tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32681139335483769722024-03-21T17:42:59.603-05:00Adventures With HerschelOn November 18, 2010 I was diagnosed with invasive ductal carcinoma - a breast cancer. Were it so that I were unique, rare or special in any way .. but, sadly, one in eight women will face breast cancer in its variety of types, grades and stages. This is my personal story. I am writing it for myself but if, somewhere along the way, it helps another, then having Herschel (yes, I named my tumor ..) will not have been quite so bad at all.Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15438563926260354562noreply@blogger.comBlogger81125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3268113933548376972.post-12361224651932475252015-06-16T14:12:00.000-05:002015-06-16T14:16:44.586-05:00Chicken Littles or "The Art of Being Cautious"Last Monday's visit offered up a bit of a surprise. After my repeat mammogram (a rescan due to questions that arose in November in my healthy breast), my new oncologist (who seemed to have no idea why I was there or seeing her), told me that I needed a biopsy. That there were "calcifications" that we needed to investigate.<br />
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Dang it!</div>
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Apparently before you have cancer, you have calcifications, so finding them and identifying them means a really good chance of finding cancer at its earliest stage. So I was reappointed with imaging in a week.</div>
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Yesterday was my appointment for a stereotactic biopsy. Yeah. Google that. The pictures alone are worth the price of admission. But if you're one of those squeamish types (and what are you doing HERE????), I'll just describe it: It's a table with a hole in it .. that you get on via a LADDER (because it goes up in the air), and your boobie goes thru the hole (no kidding) .. and below the table is the radiologist and her team (yes .. TEAM) who adjust your boobie and basically do low-grade mammogram imaging. I say "low-grade" because the compression is very slight compared to regular mammograms. </div>
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The idea is that they image you, find the suspicious spot, then make an incision and shoot the core biopsy needle into the spot to withdraw tissue for examination. I was warned about pain even though they use a local, lots of pressure and potential bleeding. When the procedure is complete, they bind you up with an ice pack and order you to take it easy for 24 hours. </div>
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Well, we didn't get much past putting the boobie in the table hole. Right off the bat, the radiologist determined that what they were looking at was skin surface level -- and likely scar tissue. </div>
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Just to be on the safe side, they lowered the table, let me climb down and we went to another room for a 3D mammogram (didn't know there was such a thing!) That image confirmed that the area of calcification was indeed scarring from my reduction 3 years ago.</div>
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Dodged a(nother) bullet. This is my third biopsy in two years and every time it unnerves me.</div>
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Doctor says I'm good for a year with regard to imaging. She apologized for having me drive 6 hours (round trip) but I told her I was happy to if it involved an "all clear". </div>
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I'm grateful they are taking such good care of me. And I'm grateful for the technology that allows them to see the tiniest of irregularities. But mostly, I am grateful that - for now, at least - I can continue to say I am cancer free.</div>
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Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15438563926260354562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3268113933548376972.post-37926668862009450682015-06-04T14:08:00.000-05:002015-06-04T14:08:41.711-05:00Day 1691 .. and countingIt's been a while since I posted here - over a year, to be exact. There isn't a whole lot to tell but June 1st of this year was four years since my last chemo and that, to me, is a date to remember. Probably more than any other date (discovery, surgeries, radiation graduation), finishing chemo was a really big deal. <center>
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<b>Having to do it again is a large and robust fear now.</b> Going in the first time, you're scared but you're clueless as to what to expect. Other's descriptions are either purposefully vague or so horrific that you're sure THOSE THINGS won't happen to you. It's not an experience I care to repeat ... </div>
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My last checkup was in November. And there were some areas of concern in my healthy breast, so on Monday, we're repeating the mammogram and ultrasound, just to be sure. I also have a(nother) new oncologist. My beloved Dr. M., moved on to a research position in Chicago in 2013. And now, apparently my replacement doctor has also been replaced. I'm not worried. All the doctors at M. D. Anderson are plenty bright for me .. but I do wonder why I'm being passed around like yesterday's tuna sandwich. I'm hoping because my cancer is on the "back burner" and there are far bigger fires that need putting out, they're just shifting those of us with less immediate issues to doctors who have a schedule to deal with us cancer "graduates". </div>
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I'm still on Tamoxifen, though if it were only up to me, I'd have flushed them long ago and danced to celebrate. I have another year and a half to go but I am not happy about it. I still have significant joint pain, neuropathy that is getting worse, I'm fat as a pig and there are other cosmetic issues like brittle hair and fragile nails. But, as long as I remain cancer free, I suppose it's worth it. </div>
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I only hope that once I'm done, I feel significantly better. Even now, four years after chemo, there are good days and there are bad days. </div>
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My lymphedema is mild, so that's a good thing. And on the good days, my stamina is high enough that I almost feel like I did before cancer changed things. </div>
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All in all, I feel I have a lot to be grateful for and I try to express that everyday. So, we'll see on Monday if all is still well. I'll bet you a <b><u>fresh</u></b> tuna sandwich that it is .. </div>
Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15438563926260354562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3268113933548376972.post-36166772021155543702014-05-20T10:28:00.000-05:002014-06-24T20:37:30.796-05:00Magnify THIS.<center>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yesterday was an MDA day.
I was only a year late for my annual mole inspection with the
Dermatologist at MD Anderson. It’s not that I
don’t like HER .. it’s just the humiliation of getting undressed and having all
your bits and pieces looked at thru a magnifying glass. Really?
You need <u>that</u> to be LARGER?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was sure I had something newsworthy to share. I’ve always had a lot of moles, some of
which dried up and fell off with chemo.
Some of which are experiencing a bloom with spring time, it seems. I was SURE some of them needed to be whacked
off, if for no other reason than they are being obnoxious and <b>loud</b> .. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So I was less than pleased to hear her say, “<i>Uhm, no, that’s
just aging ..</i> “, “<i>well, that’s just sun damage</i>”, “<i>no, that’s just a little
benign ___oma</i>” … Everything I pointed
out as larger, growing, changing color .. <b>UGLY</b> .. she just passed over. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But THEN .. “<i>what’s this little spot on your nose</i>? <i>How long have you had that?</i>” And I said the magic words .. “<i>it bleeds
when I wash my face</i>”. Now, keep in mind,
that Tamoxifen (keeps me from getting breast cancer again, in theory) causes
acne. So I have aging, teen age
skin. Pimples. Nasty mothers .. which I use benzoyl peroxide on and I take Clindamycin for. So a little, tiny, mean, bleedy spot on my
nose was no cause for concern to me, but the doc said it warranted a biopsy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Hm.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So .. she numbed my nose and took a sliver just to make the
day more interesting. And she put a a big, round bandaid on my nose. <b>Lovely.</b> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’m not worried at all.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The bandaid was way more frightening than what I found under it this
morning. <i>(*Turns out the spot she removed was pre-cancerous, so I have to be more careful and be seen yearly now.)</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The thing about going back to MDA after spending so much of
my time there two years ago, is that it’s like graduating from school and then
going back to find the hallways are smaller and there are no familiar
faces. My oncologist has moved on to a
research position in Chicago. All the
close relationships I had two years ago have devolved. The people I saw at my worst are now
treating others at their worst. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I felt no sense of place at MDA yesterday.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And THAT was cool. I really am getting better.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">No appointments until September and then in November it's time for my yearly scan festival. Whoopee!</span></div>
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Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15438563926260354562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3268113933548376972.post-59605598501819881842013-12-28T14:27:00.000-06:002013-12-28T14:27:33.671-06:00Day 1136*<center>
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*since diagnosis.</center>
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My last appointment at M. D. Anderson was in mid-November. I got a great report - no sign of cancer for the second year. And I do not have to be seen again by my oncologist until November of 2014. The bad news was that my oncologist, Dr. M., was leaving to take a research position in Chicago. Selfishly, I don't want her to go. I credit her with saving my life! I want to keep her around to keep the demons away! But, she explained that it was a good move for her family and that she originally set out to be in research. So, we hugged, I thanked her again and Dave and I wished her well. It won't be the same, you know, going back to MDA for visits now. But, I guess, all good things must come to an end. </center>
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Since June of this year, I finally starting feeling more like myself. Two full years from the date of my last chemo, my body shook off the residual effects and I began to recognize the old me. Sometimes the most mundane things become beautiful - like realizing you just walked every aisle of the grocery store, checked out, loaded and unloaded and put away the groceries AND you're not gasping for breath or anxiously looking for a place to sit before you fall. </center>
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There were days I thought I'd never, ever get over the toxic effects of chemo. But now, two and a half years later, I am pretty much back to my pre-cancer self. I suffer from lymphedema in my left arm which is aided by therapy (massage) and a compression sleeve. I still have neuropathy in all but my big toes on both feet. The lovely side effects of Tamoxifen are still weight gain, acne, joint pain and hot flashes. But when I asked Dr. M if we could cut this lovely dance with the estrogen blocker short - say, about NOW - her response was immediate: "Hell no!" So, three more years of Tamoxifen before I'm home free. </center>
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Psychologically, the effects of cancer and its treatment have been more substantial than I imagined they might be. Not only did I suffer the effects of "chemo brain" (loss of concentration, a "dulling" of the senses, the inability to multi-task, and loss of motivation), I can only describe the rest of it as having a broken compass. I have been completely without direction. Now, the fog has lifted, I am able to be excited about projects and the future again and I am starting to sense the wind in my sails again. </center>
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I have no idea what the future holds -- but neither does anyone else. No one is guaranteed tomorrow or next week, even. The upside to all of this experience is that it's sweetened every good thing in life and reduced the chaff to dust. My days are numbered but they always have been -- cancer just makes you understand the significance of every good day left.</center>
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Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15438563926260354562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3268113933548376972.post-59671351821140424332013-09-09T09:47:00.000-05:002013-09-09T09:50:27.543-05:00Day 1027 ... Keepin' on. <center><a href="http://www.zunispirits.com/darlene/me and moo.jpg"><img src="http://www.zunispirits.com/darlene/me and moo.jpg" height="400"></a><br>Me & Grand Girl, Molly</center>
<p align="justify">Hello campers! It seems I am visiting here now about as often as I do my docs at MDA! Truth is, I'm feeling so much better that, for the most part I consider this whole cancer episode D.O.N.E! The only time I really give it much thought is when I cross the elevator threshold downtown in the Mays building of M. D. Anderson. (OR when I am cursing the effects of my nemesis "savior", Tamoxifen.")</p>
<p align="justify">This past summer, my surgery anniversaries came and went: June 28 and July 8. Next month, my third surgery anniversary, Oct. 14, is coming up. Two years and I still have tenderness, soreness sometimes and weird, achy numbness although that is much improved. I need to see the physical therapist soon to be fitted for a lymphedema sleeve. I avoided it early on and since I got conflicting information from my doctors, I chose to believe the one that said it wasn't necessary. Turns out .. it is. </p>
<p align="justify">I can honestly say that I didn't feel fully free of the chemo until June of this year. Sure, my hair came back, my toenails stopped turning black and turning loose (only three, not all), my neuropathy improved somewhat, but there was this ongoing feeling of unwellness that stuck much longer than I anticipated. My nurse practictioner said last week that window of time is completely "normal". </p>
<p align="justify">Normal - it's all a "new" normal.</p>
<p align="justify">It's normal to be anxious prior to any kind of visit now. Now, when all the "bad" stuff is behind me, my heart rate jumps when I'm in a closed room with an exam table, posters of human anatomy and a clean folded gown staring me down. I had my "Well Woman" exam last week at the Cancer Prevention Center at MDA. Because of my required Tamoxifen (which is known to provide an elevated risk of uterine cancer) and my being a DES daughter (a drug given to women in the 50's to prevent miscarriage), my medical team is keeping a close watch on the health of all my girl parts. </p>
<p align="justify"> Last time, the lining of my uterus was thicker than it should have been, given my new, post-menopausal state. It was apparently cause for alarm and all the bells and whistles went off. Thankfully, all of the other tests came back within normal perameters and the sirens finally stopped blaring.
I have every confidence that this test will pass as "healthy" too. I'm not borrowing trouble until it's packed its bag and is knocking on my door.</p>
<p align="justify">That doesn't mean I didn't get a little nervous .. and my heart rate was questioned by two nurses and my NP. During the visit it came down from 103 to 92 beats per minute and I explained it away with the long walk in and the Starbucks coffee I downed just before checking in.</p>
<p align="justify">So now we wait for the "all clear down below" letter. And we count the days and calculate how many pounds we can legitimately lose (or not gain) until my Oncology visit in November. Bloodwork, bone scan, Mammo and Ultrasound. I'd love to hear my Oncologist say that I can safely stop the Tamoxifen but I doubt she'll cave to my whining about bone aches, ridiculous weight gain (on baked chicken & salad, gimme a break!), cramps all over my body, swelling, pimples, dry skin, (heard enough?). I have three more years to complete the recommended round of five.</p>
<p align="justify">Party. November. 2016. Be there.</p>
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Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15438563926260354562noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3268113933548376972.post-10588301609915930382013-05-09T11:23:00.000-05:002013-05-09T11:39:02.416-05:00903 Days since diagnosis<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY6tAfPtxDFOaoQns84s4FIdtW93yzuZgBHPtXy_c0_vJrNTpWoyMp1TKzzYYukQknuHjAeQSJji9eUFiZczTe2RagoYsKFgg3ROsf8IY2aC_SAdDDeyE8sPoiLWh9Yml_ujrSDsShQss5/s1600/emeraldbeetle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY6tAfPtxDFOaoQns84s4FIdtW93yzuZgBHPtXy_c0_vJrNTpWoyMp1TKzzYYukQknuHjAeQSJji9eUFiZczTe2RagoYsKFgg3ROsf8IY2aC_SAdDDeyE8sPoiLWh9Yml_ujrSDsShQss5/s320/emeraldbeetle.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Just one of the wildflowers I've enjoyed this spring</span></td></tr>
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Two years, five months and twenty one days ago I heard, "You have a cancer, honey." It wasn't a big shock because I'd already heard the word "malignant" from my primary care physician's nurse who got the report before I heard from the doctor who performed my biopsy.<br />
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The world "malignant" made me gasp, literally. I don't know why, my intuition was telling me for months that there was something desperately wrong even though the "wrongness" was subtle and I easily convinced myself that it might just be a) menopause or b) getting older. </div>
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But that's all old news. Today I have more good days than bad. Today I have hair that actually gets messy on a windy day. I can't tell you how much I love having messy hair on a windy day. But there are reminders that I've had breast cancer, and in an effort to continue to pass on information about this disease and the consequences of treatment, I'll tell you this:</div>
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Tamoxifen sucks.</div>
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I can't lose weight and it's a victory to just not gain weight. I have terrible cramps in my feet, legs, hands, armpits (no kidding) and I even had one in my jaw when I yawned recently. I'm not sure why I'm having so much trouble with this but a quick, disturbing home remedy is yellow mustard. When the cramps are more than a passing irritation, when they're so bad I can't sleep, I get up and have a big ole heapin' helpin' of yellow mustard. It's not for the faint of heart but when your feet want to curl up like pringle potato chips, you'll try anything. </div>
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My nails are still brittle and slow growing. I'm not sure if this is a residual effect of chemo or menopause but I just keep them clipped short and go with the flow. </div>
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My hearing has improved from what it was while on chemo. But don't get excited, my hearing sucked before chemo! During chemo, I couldn't tell the shower was running unless I looked. Now, while showering, it's nice to hear the water. I still can't function in society without my hearing aids .. but you don't know what you miss till it's gone and having to LOOK at the shower to see if it's on is a little heartbreaking. </div>
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I am experiencing swelling in my left leg. My oncologist thinks it might be a tamoxifen issue or it could be that I have developed a bit of lymphedema on my left side all the way down my leg. I've had two ultrasounds in the last six months to eliminate the possibility of blood clots (a prominent side effect of Tamoxifen) and so far, so good. I also feel swollen and "numb" on my left side from my shoulder blade to my waist from time to time. Usually it's after I've probably done too much, like lifting 50 lbs. of chicken feed or carrying in too many groceries. I'm going to check into getting a lymphedema compression sleeve to see if that will relieve the discomfort. There's no way to predict lymphodema or cure it when it does happen but many breast cancer patients experience it due to the removal of lymph glands in the surgical process. My surgeon removed 26. I've only met one other breast cancer sister who had more removed and she lost 29.</div>
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Fatigue is still my nemesis but every week that goes by I realize I am walking farther, doing more and feeling more like myself before breast cancer. I still get frustrated because there's so much I want to do, need to do, and I have to "budget" my energy. For example, if I have appointments or errands to run on Wednesday, I know that on Thursday, I'm going to have to take it easy. If I clean house in the morning, in the afternoon I might need a nap. If I do laundry all day on Saturday, on Sunday I'll be watching old westerns on TV most of the day. I don't like it. I used to be able to clean my house, do the laundry, wash my truck and mow the yard and still have the energy to cook dinner for friends. Those days appear to be over. </div>
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But it's not all bad. I have a deeper appreciation for everything. Walking outside and hearing the birds is a small thing but it's such a precious thing. Noticing the sky changes from winter to spring to summer not only marks the passing of time but the progression of sick to well again. </div>
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I asked my Dr. M the day we first talked about my regime of treatment how long I would be sick. She told me a year. I know that having the MRSA infection, subsequent surgery and wound vac added months to my recovery, but even so "a year" was an optimistic prediction. June 1 will mark my two year anniversary of my last FAC chemo. It's been a long haul.</div>
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Now I am much more sensitive to others that are facing this and other cancers in their families and we all know far too many who have this disease. It's life changing in so many ways that are unpredictable. Financially, emotionally, certainly physically --- and spiritually. I never asked "why me" because I'd much rather it be me than one of my children or grand children. But I can't say I haven't railed against God when I wasn't instantly better. Patience has never been one of my virtues .. </div>
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So, in a little more than a week I will be up at the crack of dawn and speeding, with Dave, towards Houston and M. D. Anderson. It's time for semi-annual scans, blood work and a visit with my oncologist. I don't dread it but it makes me a little nervous. "Scanxiety" it's called. And apparently most cancer patients experience it. Once you've walked through the fire of chemo, surgery and radiation and all the extracurricular activities associated with cancer treatment, you hardly want to repeat that journey. But, at least, if I do have a recurrence I know that I have God and all of you rooting for me. And what <b>very good </b>cheerleaders you all are. Rah! Rah!</div>
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Choose to be happy. That's really all there is to it.</div>
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Love, </div>
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Darlene</div>
Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15438563926260354562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3268113933548376972.post-86167932971861425152013-02-01T11:31:00.000-06:002013-02-01T11:36:14.433-06:00806 days from my diagnosis .. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My hair!<br />
I think I've had three haircuts at this point,<br />
but I'm trying "grow out". (The things we<br />
do for our HUSBANDS!)</td></tr>
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Well, hello there! It's been six months since I've recorded anything here. Truthfully, I've been so focused on getting my life back that all this cancer business has just been shoved to the back burner!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">12.27.12<br />
Ashley's 29th Birthday!</td></tr>
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First there were the holidays and then birthdays in December and January with my kids. I am so grateful to be HERE and able to celebrate all these precious days with them and all my family!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1.5.13<br />
Jared's 30th Birthday!</td></tr>
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But, just to catch you up, and for all those breast cancer patients that may have landed here seeking information, here's what's happening lately:<br />
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I had checkup appointments in August with my oncologist. The Femara (estrogen blocker) she put me on in May was causing significant issues. My bones ached so badly at night I couldn't sleep and I couldn't walk more than 50 yards without tremendous bone pain. It was just not acceptable. So, even with the risks of Tamoxifen (blood clots, uterine cancer), at least I can have some quality of life while taking it. In an effort to alleviate the swelling issues I was having with Tamoxifen before, she also added spirolactone, another diuretic, to my pharmacological soup.<br />
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She said my blood work looked good and I was scheduled for a mammogram and breast ultrasound in November.<br />
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Then, in September, my plastic surgeon called and asked me to move up my reconstructive surgery (on my healthy breast to reduce and lift). So, on the 12th of September I had all my pre-op stuff done and had surgery that afternoon. It was the easiest surgery I have ever had in my life. I was in pain upon arrival in recovery and that was my only moment of discomfort. I had one pain pill in the aftermath (for the ride home the next day) .. and that was it. Easy peasy. And, if I do say so myself, my newly renovated boobie is pretty damn cute.<br />
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Let me address something here that's very personal. (Geez .. after all I've shared THAT must make you nervous!) Well, here goes. I had a real problem accepting the generosity of reconstructive surgery. After all .. my cancer was gone, and despite my not-so-pretty scarring on the cancer breast, I never, ever expected to have the benefit of making my healthy breast match my now much smaller cancer boobie. Since I am a medicaid patient (and I still have lots of guilt about that), it seemed like an abuse of the system to just "fix" my healthy breast. And when I expressed those concerns to Dr. C., here is what she said:<br />
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<i>"We are not just here to remove your cancer. We are here to restore you to a place in time before you knew you had cancer. Your breasts are significantly different now in size and weight and, as you get older, the weight of the right one will cause posture and spine issues. It's better to correct that issue now, as well as give you the added benefit of a better appearance .. which will only add to your quality of life in the years to come as a breast cancer survivor."</i><br />
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I almost cried. I want to add here that if you are a breast cancer patient, do not expect any automatic referrals to reconstructive surgery at any point. It was only via the care and compassion of my oncologist that I was even informed a reduction and lift to my healthy breast was a <i style="text-decoration: underline;">option.</i> You'd have thought this would have come via my surgeon under whose care I remained from 6.28.11 to 12.21.11. But no.<br />
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So if you have a question about possible reconstructive surgery - even on your healthy breast - ASK QUESTIONS of ALL your doctors. Okay, putting away the soapbox now.<br />
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My plastic surgeon released me in early December and we were both very happy with the results of her work! Later in December I had my mammogram and ultrasound. It was originally scheduled for November but I wasn't healed enough for all that "attention", so we pushed it back.<br />
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Both reports came back clean! My oncologist was happy with everything but my weight. I was still carrying around the 11 lbs. I gained on Femara. And, to be truthful, since my taste buds came back and everything tasted so good, and because I was rewarding myself for being such an awesome survivor, I was eating everything and anything I wanted. Not good.<br />
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January 1st I started low carb dieting and to date, I 've lost 7 lbs. If I could get myself on the treadmill a little more faithfully, I'd lose more quickly but my energy level remains low. I have good days and bad days. On a good day I can do pretty much anything I want to. On a bad day, it wears me out to make the bed. I am still short of breath and require lots of breaks in between my chores. It can be discouraging. <br />
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So, that's everything that's happened in the last six months. I don't have another doctor appointment until May. Six whole months of NO DOCTORS. I can't tell you how liberating that is. Then, in May, I have to repeat all my bloodwork and have a full ct scan to be sure that the "spots" on my lungs, kidneys, liver and thyroid remain stable.<br />
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It seems every week I hear of another family that is being touched by cancer. It's heartbreaking, especially, when the patient is a child. While I am grateful for all that I learned about myself during treatment and for all the love and concern shown to me while I was sick, cancer is a demon. It changes you forever. <br />
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Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15438563926260354562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3268113933548376972.post-87965892923934515502012-08-05T11:48:00.000-05:002012-08-05T11:48:53.154-05:00I can't think of a snappy title .. so .. HERE:<br />
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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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. <br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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!<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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! <br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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 <u>is</u>. Woot!<br />
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Eat your veggies, take your vitamins and feel your boobies.<br />
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Love,<br />
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Me<br />
<i>(And even though Google thinks David posted this - you and I know it was DARLENE.) </i><br />
[Smile.}<br />Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15438563926260354562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3268113933548376972.post-14115213343143054222012-06-02T08:59:00.001-05:002012-06-02T08:59:26.014-05:00Just checking in ..<br />
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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.</div>
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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. </div>
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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.</div>
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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. <i>Hm</i>. 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. </div>
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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.</div>
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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.</div>
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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.</div>
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And, if it was up to me, I'd just as soon they stayed that way ... </div>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15438563926260354562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3268113933548376972.post-75216662712518155942012-05-04T06:16:00.000-05:002012-05-07T11:29:29.364-05:00Good news and ...<div align="justify">
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 <i>(did they pumped too fast?)</i> it was the usual piece of cake. <br />
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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 ... <br />
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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. <i>"You do realize that Tamoxifen can cause blood clots, <b>right</b>?"</i> Hm. Well. I didn't really think of that, doc.<br />
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After she examined me and teased me about being concerned about my chin hair when my leg is twice the size it should be ... <i>(Hey. It's all about priorities!)</i>, she took me off Tamoxifen. Now I am taking Femara. I haven't even <b>bothered</b> to look up THOSE side effects. Just surprise me.<br />
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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.<br />
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If I have a blood clot, I'm gonna be so pissed! I don't have time to be SICK!!!<br />
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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.<br />
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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. <b>What?</b><br />
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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 <i>(oh joy)</i> so that the docs can determine where to take fat <i>(back, belly or butt. <b>Seriously.</b>)</i> to reconstruct breasts from you own tissue. Thankfully, since I was taking away and not adding .. I skipped the photo session.<br />
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<b>What a waste of good photo panties!</b><br />
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Next up <i>(unless we do a redo on the ultrasound)</i> is my appointment for a colonoscopy on June 4. Man, the fun never stops! <i>(Maybe I'll wear my photo panties and surprise the doctor)</i> ... </div>
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<center><img src="http://www.dirtroadheaven.com/images/photopanties.jpg" width="400" /></center>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15438563926260354562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3268113933548376972.post-20554742964611318112012-04-30T11:32:00.000-05:002012-04-30T11:38:39.760-05:00It's that time again ..<br />
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<center><img src="http://www.dirtroadheaven.com/images/0428wren5.jpg" width="400" /></center><center style="text-align: justify;">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.</center><center style="text-align: justify;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><b>The trick is not to get it get the best of you.</b></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: justify;">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. <i>(At <b>least</b> through sandal season .. right?)</i> There is nothing uglier than a toe without a nail. </center><center style="text-align: justify;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: justify;">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.</center><center style="text-align: justify;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: justify;">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. </center><center style="text-align: justify;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: justify;">And for those of you who are interested in my awesome experience at the <a href="http://www.castingforrecovery.org/" target="_blank">Casting For Recovery</a> retreat, you can check out my blog entry <a href="http://www.dirtroadheaven.com/blog/2012/04/16/angels-among-us/" target="_blank">here</a>. I've pretty much switched my attention away from AWH and back to DRH. I'll still come here to report anything newsworthy <i>(like my suicidal toe nails)</i> but mostly I am too busy being in love with my piece of heaven here on <a href="http://www.dirtroadheaven.com/blog/" target="_blank">The Dirt Road</a>.</center><center style="text-align: justify;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: justify;">I hope all of you are well and finding joy in your piece of outside.</center><center style="text-align: justify;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: justify;">Love from the woods,</center><center style="text-align: justify;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: justify;">Darlene</center>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15438563926260354562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3268113933548376972.post-91885598494120295762012-04-09T09:41:00.001-05:002012-04-09T11:41:09.155-05:00Resurrection<center><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwm-QCZLgSaXPF3axQZGQtNEzn5wvIEoYNYbsQLnAm-U1RdpjfW_2gxwAPQHB5yAZOc5PVNgcxcuDccI3oEWMT2H1AT9n6RA276fB6-L2KPOsi2LMoTKeix6Ii5KS6YSHGxq_RPQj1qZT7/s1600/P1540189.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="97" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwm-QCZLgSaXPF3axQZGQtNEzn5wvIEoYNYbsQLnAm-U1RdpjfW_2gxwAPQHB5yAZOc5PVNgcxcuDccI3oEWMT2H1AT9n6RA276fB6-L2KPOsi2LMoTKeix6Ii5KS6YSHGxq_RPQj1qZT7/s400/P1540189.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">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.</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">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. </span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">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.</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">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.</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Some salvia that I planted two years ago survived neglect, gophers <u>and</u> the drought and are growing (with all the grass and weeds!) in one of my flower beds.</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">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.</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Like my salvias and my hostas and the wrens .. I'm coming back.</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">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.</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">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.</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">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! </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">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.</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Skin lesions that were tested early in March also came back as benign.</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">NED.</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">"No cause for concern."</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Benign.</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">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. </span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Life as I knew it before.</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Life as it was before Herschel.</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">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. </span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">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.</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">But the hard part is over. </span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I will continue to update the <a href="http://adventureswithherschel.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">AWH</a> blog as appointments occur or symptoms arise but for the most part, I am returning to <a href="http://dirtroadheaven.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">DRH</a> for good. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">It's where I belong .. and as you know .. no shoes are required. Thanks for always being on this journey with me.</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">God bless!</span></center></center><center><br />
</center><center><img alt="All text & photographs on Dirt Road Heaven © by Darlene Meader Riggs, 2010" height="200" src="http://www.dirtroadheaven.com/drhimages/10-february/nothing2.gif" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: url(http://www.dirtroadheaven.com/drhimages/11-january/.jpg); background-origin: initial; background-position: 0px 0px; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; height: 396px; width: 350px;" title="All text & photographs on Dirt Road Heaven © by Darlene Meader Riggs, 2010" width="176" /></center> <br />
<div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15438563926260354562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3268113933548376972.post-85038675976758656282012-03-06T18:11:00.000-06:002012-03-06T18:11:40.439-06:00The Community<blockquote class="tr_bq"><center style="text-align: justify;"><center style="text-align: justify;"><center style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">"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.</span></i></center></center></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><center style="text-align: justify;"><center style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></i></center></center></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><center style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">My husband <u>so</u> 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.</span></i></center></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><center style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></i></center></center><center style="text-align: justify;"><center style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Keep the faith. And above all else, for what it’s worth, ... you’re not alone."</span></i></center></center></blockquote><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">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. <a href="http://www.blogforacure.com/" target="_blank">Blog For A Cure </a> 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. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">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. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">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.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">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!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">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.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm being treated with <b>the utmost care. </b> 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. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, I came home and opened my own account at <a href="http://www.blogforacure.com/" target="_blank">Blog For A Cure</a>. 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. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">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.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">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 <b>MY</b> hand on the volume control. I think I'll drown them out with some ZZ Top. [SMILE] Thanks for listening. Talk amongst yourselves ... </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15438563926260354562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3268113933548376972.post-24854298333026930892012-02-22T13:37:00.002-06:002012-02-23T14:41:30.104-06:00Random craziness.<div align="justify"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">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. </span><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">(So, then, why did I bring it up, you might ask.)</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> There was one line in this movie that whopped me up beside the head: "There's no time to be chicken." </span><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">(Celestial choir.)</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> It was as if God Himself had spoken to me. </span><b style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">THERE'S NO TIME TO BE CHICKEN.</b><br />
</span></div><div align="justify"><b><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></b></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">There is .. NO TIME .. to be CHICKEN.</span></b><br />
</span></div><div align="justify"><b><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></b></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">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.<br />
</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">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. <b>Almost.</b></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">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. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">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. </span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">There is no cause for alarm .. and </span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">there sure as heck isn't any <b>TIME TO BE CHICKEN! </b></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://3.gvt0.com/vi/kOHmYi_yEHs/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/kOHmYi_yEHs&fs=1&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/kOHmYi_yEHs&fs=1&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><b>Because .. it's time to go FISHIN'!</b></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">On a lighter, happier, <i>less psychotic note</i> I found out yesterday that I have been one of the lucky ladies selected to attend this spring's "<a href="http://www.castingforrecovery.org/" target="_blank">Casting For Recovery</a>" at <a href="http://www.joshuacreek.com/" target="_blank">Joshua Creek Ranch</a> 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! <b>WOOHOO!</b></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>(I like fish way better than chicken, any way!)</i></b></span></div>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15438563926260354562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3268113933548376972.post-11544147346272625442012-02-11T16:39:00.003-06:002012-02-13T11:15:35.576-06:00Meanwhile, while waiting for the other shoe to drop<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizSNvuMkns4PAYsz2aB1WQWx93llHv9qElVOlaAb3ABJLokCAaPpekLeSPw8CNjG4lczRIPbwdg2q9TQSt5QD6FJlY1kB9Rv7dpIApR-vpB84m3OMAY2NnqO6gb24pUCpmevjy1NKlwrrN/s1600/breastcancercell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizSNvuMkns4PAYsz2aB1WQWx93llHv9qElVOlaAb3ABJLokCAaPpekLeSPw8CNjG4lczRIPbwdg2q9TQSt5QD6FJlY1kB9Rv7dpIApR-vpB84m3OMAY2NnqO6gb24pUCpmevjy1NKlwrrN/s320/breastcancercell.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
Breast Cancer Cell</div><br />
<div align="justify">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. <br />
</div><br />
<div align="justify">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. <i>(Yes, I'm still trying to convince myself. If I say it enough it's bound to be true, right?)</i><br />
</div><br />
<div align="justify">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.<br />
</div><br />
<div align="justify"><b>Still, I refuse to live in fear.</b> 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. <i>"Honey, you have a cancer .."</i><br />
</div><br />
<div align="justify">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. <a href="http://www.nejm.org/doi/full/10.1056/NEJMoa1013961"> Now they're learning that older DES daughters host a variety of reproductive issues and elevated cancer risks than in the general population.</a> So on my first visit to the Cancer Prevention Building when I saw my new NP <i>(nurse practitioner who has both a MS in nursing and a specialty)</i> on 2/1, she was very thorough in her exam once she learned I was a DES daughter.<br />
</div><br />
<div align="justify">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 <s>2/20</s> 3/5*. <S>I have an appointment three hours later to get the results so, at least,</S> 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. <i>(Well, at least I am <b>trying</b> ...)</i><br />
</div><br />
<blockquote><div align="justify"><i>*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.</i></div></blockquote><br />
<div align="justify">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<i> (okay, that's a <b>lie</b>, it <b>is</b> humiliating)</i> 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,<b> <i>ARE YOU?</i></b> <br />
</div><br />
<div align="justify">It's okay .. all you guys I used to drag around the playground <i>(I'm so sorry for that!)</i>, rode bikes and played baseball with are excused. <b>You don't have to go there.</b> But for those of you who read this, what<b>EVER</b> 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.<br />
</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlsPAHIejt2xsMMVTLUEJXSmEIow3z96eSqbkwNBTKGOeDoIEjTLeS6SxI7HW2POWEqppspPRQqqPsto4UfACE5dCGVSI3ySgeQz-JEy6Nije76r3zkljTdSQEMxdt9j_Gl-2eWAxORC5W/s1600/nomodesty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlsPAHIejt2xsMMVTLUEJXSmEIow3z96eSqbkwNBTKGOeDoIEjTLeS6SxI7HW2POWEqppspPRQqqPsto4UfACE5dCGVSI3ySgeQz-JEy6Nije76r3zkljTdSQEMxdt9j_Gl-2eWAxORC5W/s320/nomodesty.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>God grant me the courage<br />
to continue to flash my aging, naked bits and pieces<br />
to complete strangers in white lab coats<br />
all while hiding my big-assed fear behind<br />
whatever funny remark I can rake up.<br />
<b>Please</b>, God.</i></div>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15438563926260354562noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3268113933548376972.post-11128584246860216572012-01-04T19:03:00.000-06:002012-01-04T19:03:56.493-06:00I'm da BOMB!<div align="justify"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Dave has been telling me for months that <b>I'm da bomb</b> 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,<b> da bomb!</b></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">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.</div><div><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">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!</div><div><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">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. </div><div><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I had NO doctor appointments scheduled for January. NONE!</div><div><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">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! :)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">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!!!!!</div><div><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">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!</div><div><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">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.</div><div><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">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. </div><div><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">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. </div><div><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">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. <b>Shirley Dimple.</b> If there is one thing I've learned above all else it's that <b>YOU HAVE TO LAUGH.</b></div><div><b><br />
</b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Life goes on. </b>Ain't it <u>grand?</u></div>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15438563926260354562noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3268113933548376972.post-44850762426613181912011-12-13T17:02:00.001-06:002011-12-13T17:39:00.316-06:00Waiting For My Return<center style="text-align: justify;"><center style="text-align: justify;">There are things I shouldn't say out loud. I'm not superstitious but I've lived long enough to know that sometimes our thoughts are just a GPS for the next disaster in our lives. Chaos follows like a heat seeking missile.</center><center style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</center><center style="text-align: justify;">So. As you know, I have breast cancer. Or I had breast cancer. I'm not sure yet as I am still under the care of three doctors: my oncologist who handled the chemical annihilation of my tumor, or at least made it retreat, my surgeon who physically evicted the shrunken remains, and then again a week later scooped out more questionable tissue. And then again, a third time had to do some major housekeeping when a stubborn staph infection not only made me sick enough for a five day hospital stay, it dug in, multiplied and a month later I presented with an inflamed and oozy boob. The last surgery reduced the volume of tissue in my breast by at least half and has taken more than two months to heal. But I'm glad for the procedure which eliminated my infection.</center><center style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</center><center style="text-align: justify;">And then there is my radiologist whose silent, invisible beams fried any microscopic cells of tumor and gave my left boob a nice Tahiti-like tan. All my doctors are women. Elegant, super-smart, beautiful women. They leave me in awe. I'm almost grateful for the whole cancer experience just so I can say that I know them. Almost.</center><center style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</center><center style="text-align: justify;">So I can't be sure if I can be considered a survivor yet or not. It might be too early to claim such a victory though I have never thought this cancer would kill me. I thought that chemo might .. </center><center style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</center><center style="text-align: justify;">Anyway, now the chemo is behind me, the surgeries are done, the radiation complete and as soon as my incision from my last surgery completely healed, I guess that it's a logical assumption that I am done. Cancer free. A survivor.</center><center style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</center><center style="text-align: justify;">My hair has grown back in as curly as a toddler's. The hair on the rest of me has returned as well, in some places (like my chin) with a vengeance. Perhaps it's been encouraged by my estrogen blockers which I started taking as an extra step in preventing my cancer's recurrence. The toxic effect of chemo still shows in my sickly, gray and peeling toe nails. But the tiniest half moon of healthy pink tissue promises new nails will be normal and should arrive just in time for barefoot weather.</center><center style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</center><center style="text-align: justify;">I still feel fatigue and wonder if it is a permanent part of my world. I still feel confused at times and unable to focus on tasks. The first time I tried (unsuccessfully) to drive I was overcome with how much of my brain was required to just steer and push the gas pedal.</center><center style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</center><center style="text-align: justify;">I used to be creative and loved to paint, thinking someday (like about now), I'd be making paintings that others would love and buy and I could continue my quiet little life and finance my poultry obsession here on the dirt road. </center><center style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</center><center style="text-align: justify;">I used to wake at dawn, anxious to get outside to see what the night visitors had left me: little shorthand notes in raccoon paw and rabbit feet and punctuated with exclamation points drug by the armadillo's tail.</center><center style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</center><center style="text-align: justify;">I used to love watching the sun come up at watermelon hill. But that's closed to me now as poacher's repeated intrusion made the owner string up a wire gap with a "no trespassing" sign. It doesn't matter. I no longer have the inclination to go there, at dawn or any other time of day.</center><center style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</center><center style="text-align: justify;">It's as though a part of me (and a large part at that) has just had the pilot light go out. I've tried not to think of it too much but considering where I am calendar-wise in my treatment, it's starting to concern me. Those closest to me say I am expecting too much. Am I? Or have those parts of me who loved the morning sun and walks in the woods and seeing where a smear of paint would eventually carry me died ... like my toenails? </center><center style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</center><center style="text-align: justify;">I get urges to paint but then I talk myself out of it. Can I tell you a secret? What if ... what if I start to paint and actually show some promise .. and start to do well and then my cancer comes back? What if my cancer comes back and takes it all away. Or what if whatever talent I used to have fell away with my hair .. and my eyebrows .. and my eyelashes? Maybe it's just easier and safer and wiser to keep that box closed. </center><center style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</center><center style="text-align: justify;">But if I do not create or do not find joy in found feathers ... if I am not in awe of every change of every season or aware, at a cellular level, of the beauty just outside my door .. who am I?</center><center style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</center><center style="text-align: justify;">I no longer look like myself. Yes, I have hair and eyelashes and eyebrows. But this involuntary makeover has left me older, worn and weary. Being ungrateful makes me feel guilty so I play up my pride in my new curly locks and I'm learning to use eyeliner to plump up my thin eyelashes. </center><center style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</center><center style="text-align: justify;">I tell everyone how much better I feel ... and I do. Chemo makes you sick as a dog, so yes, I do feel better. But ... not like me. I refuse to be depressed about it. Most days. </center><center style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</center><center style="text-align: justify;">I don't know what is more frightening: having my cancer recur with increased vim and vigor or being "cured" and still never feeling like myself. In my 54 years, I've adapted so many times to so many new situations and circumstances. I've picked myself up and brushed myself off more times than I care to count. </center><center style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</center><center style="text-align: justify;">Would it be so wrong then to just lie here, in the dirt, for a little while?</center><center style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</center><center style="text-align: justify;">I wonder if the raccoons and rabbits will mind or if the armadillo will drag his tail across my face as I lie here ... and wait for my return.</center></center> <br />
<div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15438563926260354562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3268113933548376972.post-40761679991181222462011-11-28T19:05:00.000-06:002011-11-28T19:05:07.711-06:00"Are you still sick?"<div style="text-align: justify;">That's what my sweet Hannah asked as she crawled up in my lap yesterday. She's only six but she's been so compassionate and sweet this past year while I've struggled with all the effects of cancer treatment. When I lost my hair she didn't bat an eye -- she completely accepted and loved the pale, weak version of her Mammadee. She understood that I couldn't pick her up and, after surgery, that she had to be very careful how she hugged me. She's never questioned my appearance or how dramatically different our times together have been the past year.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But yesterday, she posed the question, "Are you still sick?" I told her that I was getting better every day. I said, "Haven't you noticed how my hair has grown?" She smiled and ran her fingers through my curls, then she hugged me tight and said, "I love you!"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Ahhh, Hannah. If you only knew what good medicine<b> that</b> is. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">My dearly loved home care nurses all say that I probably have at least two more weeks with "Hoover" the wound vac. If so, that will be nine weeks instead of the initially prescribed five. I see my surgeon on Wednesday, so we'll find out then. I'm grateful for the healing intervention of the vacuum but so ready to be free of "Hoover's" presence. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'll see my radiologist in December and my oncologist in February. The doctor appointments are winding down. I am, apparently, cancer free but my stamina and strength are far from where they were even a year ago. Intellectually, I know full recovery will take time. More time. More patience. But I guess if a six year old can handle the snail's pace of my recovery ... I should be able to deal with it as well!</div>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15438563926260354562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3268113933548376972.post-58803782135932630152011-10-27T10:30:00.000-05:002011-10-27T10:35:24.800-05:00What do VACUUMS and HONEYBEES have in common?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigefSpRa1r5KOcwZwPmQ2HRL5hetMLYu7xWqQx639ebNyxXXM5MU_5NCfrF-WhGe4wYHEag27jAVaUby5Wrmy4rJxQ51uH5_FKhfVFZH5FIQ87z-UashqXpRYbXpdwp4sx4SuTUnW327C3/s1600/honeybee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigefSpRa1r5KOcwZwPmQ2HRL5hetMLYu7xWqQx639ebNyxXXM5MU_5NCfrF-WhGe4wYHEag27jAVaUby5Wrmy4rJxQ51uH5_FKhfVFZH5FIQ87z-UashqXpRYbXpdwp4sx4SuTUnW327C3/s400/honeybee.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>ME!</b>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">Well, thank God for <b>honey bees</b>. Specifically bees from New Zealand and Australia who feed on Manuka and Jellybush. It seems their honey has special properties that aid in healing stubborn or deep wounds.
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">You'll remember that I</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">originally had surgery to remove Herschel <i>(the rat bastard)</i> on 6/28. A week later, I had another surgery to remove more tissue to ensure that we had "clean margins". And then on 9/9 a massive infection sent me to the hospital for five days. That infection wasn't cleared and resurfaced on 10/9. The surgeon said the best method of cleaning it up was aggressive. And I went back into surgery on 10/14 to reopen and flush the wound. I was sent home with a wound vac and home care nursing three times a week.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">Yesterday was my surgical followup visit and a dressing change from an MDA wound care nurse. The day of surgery, the surgeon said she removed a lot of damaged tissue and scar tissue but we really didn't talk about the dimensions of my wound or go into great length on the process of the wound vac. It didn't matter .. it had to be done. Now I know it was wise not to disclose all the gory details as I might just run for the hills!
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">My home care nurses measure my wound each visit but every Monday, Wednesday and Friday it seemed things were <b>enlarging</b>, not shrinking, as is the plan. But yesterday I found out that my surgeon had created the "tunnel" to remove scar tissue to the depth of 11 centimeters. <i>(That's nearly 4.5 inches for those of us stuck with the ruler we grew up with.)</i> Yesterday, the nurse measured this tunnel at 8.2 centimeters so are <u>ARE</u> making progress.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">My wound measurements yesterday were 2.5" long x 1' wide x 1.75" deep. This is the wound that runs from 1 o'clock to 4 o'clock on the outer perimeter and, within this, the "tunnel" runs behind the nipple for 3.25 inches. All of these openings are stuffed with sponges and dressed with a clear bandage that is perforated and then attached to a <a href="http://www.kci1.com/cs/Satellite?c=KCI_Product_C&childpagename=KCI1%2FKCILayout&cid=1229624984909&p=1229538260417&packedargs=locale%3Den_US&pagename=KCI1Wrapper">vacuum</a> <i>(small ouch)</i> which not only pulls the tissues together and increases circulation, it removes excess fluids that might inhibit clean healing. Been <b>THERE</b>, done <b><i>THAT</i></b> .. don't want to go there again.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">Three times a week a nurse comes to remove the dressing, detaches the vacuum and goes in after the sponges. I won't lie to you, it is <b>the most painful thing I have ever experienced.</b> Even pre-medicating with pain meds doesn't do much. But yesterday, the wound nurse put lidocaine on a swab and inserted it in the deepest part of the wound for 30 minutes before attempting to re-dress. And she used a different packing material - softer, more pliable and moist. And <i>(and this is the really cool part)</i>, she added <a href="http://www.woundcentral.com/Medihoney.html">"Medihoney"</a> to the sponges. I remember reading about the healing properties of honey but the idea of bees in New Zealand and Australia aiding in<b> MY</b> healing process really turns me on. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">Not much else does these days, I admit. I'm <b>so tired</b> of being tired and the idea of going through all this pain with no real evidence of healing was extremely discouraging. Finding out yesterday that the "tunnel" had actually been deeper only two weeks ago changed my attitude significantly. I can do this .. <b>I CAN do this.</b></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">Would I be going through all this if there hadn't been a MRSA infection? No. Should I have been more forceful in discussing the initial swelling and inflammation with my surgeon? Possibly. Does everything happen for a reason. Yep. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">I am as sick of talking about this as you are of hearing about it. I'm supposed to be WELL by now <i>(my time frame - no one elses!)</i> I completed all my cancer treatments and followed every doctor's order. But it is what it is and if this little blog helps someone else here on Planet Earth, then I have accomplished my goal in sharing my experience.
I guess it's not over till the fat lady sings. Stay tuned ..</span></div>
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</div>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15438563926260354562noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3268113933548376972.post-62769434460788627102011-10-16T09:36:00.000-05:002011-10-16T09:37:07.940-05:00An Anniversary Of Sorts ...<div align="justify">
A year ago today my life took a bit of a left turn here on The Dirt Road. I found the lump in my breast that would later be named "Herschel". All very timely considering it was "Breast Cancer Awareness month". And only a couple of days after my beloved country doc <b>adamantly</b> suggested I get my first mammogram behind me. After all, I was 53 and overdue for a baseline.<br />
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All that and some angelic voices in my ear told me to check myself in the shower that day. And when there was no denying the presence of some unwelcome "thing" in my breast, I took the first step on this journey. Clearly, I was anxious as indicated by my blog posts "<a href="http://dirtroadheaven.blogspot.com/2010/10/waxing-gibbous.html">Waxing Gibbous"</a> and <a href="http://dirtroadheaven.blogspot.com/2010/11/behind-every-cloud.html">"Behind every cloud"</a>. I knew I had a hard year ahead of me but it hasn't been<i> all </i>bad.<br />
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But, here, on January 7th, just two days after my first chemo treatment, you can see all the fear in my eyes. I need not have worried. God took care of me all along the way. He opened doors and created blessings I could never have imagined on my own. I found out a lot things about myself, my marriage, my precious family, my community, my faith.<br />
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Some of life's experiences had taught me to be mistrustful. I had to learn to let go and depend on others. There was no way I could shoulder this all on my own and I was humbled by the number of people willing to help me share this experience. Never, ever doubt the power of these five words: <b> "I am praying for you." </b>Whatever your beliefs are, to know that someone has petitioned God's ear on your behalf is so comforting, so encouraging and so very necessary when you realize <b>you</b> can't fix what is wrong. <b> But He can.</b><br />
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Sixteen chemo treatments, three surgeries, 30 radiation treatments and one unexpected hospital stay are now behind me. As I write this, I am wearing a "wound vac" to hopefully rid my body of any and all infection that has been my nemesis for the last month. I am so grateful that I live in an age of antibiotics and the technology that has created a cure for me. I'm grateful for all the years my doctors and nurses and technicians spent studying for their professions. I'm grateful for the funding that provided my care - every penny of it. All this and a thousand other things, I am grateful for.<br />
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<b>Cancer is not a death sentence</b>. For me it has been a strange, unexpected, difficult, often nerve wracking, disturbing gift. Now that I am on this side of it, I can appreciate how it has fine tuned my life, deepened my love, increased my faith and sharpened my vision. I might be a little worse for the wear, but I wouldn't change places with <b><i>anybody!</i></b> <br />
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Even <b><u>if</u></b> my hair <b>is</b> trying to be curly!</div>
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Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15438563926260354562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3268113933548376972.post-18789436417763221062011-10-02T20:00:00.000-05:002011-10-02T20:18:56.270-05:00Drum Roll .......<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Last Radiation Treatment<br />
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Greetings from this side of cancer treatment! It's been a while, I know, but for the longest time there just wasn't much to tell. Still, I felt I should post something just to let you know that I haven't run off to join the circus. <b>Not that it hasn't crossed my mind.</b></div>
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To recap, I had surgery to remove my much-reduced tumor on June 28th and then a second surgery to acquire a proper cancer-free margin on July 8th. Surgery was not bad and the most discomfort I felt was from my lymph node dissection incision that took up most of my arm pit. My surgeon was pleased with the results and set me up to start radiation on August 8th. After the "marking" session <a href="http://adventureswithherschel.blogspot.com/2011/08/going-where-no-man-has-gone-before.html"> (my last post)</a>, I started treatment on the 9th and was scheduled for thirty daily radiation treatments over six weeks.</div>
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The radiation itself was painless. The only discomfort I felt was stretching those tender tissues under my arm to get into the required "Hollywood" pose which exposed both incisions (lymph node and breast) to the probing eye of the radiation machine. Everything was rocking along nicely for a couple of weeks when I realized I felt something new in my left breast. Not pain. There was some swelling which I attributed to surgery and healing and some feeling of fullness, but no pain. Still, on August 15th I mentioned it to Dr. S. during our weekly Monday visits.</div>
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Darlene & Dr. S.<br />
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She immediately pulled up an image that showed a large volume of fluid that had accumulated in my left breast. She told me I had a seroma and that I should see my surgeon to have it drained. So, obedient soul that I am ... I made an appointment to see Dr B. on August 24th.</div>
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Dr. B's assistant told me via telephone that the doctor's philosophy on seromas was to let nature take its course. Removing a tumor created a void that the body wanted to fill, and in this case, with fluid. Removing the fluid not only risked introducing an infection, it also set the body up to refill the void. She said this was a normal reaction to surgery and that unless I started having pain, a fever or if the seroma interfered with radiation, she would just let things be. And, August 24th, those were all the things that Dr. B. stated. It was no big deal unless there was pain or fever. Okey dokey then.
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For the next two weeks I watched my breast grow larger wondering if there was a maximum capacity before the body would finally relent and suck all this fluid back up. We made jokes at radiation about "Mt. Biggietata" and while I was uncomfortable .. I still couldn't say I was in pain. <b> Not really. </b> </div>
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But that all changed on Sept. 9th. I woke up feeling like I had the flu. Weak, feverish and just plain yucky. I had an appointment before radiation with the physical therapist but she realized I wasn't feeling well, and cut her evaluation short. I asked the nurse to check my temp and, sure enough, I had a fever of 101 degrees. After radiation, Ashley came to pick me up as I had driven myself and neither of us felt I was well enough to drive back to her house. I went to bed immediately and slept all afternoon. Dave arrived (presumably to take me home for the weekend) and I barely noticed. Ashley (God love her!) was in contact with my radiologist's office all afternoon and when my temperature spiked at almost 104 degrees, Dr. S. told her she should take me to M. D. Anderson's ER immediately.</div>
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I was so sick I didn't care what they did to me. I had 97 blood draws (give or take), a very painful ultrasound and a chest x-ray. Twelve hours after arriving, I was admitted. <b>Ash never left my side.</b> I was told my surgeon was out of town but that my infected seroma would be drained by MDA staff in her absence. But, upon landing back in Houston, my surgeon checked her emails, saw that I was admitted and called to halt the drain. She stopped by to see me before even going home from the airport. Despite my fever and symptoms, she still wasn't convinced I had a breast infection and wanted to continue the IV antibiotics while she searched for the true culprit.</div>
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Sunday, she came back to see me and again on Monday morning when I finally told her I had reached my tolerance level. My breast was huge, red, hot to the touch and clearly infected. She agreed to drain it that afternoon and, as promised arrived with a resident to do just that at 4:30 pm. </div>
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I spare you the details, but I will tell you this: the catheter they inserted (ouch!) was a quarter or less in diameter of a soda straw. In less than a minute, I drained over 13 ounces of disgusting fluid. Within 24 hours .. I had drained over 20 ounces. The relief I felt was immediate and I knew I was on my way to recovery. </div>
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I was hospitalized for five days and the culture of my infection confirmed that it was MRSA - a staph infection that used to be highly resistant to the usual antibiotics but that now, thankfully, is treated easily with oral antibiotics. Still, it's a highly contagious infection and required stringent gowning and gloving and isolation procedures. I completed my antibiotics and will get a nasal swab at my next appointment to be sure that I am MRSA free so that it can been expunged (truly!) from my medical record. I swear - I feel like a biological<b> felon</b>!</div>
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So, as soon as I was released from the hospital, I had to go right back to radiation and, of course, they had to take extra precautions due to my infected, nasty state. It was all very humiliating but we all laughed through it. My radiation fairies, Karrie and Sajan, were just awesome. So was my nurse, Laura. She went above and beyond the call of duty.</div>
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Karrie, Darlene, Sajan & Laura<br />
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Ringing the bell!<br />
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Ringing the bell with Molly & Trey<br />
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Despite the set back from the infection, I completed radiation (and rang the bell!) on September 23rd. I still have the drain but hope to have it removed this week as I am now draining less than an ounce per day. Of course, the week after I finished radiation treatment I hoped to get my life back. <b> On Monday.</b> Morning. When my feet hit the floor ... Instead, I was weak and sleepy and useless the whole week. </div>
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The last five radiation treatments are called "The Boost". They are super-charged, highly focused intense beams that, apparently, pull the plug on whatever energy you have managed to hold on to. Getting my life back, regaining any stamina and feeling "normal" was clearly going to take some time.</div>
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<b>More time</b>.</div>
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And so, here we are ... chemo, surgery and radiation are all behind me. All that is left now are the routine visits for blood work, CT scans, x-rays, ultra sounds and mammograms that will confirm I am cancer free and, ultimately, alert my docs to any recurrance. I'll have to take an estrogen blocker for five years as my tumor was estrogen responsive. I will likely start that in mid-October when have my next appointments for bloodwork, CT scan and x-ray and then, the following day, see my oncologist for the "all clear" report that I am so sure will come.</div>
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<b>So</b>, I guess that just about wraps this up!</div>
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I'll check in from time to time when there is something to tell .. or to record some major epiphany I've had regarding my cancer experience. I know you won't want to miss that!</div>
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Till then, I will close with this: </div>
<blockquote>
I can't imagine having this experience without the loving support of my husband, Dave. He has been on guard, side-by-side, and holding my hand through almost every single experience. He brought cold rags, chicken noodle soup, laughter and those premium, grade A hugs that only he can give. When he couldn't be there Ashley, <b>my beautiful girl</b>, took up all the slack and then some. During radiation, she provided a beautiful, comfortable room for me in her home, the boundless entertainment of Trey and Molly, the awesome breakfast creations (and jalapeno tuna!) made by Chef Hooch, "ice cones", encouragement, transporation, love and ICE CREAM SANDWICHES. Dave's aunt and uncle generously provided many overnights at their home for us (and Maggie!) during my chemo phase. Dave and I will always be grateful for our family and friends who have been a constant, abiding source of encouragement, love, prayers, giggles and kicks in the pants when I needed them. I know I will be grateful until the day I die ... like, in forty years or so. (Smile.)</blockquote>
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Herschel, <b>who?</b></div>
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Molly & Papa Dave<br />
The EndDarlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15438563926260354562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3268113933548376972.post-63651794568289051732011-08-06T10:22:00.000-05:002011-08-06T10:22:24.254-05:00Going where no man has gone before. Kinda.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSdJAQBQaACoAkiMpJL7iQBB6LgToWFaR60HrY3phNJc1LPy5x7NVBwvmFoOZDVZOs_rz64uS1WB2Hlyg6xTY1LOHa3tfv_txxWwI5UYR_x8ZwQ5XFuOQpVVNobOYWzktcmjMxnh8Gkq_o/s1600/mapping1sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="338" width="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSdJAQBQaACoAkiMpJL7iQBB6LgToWFaR60HrY3phNJc1LPy5x7NVBwvmFoOZDVZOs_rz64uS1WB2Hlyg6xTY1LOHa3tfv_txxWwI5UYR_x8ZwQ5XFuOQpVVNobOYWzktcmjMxnh8Gkq_o/s400/mapping1sm.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<p align="justify">It felt like I was on the bridge of the Starship Enterprise. I'm <b><i>fascinated</i></b> by the science of all this medicine! My Number One is named Thomas and for the next six weeks we will be best friends. After all .. he's seen my girls in all their damaged glory. I don't start radiation until Monday but before you can wear the prom dress you have to be fitted, right? Thursday all the measurements were taken and when I left I looked like a kindergarten art project.<br />
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<p align="justify">This is not me doing my "Hollywood" pose ... this is me trying not to think about how stretched my poor arm pit <i>(lymph node <b>dissection</b> ya'll!)</i> is while Thomas takes lots and lots of measurements to assure that the radiation beam will be focused only on my tumor site <i>(1 o'clock on my left boobie)</i> and my arm pit <i>(where two of the twenty six lymph nodes were cancerous)</i>. <br />
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<p align="justify">Besides the paint pen (pink and blue!) scribbled all over my torso and left breast, I also was the lucky recipient of four tiny black dot tattoos which will also aid in placement of the radiation beam. Because my heart is close to my chest wall my radiation treatment becomes slightly more complicated. Special pains must be taken to be sure that the radiation beam doesn't damage my heart so later in the treatment plan, they will turm me up on my right side so that the beam penetrates my breast, but misses my ticker. I'll have to be "re-marked" for those sessions <i>(probably weeks 4, 5 & 6)</i>. <br />
</p><p align="justify">At first the radiation beam will be "broad spectrum" and as time goes by will become more concentrated. And it's during this time that I am likely to experience some burning. It's been described to me as being similar to a bad sunburn but I've also been warned that blistering can occur. Here's hoping my superwoman powers haven't left me just yet ... <b>we must perservere!</b><br />
</p>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15438563926260354562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3268113933548376972.post-72208894721356213192011-08-03T11:28:00.000-05:002011-08-03T11:28:34.196-05:00And for my next trick ....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZzYXB6N4mf3gcHF6CHfJCEyq9vi5n5KNtR6uSH1hpMmG-IVLtwc6S10J7s5CrYZ9bKA4f8WhjsM-G-RIncU9-L6RpNBDIRgfYRsDag2e_MqCMeA0uzM0MyIncAsjAvehTwTIG9UQur97L/s1600/handonhead.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="250" width="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZzYXB6N4mf3gcHF6CHfJCEyq9vi5n5KNtR6uSH1hpMmG-IVLtwc6S10J7s5CrYZ9bKA4f8WhjsM-G-RIncU9-L6RpNBDIRgfYRsDag2e_MqCMeA0uzM0MyIncAsjAvehTwTIG9UQur97L/s400/handonhead.jpg" /></a><br>Progress</div><br />
<p align="justify">Never in my life did I think that being able to put my hand on my head would fill me with such a sense of accomplishment ... or <i><b>relief.</b></i><br />
</p><p align="justify">Tomorrow we head to The Woodlands and the MDA satellite center for radiation. It's just a CT scan, measuring and tattooing session (three little dots for alignment), and I will be asked to raise my wanky arm over my head. Three weeks ago getting my arm to shoulder level was excruciating. But I've been doing my exercises and stretching muscles and tendons and, though it has been unpleasant, at least it's been <b>productive.</b><br />
</p><p align="justify"><b>I am so proud of me!</b> :o)<br />
</p><p align="justify"></p><p align="justify"></p><p align="justify"></p><p align="justify"></p><p align="justify"></p>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15438563926260354562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3268113933548376972.post-15827140144409328872011-07-23T17:49:00.000-05:002011-07-23T17:49:52.411-05:00RELEASED! SPRUNG! OUTTAH HERE!<p align="justify">On July 20th, I saw Dr. B, my surgical oncologist, for post op checkup. She came into my exam room beaming with a copy of my final pathology report indicating an "all clear". This means that, barring any problems with my still healing incisions, I am now released from her care. And my incisions are healing beautifully.<br />
</p><p align="justify">Her nurse removed the drain from my side and I was surprised to learn there was about 12" of tubing inside me! Once it was out (and it didn't hurt a bit), I felt so much more comfortable. The stitches holding the tubing in place were the reason for much of my discomfort .. and the fact that I had pulled on it pretty hard (by accident, trust me!) sure didn't help matters. Sleeping with four feet of tube is not easy. I was so afraid I was going to get all tangled up in it despite my rather limited ability to move around much after surgery. Anyway, getting rid of the drain was cause for celebration! I expressed my heartfelt gratitude for her wonderful care and said my goodbyes to Dr. B. I feel very fortunate that she was my surgeon.<br />
</p><p align="justify">We stayed overnight in The Woodlands as I had an appointment with my new radiologist the folowing day. Luckily, M. D. Anderson has a satellite center at St. Luke's hospital so I will be able to stay with Ashley and take all my radiation treatments without having to go downtown. Since I have six weeks of daily treatments .. <b>that</b> is a HUGE blessing.<br />
</p><p align="justify">So on the 21st we met Dr. S and her staff. I feel very comfortable being in her care for the next couple of months. Since I was less than two weeks out of my second surgery, radiation won't start for a few weeks. And, due to my reduced mobility because of recent surgery, I wasn't able to complete the simulation where they mark me (a tattoo!!) or fit me to my "cradle" which will assure that I am laying in the same position for every treatment. Between now and August 4th, I will exercise my left arm to assure more range of motion and flexibility allowing me to lay still, with my left arm extended over my head and my head turned over my right shoulder.<br />
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<p align="justify">Once that appointment is behind me, I will begin radiation on August 8th and continue, Monday through Friday until September 16th. I'll stay in Willis Monday - Thursday and come home on Friday after my treatment. Dave and I have never been apart more than a couple of days but if anyone deserves a break from me ... it's got to be Saint Dave! He was an amazing nurse during my surgical phase. I couldn't have asked for him to be kinder or more patient with me.<br />
</p><p align="justify">The effects of chemo are lifting quicker than I expected. My only real complaint these days is ridiculously dry skin all over my body. It's almost like a healing sunburn and I can only attribute it to chemo. My hair is growing in, my eyebrows are visible though kind of funky and my eyelashes are slowly, slowly, <i>S L O W L Y</i> making a comeback. I am eating everything in sight because it all tastes SO good and there's not a smidgen of nausea. I <i>had</i> lost twenty lbs. at the end of chemo and have managed to restore twelve of them so far. (Dang it.)<br />
</p><p align="justify">So that's the latest from the former home of Herschel (d. 6.28.11), the next installment will be after my "tattoo" session (three pin-point dots, nothing artistic, sadly) on the 4th. Thanks so much for your love and concern. There's no doubt I am<b> on my way back! </b> :)<br />
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<p align="justify"></p><p align="justify"></p>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15438563926260354562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3268113933548376972.post-64541358408104563882011-07-14T17:02:00.000-05:002011-07-14T17:02:37.146-05:00Blah, blah, blah.<p align="justify">So .... it's been a little over two weeks since my first surgery and tomorrow it will be a week since the second. I guess I am doing okay but the healing up and getting unsore process seems to be draggin' its ass a little. One thing is for sure, I will shout from the rooftops the glorifications <i>(is that a word?)</i> of Vicodin. In Tarzan-speak: "Pain, bad, Vicodin,<b> Good.</b>"<br />
</p><p align="justify">The incision in my breast has been relatively painless. Surprisingly so. In fact, the only time I was aware of that surgical site was immediately after the second surgery when, in recovery, it felt like a herd of feral guinea pigs had been rooting around in there. When nurse Valerie asked how I was I let her know about the herd of feral guinea pigs and she immediately gave me a shot of something wonderful in my IV. <br />
</p><p align="justify">No, the real sore spot is my arm pit where the lymph node dissection is. That and the opening in my side where the drain is. Dave keeps telling me how great my incisions look <i>(Saint Dave)</i>, but they sure as heck feel like they were done with a dull spoon and pointed stick!<br />
</p><p align="justify">My appreciation for high powered drugs is only superceded by my restored passion for FOOD! I've always liked food .. but Dave says I am eating like a refugee victim. <b>I can't help it. </b> These new taste buds require constant entertainment.<b> Everything tasts so good!</b> Those twenty lbs. I lost? Hmmmphf. They'll be fully restored soon. <b>Dang it.</b><br />
</p><p align="justify">My hair is coming back. I actually have a hairline. Not a bikini line <i>(TMI?)</i> but a hair line. Dave loves running his fingers thru it. All 3/4" of it. So do I. Mom says we're going to wear it out and to leave it alone. <br />
</p><p align="justify">My skin is falling off. I guess it's chemo <i>(everything awful IS, you know)</i>, but no amount of lotion or baby oil seems to quench my skin. As soon as I loose my drain <i>(next week?)</i>, I will get in the tub and scrub myself from head to toe with sea salt and maybe I'll stop shedding.<br />
</p><p align="justify">My primary complaint is this weird, constant vague pain and numbness <i>(yeah, I know, seems contradictory!)</i> that runs from my shoulder to my elbow along the back of my left arm. Feels so sore it should be black and blue. I made the mistake of googling "arm pain after lymph node dissection" and all this STUFF came up that matched my symptoms perfectly. Some say that even 5 years after surgery, they still have the pain and numbness but that you learn to live with it. Apparently, the lymph node surgery causes the nerves to go postal and they never recover!<br />
</p><p align="justify">Consider the alternative.<br />
</p><p align="justify">My largest fear at this point is doing this again in five or ten or fifteen years. It's shoved down deep, not something I will dwell on <i>(after all, I'm still pretty excited about hair and taste buds!)</i> but it is something I think every cancer patient must think of. Ignorance is bliss and I am no longer ignorant. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHkhgw3Q1UZ58Pmq8W_SCo2cOaUCMClWRWknUjt7ZaUybyDZegR6EwisDOxFk1O-YGilsdgrPt_rB1F5K7lOBhctQB6dyYCns3QEqTLB5HIkiREV0quwIHeH_yl2CaLx0gJbGUuMYKYDeH/s1600/marjoriewalker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHkhgw3Q1UZ58Pmq8W_SCo2cOaUCMClWRWknUjt7ZaUybyDZegR6EwisDOxFk1O-YGilsdgrPt_rB1F5K7lOBhctQB6dyYCns3QEqTLB5HIkiREV0quwIHeH_yl2CaLx0gJbGUuMYKYDeH/s320/marjoriewalker.jpg" /></a><br><a href="http://cancercurmudgeon.com/">Cancer Curmudgeon</a>, Marjorie Walker</div><br />
<p align="justify">During my chemo I followed <a href="http://cancercurmudgeon.com/">this blog.</a> I liked this lady, Marjorie Walker. She was spunky and honest and didn't feel sorry for herself. Her journey with breast cancer started fifteen years ago with a lumpectomy. It ended last Friday. Even though I knew she was terminal, it made me really sad today when I read that she had died. And though we had never met, I was grateful for her story, her strength, her feisty attitude.<br />
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<iframe width="425" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/MWZfKcYlefE" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></center><br />
<p align="justify">This song was one of her selections for her funeral ... I thought that was <b>very</b> cool.</p><p align="justify">I'm looking forward to seeing my surgeon, Doctor B, next week. It should be time for my drain to come out <i>(yay!)</i> and hopefully she'll release me to the care of the radiologist whom I will see the following day. It's too soon after surgery to start radiation but hopefully my appointments will be scheduled within a couple of weeks. Soon this will all just be a dusty spot in my rearview mirror. Herschel <i><b>who?</b></i><br />
</p>Darlenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15438563926260354562noreply@blogger.com0