August 2012 at Topsail Island. Probably the last picture of me where I was blissfully unaware of the cancer growing in my left breast.
One year ago, on Friday, October 5, I heard the words that would certainly change my life. “Invasive breast cancer… Triple negative…” You hear about mothers who receive inexplicable strength to lift cars off of their children– something takes over and it’s as if they lose the ability to panic. They do what needs to be done, and that’s it. One year ago this weekend, I became that mother. I’m not talking about the physical strength, or even the mom protecting her kiddos, I’m talking about the shutting down of emotion, the getting it done.
I re-read the post where I talked about that call, and honestly teared up when I got to the part where I spoke to my oncologist. She told me it would be a rough year, and then it would be over. I didn’t doubt her, but I don’t know that I totally believed her. I just nodded and made my plans for the next step. Just get it done. And now, this weekend (specifically tomorrow) marks one year since learning I had cancer. Want to know what I’m doing today? Buying a new bra. I’m healthy and out of compression gear. I’m going shopping for the next (much longer) season in my life. I guess my oncologist was right after all. It’s been a year, and now it’s over.
Have you forgotten what I looked like this time last year? With long hair? I nearly have. Crystal took this top image just two days before Dragan shaved my head. I loved my hair long. So beautiful.
This picture is one Sally took last week. I guess my hair really does look darker, now that I see these two images next to each other. I was thinking it was closer to the same color as before. Ah well. Either way.
Still people ask, will I grow my hair back out? Still, I answer with uncertainty. I like it short, and I do get lots of compliments. But the compliments have changed. With long hair, those loose waves, usually people told me that I had beautiful hair. And that’s an awesome compliment. Who wouldn’t want to be beautiful? With it short, the compliments are different. “You really rock that short hair.” People tell me that I look fierce, powerful, strong. And those are great compliments, too.
I think of my family, my husband who fell in love with a girl with a ponytail, my daughter whose long hair is as much a part of her identity as mine used to be, and my sweet boy who is so empathetic that he is attached to my long hair because his sister is. I imagine they’d love for things to be the way they used to be. And the idea of having that long, flowing hair is certainly attractive to me some days. But I’ve come to realize that even though we shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, most of us do. Hearing you’re beautiful? Always good. But today, I like the idea that when someone I don’t know sees me, words like strong, powerful, or fierce come to mind. I may change my mind tomorrow, but today, I’d rather be strong than beautiful.
I was talking on the phone to my mom one morning last week and when she asked my plans for the day, I told her I was meeting a friend for coffee. She remarked that I sure do meet people for coffee an awful lot. (Sally brought along her camera when we had coffee with Maria Jose last week, there are more pictures here.)
I was talking to someone else today and they commented that something like cancer puts things in perspective, makes you realize the important things. It occurred to me, coffee has become one of those important things. I wasn’t always a coffee drinker, it’s only been the last two or three years that I’ve enjoyed my morning coffee. Even now, I do enjoy my coffee, but I’m more of a social drinker. And that’s what is really important to me.
Before last year, I still had a preschooler, and time to myself was limited, precious, and usually filled with a busy to-do list. So with Turner in kindergarten last year, in theory, I did have more time for coffee. Sally and I joke that cancer made me popular, though. I had coffee with a few brand new friends and with some old friends who I would have likely met up with regardless. I also got to know better some friends who reached out to me during my treatment. That time was so special to me, it was fun to spend time with friends old and new, and it was a brilliant distraction. An hour or two (plus the time to get myself ready and back home) pretty much filled my morning but still left me with the afternoon to nap. Much more fun chatting with a friend than dwelling on cancer and my own mortality.
If I’ve learned one thing from last year, it’s that I have been blessed with countless wonderful friends. I don’t even have the words to express what they all mean to me. I do love the coffee, but it’s not so much the coffee that’s important, it’s the friend behind the second cup that really matters. And while the cancer and those blissfully long naps are behind me, I’m not willing to give up my coffee dates.
Because every post needs a photo, not because this has anything to do with the post…
Three weeks since surgery. Which means one more week. One more week until I can enjoy a really good stretch. One more week of the sports bra. One more week of the compression bike shorts. (Can’t bear to call it a girdle. Even though the website does. Whatever.) The bruising is gone, almost all of the glue sealing the incisions is gone, and there’s very little discomfort– only a little tenderness in one spot if I really apply pressure. I’ll have an appointment just after that week is up and hope to get an all clear at that point. Physically, I feel pretty normal. I just can’t wait until I can feel normal emotionally, too.
While I’ve been quite the fan of the “unmentionables counter” at Nordstrom for ages, I’ve been making a more concentrated effort to shop local lately. I’d often seen Bloomers, but was impressed enough to stop in after reading their philosophy– they describe themselves as the “antithesis of the intimidating lingerie shop” and strive to make sure every woman looks her best in any outfit and has comfortable loungewear that looks lovely and feminine, but is young son-appropriate. But when I saw the announcement for their upcoming Bra Drive event, I was thrilled! They collect gently used bras to donate to Bra Recyclers who give them to women in need worldwide. I happen to have a bag of bras that won’t work for me anymore, but I didn’t quite know what to do with them. I even wonder if I was still hanging on to them out of some misplaced emotional attachment. Either way, when I’m finally free of this sports bra (incidentally just a week or so before the bra drive!) I’m going to need something different. I happened to be in Shirlington today and stopped in that Bloomers shop and the woman there was so kind and helpful. She showed me a couple of different options that I can try when I’m allowed out of the sports bra and I literally can’t wait! They carry the braGG, designed for reconstructed breasts by two sisters who underwent prophylactic mastectomies because they carry a BRCA mutation. It’s not the prettiest bra I’ve ever seen, but it’s good to know that the option is available, and I’m sure I’ll at least try one on. Personally, I’m hoping that perhaps one of the Eberjey bras she showed me will work– they’re pretty and unlike most underwire free bras (which I hear may be more comfortable after all these surgeries) they actually look like bras. At any rate, I’m looking forward to getting rid of some baggage and ditching those old bras at Bloomers on October 12. But more than that, I’m looking forward to finding something new to wear as I start a new, healthy chapter in my life.
My brother had a little stool like this one, complete with the adorable little rhyme. When Emma Clare was little, I didn’t have a stool in the kitchen for her, so she frequently turned her toy microwave on its end to stand on. My friend, Natalie, was over one day and noticed it, remarking, “That stool looks just like a little microwave.” Um. Yes, it is a toy microwave. Not the most study of all stools… A week or two later, she showed up at my house with a lovely wooden stool hand made by her father. I was skeptical, but she said that because of the way it was made, it was impossible to tip over. But I give her (and her dad!) credit, with two of the most monkey-like kiddos, in the past probably seven or eight years, it never has turned over!
It is stained the same color as the furniture in our living room and tucks nicely under some nesting tables at the end of the couch, so it’s gone back and forth from the kitchen to the living room for years. But lately, it’s been living permanently in the kitchen.
After hearing one of those “It’s never happened to one of my patients, knock on wood…” horror stories from my plastic surgeon, I’m being super careful about not reaching my elbows above my shoulders. The problem is, reaching doesn’t hurt at all, which makes it hard to remember to be good. Having that little stool to pull around the kitchen with my foot makes it so much easier to have some independence in the kitchen without breaking any rules. I always thought that stool was a thoughtful gift. But now that it gives me some much needed independence, I really love it. Thanks, Natalie!
Today’s a big day. My last day in the compression bra. I’ve been thinking a lot about my compression bra ordeal lately– the ones they sent home from the hospital were so bad, I’m going to talk to my surgeon about some better options. Not that I’ll ever have to wear one again (and I am SO glad!), but there has to be a better option. And even the one from Nordstrom that I’ve been washing each night after dinner so that I can wear it again the next morning has some issues. To really be truly compressive enough, it can’t have any shape, and this one has just a little bit of shape built in, so the only reason it works for me is that it’s a size or two smaller than I currently measure.
Regardless, I’ll be moving to something more like the picture above in a few hours. I was going in search of my favorite sports bra, and am devastated that it is no longer on the Champion website. (It’s a good thing I started hoarding them a couple of years ago!) It’s a high support sports bra, which is good for my current needs. But they key is that it’s more of an old-school sports bra– completely flat. No fancy ruching, no molded cups, no underwire. To get good post-surgery compression (and the OK from my surgeon), it has to be completely flat. It’s hard to be sure online, but this one looks like a good alternative to my favorite (now discontinued) sports bra. But probably the best thing about moving to this stage of recovery? Only two more weeks until I can go back to wearing whatever I want!
After completing all my treatment and the pathology from my surgery came back “all clear,” a friend told me that I should ask about seeing Maureen, a nurse in our practice, for my survivorship appointment. My friend loved the binder she gave her with all her cancer details. Diagnostic reports, treatment drugs and dosages, pathology reports, all in one neat, tidy place. I feel like this is such a valuable resource as so many women are living so much longer after their breast cancer diagnosis. At some point, I’m sure I’ll stop calling the oncologist for every little thing, afraid that it has to do with the cancer (not that I’ve made any of these calls, but most of my friends have at least once). And at that point, I’ll need that binder o’ details for my primary doc. Anyway, everything wrapped up for me in mid March. I asked my doctor about the survivorship appointment, and after a couple of weeks, she apologized for making me wait, that there was some transition in the survivorship program or something like that. She put me in touch with the scheduling office and we got something scheduled before school let out. To make a long story short, the appointment has been cancelled and rescheduled several times since then, and I finally had it set up for this week. (And I should also say that this is the only time I’ve had anything not-glowing to say about my oncology practice. They’re great.)
Last week, I got a call from the scheduling office, and knew what she was going to say. They needed to reschedule my survivorship appointment.
Me (in a sincerely nice tone): Hi, Brittany. (yes, she is a grown up named Brittany) I’m really trying to be kind. But I’ve been trying to schedule this appointment since April. And it keeps getting rescheduled. And it’s usually about four or five business days before the appointment. I understand that I’m not sick, and I don’t want to take away Maureen’s time from someone who is sick and needs to be seen. But it really seems like maybe her schedule isn’t full and so it’s just cleared and she doesn’t come in. And every time I have to reschedule, it’s usually another six weeks before she has another opening. Can you help me understand what’s going on here? My friend said this is a great appointment, and I’d really just like to get it taken care of. Can you help me with this, Brittany?
Brittany: Maureen is actually out of the country. We expected her back but she’s adopting two children and there are problems with the paperwork so she can’t get back into the country right now.
Me: ummm….
My appointment is now scheduled for October. I’m going to go back to eating my humble pie, thank you very much.
After I’ve been sick, I always know I’m better when I feel like taking a shower. And while I’m feeling marginally better when I hop into the shower, I always feel much better when I get out. There is something so wonderful about that first shower.
After surgery, it’s much the same. I’m not saying I’ve never skipped a day (or two, even!), but few things make me want a shower so desperately as someone telling me I can’t have one. Needless to say, last Sunday, I was counting down the minutes until I got to the 48 hours post-surgery mark so that I could get into the shower. But the first shower after surgery isn’t quite as wonderful as the one after a sinus infection.
First of all, with my crazy independent streak, even after my mastectomy, I did the whole shower by myself, drains and all. But I had to have Clay on call, standing by should I need help or have any problems. It was slow going, but I managed. The really tough part of the first shower is that it’s also the first look. It’s the first time that you get to see the scars, the bruises… After my mastectomy, all that was kind of tough. I didn’t really know what to expect, but I have to say that I found the drains more upsetting that the scars that time around. This time, he used the same incision site, so no new scars, but where I had no bruising at all the last time, this time I looked pretty beat up. We’re talking yellow, green, purple. Clay said he could even see finger prints. Thankfully, that’s all fading pretty nicely in just a week, and my plastic surgeon suggested that I take Arnica (a natural product with virtually no side effects) to help the bruising heal even more quickly. I expected to see some pretty significant bruising on my thighs from the liposuction there, but there are only two teeny little spots of bruising there to go along with all the marker circles he drew. The marker that he uses pre-surgery is pretty tough stuff and he didn’t scrub it off my legs, so I’m still waiting for that to fade (even alcohol won’t scrub it off).
This go-round, I was a lot better in the shower. I was still a little taken aback, though. I struggled with how to explain this surgery to the kids– they knew that the first surgery took out all of the cancer. I just explained that it was the last step to make sure I was all “back to normal.” Whatever that is. Finishing up after that first shower, getting assistance back into my compression garb (my pecs were still too sore to pull the hooks closed), I struggled with whether I looked normal. I’d kind of forgotten what normal looked like. And of course, I couldn’t expect to look completely normal– crazy bruising and swelling aren’t normal. This was the last step in the process, though, and if I wasn’t happy, I’d have a long time to be not happy about it. I worried if I’d made the right decision. And of course, I had. I just needed a little time to work it out. Somehow I just wasn’t expecting it when I got ready to head into that first shower.
I feel like this is the shirt I need lately. (Note to creative-type readers, this is not the tee that I want, I don’t really see myself wearing it, so no need to get all crafty and gift me one!)
When I got my port put in, they put it high on my chest just under my clavicle on my right side. For the first week, it was very painful. The constant pain eventually subsided, but it was always a bit of a sensitive area. I was relieved that the port would come out during my mastectomy, but then I went home with the tissue expanders. I had them just shy of six months, and for the entire time, my right side bothered me. It wasn’t unbearable, but the constant tightness was always tighter on the right, and the spasms that started to really drive me crazy at the end were always on the right side. After last week’s surgery, despite the fact that I was far more bruised on the left, there’s almost no pain or discomfort there. Any residual muscle and back pains (very minor) and most of the weird, tingly irritation is still on the right side! As I was telling Sally this, I mentioned the irony: the cancer was on the left. That explained it, she told me. I chopped off a perfectly healthy breast and now it’s getting even.
Run Lipstick Chemo 