Sassy Dreams Awake

NORMAL IN THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER

Posted on August 28, 2011 by sassysheisme

I took a giant leap forward in my journey to return to “normal” this week: I put on a bra. Yes, for the first time in 2 1/2 months, I was able to expand my wardrobe past the five large, baggy shirts I’ve been confined to wear to conceal my braless status. If you’re a man, you have no idea what this means to a woman. After all, we wear this confining contraption for men and fashion and a host of other reasons.

I have always had a love/hate relationship with the bra. I love the lift a bra gives but I hate underwires. I love the clothes that a bra allows me to wear, but I love the freedom leaving the bra behind gives me. Wearing a bra on brand new skin when it’s over 100 degrees out isn’t necessarily the best plan, but I managed to get through it without needing any new skin. I did ache a little after work. It wasn’t the best feeling in the world, but it was time to rejoin the world as a “properly” dressed woman.

I’ve started meeting with a nutritionist to deal with the weight issue. Surprisingly, I do not eat enough calories in the day, but even so, I find it nearly impossible to lose a significant amount of weight even when I make the effort. I have seen an endocrinologist and the medication I am on for my thyroid is keeping my levels fairly normal, so we are keeping on that track until I have a 3-month checkup in November.

My energy level increases every day and I feel better each day in general as well. I started taking Tamoxifen a week ago and it has delivered the four side effects I really could do without – road blocks to energy level (fatigue, but so far not as much as the radiation delivered), upset stomach/ZERO appetite, headaches and hot flashes. Hot flashes in 100+ degree weather is not fun. Having zero appetite when I’m supposed to be eating MORE makes it very difficult to make myself eat, though I’m trying to eat as the nutritionist instructs. Upset stomach and headaches do not help me get motivated to exercise, but I’m pushing as much as I can. I’ve been told these symptoms should dissipate over the coming weeks. I certainly hope so!

I also need to be patient with myself. I’ve been on a rush to get back to normal, but after four work nights in a row of not getting home until after 8 pm (and then trying to eat right) I was exhausted. The rest of my life will have to unfold a little more slowly if I want it to unfold for the long haul.

Uncategorized

TIME TO GET BACK INTO THE GROOVE

Posted on July 30, 2011 by sassysheisme

Since I wrote last, I have gone through surgery and radiation therapy to treat my breast cancer. You can read about that journey on my personal blog.

I need to pick up where I left off and steamroll into fall with saturating myself with creative projects, both in writing and photography. I believe those projects will help keep me sane as I endeavor to regain control of my health. Stay tuned for updates!

breast cancer

SASSY AND THE CHAMBER OF RADIATION

Posted on July 30, 2011 by sassysheisme

Thursday I had my final radiation treatment. 33 treatments in total. Just this short time later, the nerves are finally calming, the pain is lessening, and the burns are healing. I am on my way to having my body, brain, and life back.

The last day of treatment for a cancer patient is both exciting and sad. I was so happy my treatments were over, that now I get to have my afternoons and evenings back for other things other than treatments, work or resting. I will actually be able to get back to all the writing, photography and other plans that were derailed in April. It hardly seems possible that almost four months has flown by since the initial mammogram that set all this in motion, but I will gladly take what these last four months have given me – perspective and insight on my life that has been saved from cancer.

Given all that I was excited about Thursday, I was also sad that my days would no longer include trips to visit those work at the chamber of radiation. Each person I encountered always smiled, had positive things to say, and were huge sources of encouragement. I hugged and chatted with everyone as I left, but as I was leaving, I was especially sad to leave AJ, the receptionist. I have never met a receptionist who actually viewed their duty as a calling rather than a job. AJ always greets with a smile and can lift spirits of those who are facing the dark realities of their condition. One day when he was not at the office, I walked in just as the lady who delivers the mail said, “He’s not here?” and I saw her shoulders droop. “He can always turn my day around.” These are the people I am leaving behind to return to my life.

I’m certain I will be more prolific at what I’ve learned the past four months in the coming days. I’m still wrapping my brain around the fact that I am no longer a visitor to the chamber of radiation and I sincerely hope this is my final tour through the ordeal of cancer. I know many people right now who are facing a breast cancer far more fierce, who are losing but still fighting. Each person who navigates this road will have a completely different experience and set of circumstances, and if I ask of you only one thing is not to compare one person’s experience with cancer with another as I have tried to do the same.

This journey, as I have been reminded, is far from over. There are follow-up appointments and regular visits to the oncologist in the coming years that will ensure I do not forget my life is no longer the same. I will, however, continue to do what I need to do so the cancer does not return.

I do not wish to return to the chamber of radiation – ever.

Now, I am going to try and figure out what to do next!

Harry Potter

SAYING GOODBYE TO THE BOY WHO LIVED (SPOILERS)

Posted on July 16, 2011 by sassysheisme

I started my journey with Harry Potter four years after the rest of the world. Ten and a half years ago, I was sitting in a waiting room at the Indiana University Medical Center with one of my brother’s nephews. He was reading a book called, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone and he was devouring it like it was his favorite ice cream. His mother asked me if I’d read the books, and I hadn’t, but I’d heard a great deal about the book series – mostly negative. The enthusiasm of this little boy stirred my curiosity so much that when he’d finished the book and asked if I wanted to read it, I said yes, and my journey with Harry Potter began.

After reading the first book in the series (while my brother’s nephew sat next to me and eagerly read Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets) I was so enthusiastic about Harry’s story that one of my friends ran out and bought all the books (Goblet of Fire had just been released) and stuffed them in my suitcase. The next three books, I went with my friend Jene’ to midnight release parties at Borders and read them in the first 24 hours after I had them in my hands so I would not have to go live in a cave to avoid spoilers.

The creator of the Harry Potter series, JK Rowling, created a character so rich, so flawed, so complicated and so inspiring that the world has gladly spent the last 14 years journeying with Harry through 7 books (not including the side books like Tales of Beedle the Bard) and 8 movies. Each time I’ve left the theater I couldn’t wait to see what lay ahead for Harry. Since 2007, I’ve known how the series would end, but today, I saw the final saga, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (part 2).

Reading a book and knowing how the story would end, there were no surprises for me, but seeing the story (and what an excellent job screenwriter Steve Kloves did with it) fleshed out so vividly made the wait for the movie worth it. My favorite movie in the entire series had been Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban until today. Today, something happened that hadn’t happened that has not happened for me during a movie in years, and never during one of the Harry Potter movies, not even when Cedric Diggory died – I cried.

I cried a lot during this film, actually. The ladies next to me cried, one even wept openly during several scenes and asked me if I needed a tissue at one point. I was touched by several things in the movie, especially when Harry walked through the great hall during the battle of Hogwarts and saw all the people who had been sacrificed fighting for what they believed in. I started crying when I saw George weeping over Fred’s lifeless body, but lost it completely when I saw Lupin and Tonks lying next to each other, knowing they had left behind an infant who would never know his parents, just like Harry.

The scenes explaining the loyalty, bravery, and exceptional love of Severus Snape were touching for nearly everyone in the theater. When Harry was collecting the memories from Snape and Snape reached up and touched Harry’s face and said, “You have your mother’s eyes,” before Harry even went to the pensieve, Harry knew, deep down inside, that Snape was good. I could tell who hadn’t read the books because there were gasps as Snape’s story unfolded – of how much he loved Lily Potter and wept over her dead body as Harry cried in his crib, of how Dumbledore trusted Snape and asked him to kill him so that he could get even closer to Voldemort, and how, even as Dumbledore reveals that Harry must die, that Snape had grown fond of Harry, and found Dumbledore’s preparing of Harry as a pig to slaughter disgusting. Dumbledore finally realized that Snape has loved Lily Potter all this time and will, “always.”

One of the moments that got most cheers was when Molly Weasley duels Bellatrix Lestrange after Bellatrix tries to kill Ginny. It was worth waiting for. “Not my daughter, you, BITCH!” Molly, a softly padded wizarding family housewife and mother of seven, rises to the occasion and Bellatrix is outmatched and dies with the smirk wiped off her face and dissolved into the air.

When Harry walks toward the forbidden forest to confront Voldemort, he opens the snitch and says, “I am ready to die.” How many 17 year-olds know what self-sacrifice or any kind of sacrifice truly is? Harry walks toward death willingly, believing he must do so so that Voldemort can finally be defeated and the world will be safe. When he opened the snitch, he called his parents, Sirius, and Lupin back from the dead. The calm and quiet that surrounded him was felt in the theater. People were on the edge of their seats. Waiting. Knowing what would happen next.

Voldemort kills Harry, at least the part of him that lived in Harry. Voldemort’s victory is only truly cheered by the worst of the worst, Bellatrix Lestrange and a few others. Voldemort asks the students and the adults who had come to fight for Harry who will join him. Only Draco Malfoy crosses the line, but not after hesitating for what seemed like a long time. He had been torn, even since he was charged to kill Dumbledore in The Half Blood Prince, between doing what is expected (evil) versus what he believes to be right. Harry saved his life in the castle, and Draco knows where his loyalty should lie, but he finally walks toward his parents. Instead of waiting around with Voldemort to celebrate, the battered family walks away. They do not belong on either side any more. All they have left is each other. Through the three brilliant actors who played the Malfoys, you felt every struggle, torment, regret, and defeat.

One character everyone has waited to see have his big moment is Neville Longbottom. After Draco Malfoy walks away with his parents, he steps up and steels himself while Voldemort mocks him. Then, Neville, tired and injured, says that even though Harry’s dead, the cause for freedom and doing what’s right isn’t. He was ready to lead the charge and eventually gets to kill the snake, Nagini, the last horcrux. When he does, Harry is able to defeat Voldemort once and for all.

The movie ends with the epilogue that was in the 7th book, “19 Years Later.” Harry and Ginny are married and have three kids and Ron and Hermione have two kids. Three of the children, James and Albus Potter, and Rose Weasley, are going back to school at Hogwarts. It was a satisfying moment to see something so normal and touching happening for these families and it was happening because of Harry’s sacrifice and willingness to confront evil, and the willingness of others to stand with him.

Very few movies end with applause, but the people in the theater clapped and then got up and left before the credits started to roll. I couldn’t move. I sat and watched the credits (which reads like a who’s who of British thespian royalty) and I was one of two people in the theater. I watched until the very last words faded off the screen. I stood on the stairs with another lady about my age and she said, “I can’t believe it’s over.” I walked out into the lobby and thought I was walking through a funeral home. People of all ages who had just seen the movie were grieving, in a way. The character of Harry Potter will live on through books and movies and memory, but his character will no longer develop, at least not in print.

As someone who loves stories and rich, deep characters, Harry Potter has been a favorite of mine for the last ten years. JK Rowling has created a character and a world that has touched the imaginations of millions of people. She is definitely talented but I don’t think lightning will strike twice with her, though I hope she writes more enjoyable stories. Many people will try to fill Harry’s shoes with Harry-like characters, but there will never be another story quite like his.

It’s time for a new story, a new character to love, but it will take a while. I will miss reading about the boy who lived and watching him fight for what is right – larger than life on the big screen. I will revisit his story from time to time and loathe Hollywood for rebooting the series in thirty years (gnargles will be behind it all).

Goodbye, Harry Potter, and all that you journeyed with. It’s been a pleasure. Thank you, JK Rowling, for sharing Harry with us.

breast cancer

TALES FROM THE DRESSING ROOM

Posted on July 12, 2011October 30, 2012 by sassysheisme

I’m more than halfway through my treatments and let’s just say my skin is in full revolt. Most nights, my skin is crawling and there isn’t much I can do to soothe it. Radiation doesn’t mix with most salves. I keep telling myself this is just a season, but it’s been a long one. Three months in and I can’t wait to wear a bra again, or to wear my girly clothes, or even to have time to go to the dentist. Even after my treatments are over, I will still have another waiting period of healing, much like you have to wait to eat your food for a few minutes after microwaving it because it’s technically still heating, but at least I’ll be almost finished cooking.

People rotate in and out of radiation treatment. I meet someone, I make a connection, and then Monday happens and they are no longer in treatment. I may never know what happens to them, I just have to trust that they return to their lives and live them to the full.

Take Hazel for example (not her real name). Hazel is a lady that I shared the waiting/dressing room with for about three weeks. She is older, somewhere in her 60’s, and she has returned to work. She’s been through chemo or hell, however you choose to package it. Hazel didn’t talk much the first week and didn’t smile much at all. Someone with that disposition might as well hang a sign around their neck that says, “I dare you.” I love those kinds of dares.

One day the wait was a little long, so I took her dare and complimented the shiny hat that covered the bit of hair that had grown back from her stint with chemo. The tip of the iceberg crashed to the floor.

I’m amazed at how quickly after a diagnosis patients are whisked through chemo and radiation, and Hazel was no different. She told the doctor she had a family vacation she wanted to take before she started treatment and delayed chemo for two weeks. The vacation was with family overseas and she was determined to take it because it might be her last vacation for a while, or in her opinion, ever.

I told her that we should take all the opportunities we can to live life to the fullest because we are survivors. Her countenance clouded, then she said, “everyone keeps telling me I’m a survivor. I’m sitting in here waiting for radiation… and… I don’t feel like a survivor.”

My Sassy filter did not deploy, but since I’ve determined from watching all 7 Harry Potter movies Saturday and Sunday that my brain has wrackspurts (aka radiation brain), I was not surprised that I said, “Hazel, you’re a survivor until they pull the sheet over your head.”

Since we were not alone, I waited for a gasp, chastisement, or even disgust. Instead, the person just within earshot was amused and Hazel’s eyes ere wide. Then, for the first time since I’d been trying to get to know anything about Hazel, she started to laugh, a deep, heartfelt laugh.

“I’m going to tell my kids that one.”

She smiled Friday when I saw her, and I got her to laugh again by telling her, as she feverishly worked on a crossword puzzle, that I had been to crossword rehab (I’m not proud of it!) and only recently had been released to play Scrabble again. She kept giggling and it was music to my ears.

This week, her treatments were over, and I haven’t seen her since. I hope she is on her way to good health, that she gets to fill towers of crossword puzzles, take more trips and laugh.

After all, we’re all survivors until they pull the sheet over our heads, and even then, some of us know what’s hidden behind the veil.

Until then, I need to get back to my Scrabble game.

breast cancer

DON’T STARE INTO THE LASER

Posted on June 17, 2011October 30, 2012 by sassysheisme

My whirlwind tour through breast cancer treatment continued this week with the beginning of radiation therapy. Nothing ever really prepares a person for what lies ahead, no matter how much reading, studying, asking, praying or preparing is done. What can really be done to prepare for fatigue and nausea? Not much. What prepares you for the command to not wear a bra or deodorant and the self-consciousness and discomfort that goes with it? Not much, especially when the temperature gauge reads 100 degrees every day.

So I cope, as usual, with a camera or a pen in my hand.

Monday, June 6, I went in for my “fitting” for the form they make for the radiation table. They put me in this machine (which is a CAT/MRI type machine) and took some pictures.

The entire facility is practically brand new and the staff is very friendly. They welcome questions and give you answers in any detail you like. They rolled me back in to the machine and I saw this sign that told me not to stare into the laser beam. For anyone that knows me, my eyes see signs like this and my brain says, “you know you HAVE to look.”

I refrained, however, because I know that lasers can hurt the eyes, and Lord knows I need them for many things, including taking photos.

The master of the MRI domain, G, lined me up on the table so he could get the readings to make the mold that would hold me in place. Then he marked on me with permanent marker, and then stabbed, rather, tattooed me in three strategic spots that they will be using the next six weeks to line me up with the laser. I have a tattoo, and that one didn’t hurt at all. In G’s defense I’m not sure this can be done any more gently to make the dot, and he even said it would sting like a mosquito. I’m not sure what mosquitoes he’s come in contact with! He did the second one and it hurt so bad, had I not been holding a foam doughnut above my head, he said I looked as if I wanted to punch him. G is very observant.

This Monday, the 13th, I had a final fitting for the foam form and they wrote all over me with permanent marker for further guides to line me up on the radiation machine. It felt like they were playing tic-tac-toe on my stomach. I was giggling because the marker tickled and someone made a comment about me being ticklish and Sassy (they like the tattoo). They put stickers over the marker so it won’t wash off, so I have many lines and X’s in addition to the three tattoo marks. I mentioned that if they did that again, I wanted an X in the center square.

I asked V (radiation team) if I could take photos and explained I wanted to chronicle my journey in pictures. He agreed that as long as I didn’t take photos of people I could shoot away. I was very grateful and the next day I took my camera around and took pictures while I waited. Taking photos is very therapeutic for me.

This is one of three dressing rooms in the waiting room. Once you get called back there, there usually isn’t much waiting until they come and take you to the radiation chamber.

The radiation chamber is behind this door, which is at least two feet thick.

The radiation machine has lots of pretty lasers as well.

I have no idea what any of this means, but they do, which is the important thing.

I’m actually on the table less than ten minutes, but it’s interesting how much happens to cells in that amount of time. In 5 treatments I can see my skin reddening, so who knows what is happening under the skin’s surface. After the third treatment, I have experienced a period of nausea, and by the end of the day I’m wiped out.

One week down, five to go. I’ve read the side effects grow worse as time goes on, so that’s on my mind as I try and rest this weekend. It’s so difficult for me to allow others to do things for me, but I am grateful for the help I’ve received so far.

I was asked if I’d been directed to a counselor through this ordeal. I haven’t, but I think that’s because I explained to my oncologist that I am surrounded by a wonderful community and am blessed to have them around me – I have a lot of ears to listen and many shoulders to cry on. I’ve never been good at pampering myself but I’m trying to do that, and to allow others to pamper me as well.

I appreciate all the thoughts and prayers on my behalf. Please pray for the others I come in contact with daily. I am one of the few getting treatment who hasn’t been through chemo already. Some have good attitudes, some are already defeated and going through the motions. I am also not the youngest one there. Some bring their kids now that summer break is here and they wait while their precious mommies or grandmothers get treatment. All of them have already learned the art of waiting for an indefinite amount of time, somewhat resigned to this routine.

Also pray for the staff. I have never been on a medical journey like this one, but I am amazed at the compassion and smiles I receive every day. The receptionist is so chipper and kind I want to hug him and tell him how much his smile and spirit mean to me. Maybe over the next few weeks I will.

breast cancer, health

ROLL THE DICE, MOVE THREE SPACES

Posted on May 30, 2011 by sassysheisme

I have been at the doctor’s office at least once a week for the last eight weeks. I met with the oncologist this week, a 3-hour appointment that left me exhausted, but hopeful. I answered questions, filled out forms, had a complete physical exam, and they drew blood. Marking where I am physically before I begin radiation treatment took longer than I thought, and I have a 2-hour appointment with the radiologist on Wednesday. I am grateful, though, to get closer to action, rather than information gathering and assessment.

A week ago Friday, I got the news that the tissue they removed during my lumpectomy included a 2mm tissue sample of Stage 1 aggressive cancer. I spent the weekend very troubled, because this news, in my mind, made me skip a few spaces toward chemotherapy. I believed that because I thought I would test positive for BRCA gene mutation, which would put me at high, high risk for recurrence and the doctors would want to do whatever was necessary to lower that risk.

Monday, however, the doctor called to give me the news that would move me back a few spaces away from chemo. I tested negative for the BRCA gene mutation. I was more in shock by that news than the news I was now advanced to Stage 1. That relief was much needed in the midst of the weight of uncertainty. I hadn’t even given a negative result a second thought. I felt like I’d been given a free roll of the dice. Move ahead six spaces past chemo.

The oncologist and I talked about another issue that needed addressed: my weight. My cancer is estrogen positive which means my fat cells are the enemy. I also have to navigate a new diet tailored to reduce the risk of breast cancer recurrence. All I have to say is, “no bacon.” I will be seeing a nutritionist in August after radiation so I can get started on that as soon as possible. In the meantime, I have been looking into vegetarian dishes on my own.

So that’s where everything stands. I will most likely start radiation in a couple of weeks. I will take treatment every day, five days a week for six weeks. That will take me through to the end of July, and then I will see the oncologist again. To me, it all seems like a random roll of the dice, but I know God has it under control.

breast cancer

OFF THE HOOK

Posted on May 15, 2011 by sassysheisme

Tomorrow I will know for certain, but my surgery was an apparent success. The pathology report from the tissue they took may not be back in time for the appointment, but I seem to be healing quite nicely, and the wound is now 8 colors or less. Go me.

I woke up Tuesday morning at 5:15 AM, unable to eat or drink anything, including coffee. Jene’ retrieved me at 6:30 and she drove me down to the medical center. Without coffee, the trip seemed like a dream. The sun started to rise but I was barely lucid. For example, in the parking garage, there are only 11 floors, and I was told to report in to the 15th floor, so the elevator caused me great confusion. Thank goodness Jene’ had been there before and handles mornings and numbers better than I do.

I reported in on the 15th floor around 7:15 and began a long day of waiting. They explained to me there were others ahead of me on the surgery schedule and I probably wouldn’t have the wire insertion until after 9 or so and told us to go up to the 16th floor for that procedure, where we…waited.

I had previously stated that the stereotactic biopsy was the weirdest medical procedure I’d experienced, but that was because I had not yet experienced the wonderfully surreal wire insertion that preceded my surgery.

I don’t remember the technical term, but a doctor inserts a wire anchor/hook (6+ inches long) into your breast at the exact spot the surgeon needs to remove tissue. I am sure medical people know why the wire is more important and exact than an “x” marks the spot, but apparently, this procedure is a must for accurate breast-tissue removal surgery.

I went in and sat in a chair and they pushed me forward and put my breast in the mammogram vice grip before the lidocaine (which I think the lidocaine should be inserted before compression of this magnitude) and positioned me for the procedure. I was instructed to hold still, not move, barely breathe, while they took pictures and aligned my cancer cells to a grid. Then the lidocaine was applied (thank God) and the wire hook inserted. I was praised for being a good (blood) clotter.

To try to assign pain levels to such a procedure is folly, even with the pain killer – they have the breast in a vice grip and they hook the area like you’re catfish and then they leave it there. The wire stuck out at least 6 inches like a fishing line, and to make sure I was “hooked” securely the doctor tugged a few times. I felt like I’d been fishing with my brothers and there’d been an unfortunate accident (or one of my older brother’s “let’s see what this does!” experiments gone wrong).

I got a cheer for enduring the procedure as the doctor wrapped the wire in a spiral around the anchor/hook and taped it down so I could put on a gown and be taken back to the 15th floor. The gowns come in two sizes – for tiny, small people with no curves, and pup tent sizes. I was double gowned in the pup tent size, which I could have fit two or more people inside. It quite resembled a choir gown and I wanted to bust out a, “Hallelujah Chorus,” except that I had a wire sticking out of my breast and I still hadn’t had any caffeine.

They took me to the pre-op area where I waited a couple of hours for my surgery. Jene’ waited with me and I was visited by a long line of nurses, residents, anesthesiologists, and the surgeon. My friend Michelle, who works at the Children’s hospital, came to visit me, too. Finally, after what seemed like an endless morning laying there with the end of the hook poking me in the arm, the surgeon and the anesthesiologist returned and started the IV of sleepy-time tonic. Jene’ said that I spoke after that, but I do not remember anything until I woke up in the recovery area. I was very thankful to be “off the hook.”

There was a man there in scrubs checking my vitals and Jene’ was sitting next to me. I felt like I’d taken a nap but didn’t rest. I was finally able to drink some water and eat a couple of oatmeal bars and then the nice man in the scrubs shot me up with demerol. He told me I could leave when I could prove I could pee. I had motivation and a bottle of water.

I kept looking down at my arm (groggily) and being surprised it was blue (the anesthetic wash). I was surprised by this several times, for several hours as the demerol wore off. Finally, I was able to use the restroom, and then I got dressed and was whisked out to Jene’s car in a wheelchair (demerol does a nice job of making your legs feel like wobbly gelatin).

We went straight to the pharmacy and we were there for over an hour because the resident who filled out the prescription for my vicodin (a narcotic) did not put the required DEA# on it, so we waited (and waited) while Jene’ tried to get all that worked out. I am still going to address this with my doctor, as I had to wait an agonizingly long time for pain relief and they need a better way to get in touch with the doctors after 4 PM.

We finally got home, I took meds and eventually climbed into bed at 10:30, sleeping with a wall of pillows around me so I wouldn’t roll over. I stayed home and medicated the next day, then worked the next two days (doctor said I could if I didn’t overdo it) and have rested the rest of the weekend. There’s a little discomfort left, but not much. Just in time for round 3.

breast cancer, Yahweh's fingerprints

WARRIORS IN PINK

Posted on May 5, 2011 by sassysheisme

April 1st I got a mammogram. I’ve been getting them for seven years now. Every year I am grateful for good results, considering how breast cancer has ravaged my family.

This year, April melted into a slow parade of doctor’s appointments, highlighted by a stereotactic biopsy, which goes down in my personal history as my weirdest medical procedure yet. The biopsy came back ER (estrogen receptor) and PR (progesterone receptor) positive, Stage 0 (Zero). In other terms, it’s like getting assigned a 5K while most other people diagnosed with breast cancer have to run an entire marathon whether they are prepared for it or not.

Breast cancer is one family badge I didn’t want, not that anyone ever wants it. I was tested last week for the BRCA gene, which will give a clearer picture about the road of treatment I need to travel. As all this unfolds, people will see that this is a complete, life-changing event, one I hope I can weather with grace and courage rather than fear and misery.

I feel like the trajectory of my life has been forever altered, either knocked sideways by a pair of pink boulders or a breeze from a pair of pink butterfly wings. Only time will tell which. God will have to show me the meaning in all this, because right now, I’m still on autopilot, numbed by the shock. I have breast cancer.

I’ve rather hated the color pink my entire life. Yes, my mother bought me pink clothes as much as possible, but I had a deep dislike for pink. Pink meant “all girl.” I was almost sad when the color that represented the fight against breast cancer was pink (though I totally get why it is). Now, suddenly, find myself at the Susan G. Komen website looking at endless pages of items made in pink. Suddenly, I don’t mind pink so much (though truthfully, I don’t wear pink well, but maybe some pink accessories?).

Still, I know, I’ve witnessed the real warriors in pink: some who get a much, much, much worse diagnosis and live to tell the tale or fight like hell until they can’t fight anymore. I arrive on the radar at Stage 0. I won’t even have to walk through the hell that is chemotherapy. I get to go through the purgatory of radiation only instead. I get to keep my hair. I get to live on. I have breast cancer, but I’m not going to die – not now, and not for a long time if I have anything to say about it.

I have surgery Tuesday morning to remove tissue to make sure all of the cancer has been removed, then the carousel moves onward to radiation therapy and whatever else they throw at me to reduce the risk of this horrible disease ever coming back.

Uncategorized

MIDLIFE CRISES AND EYELASH EXTENSIONS

Posted on April 22, 2011 by sassysheisme

I had a biopsy Monday to determine whether something on my mammogram is something to worry about or not. I’ve actually quite forgotten the results, because, quite frankly, I’ve been dealing with the 1 cm hole left behind, some bleeding and some pain and… the hole. It’s not been terribly painful, just annoying pain, but it’s surprising how distracting the list of things one cannot do until this wound has healed can be. I’m grateful that today I can wield a hairdryer without pain, but I digress.

I went to get a manipedi today. I had the day off and we got paid, and after the week I’ve had, I felt like getting pampered, and my feet looked awful.

I sat across from a trio of ladies who obviously lived in the wealthy neighborhood nearby. Apparently all three ladies had weekly appointments at the spa. Two of them (Lady A & Lady B) seemed to attend together and the other just happened to be there at the same time.

I’d never seen so many designer brands on a single human being before. I don’t run in those circles, and with my funds, I just want quality. I don’t care who made it or what the tag says. All three of these ladies were blonde, one perhaps naturally, and all three had perfectly straight white teeth and smooth, tanned skin. I judged them to be close to my age. All three had school-age children and knew each other through their kids and activities. All three were of similar age, build, and intelligence (very smart). It was as if someone had stamped them out of the trophy wife mold. They were, in most ways, “perfect,” as is relative to their world.

Don’t get me wrong, I have no problems with trophy wives. It’s a centuries-old tradition, and who doesn’t want to look good for the man in their life? Besides, they all seemed happy and content with their lives. To each their own.

I couldn’t help but notice, however, that the content of their conversation centered around how they looked and what they did to maintain their looks. At least it seemed that way with Lady A & Lady B. Lady C tried to steer the conversation toward the shining light of their lives – their children – but got sucked back into beautification as they started talking about 3 hour protein treatments for their hair, and not, in fact, hair extensions.

Lady A, in the first chair, was wearing a designer outfit that Lady C complimented and immediately Lady A threw out the designer name. During the course of their conversation about maintaining their level of beauty it was discovered Lady A and Lady B had eyelash extensions.

Eyelash extensions.

Lady A said that was the only procedure she’d have for vanity, but as she got her nails and toes done, they talked about her makeup and tan and said something about permanent makeup. Lady B laughed and said that Lady A could just roll out of bed ready to go and then confessed she’d also had eyelash extensions. Lady C blinked a few times, looked closely at Lady B’s eyelashes and said, “but…they’re all clumped together.”

Lady A suggested it was time for an eyelash extension refill and Lady C asked about her real eyelashes and would there be damage.

This conversation happened so naturally, but I sat there wishing I had a Trophy Wife Translator. I also had to resist the urge to jump in the conversation and ask just why would one get eyelash extensions and just how much did all their beautification cost? Instead, I just sat there and let the conversation unfold.

Lady C said something about the eyelashes and Lady A mentioned them in reference to a midlife crisis and her 40th birthday coming up. She was trying to participate in a conversation that didn’t make as much sense to her as she thought perhaps it should have. Either that, or she was happy with herself and wondered if someday, she too, would resort to something like eyelash extensions to extend her youth.

Lady B laughed at the mention of midlife crisis and said that they were already planning an all female getaway somewhere farway south, somewhere warm and beachy for their 40th birthday parties. As they hurried to leave (some child had to attend a birthday party) they said that they would get together soon to discuss their midlife crisis birthday getaways.

I think I missed something. I haven’t yet had a midlife crisis and I’m at least two years older than these ladies. I also haven’t felt the need to get eyelash extensions or permanent makeup. Maybe that means I’m going to live longer, since I have yet to reach the point in my life when I am in “crisis” because I might be in the middle of my life and think of the second half of my life as downhill. I guess it’s because my life has been on an uphill swing the last 7 years or so that I want to embrace all that being older brings, because for me, despite more aches and pains and the occasional slowdown, life just keeps getting better.

I’ve seen many quarter-life crises when people reach 25 and wonder why their life isn’t unfolding as they thought. The quarter-life crisis is more about anticipation and impatience. The midlife crisis is about “what if,” and “why didn’t I?” and holding onto the loss of youth.

I see men act out all the time with the cars and younger women and hair implants, but this is the first time I’ve seen it from the women’s perspective this closely. It’s never dawned on me to get eyelash extensions to look younger. I suppose in a few years when wrinkles catch up with me I might feel differently, but I’d like to think even then I’d rather my actions make me seem younger than my appearance. I’d rather be young at heart than young on the surface.

As I left the spa, I felt relaxed and renewed. Maybe manipedis have helped me avert my midlife crisis so far. Who knows? I’ll let you know if I ever get to my crisis and you know you’ll hear about it right here.