Frustration

I've gotten over the latest "crap, I have cancer" blues, which is nice.  But today I got a call from the insurance company used by CU saying I don't qualify for short term disability.  Because I go back to work between chemo sessions, it's not "continuous" leave, and they don't cover intermittent leave.  So basically I would have been better off just not coming back to work at all.  What kind of a message is that?  I like my job, and when I was feeling well enough, I went back.  It's seriously messed up when I would have been better off financially if I haven't been working when I felt well enough.  Oh, and I got the call while I was waiting at the doctor's office to get my blood drawn for tomorrow's chemo.

Ken is, as always, wonderful.  We've been trying to save money each month so we can pay off the last little bit on our credit card and start saving for an eventual down payment on a house.  So of course, losing just short of my monthly salary is a big blow.  But he said that it's only money, and we can make that up. 

Oh, and my blood counts were crappy.  Good enough that they'll let me get chemo tomorrow, since I'm young and in theory will bounce back faster.  I didn't need to get Neupogen shots after I started Taxol last cycle, but since my blood counts are bad, I need to start getting them again.  I'd really been enjoying NOT having awful bone pain, so that's disappointing. 

So, overall, a pretty shitty day on my cancer journey, and I'm tearing up just writing about it.  And there's chemo to look forward to tomorrow.

Ugh

I've gotten tired of this whole cancer thing. It takes a lot of energy to stay positive, or at least cynically snarky about the whole thing. I'm halfway done with chemo and completely wiped out. So there's another half to go, then a small chance of radiation, then reconstruction sometime next summer, then five years of Tamoxifen. So at least five and a half years until my husband and I can start trying for kids. I'm only 28 now, so it's not like it's going to be a geriatric pregnancy, but we'd decided we were ready NOW.

I know everybody says that survival is a journey, and I guess I'm only starting now, but it seems like a really tired metaphor. So I guess I'm complaining a little/a lot, but things could be so much worse. One of my nephews has a preschool classmate with cancer. So at least I can understand what's going on. Also, I've got a really great support structure. I pretty much get to laze my way through treatment, sitting on the couch half the time. Work has been great, and someone is there to sub for me for about a week after each chemo session. Not having to worry about my job or insurance isn't something to take for granted, I know.

But I'm still sick of having cancer.

HATS!

Lately I'm really liking hats.  I got this one from Athleta and wore it to my third chemo:



Lots of people are wearing hats this time of year, which I guess is one good thing about going through chemo in the winter--it's easier to blend in. Not that I don't like my bald head, but I don't always feel like having everyone notice. I got three more Pistil hats online:







I rationalized it to Ken by pointing out that hats I can wear after cancer, while I won't wear the headwraps. He asked how often I wore hats *before* cancer, which wasn't the point at all.

I think I'll wear the last one for Thanksgiving, when we're going to dinner with a couple of friends.  Obviously they know my diagnosis, but I think I'd rather look like a pretentious, hat-wearing-during-the-meal-hipster than a cancer patient. I'm hoping I'll have enough energy to stay... long enough to eat some stuffing, anyway! Ken's making a pie and I'm making some potato rolls to bring, so I know there will be at least a couple things I can eat. This last cycle most protein, especially meat, has seemed really off-putting to me, so I've had a lot of mac and cheese (Ken makes it from Alton Brown's recipe).

Gratuitous mac and cheese shot now:

NOM.

Loving Sephora

There's nothing like losing your hair to make you want to accentuate what you have left.  My spending at Sephora has seen a significant uptick since I went bald.  I'm currently lemming this lipstick in "Caress Pink."  I've only heard descriptions of it on MakeupAlley, but I want it.  Should lipstick really cost $34?  Would it look that glamorous in my bag with old Kleenex and gum wrappers?  Questions for another day...


I went to a Look Good, Feel Better event a couple weeks ago, which was a disappointment.  The event was supposed to last two hours, but the person running it was 45 minutes late, and the rest of the time spent was mainly going over basic makeup application.  I shouldn't complain too much about getting free goodies, but making a special trip post-chemo took a lot of energy that I didn't have.  There were a couple nice items in the goody bag, but also things like a rancid MAC lip gloss.  I did meet a woman there who'd just finished reconstruction, and she let me take a look in the ladies room after the class.  I'm sure whoever else was in there thought there was something hinky going on, but it was really nice to be able to see the results in-person, instead of just photos online.

Hair loss, a photo journey

Starting point. Trying to grow it out. Note presence of boobs:



Shorter:


The mohawk:



Buzzed, with a shout-out:



All gone:

The Hair Post

Big changes hairwise.

First there was the blond:


Good for a Halloween costume as Mia Farrow in Rosemary's Baby.

Then I went brown:


Which was fun for a few days until my next chemo treatment:

(Mmm, cream soda ice chips) when I noticed it falling out.

I didn't want to wait for patchy bits, so Ken helped me buzz it off, with a mohawk in between:

and a special message:


I've got several hats/scarves from www.softhats.com. In fact, I've got the one they currently have up on their home page. They're really soft and easy to sleep in. I was surprised how cold my head gets without the hair!

Several women on the breast cancer forums have mentioned this, but if you've got cancer, http://www.franceluxe.com/ is an amazing website. They give away, completely free, a scarf to a cancer patient. I ordered this one:

Isn't it cute? It should be here in about four weeks. If you're interested, e-mail laurie@franceluxe.com. It sounded too good to be true, but I hear from several ladies on the boards that they've received one and that they're absolutely gorgeous.

Anyway, it the first day after my second treatment, and I'm feeling a lot better this time around. I don't know if it's that the procedure was less overwhelming the first time around or what. But being able to read an entire chapter of a book and type coherently are great, and I'll take it!

Cancer still sucks

I'm feeling a lot better since the last chemo treatment, but the day-to-day reminders of having cancer are wearing me down This weekend I was running a slight temperature and had a headache and neckache. Luckily, the temperature wasn't high enough to need to go to the emergency room. Today my port site has started aching and I'm a little worried it's somehow gotten infected. Just when I'm feeling better, little things like this remind me that I'm not healthy and normal. I guess I have to remember that I'm in it for the long haul and that there will be a lot of these ups and downs for a while.

Neupogen Injections (or, "How to make your husband prove he loves you, one injection at a time")

For size
Originally uploaded by meredithk02

Mmm, delicious caramelly Neopogen injections.

Here's what goes on with these (http://www.neupogen.com/pi.html):

Ken takes the needle out of the fridge about an hour ahead of time. It's optional to store it on top of delicious caramel marshmallows for motivation.



Ken warms it in his hand about ten minutes before injection time to let it get closer to body temperature.



Then swabs a fatty area with an alcohol wipe, counts to three, pokes the needle in, then slowly plunges it in. It only stings a little. I take Vicodin or Tylenol the following day to help with the bone pain.

Port scar, after six days

IMG_0512
Originally uploaded by meredithk02

In case anyone was wondering what they look like. No pain, but the scar is a little lumpy. The wire itself under the skin feels uncomfortable and spooky if I touch it, so I try not to! In case my Halloween costume this year doesn't work out, I'm going as "inexplicably-scarred-chest-lady." The mastectomy scars will really be the part that wows everyone. ;-)

Things NOT to say to someone with cancer

fatty
Originally uploaded by meredithk02

1. You're so lucky you caught it early. (Lucky! THAT'S the word I was looking for. I kept getting stuck on "my life is shitty.")
2. At least you're young. (Yes, it sucks for all those old people that have it. I sure showed them! or, if I'm feeling mean, Actually, the odds of surviving are lower when you're younger. Oh well)
3. My [fill-in-the-blank-relative] had it. And died. (I usually pause here to see if he or she will backtrack. Often not)
4. Let me know if there's anything I can do to help (really nice sentiment, but I'm too overwhelmed to come up with specifics).
5. Do they know WHY you got it? (Sadly, too much buttsex. If only we'd known)
6. Wow, most people your age don't have to deal with this.* (Only us "lucky" ones!)


Things I'd much rather hear:

1. I'm going to go buy you some chocolate.
2. That's really shitty.
3. What kind of chocolate should I buy you?
4. Here is an enormous bouquet of flowers. (Bonus points if these come to the office instead of my apartment where they'd be eaten and regurgitated by my cats).

I know most people are just asking the questions that come naturally, but asking someone with cancer why they think she got it can come off as really rude. Not quite as bad as asking someone with lung cancer if he or she smoked, but there's definitely a tinge of trying to find an explanation for why *this* person got cancer and you didn't, as if that'll protect you. Sometimes people just get cancer, without living near Chernobyl, having daily X-rays, a family history, eating Corn-Nuts all day, or having a mutant third boob.

*This one came from an oncology nurse. Srsly.

First day of chemo

IMG_0507
Originally uploaded by meredithk02

Here's the first day of chemo. We got there about 11 am (I got a late appointment so I could sleep in), went through some explanations, saline, steroids, anti-nausea drugs, and then the adriamycin and cytoxan. We finally left around 2ish.

Of course, a little shopping therapy...I got this bed jacket in emerald http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=31009992, so I could have something soft and comfy that would still give access to the port.

My little side-eye is due to the ickiness of the ice chips. I shouldn't complain, because they do have them there for you free, but they tasted pretty industrial, and when everything is going to tasty metallic and or slimy, fresh mountain spring ice chips would be better.

The red stuff going in there is the adriamycin (red kool-aid). It makes you pee orangey-red for a few days. Charming, right?

I'm awfully glad I had the port put in, even if it was a little sore. Compared to my sad arm bruises after the tests last week, a little soreness from the port is just fine.

Mastectomy Day (or, adios boobs!)

I had the bilateral mastectomy September 8th. I didn't have large breasts until my late teens, so I wasn't that attached to them. Emotionally attached, I mean...they were plenty physically attached! I went in for surgery September 8th planning to have a lat-flap transplant with implants (where they take some fat and muscle from your back and use it to cover a smaller silicone implant). Unfortunately, one of the sentinel nodes had cancerous cells, so the doctors canceled the reconstruction and closed me up with a skin-sparing mastectomy. All this time I'd been getting the worst diagnosis (not a cyst...not a fibroadenoma...cancer...grade 3...) that I figured I was due for some relatively good news at this stage: "The operation was great, and your new boobs will be amazing!" instead of "There was some cancer, so we weren't able to do the reconstruction." Ever wonder what a skin-sparing mastectomy looks like? Not particularly pretty.

The start of the shitty story

This summer, after seeing an adorable new niece and a friend about to have her first child, Ken and I got the baby bug. I'm 28 and we've been married for 7.5 years, so it's not as if anyone would have been shocked. Being overly responsibly, I made an appointment with my primary care physician to get all that womanly stuff checked out, then figured I'd go from there...eating a little better, exercising, using less meth (kidding on that last one).

While she was doing the exam, she found a lump in my right breast. Now, if you've read the blog's title, you probably have an idea where this is going, but humor me. Dr. said that at my age, it's almost certainly a cyst, but since it was right behind the nipple, that a surgeon should drain it before I get pregnant.

So I go to the surgeon, who says that it's not a cyst (and I get to see "it" under the ultrasound), but at my age it's almost certainly a fibroadenoma. I make an appointment to get it taken out, my only worry that it will take a few days to heal. Surgery goes fine, I'm healing up, then I get the call: cancer. All the baby-preparation mindwork goes out the window. Seriously? Cancer? I'm 28. That was Monday, August 17th.