Grumble, grumble, sniff

I had a tear filled moment this morning at my desk. 



I knew it was coming. I could feel it.

Build up…build up…pressure…ready, set, explode!


Ugly cry.  Sad, ain't it?

I passed off my red nose and puffy eyes as allergies to those that asked and the person that set me off is without a clue that anything happened. I’d like to keep it that way.

I’ve been a cronky wretch of a woman lately and have not been able to pinpoint what exactly was causing the cronkiness. I’d think that I had it figured out and then *boom* my feelings would change.

What is it??? Sigh.

Big sigh.

Get it all out sigh.

I just don’t know for sure, but I’m thinking that this damn Tamoxifen has something to do with it. Or maybe it’s the acupuncture treatment? Or the change in diet? Or the Chinese herbs? Or side effects of radiation. Or my frustration that the Brazil nut is trying to make its way to the mainstream nut mix.

I don’t know. I hate not knowing.

Hey, don’t think that I’m going to jump off into the deep end. No need to talk me off the ledge. I will be fine and in comparison, it’s no where near as bad as chemo. For those that are new to the class, it was awful and so far, nothing in my life has come close to being as bad.


Another sigh.

I heard something on the radio this morning that was pretty cool. When we walk into a room, we bring energy to that room. We get to choose what kind of energy we bring in to share with the others in that room. That’s powerful, don’t you think? I have the power to change another person’s moment in time. Oh but yikes, they have the same power over me. Positive and negative.


So today, I came in with negative energy. Did I choose negative energy?  Nope.  It was just there. I think that if I had taken a moment, I could have made a shift, but I didn’t. Then I was greeted with negative energy (though the greeting was meant to be kind). Those around me had negative energy and, as a result, all of that power just knocked me down.

I just want to let go and be. Honest and true, I don’t know what I mean by that. It’s just what keeps coming into my head when I ask for the answer.

Let go and be...

Anybody know what that might mean?

**********************************
Updated two hours later...
Putting my words down has helped immensely.  Writing is a great form of therapy for me!

I thought I'd also clarify this whole Brazil nut thing since it's showed up in my last two posts.  It's a nasty nut that nobody seems to like, however it keeps on showing up in the assorted mixes that I buy.  You know...and I know, that the Nut People are just using this nut as a filler.  To add weight to the jar of mixed nuts.  You can never find Brazil nuts in a bag or jar by themselves, right?  You know why?  Because nobody would buy them and they'd go rancid.  Or they'd get shipped to starving third world countries.  If you see a "Help the Children" commercial any time in the near future, make a mental note to see if the little girl is holding a thumb shaped nut in her fist. 

Nut People, please quit toying with us.  We're on to you.

Radiation DONE

Daily radiation for over six weeks takes a toll on a girl.  I can't believe that it is finally over.  Then again, I can't imagine that my boob could take another zapping.  Red, peeling, raw in areas...I'm happy to be able to focus on healing.

Here is a good story.  Last week, Dr. Princess suggested that I start using Vaseline on the raw areas.  She said to put a big glob of it on a gauze pad (which she gave me a ton of) and then just stick it to my boob.  Sounded good to me and I was willing to try anything to ease the pain.  The next day at work, I'm standing in front of my coworker telling her about this new "boob fix" and she says, "I think you're leaking."  She points to my boob...I look down...and sure enough, there is a circular grease spot.  The Vaseline penetrated the gauze, my bra, my top and my sweater.  Apparently, Dr. Princess's advice wasn't fashion friendly.  Initially, I freaked out about my ruined clothing, but by the end of the day, I didn't care.  My boob wasn't screaming at me and that was all that mattered.

I've used so much cream, aloe and Vaseline that my bras are now waterproof.  They might even be flammable.   Woolite doesn't seem to break down all of these substances, so I'm thinking of trying some Dawn detergent.  They cleaned the oil off of the birds with Dawn when that spill happened, so it should work on my lingerie.  Right?  One could hope.  For this weekend, I am going to be free and go without.  Shh...don't tell anyone.

My final radiation was on Friday the 13th.  Perfect.  As I was driving into work that morning, I was reflecting back on all that has happened since September 27, 2011.  I have celebrated the following holidays:  Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's Day, Super Bowl, Valentine's Day and Easter...all sick with some sort of cancer treatment.  Memorial Day will be awesome...

I walked into the Club at 4pm for my final treatment.  When I went into the changing area, I saw one of my new friends.  I never got her name, but in my head, I call her 4pm.  My standing appointment was 4:10, hers was 4:00...therefore, she is named 4pm.  So, 4pm was sitting there waiting for her turn in the tanning bed when I walked in and I said, "Where are the balloons???"  She laughed and asked if I was excited.  Excited?  I don't know if I was excited, but was for sure relieved.  No more daily visits to the Club.  No more being probed and prodded by techs.  No more gown that doesn't close all the way in the back.  Relieved to be done with this chapter.  I told her all of this and she nodded.  I had my treatment and as I exited the room, I smiled kindly at the techs.  Big Dave and Brittany.  These two were the ones that set me up for radiation 7 weeks ago...how great was it that they were the ones to send me on my way.  I like it nice and tidy like that.  Big Dave handed me a piece of paper.  It was my Certificate of Completion.  This was SO going on the refrigerator when I got home.  It congratulated me for bravely completing my radiation process.  Bravely.  I never thought that I was brave.  I guess I was.

Once I was dressed, I dumped my gown into the hamper...no need to fold it up for the next day.  I told 4:20 goodbye (she was just getting started in her process) and exited the changing room.  Walking down the hall, I took a deep breath and sighed with relief.  Relief!  I passed the front desk lady and she said, "see you next week!".  I said, "NOPE!!!  I'm done!"  She clapped for me and then I clapped for me.  I think that I skipped to my car and thought to take a picture.  Here it is.  I love this picture.  In the background, I can see the door closing behind me.  I am so happy.

Where are your shoes?

Radiation 101

I was directed to the "other" side of the Club today.  Destination Radiation.  I walked back to the desk and the gal told me to go back to the Women's Changing Room.

"I don't know where that is.  I mean, I was shown once, but I didn't take notes and now I can't remember...can you walk me back?"

She walked me all of about 10 steps down the hall.  "Here we are!".  Well that was a little embarrassing.  We walked into a room that sort of looked like a gym locker room, minus the shower.  "Here's your locker.  Take everything off, put this gown on with the opening in the back and...let's see if you have a shelf yet...nope...okay, well, the next time you're here, there will be a shelf with your name on it and that is where you'll put your gown."  She left me standing there with a key in my hand and a look of confusion on my face.  I get a shelf?  Do I have to wear the same gown every day for six weeks?  This gown looks a little small...open in the back...with everything off?  Hmmm-kayyyy.

I took everything, except for my undies, off and put my gown on.  Should it really be this hard to tie the strings?  Why aren't my fingers working?  I ended up with a loopy-knot-half-bow and put my stuff in my locker.  I sat in the little waiting area for my tech to come and get me.

I could hear something going on the other side of the door.  "Three...two...one...deep breath in...and hold."  Then a whirring sort of a hum sound came through.  Seconds passed and then I heard, "And breath."  This repeated twice more and I found myself holding my breath with her.

The door opened and a big tall black man was standing there in blue scrubs.  "Miss Stover?"  I stood up.  It hadn't even crossed my mind that there would be a man on this side of The Club.  "Hi.  Yes.  Me.  Kim."  He looked at me and said in a louder than normal voice, "Where are your shoes?"  

Blink.  Blink.  Blink.

"Um, well she told me to take everything off!"

Horror crossed his face.  Then, as he does the 'Aaron Rodgers Touchdown Move', he says, "Do you have underwear on???"

"YES!!!"  Thank God I thought to leave my underwear on.  Relief came over him...and me...and then he told me to put my shoes back on.  Apparently we had a lot of walking to do.  And apparently, one needs to wear shoes for this sort of thing.  And underwear.  He left me to get my shoes on, for what seemed to be an eternity.  How long did he think that it would take me to put my shoes on?  Did he go and tell the other staff about the crazy woman that stripped down to bare feet?  I decided that I wouldn't make eye contact with anyone once I went through that door.

Finally, he came to get me and as he brought me through the door, he introduced himself as Dave.  Then he says, "and behind you is Brianna".  Ack!  Slightly snug gown open in the back and someone named Brianna is behind me???!!!  I whipped around, made eye contact, then dropped my gaze to the floor.  "Hi."  No eye contact.  No eye contact.

We went into The Room.  Very white.  Very cold.  Dave explained to me that I'd be laying on the table while they made a form fitted mold to my body.  My arms would be up over my head and I was, under no circumstances, to move.  If I had to cough or sneeze, I was just to do it and not cover my mouth.

Everything is electronic, so he had to take lots of pictures.  First, of my face.  Do I smile?  Do I take my hat off?  Do you really need to be that close???

Again, he reminded me not to move.  About three hundred times.  Okay, so not three hundred, but plenty enough to make me feel like they doubted my ability to follow direction.

So we get me all into position on this little skinny table.  I'm cradled in my bean-baggy mold-making-thingy and Dr. Princess comes into the freezing cold room and says, "Hello Miss Stover!"  She's always so chirpy.  She pulls my gown off of my front and says, "You're going to have to help me.  Which scar is from your partial mastectomy?"  I pointed to it with my left hand...and then freaked out.  I moved!  Simon didn't SAY!!!  Was this some sort of weird game that they played here???  Dave told me that if Dr. Princess asks me to move my arm, it's okay.  Whew.  I wasn't going to be ostracized from The Club.  Dr. Princess took a Sharpie marker (apparently an advanced medical instrument at The Club) and drew all over the dang place.  Once I was all marked up, she thanked me for being such a good patient and left.

Dave then taped some wires to me, and some beads (felt like I was a few knots away from a nice piece of jewelry)...then once he was satisfied with his work, he told me that he was going to leave the room, but that he'd be able to see me through the window (I get it...I won't move).  Once the door closed, the table started to move.  I was laying there, with arms over my head, not moving a muscle.  I was being brought through a very narrow tunnel.  It made me feel like I was going on a really cool roller-coaster...you know, at the start when you go into a tunnel, then the lights go out...and then whoosh!  But there was no whoosh.  It moved very slow and I noticed that there was a little orange pattern of lights that were indicating that I was moving "inwards".  At the top of that pattern of lights, there was a little lighted outline of a woman.  It was done like a 5 year old would draw a woman.  Circle for a head, triangle dress body, two legs and two arms.  Except this little woman had her arms up over her head.  That made me laugh (not out-loud...because that would cause movement).  Was this a little reminder to keep my arms over my head?  I could hear whirring, but nothing around me was moving.  Red beams caught the corners of my eyes.  Lots seemed to be going on, but everything in my tight little tube was still.

At this point, I took note at just how clean this white tube was.  Man, what would life be like if I didn't have dogs?  Things would be this sterile at my house.

Next thing I knew, the table was exiting the tube and I was done.  Dave came back in and told me that Dr. Princess was happy with the scan and now we'd do my tattoos.  I asked if he'd be doing butterflies and hearts.  His response was, "No, I do dragons."  Dave was cool.  The tattoos were painless, just a little pin prick.  He thanked me for making his job easy and then took five pictures of my boobs.  I was thinking that I better not see those on the Internet tonight, but chose not to say what I was thinking.

Sometimes I'm smart like that.

I was done.  I got back to the locker room and peeked to see if I had a shelf yet.  No shelf, but looking at all the names there made me feel more in touch with the girls that I was now "Radiation Friends" with.  Diane, Char, Melissa, Tory...lots of others.  I would likely not meet these women, but they were my friends nonetheless.

What Did You Say?

After this last chemo treatment I had an appointment with my very direct and lovely Radiology Oncologist.  She looks like that Disney Princess from Aladdin.  Long, thick, dark hair (me...green with envy), big round dark eyes and a smile that sparkles.

Dr. Princess needed to recap my past treatments in chemo with me.  We argued about the dates of things.  For the record, I was right every time.  I told her that there were certain dates in my life that I would likely NEVER forget.  Chemo treatments would fall into that category.  She asked me lots of questions about my experience and then capped it all off with, "Did you gain weight?".

What?  Really?  You're going to ask me this question on a day when I'm so weak?  What exactly is on that laptop of yours?  Are you playing solitaire or are you looking at my records???

In a calm voice, I said, "YES I GAINED WEIGHT!".

Deep breath.

She nodded, as a princess would, and looked at her screen.  "Ah, yes, I see that you are up 8 pounds from when you first came to see us."  I hung my head and said, "I didn't sign up for that kind of chemo.  I wanted the kind that would make my bones protrude."  I guess we don't get to chose how our body reacts and I guess I'm lucky to be here typing this, eight pounds heavier.  Chubby wrists and fingers click-clack-clicking away.

We reviewed all of the stuff that goes with radiation.  I get two tattoos this week from her tech (wondering if I can request a little heart and a butterfly) and the alignment of hot beams will be precisely put into place.  They will be hitting me from over and under with the beams and the main side effect that I can expect is a burned boob.  As if I spent too much time in the sun without sunscreen.  Then Dr. Princess says, "Other side effects could include heart and lung trauma".  "What?"  I was having such a hard time hearing some of what she had to say.  I mean, I HEARD her, but I didn't hear her.  You know what I mean?  Like it would just glaze over me...then settle a bit...then I'd recognize what she was saying.

So I guess you can have bad things happen to your heart and lungs from the radiation to the breast.  I said, "Okay, well, it's not like I'm going to say 'no' to the treatment, so it is what it is."  Her response was, "You are so very practical."

Practical?  I don't know that I've ever been told that I was practical...

But really, what would the response be at that point?  "I'm outta here..."  No.  Must take care of all of this and take the risks that come along with the treatment.  I'll get through it.

I will be treated, or fried if you like, every day for more than six weeks.  I'm looking at the beginning of April for a completion date and then I'll just treat this cancer crap with a drug for the next five years.

I was all ready to skedaddle myself right on out of there when Dr. Princess mentioned that I'd need to be checked a few months after, most likely at the one year mark, to see if the cancer was gone.

What did you say?

This is where I draw the line.  I accepted my cancer diagnosis in September.  I accepted the surgery to remove the bad-boy and then the second surgery to make sure that all of it was gone.  I accepted the chemo plan and I accept the radiation.  What I don't accept and refuse to "hear" is that the cancer might not be gone.

I refuse to accept that as part of my reality.

I will not hear it.

So for the record, when they make me go in to screen for this in another six months or so, I WILL be clear and free of cancer.

The end.