I am a mess. For reasons I can't explain, I can't seem to get out of this slump lately. Ever since I got home tonight I've been crying off and on. The only reason I can muster up as to why, is that I started work on Monday. I was surprised because work usually makes me feel better. But I think that now that I'm starting my "normal" life again, I've been reflecting a lot on the last two months.
Because this process went by so quickly, I was in such a focused, decision making, get your ducks in a row mindset, that I didn't have time to emotionally process things as much as I normally would have. The funny thing is that I know I'm cancer free, so I should be rejoicing! But I'm not. I'm sitting here eating cheesecake feeling sorry for myself.
While feeling sorry for myself and shoveling another bite of cherry topped cheesecake, I was looking at the trending items on Facebook earlier and saw that Sandra Lee has been diagnosed with breast cancer. First of all, I love Sandra Lee! She has always been one of my favorite TV chefs because I felt like she was realistic about her expectations of me. I'm not going to go out and harvest the 16 different ingredients from my garden needed in a recipe to make a pasta dish. Sandra is all about using a balance of fresh ingredients and store bought ingredients to make a realistically quick, easy, and delicious meal. She gets me.
So when I saw that she was diagnosed with breast cancer I of course felt for her. Then I watched her interview with Robin Roberts on Good Morning America. I had tears streaming down my face because I could relate to everything she was saying. Then, at the end, she mentioned women in their 20's and 30's and I couldn't help but nod and think, "Yes, Sandra! Exactly!" I highly recommend watching the video, but if you don't, she mainly talks about her own path and story, and then ends with advocacy of getting screened.
Like many things in our world, certain processes are imperfect. Dr. G once explained to me that mammograms aren't very effective in women under 40. This is because younger, premenopausal women have fattier breast tissue. That breast tissue in a mammogram shows up as white. Incidentally, cancer also shows up as white on a mammogram. So you're basically looking for white on white. Thus, not very effective. (For a more thorough explanation, read this explanation from the Dr. Susan Love Research Foundation.) When I looked at my own mammogram, Dr. G had zoomed in and I was shocked that they were even able to detect anything because, even zoomed in, I had a difficult time seeing what she was pointing out. (I'm thankful that my team and the technicians are excellent at what they do.)
So I understand why it isn't pushed for mammograms under 40. But, the question then becomes: What are we going to do about it? Yes, there are far fewer cases of breast cancer diagnosis for women under the age of 40, but they are still out there. I'm one of them. Each one of those diagnosis is a life. By not having a set plan in place, the message that I hear being sent is, "Well, we don't really have an answer. You can get screened, but I don't know if it will help. If you find a lump, go ahead and get it checked out. Good luck, though."
A more effective screening system needs to be in place, and it also needs to be covered by insurance. (That's for another post). In the meantime, women, of any age, and men who love women (their mother, sister, wife, friend, cousin, etc.) need to know what the symptoms of breast cancer are. I always hear the word "lump" as if that is the only tell tale sign of breast cancer. It's not. I never had a lump. I did, however, have bloody discharge. But I feel like other symptoms aren't as well known, and that needs to be more publicized. Here is a great source for symptoms to look for.
A lot of those symptoms I look at and think, "Wow, you really need to be familiar with your breasts in a healthy state in order to really even notice any of those." And it's true. Women need to get to know their breasts and be aware of any changes, and if any changes start happening and they become noticeable, it is our own job to get it checked out. I always say, what's the worst that could happen? They say, "No, you're fine," and maybe you leave slightly embarrassed because you felt like you overreacted. But I don't care. Feel embarrassed. I would rather a little embarrassment and an hour of your day taken up to see a doctor to make sure you're advocating for yourself. Who else is going to if not you?
I feel like this is my next mission. To help find better screenings, to push women to take charge of their own bodies, and to follow through with any symptoms. I have a lot of research to do, but every chapter has a beginning. Maybe this is my next chapter. In the meantime, I'll try to dry those tears.
5.10.2015
Still Walking
At times it's easy for me to feel like I'm done with cancer. After all, I'm cancer free. But then I quickly realize that I am still walking this cancer path.
I've been feeling unusually down again lately. I was attending a car seat training for the last three days, and I found myself crying Friday night before bed. During the class I went to the bathroom, and a woman was in there pumping. She apologized, and I told her, "Don't worry, I've definitely been there." We got to talking about breast feeding in general: How we couldn't wait to give our babies regular milk when they turned one, how it's not a crime to feed them formula, how hard it is to keep a supply up at a certain point, especially when you're working, etc.
I told Eric about our conversation that night, and then I started weeping. I'll never be able to do that again. I don't know if we will have another child. Only God knows that plan. But if we do, as much as I complained and as much pain that I went through in breastfeeding, I will miss it. I will miss holding that baby and watching her as she rests her hand on my breast and slowly drifts into dreamland. Knowing that I was the one who soothed her when she was restless. Just us two, in peace. I'll never have that back.
The next day, also at class, I had a conversation with one of the instructors. She asked if I minded her asking me questions. I of course said no. As we were talking, I told her that I noticed one of the other students was wearing a t-shirt that was for a breast cancer 5k walk. I also had the epiphany that the label of "cancer survivor" now applies to me. What?? What an odd, strange feeling. To be quite honest, the fact that I just had a bilateral mastectomy and didn't have to endure radiation or chemotherapy makes me feel as if I didn't have cancer enough, and that I shouldn't have the label applied to me. I just want to say, "I had cancer one time." As if I had the chicken pox. To me, a cancer survivor is someone who is strong, both mentally and physically, and has endured much more than I have. It makes me feel uncomfortable.
The next day, as I was driving to class, wouldn't you know it. I drove past a 5k breast cancer walk. I saw all these women walking to the race from their cars, wearing their t-shirts, and again, I started to cry. I don't know why I did exactly, but I did. I feel that even though I am cancer free, the walk is not over. I feel incredibly ugly still, and I feel inhuman. I hate these foreign objects in my body. I can't sleep on my stomach, I hate sleeping in a bra, I hate that I have to block Julia from my chest whenever she climbs on me, and I miss stretching my arms over my head as I wake up in the morning. I'm just so over it. But, what choice do I have? I just have to keep walking. Shut up and put up, Malita.
I've been feeling unusually down again lately. I was attending a car seat training for the last three days, and I found myself crying Friday night before bed. During the class I went to the bathroom, and a woman was in there pumping. She apologized, and I told her, "Don't worry, I've definitely been there." We got to talking about breast feeding in general: How we couldn't wait to give our babies regular milk when they turned one, how it's not a crime to feed them formula, how hard it is to keep a supply up at a certain point, especially when you're working, etc.
I told Eric about our conversation that night, and then I started weeping. I'll never be able to do that again. I don't know if we will have another child. Only God knows that plan. But if we do, as much as I complained and as much pain that I went through in breastfeeding, I will miss it. I will miss holding that baby and watching her as she rests her hand on my breast and slowly drifts into dreamland. Knowing that I was the one who soothed her when she was restless. Just us two, in peace. I'll never have that back.
The next day, also at class, I had a conversation with one of the instructors. She asked if I minded her asking me questions. I of course said no. As we were talking, I told her that I noticed one of the other students was wearing a t-shirt that was for a breast cancer 5k walk. I also had the epiphany that the label of "cancer survivor" now applies to me. What?? What an odd, strange feeling. To be quite honest, the fact that I just had a bilateral mastectomy and didn't have to endure radiation or chemotherapy makes me feel as if I didn't have cancer enough, and that I shouldn't have the label applied to me. I just want to say, "I had cancer one time." As if I had the chicken pox. To me, a cancer survivor is someone who is strong, both mentally and physically, and has endured much more than I have. It makes me feel uncomfortable.
The next day, as I was driving to class, wouldn't you know it. I drove past a 5k breast cancer walk. I saw all these women walking to the race from their cars, wearing their t-shirts, and again, I started to cry. I don't know why I did exactly, but I did. I feel that even though I am cancer free, the walk is not over. I feel incredibly ugly still, and I feel inhuman. I hate these foreign objects in my body. I can't sleep on my stomach, I hate sleeping in a bra, I hate that I have to block Julia from my chest whenever she climbs on me, and I miss stretching my arms over my head as I wake up in the morning. I'm just so over it. But, what choice do I have? I just have to keep walking. Shut up and put up, Malita.
5.01.2015
Shot Puts
It's been a busy week!
Sunday one of my closest friends flew in to hang out with me, which was very timely since I was feeling so low. It was nice to be out and about and also just chill. Monday night all we did was watch Dancing With the Stars and ate a bunch of junk food. I also had times where I couldn't stop laughing and I really do believe that laughter is the best medicine.
Tuesday she drove me to my doctor's appointment with Dr. G, where we met my mom and dad. Dr. G examined me and said I was looking good, and she went over the pathology report. I did not expect to cry at the time at all, but she has this way of talking and putting things in perspective that unexpectedly got me going. She said, "You are cancer free now, and you saved your own life. You're here now because of you, because you saw something that wasn't right and you followed through and got it taken care of."
So my take away from all that is and moral of the story is: Always ask and get things checked out that seem off-base to you. Regardless of what it is. Don't fear being seen as high maintenance or brush it off as nothing or wait and see. See now! What's the worst that could happen?
Wednesday I went to see Dr. P. I knew I was going to be having more saline injected into my expanders, so I was a little nervous because I didn't know what to expect. I took two pain pills before the appointment just in case! When I arrived and was brought to the waiting room, this is what I saw:
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Sunday one of my closest friends flew in to hang out with me, which was very timely since I was feeling so low. It was nice to be out and about and also just chill. Monday night all we did was watch Dancing With the Stars and ate a bunch of junk food. I also had times where I couldn't stop laughing and I really do believe that laughter is the best medicine.
Tuesday she drove me to my doctor's appointment with Dr. G, where we met my mom and dad. Dr. G examined me and said I was looking good, and she went over the pathology report. I did not expect to cry at the time at all, but she has this way of talking and putting things in perspective that unexpectedly got me going. She said, "You are cancer free now, and you saved your own life. You're here now because of you, because you saw something that wasn't right and you followed through and got it taken care of."
So my take away from all that is and moral of the story is: Always ask and get things checked out that seem off-base to you. Regardless of what it is. Don't fear being seen as high maintenance or brush it off as nothing or wait and see. See now! What's the worst that could happen?
Wednesday I went to see Dr. P. I knew I was going to be having more saline injected into my expanders, so I was a little nervous because I didn't know what to expect. I took two pain pills before the appointment just in case! When I arrived and was brought to the waiting room, this is what I saw:
Yikes. He walked in and I had a list of questions for him:
Q: What is the timeline from this point to the permanents?
A: We will do another fill next week and then from there see how I'm looking and how I like it.
(I told him before I was pregnant I was a D, and after I finished breastfeeding I was a sad C. I want to be a happy C. He laughed at that.) From there he will put the permanents in during late summer or early fall.
Q: When can I start driving again?
A: I have to be completely off the pain meds and I have to be comfortable enough to make quick, jerking motions.
Q: When can I go swimming? (I want to go to the pool with Julia a lot over the summer.)
A: In about 10 days, once the stitches are completely gone. (Sooner than I anticipated, and I won't be jumping in any pools soon, but good to know I can spend the summer at the pool with Julia!)
Q: Can I do things like ride roller coasters and take flying trapeze lessons? (Even before all of this, I wanted to take a flying trapeze lesson for my 30th birthday.)
A: Yes, I can keep doing what I would normally do and can't stop living. Although he's not so sure about trapeze lessons, with or without implants. haha.
After my list of questions, he sterilized a spot on the top of each breast and then stuck a needle in that was attached to the monster syringes. I couldn't feel the needle since the area is numb, and he stood calmly and slowly injected the saline. I looked up the whole time and the sensation was so indescribable. I didn't feel pressure, but I could feel the increase. He put 60 ccs in and I now have a total of 360 ccs in each breast. However, next time he said he'll put more in my left breast because the right one looks bigger. (I agree.) He said that sometimes the breast surgeons are a little more aggressive on the side that had the cancer so that's why they're probably uneven.
Initially the increase didn't hurt or bother me. However, yesterday evening, it hit me. I felt like my breasts were going to explode, especially the right one. I would touch them and they felt rock hard and it felt like a throbbing pain. I was going to attempt to put Julia to bed by myself, but after experiencing that, I decided not to and instead took a pain pill and parked it on the couch for the night. I felt like I was walking around with two shot puts underneath my skin.
This morning has been better, but I'm proceeding with caution. We'll see what the day brings!
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