Protected: Undersung Hero
Today’s bit of silliness is steeped in Americana. Today, my blog received it’s 1776th hit. I hereby declare my independence from breast cancer! Shots have already been fired and the big guns will come out next week. No longer will you colonize my body!
After all that happened this week, I am exhausted. I think it’s time to take another nap.
Yay! Some really good news! The results of oncotesting came back today. My cancer was rated as “low” for chance of recurrence. That is good news in and of itself but it also means that it is EXTREMELY unlikely that I will need to have chemotherapy. We’ll know for sure after surgery when the pathology report is back. But Dr. Rinn said that even if they found “a little more” invasive cancer in my breast that she would stick with her plan to do non-chemo treatments.
Hooray!
You remember who was in the chorus of the Gene Wilder musical classic? Yes, the Oompa Loompas. And what color were the Oompa Loompas? Yes, they were orange. And what color were my roots after using an unfortunate shade of Clairol Natural Instincts? Yes, they were a very deep shade of overripe cantalope. “Natural” Instincts, my ass!
I’ve never messed up a hair color before but I haven’t done it myself for several years and apparently, Clairol Natural Instincts uses a totally different formula as they did when I last used their products. And they are on a melon kick! Not to be seen in public (other than going to Target to get a fix for this), I used a non-permanent, normal looking reddish brown dye today. Ah, much better. Most of the melon is gone.
The Oompa Loompas would say that my parents are to blame for this mishap (“…the mother and the fa-ather”). However, the same thing happened to my mom and she warned me about it. When did I remember this? After I rinsed the color out of my hair! So, I’ve decided to blame Roald Dahl.
It will be so nice to be able to go back to the salon. It will happen.
P.S. The color was just like this except MORE orange. No lie.
The Oompa Loompas after disobeying their lax parents in the Clairol Factory and falling into a vat of Natural Instincts “Dark Auburn.”
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?
I am scurrying to get things done before surgery next Weds. Unlike the last surgeries, I am taking at least 4 weeks off for this one. This is a major surgery, not to mention the fact that I will be getting another surgery a couple of weeks or so afterwards. So I am preparing for a big change.
Since I had already reserved two weeks in August for vacation, I didn’t have to reschedule that many people. My friend, Jennie has also already started covering for me, while I am wrapping up my last patient meetings and last three reports. Three reports is a lot for a week. I usually just write two a week. I have a back up plan in case I can’t get one of them finished in time. It’s always good to have a plan B.
Poor John is going to have to do everything for a bit. I’ve been trying to do all the chores I can that involve lifting since I will not be able to use my right arm much for awhile. I have also been prepping food for the freezer. Today I made a lamb stew in the crock pot. I also made a meat loaf, which I split into two small aluminum loaf pans. I know that meat loaf is not exciting but it freezes well and can be tasty. This recipe looked particularly good and included chopped bacon, carrots, onions, spices, etc. It also included ground prunes. I didn’t have any but this intrigued me. I’ll have to try it again some time. Finally, I’ve frozen three nights worth of wild sockeye fillets. My mom has made a couple of freezer dinners for us.
Finally, I got my toenails painted and bought a root touch up coloring kit. I’m having to cancel my next hair appointment and I know it sounds silly, but I have a feeling that not having a white skunk stripe at the part of my hair might may an ever so slight but noticeable positive effect on me.
No, I wasn’t following Charlie Sheen or Ashton Kutcher’s Twitterfeed. This morning I woke the lovely voices of many types of birds. I didn’t recognize most of them but I was able to pick out the almost metallic “flt, flt, flt” of a hummingbird.
A nice way to start the day.
Protected: Much needed dose of normalcy
These are the three words I started saying to myself about seven years ago. At the time, I had started Weight Watchers and found this trio helpful in motivating myself, dealing with set-backs, and staying the course. I ended up losing 43 pounds, then gaining 10, then gaining 10, then losing 20… I have also used them to deal with other life challenges. To me it conveys a learning process–knowing when to stop and wait, when to keep trying, all the while working toward a peaceful place of balance.
I think a lot about balance. My balance right now is tenuous. The three P’s are being put back into place in a major way. Dr. Beatty called last night to give me a brief overview of the final pathology report. He had given me preliminary results on Monday, which were confirmed. The tissue removed in my last surgery contains stage 0 cancer and one area of invasive cancer. The areas are not contiguous, which suggests that I have multiple cancers in my breast. Dr. Beatty prepared me for this on Monday and I made an appointment for a plastic surgeon for next week for an initial consultation. Dr. Beatty is recommending a mastectomy and I am scheduled to have it on August 8th. I don’t know the full pathology report and I have many questions to ask him. Although I’m not happy about the news, one bit of relief is that their finding another invasive tumor makes it easier for me to decide to proceed with surgery. As you may recall, the results of the 1st pathology were somewhat inconclusive. The pathologists described a 2.5 cm area of breast tissue as, “atypical ductal hyperplasia bordering on ductal carcinoma in situ.” ADH is not cancer but DCIS is cancer, albeit a non-invasive cancer. Basically, they weren’t sure but came down on the side of treating the area as DCIS.
As a diagnostician myself, I understand this. Sometimes my diagnoses are not slam dunks and there may be some discrepancy or lack of clarity. Sometimes I recommend further evaluation, or monitoring and later reassessment, the latter because time can often provide additional diagnostic clarity. But other times, I am unwilling to risk a child not having access to a potentially highly effective treatment. In those cases, I use my clinical judgment. The risks are greater for these pathologists so I imagine that they often take a “better safe than sorry stance.” I was fine going with “ADH bordering on DCIS” for a second lumpectomy but was unsettled with the prospect of a repeat this time and giving up my entire breast based on those kinds of results. But this second pathology report is clearer and I feel that my decision-making is more soundly grounded in “what is” rather than “what if”.
My next big results are the oncotype testing results. I really hope they come back as low risk for recurrence so I don’t need to have chemotherapy. The prospect of losing some of my very best physical features is discouraging not to mention just feeling dead dog sick. I remember how much I enjoyed the nausea, vomiting, and crushing fatigue of pregnancy. I enjoyed it so much that I’ve formed an informal network of friends who like me, love children, especially our own but did not enjoy pregnancy at all. I won’t name any names because it can be stigmatizing to admit that pregnancy wasn’t the powerful earth mother experience that others talk about. I did have a good childbirth experience, although I did ask for medication early and often, which is also a controversial thing to do. Although I have seen some women friends proudly post on Facebook things like, “little Johnny was born weighing 7 pounds following an unmedicated birth”, I haven’t seen anything like, “little Zoey was born weighing 8 pounds after blasted out with a cascade of petocin followed by my OB using a plastic stick to manually break the ambiotic sac, followed by the administration of some opiate that did nothing for pain, followed by a botched administration of an epidural (if the anesthesiologist misses the epidural space, the drugs don’t work), followed in an hour by an effective epidural, which left me in such relief that as I saw the I.V. bag empty down to just what was left in the tube leading to my arm, prompted me to ask twice, “Are you sure there’s enough in there?” and to reassure hospital staff that I would be good for the money if my insurance wouldn’t cover another bag of magical drugs.
Okay, triple P’s. I’m hoping, waiting, and breathing.
My Eyes Are Up Here 