Cancer doesn't have to be a family affair

The phone call I never expected to receive came in last week. My youngest daughter was on the line. “Mom, I went to the doctor and she found a lump in my breast.” As she spoke the words, I felt my heart seize in my chest. Every ounce of my being wanted to scream out in agony, “Not my baby girl, cancer…not my baby girl!” Since receiving my breast cancer diagnosis, I’d never given much thought to the possibility that one day a child of mine might contract the disease and yet, three years post diagnosis, and here we were.

I continued to listen as my daughter explained the plan. The primary care physician was sending her to a breast specialist. The specialist would perform a diagnostic mammogram and if she felt it necessary, she’d also perform an ultrasound. That plan sounded all too familiar. I’d already been there and done that. My sweet little girl couldn’t fathom the tsunami of emotions welling up inside me. I didn’t want to frighten her, but I wanted her to know what to expect. Very gently, I explained the process to her. At 29, she shouldn’t be dealing with this right now. Maybe at 35 or 40, as the oncologist suggested for my girls as I completed treatment, but not now! She sounded so worldly and well informed. “Mom,” she said, “I already know. It’s going to be okay.” How could she sound so calm and free of fear? When I’d been told the same thing, I went into major freak out mode. It never occurred to me that she was trying to hold it together for my sake.

A few days later, one of my other daughters and I traveled to the Atlanta area to meet my youngest child for her appointment. Sitting outside the breast specialist’s office, I experienced an overwhelming bout of Deja’ Vu. Instead of seeing my daughter walking into that office, I was the one timidly pressing the elevator button. I was the one passing through the large glass doors. I was the one standing frozen in front of the registration desk. I tried to shake off the feeling and push the memories aside. This was not my experience, this was hers. I watched with careful eyes as my little girl, now grown, walked with confidant steps. She strode quickly as we followed behind. My other daughter, Laura, and I whispered. We hoped Jamie was all right. As we entered the office of the breast specialist, my eyes caught the large BCS logo printed on the wall. Three years ago, I wouldn’t have had any idea what those initials stood for but knew too well now.

After registration, we all sat in chairs along the wall. Thankfully, we were the only women in the office at that time. Laura and I made small talk to help put Jamie at ease. Gradually, the room filled with other women. I scanned the waiting area. Women of all ages were present but the median age seemed to be around 45. Most of the women were waiting for their annual mammograms. I didn’t see a single woman my daughter’s age.

I’d explained the procedure for the mammogram to my daughter earlier the previous week. I didn’t want her going in for the test unprepared. When I had my first mammogram, I was clueless. No one had taken time to give me a heads up and I hadn’t thought to look on the internet for information. I’ll never forget the feeling of complete humiliation as the technician took my breast and placed it on the cold, plastic plate. Feeling my body part being squeezed tightly between two plastic plates had been extremely painful, but even more than that, it was embarrassing. I explained each step of the mammogram in great detail to Jamie. Maybe I gave too much information, but I wanted her to be well informed and prepared.

When they called my daughter’s name, we went back with her. There was no way I was going to let my child go through this alone. We were taken to another waiting area and a volunteer took Jamie back to the dressing room. A few minutes later, she came out in a gown. I could tell, by the look on her face, the reality had just hit her. We sat and waited with the other women. All of them sitting in navy blue robes like perfect little marionettes, waiting for the puppet master to pull their strings and make them perform.

After the mammogram was complete, Jamie joined us in the waiting room once again. She explained the doctor wanted an ultrasound. Hearing those words caused me to tremble. I knew the doctor wouldn’t have ordered an ultrasound if she hadn’t seen something on the mammogram that needed further investigation. I kept my thoughts to myself and listened as my girls talked. Silently, I prayed. I asked God to please protect my daughter. I didn’t know how I’d have the strength to handle it if she received a cancer diagnosis. I begged Him to let her be okay.

The ultrasound was fairly quick and within fifteen minutes, Jamie was coming out of the back office dressed and ready to go. Laura and I looked quizzically at her waiting for an explanation, but none came. When I asked point blank, Jamie said, “Mom, I’ll tell you outside. Let’s wait until we get to the car.” Oh, my! Surely this couldn’t be good, I thought to myself.

Outside the breast specialist’s office, I waited for the results of the test. I was overjoyed when my daughter said, “They couldn’t find anything but I have to go back in three months.” I wanted to jump up and down. I wanted to do cartwheels across the parking lot. To say I was overjoyed was an understatement! Although she didn’t say it, I could tell a huge peace was washing over Jamie. I saw her shoulders relax and the tension leave her face as we went to our cars. Hugging her tightly, I began to cry. All of the pent up emotions I’d kept inside for the last couple of hours spilled out. Jamie looked me in the eyes and said, “Mom, I told you everything was going to be okay. That’s one reason I didn’t want to tell you I was going to have to need this test. I knew it would upset you. I knew it would bring back too many memories.” And she was right. Being here had certainly dredged up painful memories from the beginning of my cancer journey.

We celebrated the good news over a leisurely lunch and followed that with a trip to the ice cream shop. I watched as Jamie licked her ice cream cone. This 29 year old woman was still my baby girl and always would be. As she nibbled at her cone, I got a glimpse into the past of Jamie when she was a little girl doing the exact same thing. Her mannerisms hadn’t changed much over the years, although her stature certainly had. I was proud of how she’d grown. I was awed by her strength and marveled at her bravery. I wondered where she obtained those characteristics, certainly not from me.

I was thankful her tests were over. In three months, we’ll go through the tests with her again and we’ll pray for the same results. We thought we’d gotten rid of the fear of cancer with my experience and surgery but apparently not. It seems cancer longs to be a permanent part of our family but that’s not going to happen, at least not on my watch. Cancer doesn’t have to be a family affair and we’re going to do our best to keep it that way. 

A little creativity goes a long way

Last year, I wrote a couple of articles outlining some challenges I’d faced dealing with summertime temperatures and my prostheses. I wanted to give a clear perspective on the difficulties of surviving breast cancer surgery especially as those challenges related to mastectomies. This year, I find myself taking a more humorous glance into the same world and I hope what I share will make you laugh just a little.

Silicone prostheses are wonderful! They come in all shapes, sizes, and colors. These breast forms range in price but can be quite expensive. The designers do their best to make the forms look as life like as possible. Some forms have nipples and some do not, but there are drawbacks to the realism these facsimiles provide. Silicone breaks down over time requiring replacement annually. If punctured, the breast form will leak. And while these forms feel very similar to real breasts, they are not. If you squeeze them too hard, they will burst. Silicone prostheses must be held in place against the chest wall by either a self-adhesive pad or a mastectomy bra. Silicone is not lightweight and the larger the cup size, the more heft to the prosthetic.

About ten years ago, I had my first experience with a prosthetic. We were cleaning out my mother in law’s house after she’d passed away and there in her dresser, inside a little round box, lay her flesh colored breast form. I’d never seen one before and was curious. I wanted to touch it and feel it. As I held it in my hands, I couldn’t help but think about my mother in law and her bout with breast cancer. She was very private about her situation never talking openly about her cancer. She’d had to have one of her breasts removed but didn’t shared her challenges with family.

Three years ago, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. After having both breasts removed, I was given a prescription for prostheses. Who ever dreamed you’d need a prescription for boobs? It was quite an experience standing in the little boutique amid boxes and boxes of silicone breasts. I was overwhelmed having to choose new breasts. I had to decide what size I wanted to be and what type prostheses I wanted. There were so many choices and I was unable to think clearly so I relied heavily on the advice of the fitter. I went home with two boxes. Inside each box was a silicone breast form. I’d chosen a C cup, after all, I’d been a barely B for most of my life. Didn’t I deserve to enhance my figure a little?

After wearing the new breast forms for a while, I realized I’d made a mistake. The C cups were extremely heavy and uncomfortable against my fresh mastectomy scars. I returned to the boutique and asked for a breast reduction…well, not really. I asked for a reduction in cup size explaining my challenge in wearing the heavy C cup forms. I opted to downgrade to an A cup. A new model was available with a cooling gel backing. The fitter explained it would be more comfortable during the warm summer months and she was right. I found the smaller cup worked much better and the cooling gel helped a lot. Still, the weight of the silicone was too much. Every time I went to the doctor’s office to be weighed, I had to explain that extra 5 pounds I’d gained. They always got aggravated when I asked them to deduct the weight of my prostheses but I was diligent and they finally relented.

Last summer was unbearably hot. I dreaded going out in public and having to wear the heavy, sweaty, hot prostheses so most of the time I didn’t wear them. While not wearing the prostheses solved the problem of dealing with trauma to my scars, I felt embarrassed to be out in public without my breasts. I needed to come up with a solution.

I thought long and hard about ways to solve my problem. The first idea I had was to make my own breast forms from a material other than silicone. As I began to think, there were two options. The first was to use a tiny, lightweight product called microbeads. These beads are found in many children’s stuffed toys and are used to make comfortable travel neck pillows. I had one of those neck pillows on hand so I decided to cut it open and use the beads from it to make my first set of lightweight forms. Big mistake! When I cut into the travel pillow, tiny Styrofoam beads went flying everywhere. They stuck to the walls, carpet, and me. I did my best to scrape them up and put them into another container. After a lot of work, I finally managed to get them wrangled. Taking some soft jersey knit fabric, I fashioned two breast form patterns by drawing around my silicone prostheses. I seamed up the new forms and left a small opening for the microbeads. When I tried to get the beads into the forms, like little magnets, they adhered to everything. I had to figure out a way to get them into the forms efficiently. After a lot of thought, I had an AHA moment – the turkey baster! I suctioned up the microscopic white beads and forced them through the opening in the homemade breast forms. After I filled each one, I seamed up the hole and VOILA! My new breast forms were done. I placed them in my mastectomy bra and tried them out. They were extremely lightweight and felt wonderful. But in a few minutes, I felt them rising. Since there was nothing to weigh them down and keep them in place, every time I moved, my bra moved with me and the forms rose higher and higher. Soon, they were just under my chin! This would not do. I tried to think of a way to weight them down inside my bra but couldn’t come up with a solution so I scrapped that idea.

Next, I decided to try polyester fiberfill. This product would also make a nice homemade prosthesis. Once again, I chose a soft jersey knit fabric. I traced gently around the silicone form with a marker to get a perfect pattern and cut out the fabric. After sewing the pieces together, I stuffed the fiberfill into the new breast form. These forms, too, were lightweight and fluffy. They fit well into my bra but as I tried wearing them, they too rose out of the normal breast position on my chest. An abnormal placement of breasts would be very noticeable in public situations, I just knew it.

Frustration drove me to the internet. I researched many companies that manufactured breast forms. There had to be something out there that would work for me. Finally, I came across a viable option. I found two organizations offering free knit or crocheted breast forms to women who’d faced breast cancer. The first was called Knitted Knockers and the second was called Awesome Breastforms. Their teams of volunteers made knitted or crocheted breast forms as an act of love. Knitted Knockers asked for a $10 donation to offset the cost of materials and shipping. Awesome Breastforms did not accept monetary donations but did have an Amazon wish list for those who wanted to help out. I was impressed with both companies. Knitted Knockers even offered free downloadable patterns and video tutorials for those wanting to make their own knockers. Since I didn’t know how to knit using three needles, I chose to let them make the knockers for me. 

I had several choices to make before ordering my knockers. First, the color. Did I want neutral, pastel, bright color, or multicolored yarn? Next, I had to decide whether I wanted my new forms to have nipples or not. I was unsure. Then, I had to choose the cup size. I had no idea what to do so I chose the “let us choose for you” option. A few weeks later, I received my knitted knockers. When I took them out of the package, I was amazed. They were so soft and pliable. The handiwork was exquisite and I could tell someone had made this gift of service their fulltime ministry. Yet again, I took the forms and slipped them into my bra. They were comfortable and light but they didn’t want to stay put. I found them crawling up under my chin. Oh no, not again!

I tried to come up with a way to keep the knockers in place. An instruction sheet included with the knitted knockers suggested placing small, flat garden marbles inside the breast form to help weight it. I tried that and it didn’t work. Maybe I didn’t use enough marbles! I was more than upset! I took the knockers and sat them aside. I couldn’t deal with it any longer that day.

I’d always heard it said that “necessity is the mother of invention.” I needed to figure out a way to keep my forms in place, at the normal, natural location where my real breasts used to reside.  Marble garden weights didn’t work. I liked the lightweight forms but didn’t want them under my chin. The more and more I thought, the more creative I became. Finally I had an idea. I needed to find a way to anchor my bra in place, thus keeping my breasts where they needed to be.

Walking through our neighborhood Goodwill, I found a suspender type strap. It had a clip on both ends. Now we were getting somewhere! I purchased the suspender strap, which was really designed to cinch in loose waisted jeans, and took it home. After unpackaging the strap, I lifted my shirt and hooked the top clasp to my bra and the second clasp to the top of my pants. I cinched it tight until my breast forms moved into the proper position, lowered my shirt and looked in the mirror. At last! My boobs were where they were supposed to be. They felt lightweight and comfortable. No more heavy silicone forms weighing me down, making me hot, or causing me pain. I felt good knowing I’d found a solution to my problem and no one would know my secret unless I raised my blouse. That evening, I showed my husband my ingenious invention. Through hysterical laughter, he warned me to be careful. With a puzzled look on my face, I looked quizzically in his direction as he exclaimed, “You know if that strap ever comes loose, you’re going to get slapped hard in the face.” He was right. There was a good bit of tension on the strap. I’d adjusted it so it was tight enough to pull the bra into the proper position. After all the hard work and drama, I wondered if it was worth the effort. I could just wear the heavy silicone forms and suffer through the summer in silence or I could go without breast forms and be embarrassingly flat. But, I wanted the best of both worlds! That’s why I worked so hard to find a way to make it work. Now I’m not saying my solution is the perfect one, I’m sure it’s not, but it will have to do for now…until I can come up with another idea. And if you have one, I’m open to suggestions! You know what they say, “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

  

http://awesomebreastforms.org/

https://www.knittedknockers.org/

http://www.curetoday.com/community/bonnie-annis/2016/06/summer-challenges-for-mastectomy-patients

http://www.curetoday.com/community/bonnie-annis/2016/05/sweaty-boobs-and-swollen-arms-post-mastectomy-summer-challenges

What a difference a day makes!

Have you ever had a day where you just felt really, really ill...I mean to the point it felt like a big cosmic vacuum cleaner had hovered overhead and sucked out every ounce of your energy? Well, yesterday, that's the way I felt. On top of the lack of energy, I had picked up some kind of germ while out shopping the day before with my daughter. My throat was raw, my muscles ached, and fever wracked my body. It was not a good day. I didn't do anything other than sit in my recliner. It was 90 degrees outside but I was freezing one minute and burning up the next. I wanted to have a pity party but I was too tired. I did all the things I knew to do - I drank lots of fluid, took Tylenol every 4 hours, slathered my neck with OnGuard essential oil, gargled with warm salt water, and prayed.

My sweet hubby texted from work and asked how I was feeling. When I shared the news, he asked if I wanted him to stop and pick up dinner. At first, I said no. I was going to try to make dinner but as the day wore on, I recanted and asked him to pick up Chick Fil A. He said he would.

When he walked through the door, my sweet mate could tell I was struggling. He took one look at me and started to cry. I was surprised by that reaction and croaked out, "Why are you crying?" He explained he was scared. He said he didn't want to lose me. I told him it was just a bug and not to worry. He was okay after that but I realized, as did he, we'd both been traumatized by the cancer and we'd both been on constant alert in case it ever reared its ugly head again.

We ate our dinner in the dimly lit living room as we watched a program we'd recorded from cable. He was exhausted from working in a hot warehouse all day and I was wiped out from the internal battle my white blood cells were raging against some interloper. What a pair we were!

By the time 8:30 p.m. came around, we were both ready for bed, but we stayed up a little longer so we wouldn't wake at the crack of dawn. At 9:30 p.m. sweet hubby went to get the bed ready and crawled in exhausted. I waited about thirty more minutes to give him time to unwind and fall asleep.
By the time I entered our bedroom, he was snoring loudly. I was so thankful to be able to call it a day. By the time my head hit the pillow, I could barely keep my eyes open but, as I usually do, I made myself read a few chapters in a good book. It always helps me relax and pretty soon, I felt my eyes getting heavy. I could no longer focus on the words, so I let the book fall to the floor and I clicked off my flashlight.

This morning, as sunlight slid across our room, I began to stir. Another new day. I wondered if I'd still feel crummy. I hoped not. I got out of bed and flicked on the light. Looking at the clock, I saw it was just 6:00 a.m. "What am I doing up this early," I thought to myself. Oh well, when I'm awake, I'm awake so I might as well make the best of it. I made my bed and got dressed. So far so good! I did a little voice check to see how my throat was feeling. Asking myself how I was feeling out loud seemed silly but how was I going to know unless I said something? My voice didn't sound as scratchy as yesterday but my throat hurt. I grabbed my flashlight and took a peek inside my throat. It was raw and red. I didn't see any white spots so apparently no strep. It was probably just a good case of pharyngitis. I made a note to have some warm tea with honey and lemon.

After breakfast, I got busy about my day. I noticed I wasn't as tired as I'd been yesterday. I could tell I wasn't quite myself yet, but I was getting there and that made me happy!

It's amazing how much difference a day makes. God has made our bodies to be amazingly creative at healing. I could imagine tiny white blood cell warriors, swords raised, charging into battle against the nasty germ that had tried to take up residence in my body. Yesterday, while I was feeling so rotten, the war must have been intense. Today, as I began to feel much better, I could imagine them about to raise their little banner of victory.

When you've been the victim of cancer, every illness is cause for concern. I'm thankful this one has come and gone, but it was tough while it lasted. I continue to equip my body to do what it can to fight by taking natural supplements every day. Some days, I want to give up, but I know it's the best way I can fight cancer naturally and stay healthy. If you saw the number of vitamins and supplements I take each day, you'd probably stand with your mouth gaping open. I won't give you the exact number, but I will tell you it's quite a lot and sometimes, I feel like I'm eating more pills than I am real food. But, ya gotta do what ya gotta do, right? Whatever it takes to continue giving myself a fighting chance, that's what I'm going to do. And my little white blood cells are always at the ready.

I know the plans I have for you

There's a verse in Jeremiah 29:11 of the Bible that gives me great comfort. It says, " For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." I was thinking a lot about this verse today, in fact, when I woke up this morning, I was thinking about it. I'm a planner and I find security in knowing the plan. It's so much easier when there is a plan and I know exactly what's about to happen. Since I was diagnosed with breast cancer, all my plans have gone out the window. I've had to learn to be flexible. Instead of having a solid plan A, I've had to learn to be willing to move from plan A to plan B or even plan C, D, or E. It hasn't been easy, especially since I'm a type A personality. I like to be in control of things. I need to understand the plan.

I've never liked change. I like things to remain the same unless I get the urge to change them. Little changes don't bother me too much but big changes do. And it seems God has some big changes in store for us in the near future. 

My husband and I have been feeling a stirring in our hearts. It seems God is getting ready to move us. We don't know exactly when or exactly where but we know it's coming. Even if we don't know the details, we know God does. He knows the plan. We've been doing a lot of praying lately and asking God to give us the details, but He hasn't yet. This has been difficult. I like knowing the plan! I don't like waiting and I don't like wondering. My husband is more patient than I am. He doesn't mind waiting. I admire that quality in him but sometimes I wonder how he can be so calm and collected when we have no idea what the future holds. 

I guess God's continuing to teach me to trust Him completely. That's one area He's been working on in my life for some time now. I hate to admit it, but it's easier for me to trust when I know the plan! Maybe that's why He hasn't revealed it to me yet. He wants me to learn patience. 

So....as we wait, I'm trying my best to be patient. I'm trying to trust completely. I feel like a child sitting in the backseat of the car while my parents get ready to pull out of the driveway. I keep asking a zillion times where we're going and all they'll tell me is, "It's a surprise!" I feel eager and excited but also frustrated and confused. I sit in the middle of the back seat fidgeting. I want so badly to know where we're headed but all I can do is look out the window, watch, and wait. 

The destination looms far ahead of me. I can't see it. I am so curious it makes me crazy but I have to wait. I know God's timing is always perfect. I know the plans He has for me are good plans, plans that will be beneficial for my future. I know God loves me and wants the best for me. Knowing all these things help me stay put...but it's really, really hard. 

I can't wait to see what God does in the days ahead. I'm going to be watching and waiting for His revelation to come. Until then, I'm going to try super hard not to bite my fingernails down to the quick...I know the wait will be worth it. So, I wait.

Life Is Good!

It's a beautiful Saturday morning and I was up before the crack of dawn. 6:00 a.m. doesn't seem an appropriate time for waking when one is retired and has absolutely no obligations whatsoever, but 6:00 a.m. is perfect for me. For the past couple of weeks, I've been able to sleep like a normal person. This has been a major accomplishment! For the past two and a half years, I've suffered insomnia and haven't been able to sleep without some form of medication so it's wonderful to wake at 6:00 a.m. feeling rested and ready to meet the day.

My postings have been slack, I'll admit, but that's a good thing. It means life is good and I've been busy. It feels great to return to normal instead of living under the shadow of what if. Daily routine feels wonderful. Even doing a load of laundry feels amazing.

It's hard to believe we're already nearing the end of May. Time flies by so fast! In July, I'll be celebrating my third cancerversary. And while my oncologist won't say I'm cancer free, I feel cancer free! I'm so happy to finally be free of having to live my life as a victim. I am a victor! Maybe you're thinking I'm always positive about things and that's not necessarily true. I have my good and bad days but, I try to focus on the good days and let the bad days slip away unnoticed. I don't have energy to waste on negativity.

So today, I'm celebrating the goodness of life. I am blessed beyond measure. I'm feeling physically well and I'm claiming I'm cancer free. Those are good things to celebrate, don't you think? I sure do!

Another Cancer Scare

The call from the Gastroenterologist came in today. I had almost forgotten we were expecting to hear news about my husband's recent colonoscopy. We'd had a good feeling about it. It was just a routine test. Although he's had polyps in the past, we weren't concerned about this tiny one they'd found on this test.

For the past few months, my husband's had a nagging feeling. He knew he needed to get another colonoscopy. Since his mother and father both had a history of cancer, he wanted to stay on top of things. I was surprised by his insistence on getting the test scheduled. No one likes to have a colonoscopy, especially when you have to do all the nasty pretest prep, but he was diligent.

When the call came in, he was at work. The tone of the nurses's voice wasn't concerning as she gave me the results of his biopsy. Since I was expecting nothing but good news, I was a bit surprised when she said the polyp was precancerous. It had been so tiny on the photos the doctor had shown me. I wasn't prepared for the overwhelming emotions that came after I hung up with the nurse. While I was thankful, I was also fearful. My husband has always been my rock. He's the calm one. He keeps me grounded when things are out of control. As I began to go down the road of "what ifs" I got very emotional. God knew we weren't prepared for another dance with cancer.

After notifying my husband of the report, I encouraged him to think positively. We had gotten a good report. There wasn't any active cancer. The tiny polyp was only precancerous, meaning the cells, if left untreated, could turn into cancer at some point. The doctor's office assured me they'd recheck him in another three years and for that I'm grateful. We'll definitely stay on top of his colon health.

Isn't it funny how we take good health for granted? When anything threatens our health, we immediately become fearful and that's probably a natural fleshly response but Phil and I have chosen to put our faith in God. We're going to trust that He has only good in store for us and for our future. And even if we have to face another round of cancer one day, we know God is faithful. He's going to be right there beside us walking us through every single step of the journey just like He did with me. Knowing that brings us great comfort. So today, we celebrate good news! Even if it didn't come quite the way we expected, it's good news. No cancer! Thank you, Lord!

Writing a book is difficult!

I haven't written on my blog in some time now. I have a good reason, I've been working on my book. Writing about my cancer journey in a book format is challenging. I've never written a book before. People tell me it will be a piece of cake. Each year, at the end of the year, I've had my blogs printed into a book format to save for posterity's sake. Friends tell me I should be able to just cut and paste from my blogs and the book will just fall into place, but not so! Writing and re-writing dredge up memories that cause emotions to kick into overdrive. I've been working on this book for a couple of months now and I'm only up to chapter four because of having to process old memories once again. I don't like reliving my cancer journey. It wasn't easy the first time around and it's certainly not easy this time around either. But I'll do it because I'm hoping my story might inspire or help someone else who's going through breast cancer. I want my cancer to count for something positive.

Writing is challenging also because of the long hours of typing. Lymphedema makes it difficult to say the least. I try to write early in the day when the swelling hasn't flared up yet but by mid morning, my arms are so swollen, I have to stop.

It may take a year or more to get this project done. There's no time limit. I don't have publishers beating down my door to get hold of the manuscript. In fact, I'll probably end up self publishing because if you're a little peon like me, publishers aren't interested. They prefer to go after well known authors or celebrities. I'm not expecting to get paid for my work, although it would be quite nice to receive a little money on the side. I certainly wouldn't turn it down if an offer came my way...

So, that's what I'm up to...just writing. Life is good and fairly normal. I'm so thankful to say it's normal for a change. For the past couple of years it hasn't been even close to being normal.

On July 9th, I'll celebrate my third cancerversary. I'm looking forward to that. I'll have to plan some sort of celebration. It's hard to believe it's been almost 3 years since I was diagnosed. God is good!

My body my choice

Yesterday I was given the opportunity to review a booklet from my breast surgeon on D.I.E.P. flap reconstruction. I wasn't sure how I felt about the procedure but wanted to do some research before making my decision about reconstructive surgery. This was not a decision I could make lightly and there were many things to consider.

When I got home, I read the booklet. I got online and researched surgical videos, internet medical resources and talked to three breast cancer survivors who'd already been through this surgery. All of the information I found was overwhelming and I went to bed feeling bogged down. As I crawled into bed, I lay there and prayed asking God for His wisdom and direction.

This morning, my husband and I discussed the surgery. I shared information with him on what I'd found regarding the surgery and recovery period, complications, etc. After listening carefully to all I shared, he said he would stand behind me in whatever decision I made. So today, I've been doing a lot of thinking and even more praying. As I've processed it all, I've made my decision.

I've decided not to have the surgery and I have several reasons to support my decision.

1. The D.I.E.P flap surgery is major surgery. It doesn't only involve one surgery but two. The doctor said the surgery would be about 10 hours long. Anytime you're put under anesthesia for any length of time it's dangerous. The doctor said I would be in intensive care for 2-3 days after surgery and have about a month of recovery at home. A recovery period of that length doesn't seem doable. I would need in home care and there's no way my husband could take off work that long. 
2. Expensive - although the majority of the surgery would be covered by my medical insurance, we'd still have to meet deductibles, and pay our portion of the surgical and hospital bills not to mention labs and other expenses. 
3. Pain: I'm not really keen on going through a lot of pain again. It has taken almost 3 years for me to get over the last two surgeries. I don't know if my body could handle that much trauma again. I'd be cut horizontally from hip to hip and then have several incisions at each breast site. With all of my other surgeries, if I had these too, I'd look like I'd been mauled by a serial killer.
4. Why: Why would I want to do this anyway? Would having fake boobs give me more self esteem? I don't think so. Cancer has taken away my breasts, the ones God gave me, so why should I try to rebuild what He allowed cancer to take away? 
5. Would this change anything about my marriage? Not really. The only thing it would change is to cause us more stress and pain. 
6. The real reason for surgery? Would I be doing it to benefit my health (as the doctor suggested - I posted about this in yesterday's blog post) or would I be doing it out of vanity? Yes maybe having the weight of breasts replaced would help my spine, but is it really necessary? Couldn't I just continue to do stretching exercises I was taught in physical therapy sessions to help my back? Most of my back problems are from bulging or herniated discs and degenerative disc disease so I don't think the missing breasts are the main culprit of my pain. 
7. Complications: There's no guarantee I'd survive the surgery without complications? I was reading and studying about that surgery and many times tissue removed from the belly to make the new breasts will die. When that happens, doctors must remove the dead tissue and start over. This dead tissue is called fat necrosis or tissue necrosis. Since I've already had one episode of tissue necrosis after my initial surgery, I think my chances of developing necrosis again are probably very great. 
8. I'm getting old! At this time in my life I don't feel like I need to go through any more major surgery. I've already had so many. I'll be 60 in December and I want to maintain my quality of life. I'm enjoying going and doing exactly what I want to do when I want to do it. If I have surgery again, I'll have many physical limitations that would prohibit my current plans. 
9. It's my body! Just because the doctor suggested it and highly recommended it, doesn't mean I have to do it. It's my body and is ultimately my choice. Why do something I don't really and truly want to do?
10. Boobs: When I want to have them, I can. I have silicone prostheses and when I slip them into the mastectomy bra, you'd never know they weren't real. I'm the only one who knows the difference. When I get tired of the weight of the prostheses and want to take them off, I do! Flinging my boobs across the room has become very freeing and usually brings laughter to family members who are here when I do it. The boobs always wind up in random places like the back seat of my husband's car or on the kitchen counter. How many women can just take off their boobs whenever they want to? Not many! 

So I've made my decision and I'm sticking to it. I'm not going to cave to the pressure of my doctor. I hope she'll be respectful of my decision but even if she isn't, I feel good about it.

Where did this emotion come from???

When you're diagnosed with breast cancer, it's customary to see your oncologist, radiation oncologist and breast surgeon at periodic intervals throughout the first 5 years after diagnosis. The visits start out being every three months, then every six months, and then if you're doing well, stretch out to annual visits. Today was my annual visit to the breast surgeon. Although I haven't reached the 5 year mark, she'd moved me to an annual visit because I was doing so well. Today, not so much.

I waited for almost an hour to see the doctor. She's an excellent doctor so I don't mind waiting for her. I know she gives her patients her undivided time and attention. When she came into my exam room, she greeted me like she always does with a big smile and a "What's up?" I shared my concerns and then she began the exam. She found a place on my chest wall that caught her attention. As she began palpating it, I winced in pain. "That hurts?" she said. I nodded and asked what she thought it might be. She said she wasn't sure but definitely wanted to check it out since it was outside the surgical field from my last operation. She instructed her assistant to schedule an ultrasound and then turned back to face me. "So, when are you going to have your reconstructive surgery," she said. I was puzzled. I had never mentioned anything about reconstructive surgery and in fact, had never even considered it. When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer, all I wanted to do was get that nasty stuff out of my body and fast!

The doc sat there a few minutes and waited for my response. I told her I didn't know I was even a candidate for reconstruction since I'd had both breasts removed. "Oh, yes!" she assured me, " You can always have reconstruction even years after surgery. I highly recommend it and in fact, it's important to your overall health." When I asked her what she meant by that statement, she explained, "When your body is missing the weight of your breasts, your shoulders and spine try to compensate for the loss and begin to protectively curve forward. When that happens it can cause back problems and spinal misalignment. If you do the reconstructive surgery, you'll be replacing that weight and your body will respond accordingly."  As I listened to her, I felt this overwhelming emotion rising from the depths of my being. It was as if I was being handed a silver platter with hope sitting in the middle of it. I didn't understand what I was feeling but I knew I needed to process it. The doctor must have noticed I was dealing with something because she rolled her stool over closer to me and as she put her hand on my knee, I began to weep. I apologized after crying for a few minutes and she told me not to worry about it. She said she could feel my pain. At that point, I shared about the difficulties my surgery had caused in my marriage and the dam burst. I couldn't contain my tears any longer. The doctor grabbed a box of tissue and gently placed it on my lap. She instructed me to get dressed and said she wanted to give me a little time to regain my composure. I was thankful she'd left the room.

I removed the white linen robe and placed it on the chair in the exam room. As I gathered my clothing and began putting them back on, I wiped the tears away. I looked in the mirror and saw smeary black streaks running down my face. I made a mental note to wear waterproof mascara to my office visits from this point forward just in case I was caught off guard by another sneaky emotion.

The scheduler was kind enough to allow me to sit in her office for a while so I could calm down. She got an appointment for my ultrasound tomorrow afternoon. I'm not too concerned about the suspicious place the doctor found, but I guess I should be. I'm more concerned with whether or not I want to go through another surgery.

The doctor had given me a booklet describing the D.I.E.P flap reconstructive surgery. Basically what the surgery involves is removing abdominal tissue and using it to build and reform breasts. It's like getting a tummy tuck and boob job all at once. It's about a ten hour surgery and requires about a month of recovery. It's not an easy surgery. I tucked the booklet in my purse so I could read it when I got home. I needed to talk everything over with my husband and I wasn't sure I was up for that discussion just yet.

DIEP Flap reconstructon

Thankfully, the doctor assured me that my insurance would completely cover the surgery should I choose to do it. Even though it would be a delayed reconstruction, by law, the insurance company had to cover the surgery since I'd had bilateral mastectomies performed.

Now I face a huge decision. Do I have the surgery to replace my breasts or don't I? If I do the surgery, I will have a lengthy recovery period. It seems I've just finally started to feel good after my last surgery. I'm going to do a lot of research and give this matter a great deal of prayer. I'll keep you posted. If you would, please say a prayer for me to have clear direction on this matter. Thank you in advance.

Freshly mown grass

Me on the far right, sun in my eyes!

This afternoon, I was trying to take a little nap. I don't usually take naps but I really needed one today. I'd been up since 5:00 a.m. and I was dragging so I lay across the bed in our guest room hoping to catch 40 winks. As I lay there with my eyes closed, I heard one of my neighbors on his riding mower. He was out cutting the grass. As he made pass after pass, I couldn't help but remember my childhood. I'd always loved the smell of freshly mown grass because it signified the approach of Summer to me.

Daddy would always get out and cut the grass with his push mower. I took great comfort in knowing he was home and he was busy making our yard look nice. Our yard was very large so that meant Daddy had a lot of pushing to do. Our yard wasn't flat either, so it took some muscle to get that mower up and down the hills. With sweat upon his brow, Daddy worked hard to get the yard done while we were usually playing. We never hired anyone to cut the grass. Daddy was meticulous in performing yard work and I don't think he would've trusted anyone else to do the job as well as he did.

Years later, after we were grown and our parents had moved to another house, Daddy got a riding mower. We were all thankful he wouldn't have to struggle against that push mower any longer. It didn't take him long to cut the grass at their new location. The yard there was much smaller and very flat. Sometimes, when I'd go over to visit, I'd pull into the driveway to see him circling around on the riding mower. He'd smile and throw up his hand in a wave.

I'm on the back row between my Mom and my Aunt

But usually a few weeks before Easter, Daddy would stop mowing the grass. He'd let it get tall and shaggy. He knew, when we were children, Mama would want to hide Easter eggs and short grass isn't good for hiding. Later on, as we started having our own families, Daddy did the same thing for the grandchildren. We'd all gather at my parent's house for a huge Easter egg hunt with all the little ones. After a huge dinner of ham, potato salad, green beans, rolls, and some kind of dessert, we'd take the children outside and let them run wild and free through the tall grass. Daddy would laugh as he'd watch them head out and then he'd watch for the one child not finding quite as many eggs as the others. He'd make a special point of going to help that one fill their basket. In my mind's eye, I can still see him stooping low to point out an egg hidden beneath a bush or lifting a little one to retrieve an egg hidden in the V of a tree. We all had such fun back then!

As the neighbor finished up the last few passes on his lawn, I began to tear up. I hadn't realized how much I've missed my Daddy. Easter will be here in a few days and as I walk out to my car to go to church, I'm sure I'm going to glance around my yard hoping to see an egg hidden here or there. But there won't be any. None of my grandchildren will be with us this year for the holiday. They have plans with their own families, and that's okay. At least I have precious memories of Daddy at Easter and the smell of freshly mown grass to remind me of days long past.

Isn't it funny how something like listening to the soothing sounds of a lawnmower running can bring up memories like that? I hope you have some special memories stored away, too.

The Challenge

Earlier this week, I began writing my book. Six months ago, I felt God prompting me to go ahead and begin working on it. I'd prayed and prayed asking Him if I was to proceed. I wanted to do it but was scared to death to start. I've never written a book before but I felt God wanted me to use my breast cancer journey to touch the lives of others. I was compelled to write my story.

Yesterday, I worked on the book for 8 hours. I was able to get through the introduction and the first three chapters. Today, I have writer's block! I am overwhelmed and can't think straight so I stopped working on the book. Maybe I need a day off to gather my thoughts. The difficult part isn't in compiling the material, I already have that pretty much done. For the past two and a half years, I've been blogging about my journey. I've been diligent to record every detail. But shifting all those blog posts into a book format is challenging. I want this to be exactly what God wants it to be not what I want it to be. So I'll take some time to pray about the direction He wants me to go. There's no hurry and no deadline so I'm not going to let Satan pressure me into making wrong choices. I know God has a perfect plan and He's going to reveal it to me as I trust Him.

I always wondered how writers could take years to complete a manuscript. Now I understand completely. Writing, reading, re-reading, editing....it's complicated and exciting and fun all at the same time. I'm thankful for computers and the ease in which we can write these days. I'd hate to think I had to peck out the words one letter at a time on an old typewriter. I remember how challenging it was back in the 70's when I was taking typing in high school. My typing teacher, Mrs. Brake, didn't have much patience. It didn't help that there were several members of the football team in our typing class. They didn't want to learn typing. They just wanted to goof around and be silly. They distracted the class, especially when Mrs. Brake stepped out of the room for a minute. I remember once, one of the football players took a little screwdriver and loosened the platen on the typewriter. The platen is the round cylindrical part that moves back and forth as you type. When Mrs. Brake returned to the room, he acted like he was typing the assignment rapidly. As he hit the return lever to move to the next line of type, the platen went flying across the room with a great force. All the students cracked up at what we knew was a silly joke. Mrs. Brake was not happy. She yanked the guy up out of his seat an sent him to the principal's office. We began to tap away at our lesson and the room was quiet until someone in the back of the room couldn't contain their snickers any longer. One muffled laugh set of a chain reaction and soon the entire classroom was hysterical. Mrs. Brake got so frustrated she walked out into the hallway until we calmed down. By the time she came back into the room, the bell had rung and class was over. As we walked down the hall to our next class, word of what happened spread like wildfire. I don't know what ever happened to the football player but I'm sure he got a few extra pats on the back from his teammates and a lot of the students in our typing class. I don't remember what happened the following day in class but I'm sure Mrs. Brake gave him the evil eye and dared him to pull another stunt like that again.

Royal I used in high school

I still have my old Royal typewriter. It's an antique and the one I first learned to type on. It takes great effort to depress the keys and doesn't have a correction tape. If you made a mistake, you'd have to roll the paper up, erase the letter(s) with a correction pen and start again. When White Out or Liquid Paper correction fluid came along, it was so much easier. At least the correction fluid didn't rub a hole in the paper like the correction pen did if you scrubbed too hard to erase the mistake. Thankfully computers afford us the opportunity to delete mistakes quickly. We can backspace, replace, or delete with just a keystroke.

I just realized I'd written more than I intended on this post. Maybe I should have stuck with the book...Oh well, tomorrow's another day and I can always pick up then.