The Lady of the Lotions

This post got lost in the holiday shuffle. I titled it forever ago and stashed it and forgot it. Sorry. Here's some of the radiation story. My last day was December 20, the Thursday before Christmas, but I'll start from some pictures taken along the ride:

December 7:

You can see how my port actually fared pretty well, especially compared to my collarbone, which got pretty red from the skin being all bunched up due to my arms being up above my head. My nurse Barb instructed me to get a jar of Vanicream and use it two to three times a day, but nothing could be applied within 4 hours before treatment. So first thing in the morning I'd slather on my Vanicream, then if I went straight from radiation home instead of running any errands I'd slap some more on, and then again before bedtime. 

I was also informed that in the future, the radiated area will be more sensitive to sun exposure and will "crisp" first, so I'll need to be careful and use sunblock. Good advice for any of us, really.  

My armpit was the most problematic part. I'd given up shaving it, and was only allowed to wear deodorant since anti-perspirants have aluminum in them which is a metal which would then scatter the radiation rays. That's a no-no. Plus, when have you ever sunburned your armpit? I never had. I don't recommend it. That sensitive skin let me know that it wasn't happy with the rays it was receiving. 

And as Baymax shoots rays from underneath and back behind, the "sunburn" extends on my back.

December 9: 

Armpit has already peeled once, as you can see from the raw spot, the only part that was sore, really. Every Tuesday was doctor day, meaning I'd spend some time getting looked over and having questions answered. He prescribed a salve containing silver to rub on the worst areas. He then confided to me, "sometimes I forget to inform patients that the silver will tarnish and darken your skin. Sometimes patients freak out a bit, thinking the radiation is charring them. It's not from the radiation, it's just the tarnished silver." I told him I appreciated his letting me know! 

December 13, last day of treating the entire area. Now they focus the last 5 treatment days on just my scar/incision: 

The silver salve was working well and I was "dry peeling", which is apparently better than "moist peeling" where the team worries more about infection. Peeling is itchy though, so I also have a prescription for an anti-itch cream to rub all over. Still lotioning away three times a day with my various  slatherments, haha!

December 27, one whole week after all radiation is finished:

Haha, wow, I really look yellow! I promise I'm not really that color. Not sure what's going on with the bathroom light... anyway, you can already tell how much my whole area has healed. It's been two weeks since the wide area radiation and a week since even the scar got any. It's amazing! How cool is our God to form our bodies in such a way that it can fix itself?  Do I look perfect? No, still a way to go, but what a change throughout even just two weeks! It's not itchy except for the spot on my back, my collarbone part peeled and is resurfacing, and I have hardly any red anywhere. My armpit peeled twice but the silver salve worked wonders. 

Let me tell you, it is COLD when you slap a palmful of lotion into your armpit so you probably heard frequent squeals from my general direction, but it soon felt so soothed. Sometimes a seam or one of those tangled-in-the-machine thready balls would irritate my tender armpit, so I tried to choose shirts I owned with the softest fabrics to wear. 

I went into this kind of blowing off radiation and its effects, honestly. I had seen "Stepmom" years ago with Julia Roberts and Susan Sarandon and was really afraid chemo would do to me what it did to Susan Sarandon's character. Then when it became apparent that mine would not be that bad, I stressed over my surgery. I was really not looking forward to having a catheter and a breathing tube during surgery, but once we got to that point I discovered that I wouldn't need those things! In fact, I was way more worried about those two particular possibilities that I was about the definite removal of my boobs. Perspective, I tell you. Stressing about nothing, all that time! (The lesson here is to talk, ask questions, and talk some more to save yourself unnecessary aggravation!) I never had time to worry about radiation or what it would do to me, even though I'd seen pictures online of those undergoing treatment similar to what mine would be like. 

Here is where I can not say enough wonderful things about my particular radiation team. They gave me hugs, told me to help myself to the treats in the office, made sure I knew I could ask any question anytime, explained anything I wanted to know, sang along to whatever music I picked, and generally made me feel like a family member. I saw them almost every weekday for about 6 weeks. Because they were fantastic to each other and to me, I actually had a wonderful time throughout my radiation experience. 

This was my very last and busy day. Zita took me to get my IV meds that morning. Dada surprised me for my last day and was already waiting in the lobby for me, much to the glee of the gals on my team. "Turn around! Turn around and look who's behind you!" Haha. It was great. They both got to meet more of my team and saw firsthand how much fun we have back there with Baymax.

I'd finally fished Tiny Traveling Tino out of my chemo bag (which has taken over the properties of my old Bible study bag as in "hmm, where did x get to? Oh. It's been in my Bible study bag, haha!") for a trip to radiation:

Here he is in my crosshairs, haha. 

There were more hugs, even from my adorable doctor, and a diploma and well wishes and admonishments to come visit and they'll see me for a follow up appointment in about a month and wishes for happy holidays, etc. 

Yes, I needed tissues. Like I wasn't going to cry after seeing these people every day for over a month, come on!

So now I'm done with Baymax!

Today was Day 10 of taking Tamoxifen, which I'll be on for the foreseeable future. I take 20 mg once a day and that's part of my maintenance program along with the IV meds I'll get every three weeks through May. Once those finish we'll have to schedule my port removal and I'm not sure if that counts as a surgery or how that all works, but I've learnt my lesson and am not going to stress over something I don't need to think about for five more months. 

In the meantime, I've started doing some yoga in the morning thanks to YouTube. It really helped a lot with the skin along my right side, keeping it limber and supple and stretched. I'm glad I started when I did because I think if I hadn't that I may have been overly protective of the area and might have ended up with temporary T. Rex arms with a loss of range of motion. Now it's helping with middle age stiffness and mobility. God knows I don't do yoga for meditative benefits or peace yet; Damon joined me this morning which involved him crashing into walls and almost getting decked while weaving in around me. But range of motion is a good thing so I shall soldier on whether or not I ever end up in a headstand or a downward dog with my knees unbent. Given that it's first thing in the morning I think either of those are Highly Unlikely. 

In case I don't blog again in 2018, thanks once again for the prayers and support you've provided. You may underestimate how much it helped this year. It helped a lot and me and mine are appreciative. We hope your holidays have been blessed with peace, love, joy, and wonder, and that your 2019 is even better!

Merry Christmas

I'm sitting here, perhaps as some of you are, amidst the Detritus of Christmas Crap. I don't mean that the presents were crap or that the intentions behind them were, either. I just mean I'm sitting amidst the physical mess left behind: two tables heaped with boxes which are themselves filled with bubble wrap, tissue paper, hoping-to-be-reused wrapping paper, new socks, empty glasses, books, Christmas cards, candy wrappers and writing implements. In short, in the Mess of Christmas Aftermath. 

A grandfather is here, outside with the grandsons, partaking in a Nerf war. His dog and our dog are outside as well. Ours is barking madly (the neighbors must hate us), desperately wanting to be part of the running, shooting, laughing and mayhem. His penchant for eating Nerf ammunition has him clipped to his tie-out, far away (hopefully) from any stray bullets. We're all witness to his displeasure. 

Dada is downstairs, testing out new video games with the Care Bear, who got both her highly desired ukulele and her cell phone, given before Christmas. 

We are surrounded by Stuff. Good stuff. Stuff to read, stuff to snuggle into, stuff to eat, stuff to wear, stuff to play with. We are thankful for the Stuff. 

But I suppose this is a post where I should talk about the Stuff that made this Christmas special for me. I finished with radiation last Thursday, which will be another post, and today was Day 5 of Tamoxifen, which is a medicine I could be on for the next 5-10 years as part of my maintenance regimen. It's all good; thankfully they're not huge. I'm thankful the medical community has the knowledge and that we have the insurance which will help take care of me for years to come, God willing. It's been a year of medical magic for sure. 

This is the only Christmas where Damon will be 8, Liam will be 13, and Carrie will be 15. Getting them the perhaps ridiculous things their hearts desired at each of these ages made us happy. When I finish my potential decade of medicine, Damon might not still want Nerf guns and bullets. Well, okay, he might, since he's a b-o-y, but you never know. My point is that I don't want anyone to miss out on what matters most at Christmas. Hug those in your life hard. Tight. Tighter! Nothing lasts forever (and yes, those of you who are trying to get little ones to sleep through the night- even that stage doesn't last forever and you ARE allowed to say hallelujah that it doesn't!)  and tomorrow isn't promised. Say thank you for those little things and the people doing them. From me: thank you to every single one of you for reading, praying, sending cards, sending food, transporting my kids, coming to visit, texting, calling, dreaming up fun gifts, and being your wonderful selves. Thank you for being part of my Christmas and everyday magic. 

For those of you still searching for a little bit more, who are maybe missing some of that magic because you thought the hole you're trying to fill might have been filled by some of the Stuff, try checking out Cedarcreek.tv on the odd hours each day. They are rebroadcasting their services all week long, and Ben has a good reminder about making room for Christmas itself, not the Crap or the Stuff. Listening to it in the background of your Aftermath might help as you get through the rest of the Christmas Crazy. 

Be careful traveling and eating and shopping and recovering and eating and napping and sampling Christmas cookies... you know how it is. Remember that you are loved lots, not just by those around you, but by a Savior who was born at Christmas. Thanks again for being part of my tribe. May your Christmas be merry and bright!

For those patiently waiting

I must apologize. I've been terrible about transferring quotes from our quote board to the blog, but there are some old ones up now (finally) at Telling It Like It Is over there on the right side, or you could just click on the link above. I have another half a quote board to do, but at least it'll give you something fun. So sorry! 

We've not been as good about writing them down in the first place lately, including a gem that I've forgotten half of. To whatever was said, Damon's reply was, "Weebles wobble but they don't fall down." Carrie wondered aloud, "did you ever even play with Weebles?" And I forget where the ensuing discussion went. All I remember was that the conversation took place in the car...

Maybe capturing quotes quickly should be a New Year's Resolution. 

The struggle is real

A certain slender teenager made her way downstairs before church yesterday morning, and the first thing I noticed was that she was in a navy blue sweatshirt instead of one of her multitudes of black ones. So I did what any mother would do. 

I "ooooooooooh"ed.

She rolled her eyes and smirkily (bwhaha, brand new word on a Monday. Ooh yeah!) muttered, "Idontwanttotalkaboutit" which is straight out of "The Gods Must Be Crazy". If you've never seen it, go track it down at your library and settle in for some giggles. 

She then sighed and confessed, "I didn't put my laundry in the dryer last night so my jeans are still wet and these are the only ones that come remotely close to fitting." 

I look down and lo, and behold, she's in her "Saturday jeans" which are the ones I've deemed to thin in the rear to be acceptable in public. This child wears jeans into oblivion. The same pair as often as she can get away with it, over various pairs of leggings (because it's cold in Ohio for like six months) until they absolutely must be washed. Once out of the dryer, they're back on her bod until the cycle needs repeated.

These ones are short and thin. I could see the tie dyed leggings poking out at her ankles. 

I smiled, and again heard, "Idontwanttotalkaboutit".

"I need some jeans."

I should explain. This child hates shopping. Actually despises shopping. For her to initiate a shopping trip means we're at Situation Critical.

So off we (she and her Grandmama and I) go to Walmart, her choice, where she tries on seven or eight pairs of jeans, texting me as she goes, with pictures, of what's too big, too short, too tight, too huge, and so on. 

During all this, I'm texting my brother, who commiserates as he is 6'4" and hates shopping and comments, "Jeans would be tough. I can't really find jeans for myself."

I think and think and can't remember the last time I bought jeans for myself at anyplace other than Goodwill. I think the last three pairs I've gotten have all belonged to someone else first, hehe!

She settles on a pair of 16 regulars with a boot cut and likes them enough (or will at least tolerate them) that when I suggest grabbing an extra pair, she doesn't roll her eyes and she snags one out of the stack.

We head home, I go to cut all the tags off and discover she's selected a pair of 16 husky which is not going to work at all. 

"Carrie! These are husky! Is this what you meant to grab?"

"Uh, no. Those aren't going to fit."

If you've seen her lately, you know she's not a stick, but she is nowhere near the husky category. She's a tall, slim chick, but isn't a skinny jean fan. She likes some room and as she has actual muscles from all these years of karate, she doesn't want jeans sticking to her as she's sitting in school all day. 

*Facepalm*

"They sure aren't. I'll take them back tomorrow..."

*sigh* 

Anyone else feel like they live in Walmart these days? I feel like we should just put our account on direct deposit...

Tis the season!

Keep your butts to yourself

Someone, who shall remain nameless, deliberately mooned me first thing this morning. Then, as he's always thinking about things, he inquired, "why did God give us buttcheeks? Why couldn't there be just a hole?"

While slapping his PBJ wrap together I answered, "He probably figured you could use something soft to sit on."

Mulling this over, which I can hear because he left the bathroom door open, he murmurs to himself, "huh. They ARE kinda soft."

This discussion is followed by him turning in circles, chin down over his shoulder, as he tries to inspect his own rear end. 

May your day be productive and not running in circles!

Let's talk about sex

Yes, I did just open that can of worms. I suppose it's obvious that Reader Discretion would be advised.

But since some of you sang that title instead of reading it (hopefully not my parents*- hi guys!), here's the link to the song: Salt-N-Pepa, your blast from the past I claim no credit for any of it, but kudos to the group, the producer(s), the record label for airing it. If you watch the video and meander through the comments, you'll notice that the song is from 1991. I was in high school when it came out, Ryan White had already lived and died, "Hook" and "The Silence of the Lambs" and "Father of the Bride" were released, the Pens won their first Stanley Cup, lives were being lost in the Gulf War, Magic Johnson revealed his HIV diagnosis, Terry Anderson was released from seven years as a hostage in Lebanon, and the Cold War ended...

Is it just me or does that feel like a lifetime ago? It is astounding to me how much happens that I forget completely about. You guys, that was all before the Y2K panic. Before everyone and their mother (hi Mommee!) had cell phones. 

Here I am, older and hopefully wiser, but some things are slow to change. We know that sex sells and we are continuously bombarded by advertisers using it to their products' advantage. Sexy is big business. Why else would everyone know about the Kardashians?

I'm going to switch gears a little bit here as I'm attempting to use this blog sometimes as a teaching tool. Quick exercise time, think fast: what are the obvious aspects everyone thinks of when you hear chemotherapy?

*imagine the theme from "Jeopardy" playing here*

Let me guess. You came up with nausea/vomiting, hair loss, and fatigue. All very real. Other unfortunate side effects can be diarrhea (which, even after way too many posts, I still can't spell without autocorrect), foods seeming to lose their flavors or flavors being over-enhanced, fuzzy thinking/chemo brain, in my case watery eyes, and today's topic: sex.

Because chemotherapy can cause sudden menopause. Didja know that? Like really sudden. Hormones made in the adrenal glands and ovaries are diminished by the chemo drugs. Obviously that would affect estrogen and progesterone in women, but women also make testosterone, which as we know is responsible for producing sexual desire and all that follows. (I have to be sensitive in wording because despite the Reader Beware header there are still some young ones reading so bear with me and read between the lines of your own experiences.)  When menopause happens naturally, these changes take place gradually. Chemically inducing menopause happens much more suddenly. In my case, I quit taking birth control pills in May, immediately had one last menstrual cycle and have had nothing since. Second exercise time, think fast: what side effects come to mind when I say "reduction of estrogen and progesterone"?

*cue the "Jeopardy" theme again*

Time's up. All the ladies probably rattled them off in one breath: mood changes, night sweats, hot flashes, and dryness in sensitive areas. 

I've been wading through an incredible book which my radiation oncology nurse Barb lent me. It's called Breast Cancer Treatment Handbook, 7th Edition by Judy C. Kneece, RN, OCN, and it's through the Covenant HealthCare and Breast Health Program. It is very user friendly and has the real nitty gritty. The honesty and the thoroughness is refreshing. 

Let's talk mood swings. Almost every one of you just rolled your eyes and thought, "PMS". Yes, it's a real thing. Here's the why: during a woman's normal cycle, estrogen and progesterone levels drop to allow menstruation. In other words, it's chemical and not something in our heads. And for cancer patients who undergo chemo, those hormone levels don't go back up. Yep, some of you just opened your eyes wide. This book says that essentially some people feel they're not handling having cancer well because their emotions are all over the map when the reality is that their hormones have basically all been flushed down the drain. We as women are used to them ramping back up again and evening things out, but with chemically induced menopause, "yeah, that ain't happenin'."

I think this is where the nugget of mental health needs to be inserted. The book goes on to say that this side effect of treatments is real and chemical based and hormone based and not in anyone's head. Talk to health care professionals about how they can help. Sometimes medication can be a helpful tool in your tool belt. How are you magically supposed to deal with something physical and chemical without help? You're not! There is no shame in taking meds if they help you live to be the best you! Plenty of us wear glasses so we can see. Meds for mental health are no different!

So what about the one-two punch of dropping testosterone levels and the fatigue, two desire-slayers? Let's talk about sex. That's what you need to do. Talk. "Be open with your partner" blah blah blah. Seriously, your partner may know you really well but they most likely aren't a mind reader. If you're having a hard time with finding the right words or getting them out once you've found them, try books. I've been inundated with books since my diagnosis. Honestly, some of them I haven't even opened because I've been so overwhelmed. Let me know if you want to borrow some! And online resources are invaluable as well. For instance, I belong to a Facebook group of ladies who have made the decision to forego reconstruction and stay flat. We talk about confidence, scars, finding clothes that flatter our new shapes (which is harder that you'd think, might I add), other people's opinions, all kinds of things. The support is amazing. You hear a lot about social media only showing the best of the 27 selfies you took, the perfect vacation, the fabulous dinner, but it is also an opportunity to have real, raw, honest conversations about just about anything! Get plugged in somewhere. Life's too crazy of an adventure to go it alone. And no, I'm not only talking to fellow cancer patients. If you'd like more discussion about mental health, check out Dooce because she writes very candidly about her own struggles. She's the real deal, so use her search bar to begin your hunt. 

Read, research, listen. And talk. To your medical team (that's why they're there), to your family, to your kids, to your partner, to your friends, to the Facebook nation, to yourself. Get it out. You're normal. There's plenty of space in the State of Hot Mess. You do you. The Southwest corner is mine.

If you're a friend or a family member of a patient, listen. Hug. Help. Don't take it personally if we melt down completely or if we don't. Hormones and drives are just like other personality aspects- they vary from person to person. If we're not dumping all over you, don't take it as a sign that we don't trust you with it. We may just have other outlets for channeling the mess like exercise, faith, journaling, art, crying in the shower, screaming into our pillow, all of the above or something else entirely. I still don't recommend crying in a hammock. If we do purposely or inadvertently drag you into our mess, it's your responsibility to talk to us, too; we're not mind readers and if our issues are overwhelming you, take a step back and let us know. Don't just ditch us, k? 

That also or even especially goes for the sex part. If you're experiencing dryness and have no idea which OTC product is safe to use, especially if you're worried about extra estrogen, start a conversation with your nurse. If you just can't bring yourself to talk about it, make a list of questions ahead of time and just hand it over to them. They can't help what they don't know about. Again, you have to tell them what the problem is or they can't help you fix it. After all, might as well get every penny out of the medical bills you're racking up, right? Same with low or no desire. Talk about it. They can point you in the right direction of where to look for suggestions if they themselves don't have any. They are your tribe, your team, and they're rooting for you. People are not meant to do life alone, so summon up your courage and start some conversations. To be very clear, if something hurts, don't just endure it, thinking that's just how it is or how it's supposed to be or that it's just you. That means you're going to continue to be in pain. You are your own best advocate, so step up and get whatever help you need. Knowing the holidays can be incredibly hard, why wait to make it a New Year's resolution when you can start on the road to feeling better right now?

Just because we may be seriously too tired and/or have little to no desire, does not mean that we don't still want and need hugs, affectionate touches, closeness. I am so incredibly blessed to have a husband that gets this. He is my most amazing support and I'm getting teary eyed just thinking about how hard he has it to be beside me but not able to wave a magic tool to fix me. Thank you, babe. I am well aware of how lucky and blessed I am. I love you eternally.

So put up that mistletoe, surprise your friends with a squeeze, and don't forget to smooch your sweetie! (Of course there is always a flip side; if you have germs, please don't share them! Cough into your sleeve, wash those hands, and stay home to get better instead of sharing the little buggers. Bleah!)

* Forgot all about my darn asterisk. I'm crossing my fingers that my parents don't remember the song or that I'd be singing it while doing the dishes back in the day (eek), but they can surprise me. Once while they were visiting, our family was playing the letter game with our Echo Dot and Alexa gave us the letter U and "musician." Without raising her head from her crossword puzzle, my mother chirped, "Usher." We all looked at each other, astounded, and my Dad quipped, "she is un-believable." I guess anything's possible!

A little color for November

A shout out to my sweet Aunt Barbie and Uncle John who sent some lovely flowers. I inspected them and murmured, "huh! So that's what cabbage roses look like." I'd seen them mentioned in books but never in real life before. Pretty cool! Thanks, you guys!

Waitaminute, what's that doing here? We have rum after all!?

Getting through November, folks. Whatever it takes. ;)

Not 45 minutes ago I mentioned how things still looked green. Apparently those were the magic words because now it is snowing with a vengeance and I should have kept my big, fat mouth shut. Crivens!

Oregon on my mind

Today feels like a day in Oregon. I had to park in the back forty of the parking lot for my fifteenth date with Baymax, and as I strolled in I thought about the damp and the light precipitation and how things are still green-ish here. 

After my date, I bundled up to trudge back to the car and when I rounded the corner of the building I got smacked in the face with a gust of wind. It reminded me vividly of the first time I got to see the Pacific Ocean. It was as a newlywed when Dada took me to Cannon Beach. I hopped out of the car, spread my arms wide, started to holler "hellooooo Pacifi*SPLAT* owwww! THAT wasn't NICE!" 

Sleet. Stinging sleet right in my face.

This was like that but minus the sleet, though I imagine that's not too far off. 

At any rate, I am not quite halfway through radiation if you look at it as 15/33 being done, but I am over halfway if you figure that the last 5 treatments will only be focused on my surgical scars. Probably a good thing, too, as I am looking a bit crispy:

You can tell best in my armpit, which, when I think about it, is probably the first time I've ever managed to get sunburn in my armpit, haha!

If you look under my armpit on that right side you'll see more, and up between my neck and shoulder there is more pink. There is also a mole I should probably have looked at the next time I'm in... hmmm... consider this your last-minute PSA to get any suspicious moles checked, as well! AND it is no-shave-November, you men, so get yourselves to your doctors for your annual checkups and take good care of yourselves! We ladies kinda like having you around and people are depending on you to be your best. Ahem.

Big kids are probably coming home any minute, so I gotta jet, but here's two more. Again, right shoulder: 

And yes, that's hair! Woohoo!

Have a wonderful post-Thanksgiving week and stay safe in whatever Mother Nature throws your way!

Black Belt Down

This guest post is brought to you by Grandmama. Sorry, Mom. I'd forgotten about it! This goes along with the post about Carrie passing out in health class...

Black Belt Down (sung to Deck The Halls melody)

Arteries and tributaries.... in our dear health class at Bowling Green.
Veins and tiny capillaries... in our dear health class at Bowling Green.
Have you seen this scary story? You will see injury, referee, 
But it's real, not Halloweeeee--eeen.
Clint the hockey player on the screen.

Carrie is a black belt student... in our dear health class at Bowling Green.
Likes health science when it's prudent... in our dear health class at Bowling Green.
But she's fainting from a flashback- teacher, friends, and the room fade    to    black.
No more sound track for this tall teen- 
On the classroom floor she can be seen.

Notify administration... in our dear health class at Bowling Green.
Walk her to the nurse's station... from our dear health class at Bowling Green.
Should she leave in this condition? Mr. D- her family tree- has syncope!
Listen to her frank admission- "You must understand- it's in my genes!!!!"

-10/27/18 (See? I AM behind...)

My afternoon date for Autumn 2018

*Skin photographs ahead- reader beware*

You guys, meet Baymax:

Isn't he cool? The "arms" on the sides come out and can be raised and lowered. The bottom panel also rotates around, and so does the hair dryer looking top part. The table I'm on is called a couch, and it slides in underneath. I lay there and behave myself and admire the beautiful lighted ceiling panels and be still. I also watch the numbers of the variations of the rotation degrees creep up or down and wondered what "No accy" meant on the computer screen I can see. I hoped it didn't mean "no accuracy", so I asked. It means "no accessory", which is an additional machine part that could be added to Baymax. Whew. There's also clanks and whirs and I swear the same exact bing of the seat-belt-may-be-removed notice on airlines. 

The top part that looks like a hair dryer has a square window in the very middle of it which is full of metallic "leaves" that slide back and forth, making bumps and zigzags. I thought they looked like teeth made of nails, but they also remind me of the metalworks in a music box, or those toys where you push your face or your fist in and then back up and the impression you left behind is still there, sticking out in 3D. Anyway, that section rotates over to my left elbow when I'm on the couch and every time I think, "watch it, buddy, don't you bump my elbow"... it never does, but it makes me smile every time. It rotates under me to zap me from behind as well. The nurses recommended certain lotions that I'm to rub on 2-3 times a day and I'm supposed to put it as far down the back of my right shoulder as I can reach, all over my front, and then under my right arm as far onto my back as I can reach also. I'm a bit pink, but doing okay so far. Today will be Day 9, so Dada says I'll be 3/11ths of the way done. 

I have to laugh at this next picture with all my lumps and bumps and marks. This is my right side, showcasing my lovely armpit. Just kidding. I wanted you to be able to see what a hypocrite I am; Carrie has been known to draw on herself in Sharpie, and when I notice I admonish her, "don't draw on yourself. Especially in permanent marker!"

Well, here I am, all dotted and x'd and a general mess, haha. The x's are now tiny dots of tattoo ink, so those and the stickers they're on are gone. The bump with the scar above it to the right of the x on the right is my port. The ring of dots along my center are where the radiology techs line up the bolus, which is a flap of squishy material masquerading as tissue that tricks the radiation into sticking around the surface instead of penetrating farther into me. The actual, God's truth name of the bolus material? Superflab. I am not making this up! The techs keep it in a drawer with bubble wrap, and I've been told even towels could be used instead. How fun! The best part is that since Baymax works best in chilly conditions, the techs often warm up the Superflab in the blanket warmer before slapping it on my chest. Mmmmmm, nothing quite like warm Superflab. I quipped that I wished I had a whole suit of it to wear in weather like this!

The bruisy-looking dark spot under my incision is where the surgical drain was. The lump on my far right (which is actually my left) is the very bottom of what used to be my left boob. As I said earlier, when your arms are straight out to your sides, your chest stretches flatter, which is how I was in surgery. When you stand up and gravity takes back over, things fall into their original position. Am I flat? Not quite. More concave, but way flatter than I used to be. It makes for much tighter hugs, which I love!

Tangent time. Any guesses on the design on my pants? I call them my pizza pants, but on closer inspection you will notice that they have green rinds. I believe they are actually watermelon slices. Dada is not a fan, but they cracked up my radiation team, and they're super soft. If they disappear mysteriously, y'all will know who to blame.

While I'm on my date with Baymax, I get to pick the music I want to listen to. I've been hearing a lot of 60's, some classic rock, and some 80's so far. Songs I haven't heard in years, including this one . I had nothing to do with the song or the video. I hadn't heard it in a really long time- had forgotten about it completely, in fact- but it struck me how pertinent it is still today. My PSA for today is to please remember those less fortunate than you as we head into Thanksgiving, and I challenge you to find some creative way to love on someone in need, even anonymously. I can't wait to hear your stories about what you were able to pull off. Back to my irregularly scheduled blog post...I love it when my tech ladies sing along. It's funny how I'm only there for 15 or so minutes, but they all feel like old friends. I have been in such good hands this entire journey. It's so amazing to know how many people are in the right place at the right time knowing the right things. I thanked Julie once for taking such good care of me and she replied that it was her honor and privilege to take care of me. There were definitely tears sneaking into my ears again. Apparently you shouldn't cry on the Couch of Baymax, either...

Halloween holdovers

Sorry that these are late. My phone did a semi-croak and I'm in the process of learning how to get everything cleared back up and off and onto the new one. Since today started as a two hour delay and turned into a cancellation due to ice, you can guess how much I'll be able to accomplish. ;) 

Anyway, Liam wanted a cake with Bendy the ink demon. I have no explanation. Guess that's why there's Google.

The menfolk: Mario, Indiana Jones, and Skullduggery Pleasant. Carrie went with friends and changed before and after so I don't have any of her costume. *Sad trombone*

And as much as I'd have loved to go as Linus with a blue blanket thrown over my shoulder and my thumb in my mouth, I thought I'd be too chilly. It was a SUPER nice night, though, so I needed have worried, but Captain Jack Sparrow to the rescue once again!

Already?

I know there's a bunch of you out there whose favorite season is autumn, so I ask you- what is this nonsense!?

One with flash and one without. Ugh. So not ready. 

I woke up at 4:45 and saw there was snow on the sunroom roof which is right outside our bedroom windows. It's not even Grandmama's birthday, so why the heck is it snowing already!? 

To add insult to injury, my phone died yesterday. One of the apps on it is the Sonos app which controls the music throughout the house. It's a wonderful, magical creation, one of my favorite and most used apps.

Well.

Today Dada used his phone's Sonos app to turn on a Christmas music station in the family room and then went on his merry way to work. My phone is dead and the iPad is so old it can't update its version of the Songs app so I can't change the station. It's either Christmas music inside with snow outside or silence with snow outside. 

Bah humbug.

First world problems, truly. 

Seriously, Mother Nature needs to get it together. Check out Monday's forecast:

Once again, she figures, "a smattering of everything would be nice. Shake well and pour."

What comes to mind is the scene from "Into the Woods" where the witch visits the baker's house after she discovers a 40-foot footprint in her pulverized garden. They debate what species of monster could possibly be responsible. She storms off, the baker looks at his wife, and she then proclaims, "we are moving!" 

I'm a Sim!

Y'know how it's kind of odd to see a group of naked mannequins standing around or leaning against a wall together? I saw some last week in a men's clothing shop and I cracked up and averted my eyes. They weren't wearing scarves or pants or boxers or fig leaves. Nothing. Nada. Zip. There's just something about people-sized and -shaped beings in various stages of undress that seems weird. 

It's just as funny as seeing a rack of rectangles with imprints of bodies in them hanging by a hook from a corner of the mold and realizing that each one of those imprints represents a real, live person somewhere. It makes me think of Han Solo when he's encased in the (hold on, let me go Google it because I thought it a minute ago but now it's gone...) sorry, frozen in carbonite. The noun guy in my brain held up a sign that said "kryptonite" and I knew that wasn't right. Now he's sniggering. 

Anyway, instead of picturing Han facing out and screaming his silent scream, envision what the Han-shaped hole he'd leave behind if you could crack the carbonite in half like an egg carton and let him step out. That bottom half is exactly what would be hanging on from the rack in the radiation room.

For my simulation, I went into the dressing room and was told to have the hospital gown open in the back. I was to leave everything on from the waist down, lock up my stuff, and have a seat until they could finish with their current patient and then they'd come get me. I close the door and lock it, face the lockers, find three pairs of scrub pants all in a pile before finding the pile of gowns, look up to see the laminated directions for putting the gown on like a robe so that it ties in front. 

Hmmm. Didn't they say to have it open in the back? I'm having images taken of my chest. Surely they need to have it open in the front, like the printed directions say. Otherwise they wouldn't have made up a sign to post to the wall. Right?

Wrong. The tech giggles at me and chirps, "everyone thinks that. We'll slide your arms out of it and do what we need to do, but for this particular test it does need to open in the back. I know it doesn't make any sense."

Okay, so I get it on backwards which is actually correctly and wait my turn. 

I eventually make it into the actual room where I'm greeted by Baymax. Not sure who I mean? Click here but put your drink down first. Again, I had nothing to do with the video or the actual movie in any way. Thank you, YouTube. 

Not really. But that was my first impression. The radiation machine does have an actual name- TrueBeam 1655, which sounds so much cooler if you round up: I have a date with the TrueBeam 2000...

Anyway, it's rounded like Baymax crossed with a shower head or a desk lamp, that kind of graceful arch, and has arms which also rotate around to do their imaging thing. I laid down on the table in my backwards gown with the tag tickling my throat, the techs shove a support under my knees, and then rubber banded my feet together. I'm not kidding! They ask what kind of music I'd like to listen to, but keep in mind, there's to be no dancing or wiggling around. Be still. 

Which is also interesting as Psalm 46:10, which has been one of my very favorites already, is the verse our church is memorizing together during the November series. "Be still and know that I am God." And God, he sure has a sense of humor.

I'm going to be being still every day at 2 PM. So still that my feet will be rubber banded to keep them from dancing. 

It is cold in this room. Apparently Baymax is a little touchy and only operates best in sub zero conditions. Just kidding. But my arms and top of my chest are out of my gown and in the cold air. The thoughtful techs cover me up as far as they can with a blanket from the warmer and I be still. 

So from the waist up I'm on this crinkly inflatable pad? packet? something? (Here's where I hear Pippin: "...mission. Quest. Thing.")  The techs start to inflate it and the doc is squishing it around my arms which are up over my head and clutching a bar that reminds me of what Wil E Coyote plunges down to blast his TNT. I have X's drawn on me in Sharpie to line up with the lasers. I have assorted stickers, some with wires in them, stuck on me and I'm reminded of Liam when he was very small. He'd stuck an entire page of smiley face stickers, the tiny ones that are like 60 to a sheet, all over his face and body and clothes and declared himself "stick-o-powo-boy" (sticker power boy). Once it looks like I'm all set with stickers and wires and squishy stuff all lined up and puffed up just right, everyone exits the room, and Baymax does his imaging thing, rotating his arms around and taking pictures from all angles, sending its findings to the computers on the other side of the wall. 

I went in again a few days later to make sure my mold? casting? inflation? fit just right and to get new, more precise X's drawn on. Later this week they will be turned into tattooed dots for precision. The tech grinned at me and said, "you can tell everyone how tough you are- that you got THREE tattoos in one day once! You don't have to tell them they're all tiny dots." I don't know that tough is a word I've ever used to describe myself...

Baymax once again did his thing, including the arm that looks like a solid metal square positioned right over my face and head. I murmured something about "now I know how a panini must feel" and the techs laughed. I'd told them how the machine reminded me of Baymax and they'd laughed at that, too, and said it was the first time they'd heard anyone call it that. Maybe they're used to dealing with patients who have a filter between their brains and their mouths. I tend to think out loud, much to the merriment of those around me. 

Eventually I'm un-banded and helped into a sitting position. I smile at my shape in the crinkly Stuff and giggle about being hung up on the rack. I'm sure some of you are quipping about being on the rack. Go ahead, enjoy yourself! The whole thing is funny! 

I've been instructed to shower in lukewarm water every day, to stay out of hot tubs, to slather on lotion three times a day, and that I'll also get time with the doctor every Tuesday either before or after my turn in Baymax. 

I was telling the girls at church that I'm excited to start this. They kind of looked at me weird like, "uh, Val, you're headed into radiation. Generally, that's not a good thing." But I'm looking at it as another tool in my arsenal. Radiation is very localized and specific. I fortunately claim no knowledge of war, and yes, I know how blessed I am to be able to say that, but I'm envisioning some smart bomb with precision targeting. The dose is small, which is why I'll go daily, Monday through Friday. The way it works is that the radiation is administered again and again and again. Healthy cells can repair themselves. Cancer cells can not. They only know how to multiply. Therefore, it is my understanding that the cancer cells will be damaged unto death whereas the healthy ones will be able to keep up with repairs. It's a win-win situation. Radiation and surgery help with local cancer cells, chemo took care of any systemic ones that may have migrated away from their original location. I'll continue to be on meds to keep shutting off estrogen receptors so nothing can attach and cause mischief. The whole shebang is amazing! 

So if you're bored around two o'clock any day between now and Christmas, you are welcome to pray against any burns from radiation or other skin issues. Everyone is different. Going into this whole thing I wouldn't have said I had a lot of skin issues. Now it's a different story. I'm not sure if it's the chemo or the hormone meds or my immune system taking a beating but my skin has had some freakout sessions. I am still bruised from the IV I got in May. In May. It is November! I still have brownish purple bug bite markings from this summer. Two weeks ago I was seriously considering getting a tube of Clearasil because my face just would not stop breaking out already. I complained a bit to Dada, "geez, it's bad enough I have cancer, but can't I at least have nice skin? Is that so much to ask?" We made faces at each other in the mirror and he laughed with me. It's the little things.

Speaking of little things, a resounding yes, my hair is coming back. I look like Linus, and if Halloween wasn't cold in Ohio I'd have just tossed a blue blanket over my shoulder and sucked my thumb while we strolled around with the boys for Trick or Treat. It's still too short to tell if it's going to curl or not, but it seems to be coming in fuzzy and dark. 

I do have Halloween pictures, but they're on Dada's phone because mine was acting up again, so I'll try to remember to get those up. Right now, though, I need to drop off some bills and our absentee ballots and be back in time for my date with Baymax/TrueBeam 2000, haha! Gotta go live life, in other words. Happy Monday, and don't forget to vote tomorrow!