one of the chemo drugs (adreomycin) is bright red and they literally push it through your veins (vs. letting it drip slowly through the IV like they do with saline or other pain meds). question to our readers: what happens to your urine when bright red medicine mixes with the fluids in your body? You guessed it, yet another pink breast cancer experience
think of all the new things I’ve discovered in the past few months: perky new breasts, hair falling out from chemo, a wealth of prescription meds, etc. etc. etc. I thought these things lived in a little walled off space in my life (AKA “the breast cancer chapter”), but I’m starting to realize it’s creeping into my every day thoughts…………
For example, I’ve now realized that my reactions to everyday things have changed.
In the “old days”, if someone said, “I’m having a bad hair day”,
old me would say, “try the new hair serum from the John Frieda collection”
new me thinks, “cut it off; shave your head; wear a scarf”
In the old days if someone said, “I hate the way I look in this button down shirt. I hate how it pulls between the second and third button; my stupid breasts make everything look tight across the chest”
old me would say, “here; try double sided tape. it works great for me. You barely see the pulling”
new me thinks, “just cut your breasts off and start off with perky little implants. You can wear button down shirts with no pulling and you’ll be able to wear sun dresses in the summer!”
In the old days if someone said, “I’m feeling so anxious and unsettled”
old me would say, “try working out, or why don’t you go to yoga with me; it’s a great way to unwind and relieve stress”
new me thinks, “try adivan. it’s my favorite of all my anti anxiety prescriptions”
In the old days, if someone said “I get a little nauseous on long car trips”
old me would say, “try sitting in the front seat; don’t read, and look straight ahead”
new me thinks, “try compozine; if that doesn’t work, get a scrip for zofran”
In the old days, if someone said, “my skin looks so blah”
old me would say, “try drinking lots of water and don’t forget to moisturize”
new me thinks, “try the dex; the steroids really give you a nice glow”.
NOTE TO SELF: NEW ME IS A LITTLE FREAKY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
My blog is visually boring; I’m told blogs need to be visually interesting and mine is a visual BORE! I’ve tried without luck to make it more visually vibrant, but I’m failing miserably. I just realized cancer is visually boring. Does anyone have any good cancer clip art? Talk about a niche business — cancer clip art for breast cancer bloggers!
Please comment below with links to any good cancer clip art……….
Over the past month since my surgery, wonderful women have been bringing us these delicious 4 course dinners complete with home-made soup, beautiful grilled salmon/steak, gourmet salads, French bread, and hot brownies. Not only do I feel guilty that all these women are slaving in the kitchen to bring us delicious food, but I feel even more guilty about the odd accumulation of high end Tupperware we’ve been gathering in our house. These women don’t bring dinner in flimsy aluminum trays or cheap disposable Glad containers; they bring the super high end expensive containers like we used to have in the 70’s.
What is the protocol here? Drive all over town stopping at multimillion dollar homes delivering plastic containers? sell them on EBay to offset all the money we lost in the stock market this year? cut holes in the top and use them for tzedukah containers for my daughter’s Sunday school class?
Alas, I’ll do what seems to make the most sense … I’ll fill them with M&M’s!
Actually, I love hearing the voices of other women. Today’s comes from “manager mom”……
My mother was diagnosed at 49. Stage III. Single mastectomy, followed by a course of chemotherapy. The chemo took so much out of her that she declined the recommended course of radiation, even though she was told that it would improve her survival odds by up to 20%.
“I already feel like I’ve died,” she said. “I just can’t take one more treatment.”
She did, however, go for reconstruction – trans flap. It was still a relatively new reconstructive technique back at that time.
That was thirteen (cancer-free) years ago.
My aunt (her sister) was diagnosed at 53. Same side; but she decided to double down get both lopped of at the same time. She tolerated the chemotherapy a little better and decided to go for the radiation. She also decided to go for implants, and kick it up a cup size for good measure.
That was five (cancer-free) years ago.
My other aunt (her other sister) had a surgical biopsy at 55. Because neither my mother or her sister were speaking with her, I’m not really sure what happened. I know that she’s alive, living in North Carolina, vigorously ignoring the rest of her family.
When I told my mother that I was going to get the genetic test for the BRCA -1 and -2 genes, she got angry. She couldn’t understand why I wanted to know; how I felt that if I knew, I would at least be able to make some choices. If it was positive, I could take preventative measures. If it was negative, I would still have to be vigilant, but at least I could hold out hope that my fate wasn’t predestined.
My test came back negative. For this round, I seemed to have gotten a good roll of the genetic dice. I knew I still had to be vigilant, but I thought I might be a bit more optimistic. Not when, but if.
And then, in this, my 38th year, I had my annual mammogram and ultrasound on a Friday. I always do it around my birthday, which is either the best or shittiest present I could possibly give myself, depending on your point of view.
The mammogram looked good. But during the ultrasound the technician spent a long time on my right side. The side that had plagued all of the women the generation ahead of me. The doctor came in for a second look, staring intently at the screen as she ground the wand into my armpit.
“I don’t like the way that lymph node looks,” she said. “It looks very dense.”
The fine needle aspiration was scheduled for Monday.
For three days I waited in a state of barely submerged panic. I’d just been laid off, and between the biopsy and the results, I had a final interview for a new job. During the whole interview, I couldn’t shake a little voice in my head that kept saying things like, none of the things you’re saying right now matter because even if you get this job, you’ll have to turn it down so that you can get YOUR mastectomy and YOUR chemotherapy
On Friday, I got two calls. Yes to the job. No to the cancer.
I have gone mostly back to my state of blissful hopefulness, but whatever peace I got from the genetic test is gone.
I just hope my when doesn’t come for a long, long time
As you know from previous blog entries, I’ve started to realize that the word “breast” exists everywhere (abreast, double breasted suits, suddenly every child is breast fed). This affliction has spread; I recently notice everything is shaped like breasts. I’m not joking … put 2 Hershey’s kisses side by side on your desk and you tell me what you see…………………………
I invite any friends to email me if you want to guest blog on my site. Today’s guest blog comes from a dear friend who has a wonderful combination of sassy and sweet in her approach to friendship. Please feel free to comment at the bottom of this post.
First you hear the news. These are your friend’s breasts. Breasts on a person you have known since third grade. Breasts that were infamous in their day. The word “Boomer” was used on these guys.
You think— how horrible, how awful, how terrible, how tragic, OH MY GOD — all run through your head. You think, “how can this be happening”? You cry— all the while realizing that the owner of the breasts has been going through this for weeks, and is now trying to appear strong to all the people receiving the news.
You wonder—Why? What? And how?– you immediately think of your own boobs and check backwards in your head as to when your last mammogram was. You realize the insensitivity of bringing up the chance for brand new fresh boobs, even though secretly, the thought of brand new perky fresh boobs is not exactly unappealing.
You wonder what can I do? What can I send? What can I bring? The helpless feeling is only lessened by MasterCard/Visa or Amex and personal contact. A visit, a ride, laundry, a meal— the desire to help someone you love who is hurting is very strong. Nothing seems to be enough or the right thing to do, yet you can’t help asking. Over and Over. As the friend who truly likes to be left alone, you wonder— are you being annoying? Too solicitous? Too much “there”? Too prying?
Then you realize the problem is in the boobs not in the friend, and nothing you do can be wrong. You just have to do it.
· I did not save my old breasts in a jar to someday show anyone’s 13 year old son as a bar mitzvah gift
· I did not ask the art students at the local university to sculpt a Rodin-esque bust of my old self
· If you send your husband over, I will not show him my scars
· I will not ask the plastic surgeon to take my down to an “A” cup in order to re-live the carefree days when I was 12 years old
· I do not sit in front of the TV tearfully watching Dolly Parton movies or Pamela Anderson TV appearances
· I am forever done with underwire bras and wearing 3 sports bras at a time just to go for a 30 minute run 
other questions? please comment below.
I have a port under my collar bone on left side. It was implanted under my skin during my recent surgery and will, apparently, make the chemo injections much less painful. To me, it seems like such a waste to have an uncomfortable metal object hanging under my skin JUST for chemo. I’m taking suggestions about what else I can use this devise for:
· Maybe a slow release of beta blockers to treat my Raynaud’s syndrome (AKA “cold hands syndrome”)?
· Maybe a time release peroxide for highlights that always stay fresh?
· Why not Grey Goose through the IV? That would definitely take the edge off, don’t you think?
· Why not a Blue Tooth type devise to avoid the pesky ear piece while talking on the phone?
· A friend suggested that I should take a page from an old “Gilligan’s Island” episode where Gilligan’s tooth filling acted as a radio. Maybe my little metal port could act as a satellite so I’d have 700+ channels of TV wherever I went?????
any other suggestions? please comment below.
We all know that we play stupid little games throughout our life .. usually being slightly irreverent about things that should be sacred. I doubt my family is the only family to take bets on which Hanukkah candle will burn out first and which will stay the longest. Which protein bar tastes the most like Passover chocolate? How quickly can you get liquored up at the Passover Seder without your Aunt Sally suspecting that you’re totally loopy?
We’ve discovered a new pass time at our house: cancer games. Trust me; it’s loads of fun.
– Betting on which drain will have more liquid and what day the doctor will remove the drain
– Looking at the myriad of scars under my arm and seeing what shape they resemble (hey; that one looks like “Italy”)
– trying to see if the port nestled under my skin below my left collar bone jiggles when I laugh
Whoever is keeping the list at home of the side benefits of cancer, please add “provides amusing games for the whole family” to your list!
Comments? tell me below in the comment section.
