11/16/2009: Eiffel in love with Paris

“Who just picks up and decides to go to Paris?” asked Meghan and Jorie.
“I guess I do,” I responded with a sly shrug.

There are a number of experiences in our lives that feed our soul. These experiences or moments can be counted on one hand and will forever be imprinted on our memory. Paris marked one of those moments for me.

All my life I have dreamt of visiting Paris. I even took five years of French in school learning about the language and culture. Yet I was always waiting for the right time, or for my finances to be in order, or to have a significant other to share the experience … until I finally woke up one day and thought to myself, what am I waiting for? I deserve this. I have the time, the money and friends who would go with me.

As fate would have it, one of my closest girlfriends, Sarah, needed to escape town just as badly as I did. So we literally booked a trip and took off to Paris on an adventure.

In the midst of lighting a candle for my grandmother in the Sacre Coeur, standing in amazement in front of Notre-Dame, speaking my rusty French with some amazing people I met, riding a statue of a lion at Luxembourg, walking dwarfed in the hall of mirrors in the Chateau de Versailles and sipping cappuccinos in Montmartre with my incredible friend, Sarah, I realized how badly I needed this vacation.

I had taken my summer off from surgery and I thought that would be enough time to give me the psychological and physical break I desperately needed -- but I was wrong. Paris was certainly a welcomed diversion from my surgery this Thursday, but it does not change the fact that I am scared to death. Not just scared of surgery -- it’s much more complicated than that.

You see, every time I go through surgery (and this will be my tenth surgery in 23 months) I have to recover which takes weeks or months. Additionally, I have to learn to accept my deformed body all over again. I understand that I am moving toward a more “normal” state with my physical appearance, but it doesn't change the fact that it is scarring beyond the physical incisions. It is a growing process.

Life is all about learning and growing. I finally took that dream trip that fed my soul and once again I am desperately trying to learn to see myself as imperfectly perfect.

Please keep me in your thoughts and prayers as I go through surgery on Thursday morning at Georgetown University Hospital. I'm calling on angels ...

1/27/2009: Done

I'm done.

It's hard to believe that a year ago at the age of 26 I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I have had six surgeries, 18 weeks of chemotherapy, six weeks of radiation, four heart scans, two PETscans, intense anxiety attacks, vivid nightmares, more blood work than any one person should ever have to get done (how is there even any left?), six implants (and to think – most people are content with two), too many sleepless nights to count, pillowcases soaked with tears, moments of surreal clarity, people moving in and out of my life faster than my hair growing back in and tremendous growth work. This is a journey that shook me to the core, opened my eyes to true love and beauty and changed me forever.

This week is an important one for me. Not only does it mark my one year cancerverary, but I will have my second to last cancer treatment and a PETscan to ensure that I am still "clean" and there is no reoccurrence. (Don't think for a moment that my stomach doesn't turn when I think about the PETscan results.) If my PETscan goes well, then my next surgery will be the first week of March to have my mediport removed since my treatments will be over. I told my oncologist last week that I wanted it out as soon as possible. He responded with a huge smile and said, "You are like no other cancer patient I have ever dealt with. Usually patients want to keep it in until they have a couple of tests and get a little … further out." He said, "I am just in awe of your drive and passion for life." I smiled and said, "If cancer were my boyfriend we would have broken up a long time ago. I'm done."

The phrase "I'm done" has been used a lot in my life lately. I'm done living in the gray -- everything is now falling very clearly into blacks and whites. I described to my friends that I did a little clean sweep of my life and relationships. I took a step back and logically (yes, Steve, I can be logical) and systematically categorized things that were positives and negatives in my life. Those things that I deemed positive I will invest more time in. Those things that were negative that I cannot change, I developed a new way to approach them and those that I could change, I cut. I'm done.

I have made a decision about my reconstruction – I am taking a much needed break. Since my stint in the hospital over the holidays, I had another surgery a couple of weeks ago where my plastic surgeon swapped my implant (again!) and redid my incision since it wasn't closing properly. This means that I was also put on two more weeks of strong antibiotics since I still have an open wound which can get infected easily because of my immune system. Blah! The skin on my left side is having such a difficult time healing where it was radiated. I get my stitches out February 2 and I am praying that this time my skin will cooperate and stay closed. This year I am going to focus on getting my body healthy and giving it some time to heal. In a year, I will then finish my reconstruction and make any necessary "tweaks" to the girls at that time. I have been through so much and am exhausted on all levels. I'm done.

My healing is just beginning. I pulled my wigs out the other day and was prepared to donate them when I broke into tears clutching them to my chest – I am not ready to part with them just yet. They serve as something more than just wigs. I know it sounds ridiculous, but there are a couple of things of that nature that I still need to work through, like eating asparagus again (the smell still makes me violently ill like it did during chemotherapy). I know time heals all wounds, but this little 98 pound body is torn and tattered for fighting for an entire year. I'm done.

12/16/2008: Infection Strikes

I am convinced that the world is a rollercoaster and that I am not strapped in. I thought my emergency surgery last Tuesday was going to be a breeze. I imagined that I would wake up from surgery, have some tightness in my chest with a little discomfort, be reunited with my family, order a semi-edible meal and sleep in a semi-comfortable bed, then head home the next morning. I was sorely mistaken.

Before my surgery several nurses came into my room to prep me. They used these sanitizing wipes to wash my entire body before I got into the bed. They said because of my compromised immune system from chemotherapy that they had to take every possible precaution. Shortly after I was cleaned my plastic surgeon arrived and marked my body to get me ready for surgery. My parents sat with me in the final moments before they took me back. Once I was in the room a large man entered. It was my surgeon, Dr. Kenneth Mason who originally diagnosed my cancer. He was there doing other surgeries but wanted to see me before they put me under. We chatted briefly about how far I had come in my journey and my black hair. The anesthesiologist started my drip. The room started to swirl, Dr. Mason leaned over and kissed me on the cheek telling me that it was all going to be okay and I felt the tears swell.

I woke up in recovery with horrible pain in my left breast and side. I had a huge, white blow-up contraption lying on top of me that looked like a floatation device for the pool that you use to float around and sunbathe on. It was pumping in hot air. The nurse explained that my temperature was incredibly low and they had to get it back up quickly. She continued checking my temperature and stayed with me in order to gage my pain. She explained that my plastic surgeon Dr. Wendy Gottlieb had done a lot of work on my left side and said that I would be very uncomfortable when I woke up. I continued asking for pain medicine and inquired as to when I could go to my room. She said not until I could go longer than eight minutes without asking for painkillers.

I watched as the woman across from me who had just had a mastectomy tried desperately to pull out her drainage tubes. Several nurses ran over and strapped her arms down as she screamed. My heart ached. Another nurse came into my curtained-off area and said an acronym starting with ‘S’ and ending in ‘D’. I proceeded to respond to her in a loud voice explaining that I was clean and did not want any STDs. I told her to “keep her bugs to herself.” Then the nurse next to me mentioned something about a scrotum which made me laugh like a 10-year-old and I then yelled “scrotum” at the top of my lungs. I’d like to say that most of this was due to the medicine, but honestly who knows. I decided I needed to pee and was given a bucket to sit on. My attempt was unsuccessful as my bladder was not cooperating, so when I laid back down I noticed the whole left side of my gown was covered in blood. I screamed for the nurse. She ripped my gown off, applied a folded gauze pad and told me to apply pressure. I was pressing on my breast as the pain pulsed through my whole body. The nurse ran to call Dr. Gottlieb. The gauze pad was reinforced with lots of sticky plastic tape to keep pressure on the leaky incision and I was given a new gown and a warm blanket.

Once I arrived in my room I was given a morphine button which allowed me to administer pain medicine once every 10 minutes. My pain was now under control. I had two contraptions strapped to my legs that continued to fill with air then deflate in order to keep me from getting blood clots. I must have been allergic to them because I broke out in hives and welts all over my legs and could not stop scratching them. I finally ripped them off that evening and tucked them under my covers. I finally had to pee and called the nurse. She told me that I needed to go in the bucket in my bed. I assured her that “my cup would runneth over,” but she insisted. I was right and she was wrong. The nurse told my mom not to make a big deal about me peeing all over my bed since she didn’t want to embarrass me. My mom laughed and said, “You don’t know my daughter.” We all had a pretty good laugh about it. The next time I told the nurse I had to pee she helped me out of bed. Guess she learned her lesson. When you gotta go you gotta go.

It is no surprise that I am cranky and miserable being slowed down and achy only a week after surgery. Not to mention that the results are not to my liking at all. My surgeon opted to go with the smaller size implant that I had picked out, however my skin is still very tight so the implants are smooshed. My left breast is very swollen and black and blue. The swelling runs all the way down my left side to my hip bone.

On Friday I had a follow-up appointment with Dr. Gottlieb and she informed me that when they went into my left breast that there was a lot of “gunk” that had built up between the expander and my skin due to the radiation. She said they had to scrap and clean and scrap and clean again. I told her about how unhappy I was with the results and she told me that I need to wait 1 to 3 months for the implants to settle into place. She said that if I am still not happy in 3 months that we will revisit the issue but right now I have to heal. I am devastated by the way I look physically and am trying desperately to be patient, but I am wearing thin at this point.

Thankfully my family was there by my side and my friends came to visit me. They all dealt with my Percocet infused blabber and tear-filled rants about how I am miserable and hate my body. Just like my mastectomy, this surgery has brought with it insecurities, psychological challenges, anxiety and depression. I’m not going to create an illusion that this is all easy and that I am happy. I am all out of faith at this point and that’s simply how I feel. I am not sure how much more I can endure.

12/7/2008: Surgery Moved

Update: Surgery has been moved to tomorrow (Tuesday) at Virginia Hospital Center at 2:40pm. I will be spending the evening in the hospital due to my skin complications. I will most likely stay with my parents Wednesday evening since I won't be totally mobile still.

I fear that things have gotten worse. As I was getting ready for a party on Saturday night I noticed that my incision across my left breast was black and blue and the blood vessels were bright red. I called my plastic surgeon on her emergency line and she told me that my skin was compromised from radiation and that my incision was starting to open.

I went to Reston Hospital Sunday morning and my plastic surgeon, Wendy Gottlieb was there in sweats with her three-month-old little girl in tote. She checked my incision and then placed a large needle through my breast into my expander. She removed 25cc of saline and then while pulling the needle out stopped outside the expander and pulled out fluid that had built around my expander. She removed 35cc of fluid total in order to alleviate pressure on my incision where my skin has become incredibly thin.

My plastic surgeon and I selected two sizes of implants and most likely I will have to go with the smaller size due to the fact that my skin is so compromised. Dr. Gottlieb says that the fact that my boobs are retaliating now is odd, but not completely unheard of. She said that radiation breaks down the skin over time and that mine is apparently happening now. Just in time for surgery … lucky me! In the interim, if my incision opens further I have to pack it with Neosporin, keep it covered and start taking an antibiotic. I am keeping my fingers crossed that it will hold up one more day.

I have real mixed emotions about this surgery. I wish I could say that I was in a great frame of mind, but I'm not. I feel deafeated although I know that is not the full story when looking at the big picture. I am simply exhausted from fighting and I want so badly to be done with all this. These expanders have been incredibly uncomfortable and I long to be able to sleep on my stomach or even my side comfortably. It is hard to explain how they feel. I guess the best description is that they feel like bricks sitting on my chest. They are hard, don't move and are incredibly heavy. But I have also grown accustomed to them and finally accepted the way my body looks. Now I have to fight that vanity battle all over again.

Keep me in your thoughts tomorrow and I will write a blog entry when I am on the mend.

10/13/2008: Surgery Scheduled

MY SURGERY IS SCHEDULED FOR DEC. 17. That's right … two days before my 27th birthday!

Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! I finally will have boobies that are big and squish-y.

This past week I met with my oncologist, Dr. David Heyer and touched base with him now that my radiation is over. He examined my expander implants, lymph nodes (neck, groin, armpits and stomach) and how my skin is healing. He was shocked at how well my body is bouncing back. He still calls me his Bionic Woman.

We discussed a multitude of options for my preventative regimen and the medications I am currently taking. The problem is that most studies that have been conducted have been done on women who are twice my age. I am only +2 estrogen positive, which is extremely low, however it is enough to constitute hormone therapy. My situation is so different and my doctors are doing everything in their power to take all the necessary precautions and read between the lines when it comes to my stats. The next phase of my journey is a 5-year regimen of Tamoxifen. This is a hormone therapy that suppresses estrogen in my body. I always knew I was way too girly!

So now I have night sweats again, severe mood swings and basically feel nauseous 24/7. Let's just say that I'm a real joy! Additionally, Dr. Heyer and I had a mini-therapy session where I told him about how in 2005 I went through a traumatic experience and went on an anti-anxiety medication to help me gain weight. Coincidentally, my current medication does not mesh well with the Tamoxifen. So, he switched that medication to something new and cut it in half (eventually wanting me off the anti-anxiety medication completely). It's difficult to tell what medication is causing what side effect, but I feel pretty crummy.

I suppose the only good side effect is the fact that the seven pounds I had gained during chemotherapy has literally melted away over the course of last week. Let's just hope it stops and doesn't continue the drastic plummeting. I know I have the Victoria Beckham haircut (Or rather she has mine. I'm such a trendsetter!), but I don't want the skeletal frame.

Other than the medication side effects, brick-hard boobs, doctors appointments, imaging, two-toned skin, curling hair and the fact that my new clothes don't fit now … I am doing well. I am reclaiming my life by throwing myself back into work and my thesis. I am surprisingly happier than I have been in a long time. I know that the road is still long, but instead of dragging my feet with my head hung and kicking pebbles, I find myself skipping with my face upward toward the illuminating sunshine.