This post is from 7/31/12, the day of my first visit to a plastic surgery office. It was surreal.

This afternoon I met with Drew Welk, M.D. a plastic surgeon at the Polyclinic. We had a good meeting and it was interesting to shift from a physician who focuses on disease treatment to one who focuses on aesthetics. I found out that my incision is not in the best place to which I replied, “Yeah, my cancer insists on being all kinds of inconvenient.” To his credit, he laughed at my ribbing. I did learn that I have very favorable “breast geometry” with only a little post-partum loss of muscle tone. Yay, my breasts got complimented! They’ve been a little starved for positive comments lately, especially the right one, which is currently looks like a more than a  little like a dented tin can these days.

Dr. Welk is talking to Dr. Beatty tomorrow to share his input regarding the best way to make incisions for the mastectomy so that he has something reasonable to work with later after the fat has been removed from my skin, the latter of which I get to keep. He took pictures in the clinic photography booth, which was set up like the DMV, except for the fact that I was partially disrobed and he had his choice of three different expensive looking cameras. (Or maybe the other cameras belonged to other surgeons. That makes more sense.) He took the last picture after he’d drawn a little incision map with a Sharpie.

It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be and I liked him. Plus it was a surgery day for him so between his energetic demeanor and the fact that he was wearing scrubs, he looked like a surgeon action figure. (Not to be confused with 1973’s surgeon Barbie and yes, she was real; click the link. Also, not to be confused with an action figure for the character, Surgeon from Hellraiser 2. Mom don’t go to that link: That surgeon doll is heinous.)

Okay, so Michelangelo is probably not the best sculptor to reference in this post. He was criticized for the way he sculpted breasts, basically that it looked like he’d thrown a couple of softballs on top of a suspiciously manly shaped torso. A better sculptor might be the 20th century artist, Lachaise. That man knew how to sculpt realistic breasts on refreshingly substantial looking women. Hmm. “The Lachaise of La Twins”? I’ll stick with Michelangelo for the alliteration. My cousin, Beth favors Bernini breasts herself. Bernini’s sculptures are absolutely breath taking but the first thing that comes to my mind is “the Rape of Persephone”–not the image I want in my head when thinking about my breast reconstruction. Beth conceded that Bernini tended to show women on the run.  But I present exhibits A, B, and C for your consideration:

One of Lachaise’s fabulous, “Standing Woman” I think this is a clear winner. Unlike “Dawn”, Lachaise’s sculptures of women actual look like a woman modeled for them. Also, Lachaise’s women look like they could fend off a Greek god or random creep in the bushes, unlike Bernini’s stunningly beautiful but nearly defenseless damsels.

Bernini’s Apollo and Daphne. This is Beth’s submission. In this case, Daphne is so desperate to get out of Apollo’s stalkeresque clutches that she turns herself into a tree!

Michelangelo. This is a sculpture I’ve seen in person. It’s from the Tomb of the Medici’s in Florence. This figure is supposed to be “Dawn” Looks like a man named “Don” with softball boobs, am I right?

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You may have noticed that I’ve been re-posting old posts like there’s no tomorrow. I am fully expecting a tomorrow but there are some posts I wanted to get to reposting before my TRAM surgery and I am a stickler for keeping my “Best of Blogs” in chronological order. I’ve also discovered that I can write a post now and then schedule it to be posted later. How did I miss that little WordPress feature in my nine months of blogging?

Enjoy the “Best of Blog” Marathon!

This post is from 7/21/12. 

I know a lot of people say that clowns are scary. I have never found clowns to be scary, generally speaking but I do have a bad experience with a Seafair clown. I was 14 years old and had just completed the 8th grade. I can’t remember which of the Seafair parades I was attending but it was my first Seafair parade. Unfortunately, this parade marked another first for me, my first kiss, given to me by a Seafair clown. He planted a wet one right on my lips when I least expected it. Imagine being a 14 year-old girl and getting your first kiss from a middle-aged Seafair clown. Yuck!

Fast forward thirty-one years a year or two later, to the summer of 2011. I was attending the Chinatown Parade, my first Seafair-clown attending event since my unfortunate teen-aged experience. I was approached by one of the clowns and my dad wanted to take our picture together. Honestly, my stomach lunged a little from anxiety. But he looked trust-worthy and I gave it a go. He was a gentlemanly clown and we took a nice, healing photo together.

I am hoping for some healing tomorrow, too. I am looking forward to just being a mom at a parade, cheering on her kid.

This post is from 7/18/12, the day of my second lumpectomy. I was already resting at home and had enough energy and adrenaline to write two posts! This is the second post. I have been very lucky to have such caring and competent medical care. Unfortunately, this surgery was not the end of cancer surgeries since the margins weren’t clear. I had multi-focal cancer, meaning that there were multiple tumors, which although tiny and relatively slow growing, were separate tumors. Consequently, I got another toe squeeze from Dr. Beatty after my mastectomy, which I would have three weeks after I wrote this post.

 

 

Surgery went well and I am resting at home. Dr. Beatty reassuringly squeezed my foot as he left after we had our pre-op talk. My first thought? “I have to tell my mom!”.

This is the email my mom sent to my last night after hearing about the clear PEM scan. (It still won’t make total sense so I’ll explain it later in the post.)

Hi Liz,
I was so relieved that I forgot to wish you well on the lumpectomy.
Hope all goes well. We love you so much.
All week I kept hoping that Dr. Clark would squeeze my foot
and tell me you’d be OK. I guess he did.
Okay, so here’s the explanation:
I was a preterm baby born with respiratory distress. My body was not yet producing sufficient surfactant, which allows lungs to inflate with air and keeps the air sacs in the lungs filled with air. Back then, physicians didn’t know how to treat it so the prognosis was more touch and go. JFK and Jacki Kennedy had lost a baby a couple of years previously from respiratory distress. (For years, all I knew about my rough start in life was that my lungs weren’t fully developed and that I had the thing that the Kennedy baby had.) To make a long story short, it wasn’t clear that I was going to survive. My mom’s OB/GYN, Dr. Clark was talking to her while she was in the hospital. I imagine that she was alone. She had 4 other children at the time so I am guessing my dad had them at home. Seeing that she was scared and tearing up, he squeezed her foot as he left the room. My mom has spoken of this event many times over the years so I know this little gesture meant a great deal her.
So when I told my mom about this she said, “You need to write about this in your blog!”
So hospital physicians out there, we like the foot squeeze. We give it two big toes up!

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I’ve been debating about writing this post for nearly nine months now. I don’t want to make anyone feel bad or guilty. But the truth is that although the vast majority of people have been wonderfully supportive to me in respect to my breast cancer, there are a couple of people in my life who have stunned me with the unexpected ways they’ve responded.

Rule #1 If a friend tells you that she has cancer, it is best to respond right away if only to say something along the lines of “I’m so sorry to hear that. You are in my thoughts/prayers.”

I know it doesn’t sound like much but it means a lot to be acknowledged. I know you can’t take my disease away.

Rule #2
If you neglected to respond right away, respond right now with a communication along the lines of “I’m so sorry you have cancer. I’m also sorry for my delay in talking to you about it. You are in my thoughts/prayers.” Making excuses at this point is risky. Some excuses are totally understandable like my friend who lives in another state and unbeknownst to me, was sick for a few months and had to temporarily close down her business. That is a very very good excuse and by the way, friend who knows who she is, I am so sorry that you were sick but it was so great to talk to you recently. I am so glad that you are so far on the road to recovery. Other excuses like, “I’m sorry, I was too busy” is not an excuse that makes me feel better. It makes me feel worse, to tell you the truth. Maybe you did mean to respond sooner but thought you should do something fancier than the statement from rule #1. And then time got away from you.

Or perhaps the idea of cancer freaks you out because it is a very serious disease, that can happen to anyone, and can kill people. I understand your fear but it is not a good excuse. We live in a world of uncertainty. None of us know exactly when we will die. A compassionate statement goes a long way, even if it is short. Being seriously ill has some extremely isolating moments and for many people, the isolation is chronic.

Rule #3
Please do not skip over the fact that I am dealing with a scary and serious illness and act as if nothing is wrong. I am still your friend and I offer you whatever friendship and support that I can. I know you have your own troubles. It helps me to know that there are things I can still offer my friends. But please don’t skip over my cancer and then ask me for help with something in your life.

Rule #4
If you think you messed up with a friend in need, please don’t spend your time guilting yourself out about it. Simply apologize and again, be careful with the excuses. I recently received apologies from some good friends. It meant a great deal to me. They didn’t make excuses even though in reality, they have some pretty good ones.

Rule #5
If you at a loss of what to do and your friend keeps a blog, you can help by reading the blog. I love for people to read my blog and press “like” from time to time. (Oops, you have to have a WordPress account to “like” a post. I had forgotten that when I originally wrote this.) Then I know they are thinking about me. A supportive comment is a cherry on top of the sundae. (No WordPress account is necessary for posting a comment.)

Rule #6
If you are at a loss of what to do, live close to your friend, and like to cook, bringing food is a lovely concrete nurturing act.

Rule #7
Convalescing gets really boring, especially for an extrovert such as myself. Visitors, emails, texts, and phone calls can be really nice. If the time is not good, I will tell you.

There are so many things that we can do for our “friends in need.” Even the tiniest acknowledgement helps. The time to do it is now.

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An explanation of benefits form arrived today from my insurance. It included the medical center’s fees for my medical oncology visit on 1/24. The total charges? $15,725, discounted to $8,628 via the contract with my insurance. This does not include the physician’s office charges. This is the medical center fee. I looked at the itemized list of services. The line, “Drugs—$14,365.00” caught my eye right away. The line above that read, “chemotherapy”.

Since I have not gotten chemotherapy, I assumed that someone else’s claim had been submitted with my name on it. Then I thought, “Wow, it could be the Lupron injection I get every three months.”

Being the Google Queen that I am, I searched “Lupron injection cost.” It looked like it costs several thousand dollars when used for other purposes. Even though the examples I saw were not for three month lupron to treat breast cancer, I thought the $15K was too high to be for the Lupron.

I called the medical center as well as my doctor’s office.

Lupron makes some extremely expensive hot flashes. I will be sure to put on a pair of fancier underwear on the day of my next injection.

I can imagine scenarios where it would truly cost that much money but wow, that’s a lot. What do people who don’t have insurance do? I already know what they do. They get substandard treatment and that’s just sad.

My daughter just told me that she’s been asked to sing a solo with her high school jazz band! I’m so proud! I sure hope I can make it to the concert. It’s about 1 1/2 weeks after my surgery. I’ll find a way, even if I need to be in a wheelchair!

Lindbergh High School Reunion '82, '83, '84, '85

Join us this summer for our reunion in Renton, WA!

George Lakoff

George Lakoff has retired as Distinguished Professor of Cognitive Science and Linguistics at the University of California at Berkeley. His newest book "The Neural Mind" is now available.

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