Me and My Heart Pillow

Ah, so glad to say that it's good to be home.  Got home yesterday (Tuesday) afternoon and went straight to bed and SLEPT for four hours straight.  Funny how it takes getting out of the hospital to get sleep. 

Monday was a long day, arrived 9:30 a.m., was taken via the underground passages to the Breast Care Center at 11 where I was injected with my isotope dye, first lidocaine into the breast, then one shot and then number two shot, and can I say for the record that #2, which was supposed to be painless, was very painful.  Per radiologist, "So sorry, you were not supposed to feel that." 

In my wheelchair side by side with another lady back to the surgical tower, she losing her left breast and me my right.  Together we make a full-breasted woman.  Gotta find some humor, right?

Lots of time waiting in our room for the green light, Rafael reading, me writing, and finally just watching stupid TV, plenty of medical personnel stopping in to do their thing.  I told the nurse that she had one shot to get the IV in, so she called in the expert who did get the IV in my hand, and the position of the metal, nonflexible catheter was challenging.  Any movement of the hand, particularly flexing of fingers, was not comfortable.  R told me that he would have his friend anesthesiologist change the IV once I was in surgery. 

Dr. Ferguson came in and marked out the pertinent lines on my breasts, the good for reference and the bad for...

Which just reminded me, he was going to take off my mole, which is located exactly between breast #1 and breast #2 if there was enough give of the tissues.  I just felt down my "surgical bra," and it appears that the mole is gone.  It was really not a big deal to me, since it isn't concerning and always covered, but since a man trained in the use of scalpel just happened to be working in that area, might as well cut it off.  R has jokingly referred to it as my third nipple all these years. 

At 3 I got the go-ahead and up we went to the floor above, placed in a "pod" so we could have a final meeting with Dr. Rasmusen and the anesthesiologist. 

With a final kiss and a tear in our eyes, off I go, to wake up in postop.  The glass fairy had magically placed my glasses on my face, and I remember looking at the clock across the room and it was already past 7:30.  Wow, a four-hour surgery. 

Waking up was good.  The anesthesiologist told me that it would be better than when I had my knee surgery (ACL and MCL) some years ago, as there is a lot of pain associated with drilling through bone...that wake-up was painful with lots of nausea and even throwing up in the barf-bag on the way home from the hospital.  Alas, this wake-up was easy.

Upon being wheeled back to my suite for the night, I was greeted by R and J and mom and dad.  They looked relieved to see me.  Jared was my savior and fed me ice chips.  I could not get enough of the ice.  My mouth was parched and after hours of a breathing tube I was hoarse, plus the don't eat/drink from the night before and fasting over the weekend, I was a little on the dehydrated side. 

The night was long, little sleep.  I got adequate pain control, some Dilaudid every two hours, from the surgical site (though could definitely tell when the anesthesia wore off), but it was the dang IV sites that kept irritating me.  The forearm site, which was placed during surgery, was stinging, so the nurse slowed down the IV drip, which helped with the irritation pain, but then I could not tolerate the constant sting, so had the nurse about midnight switch back to trying the hand IV, which was off and on with the pain.  At 5 a.m., I couldn't take the hand pain any more, which was increasing, so we switched back to the forearm IV site, again immediately the stinging pain started, so went to the hand and immediately had intense, swear-out-loud pain, so that IV was completely removed and I just had to deal with the IV irritation pain.  We skipped the saline solution completely and I concentrated on drinking fluid, but I was needing to get through an antibiotic drip.  Post shift change at 7 a.m., I called for my meds at 7:35 (was due for my every-two-hour IV med) at 7:30.  Finally, at 8 a.m. my nurse arrived with another bag of antibiotic.  Dang, here comes that stinging pain again, but fortunately a seasoned nurse supervisor stopped by and when I explained the IV site pain, she came back with a warm blanket.  Problem solved simply with warmth.  Wow, where was that blanket all during the night?  R arrived and said that the warmth probably dilated the vein which caused the pain to cease.  Ahh, relief. 

I just wanted to get out of the hospital and go home.  Breakfast arrived and my appetite had definitely arrived.  I ate everything, kept down the oral meds which were introduced, got to see all the necessary medical people on morning rounds and finally at noon was discharged, going home and sleeping soundly for the entire afternoon.  Nice.

RS brought in dinner, so lovely, so thoughtful.  I love my sisters.

Parents arrived in the afternoon and when they saw how mobile I was, able to get up and down by myself, doing very well, looking well, they were persuaded that they could return to Arizona, leaving this morning, as there was a storm coming in.  In fact, the wind has been blowing all day and now it's a winter blizzard outside, so I am so glad that they got away before the storm hit, as the next clearing window would have been days away. 

My new constant companion is a heart shaped pillow, skinny with a deep V, sewn as part of an Eagle project, which I place in my armpit, as that is where the most pain is interestingly, not the breast but the incision under my arm.

Speaking of arm, I was bummed to hear that my sentinel node tested positive for cancer.  In fact, Dr. Rasmussen said that he left the surgery to go to pathology and personally saw the node being sliced.  There were three spots of cancer, so Dr. Rasmussen ended up doing a full axillary dissection.  Not good news. 

However, the good news is that I'm home and recovering.  I stay in my PJs.  R is taking very good care of me, takes care of the drains and tomorrow night he will give me a shower and wash my hair.  Yes!!!  I cannot raise my right arm above the level of my shoulder, will not be allowed to do so for a couple weeks (to keep the stitches intact). 

My pillow and I will be checking back later.

Taking Deep Breaths

Cancer, surgery, chemo--these words keep flying around in my mind and I can't turn them off.  Monday is the day that I go into surgery.  It's going to be a long day OF WAITING.  I arrive to the surgical tower at 9:30 and do whatever?? and then I am taken over to the Breast Care Center where I will meet with a radiologist for an injection into the breast that will assist the surgeon in locating my sentinel lymph node (don't want to explain, so go look it up).  I was previously told that I would receive this injection an hour prior to surgery, but the scheduler today told me that I'm not scheduled for surgery until 2 p.m. (hope that they're not running late--just want to get it done, but then again I'm not looking forward to surgery).  Okay, I'm chicken.  Needles totally freak me, even make me a little vasovagal. 

Big breaths.

Mom and dad are in town and so took mom for my appt. to meet with a lady affiliated with ACS (American Cancer Society).  There's a library in the Huntsman Cancer Society building located at IMC (Intermountain Medical Center), and this lady took me (had an appt.) to a consultation room where she measured my head (I'm a large) and 95% of the wigs available to me were in average or small, so I came home with a brown wig (brand new, still has the tag on it), but it's short hair.  I probably will never wear and will return it.  The lady was great, spent an hour showing me how to wear scarfs, hats...seems like I'll probably need to make my scarfs, as again I have a LARGE head and what is for sale most likely will not work.  I came home with a hat (the only one that would fit) and a head covering with a very cute band made by some volunteers.  Bless their hearts.  The head covering, black, is too small, but I can buy one from the ACS catalog to go with the cute band.  In fact, I'm thinking of buying a wig now that I know the size just for when I need to be in a picture (like Efrain's wedding in April?), plus am buying all sleeping caps, etc.  Big life changes.

Chemo brain must be already attacking because it did not dawn on me that I would also lose my eyebrows and eyelashes.  That made me really sad.  Big frown. 

Rafael is so supportive.  I'm blessed.

I just read Mary Nichols' blog and saw some of her videos.  She is a local news anchor who did a story on mammograms, had hers taped, and it turns out that a small cancer was located (she is a grade 1 and so had a lumpectomy).  Turns out that we have the same physician, maybe even the same oncologist?  (I don't know who my oncologist will be).  She just had her second round of chemo.  She's doing great, looks great.  She's a beautiful woman.  I'm feeling a little frumpy, okay a lot frumpy.  She looks beautiful even when she pulls off her wig.  She had the Neulasta shot and said that every bone in her body ached, that she couldn't sleep even 5 minutes, so ended up calling in sick that day, but other than that she is doing pretty good, some small amount of neuropathy, plus had some headaches when in loud places, like her son's basketball games. 

More big breaths. 

The "C" Word

They say that writing is healing and so now it's time to start a healing process. 

After a few days of sunny disposition, my upbeat attidue actually, Jared confronted me last night (after R went to bed) because I foolishly left my planner open on the desk and he was doing homework, noticed that I had written MRI on one of the weekly pages. 

Eleven days ago when I first had the "C" word said to me, we decided not to tell Jared until after the pathology results came back--well not telling anyone for that matter--and then I decided to prolong that conversation until the weekend, so that he had a couple days to digest.  I tried putting him off last night, but he told me that he looked back and saw the word biopsy written down last Friday and Dr. Rasmussen's name written down in the forthcoming week. 

What's going on mom?

We had the talk.  Dang.  Too soon, and on a school night too, when he should be in bed sleeping and not crying.  Dang. Dang. Dang. 

I have breast cancer.  Officially, I cannot have that diagnosis until I get the phone call today telling me the results of the biopsy, but we know. 

Three weeks ago this Thursday (it's now Tuesday morning), I woke up and stretched, felt a tightness in my chest, reached down and felt a hard lump.  Hmmm?  Called my OB/GYN here in Riverton who was gone but her MA set me up w/an appointment for the next day. 

Yup, that's a lump.  We'll get you in for a diagnostic mammo and maybe even an ultrasound, the first available appointment being a week later, the following Friday.  I've only been to this OB/GYN once before, this past spring.  I told her that I had a cyst in that same breast, same area verified on ultrasound seven years previously and was told when and if it started to grow that I could choose whether or not to drain it, all dependent upon comfort.  Note:  Cysts are benign fluid-filled sacs, very common in women's breasts.  In fact, breasts are notorious for lumps and bumps and the vast majority are benign.

During the week I wasn't even concerned.  After all, it was just that cyst which had grown, which previously had been unpalpable, only detected on a routine mammo.

Radiologist came in after the technician took my ultrasound following the mammo and took some more shots, jelled me up even on the opposite side of the breast where the lump was located.  I knew something was off when he didn't rush back to his work station after quickly telling me his confirmation of a cyst. 

"Margaret, what I see is tissue suspicious for cancer."  There, I heard that dreaded word.  Let's get you scheduled for a biospy, then proceeded to explain why and how a biopsy.  "Any questions?"

"Doctor, did the technician point out in my history that I had a cyst in that same location a few years back?"  (I was in denial and holding on to this being a benign cyst). 

"Yes, but it's not a cyst.  Cysts show up as dark spots on ultrasound.  Besides, cysts are regularly shaped, generally round.  This is irregularly shaped."

I found myself at the Quilted Bear, had a coupon in my pocket 'cause I was going to buy Erica her wedding present post "cyst diagnosis" on my way home.  I had gone shopping pre Erica's wedding, found what I wanted, but R was badgering for a gift card.  Too impersonal said I.  We didn't get anything for her wedding and now it was time to purchase and mail.  I walked to the aisle where it should have been, but it was gone, checked the aisle on either side.  The tears were building and then I saw someone I knew walk in the front door...can't have her see me cry.  Hurredly left the store and sobbed in my car.

Sobbing seemed to be the order of the day.  I sobbed in R's arms when I got home, told him that it wasn't a cyst.  That's all that really needed to be said.  He was packing for a campout at Crystal Hot Springs with the Priests and Teachers.  I assured him that I would be fine home alone, in fact needed to be alone so that I could nurse the opened wound and didn't want to hide from Jared.  It was a sleepless night, an awful night, tossing and turning, finally watching a movie in the middle of the night, returning to bed and stared at the ceiling, falling asleep as the morn was breaking, sleeping for a couple hours only. 

Last Thursday it all became real again, as the hospital called for preadmittance info and then Dr. Bowman called me in the afternoon.  I didn't expect that.  She had the copy of the "abnormal" mammo on her desk and said that she was leaving town for the week but wanted to talk to me.  Almost first question out of her mouth, "Are you sleeping?" 

I admitted my anxiety and its influence on my sleep.  We talked of ways to help.  We talked of names of physicians.  We talked of lots of thinks and she didn't rush me to finish the conversation.  I am very grateful of the time that she took to call.  She, of course, was reminding me that the results were not back.  However, I think she knew.  It was good to have her talk to me, a real good bedside manner.  I feel that she truly cares, but it did set me off in tears and R came home then.  We had a deep talk and I told him that I wasn't trying to be negative, but my gut feeling is that I do have cancer, that this is not a benign mass.  He nodded.  I think he knew, too.  I told him of my fears, my trouble sleeping.  He told me honestly that he didn't know of how severely it was affecting me.  I also sobbed that I was weak and terribly afraid of the biopsy itself, not what the results would show, but simply the core extractor, having my skin cut to insert and that I would be awake.  I'm such a wimp.  I was over-the-top afraid.  He didn't beride me, but helped me.

The next day he gave me a blessing, which I knew would help, and it did help calm me.  The biopsy was scary, but in retrospect not as bad as I had imagined.  I had heard horror stories about extreme pain, swelling and bruising.  After the lidocaine shot, I had no pain.  I've had no swelling and the bruising is minimal. 

The radiologist and technician, after I explained my extreme fear, were very helpful.  Bless their souls.  The radiologist suggested that it helps to look at the screen rather than close the eyes.  He was right.  He pointed out the white line (the needle) as it moved through the breast tissue during the numbing procedure.  At first I didn't want to look, but he said it was fascinating.  He kept try to bring me to his side, that it was all interesting and not horrific. 

He told me that he agreed with the radiologist the week previous, that the breast tissues look like cancer and that he also agreed that I need an MRI (I didn't know that the previous pathologist had recommended an MRI).  He told me that we should schedule all this prior to my leaving that day, also an appointment with a surgeon.  Ee-gads.  It's real.  He wants me to see a surgeon.  Of course, he tempered it with there is the possibility of a negative report, however he interpreted cancer.  He even said, "you will most likely get the pathology results back by Tuesday afternoon, you can have the MRI on Wednesday and Thursday be in to the surgeon.  We should get moving on this." 

Turns out that the surgeon which Dr. Bowman recommended (though she recommended a couple others, a lady surgeon at LDS and the surgeon at Riverton she also felt was very good) can't see us until Feb. 14 (yup, Valentine's Day, sucks, sucks, sucks).  It is Dr. Rasmussen.  Turns out this is the same surgeon who did R's hernia some years back.  It feels right to have him, and so we will wait. 

Jared told me last night that I'm his best friend and he doesn't want to lose me.  Oh, that breaks my heart.  He was fighting the tears as I dropped him off at school, told me how much he loved me.  I cried all the way home.  I wish he didn't have to go through this.  Dang me for leaving that planner open.  He shouldn't have this on his mind while at school.  I love that guy so much and I wish he had his brothers home or a best friend with whom to talk. 

Alas, I await the phone call this afternoon giving me the pathology results. 

Life can play some cruel jokes.