Just checking in ..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good news and ...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a waste of good photo panties!

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

It's that time again ..

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

Resurrection

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

The Community

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

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

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

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

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

  

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

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

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

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

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

Random craziness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meanwhile, while waiting for the other shoe to drop

Breast Cancer Cell

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm da BOMB!

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

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

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

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

I had NO doctor appointments scheduled for January.  NONE!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Life goes on.  Ain't it grand?

Waiting For My Return

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.
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.
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.
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 .. 
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.
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.
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.
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. 
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.
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.
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?  
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. 
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?
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.  
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.  
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. 
Would it be so wrong then to just lie here, in the dirt, for a little while?
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.

"Are you still sick?"

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.

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!"

Ahhh, Hannah.  If you only knew what good medicine that is. 

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.  

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!

What do VACUUMS and HONEYBEES have in common?

ME!

Well, thank God for honey bees. 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.


You'll remember that I originally had surgery to remove Herschel (the rat bastard) 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.

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!

My home care nurses measure my wound each visit but every Monday, Wednesday and Friday it seemed things were enlarging, 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. (That's nearly 4.5 inches for those of us stuck with the ruler we grew up with.)  Yesterday, the nurse measured this tunnel at 8.2 centimeters so are ARE making progress.

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 vacuum (small ouch) which not only pulls the tissues together and increases circulation, it removes excess fluids that might inhibit clean healing. Been THERE, done THAT .. don't want to go there again.

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 the most painful thing I have ever experienced. 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 (and this is the really cool part), she added "Medihoney" to the sponges. I remember reading about the healing properties of honey but the idea of bees in New Zealand and Australia aiding in MY healing process really turns me on. 

Not much else does these days, I admit. I'm so tired 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 .. I CAN do this.

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. 

I am as sick of talking about this as you are of hearing about it. I'm supposed to be WELL by now (my time frame - no one elses!) 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 ..

An Anniversary Of Sorts ...

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 adamantly suggested I get my first mammogram behind me. After all, I was 53 and overdue for a baseline.

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  "Waxing Gibbous" and "Behind every cloud". I knew I had a hard year ahead of me but it hasn't been all bad.

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.

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:  "I am praying for you."  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 you can't fix what is wrong.  But He can.


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.


Cancer is not a death sentence.  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 anybody!

Even if my hair is trying to be curly!