissue paper?! Ha!) 
• I won't have to try on a hundred of them to find the one that fits the "underarm" boobage and feels comfortable
• I won't "nip" in cold weather ever again!
• I'll never have to worry about hiding my straps (yes, I'm from the generation where underwear is called that for a reason; because it's supposed to be hidden under!)
• I'll be able to sleep on my side more comfortably (eventually after healing)
• I'll never have to get another mammogram (those things hurt!)
• I won't have to remember to do self exams monthly
•  I don't have to worry about too much showing when I bend over
• They won't bounce when I run
• No more sweating under the girls
• I won't have to fear them falling out of my swimsuit when playing in the water
• It will be easier to cast a fishing rod 
• It will be easier to shoot pool
•  It will be easier to cross my arms
• They won't "go south" as I age 

I know myself, and I know that I will have feelings of ugliness, being unfeminine and I don't want to look in the mirror and be reminded of the crappy cancer that took my "girls" without seeing something beautiful. So, I plan to have tattoos over my scars. Yes, I'm making lemonade out of the scars!

I have christian brothers and sisters who are judgemental about tattoos but I find them beautiful. According to Isaiah 49:16, God inscribed His kids' pictures on the palms of His hand. (Yep, God had tattoos!)

Tattoos are personal to the person and tell a story. I have five (yes, 5) and they are each very personal to me. I love them as part of my body. I look forward to healing enough to get a piece of art. . . . . the ink on my breast area will help me let go, move on, and heal. Yes, I will be reminded of my struggle, but the tattoo will also be a good reminder of hope and new life. It will give me more reason to breathe and be happy, thereby speeding up my emotional healing. 

I want to be intimate with my love and feel sexy, and having beautiful art on my chest will give me the confidence I'll need to feel beautiful. Crappy cancer is personal. Tattoos are personal. Don't judge me. I will do what feels right to me and what makes my body and life continue in a way to feel good about myself. That's not selfish. It's making lemonade out of life's lemons.

check out this link: http://www.psfk.com/2014/10/inkspirations-app-links-breast-cancer-survivors-tattoo-artist.html

Ephesians 5:16 tells us to make the best out of a bad situation because the days are evil.

No Stilettos for Me

I can't wear heels. I've never been able to wear heels. I find myself wishing for a bright, hot pink pair of stilettos though! I'm seriously living in a pink world in my head. . . . . .I want everything PINK! Is that so bad?

October is breast cancer (do NOT capitalize that crappy word) month. So, it's a good time to get pink ribbon fuzzy slippers, blankets, maybe even a purse! Oh joy!

I can't wear heels, so I've decided to paint me some canvas shoes to wear! Yep, I'm doing it now. I'll wear them to the hospital next week. I have breast cancer awareness socks to wear into the operating room too!

Finished painting my shoes but I need some bling and sparkle! Off to wally world

Reality

While it is true that I'm a strong person, and I know I'm going to kick this crappy cancer's butt. . . . . I'm losing the girls (hereinafter referring to my boobs) in 4 days! I still have my weak moments. I'm not sleeping well because my brain won't turn off. Intimate moments with my love will forever be changed. (and yes, I'm sure I'll blog about it so let's not pretend it doesn't exist between two people. God ordained it after all.)

Another part of my freak out is that I've worked so hard to build up my Mary Kay business and I've had to put it on hold. And to be real, I need to sell more to pay for the crappy cancer bills!

Another reality is that there will be pain, soreness, tiredness and a period of recovery. . . . . all while trying to stay motivated, positive and upbeat. Stupid crappy cancer! At least mine was found early and as long as the SN (sentinel node) biopsy comes back negative, I will be cancer-free and no other treatment necessary. Praise God! Of course, I'd rather keep them, but it is what it is, and really it's a small sacrifice to pay for my life and health.


I'm finishing up the laundry, packing the things I'll need at the hospital and getting my room ready for recovery. The physical things I have to do in the next four days are the easy part. Now, I have to prepare my mind and body for the mental and emotional part. There are so many thoughts constantly buzzing around in my head. There are a variety of emotions that seem to come and go in a flurry, almost before I can even get a handle on them. This is going to be a life altering event and will most likely change my perspective on just about everything. Stupid crappy cancer has a face now because it happened to me!

God knew I would get crappy cancer. Psalms 139:16 says, "Your eyes have seen my unformed substance; and in your book were all written the days that were ordained for me, when as yet there was not one of them." God mapped out a precise plan for my entire life before I breathed my first breath, so He stands ready to guide me through this. It's part of His plan for my life.

So I'll fight like a girl! Stupid crappy cancer.

I blew it

I blew my diet last night. I've been doing so good! No sweets, no carbohydrates. . . . . I don't want to feed this stupid idiotic cancer! I was trying to starve it to death (and me in the process I might add) but I blew it last night.

My grandson turned 10. It was a milestone and I love spending time with those precious grand angels. He's a hoot! He always makes me smile or just plain laugh out loud. He has the most amusing personality! It felt so good to laugh last night. But I digress.

We made chicken spaghetti and had ice-cream cake. So, I fed my cancer last night. I just had to eat it. It was a special occasion after all. Hope it's happy because the stupid cancer is coming OFF next Tuesday! That'll learn it! (Texas thang)

Today, it's back to vegetables and cottage cheese. No sugar of any kind. I want it super hungry when they whack it out of my chest!

Needed Friend

I have spent the last couple of days thinking about my partner, my hubster, my mate, and my "Boo-Boo" (that's my pet name for him, but don't tell him I told you) He loves me, completely, with such intensity it scares me sometimes. He wants to fix this.

When I was first diagnosed, that was a hard thing for him, I suspect. He couldn't fix it. There was nothing he could do. Yes, he was there for me and said kind words. He is a man so sometimes they weren't always helpful, but certainly with the right intent. Yet he still couldn't make this dumb idiotic cancer go away. I saw anger and frustration, and I saw fear. I think he was terrified he was going to lose me.

I know if I need to cry I have his shoulders, and he stands ready to put up with my moods; when I'm sad, when I'm pissed off, when I'm pretending to be brave, or when I need to just be alone.  I have some great friends, a supportive family and a church family, but he is my needed friend.

We have been married 38 years. I am so blessed to have him. I'm proud of how he has tried his best to reassure me. He's my rock; and even though the idiotic cancer (I'm considering a name for it) has invaded my body, our space, our lives, and our family, I think it's fair to say it has invaded him in a different way. It's the elephant in the room at all times as we pretend it's not there and everything is normal. Yet, it's not normal. How is this going to effect him?

He's wearing a pink bracelet for me. He has a pink tee-shirt for me. That man would walk on hot coals for me and if he could, he would fix this. But he can't.