So...had my 4 month follow up today with my wonderful onconlogist. She took the opportunity to remind me of the ugliness of Triple Negative disease.
Two words: Brain and liver.
Thanks a bunch, Dr. Campbell.
We won't do quarterly scans as previously planned because recent studies show they cause more wild goose chases than true maligancies. So how do we know if the cancer has set up shop? We wait. For something to hurt.
No kidding. There are no tests. "Just let me know if something begins to hurt"....she says. Alrighty. I have a 'lil headache this afternoon. Should we move forward with a brain scan or just assume its the changing weather? I vote for weather.
Cancer centers are very surreal places. Humor is twisted there. Things that are definately not funny in the real world are a serious hoot in the world of cancer treatment.
Something that really tickled my funny bone today: Prostethic nipples. WHOEVER would have guessed there is such a thing? Instead of gathering loose skin from my back to create a lifelike nipple, or instead of painting on a 3D tatooed nipple....we can just stick these little but incredibly life like pasties in a likely place and call it a day.
Take a look:
$40 a pair. I'll take two.
And yes. My blown up boobs are lopsidded and uneven. And hard as bricks. But just wait a few weeks for the real things. March 12. New boobs coming right up. New nipples too!
Can't wait!
Now we're getting some where. Finally. Scheduled my next (and best!) surgery for March 12. One day after my baby's birthday. That's fitting.
It's called an exchange or swap surgery because we swap these horrid expanders for real implants. Nice, soft implants. Breasts that move around rather than stick to my chest like Madonna's cone bra. Not only will they look more natural but best of all they feel more natural.
Scheduling this surgery has made a significant difference in my outlook. I'm excited about this surgery. What sort of fool is actually excited about having surgery? This one.
So I thought I was getting off fairly light in terms of emotional fall out from the trauma of the past year. I thought I was just going to move on with my life like nothing happened once the treatment and reconstruction was behind me. Just a bad memory, you know.
Silly me.
I'm starting to realize just how angry I really am that this happened to me. Maybe its cumulative...maybe its anger piled on top of anger from my various life traumas, not just cancer. Maybe, I dunno.
I do know I'm pissed. I recognized that fully this week when speaking with a therapist. It was our first meeting. As I told my tale of woe I realized I was spewing an awful lot of venom at the plastic surgeon, who suggested a few weeks ago that I might need to see someone. He was concerned that I cry like a baby every time I'm in his office. I assured him that I don't cry like that on a regular basis. He is special - he gets a bird's eye view of my meltdowns.
I like my plastic surgeon. Or at least I thought I did. His constant parade of vain self-absorbed patients who see him for face lifts, butt lifts, and bigger boobs really annoy me. His vanity patients, I call them. I'm different from them. Not only do I not give a rip about where my butt sits on my behind, but I've been too wrapped up in not dying for the past year to worry about any wrinkles that might be gathering under my eyes. Who cares about a few frown lines when you don't even have hair?
Everyone who works in his office from his receptionist to his nurse is drop dead gorgeous. I guess it's a PR thing. They are all very nice, but what does a 20-something with big brown eyes, perky boobs and killer legs know about life?? They don't know shit.
Then there's his condescending attitude when I gripe about how much the expanders hurt or how I can't sleep because of them. The last time I told him I wasn't sleeping well, he suggested I see my family doctor. I just cocked my head and asked why I should see yet another doctor to fix something he (the plastic surgeon) is causing? That seemed so stupid to me.
The final straw was when he looked me close in the eye and said "I think you're depressed". Really? Is that your professional opinion? Or are you just sick of having to deal with my tears every single time you see me? Are you pawning me off on someone else? Again?
The Cancer Center was very good at always making sure I knew what to expect. Or not expect. They made sure I was informed and they acted immediately when I called to complain about one thing or the other. They paid attention and responded. My oncologist looks at me when I talk to her. Unlike the plastic surgeon, who is probably too wrapped up in the beauty he is surrounded by to really listen to the woman with no boobs.
Or maybe that beauty intimidates me. I have more scars than most at this point. I'm tired and my hair is grey. Maybe that's what I'm really pissed about....
I like to think about how far I've come in just a year. From the initial diagnosis to the expander discomfort of today...it's been a long amazing road. I think back to the fear and horror of learning that not only did I have breast cancer, but I had the worst possible kind of breast cancer. The fear was overwhelming. I didn't always handle it very well.
And today...well, today I am whining about how uncomfortable my expanders are. But really...the discomfort of stretching skin and muscle to accommodate my new boobs is nothing compared to the misery accompanying chemo. So I should just shut up and stop whining about how much my foobs hurt. Cause I'm in a pretty good place considering where I was a year ago. Or even just 6 months ago.
And it gets even better when I think about the conversation with my plastic surgeon yesterday. He says maybe one more fill and then we will be ready to start thinking about the swap surgery (where we swap the expanders for the implants) in March. That's 2 months ahead of schedule. I think he was trying to appease me with the story of " just one more expansion" to help me get through it. Cause I was complaining loudly about how uncomfortable I am and how I can't sleep. But really...maybe I should do two more expansions. Cause although there can be a re-do, it will be so much easier to do it right the first time.
Instead of settling for a small C cup, I could just suck it up and go for a more fuller C cup. Maybe. It depends on when you ask me. If its on a morning after a really restless sleepless night cause there are not enough pillows in the world to make me comfortable at night...then I will tell you I am DONE. But other times I'm more tolerant. And not nearly as bitchy and whiny.
Overall, it's not so bad. Whoever told me the reconstruction process would be a piece of cake compared to the other shit I've been through was spot on. So much easier and so much more hopeful. Where treatment was about trying not to die, reconstruction is about the future. Way better.
So in about a month or so I will have amazing new boobs. Particularly amazing for a 53 year old woman who breast fed a really big hungry baby and had the boobs to show for it. They will be firm and perky. Ridiculous even perhaps for a woman my age, but I'll take them. Particularly since they won't try to kill me like the other ones did.
