Well, I've been back to see my plastic surgeon twice now since the implant surgery and it's time to talk about the next and hopefully, final round. When I got the implants in January, he used a size 600 on the left and a 550 on the right because at the time they looked symetrical for my body. Well, now that the swelling is gone and I have mostly healed, it seems that I need a 600 on the right, some nip and tucking around both to lift and push in, and as a result we've scheduled the next surgery for May 20th. Dr. G and I looked at my before pictures as he pointed out that my right boob has always been a "low rider". Yes, it always hung lower than my left so he can only do so much with what God has given me for a frame. Part of the next surgery will be to nip and tuck in an effort to make both boobs look as even/level as possible. I always wondered why I leaned to the right all of the time. I just thought it was because I was righthanded!
Then we talked about tootsie rolls and erasers. Yup, you guessed it, it's time for that nipple construction. Depending upon how much skin you have from your mastectomey (and in my case I have all of it), the surgeon can actually use part of the skin to construct the nipple. This surgery is optional and at first I thought I wouldn't pursue it, but because we needed to swap out an implant and do some more nip and tucking, it would be convenient to do it all at once while I'm asleep! So here's how he will do it. He will cut a star shaped incision at the center of each boob, above my existing scar (you know the one of in"de"cision). He will then use that tissue/skin to twist it and then sew around it making what will look like a Tootsie Roll. It will stick out a good inch for the first couple of weeks and then they will shrink down to eraser size when the swelling subsides. And here I was thinking that they just glue on candy corns. What was I thinking?
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Over the Hump(s)
Today, February 7, 2010 marks a huge milestone for me and my family. It has been exactly two years since my Ovarian Cancer diagnosis and surgery to remove it. Counting that day, I have had 4 surgeries, 6 chemotherapy treatments, 5 blood transfusions, over 100 blood tests, at least 15 shots of Procrit (administered in the stomach). I've had 1 port inserted in my chest, 2 expanders inserted, 2 expanders removed, 1 buzz cut, 8 hair cuts, 1 wig, 2 athletic bras that zip in the front, 30+ home made meals from friends, hundreds of get well cards and e-mails including cards from 2 church school classes from a church in town. I've attended one support group (Bernie Seigle's), organized 2 Golf Tournaments (fund raisers for the American Cancer Society), played 30+ rounds of golf, worked out a bit at the gym, attended one graduation bald and a one wedding without my boobs. In addition, I joined a bell choir at church, taught drum lessons to local kids, and maintained my computer business. All of which I just loved. I'm exhausted just writing this. At this point, I face no more surgeries. Believe it or not, the last one was the toughest of all of them. It was the most painful for recovery but maybe that's because it was breast augmentation - no pain, no gain. Jeff was just thrilled that the doctors were putting parts in versus taking stuff out.
Anyway, my cancer has been in remission for 24 months. You never really can say you are cancer free, but you can say it's in remission and I know that if it does come back one day, I learned enough about how to put it back in it's place! We are over the hump or should I say "humps"!
Anyway, my cancer has been in remission for 24 months. You never really can say you are cancer free, but you can say it's in remission and I know that if it does come back one day, I learned enough about how to put it back in it's place! We are over the hump or should I say "humps"!
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Showering: A New Olympic Sport
Before surgery, my plastic surgeon told me that I would be very sore under my right breast and on the left side of my left breast after the surgery. I figured it would be sore but I would get through it with a little pain killer here or there. Was I wrong. When the anesthesia wore off I was in "take your breathe away" pain mostly from the work done on the right side. It felt like a pinched nerve under the bottom curve of my right breast. I was in the bandage from the hospital, which was actually quite stylish, and so I couldn't see where the incisions were. I thought and it felt like he had made an incision under my right breast.
Driving home, I was just happy to be out of the hospital and was looking forward to my own comfortable bed. I knew I would have to sleep sitting up just like the last surgery, but I was getting pretty good at it so I wasn't concerned. Jeff filled my prescriptions and I took my pain killers every 4 hours on the dot. When I moved or flexed my pec muscles (by accident) that's when I felt the pain. Two days after my surgery I wanted/needed to take a shower. It meant not only cleaning up and feeling refreshed, but it also was an opportunity to take a look at the work Dr. G. did.
Jeff helped me undo my corset/bandage, which was lavender in color and had ribbing with lace around the edges (this must have been a Victoria Secret bandage or something). All of the white packing fell to the floor and I was left with my square swollen boobs with purple marker everywhere. I asked him to look and see if there was an incision under my right boob. "Nope", he said. Nothing but marker there. So we deduced that the work to pull that side up must all be internal. Gravity was now my enemy. Without the corset on, my boob was sagging and the pain was outrageous.
I quickly slipped my right arm under my right breast to relieve the pressure on the internal sutures and the pain which was bad. Off to the shower. The goal here was to shower with one hand as quickly and efficiently as possible so I could get into my athletic bra which would provide much needed support. The athletic bra is my friend and like any good friend, part of my support system.
Each day I take off my athletic bra, slip my arm under my boob, wash up single handed, and dry off as quickly as possible to slide back into the athletic bra. I have gotten down to 4 minutes, 27 seconds and am still training. I've contacted the Olympic Committee and am waiting for them to determine if this will be a winter or summer sport.
I was also thinking that Napoleon Bonaparte might have had some breast work done and that's why his arm is always in his shirt. You never know.
Driving home, I was just happy to be out of the hospital and was looking forward to my own comfortable bed. I knew I would have to sleep sitting up just like the last surgery, but I was getting pretty good at it so I wasn't concerned. Jeff filled my prescriptions and I took my pain killers every 4 hours on the dot. When I moved or flexed my pec muscles (by accident) that's when I felt the pain. Two days after my surgery I wanted/needed to take a shower. It meant not only cleaning up and feeling refreshed, but it also was an opportunity to take a look at the work Dr. G. did.
Jeff helped me undo my corset/bandage, which was lavender in color and had ribbing with lace around the edges (this must have been a Victoria Secret bandage or something). All of the white packing fell to the floor and I was left with my square swollen boobs with purple marker everywhere. I asked him to look and see if there was an incision under my right boob. "Nope", he said. Nothing but marker there. So we deduced that the work to pull that side up must all be internal. Gravity was now my enemy. Without the corset on, my boob was sagging and the pain was outrageous.
I quickly slipped my right arm under my right breast to relieve the pressure on the internal sutures and the pain which was bad. Off to the shower. The goal here was to shower with one hand as quickly and efficiently as possible so I could get into my athletic bra which would provide much needed support. The athletic bra is my friend and like any good friend, part of my support system.
Each day I take off my athletic bra, slip my arm under my boob, wash up single handed, and dry off as quickly as possible to slide back into the athletic bra. I have gotten down to 4 minutes, 27 seconds and am still training. I've contacted the Olympic Committee and am waiting for them to determine if this will be a winter or summer sport.
I was also thinking that Napoleon Bonaparte might have had some breast work done and that's why his arm is always in his shirt. You never know.
Can you hear that?
The expanders that I had in for three months were filled with saline and the saline sloshed. Although I was apparently the only one that could sense the sloshing, it was still very much real. So the other morning after being home from the implant surgery, I felt that I had a bit of heartburn. I pressed my fingers on my chest (there is still very little feeling on the front of my chest) and I heard this gurgling sound. It felt weird too. Now I have silicone implants, not saline, and there is no liquid in the silicone implants. So I should not be gurgling or sloshing.
I pushed again and heard it. It was loud. I called Jeff and my sister-in-law Tracy over and said, listen to this. They practically jumped out of their skin hearing this. Tracy said "what is that?". I said I didn't know but I knew I hadn't experienced it before with the expanders. All that day and the next, I showed off this new trick to anyone at the house. My kids thought I was nuts (nothing new there). It moves too. The next day it wasn't in the same place when I pressed on my chest. Turns out, there are air bubbles in my chest from the surgery. For those of you who have had abdominal surgery, your air bubbles would turn into gas and would escape through the normal route. For chest air bubbles, I don't know. I haven't burped up any yet and it's been 6 days. I guess I'll need to ask Dr. G. about this one at my follow up appointment. Who would have guessed!
I pushed again and heard it. It was loud. I called Jeff and my sister-in-law Tracy over and said, listen to this. They practically jumped out of their skin hearing this. Tracy said "what is that?". I said I didn't know but I knew I hadn't experienced it before with the expanders. All that day and the next, I showed off this new trick to anyone at the house. My kids thought I was nuts (nothing new there). It moves too. The next day it wasn't in the same place when I pressed on my chest. Turns out, there are air bubbles in my chest from the surgery. For those of you who have had abdominal surgery, your air bubbles would turn into gas and would escape through the normal route. For chest air bubbles, I don't know. I haven't burped up any yet and it's been 6 days. I guess I'll need to ask Dr. G. about this one at my follow up appointment. Who would have guessed!
The Girls are Here
It's exactly 6 days since my implant surgery and I'm just feeling a bit better each day. The surgery was a success and actually quite quick in terms of hours on the table, but of course I minimized the recovery time needed to get back to normal.
I went in last Thursday morning at 11:30am scheduled for a 1:00pm surgery. I couldn't eat anything after 12:00pm midnight Wednesday so Jeff and I went out to dinner to "chow down/load up" for the big event. I had a corner pre-op room with one chair, my temporary bed and several attentive nurses. A few looked familiar from my surgery in September. They each congratulated me when they found out I was in for the "boob surgery" and said my plastic surgeon was the best. I already knew that. It was Dr. Gorgeous' last day of surgery for this hospital so the nurses and staff there brought in a boob cake. How do I know? He walked by my pre-op room saying "save me a boob for later, I have to go into my next surgery." What a guy! I don't like sweets, but that cake was sounding really good right about then.
We had a usual discussion with each nurse that arrived telling her or him that they needed to access my port and start the meds there. Once I was asleep they could try and access a vein in my arm all they wanted to. They asked if I preferred an arm, I said stay away from my left. They put a long piece of surgical tape on it that said DO NOT USE. I wanted to add DO NOT AMPUTATE EITHER, but they assured me it wasn't necessary.
When Dr. G. came in to talk to me, he took his magic marker and drew lines and circles which to him meant something important, but to me looked like a crude map of Hartford, CT. He said that my right boob was drooping lower than my left and he would have to push it up so my boobs would be symmetrical. He also said he needed to take in the one on the left so it wouldn't go under my armpit like the expander had. He gave me a hug and said he would see me in the operating room.
So as I waited for Craig, my nurse, to wheel me away, I got to thinking about my drooping right boob. I wondered if that's why most of my golf shots slice to the right. I wondered if it explained why my right hip hurts more than my left in exercise class. I wondered if it explained why I hear better with my left ear or why I swim in circles in a pool. Oh, nevermind.
Anyway, I am symmetrical but they still look like square bagels. The swelling and fluid, which will subside in time, make them look wider than they should. To me, they don't look any different from the expander look, but others who have been through this say it's normal and they will come into their own very soon. Until then, I still have square bagels.
I went in last Thursday morning at 11:30am scheduled for a 1:00pm surgery. I couldn't eat anything after 12:00pm midnight Wednesday so Jeff and I went out to dinner to "chow down/load up" for the big event. I had a corner pre-op room with one chair, my temporary bed and several attentive nurses. A few looked familiar from my surgery in September. They each congratulated me when they found out I was in for the "boob surgery" and said my plastic surgeon was the best. I already knew that. It was Dr. Gorgeous' last day of surgery for this hospital so the nurses and staff there brought in a boob cake. How do I know? He walked by my pre-op room saying "save me a boob for later, I have to go into my next surgery." What a guy! I don't like sweets, but that cake was sounding really good right about then.
We had a usual discussion with each nurse that arrived telling her or him that they needed to access my port and start the meds there. Once I was asleep they could try and access a vein in my arm all they wanted to. They asked if I preferred an arm, I said stay away from my left. They put a long piece of surgical tape on it that said DO NOT USE. I wanted to add DO NOT AMPUTATE EITHER, but they assured me it wasn't necessary.
When Dr. G. came in to talk to me, he took his magic marker and drew lines and circles which to him meant something important, but to me looked like a crude map of Hartford, CT. He said that my right boob was drooping lower than my left and he would have to push it up so my boobs would be symmetrical. He also said he needed to take in the one on the left so it wouldn't go under my armpit like the expander had. He gave me a hug and said he would see me in the operating room.
So as I waited for Craig, my nurse, to wheel me away, I got to thinking about my drooping right boob. I wondered if that's why most of my golf shots slice to the right. I wondered if it explained why my right hip hurts more than my left in exercise class. I wondered if it explained why I hear better with my left ear or why I swim in circles in a pool. Oh, nevermind.
Anyway, I am symmetrical but they still look like square bagels. The swelling and fluid, which will subside in time, make them look wider than they should. To me, they don't look any different from the expander look, but others who have been through this say it's normal and they will come into their own very soon. Until then, I still have square bagels.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Can I try yours?
As I sit here on the eve of my boob surgery, I laugh out loud thinking of a situation I was in just last week. But first, let me bring everyone up to speed with how I got in the situation. Many people in town know about my cancer journey (the fact that it was on the 5:00pm news in October might have had something to do with it) and there are many other women facing the same decision that I made just three months ago (double mastectomy).
Soon after my surgery, I was contacted by a woman in town, let's call her Julie. She explained that she had been diagnosed with breast cancer and had decided to have a double mastectomy followed by reconstruction. In talking with her, she was unsure about any post surgery treatment she might face, but she was very firm about her decision to get rid of the boobs and the cancer too.
We talked over the phone a few times about the surgery, the drains, the tricks I had learned to cope with the uncomfortableness of the surgery and so on. After a few weeks she called and asked if she could drop off a book for me to read (Cancer Vixen, a memoir written in comic strip form). I said sure. When the doorbell rang, I came face to face with Julie for the first time. A very petite and pretty woman, about 55-60 years of age. Her chest (for some reason that's where my eyes go ever since I had the boobs removed) was a small size A and very suitable for her frame. She explained that she had the surgery and was recovering nicely and the small bumps on her chest were the beginnings of her reconstruction. I thought she would have a couple of fill ups and be done with the whole thing.
I went on through the holidays focusing on my own health and fill ups and then went to Florida for my mini vacation. When I got home, I realized that I hadn't returned the book to Julie, so I stopped by her house one day out of the blue. Julie lives in a very populated neighborhood and has a house on the end of a cul de sac with several other houses around the circle. I walk up to the front porch, which is several steps up from ground level (perfect viewing for the neighbors) and ring the bell. Quite frankly, Julie could have answered the front door from her kitchen 10 yards away. She opened her storm door, walked onto the stoop and I couldn't believe the size and shape of her "torpedoes". She looked great! I said, "Whoa, why do yours look so good. Actually, why do yours pop outward? Mine go to the side under my armpits." As I said this, I moved my jacket out of the way, and put my hands on the side of both of my boobs and pushed them forward. You see, mine go out to the side, they do not look like boobs at all. Julie said, "why do yours move? Mine don't move at all."
So like nothing was ever wrong and we were best of friends, we both tried out each others boobs. She pushed my sloshy boobs with one hand while I tried to move hers with my hand. I couldn't believe how hard her implants were. I asked her what the heck they were filling them up with and she assured me saline. She said she had trouble sleeping at night, couldn't really roll over you know, and at this point I could see why. She was at least a D cup at the time I saw her and she said her doctor was expecting to add two more fill ups before her implants would be put in. I advised her to stop the fill ups immediately, worrying that she would pop if they added any more to an already full boat.
As I drove away, I realized that Julie and I were on her front stoop fondling each others breasts (they really aren't your breasts anymore) without even blinking. That was the second time I had met Julie. I hope she doesn't pop.
Soon after my surgery, I was contacted by a woman in town, let's call her Julie. She explained that she had been diagnosed with breast cancer and had decided to have a double mastectomy followed by reconstruction. In talking with her, she was unsure about any post surgery treatment she might face, but she was very firm about her decision to get rid of the boobs and the cancer too.
We talked over the phone a few times about the surgery, the drains, the tricks I had learned to cope with the uncomfortableness of the surgery and so on. After a few weeks she called and asked if she could drop off a book for me to read (Cancer Vixen, a memoir written in comic strip form). I said sure. When the doorbell rang, I came face to face with Julie for the first time. A very petite and pretty woman, about 55-60 years of age. Her chest (for some reason that's where my eyes go ever since I had the boobs removed) was a small size A and very suitable for her frame. She explained that she had the surgery and was recovering nicely and the small bumps on her chest were the beginnings of her reconstruction. I thought she would have a couple of fill ups and be done with the whole thing.
I went on through the holidays focusing on my own health and fill ups and then went to Florida for my mini vacation. When I got home, I realized that I hadn't returned the book to Julie, so I stopped by her house one day out of the blue. Julie lives in a very populated neighborhood and has a house on the end of a cul de sac with several other houses around the circle. I walk up to the front porch, which is several steps up from ground level (perfect viewing for the neighbors) and ring the bell. Quite frankly, Julie could have answered the front door from her kitchen 10 yards away. She opened her storm door, walked onto the stoop and I couldn't believe the size and shape of her "torpedoes". She looked great! I said, "Whoa, why do yours look so good. Actually, why do yours pop outward? Mine go to the side under my armpits." As I said this, I moved my jacket out of the way, and put my hands on the side of both of my boobs and pushed them forward. You see, mine go out to the side, they do not look like boobs at all. Julie said, "why do yours move? Mine don't move at all."
So like nothing was ever wrong and we were best of friends, we both tried out each others boobs. She pushed my sloshy boobs with one hand while I tried to move hers with my hand. I couldn't believe how hard her implants were. I asked her what the heck they were filling them up with and she assured me saline. She said she had trouble sleeping at night, couldn't really roll over you know, and at this point I could see why. She was at least a D cup at the time I saw her and she said her doctor was expecting to add two more fill ups before her implants would be put in. I advised her to stop the fill ups immediately, worrying that she would pop if they added any more to an already full boat.
As I drove away, I realized that Julie and I were on her front stoop fondling each others breasts (they really aren't your breasts anymore) without even blinking. That was the second time I had met Julie. I hope she doesn't pop.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
No Bells or Whistles
Early on in my dealing with Dr. Gorgeous, I was given a laminated card with a picture of an expander on the front and serial numbers on the back. Looking closely at the picture, I would have thought I was looking at a thick jelly fish that ate a large black coin. The shape wasn't round, but more oval. The color was gray and it obviously looked "expanded".
I was told that this was my ID card in case I need to take a plane somewhere or walk into a courtroom. Apparently the ports in these expanders are made of metal and they would "set off" any metal detectors. I was also told not to have an MRI while they were in me. That hurts just thinking about it.
I carry this ID card proudly in my wallet right next to my ID card for my blood port that is still in my chest, although that one is plastic and not metal. I've shown my expander ID card to a few of my friends and although they don't seem to be impressed, I feel pretty darn important.
I was traveling to Florida in January of 2010 for a week's vacation at my mom's. I was told that I would need to show my ID when going through the metal detector at airport security. I was excited to say the least, until I read about that underwear bomber incident on Christmas Day. Surely security would be "stepped up" by the time mom and I few on New Year's Day. I got to thinking that getting patted down by a female TSA agent wasn't going to be any fun and it could delay our trip at the very least.
Along with reminding me to bring my pills in my carry on bag, mom made sure I had both my driver's license and my Boob Id Card (BIC) on hand when we arrived at the airport. Our first stop was checking bags and getting our boarding passes. I handed my license and BIC to the baggage handler who either didn't bother noticing that I handed him two forms of ID or wasn't impressed by the picture of the jelly fish who had eaten a black coin. He stuffed both back in my hand and told me to proceed to the airport security line with everyone else.
In line, I was getting anxious about approaching the agent that checks your ID with your ticket. I gave her both IDs and she looked at me, creased her eyebrows, and handed everything back to me telling me to move onto the x-ray conveyor belt. At this point I was feeling less than important, in fact down right ignored.
You see I had envisioned that a TSA agent would escort me to a special room or section of the airport and do the "wand thing", manually scanning my body for metals. So far no special attention had been given to me or mom and at this point I'm removing my shoes, jacket and laptop placing them on the x-ray belt for scanning. Now I'm thinking, it's going to happen when I walk through the metal detector. When they tell me to "step to the side,ma'm", everyone in the airport will be a witness to the wand scan that will ensue. It will be obvious to everyone when the TSA agent makes circular motions in the air in front of my breasts/expanders noting the high pitch ringing as it passes over the metal ports. I wasn't thinking that this would be so public.
I slowly walked toward the metal detector with my hand and ID extended to give to the agent on the other side. He watches as I walk through the detector and gives me a not representing everything is fine, move on.
It didn't go all. The detector didn't detect my metal ports. I was so disappointed. No one cared about my BIC, and there were no bells or whistles as promised. It was a real let down for me.
As we boarded the plane, I was starting to think about all of the other metal things that people might have on them or in them that didn't get detected. Better yet, let's not think about that.
I was told that this was my ID card in case I need to take a plane somewhere or walk into a courtroom. Apparently the ports in these expanders are made of metal and they would "set off" any metal detectors. I was also told not to have an MRI while they were in me. That hurts just thinking about it.
I carry this ID card proudly in my wallet right next to my ID card for my blood port that is still in my chest, although that one is plastic and not metal. I've shown my expander ID card to a few of my friends and although they don't seem to be impressed, I feel pretty darn important.
I was traveling to Florida in January of 2010 for a week's vacation at my mom's. I was told that I would need to show my ID when going through the metal detector at airport security. I was excited to say the least, until I read about that underwear bomber incident on Christmas Day. Surely security would be "stepped up" by the time mom and I few on New Year's Day. I got to thinking that getting patted down by a female TSA agent wasn't going to be any fun and it could delay our trip at the very least.
Along with reminding me to bring my pills in my carry on bag, mom made sure I had both my driver's license and my Boob Id Card (BIC) on hand when we arrived at the airport. Our first stop was checking bags and getting our boarding passes. I handed my license and BIC to the baggage handler who either didn't bother noticing that I handed him two forms of ID or wasn't impressed by the picture of the jelly fish who had eaten a black coin. He stuffed both back in my hand and told me to proceed to the airport security line with everyone else.
In line, I was getting anxious about approaching the agent that checks your ID with your ticket. I gave her both IDs and she looked at me, creased her eyebrows, and handed everything back to me telling me to move onto the x-ray conveyor belt. At this point I was feeling less than important, in fact down right ignored.
You see I had envisioned that a TSA agent would escort me to a special room or section of the airport and do the "wand thing", manually scanning my body for metals. So far no special attention had been given to me or mom and at this point I'm removing my shoes, jacket and laptop placing them on the x-ray belt for scanning. Now I'm thinking, it's going to happen when I walk through the metal detector. When they tell me to "step to the side,ma'm", everyone in the airport will be a witness to the wand scan that will ensue. It will be obvious to everyone when the TSA agent makes circular motions in the air in front of my breasts/expanders noting the high pitch ringing as it passes over the metal ports. I wasn't thinking that this would be so public.
I slowly walked toward the metal detector with my hand and ID extended to give to the agent on the other side. He watches as I walk through the detector and gives me a not representing everything is fine, move on.
It didn't go all. The detector didn't detect my metal ports. I was so disappointed. No one cared about my BIC, and there were no bells or whistles as promised. It was a real let down for me.
As we boarded the plane, I was starting to think about all of the other metal things that people might have on them or in them that didn't get detected. Better yet, let's not think about that.
Monday, January 4, 2010
The Look of In(de)cision
It has taken me far too long to write this blog entry and I have mentioned my view of this to many of my friends in person so I will now put it to writing. When a woman has a mastectomy, one or a double, all of the breast tissue must be removed including the "candy corns" as I refer to them in my first meeting with my plastic surgeon. To do this, the breast surgeon cuts a circular incision and removes everything in there. The skin stays but that's about it. When I think about it, I think about carving a pumpkin from the top and scooping out all of the insides (by the way, if you want a great snack, scoop out the pumpkin seeds next Halloween and soak them in water. Then put them on a cookie sheet with a bit of olive oil and salt and bake them in the oven at 450 degrees for about 10 -15 minutes).
So after the breast surgeon gets done removing the tissue, the plastic surgeon comes in and put the expanders in under the "peck" muscles, fills them up with some saline and then sews or glues the two flaps of skin together (upper and lower) on each breast. So my scar looks like the face of indecision. It's not a smile nor a frown.
So after the breast surgeon gets done removing the tissue, the plastic surgeon comes in and put the expanders in under the "peck" muscles, fills them up with some saline and then sews or glues the two flaps of skin together (upper and lower) on each breast. So my scar looks like the face of indecision. It's not a smile nor a frown.
Topped Them Off
On December 15, 2009, I topped off my expanders with an extra dose of saline to further stretch my "peck" muscles for the implant surgery. I started with 250cc's of saline on Sept. 17, 2009 and have worked my way up to 610cc's in each. I was fine at 550cc but they need to go one more injection to give them a little room to work. I'm sloshing more than ever and the expanders (which move by the way) have spread a bit under my armpit so swaying of my arms sounds a lot like rubbing thighs and corduroys. Whenever I hear it, I just look behind me like someone else is making that sound. Needless to say I am anxious for the next surgery which is scheduled for Thursday, January 28, 2010. New boobs for a New Year!
I spoke with my plastic surgeon about what to expect at my last fill up. Here is what he explained. Silicone implants (which is what I have chosen) are extremely expensive and not every woman will have the same size implant on each side. So essentially Dr. Gorgeous has ordered 3 implants for each side. A size smaller, the exact size I want, and a size larger. In addition, he will have 3 sizers for each side which act as the test to see how everything will look.
They will put me to sleep, open up my incisions from the mastectomy, take the saline out of my expanders, remove the expanders, put in the sizers, sit me up (while I'm out like a light bulb), and check it all out visually, adjusting the sizers as necessary. This has got to look pretty weird. Here you are under anesthesia not able to hold your stomach in or even hold your head up and they are checking out how your boobs will look. I will probably drool as well. The whole crew in the operating room will be in on this. I thought it was pretty interesting so I asked Dr. G. if he would take pictures. He said no. Bummer
Anyway, if it looks like my left side needs a larger size than my right, then he will put the appropriate sizers in to see how that will look. When he determines what size goes where, he will replace the sizers with the real implants, using only 2 of the six in the end.It would be a whole lot more expensive if they had to use the actual implants to "size you up", so the sizers are used to make things more affordable I guess.
I spoke with my plastic surgeon about what to expect at my last fill up. Here is what he explained. Silicone implants (which is what I have chosen) are extremely expensive and not every woman will have the same size implant on each side. So essentially Dr. Gorgeous has ordered 3 implants for each side. A size smaller, the exact size I want, and a size larger. In addition, he will have 3 sizers for each side which act as the test to see how everything will look.
They will put me to sleep, open up my incisions from the mastectomy, take the saline out of my expanders, remove the expanders, put in the sizers, sit me up (while I'm out like a light bulb), and check it all out visually, adjusting the sizers as necessary. This has got to look pretty weird. Here you are under anesthesia not able to hold your stomach in or even hold your head up and they are checking out how your boobs will look. I will probably drool as well. The whole crew in the operating room will be in on this. I thought it was pretty interesting so I asked Dr. G. if he would take pictures. He said no. Bummer
Anyway, if it looks like my left side needs a larger size than my right, then he will put the appropriate sizers in to see how that will look. When he determines what size goes where, he will replace the sizers with the real implants, using only 2 of the six in the end.It would be a whole lot more expensive if they had to use the actual implants to "size you up", so the sizers are used to make things more affordable I guess.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Wireless
I was in Victoria's Secret last night with my daughter (who is Victoria by the way?). She was shopping for bras and was asked if she wanted to be fitted. Of course she said yes and then they proceeded to show her the most expensive bras in the store. In the meantime, I was wandering about looking casual. I was the only other person in the store. One of the two sales persons came up to me and said, "would you like to be fitted too?" Instead of saying, "I'm all set", I blurt out "I recently had a double mastectomy" (like she really wants to know) "and I won't be needing a bra for the next few months." Casually she offers me a looksie at the type of bra I will be needing after my implants are "installed". The wireless bra is apparently the recommended bra of choice for those women with implants. I chuckled because of the irony... I am a computer consultant and thought I was already wireless!
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Step Away from the Bed
When you are hospitalized, a "blood nurse" (that's what I call them) shows up once a day to take blood so your doctors can keep track of your progress. This person's only job is to go from room to room with her "blood kit" and poke a needle in each patient's arm drawing the amount of blood specified on the doctor's order form. So the morning after my surgery, in pops the "blood nurse". She sets her kit down next to me on the bed and says, "Hi, I'm here to take some blood.". I look at my right arm and see that I still have my IV in from the surgery. It reminds me that it hurts. So I say to the "blood nurse", "If you can get blood out of my IV, help yourself. If not, it needs to come out of my port and we'll have to get my nurse."
Well, she got all high and mighty and said I had great looking veins in my hand and my left arm. I pulled my arm back to my bed and said "Please get my nurse and we can get the blood out of my port. No one can access my veins." She looked annoyed so I pressed my call button and my nurse's voice comes over the speaker in my room. I told her that I had a nurse in there with me that needed to take blood and that it would have to be done out of my port, not a vein in my arm or hand. My nurse came right in and told the "blood nurse" she would handle it. She picked up her kit and went on her merry way to the next room. Whew!
My nurse checked my chart and agreed that all blood should come out of my port and even moved my IV to the port once it was accessed. My arm felt better and my nerves felt better too. It was going to get ugly with that nurse if someone hadn't stepped in.
Well, she got all high and mighty and said I had great looking veins in my hand and my left arm. I pulled my arm back to my bed and said "Please get my nurse and we can get the blood out of my port. No one can access my veins." She looked annoyed so I pressed my call button and my nurse's voice comes over the speaker in my room. I told her that I had a nurse in there with me that needed to take blood and that it would have to be done out of my port, not a vein in my arm or hand. My nurse came right in and told the "blood nurse" she would handle it. She picked up her kit and went on her merry way to the next room. Whew!
My nurse checked my chart and agreed that all blood should come out of my port and even moved my IV to the port once it was accessed. My arm felt better and my nerves felt better too. It was going to get ugly with that nurse if someone hadn't stepped in.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
A Fill Up and A Leak....
I had my first "fill up" last Friday and was looking forward to seeing the results. Prior to Friday, I had 250cc's of saline in my expanders, basically making me a modest A cup. I should tell you that the expanders are not round. So when I look in the mirror it looks more like I have two of those square bagels under my skin. You know, the new bagels from Thomas's. Anyway, the permanent implants will be round, more like a true Thomas's bagel, without the hole of course.
The fill up process starts with a nurse and a "port finder". Yes, I have ports in the expanders under my skin which allows them to inject the expanders with fluid. I still have my other port which is used for blood draws and infusions of anything I might need in that accessing a vein is still a major problem for me. That's another blog entry! So the port finder is a small plastic device with a magnet in the center of it. The nurse moves it around my square bagel until the magnet points straight down. Then she takes a purple marker and marks all sides of the device. When she's done she connects the dots and draws an X on my bagels. The center of the X is the port.
Next, Meghan, Dr. G's assistant comes in to administer the saline injection. She says, "you might not want to watch this the first time.", as she takes out an enormous needle and fills it with the saline. So I close my eyes tight, grit my teeth and wait for the pain. No pain. A little pressure, but no pain. Remember, my chest is numb because the nerves were cut in surgery. Thank goodness for that!
So I am now boasting 310cc's of saline, a modest B cup, in my expanders but unfortunately they are still square. I can't wait for my new round ones!
That same afternoon, Jeff and I started draining our waterbed (it had a very slow leak) so we could change out the mattress. Jeff went off to Cape Cod in the afternoon with Mathew for a soccer tournament and at some point in the evening, the bed stopped draining (although there was still quite a bit of water left in the mattress). I called him Saturday morning to tell him it had stopped and I couldn't get it started again, so I took the hose out of the bed and left with my daughter for a college tour in Boston.
Well, I'm sure you can tell what came next. When we got home there was water coming through my son's bedroom ceiling and our bedroom above that was flooded. Here I was with my mother, daughter and two golden retrievers knowing we couldn't do a darn thing about it. So I called in the troops. Our neighbors and Becca's strong guy friends came to our rescue. Although it took 8 of them, they cut the mattress, bailed the water out of our bedroom window and eventually threw the mattress out of the window too. What a mess, but they were great and cleaned up every bit of water with towels and sponges. So although I got "filled up" this weekend, I leaked a bit too!
Oh and I'm sloshing. Yes, sloshing. I swear I can feel the saline moving around in my expanders. I even asked someone if they could hear the sloshing as I moved my torso around and around. They said no, but I swear I am sloshing. I'll have to ask Dr. G. about it when I go for my next fill up on Monday.
The fill up process starts with a nurse and a "port finder". Yes, I have ports in the expanders under my skin which allows them to inject the expanders with fluid. I still have my other port which is used for blood draws and infusions of anything I might need in that accessing a vein is still a major problem for me. That's another blog entry! So the port finder is a small plastic device with a magnet in the center of it. The nurse moves it around my square bagel until the magnet points straight down. Then she takes a purple marker and marks all sides of the device. When she's done she connects the dots and draws an X on my bagels. The center of the X is the port.
Next, Meghan, Dr. G's assistant comes in to administer the saline injection. She says, "you might not want to watch this the first time.", as she takes out an enormous needle and fills it with the saline. So I close my eyes tight, grit my teeth and wait for the pain. No pain. A little pressure, but no pain. Remember, my chest is numb because the nerves were cut in surgery. Thank goodness for that!
So I am now boasting 310cc's of saline, a modest B cup, in my expanders but unfortunately they are still square. I can't wait for my new round ones!
That same afternoon, Jeff and I started draining our waterbed (it had a very slow leak) so we could change out the mattress. Jeff went off to Cape Cod in the afternoon with Mathew for a soccer tournament and at some point in the evening, the bed stopped draining (although there was still quite a bit of water left in the mattress). I called him Saturday morning to tell him it had stopped and I couldn't get it started again, so I took the hose out of the bed and left with my daughter for a college tour in Boston.
Well, I'm sure you can tell what came next. When we got home there was water coming through my son's bedroom ceiling and our bedroom above that was flooded. Here I was with my mother, daughter and two golden retrievers knowing we couldn't do a darn thing about it. So I called in the troops. Our neighbors and Becca's strong guy friends came to our rescue. Although it took 8 of them, they cut the mattress, bailed the water out of our bedroom window and eventually threw the mattress out of the window too. What a mess, but they were great and cleaned up every bit of water with towels and sponges. So although I got "filled up" this weekend, I leaked a bit too!
Oh and I'm sloshing. Yes, sloshing. I swear I can feel the saline moving around in my expanders. I even asked someone if they could hear the sloshing as I moved my torso around and around. They said no, but I swear I am sloshing. I'll have to ask Dr. G. about it when I go for my next fill up on Monday.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Fill Her Up
Let me start by saying that Dr. Schreiber, my plastic surgeon, is a very happily married man with children. But I will say he is a very handsome man with a fabulous personality. He is funny, empathetic, caring and most of all makes you feel like you are the only patient he has. I cannot say enough about him, and I will refer to him only as Dr. G. (Gorgeous).
At my first post operative appointment, I learned that they had put 250cc's of saline in my expanders during the operation. Dr. G's Physician's Assistant, Meghan, told me that they usually fill the expanders with 50 to 100cc's of saline. She said that I did well with the surgery and things looked very good so they put more in. That's why I had cleavage after the surgery. When I had looked in the mirror, I thought, they didn't take it all. I still had little bumps. Apparently that was the saline in the expanders. So essentially I started with a small A cup. That just means it will take less time to get to my desired size...whatever that will be.
So this Friday, 3 weeks out of surgery, I am scheduled for a "fill up". They will put 60cc's in each side by using a "port finder" that will locate the metal port under the skin and then they put a needle in the port to shoot in the saline. I can't wait for this. I asked if the needle hurts. They both said that they have done this on hundreds of women and maybe one felt something. I am playing it safe and using my numbing cream before I go. I use the numbing cream for my other port when I go in for blood tests, so I am going to be doubly numb. Better to be safe than sorry I say. I wonder if I have to specify regular or premium.
At my first post operative appointment, I learned that they had put 250cc's of saline in my expanders during the operation. Dr. G's Physician's Assistant, Meghan, told me that they usually fill the expanders with 50 to 100cc's of saline. She said that I did well with the surgery and things looked very good so they put more in. That's why I had cleavage after the surgery. When I had looked in the mirror, I thought, they didn't take it all. I still had little bumps. Apparently that was the saline in the expanders. So essentially I started with a small A cup. That just means it will take less time to get to my desired size...whatever that will be.
So this Friday, 3 weeks out of surgery, I am scheduled for a "fill up". They will put 60cc's in each side by using a "port finder" that will locate the metal port under the skin and then they put a needle in the port to shoot in the saline. I can't wait for this. I asked if the needle hurts. They both said that they have done this on hundreds of women and maybe one felt something. I am playing it safe and using my numbing cream before I go. I use the numbing cream for my other port when I go in for blood tests, so I am going to be doubly numb. Better to be safe than sorry I say. I wonder if I have to specify regular or premium.
Wrapping and Ornaments
When I woke up Friday morning in my hospital room I realized that I had roommate. The curtain was drawn between the two of us so I couldn't see her but I could hear her. I called over to her and introduced myself as the flat chested woman from Simsbury. She said, "My name is Gloria." She apologized for having the curtain drawn but said that she needed to use the portable commode and didn't want to gross me out. So we simply knew eachother by voice for the next 24 hours.
At one point during the afternoon, I heard a large bang on Gloria's side of the curtain. I was in no shape to jump out of bed and see what happened so I yelled for her. She said her call button (the combo remote for the TV and mechanism to call your nurse) had fallen on the floor. She said she was itching reallt bad and I realized that I was too. Power of suggestion maybe, or maybe the drugs. So I said, "I'll call ahead for some Benedryl for the two of us." Once you push your call button, the nurse's voice comes over the speakers in your room. The voice asked, "What can I do for you?" I said, "Gloria and I are both itchy. Can we have some Benedryl?" And so the story goes, that Gloria and I were buds from that point forward, sight unseen!
One of the doctors had been in that morning to check on me. He checked my incisions by simply pulling back my ace bandage (at least that's what the beige covering looked liked) and peaked down at my chest. He also "checked my drains". Now both surgeons had told me that I would have drains and it would be the worst part of this entire ordeal. I couldn't see them and quite frankly I couldn't feel them. In fact, I couldn't feel a thing....I was numb. Every 8 to 10 hours, the aide would come in to "empty my drains" and would write on the white board how much fluid she had emptied out of each drain. There were four, two on each side.
On Friday night, I was encouraged to get up and walk around the floor. You know, do laps. So the nurses pinned my drains to my Johnny, put another Johnny over my shoulders to close up my backside, and off I went. 2 laps the first time I tried. Hours later, I was up to 10 laps. The hospital floors are circular so the nurse's station is in the middle and you go on the outside of that for your laps. It reminded me of Roller Derby and I started to get a bit competitive with the other patients. There was an older gentlemen across the hall who was walking too. I tried not to knock him down when I lapped him. I almost threw him the elbow, but held back! The nurses were getting nervous and suggested I go back to my room. There was always tomorrow and Mathew (my son) could bring me my helmet!
On Saturday it was looking pretty good that I was going to go home. I was up and walking, blowing up the lung tester device and feeling pretty good. I was told that I would have the drains in for another 5 to 10 days but I wanted very much to take a shower before I left the hospital. So at 2:00pm, Mother Theresa announced to the nurse that I needed to shower before I left and all hands on deck. The first thing to explain is how these drains are attached to you. They are bascially IV tubing that goes through your armpit (yup, there is a hole in your armpit for each drain) and then it is sutured to your skin under your armpit. The drains hold fluid that come out of your body so they are heavy pulling on that stitch. Hence, you need something that you can pin the drains onto while showering.
Believe it or not, not one nurse or aide could come up with a plan. So I remembered my plastic surgeon telling me that women have used yarn, string or fabric belts, placing them over their necks for pinning the drains. I explained it to the nurses and one then came back with a short ace bandage. "Perfect!", I said.
So off to the shower with my drain sling and my hospital towels the size of postage stamps. On my way, I saw Gloria (the bathroom was on her side of the room) and told her I was off to shower and go home. She was very pleased but she would remain in the hospital at least another day. I hope Gloria is ok. When I took off my Johnny in the bathroom I looked down to see a very wide beige ace bandage type thing wrapped around my chest. My mother started to unwind it and it went on for miles. It had to be 10 feet long.
Although it was awkward, I showered, washed my hair and anything else I could reach and came out shivering hoping to be wrapped up and warmed up by my oversized thick bath towel at home. Unfortunately I awoke from that fantasy only to get patted down with the postage stamp thin white hand towels. Hypothermia was setting in by the time I was able to dress. First we had to put that bandage back on. It took me, my mother, and the nurse to wrap that thing around me. Mom was on one side of me and she would do her side and then pass the bunch of bandage over to the nurse who would do her side and back to mom. It was like putting lights on a Christmas tree. Guess where the drains went. We pinned them to the bandage. Ornaments on a tree! Time to go home. I wondered how long I would need to wear the bandage.
At one point during the afternoon, I heard a large bang on Gloria's side of the curtain. I was in no shape to jump out of bed and see what happened so I yelled for her. She said her call button (the combo remote for the TV and mechanism to call your nurse) had fallen on the floor. She said she was itching reallt bad and I realized that I was too. Power of suggestion maybe, or maybe the drugs. So I said, "I'll call ahead for some Benedryl for the two of us." Once you push your call button, the nurse's voice comes over the speakers in your room. The voice asked, "What can I do for you?" I said, "Gloria and I are both itchy. Can we have some Benedryl?" And so the story goes, that Gloria and I were buds from that point forward, sight unseen!
One of the doctors had been in that morning to check on me. He checked my incisions by simply pulling back my ace bandage (at least that's what the beige covering looked liked) and peaked down at my chest. He also "checked my drains". Now both surgeons had told me that I would have drains and it would be the worst part of this entire ordeal. I couldn't see them and quite frankly I couldn't feel them. In fact, I couldn't feel a thing....I was numb. Every 8 to 10 hours, the aide would come in to "empty my drains" and would write on the white board how much fluid she had emptied out of each drain. There were four, two on each side.
On Friday night, I was encouraged to get up and walk around the floor. You know, do laps. So the nurses pinned my drains to my Johnny, put another Johnny over my shoulders to close up my backside, and off I went. 2 laps the first time I tried. Hours later, I was up to 10 laps. The hospital floors are circular so the nurse's station is in the middle and you go on the outside of that for your laps. It reminded me of Roller Derby and I started to get a bit competitive with the other patients. There was an older gentlemen across the hall who was walking too. I tried not to knock him down when I lapped him. I almost threw him the elbow, but held back! The nurses were getting nervous and suggested I go back to my room. There was always tomorrow and Mathew (my son) could bring me my helmet!
On Saturday it was looking pretty good that I was going to go home. I was up and walking, blowing up the lung tester device and feeling pretty good. I was told that I would have the drains in for another 5 to 10 days but I wanted very much to take a shower before I left the hospital. So at 2:00pm, Mother Theresa announced to the nurse that I needed to shower before I left and all hands on deck. The first thing to explain is how these drains are attached to you. They are bascially IV tubing that goes through your armpit (yup, there is a hole in your armpit for each drain) and then it is sutured to your skin under your armpit. The drains hold fluid that come out of your body so they are heavy pulling on that stitch. Hence, you need something that you can pin the drains onto while showering.
Believe it or not, not one nurse or aide could come up with a plan. So I remembered my plastic surgeon telling me that women have used yarn, string or fabric belts, placing them over their necks for pinning the drains. I explained it to the nurses and one then came back with a short ace bandage. "Perfect!", I said.
So off to the shower with my drain sling and my hospital towels the size of postage stamps. On my way, I saw Gloria (the bathroom was on her side of the room) and told her I was off to shower and go home. She was very pleased but she would remain in the hospital at least another day. I hope Gloria is ok. When I took off my Johnny in the bathroom I looked down to see a very wide beige ace bandage type thing wrapped around my chest. My mother started to unwind it and it went on for miles. It had to be 10 feet long.
Although it was awkward, I showered, washed my hair and anything else I could reach and came out shivering hoping to be wrapped up and warmed up by my oversized thick bath towel at home. Unfortunately I awoke from that fantasy only to get patted down with the postage stamp thin white hand towels. Hypothermia was setting in by the time I was able to dress. First we had to put that bandage back on. It took me, my mother, and the nurse to wrap that thing around me. Mom was on one side of me and she would do her side and then pass the bunch of bandage over to the nurse who would do her side and back to mom. It was like putting lights on a Christmas tree. Guess where the drains went. We pinned them to the bandage. Ornaments on a tree! Time to go home. I wondered how long I would need to wear the bandage.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Nerves
Because I had so many months to mentally prepare for this double mastectomy, I was pretty calm on my ride to the hospital. When I arrived, I filled out my paperwork and took a seat next to all of the other patients in the waiting room. Jeff and Mother Theresa were with me when the nurse came out and called my name. We all got up and she said, "Oh, just Pam right now." So I went through the big double doors and the first person I spotted was my plastic surgeon, Dr. Schreiber. We exchanged pleasantries and off I went to one of the beds behind the curtains.
The nurse handed me a gown (Johnny), a pair of no skid socks, and a surgical hat to change into. I don't know about you, but I often worry that they don't give you enough time to change so I rushed to take all of my clothes off and put on the hospital gown and socks. I thought the hat could wait. As I squeezed into the gown I noticed that the sleeves were a bit tight and uncomfortable. I was thinking that they should really make these gowns a bit larger so they wouldn't be so constraining. It's bad enough that you have to wear the thing, but the least they could do was to make it comfortable.
I changed in record time so I sat there for quite some time on the bed waiting for someone to come. You know, you wait there in that casual but uncomfortable pose on the bed trying to look natural or something. Well finally Dr. Schreiber walks in and puts his hands on my shoulders and says, "Are you a little nervous?" I said, "No why?" He said, "Your arms are not in the sleeves of your hospital gown. You've gotten them in between the snaps on the sleeve. It must be uncomfortable." And as I sat there trying to look graceful and experienced in dressing myself, I noticed that I could barely move my arms. He gave me a reassuring nod and said he would help me correct the problem after he drew some lines for the surgery.
He then took out a purple marker and started to draw a line from my neck down below my breast line. He said that my right breast was larger than my left and he would correct that by removing a bit more skin on that side. I was fine with that. When I was done, I had a purple road map on my chest. He then helped me by unsnapping the sleeves, which let the blood rush back into my hands and fingers and snapped me up the correct way. He gave me a big hug and said, "I'll see you after the surgery." I wasn't nervous at all!
The surgery was scheduled for noon. I had arrived, changed and was made into a piece of purple marker art by 11:00am. I proceeded to wait 4 more hours with Jeff, Mother Theresa and Pastor Laura before I was wheeled into surgery. A friend/client who was performing surgery that morning came by to wish me well and let me know that my breast surgeon had an emergency surgery and that was why I had been delayed. Thank goodness for him. Otherwise I wouldn't have known why we were still waiting all that time.
I hadn't had anything to eat or drink since 8:00pm the night before it was quite annoying when the anesthesiologist came in to ask Jeff and Mother Theresa if they wanted coffee or soda. The the nurse presented them with meal tickets for lunch. I just sat on my uncomfortable bed with dry mouth for the next 4 hours.
Once in the operating room they gave me something in my port (accessing my veins is still a problem so I have my port from chemo) and I dozed off. Hours later I awoke in the Recovery Room asking for ice chips, water or anything liquid! I noticed at that time that they had an IV in my right arm, but I didn't care because they had done it while I was asleep.
My chest was numb and even as I write this 2 weeks later, my chest is still numb. That was not expected. I had talked to many women who had this procedure and no one mentioned that your chest would be numb. My plastic surgeon explained that all of the nerve endings where cut as a result of the mastectomy and that is the cause for the numbness. They said I would feel some tingling and other sensations over time (which I have) and eventually feeling would come back. It could take up to or more than 1 year. Interesting. I guess nerves play a big part in this surgery!
The nurse handed me a gown (Johnny), a pair of no skid socks, and a surgical hat to change into. I don't know about you, but I often worry that they don't give you enough time to change so I rushed to take all of my clothes off and put on the hospital gown and socks. I thought the hat could wait. As I squeezed into the gown I noticed that the sleeves were a bit tight and uncomfortable. I was thinking that they should really make these gowns a bit larger so they wouldn't be so constraining. It's bad enough that you have to wear the thing, but the least they could do was to make it comfortable.
I changed in record time so I sat there for quite some time on the bed waiting for someone to come. You know, you wait there in that casual but uncomfortable pose on the bed trying to look natural or something. Well finally Dr. Schreiber walks in and puts his hands on my shoulders and says, "Are you a little nervous?" I said, "No why?" He said, "Your arms are not in the sleeves of your hospital gown. You've gotten them in between the snaps on the sleeve. It must be uncomfortable." And as I sat there trying to look graceful and experienced in dressing myself, I noticed that I could barely move my arms. He gave me a reassuring nod and said he would help me correct the problem after he drew some lines for the surgery.
He then took out a purple marker and started to draw a line from my neck down below my breast line. He said that my right breast was larger than my left and he would correct that by removing a bit more skin on that side. I was fine with that. When I was done, I had a purple road map on my chest. He then helped me by unsnapping the sleeves, which let the blood rush back into my hands and fingers and snapped me up the correct way. He gave me a big hug and said, "I'll see you after the surgery." I wasn't nervous at all!
The surgery was scheduled for noon. I had arrived, changed and was made into a piece of purple marker art by 11:00am. I proceeded to wait 4 more hours with Jeff, Mother Theresa and Pastor Laura before I was wheeled into surgery. A friend/client who was performing surgery that morning came by to wish me well and let me know that my breast surgeon had an emergency surgery and that was why I had been delayed. Thank goodness for him. Otherwise I wouldn't have known why we were still waiting all that time.
I hadn't had anything to eat or drink since 8:00pm the night before it was quite annoying when the anesthesiologist came in to ask Jeff and Mother Theresa if they wanted coffee or soda. The the nurse presented them with meal tickets for lunch. I just sat on my uncomfortable bed with dry mouth for the next 4 hours.
Once in the operating room they gave me something in my port (accessing my veins is still a problem so I have my port from chemo) and I dozed off. Hours later I awoke in the Recovery Room asking for ice chips, water or anything liquid! I noticed at that time that they had an IV in my right arm, but I didn't care because they had done it while I was asleep.
My chest was numb and even as I write this 2 weeks later, my chest is still numb. That was not expected. I had talked to many women who had this procedure and no one mentioned that your chest would be numb. My plastic surgeon explained that all of the nerve endings where cut as a result of the mastectomy and that is the cause for the numbness. They said I would feel some tingling and other sensations over time (which I have) and eventually feeling would come back. It could take up to or more than 1 year. Interesting. I guess nerves play a big part in this surgery!
Thursday, October 1, 2009
And the winner is....
Everyone who participated in this crazy "boob weight" contest is the best. I had 105 entries for guessing the weight of the mammary tissue that was removed at my double mastectomy. How funny is that. And yes, there is a good prize for the person(s) who came the closest to the actual weight. But before I get to announcing the winner, I want to highlight the methods used by some to guess the weight.
We had one person actually weigh her own boob on a meat scale in her kitchen and then multiple (or subtract) depending on how she thought I compared. We had another weigh a bagel and then a banana (why a banana and not a peach, I'm not sure). And then we had someone who just went around the house holding her own and thinking, maybe a 1/2 pound, maybe a pound.
I did not give the weight much thought, as I was thinking more about the surgery and reconstruction parts the most so it never dawned on me that one breast might be a different size than the other. Well low and behold, they were different.
After I shared the contest specifics with my breast surgeon, I told my plastic surgeon about it. He too laughed and thought it was a novel idea. So when the surgery was over, he was the one to come out and meet the family. He made sure that Jeff and mom knew that the surgery went well and was a success, but was insistent about making sure he had the weight of both breasts correct. He sat in front of the family and began writing the weights on his scrubs. Then he said "I'm not sure about the right breast. Wait here, I'll be right back." How about that? Your surgeons are all about the contest!
He came back and reported the exact weight and Jeff logged it into our home file system for me to eventually deal with, what a guy. So the actual weight of the left breast was 512grams and the right was 631grams (yes I guess I have been lopsided all of my life). So the total weight was 1143 grams.
We had guesses ranging from .64grams to144596.96 grams and one that came the closest. 1170.34 sent in by Joan and George Ducharme from Granby, CT. Joan and George have won a $100 gift certificate to Victoria's Secret and I hope they are proud of their breast guessing talent.
Thank you to all that participated in this wacky contest. I appreciate the support and compliments!
We had one person actually weigh her own boob on a meat scale in her kitchen and then multiple (or subtract) depending on how she thought I compared. We had another weigh a bagel and then a banana (why a banana and not a peach, I'm not sure). And then we had someone who just went around the house holding her own and thinking, maybe a 1/2 pound, maybe a pound.
I did not give the weight much thought, as I was thinking more about the surgery and reconstruction parts the most so it never dawned on me that one breast might be a different size than the other. Well low and behold, they were different.
After I shared the contest specifics with my breast surgeon, I told my plastic surgeon about it. He too laughed and thought it was a novel idea. So when the surgery was over, he was the one to come out and meet the family. He made sure that Jeff and mom knew that the surgery went well and was a success, but was insistent about making sure he had the weight of both breasts correct. He sat in front of the family and began writing the weights on his scrubs. Then he said "I'm not sure about the right breast. Wait here, I'll be right back." How about that? Your surgeons are all about the contest!
He came back and reported the exact weight and Jeff logged it into our home file system for me to eventually deal with, what a guy. So the actual weight of the left breast was 512grams and the right was 631grams (yes I guess I have been lopsided all of my life). So the total weight was 1143 grams.
We had guesses ranging from .64grams to144596.96 grams and one that came the closest. 1170.34 sent in by Joan and George Ducharme from Granby, CT. Joan and George have won a $100 gift certificate to Victoria's Secret and I hope they are proud of their breast guessing talent.
Thank you to all that participated in this wacky contest. I appreciate the support and compliments!
Monday, September 14, 2009
I Need to Get Something Off My Chest!
It's been almost one year since I found out that I was predisposed to getting breast cancer and as a result, have had lots of time to prepare for my surgery this week. Yes, boob surgery. On Thursday, Sept. 17th my good looking plastic surgeon will come into the pre-op room, draw lines on my breasts to mark where the incisions should be and off we go. I hope that my breast surgeon (she takes them off) can keep inside the lines!
So I got to thinking, how much weight will I lose when they take them off. 2lbs, 4lbs, 30lbs? I thought I would run a little contest on my blog. Guess how much my boobs weigh.
When I went in for the pre-op appointment with Dr. Wilson, the breast surgeon, she went through a very thorough description of the surgery and what is to follow. When she finished, she asked my mother and I if we had any questions. I asked "Can you weigh my breasts after you take them off?". She said, "I've never been asked that before. Why do you want them weighed?". I told her that I had a blog and wanted to run a contest to see who can come closest to the weight. After she got done laughing, she explained that they always weigh the breast tissue anyway so that wouldn't be a problem.
Next I asked her how much she thought they might weigh...2lbs, 3lbs. She said, "everything is weighed in grams." So those of you who want to guess must do a conversion to grams and I would like it to be out to the 5th decimal point for the contest. As an example: 1lb = 907.18474 This way we can pinpoint a winner without too many ties. Here is a handy website that will do the conversion for you http://www.calculateme.com/Weight/Pounds/ToGrams.htm Copy and paste it into your address line in Internet Explorer and it will make things much easier.
All guesses must be back to me either by posting a comment on the blog or writing an e-mail to pjlacko@snet.net no later than 10/1/09. A prize will be awarded, so be sure to identify yourself if you write a comment on the blog.
Until then, have fun guessing!
So I got to thinking, how much weight will I lose when they take them off. 2lbs, 4lbs, 30lbs? I thought I would run a little contest on my blog. Guess how much my boobs weigh.
When I went in for the pre-op appointment with Dr. Wilson, the breast surgeon, she went through a very thorough description of the surgery and what is to follow. When she finished, she asked my mother and I if we had any questions. I asked "Can you weigh my breasts after you take them off?". She said, "I've never been asked that before. Why do you want them weighed?". I told her that I had a blog and wanted to run a contest to see who can come closest to the weight. After she got done laughing, she explained that they always weigh the breast tissue anyway so that wouldn't be a problem.
Next I asked her how much she thought they might weigh...2lbs, 3lbs. She said, "everything is weighed in grams." So those of you who want to guess must do a conversion to grams and I would like it to be out to the 5th decimal point for the contest. As an example: 1lb = 907.18474 This way we can pinpoint a winner without too many ties. Here is a handy website that will do the conversion for you http://www.calculateme.com/Weight/Pounds/ToGrams.htm Copy and paste it into your address line in Internet Explorer and it will make things much easier.
All guesses must be back to me either by posting a comment on the blog or writing an e-mail to pjlacko@snet.net no later than 10/1/09. A prize will be awarded, so be sure to identify yourself if you write a comment on the blog.
Until then, have fun guessing!
Sunday, May 17, 2009
No I'm Not Dead
It finally dawned on me that I haven't posted anything on the blog for months and some folks who don't see me often thought I had taken a turn for the worse. Well that's far from the truth and in fact, I am feeling better than ever. I have finally started to frequent the gym again to shed those chemotherapy pounds and get my muscles back up to snuff for golfing. I hit the links twice a week and walk the course which is a huge improvement from where I was just two months ago, so all is good.
I had to reschedule my next surgery (preventative bi-lateral mastectomy) for August 31st of this year because I found out a really big name band is coming to our town before that and I really want to see them. Mum's the word. The last time I saw a concert in town I ended up in the hospital with Vertigo so I'm crossing my fingers that I will be able to walk straight after this one.
Some of you may know that I was asked to write an article for the International Journal of Healing and Caring. I used a couple of the stories from my blog and called the article "Prescription: Humor"! It took several weeks and iterations with their very helpful editor, but it was a fun thing to do and I hope to now turn my blog into a chapter book. This project will take years but I intend to get it published one day to help others who are going through similar experiences.
So, I'm not dead, just very busy and moving forward. Looking ahead to Perky Boobs for my birthday!
I had to reschedule my next surgery (preventative bi-lateral mastectomy) for August 31st of this year because I found out a really big name band is coming to our town before that and I really want to see them. Mum's the word. The last time I saw a concert in town I ended up in the hospital with Vertigo so I'm crossing my fingers that I will be able to walk straight after this one.
Some of you may know that I was asked to write an article for the International Journal of Healing and Caring. I used a couple of the stories from my blog and called the article "Prescription: Humor"! It took several weeks and iterations with their very helpful editor, but it was a fun thing to do and I hope to now turn my blog into a chapter book. This project will take years but I intend to get it published one day to help others who are going through similar experiences.
So, I'm not dead, just very busy and moving forward. Looking ahead to Perky Boobs for my birthday!
Monday, January 26, 2009
A Free Lunch
Cancer is a strange disease. You don't necessarily feel bad when you have it. At least I didn't. I had no idea that I had a tumor and although I had symptoms they weren't classic cancer symptoms. So, you go through chemotherapy (the stuff that's supposed to eliminate any remaining cancer cells after surgery) and that's when people realize you are sick. Some chemo treatments, like the one I had, kill off fast growing cells (cancer cells and hair growing cells) so you lose your hair within the first three weeks of your 1st treatment. Then outwardly it's obvious you have cancer. No one would ever know otherwise.
So I wore a wig as you know for a period of time especially when I went out of my house and then I eventually migrated to baseball caps when it got too hot for the wig. It's pretty obvious when you have a baseball cap on a bald head, not to mention the lack of eyebrows and eyelashes. So people I didn't even know would ask me how I was. I feel bad for cancer patients undergoing treatment that doesn't kill their hair cells because no one knows they have the disease and can't ask how they feel. That's really too bad.
Jeff (my husband) and I went to a local restaurant for lunch one day. I had my breast cancer baseball cap on (they haven't made one for Ovarian Cancer...maybe that will be my next endevour) and when we were ready to leave the waitress says to me "good luck with everything" as she touched my arm. I'm thinking she could have waved the lunch bill instead. Whatever happened to a free lunch?
So I wore a wig as you know for a period of time especially when I went out of my house and then I eventually migrated to baseball caps when it got too hot for the wig. It's pretty obvious when you have a baseball cap on a bald head, not to mention the lack of eyebrows and eyelashes. So people I didn't even know would ask me how I was. I feel bad for cancer patients undergoing treatment that doesn't kill their hair cells because no one knows they have the disease and can't ask how they feel. That's really too bad.
Jeff (my husband) and I went to a local restaurant for lunch one day. I had my breast cancer baseball cap on (they haven't made one for Ovarian Cancer...maybe that will be my next endevour) and when we were ready to leave the waitress says to me "good luck with everything" as she touched my arm. I'm thinking she could have waved the lunch bill instead. Whatever happened to a free lunch?
Playing the C card
I was talking with someone the other day who was recently diagnosed with breast cancer and we were joking about "playing the C card". How many times have I done that since last February when I was diagnosed. Not enough.
Playing the C card is probably the best gift this disease can give you. Think about how many things you've gotten involved in and you think, "I really don't want to do this any longer". Whether it's a book club or an organization, you can now say "I have cancer and I really can't do this anymore". And guess what, everyone understands. They give you the automatic release without the guilt.
Try to do the same thing without a good excuse like Cancer, and they give you the "hairy eyeball". You know, the "how can you do this to us" look. And how many of us would actually leave a book club or organization. We wouldn't, we would just suck it up each time we were scheduled to go and grit our teeth through it. You could always pretend you have the big C. Shave the head, eyebrows and arm hair, put on some white makeup and then let them know you will no longer participate. Same thing.
Playing the C card is probably the best gift this disease can give you. Think about how many things you've gotten involved in and you think, "I really don't want to do this any longer". Whether it's a book club or an organization, you can now say "I have cancer and I really can't do this anymore". And guess what, everyone understands. They give you the automatic release without the guilt.
Try to do the same thing without a good excuse like Cancer, and they give you the "hairy eyeball". You know, the "how can you do this to us" look. And how many of us would actually leave a book club or organization. We wouldn't, we would just suck it up each time we were scheduled to go and grit our teeth through it. You could always pretend you have the big C. Shave the head, eyebrows and arm hair, put on some white makeup and then let them know you will no longer participate. Same thing.
Monday, December 29, 2008
The Crew
Up until now I have not dedicated a story to the wonderful nurses that work in the treatment center. They are great and have become an integral part of my recovery process. They also have “tricks” to getting ports accessed when they act up, and yes, it’s happened to me a few times.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with a port, it is surgically implanted under the skin in my chest, just above my left “jug” (so to speak). It is connected to an artery and they can get blood out of it and put meds into it. It’s much more convenient than having a needle stuck in your arm or hand each time you need blood drawn or treatment. But it is also much more dangerous and open to infection, so the nurses need to put on special treated gloves (not the ivory colored ones they normally use) and a mask. Everything must be sterilized first before they access the port. Yup, I’m allergic to the sterilization process and the bandages they use during treatments and after. So for me, it’s customized!
Accessing the port doesn’t hurt too much, but they do have to push a needle through the skin to get at it. So I numb it up with Lidocaine about 2 hours before my appointments. It helps a lot.
One of the nurses, Carm, is very animated. She sings while she works, asks us TV trivia questions, tells jokes and just keeps the patients in the treatment center upbeat. The first time they couldn’t get a good blood return out of my port (this tells them the port has been accessed properly and meds can go in it ok), Carm came right over. She told me to point my head to the east and lift up my left arm. At that point she pushed the reclining chair back to the point where I was pretty much upside down. She then told me to begin singing the Star Spangled Banner. I did, and Carm chimed in as well. Before I knew it, not only was the blood coming out of the port, but everyone in the treatment center was standing with their right hand over their hearts singing the Star Spangled Banner with us.
I typically add to my blog while getting my infusions. I’m here at the treatment center now getting my magnesium and by the way, today’s trivia question is “what was the little girl’s name in Lost in Space?” That will keep us busy for awhile.
What a crew!
For those of you who are unfamiliar with a port, it is surgically implanted under the skin in my chest, just above my left “jug” (so to speak). It is connected to an artery and they can get blood out of it and put meds into it. It’s much more convenient than having a needle stuck in your arm or hand each time you need blood drawn or treatment. But it is also much more dangerous and open to infection, so the nurses need to put on special treated gloves (not the ivory colored ones they normally use) and a mask. Everything must be sterilized first before they access the port. Yup, I’m allergic to the sterilization process and the bandages they use during treatments and after. So for me, it’s customized!
Accessing the port doesn’t hurt too much, but they do have to push a needle through the skin to get at it. So I numb it up with Lidocaine about 2 hours before my appointments. It helps a lot.
One of the nurses, Carm, is very animated. She sings while she works, asks us TV trivia questions, tells jokes and just keeps the patients in the treatment center upbeat. The first time they couldn’t get a good blood return out of my port (this tells them the port has been accessed properly and meds can go in it ok), Carm came right over. She told me to point my head to the east and lift up my left arm. At that point she pushed the reclining chair back to the point where I was pretty much upside down. She then told me to begin singing the Star Spangled Banner. I did, and Carm chimed in as well. Before I knew it, not only was the blood coming out of the port, but everyone in the treatment center was standing with their right hand over their hearts singing the Star Spangled Banner with us.
I typically add to my blog while getting my infusions. I’m here at the treatment center now getting my magnesium and by the way, today’s trivia question is “what was the little girl’s name in Lost in Space?” That will keep us busy for awhile.
What a crew!
Holiday Trimmings
My first chemotherapy appointment was Feb. 29, 2008 and exactly three weeks later, I had lost most of my hair. Although I had it shaved/buzzed for convenience once it started to fall out, I was pretty much bald by April. My last chemo was June 16th and my first hair showed up in August. It's been 4.5 months now and my hair has grown about an inch, maybe a little more on the sides. So I thought it was time. I called my hairdresser and scheduled an appointment for a trim. I walked in, took off my baseball hat (I've been wearing these since May) and all in the salon giggled a bit. For me this was a big deal. I was hoping Donna (my hairdresser) could do wonders with the amount of hair I had grown. It had grown over my ears and was long on the back of my neck. Well, 10 minutes later, I walked out with a shorter, neater doo but still requiring a hat.
I immediately went home and washed my hair with volumizing shampoo hoping to move things along. I’m considering using the Chia Pet formula or Miracle grow if things don’t improve soon.
I immediately went home and washed my hair with volumizing shampoo hoping to move things along. I’m considering using the Chia Pet formula or Miracle grow if things don’t improve soon.
Friday, December 12, 2008
My New Jugs
Where do I start with this story. My chemotherapy ended on June 16th, but I continue to need magnesium weekly. I have been told that this is “normal” and a side effect of the carboplatin (one of the two chemo concoctions) I was given. So every week I go to the UConn Cancer Treatment Center, get my port accessed, and get a magnesium drip.
The weird thing is that although the doctors say it’s normal, I don’t see any other patient at the cancer center getting magnesium infusions. On advice from a friend, I began seeing a naturopath doctor who immediately thought that I had an absorption issue with minerals. In an effort to improve my red blood counts and my magnesium, he prescribed several pills and elixirs. So for the past 2 months I’ve been taking 31 pills a day and a couple of drops of mushroom extract in my pineapple juice to hopefully improve things. Well, no go. For all of the Gui Pi (pronounced “Gwee Pee”) I’ve taken which look like tiny black ball bearings, and different types of magnesium, my counts remain low.
Well last week I got mad. I stopped one of the oncologists in the hallway while at UConn and said I’m tired of coming here each week and not making progress. He suggested I see a kidney specialist, also known as Nephrologists. At first I thought he said go see a Neurologist, but thankfully it’s not all in my head.
I met Dr. K. yesterday and at first was stunned by his introduction. First you need to see him from my perspective. He is a short man, maybe 5 feet in height, balding with glasses and very happy. He smiled as I offered my hand to meet him, he nodded, extended two fingers for a makeshift handshake and took a seat at his desk. He opened my file and said he had read up on me before I came in. Then he starts to stumble in his words and says “If you hear hoof horses, I mean hoof beats, I mean horse hoofs in Central Park, then it’s not a Zebra”. I responded, “What”? At which he replies, “you know, if you hear horse hoofs in Central Park then it’s probably a horse and not a zebra.” So I say, “what does that have to do with me?” Then he says, “well if a Zebra jumped over the fence from the Bronx Zoo and went into Central Park, then it could be a Zebra.” I’m sitting there on the examining table scratching my head wondering if I should have gone to the Neurologist instead of this guy.
Dr. K. then explains that my case is clearly Carboplatin Induced Magnesium Deficiency. “Duh", I say to myself. He says that we will confirm this using a 24 hour urine capture test and some blood work, all to be done next week a day prior to my next mag infusion. So he explains how the tests work and leaves the room for a few minutes. He comes back with 2 ½ gallon plastic milk jugs. He hands them to me and says I should use these for my capture. He begins to walk me to the check out desk at which point I say, “how can I pee into one of these jugs. They won’t fit in the toilet!”. He says, “Oh yeh, you need a hat”. Well, I knew what he meant. Not a hat for your head but a hat for your toilet. I said,”I don’t have one, do you?” He walked down the hall, opened a closet door and came back with a hat. As I stood there with my two milk jugs and my “hat”, I realized that I would have to walk through the waiting room filled with people and the rest of the hospital with 2 jugs and a hat. Everyone would know what I was going to be doing, and I would probably be arrested for stealing hospital supplies. So I asked Dr. K. if he had a couple of bags I could use. Back to the closet he went and I waltzed out of UConn with two large Target bags filled with my jugs and hat! I felt as though I had just done some Christmas shopping at the mall!
The weird thing is that although the doctors say it’s normal, I don’t see any other patient at the cancer center getting magnesium infusions. On advice from a friend, I began seeing a naturopath doctor who immediately thought that I had an absorption issue with minerals. In an effort to improve my red blood counts and my magnesium, he prescribed several pills and elixirs. So for the past 2 months I’ve been taking 31 pills a day and a couple of drops of mushroom extract in my pineapple juice to hopefully improve things. Well, no go. For all of the Gui Pi (pronounced “Gwee Pee”) I’ve taken which look like tiny black ball bearings, and different types of magnesium, my counts remain low.
Well last week I got mad. I stopped one of the oncologists in the hallway while at UConn and said I’m tired of coming here each week and not making progress. He suggested I see a kidney specialist, also known as Nephrologists. At first I thought he said go see a Neurologist, but thankfully it’s not all in my head.
I met Dr. K. yesterday and at first was stunned by his introduction. First you need to see him from my perspective. He is a short man, maybe 5 feet in height, balding with glasses and very happy. He smiled as I offered my hand to meet him, he nodded, extended two fingers for a makeshift handshake and took a seat at his desk. He opened my file and said he had read up on me before I came in. Then he starts to stumble in his words and says “If you hear hoof horses, I mean hoof beats, I mean horse hoofs in Central Park, then it’s not a Zebra”. I responded, “What”? At which he replies, “you know, if you hear horse hoofs in Central Park then it’s probably a horse and not a zebra.” So I say, “what does that have to do with me?” Then he says, “well if a Zebra jumped over the fence from the Bronx Zoo and went into Central Park, then it could be a Zebra.” I’m sitting there on the examining table scratching my head wondering if I should have gone to the Neurologist instead of this guy.
Dr. K. then explains that my case is clearly Carboplatin Induced Magnesium Deficiency. “Duh", I say to myself. He says that we will confirm this using a 24 hour urine capture test and some blood work, all to be done next week a day prior to my next mag infusion. So he explains how the tests work and leaves the room for a few minutes. He comes back with 2 ½ gallon plastic milk jugs. He hands them to me and says I should use these for my capture. He begins to walk me to the check out desk at which point I say, “how can I pee into one of these jugs. They won’t fit in the toilet!”. He says, “Oh yeh, you need a hat”. Well, I knew what he meant. Not a hat for your head but a hat for your toilet. I said,”I don’t have one, do you?” He walked down the hall, opened a closet door and came back with a hat. As I stood there with my two milk jugs and my “hat”, I realized that I would have to walk through the waiting room filled with people and the rest of the hospital with 2 jugs and a hat. Everyone would know what I was going to be doing, and I would probably be arrested for stealing hospital supplies. So I asked Dr. K. if he had a couple of bags I could use. Back to the closet he went and I waltzed out of UConn with two large Target bags filled with my jugs and hat! I felt as though I had just done some Christmas shopping at the mall!
Friday, November 7, 2008
My Aren't We Perky
Many of you readers might be wondering why I had an MRI of my breasts. And by the way, it was NEGATIVE! Well, with a grandmother that died of ovarian cancer in her mid forties, and me getting Stage II ovarian at age 47, the chances of getting breast cancer are very high. After consulting with my oncologist, a genetisist and doctors, I have decided to go for the preemptive strike and get a bi-lateral mastectomy. Yup, a double boob job. This would reduce the risk of breast cancer by 90%. That's huge and a mathematical no brainer in my opinion. So with that said, I have met with all the doctors that will be involved and those that manage my overall well-being. They are all on board and concur with the decision.
So let's review the options for reconstruction. The mastectomy will be a large surgery once again, and cannot take place until my body has fully recovered from the first surgery and 6 chemo treatments I finished this summer. My red counts are too low and I continue to get magnesium weekly. So until those improve, any surgery is on hold.
Option 1 for reconstruction is called a "tram flap". Before I really knew what this was, I was all for it. My perception was that it was a tummy tuck where they extract the fat from your abdominal area and make boobs out of it. Well, I was wrong. Apparently your stomach muscles and fat are attached to a blood supply in the middle of your torso. They actually make an incision from one hip across your torso to the other and pull up your fat and muscle (leaving it attached to the blood supply) and put it where your boobs were. Yuk! It's painful at best and you feel tight in your abdominal area forever. Not to mention that parts of your new boobs could die off if the blood supply is too far away from the area.
Option 2 is the implant route. With implants, they perform the mastectomy first, and then the plastic surgeon comes in during the surgery and puts in these things called expanders. The expanders go under your pectoral muscles and they are filled with a little bit of saline. Over the course of the next several weeks/months, you go back to the plastic surgeon's office and he increases the amount of salene in the expanders to get the tissue expanded to the size you want to be (if you know what I mean). It is at that point when you go back into surgery to get your implants.
Now, there are two kinds of implants. Saline and Silicone. With saline, it's like having two water balloons on your chest and yes they can burst. Initially, I was thinking that the saline would be the way to go. This way if I were stranded on an island for a long period of time, I would have a water supply. Then I thought about the other things I like to do including acupuncture. What if my doctor pushed the needle in too far and burst my boob. That might not be covered by insurance. Too dangerous.
The silicone implants got a bad rap several years ago when they were filled with toxic fluid. Now they are built kind of like gummy bears or jello. When you cut them nothing leaks out. They are solid. Most women choose the silicone impants because they don't wrinkle (the saline ones do when they aren't in their holders - if you know what I mean.) So silicone it is.
I asked the plastic surgeon lots of important questions. By the way, he is very good looking and has a wonderful sense of humor. I met with him for about an hour on Halloween. What a treat! One of my questions was "What about my golf game?". He said that during the recovery after the mastectomy I wouldn't be swinging anything, but over time I could chip and putt. He said my golf score would actually go down because of the amount of chipping and putting I would be doing. My other question was "How long does it take to get this all said and done?". That's when he said, "When you make a decision to reconstruct, you're married to your surgeon for life." Wow, that's music to my ears. To be married to a handsome and great guy like Jeff and a good looking surgeon too. That made my day.
When I asked about the reconstruction following the implants, he explained that they recontruct everything in the office including doing some tatooing. I thought they just glued candy corns in the middle of your implants and maybe used some magic marker to apply the color. He quickly corrected me. I think I will like my plastic surgeon.
So let's review the options for reconstruction. The mastectomy will be a large surgery once again, and cannot take place until my body has fully recovered from the first surgery and 6 chemo treatments I finished this summer. My red counts are too low and I continue to get magnesium weekly. So until those improve, any surgery is on hold.
Option 1 for reconstruction is called a "tram flap". Before I really knew what this was, I was all for it. My perception was that it was a tummy tuck where they extract the fat from your abdominal area and make boobs out of it. Well, I was wrong. Apparently your stomach muscles and fat are attached to a blood supply in the middle of your torso. They actually make an incision from one hip across your torso to the other and pull up your fat and muscle (leaving it attached to the blood supply) and put it where your boobs were. Yuk! It's painful at best and you feel tight in your abdominal area forever. Not to mention that parts of your new boobs could die off if the blood supply is too far away from the area.
Option 2 is the implant route. With implants, they perform the mastectomy first, and then the plastic surgeon comes in during the surgery and puts in these things called expanders. The expanders go under your pectoral muscles and they are filled with a little bit of saline. Over the course of the next several weeks/months, you go back to the plastic surgeon's office and he increases the amount of salene in the expanders to get the tissue expanded to the size you want to be (if you know what I mean). It is at that point when you go back into surgery to get your implants.
Now, there are two kinds of implants. Saline and Silicone. With saline, it's like having two water balloons on your chest and yes they can burst. Initially, I was thinking that the saline would be the way to go. This way if I were stranded on an island for a long period of time, I would have a water supply. Then I thought about the other things I like to do including acupuncture. What if my doctor pushed the needle in too far and burst my boob. That might not be covered by insurance. Too dangerous.
The silicone implants got a bad rap several years ago when they were filled with toxic fluid. Now they are built kind of like gummy bears or jello. When you cut them nothing leaks out. They are solid. Most women choose the silicone impants because they don't wrinkle (the saline ones do when they aren't in their holders - if you know what I mean.) So silicone it is.
I asked the plastic surgeon lots of important questions. By the way, he is very good looking and has a wonderful sense of humor. I met with him for about an hour on Halloween. What a treat! One of my questions was "What about my golf game?". He said that during the recovery after the mastectomy I wouldn't be swinging anything, but over time I could chip and putt. He said my golf score would actually go down because of the amount of chipping and putting I would be doing. My other question was "How long does it take to get this all said and done?". That's when he said, "When you make a decision to reconstruct, you're married to your surgeon for life." Wow, that's music to my ears. To be married to a handsome and great guy like Jeff and a good looking surgeon too. That made my day.
When I asked about the reconstruction following the implants, he explained that they recontruct everything in the office including doing some tatooing. I thought they just glued candy corns in the middle of your implants and maybe used some magic marker to apply the color. He quickly corrected me. I think I will like my plastic surgeon.
Where's Mom When You Need Her
I was scheduled for an MRI on Tuesday and remembering the last experience I thought I would get something that would cover my eyes while in the tiny machine. Sometimes the mind plays tricks and makes you open your eyes when you really shouldn't. And if you remember from my last MRI, the machine is within inches of your face. Not a pretty picture. So a friend of mine gave me a room darkening eye cover to use so I wouldn't peek.
Anyway, Mother Theresa went back to Siesta Key, Florida for a few weeks so Jeff was my designated driver. My doctor had notified the radiology unit ahead of time to let them know we'd be doing the MRI with the injection of contrast through my port (by hand), not the traditional pump (machine). So our first stop was the treatment center to get my port accessed for the test. Ten minutes there and I was off to the Imaging Center. The MRI was at 11:00am and we were on time. As we waited for my turn, I noticed that Jeff was reading the newspaper with his eyes closed and head tipped. "Oh well he bores easily", I thought. He can catch a quick nap while I get the test.
Within a few minutes, this man called me in. We will call him Charlie for all intents and purposes. Charlie said, "please go into that room and undress from the waist up and put on that Johnny". I wish I would have known that a breast MRI was done in the nude after I spent half the morning searching for clothing without any metal snaps, zippers or buttons. Anyway, I got undressed, slipped into my Johnny and came out to see Charlie with my eye cover in my hand. Charlie said, "Oh, I'll take that bra for you." This eye cover is about 3 inches wide and 7 inches long. How could he possibly think it's a bra? That should have been a red flag about Charlie right there.
My port tubing was sticking out of my Johnny and I said to Charlie "we might need some extension tubing for the port so I brought some along (the treatment center nurse gave me some)". Charlie replied, "Oh we won't be using your port, we will just access a vein." "Where is my mother? Where is Jeff? Help, I need help!", I thought.
I said "Listen Charlie, my veins are fried from Chemo. That's why I have a port. No one is going to access a vein here today!" Charlie replied, "I don't want to upset you Mrs. Lacko. I see some good veins on your hands right here (he lifted my hand to show me)." Little did he know that I was going to hit him with that hand if he didn't cut it out. Holding back the urge I calmly said, "Charlie, I believe you are good at your job and know what you are talking about, but I want you to talk to the Radiologist about this before we go any further." Charlie said, "I will call him when we get you on the table and check with him, but breast MRI results will be compromised if we don't use the appropriate contrast speed through an IV." All I said was, "Check with the doctor, please." Off Charlie went.
Another technician (didn't catch her name) came in to get me situated on the table. So I look down at the table (I wouldn't call it a table but more of a thin slab with a sheet on it) and notice a pair of ski goggles (that's what they looked like to me) and two indentations in the sheet further down the slab. "Interesting", I thought. So as the technician explained the position, it all became incredibly clear. I was to lay face down on the slab and put my mams in the two indentations and my head in the goggles. Meanwhile, Charlie hasn't returned yet. The goggles had a mirror attached so when you opened your eyes you could see the room, so it would not seem so enclosed. So I put away my little bra (eye cover) and proceeded to parachute into position. I don't have a lot of abdonminal strength to get into that type of position, but in the end I did it. Not very graceful I might add.
When they put the headphones on, Charlie piped in and said he had spoken with the Radiologist and using the port would be fine. Whew! Jeff slept through the entire test. When I came out to the waiting room he says, "Where have you been. I've been worried about you!".
Anyway, Mother Theresa went back to Siesta Key, Florida for a few weeks so Jeff was my designated driver. My doctor had notified the radiology unit ahead of time to let them know we'd be doing the MRI with the injection of contrast through my port (by hand), not the traditional pump (machine). So our first stop was the treatment center to get my port accessed for the test. Ten minutes there and I was off to the Imaging Center. The MRI was at 11:00am and we were on time. As we waited for my turn, I noticed that Jeff was reading the newspaper with his eyes closed and head tipped. "Oh well he bores easily", I thought. He can catch a quick nap while I get the test.
Within a few minutes, this man called me in. We will call him Charlie for all intents and purposes. Charlie said, "please go into that room and undress from the waist up and put on that Johnny". I wish I would have known that a breast MRI was done in the nude after I spent half the morning searching for clothing without any metal snaps, zippers or buttons. Anyway, I got undressed, slipped into my Johnny and came out to see Charlie with my eye cover in my hand. Charlie said, "Oh, I'll take that bra for you." This eye cover is about 3 inches wide and 7 inches long. How could he possibly think it's a bra? That should have been a red flag about Charlie right there.
My port tubing was sticking out of my Johnny and I said to Charlie "we might need some extension tubing for the port so I brought some along (the treatment center nurse gave me some)". Charlie replied, "Oh we won't be using your port, we will just access a vein." "Where is my mother? Where is Jeff? Help, I need help!", I thought.
I said "Listen Charlie, my veins are fried from Chemo. That's why I have a port. No one is going to access a vein here today!" Charlie replied, "I don't want to upset you Mrs. Lacko. I see some good veins on your hands right here (he lifted my hand to show me)." Little did he know that I was going to hit him with that hand if he didn't cut it out. Holding back the urge I calmly said, "Charlie, I believe you are good at your job and know what you are talking about, but I want you to talk to the Radiologist about this before we go any further." Charlie said, "I will call him when we get you on the table and check with him, but breast MRI results will be compromised if we don't use the appropriate contrast speed through an IV." All I said was, "Check with the doctor, please." Off Charlie went.
Another technician (didn't catch her name) came in to get me situated on the table. So I look down at the table (I wouldn't call it a table but more of a thin slab with a sheet on it) and notice a pair of ski goggles (that's what they looked like to me) and two indentations in the sheet further down the slab. "Interesting", I thought. So as the technician explained the position, it all became incredibly clear. I was to lay face down on the slab and put my mams in the two indentations and my head in the goggles. Meanwhile, Charlie hasn't returned yet. The goggles had a mirror attached so when you opened your eyes you could see the room, so it would not seem so enclosed. So I put away my little bra (eye cover) and proceeded to parachute into position. I don't have a lot of abdonminal strength to get into that type of position, but in the end I did it. Not very graceful I might add.
When they put the headphones on, Charlie piped in and said he had spoken with the Radiologist and using the port would be fine. Whew! Jeff slept through the entire test. When I came out to the waiting room he says, "Where have you been. I've been worried about you!".
My Ears
Since my first experience with distance Reiki, I have had three sessions of "hands on" Reiki. Three wonderful ladies who met each other at a Reiki course, perform the healing ritual on me after my treatments (magnesium infusions) each week. For those of you who know me, it is extremely difficult for me to relax. Even during my hot stone massage, I'm typically yakking up a storm. But this is totally relaxing for me. It's quiet. The Reiki Master(s) are quiet and concentrating. There is soothing music in the background and candles fill the room with warmth and a pleasant scent.
Each of them work on a part of my body (one at the feet/leg area, another around the torso, and the third at my head). They rotate positions so that all parts of my body are being concentrated on at the same time which is very comforting. After each session we talk about what I felt and what they felt. Each time they put their hands on my abdomen (approximately where the cancer was), I feel an overwhelming heat in that area. They have said they feel tingling or buzzing in the hands. Interesting.
What I was most worried about was my ears and thank goodness they didn't fall off yet.
Each of them work on a part of my body (one at the feet/leg area, another around the torso, and the third at my head). They rotate positions so that all parts of my body are being concentrated on at the same time which is very comforting. After each session we talk about what I felt and what they felt. Each time they put their hands on my abdomen (approximately where the cancer was), I feel an overwhelming heat in that area. They have said they feel tingling or buzzing in the hands. Interesting.
What I was most worried about was my ears and thank goodness they didn't fall off yet.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Hair and Magnets
My hair is growing back slowly on my head and fast everywhere else. No longer do I have the luxury of extra time in the morning because I don't need to shave. I have been watering my head every day for 2 months now hoping for a good thick crop, but it looks as if it is growing in thin and straight just like it was before I lost it. Jeff (my husband) says I look like Eddie Munster from the Adams Family because I have a "widow's peak" in the front. I guess looking like Eddie Munster is better than looking like Yul Brynner or Telly Savalis.
I still go into the hospital weekly for magnesium infusions. You would think that I'd be full of mag by now, bubbling over with it after 3 months of it, but no. I'm still eating almonds, taking perscription mag daily and getting a bag of it weekly. You would think that I'd be so magnetic by now that I'd get sucked into the kitchen and stick to the refrigerator. Nope, nothing yet.
As a precaution, I slowly peak around the corner and stick my finger in the air toward the fridge just before going into the kitchen. You never know.
I still go into the hospital weekly for magnesium infusions. You would think that I'd be full of mag by now, bubbling over with it after 3 months of it, but no. I'm still eating almonds, taking perscription mag daily and getting a bag of it weekly. You would think that I'd be so magnetic by now that I'd get sucked into the kitchen and stick to the refrigerator. Nope, nothing yet.
As a precaution, I slowly peak around the corner and stick my finger in the air toward the fridge just before going into the kitchen. You never know.
Distance Reiki - Very Cool
Last Saturday, I was painting the trim in my diningroom when the telephone rang. It was my friend Shelley. She said she was at school and the class wanted to perform Distance Reiki on me. I guess she had figured out how to do it, and unfortunately it wasn't going to involve any plane rides to the Camen Islands and certainly not a beach. She asked if I had 10 minutes to spare. I said "yes, of course".
Shelley instructed me to go and lay down in a quiet room and wait. After 10 minutes she would call me back. So me and my Type A personality climbed the stairs to my bedroom where I laid down wide awake at 3:00pm on a Saturday afternoon. I don't think I have done this in 20 years. Anyway, as I began to relax my ears started ringing. Strange I thought, but I'm sure lots of people have that sensation every now and then.
Shelley called back several minutes later and asked how I felt. I told her that the only thing I noticed was my ears ringing. She said "isn't that interesting" and said "talk to you later".
The following week I met with a client that happened to be at the same class with Shelley and she had performed the Distance Reiki on me also. She said that when she visualized my head, her hands started to tingle around my ears. Weird huh? If you remember, the needles for acupuncture wouldn't stay in my ears and I've had Vertigo this summer, an inner ear imbalance.
I wonder if the chemo got stuck up there or something. I can't wait for the "Close Up Reiki". That should be interesting. Maybe my ears will fall off during the session. I'll let you know.
Shelley instructed me to go and lay down in a quiet room and wait. After 10 minutes she would call me back. So me and my Type A personality climbed the stairs to my bedroom where I laid down wide awake at 3:00pm on a Saturday afternoon. I don't think I have done this in 20 years. Anyway, as I began to relax my ears started ringing. Strange I thought, but I'm sure lots of people have that sensation every now and then.
Shelley called back several minutes later and asked how I felt. I told her that the only thing I noticed was my ears ringing. She said "isn't that interesting" and said "talk to you later".
The following week I met with a client that happened to be at the same class with Shelley and she had performed the Distance Reiki on me also. She said that when she visualized my head, her hands started to tingle around my ears. Weird huh? If you remember, the needles for acupuncture wouldn't stay in my ears and I've had Vertigo this summer, an inner ear imbalance.
I wonder if the chemo got stuck up there or something. I can't wait for the "Close Up Reiki". That should be interesting. Maybe my ears will fall off during the session. I'll let you know.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Did you say Reiki or Raking?
A dear friend of mine is taking courses in Yoga, Reiki and other excerise, health, and healing pratices. She asked if she could do Reiki on me. After being stabbed by nurses (IVs), poked by my acupuncturist (is there such a term?), stone massaged by my massage therapist and cracked by my chiropractor, I thought, why not!
So she told her instructor about me and the instructor suggested that she do "distance Reiki" on me to start. She said she would find out more from her instructor about how it is done, but I'm pretty sure you send the patient to the Camen Islands for one week (all expenses paid of course) and think happy thoughts about them while they lie on the beach drinking margaritas all day.
Well, I'm hoping we'll start with the distance Reiki soon as I need to prepare for the real Reiki that happens in the back yard around November!
So she told her instructor about me and the instructor suggested that she do "distance Reiki" on me to start. She said she would find out more from her instructor about how it is done, but I'm pretty sure you send the patient to the Camen Islands for one week (all expenses paid of course) and think happy thoughts about them while they lie on the beach drinking margaritas all day.
Well, I'm hoping we'll start with the distance Reiki soon as I need to prepare for the real Reiki that happens in the back yard around November!
Top 10 Benefits of Having Ovarian Cancer
On Labor Day weekend, I held my annual golf tournament which happens to be a fund raiser for the American Cancer Society. I felt a little funny MC'ing this year because, ironically, I now had cancer and it has never been a focus of the tournament. Yes, we raise and donate money for the American Cancer Society, but the tournament itself has always been upbeat and fun. I struggled with how I could possibly stand up in front of all the women who played and be funny. So, I came up with the Top 10 Benefits of Having Ovarian Cancer, in David Letterman style, of course.
10. Being able to blame the loss of a golf match on having the big “C”.
9. Winning a golf match because of a blood infusion the prior day.
8. Spending hundreds of dollars on full body massages without any complaints from your husband.
7. Time saved each morning with:
No blow drying
No shaving
No eyebrow plucking
6. Getting homemade meals after each hospital stay – sometimes I even lied about being hospitalized just to get another free lasagna.
5. Chemotherapy is a natural bug repellant.
4. Saving hundreds of dollars on hair products and bikini waxes.
3. It’s the only time I’ve been able to wear my Gabettes hat – it never looked good on me before.
2. Being able to shock my hairdresser’s clients by waiting for their busiest day, walking in, taking my hat off and saying “Look what you did to my hair”.
And the number 1 benefit of having Ovarian Cancer is:
1. Being selected as this year’s Chia Pet holiday season promotion.
10. Being able to blame the loss of a golf match on having the big “C”.
9. Winning a golf match because of a blood infusion the prior day.
8. Spending hundreds of dollars on full body massages without any complaints from your husband.
7. Time saved each morning with:
No blow drying
No shaving
No eyebrow plucking
6. Getting homemade meals after each hospital stay – sometimes I even lied about being hospitalized just to get another free lasagna.
5. Chemotherapy is a natural bug repellant.
4. Saving hundreds of dollars on hair products and bikini waxes.
3. It’s the only time I’ve been able to wear my Gabettes hat – it never looked good on me before.
2. Being able to shock my hairdresser’s clients by waiting for their busiest day, walking in, taking my hat off and saying “Look what you did to my hair”.
And the number 1 benefit of having Ovarian Cancer is:
1. Being selected as this year’s Chia Pet holiday season promotion.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Your Room is Ready & The Huddle
So last Friday, August 1st, I'm sitting in the Treatment Center getting my weekly dose of Magnesium when I start to feel tired. That may seem normal for most people, not for me. I don't get tired when getting an infusion and I certainly don't get tired at 11:30am. As I'm driving home, I felt worse. So I called my only appointment that afternoon and told them I needed to postpone. I immediately curled up in bed and started shivering. This can't be good, I thought.
Two hours later and no sleep to speak of, I got up and took my temperature. 101. I remembered that the nurses and doctor told me if I ever got a fever I had to call them immediately. So I did. They said, "you need to come in right away". So I call my designated driver, Mother Theresa, and said "what are you doing this afternoon?". She said, "nothing, why?" That's when I said, "let's go and hang out at the hospital again, I have a fever". So off we went back to the same place we had just left hours ago.
After a couple of hours of being looked at by the doctors and nurses and prodded with a thermometer several times, an escort arrived with a wheelchair to take me to the 6th floor for admission to the hospital. Wouldn't you know it, I get up there and they have my private room #6039 ready for me. This is the same room I had for my 3 day stay with Vertigo. And Liz, one of my favorite nurses was welcoming me with paperwork to be filled out, a fresh pitcher of hospital water, and a big bag of saline. I felt like I was back home again!
But I saw trouble. Our club championship was coming up for Monday and Tuesday so I had to get out of the hospital no later than Sunday night to make it. I can't miss another day of golf this summer, I thought. So I needed a plan.
I called the night nurse and the nurse's aides in for an emergency meeting. I told them I needed to get out of the hospital by Sunday night for golfing on Monday. They told me that Dr. "R" was on rounds this weekend and she doesn't let anyone go home unless they have been without a fever for 48 hours. Well that wasn't going to work because we were already at the 48 hour mark and I was sweating bullets from the fever. The night staff said "good luck" and I took my two tylenol and went to sleep.
The nurse's shift changed at 7:30am and I called another meeting. We huddled and I told them the "need to get out of here story" and they all agreed to help me out. Then Dr. "R" came in for rounds. My nurse, Mary, told Dr. "R" and a very understanding resident, the need for me to get out on Sunday for my golf tournament starting on Monday. She said, "Well I usually don't let patients out unless they have been without a fever for 48 hours". Where had I heard that before. She asked me where I was playing golf. I told her. The resident asked what time I was teeing off thinking I could possibly get out very early Monday morning if all looked good.
Dr. "R" finally said, "Ok, if you don't have a fever for 24 hours, and your blood work looks good, and you agree to become part of UConn's Golf Tournament Committee to get patients involved next year, then I'll consider letting you go home Sunday afternoon." I thought, how did that last part about a committee get in there. But I wasn't going to argue. "Ok", I said.
I spiked a fever at 3:00pm Saturday afternoon. "Crap", I said. Now I couldn't have a fever between Saturday night and Sunday at 3:00pm in order for Dr. "R" to even consider letting me go home. I got the night crew together and said, "Alright, this is really a critical night. I need to be fever free from this point on until tomorrow at 3:00pm. Are you with me?". One nurse raised her hand. I immediately called on her. She had so much enthusiasm and a team spirit. She said, "I can put cold towels on you". I said, "Perfect and I like your spirit!".
At 3:50pm, John, the nurse's aide, came in to take my temperature. I had been Tylenol free for 20 hours. The moment of truth loomed. All the nurses were anxiously awaiting the reading. "97.8", he said. "Lacko is out of here!" Yes, it was true, I was going home and it took me less than 65 seconds to get my Johnny off and my clothes on. My wheelchair escort arrived within 5 minutes, my designated driver, Mother Theresa, was bringing the Rav 4 around and I was home free. On my way out, I asked the nurses if they would put my name on the door for any future visits. I really like room 6039!
Two hours later and no sleep to speak of, I got up and took my temperature. 101. I remembered that the nurses and doctor told me if I ever got a fever I had to call them immediately. So I did. They said, "you need to come in right away". So I call my designated driver, Mother Theresa, and said "what are you doing this afternoon?". She said, "nothing, why?" That's when I said, "let's go and hang out at the hospital again, I have a fever". So off we went back to the same place we had just left hours ago.
After a couple of hours of being looked at by the doctors and nurses and prodded with a thermometer several times, an escort arrived with a wheelchair to take me to the 6th floor for admission to the hospital. Wouldn't you know it, I get up there and they have my private room #6039 ready for me. This is the same room I had for my 3 day stay with Vertigo. And Liz, one of my favorite nurses was welcoming me with paperwork to be filled out, a fresh pitcher of hospital water, and a big bag of saline. I felt like I was back home again!
But I saw trouble. Our club championship was coming up for Monday and Tuesday so I had to get out of the hospital no later than Sunday night to make it. I can't miss another day of golf this summer, I thought. So I needed a plan.
I called the night nurse and the nurse's aides in for an emergency meeting. I told them I needed to get out of the hospital by Sunday night for golfing on Monday. They told me that Dr. "R" was on rounds this weekend and she doesn't let anyone go home unless they have been without a fever for 48 hours. Well that wasn't going to work because we were already at the 48 hour mark and I was sweating bullets from the fever. The night staff said "good luck" and I took my two tylenol and went to sleep.
The nurse's shift changed at 7:30am and I called another meeting. We huddled and I told them the "need to get out of here story" and they all agreed to help me out. Then Dr. "R" came in for rounds. My nurse, Mary, told Dr. "R" and a very understanding resident, the need for me to get out on Sunday for my golf tournament starting on Monday. She said, "Well I usually don't let patients out unless they have been without a fever for 48 hours". Where had I heard that before. She asked me where I was playing golf. I told her. The resident asked what time I was teeing off thinking I could possibly get out very early Monday morning if all looked good.
Dr. "R" finally said, "Ok, if you don't have a fever for 24 hours, and your blood work looks good, and you agree to become part of UConn's Golf Tournament Committee to get patients involved next year, then I'll consider letting you go home Sunday afternoon." I thought, how did that last part about a committee get in there. But I wasn't going to argue. "Ok", I said.
I spiked a fever at 3:00pm Saturday afternoon. "Crap", I said. Now I couldn't have a fever between Saturday night and Sunday at 3:00pm in order for Dr. "R" to even consider letting me go home. I got the night crew together and said, "Alright, this is really a critical night. I need to be fever free from this point on until tomorrow at 3:00pm. Are you with me?". One nurse raised her hand. I immediately called on her. She had so much enthusiasm and a team spirit. She said, "I can put cold towels on you". I said, "Perfect and I like your spirit!".
At 3:50pm, John, the nurse's aide, came in to take my temperature. I had been Tylenol free for 20 hours. The moment of truth loomed. All the nurses were anxiously awaiting the reading. "97.8", he said. "Lacko is out of here!" Yes, it was true, I was going home and it took me less than 65 seconds to get my Johnny off and my clothes on. My wheelchair escort arrived within 5 minutes, my designated driver, Mother Theresa, was bringing the Rav 4 around and I was home free. On my way out, I asked the nurses if they would put my name on the door for any future visits. I really like room 6039!
"Valet Golf"
So my Vertigo lasted about two and a half weeks in all and I give all the credit for my cure to my acupunture/chiropractic doctor - Dr. Cheryl Vincent. The combination of massage, acupuncture and a few neck adjustments, cleared up the majority of my Vertigo so that I was able to drive a car and function like a normal human being. Thank you Dr. Vincent.
Prior to that however, I was totally dependent on others for basic things. And anyone who knows me, knows that there isn't much that will keep me down. My mother drove me to all of my business appointments and doctor appointments as I couldn't navigate a vehicle. She would sit and read a book while I fixed a computer or trained someone. What a trooper.
I wasn't going to stop golfing either. It was bad enough I missed one week of golf because I was hospitalized, I wasn't going to miss another. So the week after I got out of the hospital, I decided I would play golf in my usual Tuesday league. Jeff put my clubs in the trunk and me in the passenger seat and drove me (my eyes closed - it's better for the dizziness) up to Simsbury Farms. There, I met up with my usual golf buddies Jeanne and Nancy. They couldn't believe I was there. I said, "I need to do this. I am going to practice driving too. I'll drive a golf cart and see if I'm steady enough to drive my car later." As I said that, I staggered into the Pro Shop to pay for my cart and 9 holes. Jeanne saw me walk and said (she always walks the course), "It's pretty hot today, I think I'll ride. In fact Pam, I think I'll drive!". Well, that was the end of my practice driving opportunity. Good thing too.
Off we go to the first hole, with a very wide stance, I walk up to the tee, squat (so I don't fall over) and place my tee and ball. I annouce to my partners I will not be able to look up after I hit so would they please watch where my ball goes. I yell, "Hitting...". I hit, they watched, I staggered back to the golf cart and Jeanne proceeded to drive me to my ball. This went on until we all reached the green. That was more of a challenge. There, I had trouble looking at my ball and then the hole, so I didn't putt well. Nancy and Jeanne wouldn't let me pick up my ball from the hole or pick up any clubs off the ground for fear that I would fall over.
In the end, I decided this is the way to golf. Have someone drive you to the course, take out your clubs and put them on a cart, have someone else drive you around in the cart, have your team watch where your ball goes, have them pick the ball out the hole and scoop up any clubs lying around on the green. Then call your husband to come and get you and bring you home. I'll call it "valet golf".
Prior to that however, I was totally dependent on others for basic things. And anyone who knows me, knows that there isn't much that will keep me down. My mother drove me to all of my business appointments and doctor appointments as I couldn't navigate a vehicle. She would sit and read a book while I fixed a computer or trained someone. What a trooper.
I wasn't going to stop golfing either. It was bad enough I missed one week of golf because I was hospitalized, I wasn't going to miss another. So the week after I got out of the hospital, I decided I would play golf in my usual Tuesday league. Jeff put my clubs in the trunk and me in the passenger seat and drove me (my eyes closed - it's better for the dizziness) up to Simsbury Farms. There, I met up with my usual golf buddies Jeanne and Nancy. They couldn't believe I was there. I said, "I need to do this. I am going to practice driving too. I'll drive a golf cart and see if I'm steady enough to drive my car later." As I said that, I staggered into the Pro Shop to pay for my cart and 9 holes. Jeanne saw me walk and said (she always walks the course), "It's pretty hot today, I think I'll ride. In fact Pam, I think I'll drive!". Well, that was the end of my practice driving opportunity. Good thing too.
Off we go to the first hole, with a very wide stance, I walk up to the tee, squat (so I don't fall over) and place my tee and ball. I annouce to my partners I will not be able to look up after I hit so would they please watch where my ball goes. I yell, "Hitting...". I hit, they watched, I staggered back to the golf cart and Jeanne proceeded to drive me to my ball. This went on until we all reached the green. That was more of a challenge. There, I had trouble looking at my ball and then the hole, so I didn't putt well. Nancy and Jeanne wouldn't let me pick up my ball from the hole or pick up any clubs off the ground for fear that I would fall over.
In the end, I decided this is the way to golf. Have someone drive you to the course, take out your clubs and put them on a cart, have someone else drive you around in the cart, have your team watch where your ball goes, have them pick the ball out the hole and scoop up any clubs lying around on the green. Then call your husband to come and get you and bring you home. I'll call it "valet golf".
"Stop That, I Barely Know You"
During my bout with Vertigo, I had to get my MRI. They have one MRI at UConn and it is extremely busy all of the time. My appointment was scheduled for 9:30pm on a Thursday evening. Yes, I said 9:30pm. Luckily I didn't need to fast, so that wasn't an issue. My trusted driver, Mother Theresa, came to get me at 8:45pm and off we went. I had just gotten out of the hospital on Tuesday so my Vertigo was still severe. I was, however, wearing a medication patch behind my ear for nasuea but I was very unsteady on my feet.
Being a proud person, I wouldn't let my mother get me a wheelchair for the walk to the MRI department, so she dropped me off out in front of the hospital and I held up the building until she came to escort me. During my walk, I held on to every bit of wall and my mother's arm. It took all of my strength just to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. Sometimes I would see 8 feet. Not good I thought.
So we get down to the MRI department and notice that it's "under construction". A sign read, "Please report to the Imaging Department". Well, we turn around and walk back the way we came (fondling the wall as I walked) and down to the Imaging Department. About 15 mintues went by and the lady behind the desk said "Oh, they are ready for you now." Back up I got, and gathered all of my strength for another long walk back to the construction zone.
Once there, we waited until a technician came out of the Exit door. Cindy was her name. Cindy says, "follow me" as she prances out the Exit door into the warm night down a very intimidating metal ramp. I said, "Excuse me....Cindy? I need some help here. You see, I have Vertigo and I see two of you on the ramp. I'm not sure which one is the real you. Can you take my arm and help me?" Cindy did her duty and helped me down the ramp and up the narrow stairs to what looked like a small mobile home - the MRI trailer. Meanwhile, mom sat patiently in the only chair outside the Exit door of the "construction zone. I hope she'd be ok.
Once in the trailer I said to Cindy, "I have a port in my chest that was accessed this afternoon so you could shoot the contrast (dye) in it for the MRI. My veins in my arms are fried from the chemo so my doctor had called ahead of time to let you know about the port." Cindy looked concerned and then blurted out "WE DON'T DO MRI's WITH PORTS". That's when I said, "Look Cindy, it's now 10:00pm on a Thursday evening. I have severe Vertigo, I was treated for Ovarian Cancer the past 7 months, my doctor says my CT Scan shows spots on my liver, an MRI is the only thing that will tell them what the spots are for sure so we're gonna do this MRI some how, some way and it's going to be tonight!.
Todd, a technician on the phone, overheard the discussion I was having with Cindy and interjected..."Oh, I've seen this done at Yale New Haven. I know how to do it.". Great, I thought. He's seen it done. Well, I thought, this is the teaching hospital. Let's teach Cindy how to do an MRI contrast through a port and Todd, who has seen it done, can be the teacher. I'm game!
So while Todd ran off to find some "extension tubing" for my port, Cindy proceeded to get me ready on the MRI table and let me know that had we used the pump to put the contrast into my port, I would have died on the table. Cindy needs to work on her bedside manner.
So here's the scenario. I'm lying on my back on the MRI table. I will go into the machine head first and nothing will be sticking out. My port is just above my left breast and has about 3 inches of tubing sticking out of it. Todd attaches the extension tubing which comes to about mid thigh. Todd explains that the first part of the test does not include the contrast and he will let me know when he comes in to inject it manually (so I won't die on the table). Wouldn't that be a hoot...to die from dye!
Anyway, Cindy offers me headphones and says there is music piped in, would I like to listen to 100.5 easy listening music. Sure I said. Here I go. The table is moving now into the machine and as I look at how close the machine is to my face and body I start to think...this isn't going to pleasant at all. I felt like a sausage being put into it's casing! I decided to close my eyes the entire time (I would recommend this to anyone having an MRI) and visualize playing a round of golf. It worked. I was calm, cool, and collected during the procedure - 1 hour long. By way, I didn't play the course well and still shanked my drives almost every hole.
When it was time for the contrast, Todd says (I could hear him in my headphones), "I'm coming in to inject the contrast". "Ok", I said. 30 seconds later I feel some hand going up my leg. Todd says, "Mrs. Lacko, it's only me Todd. I'm trying to find the end of the extension tubing." I say, "Todd, I just met you and I think you might be overstepping your technician authority right now. The extension tubing is on the other thigh. Please be quick, I barely know you."
When it was all said and done, I learned that my mother, waiting patiently, had been my advocate out in that little construction zone, called her waiting room. Todd had gone for the extension tubing but before he had, he said to mom "we need to run an IV line" and mom said "ABSOLUTELY NOT. NO ONE TOUCHES HER VEINS. USE THE PORT!" GO MOM!
Being a proud person, I wouldn't let my mother get me a wheelchair for the walk to the MRI department, so she dropped me off out in front of the hospital and I held up the building until she came to escort me. During my walk, I held on to every bit of wall and my mother's arm. It took all of my strength just to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. Sometimes I would see 8 feet. Not good I thought.
So we get down to the MRI department and notice that it's "under construction". A sign read, "Please report to the Imaging Department". Well, we turn around and walk back the way we came (fondling the wall as I walked) and down to the Imaging Department. About 15 mintues went by and the lady behind the desk said "Oh, they are ready for you now." Back up I got, and gathered all of my strength for another long walk back to the construction zone.
Once there, we waited until a technician came out of the Exit door. Cindy was her name. Cindy says, "follow me" as she prances out the Exit door into the warm night down a very intimidating metal ramp. I said, "Excuse me....Cindy? I need some help here. You see, I have Vertigo and I see two of you on the ramp. I'm not sure which one is the real you. Can you take my arm and help me?" Cindy did her duty and helped me down the ramp and up the narrow stairs to what looked like a small mobile home - the MRI trailer. Meanwhile, mom sat patiently in the only chair outside the Exit door of the "construction zone. I hope she'd be ok.
Once in the trailer I said to Cindy, "I have a port in my chest that was accessed this afternoon so you could shoot the contrast (dye) in it for the MRI. My veins in my arms are fried from the chemo so my doctor had called ahead of time to let you know about the port." Cindy looked concerned and then blurted out "WE DON'T DO MRI's WITH PORTS". That's when I said, "Look Cindy, it's now 10:00pm on a Thursday evening. I have severe Vertigo, I was treated for Ovarian Cancer the past 7 months, my doctor says my CT Scan shows spots on my liver, an MRI is the only thing that will tell them what the spots are for sure so we're gonna do this MRI some how, some way and it's going to be tonight!.
Todd, a technician on the phone, overheard the discussion I was having with Cindy and interjected..."Oh, I've seen this done at Yale New Haven. I know how to do it.". Great, I thought. He's seen it done. Well, I thought, this is the teaching hospital. Let's teach Cindy how to do an MRI contrast through a port and Todd, who has seen it done, can be the teacher. I'm game!
So while Todd ran off to find some "extension tubing" for my port, Cindy proceeded to get me ready on the MRI table and let me know that had we used the pump to put the contrast into my port, I would have died on the table. Cindy needs to work on her bedside manner.
So here's the scenario. I'm lying on my back on the MRI table. I will go into the machine head first and nothing will be sticking out. My port is just above my left breast and has about 3 inches of tubing sticking out of it. Todd attaches the extension tubing which comes to about mid thigh. Todd explains that the first part of the test does not include the contrast and he will let me know when he comes in to inject it manually (so I won't die on the table). Wouldn't that be a hoot...to die from dye!
Anyway, Cindy offers me headphones and says there is music piped in, would I like to listen to 100.5 easy listening music. Sure I said. Here I go. The table is moving now into the machine and as I look at how close the machine is to my face and body I start to think...this isn't going to pleasant at all. I felt like a sausage being put into it's casing! I decided to close my eyes the entire time (I would recommend this to anyone having an MRI) and visualize playing a round of golf. It worked. I was calm, cool, and collected during the procedure - 1 hour long. By way, I didn't play the course well and still shanked my drives almost every hole.
When it was time for the contrast, Todd says (I could hear him in my headphones), "I'm coming in to inject the contrast". "Ok", I said. 30 seconds later I feel some hand going up my leg. Todd says, "Mrs. Lacko, it's only me Todd. I'm trying to find the end of the extension tubing." I say, "Todd, I just met you and I think you might be overstepping your technician authority right now. The extension tubing is on the other thigh. Please be quick, I barely know you."
When it was all said and done, I learned that my mother, waiting patiently, had been my advocate out in that little construction zone, called her waiting room. Todd had gone for the extension tubing but before he had, he said to mom "we need to run an IV line" and mom said "ABSOLUTELY NOT. NO ONE TOUCHES HER VEINS. USE THE PORT!" GO MOM!
Friday, July 18, 2008
It's Good To Be Negative...
So this title must have caught your eye because I'm not a negative person. My good friend Mary Beth Jette who lived with Ovarian Cancer for almost 7 years used to ask me "So when is a negative a positive?". I never really got the impact of that question until today.
When I was in hospital with Vertigo, results of my CT Scan from Friday had come back and showed spots on my liver. Although they were likely cysts, my doctor is very conservative and ordered an MRI to get a closer diagnosis. Well if that doesn't send you off the deep end, nothing will.
So on Thursday July 17th, my designated driver, mom, picked me up and escorted me to my 9:15pm MRI appointment. As we are walking in arm and arm to the hospital, some passerby asked if mom was ok. I guess they thought I was helping her to the door when in fact she was keeping me steady with my Vertigo.
After much ado about having a port in the MRI, they slid me in and left me there for 45 minutes holding my breath and listening to 100.5 easy listening music. Well, I didn't hold my breath the entire 45 minutes as that would have probably resulted in a blue patient.
So I sat here today hoping that the phone would ring with good news and at 5:00pm my nurse from UConn called. She said my MRI was NEGATIVE. Phew. That's when a NEGATIVE is really a POSITIVE.
So now I can focus on growing my hair back and not worrying about more treatments. I have been watering my head daily and using Miracle Grow once a week. Nothing yet. You might see me on the Chia Pet commercial when they start advertising again for the holidays.
When I was in hospital with Vertigo, results of my CT Scan from Friday had come back and showed spots on my liver. Although they were likely cysts, my doctor is very conservative and ordered an MRI to get a closer diagnosis. Well if that doesn't send you off the deep end, nothing will.
So on Thursday July 17th, my designated driver, mom, picked me up and escorted me to my 9:15pm MRI appointment. As we are walking in arm and arm to the hospital, some passerby asked if mom was ok. I guess they thought I was helping her to the door when in fact she was keeping me steady with my Vertigo.
After much ado about having a port in the MRI, they slid me in and left me there for 45 minutes holding my breath and listening to 100.5 easy listening music. Well, I didn't hold my breath the entire 45 minutes as that would have probably resulted in a blue patient.
So I sat here today hoping that the phone would ring with good news and at 5:00pm my nurse from UConn called. She said my MRI was NEGATIVE. Phew. That's when a NEGATIVE is really a POSITIVE.
So now I can focus on growing my hair back and not worrying about more treatments. I have been watering my head daily and using Miracle Grow once a week. Nothing yet. You might see me on the Chia Pet commercial when they start advertising again for the holidays.
What Do You Know, It's Vertigo
My latest battle has not been cancer related. I went to the Talcott Music Festival on Friday July 11th, to see their tribute to Motown. There were 17 of us with lots of food, wine and good company. I thought the concert was outstanding, but when it was over I was a bit dizzy. No, real dizzy, not my usual dizzy!
I brushed it off thinking I might have had more glasses of wine than I should have, but when I got up Saturday morning the dizziness got worse and worse as the day went on. In addition, I got violently sick to my stomach and it went downhill from there. Sunday morning I was in the ER with low to no electrolytes and severe nausea. They sent me for a brain CT Scan which came back normal (see I am somewhat normal) and said it is probably Vertigo. Nine hours later and 7 bags of fluids I'm still dizzy.
So up to the 6th floor I go (the oncology floor where I first experienced my "ball and chain"). I recognized one of the nurses and she assured me she would take good care of me. I got into my private room (a luxury of chance - only room available) and proceeded to ask for my anti-nausea medication. My caring nurse said NO. No?, I said. She said that the Zofran they were giving me causes headaches (now I had one) so she put a patch behind my ear that lasts for three days. Apparently people use them for sea sickness. Well, I guess she knew what she was talking about, because I am wearing one as I write this and I haven't been nauseous since Sunday evening.
At the same time as all of this was happening to me, one of our golden retrievers, Bree, had scratched the side of her face so bad, she had to go on Prentizone and an antibiotic. She has the infamous lapshade on her head and between the two of us walking into walls we are keeping Jeff and kids quite busy. If any of you know Bree, she loves playing ball. So now when she brings us a ball in her mouth, she looks like a lamp with a bulb in it.
I stayed in the hospital until Tuesday afternoon. I've been getting better each day but cannot yet function completely on my own. I have been working over the phone with clients and even had my mother bring me to client the other day....here we go again with the designated driver scenario!
Vertigo is quite an inconvenience and I must say, it really screws up my golf game.
I brushed it off thinking I might have had more glasses of wine than I should have, but when I got up Saturday morning the dizziness got worse and worse as the day went on. In addition, I got violently sick to my stomach and it went downhill from there. Sunday morning I was in the ER with low to no electrolytes and severe nausea. They sent me for a brain CT Scan which came back normal (see I am somewhat normal) and said it is probably Vertigo. Nine hours later and 7 bags of fluids I'm still dizzy.
So up to the 6th floor I go (the oncology floor where I first experienced my "ball and chain"). I recognized one of the nurses and she assured me she would take good care of me. I got into my private room (a luxury of chance - only room available) and proceeded to ask for my anti-nausea medication. My caring nurse said NO. No?, I said. She said that the Zofran they were giving me causes headaches (now I had one) so she put a patch behind my ear that lasts for three days. Apparently people use them for sea sickness. Well, I guess she knew what she was talking about, because I am wearing one as I write this and I haven't been nauseous since Sunday evening.
At the same time as all of this was happening to me, one of our golden retrievers, Bree, had scratched the side of her face so bad, she had to go on Prentizone and an antibiotic. She has the infamous lapshade on her head and between the two of us walking into walls we are keeping Jeff and kids quite busy. If any of you know Bree, she loves playing ball. So now when she brings us a ball in her mouth, she looks like a lamp with a bulb in it.
I stayed in the hospital until Tuesday afternoon. I've been getting better each day but cannot yet function completely on my own. I have been working over the phone with clients and even had my mother bring me to client the other day....here we go again with the designated driver scenario!
Vertigo is quite an inconvenience and I must say, it really screws up my golf game.
You Can Never Have Enough Gas!
On June 16th I had the 6th of my 6 treatments. All went well now that I have my port and I have been encouraging other patients in the treatment center to talk to their doctors about a port. I feel like the "Port Authority".
After my last treatment I needed another blood transfusion and something new...magnesium. Apparently magnesium depletes with this type of chemotherapy so every week since my last treatment I go back for more magnesium. They build it up and I just "pee" it out again. A vicious circle.
One Wed. while sitting in the treament room for blood and magnesium, my mother (yes Mother Theresa) took my van to pick up the dogs from the groomer and to check on Mathew. You see that Jeff and Becca were in South Dakota on their annual mission trip, so it was just me in charge. So I'm sitting there by myself reading a good book waiting for mom to return. At 5:00pm I call home and get mom who is quite upset. "Your van won't start", she says. "I think you are out of gas." No offense, but I think every woman over the age of 70 thinks that anything less than 1/2 tank of gas is "out of gas". I explained that there was more than enough gas in the van to start it and probably drive it to Ohio. At that point she stopped my son from adding gas to my car from the mower gas container.
My good friend Cindy happened to call my house at that moment and offered to come and get me at UConn. Good thing because it was only me and one other lady left in the treatment room and the nurses clearly wanted to go home. Cindy to the resuce. The next morning I had a new battery installed and proceeded to fill my tank up! Thanks mom.
After my last treatment I needed another blood transfusion and something new...magnesium. Apparently magnesium depletes with this type of chemotherapy so every week since my last treatment I go back for more magnesium. They build it up and I just "pee" it out again. A vicious circle.
One Wed. while sitting in the treament room for blood and magnesium, my mother (yes Mother Theresa) took my van to pick up the dogs from the groomer and to check on Mathew. You see that Jeff and Becca were in South Dakota on their annual mission trip, so it was just me in charge. So I'm sitting there by myself reading a good book waiting for mom to return. At 5:00pm I call home and get mom who is quite upset. "Your van won't start", she says. "I think you are out of gas." No offense, but I think every woman over the age of 70 thinks that anything less than 1/2 tank of gas is "out of gas". I explained that there was more than enough gas in the van to start it and probably drive it to Ohio. At that point she stopped my son from adding gas to my car from the mower gas container.
My good friend Cindy happened to call my house at that moment and offered to come and get me at UConn. Good thing because it was only me and one other lady left in the treatment room and the nurses clearly wanted to go home. Cindy to the resuce. The next morning I had a new battery installed and proceeded to fill my tank up! Thanks mom.
Friday, June 6, 2008
My Designated Drivers
It happened again. Gene called from the hospital yesterday and said my counts were low. "How low?", I asked. "Really low, like you can't drive yourself to the hospital for the blood transfusion and you can't drive at all until you get blood.", she said. So for the rest of the day Jeff drove me around town and then my mother became my "designated driver" to and from my blood transfusion.
Timing is everything though. Tomorrow morning I am playing golf with my friend Laurie and I will be able to hit the ball a ton now that I have my new and improved blood supply. There is definitely an advantage to some of this!
Timing is everything though. Tomorrow morning I am playing golf with my friend Laurie and I will be able to hit the ball a ton now that I have my new and improved blood supply. There is definitely an advantage to some of this!
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Going Out for 18 Holes!
No, I'm not talking about my new favorite sport, golf. Acupunture is my latest best friend. Almost weekly since March, I've been seeing Dr. Cheryl in Simsbury who is fantastic both as a doctor and as a person. She's makes the "hole in one" each time.
At my first appointment, she gently took my wrist and held her fingers on my pulse for quite a few minutes. She said she was "seeing how my rivers flowed". I didn't know I had rivers flowing and told her it was probably a "raging stream" due to my Type A personality. She agreed and starting talking about meridians and chi and all this Chineese stuff I didn't really understand, but it sounded cool.
For those of you who know me and my issues with needles, I'm sure you are surprised that I even chose to go down this path, but a good friend of mine told me it helped her through the after effects of chemo. "Why not", I said.
I found out the hard way one appointment, that once the needle is in you should not move or flex your muscles. Ouch! And don't let your nose itch or curl your toes while laying there with these 2 inch metal pins sticking out of your body. I also learned that my right ear doesn't like to have a needle it very long. As soon as Dr. Cheryl goes to leave the room, "pop", it jumps right out. "Rejected!".
Between my acupuncture and my "Hot Stone Massages" a few days after treatment, I not only feel better, but pampered by these highly trained professionals. Maybe someone will come up with a combination of the two called "AcuStoneMassage".
At my first appointment, she gently took my wrist and held her fingers on my pulse for quite a few minutes. She said she was "seeing how my rivers flowed". I didn't know I had rivers flowing and told her it was probably a "raging stream" due to my Type A personality. She agreed and starting talking about meridians and chi and all this Chineese stuff I didn't really understand, but it sounded cool.
For those of you who know me and my issues with needles, I'm sure you are surprised that I even chose to go down this path, but a good friend of mine told me it helped her through the after effects of chemo. "Why not", I said.
I found out the hard way one appointment, that once the needle is in you should not move or flex your muscles. Ouch! And don't let your nose itch or curl your toes while laying there with these 2 inch metal pins sticking out of your body. I also learned that my right ear doesn't like to have a needle it very long. As soon as Dr. Cheryl goes to leave the room, "pop", it jumps right out. "Rejected!".
Between my acupuncture and my "Hot Stone Massages" a few days after treatment, I not only feel better, but pampered by these highly trained professionals. Maybe someone will come up with a combination of the two called "AcuStoneMassage".
Monday, May 12, 2008
You're So "Vein"
So many of you know that my veins have not been cooperating each time I go for my treatments. It can take 3-4 nurses and stabs before they secure a vein for treatment and it's very painful and frustrating for everyone involved. In addition, each time the nurses eventually lock into a vein, the days following treatment is painful for the arm they used. The veins discolor, my arm swells and it hurts to touch it. How was I supposed to know that the "poison" they administer to fix the "caulifruit" shouldn't really hurt your arm.
So my last treatment, May 2nd, I figured I would be real active and keep my mind off my body aches a few days later. So I golfed on Tuesday and again on Wednesday. By Wednesday evening I couldn't move my left arm. The discoloration was there and it hurt worse than any other treatment. I decided to call the head oncology nurse and tell her what was going on. She flipped and said I should have told someone I was having this type of reaction each time.
Net/net, my veins are toast and I need a port. I was going to call this article "I prefer Chardonnay over Port", but someone said people might not get it. So, "You're So Vein" it is.
I have two treatments to go, so the port will be surgically implanted on May 22nd and I will get my chemo immediately following the same day. The irony in it all is that in order for me to get my Port, the anesthesiologist needs to find a vein to administer my knock out drug. This should be interesting.
Maybe it will be the same doctor that had laptop problems during my first surgery.
So my last treatment, May 2nd, I figured I would be real active and keep my mind off my body aches a few days later. So I golfed on Tuesday and again on Wednesday. By Wednesday evening I couldn't move my left arm. The discoloration was there and it hurt worse than any other treatment. I decided to call the head oncology nurse and tell her what was going on. She flipped and said I should have told someone I was having this type of reaction each time.
Net/net, my veins are toast and I need a port. I was going to call this article "I prefer Chardonnay over Port", but someone said people might not get it. So, "You're So Vein" it is.
I have two treatments to go, so the port will be surgically implanted on May 22nd and I will get my chemo immediately following the same day. The irony in it all is that in order for me to get my Port, the anesthesiologist needs to find a vein to administer my knock out drug. This should be interesting.
Maybe it will be the same doctor that had laptop problems during my first surgery.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
A New Bird Sighting
Many of you know that I am doing acupuncture and massage to minimize the side effects of each chemo treatment. What some of you don't know is that the hardest part of getting treatment for me is getting the needle in the vein. Yes I am a wimp, but my veins are not cooperating either. Each treatment takes multiple nurses and 3-4 tries to get a vein that will work. It is not only painful, but time consuming and once my treatment is started, I'm there for 6 hours anyway. So I have been asking everyone I know including my acupuncture specialist, my massage therapist, my nurses, doctors, postman and garbage man what I can do to improve my veins.
The feedback has been this: drinks lots of water, perform 300 bicep curls daily for a week, and circle your arms right before you go into the treatment room to get blood flowing to the veins. So tomorrow morning (9:30am treatment), I intend to combine all of these tricks starting in the parking lot straight through to the treatment room. If asked, I will let those in the waiting room know (which you must walk through to get to the treatment room) that there is a new exotic bird in Farmington, CT which flaps and pulses and drinks heavily. That would be me.
The feedback has been this: drinks lots of water, perform 300 bicep curls daily for a week, and circle your arms right before you go into the treatment room to get blood flowing to the veins. So tomorrow morning (9:30am treatment), I intend to combine all of these tricks starting in the parking lot straight through to the treatment room. If asked, I will let those in the waiting room know (which you must walk through to get to the treatment room) that there is a new exotic bird in Farmington, CT which flaps and pulses and drinks heavily. That would be me.
My "Red Bull"
The family and I took a vacation over the April school break. We flew to Florida, golf clubs in tow, and landed at my mom's beautiful winter home in Siesta Key. For me, it was fabulous to be away from doctors and treatment rooms so I took every advantage. I did have to get blood work done each Friday to make sure my counts were normal, but other than that I was free of the hospital environment.
After golfing a few days, playing tennis and swimming, my son and I were just about to tee off on the first of 18 holes when my cell phone rings. I check the caller ID and notice it's my nurse from UConn. I answer and Jean asks in a very concerning voice "how are you feeling?", and I answer in my very concerning voice "I'm fine, how are you?" She told me that she was concerned because my red blood count was drastically low and I should be very fatigued. I told her I felt fine and I had been playing golf and the like. She was surprised, to say the least, and thought maybe she had received another patient's blood results. We agreed that I would retake the blood test and she would call back in two days.
I hung up the phone and proceeded to hit a 6 iron to the green; a great start. By the 13th hole my game had gone down the drain. I had lost 6 balls, one of which was at least two streets away after a hooked drive off the 10th tee. I yelled four but it was so far off the golf course, I'm afraid no one in the vicinity of the shot heard it. Then I started to question whether or not I was really tired. I thought, "maybe the nurse was right. I am feeling a bit fatigued and my game has really changed in the past few holes. I think I need to blame it on my red blood cell count."
When I got home from Florida 2 days later, I was scheduled for a blood transfusion at the hospital. After an hour and 3 separate nurses, they finally found a vein and starting the infusion. What a shot of Red Bull. It's amazing how quickly you notice a difference after a transfusion. The only complaint (aside from the poking to find a vein) was that after I got the blood, my stomach felt a bit unsettled. I guess where ever that blood came from it came from someone that had something for lunch that didn't agree with him/her.
So if you ever need blood, make sure you ask to get it from someone who has had a balanced meal of something you like to!
After golfing a few days, playing tennis and swimming, my son and I were just about to tee off on the first of 18 holes when my cell phone rings. I check the caller ID and notice it's my nurse from UConn. I answer and Jean asks in a very concerning voice "how are you feeling?", and I answer in my very concerning voice "I'm fine, how are you?" She told me that she was concerned because my red blood count was drastically low and I should be very fatigued. I told her I felt fine and I had been playing golf and the like. She was surprised, to say the least, and thought maybe she had received another patient's blood results. We agreed that I would retake the blood test and she would call back in two days.
I hung up the phone and proceeded to hit a 6 iron to the green; a great start. By the 13th hole my game had gone down the drain. I had lost 6 balls, one of which was at least two streets away after a hooked drive off the 10th tee. I yelled four but it was so far off the golf course, I'm afraid no one in the vicinity of the shot heard it. Then I started to question whether or not I was really tired. I thought, "maybe the nurse was right. I am feeling a bit fatigued and my game has really changed in the past few holes. I think I need to blame it on my red blood cell count."
When I got home from Florida 2 days later, I was scheduled for a blood transfusion at the hospital. After an hour and 3 separate nurses, they finally found a vein and starting the infusion. What a shot of Red Bull. It's amazing how quickly you notice a difference after a transfusion. The only complaint (aside from the poking to find a vein) was that after I got the blood, my stomach felt a bit unsettled. I guess where ever that blood came from it came from someone that had something for lunch that didn't agree with him/her.
So if you ever need blood, make sure you ask to get it from someone who has had a balanced meal of something you like to!
Friday, April 11, 2008
Dixie's First Bath
I was told when I bought Dixie (my wig), that she would need a shampooing in two weeks. So last Friday night I decided it was time. I did it on Friday night so I was sure my hairdresser would be working the following day when I styled it.
Dixie was submerged in cold water, cleansed with a special shampoo and conditioner and then placed on her drying rack (yes they actually have a special drying rack for wigs) for the evening. To be honest she looked like a dead rat. I went to bed very nervous that evening.
When I awoke Saturday morning I literally ran downstairs to the tub where Dixie slept the night before and was surprised to see her still looking like a dead rat, but a dry one. The next step was to style her and I had two choices. Style her on my head, or style her on her normal sleeping place, the white head that holds the wig.
I chose to style her on my head and found that when you brush a wig, it just comes right off. After a few drops to the floor, I got the hang of holding the wig down with one hand and brushing gently with the other. After my experience in the hospital with the ball and chain, I felt confident that I could master styling my hair one handed.
Net/net, the wig came out great. I didn't need to have it professionally styled and I even stopped in to show my hairdresser who quite impressed with the result. Another experience behind me and I'm feeling good!
Dixie was submerged in cold water, cleansed with a special shampoo and conditioner and then placed on her drying rack (yes they actually have a special drying rack for wigs) for the evening. To be honest she looked like a dead rat. I went to bed very nervous that evening.
When I awoke Saturday morning I literally ran downstairs to the tub where Dixie slept the night before and was surprised to see her still looking like a dead rat, but a dry one. The next step was to style her and I had two choices. Style her on my head, or style her on her normal sleeping place, the white head that holds the wig.
I chose to style her on my head and found that when you brush a wig, it just comes right off. After a few drops to the floor, I got the hang of holding the wig down with one hand and brushing gently with the other. After my experience in the hospital with the ball and chain, I felt confident that I could master styling my hair one handed.
Net/net, the wig came out great. I didn't need to have it professionally styled and I even stopped in to show my hairdresser who quite impressed with the result. Another experience behind me and I'm feeling good!
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