Kicking cancer's ass - day 1824

Yesterday Hubby and I took a road trip to Dallas for my appointment with Dr C.  It's been two long months since I had the nuclear medicine scan for my lymphedema, and I'm happy to say that I now have a plan for surgery.  That's the good news.

My surgery is January 14th.  That's the bad news.

Dr C is obviously in very high demand, which is good news.  The fact that all of his surgeries are a two or three month wait is bad news.  The surgery I will have is a six to eight hour surgery, and the first available day for that is next year.  Blech.  That's a long wait for an expensive surgery that may or may not help.  Some people see a lot of improvement.  Some people see zero improvement.  Dr C says the average is about 30%. 

Reducing my swelling by a third is not a cure, but at this point I'll take it.  I've been dealing with lymphedema since last May, and while it's mostly just an uncomfortable and unsightly annoyance, I.AM.OVER.IT.  I told Hubby today that I can't wait for cold weather so I can wear long sleeves.  I'm sick of looking at my arm.

Speaking of looking at my arm..... one of the very fun aspects of visiting the plastic surgery clinic is that they often want photos to document your case.  Even though my arm and hand are the only things affected by lymphedema, they couldn't just take photos of my arm.  Oh no.  Once again I had to pose topless so a stranger could take pictures of me.  Aren't you jealous?

On another note, today marks five years since my first chemo treatment...the day I officially started kicking cancer's ass.  It seems like a lifetime ago that I walked in to the oncology center armed with hard candy, cold caps in a cooler full of dry ice and a grape slush.  I will never forget the sight of the red devil (see the above photo), I will never forget the gross taste when they flushed my port, I will never forget pacing the infusion room pulling my iv pole around because the benadryl gave me really bad restless legs.  I hated every minute of the sixteen weeks of chemo, but I'm supremely proud of myself for conquering that beast.

Tonight was "Meet the Bulldogs" - the annual tradition of getting the Wylie community hyped up for the upcoming fall season (mostly football, but they also acknowledge the tennis, cross country, volleyball and golf teams).  It was the first time K got to walk down the track as an athlete (for junior high tennis) and it was the first time this year (of many, I hope) we got to hear the Pure Gold band perform "It Is Well". 

Funny story about tennis.  Ignoring the two short seasons K played basketball, her entire sports career has consisted of softball, softball and softball.  Unfortunately they don't have softball in junior high, so K had to make another choice for athletics.  She chose tennis.  The ONLY tennis experience she's had was during P.E. last year. 

Monday was the first day of school, and K came home and said "I better pick my feet up".
Turns out beginner tennis is the same period as symphonic band (which she happily reported she made).  That means they put her in competitive tennis.  As in, NOT beginner tennis.  Ha ha. 

Never a dull moment.

Kicking cancer's ass - day 1805

One of the singular most important people in my life was born on this day.  

Almost thirty-four years ago exactly, I met Trudy for the first time.  We sat close to each other in homeroom (alphabetically, only 1 person between us) and on that first day in seventh grade she became my best friend forever.

Trudy was the person I could always count on, my partner in crime, the little voice in my head, the definition of a true friend.  A lot of people use the term BFF about people in their lives, but for me, that's what she was.  It didn't matter if we saw each other every day or every other year.... we could pick up right where we left off as if nothing had changed.  Over the years, through moves and relationships, illness and parenthood, many friends have come and gone.  I have other friends in my life, good friends, and so did she.  But she was my BFF.

You know the friend who knows all of your secrets, and loves you anyway?  The one who skips school with you to drive to Wurtsboro for breakfast?  The one who is always up for a concert, a road trip or a midnight hamburger at the diner?  For me, that was Trudy.  

For most of our adult lives we have celebrated birthdays separately.  I can't even remember the last time we were together for my birthday or hers.  But we never failed to send cards and gifts, and spend several hours on the phone on each other's special day.  Trudy would have been 46 years old today.

Ever since I was a twelve year old seventh grader, Trude has been a part of my life.  We shared joys and heartaches, pizza and chocolate milkshakes.  We passed notes in school and even had our own little "language" like young girls do.  So many people knew and loved her, and rightfully so.  But for me, Trudy was the sister of my heart.

A picture is worth a thousand words.  That's Trudy on the left, me on the right.  She was a redhead, I'm a brunette.  We both had cancer, and didn't have to fight it alone.  I never wanted to share that with anyone, and I hate so much that cancer is what took her from me.  But Trudy showed us all how to fight, how to persevere, and how to accept fate with dignity.

I miss her every day.

Happy Birthday BAH.  I hope you're having some NY pizza, Pepsi, Reeses Cups and Jolly Cow in heaven.  💛

Kicking cancer's ass - day 1804

As a spinoff from my post the other day, not only is August bipolar for me, this WEEK in August is bipolar.

This week the world celebrates three of my favorite things:

Today, August 9th, my mom will celebrate her hubby's birthday with him.  He is a warm, caring, hardworking man and we wish him a happy day!

Today, August 9th, we remember Hubby's mom Floy, as she passed away on this day eight years ago.  She was a warm, caring, selfless woman who gave the term "mother-in-law" a good name. 

Life is full of ups and downs.... I know that.... I just wish there weren't so many ups and downs at the same time!

Kicking cancer's ass - day 1802

August is a strange month for me.

A lot of my favorite people were born in August.

My mom on the 5th
My stepdad on the 9th
My BFF on the 10th (that's going to be sad this year)
My brother on the 23rd
My BFF's daughter on the 28th

Three years ago my mom and her guy tied the knot on August 1st, which makes that a happy day.  But two years prior to that, on August 1st, I was diagnosed with cancer, which makes that a decidedly UNHAPPY day.

Four years ago (last week) my dad's life changed forever.  A heart attack and stroke that were both serious enough that we weren't sure he would even live....  While August is a milestone month for him now, too (because he's alive and relatively well four years later) it's also an anniversary of one of the worst days of my life.  Getting the call at work, hearing the doctor tell me I might want to "make plans", packing for a trip not knowing if I would need funeral clothes... Ugh.

Eight years ago this week, on 8/9/10, Hubby lost his mom to cancer.  My kids lost their grandmother.  I lost a mother-in-law I was lucky to have.  A giving, patient, loving woman was taken from our world too soon.

So I'm not quite sure how I feel about August.  Lots of good and lots of bad.... makes it a bipolar month for me!

I have decided that August will just be a month where I exist until September.  

September has a lot to offer:  cooler temperatures (hopefully), football, marching band, fall softball, etc.  When asked if she's ready for school, K always answers "Yes, but not getting up early".  I hear ya sister.  My kids definitely are ready for some kind of routine and a social outlet that doesn't come with an LCD screen, but my 6:15am Mon-Fri alarm is not my friend.

Kicking cancer's ass - day 1796

A lot of people who have not been directly affected by cancer often ask "So are you in remission?"

None of my doctors use that term.  None of my friends who've had cancer use that term.  Unless you constantly have scans, xrays and blood tests, there's absolutely no way to know you are 100% cancer-free.  How can you possibly know that there's not one teeny, tiny evil cancer cell somewhere in your body just waiting to wreak havoc?  You can't.

I've never said I'm cancer-free.  How can I determine when I beat cancer?  Do I count from my last chemo treatment?  Or the end of radiation?  Or after any of my more than a handful of cancer-related surgeries?  I have to take Tamoxifen, which is considered cancer treatment, for ten years.  So am I not cancer-free until after that?

What we do say is we are "dancing with NED".  You are wondering who the heck this Ned guy is?  "No Evidence of Disease".  Basically dancing with NED means no news is good news.  So what I'm doing, what I've been doing for over 1800 days, is surviving... because every day I'm alive and well and dancing with NED is a day that I've kicked cancer's ass.

The day I was diagnosed with breast cancer, August 1, 2013, I became a cancer survivor.

Over the last 1796 days (I started counting on the day of my first chemo treatment) I have written some impressive blog posts (yes, if I do say so myself!).  But none have been more meaningful to me than my "Survivor" posts:

One Year
Two Years
Three Years
Four Years

No matter how close you are to a person who has cancer, no matter how much you read or watch or listen about cancer, unless you've HAD cancer, you just don't know.  You don't know that gut-wrenching feeling of hearing the three dreaded words:  you have cancer.  You don't know the horrifying feeling of being forty years old and wondering if you are going to die.  You don't know the devastating feeling of telling your children you have cancer.

If you've never had to undergo chemotherapy, you just don't know.  You don't know the feeling of nurses having to wear gloves because the medicine they are giving you is so toxic.  You don't know the feeling of being so sick you can't even hold your head up.  You don't know the feeling of having to shave your head because your hair is falling out in clumps.  You don't know the feeling of eating the same stupid thing for days or weeks because it's the only thing you can keep down.  You don't know the feeling of having mouth sores and a nasty taste in your mouth 24/7.  You don't know the pain, the nausea....the overwhelming SICKNESS.  

If you've never had radiation, you just don't know.  You don't know the loneliness of being isolated in that radiation room every day for weeks.  You don't know the indignity of lying there, exposed, day after day after day.  You don't know the hassle of going to the cancer center every single day for six weeks.  You don't know the bone-crushing fatigue that makes you feel like you don't even have the energy to brush your teeth.  You don't know the worse than a sunburn shade of red that radiation turns your skin.

If you've never had cancer surgery, you just don't know.  You don't know the feeling of going into an operating room knowing they are going to be removing important parts of your body.  You don't know the pain and discomfort of a bilateral mastectomy, or a hysterectomy.  You certainly don't know how incredibly difficult the recovery is for a ten hour reconstruction surgery that affects not one or two, but four different areas of your body.  You don't know how much more difficult it is to bounce back after four, five, six, SEVEN surgeries.

I can talk about it all day long, but unless you've been through it, you just don't know.

What I have been through is nothing unique.  There are millions of cancer patients and cancer survivors all over the world.  Some have it easier than me, some have had a more difficult journey than I did.  But what I have been through is unique TO ME.  And I'm pretty damn proud of myself.

For the past five years I have been on an emotional roller coaster and an uphill physical battle.  It's not over, and it may never be over.  I'm not the same person I was before.  But I'm still here.  I'm happy & healthy despite the devastating effects of having cancer.  I'm alive and well.... still kicking ass and taking names...five years later.