Happy Thanksgiving

Give us this day and our daily bread.

It's not just a prayer that we say before bed.

It's a way of saying thanks for all that we've got.

Even if what we have doesn't seem like a lot.

It means to cherish each day, and not rush too fast.

Because luckily we don't know which day will be last.

Want only in life the things that you earn and are giv'n.

And you'll always get more than you want out of liv'n.

This is my toast and my little way.

Of saying thanks on this Thanksgiving day.

I wrote that poem for my family years ago,
and I still mean every word...

Today am I thankful?    Yes, a friend reminded me that I HAVE what most men aspire, and some never achieve.... 30 wonderful years with the love of my life, successful, healthy, supportive kids. Many friends and jobs that I really love... Thanks God.

Back to Tam's blog:

Yay 2016... Tamara is on Ibrance and letrozol oral chemotherapy, this combination was supposed to stop the progression of cancer for two years...stop. the. progression. In a study of X amount of patients vs Y patients we were happy to hear it. Stop the progression for two years, hell in two years they'll have a cure, right? 

 I don't know how other people and they're spouses are expected to deal with cancer, but for us, it was "okay we got this, we got a plan and we're going to beat this"...never say never...please dear readers never, ever say never...We went on with our LIFE and woke each day forging a future for our family.... Our daughter Elyse was engaged, and there was a future...a shower to plan, a wedding to plan.... (beautiful wedding by the way) a new job (turned into a godsend) ...more friends...more life...more LIVING...Tamara was keeping up with her scans and trudging along with cancer constantly on her mind,  For six months......then

In June, just as we line up to start our new career in title search, excited to do something different with loads of benefits and insurance, Tamara goes for her 6 month scan.... nervous as hell, for this particular test, because it was a brain MRI. Tam is claustrophobic as hell and hated this test like no other.... I know in earlier posts that she described in great detail the anxieties she would have, and I would ask anybody who has not read Tam's blog before to go back and read it, she is waaay more entertaining.

(Tam speak) Anywho, Brain MRI

Tam took two Xanax before the MRI so she could tolerate the clicking, stiff, uncomfortable, claustrophobic machine....and fell asleep during the procedure...The next day she was told that there was some activity/cautious looking spots throughout her brain. I told her that since she fell asleep that what they were seeing was just "dream activity"...cause I'm a doctor or something, right?....It calmed us for the day... NOT... they told her on a Friday....What the a EFF, a whole weekend to GOOGLE brain cancer, not cool....

what she went through....

On Monday they told her that it was, METS (metastasis)... she would need whole head radiation... she was fitted for a mesh "mask" for her face...what is that? 

It's where they wrap your head in a plastic "paper mache" and let it "set" while you lay there like a rock...horrible

10 "rounds" of radiation was in order...That's going to the doctor every day for two weeks, ya get weekends off...woohoo...On one of her last "rounds" as she was checking in I watched....I was sitting there with kindle making believe I'm reading...but I watched... Tamara was working the room, complementing the staff  "wow, y'all look so pretty today!" and chatting up the other patents in the waiting room, she then sat next to me and a woman I thought that she knew from earlier that week. Tam started telling her how handsome her son looked on her previous visit, and how she hoped everything would be okay for her future, you know Tam stuff...Tam was called back...The girl at the counter said "It's so nice that you have a friend like her" to the woman that Tamara was chatting with... "her?" the woman said, "I just met her now, but she just made me feel good"...I'm like, Yeah she did...that's what she did...She made you feel good.

One week later, as I was in the office collecting taxes on a Saturday, Tamara called me and said we need to go to the hospital!! I didn't hang up, I locked the door and ran like hell to our room. Tam told me that she "thinks" she had a seizure and woke up on the floor... Ah yeah, we need to go to the hospital. A weekend of tests and bed rest was everything that she needed, and hated... what she had was a swelling in her noggin from all the radiation and was ordered up two weeks of steroid meds to relieve the throbbing. Steroids have they're own nasty side effect issues as well but "ya gots to do what ya gots to do" was her motto.

The results of the radiation where good, her radiologist, eh, not so good. My daughter Elyse accompanied Tamara to a follow up with said radiologist.

Up next Mini T

Three weeks ago a light went out

you moved it from it's place

The light was getting weaker there

We could see it in your face

It shined so bright and for so long

It showed us all the way

The fact that it was on all the time

Helped us through our day

Your glow was always that of morning shine

and afternoons of fun

We never wanted to think about the setting of the sun

Your light has moved and not visible

in any normal speaking sense

But for those you love, the heat and

focus are becoming more intense.

So, when I need your help, and I'm overwhelmed

with days that I can't handle

I'll relocate your light again in the flicker of a candle

-Your Knight, Your Love 

Yes, it's been three weeks, life goes on...

Mine is stuck....I've got to get back on track...

Thank you to all that have encouraged me to continue Tamara's blog and I promise this is the last bummer post. Promise.

Tamara was the most positive person anyone would ever have the pleasure to meet, she was the yin to my yang. I want to be her yin from now on.

I said I'd tell you all what happened...

When stage four reared it's ugly head we immediately made the battle plan to do whatever was necessary to stave off the inevitable.... it's inevitable 

On December 24th 2015, yes Christmas Eve, Tamara underwent hysterectomy surgery so that the new chemo drug "Ibrance"  would be effective. She did this because she never went through menopause and this drug is meant for post-menopausal women.

Funny story here, yes we're talking about Tamara there's always a funny story.

Before surgery the anesthesiologist came in to introduce himself and prepare Tam for what will happen next (poor guy probably didn't realize that Tam has been through a dozen surgeries before this)  

He instructed Tam to remove all jewelry...yes Tamara went to an early morning, scheduled surgery, wearing her watch, bracelet, necklace, earrings and rings on her fingers. Not to mention she got up extra early so she could get on her makeup (false eyelashes included)

She removed all of it except her wedding ring... He's all "please remove all of it because we don't want any swelling and complications while you're under"...Makes sense too me, I'm all safety and pragmatist I said Tam it's okay we've done this over and over take it off.

Tamara, the forever romantic...asked him why he would be the first anesthesiologist ever to insist that she remove her wedding ring. He again explained the dangers and I convinced her to begrudgingly remove the ring that has never left her hand in 27 years.

Well like a tree that has a rope on it as a sapling grows, so do you fingers...In comes nurses with vaseline then baby oil then a string to somehow wrap around the ring and finger to magically remove the ring. Finally they brought in a doctor with an industrial pair of wire cutters and snapped in off and handed it to me.

Off she went to surgery and all went well.

Of course I had it repaired. I returned it to her finger and didn't remove it until three weeks ago today.

Okay that was the last bummer....promise

This is Matt

I think it would be something Tamara would want me to do and tell you all that her journey with cancer has come to the inevitable conclusion. Tamara passed at our little lake house on October 28th.
Yes October, breast cancer AWARENESS month. She found the whole awareness a ridiculous concept, especially for those battling this insidious disease.

I don't know...I want to do all things Tamara....I'm nowhere close to the talented writer that my wife is, but I want to continue this blog in her honor....I'm not sure if anyone is going to read it but I feel like doing this will be sort of cathartic and maybe she will inspire me to write things as inspirational as she did.

How did it happen? What happened since she wrote last?

We started doing title search work together in 2016. a: to do something together (we did everything together) b: INSURANCE the most important thing to us was this amazing company that we worked for and the wonderful benefit of stellar insurance coverage they provided. Tamara's cancer was back with a vengeance, but you all know from her writings, that Tamara always walked on the sunny-side of the street, and there was no way that this was going to get her, publicly. Privately....I think the reason that she stopped blogging was that she crossed the street...she never let on but I noticed that her blogging stopped and I think she didn't want to scare you all (Tam sic y'all). Tamara stayed unbelievably strong for her many friends and loving family and she moved on with the many treatments that she was offered. Whole brain radiation, targeted radiation all of the chemotherapy that the body can tolerate. I'll write more of how Tamara reacted to each and every one for those that care to read and learn, I think that was her intention from the beginning, and that was to inform other really scared women what they will encounter. I also don't want to be the guy to scare off the many readers that Tamara has. This ended for Tamara, not how we would have intended, and not necessarily the same way that it will for others, new treatments are becoming available all the time.

Tamara was diagnosed in October 2009 and has had many joys and milestones achieved since that horrible day. And I'll get into them as well because she did all of them while living with cancer.  

Stage 4 - A New Life Begins

If you’ve read my blog before, you know that I wrote each and every little thing that happened to me from diagnosis to when I thought I was cured. It was a way for me to release inner fears, but it was also meant to help others. I was always candid, and as you may know, always silly. This go ‘round is different for a reason. But first, let me catch you up.

In October, I went for my yearly scan - the magical 5th year. Supposedly, if you get to year 5, you’re in the clear. I took my daughter with me and we went to lunch and shopping afterwards; kind of a celebratory day. Until dinnertime.

The phone rang and it was my oncologist, Dr. Nakajima. He informed me that they had found something in the scan. There’s a spot on my spine, a little bit on my liver, and an enlarged lymph node. He said he was pretty sure my cancer had come back. As I spoke to him, all 3 of my children and my husband, Matt, came into the room. The look of horror on their faces as they heard my side of the conversation and figured out that cancer had come back was heart breaking. Dr. Nakajima said his nurse would call in the morning to line up all the necessary scans.

I hung up the phone and looked into the stunned eyes of my family. And then we cried. After several minutes, I kicked into mommy mode. I told them the truth, that it was very, very early in the cancer, as far as Nakajima could tell. And he’d said that it was very treatable, and I said that over and over and over again.

I couldn’t stand myself. I was the one who let cancer invade their lives again. I know I didn’t ask for it, didn’t want it, and was definitely frightened of it, but if not for me, our lives would be our family’s version of normal. It’s a bitter realization, and yes, I know it’s not my fault, but I’m still responsible. When you’re a mom, bringing any kind of sorrow into your children’s lives is tantamount to opening the door and inviting Satan in.

The funny thing is, Matt and I had just returned from a long, celebratory weekend to Ocean City. We hadn’t been there for a while (cancer kinda gets in the way), and there’s an old historic hotel, The Flanders, that I had wanted to go to for the past 25 years. We went there to put a period on the last 5 years and to begin another chapter in our lives - one that didn’t have cancer as part of it. I even made a slide video; you can see it here. It was wonderful, and I’m glad we went, but the irony isn’t lost on either of us.

I had a few scans, including a PET scan. I’m going to go off topic for second, though, because I think it’s important for you to know what to expect when you’re told you need a PET scan. I was told that it would take a few hours, so the night before, I charged up my Kindle and off I went in the morning. And here’s what they DIDN’T tell me. I couldn’t read my book, a magazine, a phone book, nothing. I was injected with some kind of dye, and told I had to lay still for 90 minutes (yup, an hour and a half). No reading, since even that small eye movement would light up like a Christmas tree. Folks, I’m a fidget and being still for 5 minutes is difficult. Being in a dark room, lying on an uncomfortable gurney, listening to their “soothing” music (if new age is your thing, then, yes, I guess it was soothing. It just irritated me and made the time slow to a crawl), I lay there. New age music has its place - just not in MY musical repertoire.

In what seemed like years, rather than an hour and a half, the nurse came in and I was brought into a room with a machine that rather looked like an MRI machine. The rest of the test took maybe 15 minutes, and I was finally done. Why am I telling you this? Because if being still for an hour and a half, while enduring crappy music is your thing, then a PET scan is going to be a piece of cake. My advice? Bring some music you actually like with you. It’ll make the time pass quicker - I think. I hope.

But as usual, I have digressed. Back to the story.

It was finally confirmed - I was now living the Stage 4 lifestyle. New medicines, more drugs, more pain, and a life that was now going to be full of scans and blood tests. For the rest of the time I have left on this earth.

But, on the bright side, there was a new medicine called “Ibrance” that just came on the market. It’s being touted as a new wonder drug, and can extend the length of my life. At Fox Chase, where Matt and I went for a second opinion, Dr. Carlson confirmed Dr. Nakajima’s opinion that due to new therapies, coupled with how early the cancer was caught and that it’s a slow growing cancer, my outlook is pretty good. And that’s what brings me to why I haven’t been too vocal about it for all these months.

I have several friends that I’ve met on my journey, ones that are really, really sick. I’m going to lose a few within the next year; one I said goodbye to last year. I don’t feel right announcing this on my FB page or any other social media right now. These women won’t have the necessary criteria to use the new medicine. I wish I never had to make this announcement, pray that I won’t lose any more friends, and hope that no other woman or man has to deal with breast cancer or any other form of cancer. But sadly, none of those dreams will be realized anytime soon.

Cancer is insidious and is an equal opportunity destroyer. It changes you, it frightens you, and you experience thoughts and feelings that you probably would never ponder until it breaks down the door of your life and and invades like a Storm Trooper. There is no Obi Wan Kanobi, no magic pill, no cure. It is now going to be part of the rest of my life and the lives of my beloved Matt and our children.

On the bright side, with the support of family and friends, there will be many happy days to come. Life continues with all its milestones, including the fact that on May 14th, our daughter, Elyse, will marry HER Knight in Shining Armour, Rob. We have a bridal shower to plan, a service to attend, a reception to hold and a new son to welcome. Life continues and it’s still wonderful, full of love, happiness, and many more joyful memories.

I’ve decided to look at this new part of my life with hope and the same humour coupled with the goofy escapades that have always been a part of who I am. I will fight and I’m sure I’ll stumble. But that’s OK, because that’s part of life.

I’ve chosen to embrace hope. The human spirit, our belief in God, and our love of family and friends are things that cancer can’t take away from us.  

And that is what will make us triumph over cancer.

 
(If you’d like to get in touch with me, feel free to “like” either one or both of my Facebook pages, “The Brunette Lucy” or “The Brunette Lucy vs. Breast Cancer”)

Cancer, Stage 4 - exit left!

It's funny how the human mind works. After I'd been cancer free for a few years, I stopped keeping up on this blog. I guess it was because I figured that if I didn't talk about it anymore, cancer would die from neglect. But that's the thing about cancer, it really doesn't care whether or not you ignore it. IT makes up the time schedule, whether you feed it or not. Sometimes, it decides that the battle should begin anew. It's reared its ugly head, and has challenged me to another duel. I am now Stage 4 - my cancer has metastasized.

Due to other health issues, my niece, Melody, has dubbed me the "Queen of Beating the Odds". Well, it's time to pick up the crown, give it a good scrub, and put it back on my head. Along with a hefty suit of armour.

It's time to go to war.

I'll write more this weekend, but let me say this. There is an arsenal of new medicines that have just recently (within 3-6 months) been approved in this fight. And I intend to use each & every one of them.
 

New nipple - hopefully

Well, folks, Dr. Morrissey tattoed my new nipple a few weeks ago. It started out really dark, and didn't match ol' lefty even a little bit. He said it'll lighten up, which is has, but it's not quite a match. We're going to wait a few months & see what happens. And hasn't that been the story of my battle with cancer to date?

Anyways, I've finally decided to write my book about my battle with cancer. Just as I've been here with you, I'm going to be very candid about what I've been through. I just recently realized that I was Stage 3c, which is one step away from metasticizing. Translation - whole different outcome. I would have been annoying the daylights out of St. Peter to let me thru the Gates of Heaven. I'm Lucy, though, I can annoy even a Saint. So I'm a very, very lucky girl. And St. Peter can breathe a sigh of relief that he doesn't have to deal with me yet. Then again, I might be going the other way.

Keep your fingers crossed that I can finish this book! I get distracted easily and . . . . . oh, look, a butterfly!
 

It's late & I'm heading into bed soon. I'm up, though, cause I have an appointment with my oncologist, Dr. Nakajima. I have to have a real talk with him - and I haven't told you about it because I don't want you to worry that you may experience the same thing. I'm pretty sure I'm in the minority.

Anyways, I've been experiencing shooting pains from my elbows to my hands. When it reaches my hands, they tingle, itch and/or feel like they're being poked with a hundred needles. Needless to say, it isn't pleasant. Couple that with my joint pain, the pain that radiates from my back to my front legs all the way to the soles of my feet, & I'm hurting a lot more than I thought I would at this time.

Let me be REALLY CLEAR, though! I contracted MRSA during the mastectomy & spent months trying to knock it out. I had 3 additional surgeries & an extended hospital stay so they could administer IV antibiotics. They also left the wound open, packed it, & cleaned it. It wasn't pleasant. Then I had the max amount of chemo they could give you followed by 6 weeks of radiation - a lot of people don't have to go thru that many. What I'm experiencing is unusual. Please don't think that because I'm sharing this with you that it's in any way normal. If you have any questions, or want to pick my brain, please leave a message either at the bottom of this blog or directly to me at tamkells@gmail.com. Please put "cancer" or something like that in the memo line, though, so I know it's okay to open the email.

Anyways, I've been having pain & Dr. Nakajima gave me pain meds a few months ago. I don't want to have to continue to take them, which is evidenced by the fact that I don't get in touch with Dr. Nakajima before any appointment to ask for more. I take them sparingly, but the fact of the matter is that I need to ask him for more.

The weird thing is that I'm nervous about doing that! Matt keeps telling me that I just went thru Hell, & am dealing with painful side effects & that's his job to help me. Still, I don't want him to think I'm trolling for drugs. Matt made me promise I'd ask though.

I'll let you know this week what happened. Also, if you have ANY suggestions about dealing with this neuropathy & the tingling/numbing/needles sticking in my hands, I'd sure appreciate your input.

K, gotta get to bed. It's after 2:00 am! Thank you so much for your continued prayers.

PINKTOBER (or, shoot me now)

During Pinktober, I and my fellow cancer bloggers, rail about the world turning pink and all the money to be made by slapping a pink ribbon on just about everything. However, for the record, I want to thank everyone who purchased the products, signed up for the walks, and wore (or wear) pink ribbons. I know that you wanted to help, and thought you were doing so. I can’t tell you how deeply I appreciate what you’ve done. BBC (before breast cancer), I did the same thing because, like you, I never knew the truth. Still, if you want to wear the pink ribbon – you go right on ahead! I’m not offended! I think you’re awesome; I just want us all to take the next step & demand honesty from those that claim to be helping us find “the cure”. Again, thank you for wanting to help the cause and women like me. God Bless You.

I can’t help it, but every time Pinktober rolls around, I think about Ralphie in the movie, “Christmas Story”. Aunt Clara made a big pink bunny suit for him, which his mother forced him to try on. As he comes down the steps, his mother thinks that it’s adorable while his father shares in his son’s horror. He says that Ralphie looks like a big pink nightmare. All I can think about is the other months, staring as October is forced to wear pink; you just know they’re all laughing and pointing. Which is sad, because October should be equated with falling leaves, apple cider, pumpkins, and Halloween. 

Sadly, like Ralphie, it’s now just a big pink nightmare.

I have my own rants coming your way about this time of the year when all the world turns pink and companies slap a pink ribbon on just about everything. Hey, there’s money to be made! But before I rail, I want to share a post from my blogging sister, Ann Silberman. Ann is a metastatic cancer patient, and is fighting each and every day. The way I see it, if anyone can beat Stage 4, it’s Ann (and my friend, Stacy).

You can keep up with Ann on her blog, “Breast Cancer? But Doctor – I hate Pink”. Here’s her story about being contacted to help a guy “save man’s real best friend – boobs”. Ugh. Wouldn’t it be nice if the emphasis was on saving the woman, not the boobs? Anyways, here’s what Ann had to say to the idiot:

Look at this jerk. He actually wrote me a private message and asked me to support him in his effort to save "man's real best friend...boobs." and asked me if I wanted to "rock a tee shirt" like a dying woman has the energy to "rock" anything, and support Komen and some damn race. He didn't bother to call me by name, (more evidence that those of us with mets are not people) he didn't learn my stance on Komen, didn't even gather a little clue by the name "I hate pink." He just blithely asks me to help him get MONEY so he can enjoy himself. He's spamming me, obviously, but hey, it's for the "cause" How could I possibly object?

My response? In part: "I, along with many metastatic women, do not support Komen and won't have anything to do with them. Komen does not help the ONLY women who will die of breast cancer - those of us with metastatic disease. Out of hundreds of millions of dollars raised, Komen donates only 17% towards research that could possibly result in a cure. The rest of their money goes to throw parties and races for the "Survivors" which also include women who never had cancer. Their profound focus on early detection has caused tens of thousands of women to lose their breasts over a disease that is called DCIS which could never, ever have killed them. Research would help them too.

I am dying of cancer. It is not cute, it is not pink. It is not about bras, and it's not about "rocking" anything.

You want to show support for women with cancer? Than learn something, don't just do something you enjoy already (exercise) and pretend you are helping. Read my blog. Read sites like "Think Before You Pink." Watch the movie Pink Ribbons, Incorporated. Read the New York Times article (where I am quoted) here:

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/04/28/magazine/our-feel-good-war-on-breast-cancer.html?ref=magazine&_r=0

Ugh, I hate this month, where every idiot in the world wants to make a buck off the suffering of the 40k women who will die this year of breast cancer and everybody thinks because I have written about my terminal disease of breast cancer I MUST support Komen. That is how brainwashed they have people.

Do not help this guy and in fact, let's get the word out that if he wants to run in a damn race then he should effing pay for it himself. His prizes for donations include such sensitive and charming items as "sweater puppy solo cups"

UGH UGH UGH UGH UGH

I suggest you ask any other metastatic women to support you as you will likely get a very similar response.

Thanks, Ann, for always telling it like it is. If you’d like a REAL eye opener at how low Komen will go to get money for feel good walks & parties, check out Ann’s latest post on her Facebook page. You can read it here.

Un freaking believable.

Houston, we have a nipple

Looking back on recent posts, I see that I have been remiss in telling you about what you get sent home with once you have a brand new nipple. Ready to find out what this sci-fi like technological wonder is?  Really? Okay, heeeerrrreee it is:

It’s a piece of foam that they cut a hole in, held onto your breast with tape. Don’t get me wrong; it works. The thing is, after seeing all that they can do with rebuilding my boob, I expected there to be some amazing contraption (that I never would have dreamed of) protecting the new nipple. Eh – the point is, it works, so there you go.

The second nipple surgery has gone quite well! Plus, Dr. Morrissey didn’t need to do a skin graft or take fat, so there wasn’t any pain – woo hoo! It’s looking good, well, with the exception of the ugly black stitches. Ever notice how black looks even darker when it’s up against a light colour? I’m so white, I glow in the dark, so the stitches are kind of scary looking.

The good news is that there has been no oozing or scabbing this time!! The bad news is that it looks like a little cone head. Hopefully, that’ll change in time, or else I’m going to look perpetually cold.

I see either Morrissey or Jason next Wednesday. I’ll let you know how it goes!

In the meantime, here’s a big head’s up!!!

YOU CAN NOT WEAR UNDERWIRE BRAS IF YOU’VE HAD DIEP FLAP RECONSTRUCTION SURGERY (and probably TRAM flap surgery as well).

Dr. Topham told me this, but that was a while ago. I guess I conveniently forgot, as at the beginning of summer, I was going nuts because I needed a strapless bra. Ever tried to find one of those bad boys without a wire in them? Trust me – it’s like rooting for truffles in a fish tank. I’d found this really cute dress, but it was strapless. Finally, I decided that since it was only this one time, I dug out an older strapless bra – with underwire. I trotted around, all happy with my smart self, arrogantly thinking I knew what I was doing.

Until that night.

I took off my bra, glanced down at my boob, & saw that it was misshapen – really, really misshapen. It looked like something out of a sci fi movie. I freaked out a little.

Okay, I freaked out A LOT. But it was the weekend so I couldn’t call Dr. Topham and let’s face it – a trip to the emergency room was out of the question. Although if I’m being honest, it did cross my mind. Fortunately, the boob was back to its normal boob like shape in the morning. Crisis averted.

Still, I wanted to find a strapless bra that didn’t house those little torture wires; I began to look everywhere. They have plenty of those boob squishers called “bandeau bras”. If you happen to wear a cup size over “B”, then this isn’t for you. Well, that is unless you want your boobs flattened, sending them migrating to your back, thus parking your nipple in your armpit. If that’s cool with you, then have at one - and send pictures.

However, one glorious day, I took Boy to the Philadelphia Outlet mall, where I saw a Maidenform store. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I didn’t at least give it a shot, so I went in. A really sweet girl (who I took to calling Angel when I retold the story) asked if she could help me; so I told her that I was looking for what constitutes the Holy Grail of bras for reconstructed boobs. She thought for a second, then went towards the back of the store, stuck her hand in a display, and brought out a wire free strapless bra.

I had to blink my eyes really fast cause I could have sworn I saw a halo glowing over her head.

I asked if there were more of these treasures hidden throughout the store, and she sadly informed me that she was surprised they had this one. Oh, well, I didn’t care, I had the elusive wire free strapless bra in my hot little hands and I was happier than a politician with an original idea (whoops – that’ll never happen so let’s just say I was happy). Just at the moment I thought Nirvana was mine, my salesgirl asked if it was the right size.

What?

I stood there gaping at Angel as in my mind her halo fell off her head and Elvira, Mistress of the Night, was looking back at me instead. It’s amazing how quickly one can go from joy to despair.

Thankfully, the band size was correct, but the cup size was one size too small. I thought for several moments, then made a decision to buy the bra. I figured that as long as I had one of those nipple foam devises to protect my new addition, I was gonna jam those bad boys into that bra like I was stuffing a sausage. All was once again right with the world and I took my bipolar self out of the store; of course, after thanking Angel profusely.

Naturally, I wanted another one of these miracle bras, and came home to begin my search on the world wide intranets – only to find that they no longer manufacture this well made bra. Well, of course they don’t – it’s comfortable. My friend, Dorothy, said that maybe I could take wire out of a bra, which was brilliant! So I grabbed an older one out and began the task of yanking the booby destroying wire out. A few cuts, several gashes, a myriad of curse words that I didn’t even know I knew and well over an hour later, I triumphantly held the wire in my bloody little hands. I put it on, and grabbed a shirt. While my arms were heading north to put the shirt on, the bra was headed south. Or, I found out what keeps most bras up – and I’d just removed it.

I’m still looking for a comfortable wire free bra. Wait, I should amend that to strapless. You can find many regular bras without the little torture wires, but that’s because straps hold the girls in place. I have no idea what miracle produced the Maidenform bra, but I’m still looking for another one.

To that end, if you ever stumble upon a Lilyette (made by Maidenform) bra, style #457, would you give me a holler?

This Wednesday, I think Morrissey will take the stitches out of ol’ righty here. Soon, it’ll be time to tattoo her so she looks like lefty. I’ll be sure to let you know, in mind numbing detail, how it looks as we near the finish line. Why should things change now?

Just a quick giggle

I'm getting a post ready, but until I put it up, I thought I'd share this with you.

If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it was meant to be...if it doesn't come back it was never yours to begin with. BUT, if it just sits in your living room, messes up your stuff, eats all of your food, uses your phone, takes your money and doesn't appear to realize you set it free...you either married it or gave birth to it!

And you'd get all this silliness for free if you "like" my Lucy page on Facebook. I have NO idea why that's important, but supposedly it is. I contend that my readers are like me - technological troglodytes. We're only using the web for important things, like shopping. In fact, one of my dear readers sent me an email about the time she tried to find my Facebook page, so she had her son Google "The Brunette Lucy". 

And that's how I found out there's a porn star out there going by the same name. 

Anyways, here's my stupid Facebook page in the event you're bored & want to scroll thru & read some of the dumb stuff I post (like the above). Just click the link & my big ol' face will show up (my big ol' AIRBRUSHED face)! I'll never be accused of writing the great American novel, but I sure do think of stupid stuff. That counts for something, right? Okay, here's the link:

The Brunette Lucy

Before I let you go, I have to show you the sweetest, most adorable nurse ever in the whole wide world (aside from my daughter, Elyse). Her name is Kyriel Manzo and she's awesome. She, like Jason (you can see his photo below) work for Dr. Morrissey. Soo, like I always say, if you need a plastic surgeon, see Morrissey. He's a talented surgeon & his staff is the best.

Here's Kyriel (with her dog Bruno):

Isn't she adorable??


I'll post about my second nipple surgery soon! Then I'll tell you about my visit with Dr. Nakajima (oncologist). I have the most interesting conversations with nurses. Here's a hint - we spoke of undergarments of the steel belted, rearranging your innerds persuasion. 

A nipple for Lucy - kind of

Sorry I haven’t written for a while! I’ll try to catch you up as best I can.

Before I do, would you mind including my friend, Stacey Kemmerer, in your prayers? I’m at the end of my battle, but there are SO many women out there on the battlefield, fighting the good fight, but needing as much help as they can get. It seriously freaks me out that cancer hasn’t been eradicated. What with all the foundations dedicated to finding the cure, you’d think we’d be much farther along in our understanding of this horrible disease.

Unfortunately, many charities have lost their way and are using the funds for things that have nothing to do with cancer research. Susan G. Komen, in MY OPINION (if I don’t say that, I can get sued – they have tons of lawyers on hand to keep an eye on people like me. And sue, sue, sue, sue, sue – that should really be their motto – in my opinion), is the worst. If you learn nothing from this blog, please know that many, many women who blog about cancer feel the same way about this organization that should be ashamed of themselves – in my opinion. If you’d like to read more about them & others, I wrote a four part series for AOL’s “Patch”. The first two parts were about my experiences with cancer; parts three and four deal with what many of my blogging sisters refer to as “pinkwashing”. Here’s the links to those articles:

Pink ribbons = bigprofits; and

Pink ribbons = profit forcharities, too

Okey doke, I’ll get off my soap box! On to what’s been going on.

Dr. Morrissey has a new doctor working with him. His name is Jason Dos Santos & he is so freaking sweet! I keep forgetting to bring my camera to appointments, and I haven’t taken a decent picture with my Blackberry in, let me think . . . oh, let’s see. When was the last time I took a decent picture with my phone? Oh, yeah, I know – never. Soooo, I found his photo on line (if you’re reading this, Jason, please don’t kill me for putting this up). Here he is:

Cute, right?

Okay, back to nipples.

After the new nipple surgery, I was feeling pretty awesome. It looked amazing. Dr. Morrissey put a skin graft on half of it – the top half. Of course, that’s what I see when I’m looking down, so that was cool. Then he created the nipple mound using what’s called a “skate flap”.

Before I forget, Dr. Morrissey said he didn’t think it would hurt much. Now, I consider myself a seasoned surgical veteran, and hence, a bit of a connoisseur of levels of pain. I’m also fairly sure that I have a little higher tolerance than most. Much to my chagrin, I discovered that due to all these surgeries, I’m highly tolerant of percocet. Which really, really sucks. Anyways, when I saw him for a follow up visit, I told him to never tell a woman that it doesn't hurt again. Well, I think I might have said something snarky like, “it hurt, you ass”. I hope not THAT snarky, but I say so many dumb things, it’s hard to keep them all straight. Anyways, it’ll hurt because they’re taking skin & fat from other places on your body. The breast mound has no nerve endings, so there’s no pain there. But I don’t care who you are, if someone slices off some of your skin, it’s gonna hurt. And I don’t know why (and I kept forgetting to ask) but my side and a small area on my stomach was really, really sore for weeks. Sore, however, I can deal with.

But I digress.

For the first week or two, everything went great. Matt & I even went on a weekend get away to celebrate our 25 years of marriage; to each other - with all 25 years served consecutively (giggle).

Then, it began to ooze. And a small part near the projection site turned green. Originally, I thought it was infected, but Jason said that my body rejected that portion of the graft & cut it off. The projection began to look smaller. Then the oozing stopped and scabs began to form. Then the scabs would fall off, the oozing started again, and the nipple began to shrink again. Long story short, the projection is almost nothing. Which really, really sucks. Now don’t get me wrong. Dr. Morrissey told me that shrinkage was normal and expected.

Gotta be honest, though. Every time he said that, all I could think of was the “Hamptons” episode of “Seinfeld” where Jerry’s girlfriend walked in after George had been swimming. Shrinkage, baby, shrinkage! “It shrinks like a frightened turtle”. Apparently, my nipple channeled a frightened turtle. And soon became little more than a pimple.

AAAAAGGGHHHHH!!!!

I had the option of having Dr. Morrissey do a 3-D tattoo. After the nipple had healed, I was going to have the areola tattooed to match ol’ lefty anyways. But all I could think about was I could have done that in the first place. So, I’m electing to give it another try. Tomorrow. If the nipple doesn’t take this time, I’ll just leave it alone & have the tattoo.

Tonight, I’m getting things ready for tomorrow’s surgery. I’ll write more, probably this weekend. I’ll explain what happens after surgery, and what you run around wearing in such a sensitive area. Curious, now, aren’t you?

I also want to tell you about the wonderful staff at St. Luke’s Quakertown campus. From checking in to pre-admission testing, the people are wonderful. I can’t wait to tell you about Fran, my awesome & beautiful (really) pre-admission nurse.

Talk to you in a few days!! In the meantime, feel free to leave your comments here. Or, you can “Like” me on Facebook. Here’s the link to that – The Brunette Lucy. I mostly post stupid stuff, but I also answer anyone who writes to me. Here’s a few examples of my dumb Facebook posts.

“If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it was meant to be...if it doesn't come back it was never yours to begin with. BUT, if it just sits in your living room, messes up your stuff, eats all of your food, uses your phone, takes your money and doesn't appear to realize you set it free...you either married it or gave birth to it!”

“If you’ve gauged huge holes in your ears and don’t keep Oreo cookies in them for snacks, then what the hell’s the point?”

“A friend took going to jail badly. He refused all offers of food & drink, spat at people, swore at anyone who came near him, and smeared the walls with his own feces.

We are NEVER playing Monopoly again.”

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.