I’ve had a couple of people subtly (or not so subtly) point out that it’s been almost  a month since I last wrote.   The reasons for that seem good when I’m not writing. I’ve been working a lot, pushing myself in what I KNOW is an unnecessary but still very real need to prove that I’m back, or that I was never REALLY gone.

People ask all of the time how I’m feeling, and unless I try to lift too much stuff (since it’s been 10 months since I was allowed to lift more than 15 lbs) then I’m sore, but otherwise, physically, it’s almost like nothing ever happened.

Except I now have this odd curly hair. And when I wear my formerly favorite dress, for the first time in my life, I was tempted to stuff my bra. It was too big on top.

I want to start working out more and lose some of the weight that I was working on losing when I found Lefty’s lump, but I just can’t seem to find it in me.

I put a lot of time in at work, and I do believe I’m still doing my job effectively, but some days I am not sure how much I CARE.  Which is really what worries me most of all.

Off and on since the late ’90s I’ve been on medication for stress headaches, anti-depressants. I used to get a near-migraine every single day between 2:30-3p. I went off to get pregnant, until I realized that I had post-partum depression and went back on them when the kid was about one. I’ve had to change my meds because of how they effect the metabolization of my Tamoxifen, and we’ve increased my dosage of the new one to get back in line with what I was taking before they switched me, but sometimes I start to wonder.

I THINK that it’s not like me to work hard, and take pride in my work, but not feel fully invested, but maybe it’s not.

There were a lot of reasons, very GOOD reasons, I left TV news. But despite all of the things that were completely thankless and hard, it was never really a job. It was as natural as breathing. I hear about something, think that people will want to know more, so I figure out the best way to find out more, and then to tell people.

PR for me is more like a puzzle. How do I take what my clients want people to know about, and get it to the people who want to know? Especially when those people don’t KNOW that they want to know it yet. 🙂

But if I have to be medicated to not have my job give me a headache every single day, then how much of my dedication is then chemical?

I don’t think it is. I’d like to think that the chemicals help with something that’s missing, but what is missing has never been my drive, or my work ethic. That’s something that was ingrained in me by my parents (Happy Father’s Day, Dad!) but is something that’s more than just in my DNA. It’s who I am, nature, nurture, and everything in between.

I know in a lot of ways, I can be jaded. I don’t think there should be “graduations” complete with cap & gown before high school. I don’t think that finishing Kindergarten should be considered the same as completing 12 years of schooling, or earning a college degree.  I think “Baby on Board” signs in cars are ridiculous. What, I’m supposed to think “OH, I was GOING to run you down, but since there’s a BABY, I won’t use my car to smash into you!”

And right now, between surgeries, I may be a little jaded about this whole cancer business. I just want to move on.

But when I was on KOMO, I told them it changes how you look at everything. But at the same time, it changes nothing.

And if that doesn’t make you jaded, I don’t know what will.

I’ll be quick because this way I update both of my parents on how my quarterly visit with my oncologist went with out calling either one, since they’ll both fuss over the fact that my voice still sounds like hell. I’m actually feeling much better from the cold that knocked me out late last week, but I’m still pretty tired.

I actually ended up having two appointments, one with the nutrition department at Seattle Cancer Care Alliance, the other with my doc.  The former was significantly longer than the latter, and the main things we can away with was that I should cut back on milk (no more 24 ounce iced latte every morning) as there can be estrogen in milk (you know, since it’s MILK) and I need to try to eliminate “soy protein isolates.”  I can eat edamame, even tofu, but since my cancer was hormone positive, it’s better to stay away from processed soy.  Which doesn’t SEEM like such a hard thing to do, but it’s a cheap protein that gets added in to a lot of things like Cliff Bars and the like, which my boys love to have around the house.

This is not to say that they or even YOU need to cut back on these things.  Unless you also had ER+ PR+ cancer.

For my doc, I had a question from almost every member of the family.

From Mom- when will we do any CT or PET scans to make sure I’m clear.  The answer- we won’t unless I have symptoms that suggest that I should.

From the Sidekick- what can we do about sleep.  He’s tired of me waking him up at 3a every single day, or being up for hours after he falls asleep. When the doc asked, “are you having trouble falling asleep or staying asleep?” my answer was, “Yes.”  We’re going to try melatonin for a little while to see if it helps.  I wanted to get it cleared first, since I have to quit my AM latte because of hormones, I figure it’s best to check.  If melatonin doesn’t work, we’ll start to work on some of the less natural solutions. Since I haven’t had more than a few full nights of sleep since last summer, I’m ready to try whatever.

From my little man- did I get treated with monoclonal antibodies? The answer was no, because that’s not what was indicated by my cancer, but the story goes a little further.  My doctor was most interested in hearing what my son’s question would be, because he was one child who really stuck out in his mind. He said he can’t wait until he can get his hands on my kid as a researcher, since last summer, when I found the lump the same week he turned 9, he was planning to cure cancer some day.  When I told him what the doctor said, he was SO proud.

(Total tangent- but if your kids like science at all, I totally recommend the Basher series.  This one on Extreme Biology is where he learned about monoclonal antibodies and then he was telling me about Pharming.)

All in all, medically I’m doing great.  Dr. Gadi ask how I’m feeling, and I told him that physically, I’m doing great.  There are a couple of side effects of Tamoxifen that I’m less than fond of,  but it’s doing its job.  Evidently we keep waiting, and if my period does not come back in one year (so Jan 2014) then I’m officially in menopause.

Emotionally, I admitted, it’s been harder. There’s nothing to fight anymore, so it’s a little anticlimactic. People keep asking if I like my new boobs.  I still hate them.  The swelling is going down, and they don’t hurt unless I over do it, but I have a hard time accepting them.

So he referred me to a young survivors group with a pretty active local chapter. So that I can talk to someone else, in person, who is also trying to work, and raise a kid, and keep moving forward. I’ll see where I can fit that in, but I think it may help.  I’m not willing to let today’s version of normal become my “new normal.”

I expect tomorrow’s normal to be even better, damn it.  And as always, the only one who can get me there is me.

I know I’ve been quiet again for a while, but with Angelina Jolie’s big announcement last night, I feel like for the first time in a while I have something to say.

See, I’ve been in a bit of a wallow.  And since the wallow has been more about self-loathing than anything else, it didn’t feel OK to dump here, when it feels like that’s all I’ve done lately.   You’d think that the hardest part for me was when I was undergoing chemo, or the weeks of getting my boobs pumped up, and physically, that’s true. But for some reason, emotionally, I’ve hit the hard part now.

Reading through her experience, she went through a LOT of what I did, although it sounds like they saved her nipples.  I don’t know that it could have been an option for me since we were doing such a serious size reduction.  She also didn’t have chemo, since she had not been diagnosed with cancer, and I’m sure won’t get to join me on Tamoxifen.

Anyhow the line that really struck me was, “On a personal note, I do not feel any less of a woman. I feel empowered that I made a strong choice that in no way diminishes my femininity.”

See- I felt that way at first too.  I was not only kicking Righty (my cancer-free boob) to the curve because I didn’t want to have one K-cup and one nothing, but it also meant that there was no chance of more breast cancer.  You know, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure… or in my case, just over 4 lbs of healthy breast removal is worth the next 50 years of my life. 🙂

And it’s likely easier to feel strong when you’re considered one of the most beautiful women in the world, the type of woman whose leg can become a meme on its own.  And when you don’t have to have poison run through your veins that leave bruise-like scars 6 months later and makes your hair fall out. And come back curly.

But I’d still bet she’ll have days like I have. Where it’s hard to sleep because she’s uncomfortable. And unless they were able to match her size, it will be hard to put on a top she’s worn before surgery and not wonder, “what on earth have I done.”

Beyond the medial choice, she has just completely changed her narrative. Much as, for you my lovely readers, I’m that-chick-with-breast-cancer, she will become that-actress-who-got-a-preventative-mastectomy. That’s a hard mantle to don, but an important one.  I’m out here being open and honest because I want people to understand that breast cancer DOESN’T just happen to someone else. It happens to all of the “Me’s” out there.  And for being yet another face (and chest) for awareness, I applaud her decision.

She is incredibly brave, both for making such a hard choice, and for being so very public about it.  Again, living in the media spotlight the way that she does may help, but I’m still uncomfortable when I walk down the hall at work and I can tell people are checking out my hair to see how it has changed.  I can only imagine what the tabloids will do the first time she wears a tight top.

And what I really want to do is give her a big hug on one of those days when she’s curled up on the couch trying not to cry.  Again, maybe people-who-are-Angelina-Jolie don’t have those moments, but I’d be willing to bet it happens.

PS- So the title is a nod to my six-degrees-of-separation moment with Angie. She played a reporter in a so-so movie, Life or Something Like It about living life as if each moment could be your last.  It was filmed in the newsroom where I worked, and I never MET her, but I did literally, physically bump into her once, ironically, boobs first. It really is an amazingly small world.

So the doorway behind her head hides where I’m sitting, the lone Assignment Editor in an empty night time newsroom.

Lately I’ve gotten this question a lot, so I just want to get this out there.

No, I am not planning to keep the pixie cut.

Thank you for those of you who think it really suits me, and brings out my eyes and all of that but when I look at the pixie in the mirror I see one thing.

Cancer.

I tried to explain it to a friend this weekend, but to me it’s almost like I have a scar on my face. Would anyone expect me to keep that if I had the choice to let it fade away? No? I didn’t think so.

Is there a chance that I’ll go back to short hair at some point in the future? Sure. But I’m not holding my breath.

For one thing, I may have always wanted curly hair growing up, but in my hair’s current state, it’s like having perma-bed-head.  Since I had fairly straight hair pre-chemo, I just don’t quite know how to deal with it, other than getting it wet to see if it will at least curl all in one direction.  And let’s face it, I’m too lazy to get my hair cut every few weeks to keep it just so.

Thing two is about control.  Yes, I know that I CHOSE the route that meant my hair fell out. But I didn’t pick needing chemo in the first place.  So I will grow my hair to where I want it, and this make decisions from there.

But the biggest reason is sheer vanity, mixed with more than a little stubborn pride.

As I said a couple of months ago, I am currently wearing more lipstick and eyeliner than I have ever before in my life.  So maybe that’s why the pixie makes my eyes pop. Because I’m practically tattooing on my eyeliner every morning, and now that my lashes are less stubby, I’m pretty liberal with the mascara too.  Eyeshadow? Sure. And I hardly leave my bedroom, let alone the house, without blush.

As I mentioned a couple of days ago, I currently HATE my breasts.  They were annoying, frustrating, all-sorts-of-ings when they were ginormous. But they were mine.  I came from a long line of busty women, on both sides of my family.  Even when I was at my thinnest, I was an FF cup. It was just a part of who I was from when I hit puberty. And although I’d always wanted to get reduced down to a D or so one day, that’s a lot different than waking up from surgery with scars all of the way across my chest and something that had been so much a part of me just gone.

When I graduated High School, and subsequently when I met my husband that fall, if I leaned my head back, I could sit on my hair.

It’s been a LONG time since it had been that long, but it’s been even longer since I couldn’t at least make little pigtails.

And although when I saw my doc this week she reassured me that the oblong lumps I’m currently sporting will settle forward and round themselves out as the swelling goes down, it’s also going to be at least 3 months before I’m allowed to wear pretty underwire bras, that will hold the girls into a shape that I’m used to. She also said she may do some more rounding when I have my next surgery in 3 months. But I’m really hoping that I don’t need anything more than tiny adjustments and adding the nipples.  I hate that I’m planning when we can take my son to Boston for the first time around surgical plans.

Don’t get me wrong. I still think I did the right thing. I would rather have the pancake-y oblong things than cancer. Or than one K and the other gone.

But it doesn’t mean that any of this is easy, or that I feel like anything about me is cute right now.

And no matter how often someone else SAYS the pixie is cute, it doesn’t mean that I believe it. I do believe that YOU believe it, if that helps at all.  But I’ve had 39 years of practice saying some pretty shitty things about myself in my head. Even if I hadn’t undergone such a big physical change, I wouldn’t be able to exorcize those demons overnight.  And as I said last month, I know for a fact that I have to own my own happy thoughts to be able to fly. It’s not something anyone else, no matter how much they love me or may want to, can do for me.

So I paint my toes and my fingers, and my eyes and lips, wear dangly earrings, carry a hot pink KSNY bag, wear all of the pink and floral girly things that I already owned, and continue to fight the emotional battle that I likely ignored while I was fighting the physical one.

From Feb 15 Fuzzy Friday

To April 26 Fluffy Friday

Nobody’s gonna slow me down, oh no, I’ve got to keep on movin’!

OK, so maybe I do need to slow down some days.  In general, I’m still doing well. The drains have been out a full week now, and on Thursday I get the stitches out and the tape off of my incisions.

I’ve had an odd stitch today, which when I breathe the wrong way, or make the wrong movement, feels like I’m getting stabbed in a rib.  Ironically, the doctor I talked to said that it may LITERALY be a stich in my side. I’ll know more when I see my doc on Thursday and she can actually look at the spot.

I have to be very careful not to lift or carry too much.  I was warned about this by a friend who has been through the same thing.  She told me I’d feel fine pretty quickly, but I need to take it easy.  It’s hard, but I’m trying.

Last time I wrote I was on Oxy.  I hate taking it, but it lets me sleep.  I haven’t taken it EVERY night, but it’s close.  I’ll need to take another one in a few min.

I wasn’t in the mood then, and I’ve already shared on FB, but for anyone who isn’t friends with me there, I have a little funny story that happened that day.  It was Monday morning, and I was getting coffee in the kitchen (my 1st day in the office after surgery), and a male colleague came over to say hi:
Him: “Gee, you’re really filling in up there!”
Me: <pause> “Actually, they’re a little smaller since the surgery last week”
Him: “What? <blush> No, I was talking about your hair!”

Someone commented that I could sue for sexual harassment, but HIS comment was totally innocent.  I’m the one with the boobies on the brain.

I’ll know more about what the permanent state of my chest will be, but I have to admit, I have never hated my breasts as much as I hate them right now.  They are not round an perky as I’d imagined, but flat and kind of rectangular.  Now it COULD be the kinds of bras that I have to wear post-surgery.  That thought, the thought of wearing pretty bras that make the girls look the way I want them to is the only thing that is keeping me from crying right now.

Which is why I’m running and I won’t touch ground. I’ve got to keep on moving forward or I’ll drag myself under.

And I have neither the time nor the patience for that.

My dog’s name is Fenway.  This is not because my family loves baseball, but because we truly love Boston.

Two of the four years that I lived there we set the record for snowfall, so when the boy I met the first weekend I was at Boston University proposed, I told him that I’d marry him, but I was moving home to Seattle. As I told a friend this weekend, when the weather got so crappy, it was hard to understand why my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandparents, William and Mary Dyer, stayed in Boston in 1635.

That’s right, Boston is in my blood.

The coolest class I took at BU was on the History of Boston. Of course, that I got to write a term paper on an ancestor didn’t hurt, but we learned the history of our country through the streets around us.  A quirky but wonderful thing about Boston is the extra, random holidays, the main ones being Evacuation Day and of course, Patriots’ Day, also known Marathon Day to those in the Hub of the Universe.

The thing I remember most about Marathon Day was the positive atmosphere.  For someone who was just a spectator, it was like a 26.2 mile long party.  It was the coolest thing to see people with their name written on their shirt perk up when you started yelling for them that they could do it. The spot we staked out was in on Beacon, just before going into Kenmore Square.  Less than two miles before the finish line.

So despite the fact it’s been more than a decade since I’ve been there, today’s news hit hard.  Being a news junkie, I spent way too much time watching live video feeds and the boston.com live blog.  And the coolest thing I saw in the video were all of those people in yellow jackets. The volunteers.  I did not see a single one running away.  They were all running to help.  I’m not sure if you have to do something special to be a volunteer at the Boston Marathon, but it’s something that I did for the Trek Women’s Triathlon in its last year in Seattle, since I broke my toe and didn’t think I could complete it myself, and I’m guessing that many, many of those people were just ordinary folks.  Who in that moment were heroes.

What I told my son today

I’ve said it way too many times, but it never hurts to say again.  Life is short.  Tell the people that you love that you love them.  Never stop.

The helpers, the heroes, anyone who did something as small as lend someone a phone, those are the people to remember today.

All of this makes my little boobie woes seem so insignificant, but my update is all happy.  I went back to work today. And got the other drain out.  Tired & sore more quickly than I’d like, but again, my stuff is small potatoes.

So a reminder for you people. I really do love you all.

My husband hates it when that’s my answer to anything… especially via text. He can’t tell, is that the, “yes, but do so at your own peril” version, or the “meh, whatevs” version.

I don’t see a little bit of mystery in a 20+ year relationship as a bad thing…

But this week, I don’t have a better word to describe how I’m feeling.

I’m tired, but not sleepy. I’m bored, but don’t want to do anything. I’m sore, but I don’t really HURT.

I’m fine.

My left drain was back up to 45 today, so it didn’t come out, but they DID take out the right side.  Baby steps are still progress forward.

And I’ve decided to think of it as a good thing that I’ve got the little suction tube sticking out of my left side.  If they didn’t put it in, then where would that fluid be going?  Let’s say it all together now: EEEWWWWW!

So spirits = fine. Body = fine. According to both my eye doctor & dentist, eyes & teeth = both fine.

What I should have done this week (and this is where the sidekick, mom, hell, EVERYONE, will say they told me so) I should have shut down my work e-mail. I th0ught I was being all smart by creating a folder of stuff to look at on Monday and then deleting the rest, but I kept getting annoyed that people weren’t reading my mind as I sat here at home, and wanting to give my $.02.  Which is worth less than usual when incapacitated. Which is why I’ve kept my virtual mouth shut.

It’s funny, but I think I’m not the only one who has this happen, I really WANTED to clean and do stuff around the house this week when I KNEW it was a bad idea. If I were at 100%, the amount that I would want to clean when home alone for a week.  Pretty darn close to 0%.

Luckily my husband loves me anyway.

And that is better than fine.

Another little update- this week has been going OK other than the drain thing.  I thought that the rule was less than 30 cc for 48 hours, so I was ALL excited to get Righty out today, since I’ve been putting out less than 20 cc per day.

And did I mention that because the nerves in my breasts were cut last summer, the only thing that actually HURTS is the drains?

Anyway, called 1st thing this AM, hoping to get in today.  I did get to take a shower yesterday, but it’s not quite the same with puss bulbs hanging around your neck & plastic taped to your side to protect where the puss bulbs attach to the body, you know?

I was just starting to think I needed to call them back, it was 12:30p and I called at 8a, so I was giving them until 1pm, when the phone rang.  The conversation went a little something like this:

• Hi- you called about your drains?
• Yes, I’ve been below 30 cc for 48 hours now, and I’d like to get them out.
• Your surgery was Monday, right?
• Yes.
• The doctor likes to have the drains in for at least 1-2 weeks after surgery minimum.  When you become a little more active you’ll like see increased output.
• I took my son to the dentist, his doctor, and saw my own dentist yesterday. And I could barely get enough to come out to cover the bottom of the cup this AM after 12 hours that included a shower.
• Are you milking the tubes, are there any clots at the site?
• Yep, milking several times a day, but nothing is coming out.  There are no clots.
• OK, well if it stays low, give us a call next week.

OK- more detail than you needed, but I just kept thinking, “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”  I think if I’d been told there would be a one week min, then I would have mentally prepared. But as it was, I was convinced that the damn things would be coming out today, or if they wanted me to wait to do both at once, tomorrow, since Lefty needs one more low output to be at the threshold.

Other than THAT, as I said, I’m doing fine.

Bored, so I’ve been obsessively picking out brooches on Etsy with which to make a statement necklace, which I will likely never actually do, even though the original idea to do with a couple that were my grandmothers’ (1-2 from each) is an awesome idea.  (I’ve now mentally “made” four and counting.)

I’m trying to read “Lean In” because it seems like the thing to do, but I keep dozing off, but then wake up right away, so I’m not really getting any good sleep, but that is nothing new.  I will continue to spend at least another month sleeping on my back, so MAYBE in May I’ll get a good nights sleep, but I’m not counting on it.

As I read back over this, I feel like I’m being awfully complain-y for someone who is having a pretty good week of surgery.  I don’t mean to, but look at it this way, if boredom, the effing drains and the same lousy sleep are all of the complaints I can come up with after having my chest sliced open and getting to Boobies 3.0, then this week really isn’t THAT bad.

Looks like so far, my luck is continuing to hold!

UPDATE: Got a call at the end of the afternoon, and looks like they WILL be coming out tomorrow after all.  Won’t count on both until it happens, but I’m a pretty happy camper!

Not the best title, but it’s really all I could think of when I woke up yesterday with DRAINS.

I’m trying to stay positive, and know that they took out more skin & tissue so that I wouldn’t have jowls on my implants like I did before, and that if they didn’t give me drains, then I’d have to go in to Seattle for them to stick a needle in me to drain the gunk that is now oozing out of me into the lovely little puss bulbs, but still, it sucks.

The crappy part at the moment is that since my chest is still numb from getting the nerves cut last summer, the drain site is the only place that hurts.

Really, I’m feeling pretty good. Sore, but good, and despite the drains, my spirits are pretty high.

I’m still a little out of it with the anesthetic getting out of my system, and the oxy on board, but I’m planning to stay on it for a couple of days, but I want to stay light on the meds.  I’m thinking that when you don’t feel TOO bad, pain can be an indicator that you’re over doing it.  And knowing me, I might have a tendency to over-do.

So that said, I’m going to stop typing, since this is making me a little sore and my mom will yell at me for that as soon as she reads it. 🙂

PS- Hit submit & realized that I forgot to tell you how the sitting up thing worked.  Evidently they had my arms already strapped to arm boards to move them out of the way to get to the boobs, so then they sat me up.  They MIGHT have used a strap on the head if I was slumping, but I didn’t have any weird marks on my forehead, so hopefully no.

The other strange thing about yesterday was that the doc came in before hand and marked me up with a Sharpie to make sure she had lines of symmetry to get the boobies even.  My thought was… they make you do all of this scrubbing beforehand, two showers with icky soap… so do they use a new Sharpie on each person?  Seems wasteful, but seems counter productive to scrub and then have the pen transfer germs from another person. OK, REALLY logging off now!

And a fire dance through the night!

In 12 hours, I’ll be reporting to the hospital for my reconstruction.  How much I’m guessing I’ll sleep in those hours. Close to none.

I’m feeling so many emotions, but are the forefront, are scared, anxious, excited.

I check in at 9a tomorrow.  Surgery itself is scheduled to start at 11a, and last for 3 hours.  I’m supposed to spend a couple of hours in recovery, and if everything goes as planned, I’ll be homeward bound between 3-4p. Less than a work day, and I’ll have the rocks in my chest removed, and some smaller, softer gummy bears in place that will be held in place by a special surgical bra for several weeks.

I’m hoping I’ll be able to lift my arms above 45 degrees this time, it’s doable, but pretty annoying.  I’ve been promised no drains, which if you’ve forgotten from last summer, are the lovely suction bulbs that I got to wear for a full month after the boob removal part.  But now since I’m just doing a swap it should all be much easier.

The thing is, I still can’t help but think how lucky I have been.

The treatment, well, it has sucked, but it could have been SO much worse.

I caught it early, so I didn’t need radiation.  This is not only easier, but has helped to move the timeline along.

And the amount of support I’ve seen from friends and family has just been amazing.

I’ve got a hell of a whole lot more to do with my life, so I do have one more favor to ask.

If you could hook me up with some more of those happy, healing thoughts for my surgery that would be great.

I promise to let you know how it goes once I’m feeling up to typing.  I am taking next week off of work, as I think I’ll likely need some good drugs and I don’t think that Oxy & work mix, but I promise I’ll let you know now it went, and how the sitting up in surgery thing works.

In case I’ve forgotten to say it lately. Thanks for me and for this guy, who likes having a mom around.

Next time he gets his hair cut, it will be shorter than mom’s!