Schoolin

Somehow school started this past week. Jane is in 1st grade this year and Emily is in 4th. 

They pick out their own clothes now, so they were both super excited to wear outfits of their choice. Jane spent the entire evening before cracking up about her shirt which reads, "My unicorn ate my homework". Clearly clothing manufacturers are able to tap in to a 6-year old sense of humor. Bravo, Children's Place. I would have never found such a statement even mildly amusing. Personally, I wanted my kids to purchase a shirt featuring the "Dark Side of the Moon" album cover. Not cool, mom, not cool. 

Here they are, marching to school, Emily clutching her permission slip and check that will buy her a year's worth of playing violin in the orchestra. She wants to grow up to be like Lindsey Stirling. I'm not sure which girl trend scares me worse: the violin frenzy created by Lindsey Stirling or the bow and arrow obsession created by Katniss Everdeen. At least if you emulate Katniss you can put a little food on the table. In the meantime, we have a basement bedroom that will double as a music room. I think that will provide safe distance. And if this blog is being read by adult Emily as she tours as a professional musician: I knew you could do it, sweetie! When no one else believed in you, I did!

Emily scooted right off to her classroom without a backwards glance, but Jane still wanted us to walk her in and say goodbye. Her teacher is brand new this year and very enthusiastic, but still seems to not be able to be fooled by Jane's shenanigans. I think it will be a good match. 

All week they have been making new friends, reconnecting with old ones and working hard in school. It should be a great year. 

Birthday, farm and Chemo casserole

This past week was Chris' birthday. I feel like he deserves a trip to some exotic location and a million dollars after all he's been through with me this summer but he had to settle for a new pair of hiking boots, 

Some homemade cinnamon rolls (my first post surgery baking foray) and a workout video - to go with the cinnamon rolls, of course. 

Ami and Jacob had just returned from the pacific northeast and returned with a bigfoot shirt for Chris. Everyone who knows Chris knows that he has a strange bigfoot obsession, so he was very pleased. 

The kids' summer camp ended last week and school doesn't start until Tuesday. Chris and I were supposed to take turns taking off work in order to fill the gap. But considering the state of my work leave after this summer, Chris agreed to take the whole week. He has been taking them on adventures which have included swimming, shopping, going to the library and going to a farm. They have enjoyed it thoroughly. 

They also went to go see the progress on the new temple. It is beautiful. I can't even express how grateful I am to Chris for everything he does. He has picked up the slack so seamlessly that I think the kids have hardly noticed the difference. 

Our biggest and suckiest adventure this week was the beginning of chemo. This is adriamycin. It is nicknamed "The Red Devil". I tend to agree with that assessment, especially since it feels like there have been demons in my stomach for the last three days. 

Two hours after treatment, I was white as a ghost and sicker than a a 12 year old Drew Barrymore at a frat party. That was in poor taste. I'm allowed. I'm not a well woman.  

Everyone means well and everyone has their own advice on how to get through chemo. I think the only way to get through is by making your own path and trying to keep things as normal as possible. I do what I can, when I can. When I can't cope I take Ativan (which has amazing anti-nausea properties) and I go to sleep. I eat bland food and stay away from anything spicy, bitter or sour... or anything that smells like anything resembling food. That's right out.

During chemo, I enjoy the blanket my grandma made for me and the excellent wifi at the cancer center... and my rock. Chris is always there, getting me whatever food I want for my last meal and telling me that I'm normal for wanting to cry. I really don't know what I would do without him.

Two months of the Red Devil and his little sister, Cytoxan and then I will be onto three months of a different (hopefully less stomach churning) drug. After that, life. That's the whole reason I'm going through all this crap. So I can get on with life.

As they walked and walked and walked and waaaaalked

I am mostly on the mend and I thought I would update.

I went back to work about a week and a half ago. I wasn't fully healed, but I was starting to feel useless at home and I thought it would be good for my spirits to go back to work. My boss was less than pleased that I wasn't at full capacity, so in the end it didn't help my spirits as much as I hoped, but at least it kept me from using vacation leave. And it did feel good to be somewhat normal.

I had another small surgery this past week. Some of the skin around my incisions had died and it had to be cut away and the incisions restitched. This was very depressing to me because it set my healing back by two weeks. It also set my ability to shower back by two weeks. Going into this whole process, I somehow had the impression that I would be able to shower a week after surgery. A month later, here I am, an expert at shaving my armpits at the bathroom sink. Everybody needs a skill. This is mine. 

My little surgery also set chemo back. I will start that on August 20th. I am having a hard time wrapping my mind around that. I would rather do just about anything than chemo right now. Anything but die. So I guess chemo it is. 

Yesterday was Race for the Cure. It was a hard day for me because even though I can't lift a full gallon of milk or open a heavy door or scoop ice cream, my legs are totally unaffected. I want to run. I know it would hurt like crazy if I did run and maybe rip out some of my fresh stitches in the bargain. So it was great that I had a big group of friends and family who came to the race with me and reminded me that it was okay to walk. 

Some of them even walked with me, so I didn't feel like crap at the back of the pack. This group contains some very able runners and gifted athletes. I think both of Shelly's daughters would have actually lapped me if we were all running a 5k. But they walked with me. 

Chris walked with me too. He said he would have placed in the top 3 of his age group if he ran in the same time as last year, but he walked with me. He has been amazing and supportive through this whole thing. He's the only one that sees the whole story and he's okay with it. I love him more than I can ever express.

One of my coworkers who has been through breast cancer warned me that going to RFTC is difficult because there are all these people telling you what you can do to prevent cancer, when you know there was nothing you could have done. I dismissed her warning. But by the end of the race, I was livid, having spent most of the race behind breastfeeding proponents (none of whom were survivors) sporting pink tutus and shirts that grossly exaggerated the preventative effects of breastfeeding upon cancer... one more thing to make women feel guilty for not breastfeeding. The reason why I was upset is because my oncologist says that the mastitis I suffered while breastfeeding far and away cancelled the tiny benefit and actually put me more at risk for breast cancer. I am happy that I breastfed my kids, but because it was best for them, not because it was best for me. Because clearly it wasn't.

So I walked away from the race frustrated. Frustrated that I couldn't run. Frustrated that I had done everything right and still got cancer. Frustrated that after decades of these fundraising efforts that the only way to get rid of cancer is the same way they got rid of it 50 years ago: cut and poison. I've been cut and I'm preparing to be poisoned. I really hope that the next 20 years bring some serious changes because I don't want my kids to go through the same thing.

I also walked away grateful for the support and hopeful that next year I will run and leave the breastfeeding ladies in the dust.

In other news, school starts in 2 weeks. This summer life has gone on. Jane has finally learned to swim 10 feet unassisted. Emily has taken up running. She says she wants to do track next spring. she has her daddy's legs so I think she will be quite successful. She also says she wants to learn how to play violin. Heaven help us. This could be a long school year.

The Surgery

I had chemo education today. It was bleak. So I thought that I would say to heck with my stupid arm pain and blog about my surgery before I forget how well things really went.

Leading up to surgery, the news went from bad to worse. My tumor was aggressive. Top of the charts aggressive. And it was triple negative, which means that it has no hormone receptors and that chemo is the only treatment option. Four days before surgery my chemo regimen was set. 5 months of harsh treatments whether or not the cancer had spread. I had no hope of avoiding chemo. I still don't. It will happen, in a couple weeks whether I want it to or not, so I need to remember that it hasn't all been bad news.

The Saturday before my surgery I went for one last run and then took a hike with my family. 7.5 miles into what we thought would be a 5 mile hike, the whining was at an all time high.

Nonetheless, it was a great last hurrah of health. 

The following day I got a blessing from Chris. He promised me that I would get to raise the kids. That is, after all, the thing I really wanted out of this. 

The next day I went into surgery. Prep was so incredibly unpleasant. It took 4 people and innumerable pokes to set my IV. But mainly I was scared to death that the surgery would reveal cancer in my lymph nodes. As they wheeled me out of prep, they gave me something amazing in my IV. I didn't catch the name, but it started with a V. If I ever become a junkie, it will be on that stuff. I no longer cared that I had cancer. 

This is where Chris' story differs from mine. For him, it was 9 hours of waiting and worrying. For me, it was 5 minutes. Either way, I woke up very late that night. The first thing I heard was a conversation between a doctor and a nurse. He said, "The nodes were negative?". The answer, "Yeah, negative". I hoped beyond all hope they were talking about me and not some other cancer patient that was waking up at 11:00 at night. The nurse at my side was going on and on about how I needed an oxygen mask and how I shouldn't try to sit up. I didn't care for any of it.

"Were my nodes negative?" I demanded. 

She went to check. 

"There was no cancer in your nodes"

Chris had known for 6 hours and had been waiting to give me that news. Poor guy to have his Christmas morning surprise spoiled by a couple of talkative medical professionals. 

Now, let's pause for a minute on this amazing news. I am 36 years old. I don't get mammograms. I don't have a significant family history of cancer. I don't do self exams. I was not looking for cancer, neither was my doctor. Yet, I just caught a super aggressive, fast growing cancer in Stage I, when it is most curable. 

The next day I found out that my other breast also had precancerous cells. For me, a lumpectomy would most likely have meant a second surgery and may have possibly taken my life. But now my breasts are gone and I never have to worry about being diagnosed with breast cancer again. 

This is what that looks like:

The next few days passed in a haze of pain. I never realized how much I use my chest muscles until they had expanders shoved underneath them. In the 9 hours during surgery, the nerves that run down my arms had been severely irritated and I had a tiny spot of one lung collapse. I was in rough shape. I also had to carry these drains around with me wherever I went.

I spent 3 nights in the hospital and then came home where Chris has been taking care of me ever since. He has been amazing. He has done everything for me this week. He held my hand on Monday when they took out my drains. He has helped me stand up countless times. He has picked up my medicines and supplied me with food and water. He even figured out how to wash my hair without getting my dressings wet. That alone deserves my undying love. 

My mom has been taking great care of the kids. They have been even happier than they would have been at home. 

So basically, I'm on the mend, I'm doing well and (because so many people have asked) my implants are set to starter size. That's not where I will end up. And now I'd better sign off because my entire upper body is screaming since I made it type so long. Maybe in another month I'll be ready to blog again. By then I will be deep in the throes of chemo. But until then, things are getting better every day. 

And... another date.

The happy thoughts I've been sending the way of the plastic surgeon's scheduler must have worked! My surgery has been moved up to the 13th. No, I'm not superstitious. Except for when it comes to that urban myth about leaving cancer in your body and death.

A Date

So.... after a long wait I finally have a surgery date. It will be the 22nd of July. Three weeks from tomorrow. It will be followed by 2-4 days in the hospital and then a long road back to awesome. And hopefully freedom from cancer.

Here's why it took so long. (The spirit of these conversations are true, but some of the language is made up)

Call #1 to plastic surgeon's office:

Me: I haven't heard from you for a few days. Do you need anything from me?

Office Staff (OS): No, we are submitting to insurance. We'll let you know when we have a date.

Call #2 to plastic surgeon's office:

Me: So you told me several days ago you were submitting to insurance. My husband called the insurance and they don't have anything.

OS: That's someone else's job. She didn't come in today. 

Me: Someone needs to get this resolved. I'm not going in for a tummy tuck. This is cancer. I need this surgery to happen as soon as possible. 

OS: We'll let you know.

Call back from plastic surgeon's office:

OS: The doctor has been on trauma call all week. I would have submitted to insurance, but I needed a code. And I couldn't ask him for a code because I haven't seen him all week. I finally, just now, miraculously, after you harassing me, located him so that I could get the code. 

Me: Well, I hope you have everything you need now because I'm really anxious to get this surgery. 

OS: You have to understand I couldn't do anything- not submit to insurance, not put you on the schedule -  until I had this code. This code is like the one ring. Without it I am powerless, but with it I can rule all manner of creatures and schedules. 

Me: (silently) You are a lazy, lazy woman. I can't believe you have a job.

Me:(out loud) Well, let me know if you need anything else. 


So, July 22nd it will be.

Today my coworkers all wore pink and brought pink food. It was really nice to see their support. I need it, especially considering that they will be the ones picking up the slack when I'm lying flat on my back watching "Parenthood" from the very beginning.

Eat, Pray, Love, Protest

So lots of people have been asking lately if I have any news. No I do not. I saw the plastic surgeon this week and while I am a great candidate for surgery etc, etc, I still need the blessing of the insurance company. So my case is now caught up in insurance and no one will schedule until I've been authorized (which I will be but it may take time). If that doesn't happen this week, I have a game plan. You know all those same sex marriage advocates? I figure they are probably getting bored and miss the lobbying/advocacy/protesting scene. Well, I'm going to round some of them up and head down to the insurance office. We may not have time to change the protest signs, so I may end up accidentally married to a woman by the end of the week, but at least I will have force behind me.

In the meantime, since Chris and I had to miss our vacation, my parents were kind enough to watch the kids so we could have a weekend in Denver. We had our own version of eat, pray, love.

Eat. (we ate A LOT this weekend)

Pray.

Love. (We all know Chris' first love is the theater. Actually this was the first production of anything he's seen. It was fun)

Then my fabulous friends put together a girls' night for me. It was great. I tried to get a picture of everyone, but I missed half the room because I got distracted and because my new phone is weird. There were 20+ friends there to support me. My sister came from Denver and a couple of great friends came up from Northern Colorado. It was amazing. One of the best parts is that Phyllis, one of the matriarchs of our girls group whom I have admired and loved for years came. She is a few weeks recovered from her double mastectomy performed by the same surgeon who will perform mine. That was an enormous comfort to me. 

These ladies let me laugh all night long and they brought me freezer meals so that I didn't have to cook while I was recovering which will be a great relief to me since the grilled cheese sandwiches I made for dinner tonight nearly wiped me out. My only concern is that my family will get used to this quality of meal. Hopefully they will be so happy I am recovered that they won't mind going back to chicken nuggets for dinner. 

Monica, you are an angel for putting this together. I'll love you til the day I die. So much that you could possibly be the woman I accidentally end up marrying by the end of the week. My apologies in advance.

And then, because I wanted to and because it made me happy, we went to see the fields of wildflowers that have sprung up east of town. 

So that was my week this week. Lots of love, lots of support and still no surgery scheduled. I'll keep you posted.