I returned to work this week. It feels great to trade in my sweat pants for dress pants and be back in the office with all of my team mates after working from home and then being off work. I feel like I have a purpose again.
Its amazing all the little things you can forget in such a short period of time. I forgot passwords, my phone number, where to find things; even how to make an outgoing call. Slowly I am getting back into the saddle.
The first order of business was assessing what clothing I own that still fits. People may think I hide my weight gain well (or they are just being polite) but according to my wardrobe there is no hiding the fact. I was late for work on the first day because I was thrashing around my bedroom, like a fish out of water, getting my tights on. Not like I could place the blame on my hair.
This too shall pass.....
Radiation begins next week and should be a cake walk compared to what my body has been through with chemotherapy and surgery.
I had my "radiation prep" last week. I decided to forgo the radiation school. At the start of all this, my motto was "knowledge is power" and I read all the literature provided by the hospital, attended chemo school; taking detailed notes. Now my motto is "learn as I go." There are only so many times one can go to a hospital. I figure I have to go to radiation anyways and someone will tell me what to do or what to expect while I am there.
I don't remember how many treatments I have. I am pretty sure I was told 23 treatments plus 5 booster treatments (whatever that means) for a total of 28, delivered every day for 5 1/2 weeks. Again, I will just keep going until they stop giving me appointment cards. The targeted radiation area includes breast, armpit and collar bone. The purpose is to ensure there are no little cancer floaties that escaped chemo and surgery. Symptoms include possible fatigue which could be a result of having to go to the hospital and deal with parking idiots every day.
I got a parking pass to the hospital. God help me if I turn into one of them!
Other possible symptoms include skin irritations and a sore throat. Sarah described the skin irritation equivalent to a tag from your clothing rubbing against your skin. Annoying but completely manageable. So I signed up for inline skating lessons during that time. The thought of possibly falling down and breaking my neck will take my mind off any old skin irritation.
My prep consisted of a CT Scan which will help Dr. C determine my treatments. I was able to keep my arm over my head for approximately 20 minutes, during set up and scan. There is always a concern of mobility after surgery but I no issues at all and that means a green light to start radiation on the 6th.
I also received my radiation tattoos: 5 small dots to ensure that my body is lined up each time I receive treatment. Now this is an actual tattoo, applied with a needle and ink. You don't want those bad boys washing off prior to treatment. I am ticklish and have repeatedly mentioned my loud laugh. Well imagine the noise I made while getting marked up. A doctor even walked into the room to ask what all the noise was about and was shocked to hear it was my laugh.
"Usually we have people crying."
Not me.
Any crazy ideas I ever had of having the profile of Jesus tattooed along my ribcage has gone out the window. It would look like scribbles given the way I squirm. I would have grabbed onto the Technologists shoulder for support, as I did with my nurse when he gave me a needle, but I figured that could end horribly.
The other excellent piece of news I would like to share is the following day I visited my Surgeon. She informed me that 16 more lymph nodes were removed in the last surgery and all were cancer free. Everything seems to be healing well and I should have full sensation back in my arm in a couple of months. But each day it gets better and better.
I also didn't say anything stupid as they were putting me under for surgery...again, she may just be polite.
So life seems to be slowly returning to normal: I have moved back to Ottawa, am back at work, my hair is growing back rapidly, and am starting to work out again. Sure I am tired at the end of the day right now and that may continue until after radiation but who cares? My goal right now is to have a lifestyle again where I can talk about something else other than cancer. When you leave your job, the gym, your friends; constantly visit a doctor and have the visible side effects of chemotherapy (aka - hair loss;) the topic of your cancer tour constantly pops its head during your conversations. I would much rather discuss rollerblading, gardening, home renovations...even the rotting whale in Newfoundland.
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Friday, April 11, 2014
Boredom
Not that I ever wish to have another session of chemo again in my life, but recovering from surgery this past week was, in my opinion, more difficult.
At least during chemo, I was completely knocked down for a few days, and wanted to sleep. The days of muscle pain, I stayed heavily medicated until it passed and could physically function during the sore mouth period. But it's a whole different ball game when you physically feel alert except for one portion of your body which has a sharp nagging pain, you can't properly shower, can't lift anything, can't drive and have a drain hanging out of your armpit. Oh yeah, and let's not forget it was the longest winter ever and this week has been beautiful weather. It sucks when you are limited in what you can physically do.
Sitting still isn't one of my many talents. I get very distracted by even a dirty glass in the sink. I argue that I am not anal but merely a German Virgo. So imagine how hard it can be to sit still with my arm propped up, watching Netflix. I was going stir crazy...until I discovered reruns of Good Times. Boy, does JJ make me laugh! But eventually I got bored of him too.
On Monday, my nurse yelled at me for lifting a chair. That was nothing! I had already made the bed and folded laundry. Things need to get done and I am the only person who will do them the way I like it. I remind myself of my late great aunt Martha who in her 90s fell out of bed one morning...and it was a good thing because she saw spots under the bed where her home care provider had missed cleaning.
Getting a little "wacky shacky," I decided to do a little shopping at the mall. I purchased few items which felt like carrying a sack of potatoes on the walk home. Instead of thrashing around in a change room, decided to try on my new clothes when I got home. Dumb idea. First shirt was fine....second? I can't pull anything on over my head. And it hurt even more taking it off. Will wait until next week.
I walked out later to meet Sacha for a coffee. Keeping the drain discreet was a bit of an issue. No matter which way, it was always bulging out. If I pinned it to my bra, it looked like a third breast. Waist line wasn't bad but definitely a major inconvenience when you have to go to the bathroom (especially if you forget to unpin it and then you are back at square one in the pain department.) So I squeezed the bulb to shrink it, tucked it in the side of my bra, in my armpit....equally as stupid and uncomfortable. I kept grabbing myself at the Starbucks.
Removing the drain was the weirdest feeling while pulling out the tube. Not necessarily painful. Again, I jacked myself up on drugs to minimize the pain as grabbed unto my nurse for dear life.
Life is definitely better without the drain and I can take a full shower but won't be back in full swing for a while. Guess baseball is off the list if things to do this spring.
At least during chemo, I was completely knocked down for a few days, and wanted to sleep. The days of muscle pain, I stayed heavily medicated until it passed and could physically function during the sore mouth period. But it's a whole different ball game when you physically feel alert except for one portion of your body which has a sharp nagging pain, you can't properly shower, can't lift anything, can't drive and have a drain hanging out of your armpit. Oh yeah, and let's not forget it was the longest winter ever and this week has been beautiful weather. It sucks when you are limited in what you can physically do.
Sitting still isn't one of my many talents. I get very distracted by even a dirty glass in the sink. I argue that I am not anal but merely a German Virgo. So imagine how hard it can be to sit still with my arm propped up, watching Netflix. I was going stir crazy...until I discovered reruns of Good Times. Boy, does JJ make me laugh! But eventually I got bored of him too.
On Monday, my nurse yelled at me for lifting a chair. That was nothing! I had already made the bed and folded laundry. Things need to get done and I am the only person who will do them the way I like it. I remind myself of my late great aunt Martha who in her 90s fell out of bed one morning...and it was a good thing because she saw spots under the bed where her home care provider had missed cleaning.
Getting a little "wacky shacky," I decided to do a little shopping at the mall. I purchased few items which felt like carrying a sack of potatoes on the walk home. Instead of thrashing around in a change room, decided to try on my new clothes when I got home. Dumb idea. First shirt was fine....second? I can't pull anything on over my head. And it hurt even more taking it off. Will wait until next week.
I walked out later to meet Sacha for a coffee. Keeping the drain discreet was a bit of an issue. No matter which way, it was always bulging out. If I pinned it to my bra, it looked like a third breast. Waist line wasn't bad but definitely a major inconvenience when you have to go to the bathroom (especially if you forget to unpin it and then you are back at square one in the pain department.) So I squeezed the bulb to shrink it, tucked it in the side of my bra, in my armpit....equally as stupid and uncomfortable. I kept grabbing myself at the Starbucks.
Removing the drain was the weirdest feeling while pulling out the tube. Not necessarily painful. Again, I jacked myself up on drugs to minimize the pain as grabbed unto my nurse for dear life.
Life is definitely better without the drain and I can take a full shower but won't be back in full swing for a while. Guess baseball is off the list if things to do this spring.
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Surgery is a Comedy
I don't know if it is nerves but I always seem to find hilarious moments on surgery day.
Last Friday was, what I hope, my final surgery. I felt ill prepared compared to the previous surgery. Likely because I didn't see my surgeon in advance to have all my questions answered, but there comes a point when you want to avoid unnecessary doctor appointments.
Thursday was preparation day: Cleaning, grocery shopping, packing a little bag for the hospital. Fasting began at 11 PM, Thursday evening and by 11:01 my tummy was growling. Surgery was scheduled for 12:20...and in my fantasy land, I envisioned my body emaciated, weak from hunger upon my release. Even if that was the case, I have 20+ pounds from chemo to keep me going. I did cheat and had a small cup of black coffee in the morning. If the nurses expect cooperation from me, there better be some caffeine running through my veins.
One of the things I noticed during chemo, is I look and feel totally bad ass walking down the halls of a hospital, dressed head to toe in black with a skull emblazoned across my chest. Motorhead's Hellraiser usually plays in my head. When Meta dropped me off at the Monfort, I am pretty sure I got a raised eyebrow or two from the senior volunteers when I waltzed through the front door. Sadly, no make up and my little pink sneakers, weakened my tough bitch image.
This time my bed was further away from the nurses station where they stand around, drinking their coffee. I closed my curtain to completely avoid them taunting me with their Tim Hortons.
"Well you want us to be on the ball." A nurse commented
I had no comeback for her.
Since Kim's last literary selection was such a hit, she provided me with another Chelsea Handler book to keep me entertained while waiting. I tried hard not to laugh out loud but behind closed curtains, muffling my laugh sounded more like I was crying.
No matter how many blood tests or treatments I receive, I am still the biggest baby when it comes to needles. I was hoping they could use my port but no such luck. The nurse tasked with inserting my pic line, assured me she was the best and wouldn't hurt me. SHE LIED. It is never a good sign when she constantly rubs your arm, looking for a good vein. And the random taps to bring blood to the surface, definitely means it is going to hurt like hell. I just finished chemo, I don't have a good vein left!
I hurt, I'm tired, hungry, cranky and I want coffee!!
At least surgery was on schedule. This made me very happy. Cancer is a giant lesson of "going with the flow" that I haven't mastered. I still hate waiting and want my life scheduled at least three weeks in advance. The nurse and a porter helped me into a wheelchair to take me to the operating room. I removed the hospital gown I used as a house coat, exposing my back side. The porter held the top of my gown shut. "That wasn't the half I am worried about exposing, genius."
Then one of those cool moments happened where you wonder if it's "a sign." As I am being wheeled away, a nurse pats me on the leg and says "It's time to rock n roll, my dear." Since I decided that my cancer treatment would have a rock n roll flair, I took it as a sign that every thing was going to be alright.
I was in the same operating room as last time. As my 20 something porter helped me unto the table, I started to flirt with him. Why not? Never mind I am wearing a hospital gown in the world's most unflattering color, have no make up, no hair, sporting blue shower caps on my feet and one on my head....and I am old enough to be his teenage mother. I am blaming nervousness again or sedation. I am such a loser.
I have learned that when I am nervous, I laugh. Those who know me, know I have a very loud laugh. The echo carries well in the operating room and again, a nurse jumped about four feet into the air when she touched me with her cold hands.
I always tell the anesthesiologist that I wish to be deprived of all my senses and he gets it right every time. The next thing I remember was coming around in the recovery room. He may have been a little too eager to please because I could not function for hours later. In fact, I didn't respond well to the sedation. I had nausea and received Gravol which knocked me down even more. Poor Kim and Shawn - stuck waiting about 2 1/2 hours longer than expected. I vaguely remember calling Shawn, telling him it was like being on the worst drunk ever. The nurses were adamant about me sitting in a chair and it took two of them to carry me across the room. Now, as I mentioned earlier, I don't want to spend any more time in a hospital than required but at that point, I wanted to have a sleepover at the Monfort. I didn't give a rat's ass if I didn't have a tooth brush or extra underwear. I could not fathom the thought of standing. No such luck. I knew I was being released back into the wild when the nurse began to give me instructions on how to empty my drain.
Are you kidding me? I cannot even spell my name and you are expecting me to retain this?
Furthermore, it is now pushing 6 PM and I still have not ate anything. Because I was nauseous, I was denied my ginger ale and soda crackers. Recovery was beginning to feel like Alcatraz.
They finally released me to Kim by 6:30 and repeated all the instructions to her. I am also supposed to report that Kim had practiced for her second guest appearance as a porter and did an excellent job! She didn't hit any walls and narrow pant legs ensured she did not get tangled in the wheels. And God love them! A McDonald's cheeseburger was waiting for me in the back seat. I inhaled it before Shawn shifted the truck into "drive."
Kim knows me all too well and as my former room mate, knows my infinite love of showers. I hooked up my hand held shower on Thursday evening, because sponge baths just don't cut it for me. Even though I was drugged to the point that Kim had 3 - 4 eyes, she knew there was no stopping me from washing the hospital scent from my body. She just stood in the bathroom door way hoping not to hear the thud of my body hitting the bathtub.
My plan was to have a slumber party at Gailene's. I am supposed to stay with someone for 24 hours, post surgery and last surgery, I was very alert. So I thought it would be a fun filled evening of jokes, conversation and laughter. I arrived ready for bed, in my striped pyjamas, toting a healthy salad for our dinner. Screw the salad. I now wanted a donair and a poutine! I managed to stay awake until the delivery man arrived. I was also certain that Gailene was speaking to me in a foreign language but since she told me that one of my eyes was pointing north and the other, Southeast; I guess I was still suffering from the sedation. It was very nice of Gailene to offer me her bed but in my state, she could have put me in a cardboard box on the back porch like a stray animal and I would not have cared. The "stoner munchies" kicked in around 1 AM and I wolfed down cold poutine. To be on the safe side, I took a Gravol.
Saturday morning, I was back at my own place, relaxing. My home care nurse said the bandages were clean and didn't need to be changed until Monday but warned that it will hurt like hell and would give me an hours notice "to take everything that I have. " It wasn't as bad as anticipated and tickled more than anything else.
The drain consists of a small tube inserted in my armpit with a plastic pump at the other end which resembles a grenade. I feel like Al-Queda with it strapped to my bra.
Taking a shower with my bandages and drain resembles a Cirque du Soliel audition and on Sunday, I learned very quickly why I should not hit my arm. I knocked my arm against the wall....Jayzus!!! I won't be doing that again and now understand why I should not go to hear Jake E Lee play tomorrow night in a crowded bar.
Last Friday was, what I hope, my final surgery. I felt ill prepared compared to the previous surgery. Likely because I didn't see my surgeon in advance to have all my questions answered, but there comes a point when you want to avoid unnecessary doctor appointments.
Thursday was preparation day: Cleaning, grocery shopping, packing a little bag for the hospital. Fasting began at 11 PM, Thursday evening and by 11:01 my tummy was growling. Surgery was scheduled for 12:20...and in my fantasy land, I envisioned my body emaciated, weak from hunger upon my release. Even if that was the case, I have 20+ pounds from chemo to keep me going. I did cheat and had a small cup of black coffee in the morning. If the nurses expect cooperation from me, there better be some caffeine running through my veins.
One of the things I noticed during chemo, is I look and feel totally bad ass walking down the halls of a hospital, dressed head to toe in black with a skull emblazoned across my chest. Motorhead's Hellraiser usually plays in my head. When Meta dropped me off at the Monfort, I am pretty sure I got a raised eyebrow or two from the senior volunteers when I waltzed through the front door. Sadly, no make up and my little pink sneakers, weakened my tough bitch image.
This time my bed was further away from the nurses station where they stand around, drinking their coffee. I closed my curtain to completely avoid them taunting me with their Tim Hortons.
"Well you want us to be on the ball." A nurse commented
I had no comeback for her.
Since Kim's last literary selection was such a hit, she provided me with another Chelsea Handler book to keep me entertained while waiting. I tried hard not to laugh out loud but behind closed curtains, muffling my laugh sounded more like I was crying.
No matter how many blood tests or treatments I receive, I am still the biggest baby when it comes to needles. I was hoping they could use my port but no such luck. The nurse tasked with inserting my pic line, assured me she was the best and wouldn't hurt me. SHE LIED. It is never a good sign when she constantly rubs your arm, looking for a good vein. And the random taps to bring blood to the surface, definitely means it is going to hurt like hell. I just finished chemo, I don't have a good vein left!
I hurt, I'm tired, hungry, cranky and I want coffee!!
At least surgery was on schedule. This made me very happy. Cancer is a giant lesson of "going with the flow" that I haven't mastered. I still hate waiting and want my life scheduled at least three weeks in advance. The nurse and a porter helped me into a wheelchair to take me to the operating room. I removed the hospital gown I used as a house coat, exposing my back side. The porter held the top of my gown shut. "That wasn't the half I am worried about exposing, genius."
Then one of those cool moments happened where you wonder if it's "a sign." As I am being wheeled away, a nurse pats me on the leg and says "It's time to rock n roll, my dear." Since I decided that my cancer treatment would have a rock n roll flair, I took it as a sign that every thing was going to be alright.
I was in the same operating room as last time. As my 20 something porter helped me unto the table, I started to flirt with him. Why not? Never mind I am wearing a hospital gown in the world's most unflattering color, have no make up, no hair, sporting blue shower caps on my feet and one on my head....and I am old enough to be his teenage mother. I am blaming nervousness again or sedation. I am such a loser.
I have learned that when I am nervous, I laugh. Those who know me, know I have a very loud laugh. The echo carries well in the operating room and again, a nurse jumped about four feet into the air when she touched me with her cold hands.
I always tell the anesthesiologist that I wish to be deprived of all my senses and he gets it right every time. The next thing I remember was coming around in the recovery room. He may have been a little too eager to please because I could not function for hours later. In fact, I didn't respond well to the sedation. I had nausea and received Gravol which knocked me down even more. Poor Kim and Shawn - stuck waiting about 2 1/2 hours longer than expected. I vaguely remember calling Shawn, telling him it was like being on the worst drunk ever. The nurses were adamant about me sitting in a chair and it took two of them to carry me across the room. Now, as I mentioned earlier, I don't want to spend any more time in a hospital than required but at that point, I wanted to have a sleepover at the Monfort. I didn't give a rat's ass if I didn't have a tooth brush or extra underwear. I could not fathom the thought of standing. No such luck. I knew I was being released back into the wild when the nurse began to give me instructions on how to empty my drain.
Are you kidding me? I cannot even spell my name and you are expecting me to retain this?
Furthermore, it is now pushing 6 PM and I still have not ate anything. Because I was nauseous, I was denied my ginger ale and soda crackers. Recovery was beginning to feel like Alcatraz.
They finally released me to Kim by 6:30 and repeated all the instructions to her. I am also supposed to report that Kim had practiced for her second guest appearance as a porter and did an excellent job! She didn't hit any walls and narrow pant legs ensured she did not get tangled in the wheels. And God love them! A McDonald's cheeseburger was waiting for me in the back seat. I inhaled it before Shawn shifted the truck into "drive."
Kim knows me all too well and as my former room mate, knows my infinite love of showers. I hooked up my hand held shower on Thursday evening, because sponge baths just don't cut it for me. Even though I was drugged to the point that Kim had 3 - 4 eyes, she knew there was no stopping me from washing the hospital scent from my body. She just stood in the bathroom door way hoping not to hear the thud of my body hitting the bathtub.
My plan was to have a slumber party at Gailene's. I am supposed to stay with someone for 24 hours, post surgery and last surgery, I was very alert. So I thought it would be a fun filled evening of jokes, conversation and laughter. I arrived ready for bed, in my striped pyjamas, toting a healthy salad for our dinner. Screw the salad. I now wanted a donair and a poutine! I managed to stay awake until the delivery man arrived. I was also certain that Gailene was speaking to me in a foreign language but since she told me that one of my eyes was pointing north and the other, Southeast; I guess I was still suffering from the sedation. It was very nice of Gailene to offer me her bed but in my state, she could have put me in a cardboard box on the back porch like a stray animal and I would not have cared. The "stoner munchies" kicked in around 1 AM and I wolfed down cold poutine. To be on the safe side, I took a Gravol.
Saturday morning, I was back at my own place, relaxing. My home care nurse said the bandages were clean and didn't need to be changed until Monday but warned that it will hurt like hell and would give me an hours notice "to take everything that I have. " It wasn't as bad as anticipated and tickled more than anything else.
The drain consists of a small tube inserted in my armpit with a plastic pump at the other end which resembles a grenade. I feel like Al-Queda with it strapped to my bra.
Taking a shower with my bandages and drain resembles a Cirque du Soliel audition and on Sunday, I learned very quickly why I should not hit my arm. I knocked my arm against the wall....Jayzus!!! I won't be doing that again and now understand why I should not go to hear Jake E Lee play tomorrow night in a crowded bar.
Thursday, April 3, 2014
Dissection
Tomorrow I return for more surgery. It was recommended that a larger cross section of lymph nodes be removed as a pre caution. If I said I wasn't nervous, I would be lying. Initially, my surgeon didn't want to remove more Lymph nodes because of the risks associated with it. There is a higher chance of Lymphedema or not being able to lift my arm over my head. When it was revealed I was Her 2+, she changed her mind.
One of my friends offered to lift my beer to my mouth if it came to worst case scenario.
Chemotherapy is considered the worst part and I am not arguing that it isn't but the side effects disappear. Not having full use of my arm is a little more permanent. I just hope that I sail through it the same way I have with everything else so far.
Speaking of chemo being finished, every third Thursday at the General is a little more quiet. Herceptin is a 30 minute IV drip, with no major side effects. There is no entourage, no smorgasbord, no board games. But again, its about making the best of it.... After I was hooked up with a bag of fluid, I unhooked my machine and rolled into another module and plugged it next to my fellow cancer vixen, Mo. If my nurse doesn't mind keeping an eye on me in another area, why not have a little visit with my new friend?
Now that my hair is starting to grow back, I have a little buffer between my head and the itchy net of a wig. I decided it was time to have a little fun and play with different looks. On Friday, I was an alternative chick in jet black hair with a large bright red chunk. On Saturday I had flowing blond locks. Although it really doesn't bother me, it was kind of nice to be out in public and not get the double take for being bald.
One of my friends offered to lift my beer to my mouth if it came to worst case scenario.
Chemotherapy is considered the worst part and I am not arguing that it isn't but the side effects disappear. Not having full use of my arm is a little more permanent. I just hope that I sail through it the same way I have with everything else so far.
Speaking of chemo being finished, every third Thursday at the General is a little more quiet. Herceptin is a 30 minute IV drip, with no major side effects. There is no entourage, no smorgasbord, no board games. But again, its about making the best of it.... After I was hooked up with a bag of fluid, I unhooked my machine and rolled into another module and plugged it next to my fellow cancer vixen, Mo. If my nurse doesn't mind keeping an eye on me in another area, why not have a little visit with my new friend?
Now that my hair is starting to grow back, I have a little buffer between my head and the itchy net of a wig. I decided it was time to have a little fun and play with different looks. On Friday, I was an alternative chick in jet black hair with a large bright red chunk. On Saturday I had flowing blond locks. Although it really doesn't bother me, it was kind of nice to be out in public and not get the double take for being bald.
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