I can't think of a snappy title .. so .. HERE:

Wow.  I can't believe it's been more than two months since I've visited  you here.  I have to admit that I drag my feet about coming back to the Herschel page because it's an admission that I've been sick.  And frankly, I just want to put it all behind me.

My daughter argues that I am so much more than a cancer survivor.  That I shouldn't let that experience or label define me.  To some degree she is right.  But I also know that cancer has also been another harsh life experience that reshapes your perspective, your hopes and all that you hold dear.

As for the biologic responses to it at this stage, there's not a lot going on.  My incision continues to heal and, in the process, more and more tension is created pulling me to the left.  It's neither pretty or comfortable, but it is what it is.  I sometimes wish I'd just cut the damn thing off.

My doctor thought my swelling issues in April and May were due to Tamoxifen, so she changed me to another estrogen blocker, Femara.  I also take Lasix every day.  If I skip a day, my left leg swells significantly.  Who knows why?  The removal of 26 lymph nodes surely affects SOMETHING, but I would have thought the swelling response would have been in my left ARM, not my leg.

The Femara has caused me to have joint pain, muscle cramps and hot flashes.  But it supposedly doesn't have the threat of blood clot or uterine cancer like Tamoxifen.  And, speaking of that, I'm having another uterine biopsy tomorrow.  I'd rather take a whipping.

Friends who have had them thought them to be no big deal.  For me, it's right up there with the most unpleasant things they've done to me in the last two years.  I'm not sure why it hurts so badly, but I plan to take a Vicodin prior to my appointment tomorrow morning so, hopefully, it's not quite as bad as last time.

The rebel side of me thought about cancelling the appointment.  After all, there's no symptoms or evidence of uterine cancer.  The lining of my uterus was slightly thicker than it should be and, because I am a DES daughter and my chances of gynocological cancers significantly higher than the general population, my medical team is covering all bases.   Mostly I am grateful.  Some days I wish they would pick on someone else!

My energy level is almost back-to-normal.  When I complain of being inadequate and unable to complete everything on my "to do list", Dave reminds me that I am fifty five .. and not everything is the fault of cancer. He also suggests that my "to do list" could do with some reduction. Eh. Whatever.

When I do something like walk all the way through Sam's, help Dave through check out, help load the car and unload it when we're home, put away the groceries and fix dinner, I silently applaud myself remembering last year when I couldn't even make my own sandwich without a chair in the kitchen to catch me when I was about to fall.  I feel like a superhero.

I'm not eating as well as I should.  Well.  Let me rephrase that:  I am eating FABULOUSLY.  Everything tastes so good and I am so hungry (Damn you, Femara) and, I have to admit, I am rewarding myself for being such an awesome cancer warrior.  At some point, like last week, I need to get a grip, lighten up, eat more responsibly and get my large butt back on the treadmill.

My hair is growing like a weed.  It's thicker and less gray than before.  I still have curls but they are fading.  As much as I love me in short hair, I am surrounded by people who love me with long hair.  Oh, why do I have to be such a people pleaser??? So I am trying to grow out.  It's one awkward stage after another!  But I am not complaining.  I'm so grateful for hair, eyebrows and eyelashes that I will never ever complain about bad hair days, waxing ouches or crappy mascara EVER again.

So let's address the vanity issue.  You might recall that my mother pointed out (at a REALLY bad time) last summer that she didn't raise me to be vain.  It's true.  All my life I've been told how pretty I was, how outstanding my eyes were.  My inner response to this was a) I didn't do anything to look like this, it was just God's grace and good genes.  And besides, mama always said, "pretty is as pretty does" so the outward thing was just discounted in my mind. And b) my eyes didn't look any different to me than anyone elses!

I've always wanted to age gracefully.  Oh sure, if I had tons of money, I might do some tweaking and fine tuning.  But I think some women become a characture of themselves.  Some of the "anti-aging" camoflauge isn't really all that effective.  So I intend to go with the flow.  The thing is .. the past couple of years have turned that flow into class five rapids!  My mirror tells me it's been a rough patch, as if I didn't know.  So instead of looking for beauty in my mirror, I look for it in the eyes of husband, my children and my grandbabies who love me regardless of the wrinkles, sagging everything and weight gain.

In September I am scheduled for reconstructive surgery.  It's a decision that I have wrestled with for months.  First, I had to give myself permission to WANT boobs that were the same size and latitude.  Truth be told, I'm still working on that.  But my oncologist and the plastic surgeon both say it's something I should do both for cosmetic reasons and for the health of my spine and posture.  Peach versus grapefruit, in other analogies.  As I get older, apparently the disparity between Fred and Ethel could be problematic.  So.  I get a new, redesigned and realigned right boob in September.

There is some fear which is new to me.  For some odd reason, I am never nervous when I have surgery.  Never.  I doubt it's bravery as much as some sick sense of adventure.  I'm fascinated by the whole experience.  I wanted to be awake for my second c-section AND I wanted to watch.  When I woke up in recovery after the second breast surgery last summer I was saying, "Oh man! I missed the party.  I wanted to watch."  Yes, weird, I know.

But this time .. not so tickled about those shiny lights and that fun injection into my IV.  Having had the MRSA experience, and knowing how rampant it seems to be in hospitals today, it is my chief, primary and biggest concern.  I am no longer a "carrier" meaning my last MRSA swab came back clear.  It's no longer a part of the flora and fauna that lives in or on me.  I'm clean.  I want to stay that way.  All I can do is pray that this surgical experience doesn't require an additional six months of treatment.

So.  That's it.  That's what's going on with me.  Meanwhile, I have a dear friend battling long and hard with skin cancer.  I have another who has been diagnosed with throat cancer and a childhood girlfriend is exactly where I was last summer with breast cancer.  A cousin's husband just had surgery for thyroid cancer.  One friend's husband, who was diagnosed with liver cancer just prior to my own diagnosis with breast cancer, continues to have chemo treatments but is doing well.  These days, it's almost miraculous NOT to have cancer.  The good news is that today's treatments are effective but I also put a big premium on prayer.  Cancer isn't Charlie Sheen.  It's not winning.  God is.  Woot!

Eat your veggies, take your vitamins and feel your boobies.

Love,

Me
(And even though Google thinks David posted this - you and I know it was DARLENE.) 
[Smile.}

Just checking in ..

Yesterday was an important anniversary for me.  It was one year ago yesterday that I had my final FAC treatment at MDA and rang the chemo bell!  It's hard to believe it's only been a year, and yet, the remainder of the year following chemo seemed to crawl by.  Though I was finished with six months of chemo, I still had three surgeries and six weeks of radiation therapy ahead of me.  Still, I knew that getting the yucky chemo behind me was a major accomplishment and I was a very happy girl.

So, here I am almost eight months past my last (and most extensive surgery) and my incision is still healing and changing. Due to the significant loss of tissue, it's not healing comfortably and there is a lot of "draw" and tension.  The plastic surgeon told me that there's nothing she can do for me regarding that at this point as I am too "healed".  I'm not concerned about the cosmetic issue, frankly, it looks better than I thought it would.  But it's uncomfortable and I have pain everyday.  It's not unbearable, just there.  My arm is still stiff and sore and I have numbness and pain (yes, together) in my armpit and behind my breast in my shoulder blade area.  Please note that I am not complaining about ANY of these issues.  I'm grateful to be here and be cancer-free, but I am noting all this for any of you who might be facing your own journey with breast cancer.  

Investigate "Sentinel Node Dissection" versus Axillary.  And ask LOTS of questions PRIOR to surgery about the route to take AFTER surgery.  Don't expect your surgeon to automatically offer you any options. My surgeon never indicated that I should see plastics after my third surgery.  In fact, it was my oncologist who suggested it to reduce the size and volume of my healthy breast to match my previously cancerous one.  I hadn't even considered it was an option.  I thought I would just be lop-sided the rest of my life.

Turns out that plastics not only reconstructs breasts after mastectomies or lumpectomies, they also provide surgery to give symmetry and balance to what's left.  Hm. How about that?  So now I am considering a possible breast reduction on "Ethel" in the fall.  I have never been afraid to have surgery .. but I can tell you that after my experience with MRSA, it's something I am giving great thought to.  And I go back and forth on the issue.  Is it silly and vain to want my breasts to be of relatively equal size and latitudes?  Poor Ethel is hovering down around the equator while chipper (though scarred) Fred is perky and firm.  Yes, I said "firm".  Seems that is a side effect of radiation. At first I thought it was cool to have at least one seventeen year old breast (at 54!) but as time has passed I realize that the firmness is tight and lumpy.  Sometimes my ribs are so sore they feel bruised.  Everything seems to have all grown together on that side. 

Okay, now I sound like I am whining.  Maybe I am.  While it's true that I am "cancer free" (and in the back of my mind I think "but for how long?") and have achieved a great deal of my stamina back, there are still days when I am so weak and tired it feels like I'm still a chemo head.  And speaking of chemo head - I still am one.  It surprises me still that my brain just doesn't "fire" like it used to.  In my pre-cancer days I could multi-task like a ninja.  Now I have trouble focusing on just ONE task and my ability to follow thru to completion has been woefully diminished.  In other words, some days .. I suck.  I get names wrong and can't remember things, lose things .. and it's not just 'aging'.  It's more DEVIOUS than just aging.

I continue to have at LEAST one doctor's appointment a month.  After having as many as six or ten in a month I shouldn't be too unhappy about that, right?  Well, here's the deal:  I consider myself "well" .. and apart from going to MDA to see my friends, I could really just leave it all behind. It's just a reminder that my life is not the same and will never be the same.  That's not to say it can't be GOOD .. it's just .. NOT THE SAME.

Tonight at midnight I'm on a moratorium of eating solids.  Only clear broth, Sprite and green or yellow Jello.  (WHO EATS GREEN OR YELLOW JELLO?)  Plus that huge jug of "pipe cleaner" that I have to drink.  We're headed to Houston tomorrow for an overnight and a lovely inspection of my intestines on Monday.  After that, I can't imagine what they will scan, x-ray, probe or investigate.  My intestines are about the last unexplored region of Planet Darlene.

And, if it was up to me, I'd just as soon they stayed that way ... 

Good news and ...

Good news, so far anyway! My semi-annual date with the CT scan machine went swimmingly. Except for the HUGE needle and the BURNING contrast (did they pumped too fast?) it was the usual piece of cake.

The day after my scan my oncologist told me it was all clear but that, due to the spots on my lungs, they would continue to check me for two years. Since I didn't have barium, I guess I can't complain too much about that needle issue ...

I did get a bit of a butt chewing though. Dr. M. was not at all pleased that my left leg has been swollen for two weeks and I didn't call. I told her I was too busy being well to be sick .. she wasn't amused. "You do realize that Tamoxifen can cause blood clots, right?" Hm. Well. I didn't really think of that, doc.

After she examined me and teased me about being concerned about my chin hair when my leg is twice the size it should be ... (Hey. It's all about priorities!), she took me off Tamoxifen. Now I am taking Femara. I haven't even bothered to look up THOSE side effects. Just surprise me.

She also gave me a diuretic for the swelling and marched me off to imaging for an ultrasound on both legs. Both are swollen, but the left is significantly bigger. Still waiting on those results but meanwhile I checked my MDA appointment schedule yesterday and they have me down for another ultrasound on MONDAY. Is that duplicate appointment? An error? Or do I really have to go back get gelled and mushed again? Until I get a return phone call it's anybody's guess.

If I have a blood clot, I'm gonna be so pissed! I don't have time to be SICK!!!

On a lighter note, I did enjoy a new experience at MDA this week. I had a consult with plastics to discuss possible reconstructive surgery. Actually, a reduction in my healthy breast to make it "match" my tiny, tanned and scarred one. One is a DD .. the other, after three surgeries is about a C. I call them Fred and Ethel. Ethel needs a lift.

It wasn't even something that was on my radar until both my oncologist and surgeon mentioned it to me. And after my MRSA experience, I am not at all sure that it's something I want to do. But I was willing to hear them out. The nurse did all the usual checking in procedures and then offered me something called "photo panties". Uhm. What?

You can imagine the fun Dave and I had with that line. Anyway, they're hideous, these "photo panties". It seems that prior to any reconstructive surgical procedures you have a photo session (oh joy) so that the docs can determine where to take fat (back, belly or butt. Seriously.) to reconstruct breasts from you own tissue. Thankfully, since I was taking away and not adding .. I skipped the photo session.

What a waste of good photo panties!

Next up (unless we do a redo on the ultrasound) is my appointment for a colonoscopy on June 4. Man, the fun never stops! (Maybe I'll wear my photo panties and surprise the doctor) ...

It's that time again ..

So, tomorrow I have my routine CT scan prior to my routine oncology checkup and routine blood work.  Here's hoping it's all ROUTINE.  Every time I have a scan or a test or a biopsy, I worry about what they will find.   And now I know that is pretty much SOP for any cancer survivor.
The trick is not to get it get the best of you.
Some rather strange things have been happening.  Last week I lost two toenails.  They were the ones that were ugly gray a while back.  I guess it's death by chemo but it's 11 months since my last treatment so you'd think they could have hung on.  (At least through sandal season .. right?)  There is nothing uglier than a toe without a nail.  
The other thing is that my left leg has been swollen for two weeks.  Putting my feet up doesn't relieve it and it's been almost painful at times.  Not sure what's causing it but I hope it's not the first sign of lymphedema.  Wouldn't that start in my surgical arm anyway?  More questions for the oncologist.  I have a fistful.
I'm gaining weight like a sumo wrestler despite my increased activity level ... and I swear I am NOT eating junk food!  No sodas, no ice cream, no pie, no cookies.  It's very discouraging but I suspect it's the Tamoxiphen.  And I've got to have that for at least seven more months before I switch to a different estrogen blocker. 
And for those of you who are interested in my awesome experience at the Casting For Recovery retreat, you can check out my blog entry here.  I've pretty much switched my attention away from AWH and back to DRH.  I'll still come here to report anything newsworthy (like my suicidal toe nails) but mostly I am too busy being in love with my piece of heaven here on The Dirt Road.
I hope all of you are well and finding joy in your piece of outside.
Love from the woods,
Darlene

Resurrection

It's Easter Sunday.  I don't even remember what we did last Easter.  Probably, I was on the couch and Dave watched me sleep and Mom tried to find something I would eat.   I had my second FAC chemo cocktail on April 20th, so by the 24th I was probably laying pretty low.
This year I am celebrating my own resurrection of sorts.  Every day I am working in the yard a little trying to build up my strength and regain territory lost to weeds and high grass and a year of neglect.  
This morning I started our Easter dinner early and then went out to mow a little, pick up a few limbs, start a burn pile and rest a lot in between.
Three things gave me so much joy - well, more than that, but these were the TOP three:  A wren is building a nest in one of my bird houses.  This makes me especially happy after losing a pair of chickadees and their eggs to a raccoon last week.
Some salvia that I planted two years ago survived neglect, gophers and the drought and are growing (with all the grass and weeds!) in one of my flower beds.
And in another, some tiny mouse ear hostas also are making a comeback despite being completely overgrown with weeds and having no TLC since I planted them two summers ago.
Like my salvias and my hostas and the wrens .. I'm coming back.
My last appointment at MDA was a two day affair.  On March 27th I had my first post surgical mammogram.  I wasn't thrilled about the idea of smashing my still healing tiny boob in the boobie blaster but it had to be done.  Thankfully, I had a gentle tech who understood my anxiety and, together, we got it done.  It was only slightly more uncomfortable than every other mammo I've had.
The following day my breast surgeon, Dr. B., released me from her care.  Part of me was sad about that.  I've enjoyed having her (and PA Erin, and Nurse Kelly) as part of my medical team.  But she assured me that it was a graduation of sorts and that (God forbid) if I ever needed her again, I knew where to find her.
My mammogram showed all the expected things, changes due to radiation and surgery, but no evidence of cancer.  I am NED - No Evidence of Cancer.   That's a pretty big deal!  Especially since the day after I was scheduled for a uterine biopsy which had me mildly rattled.  That, too, came back as no cause for concern but, due to not enough tissue for a proper evaluation, we're repeating it again in August.
Skin lesions that were tested early in March also came back as benign.
NED.
"No cause for concern."
Benign.
I think I will stop worrying now and get on with my life, my mowing, my raising of a few vegetables, my bird love, caterpillar adoration and life. 
Life as I knew it before.
Life as it was before Herschel.
I had to explain to some folks that being released from one doctor does not emancipate me from MDA entirely.  I still have regular appointments with my oncologist, my dermatologist and my nurse practitioner at the Cancer Prevention Center. 
I will still have regular CT scans and blood work and bone density scans and well woman exams, all in the name of keeping me healthy and free of cancer.
But the hard part is over.  
I will continue to update the AWH blog as appointments occur or symptoms arise but for the most part, I am returning to DRH for good.  It's where I belong .. and as you know .. no shoes are required.  Thanks for always being on this journey with me.
God bless!

The Community

"The only good thing about having this disease is that it links us all together. Complete strangers will weep while reading your words (I know, because I did) and then pray for someone they have never met. It doesn’t matter that we don't know each other. I know the fear, the frustration and weariness you both feel.
My husband so surpassed my expectations, wishes and hopes in supporting me during my treatment. It made me sad to think that he had watched his own mother survive breast cancer for twenty years before she lost HER battle, and now he was having to watch me endure its costs. I imagine some of your wife's anger is because YOU are collateral damage in her fight with this demon. It’s bad enough to watch someone you love have cancer. It’s a whole other ballgame to have cancer and watch the person you love watch back. We can’t live without your love and support and we’d give anything – ANYTHING - to make it all go away.
Keep the faith. And above all else, for what it’s worth, ... you’re not alone."

These were the words I left as a comment on the blog of husband who is watching his wife battle with stage four breast cancer.  Blog For A Cure  is a forum of cancer patients and cancer survivors.  I've been lurking in the wings on this one since I found it almost a year ago.  The level of emotional support offered between strangers who have been diagnosed with the plethora of cancers is miraculous.  

In real life, not many can hear the dirty details of what cancer does to a body, or often what can be worse, what cancer TREATMENT does to a body.  But in this forum virtually anything goes.  No one judges, everyone understands, encourages and prays.  

I confessed to Dave that I had been going there frequently in the past few weeks to look up my two potential cancer addendums.  I wanted to see what experiences others had with diagnosis, treatment and recovery.  Thankfully, now my role can be that of support, prayer and encouragement because yesterday nearly all of my fears were dispelled.

My skin biopsy came back as a benign wart.  As gross as having a wart (or two) is .. it's a far more attractive diagnosis that I imagined I might get!  I'll have a date with the dermatologist soon to have them frozen off.   Mmmm. That might be a strange sensation, given their location!

  

The endometrial biopsy was postponed by my nurse practitioner, A, due to the two days of fever I had last week.  She didn't want to risk my having an infection of some kind or a possible kidney stone, so she postponed the procedure for later this month.  She was also able to alleviate most of my concern about the reason she feels it is necessary.  Though some of my test results are cause for concern, the ultrasound I had last week did not reveal any masses so the chances of uterine cancer, right now, are much lower.  But it's necessary to rule it out, given the abnormal cells seen by the pathologist.

I'm being treated with the utmost care.  And I am in awe of my good fortune every time I go to M. D. Anderson that I have been blessed with a really amazing team of medical professionals who continue to flush all possible demons from every corner. 

So, I came home and opened my own account at Blog For A Cure.  It's time to start giving back and the least I can do with my growing strength and increased stamina is encourage others.  It only takes a few minutes on the site to realize how many people are having a really, really hard time.   Reading the words of stage four cancer warriors is the quickest way I know to be humbled. 

I've learned that it's almost a given to be afraid every time a CT scan is scheduled or any new diagnostic test is suggested.  Like me, my new friends at BFAC realize the possibility for recurrence is a reality but, also like me, they don't want to give the "C" word any more power over our lives than it's already managed to scarf up.

Like I told Dave on the way home, "I'm WELL, so tell the voices in my head to SHUT UP!"  Then it occurred to me that it's MY hand on the volume control. I think I'll drown them out with some ZZ Top.  [SMILE]  Thanks for listening.  Talk amongst yourselves ...  

Random craziness.

I watched a movie the other night when I couldn't sleep. I couldn't tell you the name of the movie or who was in it or what it was about. (So, then, why did I bring it up, you might ask.) There was one line in this movie that whopped me up beside the head: "There's no time to be chicken." (Celestial choir.) It was as if God Himself had spoken to me. THERE'S NO TIME TO BE CHICKEN.

There is .. NO TIME .. to be CHICKEN.

Man, I needed that. I have been spending way too much time lately being chicken. Here's the thing .. between the time you find there is something to be concerned about and the actual time you are told that a) there is a bonafide problem or b) everything is a-okay, there is this land of limbo. Your choices are to either rise above the fear, continue living as though as all is well OR allowing yourself to be swallowed up by the "what ifs" and becoming paralyzed by fear. I have been somewhere in between, dipping my big toe in the deep end of the "paralyzed with fear pool" from time to time.

The internet is a wonderful place. Many of my friends live inside my computer, I can "big brother" my kids on facebook and be sure they are happy, well and safe at home. I can follow my treatment at MDA by reading all my reports filed by my various docs, pathologists, radiologists and all the "ologists" who have their finger in the Darlene Pie. It's pretty amazing. Then, I can take that information and google anything I don't understand and feel almost like third year medical student. Almost.

The downside of researching all that stuff on the internet is that you can often scare the living crap out of yourself.  And armed with only the vaguest of pathology reports .. one has to question the wisdom of late night googling sessions.  In the dark.  With only you, your flimsy pretend medical degree and the  world-wide-worry-web. 

A week from today I will be at MDA enjoying the attention of a variety of skilled professionals  working with amazing technology to be sure that I am cancer free EVERYWHERE even in places I wish they wouldn't really look!  I'm sure everything will be fine.  There is no cause for alarm .. and there sure as heck isn't any TIME TO BE CHICKEN! 

Because .. it's time to go FISHIN'!

On a lighter, happier, less psychotic note I found out yesterday that I have been one of the lucky ladies selected to attend this spring's "Casting For Recovery" at Joshua Creek Ranch in Boerne.  I was an alternate and now I am GOING!  Since I have never fly fished and it's something I've always wanted to try, I am so excited.  I'll be learning to tie flies and practice casting with 13 other breast cancer survivors before we spend a day with guides learning the "Tao" of fly fishing and practicing catch & release.  It's such a great opportunity and I'm so grateful to all the sponsors that make this retreat possible! It's scheduled for April 13 - 15, right before my birthday! WOOHOO!

(I like fish way better than chicken, any way!)

Meanwhile, while waiting for the other shoe to drop

Breast Cancer Cell

Well I guess I've put this off as long as I can. I've had no interest in posting to the Herschel blog lately because I am just too danged busy being well. I went from December 27 to February 1 without any doctor or nurses appointments and the freedom of no impending doc visits made the idea of blood tests, miscellaneous scans and other diagnostic tools in the cancer doctor's magic bag of tricks just something I would rather not think about. For as long as it lasted, anyway.

I started walking again, first outside but then inside on the treadmill as the weather got more unpredictable and winter-like. At first I could walk only five or ten minutes at a pretty good clip. I have worked myself up to two or three fifteen minute sessions at least five days a week. More proof that I am well. (Yes, I'm still trying to convince myself. If I say it enough it's bound to be true, right?)

The truth is the pyschology of having had cancer has messed with my equilibrium lately more than the toxic cocktail of chemo meds ever did. Only now I wobble on the inside of my head going back and forth between the happy thoughts of being cancer free and the darker abyss of all the dreaded "what if's". What they say about ignorance being bliss is true. Now that I know what having cancer treatment feels like, and for the all the gratitude I feel to my family, legions of prayer warriors and medical team at MDA, I have NO desire to ever, ever go there again.

Still, I refuse to live in fear. I try not to let those ugly little scary thoughts take up too much of my time. But, at the same time, I want to be prepared ... just in case I ever have to hear those words again. "Honey, you have a cancer .."

But there is some valid cause for concern. In the forties, and up until the seventies in some countries, doctors were giving pregnant women who were at risk for miscarriage a drug called Diethylstilbestrol. My mother took this drug while pregnant with me. In the early seventies it was discovered that adolescent and young adult DES daughters were at risk for a specific and unusual type of vaginal and cervical cancer. Now they're learning that older DES daughters host a variety of reproductive issues and elevated cancer risks than in the general population. So on my first visit to the Cancer Prevention Building when I saw my new NP (nurse practitioner who has both a MS in nursing and a specialty) on 2/1, she was very thorough in her exam once she learned I was a DES daughter.

The good news is that two screening tests they performed came back normal. The probably-still-good-but-nerve-wracking news is that they want to perform a biopsy on my uterine tissue on 2/20 3/5*. I have an appointment three hours later to get the results so, at least, Hopefully, the worrisome, waiting part will be over quick. I'm forcing myself to be pleased that my medical team is being so thorough instead of allowing myself go into total freak out mode. (Well, at least I am trying ...)

*MDA changed my appointment for the uterine biopsy from 2/20 to 3/5 but there is no "after party" review scheduled so I guess I have to wait for results. No bueno.

Additionally, on 2/29 I am scheduled to have an ultrasound specific to my "girl parts" and another biopsy on some questionable tissue that has made itself evident in the last few months, also in the "girl" neighborhood. Look, I'm not embarrassed about this (okay, that's a lie, it is humiliating) but since I've drug you all on this cancer journey so far, you're not gonna abandon me NOW, just when it gets interesting, ARE YOU?

It's okay .. all you guys I used to drag around the playground (I'm so sorry for that!), rode bikes and played baseball with are excused. You don't have to go there. But for those of you who read this, whatEVER it is, to educate yourself and to keep up with my me, me, ME obsession, you'll be the almost-first-to-know if my girl parts continue to pass inspection.

God grant me the courage
to continue to flash my aging, naked bits and pieces
to complete strangers in white lab coats
all while hiding my big-assed fear behind
whatever funny remark I can rake up.
Please, God.

I'm da BOMB!

Dave has been telling me for months that I'm da bomb but I haven't really put too much stock in his assessment of my "bombhood" because he is really, prejudiced!  But lately so many awesome things that have happened to me that I have decided that I am, INDEED, da bomb!

First of all my surgeon, Doctor B, decided we had gotten maximum benefit from the wound vac and on December 21, just in time for Christmas, she took me off.  What a relief!  I had been on the wound vac since my final surgery of October 14 - ten weeks - of constant negative pressure (aka "sucking").  I did the math and it was 3.5 psi on my poor, wounded boobie, 24/7 for two and a half months.  While the positives of the wound vac were reduced chance for infection, increased circulation and faster healing, the downside was the inconvenience (sleeping with it, taking it to the bathroom with me in the middle of the night, carrying it with me on my shoulder or in my hands EVERYWHERE I went), the constant muscle fatigue, pressure and weight of the thing.  But Hoover is history and I couldn't be happier.

My incision on December 21 was still over 1" deep and wide but Doc B and my wound nurse, Evelyn, were confident that Dave could clean and dress it until it completely healed.  And so was I.  I thoroughly enjoyed all my nurses from Home Healthcare and I know that I will miss them, but I can't deny that I am happy to be making progress!

A week after I saw Doctor B, I was scheduled to see my radiologist, Doctor S.  She hadn't seen me since my last radiation treatment due to the October surgery and she wanted to see how my skin had healed since my last radiation treatment.  There wasn't much to see as I didn't really suffer any burns or blisters.  I got a nice "Tahiti tan" and only one 1/2" break in the skin but apart from that, it was easy peasy.  She was very pleased with my skin condition but urged me to moisturize my breast and left arm daily.  I'm also not to take long, hot showers or be out in the sun unprotected for any length of time.   I finally remembered to ask if I was "cancer free" and she said that, yes, according to the findings of my last CT scan on November 30, I am CANCER FREE.  I have "watch spots" on my liver, lungs and thyroid but none of these areas changed with chemo or have changed since then, so they'll just be watched for the next two years.  CANCER FREE!  I can't tell you how much weight lifted off me.  I didn't even realize I was carrying that burden.  Doctor S released me to the care of my oncologist, Doctor M and my surgeon, who will continue to appoint me every three months for probably a year, slacking off from there.  

I had NO doctor appointments scheduled for January.  NONE!

Now.  About my hair.  It's about three inches long and CRAZY curly!  I can't tell you how many dollars I have spent in my lifetime on perms to have curly hair.  My hair was always board straight.  Apparently it's not all that unusual to have curls after chemo.  I googled "Chemo curls" and lots of ladies have posted photos of their newly sprouted curls.  I don't know if it will stay curly or straighten out as it grows but I plan to trim it regularly just to keep it healthy.  Styling it consists of letting it air dry with some gel on .. slicking back the sides and scrunching up everything else.  I don't even use a comb.  Talk about no muss, no fuss!  :)

And lastly, since being off the wound vac I have noticed that every day I am a little stronger than the day before.  Last week I was able to walk all the way through the grocery store and stand in the check out line with Dave!  That's a first.  Usually I poop out somewhere in the middle to the end or couldn't handle standing in line and would go out to the car.   Then, when I got home, I was able to put away all the groceries and cook supper without taking a break.  THIS IS HUGE!!!!!

I've caught up on the laundry and started cleaning closets and I'm trying to regain some sense of organization after a year on the sofa!  And I've started walking a half mile every morning to the gate and back!  It wasn't long ago that I could only do a few laps on level ground in the meadow.  Now we're talking GOING UP HILL!  Tiny victories .. but victories that make me very happy with myself!

I'm different.  I've lost a lot of muscle mass, and I look vastly different than I did this time a year ago.  I'm not nearly as strong as I was but I know that will eventually come back.  I am more enthusiastic than I've been in months about what goes on outside my windows.  I'm enjoying my woods and critters again.  I'm COMING BACK.

The doctors say that with my regime of therapies, chemo, surgery and radiation, plus my tamoxifen (an estrogen blocker), my predicted rate of cancer recurrence is about 3 percent.  I don't think I will completely trust that until I've been cancer free for a couple of years, but worrying about having cancer again is not anything I want to waste too much time on.  

The knowledge that I've beaten it THIS time, plus all the boundless love and support from family and friends makes me sure that, come what may, I CAN handle it.   I hope that my experiences journaled here will encourage anyone who stumbles onto "Adventures with Herschel" in a quest to learn more about their own recent cancer diagnosis.  

And one last thing.  The last surgery was far more extensive than the first two and I'm going to have quite a "dimple" from the loss of tissue.  So, being ME, I decided to name it.  Shirley.  Shirley Dimple.  If there is one thing I've learned above all else it's that YOU HAVE TO LAUGH.

Life goes on.  Ain't it grand?