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.

9/29/2008: The Outer Banks

Twenty-foot high white waves crashed into the shore of the Outer Banks. With my feet buried in the sand I felt the cold water engulf my ankles and shoot up my legs. I sucked in air as the icy cold water caused goose bumps to form all the way up my body to my scalp. I watched as the waves would swell into intimidating walls of water and then crash in a spiral of fury with a large rumbling roar. I thought to myself how appropriate that Jennifer should mean white wave. I opened my arms, arched my back and looked to the sky. I embraced the strength and beauty of the ocean in that moment and felt more centered then I have in years. A gust of warm air wrapped itself around my neck and trickled down my back like a sun-lit scarf. A warm tear ran down my cheek.

A seagull limped along the foamy edges of the sand. He had a broken foot that faced backwards which made it difficult for him to walk, so instead he hobbled uncomfortably. He finished sunbathing, lifted both of his feet and soared above the waters break. Despite his deformed foot, he flew with no problems and gracefully dove and spun in delight. He was magnificent.

The recent storms had eroded the beach and left some of the homes on shaky foundation. These homes take so much pounding storm after storm. How many times can they break before they shatter? Instead of throwing their hands in the air and giving up, these home owners placed new foundational beams next to the old one’s and reestablished the base of the home. A new foundation was laid in order to face the next storm.

This was a trip for my family to get away and regroup. We laughed until our bellies hurt chasing our Yorkshire terrier puppy, Abigail around the house. We yelled at the TV and cheered on our Skins as they defeated the Cowboys. We were shocked to find out about the death of Paul Newman and talked about his life over breakfast. We discussed the presidential debates. We reminisced about beach trips in year’s past. We ate amazing food, drank sweet martinis and complained about not getting our bread fast enough. (Well, that last one was just me.) It was just a normal vacation without cancer looming over us. I think my mother said it best, “The glow in your cheeks was not from chemotherapy and radiation … but from Carolina sun.” We will never be the same, but we will move on and embrace that powerful and beautiful white wave, soar high despite a crippled foot and lay a new foundation.

9/24/2008: Radiation is Over

Multi-vitamin, Aquaphor, Vicodin, L’Oreal day and night cream, vitamin C, emu oil, Ambien, Mary-Kay firming eye cream, protein powder, Aveeno body lotion, Lexapro, Aveeno skin brightening daily scrub, Visine, Pepto, Burt’s Beeswax Balm, organic aloe, Neosporin, Cortizone 10, IBS stomach powder … and occasionally Xanax with a small glass of orange juice with no pulp.

If I were to watch someone else lay out this evening routine night after night, I think I would be concerned that perhaps they are overdosing, or psycho. I suppose I wouldn’t be too far off in my judgment.

I have finished all twenty-eight radiation treatments and now suffer from severe third degree burns on my chest, breast, back and underarm. I am doing everything in my power to ensure that I am healing from the inside and outside. This is my new focus now that treatment is over. My last week of treatment was incredibly intense. I had quarter-sized blisters on top of other blisters that popped and bled. The skin under my armpit burnt and quickly dried causing it to bleed when I moved. I couldn’t eat, sleep, or function, and all the doctors could advise me to do was use my creams and take pain pills. Luckily, the pain has subsiding and my skin is improving. The doctors said it could take 4 to 6 weeks just for the redness to subside.

My plastic surgeon said due to the severity of my radiation reaction, she won’t do my next surgery (swapping the expanders for the permanent implants) until early January. At least the whirlwind slows and I am able to take a breath and enjoy the holidays. I have one more fill to get me fully expanded (scheduled for Oct. 3) and I must say … my cups runneth over. I am really pleased that I had reconstruction done immediately following surgery. I am beginning to embrace my new body and appreciate the work that my plastic surgeon has done.

I head to the Outer Banks next week and I think it will be the perfect time to start working through some of the psychological damage caused by cancer and my bilateral mastectomy. I don’t plan to have it all figured out and packaged up for storage in the life experiences section of my closet, but at least I can start the process and get myself in a better state of mind. If only packing all my medications and lotions was so easy.

9/15/2008: First Haircut

"STOP IT!" My whole body shook and my eyes widened. I wasn't expecting to scream out loud or, for that matter, for my voice to be so high pitched. I sounded like a 12-year-old girl throwing a tantrum because her Mom wouldn't let her go to the mall with her girlfriends. My pulse was racing, the beads of sweat were forming on my nose and cheeks and my ears started ringing. I felt sick to my stomach and dizzy … a panic attack set in. I looked to my left and noticed that the man sitting in the blue Corolla next to me in traffic was staring at me. I managed a smile and envisioned the scene he must be witnessing inside of my car. "Jesus, he must think I am a nut!" I thought. Well, aren't I? Who gets this worked up over something SO stupid!? Ugh. I propped my elbow on the edge of my car window and covered my face with my hand. I tried to convince myself it was to protect my eyes from the sunlight when in actuality I was hiding from the man in the Corolla. Traffic started crawling again and the driver witnessing my tantrum moved ahead of me. Whew.

I arrived at my destination and sat in the waiting room. My stomach was now in my throat and my foot shook intensely making my thigh jiggle under my charcoal-colored dress. The minutes dragged and I sat there thinking of excuses to leave. "I feel sick… or my Mom just called and I need to rush home … or my friend is having a baby … or simply, I just can't do this." I kept ignoring the urges to run for the door and kept myself planted. "You can do this. You can do this." I kept repeating these words over and over in my head. Mandi turned the corner and saw me. Without thinking she ran, grabbed me and squeezed me as hard as she could. "Not too hard!" I yelped and she quickly apologized, calling me Baby Girl and loosened her grip. "I haven't seen you since …" her voice trailed off. "It's just so good to see you. Are you healthy now?"

As soon as we started chatting the fear and anxiety washed away and I was completely at ease. I shared my feelings of reluctance and Mandi quickly sympathized telling me that she has two other cancer patients and can understand. The appointment only took about 45 minutes. Once it was over I stood up and surveyed the floor. I saw my hair laying there in a little 'C' around the base of the chair … and I didn't freak out. I felt nothing. Psychologically, this was a huge feat for me. When I left the other women in the salon were gathered around me, sharing in my story, suggesting I wear large earrings, calling my new haircut "fierce" and even rejoicing in my health and praising God openly. Once again, I survived.

These past few weeks, my family and friends have recounted my story. They remember so many distinct details, both good and bad. I am simply shocked at how my story has affected others, especially those close to me. We will forever be changed. Some of the things I have said and even blogged about surprise me now that I can look back objectively. I cannot believe how completely erratic I was over the silliest of things. I know now that psychologically, I chose to focus on my weight gain, not having a boyfriend, my hair and things that were tangible rather then the fact that I was fighting for my life. I needed to control something and "cancer" was much too big. Now I am focusing on the big picture and trying to come to terms with the whirlwind I have experienced the last eight months. I keep living by my mother's words. She said them the moment I was diagnosed and I will never forget them … "It's going to be okay. We will get through this together."

I have only five more treatments of radiation which means by next Thursday I will be finished. I have second degree burns on my chest and my skin is blistered, peeling and bleeding. Treatment has been excruciating. I noticed yesterday during my radiation treatment that despite working with the same technicians daily, I don't know their names. As that thought crossed my mind, I looked at the woman's nametag. Darlene. Everyday she has been examining my skin, complimenting my shoe collection, pushing and pulling on my body to get it centered under the radiation rays … and all along I have distanced myself. It's not that I am oblivious; it is that I purposely am trying to not get personal. I keep my interaction minimal in hopes of blocking this out of my memory as soon as it is over. I even plug my nose when I put on my layers and layers of skin cream to not recall the smell.

Subconsciously my mind has determined how much I can handle and has created these little barriers to keep me safe. I am amazed at how astonishing my body and mind are. Whether it's getting through my first haircut or separating myself from treatment … I have come to learn that in addition to my spirit, my mind and body are just trying to survive the best way they know how. And you know what? It's going to be okay. We will get through this together.

9/2/2008: A Day in the Life ...

At happy hour I ordered a mojito from a young, attractive female bartender. She asked for my ID and after reviewing it, handed it back to me and said, "This looks nothing like you." I paused for a moment and said, "I know, right? But this fake ID's been working for years." She gave me a stupid laugh and went to make my drink.

Walking to my car at Reston Hospital after just having had my sixteenth radiation treatment, an old woman parked next to me in a handicap spot was getting something out of her passenger seat. She said, "You sure do walk well in those heels for being handicapped." I unlocked my door and thought for a moment about what she was implying. I turned to face her; she wouldn't look me in the eye. I said, "I have cancer." Still not looking at me, she closed her door and locked it. She started shaking her head back and forth in disgust and said under her breath, "It's a shame they give handicap spots to people who are sick." I refrained from physically hurting the woman. As she wobbled off I said, "You are rude and ignorant. I hope you don't ever have to endure what I did these last seven months." She continued up the path still shaking her head. I choked back the tears as the anger boiled inside my stomach.

Shopping with my mother at Banana Republic we quickly acquired a rockstar sales woman. She continued taking my handfuls of clothes to the dressing room and helped pick out items she thought would look cute on me. I explained that any dress or top with a built in band under the bust would not work for me since I was still under construction and not at my final size yet. As I continued browsing the gorgeous fall clothes, my mom shared with the woman that I had breast cancer. I am not sure exactly what their conversation entailed, but when I turned around the woman looked at me completely different. She asked if she could hug me and I agreed. I could feel her chest convulsing against mine … she was trying not to cry.

At the check out line at Harris Teeter I purchased a ton of fruits and vegetables to start my 10-day detox regimen. The young man scanning my groceries was pimple-faced with a head covered in dread locks. As I was paying for my organic selections the boy asked, "Are you a hippie?" I tried not to laugh and responded as serious as I could with, "Yep, I sure am." He said, "Righteous." I barely held myself together and upon leaving I turned to the boy, threw a peace sign and said "Make love, not war." He responded just as I expected … with a peace sign. Righteous!

Finishing my treatment I clinched the hospital gown at my waist and headed back to the changing room. I hadn't noticed the woman sitting in the chair. She said, "Oh, I was hoping I would get to see you today." This woman (whose name I do not know) has treatment right after me, so sometimes our paths cross. I noticed she wasn't wearing her wig today, although most of us don't when we are being treated. Her blonde, fuzzy hair stood about a half-inch off her head and went beautifully with her porcelain skin and rosy cheeks. She looked at me with such conviction and said, "I want you to know that you gave me the courage to go without my wig today. It's certainly not as long or thick as yours and because it is so light I still look bald." I was stunned and truly touched. I sat down in the chair next to her and said, "I am so proud of you. What happened to us isn't our fault and you shouldn't be ashamed of it. You are absolutely stunning." Her eyes were swelling. I smirked a bit and asked, "Do you know what the best part is? You don't have to worry about the rain messing it up." She laughed and instantly the mood was lightened. The technician came back to get her and we said our goodbyes. I stood in the changing room and cried.

8/27/2008: Refresh

Refresh. That is precisely what I have done. I have clicked the refresh button on my psychological state and although it hasn't wiped clean the issues, it has put me in a better position to handle them. My mindset and spirit are in a much better place and the chaos that controlled my mind and caused such turmoil feels organized and manageable … just the way I like things.

I don't claim to have it all figured out, or to feel at peace with what has happened over the past seven months of my life, but I also refuse to let it control me. I said early on that I live by my father's words that when you wake up in the morning and your feet hit the floor you make a choice how you want your day to go. It takes just as much effort to be negative as it does to be positive … I choose to invest my time wisely.

This past week served as a turning point for me. While I experienced a heavy heart being contacted by four young women who are embarking on my same journey, I felt intense vitality and vibrancy through the happiness of my friends. One of my closest friends, Marisa, gave birth to her son, Brady Patrick Shea on Wednesday. As I received the minute-by-minute updates throughout her labor I trembled with anticipation, prayed for her and Brady's safety and my heart soared with the purest of loves. Once the news came that Brady had made his grand entrance, I felt elated and rejuvenated.

My friend Kandi, who is also fighting breast cancer, made it through her mastectomy on Friday with clean margins. She is cancer free and I am so incredibly thankful. She and I both conquered chemotherapy, surgery … and now cancer. She is such an amazingly strong woman and I am blessed to know her.

At a concert Saturday night I danced with my best friend's two-year-old daughter, Hadley. At the end of the evening she reached up for me to carry her. Walking to the car I spun her around singing the lyrics to Tommy Tutone '8675309 Jenny' that was being sung by the '80s cover band, The Reflex. She looked up and pointed to the sky saying 'plane.' I told her that they were stars and they were far away. She repeated the word, 'stars' over and over. In that moment, I was completely present and treasured every step I took down that gravel path with Hadley perched on my hip.

I find these days that I allow myself to get lost in the moment and am much more present when with my friends and family. Every minute counts. This weekend I organized a family outing to see 'The Lion King' at the Kennedy Center. Doctors appointments, surgeries, treatment sessions and medicated comas stole family time from us these past seven months. It was time to finally create a new memory of our family being together … one that was positive. As I looked down the row at the Opera House and watched their expressions I knew this would serve as the new memory of togetherness.

It's just my luck that as I start to get myself together psychologically, my body starts to fail me. I now have radiation poisoning on my chest. Basically, it is a severe form of sun poisoning/burn, but, according to my radiological oncologist, my skin is not red enough yet. My skin is pinkish red and I have broken out in a rash that is EXTREMELY itchy. (And wouldn't you know that scratching the rash makes it itch more.) Supposedly, this is all normal. I have completed 12 days of radiation and have 16 more to go. My radiological oncologist cut back my treatment from 30 to 28 days. I will continue treatment the way I have been until Sept. 12, then Sept. 15-17 they will increase treatment by 25 percent and focus it just on the center of my chest. I am counting down the days, keeping my mind healthy and taking lots of Benadryl. Ahh so itchy!!!

8/22/2008: I Miss My Hair

"How often do you have to cut your hair to keep it looking like that?" a woman asked me on the elevator. I was completely caught off guard by her question. I stared at her for a moment, and then said, "I haven't had to cut it yet, so I don't know. I had cancer so I was bald." She responded, "Well it is gorgeous and you are absolutely stunning." I miss my hair today.

I look at pictures of myself from last fall and over the holidays and I cannot believe how a couple of months can change you so much. I look completely different. I don't even recognize myself anymore. I have gotten many compliments on my new super-short 'do and plenty more stares. It's the staring that I can't stand. When I wore my wig I was camouflaged. I was able to be just one of the crowd without drawing attention to myself. Now I stand out and I wonder what people are thinking when they look at me. The weird thing is, I always loved standing out and getting attention, but this time I hate it. Maybe it's because it's not something I had control over. I wonder if people know that I had cancer. Do they assume that I am a lesbian? Do they think I am just trying to be trendy? Hmm … I wish I knew.

Perhaps if I had more strength and was rested none of this would even bother me. Radiation has quickly become very challenging. I am absolutely drained to the point of tears and find it hard to focus on anything of any importance. I meet with Dr. Moulds every Tuesday and he assures me that this is all very normal. He said he would leave my level of activity to my discretion, but that I may find that I need to cut back on some of my "social outings" due to fatigue. He wasn't kidding! Not only am I exhausted, but I am becoming irritable and cranky. Frankly, I'm a real joy. The fact that I cannot exercise to the extent that I'd like doesn't help either. It just feels like a vicious cycle. As soon as I finish one phase of this journey and start to feel better, I begin another and crash again. I am experiencing a loss of appetite, reliance on sleeping pills and an increase in caffeine intake, so my body is totally off. I need things to be normal and balanced again.

Luckily my skin has held up to radiation so far. The area that has been radiated is slightly pink, but I have no pain or discomfort. Apparently the visual effects don't surface until week three or four. I am hoping that with my vitamin C intake and using the suggested creams and ointments I will be able to avoid the burns and blisters.

If the exhaustion doesn't drive me off a cliff, perhaps my psychological state will. I was talking to my girlfriend Laurie over lunch the other day and was expressing some desires, such as traveling, losing weight, moving, and wiping clean my wardrobe, along with other things. She is so smart … she was able to see through my whirlwind comments and decipher that what I am trying to do is "start over." After a life-changing event people seek to wipe the slate clean, go where no one knows them and start anew. I have this unrelenting desire to start over and it consumes me. I feel as though I have been dropped into a void and that my recovery is still just beginning (which it technically is). It's almost as if when I went into remission people were saying, 'oh, you must be so relieved you're getting well, this is so great.' However I just cried a lot, and thought, 'I can't believe what I just went through.' I've read a lot about the grief experienced after breast cancer treatment and realized I suffered from something similar to posttraumatic stress disorder. It didn't all hit until it was already over. I believe things will get better in time, but that I greatly underestimated the psychological effects of this journey. However, I will continue to let God be my compass and celebrate my tiny victories.