I've Got This

 And just like that, six years have come and gone. The years have seemed typical, I suppose, with laughter and love and friends and family.  We have watched our son grow (and grow and grow) into an incredible young teenager.  I have felt strong(ish), healthy, and whole.  I have worked with countless patients, volunteered excessively, and lived life, always trying to be the best wife, mom, and friend. I have also been uncomfortable.  I have felt, for the last six years, like my chest has been wrapped in the tightest industrial cellophane or tape you could imagine.  I have been unable to do even one pushup.  I have been unable to regain my shoulder flexion (overhead) strength, and I even tore my acellular dermal matrix (ADM or mesh) in a Pilates class.  I have been unable to lie on my stomach.  I have lost countless hours of sleep.   I have been unable to receive any MRI imaging to check for implant integrity, which was recommended wh...

I love babies.  I absolutely, positively LOVE them.  I want to watch them, to hold them, to look at their little features, fingers, toes. I loved my own.  To pieces.  If I was holding him, there was an unstoppable force that drew my lips to his head.  I had to smell him and kiss his face... I just had to.  Constantly.  That force is still strong.  Mostly if he's sleeping, because he has now developed an aversion to being kissed on the face by his mom all day. Puhleeze. There is something so incredibly natural about holding a baby to your body, about cradling it to your bosom.  It's really the absolute most natural act for almost any person.  Your breast (as a location, not anatomical objects) is where you breathe.  It's where you love.  It's where you experience the best and worst of life -- crushing love best, and crushing love worst. My friend just had a baby.  I spent most of her pregnancy with her, experiencing a...

If you have been reading this blog, you may have noticed that I keep mentioning this strange feeling of thoracic tightness.  Seriously, several times each day, I try to pull away the bra that is four sizes too small, to stretch it out or loosen it, only to find that THERE IS NOTHING THERE! The feeling of tightness is present one hundred percent of the time.  It never goes away.  The occasional stabbing pain is there. The deep zing is in my armpit, but just sometimes.  The skin and fascia at the inferior angles of my ribs are extremely sensitive, like hot spots.  The cutaneous nerves on my thorax are hypersensitive.  I can't sneeze without whimpering. Four weeks after my surgery, we went out of town and stayed at a lovely golf/beach resort.  I was looking forward to seeing two of my oldest girlfriends, and I noticed that there was a spa on the premisis.  Naturally, I booked a massage. Well, most of you know that I am a massage therapist. ...

I made it.  I went home and slept/watched Netflix for a week.  Or three.  Loved ones visited, brought lunch, sent flowers, and called.   Thank you notes were written and mailed.  (That's another thing to make sure you have before you go to the hospital... lots and lots of thank you notes and stamps.) I sleep on my back.  Still.  That sucks. Mornings are the most difficult time of the day.  I wake up and lie still, assessing what it is that I am feeling.   Tightness, yes.  Pain, perhaps.  Aching, always.  Once I figure out how in the world I'm going to sit up, I execute the supine-to-sit transfer, and I wait.  This is when my muscles figure out that it wasn't just a bad dream, and they contract.  Hard. I was in Publix, in the produce section, and I stopped in front of the hard, brown, hairy coconuts.  That's what I feel like is under my skin.  Almost constantly. My drains came out in week two.  T...

We wake up.  I shower with Dial and wash my hair.  We let the boy wear pj's to the hospital.  We're there so early, and I really just wanted a cup of coffee. My surgery was scheduled for 8 a.m.  I remember being warm and soft.  My family was with me until they had to kiss me goodbye, and then it all goes blank.  I remember my guys walking out of my room, and then it's curtains. I woke up around 3:30.  My lymph nodes were clear, and Dr. Rimmer only had to remove three. I got my morphine PCA (patient controlled analgesia) pump, and my nurse was a sweetheart.  She had to divide her time between me and a man next to me whom I would have smothered with a pillow if I had been able to get up.  I did not wake up in pain.  I was uncomfortable, yes.  I was unable to take deep breaths.  My lips were incredibly dry, and I was so thirsty. Dr. Rimmer had performed a complete bilateral mastectomy, with right sentinel node biopsy. ...

Saturday night, still have the zing in the right breast, still have the little clip in place.  What the hell, let's have friends over for dinner! My phone was on silent, but I happened to see the screen light up.  Why was my radiologist calling me at home at 8:36 p.m. on a Saturday night?  Oh yes!!  To tell me that my biopsy was malignant, that's why! I had DCIS, which is ductal carcinoma in situ (means "in its original place).  It was extensive, and it was considered high grade, which is fast growing.  It was estrogen positive, progesterone positive, but HER-2 negative.  Whatever. For someone under forty who finds herself with this, there are two basic choices: 1) lumpectomy with radiation and tamoxifen 2) mastectomy Here's the rub:  for someone my age with high grade DCIS, there is a very high percentage (something like 40%) that it could come back, either in the same breast or in the contralateral (opposite) side.  It will also b...