Say What You Think

It's been 3 months and 1 week since surgery, and I let the day come and go without so much as a mention here. I see Dr. Spiegel again on Thursday, so I was kind of waiting for that to update, I guess.

But.... hip hip hooray, I'm off of all my restrictions!!! I'll come back soon with a medical update, but for now, I have a little something to say. I feel like this is especially relevant as we head into the holiday season, where sometimes the busyness leads to frustration and short tempers.

I am not going to come here and tell you that I have radically changed the way I live my life in the last year and a half.

Yes, I've pulled closer to God to get me through this. Yes, I've leaned on people more than is my norm. But I've always known God is there for me and relied on him, and the people I'm leaning on have been there for me in other, smaller trials as well, so none of this is radical.

There is something that I try to do, now, that I definitely never did before. I wouldn't say it's radical, but it's definitely life-changing for me, and maybe for someone else, too.

When someone impacts my life in a positive way, I try to let them know.

That's it. 

Whether they're a stranger or a friend, whether it's a big impact or just a little ripple, if I am able, I try to let them know.

The customer service rep I spent an hour on the phone with, but she was helpful and cheerful the whole time? I tell her that her cheerfulness was a pleasure.

The person who let's me out in traffic? He gets a super big wave, and maybe a thumbs up.

Basically, if I have a nice thought about someone, instead of keeping it to myself, I try to tell them.

       You were really brave.

       I know that situation sucked, but you handled it very gracefully.

       Thank you for always ___.

       I am proud of you.

       I love that dress.

       I can tell you love your job.

These words are often reserved for special situations, close friends or family.... But what if we sprinkle them farther and wider in the world? The grocery store cashier, the phone support person, the fellow shopper. Everyone needs a pick-me-up; the world needs more kindness. 

So say what you think.

Breast Reconstruction Awareness Day

Apparently, that is today. BRA Day, ha, ha, someone has a sense of humor.

I feel like I need to warn you that I'm about to talk about breasts, including mine. I mean, this is a blog about surviving breast cancer, so that seems obvious, but still, I'm about to write about boobs, so... You've been warned, ha.

Breast cancer takes and takes and takes. If I wrote about what all has been taken from me, you'd click off the page cuz it would get real whiney. So I won't.

The most obvious thing that breast cancer takes, is your breasts.

Breasts. Boobs. The Girls. Tatas. I'm sure there's a million more names for them. Most of the time, we think of boobs in a sexual sense, but there's so much more to it than that.

These breasts fed two babies.

My chest is where I pull my boys into a hug to comfort them when they've got a BoBo. In fact, every hug I give involves chest-to-chest contact.

Every article of clothing I have assumes that I have a filled-out and symmetrical chest. Well, except my pants, obviously. But you get my point.

I see the girls every day when I get out of the shower. Heck, I even have some little decorative mirrors and one is positioned Just So, so that when I'm shampooing, I can see them then, too. (Poor planning on my part, woops.)

There's no arguing that breasts are an integral part of any woman's life, and not just her intimate life (not that I'm negating the importance of that part, either, because let's get real, it's preeeetty important too!)

Breast cancer strips all of that away. Sometimes, women go flat - whether by choice or by medical necessity. Sometimes, a medical device is placed to give the look (when dressed) of symmetrical feminity - a prosthesis worn in the bra, or an implant. I had a tissue expander for over a year. This is like a breast implant that starts out flat, and they gradually add saline to it to help the skin stretch until it's the right size. For me, this was a temporary measure, a placeholder until my final reconstruction.

Also for me, it was unsightly and asymmetrical when naked, uncomfortable at best, and sometimes painful. And it could have been life threatening: when they removed my expander during reconstruction, they found that it was becoming infected.

So...what is breast reconstruction?

There are a lot of different methods, but the goal is the same: to replace what was taken. To recreate breasts in a way that has as natural of a look and feel - in and out of clothes - as possible.

The method I chose is called DIEP Flap Reconstruction, often referred to as just DIEP. The short story, if you're not familiar, is this: they remove a section of abdominal tissue, being careful to preserve the arteries that supply it. Then, they connect those arteries to the ones in your chest wall, and use about 47 gazillion micro sutures to put that belly tissue where there used to be boobs. The location where your belly button was, no longer exists on your body, so they make a new belly button in what appears to be the correct location for belly buttons: the lower/middle of your belly. Then, they puuuuuuulllll your belly skin closed. In short, it's a day-long craft project for a highly skilled microsurgeon.

There's this misconception out there that reconstruction is a free boob job.

It's not.

A free tummy tuck?

Nope, it's not that, either.

Breast reconstruction is a complete rearranging of your torso. It comes with a strange combination of pain and numbness. It's a bit mind-blowing when there's a place on your body that you know you're touching, but you can't feel it, and it has one of those painful stinging itches that you must scratch right-this-second. Only, when you touch it, you still can't feel your fingers on your own skin, and so you can't comfort it. And this phenomenon is not just in my new breasts, either, but in my abdomen as well. And that numbness may or may not go away - only time will tell.

Breast reconstruction is a hard surgery, with a hard recovery. I believe I was under for 9 hours. I had 2 surgeons, plus at least one PA, operating on me. Then I had another surgery 2 days later, due to complications, and needed 3 pints of blood. Y'all, the average woman only has 9 pints. So I needed a third of my blood to be replaced. I'm feeling great, but I still have another month of lifting restrictions, and I still have days where doing the normal life things just flat wears me out. And honestly, I've had an easy recovery, compared with some ladies I've talked to!

Is my belly flat? Pretty much. Do my new boobs look nice? They will, as we finish this process and the scars fade. Was all of this free? Hell no.

Some people might say, Well if breast reconstruction is so hard, why would you do that to yourself? Why would you elect to put yourself through such an ordeal?

This is not an ordeal. Cancer was The Ordeal. Surgeries and medications and life changes are The Ordeal.

But this, these reconstructed breasts? This, my friends, is the finish line of a marathon, the celebration at the end of a long journey, the morning sun after a nightmare.

I'm not finished, no, but I'm a heck of a lot closer to the finish line than I was.

Keeping It Real

The other day, a friend was asking how things are going, and I remembered that I hadn't updated the blog in a while. Sorry.

So, things are going pretty good. I've been walking upright for about 10 days now. On my first morning upright, I couldn't do it - there just wasn't enough slack in my abdomen to make it all the way up to straight! By lunchtime, I was pretty much straight. But then we went to lunch at this new place. When we walked out, James said, Stand up straight! And I couldn't because I'd used up all my abdominal slack on that burger, ha! But after a few days, I was fully upright, even with a full belly.

I'm back to sleeping in my bed now, hooray! I still have to prop my knees and sleep with an extra pillow under my head, but it's nice to be back in bed. And this evening, James surprised me by putting our room back in order - no more recliner squeezed next to the bed and blocking my nightstand!

I've started using silicone scar therapy sheets. My abdominal scar is angry and red, but I know it'll chill out eventually. My belly button sort of looks like a craft project gone wrong, so maybe with time (and maybe some help in Phase 2) it'll look better.

My belly is way less swollen, so that's nice. I still can't wear regular pants though, but I found some great jeans with an elastic waist, so I feel really normal now.

I have some tingling in my right hand and arm that is a little unnerving (ha, see what I did there? unNERVE-ing? Get it?) But I'm starting physical therapy this week so hopefully that resolves that issue. Otherwise, I see my oncologist in a couple of weeks and I'll get her to figure out the problem.

Last week I walked a couple of days - once around the block, and once I did half a mile on our neighborhood trail. By the end of it, my belly was feeling extra tight, so I ended up walking a little bent over, but it was still so nice to move.

I still have lots of days where I feel suddenly and totally exhausted. If I'm home, I usually sneak a nap, but sometimes that's just not possible. But I also have lots of days where I'm going and doing all day long, and again, it feels so normal. Normal is a good thing!

I'm having some skin issues - idk if it's a rash like I had a couple weeks after surgery, or if it's more of a breakout type thing from my hormone blocker, but hopefully it clears up soon. Otherwise I might make an appointment with my dermatologist and see if he can straighten me out.

I think that's about all that's going on with me. So when I told my friend all that, she said, You always keep such a positive attitude about it all.

And you know what, I do keep a positive attitude. Keep being the key word, there.

The default is not always positive. Sometimes, my first thought when I look in the mirror is revulsion. Sometimes, my first response to a random pain is fear. Sometimes, my first feeling after a setback is defeat. I'm not going to clarify "sometimes" because it varies from rarely to often and back again. But just know that I do have those feelings. But I keep a positive attitude.

Keep. That is the key.

When you clean house and go through toys and clothes and papers, you toss some and you keep some. You make a choice about which things are important enough, good enough, valuable enough to keep. There is this big decluttering movement about only keeping things that bring you Joy, and you pick up each thing and make a split-second decision about it, based on how it makes you feel - keep or toss, keep or toss.

Emotions are the same way. I have all the emotions. The question is, which ones am I going to keep. Which ones improve my life, make things better, build me up and push me forward - those are the ones to keep.

It's all a choice. So I'll continue choosing to keep a positive attitude.

A merry heart does good like a medicine
But a broken spirit dries the bones. Proverbs 17:22

Pinktober

I learned a new word today.

Pinktober (n): the month of October that is flooded with pink in an effort to raise awareness of breast cancer. Also known as Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

It's not Pinktober quite yet, but already I'm having some mixed feelings about the, ah, festivities, so I wanted to share some thoughts.

Pinktober comes with shirts and posters, sports teams in pink socks, and Facebook messages. But mostly, everywhere I look, I see pink ribbons.

(For the love of all things pink, if you send me a FB message asking my bra color to raise bc awareness, I'm deleting you. I'm plenty aware of breast cancer, and if I'm even wearing a bra, it's probably uncomfortable at the moment because I'm still a bit tender from having new boobs built.)

Sorry, I got sidetracked there. Anyway.

This journey of mine is a roller coaster of emotions.

Some days, I see a pink ribbon and want to pump my fist in the air and shout, Man, I kicked breast cancer's ass!

And other days, I see a pink ribbon and want to burn it.

A pink ribbon can be a tribute, a way of honoring how far I've come.

A pink ribbon can be a slap in my face, a reminder of just what all I've been through in the last 18 months.

A pink ribbon can say, Hey, I see you struggling with this journey, but I'm here for you, I'm walking with you.

A pink ribbon can say, Hey, I see what you're walking through, and I don't really feel comfortable actually being there for you, so I'm gonna put on this ribbon and then I'll feel good about myself for being "supportive" of you.

I guess what I'm trying to say is... Think about that pink ribbon when you're putting it on, whether it's on your shirt or on your profile. Don't do it because the cool kids are doing it. Use it as a tool to raise actual awareness.

Breast cancer is a real disease. It affects young women as well as older women. It is a life-altering circumstance that nobody wants to face. And it happens to 1 in 8 women. Check your girls, girls.

One final thought: There is a huge difference between raising awareness of the disease, and raising funds for research. Awareness means you know about the disease: risk factors, warning signs, detection. Pink ribbons do not, by and large, raise much (if any) money for breast cancer research. Most of the products sold around this time are pure marketing gimmicks, with pennies on the dollar going to actual research. Before you buy that crap, please do your research. Don't waste your money and insult my journey with "save the tatas" bracelets or whatever this year's catchy slogan is.

A Little Longer...

Today, I saw the PA at Dr. Speigel's office for a check-up. I'm 5.5 weeks post-op, and here's the scoop.

My abdominal incision that had the little delayed healing spot? That's all better! The whole incision is looking fantastic - definitely not like a month old scar, that's for sure! I still have to walk flexed for 2 more weeks though, because if I stand up now, the scar will stretch and widen, so they want me to wait til 8 weeks post-op before I stand up fully. Or rather, start to stand up - I can already tell it's going to be a slow process.

Also at 8 weeks, I can start sleeping in my bed again, instead of the recliner. That will also be a transition too - one week with 2 pillows behind my head and knees, then a week with one pillow each, and then normal.

Another 8 week change is that I will be able to start using Silagen silicone scar therapy sheets. They're supposed to be amazing.

Pretty soon, I will get set up with the physical therapy group at The Women's Hospital, and that'll be twice a week for 6 weeks. That is for range of motion in my arms. They'll also do some cold laser therapy on some areas of hardness in my breast. The hardness is from the bleeding I had that required the second surgery, if you remember that. I still have some bruising from that episode, and where the bruising is, is hard... It's softening up, but the laser (which doesn't hurt) will help it improve faster.

Another thing they did today was remove the glue (dermabond) covering the breast incisions. On the left side, there are 2 tiny dots of "delayed wound healing" so I've got to use the special dressing I was using on my abdomen, there. It really looks like there were two little scabs that stuck to the glue instead of my body, so hopefully those clear up quickly.

And, that's pretty much all the news for today. I was pretty disappointed to not be cleared to stand up, but I love that she explained why, so I can be patient.

I'm seeing a trend of things taking a little longer than planned at each step in the process. 6 days in the hospital, instead of 4. 8 weeks walking flexed, instead of 4-6. So, I'm kind of starting to prepare myself for the possibility that I might not get to have my Phase 2 surgery before the end of the year.

Phase 2 is a second, planned surgery for symmetry and scar revision - Phase 1 is the big one, and it's meant to be a foundation, not a finished product. Phase 2 is always at least 4 months after Phase 1, longer if needed.

I was really hoping to have it by the end of the year, because all of my medical expenses are covered by at 100% by insurance right now. If it's after 1/1/2020, then we start over and I have to pay a big chunk of the cost. Which is manageable, but obviously if it's avoidable, then that's better! But my priority is the best outcome, and I fully trust my doctor to make that decision when the time comes. I will see her next on 11/21, and she will decide then if we want to keep our pencilled-in date of 12/11, or push it back.

That's what's new with me. If you're following the weather, you may know it's been bad down by us, but we've stayed safe and dry and I think it's about finished. Be praying for others in my area that flooded - some who also flooded during Harvey.

Post-Op #2 Report

Today was my second post-op appointment, and I got a little good news, and a little bad news. I like to end on a high note, so I'll give you the bad news first.

During surgery, they glued some special tape over the abdominal incision to give it some additional support and keep it from pulling open. Fun fact about me: I have really sensitive skin, and sometimes adhesive irritates me. This is one of those times. So they pulled the entire thing off today, which is earlier than they like to, because my skin was just done with that stuff.

They used a bit of adhesive remover to loosen it up, but it still felt about like a bikini wax coming off. So that was fun. Then, it continued to hurt... Because my skin is a little broken down in some spots from the adhesive. It looks like a bunch of small scratches that are just a teensy bit bleedy, and they sting like, well, a bunch of small scratches that are a teensy bit bleedy. Leave it to me to have a major surgery that impacts my entire torso, and the dang bandaids do me in.

I also have a bit of an itchy rash, so that's fun, but some rx cream should clear that right up.

The last bit of bad news is a little more serious, but they assured me it happens all the time and not to worry, just be extra careful. So during the tummy tuck part of the surgery, they're pulling your abdomen back together and there's not enough skin, so it's real tight. Hence the need to walk bent over. Mine is particularly tight, because they were able to use my c-section scar so that the final product is nicer, but it was lower than she usually goes, so the whole thing is a bit tighter. So a possible complication, which I am having, is that it sort of pulls apart a little bit - they call it "delayed wound healing" and she said it's really a very tiny spot and it'll close up just fine. I suspect it's probably complicated by my low platelets, but I didn't ask. So I just have to stay extra bent over, especially since I no longer have the tape on there as a reinforcement. They also gave me a special dressing that will help it heal, without causing the adhesive skin reaction above. And because of all that, I have to wait another week to drive, and I have to go back next week to make sure it's all healing well, instead of in two weeks.

Pause. That all sounds sort of terrible, doesn't it? But really, it's all going to be just fine, and it really is a very small spot. And the skin breakdown is very superficial and will probably clear right up now that the tape is gone. So, deep breath, and stop worrying and thinking doomy gloomy thoughts. I'm rocking this recovery phase!

Now then, how about some good news?

The girls are looking great. The left one is still all sorts of greenish purple from the bleeding (which was from a little clot, doc said), but they're healing so well, and they look pretty good, if I do say so myself.

I no longer have to wear the surgical bra, which is AMAZING because that little thing is unbelievably itchy. Or maybe that's the rash that was so itchy, but I think the bra contributed to it, so same thing. I am now allowed to wear those really comfortable camisole type bras, so that is very exciting.

I can raise my hands overhead and do range of motion exercises. Well, I can't actually raise them that high, but I'm allowed to start trying. Do you know what this means?!?! I can shave my armpits. Hallelujah, God is good, y'all. I can also wear whatever I want now, because I can move my arms around to get into real clothes instead of just button up shirts.

Oh, I nearly forgot! Because of all the issues above, I get to take a week off from The Miniskirt! Which, despite all my complaints, is actually pretty helpful for my sore swelly belly.

So overall, a pretty good appointment. I also enjoyed getting some one on one time with James, because he's been taking me to these weekly appointments. Date Day for the win!

Laugh or Cry, Volume 2

Welcome, friends, to another episode of Laugh or Cry.

The Belly Button Chronicles

Ah, the belly button. The subject of books and songs, the source of life and of giggles.

During my surgery, my belly button had to be relocated, because the location where it has resided the last 34 years is now, ahem, much lower than before. So, it was sort of an arts and crafts project - cut it out, paste it into the new location, ta da!

So as you can imagine, when I first got home, it was a bit gruesome looking. Luke looks over Mom's shoulder with a very puzzled look, and says, What's DAT?!

That's my belly button, buddy.

Why you break yous belly button?

Well, sometimes that happens, buddy, sometimes that happens.

(And in case you are wondering, it has already improved greatly in appearance, although it's still got a ways to go before being recognized as a belly button by a 2 year old.)

You Can Either Laugh or Cry

Life is full of choices.

Plain milk, or chocolate milk.

Oreos, or chocolate chips.

Vanilla ice cream, or chocolate.

Laugh about unfortunate circumstances, or cry over them.

I choose to laugh. (I also choose chocolate, but that's irrelevant at the moment.)

There are a hundred little aspects to this journey that kind of (or really) suck, but in the spirit of choosing to laugh, I'm going to share them with you. Today's installment:

The Miniskirt.

This surgery and recovery comes with a lot of gear. Special garments, helpful devices, that sort of thing. One of these is the belly band.

My abdomen has taken a beating. A section of fat and skin was removed, and they also had to poke around my ab muscles to find the right arteries to disconnect and reconnect up top. Oh, and my belly button also had to be relocated, but that's a story for another day.

So after all that trauma, they want me to wear a belly band all day to provide support for my poor abused belly.

I'm not taking a picture to model this thing, so let me help you understand. This garment is made of elastic that puts Spanx to shame. I'm fairly certain it came from NASA, and was possibly rejected for being too rigid. It even has these little squiggly ribs inside to give it more rigidity, so that when I peel it off at the end of the day, my skin resembles a Wavy Lays potato chip. You ever need to fit into your little black dress, after choosing chocolate a few too many times, you call me, I can hook you up.

The top and bottom edges have a wide band of flat elastic to attempt to keep the garment in place. The top edge starts at my ribs and slowly works its way down all day. The bottom edge, in a perfect world, would sit below my butt and stay put. Sadly, we live in a fallen world.

Additionally, the garment is sized for a 9 year old. Something about a snug fit provides better support, but they underestimated the circumference of my torso, especially my butt, as well as the length of my torso. So o spend my days fighting to keep stuffing in the sausage wrap, so to speak.

A super fun part of the cancer/recovery thing is that pretty much all of your dignity is stripped away as you give up all autonomy for caring for your own body. I'm not allowed to push, pull or lift more than 5-7 pounds. This belly band requires approximately 847 pounds of pull force to get into its designated location. Which means... I can't put it there by myself. Or even help with the process. The best I can do is stand very still, with my legs as close together as I can get them, think tiny-hiney thoughts, and try my best not to fall over as a loved one hoists this garment into place. So, the first day I'm putting this thing on, James jokes, "Hey, it's like a miniskirt." Have I mentioned that it's maybe harder to be the Loved One than the Patient?

So, remember how I told you the band comes down below my butt? And remember how I told you that I can't get it on by myself? You see any issues with this setup? Underwear. Underwear are an issue. Because if I were able to squeeze anything between myself and the band, then it'd be stuck there until someone was ready to help me take it off for the day. I may have given up a lot of my autonomy, but at least I'm able to go pee on my own.

Oh, and one more thing about this wonderful garment. Actually, two. One, it's HOT. Did you know I live in Texas, and it's August, and I'm on hormone blockers than cause hot flashes? So let's add another layer of fabric that absolutely does not BREATHE, and enjoy! Two, I'm the tiniest bit claustrophobic. It's not quite tight enough to restrict my breathing, but I spend the entire day just noticing its faithful presence. So by the end of the day all I can think is GETITOFFGETITOFFGETITOFF.

And now, my friends, you have a thorough appreciation of the belly band, and hopefully you've had a good laugh, as well!

Two Weeks Out

This is why I am not a real blogger: because I can't manage to write more than once or twice a month. Woops.

But, I have a blog, and I'm writing, and you're reading, so here we go again.

It's been two weeks since my big surgery.

Two weeks already!?!

 and also...

Only two weeks?!?

Overall, things are going really, really well.

My boobs look like... Boobs. The first time I saw them, two nurses had my bra open and the foot of my hospital bed was filled with at least 4 people from my surgical team. I'd just come back from a second, unplanned surgery (more on that, later). I looked down, checked out each of the girls, and announced, Cool! I don't really know what I was expecting, but I was pleasantly surprised. And also heavily medicated, but whatever.

So, let's back up and I'll give you a recap. This might get long; sorry in advance.

Monday morning, I ended up driving myself to the hospital, and 103.7 was playing all the good music so I had church in my car all the way to the hospital, and I walked in with a smile on my face and a pep in my step. God is good, y'all.

Wait, I've gotta back up a little more, so you know why I drove myself to the hospital. The short story is, my sister and 4:30am are not friends. The long story is, James was still in the hospital. Not even the same hospital I was headed to, either.

On Saturday morning (the 10th) after several days of stomach pain without relief, I sent James to a freestanding ER, where he was diagnosed with appendicitis. Houston Methodist (my hospital) was full, so he was transferred to Clear Lake Regional, and that evening he had an appendectomy. My mom and mother in law juggled the boys so that I could be with him, and I stayed at the hospital with him that night. We saw the surgeon Sunday morning, expecting to be released since it was a laproscopic procedure, but that wasn't the case. It was "a particularly nasty" appendectomy, so he'd be staying at least another night.

I'm not gonna lie, leaving the hospital on Sunday afternoon, to go home and pack my own surgical bag and love on the boys, was one of the hardest things I've had to do on this journey. I've decided that it's a lot easier being the patient, than the loved one.

So, James was released on Monday, but he had a drain in place for a week, so he couldn't come up to my hospital because it was an infection risk. So instead, my sister was going to be the one staying with me. And like I said, she and 4am aren't friends. But, she and my dad met me in my pre-op room in plenty of time to hang out and pray before the big party started.

James is doing great now, by the way. The only stomach pain he has now is when the boys manage to knee him right in the spot where they did the procedure. They have quite the talent for that sort of thing, so it happens a couple times a day, but he's a tough guy and a good sport about it.

So, back to Monday, Surgery Day. It was an easy day for me; I slept through most of it. I think it was from 8-4ish, but I could be totally wrong on that.

Dr. Spiegel measured the tissue removed during the mastectomy, and it was, to the gram, the same weight as the abdominal tissue for that side. That's only happened a couple of times in over 1,500 surgeries, so she was geeking out about that.

Tuesday, the goal was simple: get out of bed and sit in a chair. Repeat. The Chair Trials, they called it. It took a nurse and a tech to move me from the bed to the chair, partially because it hurt my abdomen to move much, and partly because I had 24 tubes and wires coming off of me that they had to rearrange. Then I sat for an hour, with checks to my many monitors every 15 minutes. Then back to bed and check it all again. Then repeat later in the day.

On my second trial, I was in the chair a little longer than I should have been, and some of the numbers were fluctuating a lot more than they should have been. The nurse said she'd call and let the doctor know, but she didn't. That was around 8pm... Fast forward to 3am, and the resident was NOT happy with the way things were going and the way the nurse was handling things. He paged Dr. Spiegel, and I don't remember what time she arrived, but it was much earlier than her normal rounds.

A little bit later, the numbers were continuing to decline, so they decided that I needed to go back to the OR to "have a look around." They found some bleeding behind the new tissue and cleaned it up, and I think it took maybe an hour or 90 minutes. My platelets and hemoglobin had both tanked, so they ended up giving me 3 units of blood in the OR, which is kind of a lot.

Looking back, I am nothing short of amazed by the peace I had going into that surgery. Both, really, but especially the second one. The consents I had to sign were really serious, but my mind just didn't even stray to the many many What Ifs. God is good, y'all.

A little bit of background info: throughout most of my chemo and subsequent infusions, and even still, I have had low platelets. I also had low platelets during both pregnancies, and they caused some slight issues during Luke's delivery, but nothing dangerous or lasting. Platelets are the things in your blood that make it clot, so you don't just keep bleeding and bleeding. Not having enough platelets means I bruise easier on a normal basis, or bleed more during (and after) surgery. And the cool thing is, the doctors have no idea why mine are low. They considered treating with steroids beforehand, but decided that would be too risky because that might make my blood TOO clotty, which would be bad, also.

The rest of Wednesday is a bit hazy, between the anesthesia wearing off and the morphine.

Thursday was the day I was originally supposed to go home, but now, it was my new post op day 1. Which meant: The Chair Trials. This time, they went great.

Friday, I finally got to shower, and it was amazing. I also had my first shot at walking. I made it to the door to the neighboring room, and my back just seized up. It wasn't like normal pain, it was like, it just stopped being made up of moving, flexible muscles. It was either sit, or fall, so I sat in a nurse's chair that was conveniently nearby. After a few minutes, I worked up the nerve to walk back to bed. Later that day, I walked again, and made it to the end of the (rather short) hall.

Saturday, I finally got to come home! It was wonderful to get to come home and see my family. Luke kept coming up to me and saying Hey, Mom! with a little wave. Jay was a little more distant; I think he was processing everything, and probably remembering last year's surgery. He's come around now, though, and he's the best back scratcher ever.

I've had one post-op visit, and everything is looking great. I'm still walking around like Quasimodo, but no more back spasms. I still need LOTS of assistance with things like showering and getting dressed. It's really turned into a blessing, having James off work for more time than we'd planned. And of course, my mom is saving the day around the house and with the boys.

And, that's what I've been up to around here!

It's Almost Time

August 12. It's coming up fast.

A recap of the plan: Left mastectomy, right tissue expander removal, bilateral DIEP flap reconstruction. BreastRestoration.org has some lovely diagrams, if you care to learn more.

It's not exciting.

It's not "Yay, new boobs!"

It's 3-4 nights in the hospital, with one-on-one nursing care every hour to make sure everything is healing as it should.

It's 3 months of putting life on hold, and then gradually working toward "normal" again, whatever that looks like after completely rearranging your body surgically.

It's not lifting my kids - not lifting anything heavier than a gallon of milk. They love to take turns being held during worship on Sunday mornings. Will Jay be "too old" to want to praise Jesus with me, when I am finally strong enough to lift him again?

It's not putting my kids to bed at night, because I can't lay by them in their beds like we do every single night.

It's most likely missing out on walking Jay to his classroom on his first day of school. 

It's opting for more scars, bigger scars, in an attempt to look and feel whole again. Will I feel like me, or like some Franken-barbie?

It's juggling pain meds and stomach problems.

It's dodging my boys' hugs and snuggles because they're BOYS and gentle just doesn't come naturally to them. At least now, I can gently and discretely redirect their hugs to my left side, my strong side as Jay has called it. I won't have a strong side anymore.

It's trading in sleeping next to my husband for a recliner for a while. 

It's sacrificing my autonomy in many areas: personal care, running my household, raising my children, participating in MOPs, driving.

Yeah, it's "optional" and I could just continue on like I am now - there's no real reason why the status quo can't continue, at least for a while longer. Except that an expander is a temporary thing, and I don't want to risk having to go through this again because of the other side.

It's hard to recover from a surgery, feel normal and strong again, and opt to do it all over again, with an even more intense recovery this time.

I'm scared out of my mind. I'm sad at what I have to give up and miss out on. I'm a little mad, because I don't want to have to go through this.

But being brave is being scared and still moving forward with what you know you need to do.

So, brave it is. Let's do this.

It's All In How You Look At It

The last couple of days, I've been doing some house stuff. Nothing major, mostly just trying to clear out the clutter that always seems to sneak up on every free flat surface. 

I've also been razor blading around my baseboards to remove some tiny remnants of tape and contractor paper that are left from our Harvey repairs. I've been looking at those bits of paper since December of 2017, when we rushed home before James was really ready for us to be back in the house, because I just couldn't take it anymore and needed us to be home for Christmas. I would look at the bits of paper and be annoyed, because it was a reminder of all that we'd been through, but I was always doing something else so I never took the time to take care of it. And James had done SO much to repair our house, I wasn't about to nitpick something so insignificant, especially when I was capable of doing it myself.

So fast forward nearly a year and a half, and I'm finally getting around to it.

And you know what? I'm excited. It feels good to do something uncomfortable, something that kinda makes your back hurt a little. It feels good to have the energy to crawl around and do work (even if it's not all that hard).

I am thankful to have the energy and the capacity to do this little thing to care for my home. 

This story is NOT to highlight my accomplishments around the house. It's about my mindset - my new mindset. I don't want to take things for granted, I want to notice and appreciate things I overlooked before. Things that were a non-issue, I just want to take a second and appreciate them before I go on with my day.

What can you find to be thankful for today? Bonus points if you can find a new way to look at an obnoxious task!

Do all things without grumbling or complaining. Philippians 2:14

Today

Today was Infusion #17.

The end. The last one. One year's worth of going every three weeks, and I AM DONE!

Herceptin and Perjeta are the two meds I've been taking. These are smart meds that stop any straggler cancer cells from reproducing, by blocking a specific protein that would tell the cells to divide.

I've been very fortunate to not have hardly any side effects from these meds. They can cause pretty substantial digestive issues, but thankfully I dodged that bullet.

I absolutely could not have gotten this far in this crazy journey without you walking alongside me, praying for me, and encouraging me.

And God. God is so so good, y'all.

A Year Ago Today

A year ago today, I checked in for surgery. The plan was a single mastectomy with immediate DIEP reconstruction, which means taking tissue from the abdomen to recreate a breast. It's a long surgery - 8-10 hours - with a long recovery - a solid 3 months of zero lifting, and then quite a bit more time before feeling totally normal again. But, a year ago today was going to be the biggest hurdle in my road to recovery, and then I was going to close the door on that chapter of my life.

A year ago today, I woke up too soon.

I remember laying in the hospital bed, my mind foggy from the anesthesia, and seeing the bright sunlight and struggling to make sense of the clock on the wall.

I don't remember what time it was, but it was around lunch time. Much much too soon to be awake for a surgery that started around 7 am. And there was James, sitting by my bed waiting for me to wake up, to be the one to tell me that things hadn't gone as planned.

A year ago today, I learned that my battle was just beginning.

A few minutes after I woke up, one of my two surgeons came in to explain.

"We found cancer in one of the four lymph nodes we removed."

Translation: Tissue expander instead of reconstruction. Chemo. Radiation. More surgeries down the road. Three months of not lifting my babies now, and three more months of not lifting them down the road, after reconstruction at an as-yet-undetermined date.

I knew going into surgery that this Plan B was a possibility, but we all thought the likelihood was very slim.

A year ago today, I learned more about cancer than anyone wants to know.

I learned about hormone receptors and lymphedema risks and wigs and hats and asking for rides and radiation creams and natural deodorants and paraben-free beauty products and physical therapy and more about digestive medications than anyone ever should know.

A year ago today, I learned how to ask for help and accept kindness without feeling guilty. Most of the time, anyway.

A year ago today, I learned that gracefully letting others help is a blessing to them. Turns out, people like feeling helpful and needed.

A year ago today, I learned the value of surrounding yourself with positive, God-trusting people. When your feet are knocked out from under you, these are the ones who lift you up and tell you to keep moving forward. They're the ones who fill you up with the positive words that you'd tell yourself if you weren't so down.

A year ago today, I woke up too soon.

Lookin' Good, Feelin' Good.

I hear it all the time: You look good. Really good.

And I respond with: Thank you. I feel great. Really great.

That's usually where I change the subject, because I get a little self-conscious. But in reality? I should keep talking. I should say that the reason I look so good and I feel so good is because God is so good. 

Because He cares for me. 

Because He strengthens me and encourages me. 

Because He gives me peace on the inside when the storm rages outside.

Because He shows me how to find joy when I feel like I'm drowning in sorrow.

Because He lavishes his love on me, through family and friends who love me well.

Because He gives me wisdom and guidance as I listen to my doctors and sort through all the information out there.

Because God is so so good, I can look good and feel good.

So next time you see me, and you think I'm looking good, and I tell you I'm feeling good, now you know - it's not me, it's all God's doing!

Choices

I've been having trouble sleeping lately. Either I can't fall asleep, or something wakes me up and then I can't turn my mind off long enough to fall back to sleep for what feels like hours and hours.

A could of nights ago, as I was laying awake, the word CHOICE popped into my head. Choose, choice, imaging myself choosing something - I could just feel the essence of a choice right in front of me.

You have a choice, I heard. What are you going to choose?

Okayyyy.... I choose sleep. Sleep, I'm choosing you! Where are you, my dear friend sleep? 

Nothing. 

Well actually the opposite of nothing - lots and lots and lots of thoughts just continuing to flow. But sadly, no sleep.

Part of the problem: the overarching theme of that barrage of mental images and scenarios playing in my head and keeping me up at night is fear, worry, anxiety.

I've never been one to say I have anxiety, never been diagnosed with any sort of anxiety disorder, but the more I learn about it, the more I feel like anxiety has been a monster under my bed for most of my life. Most times, I do really well at ignoring it and going about life as usual, but sometimes I can hear it scruffling around under there and I'm paralyzed to do anything but wait it out.

But back to the other night. So clearly, I felt that *I* am to choose. I'm not 100% sure what that means, but that night, it meant tuning out the images of what ifs and problems and choosing to focus on something good. I chose the lyrics of a worship song, and now I don't even remember which one, but I just focused on one chorus, over and over and over, and before I knew it, it was 8 am and I had been sleeping peacefully for the rest of the night.

Something else I struggle with is waking up in a good mood. Or I should say, being woken up (by anyone or anything) often puts me in a bad mood. I don't know what it is exactly, and it doesn't seem to matter how much or how little sleep I've had, or whether it's a reasonable time to wake up or not. I just tend to not wake up in a good mood.

Back to that choosing thing... I can choose what kind of mood I wake up in. Or at least what kind of mood I continue in. Because if we're being honest here, sometimes when I wake up grumpy, I cling to that grouchiness long after events of the morning should have cheered me up.

I'm not saying I can choose for my problems to disappear. But I can choose the attitude I'll have when facing them. I can choos to focus on the problems (real or imagined) or the source of peace.

I choose peace.

Brief

Teach us to realize the brevity of life, so that we may grow in wisdom.

Psalms 90:12 NLT

This is my daily Bible verse on my phone app. If I'm being honest, I ignore the app about half the time, and many other days, I just barely read it as quick as I can before dismissing the notification, with hardly another thought.

Life is short, y'all. That's such a common phrase, and most of the time it's used in reference to slowing down, enjoying the good times, making the best of the time we are here, and so on and so on. 

But you know what? It applies to our struggles and trials, too. Whatever it is you're going through today, the "brevity of life" means that it's only a season, and it too shall pass.

So chin up, friend! Look for the wisdom as you walk your walk, and remember it's only a season.