The Weird Shit

It’s been six weeks since my last surgery.  I have been cleared to return to “normal” activity.  Whoo hoo!  So I kicked off this week by going to Pilates today with Erin, my good friend and pilates instructor (who owns Maya Whole Health Studio in Fremont for those of you who live in Seattle), for the first time since my surgery.  And what a workout!  Given that I haven’t been to Pilates in a while, I was definitely feeling the burn.  One of the things I noticed as we did exercises and movement that increased our heartrates today was my cleavage sweat.  I know, it’s a weird thing to talk about, but for someone who has had small boobs her entire life, having to deal with cleavage sweat is an unusual experience.  So here’s the deal, with small boobs, I would sweat in the cleavage area, but my boobs were so small that my shirt would quickly wick up any moisture.  However, now that my boobs are twice the size they were before my mastectomies, there’s a lot more space between my shirt and my cleavage sweat. 

So here I am, in Erin’s amazing Pilates mat class, being reminded of why my arms have become so flabby in the last six weeks, when Erin has us lay on our backs for the next series of movements.  As I move to lay on my back, I feel a large amount of sweat start start to rush down my chest toward my face.  I quickly push my shirt down below my throat to catch the sweat.  I know, gross, right?  But totally weird.  I keep forgetting that my body is not the same, and moments like these are nice reminders.

The other thing I was reminded of today is that I can’t really feel my boobs near the incisions.  This lack of sensation makes it difficult for me to gauge if something is wrong with my chest when I’m laying on it.  I have been very protective of my chest area since my last surgery because I’m still getting used to the implants, and today’s Pilates mat class reminded me that laying on my chest is something I will need to get used to.  When I had my original boobs, it was very easy to determine if I was laying on my chest the wrong way.  Now, I need to be all the more aware of my body and what I’m doing because I can’t rely on feeling and sensation to let me know if something’s wrong.

And when I’m lying on my back, yet another weird sensation that I need to get used to — my boobs settling toward my armpits.  Again, as a small-chested woman, my boobs basically stayed in place no matter what position I was in.  But now my boobs are big enough that gravity has a whole new interaction with my body.  At first I thought something was wrong, but after discussing this issue with my large-breasted girlfriends, they all responded similarly — “Welcome to my world.”

And since I’m oversharing, I will share this also — I’m totally PMSing.  Before my diagnosis, I would experience a bit of PMS – eating a smidge more than usual, getting a few pimples here and there, and retaining water.  But now the symptoms hit me in a unique way and I know exactly when I’m going to start my period.  I ”break out”  like an acne-ridden teenager right around my upper lip area, and I’m ravenous to the point where I could eat a whole large pepperoni pan pizza from Pizza Hut myself.  When these things happen, I know I’m few days before I’m about to get a visit from Aunt Flo.  Like clockwork.   Weird, huh?   Obviously, there are a lot of things about my new body that I will continue to get used to.

I’m working on a soundtrack project for my friends (I’ve asked each of them to send me the song that would introduce their entrance into any room), and after months of seeing other people’s submissions, I finally figured out mine: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-wYmq2Vz5yM.  Reasons for this selection?  The opening is strong; the beat grooves my soul; and the lyrics are short, simple, and to the point.  Enjoy.

Goodbye, MJ and Farrah

I read somewhere that our olfactory sense is closest linked to memory.  Although that may very well be true (to this day I’m still immediately mentally transported to my high school days when exposed to the wrank odor of Drakkar Noir, which my high school sweetheart wore), I believe that just as strongly linked to our memories is music.  Michael Jackson’s death today has allowed me to reflect on some highlights from my past.   

As a child, I would often get into my older sister’s records and listen to them, being intrigued with the record player and how it made these amazing songs come out of it when you put a record on it.  I remember getting into a huge fight with her because I scratched her “Off the Wall” record.  Or maybe it was because I put stickers all over the cover of her “Grease” records.  Jesus, I can’t remember exactly how the fight started, but what I do remember is that we still listened to records back then, and MJ was a very important part of the soundtrack of my life. 

MJ was so much a part of the soundtrack of my life that my Dad sent a Michael Jackson birthday cake to my third or fourth grade class.  There were no insta-photoprint cakes back then — no, this cake decorator painstakingly designed a cake with MJ on it, thick red frosting for his red leather jacket from Thriller and a shitload of crystal sprinkles for his signature white sequined glove.  I can’t remember if I have blogged about my Dad’s obsession with sending birthday cakes to my school when I was a child, but I’ll review my past blog entries to verify and save that for another post. 

In the seventh grade, my class went to a nursing home to entertain the residents for a philanthropic field trip, and I remember being forced to learn a dance/sign language routine to “Man in the Mirror” for this event.  One of my best friends at the time, John Davis, who was also our class clown, took over the show when we started the dance/signing routine.  John broke from the robotically-programmed routine and jumped in front of the class formation, instead moonwalking in front of our class and doing several signature MJ moves in front of everyone.  Our teachers and school administrators looked on with horror, as they were unable to stop John from doing other signature MJ moves, such as grabbing his crotch and lifting his heels up off the ground while he mimicked MJ’s high pitched shriek.  I went to a Catholic school that was pretty straight-laced, so you can imagine our teacher’s response.

Farrah Fawcett’s death is also tragic and perhaps more relevant to any introspective thought on my part today, given the circumstances of her death.  I remember watching Charlie’s Angels with my Dad as a child, even though he thought the show was inappropriate for me to watch. 

My friend Laura threw a 70’s-themed party for her husband’s 40th birthday not too long ago, and most of the ladies attending paid homage to Ms. Fawcett with their hairstyle choice that night.  Oh, the amount of Aqua Net needed to make that happen!  It was brilliant.

I have not watched the documentary recently aired by NBC about Farrah’s fight, “Farrah’s Story,” but seeing snippets of it on the evening news today reminded me of my journey battling Karla last year.  One of the most humbling moments was seeing a scene in the documentary that showed Farrah almost entirely bald.  As I’ve blogged about in the past, I have always identified with my hair as the center of my sense of beauty, and losing it during chemo was a very emotional time.  Seeing Farrah bald brought me back to that time in my life and reminded me of how lucky I am to be where I’m at right now in my journey.

Goodbye MJ and Farrah.  You will be missed.

For today’s soundtrack, the obvious one first: http://www.televisiontunes.com/Charlies_Angels.html.  Then for one of the hardest soundtrack decisions I’ve had to make since including this feature in my blog entries, given all the options: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qF0o-W5uu8o.  This is definitely one of my favorite MJ songs from Off the Wall . . . but I guess all of them are my “favorites” as all of the songs on that album are fucking amazing.

Milestones

I had my six-month follow-up with my oncologist today.  As you may recall, the oncologist I treated with throughout chemo and up through my first reconstruction surgery, Dr. Mary Pinder-Schenck, left Virginia Mason in March.  So today I met with my new oncologist, Dr. Henry Otero. Jesus, everyone at the Cancer Care Center at Virginia Mason is just amazingly sweet, caring, and genuine.  I guess to be an oncologist or to work with cancer patients, you kinda have to be that way.  You wouldn’t last very long at the Cancer Care Center if you were crabby, emotionally vacuous, and insincere.

It was awesome meeting with Dr. Otero today.  I also met with Dr. Pinder’s successor, whose name is escaping me.  Female oncologist.  Very knowledgeable.  Anyhoo, prior to meeting with Dr. Otero, I had blood drawn to have my “labs” done — checking on various stats discernable from my blood.  Back in the day, I had blood drawn for labs to be done before every chemo treatment.  It was very weird to have a phlebotomist tap a vein today to get blood from me.  The last time I was in the Cancer Care Center having blood drawn, I still had my port.  It seems like that time was so long ago, yet it was barely a year ago. 

When I met with Dr. Otero, it was obvious that he had read up on my file.  We talked a lot about my hereditary cancer issues and my inconclusive genetic test result.  His main concern for me was ovarian cancer.  I explained that Dr. Rothblatt and I have been actively discussing the game plan in that regard and that I am giving myself at least a couple of years to figure out if I want to and am able to have my own kids with the eggs being produced by my ovaries.  If two years go by and I’m still without a viable procreation game plan, then I will need to revisit my options and more seriously consider having my ovaries taken out as a preventative measure.  Dr. Otero seemed okay with this approach.

I asked Dr. Otero what my chances of breast cancer are now — either a resurgence of Karla or new cancer.  He explained that after my mastectomies, the chances of new cancer developing in my chest wall are approximately 1%.  The chances of Karla popping up again are 15%.  Dr. Pinder’s replacement chimed up during this discussion and explained that the concern regarding Karla would not necessarily be that she would reappear in my chest wall, but that “bits” of Karla got into my bloodstream and would then get into my bones, other organs, or brain.  I then asked what screening processes are available to me to monitor any such resurgence.  Unfortunately, both Dr. Otero and Dr. Pinder’s replacement noted that there are no real tests that can be done regularly that would provide useful information.  In the end, the only reliable ”test” is for me to be very aware of and in tune with my body, being sensitive to report all changes with my health immediately to my doctors.

Dr. Otero commented on how great I looked and what a great attitude I had.  In response, I shared with him and Dr. Pinder’s replacement that Karla was the biggest blessing I’ve received in a long time.  Reevaluating my life and reprioritizing everything were necessary changes that I made because of Karla.  Both Dr. Otero and Dr. Pinder’s replacement smiled at my comments.  Dr. Otero ended our meeting by telling me that he doesn’t need to see me until the holidays (another 6 months), and that he is looking forward to working with me in the future and continuing my care.  It was a very pleasant appointment.

I’ve experienced another milestone these last couple days — as of yesterday, I am finally off of my 4-week exercise restriction, so I’m back to exercising.  I budgeted for a new pair of running shoes to mark this momentous occasion.  Spring and summer in Seattle yield the best running weather I’ve ever experienced, and I’m excited to hit the pavement in what promises to be gorgeous weather for the next few months.  After two days of running, I can feel the lactic acid slowly overcome my hamstrings and quads, but I am drinking lots of water and will remain active until the pain goes away.  I am excited to reintroduce exercise into my daily regimen, which should be interesting with my crazy work schedule.  But it can (and will) be done.  Priorities, right?

For today’s soundtrack I will leave you with one of the songs on my ipod that I love listening to while I run: http://www.rhapsody.com/iio-4/rapture-reconstruction-platinum-edition.  Sorry I don’t have an easy link today.  Click on play for Track #3 off of Disc #2 (Rapture — Deep Dish Space Remix).

A Hard Week

Man, it’s been a hard week.  I started a second job last week to help make ends meet, so I’ve been working nonstop.  In addition to my full time law firm job, I’m now doing part time in-house legal work for a large general contractor in the area.  It’s okay, this work schedule is temporary, but I’m already starting to feel run down from the long workdays.

I have been able to put my nose to the grindstone partially because my best friend, Martin, isn’t here to distract me.  Martin left a few weeks ago for a solo bike tour from Vancouver B.C. to the Baja Peninsula.  He’ll be gone for at least two months.  Having Martin gone, however, has reminded me of how much I rely on him to stay sane.  He often describes himself as my “emotional tampon,” and you can imagine he’s had to do double time work in that regard since my diagnosis.  I really miss him and with all that’s going on in my world right now, his absence is really evident to me.

I haven’t been sleeping well for the last couple weeks and I can’t tell if it’s because I’m working so much that’s it’s hard to “turn my brain off” at the end of the day or if I’m still upset about Eric’s death.  It may be a bit of both, as I have found myself unable to sleep for hours on end, finally dozing off, but then waking up in a panic, realizing that Eric is really gone.  Thankfully, I still have some sleep aid medication from when I was on chemo, but I have refrained from taking any sort of sleep aid unless I am able to allow my body to get up naturally the next day without an alarm.  Unfortunately, with the long workdays I now have, I don’t have many days where I can do that.

Tonight I allowed myself some time away from my home office to attend a memorial for Eric.  A bunch of our friends gathered at our girlfriend Kristin’s house to have a potluck dinner, share photos and stories about Eric, and process our grief together.  It was great to see good friends I haven’t seen in a while, and we all laughed and cried together as we celebrated Eric.  I was reminded of Eric’s amazing writing talent, roll-on-the-floor-laughing sense humor, pure witty (and often snarky) comebacks in conversation, and ability to make fun of himself. 

As a testament to Eric’s fine sense of humor, our girlfriend Vanessa brought in a bunch of postcards that Eric gave to her as a gift.  The set of postcards were titled “Breaking Bad News with Baby Animals.”  On them were all kinds of baby animals situated in cute poses, but with fracking hilarious “bad news” printed on them.   Vanessa invited everyone to take a card if they wished, an here’s the one I grabbed:

 

 

 

 

 

 

I have this postcard up on my refrigerator and laugh at it every time I look at it.  It feels good to think about Eric and laugh instead of cry.  Tonight was a nice way to say goodbye to Eric and to get some closure. 

I’m ready to put this week behind me and focus on what’s ahead.  I’m hopeful that I’ll sleep better tonight.

So many choices for tonight’s soundtrack.  Here’s an obvious choice: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cQwwqajZXD8.  But for whatever reason, I’ve been in such a melancholy mood that I’ve been listening to late 80s ballads.  Don’t ask me why.  It’s just what I do sometimes.  That said, I will also leave you with this: http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&VideoID=18205793.

The Meaning of Life

As most of you know, I lost my Mom when I was three years old.  What you may not know is that by the time I turned 19, I had been to more funerals than I can count on two hands.  Family members, close friends, influential teachers, and an ex-boyfriend.  Of these funerals, I had delivered two eulogies.  I’ve been to more funerals since then, and as a consequence, I think I became ”desensitized” to death.  Don’t get me wrong, I definitely grieved when my loved ones passed on, but think that having been exposed to so much death growing up made me somewhat “comfortable” with the concept of it.  In my mind, death was a part of life, and we were all going to expereince it at some point.  No big deal.

For example, a handful of years ago my friend David was preparing for a funeral of one of his family members.   David wasn’t particularly close to this family member, but he was visibly distraught, so I asked him what was wrong.  David explained that he was worried about attending a funeral for the first time in his life.  I thought that was so weird, that David had not been to a funeral before.  That perspective was very enlightening — not everyone had been exposed to death as much as I had been.

I bring up this morbid topic because of some awful news I received today about a good friend of mine, Eric.  A mutual friend of ours called me today to let me know that Eric committed suicide this past weekend.

Eric was a sharp, talented, witty, and compassionate soul.  He was an amazing writer, a brilliant filmmaker, and a stellar friend.  I knew that Eric struggled with depression issues, and I often served as a sounding board for him when he was having a bad day.  And although Eric clearly had issues (who doesn’t right?), I always viewed him as a good kid with a good head on his shoulders.

When I received the news of Eric’s passing, I was overwhelmed by sadness.  I started sobbing uncontrollably, making our mutual friend on the phone start to cry also.  It pains me to think about how alone he must of felt to do what he did, and I feel extremely guilty that I failed to call him to check in, instead letting the minutia of my life take over and justify waiting another weekend before calling.

I’ve been sitting with this news for the last few hours now, trying to go over in my mind why I’m so upset.  I mean, of course I’m upset because a good friend of mine is now gone, but there is something different about how I’m processing Eric’s death.  I realize now that Eric’s death is the first for me since my battle with Karla.  I can’t help but think that my perspective on death — and more accurately my perspective on life — is significantly different now having battled cancer for the last year-and-a-half. 

One of my favorite stories my Dad tells is of the day he graduated from high school.  As he stood on the steps of Lanai High, he screamed to the heavens, “I’m going to live forever!  I’m never going to die!”  Like my Dad, in my late teens and all throughout my twenties, I lived a pretty carefree life, thinking I would live forever and the world was mine to conquer whenever I decided to pull the trigger.  My diagnosis changed everything.  At that point, I could no longer deny that I had been existing instead of living, relying on the fallacy of my immortality to justify my passiveness in my world.  No, after Karla’s introduction, death was staring straight at me and I needed to respond. 

My life is something I have been forced to fight for, so as I sit here and grieve Eric’s death, I am unnerved by it and will continue to be bothered by it for some time.  I realize that his depression was likely too much to bear and I can’t judge him for the choice he made.  I have not walked a mile in his shoes.  However, I’m starting to feel a bit of anger bubble up in my core.  How dare he turn in the towel when some of us continue to fight to stay in the race?  I’m experiencing a lot of cognitive dissonance, to say the least.

Please bear with me as I must postpone the release of today’s soundtrack.  What’s funny is that I got the soundtrack idea from Eric, who created a soundtrack of our friends’ “entrance songs.”  He asked everyone if they could choose one song that would announce their entrance into any room (e.g. board meeting, coffee shop, bedroom), what it would be.  I have not been able to find my copy of the CD that Eric burned of everyone’s songs, and I fully intend to find it so that I can include Eric’s entrance song as today’s soundtrack.  More soon. . . .

Update on Eric’s song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_K6Y-YGZUec&feature=PlayList&p=F662A80AEC11377B&index=0&playnext=1.  Eric had a lot of familial issues that exacerbated his depression, and being reminded that this was his song highlights the tragedy of his death.

Hanging With My New Boobs

I had my 2-week post-operation appointment with Dr. Paige this afternoon.  He was very pleased with how well I’ve healed and how symmetrical my new breasts are.  He explained to me that the one area of “thin” skin at the bottom of my left breast appears to be holding up well, so he anticipates no further complications.  That area is slightly discolored (there us a small patch of blood vessels visible close to the surface of the skin), and Dr. Paige explained that this discoloration may not fade entirely.  But I don’t care.  My body is well on its way to looking “normal” and I am very pleased.

Again I am reminded of how quickly the body heals.  After meeting with Dr. Paige, Nurse Dawn took the stitches out, revealing an amazing rate of healing at my incision sites.  “You are going to look just amazing!” Dawn exclaimed after taking out the last stitch.  Before leaving the clinic, I took a moment to examine my breasts in the mirror, with the stitches and some of the dermabond and scabbing now removed.  It was awesome to see breasts that look real – not balloons under my skin, but real breasts that hang.  Dawn earlier shared with me that women undergoing a reconstruction really start to feel close to 100% once nipple reconstruction begins.  It’s at that point, Dawn explained, that these mounds of “flesh” really start to take on the life of real breasts.

Dr. Paige told me that he wants to see me back in four months to schedule nipple reconstruction, which will be done under local anesthetic.  As I think I explained earlier, Dr. Paige will pull up a small circle of skin to form a nub, which then scars over and becomes the nipple.  He warned me that with reconstructed breasts like mine there isn’t a lot of skin to work with, so the reconstructed nipples may not be as projected as fully erect nipples would otherwise be.  Although having fully erect nipples all the time may have its perks (yes, shameless pun intended), I’m pleased with the thought of being a bit more discreet.  Since my breasts are so naturally (or unnaturally, depending on how you look at it) supported, I would like to be able to wear form-fitting tops without a bra.  To say the least, having large pencil eraser nipples all the time would complicate my fashion choices.

Areola tattooing will follow after nipple reconstruction is complete and I have healed from that procedure.  At the end of the day, my reconstruction will have taken a little less than a year.  When I first met with Dr. Paige and he told me that the reconstruction process takes about a year, I didn’t think he was entirely serious.  I mean, it took less than a year for me to go through fertility preservation treatments, go through chemo, and have my mastectomies.  The thought of my reconstruction taking longer than that hell of a process was beyond my comprehension.  And although I recognize there are tons of different ways of doing these procedures, some of which are faster, I am really appreciating the level of thought and care that Dr. Paige has about this process.  There are reasons why he does things the way he does, and I trust in the decisions he has made and continues to make about my reconstruction.  For example, today he reminded me that he would like me to continue to refrain from all heavy lifting and strenuous activity for at least another two weeks.  Although other doctors may have given me clearance to return to normal activity today, Dr. Paige explained to me that strenuous activity (like cardio) increases blood flow, which increases swelling, and keeping swelling to a minimum facilitates the best cosmetic result.  So I intend to take it easy, hang with my new boobs for another two weeks (ha ha another pun!), and enjoy the healing process.  When I return to my exercise regimen, it will feel good to know that I am fully healed.  It will also feel weird to wear a sports bra while running for the first time in over a year-and-a-half!  I’m feeling like I’ve made good progress on this path and that the light at the end of the tunnel is a bit brighter.

Given how literal I have been in this post with my punny attempts at humor, I leave you with this for today’s soundtrack: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RHLC-EimdAc.