Gotta have surgery - again! Ugh.

I hope you enjoy the plethora o’ visual aids I’ve included in today’s post!  I do dumb things when I don’t feel well to keep my mind off of stuff.  Unfortunately, this was 2 days in the making.

I went to see Dr. Quiros on Friday.  As promised, here’s a much better picture of him:

And here’s Charity.  Remember, Matt took these & he’s never claimed to be a photographer.  I tried to clean it up as best I could, but it still looks as if he took these during an earthquake while standing on one leg.

I found out that I’m categorized as a Stage 3 cancer, which isn’t the best stage to be (out of a scale of 1-4), but most definitely not the worst.  However, these days, even a Stage 4 is highly curable, so ladies, take heart if that’s what you’ve been diagnosed with.  There’re so many more options that we have these days that our counterparts didn’t have as little as 10 years ago.

I’m going to have to have chemo for a few months followed by radiation for 5-6 weeks afterward.  Dr. Quiros wants to be very aggressive, which is a good thing.  But, in order to save my veins from the potentially damaging “chemo cocktail” that I’ll be injected with, Dr. Q has to put in what’s called a chemo port.  The port coupled with the drainage tube that has taken up residence underneath my arm, makes me feel that I’m slowly turning into a cyborg.  Star Trek fans will know what I mean when I say that I’ll be answering to “Tamara of Borg” or “Second of Five” (there’re 5 people in my family) soon.  To those of you who’ve never seen Star Trek, the first picture below is the Captain of the Enterprise, half Borg & half human (which is what a Borg is).  The second is me morphed into another Borg character, 7 of 9.

Thanks to my daughter, Aubrie, for combining my eyes & nose on Star Trek’s “7 of 9”.  She’s unbelievable, considering the original photo of me was yellow & she had to do a lot of cleaning up.

So, on Wednesday, I’m toddling off to St. Luke’s again to have the ambulatory surgery that will install the port.  Then, on the 14^th, I’ll meet with my oncologist, Dr. Nakajima.  Here’s his picture:

There’s a bit of a bummer, though.  Since I’m having radiation in addition to the chemo, Dr. Morrissey won’t be able to complete the reconstruction until after I’ve finished radiation.  Apparently, radiation can wreak havoc with your skin.  If Dr. Morrissey tries to fashion a nipple while I’m going through it, it could end up looking pretty bad.  However, he can still expand the tissue (& I’ll have a good idea of how big I’m comfortable to grow) in what we’ve taken to calling “teen boob”.  Matt came up with that name since my right “breast” has a nice little bump, instead of an indentation like I’ve seen in some mastectomy “after” photos.  And, like puberty, it’ll grow.  So, ol’ righty is now teen boob.

Pain wise, I’m getting annoyed with myself.  I’m still having a difficult time with it.  The bulk of my pain is under the incision, up & through my shoulder, radiating to my under arm & then around to my shoulder blades.  It’s weird.  Dr. Quiros says that it’s normal, but I’m beginning to think I’m just a whack job & that it’s in my head.  I mean, come on, it’s almost been two weeks.  Sigh.

Tomorrow, the girls are going to help me find the website that you can put your picture in & try different hair styles & colours.  I’ll share that with you, so that if you find yourself needing (or just plain old wanting) a new hairdo or colour, you’ll know where to look before you make that commitment. 

For me, I’m considering adding a blond wig to my collection again.  We watched “Earth Girls are Easy” today.  I’m looking for one that’ll make me look like Julie Brown in the following music video.  Enjoy the silly & I’ll write more later! 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0rNfZxgkH7k

20/20 HINDSIGHT TIP:

If you’re having any type of surgery that will require drain tubes placed under your arms, & you’re a lady (broad, yenta, whatever), read on.  You will NOT be allowed to shave your armpits, nor wear deodorant until those pesky drains have been removed & God only knows how long that’ll be!  To avoid a most unpleasant feeling, it might be wise to wax your underarms before hand.  This will dramatically reduce the rate of hair re-growth, thus decreasing that “not so fresh” feeling (& the constant fear that there’s something alive in them thar’ pits).  Alternately, you could choose Nair if you’d prefer not to feel as if you’re skin has been ripped off, resulting in blinding pain.  However, all accounts say that waxing lasts much longer. 

Waiting Sucks

All kidding aside, I'm a little worried tonight.  My pathology report should have come back by now.  Charity, Dr. Quiros' beautiful nurse, usually calls with results.  I'm worried that perhaps she would prefer to tell me in person.  Translation:  not the best news ever.


But, if it's bad, well, I'm just going to have to handle it.  I'll put my big girl panties on & forge ahead.  It's not like I'll be the first woman in the world to have to deal with this pain in the rear disease.  And I sure as HELL don't plan to let it beat me!  


I'll keep you posted!


PS  Thank you to the Taiwan Breast Cancer Alliance!  Let me know if there's anything I can to do help.  My email information is listed, but, here it is anyway: tamkells@gmail.com.  

The Gauntlet has been Thrown!

Yesterday I met with Dr. Morrissey, my plastic surgeon aka/My Booby Daddy, knowing that he would more than likely be removing one of the drains.  Of course, I read up on the subject, but everything I read made it seem akin to a medieval torture ceremony.  I had bad dreams of Dr. Morrissey doing some ghoulish laugh as he yanked the tube from my already tender underarm.

Additionally, I spoke to three women who’d either had the process done or had patients that had (oh, Nurse Pam, you have some splainin’ to do!).  They all told me to take the strongest pain pill I had a half hour before the procedure.  I went one step further & brought along an ice pack.

Dr. Morrissey came into the room, & I about jumped out of my skin – the time had come.  No matter how cute you ladies think he is, this is what I saw:

Side note:  I have to take a picture of Dr. Quiros.  The picture I have of him isn’t very flattering.  He, too, is a cutie.  And again ladies, no, you may NOT come with me to all my doctor’s appointments to stare.

The doctor noticed that I was apprehensive.  I guess that shaking like a frightened Chihuahua, clinging to an ice pack as if it was a life raft & excessive drooling might have been his first hint.  Other than that, though, I was handling the situation with quiet grace & dignity - until I almost peed my pants when he shut the door.

Doctor Morrissey was very sweet, though, & assured me that everything I’d heard wasn’t true.  He’d done this a million times, & I wouldn’t even need the ice pack.   Of course, he could have been Mary Poppins handing out a spoonful of sugar or Maria Von Trappe singing about some dumb hills being alive & her favourite things – I wouldn’t have believed them either.

He told me to take a deep breath, which I did.  No, bigger, he prompted; again, I did.  When he asked me to do it for the third time, I was getting ready to tell him if I breathed in any deeper, I’d explode.  Then he said, ready?  I wanted to holler, Uh, yeah, brainiac, I’m really, really ready!  “It’s already out”, he said, with a big ol’ grin, as he held the tube up for proof. 

I hadn’t felt a thing; seriously, I felt NOTHING!  I don’t know if it’s that he’s particularly talented in the drain yanking thing, or that it isn’t that bad to start with.  I’ll find out on Friday, when Dr. Quiros takes another one out.  Of course, I’ll let you know.  Personally, I think that I just happen to have the most excellent doctors in the world & you should probably be lined up around the block to see them if you need them.

After the procedure was done & I’d picked my jaw up from the floor, the doctor asked me what it is I call him.  I had no clue what he’d heard, or if it was a trick question.  I guess the slack jawed look I gave him clued him in.  He explained, “When I walked into the operating room, Dr. Quiros looked up at me & said, here’s the booby something or another”.   Of course, I cracked up.  I let him know that in this blog, I’ve been referring to him as my “Booby Daddy”.  But I thought it was really cool that Dr. Quiros ribbed him about it.  It’s also cool that he’s been reading this blog – Hi, Dr. Quiros!

Before I left, Dr. Morrissey gave me new daily workout instructions.  He wants me to stand an arms length away from a wall, facing forward with my arms to my side.  Then, he wants me to “walk” my fingers up the wall.  By the time I see him next week, he wants me to be able to life my arm over my head without bending it at the elbow (you just did it, didn’t you?).

Of course, I’m thinking “no problem”.  And then I got home & gave it the first shot.  He warned me that it would hurt; turns out, he’s a very honest man.  But, I’ll keep working at it as I plan to do whatever the doctors tell me.  I’ll get that darned arm above my head if it kills me.    

I’ll be seeing Dr. Quiros tomorrow at 3:00 pm.  At that time, we should find out the pathology of the lymph nodes that he removed.  That will determine whether I’ll need chemo alone, or in tandem with radiation.  Wish me luck!

And, now for the reason I’ve referred to the gauntlet.  Dr. Quiros, if you’re reading this before I see you tomorrow, I challenge you!  When it’s time to take out drain #2, you have to live up to Dr. Morrissey’s most excellent drain removal skills.  If, for any reason, it hurts me, then I shall taunt you in a most unpleasant fashion.  And just when you think you can take no more of my relentless taunting, I’ll tell Dr. Morrissey; so he can gloat.  You know, the more I think about this, it might not be the best idea to taunt your surgeon. 

So, there you have it, the incredibly glamorous world of the Brunette Lucy.  Can’t wait for this particular part to be over with so I can get back to doing all the dumb stuff I write about (& finally finish my book!).  Sigh.

Next up, I see Dr. Quiros tomorrow.  Hopefully, I’ll have a better picture to post of him (& maybe Charity, his nurse).

Bring on the mistletoe

It’s been 7 whole days since my surgery.  I’m still having pain, which is surprising to me.  I’ve had a bunch of abdominal surgeries, & usually by this time, I’m up & around, barely requiring anything more than Tylenol.  Then again, I’m not as young as I used to be.  Oh, boogers, that sounds like a really bad TV commercial.  I apologize, & I’ll understand if you’re upset with me.  I’m hanging my head in shame.

Aside from coming home to be with my family on Thanksgiving, I had another nice surprise.  I met my visiting nurse, Pam.  Here’s her picture:

 Isn’t she pretty?

I think that she & I are going to get along just fine.  She’s funny, & we had a pretty good time when she was here.  She was really helpful in terms of explaining how to change my dressings & do what’s called “milking” the drain tubes (great, now I’m a cow).  You basically squeeze the entire line to keep clots from occurring.  I have three drains, & it’s a bit of a pain in the butt doing it at least two times a day.  It’s either that, though, or back to the hospital.  Call me Bessie.

I DID feel really bad about keeping her from her family on Thanksgiving, though.  Then I had a substitute nurse on Sunday, who, too, was nice.  But now that I think of it, I hope I didn’t scare Pam off already – yikes!

A really odd thing is that I’m semi-numb on my right side.  Yet, I feel like my nipple is itching.  Weird.  Oh, guess what else?  I can’t shave under my right arm for at least a few weeks, due to all these drains!!  EEEEEWWWWW!!!  I’m hoping that by the time I can, I won’t be evicting any birds or small woodland creatures.  Honestly, how do men walk around as hairy as they are?  Hair under my armpit – gross (grumble, grumble).

But, on the bright side, Christmas is on its way, & I won’t (hopefully – keeping fingers crossed) have to begin chemo or chemo/radiation until after Santa comes.  I’m so happy, since I’m a Christmas junkie.

I love everything about this time of year – putting the tree up with sappy Christmas music playing & a fire raging in the fireplace (I even turned the a/c on one year since it was too warm.  But I was having that fire!).  I have hot chocolate & yes, folks, even chestnuts roasting.  I watch every sappy Christmas movie ever made, both real & animated, & no matter how many times I’ve seen them, I cry.

What makes me laugh (as hard as I can right now) is that Matt really thinks that since I’m not ambulatory, I won’t be over spending for presents.  Don’t men make you smile?  It’s called the “internet”, & I’ve been surfing it like Stephanie Gilmore catching a massively rad wave on the first stop to pro surfers’ equivalent of the Triple Crown at Haliewa, Hawaii – dude.  I may not know the intricacies of computers & all their new fangled technology, but I picked up on online shopping – fast.

I’ve got credit card numbers, passwords & security codes committed to memory.  I have my favourite stores in special folders & set up one click shopping.  If you want to know which site has free shipping on what days & for what minimum amount, I’m your gal.  I can be searching for store coupons while in the middle of checking out on three different sites, with a cup of coffee in one hand, the phone in the other, all while wearing my fuzzy slippers & pink super plush robe.

Can’t spend money – silly man.

In all seriousness, though, I know that this Christmas isn’t going to be the same.  I know that my kids are worried, & that they’re trying their darndest to be positive.  It’s a little weird when your mom & dad disappear into another room to empty & milk drains & change dressings; instead of sneaking in a kiss under the mistletoe.  But the fact remains that I have cancer & this year IS different

Still, it’s the Christmas season; a time of peace, hope, joy, love & miracles.  There’s no way that I’m going to let cancer rob me of experiencing this time of year as best I can with those that I love.  I’m going to shop, decorate, kiss, roast chestnuts & watch sappy movies, thank you very much.  We even managed to get The Beast up AND lit!  The title of my blog says it all – Cancer can suck it.

I still have a long journey ahead of me with this stupid cancer.  I also have a whole bunch of things to get accomplished for Christmas.  But, I have my priorities.


Bring on the mistletoe.

Article before the article - huh?

I’m waiting for the visiting nurse, the Eagles are coming on, & we’re trying to decorate the house.  I’ll post about what happened later.  In the meantime, I’ll probably reference what is now commonly called, “The Beast”.  Rather than go off on another completely confusing tangent, you can read about it (thus understanding when I mention it again this month) here:

The Brunette Lucy

This isn’t mandatory though!!  I just thought it might give you a better idea of what transpires in my house during Christmas & Christmas decorating.  Adding breast cancer has made it that much more chaotic.

Don’t judge me!

Just one of those, "I had to" moments - giggle!

Sorry, folks, but this just had to be done!

Thanksgiving Day

With today being Thanksgiving, & I’m lucky enough to be home for it, I’m going to get temporarily serious.  This is most definitely a sign that I’m taking pain medicine!

I’m thankful for my family.  My husband, Matt, has been incredible.  He’s learned to empty the drains that are stitched into my skin, so I don’t have to see them.  By them I mean the three tubes protruding from under my arm that he’s taken to calling my “cyborg” ports.  My visiting nurse, Pam (who I’m sure I’m going to have a LOT to say about.  She was a HOOT) was quite taken by him today & the fact that he’s not grossed out.  He’s keeping track of all my meds & is insuring that I’m taking them when I should.  And, he’s taking care of things here at the house, as well as running the businesses we own.

My kids have been unbelievable as well.  Aubrie pitched in to cook Thanksgiving dinner, complete with pies.  Elyse has been my personal masseuse, assistant & entertainer.  Dakota has turned into the family pack horse, running all the physical errands.  They’ve all done much, much more, but I’m so tired right now (& the pain is a little intense at times), I can barely see, let alone type.

My poor mother in law, Gretchen, has been the glue, as usual, that’s held this family together.  She’s always there & sometimes doesn’t think that the things she does get noticed.  They get noticed, Gretchen.

I’m also thankful for the large grid of friends that have rallied around me.  Of course, any one who knows me knows that my best friend is Michele Buono.  She’s the keeper of my pass words & secrets (& still hangs around with me anyway).  She’s usually right there whenever I’m in thinking about doing my next dumb scheme, & has managed to stop many of them.  And, if she doesn’t stop them, she’s right there with me doing them.  Matt’s convinced that he & Alex (Michele’s husband) will be bailing the two of us out of jail at any time.

I’m astonished at the amount of women who’re lined up to help me; who’ve signed up to come feed my family – even during Christmas.  I can’t believe the amount of women who’ve emailed me & shared their very personal stories.  I’ve been touched by the flowers sent to my room accompanied by notes of encouragement.  Your words, thoughts & prayers have made this experience much easier than it probably would have been.

I’m also thankful for the surgeons that worked on me.  Dr. Quiros is such a sweet, soft spoken man.  Yet, for his quiet demeanor, he’s a freaking rock star in the operating theater.  Dr. Morrissey is more outgoing & has sparks of a pretty good sense of humour.  I think I may puzzle him, though, with my goofiness.  Charity (& all of Dr. Quiros’ nurses) as well as Dr. Morrissey’s nurses have been fantastic.

Speaking of fantastic, Sue Folk, Dr. Evil (just teasing, Dr. Sebastiano), & all the ladies at the Regional Breast Health Center have been amazing.  Sue & Dr. Sebastiano called the day after my surgery to let me know they were thinking of me.  I know if I have a question, they’ll be right there to answer it for me.  And, honestly, ladies, if you’re afraid to go get your mammogram, do what I did.  Get it at the Regional Breast Health Center!!  They’re truthfully a great bunch of broads, & you’ll be treated like a queen.  A queen with her boob in a vice, but a queen nonetheless!

I’m not done with my thankful-gram, but it’s about all I can do today.  I’m very, very tired, & the pain is coming back. Thankfully, I have pain meds that put me to sleep.  And sometimes, sleep is the best place to be for a girl!

And since I can only be serious for so long, I’m going to say a little “prayer”.  “Dear God, please let the Broncos win tonight.  It would really make me a happy camper.  And these days, You owe me”.  JUST KIDDING – as far as you know.


Just watch, though, the Broncos will lose BIG TIME as God's response to my sacrilegious prayer.  Remember the guy on top of the roof during a flood, who asked why God didn't hear him?  In similar fashion, He can say to me, "I sent you a wonderful family, gifted surgeons, a plethora of friends, & a whole host of other gifts.  And you were worried about the Broncos??"