Call me G.I. Jane.

Today was my first full day cue-ballin' it.  

By that, I mean it was my first full day living as a woman with no hair.  Well, technically, I have hair.  It's a little bit of stubble that's left after my sweet husband shaved my entire head (with the help and encouragement of our two little girls).  Today it was either covered by my wig or a scarf...but I went out in public (dropped Mia at school, took her to the dentist, went to the post office, and even got my mani/pedi).  

I'll back up a bit.  Last Thursday (Day 13 post-chemo), I started to notice that a few hairs were coming loose.  The next day (2 weeks post-chemo), more and more hairs wanted to come out.  They weren't falling out on their own, but if I brushed or pulled or touched certain spots, the hair would come out.  I'd recently gone to a Young Survivors of Breast Cancer support group, and a woman in attendance mentioned that her hair started falling out in clumps on day 14 exactly.  So, I was prepared for this...well, as prepared as I could be.  

Even though the hair was starting to let loose, I was still able to act like a normal person.  Afterall, if you know me, I have a LOT of hair.  I knew I had some to spare.  So Friday, was a normal day.  Well, normal for a "cancer patient" I guess.  Friday was the day I had my portable catheter, or PORT placed.  The PORT will be accessed from now on every time I receive Chemo, or need a blood draw, or an IV for any reason.  The port will save my veins in my left arm and will serve as a direct access to my superior vena cava (I think?) for the rest of my treatment.  Here is a picture of what a PORT looks like before it is inserted under the skin and into the vein: 

The procedure was relatively easy.  I came in to the hospital fasting, had bloodwork taken, and then was hooked up to an IV.  The IV delivered pain relievers and sedatives, including a magical potion called Versed.  The sedation was enough to make me very relaxed, though I didn't fall asleep (some people do).  Local anesthetic was used while the doctor, Dr. Pimenta, (another handsome one by the way...Benjamin Bratt twin!), punctured a hole in my neck to find a vein, fish the tubing through the vein, then make an incision just below my collarbone in which to place the port, and finally connect the tubing to the port.  There's not a lot I remember (the medication gives you a bit of amnesia), but that's it in a nutshell.

When I came out of the procedure, all I could think about was my hair.  I had to put on a surgical cap, so I asked the nurse to let me remove it (for fear that she would take my hair off with it).  Happily, I didn't lose too many hairs, but the bottom left side of my hair had been stained with blood.  Evidently I bled quite a bit during the procedure because my back, neck and chest was stained with blood.  My mom and the nurse cleaned it off...and I gingerly held my hair while my mom rinsed the blood out of it as well.  I spent some time in recovery, they gave me some Norco (vicodin) and that was that.

The night my port was placed, we had some dear friends stop by our house with a lovely dinner, complete with dessert.  I was sore, but still able to be up and around.  I took some of the 800 mg Ibuprofen that Dr. Banerjee's nurse had given me, and was able to function the rest of the night.  The next day, my mom and I drove up to LA for one of my best friend's baby shower...again, I was sore, but able to enjoy the shower with the help of some ibuprofen.  

Then I woke up on Sunday.  Yikes.  This is what I found:

After a call to Dr. Banerjee's on-call line, I learned that the Ibuprofen must have caused a little extra bleeding resulting in a fairly significant and painful bruise.  Sunday was a hard day.  My hair was really wanting to come out by this point, and couldn't bear to be brushed or touched without losing lots of strands of hair at a time.  Not only that...but my scalp itched...and burned and ached.  Losing the hair was painful.  Plus, the site of my port was incredibly sore and ached as well.  Sunday night was almost unbearable.  As I laid my aching, itching, burning head on my pillow I knew that it was one of the last nights that I would have my hair.  As I turned my head, I could feel pieces of it detaching from my scalp.  I couldn't help but cry.  And cry.  Josh woke up to ask what he could do.  But, there wasn't anything he could do, except to tell me that it would all be OK.  This is what we knew was coming.  I sat up and felt a rats nest of tangled hair at the back of my head.  I had to brush it.  I went outside into the night air and brushed my hair.  I watched it fall and swirl all around me, and gasped when I saw the first real CLUMP come out in my brush.  I went back inside to look in the mirror and saw it...in the back of my head there was an actual bald spot.  I had to move my hair just so to see it, and it could be covered up, but it was bald.  I knew that tomorrow (Monday...yesterday in real time), had to be the last day with my shedding hair.  I finally had to take an Ativan to relax and fall asleep.

Monday was a beanie day.  I pulled what was left of my hair back into a ponytail and topped my head with a beanie from lululemon.  I couldn't go out in public with my hair as it was.  It probably didn't look all that bad, I still had a lot of hair, but I could see the areas that were thinning, and I felt awful about how it looked.  Not to mention that my hair was dirty, as I had been afraid to wash it for fear of it all coming out in my hands.  So, I made it a beanie day.  Josh and I had discussed how we would shave my head and decided that we would involve the girls in it.  I had been telling Mia that the time would come that she would get to cut my hair, and she was very excited about it.  So, we got ready in the morning as usual, and took Mia to school...knowing that after I picked her up from school and after Josh got home, we would shave my head as a family.  

I cried all throughout the day leading up to the moment when Josh asked me if I was ready to do it.  We set up our little makeshift barber chair in my new lovely master bathroom, and called the girls in.  First, some photos of the "before"...I was trying to smile, though my heart was breaking and I was shaking in fear.

 

  

Then, sweet Mia got to her "work."  We didn't have cutting shears, so we tried to find the sharpest pair of scissors we had (which weren't too sharp after opening about one hundred boxes after our move).  With Josh close by...and Harper stomping back and forth across the bathroom floor bringing me tissues (or as she calls them, "dishoos"), Mia grabbed a handful of my hair and began to cut.  Her little hands weren't strong enough to make the cut herself so Josh helped her to do it.  She made a few more cuts, before Daddy had to take over.  

I sat with my back to the mirror while Josh handed me lock after lock of hair...I gathered them all in one hand, while the other hand held tight to my tissue.  I knew I wanted to save some of my hair, but I just kept asking him to hand me each piece that he cut off. It was a huge handful.  Looking at all of the hair he just cut off, with lots more still to go, I worried, 

"Did I do this too soon?  Maybe I could have gone a few more days?"  

But no.  I could not have gone a few more days.  This was the time and it had to be done.  

Then Josh took his clippers to my head.  The girls had totally lost interest at this point and had ventured into the playroom.  He slowly and methodically went over it, getting the back, then the sides, and then the front.  I continued to cry.  He whispered, 

"Wow, is this unreal or what?"  

I saw the tears welling in his eyes and beginning to fall as he made sure that he did a good job and made everything even...as even as shaving a balding woman's head could be.  

Finally.  It was done.  He looked at me, smiling.  

"I think you're going to be pleasantly surprised.  You've got a good head...there aren't any lumps or bumps or flat spots.  You look great, babe."

I turned around and looked in the mirror.  What I saw was Demi Moore in G.I. Jane.  No, I'm not saying I look like the Demi Moore...but in that moment that was all I could think of...that, and Sinead O'Conner.  But mostly it was G.I. Jane.  I had the bald head and the huge bruise across my chest.  I looked like I'd just gone through battle, and I guess I had.  I looked like a bada** b*tch.  Excuse my language, but I kinda did.  Mia and Harper walked back in and looked at me.  Josh asked them, "doesn't mommy look pretty?"  Mia said that I did.  Harper honestly didn't even seem to notice. 

Then, I burst into tears.  

...and, just like that.  There went the badass. 

(There is, of course, a bald "AFTER" picture to be inserted here.  However, I'm just not ready to share that image with social media at large.)

Hair was everywhere.  On my face, on my neck, in my ears.  I had to wash it off...I jumped in the shower and tried to get it all off.  As I looked up at the ceiling I could see my new reflection in our rainfall shower head.  I was surprised, because it didn't scare me. 

After my shower I wanted to put on makeup.  We had no other plans for the day, but I just had to put on some makeup and put myself together.  So I did...I did my makeup and got dressed.  As I did my makeup, I realized that my face looked the same.  There wasn't any hair on my head, but I still looked like me.  Losing my hair didn't change everything.  

Weeks ago, my mom, sister and I went to a wig store in North Park.  Amy was the one who found it, as she had used it in her theater days.  It is THE wig place in San Diego...any drag queen in town would tell you.  But seriously, Maria at "Secrets Wig Design" (how appropriate is that name?) is amazing.  She helped me to find and order the best wig to match my hair. And I feel beyond fortunate because my Mom gifted me this beautiful wig.  Not all women who go through this are so lucky to have the resources to purchase a head covering that helps them to feel as close to normal as possible...but once again, I am blessed.  

With my makeup done, my clean clothes on, and my eyes finally dry for the first time in days...I put my new wig on my head and walked into the room where Josh and the girls were watching a movie.  The expressions on their faces reassured me that I could get through these months ahead without my hair.  Josh told me how great it looked, that it looked like me...that he wouldn't be able to tell it was a wig if he didn't know it.  Mia and Harper kept running their fingers through my new hair.  Mia told me it looked like my hair.  Harper told me "Pitty. Pitty, Mama."  

 

With that saga behind us...Josh, the girls and I went out to dinner.  We didn't call it a celebration dinner, but to me...it was.  I had lost all of my hair and I survived.  I wanted to celebrate.  My girls still loved me, my husband still loved me.  No one was embarrassed of me.  The mystery was gone...the vanity was gone...and I realized that this was about getting healthy and healing.  When my treatment is over, my hair will grow back...and until then, I can deal without it.  

Second round of chemo is this Friday.  Love and thanks to all of you... 

My (lack of) MRI Results...

This is gonna be a short one...and a happy one.  Promise. 

Today was a good day.  For the first time since chemo, I woke up without a headache.  It's now 8:30p.m. and I still don't have a headache.  The relief is amazing.  Today, I got to be "normal" Lindsay.  I took my kiddos to school, played with my little Harper at her mommy and me class...and even did some cooking.  Yes, today was a good day.

Of course, I did have to go today for my "STAT" MRI.  Josh worked his schedule so that he could come with me, while my Mom watched Harper, and Mia played at a friend's house.  Josh and I arrived right on time for check-in...I filled out all of my paperwork.  Most of it had to do with asking about things like previous surgeries, do I have any metal in my body?  How about a pacemaker? Artificial hip? Steel rods?  Any sort of implant?  How about tissue expanders?  Check.  For the first time ever, I had to check "yes" to one of those boxes.  I DO have tissue expanders...my little friends that are preparing my body for my final reconstructive surgery when all of my treatment is over.

The technician called me back, wanded my down (like they do at the airport), and had me change into a robe.  Then he asked me,

"So, these tissue expanders...do you know what kind they are?  Do you have the model number?"

"Uh, no."

"Ok, well I'm going to have to call your doctor and see, because some expanders have a little magnetic port in them, and that would not work for you to be under the Magnet of the MRI."

"Sure."  So, I gave him Dr. McDreamy's number.  Josh and I didn't think anything of it, until the tech came out and said, 

"No MRI today.  Your expanders have magnetic metal in them.  You can't have an MRI until they come out. I guess you should discuss it with your doctor and see what other measures he wants to take."

All the while, I'm thinking...well, my headache is gone, maybe I don't need the MRI.  And, in a nutshell, that is the ending to this story.  

Josh and I went to Dr. Banerjee's office and talked with the nurse practitioner.  Dr. Banerjee was already gone for the day.  Of course, this was a classic case of one hand not talking to the other.  Banerjee's office knew that I had tissue expanders of course, but whomever scheduled the MRI didn't mention them, or the MRI person on the other end didn't ask enough for my doctor to inquire as to what type of expanders I had.  It was a mix-up for sure, but I think it was a happy accident.  Just another example of the Lord taking over and giving me His answer.  

In the end, the decision was that I don't need a scan.  If my headaches come back without explanation, then sure, they will do a CT Scan.  For now, there is no point in looking for an explanation to a problem that is no longer there.  There are about a million reasons why I would get a tension headache...the chemo drugs, the prescription drugs I've been taking that I've never taken before, the stress of all of this, lack of sleep (despite taking Ambien every night), taking Ambien every night (which I've never taken before).  That's my theory...the Ambien.  I've taken Ambien since the night of my chemo, to help make sure I get a good sleep, and it's never really worked.  I've woken up multiple times just about every night, and I usually never get close to a full 8 hours of sleep.  Night before last, it dawned on me...why am I taking this pill that isn't doing it's job?  So, I skipped the Ambien.  When did my headaches stop?  Yesterday.  Skipped the Ambien last night (and slept great), and no headache today.  Voila.

So, thank you to all of you who have asked how my MRI went.  In the end, it went well, because it didn't go at all, because I didn't need it at all.  I'm trusting in God that my storm really has run out of rain and that there is nothing else for me to worry about except finishing the treatment path before me.  Thank you all for your prayers...they worked in a way better than I could have imagined.  Good night!

 

My truth about Chemo (so far)...

First off, I have to apologize.  I certainly didn't intend for this blog to be a downer.  However, when you're writing about cancer, surgery, chemo and all that goes with it, I guess that is somewhat inevitable.  I just want to say to all of you, that I won't be offended if you don't read my posts...or if you wait to read them until you are ready.  I'm not writing this blog for an audience...my main purpose is to look back on this journey from a better place and see how far I've come.  To see what I've overcome.  I want to see how I leaned on the support of family and friends, on God, and how I did not go this battle alone.  Additionally, so many of you are so sweet to ask me or my family how I'm doing, and I thought that sharing these journals may help to give you some real insight into what's going on with me.  And I want to tell you all this:  Even though chemo is rough, and going through all of this is the hardest thing I have EVER had to do, I am doing well.  Even when I don't think I'm doing well, I am doing well.  Despite it all, my body is more healthy than it is sick, and I will do my part to make it as healthy as it can be.  Yes I will have ups and downs and good days and bad days, but I am alive.  I have my children, my husband, my pets, my family, my friends, people I didn't even know were my friends all around me and I am well.  Over the next few months I may feel sick, I may not want to get up in the morning, but I will not give in to that.  My doctors and other survivors have told me that the best thing I can do is to remain active, and that is what I am doing and what I will continue to do...I will go for walks and take in the beautiful world that God has created, remembering to appreciate the country I live in, the city I live in, and the beautiful home I am blessed to live in.  Though it is easy to allow "cancer" to consume my thoughts, I don't want it to.  I want to stay in the land of the healthy, the normal, the everyday.  Though my posts may be largely about my cancer battle, it is not who I am.  I am still just Lindsay, and when all of this is behind me, I will still be Lindsay...except, maybe a little stronger, with a few more battle scars.

OK...enough of that.  I am happy to report that we now have cable and Internet in our home.  I have been relishing all of my terrible reality TV shows that I know rot my mind but give me so much guilty pleasure.  To be honest, having a cleansing from cable and the Internet was actually a really good thing...I've found that I don't even want to watch TV as much as I did before...but every now and then a good BRAVO show doesn't hurt.

Back to the yucky stuff.  Today is day 11 post-chemo, and I have to say that each day since my treatment has brought something new.  The days immediately following chemo were good, really.  As the doctors and nurses said, the steroids help you to feel well.  Susan, the nurse practitioner at Dr. Banerjee's said, "You'll really understand why all of those professional athletes take steroids...they make you feel great!"  That's kind of true...in the first few days after chemo, I felt fine--just maybe a little weird.  A breast cancer survivor I've been in contact with described it as the BUZZ...you kind of feel like you're buzzing.  Not like buzzing after a few cocktails, but like your body is literally buzzing -- you're wired.  You want to keep moving, do something, be productive.  This all worked to my advantage given the fact that we are still unpacking and settling into our new house.  I was quite productive in the first few days after treatment.   

On day 2 however, a few changes started taking place.  I still felt well overall, but my mouth was sore...my gums ached.  Brushing my teeth in the morning I spit out pink foam...my gums were bleeding.  Called Susan and she told me that this is totally normal.  She recommended that I rinse my mouth with warm water with baking soda and salt after every meal.  So, I've been doing that.  Day before yesterday, however, a mouth sore sprung up on my tongue...yuck.  Today there is a small cluster of them around the big one.  Susan called in a prescription for some lidocaine gel to numb the pain, but nothing will really help it to go away except for getting the chemo drugs out of my system.  Totally gross, but evidently, totally normal. 

Day 2 is also the day that the headache began.  It feels like a tension headache, right in my temples.  It goes up and down in severity, but since day 2 it hasn't gone away.  The headache is exacerbated by the fact that sometimes my scalp burns.  Evidently, this sensation is a precursor to losing my hair.  All of the hair follicles are dying and it hurts.  Other ladies have told me that it physically hurts when your hair falls out...another lovely fun fact.  

One of the main surprises has been nausea.  I really haven't had any (knock on wood).  Granted, they gave me a large dose of long-lasting anti-nausea medication in my IV when I was getting treatment, so apparently, that has done it's job.  I think there were a couple times on day 3 and 4 that I felt a small wave of nausea.  Just for a second, and I immediately took the Reglan that I was prescribed.  That was the end of that...nothing has come back. 

Let's see, what else...oh, my skin.  I know all of our hands are really dry right now because of the change in the air and the seasons, but my hands are SO DRY.  I put lotion on 10 times a day and it just absorbs immediately...my knuckles are red and cracked and I've developed a little bit of a bumpy rash on my hands...just from the dryness.  My hands are a mess. I'm looking forward to getting a manicure before my next treatment, when my blood count and immune system have recovered.   

That's the other thing, my immune system.  On Friday I had my 1-week recheck with Dr. Banerjee.  This time I got to bypass the chemo lounge and go straight into an exam room.  Dr. Banerjee's nurse, Ninette, took some blood for a CBC (complete blood count).  She only had to stick me once!  She said that 10 years of experience as a combat nurse helped her to make sure she only has to stick once.  Where was she last Friday?  They do the CBC to look at my red blood cells and white blood cells and make sure they are not too low.  It is normal for them to be low, because the chemo is killing them along with the cancer cells.  

So, after Ninette took blood, I got to talk with Dr. Banerjee himself.  He wanted to hear everything...all of my symptoms and side effects and I told him all of them.  When I told him about my headaches, he explained that the anti-nausea medication I received in my IV has headaches as a possible side effect.  He explained that some people who are prone to headaches (which I am), do experience headaches, but it's a balancing act because the drug is very effective at curtailing nausea (which it clearly has been for me).  He told me that he would adjust my "cocktail" for next time and find the perfect balance for me so that I don't have to endure this headache every time, and to still make sure that I "WILL NOT THROW UP."  He did a physical exam and seemed pleased with everything...

"Let's just wait on those blood test results and I'll come back to discuss them."  

Ninette came back into the room and told me that my white count was a little low.  It was low, but normal for someone at my stage in treatment.  This meant that I had to get an injection of Neulasta, which is something I will likely have to get after each chemo treatment.  Neulasta is a drug that tells your bone marrow to make more white blood cells.  It helps to ensure that people on chemo are not so susceptible to infection because their immune system is so compromised.  Of course, like everything else, Neulasta has side effects...the primary of which is bone pain.  Your bones can ache as they are stimulated to produce more white blood cells.  Dr. Banerjee recommended I take Claritin (go figure) and Aleve right away to prevent the bone pain and to continue it if I still experience the pain.

My visit to Dr. Banerjee also cemented the fact that I will be getting a portable catheter for my upcoming chemo treatments.  They discussed this possibility before I started chemo, but we held off because of my "beautiful veins."  Well, after the tragedy that was the last attempt at my chemo IV, I am more than willing to sign up for a PORT.  PORT will be a small device placed under the skin near my collarbone that will provide direct access to my veins for future IV's.  It will save me the pain of needle sticks and also insure that my veins remain healthy for the rest of my life.  Placing the port is a procedure that is done outpatient, and I won't be under general anesthesia, but I will be "out" in a twilight sleep state.  Looks like my PORT is going in on Friday.  Prayers are appreciated.  

So now, 3 days after my re-check, I am definitely feeling the bone pain.  It's so odd.  It also comes in waves and shoots down my spine into my lower back.  Sometimes in comes in the form of my ribs and sternum aching and throbbing.  Other times it runs along my forehead and down the between my eyes on the bridge of my nose.  It also aches in my pelvis, my hips, and my thigh bones.  I called the office yesterday to let them know that I was still experiencing the bone pain despite the Claritin and Aleve, and oh-by-the-way, is there anything more I should do with this headache?

The good news was that the bone pain is totally temporary and should wear off in a day or two.  In the meantime, Susan prescribed me some prescription strength Ibuprofen, and if it's really severe I can take my Vicodin from Dr. Bolitho.  As soon as I finish this post, I'll go take my pain meds because my bones are feeling pretty achy right now.  

The bad news was that they are ordering a STAT MRI of head.  Eeesh.  I thought all of this was over...I thought that the PET scan was all they needed to be sure that there wasn't anything else anywhere.  Well, I guess not...or maybe so, but they need extra insight into what is going on with my headaches.  Today, the headache has actually been a lot better, so I'm sure that it is just a side effect of the chemo and that the MRI will reflect that.  But still, it's scary.  I have the MRI tomorrow (Wednesday) at 3pm.  Please say a prayer that the MRI will be clear and that I am able to get some relief from the headaches. 

Are you still with me?  I'm sure those of you that have asked how I'm feeling are regretting it now, but this is pretty much a complete picture of everything...that, and yes, I am tired.  I tire out more easily on some days, but on others my energy seems to be fairly normal.  Today was a tired day, and I got a quick nap in this afternoon before my darling Mia woke me up to cuddle.  Not a bad way to wake up.

Also in happy news, my incision that had to be revised has healed and I am able to take normal showers again!  YAY!  Additionally, as a preemptive strike, I cut my hair.  It's the shortest I've ever had it and I'm enjoying this fun new cut for the last few days that I can.  They say that hair loss starts anywhere from day 14 to day 21, so I know my chic new 'do is not long for this world.  Here's a pic:

I've said it before, and I'll say it again...I'm really sad to lose my hair.  But, the inevitability of losing it gave me the bravery to cut about a foot of it off and realize that my long hair doesn't define who I am, and I can still feel good about myself without it.  And if I don't feel good about myself without it when it's all gone, you know I have a killer wig waiting in the wings.

More happy news: Our sweet Harper turned 2 on Sunday.  She didn't get a party with fanfare and all of the trimmings (Mommy couldn't get it together--her 3rd birthday party will be off the chain!), but she did get two lovely birthday dinners with her family...and some presents...and cake, natch. 

Goodnight everyone :). xoxox- L

Chemo-Schmemo.

I am currently 10 days post-chemo.  In a nutshell, I would say my experience so far has been really positive all at once while being totally and utterly terrifying.  I'll explain...

On Friday December 27th, two days after celebrating Christmas, I walked in to Dr. Banerjee's office for my first dose of chemotherapy.  This time it was my mom and I...and the morning started off pretty rocky.  As I mentioned, we moved in to our beautiful new house on December 21st (4 days before Christmas and 6 days before chemo).  The move actually went great and we were fairly settled in and comfortable in our home by this time, but there was one small issue that, by the time "chemo day" rolled around had become the bane of my existence.  That issue was trying to get our phone/cable/internet installed.  Long story short, we had 4 separate technicians from AT&T out to the house on various days, all whom were unsuccessful in getting us service, and I spent the early morning hours of "chemo day" on hold to AT&T yet again, listening to the annoying music and pre-recordings tellling me that my problems could be solved by going to the AT&T website (seriously?) and touting how wonderful U-Verse is and all of that bull-oney.   I was hoping to get someone who actually knew what they were doing out to our house so that while I was getting chemo, Josh could be home facilitating these projects that had to get done.  We had gone 6 days with no connection to the outside world, and were beginning to go a bit batty (even batty-er than before.)  

So, on Chemo Morning, I was frustrated with the AT&T situation, but really it was so much more than that.  I was absolutely terrified about beginning chemotherapy.  On one hand I was nervous about starting the ball rolling on all of the side effects that they tell you about...nausea, mouth sores, constipation or diarrhea, loss of appetite, loss of taste...just to name a few.  Oh, and of course, the hair loss.  To be honest, I really wasn't all that worried about the physical side effects (minus the hair loss).  At this point in my recovery, I have come to see myself as a fairly strong individual.  I've handled 2 cesarean sections fairly well, a double mastectomy that really didn't seem to be the big scary deal that I was expecting it to be (thanks to the proper narcotic pain meds)...and it always seems that what is horrible for a lot of patients just doesn't seem to be so bad for me.  Call it a high tolerance to pain, or chock it up to the fact that I am young and in good shape, but I knew that my body could make it through the rigors of chemotherapy.  However, the reason why I couldn't seem to stop myself from crying on "Chemo Morning" was that I didn't know if I was mentally prepared for the road ahead.  I saw "Chemo Morning" as my last day to feel normal...the last day that I would not be a "sick person" going through CHEMOTHERAPY and all that implies.  Honestly, after my diagnosis and even after my surgery, I was scared for sure, but I never felt that I was "sick."  I was recovering, I had stitches and scars, but I wasn't sick.  I felt well...people told me that I looked well.  I feared that "Chemo Morning" was going to be the end of all of that...the end of being just NORMAL Lindsay.  After Chemo started, I would become the bald "cancer patient"...and even after chemo is over, I will still be the bald "cancer patient" that has to go to radiation every day...and then that brings a whole new slew of issues...so really, the fear on "Chemo Morning" was a lot more than just getting these medications in my arm...it was about losing my ability to pretend that I was normal...to blend in as someone that no one would guess had just been diagnosed with breast cancer 2 months before, someone who just had a mastectomy 1.5 months before.  Chemo was going to blow my cover. 

So, I cried getting ready in the morning, I cried on the ride to the doctor's office, I cried walking in to the doctor's office...and then, I tried to pull it together.  The room was absolutely full of other patients receiving chemotherapy and other treatments.  Most people were already hooked up to their IV's, looking relaxed in their chairs...on their computers, napping, reading a magazine, talking with a friend.  If these folks could handle this, then I definitely should not be crying anymore.  

The "Room" is a lounge on the right side of the doctors' office with sunny windows and paintings of palm trees silhouetted against burning orange and red sunsets.  There are about 8 cushy leather recliners for patients to sit in while getting treatment, and snacks on a counter at one end of the room...couldn't help myself but the Doritos caught my eye.  Definitely NOT on the Anti-Cancer Diet.  Resist.  It seemed apparent that the "room" was designed to be relaxing and comfortable to hide what it actually was...the scariest room imaginable.  Sorry, Oncology and Hematology Specialists, but your palm tree prints from Bed Bath and Beyond did not fool me.

I was seated in one of the cushy recliners, while my mom was offered a tiny little folding chair to sit on.  Immediately, I focused on figuring out which recliner was going to free up so that she could sit in one as well.  But, first things first...they had to get some blood from me before we could get started.  I have "beautiful veins", I am told by just about every phlebotomist and nurse that I encounter, so it's never really scary to get bloodwork, or an IV...but today, was a different story.  The chemo nurse with 20 years of experience could barely get one vial of blood out of my vein...she was massaging it and rubbing it, but it was not putting out what she needed. She was afraid that the vein had infiltrated...so she tried another spot on my arm.  

The second site blew up like a balloon and it was clear that she had gone through that vein as well.  She gave me a break and put a heating pad on my arm...called over one of her colleagues.  After about 30 minutes of waiting, Brandi came over and assured me that she would get me on the first stick.  Two sticks and two blown veins later, and I couldn't handle it anymore.  The crying came back.  I couldn't help it!  What the heck...I'm here for chemotherapy, which I would rather gouge my eyes out with plastic spoons than get, but I'm here...I'm ready...it's been over an hour and they still can't even get my blood?  It was just too much for me...I couldn't choke back the pain and frustration anymore...so I just cried.  The nurses and my mom tried to console me...telling me that this shouldn't happen to anyone, let alone on their first time, two days after Christmas no less.  

She tries again.  It's a bloody mess.  Finally she gets an IV in the underside of my arm, right where it bends at the elbow...but the IV is in and she gets her final two vials of blood.  Now I'm supposed to wait again while they get their stuff ready for me...
Every nurse keeps coming by to check the IV.  No one (including my Mom- a former RN) can believe that she actually got a good IV, but it seems to be working.  They finally hook me up to a bag of saline and anti-nausea and steroid medication.  This will get my body prepped for the chemo drugs that they will administer later. The steroids help to deter any sort of allergic reactions to the drugs, which is a rare occurence, but still one that they account for.  

So, we sit, and I finally get on to WIFI to check the weeks worth of emails that I've missed...I pay bills, order things for the new house...check Facebook.  So far, having a bit of undisturbed alone time isn't so bad.  

After about an hour and a half, they are finally ready to start me on the first chemo drug: Taxotere (this is the one I've been dreading, because it's the one that means I will lose my hair)...but my mom and husband keep reminding me, that is just because the medicine works, and with each hair follicle that is killed...so is any remaining cancer cell in my body.  I know this is true...I know this is good.  But I still hate Taxotere and don't want to lose my hair.  I think I'm allowed to protest in spite of its necessity. :)  As the nurse starts my drip she reminds me to let her know if I'm feeling different in any way...if I feel hot, a tickle in the back of my throat, anything. 

After about 10 minutes of chatting, my Mom and I have formulated a plan for lunch...I'll start reading my Kindle while she goes to pick up some sandwiches from a restaurant near by.  I've texted her my order, and she's set to go.  She just starts to stand up to leave when, 

"Wait Mom, my throat does feel a little funny."

Before she even gets the nearby nurse to turn around I feel that my throat is being strangled.  Not the choking hands that I've had on my neck during times of panic and anxiety, but literally the strangling of my throat closing and my head going hot and then PRESSURE.  My head is going to explode.  It all happens in about 5 seconds.  My mom runs back over....

"Lindsay are you ok?  You're all flushed!"  (She told me later that my face looked beet red.)

I can't respond...I can only grunt "uh-uh."  She tells me to breathe, take deep breaths...which I do.  I can breathe, but it feels like I can't...

By now, both nurses and the nurse practitioner are hovering over my little recliner.  One of them stops the drip of the taxotere, the other is putting a blood pressure cuff on my one good arm (the arm that has had 4 needle pokes and 5th resulting in an IV)...and the cuff begins to squeeze.  The veins that have just been mutliated throb with every squeeze of the cuff, and I'm afraid that my "good IV" is just going to pop right out.  My blood pressure is low, 80/60.  

Susan, the nurse practitioner, explains to me that I have had an allergic reaction to the taxototere, after only receiving it for about 10 minutes.  While these reactions are uncommon, they only occur in about 2-10% of people, they are prepared with how to deal with it.  My fear then speaks up, "Does this mean that I can't get the taxotere?"  I'm surprised that I now know that I want to get this horrible drug, because this drug is my only shot at making sure that we kill any and all of this crazy cancer that may or may not be lurking around in my body.

"Oh, you'll get the taxotere, sweetie.  One way or another, you're going to get it.  We're gonna give you some benadryl, and some more steroids...the steroids will help with the allergic reaction.  And when we get all of those into you, then we will start it again, and just watch you really closely...we'll have to slow the drip way down...so this is going to take a while longer.  And even though the benadryl is going to make you feel very woozy and sleepy, you're not going to like me, because all of these steroids are going to make you very awake...you may need some help getting to sleep tonight."

Oy.  Well, that was interesting.  I stop to get up to the bathroom before we get started again...I am very woozy from the benadryl, but at least my head seems to have deflated and I can breathe again...I think we were on about hour 3 at this point, with a long road yet ahead.  My mom reminds me that "of course this would happen to you...nothing about this experience is going to be "normal" to you!"  Better to have gotten this out of the way on your first day, and now they are going to know just how to handle you from this point on.  I sure hope so.

The minutes tick by, and the benadryl has made it so that I can't keep my eyes open, yet the steroids have my mind wide awake.  So, I lay my head back just listening to the sounds of the "Chemo Lounge" and its banter, IV's beeping, nurses talking.  It's all actually quite entertaining...but next time, maybe I'll bring some ear plugs.  

The nurse lets me know that she's starting the Taxotere again...but very slowly.  Again, tell her if I start to feel anything at all.  Oh, I definitely will!  But no, nothing comes...apparently once your body reacts to the drug once, it then becomes familiar with it and usually doesn't react a second time.  Thankfully, that's how it went for me, and after about 3 hours...I finished the taxotere.

Next came Cytoxin, which doens't have any of the same concerns regarding allergic reactions, so we were pretty relaxed at this point.  Not to mention the fact that the totally full chemo room had cleared out to just my mom and I and maybe two other people...an hour later and it was just us.  The office was closing and the chemo nurses were sticking around just for me.  

Finally, at the 9th hour...yes literally 9 hours later, I finished the bag of Cytoxin and the nurse told me I was free to go home and rest.  They reminded me that the steroids would have me feeling pretty well for the first two days post-chemo, but to beware, because if I over did it, the feeling of fatigue and nausea could hit pretty hard on day 3 or 4.

So that was it...that was my first round of chemo--down.  Now to wait 21 days before the next treatment...and so on for 5 more cycles...

After leaving and heading home, I can't even remember what I did.  I know I hugged the girls, and I hugged Josh...so happy to be back with them and out of that office.  But, if you could believe it...AT&T still couldn't set up our service.  We would now have to wait an additional week for Time Warner Cable to come out and solve all of our problems...the most pressing issue being...

"Seriously though...when can I watch The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and Vanderpump Rules?  If I have to do this chemo stuff, I need my shows."  


**This wasn't a fun or funny post...sorry guys.  It wasn't a fun day.  But I thank you all for your prayers and hopefully ask for you to keep them coming.  I'll write another post tomorrow about what it's been like after chemo, and how I'm feeling, but for now, I'm feeling tired...just wanted to get this much out there tonight...More tomorrow.  xo, L.



    

Moving forward.

It's now been almost an entire month since my surgery.  Double mastectomy with sentinel lymphnode biopsy and resection.  So much has happened since that day...hospitalization, pain management, recovery and healing, and follow up appointments to schedule and plan for my year of treatment ahead.  But really, that's just the half of it...

My surgery for all intents and purposes, was blessedly a success.  My surgeons were able to remove all of my tumors (2 nodules) in their entirety and got clear margins.  Additionally, they performed a sentinel lymphnode biopsy and ended up removing 21 lymphnodes from my right side.  Unfortunately, 2 of those 21 lymphnodes did have cancer.  Due to the size of my tumors and the amount of lymphnodes involved, I have been classified as having Stage 2B Breast Cancer.  This news, while scary is also encouraging at the same time, as up to Stage 3 is considered "early breast cancer."  Studies show that women diagnosed with my stage of cancer have an 80-90% survival rate after 5 years.  My doctors are still confident that my cancer will be cured, and I will live a long and healthy life.  Praise be to GOD!

More about what my pathology indicates in terms of my future treatment:  We were all hoping and praying for clear margins and no lymphnode involvement.  Our prayers were partially answered.  My margins were clear, but they were small.  My surgeons were able to get 1 millimeter margins.  The goal (in order to avoid radiation), is 2 millimeter margins.  Additionally, when my breast tissue was examined after being excised, there was moderate lymph-vascular invasion.  My doctors explain this to me as being like an ant trail telling them that the cancer has traveled throughout the tissue.  It shows them the way in which my cancer traveled to my lymphnodes...some people have no lymph-vascular invasion, others have severe.  Mine was moderate.  The good news is that all of my breast tissue was removed, so that tissue that was invaded is no longer in my body.  Additionally, while having 2 lymphnodes involved is not what I was praying for, 2 is so much better than three or more.  Also, I feel assured by the fact that my doctors were so aggressive in removing and testing 21 lymphnodes, that I am confident that they got it all.  Another blessing from God is that my right breast showed absolutely no signs of cancer.  At all.  

So, my treatment plan...I will have to have 6-cycles of chemotherapy.  Each cycle is 21 days long.  That's roughly 4.5 months of chemotherapy.  After I finish chemo, I will let my system restore for approximately 3 weeks before I start radiation.  I will do radiation 5 days a week for 6.5 weeks.  3 to 6 months after radiation ends, I can have my final reconstructive surgery, in which my temporary expanders are removed and replaced with final implants. 

Chemotherapy is something that I was and still am, the most terrified about after first hearing the words "breast cancer."  However, my fear is subsiding and I am moving into acceptance about the knowledge that I now have.  I know this...I am 100% going to lose my hair.  There is nothing I can do to stop it...friends and family have suggested supplements, shampoos, and ice caps that their friends have used to keep their hair or help it to grow faster.  Sadly, because of one of the chemo drugs I will be getting is Taxotere, there is no way to avoid hair loss.  It is a definite side effect.  It will happen around the 3rd week after I begin chemo.  It may be a gradual shedding, it may fall out in messy clumps, it may be a combination of the two.  I have already ordered a wig that I hope will help me to feel somewhat normal throughout this scary and traumatic process.  I also have purchased "chemo beanies" that are like easy slip-on head wraps that come in a variety of colors, textures and patterns.  Leave it to women to be industrious while undergoing their own personal tragedy and provide help to others at the same time.  My kids know what to expect, and I hope and pray that this experience won't be too scary for them.  As my daughter Mia said...

"Mommy, Harper didn't have much hair when she was a baby, and I still thought she was cute."  

Granted, I followed this up with a tearful smile asking, "So does that mean you will still think I'm cute when I don't have any hair?"  

She crinkles her nose and tilts her head, "Well, Harper is a BABY.  Babies are always cute." 

I swear, that girl always knows how to make me laugh.

Anyway, in addition to the hair loss issue, there are other things that I know to expect with chemo.  Fatigue is the most commonly experienced side effect.  However, I know the best remedies for fatigue are to maintain a healthy diet and activity level. I am fully committed to that.  Nausea is another side effect I think that everyone associates with chemotherapy.  While I'm sure I will experience some nausea, I already have prescriptions written to combat the symptoms, and will do my part to combat it as well...eating bland foods, taking ginger supplements, etc.  My medical oncologist or another doctor in his office will always be available to me 24/7.  He has told me that if I start to "feel sick," to not to wait to call him...they can always help.  When I asked if "feeling sick" meant throwing up, he placed his hand on my knee and said,

"NO!  You will not throw up.  YOU WILL NOT THROW UP.  If you throw up during chemotherapy, then I have failed as a doctor."  

Well, alrighty then, Dr. Banerjee.  I'm gonna hold you to that.  

I'm sad to have to get radiation as well, but the thought of it doesn't terrify me as much as chemo.  The most common side effects of radiation are also fatigue, and sunburn as well.  Mostly, the bummer about radiation is the inconvenience of it, and the fact that it prolongs the process before I can have my final reconstruction.  But, oh well.  It is what it is and I know I will get through it.  Dr. Shimizu has told me that although the treatments are every weekday, they are quick...from the time I walk in to the time I walk out, the entire appointment should not take more than 20 minutes.  The radiation beam will be on me for only approximately 3 minutes per session.  Not bad when you consider that each chemo treatment is about 4-5 hours long.  Oh, but I'm leaving out the best part!  I will be getting my first tattoos, thanks to radiation.  Apparently, to ensure that the beam is directed at the same exact spot every time, I get to have small dots tattooed on probably 3 places on my chest.  Looks like I'm going to have to breach the contract that my mom made me sign in middle school.  Sorry, Mom...your little girl is getting inked.  All in all, radiation will just have to be something that I integrate into my daily schedule, and thanks to my family, friends, and fellow school mommies, I know we can make it work.  

OK, so I said that the surgery, hospitalization, recovery and treatment plan has just been the half of it...well, here's the other half...

Josh, the girls and I are moving.  Moving this Saturday.  Oh, and by the way, this Saturday means 4 days before Christmas.  Gulp.

 So, for the past 4 weeks, we have been packing our house that we've lived in for 7 years.  Packing while I've been recovering, incisions healing, unable to lift my girls (or anything heavier than a gallon of milk), on pain medication, and unable to drive.  It has been stressful to say the least, but made so much better by the help of dear family and friends.  My mom has been the super packer...committed for the last two weeks to coming over and packing (with a little assistance from me) every single day.  My mother-in-law has also come down several times to pack with her housekeeper and they did a serious number on my kitchen...plates, glassware, appliances...everything.  Both my mother-in-law and father-in-law have taken the girls for days at a time so that Josh, my mom and I could get some real stuff done without neglecting the girls in the process.  Friends from Mia's preschool have been driving her to and from school every day, having her (and sometimes even Harper) over for long playdates...so we can work or catch our breaths as the case may be.  Sweet friends and family have brought meals...basically, everyone is doing anything they can do to help...and it is so very appreciated.

The important thing to note, while you're all thinking, "What are they thinking?  They are crazy!!!  Who in their right mind would move at a time like this?"  Is that we are moving to a house 5 minutes away from us that is literally MY DREAM house.  It has a better layout for our family, will keep us closer together, and will be so much easier to live in.  It has an extra room for guests to stay, which will come in handy when we may need some extra help over the next few months.  Also...it is beautiful, and I know that once we get settled, we will be so very happy there.  The ball was rolling on this new house before we received my diagnosis, and while we slowed it down for a while, once we realized that I was going to live, and live a long life, cancer didn't seem like reason enough to miss out on it.  No time like the present, this small window before chemo starts, to move in and start getting settled.  I'll say it again...we are very blessed and oh so thankful.  


So, when I started this blog, I pictured myself pouring my daily thoughts, fears, and insights into it...daily.  Maybe weekly, if I couldn't get to it every day.  Well, this move and Christmas has shot that to "you know what."  My desire is still there...I want to use this blog to record my experience, but for the past 4 weeks it just has not been possible.  The first week and a half after surgery was rough...there was real pain, and as a result, I took real pain medication.  We are talking strong stuff...I know I spoke to a lot of you, wrote emails, even saw you in person...but so much about that time, I hardly remember.  It's crazy!  I've been totally off pain meds for about 4 days now.  When and if I do take pain medication, it's maybe one pill a day, and what I'm taking is so much less than what I took in the beginning.  The rest of the time has been consumed with the constant doctors visits...along with packing for our move and preparing for Christmas.  It's a great thing that I'm such a good online shopper, because I haven't braved a mall yet this holiday season.  I'm hoping I purchase gifts for everyone on my list, but if I can't...I hope they'll understand.  I promise I'll do better next year.  Josh is more committed to Christmas than I am.  He wants to keep the magic for our girls, who have endured so much change the past month and a half.  When Mia came home from a friend's house after helping to decorate their Christmas tree, and asked to put up our tree, Josh didn't have the heart to tell her that we couldn't have our tree until we moved.  Instead, he schlepped us all out to Target at 7 o'clock at night to let Mia pick out the perfect 4 foot tree and two boxes of ornaments.  He also indulged her in a hot pink sparkly star tree topper.  I actually love our little tree...and the girls do too.  We should be receiving the keys to our new home tomorrow, and Josh already has planned to put up the Christmas lights after he gets off work, and to take over our ACTUAL Christmas tree, so that Christmas is ready for the girls as soon as we move in.  I've tried to tell him that it's not necessary...that they will still have a lovely Christmas, but for him it IS necessary.  And I know it is because he loves them so much, so that makes me happy, and makes me feel very lucky.  

So, that's the plan for now.  1) Move, 2) Christmas, 3) Chemo, 4) Radiation, 5) Reconstructive Surgery.  

I went today for my "chemo teach," where Josh, my mom and I watched a video on what to expect and got to ask my nurse practitioner any questions we had.  After that, I went to have my dressings changed at Dr. McDreamy's, I mean, Dr. Bolitho's office.  The doctor was not at my appointment, but I knew that the nurse would be the one to do the simple dressing change...everything looks like it's healing great.  Well, that is except for one little thing...part of my incision on my left breast is struggling to heal a bit.  Nothing looks infected or anything, but there is one spot that hasn't quite come together like the right side's incision has.  Apparently, it isn't looking how they would want after approximately 4 weeks...soooo, I will have to have another minor surgery TOMORROW.  If I wasn't starting chemo so soon, they may have foregone any surgery, but I have to be 100% healed in order to start chemo.  No open wounds.  So, Dr. Bolitho will stitch up that portion of the incision to ensure that it heals properly before I start chemo.  The surgery I will have tomorrow could be done with local anesthesia, while I'm awake, or it may have to be done under a light general anesthesia.  They have told me to prepare either way...it will be a fast surgery with no pain and no real recovery.  They just don't want to wait for my incision to heal...we just don't have time.  I'll find out tomorrow morning what kind of anesthesia it will be...if you can, please pray for me that the surgery will go well and that it will accomplish the goal: 100% healed in time for chemo.

That's basically it for now.  There is so much to tell about each phase of my recovery thus far...and I've wanted to share it all...but doing so was just too overwhelming for me.  I have regaled many of you with tales of my "barfy" roommate the first night in the hospital, making it through Mia's birthday in a fog of pain meds, seeing my breasts for the first time after surgery...all of it has been another crazy chapter in this roller-coaster of a journey.  But, today, I felt compelled to write, not about where I've been, but where we are now and where we are going.  Today, I feel good...not because of pain meds, but because I'm feeling better.  I am healing (maybe not perfectly), but I am healing...and I know I will heal fully.  For now, I just have to keep moving...moving forward.  

I want to end this post by saying again how much I appreciate everyone's concern for me, my family, my health and how I am doing.  Your prayers, good vibes, and positive thoughts have been felt and warm my heart in my darkest moments.  Flowers, food, and offers to help, are so appreciated and have demonstrated to us just the kind of generous-hearted people we are so blessed to have in our lives.  I covet your continued prayers, and look forward to them continuing to work miracles in our lives.  I believe that the worst of it is behind us...we survived the diagnosis, and the subsequent surgery.  We will make it through the next year...and I pray that come Christmas next year, I will be nearly finished with this marathon.  2016 is going to be MY year.  I know that in 2016 I will be cancer free.  I pray that in 2016 I will be finished with my treatment.  I look forward to 2016, because I know that is the year that my family and I will get our lives back.  And, 2016 is the year that I am committed to paying back all of the love, kindness, and support that so many of you have given to us.  Throughout this process I have asked myself, "Would I think to be that nice...be that thoughtful...be that generous?"  Would I think to do all that everyone has done for us?  Well, I know now what true kindness and compassion is...you have all taught me.  I can't wait to be for someone else, what you ALL have been for me. 

 

From the "Happiest Place on Earth" to cold, hard reality...

Today is Friday, November 15th.  That means that exactly two weeks ago today, I was diagnosed with breast cancer.  And again, as it was two weeks ago, Monday is another big day for me.  Monday is the day I will have the surgery that I hope and pray rids my body of the cancer that has been growing inside of me for probably close to 4 years.  For my lifelong peace of mind, and in light of my doctors' recommendations, I have elected to have a bilateral mastectomy (that means both boobs--gone!) and reconstruction.  Last week we rejoiced in the news that my PET scan was clear, and I've subsequently learned that my bone scan was clear as well.  Moreover, my breast ultrasound has revealed that the cancer is localized to my right breast and there is no sign of cancer in my left.  My doctors have presented the fact to me that bilateral mastectomy is not my only option; that unilateral mastectomy is an option, and according to my medical oncologist, lumpectomy (followed by radiation and possibly chemotherapy) might also be an option.  However, this road is the road that I have chosen, and I am at peace with my decision.  

I am going in to this surgery with the prayer that it totally eradicates my body of cancer, but know that is not a certainty.  There is the possibility that the cancer has spread to some lymphnodes, there is the possibility that the surgeons may not be able to get clear margins...but I know that none of this means that I am going to die from this cancer.  It only means that my treatment may involve radiation, or it may involve chemotherapy...either way, it will certainly involve the oral hormonal medication: Tamoxifen.  None of these treatment paths will be easy...on me, or on my sweet family who have all vowed to do whatever they can to help me through this (even my almost 4-year old little girl).  But we will do this together because all we all want is "for mommy to get better."  

So, surgery Monday morning at 10 am.  Check in at 8:30 am.  I'll be there or be square.  

On another note, Josh and I decided last Sunday to start this week on a better note than the previous two have started...so where else could we go?  DISNEYLAND!  That's right, we willingly tackled Disneyland (and California Adventure) on a weekend in the middle of the Holiday season celebration.  You know why?  Because we were pretty darn happy about finding out that my cancer hadn't spread throughout my body, and because at that time we weren't really sure how long it would be before I wouldn't be able to make a trip like that again (due to my surgery and recovery).  So, we surprised the girls bright and early in the morning and headed up to the Magic Kingdom.  And it was MAGIC.  Harper got to meet her favorite, "Mee Mouse", we rode all of the girls' favorite rides, we all shared one giant soft serve ice cream cone,...and the best part...we learned that in the 4 months since we were last there, Mia grew the 1/2 an inch she needed to in order to ride on the REAL rides -- Splash Mountain and Space Mountain.  I'm pretty sure that I was about 13 when I first got up the nerve to ride Space Mountain, but our little big girl rode it not once, but twice!  According to her it was "AH-MAZING!!!"  The whole day was pretty ah-mazing, and for the first time since learning of my diagnosis...Josh and I were able to spend a day feeling happy more times than we felt sad or scared.  We spent a day where CANCER didn't permeate every single thought.  Mickey Mouse and his gang can just do that to ya. 

After Disneyland, it was back to reality.  Monday started off like a regular day, which was kind of refreshing.  Josh went off to work, and I took Mia to school.  But by Monday afternoon we were back on our mission to "circle the wagons" and finish the compilation of the team of doctors that are going to help me get rid of this cancer and start living a normal life again.  At 3pm, Josh and I met my reconstructive plastic surgeon, Dr. Glynn Bolitho.  He is a tall, dark and handsome man with the loveliest South African accent.  So lovely in fact, that his accent actually distracted me from all of the yucky things he was actually saying.  "Oh, ok...they cut me open, remove the breast tissue, biopsy the lympnodes, shove the tissue expanders under the muscle...whatever, doc.  Just keep talking."  Then it went on, "So, I come back three weeks later for you to stick a needle into my numb chest and fill up each expander with saline...and we repeat this process 2 or more times over the course of a couple of months...cool...sounds great.  Do you think you could read me a bedtime story when I go to sleep tonight?"  

Josh and I left Dr. Bolitho's office and I called Renee, (my surgical oncologist's scheduler who facilitated all of my appointments with the other doctors).  I wanted to tell her that I liked Dr. Bolitho and didn't feel the need to meet with the other reconstructive surgeon that they were referring me to as an option.  In addition to just liking Dr. Bolitho, (his accent), and his bedside manner, I'd spoken with several people (other moms from Mia's preschool, one of Josh's customers who often works as Bolitho's anesthesiologist, and a radiology nurse who helped me through my MRI) who informed me that I was in the best possible hands with Dr. Bolitho.  So, that was great...one less decision to make.  I have found that a cancer diagnosis makes one quite decisive.  Without having to schedule a different appointment, that should ensure that I get my surgery by the beginning of December.   I was not necessarily prepared for what Renee had to say.  

"Ok then, with Dr. Bolitho on board, the next available surgery date that I have is next Monday, November 18th." 

"Oh, wow...that soon?" I asked.

Things like Thanksgiving and Mia's upcoming 4th birthday party at "Pump it Up" swirled through my brain.

"Do you need more time to think about it?  We can just schedule your follow-up appointment with Dr. Wilde for now if you like.  But I need you to know that Dr. Wilde is already so booked that the next available surgery date after Monday would probably not be until the middle of December"

"Um...can I let you know?  Do you need to know right now?" 

"That's fine, Lindsay.  Take your time."

Before she even said the word, "time."  I'd made my mind up.  What was the first thing I started praying for the moment I was told I had breast cancer?  

I just want it out as soon as possible.  Please Lord, make them get it out as fast as they can.  I can't wait one extra day with this cancer inside of me.

Once again, my prayers were being answered.

"Renee, I'll take Monday.  Sign me up."  


Tuesday was another big day.  First up was meeting with the Radiation Oncologist, Dr. Kenneth Shimizu.  This meeting took place at the Scripps Radiation Center which is an absolutely gorgeous building overlooking the ocean, just a stone's throw from the Scripps Institute of Oceanography.  The appointment was off to a good start when the front desk receptionist let out a huge laugh upon reading the completed forms and paperwork that I had just given her.  Apparently she found my response to the question, "What is your occupation?" quite hilarious.  My answer:

Homemaker/Reformed Attorney.

I actually didn't mean for it to be funny, it was just an honest answer...but I liked the fact that it brought some levity to the situation.  

Dr. Shimizu is also fabulous.  He was calm, methodical, and informative, told us anything and everything we could possibly want to know about radiation.  The best part was that he prefaced everything with the fact that he was optimistic that due to the nature and location of my tumors, it was a distinct possibility that I wouldn't need radiation.  However, there were two scenarios in which it would be required...first, if my surgeon isn't able to get clear margins upon removal of the tumors, and second, if there are more than three lymphnodes found with cancer in them.  But, I loved Dr. Shimizu for saying that he probably wouldn't be seeing me again, but even if he didn't, that I could call him anytime with any question.

Next up, the scary guy that I really didn't want to meet: The Chemo Doctor...otherwise known as the Medical Oncologist.  Since finding out I had cancer, having to go through chemotherapy has probably been my second biggest fear, second only to dying of course.  I watched my Dad go through agonizing rounds of chemo...experiencing debilitating fatigue, round the clock nausea and vomiting, depression, dry mouth, loss of appetite and of course... hair loss.  Though, we always marveled at how long it actually took my Dad to lose his hair.  It was kind of ironic, because he didn't have all that much hair to begin with.  (I'm allowed to say that because I know my Dad took his sense of humor to heaven with him.)

Turns out-- my Chemo Doctor...not so scary.  Dr. Pushpendu Bannerjee is a man with a kind face and a very warm smile.  My sister, Amy, actually worked with him a couple of years ago when she worked on the Medical Oncology floor at Scripps Memorial Hospital in La Jolla.  Dr. Bannerjee went over all of my scans and test results in detail...showing me my PET scan for the first time...slice by slice by slice.  He pointed out how even the cancer that we knew that I had was hard to detect on the PET scan...he pointed out how there was absolutely no sign of cancer anywhere else in my body or my bone.  And then he delivered some news that I didn't expect to be so jarring...

"You know, there is no medical reason that says you need to have a mastectomy."  

What???  Of course I need to have a mastectomy!  I have breast cancer, remember?  Yes, I know, I know, they say that breast cancer used to be a surgical disease and now it doesn't have to be, but I'm 32 years old and I have at least 2 tumors in my breast that have been growing for years!  Angelina Jolie didn't even HAVE breast cancer and she had a mastectomy!  My head began to spin.

My Mom interjected the fear that we all had about cancer recurrence, about how after watching my Dad fight his battle so bravely, I didn't want to take any chances that this cancer could return later, even worse than before.  Dr. Bannerjee understood all of this.  He assured me that my decision to have a bilateral mastectomy was certainly a reasonable one.  He just felt that it was his duty to inform me that it wasn't a medically necessary decision.  He explained that since I would certainly be going on hormonal therapy with Tamoxifen that my risk of getting breast cancer would be reduced by at least 50%, that because of my diagnosis I would continue to be monitored so closely for the rest of my life, that the chances that I would develop any other disease or life-threatening cancer were infinitesimal.   

I left Bannerjee's office feeling quite thrown.  I was encouraged by what he had to say later in the appointment...that he was optomistic that I would not need chemotherapy, that not all patients lose their hair with chemotherapy, and that Tamoxifen would not likely throw me into an early menopausal state.  But my assurance in my almost immediate decision to have a double mastectomy had begun to waver.  Was this the right decision?  Certainly removing only one breast would make for an easier recovery.  Maybe I would be able to lift and carry my girls sooner if I just did the unilateral mastectomy.  I could probably go to Mia's party if I just did one...Maybe I wouldn't be out of commission for so long...

...but then, as I discussed these thoughts out loud in the car on the way home to Josh and my Mom, I saw the looks in their eyes.  They were like two mirrors staring back at me, reminding me of the way I felt when I first learned that I had breast cancer.  Why would I take any chance?  If I can reduce my risk of recurrence by eliminating one of the places that the cancer could return back to...why wouldn't I?  Because I might recover a little sooner?  Because I might be able to reach for the water glass on the higher shelf with my left hand?  Because I want to attend one of my daughter's birthday parties, when she has a lifetime of them ahead of her?  No.  Go with your gut, Lindsay.  It may not be scientific, it may not make sense to everyone, but it makes sense to you.  Do this and live a life without feeling like you're living pressed under the thumb of cancer...breathe easier.  Sleep easier.  Stick around for all of BOTH of your daughter's birthday parties.  

Decision made. I told you, leave it to cancer to make you decisive.

Wednesday was another dose of reality.  First, reality came in the form of being able to finally take Harper back to her "Parent/Toddler Exploration Program" a.k.a. "Mommy and Me" at The Gillispie School (Mia's Preschool).  I'd missed the class two weeks prior because I was busy having a biopsy done of the "probably benign" tumor, and I missed the previous week's class because I was having my MRI.  So, it felt great to be able to take her to the class that she loves and watch her fun personality run wild...through the sandbox, the play kitchen, finger-painting...she does and loves it all!  I also got the chance to connect with some of the other moms and catch them up on what the latest was regarding my diagnosis.  Some of them knew, others didn't.  One of my friends that was aware of what was going on, wanted me to connect with another mom she knew.  This woman was now cancer free after a diagnosis, during pregnancy mind you, of Stage 3D breast cancer that had metastasized to her ovaries and uterus.  Her survival story was one of surgical intervention (bilateral mastectomy), medical intervention (8 months of intense chemotherapy), and alternative medicine (integrative medicine, strict anti-cancer diet regime, and acupuncture).  I told my friend that I would love to connect with this woman-survivor and glean any knowledge and experience from her that I could.  On the spot, my friend sent an email to both of us introducing one another. 

Later that day was my follow-up appointment with Dr. Wilde.  Now that surgery was scheduled, I was sure that it would be a fairly straight forward appointment.  She would go over all of my bloodwork and scans (couldn't be too scary...normal and "no suspicious findings"), and maybe discuss the fact that I didn't need a bilateral mastectomy.  To which I planned to reply, "No thank you...I'll take a double."  Discuss the actual surgery a little more perhaps, and give more detail about recovery.  She would hopefully concur with the optomistic Dr. Shimizu and Dr. Bannerjee and tell me that after my bilateral mastectomy I would most surely be cancer-free.  Easy as that.  I was wrong.

I've learned from watching Grey's Anatomy that part of being a surgeon is being matter of fact.  To cut or not to cut.  Dr. Wilde herself told me that surgeons are neither optimists nor pessimists--they are realists.   And she was.  She brought me down from the cloud that I'd been living on for the previous day and half and told me that she did feel that a BILATERAL mastectomy was in my best interest and gave me my greatest chance of preventing cancer recurrence in my breasts.  She told me that she did not consider lumpectomy an option in my case because of my "multi-focal" disease (that means I have more than one tumor), and did not feel that unilateral mastectomy was a viable option in the absence of results for my genetic testing.  Moreover, even if I did not test positive for the breast cancer gene mutation, whatever chemistry in my body that gave me cancer in my right breast could rear its ugly head again and attack the left as well.  Welp, okey doke.  Bilateral mastectomy.  Glad we are on the same page.  

But, that's not all folks!  She also thought that it was very likely that I might need chemotherapy, even after my mastectomy.  Again, she was talking about multi-focal disease and how the lymphovascular invasion that was present in my pathology meant that there was a possibility that it would be difficult to get clear margins.  This also meant that it was still likely that the cancer has spread to my lymphnodes.  So, nope...don't count on it Lindsay.  Chemo could be in the cards.  

I was now beginning to understand why my blood pressure rose at the mere arrival in Dr. Wilde's office.  This lady is serious about cancer.  She knows her stuff, and she wants to do the best thing to get rid of it.  After my clear bloodwork and scans I may have convinced myself that I had "fake" cancer.  Sure, I had "cancer", but it wasn't the type that spread and caused all sorts of problems.  It was just happily growing in my boob...cut them both off and I'd be done...with a brand new pair to boot!  

The hits just kept on coming.  The informed consent.  More details about my bloodwork.  Yes, it was normal.  But, she had run a panel called a D-Dimer which could indicate if one is at risk for DVT, or deep vein thrombosis, also known as a blood clot.  The normal value is under 450 and mine was 477.  She explained that I already had two risk factors for blood clots: 1) people with cancer are more likely to form clots (I am now a person with cancer), and 2) I was about to undergo a lengthy surgery where I would be lying flat on my back for approximately 5 and a half hours.  If I did have a clot, it could travel to my brain or lungs during surgery and I would die.  These risk factors indicate a risk of fatality.  Um, yeah...you've got my attention lady.  Oh, hello racing heart and stomach rising in my chest.  I thought I was rid of you.   

With that, I was set up for a consultation with a vascular surgeon for Friday.  He would further evaluate my risks for clots and order any tests he felt necessary to perform before my surgery on Monday.   

I left Dr. Wilde's office and cried as we piled into the elevator.  The fear was back.  Now I didn't just have to worry about dying from cancer, but I had to worry about dying just from having the surgery?  I mean, I know that death is always a risk during surgery...but come on, these doctors know what they're doing.  I have a "dream team!"  They wouldn't let me die on their watch.  But now I have 3 different risk factors for a condition that is FATAL?  

Thursday was not a good day.   I spent the day doing mindless things like buying and wrapping Mia's remaining birthday presents, updating my iPhone, cancelling and rescheduling various appointments I would now miss because of my surgery.  I went to the nail salon to have my nails "undone."  No finger nail polish for surgery, and I follow the rules.  Off with the shellac manicure!  I tried to keep my mind occupied and busy with things like writing a pre-surgery grocery list, cleaning the house, doing laundry, beginning to pack for surgery--all the while the choking hands were back on my neck.  I would have to stop in my tracks and hold my heart in from beating out of my chest.  Pause to take deep breaths that didn't seem to help my racing heart, or pulsating pain in my chest.  That feeling of sickening heat rising up in me like the mercury in a thermometer.  By the time dinner time rolled around and Josh and the girls were happily playing "monsters" in the kitchen, I had to confide in him how I was feeling.  He reminded me that I didn't have to white-knuckle this...Dr. Guru had prescribed me some Xanax.  Take one...relax.  You're going to be fine, Lindsay.  You're not going to die.  You don't have a blood clot.  You're going to have this surgery and recover.  Radiation or Chemo, you will get through it.  We will get through it together.  

Josh sweetly took the girls upstairs and did all of their bathtime routine by himself...let's be honest, he is usually the one that does the baths.  It gives me the chance to clean up downstairs after dinner, and usually sit down and catch the latest of whatever horrible reality show that I'm not ashamed to love has aired that day.  I took my Xanax and tried to catch my breath.  Josh texted me a Michael W. Smith video of his performance of "Healing Rain."  Healing rain is falling down, healing rain is falling down...I'm not afraid,  I'm not afraid!  Josh called me up when it was time to tuck the girls in.  Before Mia got into bed, the 4 of us rolled around on the ground and all of them hugged me...first Josh, then Mia, and then Harper jumped on top and sat on my face before laying down and hugging me too.  Yeah, that helped.  Then, Mia wanted to share another video with me.  The song began to play, "Pink fluffly unicorns dancing on rainbows...pink fluffy unicorns dancing on rainbows!"  And that's what the video was...amateurish animation of pink fluffy unicorns dancing on rainbows.  But this silly, mindless video was exactly what I needed to end that day.  I kept singing the song in my head long after the girls had gone to bed...I want to hang on to it and remember to sing it to myself when I walk into surgery.  

PINK FLUFFY UNICORNS, DANCING ON RAINBOWS!  

and also

HEALING RAIN IS FALLING DOWN...HEALING RAIN IS FALLING DOWN...I'M NOT AFRAID!

Nothing scary can happen if those are the thoughts in your mind, right?  Please Lord, let those be the thoughts in my mind.   

**Prayer requests for those that are so inclined:  Please pray that my surgery is successful and that the doctors are able to get all of the cancer out of my body.  Pray that the cancer has not spread to my lymphnodes.  Please pray that the surgery itself is successful, that I don't develop any blood clots, and that the anesthesiologist and other doctors are able to monitor me safely.  Please pray that all goes smoothly with the initial stages of reconstruction.  Pray for me as I come out of anesthesia and make my way into a smooth recovery.  Please, continue to pray for my family as they wait for me during surgery, and throughout this process.  Help them to be strong and give them comfort.  Finally, thank the Lord for the wonderful people He has placed in my life and brought into my life throughout this journey.  I have encountered several angels along the way and I feel so blessed to know and have each and every one of you in my life, supporting me along the way.