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.