Life – Page 2 – Riding a new Horse

We’re back!

Ok, ok, maybe a few people are awaiting pictures of our family enjoying our final frontier…you’ll just have to wait because I am a picture SPAZ and it will take concentration to get things in order and pick a few tastey morsals to post. Suffice it to say that the trip was incredible.

For NOW, I’d like to know if any readers are in for another Walk 4 Hope. It’s scheduled for Oct 16. A and I were throwing out some team names, and she likes The ‘Save second base’ team. We also thought about “Keep a breast” and “I (heart) boobies” which is a craze that our NY friend told us about…we now have a supply of wrist bands that say that in bold letters… I appreciate the humor that we share about this intense issue, really. It makes it more approachable for people in my humble opinion. We’re all affected by breast cancer or the threat of it.

Anyway, it’s likely that we will develop a team like last year and have a link for people who would like to walk with us or sponsor us…I’d just like to know if anyone out there is interested. You can respond to this or email/call me. I’d love to walk with you.

Off to Alaska

It was last year right about this time that I was in Arizona, B was in Alaska and our kids were home with friends. It was at this time that I was given a breast cancer diagnosis and wrote a letter to B and left it on the dining room table because we could not connect by phone due to time zones and cell phones. It was a year ago that we began down a trail with a new horse who we did not know.

We are leaving today for our trip to Alaska. It’s just too perfect.

You may not hear anything from us between now and our return. In fact I mean not to even think about turning on a computer.

Thank you BW for the round trip plane tickets for us all. What an incredible gift!

First day with that new breast?

I guess it was mid day before I stopped looking down and checking myself out in whatever reflection I could find. I was fairly symmetrical for the first time since November 10^th, 2009. To be honest, I don’t know if I’m more self conscious right now with or without a breast on the left side.

I went to see the “fitta”, the other day. She has been doing her job for over 20 years. She’s worked with women who’ve had mastectomies, lopsided women, children/teens with physical deformities, some girls who are not able to grow their own breasts (i forgot what it’s called). Her office is located at the Breast and Osteoporosis Center at the hospital. She also works with girls, teens, women who have perfectly formed breasts too. “I was so impressed when Dr. ‘Smith’ referred one of his patients to me. The woman didn’t have a heart attack, she was wearing the wrong size bra!”

The “fitta” really takes pride in her work. Her largest project was a 54 LL or something like that. She knows that a 38B might do better with a 40A, it just matters on the bone structure, broadness of the person’s shoulders or other anatomical anomalies. She has a whole back room full of stuff from the most plain to the most lacey. It didn’t take her long to find the right style and size for me. She told stories that were like the “What Not to Wear show” in bra-land. She could be a stand up comic in my opinion. Amidst the hysterical stories, she also shared some very very touching stories that still bring tears to her own eyes, especially regarding one special needs, very deformed young woman who couldn’t stop looking at her new shape and who left her office with a huge smile.

She asked why I waited so long to get fitted. She usually sees people as soon as the mastectomy incision heals, saying that she recommends that timing to help prevent the body from adjusting to the loss from a weight balancing perspective. She’s more concerned about what others think than I am, and that was another of her reasons for getting a prosthesis soon after surgery. I explained that I just didn’t feel ready to make the decision until I felt physically and emotionally healed from treatments. She said adjusting to a prosthetic breast might tire my body out so I might want to work myself up by an hour each day. Her recommendation was to wear it every day once I got used to it. She said that she had her breast weighed on a mammogram machine. She was 140 pounds and the breast weighed 5 pounds. This is enough to affect balance and muscular/skeletal health.

I picked up a couple bras, the prosthesis and a tank, all of which will be paid for by my insurance (there is coverage throughout the rest of my life for a certain number of bras each year and new prostheses every so often), and I paid for a new bathing suit. The garments have pockets to hold things in place. I walked out of there with a body hugging black tank top on like I was ready to show off my symmetry to the world. The self consciousness didn’t come until the next morning. From the P’s eye view, it’s not really a perfect match, but from the knowing observer’s view, it looks pretty convincing. From the view of someone who is not aware of my journey, I suspect there would be minimal curiosity spawned. I mean, how much time does anyone spend comparing left to right as they take in the human form? Also, I’m not sure how symmetrical any of us are anyway.

I’m reminded of the experience of moving to Hartford and then to Washington DC. I was not aware of how pathetically inexperienced I was in the land of race and skin color and had never really felt in the minority before that time. Perhaps a bizarre connection to my experience now, but I have not really been overtly breast conscious in the 47 years prior to this experience. Other than my experience in figure drawing classes, I had not really paid too much attention (from an aesthetic point of view) to the symmetry or shape of others’ breasts unless they were spilling out in front of me or were so big that I felt my back ache in sympathetic response. When I started walking for fitness again as the weather got warmer and warmer and my layers peeled off, I didn’t even think about my asymmetry. We walk at the golf course in the early morning when the landscapers and mowers are out in force. I was told once that it’s none of my business what other people think of me. This idea creats a shield for me I think, which protects me from being self conscious as my shape became more exposed. I do think sometimes that this is just the reality of breast cancer. I honestly don’t know what I’d think if I were the observer here. The opportunity has never presented itself, or at least I have not noticed anyone sans breast. There have only been a couple mornings as I’m sweating and walking up and around the course that I’ve noticed my consciousness of my form, but this doesn’t happen too often, nor does it linger or stop me from doing my thing. I honestly don’t think most people notice at all.

Anyway, I went to work the next day complete with insta-breast. As one might expect, as the day wore on, I became less and less aware of my special circumstances. I can credit this in part to a fabulously fitting bra (thanks Rhanda). I was not particularly fatigued or anything, having endured the whole day in my new contraption. For the first time I felt like I was wearing an over-the-shoulder-bolder-holder.

I resisted going into every colleague’s office asking for an assessment. BUT toward the end of the day, I did go into B’s office. She’s my fellow snowman loving friend. I pranced in, chest out and asked what she thought, as I twitched toward the left breast as a hint. She was fairly impressed. I mean, what are you supposed to say when a woman walks into your office asking you to look at her breasts and comment?? I was a good dube and kept my professional boundaries by not asking any male colleagues for their opinions.

Initially it feels in the way when I carry books in my left arm (Statue of Liberty style). It’s soft and all, but there, of course is no sensitivity. (It reminded me of lying on my stomach while I was pregnant. Something that hadn’t been there was there now, and it took some getting used to.) I was interested that I felt some, oh, I don’t know, grief or like I was this imposter or something. It didn’t linger, but I want to be honest about the experience. I had the “oh yea!” feeling as well, like, I think I remember what it was like to have one of these on that side, almost a familiar feeling of normalcy or something. What a mixed bag. By the end of the day, I was as oblivious to it as I could be on day 1.

I have to remember the reasons I chose not to get reconstruction immediately, and the reasons I still do not want reconstruction. This choice has worked very well for me so far. Being a rookie in the land of prosthetic breasts, I am, thus far, feeling good about the choice to get fitted. Some things just fit better. Shirts with buttons hang straight now. (Really!) The large majority of bathing suits are made to mold around breasts, even tiny ones. Sometimes I may just want to be balanced. I like that I have the option. I like that in the short time with this new companion that people have not even noticed anything. That’s the best feedback I could ask for.

Girls just wanna have fun

B and E are off to camping adventures in New Hampster. That means A, I, the katz and fish are left to our own devices. Let the wild rumpus start!

It was raining this morning, such a perfect Monday morning to stay under the covers with the purr balls keeping me company. Instead D and I met at o’light:30 and put in our hour on the golf course. We’ve been so faithful of late, and are enjoying our committment to one another and ourselves. I had haircut #2 today. My friend and hair cutter (and woman-in-the-know) told me that the last time I was there (for my first cut post chemo), the others who were there said something after I left about wishing they were brave enough to cut their hair as short as mine was. “Oh, if they only knew!” she said, knowing very well what it feels like to have renewed faith in hair folicles. I swear, not a day goes by without a comment. SOOOOO, here are some pics of the curly locks.

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As you have probably noticed, I’m not much for showing myself here, but it really isn’t fair to keep the hairy details from such faithful readers. One thing I love about the instant gratification of digital photography is how willing teenagers are to hang out in front of the camera and how goofy we can get without trying.

You may recall that this story started about a year ago while B was in Alaska. We all are heading out there at the end of July. There’s something right about this timing for me and us. No it’s not a beachy vacation that some 16 year olds dream about, but there will be beach. There will be fishing in the deep pacific waters. There will be hiking and connecting with friends. There will be a nice ferry ride from Haines to Juneau with wild life and glaciers. There will be puddle jump plane flights from Juneau to Haines, and Juneau to Sitka. We are all pretty stoked about this. There will be lots of day light to see our way into a new year.

When it is just A and I, it doesn’t seem to take very long to get into our rhythm. There is affection each day, conversation and snuggling, music and quiet. I am ever grateful for her presence in my life, and for the boys for getting out of our hair so that we can be girls together without interference from the Y chromosomes.

War of my life

I was walking by myself the other morning listening to music. The song below came on and resonated, hence today’s thoughts. (Not the best video, but I like what he says at the beginning and how intimate the venue was for the performance.)

I just went to the mail box and there was one letter in it. It was from my PCP, the form letter that starts with “I’m pleased to inform you…” Pap was negative. And so we are off to a good start on the observation of endometrial tissue. I was trying to come up with a good analogy here, and reconnaissance came to mind (thanks to B‘s infinite supply of words). Reconnaissance is a mission to obtain information by visual observation or other detection methods, about the activities and resources of an enemy or potential enemy. The song is called War of My Life.

I would imagine it is interesting hearing a G.O. say that she feels like she is in the war of her life. I’ve been asked by several people over the past few weeks what’s changed for me because of all of this (diagnosis of and treatment for breast cancer). I’ve noticed that I spend a lot of time just blank, probably looking like I’m formulating some profound answer. Nothing very profound comes out in my opinion. I am still going through life fairly happy. Whenever I do something that is not in the ‘how to prevent cancer’ literature, I pause and sometimes feel like a weak mortal who can’t even save her own life. Whenever I do something that IS in the ‘how to preven cancer’ literature, I wonder if I can get extra credit if I do a little more. You know, if you eat a big mac with a diet soda, can’ t the diet soda cancel out the fat in the big mac? If you say no to ice cream cake at the office, can’t your body “roll back” that many calories for the day??

I do feel like there’s been an intrusion. The cellular integrity within my system has been breached. A foreign army has come to the rescue to kill the damn soldiers that brought dis-ease to the bod. Now I’m trying to evict the foreign army because IT doesn’t belong in here either.

What is left? What residue from the chemistry? What will my body do with the radiation? What will the radiation do to my body? Are there any enemy cells hiding out somewhere? Am I the same person I was?

Well the only question I can answer from that bunch is the last one, with a resounding YES AND NO. Many have said that cancer has a way of coralling the spirit that was already present. I’m still me. I know the glass is half full. I don’t give up easy. I suspect having crossed the cancer barrier I am different. The cancer didn’t hurt and through the point of diagnosis I was not feeling sick from it. The treatment we chose for this was harsh and made me sick. That was a battle I and we chose to fight.

Before this I was doing things fairly intentionally, but did get carried away when a shiny object sparkled in the distance. Now I am doing things fairly intentionally and really enjoying the sparkly diversions. Someone I have not spoken to in a long time called today and APOLOGIZED for not knowing what I was going through. She and I made a date for lunch and she asked if my full time job could allow such a thing. My response was that it will allow for such a thing because I’m not going to miss out on shiny opportunities. I remain grateful for the job I have which can afford such an arrogant posture. Really.

I do feel like my body is now on hyperalert for UFOs. I’ve got the Angel Brigade and there is a new addition to the parade of ghosts that marches in my wake. For me the ghosts have to do with the compromises I and we’ve made in order to evict the cancer. The ghosts know how sick I got from AC. They know what people who love me had to witness. They remember what it was like to get a breast amputated and to hear that nodes were positive. The ghosts know how hard it was to confront hair loss and live without it for over 6 months.

I’ve said it before. It is what it is. I’ve got no choice but to fight and I’m not going to roll over and play dead. The Angel Brigade (that includes any readers of this blog) was and is my army. I am permanently enlisted in your army as well if you’ll have me. We all have something to fight for. Here is a quote from a magnet that my kat loving friend D sent me during the battle:

I do not think we know our own strength

until we have seen how strong love makes us.

Come out angels, come out ghosts
Come out darkness, bring everyone you know
I’m not running and I’m not scared
I am waiting and well-prepared

I’m in the war of my life, at the door of my life
Out of time and there’s nowhere to run

I’ve got a hammer and a heart of glass
I gotta know right now which walls to smash
I got a pocket, got no pills
If fear hasn’t killed me yet, then nothing will

All the suffering and all the pain
Never left a name

I’m in the war of my life, at the door of my life
Out of time and there’s nowhere to run
I’m in the war of my life, at the core of my life
Got no choice but to fight ’til it’s done

No more suffering, no more pain
Never again

I’m in the war of my life, at the door of my life
Out of time and there’s no where to run

So fight on, fight on everyone

So fight on, got no choice but to fight ’til it’s done
So fight on, fight on everyone
Got no choice, got no choice but to fight ’til it’s done
Fight on everyone
So fight on

No news IS good news

Before I knew it, it was almost 2 weeks since the last entry. I saw a dear, fellow snow-loving friend at work who said that she checks the blog every Tuesday and Thursday and was so excited that there were no entries because it must mean all is well. (There’s a G.O. if I ever met one.) Indeed. Thank you all who are still faithfully checking. My plan is to keep this blog going at least through my meeting with the surgeon at which time we will review the mammogram I am to have this month. I have had more thoughts and believe this is still the forum for them.

Well a quick update is in order. I had follow ups with both oncology and radiation oncology last week AND my annual PCP visit. Bone density is NORMAL. Liver funcitons are NORMAL. Blood counts are NORMAL. I have not heard about my Pap results, but they said I’d get a call if there was a problem and a letter if there was not, and I have not had a call…yet. Oncology wants to order a CT scan of my torso and pelvis before my next follow up in 3 months, just to monitor activity on my liver where something showed up in the early CT. The follow up PET showed nothing.

When I spoke with the radiation oncology PA, I learned that the radiated skin now has something I will call cellular memory. If I go out in the sun without SPF 50,000 on 🙂 the pink rectangle of radiated skin will emerge, even if that particular part of my anatomy is not directly exposed. When she spoke about the next radiation oncology follow up, I asked how many different providers I would need to continue to see. Who’s the boss, sort of. I asked the same question to Dr. Oncology. It seems to me that this is another issue that does not necessarily have one path to follow. Basically here’s what I’m taking from this: having 3 or 4 eyes and hands on the issue (or the TISSUE to be exact), is not a bad thing. I can spread out the visits so if I have them every quarter, a different provider is providing input. Not a bad thing, but it opens me up for confusion and differing points of view. I NEED A GURU! Ok, maybe not, but I do have to think about what I want to do with all of this. For the next 6 months, I’m just going to follow the path. Surgeon in July, Oncologist in September, Radiation Oncologist in December. All info will go to my PCP.

5 weeks into Tamoxifen, I’m feeling mostly well. I have a really annoying rash that is not going away along the radiated skin and on my lower left ribs and up my neck. At the follow ups we thought it might be just the pathway out of radiation, but I’m reading that it can also be a reaction to tamoxifen. Because it’s so localized, I’m not so sure it’s from Tamoxifen, but if it’s still driving me batty on Monday, I’ll give Dr. Oncologist a call. I was offered steroids for it, but you know me, GEEZ. I’d rather have needles stuck in me…in fact I have an acupuncture appointment this week. For now silvadene at night and cortaid during the day seem to work fine.

On the subject of the PORT-A-CATH. I left the oncology follow up without remembering to ask, so I called and left a message, simply wondering what is to become of the thing that has been so incredibly helpful through all of this. The perdiem nurse who was in that day called back and said ‘if you want it out, Dr. Oncology said it would be fine to get it out now.’ Since then, I’ve thought about it with the 3 month CT scan in the future and wondered if I should at least wait until that point. Two days later I received a call from Dr. Oncology’s regular nurse who said that some people leave them in for years and years. She recommended waiting at least one year before considering removal. I assured her that it is not causing me problems. Going to have it flushed (every 4-6 weeks) is not a problem either, just remembering to schedule it might be challenging, not impossible. The thing that is most on my mind is that it is and has always been a bit troubling to A and E. Neither of them have liked the bump in my skin from the day it was put in. A reminder of the need for pretty serious medical intervention. This will be something I talk about both with Dr. Surgeon and Dr. Oncology, inviting myself into the known potential conundrum. I’ll keep you posted on that. For now, the port-a-cath will just continue as part of my anatomy.

I am still showered with complements on my hair. This is from people who know me and are fierce cheerleaders AND from people I’ve never seen before. A cannot stop herself from just constantly running her fingers through it. She thinks it feels really cool, which it does, I have to admit, from the inside AND on the outside. But after one of her indulgent head massages, I feel like I should look like the guy on Eraserhead. IF you have not seen that movie, DON’T bother. You can just imagine what the main character looked like with a name like Eraserhead. The hair growth itself continues to thrill me to no end, and it is really amazing hair. Dense, thick, curly, all different colors. Because of whatever is happening with my estrogen, I’m kind of fuzzy on my jaw bones too, which is just another thing to marvel at in the marvelous petri dish that is my life. I’m not the bearded lady, mind you, but it’s there.

Art work? Not much. I am active. I’m walking, gardening and doing stuff outside. Taking time for art is just not what my body wants or needs at the moment. Our garden looks beautiful thanks to the perfect conditions we are experiencing this spring. In fact if I don’t pick some of the lettuce today, we might miss out on some delectable leafy greens.

I have a mammogram on the 22nd. I will write between now and then, I promise. B is wondering if we should start a new blog for the purpose of keeping in touch with those of you who have been so faithful on this site. Neither of us are interested in social networking in the big picture. I’m not so sure how I feel about it. Email works for me. This whole experience of sharing my/our thoughts has done more than serve the purpose for which we created it, and I’m really happy about that. Obviously I have no idea where it will go from here. Comments about that would be really helpful.

Two entries in as many days. Wow, I better not strain myself!

For the love of Nancy

You may recall that I had been visiting my 84 year old friend during all of this. Well, Nancy’s life ended last night and it was on her terms. If we all could be as ready as she was and have our wishes known and followed as hers were, I, for one, would be very grateful.

I visited Nancy after shaving my head. We were having tea and she looked at me after a steaming sip and reached out to touch my head. “You have a perfect skull, you know, not everyone could pull this off.” Some days when I came to visit she was still in bed, and one time in particular I leaned over her and said “Good morning Nancy!” and after she opened her eyes and realized who had the nerve to interrupt her slumber, she smiled as I took off my hat. She raised her hands to rub the stubble, eyes closed, and said “my friend with the perfect skull”.

Our visits were not particularly long nor were they as numerous as I would have liked them to be, but they certainly were intentional. Every gesture and word was intentional. Nancy sometimes struggled to get her brilliant thoughts from her brain to her mouth and sometimes it just took time to accomplish the task. There was no haste to make waste. I found myself listening intently almost so hard that I got caught up in the visual of her mouth trying to form the words and would miss the point. She was very forgiving anyway, so when I said something in return that was totally out of the ball park, she moved right along with me. Bless her heart. She was incredibly thoughtful and supportive of my ups and downs during my own treatments, and certainly saw me at vulnerable moments.

Nancy lived with her daughter, my dear friend S, since well before I was diagnosed last summer. I had been granted cart blanche with regard to visits. This was such a gift to me. S was very generous in sharing her mom. In addition to what I’ve already shared, there are three specific memories from those visits that I want to write about. I had the priviledge of not only visiting, but taking care of Nancy for a couple hours one day. We took care of her needs, had our tea and conversation, and decided to get outside. It was a beautiful day. We wheeled her chair out the long dirt driveway and one of the cats jumped right up on Nancy’s lap, muddy paws and all. She loved it. When we got back to the house, she said that she needed exercise, so we took the walker out and made a lap around a small area in the driveway. At this point in Nancy’s life, walking was a chore as she could only really move her feet maybe 4 inches with each deliberate step. She made fun of herself as she walked along because she had to concentrate so hard that she lost track of the position of her body, and would find herself bent at a 90 degree angle before too long. Well, we were walking up the ramp, Nancy was at about a 98 degree angle and stopped for a very long pause. She finally said “what on earth is that?” I got on my hands and knees, trying to judge the path of her sight to find whatever it was that caught her eye. I could not believe it when I saw it. In the crack of the deck board, there was a tail of a mouse, something one of the cats apparently had left as a gift. We laughed and Nancy said “OK, now, look at me. I have completely forgotten how to straighten up.”

On another occasion, I dropped by unannounced. Nancy was sitting in front of her beautiful old wooden blanket chest and was polishing it. S was guiding her hand along and they were talking and laughing. I loved seeing this because it epitomized their relationship from my perspective. S was a fierce advocate for her mom, and seemed to provide as many opportunities for her as were possible, even something that seems so simple like polishing a cherished piece of furniture. That visit Nancy was working to say something as we had tea. She was pointing to her neck and finally grabbed a gold necklace that she had on. She communicated to S that she wanted S‘s older sister to have that particular necklace. S always took note of these things, and reassured Nancy that she would be sure that her sister got the necklace.

On one of my last visits to the house, Nancy was sitting in her recliner by the window. When I pulled a chair up snuggly close and leaned over to give her a big smooch on the cheek, she said “you know you are ‘myfriendpatty’, it’s all one word and I want to be sure you know that”.

Last Sunday, S and I visited Nancy at a nursing home she was admitted to about 4 days earlier. She was sleeping when we arrived and when I greeted her I said “hey Nancy, it’s yourfriendpatty”. We had a great visit. We got her ready for the day and had breakfast. Working with S to get her ready was amazing. She knows her mom so well. She put the T in TLC. Nancy was contemplating reality and asked on several occasions if something that just happened in her mind was our experience as well. I knew from conversations with S that Nancy was ready to exit the body that was just not working any more. She’s been ready for quite some time, actually. Sitting here today, I feel very fortunate to have had that particular visit with her, only 6 days ago.

The next day S called me and told me Nancy was on her way to a Hospice house. Something had happened, and Nancy was able to give full consent for NO medical intervention. S said she was very clear with the doc that she knew that it would lead to her death.

I visited Nancy the next day at a beautiful Hospice house where the doors are wide enough to wheel hospital beds out into the gardens. Nancy was in bed, fairly sedated. When I bent over and gave her a smooch and told her that herfriendpatty was here for a visit, she opened her eyes and her breathing haulted for a moment, it seemed that she recognized that it was me. S‘s family was very kind and welcoming, even in their private grief, to make room for so many who were able to come to say goodbye. While I was there S took Nancy’s necklace out of her pocket and gave it to her sister, just like she’d promised.

The last time I saw Nancy, she was resting fairly peacefully. A friend was playing the harp for her. I held her very warm hand, stroked her hair and told her a few things I wanted her to know. Less than 24 hours later, S communicated that Nancy was finally able to make it out of the body that could no longer house her vital spirit, with her grandson reading poetry (Yeats) to her as she left. S just emailed the end of the poem:

For he comes, the human child,

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

From a world more full of weeping than he can understand.

Alive

It has been such a terrific weekend. I don’t think the weather could have been more perfect for B and E camping or for the prom that A attended with her friend. (She looked beautiful and had a great time, by the way. We have a funny story about hair that one of us will write about soon.) I had the place to myself last night until A came home, and decided to watch a movie that was sitting on our computer. It was a fun movie. It wasn’t about the matriarch’s breast cancer, but at the very end she informed her kids that this time it was it, and it was apparent in the last scene that she’d died. My first thought was to protect my kids from this. My second thought was not to.

The reality that the cancer could come back (or perhaps not have left completely) is something that comes to me from time to time. But a true G.O. doesn’t hold on to this for long. When I see people I have not seen in a while they ask if the cancer is gone. My answer is simple. My surgeon said it was gone when she visited me the day after surgery. My oncologist suggested it was gone as well. When I think about the fact that a rogue cell could be hiding in my tissue it lasts for a second or two, and then I think that I never wondered when the bus would hit me before all this began. When I get asked ‘what’s the prognosis?’ I just have to tell it like it is. I don’t really know, but I do know a lot of people go on to live long lives and some die too early. We don’t spend much time talking about this at home. I think I can speak for all when I say that we are just happy to get back in gear together. At this point I am encountering people who never knew that I had cancer, and they are none the wiser. This to me is a good sign that I’m moving beyond it all to the degree that I can.

After a weekend like this (minus the hot flashes), I could almost convince myself that the past 9 months didn’t exist. Really. I feel very good. My scar is healing very nicely. My range of motion is almost back to normal. When I got out of the shower E was happy to comb my hair, like he did before I shaved my head. He even messed around parting it in different places. I was in the garden today, harvesting lettuce and spinach, planting some perennials, watering the cabbage and broccoli. I primed the floor boards for the bathroom. See? It’s life with spring breezes, projects, katz finding sun spots beneath the sky lights.

Since this blog is about ‘a family’s life with breast cancer’, I will keep you informed. My next appointment is in a couple weeks. The tamoxifen update is thus: I don’t feel any different. I’m active, I’m eating well and sleeping well. I did have a couple people ask about the detox. It was a week long, and was based around a cabbage soup. You eat a combination of the soup with veggies, fruit, bananas, skim milk and protein on different days. I don’t know if it has anything to do with my overall feeling of well being, but I felt good following the recommendations through to the end. I’m not going to publish it though. I think that if people are interested in doing a detox, they ought to have someone advise them. I really trust my herbalist and she was my guide. When we agreed to follow the recommendations from the medical model, we also agreed to balance it with other advice. This particular advice came from someone I trust, in whose hands I feel very supported.

Sitting here on my deck, with the late afternoon shadows in the forest that surrounds our house, glints of sunlight on the spring green leaves, with the birds and tree frogs chirping away, I am awake to the fact that I like being alive right now. I am going to do what I can so that it lasts a good long time.

Tamox and Detox

Well, almost a week on Tamoxifen and I’m doing well. I really have not noticed any side effects yet. I have a long way to go in that department, but so far, so good. What more could I ask? As far as my skin goes, if you picture a rectangular patch from sternum to side ribs, clavicle to just below where a breast used to be, much of the redness is fading and the sloughing skin is smoothing out. There is about a 3 inch patch over the scar that is pretty hot and breaking down. The most sensitive areas are at the ends of the scar. I have to be careful when I dry off from a shower not to rub that area. The skin could just fall right off and that causes really raw areas. Dead skin is not pleasant to look at, but at least I can see that some healing is going on beneath it. Don’t know if there are any morbidly curious people out there, but I will publish some scar pics from before, during and after radiation. Probably once I see that the scar is in healing mode rather than breaking down mode. I’m totally morbidly curious. I love to talk about body fluids and would be very curious myself.

I visited my herbalist last week and she gives acupuncture some of the credit for my not experiencing neuropathy with all the chemotherapy I had. I give acupuncture credit for a lot. I still do not believe that I have any signs of neuropathy. I’m so grateful for this. She also gave me a menu to cleanse my liver. I want to do this to mark the end of chemicals and treatments (other than Tamoxifen, of course.). A has decided she would do it with me. It’s so nice to have a partner in this. We are on day 3 of 7 today. All is going well. My acupuncturist treated me this week, using points related to my breast area. I am still intrigued by acupuncture. I strongly recommend it (not just for breast cancer treatment, by the way).

I’m back to work full time with the exception of the few interspersed appointments that I have. It feels good to feel good. I’m not as fatigued this week as I thought I’d be. D and I have made it out for our golf course walks 3 times this week. In fact we are due in 5 minutes to go this morning so I’d best be off. I pick up E from a friend’s house after that, and then head out prom dress shopping with A in our favorite local city. Life is normal. That is good.

My first haircut

A was born with a head full of dark hair. She had her first haircut at about 6 weeks to get it out of her eyes. E had less hair, I’d say his looked like mine does now at about 9 month or so. We were not the parents who saved locks from the first hair cut. I was sitting in the salon chair today and thought about this as I picked up a bit of my hair that was cut off. It was incredibly soft. The woman who cuts my hair has been doing so for a really long time. She survived breast cancer, double mastectomy, repeated unexpected surgeries…like 4 + years from diagnosis to final surgery. What a trooper. She’s been one of the women-in-the-know that I’ve mentioned before. She would not take money for today’s haircut. Yet another angel. So it actually looks almost like a hair style. That feels good to me. She spent about 10 minutes cutting, and we spent about 30 minutes just comparing notes and catching up after 6 months. Today was actually the first day I felt warm enough to go all day without a hat. It felt great. Oh hairy me. I played the CONGRATULATIONS card today. I got back my haircuts.

I was instructed by Dr. R.O. today to get Domeboro to make a compress for the broken skin under my arm, which has gotten pretty raw and painful. I am to put it on for 10 minutes, let it air dry and put the Silvadene on after, 3x a day. This is supposed to help with healing. My friend L who is another of my women-in-the-know said with compassion that it gets worse before it gets better. I can see other areas where the skin is starting to break down. This was my last regular visit with Dr. R.O. We will have a follow up in 1 month. Post script: the Domeboro really does give some relief, I’m happy to say.

1 minute of radiation left. The cheesebread for radiation staff is cooling right now, the house smells great. I go to see the herbalist tomorrow afternoon for an end of treatment review, maybe a change in my herb mix is in store. Other follow up visits start nextweek.