And so it goes

 I still don't really want to talk about this and it might be because, as a bestie said recently, "I really just hate thinking about all of this stuff and putting in words makes it real."

I so get that.

However, or nevertheless, whether I talk about it or not isn't going to change the fact that I have lymphedema. That's just a scary word that means my lymph system isn't draining super efficiently and so I'm taking on fluid. It's only in my right arm down to midway between my elbow and wrist but that is aggravating because it is DESPITE:

-wearing the compression sleeve this summer, even on vacation.

-staying active

-doing my stretching and physical therapy exercises

-sleeping with it elevated

-still wearing my SECOND compression sleeve daily

Wah. I just want to wallow a bit, but then I remember that hey, my arm still works (mostly) and I can get the mobility back (I hope) and probably if I stop doing what I'm doing it'll get worse so staying busy and fighting through yoga is what I'll do until I'm told otherwise.

I knew but had forgotten that the main lymphedema risk window is up to two years out from surgery and since my lymph node removal surgery was last fall, I'm well within that range. I just had hoped- like I'd hoped the surgeon wouldn't HAVE to take them out in the first place- that lymphedema wouldn't happen to me, but here we are. 

It's not painful per se but it is frustrating that my right arm looks like a sausage and that I can't reach equally far with both arms and that it's exacerbating my right neck/shoulder tightness. I can still do an impressive amount of flexibility, but I can tell how much range of motion I've lost and it makes me furious. 

I don't know if the two months of no lifting/exercising while I recovered from the complete hysterectomy is what set me back or if it is simply that I'm in that two year window or if it's because of the radiation treatment for the second time. I suppose it could be the trifecta of all of that, and perhaps more I'm not thinking of. It stinks that it's my right arm, which is naturally my dominant arm. Of course it would be my "good" arm! Ugh. 

Whatever. I have two arms and two legs that work so I'm going to shut it and move on. If that means I have to go shopping because I can't fit a lot of my sleeves over my swollen arm and compression sleeve, then so be it. If it means I'll need friends and family to right my sleeves and seams when I get where I'm going, then that's what'll happen. If I get my arms stuck in a shirt over my head, well, I guess I'll cry and then laugh and then figure it out. 

Otherwise, and I hate to speak it into the universe but here goes, I'm on my 6th month of my 3 year meds and so far so good. I'm luckily avoiding school germs thus far, so here's hoping that continues! Drink lots of water, wash your hands, and stay warm, my friends!

Fun with meds

I know the saying is "when life hands you lemons, make lemonade,' but when the docs prescribe you meds...

make a face!

The face was actually Dada's doing. The teeth on the edges were Tylenol after my hysterectomy. The huge ones are calcium & Vitamin D. The gel one is also Vitamin D, the small oval is an allergy pill, the white round one was Tamoxifen, and the gummies are vitamins.

The top photo collection only differs in that the allergy pill is one of the tiny white ones and instead of the small circle Tamoxifen, I'm now on another tinier white circle that is Arimidex. The orange gel one is a stool softener, required after the hysterectomy lest I pop any stitches if I became constipated. Possibly TMI, but hey, I try to keep things real around here. The two purply non-gummy circles that taste like I imagine mulch would taste are my CDK 4/6 inhibitors (the 3 year pills). 

So yes, I crack up everytime a doc asks me about drug use. Then they clarify about "illegal" ones. Who has time to do illegal ones when it takes me enough time to get all these down as it is? 

My most recent doc visit asked if I used alcohol. I paused before I confessed, "that break week for that one med... I had a drink that week." She smiled and teased, "you could have two." 

I had no idea adulthood would be so thrilling!

 

Not lost!

 Sorry guys, I'm kindergarten tired, haha. It's back to school! I'm thrilled to say that I'm also back at school, both subbing and for the month of September at least, being an aide. I'm having a ball in the wing that holds our youngest students, but I also do not have the same energy allotment as the 5 year olds. Attention span, maybe, but definitely not the energy! 

Unfair that kids who fight naps get to have them and adults who need them don't. 

Suck it up, buttercup, I guess.

Anyhoo, our high school home team has lost all three of their football games thus far. The band sure is having a good time, and our kid in particular, who is mainlining Pixie Sticks and sour Skittles and God alone knows what else. Dada and I watched in fascination as he dumped sugar into his mouth, washed it down with Coke, played a snatch of a song, and repeated the cycle with more Pixie Sticks. I'm still amazed the entire bleacher section wasn't vibrating from the vast amount of sugar coursing through just him, but then seeing more Pixie Sticks being launched through the air from one section to another and I can't even imagine how they ever sleep. I bet dentists everywhere rejoice; job security fo' sho'.

My Mommeeee came out for a visit and the weather cooperated so we got to run some errands with blue skies and puffy clouds. September is a favorite of hers. I always wish they could stay longer, but she had good traveling weather and made it back home safe. Thanks for all our treats and Wendy's and your company!

Dada and I putzed our way through the Black Swamp Arts Fest (which we call Dark Arts) both on Saturday and Sunday, perusing all the wares, meeting up with friends, making some fun purchases. Tons of fair food, fun live music, and a Main Street full of vendors, we give it two thumbs up! PLUS, there was a book sale at the library so guess who got more books even though she's already at least 6 books behind her reading goal for 2025... yay! New friends!

Labor Day weekend brought yard work, much to the chagrin of the boys, including chopping off tree limbs and burning them, pulling many weeds and yanking out small honeysuckle bushes. Also got as many small saplings of our zillions of trees out as I could, and gingerly removed dead black raspberry canes. Miraculously, I stayed out of the poison ivy! Soon enough we will be raking leaves or mulching them into the grass, I suppose, but for now we are enjoying the cool mornings and warm afternoons. Especially at recess! Any chance to play outside is a chance I'll take!

My PET scan showed nothing, which is a good thing! My EKG also must have been normal because I didn't hear otherwise. Next month I'll have another oncology check up, and later this week is my 8 week post-op visit from my hysterectomy. I'm fairly certain she will sign me off. 

My two new meds seem to be doing their thing and only causing dried out eyes and nasal membranes. I hope the week off each month from one of them (planned, so that my lowered blood cell counts can recover. You know, important things like platelets) will bring some relief- I'm a little nervous going into the cold season with all the drying effects of furnaces on top of the side effects. I don't want to have to switch meds. One of these I'll be on for forever and the other is a 3 year gig. I'm almost 2/36ths done! Woohoo! I'll let you math nerds reduce that. 

Already had my first back-to-school germs, so I can check that off my list. I had a head cold before the kids even started back. Definitely must be allergic to school. Hehe!

Enjoy the beautiful autumn weather even if it hasn't officially started yet. I refuse to break out my cold weather clothes until the calendar declares it, so I'll be over here in my sundresses with sweaters and leggings. 

"And DON'T underestimate the importance of BODY LANGUAGE, ha!"

 The title is from Ursula in Disney's "The Little Mermaid"- the old animated one I grew up with- and it doesn't quite fit this post but it's close enough for government work. It's too hot and I'm too sleepy to fight with it for a better one. "GETMO; Good Enough To Move On," as Craig Groeschel says at the Global Leadership Conference.

I got a good look at myself in the mirror the other day and had to just laugh ruefully. This is not how I pictured my middle aged body would look. I do remember telling Dada decades ago that I wanted to be "pleasantly plump" and I guess what I had in mind was Mrs. Weasley from the Harry Potter series, though it was way before there was a Harry Potter. I think I desired that because nobody in my entire family was ever plump and I thought it was cute. We are a family of beans. String ones, generally. 

At any rate, since I don't have boobs, the first thing I see when I look down is my stomach. For someone who wanted to be plump, it's still a bit disconcerting. Not the lack of boobs- I'm fine with that- but the amount of belly. Welcome to middle age. 

Added to that, my right arm has been in a compression sleeve for almost two months and therefore looks like a fish belly. While I KNOW tan is actually sun damage, I have always felt healthier with a tan and I am *insert your favorite synonym for "mad" here* that cancer has ruined yet another summer for me and I'm feeling a bit sorry for myself. My sweet radiation doc begged me to not burn because of the radiation I underwent, and that all looks... nontraditional... because half of my chest is "tan" from the radiation and that's the half I'm supposed to keep protected, under a rash guard, with SPF 50 on the parts that might be exposed. The other half is meh tan for mid-July in a normal year, but I have to keep telling myself that it's not been a normal year. And then my white right arm and hand with tan fingers. Gah. Ridiculous.

My hair is coming back pretty well and it looks like even my eyelashes and eyebrows have decided to show up this time. However, I have started one new med and will be starting a second, and hair thinning/loss is a possible side effect. If this goes to Round Three, I don't plan on ever growing hair back out again. I like it short and fuzzy. Makes me happy and boy, does it streamline your morning routine and your Walmart receipt!

*I forgot to mention all my small incisions still glue covered and healing from last week's hysterectomy. Added to all my other scars, you could draw some funky constellations on my body!

To add insult to injury, every time I go outside I swear I get another bug bite. Mosquitoes I can handle. It's the chiggers! My heavens. It's not just me- the New York Times has an article on them and the comments section is full of misery loves company as well as tips for relief. For those of you who live where there aren't chiggers, and those areas seem to be shrinking due to climate change, count your blessings. I think the only reason poison ivy is worse is because you can spread that around whereas the bites stay put. Chiggers like to get you in the worst possible spots- along bra and underwear lines, armpits, in the folds of back fat, along your groin, not gonna lie- I even have two in my buttcrack. Talk about hitting below the belt! My poor mother did some weeding when she visited and ended up with 24 bites herself. I'm so sorry. They itch for about three weeks and the jury seems to think that it's best to not scratch them open due to histamines and less chance of secondary infection.

So there's no red, white and blue here, just fading black and blue bruises from my IVs, pink from the insect bites, and a depressing lack of tan! In the meant to be comforting words of my radiation doc, "not for forever, just for this summer." *sigh* Whatever you say, Doc.

Wherein I play the role of Mrs. Potato Head. Again.

 In the post about the Chaos Party I mention being (mostly) done with cancer treatment. The mostly part was because while surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation are all behind me, (again), I still have some Stuff To Do. 

Because my cancer has been hormone-driven, my oncologist strongly recommended having my ovaries and tubes out, and felt that my surgeon could decide about the uterus and cervix. Let's face it; I'm almost 50, I don't need any of that stuff anymore, and like Dada said, "clearly your departments aren't communicating with each other because you haven't been able to physically feed a child since 2018 so why do they keep trying to make one?" I couldn't agree more. Enough is enough already. 

My surgeon felt the same. "Why in the world would we leave anything in there to cause trouble later on down the line? No! Let's do it all at once."

"I agree. No uterus left behind. Everybody out of the pool."

So, my belly (and bug bites) Before:

My surgeon also said that she prescribes a bowel cleanse before the surgery. Should anything, God forbid, go wrong, there's less mess to deal with if you're squeaky clean inside. Good times ahead for me and my stack of library books...

The pre-op nurse who called to go over everything told me that they'd be able to use my port. I was thrilled. That doesn't happen for every procedure like you'd think it would. And while they did indeed get my port, which was being stubborn and not wanting to draw blood (it does that sometimes. It'll let you put stuff in but gets selfish and won't let stuff come out. She had to re-poke it, then it gave up and cooperated), they informed me regretfully that because the surgery was being done robotically, that meant I'd need another line started to push meds in case anything unforeseen should happen. 

I told the nurse, "good luck! I have tiny, uncooperative veins and haven't been drinking because of the bowel prep." Bless her heart, she got me on the first try in that lower pink circle, and then AFTER it was all over they do a blood draw to check your hemoglobin status so that is the elbow stick in the top pink circle! Six days later, I'm less blue and purple and more green and yellow.

They applied a scopolamine patch behind my left ear to prevent nausea. You leave that baby on for 24 hours and then peel it off, throw it in the trash wrapped up, and wash your hands. If you touch your eyes the medication can dilate your eyes and cause blurry vision- the opposite of anti-nausea, haha, so follow directions. 

I had other stuff in my IVs and fentanyl for the surgery, which I've had before, apparently, because I asked and they checked. The anesthesiologist had already gone over her checklist with me about myself or any family members who have had trouble with anesthesia. 

My bugger of a port, looking all innocent:

I don't even remember seeing the docs in the OR. Dada smooched me and they rolled me down the hall. I remember going into OR #3, seeing the lights, hearing someone say that Tiffany was already in there, and then looking down my right side as they lined up the bed I was in with the OR bed, then nothing until the recovery room. My surgeon showed Dada the pictures of everything that was removed, and she may have showed them to me but I ALSO don't remember seeing her afterwards, so I'll have to ask at my follow up appointment. Gotta check on my Mrs. Potato Head pieces!

So it's four small incisions for a robotically laparoscopic complete hysterectomy and then everything gets pulled out down below. A camera is inserted into your bladder during the surgery to make sure nothing is accidentally nicked in that area as well, so you do have some burning upon urination immediately after surgery, but by the second day that had already faded for me. 

They sent me home the same afternoon with ibuprofen to take every 8 hours with food, a stool softener to take twice a day because straining during constipation can tear open your stitches and then you have a right mess, and Percoset which I haven't taken any of because for me the ibuprofen/tylenol routine works great. I'm thankful. I thought there would be both more pain and more bleeding, but I have only had twinges and some spotting, no cramps, no gushing, nothing awful! Did I mention I'm thankful? 

Bye bye, lady parts. Well done, good and faithful servants.

Thank you all for your prayers and the well checks. I have the best tribe, as always!

Please pray that I continue to heal well- my follow ups are at the 2 weeks and 8 weeks marks, and I'm not anticipating difficulties there, but I AM beginning a new medicine that I'll be on for the next three years if I tolerate it well. 

It's called a cyclin-dependent kinase 4 and 6 inhibitor (CDK4/6 for short). CDK4/6 proteins regulate cell division and cell growth, so by inhibiting/blocking those proteins, the drug slows or stops cancer cell growth. We are using this because my cancer has been hormone receptor (HR)-positive (meaning estrogen and progesterone driven) and HER2 negative this time around. 

It's a lot of big words, so just picture Gandalf with his staff in front of my regular cells, and bellowing to any stray cancer cells, "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!"

It's a 21 day on, 7 day off cycle, like a lot of birth control pills. Blood counts will be monitored while I'm on it, so my goofy port had better get it together and start drawing blood correctly. There's potential side effects, as with any drug, and these ones could affect heart and liver. I already had my EKG before beginning it so we have a baseline, and my oncologist does blood draws at each visit. 

Fatigue is also a potential side effect, and there's a laundry list of others that I suppose I should read so I know what to watch out for. It's a fine line between knowing what could happen versus scaring myself to death. My radiation doctor is actually the one who put the bug in my oncologist's ear about this type of drug, lucky me; they're conspiring, haha! He had a different brand in mind and my oncologist declared this one to be much less time in the bathroom than the other, so thank heavens for that.

Please pray that my system tolerates it well, so we can do the 3 year stint and be done with it. The reason it is three years is that it's been proven to prevent recurrence when patients have taken it for three years, and there aren't apparent benefits to continuing past then. I'll also be switching from Tamoxifen to Arimidex no that I no longer have ovaries. "Better living though chemistry," is the quote I keep hearing in my head, but I don't know that I believe it, haha! Hair loss is on the list of potential side effects, so it'll be interesting to see if I end up bald for a third time and how long that will last. As usual, plenty of the side effects are "I can deal with" ones like fatigue, bathroom issues for which one can use Imodium or stool softeners, and so forth. There are some more serious ones, as well, such as your heart rhythm being affected (long QT syndrome) so that's a bit worrisome. I guess there's no such thing as a risk-free life, and the meds are to help prevent recurrence. Since I do NOT want to endure a Round Three, here we go!

3700

 No, that's not an amount for a bill for any of my surgeries or chemo or insurance for driving Ori onto rocks, though good guesses all. That's the number of posts on this blog! Can you even believe it? It's like I have something to say... or something. Who'd have thought? (Nana, in the afterlife, is chuckling to herself and snarking, "anybody who ever met you! Are you kidding? All those times I had to separate you from Tammy at nap time because you wouldn't stop talking?!" Yes, well, there is that.

I'm sort of just checking in. I miraculously have zero doctors' appointments this week and am on the upswing after mostly a week of chemo crumminess. To say I'm not looking forward to next week's treatment is an understatement of epic proportions. However, it IS nice to know that I will sort of be feeling myself come Christmas, AND the AC part of chemo will be over with. Hooray! Merry Christmas to ME! As they used to say in karate, "LAST ONE, BEST ONE" though I'm not sure that quite applies here as the results are cumulative and I felt like... well, to quote our youngest, "dogwater" would be pretty applicable. I'm not sure if he means dog pee or the scum in their drinking water from their backwash because I'm afraid to ask, but either way, yeah, that kinda fits. To have the inside of your mouth feel sandblasted, to have the chemical roiling of your stomach, to feel like you've been dragged through solidifying cement with the accompanying pounding of your heart when all you've done is climb up a single set of stairs... I'd say dogwater fits. 

Yes, I am taking my anti nausea meds, though I could take more of them, though they come with their own side effects and I'd rather limit all that nonsense. Yes, I'm climbing back into bed (YAY, BED!) at every opportunity. I'm even feeling less guilty about it because my brain knows healing is hard work even though my spirit wants to Go Do Stuff. My Lisa says, "go back to bed for all of us who can't!" I figure I'm taking one for the team. Teehee. I should be drinking more, so if you talk to me, ask where I am water-wise and tell me to go take some sips. *Reaches for her glass of water whilst rolling her eyes* 

No, our Christmas tree isn't up yet, but our wreaths are, so that's progress. At this rate, once we get it up it might have to stick around until my birthday. Those of you who know us are asking, "how is that different from any other year?" Hush, you. 

For those of you asking about meals for us, bless your sweet hearts. As I was telling my friend the other day, food is tricky right now, though this week should be better. Dada is still doing no carbs, the kids are pretty much all carbs, and I am absolutely all over the map like a pregnant woman. I will have a sliced baby cucumber. Then an hour later maybe cheese and crackers. Then another hour after that perhaps a little bit of meat or some peanut butter toast. Last night I was eating single Cheerios out of the box, one after another, while I watched TV. For lunch, I plan to devour an entire head of butter lettuce* with veggies and cheese and croutons (Thing Three is at school so I'll only have to fend off Thing Two since Thing One doesn't emerge for awhile yet) and maybe a can of tuna on it and it is going to be DELICIOUS and then my mouth won't feel like I've licked a salty camel straight from the Sahara. 

*In a text from Dada, that came out "butthead" lettuce so we will be henceforth calling it that.

All in all, and my doc is in agreement with this, I'm doing well. It doesn't always FEEL like that, but as I'm also not praying to the porcelain god, I'll take it. I may look like a drunken sailor on land who is using the wall with one hand to stay stable, but I'm still moving, thank you, Jesus. Today I'm actually on my second load of laundry**, have swept the kitchen floor, made phone calls which I despise (who's with me- where are my "I'd rather die than talk on the phone" peeps?), renewed Pepe's license plate, got some mail ready to go out, and some other stuff. I'm hogging 2/3 of the couch with paperwork and have displaced Thing Two completely. I have a pile of Stuff on the floor in the Old Lady Room that I need to deal with, but we are getting there.

** The second load is dog towels and blankets. Miss Honey, who will be at least 10ish years old this week, relieved herself on the hall rug before Thanksgiving and we didn't have time to deal with it other than baking soda and vacuum it before we travelled, so we lugged it outside where the weather could rain and snow on it to it's heart's delight. We brought it in a few days ago, still smelling of baking soda. The Idiot Bos decided to lick it in a bunch of places last evening while we were having dinner, then proceeded to barf on a different rug when his stomach realized it couldn't digest dog hair, dirt, and baking soda. Hence the load of towels. How he can manage to NOT throw up rat poison when he needs to but CAN vomit other stuff remains a mystery. Dumber than a box of rocks. Seriously. That's insulting to rocks. He's no smarter now than he was when we got him 7.5 years ago. Somebody save us. I am never picking out a dog again. And if Honey doesn't quit pooping on the deck, I am going to ask Santa not FOR a dog, but to kindly take both of ours!

So I'm off to make my salad. Have a wonderful hump day!

Itchy-bo-bo-scratchety man

 I told a friend I'd discovered the thrift store where Jessica Rabbit shops, apparently! My goodness. So brave.

Since we can't all have the body shape of Jessica Rabbit, and even she says, "I'm not bad- I'm just drawn that way," I want to point out some things on this vessel that is hauling me around these days. 

*Farther down is a photo of my surgical area. Sensitive viewers beware*

There's a terrific book by David Shannon called Good Boy, Fergus! It's about a small white dog who is quite the stinker. Our kids loved it, both the story and the art. There's a page where Fergus is on his back, wiggling as he receives belly rubs, and his owner is asking, "aww, does that feel good? Itchy-bo-bo-scratchety man!" 

We've said that a lot around here over the years just like "itchy, itchy Ichabod" so it's been fitting as I squirm around trying to get lotion on my itchy patches. I think they're slowly improving, maybe? You can clearly see how the adhesive had tormented me:

The blue-black section is still dye that will work its way out. We are getting there. The dermatape or whatever it's called is starting to come away from my skin and supposedly will flake off over a period of weeks. The skin from the inside of my upper arm is still getting stuck in it and pulling a little, but it is happening somewhat less.

As you can see down a little lower, NO DRAIN! Woohoo! That's what the scab is from in the middle of the itchiest red patch. My plastics doc felt that output had slowed enough that he could remove it and he bandaged me up. So nice to be tentacle-free, man. Hooray. He said it may seep a bit and that's okay, but it seems to have scabbed over for now. Next week my surgeon will check it during her follow up. He also prescribed something for the itchy reaction that he agreed is most likely from the surgery prep soap(s). He sympathized and said sometimes people do have a sensitivity. Haha. Yeah. That'd be me. I'm not sure the meds are helping. I was getting a little worried yesterday because the lower half of my face felt like it was a little puffy after I took it so I thought maybe I better lay off it, but my face still feels like that and I haven't had any today. I think it's just generalized aggravation. It's not as much of an all-consuming itch today, thank goodness. And I'm drinking lots to flush things along. Ha.

Farther down, you can see a shadowy line which does indeed indicate back fat. I am keeping this real, people. I am middle aged and even though some of you have thought of me as "that skinny girl" for decades, I, too, have areas I'd kinda sorta like to work on but not really because of the work involved. Haha! Just staying honest. I don't want anybody looking at this body and getting any ideas about perfection. 😏Not even close. 

That said, I AM proud of my leg muscles, but that's a different story. Dada DID take me on our usual 3.2 mile walk today with no problems, so I'm gettin' back in the saddle and working on building things back up. As my nurse Lisa reminded me, I'm using everything to heal my surgical site so I have to remember to add in extra calories.

Time for ice cream! Cheers!

Apparently I get bossy when I'm itchy

 There's a great line by Dr. Seuss in his board book version, I think, of his alphabet book. In the regular version for the letter "I" it says something like "Ichabod is itchy... and so am I" but the board book is smaller (and more easy to chew on as a small child) so the words are condensed to "itchy, itchy Ichabod... i i i" 

Man, I'm feelin' ya, buddy. 

We've used that phrase over bug bites and occasional rounds with poison ivy for years, but it's most of what I've been trying to not think about today. I am fairly sure that all of the weird dyes, meds, adhesives and cleansers have united against me on my right side from my neck to about my belly button and I am ITCHY, ITCHY ICHABOD, all right! I have tiny bumps all over my skin on my right arm and front of my torso, and I'm having flashbacks to when I was a kid in the summertime who had been graciously given a case of chicken pox (thanks a lot for sharing, Hinrew). My Dad kept telling me to not scratch as I chilled on a sheet-covered couch because it would scar. I vividly remember musing, "nobody will ever see my scalp" so I scratched away, intensely, without too much relief, and pulled scabs out of my hair. Imagine my astonishment and bemusement when I heard I'd lose my hair during chemo! Whoops. Guess people are gonna see my scalp after all!

I survived. 

I also survived my 10 day late period this month. It should have arrived around the 6th. It waited until two days before surgery, the 16th. So that cloud of piratey talk you heard but couldn't quite identify the source of? Yeah, that was me. I told a friend there weren't going to be any F bombs left for the rest of the world's conversations because I was using them ALL. The nurses laughed when I told them, soothed me, and said it happens more often than you think. The stress of whatever is upcoming holds it off... until it can't anymore. I lived to tell the tale. 

And since I know some of you are like, "waiiiiit..." YES, chemo does mess all that up too. For awhile there were none, which was splendid, let me tell you, and then they came back more or less regularly. Sometimes it skipped. Sometimes it's early. Always it's a pain. 

Years ago, I dragged a friend of mine to the talk for parents that schools give before they give the "our bodies are changing" talk to the students. We all watched the video and at one point, I kid you not, it was stated that, "soon, your period will become such a normal part of your routine that you won't even notice it." As every woman's jaw dropped, the driest voice I've ever heard interjected from somewhere in that accumulation of parents and it pronounced, "LIAR."

After everyone present got control of themselves, my girlfriend and I mused about how hilarious that was, how inaccurate it was, and how the students who were about to be seeing the video might take that as gospel and have NO IDEA THAT IT DOESN'T WORK THAT WAY. 

Never have I planned an overnight stay, a vacation, a camp out, anything, without considering when and if Aunt Flo would decide to grace us with her presence. Are you even kidding me? You'll never even notice?! Like your gang won't notice that you're crabby from PMS and need to stand back and toss chocolate to you? That your clothes don't fit right? That your skin and hair get more oily? That you generally feel crummy? And that it's about to become more fun and games? Ugh. Seriously, people, tell the truth!

You will notice. It might suck. I survived. So will they. So will you. Life won't stop, not for a period, not for the loss of a job, not for the loss of a loved one, not for a natural disaster. You're going to have to keep going even when you think you can't. 

All of you facing down a hurricane, physically or otherwise, do what you can with your prep work, keep in touch with your village, and know you are not alone. When things are stable, help those whose world has been rocked. If you need ideas, look to my tribe- they are excellent at this! You don't have to be strong ALL THE TIME, so take your turn when it is your turn, and let others help when you can't. Go meet your neighbors- bring their empty trash cans back from the curb for them- and they might turn into friends. Leave a few minutes early so you DO have time to stop to check on the friend whose home you drive by on your regular outings. Love hard. Use your gifts. You are needed!

You are loved. Don't forget it.

Now I'll go find my Benadryl. And my bite sticks.

Love, Ichabod

I didn't die! What I remember and where I am now

 Hello everyone! *waves with left hand* This post will have some fun photos and some more sensitive ones, so viewers should proceed with caution, like one hand over their eyes (for some of you) and the knowledge that I'm okay! 

Sorry for the radio silence. My brain still feels a bit slow, but this is always good therapy so here goes. Please bear with me if I get distracted before proofreading or lose my place in the story, haha.

One week ago we headed into the city for surgery first thing Wednesday morning. Report time was 5 AM with surgery to start at 7. The night before was the usual nothing by mouth after midnight (just in case I were to turn into a Gremlin, I suppose) so in that sense it was nice to be there early; less time to feel sorry for myself due to hunger and dehydration. I get crabby from both!

That green circle, above, surrounds the little dimpled area of this squatting troublemaker. It's not truly in my armpit so much as just in front of it.

Below, the arrow points to the scar from where my port was during my year of infusions, the circle is over the previous scar from my right side surgical drain post-mastectomy, and the X marks the general area of the tumor. Ignore the hair- I wasn't allowed to shave in the days leading up to surgery. Not that anybody is looking that closely, just my disclaimer. 😅

We woke up at 4 AM because I needed my final of the 6 showers with the special super-duper sudsy germ killing soap first. That done, we snuck out of our friends' house and drove the not quite half hour to the hospital. They checked us in and immediately started to draw on me and initial their work so everyone is on the same page and body part and all that. 

                                                 

I had a sweet nurse who told me they'd get me an expert to start my IV, so then I had another sweet nurse come in to do just that and she nailed it on the first try. Woot! I met my surgery nurse and the anesthesiologist (holy COW, I got that right on the first try- no way!) and her assistant, and both docs came in to go over things, and then it was time to smooch Dada and get wheeled into my adventure!

                      

Gotta love my duck socks. And my fun compression boots that kept all my blood circulating and helped prevent clots while I was under anesthesia. These guys really know what they're doing! Everyone was incredibly kind, and let me tell you, I remember kissing Dada... and I have zero memory of even making it into the OR. Not kidding. Not being pushed through the doors, feeling the coldness of the room, not the bright lights, none of it. 

I didn't even get to use my bite sticks! I had one in my hand and was completely befuddled when I asked about the dye going in and how it feels like an angry hornet and they smiled at me and said, "oh no, we'll wait until you're sleeping for that." Could have knocked me over with a feather. Unbelievable. So I got to give that to Dada to put in my purse as I left him. Such good fortune! Hooray! No stinging!

And you guys, thanks for praying. One, I was not allergic to the dye. I am still bluish green in areas to prove it. Thank you! Two, apparently they had to do the long version after all and I didn't die! Dr A had not expected the lymph node mapping to work, and she was right, unfortunately. That meant after Dr A removed the tumor, surrounding tissue, and whatever lymph nodes were in there and attempted the mapping, Dr H also had to step in to reroute the severed lymph vessels into suitable veins. Apparently my previous radiation damage made that trickier in that he had to dig deeper to find recipient veins, but he was able to make five connections and was pleased. 

I woke up in recovery some time after all that and that's all pretty fuzzy. I know I vomited at least once- maybe when they tried to stand me up the first time? They said that happens often. 

One of the nice parts is that all of this procedure happened on the same floor: pre-op, the surgery, and the post-op care. No elevator rides, less chance of germs being handed around, no chance to get lost, haha. It was a really nice set up! My nurses, Abby and Alexis and Jesse and Chris were all fantastic, excellent educators, caring, kind, encouraging. I forget which person handed me the plastic tool that they want you to inhale from to make sure that your lung sacs are opening post-anesthesia, but she started to give directions and I took in a huge breath- the little indicator hit the top wall- and she laughed mid-instruction and said, "well, okay then, champ!" Guess all that walking and running this spring and summer made the odds ever in my favor. That and all your prayers, for sure! Thank you so much! 

I ate all my dinner, which was noodles, mashed potatoes, a roll and green beans- yes, Mother, there is visual proof in a photo below (I am NOT a fan of green beans)- and I didn't die! Haha. And my strawberry ice cream and later some orange sherbet with a turkey sandwich. I remember brushing my teeth later and wondering why my toothpaste was orange colored when I spit it out before I remembered about the orange sherbet. I think I also had another turkey sandwich around 4 AM...

They kept me overnight since I'd had the long version, and booted me out before 8 AM the following morning, sending me home with Tylenol and ibuprofen to alternate between, my inhaling-suck-it-in tool, two front-closing sports bras to help hold my dressing in place, gloves and wipes and all that jazz for Dada to use whilst emptying my surgical drain twice daily (fun times but not painful) and various dressings. 

And my duck socks. 

So now I'm colorful from the dye and the bruising:

The blue dots on my arm are where the plastic surgeon injected his own set of dyes to trace where the lymph vessels drained and to match with the veins. I also had blue dye injected into the webbing of my right hand between each finger. Mercifully I was asleep for all that. It is quite clear to me that I'd make a terrible junkie.

And I'm a bit rashy because of adhesives and cleansers, which is apparently a side effect of chemo because it happened then, as well. Benadryl helps and I know the itching won't be forever. Nothing like sporting weird racing stripes of rash in odd places and having one bumpy arm:

In addition to those itches, I had been warned ahead of time that post-surgery there would be light, tickly feelings on my right arm and that I'd need to rub it to desensitize those nerves and get them used to reporting in when something was actually touching me. Dada, who loves to give light tickly touches, was delighted. I am not a fan of light tickly touches because they tickle! Thing Two and I are firmly in the Firm Touches camp. I have indeed felt as though spider webs or Thing Two's hairs have been draped along my arm, or as though a drip of moisture is sliding down, and am brushing and rubbing and scratching gently accordingly. Mostly it feels like when you've slept funny and your arm is asleep, unusually heavy, right before the tingles of the blood rushing back in begins. Sometimes the skin gets stuck together in the adhesives that I have to let flake off. I'm allowed to shower but not let that part face the stream of water yet. So things get a little pinchy on that side.

I'm to not lift anything heavier than two pounds on my right side and I'm not to lift higher than 45 degrees this first week. If you want to know what that's like, go unload your dishwasher with your opposite hand and you'll have a pretty good idea. Get a gallon of milk out of the fridge with your off hand. Set a lot of things down so you can open the fridge or cabinet or door first and then pick the stuff back up with your "bad" hand. It's entertaining, but I am so astoundingly bad at brushing my teeth with my off hand, that I've gone back to using my chicken wing right side. 

I'm drinking lots of water, eating whatever I want, playing lots of solitaire on my phone and watching way too much TV, but I don't feel like I can focus on a book quite yet. This post alone has taken me about two hours, though there were some interruptions, including a thunderstorm followed by intense sunshine which resulted in this: 

Thank you again, all of you, for being invaluable members of my tribe. I am sure the docs will be pleased at my follow up appointments and I am healing well. I've gone from meds every four hours to meds about three times a day. I slept through the entire night last night and I can't tell you when that last happened! We're still waiting to hear if there was lymph node involvement so we know if I will need chemo in addition to hormone therapy, and I'm not sure when we will get those results. Thank you all so much. You are among my many blessings. 

Lest you be kept in suspense

Hello! This is your PSA to stay on top of your physical exams, especially for those of you who tend to Procrastinate. Just wanted to get that out there.

And now for the good news: I'm out of surgery, out of recovery, out of the room they put you in after recovery, and I'm home!

That's right. I'm home. Lots of the medical staff polled were of the opinion that I'd sleep (and therefore heal) better at home. I was sent home with instructions on how to empty and log the amount of fluid in the drains (oh yes, good times ahead) and the meds which went home with me and all kinds of fun advice. 

Rest easy, sweet friends and family. I'm in good hands with Dada and my Mommee and I'm behaving myself under orders of all my nurse friends. I promise! Thank you thank you thank you for the prayers and all of the support you have showered on drenched us with. YOU guys are amazing! Thanks for "storming the castle" for me. I'm betting God was delighted on my behalf over all the help he could bestow on my medical staff because you enabled it. Thanks for praying powerful prayers and for being my safety in numbers. 

I'll keep this post quick and get back to "the hard part" of resting and recovery, but I promise to do another gory detail post for those of you who'd like one. Thanks again!

And Dada has been excused from his grudging assignment of guest blogger, though I think he did an excellent job. =)

Crying in a hammock is not recommended

Did you know that a hammock, while wonderful for seclusion and relaxation, is not an ideal place to attempt a good cry? Some of you are ahead of me on this one. You're already nodding as though this should be obvious. 

Well, it wasn't to me. I was taking advantage of the seclusion and relaxation when one of the *warning, sarcasm ahead* super side effects of chemo snuck up on me: mood swings. 

I've maintained all along that going through chemo is like being pregnant because it's a total body takeover kind of deal. Today I was doing some reading (until my eyeballs were ready to fall out, actually, but never mind that) and discovered some things I probably should have figured out earlier. This I will blame on yet another side effect: chemo brain. Chemo brain is like pregnant brain where your thinking is fuzzy due to fatigue, side effects of medications, anxiety, etc. Apparently, chemo causes a decrease of female hormones, which, as we all know, does goofy things to otherwise (mostly) rational women and girls. At certain times of each month, when hormones are doing their thing, females can be perfectly fine one moment and then raging over the smallest, most innocent infraction (real or imagined) and then in tears the next instant because they're angry about being angry.

Sounds like my week. 

Aha! Hormones! Who knew?!

I've found myself raging over how many decisions need to be made throughout this medical adventure and yet how many of them are out of my realm of control. I've become incensed at how many other people want to make decisions for me in areas I CAN control. I've been disappointed by the illusion that when you become a grown up you can call the shots. Adulting is full of double edged swords and catch-22s and "haha, no tag backs!"

And I'm tired. 

But am I tired because everyone has been telling me how tired I'll be? Am I tired because everybody reminds me, "it's cumulative"? Or am I tired because of the meds/toxins being pumped into me? Am I tired because I'm a mom? Am I tired because I don't drink enough water or caffeine or I don't get enough protein or not enough sleep or not enough exercise or...?

Some of you are nodding for different reasons now. Some of you are remembering (or living), "oh yes, that sounds like being pregnant or a parent of a newborn. Am I drinking enough? Am I eating enough? Am I eating too much? Do I weigh enough or too much? Is the baby growing enough? Do I have enough fluid? Do I have enough milk? Are they nursing enough? Are they getting enough to eat? Are they growing enough?"

Some of you are replaying the thoughts in your head: am I good enough? Will I ever be good enough? Is this worth it? Am I worth it? Are they worth it? Am I supposed to be giving 50% and they're supposed to be giving 50% to make 100%? Or am I supposed to be giving 100%? What if they don't? What if I can't? What if...?

I'm sitting here, rubbing my stubbled head in frustration. Darn chemo brain. Can't even think; I sound like a fleet of hamsters on wheels just squeaking along in circles, not making any sense. I am surrounded by information from every source imaginable: the internet, books, friends, yet I still don't have enough information to make the decisions that need to be made.

In short, how does one decide if they want boobs or not? I am wrestling with that a lot lately. How does one make a coherent decision that will last for, God-willing, at least the next 40 years of one's life? For those of you who are new to this game, there are essentially 4 main options for those facing surgical removal of at least one breast (that's me, in case you're curious. Right side's gotta go. Left side is undetermined at this time.) You have your removal without reconstruction which is essentially "going flat" as your first option, reconstruction from your own body (there are multiple areas to choose from such as rear end, abdomen, and back) as your second, or implants of saline (third) or implants of silicon (fourth). Those last two options come with what I'm thinking of as "extended surgery plans" as they may need refilled or readjusted, requiring more surgeries down the line. Each comes with their own set of pros and cons. 

Now try making the decision while on drugs that affect the taste of foods you eat, wreaks havoc on your emotions because your hormones take a nose-dive, while trying to stay positive and not freak out about going into surgery in the first place with the catheters and fasting and breathing tube and the IV and all that jazz. How am I supposed to decide when my brain feels foggy and I can't take the usual comfort from a pint of Ben & Jerry's (not that that's stopped me from eating ice cream, who are we kidding here, but still)? 

To add insult to injury, or the other way around perhaps, I even finally have the swollen ankles that apparently comes with this territory (and pregnancy!)

I suppose I should give myself grace for bursting into tears in the hammock. However, due to my good friend Gravity, when you cry in a hammock the tears will coast down your face and behind your head and soak the back of your neck instead of down the front of your face and into your cleavage (which, yes, I realize that will be different after surgery as well. See? Total body takeover). Your nose will clog up even faster than usual, which I wouldn't have thought possible, and you might even get tears in your ears. As there is no graceful way in or out of a hammock, take your tissues in with you before you start your good cry. Better yet, skip the cry until you can watch a good movie. You're welcome for the Public Service Announcement.

And yet I really am okay. I don't want the tenderhearted among you to fret. I now know that hormones doing their weirded out thing is a contributing factor along with fear of the unknown. Tears won't hurt me. I'm sure I'll feel more on solid ground once I have that surgical consult to go over options with a professional, where I can ask my questions, talk about pictures I've seen, and so on. As usual, there is no convenient neon box lighting up which says, "This is what you should do. Love, God." Not that He doesn't play a part in the decision making, it's just that He's got me no matter what I will eventually pick, which does help with perspective when I get freaked out. 

How can you help? I'm so glad you asked. I realize this surgery can't happen until mid-September and it is only July, but let's get this party started. You can be praying for my surgeon, my team, clarity in my decision making, peace with whatever decision is made, smooth surgery with no complications, that I wouldn't get sick from three school's worth of germs coming home with all three kids while I'm recovering, flexibility as our family adjusts to my recovery time, that I be a good patient and follow orders to not lift and that I can start the stretches and exercises soon after to help with recovery and range of motion, that I will be able to sleep as I heal because I am a stomach sleeper, that in the hardest moments (like when the bandages come off, raw wounds, and there are surgical drains to empty-yikes) that I will remember that it's not going to be like that forever and that while my new normal will be different it will eventually become my new normal. Pick and choose what you like- I gave you lots of starting points. You'll even think of more, because hopefully you do not also have chemo brain!

And mucho thanks to those of you who have already kept me covered. I appreciate every prayer you send on my behalf. I really have been overwhelmed with mail, gifts, meals (goodness, the meals!), the wonderful hugs, the "just checking in"s and the "whaddya need"s. Thank you. Thanks for being in it with me for the long haul. Please keep them coming!


And don't cry in a hammock. Unless it's from laughing too hard, I suppose, but be careful as that has its own risks!

Goliath is down!

*Viewer discretion is advised for photographic content*

Once again, I am humbled and blessed by the faithfulness of my mighty God. In a week full of scary firsts, he held me close through every medical test, chemotherapy administration, and port placement surgery, not to mention keeping all 3 Things safe on their field trips, rides to and from and during karate, and Real Life in general. I truly do not understand how those who choose to do life without God can even summon enough courage to get out of bed in the morning.

Some of you know from my frantic "I am going to bite something, someone, anything" texts how badly I cope at waiting while being hungry and thirsty. I was instructed to eat or drink nothing, not chew gum, not consume mints, nothing after midnight on Thursday in preparation for the port surgery Friday around lunch. For those of you keeping track, that meant this Hobbit would miss breakfast, second breakfast, elevensies, luncheon, and perhaps not be eating until afternoon tea, which is just about as unacceptable as it gets for a poor, pitiful, pathetic Hobbit whose brain felt like it had shriveled to the size of a raisin in the back of her head by the time she was rolling into surgery. I've tried to be really, really good about drinking especially as I want my veins to be stab-able on the first try! To not have any water in me was terrifying, and I wasn't sure they'd be able to use the IV needle that my kind oncologist's office had left in just in case.

Thankfully they were after flushing it and making sure there were no signs of infection brewing. I was still poked to give blood, but Steve was quick and compassionate and so sweet that he made the first few tears fall. For whatever reason, it is so hard sometimes to be on the receiving end of kindness. Sometimes I wish they'd just be brisk and then leave, but the extra encouraging word just about breaks my heart.

Soon enough we met with the surgeon one more time to go over what would happen, and then met the anesthesiologist who had his own questions to which I answered, "I'm a boring patient." He grinned at me and said he liked boring patients. I felt like I was in good hands. The friendly, cute nurses came to stick in my relaxing, "pre-anesthesia margarita" (as my Aunt Chris calls it) and wheeled me off to the OR. 

I remember commenting that Liam would love the OR because the lights reminded me of an octopus, the huge digital clock on the wall, the myriad of Stuff I'd never know the purposes of. I met another nurse but didn't catch her name. I don't remember anything else. 

Apparently, according to Dada, while under general anesthesia, I grilled my surgeon about if he'd always wanted to be a doctor. I don't even remember seeing him or the anesthesiologist enter the room! I can just hear Nana laughing about "how nebby" I am... nice to know that my subconscious and my mouth still take over even when I'm under. Yikes.

When I woke up in recovery there were more nurses to meet, and my sweet friend Cheryl from mammograms came to take my chest X-Ray, a precautionary measure after port insertion as that procedure does involve sticking a needle and catheter into a big vein. They could potentially puncture a lung, hence the "before you go anywhere, you're getting an X-Ray" habit. In my case, all was well. Yay! Good job, everybody!

I think I spent close to an hour in recovery, looking around, watching the nurses, hearing the heartbreaking cough of a small person, chitchatting with whichever nurse was checking on me, finally some ice water after my X-Ray showed all was well, and I think my surgeon came in to say the first spot they tried twice didn't work so they had to move to plan B, which was something we'd covered ahead of time.  

They wheeled me out to the post-recovery place where I was allowed to get dressed with Dada's help, went over how to take care of things, some more chit chat to yet another friendly, smiling nurse. I was released with a scrip for pain meds and sent on my way with well-wishes.

Every single person there was once again, kind, thoughtful, comforting, encouraging. Thank you God for the medical personnel you have in my life!

We dropped off my scrip, headed to one of our favorite down town restaurants where I finally got to dig into some fries and a BLT and the best ice water with lemon I swear I've ever tasted. Then Dada ordered pie a la mode and I ate almost all his ice cream.

We picked up my meds, including an allergy med and Aleve which I'm supposed to take during and after my infusion for my white blood cell booster. 

We went home and tucked me into a big chair with my snazzy fancy blanket from my girls where I zoned out with a few episodes of Star Trek- The Next Generation. Yes, I'm a nerd. I wasn't sure I'd have the brain power to stay awake through anything with real thought required. I almost dozed off multiple times as it was.

Dada brought me an ice pack for over my incisions and a heating pad for over the back of my neck and shoulders, which was definitely the sorest part. I must have been propped up pretty high during the surgery or something because my range of motion as far as turning my head went is still a little affected. The heating pad worked wonders and I might replace it again tonight. I went to sleep with it and the ice pack and slept about 4 hours with them mostly in place before I woke up to use the bathroom and drink some more. I got several more hours of sleep until the morning noise around here (i.e. Bosley and birds) got too distracting. I needed to drink some more and use the bathroom again anyway, haha.

So I took all my meds that I needed to take for the first half of today, had breakfast, and headed off to karate graduation, which went very well. I sat with two of my best karate mom friends and my family and watched Damon receive his black belt! Yay kiddo! Lots of hard work went into that, let me tell you. I'll post pictures as soon as I get them from Dada's phone to mine...

Yet another thank you to every person who has been praying, for those of you sticking me on the prayer lists you know about, for lifting me up, for sending me cards and Stuff, for the cookies and the texts and the love that we are feeling every step of this journey. I can't express how amazing it is to be so covered! Thank you! You are wonderful and I am so thankful that God has put you in my life!

I realize this is a private photo and much thought has gone into placing it here where it will no longer be private. The truth is that this is all crazy and confusing and will very likely get much worse before it gets better. I don't know what five more sessions of chemo will do to me other than hair loss for sure. I have no idea what kind of future surgery awaits me, what the scarring from that will look like inside where nobody can see it and out where the whole world could, or how I will feel when this whole adventure is over and I'm proclaimed in remission, should that be God's will. 

I picked this one because I am smiling. I am upright and healing. I look strong after what has been the hardest week of my life. 

"You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother's womb. Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex! Your workmanship is marvelous- how well I know it. You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion, as I was woven together in the dark of the womb. You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed." ~Psalm 139:13-16

"She is clothed with strength and dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future." ~Proverbs 31:25

Goliath never stood a chance.