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.

Our lives are made in these small hours. These little wonders, these twists and turns of fate. Time falls away but these small hours, these small hours still remain. - Rob Thomas "Little Wonders"

This is my first post that I'm starting without a topic. I don't know where this one will take me, but I suppose that it's much like anything in life; sometimes, you just jump in with both feet and enjoy the ride and hope to learn a lesson or two along the way.

My surgery was just over a week ago. Perhaps I should recount the events of the surgery and my progress to date.

I arrived at the hospital on Thursday, May 29 at 5:30 am, with a 7:30 surgery start. I was happily surprised with a visit from my friend Theresa (at 6:30AM on her day off!!), who just happens to be a surgical nurse at the hospital. She spoke highly of my surgeon and my anesthesiologist so I knew I was in good hands. (Just in case you're wondering Theresa, that was just beyond cool. I was so humbled that you came by to see me, the morning of my surgery. Thank you for being there and thank you for being my friend. xo) At 7:25, I was rolled into the operating room. I looked around for less than a minute and remember exactly nothing after that. Around 11:30, I woke up in recovery.

One of the first things I learned when moving post-surgery, is how often one uses the pectoral muscles. My first self-directive was to use my abdominal muscles as much as possible. Sitting up, lifting the arms, stretching, breathing....all heavily involve the pectorals. I've never appreciated them so much. They're currently working very hard to hold in place my expanders. 

The expanders were put in during the surgery, right after all of my breast tissue was removed. They are like small balloons, inserted beneath my pectoral muscles, that are filled with saline to create a pocket for my implants. Starting in a couple of weeks, I'll go to a local clinic to have them filled with more saline and little by little they'll make a bigger and bigger pocket. Right now, they're each filled with 250 ccs and feel like small boulders on my chest. I don't feel any pain with regards to cut skin. It feels more like muscle pain. My years of running have conditioned me to be somewhat impervious to muscle pain. I stopped taking the prescribed pain pills 3 days after my surgery and have only been taking ibuprofen.

The second lesson I learned is that nurses are a gift from God. When my children were born, I had a room full of strangers....doctors, nurses, medical students....so there is no shame left in my world. My secrets have all been exposed to the peering eyes of those I had never met. This was true again after my surgery. No one becomes more humbled than at the precise moment they need someone to help them use a toilet....and pull up or down one's underwear. 

The third lesson, one that I will be working on over the coming months, is patience. I don't have patience for myself. I have more patience for others, which I discovered when I had my children as well as when I cared for the children of others. I want to do what I want to do, but I've found that I'm undone by even the simplest of tasks these days. A shower is major undertaking. Making a meal exhausts me. My recliner is my best friend and my worst enemy. An active individual such as myself has no patience for laziness and this recovery process is akin to laziness.....a necessary laziness.

Lesson number four caught me off guard this weekend: Find the joy in a normal day. I wasn't expecting to be so content with a "normal" weekend; shopping, a movie in the theater with my family, a conversation with friends. Never underestimate the comfort that lies within predictability and commonality. I kept to my normal routine this weekend and it was wonderful. 

Life is an on-going series of lessons. I know there will be more for me to learn as I progress through this crazy cancer maze and I'm grateful for each and every one.

Every new beginning is some other beginning’s end.

Just a few more hours and it begins….or it ends. I think I prefer to see it as the end. The end of my cancer. The end of my worries about it spreading. The end of my life with my original equipment.

It’s time for new beginnings. I’m looking for yet another positive twist. I think this is that twist. New breasts. Perky breasts that won’t give me cancer. Yup, that’s my new outlook.

How do I get to these new breasts, you ask? I’ve had to describe this process dozens of times already, so here goes….

The surgeon is going to make a lateral incision across the center of my breast and remove my nipples and areolas. Then, remove the interior breast tissue and preserve as much of the exterior skin as possible. I’m not completely certain what the next steps are, but the plastic surgeon will be stepping in around this time to insert the expanders (The expanders are like balloons. They are inserted to make space for the implants), under my pectoral muscles.  I’ll be stitched up and sent home to recover and heal. I will be in the hospital only one night, for pain management.

After a few weeks of healing, I’ll starting going on a weekly basis to a local plastic surgery clinic for “inflation”. This process is accomplished by injecting saline into the expanders. I believe there is a port through which the saline is injected. Once the necessary space is made for me to have the implants inserted (I’m planning on the same size I am now, a generous “D”), I’ll have a 90 minute outpatient procedure to have them inserted. Silicone boobies. I never thought that would be in my future.

Then there is the issue of creating new nipples. I think I’ll have to describe this later, when I have more information on the actual process. It sounds really weird and I want to make sure I understand it fully. I’ll also be getting more tattoos, this time in the form of areolas. Yup, they’re tattooed on….crazy, no?

I was blessed with a “rack” and now, it’s trying to kill me. Time to trade it in for a new set that will play nicer with the rest of the team.

On a bit of a side-note, I need to make a HUGE SHOUT OUT to all of my friends, family and complete strangers who have been sending me messages, emails, posting on my Facebook page, calling me, giving me hugs and just giving me more support than I ever thought possible. Don’t get cancer, if you can help it. But if you do get cancer, or any other awful disease, have friends like I do, because I can’t have my strength without the encouragement of these wonderful people. I’m beyond blessed in this life. If this cancer is the worst thing that ever happens to me, I’ve lived a very lucky and amazing life.

I can do anything, I just can’t do everything.

Yesterday was probably my last long run though my neighborhood for the rest of 2014. I’m struggling to let that sink in. Summer is my time to run. I NEED to get out and fill my lungs and legs with the oh-so-short season that is SUMMER in Wisconsin. I’m afraid that this year, I’m going to miss summer altogether. I have my last races of the season this coming weekend. Yes, races. Two of them. 10K on Saturday night, May 24 and half marathon Sunday morning, May 25. 19.3 miles in roughly 13 hours. I like these kind of challenges; challenges where all I have to do is talk myself into not giving up. Where all that I’m concerned about is getting to that next mile marker. Just one mile at a time….mind over mileage…..

I’m not sure what to expect with this cancer challenge.

Recently, my life has been all about the next goal…the next challenge. I’m 43 and I can’t sit around thinking that someday I’ll do this or that. Someday has to be now. My cancer is in the middle of my someday. How can I plan when things like cancer so rudely interrupt my living??

I’ve kept a pretty brave face so far, but let’s face it, I am afraid.

I’m afraid of all the things that I can’t do….that I won’t be able to do. Don’t tell me no, because then I’ll most certainly find a way to make it happen. The doctor will have a list of things that I cannot do. I don’t want to focus on those things, but I will have to. I’m going to be limited by something other than just my willpower.

This will be a problem for me. I know that I’m going to need help. I don’t regularly ask for help, I offer it. I have used the analogy of my house completely engulfed in flames, and I’m putting out the fire with Dixie cups of water. “No thanks, I’m in control, I have got this problem handled.” Well, clearly I don’t. I will have to overcome the challenge of needing assistance. I hope to do that in a graceful manner and accept the help that those around me will offer. I hope to not be bitter or angry. I hope to be gracious. Maybe that’s my new challenge: to accept the offers to help me during this time.

So back to my running…my main stress outlet will be on the shelf for a few months. I will need a new challenge; a new means of channeling my mental need to run and exercise. I gave this some thought yesterday. By the time my surgery arrives, I will have run just over 200 miles this year. (That’s actually rather low. I should be closer to 350 miles. I guess I’ve been busy.) My goal for the remainder of the year is to walk 250 miles. No racing. No pacing. No stopwatch to monitor my speed. Just the distance. 

Life is a marathon, not a sprint. I plan on enjoying as many miles as I can.

When something bad happens, you have three choices. You can either let it define you, let it destroy you, or you can let it strengthen you.

I feel as though I should be more upset about this whole thing; crying more, sad, melancholy, general malaise…..but I’m not. I’m not even all that angry. I’m just displaced and REALLY inconvenienced. This has been a huge inconvenience for me. I’ve had to miss work for appointments and imposing upon others to do my work for me. Work I should be doing. I’m responsible and I shouldn’t be expecting others to do my work. Damn you, cancer…you’re in my way.

I see this as a major problem. I’m just not upset enough.

I should be asking, “Why me?” but I’m not. I’m just saying, “Ok, let’s do this.”

What the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I be as upset as those around me seem to be? I have a heart….at least I think I do. I see more sadness in the eyes and words of my friends and family than I do in myself. My wonderful friends and family…..I’m beyond blessed. Maybe that’s why I’m not more upset. I know I have a ridiculously huge support group. I suppose I could have kept all of this news private and only within the very immediate circle of friends and family, but why? I don’t need to keep it to myself to prove my strength and I certainly don’t see sharing my situation as a burden put upon others. I don’t ask for sympathy and I really don’t need the casserole brigade stopping by every day, I just ask for understanding. Sometimes, my head is preoccupied with this. I’m trying to stay focused on my immediate concerns, but sometimes I struggle with this. Please understand.

Cancer doesn’t define me. I am still me, I have just hit a bump in the road. To many, I’m considered a “Cancer Survivor”. Truthfully, I’m not particularly interested in that moniker.  It also doesn’t destroy me. I’m going to make my comeback shortly after this shit is taken out of me.  I suppose all that’s left is to have it make me stronger. 

I’ve said that strength and drive come from within and NO ONE can give you that motivation. It has no meaning if you’re doing it (whatever “it” is), for someone else. So, I find my inner strength, and find additional support in those around me.

I guess the point of all of this is that I’m not sad because I know I have my family and friends there for me at every turn, especially those who have already been given a cancer diagnosis. Sadly, I have many friends and family who are in the Cancer Club. Who better to lean on, than those who know what it feels like; to be told those awful words, “You have cancer.”

The journey of a million miles begins with a single step...

I have taken a bunch of steps already, and now, it’s time to journal them. I have breast cancer. It’s really a tough thing to say out loud. I’ve written it about a million times already since my mammogram on March 13. It wasn’t real until last week, when I got my surgery date. It existed in a theoretical world, where I’m actually sick; this weird parallel universe where my cancer is something that scares me.

I’m not sick. At least, I don’t feel sick. But according to the biopsy, I am sick and this will kill me if I don’t do something about it.

So I’m going radical and having both breasts removed.

I suppose I should start at the beginning….my beginning is December 18, 1980. I was 9 years old and it was exactly one week before Christmas. I was in 4^th grade. That morning, I had a music concert. I don’t remember if my dad was there or not. I suppose my mom was because she attended everything. I remember what I was wearing….a cream colored sweater and teal skirt. I even remember my afterschool snack of Townhouse Crackers and Merkt’s cheese spread. I remember all of this, because it was the day my grandmother died of breast cancer.

Ever since that day, I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’m built like my dad’s side of the family, so I guess I always just thought it was probable….again, in a theoretical sense. It wasn’t ever going to ACTUALLY happen, right???

I also remember that day in June, 2006 when my mom told me her news….”I have breast cancer.” My heart sunk, but for some reason, I wasn’t scared. I remember saying “What happens now?” The fact that I said that still shocks me to this day. You see, I’m a worrier. I am among the best in the business. I would freak out at everything that didn’t go exactly according to plan. I’ve gotten better, but I still like things as planned out as much as possible. Why didn’t I jump to the conclusion that she was going to die from this? I don’t know. Perhaps some higher power jumped in at that moment to calm me. If so, I’m grateful for it. I was able to listen to her and evaluate the situation with a clear head.

I know, me with a clear head? That’s just crazy talk….

So, back to my beginning….part two. Routine mammogram on March 13, 2014. Of course I was running late. Emma forgot her clarinet, had to run home and I arrived at the appointment 7 minutes late. They told me they could accommodate me, until I pointed out that I had some sort of lump on the outside of my right breast. I was sure it was just a pimple, but I wanted to make sure. This was the first time the attitude changed.

“Oh, well then this is no longer a regular checkup,” she tells me. “Now we need to clear this with your doctor. We may need to reschedule.”

Crap. Really? I’m sure it’s just a pimple but go ahead, call the doc….ok, you can still see me today? Excellent. They put on some sort of metal marker sticker thing on my boob where the pimple (yes, it’s a pimple for heaven’s sake) to mark it while taking the mammogram. Squish, flatten, contort, etc and the picture is done. Then, she takes 6 more. This is not normal. I know something is up, and I can see the monitor. I know what I’m looking at. It looks like sand in little lines in my breast. The doctor comes in to tell me that I need a biopsy.

Shit. I have cancer. Ok, here we go…..

Biopsy on March 18. This is quite possibly the oddest thing I’ve ever done. I’ve done some odd things, but this is a new level of odd. I lay down on a table with a hole in it. My breast hangs down through said hole. (Gravity, doing its thing, makes boobs, especially older, post-baby boobs, look kinda ugly. Move along….nothing to see here….) The doctor numbs the area. When I feel nothing, he takes a cheese borer and takes a few plugs out of my breast. The cool thing here is that I get to see the samples. I know, gross, but cool too.

Go home and wait 48+ hours until the doctor calls with the results. Right, I’ll just wait and be all calm and shit. Whatever. I already know. I do my homework and prepare myself for what I know is coming.

I am not a patient person. Well, sorta, but not really. When I want information, I have no patience. I called the doctor myself, unable to wait for him. He confirms what I already knew. Stage Zero (I had no idea this existed until this moment), estrogen sensitive (this is a GOOD thing), non-invasive (also a good thing), DCIS (ductal carcinoma in situ – my 2 semesters of Latin helped me here) breast CANCER. And there it was. The official diagnosis. At that moment, I officially had cancer. 

Me, a 43 year-old runner, who doesn’t really even get colds, has cancer.