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!