Hello 2015, pt 1

2015, you're going to be a better year, I just know it!

However, if 2015 is going to be a better year, I need to take some steps to make it happen. 

In my Christmas Eve post I mentioned I had been in the hospital. Those who follow me on the FB know some, not all of the details. Here is a quick recap (which will be followed by changes for 2015):

Remember: September 12 - double mastectomy, October 27th - surgery to replace both tissue expanders and clean up infection and scar tissue.

Week of November 17 I went in for a tissue expander fill, but first asked my doctor to take a look at my incision from my last surgery. She decided to hold off on the fill that week and wanted to see what the incision was going to do. 

November 26th, day before Thanksgiving: I have an area of really thin skin (which really means no sub-cutaneous fat) that wasn't happy being stretched and was splitting open. The surgeon did a scar revision in the office. Come back in two weeks.

Thanksgiving Day I get hit with Influenza.

December 10th: incision still isn't looking good. Plastic surgeon removes a lot of fluid from the tissue expander to allow enough skin for another scar revision in the office. Come back in two weeks.

December 17th: Incision is looking better, but no fills allowed. Lets leave it alone until after the holidays and just give the skin time to heal.

Friday, December 19th: My sister and I spent a fun Friday night playing with my polymer clay buses. Aren't they cute?

Saturday December 20th: Dean and I do some Christmas shopping, arrive home about 5:00. At 6:30 my pec muscle on my problem side is suddenly very sore and stiff, as if I've been lifting weights. I have very little sensation in my chest so I'm concerned that I can feel this. About an hour later I spike a 103* temperature. I think I have the flu again and call the hospital to see if I can come in and get Tamiflu since I'm in the "high risk" group. I decide to wait until morning because I have a suspicion this isn't the flu. I go to bed hoping the fever breaks, but I am miserable.

Around 2:00 a.m. I woke up with an odd sensation in my chest. I went to the bathroom mirror and lifted my shirt. I was a bit horrified to find the "odd sensation" in my chest was a significant amount of swelling. Crappity crap crap!!! I decided a few hours isn't going to make much difference so I went back to bed.

8:00 am: Called my surgeons office. The Dr. on call told me to head to the ER where an ultrasound is done and there is a huge amount of fluid that they drained and sent out for cultures. (so very weird watching on the screen as this extremely long needle is inserted into my boob and the fluid is all sucked out! While they were waiting to admit me they went ahead and started me on two different oral antibiotics (vancomycin and Gentymicin) Only I reacted to the Vanco so they added benadryl which knocked me out for several hours.

I stayed on IV antibiotics for two days while also getting more benadryl with each dose so I mostly slept. I still had a 101 - 103* fever so sleeping was fine with me! My chest continued to swell. I was not even an A cup before the infection but now I was swollen so huge it took both my hands to cover the area. The swelling went all the way around to my back. Thankfully it didn't really bother me much due to lack of sensation. Still I was on pain meds because my BACK was killing me from the hospital bed. LOL I made Dean come into the bathroom in my hospital room to take some pictures of my chest. Nothing like some really bad porn shots for the family scrapbook! LOL

I was so upset by this whole turn of events. I knew I would be having surgery and I would be flat on that side. No breast at all, not even a fake one. I wanted to be done. Just leave me alone and I will be flat. I don't care! I didn't care about bald and I don't care about flat. But I DO care about having one boob (called a "uni-boob" in the breast cancer world) and I did NOT want to do that. DID NOT! I was sick, I was miserable, I was crabby, and I had a massive caffeine withdrawal headache that I could barely see past. All I could do was cry or snap at someone. I was one hot mess!

 Tues December 23rd I had surgery remove the tissue expander and clean up the infection. Afterword my surgeon told me it was a mess in there. I am now flat on that side and maybe almost a B cup on the other side. I am not wearing a prosthetic because, like wigs, they pretty much drive me crazy. Not only is it very obvious even in clothes, but the fabric of all but the thickest materials falls right into the very deep DENT I have in my chest. 

Christmas Eve: Discharged from the hospital, yet another drain in tow.

Coming up: Meeting with my new oncologist and decisions that must be made

Just One More Time Mom

When my adult kids were little, there were several occasions when they were involved in some REALLY fun boy activity, like BMX racing. Eventually the time would come to load up the bikes and go home. I'd holler to the kids it was time to wrap things up, to be met with, "Just one more time around Mom, ok?"

If your kids EVER say that, STOP. Stop all activity RIGHT THERE. "Just one more time" is a warning from the universe an accident is about to happen! DO NOT allow the activity to continue. It took me a couple times to learn this lesson, but learn I did after a couple emergency room trips for stitches with a kid or two.

There was also that one year, at the end of summer. The night before school started I made the mistake of saying to my sister, "Wow! We made it through the whole summer without any stitches or broken bones!" Silly me, there were still a few hours of summer left! By summer's end just a few hours later Tyler was sporting 80 (yes eighty) stitches in his head.

You think I'm going to tell you someone here got hurt. Don't worry, I have not done any prophesying over any activities around here so as to jinx the kids. Instead I thought things in my head, about me.

In my Christmas Eve post you may have picked up mention of a hospital visit. (and of course those who follow me on FB know about it.) On December 20th I started running a very high fever (103) and thought I was coming down with the flu. By morning one of my reconstructed foobs was hot and swollen, feeling like it was going to burst open. I ended up in the hospital ER, having a large pocket of fluid aspirated, then being admitted for a couple days of IV antibiotics before having surgery December 23rd to remove the tissue expander on that side. We left the other side alone, but the troublesome side I will have to start all over with reconstruction in a few months. I made it home on Christmas Eve and we still had Christmas here with Dean's family on Christmas Day.

But through all of these problems I've had through the reconstruction process I have always thought to myself, "Well, at least I'm not one of those women who end up dealing with necrotic tissue and open wounds."

Do you see where I'm going with this?

Yesterday my new incision opened up.

I've talked to my doctor and learned how to care for the wound until I see her in clinic on Monday. The problem is a large area of thin skin left from my original surgery back in September. I just doesn't heal well. I'm not a happy camper. That side now looks like a horror movie.

And so I'm going to stop thinking. Anything.

Twas the Night Before Spring Christmas

Twas the night before Spring Christmas
when all through the house
the people were frantic
without Mom about.

The stockings were hung
the packages wrapped
in hopes that our Mom
soon would be back.

When what to our wondering ears did we hear?
Dad and Mom home from the hospital
and Mom with good Christmas cheer!!

We ate Christmas Eve dinner
and Dear Abel soon crashed,
But the rest of us soon to the kitchen we dashed!

We got Santa his cookies and wrote him a note

We read the Christmas eBook, the paper one lost and remote.

Then Mom, in her infinite wisdom did say,
"Lets  dance to some Jingle Bells to end our great day!"


And we each heard her exclaim
As she tucked us in tight,
"Merry Christmas my loves! I am so blessed tonight."

Not just a boob job

So many people are of the mistaken impression that having breast reconstruction is a good way to have a breast augmentation (aka a "boob job") covered by health insurance. What people don't realize is that reconstructed breasts are not the same as augmented breasts, and that having their breasts reconstructed is a nightmare for most women.

We didn't WANT this! We don't want the scars. We don't want the pain. We don't want what often ends up being multiple surgeries, and the scars they leave behind, in the hopes we will someday look normal. We have cancer to thank for that.

If you are interested in purchasing the tshirt pictured above, please follow this link! 

The Day of Surgery

A new reader asked if I would write about the day of surgery and how everything went. Its not all positive, but I will write it anyway. ;-)

The morning of surgery was a carefully orchestrated chain of events that had to start days in advance. My son Tyler often helps us with the kids if I have doctor appointments or we have scheduling conflicts that don't allow us to make it home in time for the kids' buses. Tyler arrived a couple days before my surgery so I could get to the last appointments before surgery. Then, the morning of, Dean and I got some of the kids on the bus and Tyler got the little boys on their bus, then he spent the day with Audrey. We SO appreciate all of the help Tyler has been to us the last few months! I honestly do not know what we would have done without him. (not to forget others who have also helped out with kid care!)

Dean and I arrived at the hospital at exactly 8:00 a.m. We got inside and I realized I'd forgotten some paperwork in the van so Dean was nice enough to run back and get it. This is a hospital we had never been to before and were't sure where we were going. We finally found our way to the admissions area it was still only 8:05. We sat down at the little interview desk as they had me sign consent forms, and verify what procedure I was having done. I choked. I had a really tough time saying, "bilateral mastectomy". But I didn't cry, even though I wanted to.

Next we were brought back to a holding area. Dean decided he needed to go to the bathroom and I knew they would call my name the minute he left, and that is exactly what happened. I couldn't take anything back to the pre-op area with me so the nurse and I waited Dean to come back and grab all the stuff. The nurse looked a bit annoyed with me. Bummer for her!

I was brought back to a pre-op cubical where I undressed and put on the cool BEARgown (that blows hot air on you) and booties. Then they hooked up the hugger leg things too. (I want a pair of those at home!) Of course, as soon as I was hooked up to all that stuff I had to pee! Then, oddly, there was a call from my plastic surgeon. There had been some discussion whether or not the nipple on my cancer side was able to be saved. "I've was thinking about you all night. Tell Dr. S. I suggest using the old incision from the lumpectomy on that side and that nipple should be fine." I got back in the bed and turned the BEAR gown to blow cold because I was having hot flashes like crazy.

Finally Dean was allowed to come back. Then Dr. S, my breast surgeon, arrived and did some markings. Those were added to the markings the plastic surgeon had made the day before. He made a quick phone call to the plastic surgeon to verify what she'd told me. Meanwhile, I was now cold so turned my BEAR gown back to very warm.

About this time I was starting to feel a bit panicky. I start talking a lot, cracking really stupid jokes. "Want to shut me up? Give me drugs and you won't have to listen to me anymore." This, as I turned the gown back to COLD.

Around this time is when the lab people showed up because my bloodwork from the day before hadn't arrived and they needed to make sure I wouldn't need a transfusion due to low counts. I asked them to use my port to do the draw but they needed a separate vein. And that, my friends, is where a small problem appeared! You see, the DAY I was told I have cancer, my veins rolled themselves up and took off to Timbuktu! Just weeks before that I had been really easy, but now it is nearly impossible to get a blood draw on me. I let the lab tech try ONE time.

As she was slapping my arm to find the vein I said, "10!"

"Ten what?" she asked?

"My pain level is at 10 now. I need drugs."  I let her poke me one time and she didn't have any luck. "That's it. No more. Give me some drugs through my port and then you guys can do whatever you want to me."

BEAR gown back to warm.

Next the anesthesiology guys came in. I looked at them and grinned. "10. I'm at 10. You should give me something now." Dean begged them to hurry up just so I would shut up.

Although they couldn't use the port for surgery because it would be in the surgical field, they agreed to give me drugs through my port and find a vein later.  As we were discussing what they were going to give me ..."Diliauded? Do you have that? I really LOVE that stuff!" I felt it hit me. I looked over at Dean, "Oh sweet God there it is! Tell them I need that stuff for at home."

I lost a few minutes and then they were wheeling me to the operating room. It was VERY crowded with equipment. Hardly enough room for actual people, much less a whole surgery!  "Um, are you sure this is the OR? It looks like an OR storage area." One masked person commented, "Its ok, you won't remember it."

"Yes…yes I will, because it is weird. It is really weird like something you would see in a movie. Maybe there is some creepy conspiracy going on. You should just put a mask on me quick…."

And that, my friends, is the last thing I remember. They were done listening to me.

Surgery lasted 6 1/2 hours.

The next thing I remember is being moved. Oh sweet mother of GOD my body was on FIRE. I felt like I was in a cocoon and they lifted me up in that. "Please don't. Please don't touch me. Omg…OMG this hurts so bad! Do NOT touch me! Why do I hurt so much?" I could hear Dean's voice somewhere that seemed far away but I knew he was right there. We were in my room and they were moving me from the gurney onto my bed. Someone had put my arms over my chest and I couldn't move them from that position. "I can't move my arms. At ALL. Please someone move my arms."

Somewhere in there the nurse informed me (or Dean and I only overheard?) that my drugs had not yet arrived on the floor? WHAT??? How could they not have my drugs ready? Oh I was in so much pain. I hurt so bad. My chest was on fire and I couldn't stop sobbing, and shivering,  which caused everything to hurt even more. I am told I said some bad words. It is entirely possible I did. Someone moved my arms to a better position with pillows under them. But I could not move. Not even an inch, without searing pain.

And then I was out. My drugs must have arrived and they knocked me out.

Poor Dean. It must have been awful to see me like that.

I don't know how long I slept, but I do know the next time I woke up I wasn't in so much pain but the nurse shot me up again right away. I was awake enough to talk to Dean a few minutes. I sent him home because I was worried about how things were going there and I knew I would just sleep for several hours. No need to stare at me sleeping and I knew he had to be exhausted.

I slept most of the night, awaked every two hours when they gave me another shot, checked my drains and vitals. On Saturday Dean brought Angela and Axel up to visit for a little bit. I was able to get out of bed by then and sat upright in a chair since the hospital bed was already killing my back. By then I was on oral medication and for the most part it kept my pain under control. The nurses got behind once but believe me, I watched the clock closely because the last 30 minutes or so were always miserable. If they reached the "5 minutes late" mark I was pushing the call button.

The second night in that hospital bed I thought I was going to die because of my back. I couldn't sleep and getting into a comfortable position was impossible since there is no way to move after this surgery. There is but one way to sleep, and that is on your back, semi sitting with your arms propped up and pillows under your knees. I could have begged for one more day in the hospital but the thought of another night in that bed was enough to get me home instead.