What a load of crap!!

Ok, uh, you know how systems tend to power down after surgery (even when you don't take painkillers) ? Well, uh, since bounding, bouncy exercise isn't an option right now, I resorted to FIBER as my weapon of choice in this battle.

Lots of fiber.

I mean, really, a literal SHITLOAD of fiber.

And then, well, (blush) with the old powerful antibiotic side effect I think I have, uh, hmmmm... pretty much got that problem SOLVED.

OK. Other news.

Speaking of crap, this cheap keyboard I bought to get me by until tea-fried laptop gets repaired is a PIECE OF IT.

I'm a crappy mother when I get tired and overwhelmed (I actually knew that way before all this cancer stuff, but you might not have known). My particular crappiness really only hurts one child though. Paul is full of crap - so he just shoots it right back at me. Or maybe because he's so socially intuitive, he just knows how to keep things moving in his favor.

My analytical 8-year old daughter is not so lucky.

Yesterday, at dinner? I'm sitting next to her, openly staring at her while she eats.

I've decided dinner is a sport and I'm giving her the play-by-play critique.


"Don't eat so fast. God you'd think you were starving. We're not in a barn you know."

And the worst? The slow dark, disapproving mommy voice:

S-L-O-W D-O-W-N

Followed by a stony lipped glare.

She tries to slow down.

"Why do you bend your head like that into your plate? What is wrong with you? Don't you know how normal people eat?"

She's literally taking her fork and using it as paddle to slide food from her plate into her mouth. I mean, the girl isn't even chewing her meat! If it weren't for the hand and the fork blurring the picture, she'd be able to pass for my parent's dachsund. No, wait, their dacshund is much more delicate. She's more like my sister's lab.

"Here let me show you how to eat. Sit up straight, like this. Lean your head over your plate, but not down. Now bring your fork to your mouth, not your mouth to your fork."

She sighs and rolls her eyes at me.

So now she's piercing pieces of meat with her fork, bringing the meat to her mouth, but being careful to leave the fork outside of her mouth. She grabs the meat with her teeth and kind of does a wierd chin jerk to toss it back into her mouth.

"Why are you eating like that? What do your friends say about the way you eat? Do they think that's normal?! Why can't you put the fork IN your mouth??!!!"

Even crazy maman knows she's gone over at this point. I look at Francois and see he's not too impressed with my daughter badgering either. And I swear, I have to leave the table because I simply CAN'T STAND HOW SHE EATS!!

Whew.

So you might be thinking I'm all guilt ridden and stuff -- but honestly, I'm really very good at forgiving myself. In fact, I think I forgive myself more quickly than my friends and family (pre-cancer, of course) and uh, feeling forgiven before the person who wants to forgive you is ready, well, that can actually kind of rub them the wrong way sometimes.

And I've had to live with these crappy mother moments for, oh, what now -- 8 years?

I just apologize. Somehow, I think that honesty helps us -- and helps Delphine. She needs emotional behavior spelled out. When it comes to emotional perception, Delphine is like a gifted musician with perfect pitch who can't understand people who enjoy Muzak. The social games we play to cover or distort our authentic reactions and emotions don't make sense to her.

I'm like a living lab of human behavior for her, complete with a translation device.

So, I'm brushing her hair and I'm telling her how wrong I am to pick at her. I tell her I am sorry I explain my obsessive feelings. I promise her I'll try not to do it anymore.

We're all happy and close.

So we go back to the living room to watch the movie we were all viewing together. She asks for some apples and caramel. I bring her some.

She starts eating the apples...



but she won't use her front teeth. She puts the apple slice back under her molars to bite them off.



"Are your front teeth sensitive?" I ask her, "Do they tingle when you eat something cold?"



:-P @#$%& (Crap!!)



Today's STATS:

Left Side: GONE!!!
Right Side: 55 ml

(Ooooooohhhh...One more fun detail. When she pulled the tube out, it made that fleshy sucking sound they always use in CSI during the autopsies. Pretty cool. Didn't hurt a bit. If you really want to know what it looked like, I'll post something.)

Feeling MUCH better -- but food still tastes like, well, NOTHING!!

I was NOT ready to give up that incredible post-op sense of taste. AND -- I think the antibiotics that last a long time are the ones that are affecting my taste and appetite.



Good news!



Left side yesterday: 30 ml!!! And I'm getting even less today.



Right side: 90 ml -- and today is looking lighter as well.

Today:

Left side: 17 ml!!

Right side: 68 mil

I'm not in any pain anymore. I can see see redness at the drainage tube exit site, up to the armpit area -- but I definitely feel things are getting better fast.

I see Dr. Harrington tomorrow at 2pm. I think the left tube will be going out!





And, by the way, I can type again.

INFECTION!!

Holy SHIT it hurt!! But the antibiotics are working now (I'm on two at the same time ) and I'm starting to feel better.

I think I'm just a pain wimp.

Apparently it's a skin infection starting at the entrance of my damn right drainage tube!

THANK GOD for Peter Youngs and Kristy Middleton, who took Paul and Delphine today. I slept from 10am to 3pm.

On the up side, it's the first time I've *really* felt like a sick person -- so I really really enjoyed the cards from A&H in the mail today! I didn't think my spirits needed lifting, but I felt very buoyed.

Here's what sucks -- the antibiotics take away my appetite and my ability to taste -- that whole post-orgasmic food experience is on hold for while.

sigh.

I'll write more later. My right arm doesn't like this typing stuff right now.

Yesterday's stats:

Left side 40 ml
Right side 105 ml

Dr. appt stats

Dr. Wahl (my oncologist)

The new information was basically about anti-nausea medication, the need to explore radiation as an option, long term hormone medication and then the long term post-cancer maintenance plan. I've provide the details below, for those interested in specifics.

Dr. Harrington (my surgeon)

Dr. Harrington suspected I might be secretly working out, thereby increasing my fluid output. I promised her that all I've done is go and fetch the newspaper from the driveway. I'm supposed to try not to use my arms so much.

Shoot!! I was enjoying the challenge of reaching the upper shelves in the kitchen.

BUT...she said I could drive! Apparently the restriction is really about pain killers. Since I'm not on them, I'm a free bird!

She took my stitches out-- now I'm walking around the house feeling my chest is suddenly going to peel back ((SPROING)) like an overextended window shade ((phwapphwapphwapphwapphwapphwapphwap))

But I get to keep the drainage tubes until I make that magic 30 ml 24 hour total. She said to make an appointment for two weeks -- and then call when I made the magic number in either tube.

Having Dr. H nag me about my drainage feels a bit like my mother threatening me with a visit to the gynocologist if I 'didn't get my period by age 15'.

My mother's threat worked.

Dr. Harrington said that at the breast center conference discussion of my case that morning (I was DISCUSSED ...How THRILLING!! ...I'm so SPECIAL!) there was some debate about whether I should consider radiation therapy or not. Apparently the usual scenario with stage 2b breast cancer is to not do it. But they were discussing some long term study results that showed a significantly higher long term survival rate for estrogen positive cancers diagnosed in young women like myself when those women had radiation therapy.

Here's the downside. The lymphedema risks increase significantly with radiation therapy, and my risk is pretty high already.

Have I written about lymphedema yet? Lymphedema is when your arm swells up with lymphatic fluid. Once it happens, it's difficult to reverse. It's nasty -- but not fatal.

I like this website best for their information. I'm linking you directly to their prevention page.

http://www.lymphnet.org/lymphedemaFAQs/riskReduction/riskReduction.htm

Anywhoo -- Dr. Wahl will have Dr. Preston (the radiation doctor...radiologist??...)'s office call me and schedule a consultation. I have until February to decide what to do.

So... Dr. Wahl.

You know how stupid you can act when you're in shock and you think everyone else knows how this works better than you do? Well, I was stupid. I called Dr. Wahl's office and asked them for an appt on the same day as my post-op appt with Dr. Harrington. That part is fine.

But Dr. Wahl's receptionist asked me what time my appt with Dr. Harrington was. When I said 3:45, she said she could get me in at 3:20 to see Dr. Wahl.

"Are you sure that will work?" I inquire vaguely.

"You just need a 20 minute appointment, right?"

"I think so."

"So we're good."

Of course, Dr. Wahl had a newly diagnosed patient come in and need some time. Ack! The stress! What idiot WOULDN'T think there might be some delay with a Dr. dealing with so many life and death emotional choices each day!??

I had a NIGHTMARE about this the night before. I dreamnt another Dr. (unkown mousy male generic doctor) kept me too long and made me late for Dr. Wahl. When I finally got to her office, she was all dressed up in her winter coat (??) ready to go home to her little boys.

So, the nurse weighs me (I've lost 12 lbs! 4 through diet and exercise, 4 via mastectomy and 4 just hanging out and trying to be healthy post-surgery.) and takes my vitals.

Then, while Francois and I are waiting in the examining room, I call Dr. Harrington's office to find out if she's running late.

She's not. So we inform the nurse why we have to go...and we skip out on Dr. Wahl!! I felt so bad!!

AND she made time for us when we returned. A lot of time. I was ready to just give her my hoped for chemo dates and run, but she had a whole lesson plan prepared!

So unprepared was I that I was scribbling notes on the back of the little blue appointment note she had given me. I hadn't bothered to get out my calendar or my cancer notebook.

OK. This is Dr. Wahl, mind you. If you are tired of reading this blog entry now, you might as well go take a nap before continuing. This woman packs a lot of information into a small time/space continuum.

Ready?

Anti-Nausea

With the chemo, intravaneously, she'll give me Aloxi, which she called an anti-nausea medication -- but which is also a serotonin inhibitor (read ANTI-DEPRESSANT!) -- and decadron, a steriod. The steriod will make me a bit anxious and hyper.

So, uh, Friday nights, I'll be MANIC.

I'm used to manic.

I can handle manic.

Sounds FUN!

PLUS -- she's prescribed two other anti-nausea medications that I can take as I need, Zofran and Compazine.

Zofran is another serotonin inhibitor. I don't know much about Compazine. I'll have to look it up.

And, I'm not supposed to throw up at all. She doesn't think I need to be nauseous at all.

THAT is the best news ever.

And -- I was just reading online that a patient's anxiety levels impact nausea a great deal. Patients who are very anxious experience worse nausea.

I'm thinking my outlook is pretty good.

Apparently, they want to keep your estrogen levels even lower than post-menopausal levels. I'll be on Tamoxifen until I'm clinically proven to be permanently in menopause. Then I'll switch to another drug. I might be on drugs ten years or more -- even if they 'suppress' my ovaries.

I love that verb.

(Could you supress the barking dog down the street? He's keeping me awake at night!!)

They have this very cool thing going where they invite new patients in for an orientation to chemo room before your first chemo session. The nurses teach you the ins, outs and practical tricks.

So my nurses teaching session is scheduled for 2pm on Thursday, October 9th. My first chemo is from 11:50 - 3:30 pm on Friday, October 17th.

Open Call for Menopause Horror Stories

'Move forward ten years. Do not pass go, do not collect $200'

You get a whole deck of interesting game cards with cancer. But that's the card I have a hard time laughing at.

I've been reading that after chemo and hormone therapy, a woman's body ages about ten years in terms of metabolism and fat/muscle ratios. Add a fast-track into menopause to that.

Good note? I work with a huge group of smart and sexy 50-ish/60-ish types. I can handle being a part of that club.

Bad note? Menopause. Shit.

I just did a hugely hormonal decade of pregnancies and breast-feeding.

My 20s were all about weekend long crying fits on the damn pill.

My 40s, at least my early 40s, were supposed to be a brief period of centeredness and emotional stability!!

So bring them on girlfriends. I need horror stories. When this emotional ship starts hitting those emotional rocks, I want stories of such horror that when I find myself locking bathroom door and running the shower to cover my screams of hormonal frustration, I can remember you and tell myself I'm doing a pretty damn good job at handling it all!!

WARNING: If you are NOT menopausal or post-menopausal, you risk a verbal slap upside the head if you even *try* to participate in this conversation. No cards, no books, no comments from anyone who ain't been there, done that.

Fluid Stats:

Left side: 50 ml
Right side: 130 ml

Slipping...

Yesterday's totals:

Left -- 55 ml
Right -- 120 ml

Paul crawled in my bed last night. This three-year old's fetish is to push his feet into my side. Before tubes and stitches, I would find the morning imprint of his child foot on my side adorable.

Oops!! 9:20! I've got to go shower and take a nap before some friends from work arrive with lunch for a visit.

So much to do, so little time.... (3 hours!!)

BTW, ....I figured out two of the three things I was wondering about yesterday.

I wonder....

I wonder if I will ever have a bm again.

I wonder where the tubes coming out of my body actually come from?

I wonder how come they don't just pull right out when I accidently catch them on kitchen cabinet door knobs.

Yesterday's fluid stats:

Left Side -- 45 ml (ALMOST THERE!!)
Right Side -- 90 ml (Half of yesterday's total!!)

Remember we're aiming for less than 30 ml on each side.

The flowers, cards, food and gifts are helping to nurture my 8-year old daughter's suspicion that I went and got this cancer on purpose -- just to make her papa "my servant" and to get out of my regular 'maman' duties. I can see where she's coming from. I feel very very good -- so all of this support and attention feels a bit like a vacation. And, uh, (ahem) I have been known to go to great lengths to be the center of attention.

Still, I find her adorable and funny now, but once that chemo puts me in fast-track menopause, she better watch out!! (LOL)

She was very happy to have me brush her hair this morning for school.

Paul's fine!

Paul is fine. No pneumonia. He's got an upper respiratory tract viral infection.

So we're all a bit worn out this morning!

I asked Paul why he screamed so much last night. I asked him if he'd had a bad dream.

"No," he said, "I just didn't want to be sick."

(I wonder if I'll have the strength to scream like that!? Seems like good therapy.)

Paul's off to the ER at Children's Hospital

Poor Paul!!

Paul is on his way to Children's Hospital with Francois. The on call nurse thinks he might have pneumonia.

Paul's been coughing for about a week now. He's been pooping quite a bit more often than usual -- and he's been looking a bit pale. He's been off enough that we ask him each morning whether he wants to go to preschool. He always says yes.

We keep sending him off because he likes it and it's easier for us, especially this week.

Today one of our friends took both our kids for 9 hours! It was a long day for Paul, but he loves going on playdates with Delphine and her friends. He went swimming. He played with lots of kids. He had a great time.

He came home exhausted, but instead of falling asleep, he curled up in a ball on the couch and started moaning. He was clearly in pain, but wouldn't answer my questions as to where it hurt. He seemed to be panting a bit and his cough wouldn't stop now. At 11pm he threw up. He fell asleep for an hour and then woke up screaming bloody murder. He wouldn't stop screaming. I thought someone was trying to kill him. He wouldn't let us look at him. He thought our eyes were scary.

He was clearly feverish now -- and panting openly. His eyes were open and panicked, even after he calmed down and clearly was ready to sleep.

The nurse on call had me count his breaths. He would keep holding his breath. When he did breath regularly for ten seconds, it was in small frequent pants.

So, now Francois will have his first trip to Children's Hospital!

The good news is that our family out of pocket has pretty much already been met this year (LOL).

Poor Paul.

The day had been so mellow with the kids out. I actually got my drainage tubes to turn completely yellow and I decreased my production by 50 ml over yesterday.

Delphine decided my chest actually looked pretty good, even with the stitches still in.

I'm pinking up a little bit, but not too much. There's nothing like a sick child to get your heartbeat up. (Sorry Dr. H!)

I don't know if I can sleep right now. I guess I should try.

I'll update you all when I hear from Francois.

"A hilarious book." -- Paranormal Romance

Oh GAWD the food my friends have brought me tastes good. I mean, you know, the kind of intense flavor really well prepared food has after you've had a great workout AND great sex.

Wow.

And this ROBE my cousin sent me? I SWEAR my chest can feel again. Luscious inviting layers of soft to sink into.

Hmmmmm...

And the books she sent...

"Undead and Unwed is an irreverently hilarious, superbly entertaining novel of love, lust, and designer shoes. Betsy Taylor is an unrepentant fiend -- about shoes. She is shallow, vain, and immensely entertaining. Her journey from life to death, or the undead, is so amusing I found myself laughing out louwhile reading. Between her human friends, vampire allies, and her undeade enemies, her first week as the newly undeade is never boring." -- Romance Reviews Today

A story of a woman who suffers a bodily death and is reborn a blood sucking sexual predator is, well, PERFECT!!!

"A hilarious book." -- Paranormal Romance

Paranormal Romance?? I've got to google that reviewer.

Paranormal Romance?

Now there's a genre I can get into in this state of mind (LOL).

I've been taking it very very easy today (obviously!) and my drains are finally lightening up. Up to now I've been producing about 440 ml (two drains) of 'bloody serum' in 24 hours and I don't get these things out until I'm under 60.

Bring on the vampires!

Stir Crazy

I was too active today and turned my right drain cherry red again. So even though I feel great, I need to stay still for longer periods of time.

Delphine is tired and weepy. She doesn't want to hear the word 'cancer' anymore.

The food people have given us tastes SOOOO GOOOOOD!

Only one nap today.

Paul says "why do you have those tubes with yellow and pink juice in them Mama?"

"I have them because I had my breasts removed and they are helping me heal."

Paul blushes.

I feel like I'm waiting and waiting and waiting.

Maybe it's time to focus on something else in addition to healing from surgery.

PBBBLLLFFFTT

Focus?

Beautiful Boobless!

Let's start with the good news -- and then move on to the good news (big smile!)

The pathology results are in and there were no suprises!

Here's the official verdict:


Right Breast

2.7 cm estrogen positive invasive cancer in the right breast
Wide margins (That means the surgeon cut wide around it and there's nothing left on my body)
Medium grade
2 of 18 lymph nodes removed tested positive for the cancer

That's an official stage 2b (almost 2a!) breast cancer. Yeah!!

And now it's gone!

And guess what? Here's more good news -- I look really good with a flat chest. I look taller, younger and slimmer. I could pass for a professional triathlete (uh, with my clothes ON and standing still (LOL))

I have lots to say, but I get tired and dizzy pretty fast, so these notes are going to be short for a few days. That's fun in a way as well -- I feel dizzy and tired enough to allow myself to be pampered -- and I feel good enough to really enjoy it!!

So now it's just healing from this surgery and then chemo. I'm not sure whether they do radiation for a 2b or not.

p.s. 2250 grams -- That's almost 5 lbs off my chest!

I can read!

I can read!

And I can now raise my arms to the second shelf where I keep the water glasses in the kitchen.

Tbe damn drainage tubes keep catching on the knobs on the drawers though and the tug when that happens freaks me out.

I took a shower this morning. It's the first time I've looked at myself without clothes on. The wierdest is looking down. I can see parts of my body that I've never really seen before. It's a whole new view now, let me tell ya!

I tire pretty easily, but not any worse than after having my first child. AND -- when I'm tired, I get to nap! That's a huge difference from that first childbirth experience.

And I'm tired now. Much to say, but sleep is soooooo nice.

zzzzzzz

Home from the hospital

Things I like --

I like that I had no nausea or pain of any kind after the surgery.

I like that m body feels 'nomral except for the places that are stichted up.

I hate that I can't SEE now!! I can't read what I'm writing here!! I have all of these books to read and I can focue enough to get through them.

Apparently this lasted for 2 weeks with my mother's surgery. I'm hopin 48 hours at the max.

I also love having a flat chest. I can sleep in any position I like!

And despite the stiches in front, It's so much easier to hold my shoulders back, maintain a good posture.

I have the results of my boob weigh in. I'll give you all another day to vote.

I'll write more when my vision comes back. This is a bit like trying to type in the dark!!

Their Last Day

So what DOES one do the day before a double mastectomy?

I tortured my whole family by spending $800 on organizing type furniture from IKEA. I had them all building and cleaning and sorting and drilling and hanging and stacking and vacuuming!

Delphine said "Maybe it isn't so fun to go to IKEA after all." (Usually she likes the whole playroom and meatball lunch combo). "It's makes too much work for me afterwards!!"

My day wasn't just filled with high energy housekeeping though. I decided to take my babies for a swim. I really don't think they have any clue. They're going to be totally shocked tomorrow. Especially the left boob. That boob really gets the raw deal -- kind of like the Pharoah's servant being buried with the Pharoah. I really did always like the right boob better.

So Francois thinks they are at least five pounds. I think he's nuts. That's a small baby!!

I'm sure they have to weigh them as part of the pathology labs they run on them. Please take a guess and see how close YOU come to the real, dead weight of these puppies. If you make a comment here and record your guess, you can compete for the 'booby prize'.

If you dare....

The MANIC slide show (LOL)

I can't figure out how to slow the slideshow down. Try clicking on 'View All Images' to navigate your way to a manual version.

Bra Burning

Enrique, Paul's new preschool teacher

"Enrique doesn't have any hair," remarks 3 1/2 year-old Paul, "Maybe he has a cancer."



I tell him that some people just like the way a bald head looks.



"No," says Paul, "I don't think so. I think probably he has a cancer."

Self-Absorbed??!! Let me tell ya...

Immediately after I was diagnosed with breast cancer, I reminded myself daily that every single person was going to be impacted by this differently, they would have their own journey, and their journey might very easily be more difficult than mine.

This person’s reaction is not about me.

This person’s reaction is not about me.

This person’s reaction is not about me.

The incantation formed a magic shield to ward off clumsy… well, what? The verb that comes to my mind is ‘strikes’. And then I have to think ‘strikes at what?’

I think I’ve finally figured out that answer. Every person’s response to my cancer felt like a strike against my potential/real/imagined identity.

Each attempt to share this with me – or worse, to support me through this, was delivered in a contextual frame that mirrored back to me how this person might be perceiving me.

I don’t WANT to be those Suzy’s I see reflected in those mirrors!!!!

I’m irritated at these people trying to support me.

And when I figure that out, I let myself actually *look* at the gifts that I have received so far.

One friend has given me A Long Way Home by Ishmail Beah. My defensive response is – how on EARTH would having cancer make me want to read about how horrible and malicious life can be to some children in our world!? But when I think about this book and the person who gave it to me, I realize that she tends to deal with hard times by reminding herself how lucky she is compared to so many others in this world. Her gift is to share her way of coping.

Another friend has given me The Life of Pi. It’s a reflection of her quiet belief in the truly worldly magic of God and faith.

My mother has just sent me a BIG box of pink M&M’s. Half of the M&M’s have a picture of my head on them. The other half have ‘We love you Suzy’ written on them. A mother’s love needs to be consumed.

You know, honestly, I’m not going to read the books I’ve received so far. I’ve been pawning off the pink Suzy-head M&M’s to my daughter and her friends as fast as I feel I can as a responsible parent.

But I value these gifts now instead of being threatened by them. I can see them as windows into the generous hearts of my friends and family instead of mirrors on me.

I can simply treasure the gift of being allowed to see how special the people around me are.

The lesson reads like a no brainer for most folks I suppose. But I guess I needed to learn it.

....and her elbow.

In the mini-van yesterday with three eight-year old girls:

Belle: Do you know what's going to happen to you mother on Monday?

Delphine: Hmmm?

Belle: I know. I know what's going to happen.

Delphine: Belle, you do not know. You do not know anything about what's going to happen. If you know so much then TELL me.

Belle: First they'll put you mom to sleep. Then they'll cut off her breasts and then they'll put new ones on.

Delphine: No. See? You DON'T know Belle. First they are going to cut off her breasts and then they're going to take part of her elbow off.

So can she give birth to eggs?

"Guess what! Guess what you guys!" my daughter exclaims, "Like, my mom has cancer, she's almost not going to be a mammal anymore!"

She has Belle and Anya's complete attention.

"She won't have breasts, she won't be able to produce live births, and she won't have any fur. She 'll lose this hair (she points to her head), she'll lose this hair (she points to her eyebrows), she'll lose this hair (she points to her eyelashes.)..."

"So will she be able to give birth to eggs?" asks Anya.



I promise -- if I lay any eggs, I'll be sure and post pictures here!

No Nasty BRCA Gene!

My OVARIES have been SAVED!!

(For what, exactly, ...I'm not quite sure.)

But I'm definitely happy for my cousin, sister, mother, daughter and possible grandchildren that my genetic results came back normal.

Is there anything genetic going on? Maybe - maybe not. This test can only look for genetic combinations that we already know are linked to breast cancer.

So, like every other 'normal' person on the earth, the future for my female family members is kind of up in the air.

That's a NICE place to be.

What a SCHEDULING MESS!

So tonight I'm googling "Mastectomy Recovery" in a mad ...no, really, the word is INSANE attempt to regain a bit of control over my fall schedule. There's GOT to be a way to SQUEEZE a 3-6 week recovery into 8 days. I'm, honest to God, reading women's discussion board posts to each other about their recoveries thinking if I can find ONE person who had their drainage tubes removed within 5 days and was relatively pain free and MOBILE in the second week... I can make it happen too!!

I'm not finding anyone.

Shit.

I mean, how on EARTH can removing a couple of useless, pathological boobs be harder than a 4th degree tear and a brand new ten pound baby?? I was able to get out and about two days after that.

Sigh.

I know I've got it good. I've got a great, flexible job, great benefits, wonderful colleagues, friends and family.

But, gosh DARNIT -- I had a plan!!!

So -

September 15h

10:30 -- Admission to Overlake Hospital
Noon -- Surgery
5:00 Recovery Room
6:30 Overnight Room

September 16th

11 am Discharged from hospital

Six Degrees of Separation

On the same day that I had my breast MRI, I also saw a genetic counselor, Mr. Resta.

As he walks across the waiting room to greet me, it's immediately apparent that Mr. Resta can be simultaneously 100% absurd and 100% serious.

He's my kind of guy.

He's asking me to explore issues like, hmmm, how white and protestant IS my family...and is it POSSIBLE that my parents might be cousins?? ( To steal from Stephen Colbert -- the only way to make my birthplace, Medford OR any whiter would be to host the Republican National Convention there. However, the same sundown laws and political clubs like "The Daughters of the Confederacy" that kept Medford white, could possibly have also encouraged cousins to marry... )

I'm also supposed to show him body parts I'm sure no one has ever looked at before (the inside of my bottom lip, the inside of my top lip, the underside of my tongue, etc.) -- and while he's making sure I understand the significance of his questions, he's very good at acknowledging the bizarre side of this whole encounter.

Sitting with him inspires me to randomly associate and tell stories.

Now, those of you who know about my unusually uninhibited ability to share too much information should know that I *did* try to censor myself! I would smile and laugh and Mr. Resta would say "What?"

"Oh, it's nothing. I just keep thinking of funny stories."

"Oh tell me!" he ways, unwittingly.

So, uh, we're going through all of the serious business of genetics and at the same time, sharing things, like, uh, birth stories!

So I'm sharing stories about my childrens' births (tears, scars, number of pushes to arrival...the fun stuff) to this man I've known now for, what, about 35 minutes?

So he shares too. He tells me HIS wife gave birth to one of HIS children in the basement of their friend's house.

This is where I'm supposed to ask "Oh, what happened?!"


(Insert pregnant pause here...OK..sorry, BAD pun)

Instead I ask

"Uh, ....Are you married to Susan Jamieson??!"

(Susan Jamieson is one of my dear colleagues at Bellevue Community College. She is smart, fun, and was part of the large supportive group of people getting me through the new job and the new baby. We swapped birth stories while waiting in line for the copy machine.)

Without missing a beat or even looking up, he says evenly "Yes, I am married to Susan Jamieson."

"I love Susan!" I exclaim.

"So do I." He says.

I keep exclaiming "I work with Susan! How funny!"

I chuckle with disbelief.

"I love Susan!!"

"So do I."

"Wow. This is so funny."

I'm shaking my head.

"Susan is great! I love Susan!"

"So do I."

He's, of course, professionally serious in his response. He assures me he'll keep our encounter confidential. I promptly give him permission to share with Susan -- and I email that permission to Susan along with an announcement to her of my cancer just be be sure there's no ambiguity there.

Seriously, the session was amazingly informative.

Did you know, for example, that before this year, it was possible for health insurance companies to refuse to cover healthy people with proven genetic health risks? That is now forbidden. But it's still possible for life insurance companies and employers to shy away from covering you. As I'm rather screwed on that front by the whole breast cancer diagnosis, it makes the issue moot for me. But should I end up to test positive for one of the known gene combinations linked to breast cancer, others in my family might want to be very careful in their decision to be tested.

I will not, for example, have my kids tested. Ever. That will be up to them to decide when they are adults.

He tells me that based on my history, there's a strong likelihood that there is something genetic going on, even if I test negative for the gene combinations they know to be associated with breast cancer.

If I do test positive, there's a 50% chance my sister has the gene. I think there's a 25% chance my cousin has the gene.

If Delphine does have the gene, they will recommend she begin getting Breast MRI's and Diagnostic Mammograms at age 25. She'll be advised to have her ovaries removed by age 35.

Honestly, I don't think those nasty BRCA gene combos are what I have. But I'm going to be sure. If I'm going to do all of this work to survive breast cancer, I'm not going to get caught unawares by a nasty ovarian cancer. Here's to another 50 years!

So we'll see in about three more weeks. That's how long it takes to get the results back. They have to do $4000 worth of mapping to figure out my gene sequences.

IF, I have any known genetic connection, it will only cost my relatives $400 to get tested, should they wish to do so. It's because the family gene sequence will already be identified, so testing for it will be a lot easier.

Want a boob job? Ask the Breast MRI tech for a referral.

So the tech who is running me through the process of the breast MRI last week? She loves to talk as much as I do. So we're having a good time, chatting it up, telling stories. She finds out I'm not looking to do reconstruction.

"Let me tell you honey, I know a doctor, man, he does WONDERFUL work. His boobs come in here, and bam, they're a mirror of the other boob. You can't tell them apart. Honest to God."

She glances at her own very healthy, vibrant set.

"I'm getting these done again by him in October."

You know, when you think about it, it makes TOTAL sense to go to someone who does breast MRI's to ask about good plastic surgeons.

MRI results?

We found out from Dr. Harrington on Thursday that the MRI actually found a lot of stuff in that nasty right breast. There's a 6cm dense section that looks full of DCIS. There are some small 'nodules' in various places, in addition to the cancer mass and the lymph nodes we already knew about.

So I have this dream the night before visiting Dr. Harrington, that my cancer is actually stage III. In my dream I ask her "So does this mean I have a 50-50 chance?"

"In your case, Suzy, the chances are 40-40."

The story of that dream got Dr. H to laugh out loud.

Even with the nasties found on the MRI, Dr. H still thinks we are probably dealing with a stage 2a or 2b cancer.

The Book of Boobs

So Dr. Harrington's assistant leads us into her conference room. On the table is a book, with a box of kleenex on top of it.

"Oh! That's a book of boobs and reconstruction!" I exclaim.

I pick up the book of boobs and start browsing through with Francois. He's flinching, grimacing, and looking away from time to time, as if the glare of scarred breasts and stomaches are blinding him.

No tears though.

"I'm tellin' ya, when I googled images of mastectomies and breast reconstruction back in 2007 I drank a whole bottle of wine all by myself!"

The book of boobs kind of confirms what I've been thinking all along. My body is my body. It's just the way it is. It's great the way it is, and I definitely think of myself as attractive, but I don't have any illustions that I'm going to pull off 25 (or even 35) again, with or without boobs.

I remember when I lost a lot of weight after weaning Paul. I was probably the thinnest I've ever been. Clothed, I received plenty of attention from plenty of people - and that was a good time.

But naked....hmmm....

Here's the image. In Jon Stewart's America book, there's a picture of all of the Supreme Court justices naked.

Sandra Day O'Conner.

Look it up.

Let's just say I could look between my legs and see my butt hanging.

OK...TMI?

It gets better.

Francois and I are going through the book looking for boobs and a torso similar to mine. We both agree on which picture seems to match, and, um, I'm telling you folks, naked torso pictures of women over 40, look, like, uh, naked torso pictures of women over 40. There's a bit of that soft fluffy white fat that likes to congregate around your belly button. There's the warm air and gravity effect, you know, where the nipples on the boob get large and soft, causing the breasts to start pointing pretty much straight down.

Now do you think we should save boobs like these?

Or better yet, imagine those 25 year old boobs pasted on this torso with the pasty, puffy belly fat framing it?

We were both like, yeah, GO FLAT CHEST!!

I'm not going to try to make my lovely body into anything it's not. Except, maybe, a massive swimming and running powerhouse ;-)

SO.... BIG ANNOUNCEMENT!!

The boobs have a REPRIEVE!! There was some problem finding an assistant for the surgery on September 8th so the surgery has been moved to September 15th.

Healthy Stuff

The process of dealing with this cancer diagnosis has been really healthy for me and for my family.

Last night, for example, when my daughter whined that she didn't want to talk about what sleeping arrangements would be like after my surgery, I told her she HAD to talk about it. We need to make a decision now, before the surgery, so we can set up the house. It's a family decision and she needs to be a part of it.

She responded really well. She sucked it up and helped us come up with a solution that would work for everyone.

Go Delphine! I'm happy you get a chance to know how strong you are.

Dr. Harrington called and left a positive message about the MRI results. Dr. Anton called just because she cares. She provided me some support for medical decisions I've made.

Penni from HR was wonderful this morning. Tom Nielsen has been great from the beginning.

I've decided to work half-time. I'll teach enough to keep me sane, fulfilled and happy.

So, like, when I'm done with all of this, I'm imagining a film ending, with credits starting to roll. There are so many people I would enter into that list -- and the film, really, has only just begun.

So it's a sappy, sunny, happy day. Not a good one for figuring out truths and commenting on the funny side of breast cancer.

I think I'll go take my boobs for a walk around BCC. It is, after all, their last day on campus.

My pre-op appointment with Dr. Harrington is today at 1:45. I'll let you all know what I learn.

Caillou!

"Mommy, you're going to be just like Caillou!" chirps 3-year old Paul enthusiastically.

He can't wait.

Last time I came back from a doctor visit, Paul remarked, with a small bit of disappointment "I thought you were going to lose your hair at the doctor's office?!"

We took the BC Ferry back from Vancouver Island yesterday -- the one with the marvelous lunch buffet complete with a spectacular view of sea, sun and island shores. BC Ferry terminals are, like, well, AWESOME (make big eyes here), like TOTALLY awesome. While we wait for the Ferry, Paul plays on the playground with Francois while Delphine and I visit the ladie's room and the small open air market.

There's a guy selling sunglasses at half-price. Sunglasses!!

That's it. I'm going for the Jackie Onassis look complete with scarf and a bit of Caillou's rather slow-processing optimism.

Even Delphine, my 8-year old fashion critic, says that I look great in my sunglasses ("with HAIR" she warns me, briefly flashing her stubborn, suspicious, angry eyes -- Delphine would never make a good potato head. She's always worn too many emotions on her face at once.)

The sunglass stand is right next to the 'policemen-biking-for-the-fight-against-cancer-in-Canada' stand. There's a group of 50-year old, incredibly well-built men in bright yellow biking body gloves switching off on a single stationary bike. We're all waiting for a ferry, so, uh, the same people keep walking in circles from the market to the playground to the bathrooms, passing the body-glove men over and over. Each time you pass, they flash you a huge "HI!" as if you're an old dear friend from college they've not seen for 32 years.

I am a cancer dweeb when it comes to running into cancer activists out and about. I have this kind of funny internal smile I try on -- It's like I think I'm supposed to bond with these people somehow 'Hey! Yeah! I've got cancer too! Yeah! Cool." It's exactly like the annoying urge I have to go up to people I hear speaking French and announce to them "Hey! I'm MARRIED to a French man!"

I imagine THEIR internal response is, as my mother would say..."And you're telling me this because....??"

So I'm looking at the $20 sunglasses, on sale for $10. Those are the cheapest. The guy who runs the stand has a good face. He's a good salesman.

I feel like being sold.

He tells me he has these great $40 glasses on sale for $20 which are, apparently, very HOT right now because, wow, man, the Australian Olympic Volleyball Team wore them!

But what sells me is this --

'People can tell that these are cool glasses when you look at them from the side. See how they get narrow right here?'

Everyone will be able to see how cool my originally-40-now-20-dollar sunglasses look because they'll be able to see the sides of them!

I buy the $20 pair and I pay cash. But I'm embarrassed about spending so much money on a pair of sunglasses, so I tell Francois they were $10.

So Delphine tries to rat me out 'They were $20."

I give her my don't-you-dare-rat-me-out-you-brat eyes.

She gives me I-know-I'm-right-and-you-know-it-to0 mother-superior eyes.

Man.

Sheesh.

I love my sunglasses.

So...cancer update? Not much to say. I see a cardiologist tomorrow for an echo-cardiogram. The heart disease history in my family made me nervous when my oncologist told me about the 2-5% chance of heart failure with this chemo treatment - so we're making sure all systems are go first.

Thursday I have a meeting with Penni from Human Resources at work. Then I see my breast surgeon for our pre-surgery consultation.

I need to get in and see my division chair and make plans for my Fall schedule. I've got to make some post surgery appointments with my physical therapist.

I've REALLY got to clean out the fridge, clean the kitchen and clean the carpets.

And, yeah, schedule a really expensive, deluxe haircut. I've been looking forward to wearing short hair again for a long time.