Another side of randomness

 Last week was just nuts. In addition to the gas line at the high school being struck which caused school to be cancelled for Thing Three, I also had a two hour fog delay. We repeated the process on Tuesday, and though the gas line had been repaired, school was still cancelled for him as well as for me this time because the fog was still hanging around come bus time after the two hour delay. I think Wednesday everyone was on time, but I was subbing in first grade instead of hanging with my preK friends. Thursday I was back with my 3 year olds and then Friday was a work day and aides weren't required to report, and Thing Three also didn't have school because his teachers had a work day as well. 

My Mommeee arrived Monday afternoon and left Saturday morning, so we had a great, long visit this time. Thanks for making the trip! I miss you! Dada had been in Mexico for work since Sunday, and he made it back safely to us on Saturday after my Mom arrived home.  

This week will hopefully be a little less bananas, though I'm back in first grade on Wednesday again, and Thing Three has no school for conferences on Friday. Our school has them next week. I can't believe it's the end of the first quarter already...

My hindsight-is-always-20/20 observation is to not schedule surgery wherein your recovery requires no lifting within the same year as having lymph nodes removed in your arm. Hopefully none of you will ever go through the experience, but if you do, be forewarned that the second surgery and no lifting will set back your PT and stretching exercises rather alarmingly. I've been experiencing a ton of tightness throughout the right side of my chest, right armpit, shoulder, and neck. Over two weeks ago it was so bad that I whimpered when bending over to tie my shoes; the combination of extending my arm while having it tightly in front of me pulled all kinds of muscles in what felt like all the wrong places. At times, while stretching, I sounded snappy like a KitKat bar. As anyone with cording can tell you, the snap kind of takes your breath away a second and you're wincing the whole time you're working, either because it actually does hurt sometimes but also in anticipation of it zinging another stab of pain. For instance, I do 10 reps of various exercises, and sometimes the snap won't come until the 9th rep! Then you hesitate in dread a moment before starting the 10th, and breathe deeply when that set is done. I'm not particularly a fan of sounding crispy. Dada, however, is enjoying working on me with the massage gun we got; meanwhile, my vision when he's doing it makes me feel like the Blair Witch Project choppiness and it reminds me of how we'd vocalize as kids riding our bikes on our brick street, "heeeeyyyaaaaheeeeeyaheeeeya"... oh well. This, too, shall pass. I certainly won't win any Heisman trophies anytime soon!

School has been entertaining. For the most part, the kids are a hoot and I love the staff. I am tired of the squabbling over who is the line leader, but generally I am having a ball. I'm thrilled to be able to help. I missed so much time last year. 

Our weather has finally cooled off, I'm super behind on #Inktober, I have plenty of small projects to keep me busy when I'm home, and I'm glad for the time we had with my Mommeeeee. Too bad she didn't take Bos with her when she left. (I can hear you laughing, Mom. Pipe down.)

Did I blog that we had to put Honey down? I don't think I did. Our Honey girl was elderly and way past decrepit, so we made that worst best decision and our wonderful vet helped us send her off pain-free. Bos never even noticed. He still scurried to her dish for days afterwards to see if she'd left him any morsels and then he'd look at us like, "how rude." I think the only reason he'd miss any of us is because he doesn't have opposable thumbs.

One more football game and then the marching band season winds down. They've already had their concert and we learned the hard way to sit in the center of the auditorium versus towards the back. Having a line of trumpets three rows behind you is not recommended. Had it been drums, I'd have been great! I love to feel the beat in my sternum!

Have a wonderful week, everybody, and stay healthy!

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!

The latest intel from the doc

 Sheesh. Day 4 of October and I'm already behind in the Inktober stuff. This surprises exactly nobody who knows me. Oh well. I'll get there.

Yesterday was my surgical follow up appointment. Dr A said the incision looks good, no sign of infection, start moving my arm around 90 degrees and further, gently. She was pleased the surgical drain had been removed. I'm allowed to ease back into exercise but shouldn't pick up where I left off, which is always good advice, and she doesn't need to see me for 6 months!

Regretfully, she still didn't have pathology results to share with me, reiterating that it's been taking 3-4 weeks to get them. Well, two weeks down. Thank you to all of you who are praying for peace for me- it is working. I FEEL like I should be a nervous wreck over not knowing, but I AM not, so I know they're working! She will call me with results AND she will take them to the tumor board so they can discuss what the best plan moving forward would be. Sorry if y'all were waiting for a more definitive answer than that, but the good news is I'm mending well! She said she was pleased at how well I was doing. 

I'm allowed to wear my rings again, we're allowed to trim up the meshy adhesive dressing that flakes away on its own which is a huge relief as it's rubbing and irritating and pulling away even as it's trapping BO and isn't supposed to be scrubbed at. Gah. Did not want my super power to be STINK. Ick. Beware my right armpit!

I'm also allowed to drive so long as nothing is hitching or catching or hurting, so I suppose I'll start with easy jaunts and go from there. She wants to be sure I'd have normal reflexes if needed, which is only fair and wise. 

So we wait some more as I get back into the swing of things. The area is a bit tender but there's not really pain. Getting it 90 degrees is still tough but it'll get there. Soon I won't be making faces whenever I get my arm into a shirt, haha. 

Thanks for all the support, you guys. I am one blessed soul! Have a terrific weekend and be safe in your adventures!

A gory details post

One might infer from the title that there will be material shown here which could make some readers uncomfortable. There's no shame in skipping this post. Read at your own risk. 

That said, I'll try to be sensitive as well. 

Here's me, pre-op, in my magic gown. You guys, this gown was so cool! When I was putting it on, I couldn't remember if the nurse had said to have it open in the front or in the back, so I of course assumed, "well, boob surgery would mean they're working on my front so it has to open in the front, right?" and that's how I put it on. Wrong! Haha! The nurse giggled at me and said, "everyone thinks that, but it actually is to open in the back" because there are all these cool layers to the gown including pockets that they can run tubes through which can warm or cool the patient accordingly. Magic! Whoever thought that up is brilliant. We fixed my gown and got me ready to go.

My OR people came in and introduced themselves. They asked me if I wanted a surgical cap of some kind and I asked if it was warm in the OR. One of the anesthesiologists said, "it's freezing in there" so I got a snazzy blue shower cap. He then gave me my calming, pre-op "margarita" mix, Dada kissed me good luck and they wheeled me into the OR. I remember looking up at the light bulbs that look like ice cubes in the huge light fixtures. I met a nurse who said his name was Mike, I remember the team saying something wasn't working right and that they needed another one... blood pressure machine, perhaps? And then I don't remember anything after that. Once again, I have no recollection of my surgeon or the head anesthesiologist being even in the room. I did not get a catheter, (big hooray!) or the breathing tube that heads clear down into your lungs (another big hooray!) I had what I think is called an LMA which is a tube that just lays at the top, back of your throat in case they need it for anything later. Less invasive and a not-as-sore throat later on. I only felt the soreness of it pretty much that same day and the next day.  

I think Dada said they started on me in the OR at 8:47 and I was wheeled into Recovery at about 10:40. I woke up and stared fuzzily at the large clock in Recovery at about 11:10 when violent shivers started. I told my nurse I wasn't cold but I was certainly quaking and she said the anesthesia does that. It didn't last too long and I got an extra toasty blankie out of the deal, haha! Since I didn't have to wait for a chest X-ray this time, I had some ice chips immediately and got to chat with my nurses as the underwater, operating on a slower record speed feeling when I turned my head faded. My surgeon came into check on me and asked if I'd decided if I wanted to stay overnight or not yet. I hadn't decided. Some of you are floored at what I've read online as a "drive by mastectomy", and believe me, I took that decision seriously, too. My surgeon and some of my nurses were strongly of the opinion that I'd sleep better and less interrupted at home and would therefore heal better. I suppose they also factor in the amount of germs in hospitals. It felt like it took me forever to decide and it wasn't because I was in any pain. I felt some hotness/burning sensation in the general surgery area but no actual pain. My surgeon had commented that people tell him mastectomy surgery hurts less than even laparoscopic procedures and I have to admit I didn't really believe him. However since this is Saturday and the surgery was Monday and I took absolutely nothing for pain yesterday at all, I guess he knew what he was talking about!

Once you're done in Recovery they send you to the next room to keep an eye on you. Dada was invited back to see me and I had one of the same nurses I'd had after my port surgery this spring, so that was really neat. She brought me more water and some Rice Krispie Treats, and kept a good eye on me. I did eventually decide I could go home the same day so she prepped my discharge papers and my folder of info I'd need to change dressings, how to take care of my drains which prevent fluid building up at the surgical sites (I have one on each side), signs to watch out for, etc. 

And the magic continued. They set me up with a scopolamine patch (thank goodness for Auto Correct finding that for me) which they stick to the skin behind your ear. It administers anti-nausea meds over a period of three days so you don't have any ill effects from the anesthesia. I was warned to not scratch it or touch it and then rub my eyes as it would dilate my pupils and then people would look at you funny, assume a head injury and order a CT scan. "Make sure you wash your hands. We've all done it" cracked my nurse with a roll of her eyes. The boys, of course, loved the idea of the patch with the magic medicine, and I did remember to wash my hands anytime I forgot it was there and scratched whatever itch was close to it. No dilated pupils or CT scans for me.

So I'm a stomach and side sleeper and obviously that isn't going to happen for awhile. Dada and Myron had disassembled our big red recliner and moved it upstairs so I would have a "nest". I've got multiple blankets, a side table for books/drinks/tissues/snacks/phone charger/desk lamp/etc so I'm pretty set for just about anything. Dada even dug out his travel pillow which has helped immensely and I'm about 15-20 paces from our bathroom. I finally learned my lesson last night and quit drinking about two hours before bed so I didn't need to be in there every two and a half hours, haha! Safe to say I've been well hydrated. Plus I have two pillows because I read I'm supposed to be propping my arms up. Lots to remember! I'm sure I'm not getting all of it right, but I seem to be doing really well, so I'm not stressing over it. 

And why these pictures decided to line up in the middle instead of along the left like all the other ones is beyond me, so sorry for those of you with OCD. My apologies.  

Ladies online mentioned a nail apron which costs about $1.50 as an excellent way to make sure you don't yank on your drains. The compression lines you see on my torso are because we've been using an ACE bandage over top of everything so stuff isn't coming loose, tickling too much, getting tugged on, and so forth. It reminds me of the big velcro wrap I was given after I had Damon. I told friends it feels good to put it on, and it feels good to take it off. The lump you see on my right side above the bandages is my port. It was being a butt and not letting the pre-op nurses draw blood from it, which is part of its job but it happens sometimes, so I do have a small bruise on the inside of my left elbow where a very apologetic nurse had to stick me. She was fast and efficient and a small needle stick was not truly one of my worries Monday morning, haha!

Some of you are Star Trek fans, whether you admit it or not, and if you remember the episode where Captain Picard is shown having been assimilated into Locutus of Borg, this next quote will make you laugh. Between my drains and my newly done landscaping I am Noboobus of Borg!

I have been having way more fun with this than anyone else, most likely because people are trying to be sensitive and don't want to be seen as crude, but also because the sooner I embrace my new reality the better I'll adapt. I'd made jokes all last week about my surgery approaching. Monday was my last Monday with boobs. Tuesday was my last day with tatas. Wednesday was my last hump day with humps. Thursday was harder, so I declared it my last happy hour with hooters. Friday was my last flash 'em Friday. Then I thought of Noboobus of Borg and cracked myself up. 

Humor is excellent medicine!

Then a sweet nurse friend advised to be sure I check my back during dressing changes because fluid can build up there as well and patients often don't realize it should be checked, too. Never would have dawned on me. As you can see, my back is in the clear. These were all taken Tuesday!

I have been absolutely floored at how normal I've felt. Everyone has cautioned to not let the pain get ahead of me. I'm thinking I must be doing something wrong because I don't have any! Granted I haven't walked into anything or been hit with anything or fallen onto anything this week, and I think I'm supposed to wait until the drains come out to start with the recommended arm exercises, but I've been slowing reaching farther and lifting light things and am doing really well. Showering with the drains is a bit trickier but there are lots of tips about that online, too. 

I have my follow up appointment all set for next week and I'm really looking forward to having the drains removed. They don't hurt at all, but they are encumbering, and I think psychologically it'll be a big milestone to have them gone. I am not looking forward to the intense itching I hear I will experience as everything heals, but even that is a sign of progress, so I'll take it. Again, I reserve the right to change my mind once it starts happening, haha. I am looking forward to experimenting with my wardrobe and at this point I'm not even talking about what will look good now that I'm flat- I simply mean what I'll be capable of pulling on over my head! This week has been all about the button downs, and I don't have or wear a lot of those so I've been raiding Dada's closet.  

Overall, my mental and emotional state has been one of relief and excitement. I did two biopsies and a port surgery. I'm done with chemo. I survived my bilateral mastectomy. The drains are absorbing decreasing amounts of fluid. I'm not in pain. I'm not thinking about radiation yet and don't have pathology results either to mull over yet. My village is overwhelming me with wonderful food, rides for the kids to their activities, prayers going up on high on our behalf, very gentle hugs, a stack of cards, and enough texts to blow up my phone. Thank you to all of you who have been part of this in any way, whether you are local and in hugging range or across the country and are sending support in other ways. Extra special thanks to my Mommee and Aunt Sherri who have been riding herd on the kids so Dada can focus on taking good care of me. I am so blessed. I know some of you might get sick of hearing it, but I'm telling you it is the absolute truth. I am so blessed. 

The post that I don't even know how to write

Bleh. 

There comes a part in every story that we have mixed feelings about. Sometimes we can't wait for the ending to arrive so that the assignment is over or because we have something else we want to do or because we've lost interest or because it's breaking our hearts.

Sometimes we don't ever want the story to stop. We simply must know what happens next, if they lived happily ever after,  if they got what they deserved (especially the bad guy), and what about               ?

Probably 95% of you reading this already know through Facebook or texts that Thursday night, November 2nd, we had to put down a friend. A roughly one hundred pound friend who was covered in fur. And leaves. And dirt. And, if I'm being honest, which I am trying to be, urine. And bumps and lumps in different spots. But covered completely in love and tears and sadness. 

She had cataracts and couldn't see well. She had some hearing loss, which was more funny than awful, especially when you'd walk behind her and go where she wasn't expecting you to be. Then you'd call her, and your voice would bounce off the house or the shed or the garage in a funny way to confuse her, and even though you're calling louder and louder and clapping, there she goes, heading further away from you while trying to find you. Even with incontinence meds, she was peeing in the house, not on purpose, just because, I think, she couldn't tell anymore when she needed to go. She was drinking more water than ever. She needed something behind her to push against so she could get her weight up enough to pull her back legs erect. She'd lean into walls to slide down against so she could sit or nap. She was squatting and sitting very, very slowly, clearly aching. It was breaking our hearts.

But she was still so sweet, so happy to see anyone who came over, so happy to have her kids lay on her, to have Bosley curl up behind her or halfway on top of her. She was happy to ramble wherever we'd let her roam. She was eating,  still loving carrots and apple pieces as much as ever. She was as patient as could be expected with a not-even-six-month-old puppy gnawing on her legs or chomping on her ears or getting his teeth caught in her fur even though she could have knocked him into next week or sat on him and squeezed him into submission. She tried so hard to get up quickly to greet visitors, even to the point where some of them said, "oh, you sweet thing, you don't have to get up for me!" 

We have a Newfoundland sized hole in our hearts, in our home, on our deck, under her tree, in our lives. 

We talked with our good friend who is also a vet and made arrangements for the last decisions we could make for the best of her life. We filled her last, large dinner with carrots and broth on top and I don't know how she did it, but she ate it all. We packed up the kids and both dogs and went to a park a few streets away where we wandered around for a last walk. She made us laugh by avoiding most of the puddles; ever the Newfie who couldn't pee in the rain because she might get wet, the Newfie who knocked children into swimming pools instead of pulling them out, the Newfie who we've loved for just shy of twelve years.

The time span got me thinking about how many people we have met while we've had her. We got her in March of 2006, before we knew our Zita and her family, which means before I was in any moms' groups here so we didn't know most of our neighbors or people we've been doing life with for over a decade now. She was my first dog. Liam was born only a few months before we got her, Carrie was not quite three. She was there to help us welcome Damon home- he's never known a life without her. She's been around longer than any of our nieces and nephews. She's spent time at camp, time at softball games, time with the neighbors, time at our big parties and at our small home groups. She accepted everyone and only ever barked at meter men. She was so quiet that when she did bark, she surprised herself as much as us. 

After the park we went to our closest ice cream place and treated both dogs and ourselves. Even then she was making us laugh, lapping up the ice cream with that huge pink tongue, chomping the tiny dog biscuit, and then attempting to devour the styrofoam cup. 

Then our sweet friend came over with her husband and medication to put her to sleep and then to stop her heart. I suppose it's a cliche, but it was heartbreaking on more than one level. To see even our friend crying was so hard. To see our kids so bravely facing every minute of it revealed a fierce pride and another layer of hurt that we can't protect them from pain or from death or from the loss of a friend. 

To those of you saying, "yes, and they'll get over it- it's just a dog," I don't even know what to tell you. You're right. We will get over it, though not soon. You're right. She was a dog. I thought that many times myself. "She'll be okay outside while we're gone. She's a dog." "She doesn't need that. She's a dog." "She doesn't understand. She's just a dog." True. But not helpful when you contrast that with all the times she cracked her huge old head off the underside of the kitchen table just so she could lay that head on your leg while wagging her huge tail at you. Or how patient she was to come inside and sit, every single time, to have her paws wiped even when sitting was painful and slow and balancing was hard. Or how you could lay up against her and read and she would just breathe, warm and fuzzy, behind you. How she was happy to help earn her keep by licking off plates before they headed into the dishwasher. How she teethed on and ruined the set of wooden nesting penguin dolls the kids had when they were tiny. How she perked up every year when fall rolled around and how she loved bounding through snow. How embarrassed she was for days after getting her summer shaved haircut and pink bows on her ears. Yes, she was a dog. But she was a heavyweight in our family. 

Movies have helped. Dada missed both of them, but the kids and I have seen "Inside Out" which is all about feelings and how they work together, and "A Dog's Purpose" which showed a neat twist about a dog being brought back as a different dog each time he died. The movies have helped us talk through sadness with glad memories and use our imaginations. She may never become a police dog as she had zero aggressive bones in her body, but she would make an excellent therapy or helper dog for someone somewhere. I've been getting book recommendations too- thank you for those. Technology has played a part as we've taken pictures and videos that we will treasure. Carrie has also done artwork that will be priceless to us down the road. Bosley is also helping despite his bewilderment as to where his playmate and snuggle buddy has gone, and we're so glad we got him before we lost her. 

To those of you who have expressed condolences and sent prayers our way, we thank you. It means a lot that you understand. It means even more that you liked her, too.

RIP Triskal Sarabella - You were so loved. 
December 15, 2005- November 2, 2017