Surviving Cruella -- Update/Recap

Post Shower Selfie!

Happy Valentine's Day! Today is a great day. Always good to start with good news, right? I took my FIRST SHOWER IN 3 1/2 WEEKS (ahhhhh), and I'm going sewing machine shopping with my BFF today! I cannot wait. I am going to give 3-4 Janome machines a test run. Hospital bills be damned, I am buying a fancy pants machine. Happy early birthday to me!

There's a lot happening over here in cancer land, and Monday is going to be a big day*. I've been thinking about everything that has happened over the last couple of months and thought I'd lay out the timeline. So let's recap, shall we?

4/12/83 -- The world loses a beautiful, witty, loving soul, mother, daughter and friend. My first mother, Christine Elaine, succumbs to breast cancer at 37 years young.

December 2013 -- I finally ask for and receive a referral for a mammogram. I am 38.

October 2014 -- I have my first mammogram at the GW Breast Center. It is quick and easy!

November 2014 -- I return for follow up imaging, spend four hours at the Center, and learn I have a lump that needs to be biopsied.

December 9, 2014 -- I have a needle core biopsy. The radiologist expresses concern and offers that she will rush the results.

December 12, 2014 -- Husband and I return to the Center and hear for the first time that I have invasive ductal carcinoma in the right breast. The tumor is tiny but must be removed either through lumpectomy or mastectomy before it spreads. We name it Cruella De Vil.

December 15, 2014 -- MRI confirms the tumor, does not show lymph node involvement, and finds a second, small, ambiguous growth to be biopsied if not removed via mastectomy. I plan for genetic testing to help me decide lumpectomy or mastectomy.

(Holidays, merry, merry)

January 2, 2015 -- Genetic test results confirm I carry the BRCA2 gene mutation associated with a higher risk of breast and ovarian cancers. I learn I will have to have my ovaries and tubes removed, in addition to removing/treating the breast cancer. I am relieved and decide on a double mastectomy.

January 21, 2015 -- I have the double mastectomy surgery; no implants but the plastic surgeon saved my nipples. My lymph nodes are clear -- the cancer is stage 1, hooray! I feel sore, nauseous, overwhelmed, and optimistic. The Village kicks into high gear with visits, flowers, food, gifts, and lots of love and support. 

(recovery, recovery, recovery)

February 5, 2015 -- We meet with a high-risk oncologist about my BRCA2 status; she says "a short course -- 12 weeks --  of chemotherapy" is a distinct possibility because of my "young" age. I am completely confused by her description of how the oncotype test works. 12 weeks of chemo sounds like an eternity. Treating cancer when my breasts are gone and lymph nodes are clear seems excessive, but I agree to reserve judgement until we know what we are talking about. 

February 7, 2015 -- Percocet withdrawal knocks me on my butt. I cave and re-dose, vow to follow the doctor's slow withdrawal plan.

NEW: February 12, 2015 -- The second/final drain is removed and breast expansion begins! I haven't showered in 3 1/2 weeks; I plan an epic shower for Saturday, 2/14.

NEW: February 13, 2015 -- The oncotype results are finally in! The patient navigator can only tell me I am "kind of in the middle" and will need to discuss with the oncologist. Chemotherapy seems even more likely. I again try and fail at Percocet withdrawal; slow down even more. 

Now that we're current, here's a look at what's next. 

*February 16, 2015 -- Husband and I are going in for our first meeting with the oncologist who will treat me (as opposed to the high-risk oncologist who helps me evaluate my overall cancer risk and planing vein my BRCA2 carrier status). We will receive the actual oncotype test result, discuss what it means and what my treatment options are. 

February 17, 2015 -- My first day back to the office in a month!

There is still a lot TBD for 2015. 

Under Construction -- my new boobs!

TBD -- The actual treatment plan and implementation.

TBD -- The oopherectomy to remove my ovaries and tubes.

But one thing is certain: I am kicking Cruella's asssss and we're going to celebrate the heck out of it in April.

The first five days

Surgery complete and recovery in process!

The surgery was a long 7 hours. When I woke up I was groggy, nauseous and sore. The nurse was cranky. I had to wait nearly five hours for my room. But my doctors and husband came by and I was able to comprehend the good news through the narcotic fog: no cancer in my lymph nodes, and both nipples saved! No implants, though. I will have to go through the long, usual expansion process. And, chemo still hasn't been ruled out. 

The first 24 hours after surgery were awful. The anesthesia kicked my butt and I couldn't shake the nausea. Every hour someone came in to take my vitals, give me pills, or poke me. My arm ached. My skin was itchy. 

Once I ate solid food, got some Valium and a little sleep, i started to feel better. The second night I convinced a doctor to do something about the tape and itching and the nurse scrubbed off the iodine that was making my skin crawl. A little more human. On the last day I switched from a morphine drip to Percocet and I felt even better. Ready to go home!

My parents were able to visit, my husband, my sister, my mother in law, and my best friend. Having them near was so important. The nurses were amazing. I hated being helpless, needing to ask for help to stand, to wash, to eat. So much I used to take for granted.

When I came home I cried when I hugged my kids. I slept a full night. I opened an assortment of gifts and read emails that reminded me I am loved. I watched the most recent episode of "Parenthood" and had a good, long, cathartic cry. All of the pent up emotions, the overwhelming feelings, released.

It took me a few days to look at myself in the mirror. To face my stitches. My breasts are mostly gone, but I look okay. And with a few days behind me, I know I will be okay. If chemo is next, so be it. It used to be the thing I feared most. But I'm a survivor. I just keep keeping on.

So many people have stepped up to help. The village is strong! I am so grateful. Food, kid care, books, treats, socks, flowers, and more. So much beauty in the village. So much love. I am spoiled.

Tonight H, my little guy, sleeps beside me. He may not return to his bed for a few days yet. We are needing each other right now and it's more than ok. M, my big guy, is processing the changes. He is smart and sensitive and kind. He leans on his father and his grandmother, but he comes to tell me he loves me. He needs me in different ways, and in time we will get back to where we were. For now I remind them both I am not leaving. I am here. 

Let's do this

Today I have cancer, tomorrow I won't! So wild.

Tomorrow I have surgery. I am feeling ready. A little excited -- weird?! I am just really happy to be moving past cancer and into recovery. It will take a week to get the pathology back, but I am fully expecting to be free and clear.

My parents are here, and my sister and mother in law are coming this weekend. Friends are cooking and helping with the boys. The village is strong! I am so grateful. I spent the long weekend cleaning, making lists, and prepping family and friends to help us manage life the next few weeks. And playing! Trains with the boys, a movie with the boys, and a movie with the husband. There was a little sewing, too.

It might sound a little crazy, but I have to remind myself that this is a big deal. The cancer is small, but the surgery is big. One of the surgeons in GW's breast center practice had the same surgery--preventive, because of a family history of breast cancer--and wrote a sobering piece about what to expect. It will be six weeks of rest and recovery. Pain (and the big feelings). No dog walks, no carrying the boys, no dishes. OK, I'm cheering the no dishes!

So there won't be much sewing happening for the next few weeks, either, but I'm sure there will be fabric shopping and quilt planning. And eventually, a fancy new sewing machine. Rewards for kicking Cruella in the arse.

The big feelings

My surgery is in one week. I am rapidly getting to the point when all of the appointments will have been made, help will be lined up, and work shifted to my colleagues. And then, when I walk in for surgery and later when recovery begins, I'll be left with the big feelings.

Soon after receiving my diagnosis I moved swiftly into action mode. Make appointments, see doctors, tell people, sort out insurance, make decisions. LOTS of decisions. This is me at my best -- action mode. Get it done mode.

And I have made all of these things happen with a smile on my face. I'm happy! I love my job! I love my family! I feel healthy! I'm going to be fine! I am forging through this whole process, the experience, without giving any space to doubt or feel sad. It's a little ridiculous. How can I be so fine, so happy, when I have cancer?

But I'm a survivor and for thirty-one years, survival mode has served me well. Just push on through, get to the other side of loss or pain (feel as little as possible), believe it will be okay and it will. And I am OK.

Except, this isn't a task list I can complete and throw away. This isn't something I can avoid feeling. Having the big surgery -- the double M -- might enable me to skip some of the uncertainty and the fear, but the physical recovery will hurt.

The hospital is offering me a nerve blocker to manage the pain. "Like an epidural," they describe it. Except I've never had an epidural. I have no idea what that's like. When I was pregnant the idea of dulling the pain scared me. I knew I could do it, just push through labor, and I did. I wasn't afraid of the hurt. But this time I think maybe I won't want to feel the pain. With the pain might come the big feelings.