Kicking cancer's ass - day 1965

Last Tuesday I had surgery.  My eighth cancer-related surgery, and the third one that lasted longer than eight hours.  That's a lot of anesthesia, folks.

This latest surgery is called lymphovenous bypass, which is microsurgery done by a plastic surgeon.  The procedure connects lymph vessels in my arm to tiny veins (the size of a human hair!), so the lymph fluid has somewhere to go.  It's not a cure....there is no cure for lymphedema.  But the hope is that it helps reduce my swelling and making it easier to maintain.  Results vary and it could take up to a year to know for sure how much it will help me.

Click here if you want to see a photo of my wrist.  I have 4 small incisions.

Ten days post-surgery, I have a love/hate relationship with the whole thing.

I love that I have had very little pain in my arm, even the day after surgery.
I hate that being under anesthesia gives me headaches, and being under for that long has given me a LOT of headaches.

I love that I am able to stay comfortable on our reclining couch day and night.
I hate that I have to sleep on the couch.  I just want to stretch out in bed with Hubby.

I love that my mom was here to help after my surgery.  She was SUCH a big help...a blessing.
I hate that except for one dinner out, we spent her week here with me sitting on my ass.

I love that my only post-op instructions (other than the usual no strenuous activity or lifting over 5 lbs) are to keep my arm wrapped and elevated.
I hate that keeping my arm wrapped and elevated is irritating the skin in the crease of my elbow and giving me a constant crick in my neck.

Click here for the photo of where my arm hurts.  Ouch.

I love that I have the best friends around me, offering rides for K, bringing meals for my family and putting together the most amazing basket of goodies for me (the chocolate is already gone...LOL).
I hate that I am such a burden to everyone yet again.  My son is being sent on errand after errand (and does them all cheerfully).  My Hubby has had to pick up all of the "mom" slack including laundry, dishes, even washing my hair.  I know my friends are happy to help out, but I hate that I can't even cook a meal.

I love that I am able to take a shower, dry my hair, brush my teeth and finally get dressed by myself (sweatpants are my friend).
I hate that I have to do everything one-handed and it takes me three times as long (I'm typing this with one hand and it's SLOW going!)

I love that the foam support for my arm is not uncomfortable.
I hate that I have to use my blue foam friend for four weeks.  Non-stop.

I love that this surgery is even an option, and that I was a good candidate for it.
But I really hate that I had a reason to have it.  Cancer really is the gift that keeps on giving.

Kicking cancer's ass - day 1949

Five years ago tonight I was going to bed whole for the very last time.  After four months of chemotherapy treatments, on January 3, 2014 I had a bilateral mastectomy:  a very long, difficult surgery.  For someone who had only ever had minor procedures done before, and not even very many of those, a ten hour surgery to remove parts of my body I was very attached to (pun intended!) was incredibly scary.  

People try to make light of breast cancer surgery.... "Of course these are fake - my real ones tried to kill me!"  Yes that's true.  But cutting the cancer cells that chemo didn't kill out of my body is the only positive thing that happened that day.  It HURT.  Just raising my arm to brush my teeth was almost impossible.  It was a long, painful recovery.  I had to wear button down shirts for months.  I lost parts of my body that epitomize femininity.  I cried when I saw myself in the mirror.  I have little to no sensation in my chest.  Reconstruction made me LOOK more normal, and I'm very happy with the results, but I can't feel much of anything.  And I have scars.  Boy do I have scars.

Thankfully all of my scars can be hidden underneath clothes.  If you were to see me on the street you would never guess what my body has been through.  And while I hate my scars, I do think of them as  badges of honor, visual proof of what I was strong enough to endure.

Next week I am going into surgery again.  It will be another long (6-7 hours), complicated (working with veins the size of a human hair) surgery.  This procedure is designed to open up the lymphatic pathways in my arm.... and it's necessary because of that other surgery five years ago.  When they took all of the lymph nodes under my arm and in my chest,  the lymph fluid had nowhere to go.  The smallest strain or injury to my affected arm could cause incurable swelling (lymphedema).  Not everyone who has a mastectomy will get lymphedema, but anytime you mess with lymph nodes anywhere in the body, it's a risk.  My BFF had lymphedema in her leg from abdominal surgery!  Three years after that surgery my left arm started to swell.  

The micro surgery that I'll be having is a relatively new procedure, at least in the U.S.  Some people who have had it say it has changed their life, while others say it didn't help at all.  My surgeon said I can hope to see anywhere from 30% to 70% improvement in my arm.  Not a perfect outcome, and not guaranteed, but I'm willing to take the chance.  There is no cure for lymphedema, so it's something I will have to "manage" for the rest of my life.

I won't have too many scars (just three to four small incisions) from this surgery, and probably not a lot of pain.  The most difficult part will be having to keep my arm wrapped and elevated for a month.  So if you see me out and about in the next few weeks, please do not give me a high five!  I'm not waving at you.  ha ha

That is probably one of my favorite quotes.....not only because I love books, but because it's such a neat way to think of a new year.  

Since I'm going to be spending the beginning of this new year recovering from yet another surgery (this makes 8 if you're counting), I hope a year from now I can write how incredibly GOOD my book of 2019 turned out to be.