"Never underestimate your ability to make someone else's life better, even if you never know it." - Greg Louganis

“I have a recurrence of my cancer.”

No, this is thankfully not something I’ve said, but rather an acquaintance (and probably soon to be considered a closer friend) said to me. She came up to me at a recent event and had told me these words. She and I don’t know one another very well, but we have discussed our cancer journeys. I’m not going to go into detail about her story, because it’s not my story to tell. But it’s a fear everyone who has ever been diagnosed hopes to never say out loud.

She and I talked a bit and I know she was holding back tears. Of course she was. She’s scared. AGAIN. That fear is the reason I went radical and it’s the reason she is also having a double mastectomy this time around. Her recurrence has again been found early, so that’s good news.

As she was telling me her plans, it all came back as if no time has passed for me. But the cool thing is that time HAS passed for me. It'll be two years on May 29 since I had my surgery and can, at least to the best of my and my oncologist’s knowledge, say that I’m cancer-free. My chemo was an insurance policy, so as far as I am concerned, I’m cancer-free.

I’m so grateful for the decision I made, but it’s not perfect for everyone. Some can get away with a lumpectomy, some just a single mastectomy. I’m grateful that we have so many options. In my case, I’m thankful that I had the courage to do what I did. It wasn’t an easy decision and every single day, I’m reminded of what I went through and how difficult it was to finally settle on the decision to have both breasts removed. I just couldn’t live with that daily fear of it coming back. I miss my breasts. I’m not going to lie…I really miss them. And I think about that every single day, but no longer every single moment. And in the future, I hope to not think about it every day, but rather only occasionally. Time will help.

I know I made the right decision, but I know it wasn’t just an inner strength that helped me with my decision, but rather fear; fear played a huge part in my decision. Fear can cripple or motivate. Fears are with us daily. Last week, I had to combat another fear....running alone, outside. I know, I’ve done it for YEARS. I’ve even looked forward to running alone, outside, but ever since my cancer, I feel different about it. Actually, it really started in January 2006 with my first anxiety attack. My husband was having his second surgery on his ankle that was broken in a car accident, our neighbor had stage 4 pancreatic cancer and I was only 5 months into my home daycare where I cared for two boys under 9 months old. I was overwhelmed. I remember the first one…I was SURE I was going to die. These attacks continued for a couple of months until I finally went to the doctor for an answer. I was put on the anti-anxiety drug Paxil. I took it for four days and decided that it wasn’t for me. I felt drunkish and unsafe when driving. I turned to a natural remedy – running. The endorphins I got from that worked like a charm. So, my return to running was a godsend. When I got my cancer, I stopped running for four months. To get back to it was tremendously difficult. My body was different than it was before. I’d gained weight, my muscles had lost their strength and I was mentally beaten up. I had grand plans of being where I was, pre-cancer, by early 2015. It was a constant struggle. Running outside proved to be even more work than on the treadmill. I began to fear my body shutting down mid-run. I was so scared of it, that I hardly ran outside all last year. I was sure I’d die. Crazy, right? It has taken way more energy than I can express, for me to get outside and run. (Never mind the injuries I’ve had the last few months…ugh.)

So last weekend, I went outside and I ran. I ran 6 miles and I even tackled the hill on Century Avenue in Middleton that I’ve not run up since 2014. I reached the top and let out a shout. Thank you to my high school cross country coach Mr. Kittel for that piece of advice. I do it at the top of every hill I run up. It clears my lungs and my head…it’s a celebration. I’ve beaten that which seemed so tough when I started.

So back to my friend. Today, she is having a double mastectomy and she is lucky enough to have the same surgeon I had. She has fear, but she’s a fighter, too. She’s going to get to the top of that hill, and she’ll let out her shout, too. And I’ll be there cheering her on. And, whenever she needs me, I’ll be there for her. I’ll be there because I have to and because I want to. I want to thank her for thinking of me when she needed a sympathetic ear, and when she needed someone who understands. I’m honored and flattered that she came to me.

To my friends, please send positive vibes, or prayers, or whatever encouraging thoughts you can to her. No one should have to battle this beast twice and I’m certainly not going to let her battle it alone.

“We either make ourselves miserable, or we make ourselves strong. The amount of work is the same.” ― Carlos Castaneda

I just finished my first outside run in 46 weeks. I ran 5 miles and it was brutal. I finished in roughly 2 minutes slower than my normal pace. I should be impressed, but I’m not. I feel defeated.

I actually started writing this blog post in my head during the first two miles. I deviated from my usual route when I hit two miles to keep myself closer to home, should I need to stop before I reached my 5 mile goal. I felt like crap. So much of my running originates in my head. Today, my body overrode that confidence. My joints were affected by my chemo and continue to ache, although I’ve been told that it will continue improve over the next few months (and it has, since it was at its worst in October). I felt as though I had weights on my ankles. Every step was too much effort. I hate running when I feel like this. Crap.

I’ve been running since last November, usually 5 miles or less, on the “dreadmill”. Anyone who is a regular runner knows that treadmill running and outdoor running (or track running), are completely different animals. Today, I was reminded of how very different they are.

At mile two a song came on my iPod that should have inspired me. Ya know, one of those songs that reminds you that you’re invincible and you can do anything…well, it failed me. I was tired and cursed every single step. I almost gave up. I considered walking home and calling it a day, but I didn’t. I hate when I give up on myself, so I just kept on going.

I’m not going to lie, I think that a marathon this year may be unattainable. I’m just not convinced that I can even accomplish the 20K I’m considering for the first weekend in May. I hate this lack of self confidence. I’m also carrying an additional 10 pounds over where I was this time last year. (I was up 16 pounds from my normal weight and have managed to shed 6 since last August. I suppose that’s something.) I don’t mean to sound like I’m complaining, but this is my reality today.

I should probably back up a little here and mention why it has taken me so long to get back outside for a run. I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’m scared. I’m scared that something might happen while I’m away from my home. I’m scared that I’ll pass out; have an anxiety attack; that at any moment my cancer will show up and completely shut down the machine that is me. I’m scared of what might happen, even now that I’ve made it past the surgery and chemo and seem to be fine in the eyes of those around me. My doctor tells me that everything looks great. I have to trust her that the odds are that I’m going to be free of cancer for the rest of my life, but in my head, there is that continuing possibility. What if the chemo didn’t get it all (if it was ever anywhere but in my breast in the first place)? I don’t want to live in fear.

With as much confidence and positivity as I tend to project, the reality is that I’m not always happy and positive. Sometimes, I’m reminded of what I went through and how maybe I didn’t really process it all as I should have. Maybe I just ignored that which scared me.

So, back to today’s run. It sucked, but I did it. I have a 10K (6.2 miles) for the American Cancer Society next Saturday morning. It’ll probably suck too, but not as much as today did. Is it possible that I was expecting too much of myself today? Ya, probably, but that’s ok. A bigger failure would have been to have not even stepped outside at all.

Perhaps today was a reminder that instead of worrying about what might happen, go out and just do it. If something does go wrong, be prepared. If it goes according to plan, then you’ve conquered today’s fear. Just gotta remember what I went through and dig deep for that little push…one…more…mile….

What Fresh Hell Is This?

I suppose since I’m just sitting here, resting and recovering again, I should take the time to update my blog. It’s been a few months since I last wrote and quite a bit has happened. Here we go….

Oh, and before I get into what happened over the next few weeks, I must mention the puppy we adopted on August 9. Yes, I’m just smart enough to decide that a puppy would make all of this better.  <dripping with sarcasm> Yup, that’s what I thought. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a GREAT dog, but puppies demand a LOT of attention and have endless energy….especially when that puppy is a chocolate lab / Australian Shepherd mix named Penny. She’s came from a friend of my husband’s and even though I was in the midst of this cancer crap, the puppy was available and sometimes you just do things even if the timing isn’t ideal. Jack had been gone over 8 months at that time and not having a dog in the house just didn’t feel right. I’m so glad we got her, even though she can be a handful.

My last blog entry was shortly after my second chemo treatment and at that time, I had come to expect what my days would be like following my treatment. What I expected after this one is not what happened. Not even a little. On August 7, I had my third chemo treatment and it went just as normally as the others. I was treated to the company of my dear friend, Tom during my treatment. (Thank you TAH for making time for me that day. I’m a lucky girl.) By the following Tuesday (August 12), I noticed an odd rash developing near the site of my needle. I visited a nurse Wednesday afternoon and she told me it might be an infection. She told me to go home and put a warm compress on it and if it didn’t look better the next morning, to come back in. I returned the next morning (August 13) because overnight, I had developed a HUGE red, itchy, welty rash across my entire back and up my neck to the base of my head.

My oncologist knew immediately that I was having an allergic reaction to one of the 2 chemo drugs. It wasn’t an uncommon reaction and she sent me home with a steroid prescription and Benadryl. I was still miserable all day Friday (August 15), and by that evening I had been feeling way too warm. I took my temperature – 102.5. I called the clinic and they ordered me to the emergency room.

I got to the hospital and they were already expecting me. I was rolled into an exam room, had my temperature taken (now down to 99.7) and blood drawn.  I was actually feeling the best I had in a couple days, but unbeknownst to me, I was really sick. I was neutropenic. I had an abnormally low count of white blood cells, which is what happens approximately 8-10 days after chemo (known as nadir), but mine dropped to very dangerous levels. Normal levels are 4000-10,000. Mine was 250. Everyone in the room donned masks and I was admitted into a room with a HEPA filter. So here I am, in the hospital with a raging and very itchy rash covering at least 1/3 of my body, with no white cell army to defend me against any other infections. I was pumped full of steroids, Benadryl, and meds for acid reflux. I was also given shots in the belly (YUCK!) on Saturday and Sunday morning to boost my white blood cells. The rash, although it was the least of my problems, was still driving me crazy and had advanced to my hips and thighs by Saturday evening. Sunday morning, my back had finally started to heal and was less itchy, but now my face was swollen, so much so that my glasses were pinched onto my face. Even in the embarrassing ugly state, I agreed to have some visitors. I’ll forever be grateful to my friends Alison and Lindsey (and her daughter Charlotte) for coming to visit me. Truth be told, I was feeling so low that morning, that I almost called them and told them not to come. I had a conversation about this with the phlebotomist that came to draw my blood that morning. She had battled cancer years earlier and knew the fear and discomfort that came with a changing appearance. She reminded me though, that it would probably lift my spirits to have family and friends who truly love me, come to visit. She was insistent that I not cancel. She was right. I’m so glad I listened to her.

I was finally discharged on Monday, August 18 when my numbers had reached 6000. The rash had mostly subsided by that time, but I was still itchy on and off for weeks after.

My regular oncologist was on vacation while all of this was going on, so I didn’t get to see her until a week after all this madness ended. We needed to discuss what I was going to do about my final chemo treatment. I had an appointment with her on Tuesday, August 26. She walked into the room and I burst into tears. I couldn’t go through all of that again. Thank goodness she was able to suggest a different medicine that is equally effective. On August 28, I had my fourth and final chemo treatment. My doctor had me come back to the clinic the next day to receive the white blood cell boosting shot again. My goal at the end of this ordeal was to be able to attend Alumni Band Day at the University of Wisconsin on September 6. There was a time that it was up in the air. I got conflicting info from different doctors and nurses. My oncologist made it happen. She gave me the shot and told me to just wash my hands often and be smart about keeping myself clean. No worries, I was going to do whatever I needed to do to be able to attend Alumni Band Day. I had a great day and was able to see some of my favorite people, many of whom live outside of Wisconsin.

A bit of a fast forward here….my hair began to grow back at the end of September. I lost most of my eyelashes, which quickly grew back. The rest of September was uneventful in my cancer story. The kids started back to school, I went back to work and our puppy continued to grow, give love and challenge us. Ya know, a normal life. All good things.

Skipping ahead to mid-October, I noticed a red spot on the underside of my left breast (NOT the cancer breast). It was Sunday, October 19 and we were only a few days away from the first family vacation in 2 years. I had decided to call the on-call doctor once I got home from church. As luck would have it, the plastic surgeon on-call that day was my daughter’s friend’s father. (I hope you followed that!) I asked him about it in the church parking lot and he decided that after church, he’d come to my house to check it out. Around noon that day, I’m in the kitchen with a family friend who is feeling up my breasts. It is really funny when thought of in that way. He said it was probably nothing, but put me on precautionary antibiotics and told me to meet with my plastic surgeon the next day.

I went to my plastic surgeon’s office on Monday and he and his physician’s assistant said they’d seen this before and really had very little explanation for it. The skin was thin and perhaps the expander had shifted. I was put on another antibiotic, just in case there was an infection in there. I had another appointment scheduled in the coming weeks for pre-op (to receive my implants), so they would look at it again at that time.

We took our family vacation to Orlando and came home to the spot remaining unchanged.

I saw the doctor again on November 6 and was given more antibiotics and told to come back on Monday, November 10 for another check of the spot. At that meeting, my doctor told me there was a distinct chance that I would have to take a step back with my reconstruction. Surgery was scheduled for Thursday November 13 and he would just take a look when I was on the table. He’d either replace the expander on the left side, or if things looked good, he’d insert the implants. I had no idea what I was going to have until I woke up.

Shortly after surgery ended and I was in recovery, the doctor came out to talk to my husband, John. He told John that my body was actually rejecting the expanders. They needed to come out. From what I understand, this isn’t likely to happen with the gel implants.

Today, I’m recovering at home with my implants. They’re smaller than we had originally planned (B-C cup size) rather than the D. There is some healing to be done, but if I want to trade up to the larger size, I can do that. Also, I have virtually no pain. The muscle on my right side is a little tender, but not enough for me to even need Tylenol. Nevermind that I was sent home with an oxy prescription. Geez….I must have a really high tolerance for pain.

So, that’s my story to date. I still have some residual effects from the chemo, including joint pain, which should subside over time. My hair is less than an inch long, but it’s certainly growing. I don’t plan on getting any hair cut for at least a year. I have had to shave my legs and arm pits again. Too bad I couldn’t just put in a request for only hair growth on my head. I kinda got used to not shaving the other parts over the last few months. 

Some people think having large breasts makes a woman stupid. Actually, it's quite the opposite: A woman having large breasts makes men stupid. – Rita Rudner

Part of my journey through this whole breast cancer crap has involved me reading about the experiences of other woman who have been through this as well. Today I read a blog post from a woman who documented her transition from mastectomy to expanders to implants. She said all the same things that I’m going through. It’s good to know I’m not alone.

The woman who wrote the blog post included her pre-mastectomy, post-mastectomy with expanders and post-implant surgery pictures (NO, I’m not sharing pictures of me, so you might as well just get that idea out of your head. No, don’t ask for pictures either. It ain’t happening.) Her pictures document her body before mastectomy, with fully inflated expanders and then post implants. I gotta say, if I wasn’t already anxious to get my implants, I am now. Back to a normal state again. Her new breasts look gorgeous. Seriously, just like young, perky, normal breasts only without nipples. As my husband says, “A face without a nose.” Yup, that’s pretty much what they look like.

As I’ve said before, during the surgery to remove my breast tissue, expanders were inserted and inflated with 250 ccs of saline. I came out of surgery as a small B cup. The expanders are making a pocket for my implants. I know I’ve discussed how the process works; they’re rigid balloons that were placed under my pectoral muscle and periodically get inflated with 50-100 ccs of saline to stretch the muscle and skin. They are uncomfortable, they have edges and they’re ugly. My muscles hurt and I struggle to find a comfortable sleeping position….Every. Single. Night. It’s rough. My breathing is compromised because these things are just not very forgiving. They push back on my lungs and forward on my everything else. I have little to no feeling in the center 75% of my breast, as the nerve endings are still regenerating, to whatever extent they will eventually come back. I bump into things and don’t know I’ve hit them. They don’t jiggle. They don’t move AT ALL. What I’m currently hauling around on my chest is bigger than my normal size and it’s not helping my feelings of being overweight. The expanders are made bigger than my implants so they create a pocket. When I was inflated last week, I nearly cried on my drive home. They just seem too big and completely obnoxious. For the purpose of clarity, I’m currently filled with 500 ccs of saline. This amount is equivalent to just over 2 cups of liquid in each breast. The current plan is to go to 550 ccs in the expanders and insert 450 cc implants. I’m concerned that this may be bigger than I want. I may just put my foot down and say I’m done expanding, and go with something a little smaller. I still need to discuss this with my plastic surgeon.

I’m trying to not complain, but this is just my day to day experience.

My surgery to get the implants is scheduled for November 13. I have to wait at least a month after my last chemo treatment (the soonest I’d be eligible for surgery would be the very end of September) and then we’re headed on vacation shortly thereafter. I don’t want to deal with any possible complications that might compromise this vacation, so I’ve decided to wait until after the trip. Mid-November was the soonest this could be done. New boobies just in time for the holidays!!

My next decision to make is whether or not to have nipples created. They’d be non-functional, I wouldn’t really feel anything and they’d be eternally erect. They’d be small, but will finish out the “normalcy” transition. I can also decide to just have 3-dimensial tattooing done where the nipple and surrounding aerola are just tattooed and look like a nipple. It would be flat with a 3D appearance. This idea simply amazes me. I’ve seen it online in my research, and the tattoo artists that can do this are just so talented. The advantage here is that I won’t look cold all the time when I’m wearing a thin or no bra. Perhaps this is the route to take.

Maybe I’ll just skip all of this and have criss-crossed, band-aids tattooed on instead of nipples….or buttons….or something else (SKULLS!!)? All the options in the world are available to me. So many decisions to make.

My breasts have always been an integral part to who I am, but I didn’t even hesitate to have them both removed when I was diagnosed. And it’s not that I really had much of a choice. It was either just remove the right one that contained the cancer, or get them both removed and replaced with a matching set and greatly decrease the possibility of ever being told again that I have breast cancer. It seemed to be an easy decision at the time. I didn’t know how much I’d miss them. I’m not going to say it’s no big deal, because it really is. I miss my original equipment. And even though they had certainly been affected by time and gravity, they were mine.

I would give just about anything to get back to the time before I was diagnosed with cancer. 

Baseball is ninety percent mental and the other half is physical. – Yogi Berra

Two down, two to go. I may be halfway through the treatments as of last Thursday, but hardly halfway through the rest of the garbage that comes with the chemo treatment. The physical effects are only part of the story. The mental challenges are equally daunting.

Physically speaking, my second chemotherapy session was similar to the first. I fully expected it to be the same, so I can’t explain why I was disappointed when it didn't deviate. I felt fine Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Sunday I woke up feeling a little more tired, but no big deal.

And then it all hit me early Sunday afternoon; overwhelming exhaustion and a flu-like feeling. I NEEDED to sleep. I took a one hour nap (Napping for me is a rarity. I’m either sick or just ran a half marathon. And even after a half, I don’t always nap.) I woke still tired and feeling off. By dinnertime I couldn't stand for more than a couple of minutes before feeling woozy and needing to lie down. I decided to take my temperature just because…..sure enough, 100.5. Crap. Another stupid fever, just like last time. If it didn't go down, I needed to go on antibiotics. I called my doctor, who just happened to be on-call again this weekend. She gently reminded me that this happened last time and that perhaps it’s just my unique body’s reaction. Remain calm and monitor the temperature. Call again if it escalates.

I felt utterly defeated because of the fever. I wasn't going to let this happen again….right, because I have control over this…..silly girl…..still, I was disappointed. This is just another reminder that I’m not in charge. I am only a passenger on this bus. Suck it up and deal with it. Put on your big-girl panties and just deal with it. Ultimately, the temperature went down within a few hours and by bedtime, it was nearly normal. Whew!

By Monday, I was much better and the fever was gone. But now I was dealing with the emotional side of the chemo. I was grappling with the feelings that came after looking in the mirror and seeing a stranger; an old, mostly bald stranger. (For the record, I still have some hair hanging on. Sadly, it’s only the gray hair and for whatever reason, it’s actually growing. So, to recap, I have growing, sparse, gray hair on my head. Yup, I’m a bucket of gorgeous.) I changed my clothes multiple times before settling on a dress to wear to work and I still felt ugly. The steroids make me feel fat and the scarves make me feel old. Who is this person? Surely I’m not the one who is actually insecure about my appearance? Oh yes…it’s you, Kim. It’s all you…..my lack of activity, despite being given clearance for light running, certainly isn't helping. Truth be told, I’m afraid to start moving again. I haven’t run in nearly 2 months so I’m starting over again. I don’t want to exhaust myself too much, perchance it compromises my healing. Perhaps these are irrational thoughts, but they’re thoughts that are pervasive in my brain these days. I hate to admit that they are in my head; it only makes them real.

These feelings are not acceptable. What to do about it? Control and change what you can, find a positive in the day and let the rest go. Maybe I’ll treat myself to a snack that I wouldn't otherwise have, maybe give myself some private time with my glass or indulge in time game time with my kids. Maybe, just get my fat fanny moving again. Just find SOMETHING that makes me happy and reminds me that this too shall pass. Although I’m aware that I won’t always find the right thing to overcome these feelings, I continue do the best I can. Some days, the depression wins; some days, I do. Monday, the depression won. Today, it won’t. I may have lost Monday’s battle, but I won’t lose this war.

So today, I’m wearing pink. It’s bright and cheery and nothing like the gray and black I first put on this morning. Today, I only changed my clothes once.

A woman who cuts her hair is about to change her life. - Coco Chanel

I finally did it. I cut off all of my hair. It’s never been a matter of winning, it’s been a matter of how long I can last before I lose. It was the most traumatic day I’ve had since my surgery. Before I address the whole hair issue though, I suppose an update on the events of the last few weeks is in order.

It’s been nearly three weeks since my first chemo and the reality is that so far, it has been way easier than I had expected. I will have a total of four treatments, three weeks apart. My first one was on June 26, number two is this week, July 17 and if all goes as planned, the following will be on August 7 and 28. My nurse’s first attempt at inserting my IV resulted in my vein puffing up and giving me a sizable bruise. I had to point out to the nurse that my arm is covered in juicy veins and maybe she should select one that is already bulging. Needle-dependent drug addicts would love to have my veins. After the trauma of her first attempt, she finally inserted the IV into the pit of my elbow…is there any other way to explain it? We have an arm pit, why not an elbow pit? It’s where all of my blood draws have been so why not go to the easy vein? Before I began the chemo, she gave me some anti-nausea pills. I was told to drink 2 liters of liquid (water and Gatorade are best) each day for the next 3 because the chemo drugs they were giving me get hung up in the kidneys and bladder. They needed to be flushed regularly. No problem here…I’m a drinking machine. In the time I sat there, I drank 40 oz of Gatorade and 24 oz of water. I peed 4 times.

I sat there for nearly 3 hours with poison being pumped into my body. I expected to feel weird about it, but it felt like a saline IV. No big deal. I kept myself busy by watching Netflix. What a wonderful invention…and even more wonderful that it’s available on my phone. God bless technology.

I enjoyed the calm and quiet time I had to myself. My friend (and my husband’s cousin’s wife) Heather went through this same process over 2 years ago. She told me that she looked forward to chemo day. She’d have lunch with a girlfriend and then sit quietly and relax during treatment. She’s a smart lady and absolutely right. The opportunity for a mom to just sit for any length of time is a blessing….so in this, I’ve found something good: guilt-free time for me.

I went home and felt fine. I’m not exactly sure what I expected to feel….nausea? My hair spontaneously falling out? My insides being zapped? None of that happened. I felt normal. I went home and ate dinner. I ate a lot of dinner. I realized that night that I had a voracious appetite. I expected the opposite. Don’t all cancer patients lose their appetite and subsequently lose weight? Not this cancer patient. No….I have gained weight. Leave it to me to do the opposite of what’s expected, and I didn’t even do it on purpose this time. In case you’re wondering, the “Cancer Diet” is not a sure-thing. So far, it’s failed for me. I’m going to have to lose weight the old-fashioned way…..diet and exercise. Drat. I asked my doctor about this and she reminded me that I’m also taking steroids the day before, of and after my chemo, and  apparently, steroids have a tendency to increase the appetite. Lucky me….

Three days after my chemo treatment I felt a little “off”. I was really tired and probably slept over 10 hours that day. I was also running a low fever. At least, I thought it was low. By their standards, anything over 100.5 is cause for concern. I was at 100.4 and decided that was close enough for me to make a call. My oncologist just happened to be on-call that day and told me to watch my temp. If it kept increasing, I needed to go to the hospital. She also wanted me to come in the next day for a blood draw to check my white blood cell count. Fortunately for me, my temp began to drop shortly after that phone call (isn’t that always the way?) and I felt better. Perhaps my body just thought it was time to attack this foreign presence of the chemo? I don’t know, but I do hope it doesn’t happen again after my next treatment. If it does, I won’t be as panicked as I was the first time. It’s just my reaction and everyone reacts differently.

I went in for a blood draw the next morning and my results were completely normal. It was the first time in weeks that I actually had something that was “normal”.

I was really hoping to dodge the hair loss bullet, but sadly, no such luck. It began to fall out in noticeable numbers about 10 days after my first treatment. By day 14, I was losing fistfuls and because it was so long, I had a matted mess and essentially three huge dreadlocks in my hair. I couldn’t even get a comb through it after my shower. I threw it up into a clip on the top of my head and resigned to the fact that this would be my last day with long hair for a few years.

That evening, I had another reminder of how lucky I am. Two of my dearest friends in the world dropped everything, came over to my house and had me cut off their hair and then they cut mine. My husband and my friends Julio and Jim made me laugh and cry as we cut off the one thing that simultaneously gave me joy and heartache. It was the most liberating thing I’ve ever done. I was past that hurdle. The hair was gone and it’s all caught on video. Go big, or go home….might as well capture the entire event for all to see.

I am feeling better about the hair loss than I thought I would, but still, I feel as though I’m standing completely naked in the most public of places. This is WAY outside of my comfort zone. I have ALWAYS had long hair. It’s my cloak. It’s my protection. It’s my super power. And now, it’s gone. I’ve ordered a wig that resembles my real hair. I’ve been told that it’s good to have options. I’m sure there will be more than one occasion where I’ll be glad to have it.

In addition to the wig, I’m going to totally rock other head-covering options. I’ve found a bunch of different designs with skulls, camo designs and I even found one with flames on it. I’m also going to make a Badger themed one for UW Football games. I can’t show up without proper Badger gear! A Packer do-rag is also on the list. (Superstitions reign supreme during the football season. Gotta have the right attire or the team won’t play their best! It’s only weird if it doesn’t work, right?) I can wear these do-rags after this madness is done, when I go for a run. I’m doing my best to find the upside and a reason to smile about all of this. The hats, scarves and do-rags are just another accessory and I’m going to make the most of it.

And in case you’re wondering, the do-rag du jour is pink camo which my daughter bought for me, and it looks awesome.

The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.

It seems that things rarely go as planned, or at least, not exactly as planned. My plan was to have my breasts removed, reconstructed shortly after that and be blessed with perky new breasts and be cured of my cancer. I was to be done by the end of the summer….well, that’s not how it’s going to go.

I am going to have to go through chemotherapy. THAT was NOT part of my initial plan.

When I got my initial diagnosis, I was told I had stage zero, estrogen sensitive, non invasive, DCIS cancer. I did my homework, talked to the doctor, and thought the surgery was going to be the hardest part of this process. Chemotherapy was never part of my plan.

The breast tissue was all removed and analyzed for the exact cancer location and type. The unexpected result of the tissue analysis was the presence of a secondary cancer that wasn’t detected in the biopsy or in the MRI. The MRI showed an area of what was thought to be a fibrous benign growth. Once it was analyzed under the microscope, a 1 cm by 6 mm triple negative, invasive cancerous tumor was found. This kind of cancer is more aggressive and more likely to come back. The good news here is that my tumor was so small that I’m actually considered in the gray area that I don’t necessarily need chemo, but as a precautionary measure, it’s recommended that I go through a minimal course of treatment.

In addition to the breast tissue, I had 4 lymph nodes removed. These were checked to see if there was any progress of the cancer outside of the breast tissue. Three of the nodes came back completely clear. One came back indicating the presence of keratin (if I understand this correctly, it’s a protein that indicates cancer) in less than 200 cells, but in these numbers, is still considered a clean lymph node. Again, this is considered a VERY small number, keeping me in that gray area.

Today was the day that I first met with my oncologist to get the full chemo plan. I’ve known for a couple of weeks that I’d have to go through this and have been doing my best to process all of it. I have a tendency to jump to the worst case scenario, but the reality of all of this is that it’s really not going to be nearly as bad as I first thought.

I can hear you saying, “But Kim, you are going to put poison into your body. You don’t even like to take pain meds,” and you’re right. I don’t. I would much rather find a better way. The fact is, this is the best way to guarantee my survival. I am blessed with a strong and healthy body, besides this cancer crap, and it has helped me tremendously in my healing so far. I’ve surprised all of my doctors with how well I’m healing and my range of motion with my arms.

I have a grand total of four treatments, one treatment every three weeks so it’ll be all done in 12 weeks. Roughly 12 weeks from now is Labor Day. And roughly 13 weeks from now is the UW Marching Band Alumni Band day. I will be there. I won’t march, but I’ll be there. All. Damn. Day. This all figured into when my first day of treatment was to be scheduled. A girl’s gotta have priorities, right?

I’m going to lose my hair. And my eyebrows. And my eyelashes. BUT I won’t have to shave my legs for the next few weeks, so I’ve got that going for me, which is nice.

The quest has begun for the world’s coolest wig, hat and bandana….or are they called do (doo? dew?) rags? Either way, I’m looking for some sort of kick-ass head covering. I’m probably going to just shave it off before it starts falling out in clumps. Maybe I’ll look badass…maybe I’ll just look bad. My children have certainly done their best to help. My nearly 12 year-old daughter has graciously offered to let me borrow her green and orange St. Patrick’s Day wig and my 15 year-old son thinks I look smashing in a Darth Vader helmet. Thanks for your help, kids….

The upside is that all of this temporary. It’s just another hill to climb and another means of finding my strength. I’m going to still be here, years from now. I’ll have some interesting stories and memories and a unique view of the world…post cancer. And as my son says, a better view of my toes…at least for the time being.