Good news and a lot of boob talk
I have been spending an unusually MASSIVE amount of time in bed these days, propped up on the wedge pillow my mom got for me, with my computer and endless cups of herbal tea. The majority of my time has been spent medicated, sleeping and watching Jane the Virgin, which I strangely love and hate at the same time (but clearly love enough to watch backtobacktoback episodes).
My feelings come and go, but I was really emotional the other day. I had an important doctor's appointment earlier this week - to find out my final pathology from my surgery. It would determine the stage of my cancer, if it had spread to my lymph nodes (and, therefore, possibly elsewhere), and would be the driving force behind my treatment plan, which will be discussed with my oncologist next week.
My doctor also examined me to make sure that my skin and nipples had "survived." In this type of nipple sparing mastectomy, there is a small chance that without my tissue underneath and with the blood supply cut, my skin, and specifically my nipples, wouldn't live and they would then have to be surgically removed. I was obviously really, really anxious, but felt a base level of comfort knowing that I hadn't had anything unusual happen at home and really didn't think my boobs were dyin' on me, literally. But, I'm no doctor and how would I really know?
Luckily, I got phenomenal news. Probably the best news I could get.
It turns out my skin and nipples are alive and kickin' and my pathology came back great. My cancer is stage 1, they removed multiple sentinel lymph nodes to test (which is why I had that dye injected the morning of my surgery where the tech was having a Hansel and Gretel laugh fest as she moved me in to the "oven hahahahaha") and determine if there were any cancer cells present - which there weren't. So the belief is that my cancer was fully contained to the breast tissue they removed in my surgery. Because of this, I will not have to do radiation, which is really, really, really lucky.
I am probably looking at 5-10 years of hormone therapy and probably chemo, but I would possibly be done with chemo right around the time of Evie's 3rd birthday, if chemo is recommended, and I might be able to do the implant swap surgery to get my boobs in action sometime between October and the end of the year.
I then saw my other surgeon yesterday, the plastic surgeon. He removed my drains and gave me the go-ahead on physical therapy in about a week and a half and to replace my meds (oxycodone, muscle relaxant, anti-nausea, etc.) with Ibuprofen, which is a serious dream. There are people who loooove to be a bit buzzed up on pills and I'm REALLY not one of them. I can drink Sauvy B and champagne with the best of them, but pills are a hard no go for me. He also gave me the go-ahead on proper showers and deodorant (THE WORLD SHOULD THANK HIM, I HAVE BEEN A SERIOUS BEAST) and to come back in about 2 weeks to add some volume to my expanders (WHAT'S UP BOOBS).
I told you all at the beginning of this that I would be honest about this process and some of it might verge on TMI, but it's up to you to stop reading ;)
This was earlier in the week, waiting for the doctor. I'm bruised, I'm in pain and the ridges around my (new, interim) boobs are the drains snaking from both sides, all the way across my chest and around my boobs. They were noticeable from the outside and noticeable from the inside. They were weird feeling and uncomfortable. And, they are gone. Peace.
Overall, these appointments have essentially been extremely positive bookends on the week and I'm really fortunate. While having breast cancer is still BEYOND me and just such a twisted fucking slap in the face after the last 9 years of trying to heal from both my dad and sister's terrible struggles with cancer and their subsequent and traumatic deaths, I am lucky. It's the one thing I can't shake. There is no reason for me to be having the luckiest of times with this diagnosis. To have amazing surgeons literally saving my life, to have a medical team who moved quickly enough for me to be so far in to this process when I'm only 6 weeks out from my diagnosis. For me to even be functioning right now.
So many people are impacted by cancer, so many women, men, families devastated by breast cancer... And I somehow get a diagnosis that might allow me a full life. A long life. It's emotionally overwhelming to think too long about why my dad and my sister had to die from cancer and why I might live for a long time after it. Up until 6 weeks ago, a cancer diagnosis was a death sentence in my family. When I was first diagnosed, I thought a lot about the next year because it was all I thought I would be lucky enough to have and I thought a lot about life after my death and how that might look for my family. And now, to think about women who are diagnosed at stage 3 or 4, instead of me being diagnosed at stage 1. Or women diagnosed at stage 1, but in different parts of the state, country or world and don't have access to the care that I have - why?
It's beyond devastating and heartbreaking.
Just as with my dad's diagnosis - no one knew why he had stage 4 brain cancer at 52 years old. No one knew why my sister wound up with stage 4 colon cancer at 32 years old. And no one now knows why I, at 35, was diagnosed with stage 1(!!!!) breast cancer. After genetic testing proved negative on all genes and no links were found, it's a horrible mystery that we can't solve now, or yet.
So, for now, I'm going to be happy and I'm going to feel lucky and I'm going to be grateful.
I'm in pain 100% of the time and I'm limited in my abilities and drastically limited in daily energy, but I'm going to take a shower without holding painful drains attached to my body in one hand and without my whole body bent forward so that I don't raise my arm above my shoulders as I "wash" my hair with one hand. I'm going to drink black and green tea, because I can have limited caffeine again. I'm going to prepare for my husband's birthday tomorrow. I'm going to get outside for a little bit, not just sit in the backseat of the car as I'm driven to a doctor's appointment. I'm going to spend some time with my family.
And, for the first time in 6 weeks, I'm going to live the day, not just get through it.
xo.
My feelings come and go, but I was really emotional the other day. I had an important doctor's appointment earlier this week - to find out my final pathology from my surgery. It would determine the stage of my cancer, if it had spread to my lymph nodes (and, therefore, possibly elsewhere), and would be the driving force behind my treatment plan, which will be discussed with my oncologist next week.
My doctor also examined me to make sure that my skin and nipples had "survived." In this type of nipple sparing mastectomy, there is a small chance that without my tissue underneath and with the blood supply cut, my skin, and specifically my nipples, wouldn't live and they would then have to be surgically removed. I was obviously really, really anxious, but felt a base level of comfort knowing that I hadn't had anything unusual happen at home and really didn't think my boobs were dyin' on me, literally. But, I'm no doctor and how would I really know?
Luckily, I got phenomenal news. Probably the best news I could get.
It turns out my skin and nipples are alive and kickin' and my pathology came back great. My cancer is stage 1, they removed multiple sentinel lymph nodes to test (which is why I had that dye injected the morning of my surgery where the tech was having a Hansel and Gretel laugh fest as she moved me in to the "oven hahahahaha") and determine if there were any cancer cells present - which there weren't. So the belief is that my cancer was fully contained to the breast tissue they removed in my surgery. Because of this, I will not have to do radiation, which is really, really, really lucky.
I am probably looking at 5-10 years of hormone therapy and probably chemo, but I would possibly be done with chemo right around the time of Evie's 3rd birthday, if chemo is recommended, and I might be able to do the implant swap surgery to get my boobs in action sometime between October and the end of the year.
I then saw my other surgeon yesterday, the plastic surgeon. He removed my drains and gave me the go-ahead on physical therapy in about a week and a half and to replace my meds (oxycodone, muscle relaxant, anti-nausea, etc.) with Ibuprofen, which is a serious dream. There are people who loooove to be a bit buzzed up on pills and I'm REALLY not one of them. I can drink Sauvy B and champagne with the best of them, but pills are a hard no go for me. He also gave me the go-ahead on proper showers and deodorant (THE WORLD SHOULD THANK HIM, I HAVE BEEN A SERIOUS BEAST) and to come back in about 2 weeks to add some volume to my expanders (WHAT'S UP BOOBS).
I told you all at the beginning of this that I would be honest about this process and some of it might verge on TMI, but it's up to you to stop reading ;)
This was earlier in the week, waiting for the doctor. I'm bruised, I'm in pain and the ridges around my (new, interim) boobs are the drains snaking from both sides, all the way across my chest and around my boobs. They were noticeable from the outside and noticeable from the inside. They were weird feeling and uncomfortable. And, they are gone. Peace.
Overall, these appointments have essentially been extremely positive bookends on the week and I'm really fortunate. While having breast cancer is still BEYOND me and just such a twisted fucking slap in the face after the last 9 years of trying to heal from both my dad and sister's terrible struggles with cancer and their subsequent and traumatic deaths, I am lucky. It's the one thing I can't shake. There is no reason for me to be having the luckiest of times with this diagnosis. To have amazing surgeons literally saving my life, to have a medical team who moved quickly enough for me to be so far in to this process when I'm only 6 weeks out from my diagnosis. For me to even be functioning right now.
So many people are impacted by cancer, so many women, men, families devastated by breast cancer... And I somehow get a diagnosis that might allow me a full life. A long life. It's emotionally overwhelming to think too long about why my dad and my sister had to die from cancer and why I might live for a long time after it. Up until 6 weeks ago, a cancer diagnosis was a death sentence in my family. When I was first diagnosed, I thought a lot about the next year because it was all I thought I would be lucky enough to have and I thought a lot about life after my death and how that might look for my family. And now, to think about women who are diagnosed at stage 3 or 4, instead of me being diagnosed at stage 1. Or women diagnosed at stage 1, but in different parts of the state, country or world and don't have access to the care that I have - why?
It's beyond devastating and heartbreaking.
Just as with my dad's diagnosis - no one knew why he had stage 4 brain cancer at 52 years old. No one knew why my sister wound up with stage 4 colon cancer at 32 years old. And no one now knows why I, at 35, was diagnosed with stage 1(!!!!) breast cancer. After genetic testing proved negative on all genes and no links were found, it's a horrible mystery that we can't solve now, or yet.
So, for now, I'm going to be happy and I'm going to feel lucky and I'm going to be grateful.
I'm in pain 100% of the time and I'm limited in my abilities and drastically limited in daily energy, but I'm going to take a shower without holding painful drains attached to my body in one hand and without my whole body bent forward so that I don't raise my arm above my shoulders as I "wash" my hair with one hand. I'm going to drink black and green tea, because I can have limited caffeine again. I'm going to prepare for my husband's birthday tomorrow. I'm going to get outside for a little bit, not just sit in the backseat of the car as I'm driven to a doctor's appointment. I'm going to spend some time with my family.
And, for the first time in 6 weeks, I'm going to live the day, not just get through it.
xo.
Massively grateful for the good news!
ReplyDeleteSo beautiful! You're such a rock! Love you!
ReplyDelete