My Hockey Family

Another hockey season is upon us. I am so happy to be back at the rink. There is something about the feel of the rink, the smell of the ice and the magic in the air. The first few weeks of the hockey season are the best. It is a time of reconnecting with hockey friends and watching the kids running around the rink excited to be back with their friends. Hockey has been a part of my life ever since I can remember. Some of my best memories are those involving hockey. My dad took me to almost every rink in the Twin Cities metro area when I was a kid. He was a huge fan of high school and college hockey and I was more than happy to tag along with him. Even then I loved being at the rink. The week of the state high school hockey tournament was my second favorite time of year after Christmas. Our extended family gathered at our house to stay in between games. My dad and uncle Harris would argue over the teams. Harris usually picked one of the northern schools and dad would pick one of the private schools. (I think he did that just to get under Harris' skin) My cousin Dave came from Chicago every year and stayed with us. When Jim turned 5 I was very pleased when he said he wanted to play hockey. My boys were hooked. Jeffrey was practically born at the rink. He was less than a week old when he went to the rink for the first time. There is a comradery among hockey parents that I don't think is matched. I guess when you spend that much time with people you become close. For anyone ever involved with hockey, they understand the relationships developed. I have been a part of many different teams over the years. However, there was no team in the course of the last 12 years in youth hockey that has come close to the team of last year.

One year ago right now Kyle was just finishing try-outs for his last year of squirts and I was coming to the end of my chemo treatments. I would be facing surgery in the next few months and had begun stressing about it. The blessing came with the team that Kyle was placed on. Most of the boys he had played with the season prior. Most of us knew each other and there was definitely a bond that had formed. (We were missing a few that we truly missed) As I am approaching my first year of survivorship I think back of fondness over the love I felt, the fun we had and the strong sense of family. My hockey family supported me in a very subtle way. I mean that because we laughed and watched our boys play games. I didn't have to talk about cancer all of the time around them. I was never labeled as "the mom with cancer". I was just one of the girls. That was such a relief. For at least those hockey days I didn't have cancer, I was normal. However, if I had needed to, I know that those moms would have listened in a heart beat and I am also sure that we would have found something to laugh about. (I do recall a certain incident at the breast cancer fundraiser involving two of the moms and a breast! I can't let this be forgotten.) The weekend before my surgery, Kyle had an out of town tournament in Northfield. It turned out to be the one thing I needed. It was a great opportunity for me to forget about what was happening in a few days. We laughted a lot and watched some good hockey games.

The thing about family is that they are there for you whether you ask for it or not. As I have said before, I don't like to call attention to myself. On the Monday night before my surgery, Kyle had a game. At the game I stopped to talk to Debbie, one of the moms, as I needed her help to get the boys to school on the day of surgery. She was the only one I had told what I was doing in two days. She did what I didn't know I needed her to do. She told the team what was happening. While I was resting in my hospital room a plant arrived from the team. Incidentally, I haven't killed it yet!! When I got home there was food and gift cards bought by the team. However, the most significant gesture was when I returned the following Wed. for a game, the boys had put pink tape on their sticks in my honor.

At our end of the year party, I had wanted to get up and thank the team for their support over the course of the season. Of course, I couldn't do it. I couldn't stand up in front of everyone and start blubbering and ruining a perfectly good time. But, I did say it to a few of the girls. And, to my astonishment, they told me that I had been an inspiration to them and to the boys. Huh???!!!! Despite all that I was going through, the boys saw me coming to each game and cheering them on. Huh????!!!! You are kidding me!!! I hate to break it to everyone but it was purely selfish. Despite how tired I was feeling I needed to be there to laugh and watch our team play.

At the end of the season and the beginning of this one we all knew and know that we probably won't all be together again until high school. I am just grateful that I had my hockey family there with me cheering for our boys and also cheering for me. It's easier to face a challenge, whether it be a hockey game or a war with cancer when you have your team behind you. Thanks girls!!!!

My Cancerversary

August marks my one year "cancerversary". (I didn't come up with the term on my own. I read it from another breast cancer blogger) Over the next several months will be an anniversary of some of the darkest moments of my life as well as some of the most cherished. It's hard to imagine that there are cherished ones amongst the dark ones but there are. The support I received from people I know, some unexpected, has turned into some of my most cherished times. It felt intense and caught me off guard. There were mounds of food from co-workers and cards I got from a co-worker on the Thursdays before each chemo treatment and probably the most cherished was Kyle's teammates putting pink tape on their sticks in honor of me. Even though I hate attention, that meant a lot. Most of the support that meant the most was the non-tangible. The love I have felt over the past year has meant so much. Also, letting me keep going with my life and letting me live in between all of the crap was probably the best and most important. I didn't want to wallow and become a victim. I always knew people cared about me but people I knew, but not well seemed to come out of the woodwork to care. (Frankly I didn't know that many people cared about me)

I did the "Race for the Cure" on Mother's Day this year. I expected to and people told me that I would feel inspired by the walk. In many ways I felt panicked and stressed. I saw and met so many women whose cancer had returned after many years. I also felt a sense of grief for the women in the bright pink shirts that appeared to be well under 30 years old. Something else has occurred to me. The women in the bright pink shirts get so much attention. We are honored for something we were forced to deal with. However, I think the real heroes are the people in the white shirts who are giving their time and their money for others. Those people whose only motivation is to help. Those people who are giving before it affects them personally.

As I had said once before, the first two weeks were by far the most difficult of my life. I never said, "Why me" but I did think to myself many times that "this sucks". I never felt sick or felt there was anything wrong with me. Because of this sometimes I would forget what had happened. I remember looking over at the dining room table and seeing the Mayo Women's Cancer book and Mayo Clinic folder and thinking, "This really is happening." Even now as I sit here sometimes I look down at my chest and see where the girls used to be and think, "That really happened."

I saw radiation oncology in June for a final follow-up. I felt so light and free when discussing all of this. I am grateful that I was treated as aggressively as I was. I could handle the few months of discomfort if it meant that I had success. In an earlier blog, I had mentioned the neulasta shot I received 24 hours after chemo. What I didn't mention was the cost of those shots. Each shot was a whopping $3,500. Yes that is a comma not a decimal point. We have really good insurance but because it is a medication, I am responsible for 30%. So, if you do the math I was responsible for more than $900 every 2 weeks. Of course, by the time I got the statement from the insurance company, I had already received 3 shots. When I got the statement, first I soiled myself, then I cried, and then I talked to Mark. We decided that we would just deal with it. The shot was important to keep me out of the hospital. However, this decision was more difficult than it was supposed to be, at least for me. I remember I was looking for something in our bedroom closet. At this point in my treatment my hemoglobin was down to something like 8. (normal for women is between 11-14) For example, I would have to sit down and take a break after coming upstairs from the basement and I would get dizzy quite easily. So that day instead of bending over to look in my closet I had to sit down on the floor in my closet looking for whatever I was looking for. Anyway, so there I am sitting on the floor in my closet, (I can't even remember what I was looking for). All of a sudden I burst into tears. Was I really worth the thousands of dollars we would be paying for a stupid shot? At that moment in time, I didn't feel like I was. At that moment in time I felt like maybe I wasn't worth not only the thousands of dollars in shots but the thousands of dollars worth of tests, chemo drugs and specialty doctors. For my friends and family who may be reading this, don't get your undies in a bunch. It was a fleeting moment in time. For me it was a very difficult moment in time but it was just one moment in time.

The reason I bring this up is that for as expensive as that shot was I believe that it is one of the reasons I had so much success with LB. When I told Dee about the cost of the shot she said an alternative was to eliminate the shot and stretch out the treatments so that I would be having smaller doses over a longer period of time. My body would have more time in between chemo treatments to rest and rebuild my white blood cells. In the end we decided to stay on the schedule and continue with the shots. I strongly believe that that shot, and having chemo every two weeks instead of every three weeks is the reason we had so much success. Because my body was able to tolerate treatments every 2 weeks, it didn't give a break to LB. Because my body wasn't given much of a break LB didn't get a break either. I saw my oncologist at the end of my treatments and after my surgery. He was the oncologist in the background ultimately making the decisions and planning the war strategies. When he walked in the examining room that day he looked like he had just won the lottery or something. I have had the utmost respect for him all along. However, he wasn't the most personable doctor I had ever met. He had never smiled or shown any emotion. But that day, his expression was one of pure joy. Incidentally, I had met the catastrophic maximum before the 2nd shot so I wasn't responsible for most of the costs.

Of course whoever may be reading this now is looking at the date. I know it is already November. I have had difficulty putting my thoughts together as I reflect over the past year. As I reflect over the past year one would think that I would have bad memories and icky feelings in my stomach. Surprisingly I don't. I have a fondness in my heart for the people in my life who have given so much of themselves for me. Not only the physical support but the emotional support. I hated having to be helped at work and I hated all of the attention. But even though I hated it, I needed it and it helped me get through the first year.

I saved all of the cards and the special books I have received over the past year. (I have over 60 total) Every once in awhile I get out the box and read the cards and the books. I usually sit and cry (you can't believe that can you?) remembering and cherishing my family, my extended family, my co-workers and my friends. I am so blessed and I hope that everyone knows what an impact they have had in my life.

My Lucky Fishin' Cap

When a person goes fishing, a necessity, only 3rd behind sunglasses and sunscreen is a fishin' hat. It is always good to keep the glare from the water off your eyes and to protect your scalp. Several years ago Mark and I decided to do fishing trips for our family vacations instead of the cross country trips. Of course with fishing trips there is more packing and planning to do than with the cross country trip. Especially with 4 kids it is quite a challenge. The end result however is a more relaxing trip. I don't have to tell anyone with kids how stressful a one way two day car trip can be!!!! I got off the beaten path a bit. (We are in the process of planning our summer vacation so I am getting a bit excited!) As I said, it is important to always have a good fishin' hat. So, before that fishing trip several years ago, I found my lucky fishin' cap at Gander Mountain. (on clearance no less) It is nothing special really. It is a "life is good" cap with a simple looking fish on the front and "life is good" embroidered on the back. It is a country blue color. (I'm thinking it was on clearance because it is a man's cap and I'm thinking most men wouldn't wear that color.) I love my lucky fishin' cap. I have caught many nice size northern wearing that cap and also had a lot of fun on the lake in it.

A few weeks ago Mark and the boys went to the annual Ducks Unlimited banquet. Incidentally, Kyle won a rifle in the Greenwing drawing. Whereas Kyle was lucky winning that, Jeffrey seemed to be the cap king. He won something like 5 caps. So having won 4 already he picked out a pink Ducks Unlimited cap for me. It was quite sweet of him. I went to put my new cap away with my others. Panic hit me at first because my lucky fishin cap wasn't there!

This hat has come to mean a lot to me over the past 8 months. When my hair fell out in September I had many different outfits for my head. I had a wig, many scarves and other more stylish hats, mainly for work and church. However, most of the time I wore my lucky fishin' cap. I always had my cap handy at home in case the doorbell rang or if someone other than a few of Kathryn and Jim's friends were over. I wore it on Halloween to answer the door. At 9:00 I thought there would be no more children so I took off my cap. I thought wrong! Forgetting that I had removed my cap I answered the door. Who wouldn't expect to see an uncle Fester look alike answering the door on Halloween??!! I think I scared that little girl!!

My cap came with me to every doctor appointment, chemo treatment and that fateful January 13th day when I said goodbye to the girls. I wore my lucky fishin' cap on the long walk to the preop room. I wore my cap the whole time I was waiting to go in for surgery and I wore it into the operating room. I was actually quite nervous about losing my cap so they tied a tag with my name on it to the back. When I finally had to take it off and put on the surgery cap, I remember watching the nurse put it in a plastic bag feeling quite protective. After I woke up, they handed me my cap out of the plastic bag and I put it on. This cap is almost like a friend to me.

On Tuesday, March 16th I had had just about enough. I had spent the weekend before at the Minnesota state high school hockey tournaments having not worn anything on my head for most of the tournament. My hair had grown enough that people thought I just had a short haircut. So, I retired my wig, my scarves and most of my hats. I hung up a few of my caps on the hook in my closet in preparation for summer. The rest have been placed deep into the back of my closet, hopefully for good. It felt so good! On Sunday March 21st I used shampoo for the first time since September 14th! Of course I don't have to blow dry or anthing. While my hair is wet I simply comb it down. My hair now is about a 1/2 inch long. It is baby soft and the same color. I don't know if it will be curly yet. Frankly, if one more person tells me that it will grow back curly I may just explode. (consider yourself warned!) A part of me wants curly hair but a part of me doesn't. The part of me that doesn't want it doesn't want it because it represents the difficulty of what I have been through. It is a reminder of having cancer. Frankly I want to feel like myself again. The part of me that wants it wants it because I think it would be fun. There are many things I could do with it.

My lucky fishin cap has been with me for so many things and maybe has brought me a little luck even off the water. I know that the power of prayer, good medical care and positive thinking have helped me beat LB. I have been on more prayer chains than I can begin to remember. For this I am grateful. Maybe my lucky fishin' cap has given all of these weapons a little boost. In addition to helping me catch the elusive northern, maybe it has helped me beat LB.

So, in my panic I kept searching and found my cap hiding underneath my bathrobe!! Now my lucky fishin' cap can get back to what it knows best, helping me catch the big northern!!

Ringin' The Bell

Well, today was the day. After 6 weeks, 30 treatments and lost skin, I have finished. There is a bell in the radiation treatment waiting room that reads:
"Ring out, ring this bell three times well, the toll to clearly say:
My treatments are done, it's course has run and I am on my way."

The tradition is that after your last treatment, you get to ring the bell three times. Today I rang the bell. Quite loudly actually. My kids and my husband were there to watch me as I rang the bell as loud as I could. (The technicians in the back told me to ring it loud enough for them to hear.) I rang it loud not just for them but for myself. After I rang the bell, there were hugs and kisses from my family. My outspoken Kyle was of the opinion that it was too loud. He dramatically covered his hears in surprise. In addition to my family cheering me, so was everyone in the lobby.

Although I didn't cry today, I have tears right now as this is all hitting me and crashing in on me. I have tears of relief. It has been 7 months of thinking about cancer nearly everyday and worrying about the next group of tasks, treatment, doctor visits, and surgery. I stressed about trying to stay focused at work and am tired of constantly trying to be positive. It was important for me to try to stay positive even when I didn't want to. It was an effort though. I see radiation oncology in June, I see Dee in August, (and every 3-4 months for the next 10 years.) That is it! Just tamoxifen everyday for the next 5 years.

Of course I would be a little more ecstatic if it weren't for burns that run from around my armpit down to approximately where my bra used to be and over to the middle of my scar. I am told that my skin will begin healiing over the next week or so and I should start feeling "normal" (whatever that is I can't remember) in about 2-3 weeks. I am alternating between silvadene cream and xeroform on the skin. It is actually worse than a bad sunburn. My skin is a fuscia color in most spots. It is warm to the touch. Luckily I don't have complete feeling back yet from surgery. I am just uncomfortable. Every once in awhile I get a shot of pain. It doesn't last long but enough to make me flinch. But, I am done and I can deal with a few more weeks of discomfort. The last 5 treatments were a boost to the high risk spots so the burn around my neck is starting to heal. The last 5 treatments took less than 5 minutes compared to the 20-30 mintures for the previous 25.

Something occurred to me the other day that I hadn't thought of before. This isn't necessarily the spot to put it but it is on my mind. My first visit to the breast clinic, as I waited to see Dr. Ghosh for the first time, I saw a poster on the wall. It had samples of different sizes of tumors, comparing them to the size of a pea and of a button etc. It was showing the importance of early detection. The survival rate for a tumor the size of a button (this was the approximate size of mine) was 25%. If you look at the glass half empty that is 75% chance of death. The poster talked about learning your breasts and doing self exams regularly. I was beating myself up over this. I couldn't remember if I had missed a month, had I felt something sooner but ignored it? Dr. Ghosh was so wonderful at that time and told me that we can not go back but can only go forward. I was dealing with it now and our goal was survival. I was in the mind set that bilateral mastectomy was going to be the best option for survivial. If I had found it earlier I probably would have planned a lumpectomy followed with chemo and then radiation. My plan would have been different and the surgeon would have never found the atypical fibrotic hyperplasia in my healthy breast. The hyperplasia would have most certainly led to breast cancer on the other side. I am certainly not advocating being non-chalant about self-exams. I am just saying that I got lucky. I am thankful for being a little absent-minded.

I'm not sure what I will do with my freedom. As I said when I finished chemo it is a strange feeling. Of course I'm glad but the people I saw everyday, I won't see anymore. As I was leaving dressing room 5 (we are creatures of habit aren't we?) to go for my last treatment, one of the technicians who I had seen everyday for 6 weeks came to see me. She wasn't on machine B today but wanted to wish me luck. She gave me a big hug. Like I said, such a strange feeling.

There is so much that has brought me to this place today. Surely a day of celebration. 7 months ago, I was so scared of all that was to come. All of the unknowns were looming out there. The fear was almost unbearable sometimes. I wasn't just scared for myself but I was scared for my family. As a mother, one doubts oneself all of the time. However, as much as I may make mistakes with my kids, at least I am there, they know I love them and will always try to do what's best for them. (they don't always agree with the what's best for them do they?)

So today I walked the long hallway past the canvases of names of survivors for the 30th time. I walked into the lobby to my waiting family and I rang the bell.

23 down 7 to go

I am now into phase III in this war. Radiation is the last big phase until I move into longer but smaller phases. Radiation can be started 3-4 weeks after surgery. To prepare for actual treatments, I did a simulation. A CAT scan is done to pin point the actual spots where the radiation treatment is to be administered. At this time I was given 4 tattoos so that the technicians know where to line me up on the table each day. (the tattos aren't very exciting. Just little dots.) At this time, I also have a mold made so that at each treatment I lay with my head and arms in the mold. A picture is also taken of my head and arm position in the mold. The mold also helps me to easily position myself on the table. Following the simulation, the radiation oncologist then takes the next week to perfectly map where the treatment is to go. The goal is to get the high risk spots with minimal zapping to other areas. My radiation treatments began on February 22nd. Ironically, this is Jim's 17th birthday and also my first day back at work. When I check into reception I am given a beeper so I know when to go back. (The receptionist amazes me. She knows everyone and I don't even have to give her my name. Noone does!) I find a dressing room, undress from waist up and put on a gown. I am on good old machine B. (There are machines A,B,C,D,E,F,G and H.) When I go to the treatment room I remove gown and lay on the table with my head and arms in the mold. The technicians line up my tattoos with the little red light beams. (after I have given my name and birthdate for the millionth time.) A bolus (sp?) is placed over the treatment areas. It is white, kind of like heavy foam. (It reminds me of the old yellow life jacket at Fritz and Shirley's cabin.) If I remember correctly, the bolus prevents the radiation from going too deep into tissue. Unfortunately the bolus also can create more skin problems and causes more skin breakdown. Once they have me set they leave. I need to divert for a moment. There is a TV on the ceiling. It plays nature scenes with elevator music. It has the capability of playing regular TV but do you think I can remember to ask for a station before they leave?? Absolutely not!!! So there I am for 20 minutes listening to elevator music and watching trees and flowers!!! Before radiation is adminsitered, x-rays are taken. (I'm thinking by the time this is all done I might be able to glow in the dark! I won't need a flashlight on camping trips!) The treatments begin at this point. I have treatments delivered to six spots. The radiation machine starts at my left, zaps that spot and then moves in a circle above me. The last one is at my right. When I am done I go back to the dressing room and apply lots of lotion to my skin. Now that I have a few spots where skin has peeled away, instead of lotion I am putting on xeroform. Xeroform is like thin pieces of cloth but with gunky vaseline like substance. I lay them over the open areas and they stick there on their own. I put a little gauze over them however. I head to the scheduler and schedule the next day's treatment. Mon. thru Thurs. I have my pick of times. The out of towners are given the early morning Friday spots so they can head home for the weekend.

I am so amazed and sometimes get a little overwhelmed when I see all of the people getting radiation. I feel so lucky for a variety of reasons. I may have said in other blog posts about the people traveling from all over. Many people drive many hours, stay in Rochester for the week and then head home for the weekends. I feel so lucky that the Mayo Clinic is at my doorstep. I go in in the morning for treatment and then go to work. I also feel lucky because some of these people get two treatments per day. (I start to feel a little guilty for complaining about going in everyday.)

So many people have told me that radiation is "a piece of cake". Based on the information from doctors and nurse educators on the short term and long term side effects, I was determined to stay with the strategy that has worked for me through this ordeal. That strategy is to expect this to be difficult but to try and stay positive. I have found that if I go into something believing it will be difficult but at the same time trying to remain positive, I am able to deal with it a little better. It's a little like being pleasantly surprised that it wasn't as bad as I thought. However, I have also tried really hard at not letting all of this get the better of me. I refuse to slow down until my body tells me to. This strategy has not worked quite as well with radiation. So many people told me what a piece of cake radiation is so that I have let my guard down a bit. Thus it has been more difficult than I expected. Frankly this pisses me off. After all of this time, I have finally let other people's comments affect how I am dealing with this.

Okay for one thing it does in fact not take longer to park my car than to have the treatment. I'm not sure where exactly this person I know was parking. Downtown Rochester just isn't that big!!!!! Even if you park in the ramp it only takes 5 minutes to walk to the Charlton building. So, going into it I expected this to be a five minute deal. Not exactly!!!!!! It is usually somewhere between 20-30 minutes.

The other thing I hear over and over from people is that toward the end your skin just gets a little pink. (This is not what the doctors and my radiation oncology nurse said to me however.) Well, it is more than just a little pink. As I said above, my skin is peeling off in a few spots. The bummer part is that it is going to get worse before this is all done!!!

But, like I have said before. There is a lot of living to do in between all of the crap. Only now I can do all of this living and camping without a flashlight!!!!

7 Week Survivior

Whenever I hear of women who have had cancer, I hear, "I am a 3 year survivor or "I am an 8 year survivor". I always wonder, when does the clock start running on the surviviorship? Is it when all of the treatment is done? I don't know. So, I decided that the clock starts running when the cancer is presumed to be gone. Which in my case was on January 13th. So, that being said, I am a 7 week cancer survivor. That feels so good to say. I know that there could be a stray cancer cell somewhere in my body and I know that I am at risk for it coming back but I feel like I am a survivor. I know I have some treatment left and I will be on tomoxifen for ten years. But, I feel like a survivor. I don't think deciding that, that I am jumping the gun. I am now a part of this elite group of women, a club of sorts. There is a comradery of strangers that I now feel a part. I AM A SURVIVIOR!

As I am laying on the table every morning receiving my radiation treatment, so many things go through my mind. I won't get started on some of it because much of it has to do with all of this health care reform. Hpwever, much of it has to do with how amazed I am of all of the other cancer patients coming in here. I see the various types of molds hanging on racks and sitting on the shelves. (I will explain that another time.) There are several canvases (sp?) with signatures of cancer survivors on them. The canvasses (sp?) line the hallways by the treatment rooms and the dressing rooms. Who are all of these people? What is their experience? What are their stories?

For some reason, I don't know why, I didn't feel comfortable wearing my pink ribbon apparel until now. Perhaps I didn't feel like I was quite part of the club yet. I now wear my pink ribbon fleece jacket and my hat with pride. (maybe not quite pride but close). Beacause, for all practical purposes, I have beat this thing. Pink now means more to me. It represents the war I am winning. It represents the club I am a part of.

So, regardless of what my future holds, I am a 7 week cancer survivor. (8 week since by the time I publish this post another few weeks have gone by!!)

Saying Goodbye To The Girls

When I started this war back in August, the early discussion was that a mastectomy would likely be the recommended course. The reason for this was the size of LB and the proximity to the chest wall. However, as LB shrunk the decision as to the best course became more difficult. I spent many weeks trying to decide what my course should be. Many women are able to have a lumpectomy and from what I have read, survival rates are the same. I met with plastic surgery two times the last being the beginning of November. The point of this was to assist in planning for both scenarios, either reconstruction or repair following radiation. (I have to say the consult with plastics was one of the most humiliating doctor experiences of my life! I don't know how Playboy centerfolds do it!!) The plastic surgeon was very upbeat and had a plan for me for each scenario. I left feeling more positive. This however, did not help me with my decision. The potential loss of a breast or breasts in my opinion, doesn't compare to losing any other organ. There are many emotions tied to them. They are a part of what makes me a woman.

I have many cherished memories, my wonderful childhood, my marriage and having my children. However, the most cherished memories I have are nursing my four children. I can't think of a single memory as special as the moments with my babies. I remember sitting in our crummy green recliner when Kathryn was newborn. (by the way, Kathryn is turning 19 in 2 weeks!) It was around 3 am and as she nursed, I remember looking down at her and thinking there is noone anywhere in the world as happy as I am right now. I wanted the clock to slow down and hang onto that moment. Of course it seems that the more you want the clock to slow down the faster it goes. I loved those moments with all of my babies. Each experience was a little different because each of my babies, even then, had different personalities. When Kathryn was a baby she used to start smiling right in the middle of a meal. Jim was quiet even then and for lack of a better way to put it would "melt into me". Kyle was so full of personality, difficult to describe. When I first went back to work, Mark brought him to my work to nurse. I would sit at my desk with him and my co-worker Flo would be at her desk working. Our chairs were in close proximity. Kyle would tilt his head as far back as he could and still be able to eat and look at Flo like he was trying to figure her out. Then Flo would start laughing because he just had this look. (he still does doesn't he!!) Jeffrey, of course was just plain old happy to be eating! He is and was so cuddly and such a "mush".

Anyway, I got off the track a little. Every visit to see Dee I lamented to her as to what to do. Of course I wanted to do the right thing medically and to ensure survivial. However, I knew that breast preservation could also be a safe option. The goal is to save the breast but not at any cost. This had to be my decision and mine alone. It's not like I could change my mind once it was done. The more I thought about it the more difficult the decision was. Was I thinking about it too much? Was I making too big of a deal of it? So many people offered unsolicited comments and were so flip about it. I decided that no I wasn't thinking about it too much and no I wasn't making too big a deal about it. They were mine and they aren't just breasts. These reactions and thoughts were normal because I owned them. Just like another woman may not have difficulty with the decison and progress easily through the grief process.

I kept going back to a few different things. One, mom had told me that she regrets not having both breasts removed. Second, a family member of a resident had told me several years back after her breast cancer had returned, "I'm getting these cut off!" She was obviously devastated and regretted having not done it earlier. Thirdly, I wouldn't want to have to start this war all over from square one. I also know of so many women that get to keep theirs. It seemed everywhere I looked there were healthy breasts. I resented women I didn't know because they had theirs.

So, Dee scheduled a mammogram and ultrasound the week before my last treatment as well as to meet with the surgeon again. The goal was to see what actual progress was made with LB and to help me make a decision. So, I met with the surgeon. She showed me how LB had shrunk considerably. However, because LB had scar tissue around it from the chemotherapy, it would be difficult to remove only the tumor and ensure best result. Her recommendation was for a mastectomy. I had pretty much decided prior that it was all or nothing. So, on that day (November 30th, I think) I decided to say goodbye to both girls. Of course, me being me, I cried, again. So, we came up with a surgery date which was to be January 13th. Her PA, Jane sat with me awhile, gave me some logistical information and gave me a chance to cry and then calm down. I would have 6 weeks to grieve and say goodbye. I was happy that I would be able to enjoy Christmas. However, it was almost too long. I dreaded the day, I didn't want it to come but I also wanted to get it over with. It was hard to grieve for something that was still there.

I was very distracted over those 6 weeks. I didn't want to let myself focus away from all that was to happen. I needed to allow myself to cry and say goodbye. For whoever may be reading this that don't know me well, I am a crier. I have been my whole life. As a child, I would cry on the way home from vacations, when family weekends to Rake or Kenyon would be over. I would cry on the way home from the yearly trip to the Rodde cabin. In 3rd grade, our class hatched baby chicks. One of them died and I cried so hard the teacher had to call my mom. My entire life, I have fought it and lost terribly. Strange though, I did not cry on my wedding day, the first day of kindergarten for my kids and the day Kathryn graduated from high school. (I wonder what that means!)

On January 12th, the day before surgery I had many tests in preparation. One that I'm glad I didn't know more about prior was the test in nuclear medicine to locate the sentinel node. I knew the purpose and generally what was invloved but not the specifics. I'm glad I didn't have to worry and anticipate that one! The test injects a dye, into the breast to locate the sentinel node for the surgeon during surgery. All I will say is that it involved more needles. (yes that is needles, plural!) I had blood work, ECG and met with Dee and the surgeon again. When the surgeon examined me one last time, she looked at me and said, "I don't want to make you crazy but I can't find anything." She stated that lumpectomy was an option. This was wonderful news not because I could decide to have a lumpectomy but because it meant that the chemo had worked. I had already made my decision and did not wish to change my mind. The risks were too great. I did feel elated though and felt like everything I had gone through thus far had been worth it. However, staying firm in my decision did not mean that I was done crying!!! So, I shed more tears. (big shocker huh?!) It's strange because even though I was crying I was also relieved that my blood work and ECG were good which meant that we could proceed with surgery as planned.

January 13th arrived. We got up at 4:30 and arrived at the hospital at 5:30. We went to a prep room where I go through a huge list of questions with the admitting nurse. At 6:30 or so I parted ways with Mark. This was difficult for me. I am just fine on my own but it was creepy saying goodbye knowing that I would never be the same again. I went to the pre-op room which will also be the recovery room in a few hours. (I was told when I wake, my bed will be facing the opposite direction.) It was huge with many beds in it. While lying there, over the next hour I answered many, many, many times why I was there and what was being done. It was actually interesting listening to other people recite their own reasons for being there. Knowing that I would be in the OR by 7:45 I stared at the clock for the next hour. I particulalry remember the clock from 7:30-7:45 thinking that the second hand seemed to be going backwards. Even though I had been dreading this whole process I just wanted to get it over with. I wanted to be able to properly grieve and heal.

I was wheeled into the OR on time at 7:45. I had held it together pretty well until I arrived in the OR. Tears were welling in my eyes. The first people I saw were the surgeon and her PA Jane. Dr. Degnim saw me and said, "I see there are tears." She said it in a kind way, not condescending. For almost the first time in my life, I was not embarrassed by the tears. The IV was placed and the monitor was placed on my back to measure heart rate etc. The last thing I remember was the anesthesiologist placing the mask over my face. (kind of like in the movies)

When I woke, I was in the recovery room. I had 2 first thoughts. One was, I woke up! and the other was what time is it? When I woke it was 2:30. I remember hearing someone talk about having a baby so it was killing me to find out what that was all about. One of the OR nurses was the one having the baby. (I'm not sure why I put that in there but it is something that I remember so well.) As soon as I woke I was wheeled up to my room. Mark and Pastor Kathie were there waiting for me. Mark had flowers for me!!!! (This was extra special to me because I know how much he hates flowers!)

So, the next morning Dr. Degnim came by and told me I was ready to go home that day! She also informed me that the healthy breast had atypical fibrotic hyperplasia. This meant that although there was no cancer, there was a good chance it would develop into cancer later. I had made the right decision! Also, the other good news was that LB had shrunk to 2 mm and the lymph nodes were negative for cancer!!

So, the girls are gone. After 30 years of companionship they are gone. However, I had such a sense of peace wash over me. It is very difficult to describe. After the weeks and weeks of worrying and trying to make a decision, it was done and I felt good about my decision. I am still trying to figure out why it is difficult for me to tell people what kind of surgery I had. It may be because it is so very personal and emotional. So, even though I am at peace with it all I suspect I will shed more tears. Get the tissues ready!!!!