Two Year Survivor Day!

I am a breast cancer survivor. 

That's a status that you never want to achieve, but also, I'm proud to have achieved it.

What I mean is, nobody ever wants to face cancer, period. But if you do, you want to hurry through the "fighting cancer" stage and achieve that "survivor" status.

On April 25, 2018, I had a mastectomy to remove the tumor and 4 lymph nodes. After that, I had chemo, radiation, and targeted therapy. Then reconstruction surgeries. I still take a daily hormone blocker, and I go in quarterly for an injection to induce chemical menopause.

I am a survivor.

What I guess I never realized is, even as a survivor, the fight goes on, but it looks different. I'm fighting to stay well. I'm fighting to keep the cancer from coming back. I'm fighting to keep my sanity, because this chemical/hormonal yo-yo will make a girl crazy.  I'm fighting to make my body work properly. I'm fighting to figure out what this body is capable of, because it's so unfamiliar that I'm not always sure.

I am a survivor. But I'm still a fighter.

And I'm going to celebrate with cake.

Fear and Faith

We are in the middle of an unprecedented attempt to contain, no, to slow the spread of a virus we've never seen before.

There's a lot of information out there - some true, some false, some just plain stupid. I'm not writing about any of that, because I'm not an infectious disease expert. There are a lot of reactions out there that fit those same categories. I'm not writing about any of that, either, because my mama said if you can't say something nice...... Anyway.

There's a notion out there that fear and faith can't coexist. I'm not a Bible scholar, I'm just a human. A real, flawed human. And I'm telling you right now that fear and faith are both very present and very real in my life.

I am afraid of the virus, a little. I am afraid of the longer-term impact of these lifestyle changes on my life and the lives of loved ones, a little more than a little. My fear is, admittedly, guiding some of my choices right now. I am reading as much as I can about what's going on, partly to know more, partly because I can't stop. For me, this is a fearful reaction, but it has good results in that the more we know, the better we can do. I am following CDC recommendations to stay put, and while this an EXCELLENT thing to do, I'll admit that I'm partly doing it out of fear, as well as just common sense.

I guess what I'm saying is, fear can motivate you to do smart things. Just don't let it motivate you to do dumb things - which I'm not even going to get into, just because. (Just, please use your brain, okay? Okay, that's really all I'm going to say there.)

Even in the midst of fear, I know, without doubt, that my God is so so good. I know that even when life is hard and messy and uncertain and downright scary, God is still good. How do I know? Because of faith.

Faith that the God of Heaven promised to watch over and protect me - go read Psalms 91. Now's a good time; I'll wait.

Faith that the Creator of the World made me - and you - and put us right here, right now, for such a time as this. What are you going to do about that?

In the coming days and weeks, as this pandemic likely gets crazier before it calms down, I hope you look for God. Look for ways that He shows up - for you, and through you. Because in times like this, God uses ordinary people to show up and impact lives.

So, find a way to help someone out.

Speak peaceful, comforting words to someone who is letting their fear run rampant. Don't speak more fear into an already fearful situation. (I'm talking to myself here, too!)

Listen to the experts as they try their best to walk us through this, and give some grace when it seems like they're stumbling. In fact, give grace all around - the whole world is struggling to figure this mess out, and there will be missteps that are crystal clear in hindsight. Give grace.

Look for the good, and be the good, in these crazy times.

Because God is good, even if you're scared.

March 9 - Two Years Ago Today

Flashback time: March 9, 2018

I showed up at the Baytown hospital and went to the Breast Center. I got checked in and changed into a fluffy robe and waited in the private waiting area. There was a girl there who I knew from my pre-Luke days of going to workout classes at the gym; she was also there for a diagnostic mammogram. We said hello, but truthfully I probably seemed a little rude because I couldn't really cope with actual conversation due to all the nerves.

It's my turn, and I go back for the mammogram. In case you didn't know, a diagnostic mammogram puts significantly more pressure on the breast than a routine screening mammogram. The harder they squeeze, the more they can see. But, it's not that painful, just more discomfort than anything, and it's over quickly.

Next up, I went to a different room and they used ultrasound to take pictures of both breasts - the lump, the area around the lump, and the other breast for comparison.

After that was done, I went to another room, more of an office with a computer where I could also see the images, to talk to the radiologist.

I will never forget the conversation that day:

Radiologist: "I'm very concerned about this. We need to bring you back in for an ultrasound-guided biopsy, blah blah blah is what to expect with that, do you have any questions?"

Me: "When you say 'very concerned,' what do you mean by that?"

Radiologist, in the most matter of fact voice you can imagine: "Oh, I'm very concerned that this is a breast cancer. So, with the biopsy.... " 

And I then tuned her out: I truly have no idea what she said after that. A bit later, a nurse was sitting down with me (in yet another room) to schedule the biopsy, and I just lost it. I remember this nurse was so kind and patient with me, and that made me cry even more.

Finally, I got myself together enough to go get dressed. I was still crying, but less hysterically and slightly more discreetly. My friend was actually in the dressing rooms, and I could barely even look at her - I sort of mumbled something about good to see you, and I left. The whole way to the car, I was still crying. I got in the car, and I lost control of myself again - the sobs just wouldn't stop.

So, I did what I do when I don't have words. I turned on some praise music. Y'all, those singers and songwriters are unbelievably gifted, and their words have brought me such comfort on so many occasions that I can't even begin to name them.

This day, I turned on YouTube to just listen because at the time I didn't have a single app or account to stream music on demand, just Pandora's random selections, and that wasn't going to cut it. I chose Zach Williams' Fear Is a Liar. I turned it up as loud as it would go, and I sang through my tears as I drove home. I was afraid, but listening to the truth in that song helped me get my head on straight. So I listened to it over and over and over again.

When I got home, both boys were happy to see me, and we were loading up to head to Buffalo for the weekend. I didn't want to talk about it in front of them, especially Jay, because he was (and still is) very perceptive. So it was more than an hour, maybe two, before I could finally tell James what they'd said. It was agonizing having to hold it in for that long, but I think it helped me to be a little calmer when I finally told him - I cried, but I wasn't hysterical like I had been at the doctor's office.

And so, that is the story of March 9. It's also the story of how a certain song can say the words that you aren't yet able to form in your prayers - whether you're too scared, or too broken, or too stuck to get them to come together in any sort of cohesive way. Music is kind of magical like that - it just speaks for you if you'll let it.

Here's the lyric video of Fear Is a Liar, by Zach Williams.

Commitments

Well. I took a little break from writing last week, but thankfully it was nothing like my last break!

What's new: On Thursday, I go back to see Dr. Spiegel for my 3-month post-op appointment. This is the first she's seen me since the OR in December, and I don't have any major concerns, so it should be an easy appointment. I promise to update if there's anything to share!

Besides that, I've realized that my internal commitment to writing daily was... ambitious, ha. So, I'm revising my goal to be once a week minimum, but hopefully 2-3 times. I plan to have something new every Monday, because I know that we all need some goodness to get through Mondays, and hopefully reading this is a little bit of goodness for your life.

Commit your work to the Lord, 

and your plans will be established. 

Proverbs 16:3

This is me, committing my plans to the Lord. To myself and to you, as well, but most importantly, to Him. Because what am I doing, if not pointing you to Him?

You Are Faithful

Songs are one of the ways that I get through life without going crazy or spiraling into the depths of sadness or discouragement.

Sometimes, a song will come on the radio at the exact moment, and I know God sees me where I'm at and meets me there. (I've got a great story about that, but not today. Sorry, you'll have to wait for that one!)

Other times, we'll sing a song at church that just MOVES me, and it sticks in my head for days.

And then occasionally, I'll just stumble onto a new song "randomly" and it is exactly what I need in that moment. I say "randomly" because I know that this type of thing is never actually random.

So one day, I'd heard a song on the radio - I can't remember what it was, but it was about God's faithfulness, and I needed to hear it again, to really let it soak into my bones. I love doing that with a new song - just put it on repeat and hear all of the words and phrases and meanings within the song. The funny thing is, some seasons I'll hear one meaning, and then listen to the song months later and it means something else to me.

Anyway, I was looking up a particular song, and in searching for it, I came across this one. I listened and listened and just let it pour over me and soak in. It's simple, really, but beautiful in both melody and truth.

Enjoy!

Made and Remade

There's a verse that has been important to me for years.

I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. Psalm 139:14

Another version says "your workmanship is marvelous" and another version finishes with "it simply amazes me to think about it."

You could say that I have always had a pretty healthy body image. Sure, I had my hangups, but overall, I never went through that stage that so many young girls go through where they hate their bodies. And as I grew into a woman, I kept that self-confidence - in large part due to the above verse being spoken over me from a young age. Sometimes there were extra pounds I didn't want, or more cushion than I would have liked, or I didn't feel comfortable in certain styles, but overall, I was okay with my body, because I recognized that it was God's masterpiece and his temple (1 Corinthians 6:19). Disrespecting my own body was disrespectful to God.

And then.... I had a diagnosis about that body. And surgeries that, shall we say, modified it significantly.

I have had a very good opportunity for some body-hatred. I have scars - one of which is really big and red and ugly. Some things are missing, some things were repaired but don't look anything like the original. And a whole lot of things certainly don't feel like the original. "Foreign" is a word that sometimes comes to mind when I look at myself.

I could hate what I see in the mirror. I could resent the changes to my body. And some days, I am tempted to. But it's a choice - I choose what I will think about my body.

Would you ever say to a friend that her body is ugly? Would YOU tell ME that? No, you'd remind me that I am alive, and healthy, and thriving despite these changes. So that's exactly the sort of stuff that I tell myself.

I like to memorize important scriptures, but I also like to personalize them. I'm not saying that God's Word isn't already perfect, but it feels more applicable to me and my life when I personalize it. Or when I look at different translations, or sometimes even combine different ones.... it's sort of like seeing an old, very pretty, but really snuggly-looking quilt sitting up high on a shelf. You could dust it off and hang it on a quilt hanger, and then you'd be able to admire it much better. Or, you can grab that blanket, take it to the couch, put on a good movie, and really snuggle down and enjoy it. That's what I'm talking about doing with these scriptures. I'm not preaching to you, here, and telling you that you have to do this. I'm just telling you what I do in my own life, to make God's Word come alive in my own life. So that's my disclaimer.

Remember the verse above? Maybe scroll back up and reread it; I'll wait.

Ready?

Here's how it looks to me, now.

I will continuously praise You, God, because I am fearfully and wonderfully made and remade.

Your workmanship is marvelous, it simply amazes me to think about it!

Pursued and Pursuing

I love to tell my boys stories. Sometimes, they're stories from when I was a little girl, and sometimes they're made up on the spot based on a topic of their choosing. Occasionally, I'll tell a story about them, maybe something they did that day, or a behavior that they need to stop or start. My stories always start with 'Once upon a time,' and end with 'happily ever after.' So today, here's a story for you. Spoiler alert: I can't end it with 'happily ever after' because it's far from over, but I think it's far enough along that I can share with you.

Once upon a time, there was a girl. Woman? Lady? Whatever. Once upon a time, there was a mom/wife/friend. Whatever, again. Once upon a time, there was me. It's a story about me, okay? Moving on. (I promise, my kids' stories are way better than this.)

So anyway. Once upon a time, there I was, kicking along through life. Occasionally attempting various methods of self-improvement, like people these days are prone to do, but generally living a good life. I was doing my wifely things, and my motherly things, and going to church like I was supposed to. 

One day, way back in September 2018, I won a little contest on my friend Jami Lee's disciplined living Facebook page. The prize was an e-course called Make Over Your Mornings, by Crystal Paine. 

If you know me, you know that I'm not much of a morning person. I finally downloaded the materials in December of that year. When I got to the part about setting goals and such, well... I flunked out. Who flunks out of a 14-day e-course? This girl, right here. (Sorry, Jami Lee.)

The main reason that I gave up is because it was all about getting up a little earlier to start your day in an intentional way, and I just wasn't sold on the idea that I needed to get up earlier. I LOVE my sleep, especially the sleep that happens in the mornings, because I'm a night owl. So, I couldn't get over myself enough to see the value in getting up earlier, and so I didn't.

But the funny thing is, I began waking up earlier than my alarm, on a consistent basis. And staying in bed, and often getting really grumpy that I wasn't able to go back to sleep. Remember, I really love my morning sleep.

So, in April 2019, I went on a ladies retreat with my church, Second Baytown. On Sunday morning, I woke up really early, and decided to just get up and start my day. In the pre-dawn light, I walked around the lake to the pier, turned on some praise music, and did some yoga as the sun came up over the water. It was a really beautiful moment, and in that moment, the realization hit me: God has been pursuing me, all this time. 

I'd love to tell you I went home and began a beautiful and spiritual and productive morning routine after that special moment on the pier. And I did... for exactly 9 days spread over the course of the next month, and never more than 3 in a row. 

And then I flunked out, again. The God of the universe was pursuing me, and I flunked out. I consistently woke up before my alarm, and I rolled over, and didn't even go back to sleep, I just chose not to pursue Him back.

You know what, though? God is so faithful. And persistent. And patient. And He continued to pursue me, to gently push me toward wanting to have that relationship with Him. What I mean is, He continued to wake me up, to give me little hints that I needed to get up and spend time with Him.

Fast forward to January 2020. Yeah, last month. Crystal Paine was having a sale on her e-courses, and I forwarded the email to Rissa, who decided to do Make Over Your Morning. And she peer-pressured me to do it with her. 

A quick side note, here. Rissa is also not a morning person. Possibly less of a morning person than I am, because I have small children who sort of force me to be somewhat functional in the mornings, and she does not. And yet, here she is convincing me to give the course another go. God's got a sense of humor, you know.

So finally, finally, I am actually working through the course. I'm on day 13, although I've been working at it for a month, give or take a little. I'm getting up early most days during the week, and spending some time in the Bible. I'm not 100% consistent, and some days I get up early but things like dog puke keep me from sitting down to quiet time with my Bible. I'e still never made it more than 3 days in a week. But.... I am pursuing this as a discipline, a change to my normal, because I know that the reward for giving up a little of myself will be to see a little bit of Jesus in return. I am pursuing this, because I have been pursued, consistently and faithfully, by a good, good Father who wants a relationship with me. How can I continue to run from that?

Hear me on this: I am absolutely not telling you this story to brag on myself. It hasn't even been the requisite 21 days required for a new habit to stick, and I haven't even managed a full week's worth of mornings yet! I'm telling you this for accountability for me. I'm telling you this to encourage you. I don't know what your life looks like, but I know that God, our heavenly father, and the creator of the universe, loves you. He knows you, but He wants to know you more, and He wants you to know Him. 

Resources:
Jami Lee's Disciplined Living

Make Over Your Mornings

Thirty-Five

I'm not the kind of person to freak out over an age.

(Usually. I did freak out a bit about 25... gah, what did I even have to worry about back then? Anyway.)

But with my birthday coming up, I'm thinking: What have I done with my 35 years on this earth?

My first thought is this beautiful family I share with the best husband God could have given me.

There's probably other notable stuff I've done. Made my parents' lives either so complete, or so chaotic, that they decided to be done having kids. I'm going to assume the former, despite Rissa and Allen trying to convince me it's the latter! Hopefully I've impacted your life in a way, made it better somehow. I've had jobs, and done some well and some I've been terrible at.

But these beautiful boys are far and away my proudest accomplishment.

Photos by the oh-so-patient Randi at

Sweet Clicks Photography

They're handsome, sure, but they're also SO special.

Jay is kind, and smart, and funny, and so thoughtful that it slays me some days. He's sensitive to a fault and driven to do well in whatever he does, and crushed when he fails. I see my own flaws in him, and that slays me too, if I'm honest.

And Luke... well, he's our mischievous one. I cannot count the number of people who comment on the twinkle in his eyes that lets you know he's up to something! But he's also sweet and snuggly, and tries his best to crack jokes just like his "brudder." In fact, he tries his best to do everything just like his brother. They might fight sometimes, but don't you mess with Jay, because Luke is coming after you if you do!

And so, on my birthday, it's not all about me - it's about this beautiful life that God's given me, and my impact on those around me, but especially on these boys.

What a weighty calling. 

A New Hair Do, and a Few Hair Don'ts

One thing I've learned on this journey is:

It's just hair.

We put a whole lot of time, effort, and money into keeping up with our hairstyles, and the reality is, It's just hair. It doesn't define you, and if it does, you're placing your value in something that could be gone tomorrow.

But... it sure is nice when you've been to visit your favorite stylist (I'm talking to you, Kasey!) and you feel all freshened up.

 Big shout-out to Kasey Willis at Aisling Salon.

In honor of my new 'do, here's a look back at how far it's come!

I woke up like this. Jan '20

A good hair day for both of us - Nov '19 

Curls today, gone tomorrow - Sept '19

 Mowhawks with Jay - June '19

 Sometimes I could tame it, sometimes, notsomuch. Summer '19

June '19 - I don't even know how this crazy curl happened.

More Mowhawk Action - May '19

 Crazy waves - May '19

 March '19

 March '19

Jan '19

Hair!! - Dec '18

No Hair - Summer '18

Blue Hair - May '18

(also courtesy of Kasey)

If y'all share some of these, I'm not gonna be your friend anymore. Ha!

The Path Of Life

You will show me the path of life,

In your presence is fullness of joy;

At your right hand there are pleasures forevermore.

Psalm 16:11 AMP

This is one of those verses that I cling to, especially that first part in times of uncertainty.

I realized the other day that I never shared the story of how I came to have the treatment team that I have, and it's a really good story - a God story, if you will. Definitely a time when God showed me the path of life.

It was January 2018, and I'd found a breast lump. At my friend Holly's urging, I made an appointment with my OBGYN, Dr. Hall, in February. We were all relatively sure it was just a clogged milk duct, as I'd just finished nursing Luke, but she said it'd be best to go have a diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound just to be sure.

In early March, I had an appointment with the Breast Center at Houston Methodist San Jacinto, aka the hospital in Baytown. It's a small hospital, but it's close, so that's where I went. I showed up after a MOPS event with Luke in tow, and they wouldn't see me because he couldn't go in the back due to the radiation risk. That had never crossed my mind when scheduling the appointment. I hadn't thought I was worried about it, but I left the office in tears because, as it turns out, I was worried deep down, and I just wanted to get it over with and have them tell me it was nothing.

So I went back the following week at a time when James was off work to watch the boys. That was March 9, and that day's events are a story for another day. But when they told me it was probably cancer and that I needed a biopsy, I scheduled it there, but then decided that if they were saying the c-word, I needed to be at MD Anderson.

I had my biopsy at MDA on Monday, March 19, and got the dreaded phone call on Wednesday. They told me the news, and we scheduled an appointment for an afternoon two weeks later, on April 2. The plan was that I'd meet an oncologist, surgeon, plastic surgeon, and radiation oncologist all back to back on the same day and figure out exactly how to move forward.

This is where it gets good, so stick with me.

In the meantime, I went back to Dr. Hall, my sweet OBGYN, on Friday the 23rd to have my Mirena (IUD with hormones) removed. She had been out on vacation that week, but when she saw the report from my mammogram and heard what was going on, she agreed to come in early on Friday to see me - she normally doesn't see patients until 9:00, but she saw me at 8:30 and stayed with me for quite a while, talking through the whole process, and discussing surgery and treatment and doctors and such.

She said, I know you already have your appointment set up with MDA. But I've got a friend who is a breast oncologist at Houston Methodist, and I really think that you would like her. Here, let me call her.

Ring, ring, Hi Tejal, this is Hailey, and I've got a patient here with me......

They talked technical stuff on speakerphone for a few minutes, and then Dr. Patel (aka Tejal, my obgyn's friend) said her office would call me back in half an hour or so to get me an appointment. So before I knew it, I was scheduled for a second opinion for the following Tuesday morning, which was technically before my first opinion at MDA. I was amazed at how fast they were able to get me an appointment!

I felt really optimistic by all of this, but I didn't do such a great job of explaining it all to James, because he was quite confused at why we were even having a second opinion, especially because I'd been adamant that I wanted treatment at MDA, and also there was the fact that we hadn't even had our MDA consult... I remember his exact words in Dr. Patel's waiting room: "Tell me again why we're having a second opinion before we even have the first opinion...?" But he's a good sport and went along with this new plan.

So Tuesday morning rolls around and we have our appointment with Dr. Patel. She explained SO much about my diagnosis, what each aspect and unknown word meant, what the treatment plan looked like, what if this happened, and what if that happened. She answered every question I had, and a hundred questions that I didn't know I had. She took notes as she talked, writing down the statistics and the big words that she was throwing out, and drew pictures to explain... And then handed me 3 pages of notes at the end. When we were finished, James looked at me and said, I can see now why we came here!

Cool, right? I'm not done.

When I'd seen Dr. Hall the previous week, she had recommended a couple of plastic surgeons that are leaders in their field, including one Dr. Aldona Spiegel. Dr. Patel encouraged me to make an appointment with her, just for a consult, even though I wasn't sure which team I wanted to use. Her office helped make an appointment for the following Monday morning, which was the same day as my initial MDA consult.

Dr. Spiegel is a woman to be reckoned with. She's confident but kind, matter-of-fact but compassionate. She drew pictures on the paper that covers the exam table to explain the DIEP procedure, which is the current leading edge reconstructive technique. Many doctors around the world do this procedure, but she is a pioneer in reinnervation, where they attempt to reconnect the severed nerves from the chest wall to the new tissue to provide some sensation. At one point in the consult, she asked who my breast surgeon was. (It takes a breast surgeon to remove the old tissue, and a plastic surgeon to rebuild things.)

I replied that I hadn't met with anyone, but that Dr. Patel had recommended Dr. So-and-So or Dr. Lim.

Dr. Spiegel pursed her lips into a sort-of smile, and said with a nod, "I work with Dr. Lim, mmhmm."

There are some parts of this journey that I'll forget - some I've already forgotten - but the sound of her "mmhmm" and the purse of her lips and her single nod is etched in my memory.

Since it didn't seem like much of a choice, and Dr. Lim was already highly recommended to me, I said that sounded fine to me. Dr. Spiegel said I'd need to meet with her, and her staff would coordinate that appointment. A staff member came back into my exam room a couple minutes later and said, "Get dressed, Dr. Lim can see you right now, and if you have more questions that come up, just call!"

So minutes later, I was walking into another waiting room in the same building, and was called back almost immediately. Dr. Lim gave me the rundown of surgery (in which I fully broke down into uncontrollable sobs when she left the room).

I learned later that Dr. Lim hadn't even been scheduled to be in the office that day, but had popped in for a particularly difficult consult, and agreed to see me right then before she left again. If I'd been 15 minutes earlier or later, it wouldn't have happened.

Now, remember, we still haven't had our "first" opinion, with MDA - that was scheduled for later that same day. So we grabbed some lunch and headed down the road to MDA. The four doctors that were selected for me (oncologist, breast surgeon, plastic surgeon, and radiation oncologist) came into the room together to meet me and a nurse rattled off my diagnosis, then they all left the room. One by one they shuffled back into the room and out of the room, showing a few pictures and telling me the treatment plan - the same treatment plan that Dr. Patel had walked me through, but with MUCH less detail. While I am sure that they're all quality doctors, I hated that I had no choice in who my doctors were, especially the plastic surgeon. I have always viewed reconstruction as the end of this journey, and I didn't fully understand all the stuff in the middle, so that's where I was focusing. And to just have a doctor assigned to me... well, it wasn't very comforting.

When the first doctor left the room, James looked at me and said, I see now why we went to Dr. Patel. Before the consult was even over, we both knew in our knower that we'd be using the Houston Methodist treatment team.

And that, my friends, is the God-story of how I came to have the treatment team I have!

If You Can't Say Something Nice...

I'm breaking Mom's rule, here... shhh, don't tell her.

I'm going to let you in on a little secret right now. In the days leading up to Phase 2, I was ANGRY.

I was BITTER.

I was FURIOUS.

I felt HATRED and RESENTMENT and, gasp, I said ugly words. Not TO anyone, but still, I said them, out loud, and I fantasized about saying them TO someone.

Do you believe all of that? If you've been watching me, you probably don't believe a word of it. And that's because somehow I've managed to walk this walk with a smile and grace that is unnatural, or should I say supernatural? But that's because that's the side I choose to show. I've talked a lot about how important words are, and your attitude in whatever battle you're facing, and THOSE are the reasons why I work really hard to maintain this rosy attitude I've been accused of keeping - not because I care what anyone thinks about me. This smile isn't really for you, friend, it's for me.

Because when I let go of the smile, there's ugly lurking in there, and sometimes, it squeezes its way out.

Like the week before surgery. There was some ugly peeking out that week. If you still don't believe me, just ask James.

Why? I was coming up on the last, final surgery - a surgery that marks the nearly-finished line in my battle against this disease. Isn't that cause for celebration, even if there are some nerves about having another procedure?

Well, sure. I was excited about that aspect. But at my consult about a month before, I was informed that part of the lipo for the symmetry portion wouldn't be covered by insurance. A $3,500 part of it. Remember, my surgery was December 18... one week before Christmas... on top of the fact that I'd already met my insurance's out of pocket maximum for the year on everything else I've done.

Someone at the doctor's office had alluded to this a long time before, but I thought that surely in my case, that wouldn't be so - it couldn't be so. See, they did some lipo on my love handles (they refer to them as flanks, but that sounds like a horse) as well as inner and outer thighs. So, insurance has decided that flank fat is acceptable to use for new boobs, but thigh fat is "cosmetic." Which translates to, "not covered by insurance and payable in full before the procedure will be done." Even though my doctor told me - ahead of time - that I did not have enough fat in my sides alone so she'd have to use my thighs to get the results I "wanted," which was just boobs that look pretty similar to each other.

Y'all.

I was MAD. I felt cheated, betrayed by my doctor's office and my insurance company both. LIVID that someone, somewhere had the audacity to decide that any teeny tiny portion of reconstructing breasts that were removed due to cancer, could be considered "cosmetic."

I was even more frustrated because if I'd chosen implants, then they'd be covered at 100%, even if I chose to have 36EE boobs. (Remember, this surgery only added 100cc's - I'm still in the A/B range, here. That doesn't seem very "cosmetic" to me.) And down the line, if those implants needed replacing, which they generally do, that'd be covered, too. Never mind that they've discovered that some implants ALSO CAUSE cancer. Never mind that many women are reporting enough adverse symptoms that they've named a disorder "Breast Implant Illness" and these women are having their implants removed. Insurance would cover those. But my own tissue? That isn't even as perky as an implant? Yeah, that's "cosmetic." Cue the ugly words, *here* because even now, I can feel them burning inside.

But ya know what?

I did the surgery anyway. My sweet, sweet husband was the voice of reason for me. He held me and let me ugly-cry, and spew the anger I was feeling, and then he put the brakes on it. See, I'm the person who generally handles our finances, but he very sweetly reminded me that we could manage this, that it didn't change anything about our Christmas plans, and most importantly, that I was worth it.

If I think on it, I can still feel those ugly feelings. But, I'm not going to keep thinking on it. Writing all this out brought it back for me, more than I care to admit. And so, I'm moving on. I wanted to be real with you for a minute, to let you know that even though I always look rosy and cheerful, I'm not.


In the book of Philippians, Paul writes these words from prison:

For I have learned how to be content with whatever I have. I know how to live on almost nothing, or with everything. I have learned the secret of living in every situation, whether it is with a full stomach or empty, with plenty or with little. For I can do everything through Christ, who gives me strength.

Philippians 4:11-13

If he can be content with whatever his station, whether it's freedom or prison, poor and hungry or full and satisfied, then I can, too. I have the same source of contentment in my life that he did: the grace of Jesus. That is the secret of living in every situation. But, it's a choice - a minute by minute choice for how you want to respond to every situation.

Post-Op Complications, Or, A One-Night All-Inclusive Stay in the Fabulous Houston Methodist Guest Suite!

After surgery, I woke up in Recovery crying out in pain, tears running, and begging for more pain medicine to make it stop. So they gave me some. And I begged some more because holy moly it still hurt, and so they gave me some more. 'Lucid' is not a word you could use to describe me at that moment, but I think they gave me 4 doses of possibly 2 different meds. I'm not sure it helped.

I can remember that they let James come and see me for about 5 minutes, and seeing him and holding his hand gave me some strength, and then he had to leave and I was crushed and just kept thinking "I can't do this by myself, it's too hard and hurts too much, please don't make him leave, it hasn't been five minutes yet!" But I'm pretty sure I didn't say anything nearly so cohesive. I did cry some more, though, and probably managed something like "don't go yet!" but of course he had to go.

So then they took me to a post-op recovery room. The idea was that I needed to be able to walk on my own and go pee, and I'd get to go home.

Ha, haha.

If I laid super still, then the pain in my legs was about a 6-7. When I moved my legs, it rocketed up to 9-10, and felt like my muscles were being peeled off the bones. When it was time for me to get up and use the restroom, it was, shall we say, less than pleasant. But then, about the time I sat down to use the restroom, the nausea hit, and it hit hard. I didn't vomit, but I sure felt like I was going to - which would be a pretty bad thing, given the condition of my abdomen! I finished my business and thought I'd be going home, but it took everything I had to make it back to bed, and I just kept thinking, there is no way they can let me leave like this, I am NOT OKAY RIGHT NOW.

When I got back to bed, I asked the nurse for a cold pack.

Did you know that putting an ice pack on the back of your neck does wonders for nausea? I'm not kidding, it's amazing, and I've never thrown up when I've used this trick. And I had some serious morning sickness with both boys!

Anyway. Nurse was very nice, but she had other concerns, like giving me nausea. I kept demanding the ice pack (nicely, I am sure I said please), and she kept saying things that were not related to ice packs, so my brain wasn't processing them. When you feel that bad, you get focused on what you think will work for you and nothing else matters. If I could just have that ice pack, I'd survive, and she just didn't understand how vital it was for me to get the ice pack! Finally, after either 3 hours or 5 minutes, someone brought me the ice pack. Aahhh, sweet relief. Also about that time, the nausea meds hit bottom, and I was soooo sleepy. Nurse said that was best, to just go ahead and sleep it off. I'm not sure if it was all the pain medicine in Recovery, or the anesthesia, or the actual pain that caused the nausea, but sleeping helped. I have no idea how long I slept, but it was definitely dark when I woke up.

All through this nausea episode, I noticed but didn't notice the staff's concern with my blood pressure. It was concerning to me, too, but not as concerning as the nausea, because when you feel that bad, nothing else really matters. Except ice packs, of course. Normal blood pressure is 120/80. Mine tends to run a little low, around 110/70. This is normally a good sign, as it means your body isn't having to work too hard to get blood everywhere. But after surgery and with this many pain meds plus the anesthesia in my system, my blood pressure tanked. I'm pretty sure it was hovering around 80/50, and I definitely saw both of those numbers go even lower.

After my medication-induced nap, I woke up feeling much less nauseated, but my BP was still in the toilet. So, they made the decision to keep me overnight. That meant I had to change rooms, because the room I was in wasn't staffed overnight. So, we gathered up our things and they wheeled my bed to a different floor, and I had to get up out of that bed and crawl into the new bed. That was super fun, because remember, being statue-still was the least painful position!

All night, my BP stayed pretty low, and honestly, I think it was only like 88/58 when they released me the next day, but I guess they decided it was stable enough and figured I'd be fine on my own at home.

And I have been fine, but not on my own - Mom kept the boys for me, and stayed for a couple of weeks to help out when James was at work. The first week was the worst, but after that, I noticed an improvement every day. I am 8 weeks out now. I've been released to exercise and lift my boys, but I still have to take it easy sometimes because my body has taken a beating, and certain movements/activities like to remind me of that. So I'm just getting really good at listening to my body, and when a part says NOPE, I stop.

Reconstruction Phase 2: Complete!

Phase 2 is what we, in the world of breast reconstruction, call a second surgery that goes back in and tweaks things. This is a planned surgery, and at one of my consultation appointments, Dr. Spiegel explained that the big surgery is Phase 1, where she builds the foundation, and Phase 2 is where she puts the finishing touches on the project.

So, in Phase 1, she relocated the fat from my abdomen to my chest to create breast mounds. (Isn't that an awful word for them? Mounds? Ugh.) This is a highly skilled microsurgical procedure where they have to connect blood supply from the chest wall to the new tissue. Yes, it's breast-shaped, but it's a bit rough around the edges, you could say.

So, Phase 2 is where they shape things up, literally and figuratively. There are two aspects of Phase 2: Symmetry and Scar Revision.

Symmetry

They took fat from my sides and inner and outer thighs and added it up top to make things match a little better.  This is called fat grafting, and they were able to transfer about 100cc's to each side, plus do a little tweaking to help improve the appearance.

One side effect of the radiation I had in 2018 is that the skin and tissues kind of tighten up, so the right (radiated) side was positioned quite a bit differently from the left side. Adding some more fullness to both sides helped to offset this problem.

Spoiler alert: 100cc's isn't a whole lot. So, when I look in the mirror, I can't tell that my thighs and waist have been touched, other than the lingering darkness that's a reminder of the worst bruising I've ever seen. But, The Girls do look much better!

Scar Revision
During Phase 1, there were some areas, at the ends of the incisions, where the skin sort of puckered. It's sometimes called dog ears, because of how it looks, and it's a natural and expected result of removing a section of skin and tissue and closing things back up. In Phase 2, they reopened the outer thirds of my abdominal incision and sort of nipped and tucked to make things lay right. So, I still have an incision that goes from hip bone to hip bone, but it lays flat now. They also did a very small amount of lipo here and fat grafting there to make things look a little more normal and less like SpongeBob SquarePants.

Now, a word about the fat harvesting process, also known as liposuction. It $&(#ing hurts!!! I am not exaggerating in the least when I tell you that the lipo was far and away the most painful part of this whole reconstruction process. Possibly the most painful thing I've experienced. If they ever said I needed another round of it, I'd say "No thanks, have a nice day!" and walk myself right out of there.

All in all, the surgery was about 2 hours, and I was supposed to go home that night. Spoiler alert: I didn't, because I just don't like doing the expected thing, apparently! More on that, later.

The exciting thing is, This was my last surgery!!! I don't have to go check into the hospital any more, no more anesthesia, no more lifting restrictions.... I am FINISHED having surgery!

(I do have a few more tweaks to make before The Girls are all finished, but they're all going to be done in Dr. Spiegel's office, so that totally doesn't count, right??)

And because my pre-op scans were all clear, I have moved to the "Every 6 Months" category with my oncologist, instead of every 3! Both of those are huge milestones for me!

Too Much To Say

Well, hello there. It's been a minute since I've updated. I found myself with too much to say and not enough to say all at once, so I decided on nothing at all.

What did I have to say?

I had my final surgery!!

And in the process of preparing for my surgeries, my scans confirmed that all is well in my body!

You're probably thinking, Angie, that's huge, how is it that you didn't have anything to say about that?

When I was a little girl, my mama always said, If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.

As I've grown up, I have learned that the reasoning behind that is because our words are powerful - they give life to the feelings behind them, like fertilizing a flower or watering a weed patch. Whatever feelings you  give voice to will invite their friends to settle alongside them in your heart, and raise you up or bring you further down. Your voiced feelings will affect those around you, too.

A lot of the words swimming around in my head and fighting their way out were not, as Mom would say, something nice. And so I didn't say them.

But, as time has passed, I'm in a better space, emotionally, so I think that all the things I have to say can find their way out of my head and into the world, and I can share with you in a way that will feed the flowers and not the weeds.

And, I want to be real with you. So many people I talk to think that I have maintained this happy, cheerful, rosy attitude all through my battle, and that's just not the case. I am real, and I have some real harsh, bitter, angry feelings. But, if you water the weeds, they'll take over the flowers, so I try my very hardest to recognize those feelings, feel them, and then shut them down and move forward.

So, stick around, and I'll update you on what I've been doing, and what I've been feeling.