FEELS SO GOOD TO BE FEELIN' GOOD AGAIN

You know when you've been sick for awhile and you've been feeling miserable and then one day you feel a little better, but it's so good to not feel awful you feel great? (huh?) Multiply that by a gazillion and that's me. Today I felt the best I've felt in months-- and it's only going to get better-- (in july anyway--and believe me, I'll take what I can get).
I'm on my way home from back-to-back trips to Fairfield, NJ and Midwest City, OK (I know, I know, I'm a jetsetter). Jim and I had the honor of attending Raj's traditional Indian wedding. It was a multi-day affair with lots of Bollywood music, dancing, and the most beautiful outfits I've ever seen. Wow. We're missing out with the whole "white wedding" tradition. We got to see a lot of Jim's old friends from when he lived in Dallas... we first saw them at one of the parties, when I was wearing my hair. "No one knows!" I whispered to jim, "How cool!" It was good and bad, because as nice as it was not to focus on it, I kinda wanted to take credit, y'know? It's like there was this huge (almost dead) monster in the room that was invisible to everyone else but me and jim.
But it's a lot easier to be asked "How ARE you?" when you have 7 years worth to answer for--including a trip around the world, marriage, multiple moves, jobs, a house, and 2 babies... helped to put everything into perspective. Cancer, someday, could be the thing that no one would ever guess about me. (right now it's the fact that I was in the Navy)
And did I mention I feel REALLY good? I must've been a Tasmanian devil before (funny, I don't remember being energetic?) because now I'm pretty much bouncing off the walls. Working all day. Staying up past 9pm. (wildandcrazygirl, i know).
I'm really looking forward to being home. Liam is taking his first steps when I finally have the energy to chase him. We get to go up to the mountains for a long weekend. The 4th of July has always been my favorite holiday...
What a difference a week (with no treatment!!!) makes.
(ithinki'llstayinColorado)

TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD YEAR

There is a great book, Alexander and the terrible, Horrible, No Good Very Bad Day, which starts:
"I went to sleep with gum in my mouth and now there's gum in my hair and when I got out of bed this morning I tripped on the skateboard and by mistake I dropped my sweater in the sink while the water was running and I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day...I think I'll move to Australia."

Here's my version:
I found out I had a really nasty aggressive cancer and had to have surgery and right after I started chemo liam had to go into the hospital and now he's on oxygen and all my hair fell out and then I learned I'm a mutant and need to get my boobs cut off and I'm so sick and tired I can't even take care of my kids and liam isn't getting better and has to go into the hospital for more tests and everyime I think I have everything under control something happens like this morning when I get to daycare and they tell me I have to take liam home because they think he has pinkeye and I can tell you it's been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad year.

I hate the concept that I am unlucky or cursed or whatever. That we are pitiable because bad stuff keeps happening to us. But on the other side, I'm getting really sick of being optimistic and looking at the bright side of everything and continuously getting crushed. I need to become a grumpy pessimist so I stop getting so damn disappointed. When I was talking to Liam's nurse last night, she kindly told me "you and jim are amazing," to which I replied, "why, because we haven't jumped off a cliff yet?" ...apparently I'm shifting into "anger" phase of the whole grief process. nifty.

So it didn't go as hoped with Liam on Friday. His Echocardiogram pressure measured similar/a little worse than last time, which means he's not improving as much as they'd hoped. To look at him though, you'd never guess it-- he has gained a ton of weight (3 lbs in the last month!) and is happy and active as ever. In any event, he goes into the hospital for a heart catherization, CT scan, blood work, and a bronchioscope on July 19th (overnight and under anethesthia) to hopefully get more definitive diagnosis and treatment plan. Likely he will be put on some oral medication. And of course, still, the oxygen.

I think part of the reason I'm so grumpy is because I think I just assumed that once I was DONE with chemo I would pretty much immediately be back to 100%. Seriously. The other night I was exhausted after having 6 friends and 3 kids over. I honestly was baffled why I was so tired. How's that for the definition of chemo brain? Also, my hormones are wrecked. I keep having hot flashes in the middle of meetings and covertly looking around and thinking "do you think these guys can tell that my body feels like it's about to spontaneously combust?" (they can't, i asked)

oh, sweet pink-eyed liam is up. gotta go (when exactly am I going to prepare for that big client meeting next week in Oklahoma?) *sigh* (ithinki'llmovetoaustralia)

----

p.s. lisa raised over $10k for the avon walk this weekend. Yeah her!!! Also, please take a sec to visit and comment on hilarious abigail's blog The Cancer Grrl. She starts chemo Thurs. Those of you who thought my West Side Story song adaptation was outdated will be impressed with her Madonna lyrics.

SING IT WITH ME NOW...

...mamma called the doctor and the doctor said "NO MORE MONKEYS JUMPIN' ON THE BED!!" (now if I could only get that song out of my mind...)
Wonderful Pammy joined me for my last chemo session and we amused ourselves doing (easy) crossword puzzles and decorating "chemo cookies" for the nursing staff. Carol stopped by to deliver "Bubbles" (monkey #8). Good fun was had by all.
Now I should be feeling better and better until (remark your calendars) July 28th, when I'm scheduled for belly boob surgery. Wow. 6 weeks. We should start a pool on what my new hair will look like. Hopefully the good news trend will continue, as tomorrow Liam has a follow-up appointment and tests to reevaluate if he still needs oxygen. (Fingers crossed)

In other news, it's been really hot here in denver and I've been going bare-headed more and more often. (I've got to tell you, temperature control is a huge advantage of not having hair) I'm still quite self-conscious with the general public, and pretty much limit my head-commando to at home, but, as Pam pointed out, I used to breast-feed pretty much anywhere, so you'd think I'd get over it. Also, last night, someone shattered our car window. Bummer, but I was pretty much completely unphased. It is only a car window, afterall. I truly hope I can maintain this perspective long after I forget this pain. (Fingers crossed)

A BEAUTIFUL MIND

The "lump" was NOTHING to worry about. Oh, happy, happy day. As my friend said, it's great for the medical community to confirm what we already knew, but still. (And medical personnel that tell you to call after noon to get test results and then are closed from 12-1 should be forced to wear those paper gowns for a week.)
Speaking of doctor's offices, we went to another plastic surgeon for a second opinion yesterday. This gentleman came very highly recommended from my surgeon, and she has never worked with the other guy I saw a few weeks ago, so I assumed that I would go with #2. When we walked into the office there was a lifelike mannequin/sculpture of a dancer in a leotard in front of a mirror. We were all (me, jim & my dad) taken aback. Then we were offered water bottles labeled with the firm's name and ushered through a secret door into the circle waiting room. Plaques adorned the walls about being the Best in Denver for all sorts of plastic surgery procedures along with a framed article about how the main doctor in the group had worked on none other than Dolly Parton herself. That alone should've tipped me off.
After an impressively short waiting time, we were next ushered into an office (props to this guy-- it's the first time that a consultation was conducted in an office instead of an exam room) but that's where the fun ended. Next an office assistant said I had to come back to get some photos taken. WHA?!? The pre-appointment paperwork had included a photo release which I had not signed, because, well, ick... so I asked if it was entirely necessary, and she assured me that it was.
I was brought back to the blue "photo room" that was complete with lights and shading umbrellas. I again asked the assistant if I needed to do this and why.
"The dr. needs to see them during the consultation," she answered.
"But my dad is going to be in the consultation," I told her.
"He can sit far away," she said.
Very reluctantly, I signed the photo release (I felt like I was in a bad Lifetime movie about a struggling actress about to do a porn shoot) and had to take off my top and pose for several pictures. "Face the front... face at an angle... face the sidewall... turn your back..."
It was incredibly demeaning and humiliating. Why did I allow this? What is it about going to the doctor that makes you lose all confidence and assertiveness? I do understand the potential point of medical photos, but do not believe they were justified in this instance. How come every time I think there's nothing else that can phase me I'm wrong?
When I got back (fairly stricken) to the office, we watched an interactive multi-media cd about breast reconstruction options. I had to answer questions at the end of each session... which eventually I stopped reading because all of the answers were "True." Then the doctor came in and went through everything with us. He was okay, but it turns out although he does the "belly boob" procedure, he doesn't use the more advanced, much less invasive procedure because the hospital at which he works doesn't have good enough microscopes. When we discussed it afterwards, we all agreed that this guy seemed competent, but obviously didn't focus on reconstruction procedures. After the consultation, he performed an exam during which I stood in front of a mirror (I'm a big fan of mirrors these days, let me tell you) and he took a series of TMI measurements, to which he made me feel I didn't measure up. This guy is obviously used to tweaking perfection, and I'm no model. The whole time I wanted to shake him and say YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT A BEAUTIFUL PERSON I AM.
He never looked at the pictures. Doctors suck.
In any event, I'm going with the other guy. It's always good to get second opinions though-- if nothing else to show how relatively good the other dr. is. I've decided to do the belly boob procedure (implants freak me out, and, honestly, the idea of a tummy tuck sounds like a good start to the "new me"). I'm tentatively scheduled for surgery July 15th (yes, a saturday, mark your calendars). We've still got some stuff to work out (like how/when to deal with my ovaries) but are farther down the path.
...and I am learning to be more and more assertive (beware whoever crosses me by the end of this whole experience)
...and the lump was NOTHING. Which ultimately, trumps any yukky doctor visit bigtime.

CONFIRMING THE PATH

Last week I found what I'm hesitant to call a "lump"-- it's smaller than a pea, under my right (i.e., my other) arm. I asked the surgeon and she said that, because of my history, they will take it out and check it just to be sure. She said it could be a lot of things. She said that because I am currently undergoing treatment it is very unlikely that it is a metastasis.
Here's what I heard: "blah blah blah metastasis blah blah blah". As clever as I've been told I am with words, I can not even begin to explain what a terrifying/horrifying concept that is to me. I have trouble even saying metastasis (and have to force myself to type it). Like I'm invoking lightning upon me or something (I'm reminded of college when I had to call marriage "the M word"). It's the concept of "nothing they can do" at that point. Even if I have another breast cancer. Even if I need chemo again. There are (albeit miserable) things I can do to get better. I have to get better.
The surgeon said if it is a metastasis, then I wouldn't need surgery because it wouldn't be worth it (!)-- to which I say BRING ON THE SURGERY.
It makes me wonder if this is the universe's way of confirming my path. In the past, I have been freakishly mature/nonchalant about test results (the ultrasound won't show anything... the biopsy will be benign... I won't have that gene mutation...) even if it was the worst case scenario (which it was) what was the point of worrying, I figured-- wasted energy, right?
When Jim and I were traveling around the world, I lost him for 4 days in Nepal. It's a funny story, now that I've found him-- and easy to play down how traumatic it was at the time. But to this day, if I'm not sure where he is, I pretty much freak out (in me standards, at least). It's like that part of me is somehow broken and I can no longer control my reactions.
This whole cancer thing has been a lot longer than 4 days, obviously. And waiting to get this test has made me realize that, eventhough I was champ before, I have (understandable) issues (now there's a euphemism) with dealing with the inevitable tests and probable scares. Thus, I need to do everything I possibly can to reduce my risk as much as possible.
Just please, please let me need surgery.