Barbie gets a nipple

In case you haven’t heard me say this before, I call the new boob my Bionic Baby Barbie boob. Bionic because they built it better; Baby because it’s still really young, and Barbie because it has no nipple. That’s all going to change tomorrow!

I’m going to St. Luke’s hospital where Dr. Morrissey will make me a brand new nipple! And, as I’ve always said, I love Dr. Morrissey, but for some reason, this surgery is making me nervous. It’s kind of dumb, but there you go. I’ve had a big ol’ slice of my abdomen & all its fat removed and placed where my old boob used to be (that was the only time I was happy I had plenty of c-section belly fat!). Two surgery sites – we’re talking major freaking surgery here, folks. Yet I’m nervous for this one – go figure.

I’m sidetracking right now, but I can’t help it. I’m going to confess something that I’m not proud of.

There’s a really, really shallow thought running thru my apparently extremely superficial brain which is really funny when you consider the fact that I’m almost 52 years old. This stuff shouldn’t be running thru my mind. I should be thinking about support hose and signing up for the AARP. Well, actually, support hose sounds really good right about now, I have an invitation to join the AARP on my kitchen counter, and frankly, a steel belted girdle is on my shopping list. But still.

As I’ve gotten older, my stupid skin has a few little red spots that are pissing me off. I’ve been able to cover them, but when you have surgery, you can’t wear make up! Crap! So there I’ll be, my big ol’ gut hanging out, hair pushed into one of those oh so attractive blue beanies, wearing one of those tie in the back “gowns” they give you that come apart at the first sign of any movement so why bother at all, with my blotchy, make up free face. I hope there’s no little kids getting surgery & waiting in the holding tank. I’m enough to scare the living daylights out of them. I can hear it now, children shrieking, “Mommy, shield me from the monster!” You know, I think it might behoove the medical establishment to let old ladies like me wear makeup just to spare them from looking at us.

Just a thought.

Wait, I haven’t adequately lamented about another thing I hate: pre-operative marking. It’s where the surgeon marks areas that he’ll be working on; usually done while I’m standing up. No matter how many times it’s been done to me, it’s still embarrassing. Maybe if I was a swim suit model or, I don’t know, twenty years old, it wouldn’t be quite so humiliating. But you get to stand there nekkid except for panties (and sometimes they’ve been off which is even WORSE) while the doctor is drawing on you, asking you to turn this way or that, using a sharpie to create his surgical road map. I know that it’s a good thing & is helpful to the surgeon. It’s just that when it’s happening to you, there’s no hiding anything. You’re on display like Honey Boo Boo and her hillbilly clan at a debutante ball.

But I guess if I’m being honest, what’s making this particularly scary for me is what it’s going to look like. I know Dr. Morrissey is the best, but I’ve looked online at all the different photos of nipple reconstruction. Gotta tell ya – some look good and some look like a well used dog’s chew toy. I’m positive mine will be fine, but those photos are going thru my mind.

On the bright side, I’m going to see if I can make Dr. Morrissey “remember” that he said (wink) that he’s going to throw in a small facelift or under eye surgery.

A girl can try!

But the other thing I’m thinking about tonight is how far I’ve come. It’s been three years of ups & downs – with a whole lot more downs than ups. Still, there were a lot of ups. I beat MRSA, survived chemo & radiation, underwent more surgeries than I care to remember, and have a breast where there wasn’t one. I’ve met wonderful people, both in the medical field and in doctor’s waiting rooms. I’ve mourned friends who lost their battle with cancer and am head cheerleader with others who are still in the throes of the fight.

Right now, I’m almost 2 years cancer free, although there have been two terrifying scares. Once the bone scan showed what looked like bone cancer, but was really a nick in the bone that Dr. Topham had made to thread veins. The other was a spot on my liver, but it turned out to be nothing. I had to undergo an MRI for the liver thing, and once again confirmed the fact that I’m claustrophobic. Thank God for the wonderful technicians at St. Luke’s who helped me through all my testing procedures.

Tomorrow is one step closer to closing this chapter in my life. Oh, I’ll always be vigilant in scheduling my scans and there will probably never be a day in my life that I won’t remember this journey. But I’ll also be thankful for the skilled surgeons and oncologists that held my hand thru it all. The nurses, CNAs & administrative staff that call me by name and laugh at my lame jokes hold a special place in my heart. And like I said, the techs were simply awesome.

More than anything, however, I’m grateful for the support of my family and friends, new and old. Jim Bryan, you’ve been a wonderful surprise and a friend that I’ll treasure forever. Thank you. And thank you to my Facebook friends who’ve cheered me & supported me. I wish I could name you all.

I’ve met the most amazing people who have followed my journey and cheered me on when I was down. I run a large homeschool group (between 350 & 400 families), and I have to be honest, I didn’t know all of the members by name. But some ladies who only knew me as the wacky broad who organizes things, volunteered to bring food to my house. Many offered to clean my house! Thank you to all of you – I’m forever in your debt.

And if you’ve read my blog for any length of time, you know that my best friend is Michele. She’s been there thru it all – and laughed at me when I was a total dork. She’s irreplaceable and I’m so thankful I have her.

My mother in law, Gretchen, was wonderful. I didn’t share this with you, as it wasn’t mine to share, but Gretchen battled – and beat – bladder cancer during all of this. Yet no matter what I needed, she was there. My crazy sister, Theresa, was always on call – and always ready to help.

My kids have been awesome. They chauffeured me to chemo and then daily to radiation treatments.  They organized a chart with the list of medicines I was scheduled to take, and even gave me a bell to ring if I needed anything. They cleaned the house, learned how to do laundry, and turned out to be some darn good chefs.

And then there’s my Matt; my husband of 25 years. No one was blind sided by this disease more than Matt. I swear, when Dr. Quiros told us that there was no saving my right breast, and couldn’t tell us how extensive the cancer was or even give a prognosis; I actually felt the breath come right out of him. He was hit hard, and he was scared. He was trying to be strong for me, so it hasn’t been until recently that he’s shared how difficult this has been for him. Trust me, I knew it was hard; but I can’t imagine the hours he spent in Hell (also known as hospital waiting rooms), waiting for the doctors to tell him what was going on. We’ve truly been thru this together. And thankfully, we’re coming out the other side a stronger and more committed couple.

Finally, thank YOU! You’ve been reading this blog, & have been keeping me in your prayers. I’m so lucky and I thank you.

I’ll let you know as soon as I’m able about what happened. And, you know me, I’ll tell you every detail!

Good night everyone & thank you so very much.

Goodbye, my friend

Yesterday, God welcomed my friend and fellow cancer fighter, Gail Ann Cavallaro, home. She fought hard, but cancer is evil and beat even a strong combatant like Gail. Thankfully, she is no longer in any pain as she sits with the angels tonight. God Bless her family.

 

And now for something completely different.

I think the title says it all! I wrote this piece a year or so ago about Easter. Even as I write this, my girls are in the kitchen rolling out sugar cookie dough to make Easter cookies. I'm guessing dying eggs will be Saturday. 


EASTER "TALES"

Easter Sunday is next week, reminding me of the many Easters I’ve spent dying eggs with the kids. I’d spend hours getting ready for the event; boiling eggs, gathering cups and preparing the dye. But the most time consuming of all was covering the kitchen table with newspaper in the event that a cup of dye was spilt.

Oh, who am I kidding; there was never a question of whether or not a cup would spill. It was just a matter of time.

At first, I just covered the kitchen table, but after the second or third cup of dye hit the floor, it, too, got covered. Inevitably, as soon as the kids enter the kitchen, the newspaper that I just spent twenty minutes covering all surfaces within a ten foot radius, gets strewn everywhere but where I had put it.

I started using tape to keep the newspaper down. I was especially diligent about taping it to the floor after I got doused with a cup of dye while crawling on the floor, replacing scattered newspaper. I now own an outfit solely for dying eggs.

Now that my kids are teens, I thought for sure they would tire of coloring eggs. They have not. And I’m sorry to report that even though they’re older, there is still going to be a dumped cup of dye somewhere. My days of papering the kitchen are not behind me as I had hoped.

However, they’ve begun to get more elaborate in their egg decorating. Through the last few years, I’ve been instructed to purchase kits that are supposed tie-dye them, make them look like marble or cover them with glitter. They also enjoy writing in wax pen on the eggs; sometimes, they’d put appropriate things like crosses or their names. However, I’ve stumbled upon more than one egg that has written across it things like, “I would have like to have seen Paris before I dyed. Signed, the Egg.”

They also expect treat filled baskets; not for any sentimental purpose but because they’re kids. Getting free candy and gifts is not something they give up easily. You’d have better luck getting an elephant into a Smart car, handing it the keys and asking it to pick up the Easter Bunny.

As you’d imagine, however, the trinkets that find their way into the baskets have gotten smaller, while the price tag has gotten larger. Most of them require batteries as well and now cost almost as much as a Smart car.

When they were little, I bought huge baskets because they had to hold large stuffed animals or character dolls. I, whoops, the Easter Bunny, stuffed a singing Ariel (from Disney’s “Little Mermaid”), large Little Foot dinosaurs, and Cookie Monsters inside the baskets. There was also Power Ranger action figures, a roaring “Simba” from “Lion King”, and a giant blue genie from “Aladdin” in the baskets at one time or another. I purchased them happily; until the day Elyse discovered a large purple dinosaur.

My three year nightmare began and his name was Barney.

While the overacting was perfect for children, parents were banging our heads against the wall. And the songs; oh the songs. Matt and I took to substituting our own words for the theme song, “I Love You, You Love Me”; they’re not suitable to write in this column.

That being said, I’ll admit that the show is full of qualities such as teaching children to share, how to settle an argument using words and other such teaching principles that parents everywhere want their children to learn. Sometimes parents have to bite the bullet and take one for the team.

So, I bought a singing purple dinosaur and let Easter Bunny put him in Elyse’s basket. They make a new stuffed Barney every year and the big Bunny kept jamming the oversized beast into her basket. Thankfully, she grew out of it but the timing couldn’t have been worse. It was the day after we bought her an expensive interactive Barney doll that she held once, then tossed into her toy box.

Of course, there was always an accompanying video to go with each character. And the kids wanted them every bit as much as they wanted the doll.

I don’t know who loved the videos more, though – the kids or me. I loved to watch as the kids would clutch their beloved character while they watched the movie for the hundredth time. I believe that seeing their little faces reflect the emotion on the screen, or listen as they sang along to every song is a gift that parents everywhere treasure. In fact, whenever a new Disney movie came out, we’d take the kids. But I never saw it; I was too busy watching my babies’ faces in the dark instead. And I don’t know whose heart broke more when the sad part came; them as they cried, or me as I held their hand. Those are memories that you cherish for the rest of your life; even the tears.

This year, as we decorate eggs, I’m going to remember when they were little, and keep those memories close to my heart forever. But I’m also going to tuck the new memories made with my teens into my mental scrapbook, and keep them as treasured as the memories we made years ago. This time, too, will pass quickly.

Besides, how many more times in my life will I run across Easter eggs that say, “Eat beef, not chicken!” or “$500 reward for E. Bunny – see Chicken Little.”

Oh, boy - just shoot me now

I have good news & some disconcerting news to share. I’m going to start with the good news.

I met with my original booby daddy, Dr. Morrissey last week, March 13^th. It was awesome to see him. In case you don’t remember, here’s his picture:

(cute, isn't he??)

I love Dr. Morrissey; he’s always made me feel like he wasn’t rushing me. He answered all my (often times dumb) questions without making me feel like I was mentally deficient. I’m never nervous when he’s operating on me – you can’t buy that. So if you’re looking for the best plastic surgeon in the entire Lehigh Valley, heck, the entire state, consider seeing Dr. Morrissey. Here’s his information:

Dr. W. Michael Morrissey, Jr.

1213 Main Street

Hellertown, PA 18055

610.838.7638

He has offices in Quakertown & Bethlehem, too.

It’s not just me that loves the living daylights out of Dr. Morrissey! I met a woman this past week who handed her 6 week old baby over to him for surgery (he needed quite a few). She, too, couldn’t imagine a better, more competent doctor who inspired confidence. I mean, really, you can’t get a more glowing recommendation than a mom who’ll hand her baby over to a doctor several times with no reservations.

Did I mention that Dr. Morrissey is the best?  

After the original mastectomy, he put tissue expanders in. Then MRSA reared its ugly head, & I was in & out of surgery 4 more times. The final time was an extended stay in the hospital where they kept the wound open, packed and cleaned it twice a day. That was horrible, but it kicked the MRSA out, so there’s that.

Unfortunately, the MRSA ate the tissue expander, and when the ordeal was finally over (a few months), Dr. Morrissey felt that I should see a micro surgeon for reconstruction, which I did. Dr. Neal Topham of Fox Chase Cancer Center did a good job of making my bionic (they built it better), baby (brand spanking new), Barbie (no nipple) boob – my bionic baby Barbie boob! It’s time, however, to end its status as Barbie, because we’re fixin’ to slap a nipple on that bad boy & call it a day. I have surgery scheduled for the second week in May – or do I?

Here’s where the crappy part comes in.

I went to see a gynecologist on Tuesday, Dr. Patriarco. Turns out, since I had breast cancer before age 50, my chances of getting ovarian cancer are about 87%. Throw in the fact that there’s either uterine or ovarian cancer in my family, & I hit the genetics jackpot. I either may already have it, or I’ll more certainly get it. Guess who wants to yank those bad boys out? I also want them to take out the rest of the plumbing. Like I’ve said a lot recently – they’re about as useful as screen doors on a submarine.

The doctor took my blood & has sent it to a genetics lab out west. They’ll determine if I carry something called a BRCA1 or BRCA2 gene. There’s a lot to explain about it, but since I want to get this up, I’ll just post the link here. Suffice it to say, I’m hoping I don’t carry the gene, but more for my girls than for me.

I’ll keep you posted as surgeries get scheduled. Gotta say, though, I’m getting really tired of my reproductive system trying to kill me!

 

Moving on . . . .

As you may know, I've written my humor column that ran in over 20 cities for AOL's Patch over 2 years. In fact, if you scroll down, you can read my indictment of the pink ribbon marketing bonanza which was a departure from my normal silliness. I tapped into my old job as a journalist to expose the massive amounts of money being made by simply slapping a pink ribbon on some product or another. The biggest problem is that miniscule amounts of money were donated to any charity or went to help cancer patients. Most of the money was pure profit. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a big fan of making money. But I detest when it’s done based on tapping into humanity’s innate desire to help and it’s even more despicable when it’s made from the suffering of others.

I haven’t decided whether I despise the corporations who slap that pink ribbon on their product and paint the town pink for “Pinktober” or the charities that claim to be helping women like me (cough, Komen, cough, cough). One of the worst charities, in my opinion, is Komen, who barely spent 17% of their earnings from the pink ribbon marketing cash cow to anything remotely helpful. Worse, their signature fragrance had ingredients directly linked to causing breast cancer. Helpful little bunch, wouldn’t you say? But, like I said, you can scroll down to read the series.

I’ve changed direction, and am finally writing my book. It’s tentatively called, “My Heels are Alive (and are trying to kill me)”. I’m almost done – woo hoo! So that’s another reason I haven’t been writing for y’all with any regularity.

I’d LOVE it if you’d connect with me on Facebook. If you “like” my fan page (just click on the name & it'll take you to FB & my page), Tamara Kells, The Brunette Lucy, you’ll be able to interact with me much easier than here on the blog. Although I thank you for all your emails! I can’t tell you how much I looked forward to hearing from you. There were days when I was sick, others that I was depressed, and I’d see that one of you sent me a letter. It was the most awesome thing – it’s hard to put it into words. Thank you seems trite. Still, it’s the only way to express my feelings about you.

Thank you.

If you feel inclined, come over & visit me on Facebook! I look forward to reading whatever you have to say.

Pink Ribbon = Big Profits

The first part of my expose about the big money being made in the name of breast cancer and the pink ribbon is up. You can read it here:

Pink Ribbon = Big Profits

The second part is this Sunday, where I take on Komen, Planned Parenthood, "Save the Boobies" campaigns and Pinktober. Here's a sneak peak at the photo the paper is letting me use:

Last installment on Patch!

The final installment of my long battle with breast cancer is up. Here's one of the cities that carry it:

My Battle with Breast Cancer: Radiation & Reconstruction

And like I've promised, this weekend, I'm going to tackle what me & other breast cancer survivors have taken to calling the "pinkwashing" of America. I hope you'll read that.

If you've been reading me for any length of time, you know that I'm never political or controversial. That being said, we're gearing up to elect a president in November. If you have decent insurance, please check with them about what will happen if Obamacare goes into effect as it's written. I know that my doctors have told me that they're worried about whether or not they'll be able to continue to take medicare patients - that's just one of the many concerns. The claim that you'll still have your doctor is just that - a claim. PLEASE, check with your doctor, your hospital, your insurance company to be sure that you'll still be seeing them if Obamacare is implemented in its entirety. 

When Obama's website told me to "vote with my lady parts", I'm taking him up on that. My biggest lady part is my brain; which I plan to use to vote. Him out.