only because it's been a few days...

having this blog is a little stressful.
what do i write when there's no new news?

yesterday was my first day without attendants since the surgery. eric went to work and my parents stayed up in vail - under my orders.

and i think i did pretty well. i got my own food. i let kitty out. i took care of the flower bouquets. i got the mail. and i even had a visitor. i do have to say, though...i think i pushed it a little too far. by the time 4:00 came around, i was exhausted. and my incisions kind of hurt. so. i learned my lesson. and today i will spend most of the day reading my book - water for elephants.

i'm still waiting for a call from the oncology department to set an appointment with an oncologist - the one who will recommend treatment for me. i'm still waiting for a call about the full pathology report - including what's lamely called a her2nu result. much like the estrogen receptor positive test...it'll help to determine what drugs will help me in the future.

and then thursday i have a post-op appointment with dr. haun. i'm not really sure what happens then but i guess she looks at all my incisions to see how i'm healing and feeling.

even more fun to look forward to, though, is having my friend riki come to visit from san diego this weekend. what i've definitely learned in this process is that even i don't have too many friends here in denver - holy crap - i have some really, really good ones outside of denver.

really good news

well, i'm back.
this whole typing with my left hand isn't that cool...but at least i'm sitting up now.

yesterday was a day full of good news.

i qualified to have the drain, that eric so lovingly described, taken out!! once it's draining less and less, it can go. which, thank god!! that was a really disgusting part of this whole lovely process. so my parents and i drove to kaiser, got that taken out.

then, ss we were all finishing dinner, dr. haun called with the pathology report from the surgery. some poor soul's job is to look through the parts of people that get taken off...to evaluate what was going on in there. yuck.

so. very good news:
1) the lymph node was officially negative for cancer. i'm still trying to get clear on all of this...but i believe that means that it's almost official that cancer did not travel to the rest of my body.

2) dr. haun was able to get very good margins around the cancer areas - 8mm. which means that it's very likely i will not need radiation.

3) the cancer is still registering that it's estrogen/progesterone receptor positive. which is a good thing. this means that the cancer was fueled by estrogen. which means if i take an estrogen blocker, it'll help starve any cancer that's left over.


all of this is very good news. i'm still feeling very cautious about getting too happy or relieved, though. i still have questions about my treatment. and until those are answered (when i meet with oncology), i'm going to be a little on edge. i'm still so worried i'll have to have chemotherapy.

and in terms of how i feel?
let's see...the nurse yesterday asked me if i could touch the top of my head with my right hand. nope.
i have all these stretches and exercises to do that hurt...and also really stretch me emotionally. like standing facing a corner, putting both of my forearms against the walls, the leaning towards the corner. someone has GOT to be kidding me with that one. no way can i do that.

i also just still have pain, twinges, stinging feelings around the incisions. and i'm still taking vicodin, which is helping a lot.

so...that's the update directly from the invalid herself.

now i have a follow up appointment with the surgeon next thursday.
sometime soon i have my first oncology appointment to talk about treatment options.

so...although we can all breathe a sigh of relief that the node is negative and all the other good things...there are still some potentially difficult things to come. i guess that's what i'm feeling now - SOME relief, but still holding back so much waiting for the treatment.

xo

Operation Complete!

Eric here -
Well, just 11 hours after getting to the hospital, we are back home. Meghan is doing very well, and the operation appears to have been really successful. As much as you can define "successful" as coming home short one breast and a lymph node. But the surgeon said it went well, and looks promising for reconstruction in the future. They will biopsy the full lymph node to check it for cancer, but preliminary biopsy was negative. Which is very positive.
Meantime, Meghan has to wear a device called a JP drain, which basically sucks the juices out of the wound in her armpit. It'll stay in for probably 4 or 5 days, and then it's back to the hospital to have it removed.
She's on Vicodin for the pain, and the nurses were adamant about making sure to take it every 3 hours so the pain doesn't ever get ahead of it. They said that with pain like this, if you wait until it hurts to take the pill, you can't catch up to the pain, and then you're screwed. So we're looking forward to nights of waking every 3 hours until further notice.
In any case, things are looking good at this point, and Jim and Judy are here with us and are taking great care of Meghan, Kitty and me.

schedule for tuesday

8:00am - Eric and I arrive at Kaiser to check-in

9:00am - Kaiser shoots me full of radioactive material

9:30am - Mom and Dad arrive at Kaiser

9:55am - Preparations for surgery begin

10:55am -Surgery (1 1/2-2 hours)

1:00pm - Recovery (2 hours)

5:00pm - By this time, if I am not feeling well enough to go home, I can decide to spend the night in the hospital. Yuck.

I imagine I will be totally out of it for a while.
So...I will have Eric crack through the tight security of blogger.com to give everyone an update on Tuesday night.

I love you all...ridiculously.
Thank you for your support, words, poems, cards, flowers, cookies, candies, coffees, and skirts. :)
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

as if I don't have enough to worry about...

Here I am supposed to be worried about having surgery, worried about losing a part of my body to the medical waste bin...Instead I'm worried that I won't have surgery.

When I had the biopsy last Tuesday, the technician put three strips of surgical tape to seal up the incision. She put them on SO tight that it hurt the area if I sat up straight, if I moved really. So I spoke to the surgeon about it. She told me I could take off the tape and instructed me to put neosporin on the blisters 2-3x a day. It's been 5 days now and I still have the blisters...and they aren't very nice looking.

Well, when a nurse called me this morning to confirm all of the appointments and the surgery tomorrow, she asked me if I had any new scratches or wounds around the area. She said if I did, it might be necessary to postpone surgery to avoid infection. I told her about the blisters. Then I also talked to another nurse who suggested we call the surgeon about them.

She called Dr. Haun and Dr. Haun said she could try her hardest to work around the blisters. Which I guess is a relief. But I'm still pissed the technician put the tape on so tight that it irritated my skin so much to give me bloody blisters?!! Grrrr...And to almost have to postpone the surgery for stupid blisters?!! Like I don't have enough going on in my head and body.

blizzard of 2007?

I feel like a crazy person.

I have a list of things that I feel I need to do, to get, to deal with before Tuesday's surgery. As I run through the checklist, it feels as if there's a 100% chance of the-worst-blizzard-to-ever-hit-the-state happening on the third Tuesday in July. Or maybe it's like Hurricane Gloria's about to hit and I desperately need to buy plywood to cover the windows.

1) grocery shopping - onions, orange juice, fruit, garbanzo beans, seltzer
2) library - check out the maximum amount of dvds and magazines to add to the Netflix movies already en route
3) walgreens - straws, drano, maybe some swedish fish and some peppermint patties for the freezer

I feel like I should be buying batteries, flashlights, water, canned goods, too. And tomorrow's my last chance to do everything.

*sigh*

One of my neighbors offered me valium. Another offered me xanax. Sitting here now...I can't imagine why I didn't storm their houses the second they offered...

this is making me sick

Before I was diagnosed with breast cancer, I wasn't acutely aware of how many people had had breast cancer themselves.

Now?

Someone has GOT to be kidding me - both with my own diagnosis and EVERYONE else's.

Since I've been diagnosed (17 days ago) I have accumulated so many stories of other women who've had breast cancer:
-the nurse who helped me as the victim of IV fainting
-the MRI technician
-another nurse's mom, grandmother, and aunt
-2 of my friends' moms
-my friend's sister
-numerous friends of my mom
-my neighbor's mom
-my coworker
-my coworker's 4 friends
-211,000 women in the U.S.and more than 1.1 million worldwide in 2005 alone
-etc., etc., etc...

I guess what's been happening to me over the last couple days is I'm somewhat beyond the shock of this. And now I'm just in disbelief at how many more cases I hear about. And then I think about all the time, energy, tears, and money that go into this. So far I've met with 5 doctors. I've had 3 biopsies. I've met with 4 technicians. I've talked with 4 nurses. I've met with all of them in the last 3 weeks. Think of all the money that's gone into this. And I haven't even HAD the surgery or the treatment yet!

I'm infuriated.
There's got to be more prevention.
And prevention doesn't just mean catching it in a mammogram.
Cause that's what happened to me...and this type of prevention sucks.

***
(And to make Susie proud...)
The Massachusetts Breast Cancer Coalition is doing a lot of research and advocacy.
Take a look if you're interested: http://mbcc.org/

(And go VC!)
http://erbc.vassar.edu/

some more good news

The results from Tuesday's biopsy were negative. Which is good news.

What that means is that the area from the node that they biopsied is negative for cancer. It still means another part of the node could be positive. It still means other nodes could be positive. But it's still "promising," says Dr. Haun.

So we'll just wait for Tuesday to have more official results.

and then the harder part of the day

I had to have a follow-up ultrasound because there was something barely suspicious in the mammogram.

I went in with the hopes they would not have to do another biopsy. This was going to be nothing. Someone was just being really cautious.

Sadly, I was thinking too positively.

The radiology doctor, who I saw the first time, thought he saw something a little odd in one of my lymph nodes - a little lobular. He said it was something like a 10% chance the node would be cancerous. He suggested that he biopsy it just to be able to give the surgeon as much information as possible prior to the surgery. I agreed. And he stuck me again. With a massive needle. And the horrible plastic-on-plastic clicking and pulling and grabbing in my armpit. Ow.

So...now I'm a little handicapped with my right arm, a little stiff, a little pain. And I wait for Thursday for the results of this one. And of course I forget what this will mean if it's positive. There's so much to keep track of.

At least Netflix is sending "Fletch Lives" in the mail today.

meeting with the plastic surgeon

There's nothing to make someone feel like an extremely small-chested woman than for a plastic surgeon to tell her he's never worked on someone so small before. The head of the department.

So...I walk in. He tells me all the different options - including ones that made me gag. Like cutting a stomach muscle and rearranging that plus the fat from the stomach up to the new boob. And some of the risks are that your stomach bulges out because it no longer has that muscle to keep it all together. Nice - your get a boob job and then you need a tummy tuck. Luckily though, the doctor said I didn't have enough fat on my stomach to do such a procedure. A compliment with benefits.

Anyway, after discussing all the possibilities...he tells me has to measure me. He measures, he sits down, looks at me, looks at his books, looks at me. And then he tells me..."you know, the smallest I can make your right breast will be bigger than your left breast already is. So unless you don't mind being lopsided, I'll have to augment your left to match." Thanks, doc. He said the surgery he would recommend for me would be using an expander - putting it in me and then every few weeks putting more fluid in the expander to stretch my own skin over the course of a few months. He said, though, he would have to use the smallest possible expander in me...he's never had to use that one before...275ccs. Is he treating me like I'm a prepubescent child?

So it looks like I might get bigger boobs out of this after all. Eric was saying yesterday, if there'd been a category in the high school yearbook for least likely to get implants, I probably would've won. Least likely to live in Colorado, check. Least likely to date a professional football player, check. Least likely to get implants, check.

Well, at least I've exceeded expectations.

"laughter is the best medicine"

Yeah well...I'm actually not laughing today...I'm trying to find out who's playing this joke on me.
That's the feeling today: that this is not really happening to me.
Why do I have all these breast cancer surgery dvds around the house? Why do I have all these breast books lying on the coffee table? Why am I trying harder than normal to drink a lot of water and eat a lot of protein? All in preparation for some fake surgery???

*sigh*

Tomorrow is the appointment with the plastic surgeon to talk about reconstruction options. Should be fun.

Then there's an appointment to get another ultrasound. When they looked at the MRI results there was something a little bit suspicious, but not really that suspicious. So as a precaution, they want to do another ultrasound and possible another biopsy. Nobody thinks there will be anything. But...still...

The thought of another biopsy is not fun. (Although I guess I'd rather 90 biopsies over chemo.) Thinking of the past biopsies makes me gag. They didn't hurt. But I always thought of biopsies as sticking a long TINY TINY needle into you and then pulling it very easily out - who knows where I got that idea. MY biopsy was all this serious tugging, pushing, tons of pressure, pulling. Ug. Such a disconcerting feeling.

Anyway...tomorrow we'll see what happens.

And thank you for all of your comments and thoughts and prayers and movie suggestions. (I put a bunch of the movies into our Netflix queue already.) It all sounds so cliche to be saying...but everything all of you have said helps so much. It's very easy to feel pretty alone in this, especially in Denver. But I feel this overwhelming force around me - built of all of you. xo

call for movie suggestions

So it seems I will have a lot of time on my hands with all of these surgeries and treatments.

Can we start a list of all of your favorite upbeat or relaxing or make-you-forget-your-situation type movies for me to start watching?

some good news

The nurse care manager just called to tell me my chest X-ray is negative.
That is a very good thing.

And Tuesday I have a consultation with a plastic surgeon who will reconstruct my boob. I just found out he's the head of the department, which also sounds like a very good thing. Maybe he's really good at making small-breasted women into large-breasted ones.

not really getting it.

Part of me is having a really hard time getting used to this. I still sort of feel like if only I drink a lot of water and eat a lot of green vegetables...

more sweet treats...

I think I'm going to end up like that 348 pound woman who wouldn't have fit into the MRI machine. Barb just left some homemade peanut butter chocolate chip cookies on our doorstep. Mmmmmmmmm....

and then...a little bit of peace...

When the radiologist called me on July 3rd with my diagnosis, I wrote down everything he said including a suggestion to call a very good friend of his who runs a non-profit for women dealing with breast cancer: The Andre Center. The Andre Center helps people through the maze of breast cancer through education, navigation, and support. I called and set up an appointment.

I met with Sandra this morning. She is a nurse who has worked in breast cancer for the last 8 years. Her main goal is to give people information so they can made informed decisions on their health. Her goal is to decrease anxiety. And holy shit...at the end of our 2 hour appointment, she asked me to rate my anxiety (on a scale of 1-10) before I came in and my anxiety after our appointment. I rated myself at least a 9 before the appointment. And when I took a second to think about it...I rated myself a 3 after the appointment. So much information given in such a helpful way.

The moral of the story is that it's not definite that I will have to have chemo. Of all of this, chemo sounds like the worst possible thing. I don't want to lose my hair. I don't want to possibly lose my ability to have biological children. Jesus.

According to Sandra, I will have to decide whether I want a lumpectomy or a mastectomy. Then I will have the surgery - currently scheduled for Tuesday July 24th. Then I will meet with a medical oncologist to discuss the post-surgery options - radiation, chemo, and medication everyday for 5 years post surgery.

Sandra addressed all of my concerns. I'd heard about soy being problematic for women with breast cancer; she will call a Dr. she knows who has done 2 years of training in integrative medicine for his opinion. I talked to her about my worries about insurance and working; she gave me a number of a woman who's an expert in dealing with those issues who's a breast cancer survivor herself.

I still feel like...what the hell is going on here?@#!* And I feel like this is all the biggest joke. But I feel so much more calm. Relatively.

am i in a really bad episode of punk'd?

Ug. Where to start?

Yesterday was the worst day yet.

I had a physical. We met with the surgeon. We met with the Nurse Manager for education on what to expect. I watched a video on breast reconstruction. I had a chest X-ray. And I had blood taken. 10:30am-4:30pm. I have never felt so worn out and overwhelmed.

Armed with Eric, my mom, and my dad, I went into the meeting with the surgeon. And it scared me to death. She is the nicest woman on the planet and super competent. But no matter all her qualifications and bedside manner, she was still saying horrible things I didn't want to hear like mastectomy, reconstruction, radiation, and chemo. She talked about chemo being an almost definite possibility. She said I should probably talk to my gynecologist to save some of my eggs because chemo basically would kill them all. I lost it. Completely lost it. Nevermind that months ago Eric and I had entertained the idea of not having kids. I just lost it. And from that point in the conversation, I couldn't follow a single thing she was saying, not a single diagram she was drawing. I'd hold it together in the waiting room with Eric. And then when I was by myself waiting for the X-ray, I couldn't stop crying - sitting in the hallway in a blue gown.

I want kids. I want our kids. I want to have them when we want them. I don't want to have to harvest eggs and talk about a possible surrogate. I mean...someone has GOT to be kidding me.

How did this happen? I'm 32! I'm a social worker. I help people through bad things. I don't smoke. I barely drink. I'm a vegetarian and I try to eat organic as much as financially possible. I don't even HAVE boobs!! This is freakin insane. In-sane.

I felt like I was going in and out of consciousness almost. I was lying on the couch watching the movie "Cars" and I sort of woke up and wondered why my parents were at my house. Then remembered. I was sitting at Chipotle with Eric. I didn't want to eat. All I wanted to do was drink that beer that he so perfectly thought to buy. Remembered the situation and started to cry in Chipotle.

Last night I felt like I was going crazy. It was ALL I could do to keep from exploding in tears. I felt like a pressure cooker with my wobbly top about to pop off. But what was freaking me out was that I couldn't label my emotions. I wasn't thinking about things. Words weren't popping into my head. Images of the videos or my imagination weren't running through my brain. Nothing. My head felt empty. But my heart and my chest felt like I was going to explode. The only thing that released that pressure was when Eric labeled it for me, for us. He said he feels this pre-grief, this impending awfulness. As soon as he labeled it, I felt lighter. I didn't feel like crying. It was almost like a feeling of peace for some creepy reason. But I think that's exactly what is happening for both of us right now...the feeling of impending awfulness.

master manipulator

Well, it turns out that crying like a baby and fainting really work wonders.

For my second try of the MRI, I came in armed with my friend and neighbor, Barb. Barb was exactly what I needed - caring, thoughtful, rational, and full of stories of learning disorders and left-handedness.

Meanwhile, Kaiser had all the specialists lined up for me. Steve is known as the very best in putting in IVs. Stephanie is an extremely competent MRI technician. And Nurse Kathy from yesterday came in to check on me - commenting that my color was much improved from yesterday.

And to make me feel even better, the MRI technician told me that my surgeon, Dr. Haun, is the very best. The technician, in fact, had her surgery with Dr. Haun - making me realize that breast cancer is way too common.

So, today was totally fine. No sweating, no stars, no fainting, no apple juice or crackers. And I will be able to go on with the rest of my day - grocery shopping and playing with my little shadow named Kitty.

iv fainter

Today was supposed to be so easy.

I went in to the MRI appointment so calm - or so I thought. I knew more or less what to expect. Nothing big was going to happen - just lots of clanging and beeping and lying down.

Yeah.

All until the nurse told me "take off off your clothes, put on two gowns (one facing back, one facing front), meet me up front so I can start your IV." My what? Nobody told me I was going to be stuck with a needle and flooded with contrast dye so they could "see if anything is in there that isn't supposed to be there." Well, actually, that's exactly why I'm here. There's something in my boob that definitely is not supposed to be there.

So...I sit down to wait for the nurse to stick me. Before today I have never had an IV. IVs are for sick people. While I was trying to distract myself from the needle digging around my right hand, the nurse asked me if I was scared of needles. I said, "uh, yeah. But I'm going to have to get used to it." Boom. I psyched myself out. My brain started racing about all of the other procedures I'm going to have to do. This little tiny stupid IV in my arm for the MRI is nothing.

And then I started sweating. I started shaking. I started seeing stars. And I put my head down. I started breathing deeply - focusing on my yoga breaths, counting to five. The nurse told me not to faint on her. I told her I would be fine - although now reminiscent of a ridiculously plastered Inigo Montoya saying to The Giant, "I feel fine."

The nurse had me stand up, walk to the MRI roo....boom. I was done. Sat down in the chair and the next thing I knew I was on a gurney. The nurse said she couldn't feel my pulse. The nurse said my blood pressure was 80/40 - the pressure, I've learned, of a newborn baby.

Anyway...all of this to say, my blood pressure was too low for too long that I missed my MRI window. Someone else was already waiting. The assistants and nurses tried to figure out what to do. One suggested that if I wait a little longer she could probably fit me in; she had an MRI order for a woman who was 348 pounds and she knew the woman would not be able to fit in the machine. Nobody liked that idea. So they agreed to set up me for another appointment tomorrow morning. They agreed to send me home after crackers, apple juice, and a impromptu counseling session with a nurse named Kathy who was a breast cancer survivor.

Kathy told me not to worry about fainting. She knew I was going through a lot. To not let anyone tell me how I should feel, that no one truly knows how this is all affecting me. In the end, she gave me her home phone number in case I needed anything.

And now I'm home. Still feeling a little off. And I just feel so lame. Today was supposed to be easy. I thought I was ready for today. And it turns out everything is affecting me a little more than I thought. Bleck.

The good news? After all that sweating and fainting and dramatics, I came home to a package of homemade oatmeal currant cookies fresh from Jess' oven. Thank God for sweet treats and sweet friends. xo