This is what little boy has said 1000 times today. The good news is he is eating. The bad news is, we have to pretend each time that I am “the worker MAN”, and he is the customer.
I don’t enjoy this charade very much. I was, for a quite a long time, “the worker MAN”, as a server/bartender. I don’t want to revisit it, even in my own kitchen. Not to mention he doesn’t tip very well for his $47.00 Cheezits. Stinker.
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What is that you ask? That is my break from blogging, and let me tell you why:
“Worker man!” little boy exclaimed.
“Yes sir, what can I do for you?” I replied.
“I spilled-ed all this orange stuff on your carpet” little boy informed.
“Really?” I hesitated as I set the laptop down, and began to stand up.
And then I saw the RED popsicle juice on the light biege carpet (that we just had steam cleaned).
So very quickly I grabbed a baby wipe to start getting it up. Much to my dismay, we have Pampers wipes right now, not Huggies. Did you know Huggies diaper wipes will get almost anything out? I’m serious. But Pampers Baby Fresh seems to just smear it.
I ran to grab my other go-to stain remover, Oxyclean. I sprayed it rapidly and smooshed it up with a … sock. I couldn’t find a cloth fast enough. And there was a white sock on the dryer, waiting for its match to reappear.
Oh, man. I am done being “worker man”.
The details of this blog post were in no way altered. This actually happened in the last 20 minutes, in this order. And you wonder why it takes me so long to post.
Not to mention while I was typing this, little boy ate my pretzel Goldfish. No respect, I tell ya. No respect.
On a secret mission, I have a beef with someone.
Here it goes.
Bilateral Mastectomy is not cosmetic. It is not fun. It hurts a whole lot, until you heal that is, and then it is just numb. I mean physically numb. You have no feeling where your breasts once were. Sure, you can have reconstruction. But the last time I checked, you can’t FEEL silicone or saline, or whatever you choose. Having a bilateral mastectomy means that they REMOVE your breasts and nipples, not enhance your breasts. They cut them off and leave you with scars that mean more than your breasts ever did.
Being a Previvor, means that you are trying to avoid the cancer that has plagued the generations before you. It means that you will willingly accept help with your children, life, and self for a SHORT period, in order to heal. It means that you don’t want to get cancer that is so savage, that you are willing to butcher your body in order to defeat it, head on.
It means that you are strong, though terrified. It means that you are brave, despite pain. It means that you can overcome an 87% chance of cancer. It means that you are more in touch with who you are as a person, than who you are as a body. It means that you may not like the result aesthetically, but you like to know that you did everything within your power to live a long life and not orphan your children.
Facing a salpingo-oophorectomy is not exactly a walk in the park either. It is difficult to be young and vibrant, while at the same time dealing with menopause, and small children. But you know what the trade off is? The feeling that you did all you could to rip out the organs that develop cancer so aggressive, that it is not usually detected until it has spread to your other organs.
Being BRCA positive is a blessing and a curse. You have to live with the knowledge that you might go down the same path your aunts, mom and cousins did. It is also the blessing of knowledge! You can do everything medically proven to better your odds! Not CHOOSE to have a “cosmetic procedure”. The plastic surgeon, that tries to give you back resemblance of breasts, is called a PLASTIC and RECONSTRUCTIVE surgeon. Not a cosmetic surgeon.
The saddest part about this. The *person* who this is intended for, will never understand. Because you have to have a heart and soul to feel someone else’s torment and pain. When you are too diluted to see beyond your own web of lies, you will never understand that one day, your children might have to face these decisions, too.
Then will it be “Well, you still have a 13% chance of not getting cancer?” OR “This is a cosmetic procedure?” OR “How will surgery even benefit me?”.
I didn’t think so.
I took a hiatus. I do that from time to time. You should too. From whatever it is that needs some readjusting.
In my “time off” I have been a busy bee, I tell ya! Little girl is almost ready for back to school. We still need to find some shoes, but I think that we are going to have to order them online, TODAY, because there doesn’t seem to be a store around here that carries her half-size. I think that is strange, but whatever.
I got my birthday present 2 months early. I hate that, but I love it all the same! E got me the Nikon D60 that I have been lusting over. Seriously, he is awesome. So thank you, E, for the camera. I really need to figure out how to use it though. Don’t judge, I’ve been busy. I mean really busy!
Format my SD disk, that is all I know so far.
Our dishwasher sprung a leak about 6 weeks ago and I have been washing dishes since, but as we speak, I am running a test on it. That means that E looked at it about 2 weeks ago, and said he doesn’t see any problems with it. I felt a little unsure, but I am so tired of doing the dishes, I couldn’t wait any longer. It is running empty, and hopefully NOT leaking. I will have to go check on it to make sure the kitchen isn’t flooded again, and that means that I will have to go soon. I just heard it make a weird squeek. I don’t think that is so good.
Okay, on to the serious stuff.
My mom’s CA-125 went up, and she has been on chemo since last December. That is not such a good thing. There are “some spots” on her lungs. She will start a new drug in about 2 weeks. She, I imagine, will get pretty sick again. As long as the tumors get sick too, we are okay with that. I say it like I know. I really don’t. I am a Previvor. She is a fighter and a Survivor. She needs ALL of your prayers right now. I mean all of them. Stop reading. Say a prayer.
I told you to stop reading and say a prayer. Oh, you did? Well, say another one really quick. More is more in this case. We will take all we can get. And link to this post too. Then those people will pray and so on.
Some of them might, but for the most part, please excuse my absence because I am trying to keep moving. And that is not always easy. Moving on, moving forward, moving purposefully.
A couple of things have happened lately. My mastectaversary was on July 10th. That’s right. Mastectaversary. That is what I want to call it. It brought with it some serious emotion and anxiety, and I am actively working on healing that.
I had a major crumbling personally, and I am also working on that.
It is about letting go. And it is really hard to do that as a person who internalizes everything. But I am making a concentrated effort to do so. I’ll let you know how that all works out, when it works out.
On another note:
School starts in just 4 short weeks for little girl. YIKES!
I have new pictures to post, and not enough time to do it, but I will. Soon.
I hate to pay the IRS, and I don’t know any other expenses to “write-off”. Sometimes you just gotta pay.
I discovered that I rearrange furniture as a form of stress relief, just like my mom. Who would of thought?
There was a Pier 1 Imports going out of business close to my house. I went to see if there were any bargains. There were a thousand things that I didn’t need, but just a few that I thought I could use. I bought 25 bottles of cleaner. That’s right. 25 bottles. Hey, they were only a dollar.
And then I felt bad. I told E that I had spent $25 on that “pretty” cleaner so that we would have plenty and he said “That’s fine. I know that’s what you like to do”.
So I was thinking that he meant that I like to find a good bargain, or stock up for the future. I was proud of myself for excellent planning. But then I wasn’t really sure what he meant after I started to analyze it. That is what I do. I don’t take anything for face value.
“What do you mean that’s what I like to do?”
“Clean. That’s what you like to do, so it is good that you found all of that stuff at a good price.”
Actually, I don’t LIKE to clean. I LIKE for it to BE clean. I do not really enjoy the process.
While we were getting good bargains to support my so called “hobby”, little boy found an odd shaped fish candle. He asked if he could have it. Since I already broke some random candle holder while we were in the store (you break it, you buy it does not apply when the whole store is being liquidated), I allowed him to get it. It couldn’t do any harm. I wasn’t going to light it any way.
He left that fish in his car seat. For 2 days. And the car was in the driveway (different story). While it was 90 degrees outside.
Care to guess what a candle will do when outside temps are 90 degrees and your car stays closed for 2 days? That’s right boys and girls, it melts.
I had to wash the car seat cover (thank you Britax for making a removable-washable cover) but I wasn’t completely sure that it would come out. It did, thank goodness, with a lot of Oxyclean.
By the way, Billy Mays died today. I love Oxyclean.
Do you remember that scene from Kindergarten Cop? Where he has a headache? I have caught that headache. It will not go away.
Here’s the thing. It keeps showing up, more and more frequently. I had this nasty thing just 3 days ago and 4 days before that. I don’t even know if that makes sense, but that is how I typed it, so it stays. Just read it again, out loud, maybe that will help.
I’m sure it is not a tumor, but just a big pain in the … head.
E is off racing tonight. Again it is on dirt and there are many hillbillies and it is 90 degrees in Cincinnati. He is going to be super gross when he rolls in at 2 AM or whatever. He is a totally devoted lunatic to this racing thing because he has to wear a fire suit in the car and that thing would keep you warm if it was below zero. I am having a hot flash just imagining it.
Okay, I’m going to try to sleep off this headache. I know it won’t work and I need to make a doctor’s appointment (as if I haven’t had enough) and I will do that next week. Maybe. Or whatever. Shut up. I need to go. Really.
Okay. I ‘m done. ARGGHH!
1. White Play-doh is called “dip”.
2. If you ask a 9 year old, in your best *mom* voice, if they understand what you are saying — they will undoubtedly say “No”. This is not because they don’t understand. It is because they want you to lose your mind.
3. When my husband says that he is going to set his alarm and get up early to catch up on paperwork, he is not kidding.
4. When my husband says that he needs to catch up on paperwork, he really means that he needs to make piles of paperwork to turn over to me. Also known as putting me 6 months behind on MY paperwork.
5. Wash, Rinse, and Repeat means that you can stand in the shower longer and avoid paperwork.
6. If you ask a 3 year old what is on the outside of a banana, he will tell you “Banana crust”. Clever, right? Well, I thought so anyway.
You’ll want a lot. That’s how I see it.
For example:
Frosted Flakes. I had 2 bowls, even though I only needed one.
Sleep. I could never get enough.
Shoes. I am able to control myself in that area, but I wish I didn’t.
Flowers. I always want to go to the garden center and buy more plants and things and stuff. Every time I spend $100.00 or so I say I won’t buy anything else that year. I still want more. I do hate the actual work of it. Actually I hate the dirtiness, sweaty, yucky part. I love the result.
Quiet. I just don’t have enough. My kids are so noisy now that we are on summer break. They are playing 50% of the time. Crying and fighting the other 50%. I have had enough of their disagreements.
BLOGGING!! I think I have found my groove again! 2 days in a row here! Awesome.
Wondering where I’ve been? Yeah, me too.
After I wrote my last post, little boy got sick. Nothing major, but then little girl had a birthday. No actual party (just family), but then I had a hot flash. Well, actually I have those all the time these days.
So, I know you are all terribly interested to hear how my stay at the hospital went after surgery, and how my pathology turned out. Here are the highlights:
Pathology: CLEAR!! You read that right, no abnormalities of concern, no malignancies.
Overnight hospital stay: HORRIBLE, and here’s why. My night nurse must have been related to the Pre-op Party Pooper. I had some issues with the discomfort torture of the catheter that was required with abdominal surgery, and she wouldn’t listen to me. She would come in to check it and wiggle it around. I finally told her to stop, and she said for me to remove my hand from the tube. I think not. This is my body, I KNOW when it hurts. GET OFF OF IT! She didn’t.
I asked her around 10 PM if I could have some crackers. She thought I might get sick even though I had kept fluids down for almost 10 hours. She said no. Really, I was denied crackers, even after my chart said “solids as tolerated”. Nice.
She insisted that the morphine that I received 4 hours prior to my complaint of abdominal pain should handle it. I asked her to page one of my doctors, who was there overnight. She didn’t. When I saw my doctor at 4:30 AM, I was in tears. He said that I could have Percoset, and would I like 2 . Umm…YEAH! And then he backed it up with a Valium to help me calm down. I am glad SOMEONE was listening.
Recovery: SO-SO. I thought I was doing well until Sunday (4 days after surgery). We were standing in church and I just did not feel right. Not 4 days after surgery “not right”, but something was clearly wrong. When I confirmed that I was running a fever, a call to the doctor was in order.
Sure enough, back to the hospital. Actually ER. Which is not where you want to go after having a salpingo-oophorectomy. Trust me.
So in my best *I can handle this* attitude, I cried all the way to the hospital. E must have been so annoyed with my complaints and tears, but he was so compassionate.
The ER doctor must have been Night Nurse Nutcase’s boyfriend, because he ordered an IV, catheter and pelvic exam. As I was crying in the triage area he said “Well, you are the one that brought yourself in here”. As if I asked for it.
Let me make something perfectly clear. I have tremendous respect for anyone who is willing to work in the medical field. I appreciate all of those who have given me care in the past year. But, I did not bring this on myself. I did not chose surgery for an adventure. I did not sacrifice my organs for a laugh. And I didn’t choose to run a post-op fever on a Sunday. Had my oncologist suggested I wait until Monday to go into the office, I would have gladly waited at home. She did not. She said straight to the ER, and called ahead to notify them.
Okay, short version. I told them it was certainly not a bladder infection. They did not care. There is protocol, you know. So, while they were ruling that out, Mister Head-Resident-From-Upstairs arrived. He said that my doctor had called him, and she wanted him to do my pelvic exam and call her right back. I was such a mess emotionally, and really just wanted to be left alone. I asked him how many he had done. He said a few. Well that is reassuring. Thankfully he was just joking, and was very kind and helpful.
I did have a post-op infection. I left with a script for antibiotics and more pain medicince.
I am now moving on. I am done with all of this. I have so much more to do and live, but I have that lingering feeling…
Little boy is playing with an assortment of cars on the kitchen counter. He is telling the bad ones that they are “just being idiots”.
“They are just being idiots”.
“They are just being idiots”.
“Mommy, can you help me with these idiots?”
I guess I better, because somebody said that word in his presence, and I am guessing it could have been me.
He is also asking me to help him go in his room whenever he needs something. He needs me to be “grave” (Brave) for him. He is afraid the smoke detector will make smoke. We have tried to explain to him that it doesn’t make smoke, but lets us know if we need to leave the house and call the fire department.
“From your Blackberry?”
Yes. From my Blackberry.
But how do I get him to not be afraid of it? He has also taken to waking up in middle of the night and calling for me and E to get him. Since my surgery I haven’t been sleeping well (part of the whole surgical menopause thing), so I usually wake up easily, but then I can’t go back to sleep. I have to find a solution to that too.
As far as surgery goes, here are the details:
I split my kids up for surgery day. Little girl stayed with my parents and little boy stayed with E. I had a good friend take me to the hospital (thanks M!). I did this because, I knew I would be okay on my own, but I would have worried about my kids more if they were both with my mom and dad. My mom is still on chemo, and it is a lot to keep up with little boy. Little girl is easy, she is almost 9. (She didn’t go to school while I was at the hospital, this was how I wanted it. I didn’t want her to have anxiety about me during school. Don’t worry, she caught up in 1 day and still has straight “O’s”).
I arrived at 5:30 AM. I felt good, not nervous or worried. M was great. She talked to me and help me not to focus on the surgery part. My big plan was for her to just wait, and I would go back on my own. When they called me back I panicked and asked if she would come with me, and of course she did. It was the usual 156 questions they ask you before surgery.
Have you had any previous surgeries? Mastectomy and Reconstruction.
How do you react to anesthesia? Fine. I sleep.
Allergies? Penicillin and Latex.
Blah, blah, blah.
Then they had to do my IV. I really hate IVs. Always have.
The nurse starts to look on my left arm for a good vein. I ask her if she could do it in my hand. She tells me that she thinks my arm looks better, but SURE she will do it in my hand. After jamming that stupid thing in my hand for at least 2 minutes, she declares, that no, my hand won’t work. Let’s do the arm.
Okay. Breathe. Just breathe. By this time I was in hysterics. M was holding my hand and telling me it would be okay. At that moment all I wanted was my husband. M was such a good friend to me. I needed her to get me through it. Not just the IV, but the whole day.
So they put the IV in my arm without much issue. I calmed down and “got it together” and just kept thinking:
My mom has cancer, and I can do this.
Over and over.
I was finally at peace and Nurse Party Pooper said “We need to put in your other IV”
My OTHER IV? I already have one. Apparently, with a Da Vinci Hysterecomy you need 2. Super.
And then the fun really started. Nurse PP started to put the IV in my right HAND! She just said that my hands were no good, and then tried it again. The pain in my entire hand was unbearable. I was crying hysterically and my hand swelled enormously she said, “you need to calm down so that the swelling will stop”.
She then “pushed” fluid through it and the pain doubled. I told her to take it out. She didn’t want to because we would have to do it again. M spoke for me and told Nurse PP to take it out. She finally obliged and then told me “You really should let the nurse decide where it should go”.
I think she was trying to prove something. She did, but not until I was traumatized. The next IV went in my right arm without incident and I had to find inner peace to prepare for surgery.
I had to find a way to be okay with surgery, and I wasn’t in a good place.
