Submerged in cool water the sheer white gown clung to my skin. My long black ringlets danced in front of my face. My ears filled with water and buzzed calmly giving silence to everything around me. I looked to the surface of the water where I saw angels and demons circling vigorously above. I released all of the air from my mouth watching the tiny bubbles dance quickly toward the light. I closed my eyes and was peaceful.
Opening my eyes I was engulfed in the darkness of my room. I waited a couple of seconds, and then gasped for air. My dreams were becoming more vivid and I knew this meant that things were about to change significantly. I noticed a severe pain in my left breast. Sitting on my bathroom floor I held my knees to my chest and rocked myself back and forth. I was dizzy and nauseous from anxiety. I knew something was wrong. How could I get sick the day before my biopsy?
Within a couple of hours I was admitted to Reston Hospital and was started on a series of antibiotics through my IV. That evening my plastic surgeon, Dr. Gottlieb came to see me. She reviewed a couple of options for surgery. It only took a couple of minutes and I told Wendy to remove my implant and not replace it. My mother looked at me wide-eyed and reiterated what the surgery meant. I nodded with a knot in my throat and said, "I know -- I will lose my breast." I asked Dr. Gottlieb to also remove the scar tissue and lymph node on my right side while she had me under anesthesia. I figured it made sense to just get it all over with at once.
The infectious disease doctors noticed a murmur in my heart beat and so following surgery I had an echogram done. I cannot even stomach explaining this test even now. It was truly excruciating since they had to rub and push against the crater that was now my left breast. The doctors were worried that the infection had moved to my heart. Luckily they reported back that my heart was "so incredibly strong." My parents burst into tears hearing the news.
My body was not so lucky though when it came to the infection. The tests found that I had a bacteria much like an intestinal infection (urinary track infection) in my breast. I asked my oncologist if this meant that I touched my vagina then my boob. He laughed and said no, but that it was good to see I hadn't lost my sense of humor. I then proceeded to tell everyone who entered my room that my vagina had made me sick. Stupid vagina! Additionally, the tests found that I had a contaminant infection in my mediport. I am now on a series of strong antibiotics for the next couple of weeks to bring my body back to life.
Dr. Gottlieb removed two areas of scar tissue from my right armpit area. I have a teeny incision about an inch long that itches like crazy! My doctors believe that the smaller piece of scar tissue is what was reported as a "questionable lymph node" on my PETscan. Both pieces of scar tissue were dissected and tested. NO CANCER WAS FOUND. I am elated. I will be tested again in a couple of months once my body has bounced back from this surgery and the inflammation has gone down. I will have check-ups every three months to ensure that I remain cancer free.
I was in the hospital four days and despite the cancer-free news, endless love and support of friends and family and the compassion of my nurses and doctors there was a looming sadness for the loss of my left breast. My last day in the hospital, Dr. Gottlieb arrived to my room to check my incisions and remove my drainage tube. She was bandaging me back up and the tears started rolling down my face. She sat on the edge of my bed. I said, "I know I am cancer-free and that I should be so happy, but I am consumed with the loss of my breast." Dr. Gottlieb said, "Jennifer, I am reconstructing one of my patients breasts this month and she is 50 – vanity is real no matter the age. It doesn't matter if you are 27 or 50 – you are a woman and you have lost something that defines you physically in that way. Don't be ashamed for feeling the way you do … you are entitled. And believe me that every woman working on this floor who has been changing your bandages, administering your medicine, or checking your vitals aches seeing what you are going through." It will be two to three months before I will have surgery to reconstruct my left breast. This will entail taking skin, tissue and muscle from my back or stomach to create a new flap for my breast and putting in a new implant. The good news is that the new skin will respond much better than the radiated skin, it will be done by swimsuit season … and I will be able to upgrade.
Leaving the hospital my nurses cried and hugged me. Many of them remember me from my other stays. Like Dr. Gottlieb had described, I saw the pain in their eyes -- they ached for me. Perhaps they were happy it wasn't them or imagined themselves or their daughters in my place. Regardless, I just hope I made an impact. Once I arrived home I unpacked my things.
Dr. Gottlieb had left two pink Victoria Secret bags in my hospital room. One bag contained prosthetic inserts for my bra. They other bag … two sets of beautiful lingerie and Godiva chocolates. As a woman, Dr. Gottlieb also understood the pain and the loss I was experiencing. She is a class act. I was moved to tears by her kindness and compassion.
Despite my pain, I am not ready to stay submerged in the cool waters of my subconscious. As long as my heart is strong, my spirit is vibrant and my vagina is kept clean, I will continue to fight. Keep circling angels and demons above the thin surface that currently separates us ... for my work here is not done.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Monday, February 2, 2009
2/2/2009: New Lump
I unbuttoned my blouse, took his hand and slipped it under my bra. I guided his fingers to the lump and said, "What the f&%k is that?" His eyes got bigger as he started pressing on the lump and pinching it between his fingers. "It feels like it is sitting on your rib. I'm going to need you to undress and put on a robe so I can examine you," said my oncologist, Dr. Heyer. He left the room and I crumbled into the chair. My jaw clenched with the onset of an anxiety attack and I could feel my heart surging out of control.
I was in the oncology office for my second to last Herceptin treatment and had not intended to talk to Dr. Heyer about my new found lump until I saw him in the hallway speaking to his assistant. I passed by making idle chit chat with the nurses and doctors. They all marveled at my thick black locks and gave me lots of loving hugs. They had all experienced my journey and were elated to see me healthy. Dr. Heyer must have noticed that I was acting different. He said, "Do you need to talk to me?" as he walked toward the conference room. I said, "Yes, but I need you to feel me up." He said, "Oh – then we'll need an exam room." (Is everyone just so used to my inappropriate comments that they just ignore them now?)
Dr. Heyer pulled my gown open and moved my implant away from the lump to ensure that it wasn't just the edge of the implant. He said, "This doesn't feel like a tumor, Jennifer. This feels like scar tissue or part of the implant. I can move it around. Talk to Wendy [my plastic surgeon] on Monday and have her look at it." He left the room and the tears ran down my face. Thank God I don't have cancer again.
Today I went to see Dr. Gottlieb (my plastic surgeon) to have my stitches removed from my left breast. I took her hand as I had Dr. Heyer's and laid it on the lump next to my right breast. She looked at me concerned. "I think we should biopsy this. With you, we'd rather be safe then sorry." I was shocked. I told her about my recent PETscan and her office called over to get the results. At the same time Dr. Gottlieb called my surgeon, Dr. Mason to get a second opinion on the biopsy.
"I have your PETscan results and I want to go over them with you. I am not good at reading these things, so I need for you not to freak out when I tell you what it says." I was numb and staring blankly at Dr. Gottlieb. Her lips were moving but all I could hear was the high-pitched horn of a truck running me over. "… newly enlarged right axillary lymph node measuring 13mm with abnormal FDG uptake with SUV of 2.6 is suspicious …" WTF was happening? I have cancer again … but on the other side??? But I did everything right, even giving up my right breast to prevent this. How did this test know that I drove an SUV? How could this happen twice to the same person???
I heard nothing else she told me besides the fact that I have to have a biopsy on Thursday morning in Arlington to test both the mystery lump (which everyone thinks is scar tissue) and now my "newly enlarged right axillary lymph node measuring 13mm." Walking alone to my car at Reston Hospital I called my mother. "I have bad news and I have bad news. The lump needs to be biopsied and I think I have cancer again." Silence. How many times must my family bend before we eventually break?
Dr. Heyer called me to review the report. I was in a meeting with my team at work and scrambled, stumbling over a chair to exit the room quickly. My voice shook on the phone with him while my throat tightened to keep me from bursting into tears. "Did you see the report? What is going on? I did everything right. How could I have cancer again? What do I do?" He waited patiently for me to get out everything that had built up for the last two hours.
He explained that he hadn't received the actual images yet (just the written report) so he doesn't exactly know what we are dealing with. He said that this lymph node had an SUV of 2.6 and my previous tumors had an SUV of 17 and 18, so this one is not 100 percent identifiable as cancer. He said it is very possible that the lymph node is simply inflamed from the surgeries I have had and that he isn't convinced that it is cancer. I told him how confused I was due to the fact that I never had cancer on my right side. He said that cancer is always a possibility for me but that he finds it highly unlikely. Even so, it needs to be tested so that we know for certain.
Thursday I will have my biopsy …
I was in the oncology office for my second to last Herceptin treatment and had not intended to talk to Dr. Heyer about my new found lump until I saw him in the hallway speaking to his assistant. I passed by making idle chit chat with the nurses and doctors. They all marveled at my thick black locks and gave me lots of loving hugs. They had all experienced my journey and were elated to see me healthy. Dr. Heyer must have noticed that I was acting different. He said, "Do you need to talk to me?" as he walked toward the conference room. I said, "Yes, but I need you to feel me up." He said, "Oh – then we'll need an exam room." (Is everyone just so used to my inappropriate comments that they just ignore them now?)
Dr. Heyer pulled my gown open and moved my implant away from the lump to ensure that it wasn't just the edge of the implant. He said, "This doesn't feel like a tumor, Jennifer. This feels like scar tissue or part of the implant. I can move it around. Talk to Wendy [my plastic surgeon] on Monday and have her look at it." He left the room and the tears ran down my face. Thank God I don't have cancer again.
Today I went to see Dr. Gottlieb (my plastic surgeon) to have my stitches removed from my left breast. I took her hand as I had Dr. Heyer's and laid it on the lump next to my right breast. She looked at me concerned. "I think we should biopsy this. With you, we'd rather be safe then sorry." I was shocked. I told her about my recent PETscan and her office called over to get the results. At the same time Dr. Gottlieb called my surgeon, Dr. Mason to get a second opinion on the biopsy.
"I have your PETscan results and I want to go over them with you. I am not good at reading these things, so I need for you not to freak out when I tell you what it says." I was numb and staring blankly at Dr. Gottlieb. Her lips were moving but all I could hear was the high-pitched horn of a truck running me over. "… newly enlarged right axillary lymph node measuring 13mm with abnormal FDG uptake with SUV of 2.6 is suspicious …" WTF was happening? I have cancer again … but on the other side??? But I did everything right, even giving up my right breast to prevent this. How did this test know that I drove an SUV? How could this happen twice to the same person???
I heard nothing else she told me besides the fact that I have to have a biopsy on Thursday morning in Arlington to test both the mystery lump (which everyone thinks is scar tissue) and now my "newly enlarged right axillary lymph node measuring 13mm." Walking alone to my car at Reston Hospital I called my mother. "I have bad news and I have bad news. The lump needs to be biopsied and I think I have cancer again." Silence. How many times must my family bend before we eventually break?
Dr. Heyer called me to review the report. I was in a meeting with my team at work and scrambled, stumbling over a chair to exit the room quickly. My voice shook on the phone with him while my throat tightened to keep me from bursting into tears. "Did you see the report? What is going on? I did everything right. How could I have cancer again? What do I do?" He waited patiently for me to get out everything that had built up for the last two hours.
He explained that he hadn't received the actual images yet (just the written report) so he doesn't exactly know what we are dealing with. He said that this lymph node had an SUV of 2.6 and my previous tumors had an SUV of 17 and 18, so this one is not 100 percent identifiable as cancer. He said it is very possible that the lymph node is simply inflamed from the surgeries I have had and that he isn't convinced that it is cancer. I told him how confused I was due to the fact that I never had cancer on my right side. He said that cancer is always a possibility for me but that he finds it highly unlikely. Even so, it needs to be tested so that we know for certain.
Thursday I will have my biopsy …
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
1/3/2009: I'm a Survivor
I was going to write a blog entry about how my holidays sucked because I spent five days in the hospital and then a couple more at my parents house recouping from a horrible infection and yet another surgery -- until last night.
Referring to myself as a survivor and believing that I am a survivor are two totally different things. For the last several weeks (and possibly months) I have been caught up in my very own pity party instead of staying focused and continuing to fight. My priorities shifted and I wanted to pretend like none of this ever happened.
Last night I played a game called "Would You Rather … ?" (Seriously fun game!) and when my friends all responded differently then I did to a question, I immediately knew why. I was asked if I would rather die in an airplane crash or survive and eat the dead passengers. I immediately answered that I would eat the dead passengers despite my other friends agreeing that they would all rather die. My argument was that I have fought too hard and would do whatever it took to survive. (A bit of a stretch? Eh. Would I really eat a dead person? I don't know … maybe. After all, my mom insists that I look like a vampire now that my blood count is low, my skin is pale and my hair is coal black. This is just another reason why Edward Cullen and I should get married. Sorry, I digressed. Am I a little mentally unstable? Perhaps. But I found my own response quite interesting.) These last couple of days have tried me to my core and the sassy spirit I once had has returned. Cancer picked the wrong bitch.
Let me explain what happened over Christmas. I awoke Christmas morning at my parents' house in horrible pain. I figured perhaps I overdid it at Pilates or yoga that week, or that the gifts were too heavy that I carried down three flights of stairs at my condo complex. I popped two Vicodin and went into the bathroom to survey the damage. My left breast was swollen to my collarbone and was the size of a soccer ball. My skin was severely black and blue. After opening presents and eating breakfast I returned to bed and slept in to the afternoon. I couldn't even wear the outfit I brought because of the swelling. After dinner I asked my Mom to take my temperature, which registered twice at 102. I called Dr. Wendy Gottlieb (my plastic surgeon) who was on holiday in Pennsylvania. She asked a number of questions and then told me to go immediately to the ER. It only made sense that my family end our year the same way we began it … at Reston Hospital with our hearts in our throats.
The doctor in the ER examined me and quickly pointed to my belly button ring indicating that he had found the problem. (We all had a much-needed giggle.) After showering me with compliments about how beautiful my eyes are and how gorgeous he thinks I am he began running all the necessary tests – blood, urine, ultrasound, x-ray, swab of my nose and breast incision … everything but the colonoscopy. (Darn -- perhaps next time.) My blood work came back with my white cells elevated, and low iron (hence the pale skin) and potassium. The ER doctor called Dr. Gottlieb and they decided to start hitting me with the strongest antibiotics they had in hopes that the left breast would react positively. I was admitted into the hospital and told that I may lose my breast for the second time. I was seething inside, but too sick to even complain.
I spent several days bleeding out of my incision and getting pumped with antibiotics through my IV. I barely had enough energy to lift my head. Dr. Felice who is the head of the oncology practice at Reston visited me daily with magic tricks to lift my spirits. I quickly fell for him. My room was constantly occupied by friends and family … and always my Rock (Mom) who never left my side. It was that Saturday that Dr. Gottlieb called me and told me she was returning from vacation to "sort me out." Upon her arrival, she quickly examined me and determined that she needed to "go in, clean things out, and swap the implant." That night I went to bed and with plenty of Vicodin in my system had a conversation with my body, which unbeknownst to me, my mother overheard. I promised my body that I would fight hard and take good care of it if it could just kick into gear and help me out. I can only do so much from the mind, heart and soul – sometimes you need the body to play a part.
Sunday I was in surgery. A bleeder was found with a large hematoma. It was removed, cleaned up and a brand new implant was put in place. It wasn't until 48 hours later, and watching plenty of 'SpongeBob Squarepants' and 'House,' that we found out that the hematoma had group b strep inside of it. Luckily the infection had not moved to my blood stream or anywhere else in my body or breast. My parents left the room after receiving the news and cried in the hallway with my nurses. (I don't think they thought I knew.) I was finally released on 12/30 with pain pills, iron pills, a strong antibiotic – the list goes on. I spent several days at my parents house recouping. The last night I was there I awoke to our little Yorkshire terrier sleeping on my belly with her head resting in my cleavage. (It pleases me that someone is enjoying the fruits of Dr. Gottlieb's labor.)
Now, I am not out of the woods just yet. I have two weeks of strong antibiotics, four weeks of no physical activity and my blood will be tested again at the end of the month. My blood count being bad leaves me open to more infection and even the return of the big C. It is imperative that I get my body strong and back on track. I am on lots of pills (gag!) and eating tons of greens and red meat. I saw Dr. Gottlieb this past Friday and she said that my recovery is simply incredible from a cosmetic standpoint. She reminded me how bad my blood work was and that I need to fight hard now to get strong so that I don't have to lose my breast for a third time.
In my most vulnerable hour I asked my friend JB for the humor in all of this and his response just about sums it all up … "Well, here's the humor. You get laid off and then hired but then you get dumped but then you find independence but then you get cancer and lose a boob but then you get new boobs but then you get sick but soon you'll get better." Life goes on and I can only fight for a healthier and stronger new year. Just know that if we're in a plane crash and you die … I will eat you. I'm a survivor!
Referring to myself as a survivor and believing that I am a survivor are two totally different things. For the last several weeks (and possibly months) I have been caught up in my very own pity party instead of staying focused and continuing to fight. My priorities shifted and I wanted to pretend like none of this ever happened.
Last night I played a game called "Would You Rather … ?" (Seriously fun game!) and when my friends all responded differently then I did to a question, I immediately knew why. I was asked if I would rather die in an airplane crash or survive and eat the dead passengers. I immediately answered that I would eat the dead passengers despite my other friends agreeing that they would all rather die. My argument was that I have fought too hard and would do whatever it took to survive. (A bit of a stretch? Eh. Would I really eat a dead person? I don't know … maybe. After all, my mom insists that I look like a vampire now that my blood count is low, my skin is pale and my hair is coal black. This is just another reason why Edward Cullen and I should get married. Sorry, I digressed. Am I a little mentally unstable? Perhaps. But I found my own response quite interesting.) These last couple of days have tried me to my core and the sassy spirit I once had has returned. Cancer picked the wrong bitch.
Let me explain what happened over Christmas. I awoke Christmas morning at my parents' house in horrible pain. I figured perhaps I overdid it at Pilates or yoga that week, or that the gifts were too heavy that I carried down three flights of stairs at my condo complex. I popped two Vicodin and went into the bathroom to survey the damage. My left breast was swollen to my collarbone and was the size of a soccer ball. My skin was severely black and blue. After opening presents and eating breakfast I returned to bed and slept in to the afternoon. I couldn't even wear the outfit I brought because of the swelling. After dinner I asked my Mom to take my temperature, which registered twice at 102. I called Dr. Wendy Gottlieb (my plastic surgeon) who was on holiday in Pennsylvania. She asked a number of questions and then told me to go immediately to the ER. It only made sense that my family end our year the same way we began it … at Reston Hospital with our hearts in our throats.
The doctor in the ER examined me and quickly pointed to my belly button ring indicating that he had found the problem. (We all had a much-needed giggle.) After showering me with compliments about how beautiful my eyes are and how gorgeous he thinks I am he began running all the necessary tests – blood, urine, ultrasound, x-ray, swab of my nose and breast incision … everything but the colonoscopy. (Darn -- perhaps next time.) My blood work came back with my white cells elevated, and low iron (hence the pale skin) and potassium. The ER doctor called Dr. Gottlieb and they decided to start hitting me with the strongest antibiotics they had in hopes that the left breast would react positively. I was admitted into the hospital and told that I may lose my breast for the second time. I was seething inside, but too sick to even complain.
I spent several days bleeding out of my incision and getting pumped with antibiotics through my IV. I barely had enough energy to lift my head. Dr. Felice who is the head of the oncology practice at Reston visited me daily with magic tricks to lift my spirits. I quickly fell for him. My room was constantly occupied by friends and family … and always my Rock (Mom) who never left my side. It was that Saturday that Dr. Gottlieb called me and told me she was returning from vacation to "sort me out." Upon her arrival, she quickly examined me and determined that she needed to "go in, clean things out, and swap the implant." That night I went to bed and with plenty of Vicodin in my system had a conversation with my body, which unbeknownst to me, my mother overheard. I promised my body that I would fight hard and take good care of it if it could just kick into gear and help me out. I can only do so much from the mind, heart and soul – sometimes you need the body to play a part.
Sunday I was in surgery. A bleeder was found with a large hematoma. It was removed, cleaned up and a brand new implant was put in place. It wasn't until 48 hours later, and watching plenty of 'SpongeBob Squarepants' and 'House,' that we found out that the hematoma had group b strep inside of it. Luckily the infection had not moved to my blood stream or anywhere else in my body or breast. My parents left the room after receiving the news and cried in the hallway with my nurses. (I don't think they thought I knew.) I was finally released on 12/30 with pain pills, iron pills, a strong antibiotic – the list goes on. I spent several days at my parents house recouping. The last night I was there I awoke to our little Yorkshire terrier sleeping on my belly with her head resting in my cleavage. (It pleases me that someone is enjoying the fruits of Dr. Gottlieb's labor.)
Now, I am not out of the woods just yet. I have two weeks of strong antibiotics, four weeks of no physical activity and my blood will be tested again at the end of the month. My blood count being bad leaves me open to more infection and even the return of the big C. It is imperative that I get my body strong and back on track. I am on lots of pills (gag!) and eating tons of greens and red meat. I saw Dr. Gottlieb this past Friday and she said that my recovery is simply incredible from a cosmetic standpoint. She reminded me how bad my blood work was and that I need to fight hard now to get strong so that I don't have to lose my breast for a third time.
In my most vulnerable hour I asked my friend JB for the humor in all of this and his response just about sums it all up … "Well, here's the humor. You get laid off and then hired but then you get dumped but then you find independence but then you get cancer and lose a boob but then you get new boobs but then you get sick but soon you'll get better." Life goes on and I can only fight for a healthier and stronger new year. Just know that if we're in a plane crash and you die … I will eat you. I'm a survivor!
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, December 5, 2008
12/5/2008: Thankful List
Thanksgiving marks some difficult moments in my life, such as when my grandmother passed away and when I found the tumor under my arm that resulted in my cancer diagnosis. It was only a year ago that before going to bed I rolled over on my left side and felt a sharp pain in my armpit. I knew at that moment that something was seriously wrong with my body, but I never expected it to be cancer. It is hard to believe that I have been sick and fighting for my life for over a year. It is overwhelming, even now.
My friend Bronwyn said it best when she texted me on Thanksgiving morning and told me to try and celebrate how far I’ve come and all of the Happy Thanksgiving memories I have made in the past. Despite the difficult moments in my life, I took this holiday to relax and truly reflect on all the wonderful things in my life. If you know me, you are aware that I am not one to mope and be negative, especially with so much yummy food beckoning me. So on Thanksgiving I ate, drank, watched football, texted my friends Happy Thanksgiving, laughed as our tiny Yorkie, Abigail Marie barked at herself in the fireplace and curled up in my parent’s big comfy chair while my Mom played with my hair.
I decided to make a list of the top 10 things I am thankful for in my life. I shall not leave you in suspense any longer for this list is quite epic.
10. FaceBook: I know, being thankful for an online social network seems ridiculous in theory, however FaceBook has brought so many good friends back into my life or simply gave me access to their pages where I can stalk them for hours at a time. Either way, it has been entertaining, consuming and satisfying. Thank you Mark Zuckerberg for creating FaceBook from your Harvard dorm room.
9. Dancing & Singing: I have attended weddings, birthday parties, going away events … you name it, and I have done it over the past few months. I have even gone so far as to sing for four hours straight and lose my voice playing Rock Band at a party. I belted Tina Turner ‘Private Dancer’ and ‘Don’t Cry for Me Argentina’ from Evita karaoking. I have been out with my girlfriends dancing until 4 a.m. and even breaking it down in my underwear in the living room by myself. I have a new lease on life and I am partying like a rockstar.
8. Traveling: I can’t sit still for too long and being grounded in Northern VA during treatment and surgery was painful for me. Not that I don’t like it here, but I get bored easily and require a change of scenery. I blame it on being a Sagittarian. One weekend in November I visited my sorority sister Nicky in New York City and the next I was in Los Angeles with my friend Bronwyn. These trips reinforced that I am not a victim, but instead am a survivor. I was renewed, although I came home and got a terrible sinus infection. It was totally worth it!
7. Yoga: I started taking yoga about three years ago with my friend Marisa and never before has it been such an important part of my life. On days when I could barely walk or talk, I would lie on my yoga mat and follow some simple breathing and stretching exercises. I was able to meditate and from time to time would even cry during the sessions from letting negative energy and thoughts go. I was focusing solely on healing my body, empowering my mind and strengthening my soul. It made me feel better and for those moments I was able to leave cancer behind and connect with myself.
6. Peanut Butter & Jelly Sandwiches: I didn’t realize how bad my taste buds had become from the chemotherapy and all the testing. Everything had this weird vegetable-like taste or metallic flavor. It wasn’t until the afternoon I arrived home from New York that I had my first peanut butter and jelly sandwich in years. I drooled down my face as I relished in the powerful texture and sweetness that the sandwich possessed. I know it sounds stupid, but imagine everything tasting like brussels sprouts for six months and then all of a sudden you can taste a PB&J. It was amazing! I have had seven PB&Js since.
5. Jurassic Park: Now I know this seems completely absurd and especially listed over PB&J, but Jurassic Park heals all my wounds. If you know me well, then you know that I am psycho for JP. “Clever girl” gets me every time and although I have watched the movie 50-some times; I still sit on the edge of my seat and yell at the TV for the kids to hide in the kitchen while being stalked by the velociraptors. Without Jurassic Park, I don’t know where I would be. (Kori, Lord of the Rings is right behind JP. I am psycho for it, too.)
4. Hair: I HAVE HAIR … and just in time for winter!!! Although I believe that I look like a fourteen year old boy, I cannot begin to tell you how thrilled I am to have soft, thick, dark brown hair. I have about 2.5 inches of hair now and it is growing really fast! Not only that, but my eyelashes and eyebrows have returned and although they are not as thick and long, they are so much better than having nothing. The vanity issues are finally resolving themselves and I am so thankful.
3. Friends (laughter): It’s like in the movie ‘Sex and the City’ when Carrie is certain that she will never laugh again after her saga with Mr. Big. “You will,” Miranda assures her, “when something is really funny.” Although not as dramatic, my inner comedian lay dormant and I wondered if she would ever come back. Oh, she certainly did. There were a couple of times that I even tried to fight it, but laughed so hard I piddled. (Yes, piddled.) Like Carrie, my friends brought me back to life with their quick wit, making fun of me unrelentingly and holding my hand every step of the way … even when I was too proud to grab for it first.
2. Family: How can I possibly make this list without including my family? I am thankful for my Cheerleader (my father) who has been at every single appointment (except for the boob ones, because that’s just too weird). I am thankful for my Rock (my mother) who from day one assured me that “it’s ok” and even on days when it wasn’t, she made it feel like it was. My Sweetness (my brother) who always told me how beautiful I am even with a bald head, no eyelashes, swollen face, five drainage tubes and the ugliest bra you’ve ever seen. My peanut (Abigail, our Yorkie) who kept me entertained while in my darkest of hours by stealing my glasses off my face and hiding them throughout the house. My family is my everything and with their love and support we beat cancer.
1. Being Cancer Free: It is one of those things you really cannot understand unless you have lived through it. Hearing the word “remission” and knowing that death had you in his grasp and you fought like hell and won is the most incredible feeling. Cancer is the worst thing I can possibly imagine. And it isn’t simply what it did to me physical, psychologically and emotionally, but how it affected my family, friends, work, school … my entire life. Cancer pulled the rug out from under me and without my team of doctors, a strong will power and endless support … I would not be here today. I am thankful and truly blessed.
My friend Bronwyn said it best when she texted me on Thanksgiving morning and told me to try and celebrate how far I’ve come and all of the Happy Thanksgiving memories I have made in the past. Despite the difficult moments in my life, I took this holiday to relax and truly reflect on all the wonderful things in my life. If you know me, you are aware that I am not one to mope and be negative, especially with so much yummy food beckoning me. So on Thanksgiving I ate, drank, watched football, texted my friends Happy Thanksgiving, laughed as our tiny Yorkie, Abigail Marie barked at herself in the fireplace and curled up in my parent’s big comfy chair while my Mom played with my hair.
I decided to make a list of the top 10 things I am thankful for in my life. I shall not leave you in suspense any longer for this list is quite epic.
10. FaceBook: I know, being thankful for an online social network seems ridiculous in theory, however FaceBook has brought so many good friends back into my life or simply gave me access to their pages where I can stalk them for hours at a time. Either way, it has been entertaining, consuming and satisfying. Thank you Mark Zuckerberg for creating FaceBook from your Harvard dorm room.
9. Dancing & Singing: I have attended weddings, birthday parties, going away events … you name it, and I have done it over the past few months. I have even gone so far as to sing for four hours straight and lose my voice playing Rock Band at a party. I belted Tina Turner ‘Private Dancer’ and ‘Don’t Cry for Me Argentina’ from Evita karaoking. I have been out with my girlfriends dancing until 4 a.m. and even breaking it down in my underwear in the living room by myself. I have a new lease on life and I am partying like a rockstar.
8. Traveling: I can’t sit still for too long and being grounded in Northern VA during treatment and surgery was painful for me. Not that I don’t like it here, but I get bored easily and require a change of scenery. I blame it on being a Sagittarian. One weekend in November I visited my sorority sister Nicky in New York City and the next I was in Los Angeles with my friend Bronwyn. These trips reinforced that I am not a victim, but instead am a survivor. I was renewed, although I came home and got a terrible sinus infection. It was totally worth it!
7. Yoga: I started taking yoga about three years ago with my friend Marisa and never before has it been such an important part of my life. On days when I could barely walk or talk, I would lie on my yoga mat and follow some simple breathing and stretching exercises. I was able to meditate and from time to time would even cry during the sessions from letting negative energy and thoughts go. I was focusing solely on healing my body, empowering my mind and strengthening my soul. It made me feel better and for those moments I was able to leave cancer behind and connect with myself.
6. Peanut Butter & Jelly Sandwiches: I didn’t realize how bad my taste buds had become from the chemotherapy and all the testing. Everything had this weird vegetable-like taste or metallic flavor. It wasn’t until the afternoon I arrived home from New York that I had my first peanut butter and jelly sandwich in years. I drooled down my face as I relished in the powerful texture and sweetness that the sandwich possessed. I know it sounds stupid, but imagine everything tasting like brussels sprouts for six months and then all of a sudden you can taste a PB&J. It was amazing! I have had seven PB&Js since.
5. Jurassic Park: Now I know this seems completely absurd and especially listed over PB&J, but Jurassic Park heals all my wounds. If you know me well, then you know that I am psycho for JP. “Clever girl” gets me every time and although I have watched the movie 50-some times; I still sit on the edge of my seat and yell at the TV for the kids to hide in the kitchen while being stalked by the velociraptors. Without Jurassic Park, I don’t know where I would be. (Kori, Lord of the Rings is right behind JP. I am psycho for it, too.)
4. Hair: I HAVE HAIR … and just in time for winter!!! Although I believe that I look like a fourteen year old boy, I cannot begin to tell you how thrilled I am to have soft, thick, dark brown hair. I have about 2.5 inches of hair now and it is growing really fast! Not only that, but my eyelashes and eyebrows have returned and although they are not as thick and long, they are so much better than having nothing. The vanity issues are finally resolving themselves and I am so thankful.
3. Friends (laughter): It’s like in the movie ‘Sex and the City’ when Carrie is certain that she will never laugh again after her saga with Mr. Big. “You will,” Miranda assures her, “when something is really funny.” Although not as dramatic, my inner comedian lay dormant and I wondered if she would ever come back. Oh, she certainly did. There were a couple of times that I even tried to fight it, but laughed so hard I piddled. (Yes, piddled.) Like Carrie, my friends brought me back to life with their quick wit, making fun of me unrelentingly and holding my hand every step of the way … even when I was too proud to grab for it first.
2. Family: How can I possibly make this list without including my family? I am thankful for my Cheerleader (my father) who has been at every single appointment (except for the boob ones, because that’s just too weird). I am thankful for my Rock (my mother) who from day one assured me that “it’s ok” and even on days when it wasn’t, she made it feel like it was. My Sweetness (my brother) who always told me how beautiful I am even with a bald head, no eyelashes, swollen face, five drainage tubes and the ugliest bra you’ve ever seen. My peanut (Abigail, our Yorkie) who kept me entertained while in my darkest of hours by stealing my glasses off my face and hiding them throughout the house. My family is my everything and with their love and support we beat cancer.
1. Being Cancer Free: It is one of those things you really cannot understand unless you have lived through it. Hearing the word “remission” and knowing that death had you in his grasp and you fought like hell and won is the most incredible feeling. Cancer is the worst thing I can possibly imagine. And it isn’t simply what it did to me physical, psychologically and emotionally, but how it affected my family, friends, work, school … my entire life. Cancer pulled the rug out from under me and without my team of doctors, a strong will power and endless support … I would not be here today. I am thankful and truly blessed.
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