It’s 11:25 p.m. on a Sunday night as I begin to write this post. I’ve been trying to get it written for the last three and a half weeks…honest. I think I’ve actually started it about three times.
Three and a half weeks ago was my surgery: a bilateral (“double”) mastectomy with lymph node dissection. (The word “dissection” always makes me think of my seventh-grade biology class. In this case, it simply means removal.) The surgery was performed at the University of Washington Medical Center. I won’t go into all the details now, but believe me — there are plenty of details I’d love to share with you…more than enough for several future blog posts.
But I wanted to at least get something written to let you all know I made it through and am just fine (if you’re my friend on Facebook, you may already know that). It’s been almost impossible to get it written before now. For starters, I was just in too much pain. And when I was finally able to lift my arms enough to type at my desk, there were just too many distractions and I couldn’t concentrate. Let’s hope this post makes the final cut. (If it seems really disjointed and doesn’t “flow,” you can assume I was distracted once again.)
I try not to think too much about the surgery itself. I’m constantly amazed at modern medicine, how far it’s come, and what’s ahead. I know mastectomy has come a long way from the hideous surgery it used to be, but right now — to me — it still seems pretty harsh. And when I’m in front of the mirror, I try not to look too long at those two ugly horizontal stitched-up wounds. Or at the one under my arm. But when I do, I remind myself that they’re going to look a lot better in the future and not be quite as garish. And I try not to think about what I’m missing.
This may seem strange, but the last few weeks — while kind of a surreal time for me, considering the surgery I had and why — have actually been a little enjoyable. Once the pain started to subside, that is. My little corner of the universe has been the recliner side of the sectional in our family room. My six-year-old daughter has been my constant companion, not wanting me to sleep alone. And our cat, Chico, has kept the two of us company, as well, sleeping close to (or on) the person who’s the sickest. (After I got home from the hospital, it was me, but now that she has the flu, he’s her shadow.)
Sometimes you just have to make the best of a situation that really stinks, and I’d say that’s probably how I’m able to enjoy this time. I’ve been conditioning myself for the past couple of years to think differently — more positively — and I’m seeing the fruits of it. While the temptation has been to whine (and I’ve done a bit of that), mostly I just feel incredibly blessed. I’m drinking in, every day, how grateful I am for my husband and four kids who love me and have been taking care of me. For a kindergartner who gets quite upset if she can’t camp out in the family room with me each night and loves hanging out with me throughout the day. For family and friends who’ve either come to visit or have at least checked in with me (sometimes daily) through Facebook or by texting me or my husband. For a group of friends who’ve been providing meals and household help since I was first diagnosed and plan to continue doing so for a while still (there are no words to describe how helpful that’s been). For a wonderful couple from our church who’ve loved us like family and have taken us under their wings. And for so much more.
I love the little things that have also made these last few weeks bearable. A basket I put together before my surgery, along with a black t.v. tray table from Target, holds things like my phone, Kindle (a gift from my son last Christmas), “real” books, lip gloss, hand lotion, post-surgery papers, headphones, hats and scarves, pens and crossword puzzle books, and chocolate (of course, right?). Next to me are two fluffy blankets that my cat has claimed as his own and a beautiful quilt made by a sweet friend. My Bible is next to me, as well.
My house is a wreck, but I’m able to do more and more around here each day, so I’ll get it whipped into shape soon. (Yes, there are other people who live here who can clean it, but we all have a certain way we like to do things, right?) I’m having trouble using my arms because of how certain muscles were cut into during the surgery, but I’m doing what I can each day to stretch and retrain them and am making myself do what I can around here instead of asking for help. I can’t wait to get back to “normal.” My new normal, anyway.
Thanks so much for all the kind thoughts and for all the prayers I’ve been receiving. Stay tuned — I’ll have plenty more to share about my mastectomy experience in the coming days.
My daughter and I got one on camera just outside of Fred Meyer one day. I believe they’re also known as dust devils in some parts, and it’s not hard to imagine the caught-up debris being spun by a crazy, unseen imp vying for the attention of the easily amused.
You know, like me and my daughter.
Here’s the video:
As much as I hate metaphors, I feel like one of those leaves. Breast cancer, of course, is that little whirlpool of spinning air that I would love to break free of. Until it spins itself out, I’m stuck in it.
Stuck, but not a victim.
I figure I can either go into full panic mode because the ride won’t be stopping in the near future, or I can do what I can to enjoy it (the ride, that is, not the cancer). In fact, I even tossed around the idea of a too-long but more appropriate title for this post: “I May Be Spinning Around Like a Leaf in a Wind Eddy…But I’m Free As a Bird on the Inside.”
Speaking of being free, a word that’s been coming to mind quite a bit lately is this one:
Proactive.
Being proactive is all about making things happen instead of just letting them happen. It’s taking the darts being thrown at you and throwing them back. It’s a choice. It’s freedom.
It’s been over a week now since I finished chemo, and this morning I woke up feeling like I’d been hit by a truck. As the day went on, everything hurt from my head to my toes (which were already hurting, thanks to the effects the chemo has had on my toenails and fingernails). Like the depression I was thrown into last week, I’ve heard this can be pretty normal, too. Even expected. Those of us going through chemo are usually given steroids with each infusion which keep us from experiencing some of the ugly side effects. BUT…once the treatments are over with, the steroids wear off sooner than the chemo does, and we can start to feel very fatigued and even achy, like today.
It’s hard to be proactive on a day like this, but proactivity doesn’t have to mountain-shaking. It can be taken in small steps, too. So I made the choice to give myself permission to rest and enjoy a day of doing very little rather than sink into the dumps just because I couldn’t do everything I wanted to.
Next up, large and looming, is surgery. I’m facing a bilateral mastectomy with lymph node dissection in my left axillary area (armpit). I’m dreading it, remembering how painful just the biopsies in the same areas were last August. (I’m also dreading it for other obvious reasons.) But again, I’ve chosen to be proactive. I’m focusing on what I can do to make my recovery easier on me, and trying very hard not to focus on the surgery itself. Or the recovery.
Besides deciding on my mindset, part of that choice to do something was to go shopping this last weekend. I was told I’ll need shirts or jackets that open in the front (because it will hurt my chest to try to pull things over my head — something to do with the arm movements needed for that since they’ll be picking on my pectoral muscles, as well), so I picked up two hoodies that will work nicely. I also found a black TV tray at Target to make eating easier. And if it’s too tall to use at the sofa, which it might be, it can at least hold the things I need to have at hand. You know, just being ready in small ways for a big event like major surgery can knock out some of its teeth.
I think the best way I can be proactive is to choose my mindset. I haven’t been fabulously successful in that area lately, especially this past week, but I know it’s an option and I’m trying. At the very least, I’m focusing on not giving in to self pity and not EVER feeling like a victim. Sometimes I succeed, sometimes I don’t. But most days I do pretty darned okay.
How have you been proactive when faced with a difficult situation?
===================================================================== Sally Dinius is writer-in-chief here at CrazyBusyMama.com, a blog created to inspire and motivate busy mamas everywhere to feel healthy, fit, and in control of their lives. Follow her on Twitter at http://twitter.com/sallydinius, and come join the CrazyBusy Mama Facebook page by clicking here. And don’t forget to check out the new CrazyBusy Mama Quick Guides available for your Kindle or Kindle app!
When I first got it in my mind to start blogging about my journey out of breast cancer (“out of” sounds better to me than “through”), I knew I was going to have to be transparent for the sake of helping and encouraging someone else. The good, the bad, the ugly…you’d see it all. Well, almost all. There are just some things a lady doesn’t share, right? Right.
This should have been a great week. The best of weeks. Monday was a really big day, after all — I finished five months of chemo! Woo hoo? Yes, woo hoo…and aside from being drugged up on Benedryl, I was very happy to be done. It began to hit me that night and especially the next day that finishing chemo was a VERY big deal.
But Tuesday was the beginning of my downfall. I was a little sad that it wasn’t being made a bigger deal of. I wondered where the balloons were and even contemplated buying one for myself and writing “Yay ME” on the back of it with a wide-tipped Sharpie.
For a (somewhat frugal) treat, I did take myself out for a little bit of treasure hunting at Goodwill. After finding a few too many cute things for my house, I then picked up my daughter from her driver’s ed class. She’d had a really rough day, too, so I took her to Starbucks where we could vent over a couple of decaf grande something-or-others.
To be fair, my husband did surprise me with a cheesecake and Martinelli’s that evening (along with a very nice card and a Starbucks card tucked inside it), but I was already feeling too low to enjoy it. It didn’t help that the only thing I could taste — thanks to the chemo — was the cheesecake’s cherry topping.
I was on a slippery slope and sliding fast. I fell into a monster depression that, honestly, I’m still not out of — in fact, am still in the thick of. This thing hit me out of the blue. Or, who knows — maybe it was just waiting in the wings. As I told a friend today, I think I’ve just been on a plateau with my eyes on the goal of finishing chemo. Well…been there, done that, got the t-shirt to prove it. Now what?
Like a little plane that was puttering along, I ran out of gas and nose-dived.
And now…the next thing I face is major surgery, recovery, more maintenance medication through November (Herceptin every three weeks), and six weeks of radiation sometime this spring. Knowing that I still have so much ahead is really making me miss my dad, who would have been here for me through all of it.
So there you have it…the bad and the ugly all wrapped up together. From what I’ve been reading, depression is a very much-expected part of breast cancer treatment. Maybe in a way it’s also an emotional release, and I’m learning that’s okay. If I’ve done anything since my diagnosis, it’s that I’ve learned to give myself a break. If I need to rest, I rest. If I need to let something go that doesn’t need to be in my schedule, I let it go. If someone in my life is causing me unneeded stress, I let them go, too. If I need to cry, I cry. If I need to wallow in self pity, I wallow…but not for too long. If I have some down days, there’s probably a reason for it and I’m not going to stuff it.
I gave you the bad and the ugly today, so I should end with some good. I did see my oncologist on Monday, just before my last chemo treatment. He reiterated that my tumor had shrunk somewhere around 99%. Yes — that IS awesome. That’s practically GONE. He then told me, “I love starting my day with patients like you.” Let me tell you something — if you’ve got a doctor who can give you hope and lift your spirits like that, you’ve got the best out there. Period.
Finally, I leave you with this display by artist Tim Etchells. Sometimes we lose hope, but mostly it rises. I’m holding on to it. Have a great weekend!
Courtesy http://timetchells.com
===================================================================== Sally Dinius is writer-in-chief here at CrazyBusyMama.com, a blog created to inspire and motivate busy mamas everywhere to feel healthy, fit, and in control of their lives. Follow her on Twitter at http://twitter.com/sallydinius, and come join the CrazyBusy Mama Facebook page by clicking here. And don’t forget to check out the new CrazyBusy Mama Quick Guides available for your Kindle or Kindle app!
It’s 11:25 p.m. on a Sunday night as I begin to write this post. I’ve been trying to get it written for the last three and a half weeks…honest. I think I’ve actually started it about three times.
