I'm A Lucky Duck

Every morning when I wake up, I pick up my phone and delete the endless emails from Old Navy and Kohls and Bath and Body Works and all the other messages from stores that browbeat me into giving them my email address at checkout time. I check Twitter. Instagram. Facebook. And I save the best for last.

I check my Time Hop.

Do you have the Time Hop app on your phone? Because you should. Every day, it compiles the posts, tweets, and pictures posted on social media on that date, going back about five years. I see pictures I forgot I had even taken. Posts about fun times with friends or family. Reminders of silly things my preschoolers said or did. Status updates or tweets where I think, "Man, I'm pretty damn funny sometimes!"

This morning, after verifying through Twitter that we did, indeed, have to go to school IN SPITE OF THE ICE AND SNOW ON THE STREETS, my Time Hop included a (I thought) hilarious tweet from a year ago, a couple of pictures from a volleyball tournament two years ago, and the following status update from three years ago:

This was pretty exciting stuff! My son was a junior in high school; my daughter was in 7th grade, and they both qualified for State with their National History Day projects. 

The awards ceremony had ended around 5:00 p.m. My daughter and I left together in my car, heading to Academy Sports to purchase a pair of volleyball shoes. My husband and son went home to change clothes, then play tennis at a park near our home. 

And while Emma and I were at the checkout, paying for her shoes, my cell phone rang, the call coming from the surgeon I had visited earlier in the week about yet another new lump in one of my already lumpy and bumpy fibrocystic breasts with the results of my biopsy.

"You have cancer."

Higher than a kite on opiates,
post-bilateral mastectomy

And that fast, life would never be the same again.

I had a bilateral mastectomy with free tram flap reconstruction.

Being the poster child for early detection was probably the reason I didn't have to have infusion chemotherapy, but I didn't know that until almost three months after the diagnosis and surgery, when all the pathology reports were in.

I began what is projected to be five years of chemo treatment with an aromatase inhibitor (Arimidex), which works to block the enzyme aromatase from turning the hormone androgen into estrogen in post-menopausal women.

I was not post-menopausal; therefore, my ovaries had to be stopped from producing estrogen. This was accomplished with monthly injections of Zoladex, also projected to be for five years. The injections are into my lower abdomen, near my tram flap scar (which is fortunate, as that area is numb anyway), where a capsule about the size of a grain of rice is deposited.

I take copious amounts of calcium, Vitamin E and Vitamin D to counteract the side effects of the Arimidex and Zoladex.

I also take Fosamax once weekly (like an 80 year old, hump backed old woman) because the chemo drugs caused a 13% depletion in my bone density within the first two years of treatments.

And every day, every little ache or pain, every tender spot, every glance in the mirror at the miracle that is my reconstruction, I wonder if it's cancer cells returning. Then I brush the thought away, because that's what Scarlett O'Hara would do. 

I'm not complaining here. I'm just reporting. I know how lucky I am. I've seen friends go through infusion chemo and radiation, and I thank God often and profusely that I did not have to go through that.

Early detection.

I believe in it.

Girls, check your girls. Know your girls. Boys, make sure your girls are checking their girls. And check your own while you're at it. Men are not immune to breast cancer.

Little Of This, Little Of That, Nothing Important

I spent an entire week away from my sweet baby Ruby, the longest I've ever been away from her. She repaid me by shunning me when I got home. The boy kitties were happy to see me, at least, but it took Ruby an entire day of getting even with me before she was back to her old self. Girls!

Finally over it.

All three cats are currently in the same room with me, all within three feet of each other, and there is no hissing. Shhhh! Don't jinx it!

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Last night, I sat in a bubble bath with a huge bowl of popcorn and a diet coke and watched the first four episodes of "Orange Is The New Black" on my laptop. The only hitch in my plan was the screen timing out periodically, but since I also had my phone with me, I would call my son and have him come in for tech support. After about the fifth time, he got a little surly about it. Actually, after the second time, he was surly, but he continued to come to my aid.

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I don't watch much television. I enjoy "Modern Family" and "The Middle," but other than that, there's no show I watch with any consistency. I just can't sit and watch tv or movies without doing something else, like reading or blogging or cleaning (hah!) or cooking, and then I have no idea what the show is about, and others in the room who are actually paying attention get a little perturbed with me for continually asking questions. That I am hooked on "Orange Is The New Black" and watched four episodes in a row is unheard of. 

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I was given some bedding plants a few weeks ago (which is always a mistake, as I am not a gardener; in fact, I abhor gardening), but I planned to stick them in a planter in the front of the house and hope for the best. In the meantime, they sat on the dining room table, on a cookie sheet, and I kept them watered. When I left to spend the week with my person and her kids, I told my husband to stick them in the planter while I was gone. He did not. And while I was gone, Ruby decided the plants were her own personal salad bar, and not only ate on them, but she also laid the front half of her furry self right down on them. As a result, they are not looking well. My son sent me these while I was gone:

She is INSIDE the basket of flowers.

Busted.

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The nurse practitioner in my ob/gyn's office gave me a prescription (and two months of free samples - yay) of a medicine that is supposed to help with hot flashes without the use of hormones. Because when you have estrogen receptor positive breast cancer, part of the treatment (after all that bilateral mastectomy stuff) is to strip you of all estrogen, thereby throwing you into menopause. And by stripping me of estrogen, that means the monthly injections of Zoladex I receive in my tummy, right above my tram flap incision. ANYWAY, my hot flashes haven't been horrible, but they are annoying and are worse in the hot, humid summer months (or at least FEEL worse), so I gave the medicine a try. And I thought, "Meh, it's okay, but I don't know if it's going to be worth the money once the samples run out." Then I didn't take it for two days, and I came to the conclusion that it most certainly is worth the money, every penny of it.

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We are having unseasonably cool temperatures today, and the humidity seems to be lower, but that is probably just an illusion, due to the cooler temperature. It has rained every day for the past week. And is expected to do so several more days this week. Other than the storm we experienced last week in Branson, where the power went out for an hour and a half, the lake was pitching like the ocean, and a motel lost its roof, none of our weather has been severe. 

Creepy clouds. Just rain, thankfully.

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The countdown is ON to see my blog friend Christine this weekend when she travels to Kansas City with her daughter for a soccer tournament. I. CAN'T. WAIT!

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It's getting darker this morning, rather than lighter, which means more rain. I'm not complaining about that (1) because we need the rain desperately and (2) it makes it better for watching "Orange Is The New Black."  Which I'm going to do right now, sans popcorn. Ciao, baby.

A Tornado-free Week And Nine Other Thankfuls

Last week's Ten Things of Thankful was filled with wonderfulness, because it was, well, a wonderful week; I got to spend it in Nashville with my 15 year old daughter, visiting my person, Terri, and her kids. It was hard to head back home after that. Literally so, in fact, as we drove across Kentucky on I-24, only to find ourselves stopped in an inexplicable traffic jam at 3:00 on a Sunday afternoon. It took us about 40 minutes to go roughly three miles, where the source of the traffic jam was discovered: the bridge over the Tennessee River had one lane closed for maintenance work. . . .

After that delay, we continued across Kentucky to Paducah, headed west towards Missouri, crossed the Ohio River on one of the scariest, awfullest bridges EVER, prepared to turn the corner and cross the Mississippi River on the second-to-most scariest, awfullest bridges EVER and were met with a big sign saying "Bridge Closed." 

Recalculating route.

We had to turn and go north, into Illinois and through the town of Cairo (pronounced CARE-o), which, I can assure you, is nothing like the one in Egypt. We went miles out of our way, but the upside was that we crossed the Mississippi on one of those fancy interstate bridges that make it almost seem as though you aren't actually crossing a deadly waterway. 

We did finally make it home, then it was off and running for a full week of work and activities. And now it's the weekend and time for the thankfuls.

1. I got to eat at one of my favorite places while I was in Nashville not once, but twice. And which is why we got such a late start leaving town on Sunday, but it was TOTALLY WORTH IT. I heart San Antonio Taco Company.

2. And Terri and I got to have ice cream at another favorite place, Jeni's Splendid Ice Creams, where I had three teeny tiny scoops: goat cheese with red cherries, Savannah buttermint, and wildberry lavender, and got to spend time laughing and talking with my Kayla.

Normal sized spoon. Teeny tiny scoops.

3. I thought I had a work day on Monday afternoon after preschool, which is a time for changing bulletin boards and exchanging the toys in the centers for different ones, etc., (in other words, manual labor, preschool-style) and instead found out I had my days mixed up and work day wasn't until NEXT Monday. And not only was it NOT work day, it was birthday lunch day! Win-win!

4. One of my pre-k boys went to Disney World (REALLY went, not like the little guy who told me he was going there, but he hadn't told his mom yet). When this boy announced to me he would be going there over Spring Break , I told him to make sure to ride Peter Pan for me, because it was my favorite ride at the park. As soon as he entered the room Monday morning, he excitedly told me he rode Peter Pan for me and "it was weally, weally fun!"

5. We had our first tornado watch of the season on Thursday, but did not end up getting any severe weather. We are jumpy in these parts when tornado watches are issued (with just cause).

6. Even though we didn't get any severe weather, we did get a small thunderstorm with some very hard rain that blew in from the south straight against the front of the house. We badly need the rain, so it was good  to get it, even though it was short-lived. And although we've had snow and freezing rain and sleet, we haven't had much in the way of rain since we got Ruby. She was ricocheting around the room as the rain hit the house, then jumped on a table and tried to "catch" it as it hit the window.

7. Beautiful sunsets like this one through the storm clouds reminds me of a quote from Robert Browning, "God is in His heaven, all's right with the world!"

Sky above North Middle School.

8. Lunch with a friend where you act stupid and take selfies to put on Twitter and embarrass your daughters. And may I add, a friend who will not only tell me I have cheese in my hair (unlike an ENTIRE DOCTOR'S OFFICE), but will take a napkin and wipe it off. 

9. I took a picture of one of my pre-k boys as he played with a toy tool bench (and was so convincing that, had he had real tools, I feel he would have completely dismantled some shelves and sawed them into pieces) and sent it to his mom, because she teaches in the public school and never gets to come by the preschool. This is her reply, which warmed my heart:

Soooo, we've been talking about vegetables this week for "V" week, and if your pre-k teacher won't tell you that asparagus makes your pee smell funny, then who will? Love that he remembers what we talk about in class and then tells his family about it.

10. This week marks the two year anniversary of my bilateral mastectomy and free tram flap reconstruction, and by all indications, there has been no further evidence of cancer. Yippeeee!!!

I am participating in the A to Z Challenge for the month of April. I have absolutely no idea what I'm getting myself into, but if you'd like to be a part of what could be a train wreck on my part, then just follow me and see for yourself.

And now, my bloggy friends, put your own list of thankfuls together and link them up here. Or for you non-bloggy people, click on any of the links below and read what some others find thankful in their lives. Some are funny, some are touching, some are heartbreaking, all are worth reading.

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Two Years And Counting

Today is my second anniversary. Not my wedding anniversary. Not my blogaversary (which was earlier this month, now that I think about it). I guess you could say it's my boobaversary. Because two years ago today, I had mine removed and replaced, thanks to a jellybean-sized tumor.

Here's where things stand, two years later.

The new boobs (are they still new? Let's see, the original ones were 51, although they didn't actually make much of an appearance until I was about 13, so by my calculations, even as sketchy as my math skills are, I'd say two years are still new) are still beautiful. Perky. Firm.

The tummy tuck, a by-product of my tram flap reconstruction, is still tucked.

The incision that goes from the back of one hip bone to the other, across my tummy, and which measures about 26 inches, is faded but still tender. Like when I sneeze. Or cough. Or try to sit straight up (which I can't do, but I still TRY sometimes). Or turn over in bed. The really fun one is trying to wallow out of the bathtub from my reclining position against my cushy bath pillow. No description could do it justice like a video would. And no, I am NOT going to video it.

I'm still numb from about an inch above my new bellybutton to four inches below it, and about 8 inches across.

And the boobies? Completely numb. Pretty, but numb.

Here's just a little part of the story from two years ago:

Day 2: It Only Hurts When I Move

originally published April 10, 2012

pain meds... yesss.....

Being hospitalized wouldn't be so bad, if it weren't for the surgery part. Friends come to see you. You get flowers and presents. Push a button, and a nurse comes to see you. With a wave of your finger from your hospital bed throne, someone will adjust the covers, the thermostat, bring you fresh ice water.  And if I laid reallllly still, I could even forget that I had had surgery....

Thanks to the narcotics, even though I couldn't focus my eyes, I had a great day with Kristin. We took lots of pictures, and she approved all of my facebook posts. It's nice having a nurse be your babysitter. Every time I bent my left elbow, I set off an alarm for squishing my IV, and she was able to push the reset button and make it stop. A valuable skill, because I did it often. 

I got a breakfast tray that morning. Chicken broth, coffee (me, really?), grape juice, red jello, and this little cup of frozen, pink Italian dessert. I ate a few bites of jello and tried the Italian dessert. It was a non-descript pink flavor. Very sweet. Very mediocre. I passed. Lunch was the same thing, only they shook it up with beef broth and orange jello and yellow Italian dessert. I sipped a little broth, but it was so salty that I felt like I'd been brined. A bite or two of jello. I had high hopes for the Italian dessert this time, because I thought it would taste like the frozen lemonade you can get at amusement parks. Instead, it tasted like frozen Formula 409. I was sorry I had dissed the pink Italian dessert that morning. Dinner was the exact same thing. Bleh. Fortunately, I wasn't hungry. And THAT's a good thing, because Kristin decided to forego hospital food for dinner and ordered a Domino's pizza and ate it in front of me. VERY fortunate that I wasn't hungry. I will admit that it smelled divine.

My in-laws brought the kids to see me that evening. My son sat in the corner and chewed on his fingers the entire time. My daughter sat on my bed and talked the entire time. They are such polar opposites.  There was a sweet tea fiasco that I won't go into, because it makes me look shallow and unappreciative, and we can't have THAT. 

Kristin seemed to take to sleeping in the recliner rather well. I hadn't taken to sleeping on my back in a hospital bed, so I was awake. A lot. At one point, while watching helicopters go over, I realized that if I needed the nurse, I was screwed, because Kristin fell asleep with the tv remote, which meant she also had the call button. I scrutinized my tray table, trying to decide what I would throw at her if I needed to get her attention.

Both of my doctors are early risers and freakishly cheerful in the mornings. Dr. Bumberry came in first, mostly just patted my leg and asked if I were doing okay. He had a cute little Mizzou scrub hat on that, sadly, covered the lovely red hair. When he left, Kristin looked at me and said, "Is he, like, 26?" Doogie. Doogie Bumberry. Personally, I think he has a painting of himself in his attic that ages for him.

As gently as Dr. Bumberry came in that morning, Dr. Geter was just the opposite. He threw on the overhead light, and with a big smile, began pulling the bandages off of me. He assured me I had been shaved before the surgery, but I hadn't been skinned, so the tape removal hurt like a sonofabitch. I looked down when he was done. I had a happy face-shaped incision that began around my side at one hipbone and ended at the other, falling a little over an inch below my belly button. Well, not MY belly button but A belly button. Mine had looked nothing like the one I now had. I don't know whether or not that's an improvement, but I do know that Dr. Geter was very proud of the way it turned out. He pulled off the bandages on my chest next, and lo and behold, there were BOOBIES there. There was an incision across the equator of each one that ended where a nipple would be. The nipple area was inset with a piece of skin from somewhere. My stomach? Gave me a peculiar patchwork look. Dr. Geter was proud of these as well. He said, "They're the same size as the old ones. Actually, they're a little bigger. There was more to work with than I thought." WHAT? I thought I was pretty distinct when I said I wanted them to look small and perky like Jennifer Aniston's. Kristin later told me she saw my face fall when he said they were bigger than expected. 

No backsies....

Be Aware, The Encore

This was originally published October 2, 2012. The message is still timely. Read up, yo.

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It's October, and that means Breast Cancer Awareness month.

Pink ribbons, pink bagels, pink hair extensions, pink socks on football players, all designed to make us more aware of breast cancer.

I guess because I have been so very vigilant about self-examinations and mammograms myself, I have trouble believing that there are women out there who are really not aware of the very real risk of developing breast cancer.

Wrong.

A recent study sponsored by Medco Health Solutions Inc. found that half of U.S. women over the age of 40 fail to get an annual mammogram. Over 200,000 U.S. women are diagnosed each year with invasive breast cancer, and nearly 40,000 women will die this year from the disease. According to the American Cancer Society, the chances of a woman having invasive breast cancer at some time in her life are 1 in 8. Her chance of dying from it is 1 in 36. It is the second most common cancer among women, after skin cancer (insert sunscreen speech here), and is the second leading cause of cancer death in women, after lung cancer (insert quit smoking speech here).

Yes, I brag about my awesome new boobies, but ladies, seriously, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING? It's no way to get a boob job.

Perform monthly self-examinations. Be familiar with your grrrls so you can recognize any changes in them (I found my "jellybean" through self-examination and knew it wasn't like even the worst fibrocystic tissue I had). 

GET YOUR ANNUAL MAMMOGRAM! No excuses. I don't care if you say it hurts when your boobies get smashed between two steel plates. Mastectomy and lumpectomy surgeries and the subsequent treatments hurt far worse. Put on your big girl panties (pink ones, of course) and deal with it.

That is all.

Lucky 13

It's week 13 of Ten Things of Thankful. (Did you know 13 is Taylor Swift's favorite number? Then you don't have a teenage girl at your house, do you?) 

It's been a busy week: preschool Open House, oncology appointment, volleyball related activities, and the College Boy home for his first visit. Plenty for which to be thankful. PLENTY.

1. I am thankful for successful Open Houses for both of my classes. This year, I will be teaching a MWF Pre-K class and a T-Th Primary class. That translates to sixteen 4-5 year olds and twelve 3-4 year olds. And just to keep me on my toes, I have a set of identical twin girls in each class.

2. I am thankful for my two assistant teachers. No matter how cockamamie an idea I come up with for an activity, they just go along with it, even when it involves paint. 

Oh, yes, we DID.

3. I'm thankful my oncology visit was underwhelming. Blood work fine. Lungs clear. Heart fine (except for the occasional PVC beats that I have). Whatever he sees when he looks in my eyes with a bright light was fine. I'm fine with that.

4. I am extraordinarily thankful that I dodged that infusion chemo bullet. I wait in one of the chairs in the infusion center for my Zoladex injection to be delivered, then one of the nurses gives me the injection in a little storage room. (Because the shot goes in my stomach, near my incision, which requires me to unbutton and unzip my britches. No one else wants to see that.) This week, I took the only open chair. It was late in the afternoon and, instead of things winding down, it was crazy busy in there. Yet the room was very quiet. Often when I'm in there, the chemo patients (and any family members that accompany them) are laughing and chatting with the nurses and other staff and each other. This time, they were all somber. Several were sleeping, covered snugly with blankets. Others just sat while the necessary poisons dripped into their bodies. I felt gloriously healthy and gloriously thankful. And very prayerful for those receiving their treatments.

5. We had a volleyball parent meeting this week, and I'm thankful for coaches who realize the importance of fellowship among the team members.  There are some delightful traditions for the girls, including a really fun "kidnapping" of the freshmen by the seniors for a good-natured initiation followed by breakfast at the head coach's house, breakfast together after Friday morning practices, and weekly pasta nights. 

6. I'm thankful for my friend Melinda, who volunteered me to do the first asscrack of dawn breakfast for the volleyball players after their 5:30 practice, because now I've taken my turn and gotten it over with.

Serving up some applesauce pancakes for
this nifty bunch o' girls.

7. I got an update from the woman who found my blog and contacted me about my bilateral mastectomy and tram flap reconstruction surgery. (Please read about it here, if you haven't already. Talking with her has been such a fulfilling experience for me!) She has had such kind words for me for sharing my experience with her, and I am so very thankful that I could be of service to her.

8. I'm thankful to have my son home from college this weekend. He and his sister have not fought once yet, and he's been home now for over five hours.

My son's idea of packing.
Yes, that's a laundry basket.

9. I am thankful for the time I had with him in the car, just the two of us, as we were driving home. I enjoyed hearing him talk about his classes and the people he had met and all the other things he has experienced these past two weeks. I've missed him so, but I am so grateful that he is loving his college experience.

10. I am thankful for Strawberry Pretzel Salad. It's a pain in the ass to make, but it's so cool and refreshing when it's 98 degrees outside.

Link it up, boys and girls. Right here. Right now.

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I Actually Helped Someone AND I Received A Blog Award

I am over the moon with happiness today!

When I started blogging, I had two purposes: one was to record everything that was happening with my breast cancer diagnosis, so that I would never forget any of the details. But the second purpose was because I hoped to reach someone, somewhere, who was facing the same diagnosis and searching desperately for straightforward information about it.

You can't tell I'm lit on narcotics, can you?

Then last week, I got this email. And it started with the words, "I found your blog and it’s helped put me at ease."

Eureka!

What makes this even better is she also lives in the same town as me.

GET. OUT!

She Googled "free tram flap," which is the reconstruction method that was used on me, and "Dr. Geter," who is the AWESOMEST PLASTIC SURGEON EVER, and she got ME.

I LOVE THIS MAN!

She is having her surgery done prophylactically, because, although she does not have cancer, she has a strong family history of it, plus she also has fibrocystic disease. Her surgery is scheduled for next week.

And today, she and I and her daughter met for lunch.

And they asked me lots of questions, which I answered as honestly and completely as I could.

I showed them pictures of my boobies at the different stages of reconstruction (something which I have spared my blog readers). (I offered to let her see them if she wanted, but she said the pictures were sufficient. The offer still holds if she changes her mind, because, while a picture says a thousand words, a personal viewing is like War and Peace.)*

If I drop dead tomorrow, I will die happy.

My little blog helped someone. It really helped someone.

And now that I am on the subject of boobies, I think it's time to reveal that I have received a coveted Blog Award. Unlike most blogging awards, this one has very, very simple rules:

          1. Be brazen enough to display it on your blog.

          2. Nominate another blogger.

So, without further ado, I am proudly displaying my new award.

Now for my nomination for a Golden Sideboob (drum roll, please): Synnove Robinson of Don't Chew On The Dinner Table. Accept it, Synnove, if you dare.

*When I told my husband that we were going to meet, he said, "Let me get this straight. You're going to show your boobs to someone you met on the internet?" Uh, yep.

A Sight To See

A Tribute To My Girls, in limerick form:

As they harbored some cancerous shit

My saggy, tired boobs were unfit

They were not only removed

But also improved

And now high on my chest they do sit.

Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop prompt #5: write a limerick.