Pre-Op Instructions…

Yesterday afternoon, Georgetown Hospital called to give my my pre-op instructions.  Does it surprise anyone that the thing that concerned me most was the news that I can’t eat or drink after midnight and my surgery isn’t until 12:40pm??? I can live with the fact that apparently the only thing standing between me and a hospital-grade infection is the recommended 2 anti-bacterial wash showers I’ll take in the 24 hours before my surgery.  I thought it was funny that the woman told me, only 5 days before my surgery, that it was very important that I stop taking any advil or aspirin at least 10 days before my surgery (fortunately my plastic surgeon told me that MORE THAN 10 days prior to the surgery).  But I had completely forgotten about the not eating or drinking. My other surgery was early in the morning, so it wasn’t an issue. The good news is, by noon I hope to be sufficiently sedated that I don’t notice how hungry I am, or how much my body is missing caffeine. And then when I wake up a couple of hours later, the nausea from the anesthesia will make me happy that I didn’t eat and will probably keep me from eating until Wednesday.  You’ll all be solidarity fasting with me, right?  That’s what I thought.

My concerns about not eating for a day aside, I am excited to be moving ahead with the second part of reconstruction. I have been told that the recovery from this surgery should be reasonably easy, which is great news. I wouldn’t look for any Facebook check-ins next week at Lifetime Fitness, but hopefully it won’t be too long before I’m at least back at the cafe, slurping my “whey of life” with strawberries/blueberries smoothie, even if I don’t actually work out.

What else…I watched the episode of “Giuliana & Bill” on which she has her double mastectomy. I was surprised at how similar our experiences were, particularly in terms of the conversations she and Bill had leading up to the decision to have the surgery and the conversations that they had in the car on the way to surgery. Of course the similarities ended after the surgery, as it appears that she spent 4 days/nights in a lovely private room that looked like a spa and I, as you might recall, spent the 12 hours after my surgery in the post-anesthesia care unit, next to (i.e., 3 feet from) a woman who spent most of those hours screaming in pain and setting off various alarms, and then was sent home less than 24 hours after my surgery was over. I’m not complaining…I was ready to go home and Georgetown Hospital, while a wonderful facility, is no spa. Fortunately Tuesday’s surgery is out-patient, so I should be home in time for dinner and hopefully the only screaming I’ll hear will be my kids, fighting over whether to watch Jake & the Neverland Pirates or Shake it Up.

I will update Tuesday once I’m lucid. If you see a post on Tuesday afternoon that doesn’t make any sense, it just means that I updated before I was lucid. That might be fun. Oh, and there won’t be any before and after pictures, so don’t get your hopes up. The sharing window might be open, but even I have my limits.

I will leave you with this picture of my kids, because it makes me smile…

 

Fear the frog…

Last Thursday night, I was in the bathroom with Benjamin, where I was planning to give him a shower because he is maybe the sweatiest little boy I’ve ever seen.  While he undressed himself, I went and lifted the toilet lid so that he could go to the bathroom before his shower. As I then went to lift the seat, I saw something out of the corner of my eye, between the toilet seat and the rim of the toilet bowl.  Wondering how one of my kids could have lodged something there, I went to lift the seat, when all of a sudden I realized that it was not something left by one of my kids but a FROG. Now I’m sure that the frog was even less happy about being there than I was to have him there, but you wouldn’t have known that from my reaction. I ushered Benjamin out of the bathroom (i.e., pretty much threw him) slammed the lid of the toilet down, practically dove out of the bathroom and slammed the door. For good measure, I put a towel along the bottom of the door, lest that crazy frog try to escape.

Once I was safely in my bedroom, I texted my older brother, an avid outdoorsman, and tried through humor to guilt him into coming over and capturing the frog (Jon was out of town).  But it was already after 7pm, the Bruins/Capitals game was on, and he lives in freakin’ Virginia, which apparently is too far to come to save your baby sister (who only months ago was diagnosed with breast cancer!) from a HUGE frog. Some big brother he turned out to be. He cancels one little trip to Israel for my surgery and all of a sudden he thinks he can just sit back and make fun of me again?  I don’t think so.

So I posted on Facebook that there was a frog in my kids’ bathroom, and asked who wanted to come get it.  I received many helpful responses, ranging from suggestions to set my house on fire and run, to going to a hotel, to putting up a for sale sign, but nobody offered to come get the frog.  Until later that night, when my friend, Debbie texted and said that if she had seen the message earlier that she would have come to save me.  Apparently she was an avid frog catcher in her youth, and she promised that if the frog was still around the next morning after 11:30, she would come rescue me. Well, she may not have PROMISED, exactly, but I took her at her word. I am reasonably sure that Debbie was sure that by 11:30 the next morning, I would not need her, but unfortunately for her, she was wrong.

I came home from the gym the next morning, feeling fairly confident that the frog would be gone, because our cleaning service had been there that morning. I was taking the kids to school when they arrived, so had no opportunity to warn them, but they have removed other wildlife from our house (our backyard is all woods, leading down to a creek) so I figured that they would be fine. I came home and went to go look in the kids’ bathroom.  The frog wasn’t on the toilet anymore. Yippee! And then I took a quick look around the bathroom, and THERE IT WAS.

Do you see how vicious it looks?

Anyway, I called Debbie, who had the audacity not to answer the phone, and left her a voicemail saying in no uncertain terms that she had to call me back ASAP and that we had a situation. When my phone rang a few minutes later, I grabbed it quickly said hello, and heard, “Do we have a frog emergency?” I was ENORMOUSLY relieved.

20-30 of the longest minutes later, Debbie came over and like the hero(ine) that she is, she went straight upstairs, grabbed that frog, and brought him outside, where she spent 5-10 minutes alternately debating whether she should bring it home as a pet for her 2 boys, because she thought it was SO CUTE and laughing at me, because I was afraid of a tree frog.

We decided that the frog would be happier in its natural habitat, so we walked around the house to the backyard, where Debbie set that froggy free.

YAY, DEBBIE!!!

Beyond the fact that I had a FROG IN MY 3rd STORY BATHROOM (and if I really think about how it arrived there I may have to hover-pee for the rest of our time in this house), what I find so fascinating about all of this is that although so many people over the past few months have called me brave and strong for my ability to deal with cancer, I was genuinely scared of a tree frog. And anyone who knows me knows that the list of other things that I’m afraid of is not short. My fear of thunderstorms is legendary. I can’t watch scary movies AT ALL. When Jon travels, I don’t sleep because every creak of the house has me sitting straight up wondering what/who is in the house (maybe it’s a frog!). As an aside, if Jon were home, he would likely sleep through it if something/one were in the house, but that’s a different post entirely.

The truth is, when you’re diagnosed with cancer, you have no choice but to move ahead and do what’s required to get better. You can’t close the door and pretend it isn’t there (well, for a few days you can try, but it doesn’t really work). You certainly can’t call your family or friends and say that there’s a cancer emergency and ask them to come over and take it away. The reality is, I think that my family and friends have been much braver than I have. I don’t remember very much from the day of my big surgery. When I go back and read all the emails and facebook posts from that day, I think how hard it must have been for all of my family and friends.  For me, it was over in the blink of an eye.  One minute I was awake, the next I was asleep, and about 7 hours later I woke up and remembered nothing. I’m sure that Jon, my parents, my brother, and my friends all remember a lot about that day…how scary it was for them, waiting for news. I know the day of my friend, Jodi’s surgery I was constantly checking email for an update. And I remember when Jodi was diagnosed, thinking that I had to be brave for her, so that she would know that she could tell me anything and ask for anything, without concern that I would fall apart.

I appreciate so much that so many of you think that I’m brave, or strong, or courageous because of how I’ve faced my cancer. There are a lot of days when I don’t feel any of those things. I suppose that if I had really HAD to, I could have taken care of that frog myself. But it’s a huge relief to know that when I feel like I can’t, or just don’t want to, I have as many people as I do who are willing to come to my rescue, even for something as small as a frog.

That’s what friends are for…

This past weekend, I had the great fortune of seeing two of my closest friends, whom I do not see nearly enough. First my friend, Abby, and her family came down from NYC for sightseeing and a little visit. Abby and I have known each other since we met as 9-year olds at Camp Tapawingo (a place of joy in Sweden, Maine), where we spent 8 weeks every summer for the next 10 years, give or take. Although she lived in New Jersey and I lived in Boston, we visited each other almost every winter and although as adults we have sometimes gone years without seeing each other, she still remains one of my closest friends. It is amazing how no matter how long it’s been since we were last together, once we are, it’s as though no time has passed at all. And to see our kids together, playing as though they’ve known each other forever despite the fact that they’ve only met once, warms my heart in a way that words can’t adequately describe. Abby knows me better than most and just being near her is a huge comfort.

As sad as I was to say goodbye to Abby, Mike, and their girls, whose visit was much too short, I was helped by the arrival of my friend, Jodi, who flew in from Miami on Sunday for a VERY IMPORTANT meeting in DC on Monday that she absolutely couldn’t miss, if for no other reason than that we hadn’t seen each other in far too long. Jodi and I met in law school and if you had told either of us back then that we would be diagnosed with breast cancer and have double mastectomies within 6 months of each other, we would have told you that you were out of your mind. And yet, here we are. She was my sherpa through my diagnosis and surgery, sending me the things she knew I would need before I even knew why I would need them, offering advice, and comfort, and perspective she was sadly more qualified than anyone else to give. We spent about 8 hours together on Sunday, and in a weird way, it was almost as though we’d just met, because both of us have changed so much as we’ve gone through this. For Jodi, who had to endure chemo, too, her hair is just starting to grow back in. Of course she looks beautiful with her short, soft curls, but I have never known her without her trademark long hair, which she arduously blew out straight every day. As for me, the difference may not be as visible, but it’s there. The important thing, though, is that despite how different our lives after cancer may be, the underlying friendship is the same. Although during this visit we talked almost exclusively about cancer, and all of the related things that are so hard to explain to or share with others, we still managed to have fun and laugh. I know it’s only a matter of time before at least some of our conversations return to more important topics like the important article I read in People or where she bought her shoes, or how much we both hate the heat.

On Monday morning I had an impromptu coffee date with a more local friend, Jenn, whom I met when we started working at the Department of Education 15+ years ago, and with whom I have shared all of the major milestones of our adult lives…engagements, weddings, babies, and, in recent years, unfortunately, some of the less fun milestones, too. Our coffee date was brief and the conversation wasn’t exactly light, but I can’t say it wasn’t fun or that we didn’t laugh.

So overall I had a really nice weekend. I was reminded yet again of how lucky I am to have the wonderful circles of friends that I do. Many are close by, and a big part of my family’s day-to-day life. Others live much too far away (China, Seattle, North Carolina, New York, Florida, Vermont, and California, for example) and our visits are far too infrequent, though great when they do happen.

To add to the weekend’s fun, Saturday night was Abigail’s 8th birthday party, where she was surrounded by 25 or so of her closest friends. I can only hope that as she grows up, she has the good fortune to have in her life the kind of friends that I have in mine.

Vacation, all I ever wanted.

When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer, one of my earliest and biggest concerns was about how it would affect our family vacation to Tyler Place in July.  It may sound crazy, but I remember that first night, crying to Jon, concerned that we’d have to cancel our trip, that we’d lose our coveted cottage with the lake view if we took the summer off, that we wouldn’t be able to see my roommates from UVM who still live up near Burlington, or the wonderful friends we’ve made during our previous Tyler Place weeks. I actually started researching the feasibility of air travel during chemo.

Tyler Place is no joke. It is a family resort/camp north of Burlington, VT, on Lake Champlain. The kids go to “camp” from 8am-1pm, and again from 5-8pm. While my kids are off swimming, pontoon-boat riding, climbing rock walls, playing capture the flag, eating food they would NEVER try with me, and having more fun than they thought possible, Jon and I have the opportunity to sit in a hammock and read a book uninterrupted, swim uninterrupted, sleep uninterrupted, eat uninterrupted, play tennis uninterrupted, waterski uninterrupted, sail uninterrupted….I think you see my point. Tyler Place is a true vacation for all four of us. Nobody at Tyler Place (including Jon!) walks around with a blackberry or an iphone. I’m sure most people check email at some point during the day, but for the most part, everyone is focused on checking out. And if you don’t believe me about how great Tyler Place is, here’s a picture of Benjamin, who was so tired from all the fun that he fell asleep STANDING UP near the end of our first trip to Tyler Place.

So maybe you can see why I was so disheartened at the thought of not going. The day I found out that I wouldn’t need chemo was great for many reasons, one of which was that it meant our vacation could go ahead as planned. I could schedule my second reconstructive surgery in plenty of time to be long recovered by July. And now here we are, just a couple of weeks from that surgery, and I am starting to see the light at what I hope is the end of the tunnel.

But it doesn’t come without some concerns, of course.  There’s the obvious issue of appearance–I don’t yet know what the final “me” will look like. I don’t know how comfortable I will be with how I look. Tyler Place is a lot of bathing suits and tank tops, two things I’m definitely not ready to wear yet. The bathing suit I expected…I rarely am excited at the thought of putting one on. I wasn’t expecting to feel so weird about tank tops.  But as it turns out, when I move my arms in certain ways, I have these divots in my armpits from the mastectomy, that maybe nobody but me will notice, but I’m not sure that will matter when I’m trying to figure out what to wear. And then there’s the question of what to say to people I haven’t seen since last summer, many of whom will have no idea that I was diagnosed with cancer, had a double mastectomy, and a couple of reconstructive surgeries since we last met. For whatever reason, the phrase that keeps popping into my head is, “I had a little cancer in the off-season,” but I’m not sure how that will play in the buffet line.  Maybe I should just wear the shirt that a friend who had a double mastectomy about a year before me gave me that says, “Yes, they’re fake. My real ones tried to kill me” to the cocktail party the first night. The kids will be in camp, so I won’t have to explain it to Abigail and it allows me to say it all without having to say anything, right?  Or maybe that’s too much.  :)

So in a few days, I’ll stop taking tamoxifen in preparation for my surgery (something about tamoxifen putting me at a higher risk for blood clots, deep vein thrombosis, and pulmonary embolisms while immobilized during/after surgery…minor detail). And after that, I’ll have my “real” implants (I love using that oxymoronic term) and I’m actually a little bit excited to move forward…to start getting comfortable with the new me, whatever and whoever that is.

Oh, and I cannot wait to get back to Vermont.  :)

Roller coasters are overrated…

I’ll just jump right in with a Tamoxifen update.  So far, I think I’ve been pretty lucky.  I haven’t really experienced hot flashes at all, which if you know me, is HUGE.  On the flip side, I appear not to be in the large percentage of women who lose weight while taking Tamoxifen and I am riding an emotional roller coaster that just won’t quit, which could be at least in part because I’m not in the large percentage of women who lose weight while taking Tamoxifen.  It’s hard to know what part of the emotional roller coaster is related to the tamoxifen and what is just life right now but really, it’s a distinction without a difference.

I quit my job last July, and had big plans after I did…organize the house, cook more real meals, go back to the gym, start playing tennis again, maybe even read a few books.  In October, I had the mammogram that lead to my diagnosis, and started several months  filled with doctors’ appointments, minor medical procedures, major surgery, and just a little bit of anxiety.  Now that the dust has settled, I don’t know what to do with myself. I’ve survived cancer, now I’m supposed to clean out my pantry? The truth is, some days, I don’t feel like doing much of anything.  If it were just up to me, I would probably drop the kids off at school, come back home, and crawl under the covers until it was time to pick the kids up at school again. But that’s not good, and I know that. So instead, I’ve been going to the gym, making plans to have lunch or coffee with friends whenever I can, and challenging myself to do more, even when I don’t want to do a thing.

Today, I had Benjamin home with me after he went to the eye doctor and had to have his pupils dilated. Sometime in the afternoon, he wanted to play football, so I decided we should go to the park because it was such a beautiful day. After that, we went and picked Abigail up from spring break camp and I took both of them to free cone day at Ben & Jerry’s for a little pre-dinner dessert. After ice cream, I of course took them for pizza for dinner. Both kids thought I had LOST MY MIND, which was an important reminder that sometimes, changing things up and having a little fun can go a long way.

Tomorrow, it’s back to the gym, and the grocery store, and long overdue Passover preparations. But today was a good day.  And I have so much to look forward to–family coming to town for Passover, a visit from the Pecoriellos, a visit from Jodi, who understands better than anyone the ups and downs of this crazy ride, Abigail’s 8th birthday, my exchange surgery (now scheduled for May 1), my 10th wedding anniversary (fingers crossed!), and our trip to Vermont/Tyler Place in July. These are the things that make the hard days easier. And a free ice cream cone doesn’t hurt, either.