Wigs (2 of 2)

...and the last one

Wigs (1 of 2)

Although two of three of the places wouldn't allow us to take photos, here are some snaps that Laurie took at the first place we visited. We had a hoot.

Photos that I owe you - PICC

I promised you a photo of my post-PICC arm so you could all share the horror!

Here it is:

AAAHHHH. (Sigh of contentment)

Does it make me a bad person to express: The kids are gone! The kids are gone! and then do a little jig of joy? As we pass from 2011 to 2012 I cannot help but feel that the answer is: not at all!

Being a single parent is truly wonderful but a heck of alot of work. Being a divorced single parent at least has the benefit (hopefully) of having small breaks when the kids visit the other parent. However, being a divorced single parent when the other parent has limitations, can be a roller coaster. For various reasons, for over five months I have not had a break from the kids until last night:) I didn't realize how much I needed the break until they were gone.

Both kids are gone for five whole days and nights. I celebrated by having Laurie over for supper and working on a jigsaw puzzle. Today, I was going to run some errands and paint some walls, but I've decided instead to spend the entire day in my jammies, work on the puzzle, read, watch DVDs and eat cookies and ice cream - for breakfast! Monday I can run errands and paint.

The chemo is leaving me very fatigued already but my hair is still in place. I have been wig shopping with Laurie this week. Sadly, there are no really fun wigs that even come close to looking good on me. They do look awesome on the styrofoam people though. It's been fun and eye opening. The range of services runs the gamut from, "It's a shame it doesn't fit but that's just the way they're made", to "Not to worry about the puffiness back there, I'll custom fit it for you so that we eliminate that problem". There are also places that will give you scalp massages to help stimulate hair re-growth at the end and creams to use yourself. I think this may be a perfect way for mom and I to visit. My scalp is already just a touch sensitive and scalp massages on my soon to be bald pate sounds like Nirvana. Ready mom?

As for the fatigued feeling, it's shockingly like being pregnant. When you're pregnant, there is a little parasite taking over and sucking all the life out of you. That little peanut is the important life form and takes priority. Chemo makes you feel like you've been likewise invaded. It sucks the life out of you, not to support itself but to ensure that it sucks the life out of the cancer as well. I feel sort of continuously hung over. No matter how much water I take in, I'm more likely to feel like I'm drowning than I have to feel that I'm no longer thirsty. My heels have split wide open because they are completely dried out. No matter what I eat, it doesn't taste satisfying - like my taste buds are asleep. It's just a bummer that I don't have the memories of the party that caused me to feel this way. (Notice that I'm not saying "or the joy of expecting a baby" - I have two teenagers - see above)

Anyway, in the grand scheme of things I'm doing great. I can usually accomplish one thing every day and if I need to take more jammies days as the chemo goes on, so be it. Lord knows I'm owed a few hours in bed. I saw an interview with Kathleen Petty from CBC who is going through something similar and she has been reduced to watching day time television. Things will never get that bad around here.:)

Happy New Years everyone. May 2012 be the year that you achieve.

Post Chemo Continued

Happy Boxing Day. I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas celebration. Sorry that I left you all hanging with "Off to Chemo" but I spent a wonderful afterrnoon visiting with Heather and Nicki, Judy, mom and dad instead so I hope that I can be forgiven for the lapse. It's the first year in memory that I haven't spent the entire 24th of December running errands and wrapping until late. It was really nice.

So, now back to the story. After the PICC saga, the nurse who did all the good work and got me all cleaned up picked up all my gear and lead me to bay 6 for treatment. One has the option of either a bed or a chair - and of course I opted for the bed. Any chance to lay down and close my eyes is golden for me. Everything went great. That nurse (whose name I'll have to be sure to get next time) was soon replaced by Kathleen, who seemed to be the head nurse - or at least my head nurse:) Because I have the PICC line they could pump the stuff into me relatively quickly. First I got the red stuff, "A", which makes me pee bright red for a few days (fitting with the season), and then I got the brown stuff, "C", which didn't have any neat side effects.

Most of the time however the nurses were going over the pill regimen with me. This pill with food. These pills 12 hours apart. This pill this day, this pill that day. Injections on these days but not these. This pill if you feel nauseous - don't be a hero - stay in front of the nausea because it's easier to keep it at bay then to get rid of it once it starts - call this number if you need injections for nausea, on and on and on. Thankfully they also provided a chart with pill descriptions, alternate names, and full instructions - all on one handy sheet.

Home Care also came to give me more medical supplies and ensure I have the 24/7 numbers in case I need help at odd hours. I also got a free three month supply of Calcium and Vitamin D!

The pharmacy had questions about my prescriptions - one called for me to take two pills a day for four days - but then limited the script to 6 pills. Also, if a doc signed off on one of the scripts I would be able to get it free of charge from the pharmacy instead of paying over $100 a pop for it. And the lovely Kathleen took care of all of that for me too:)

Finally, Kathleen told me that I could have my blood work done through the PICC line if I came up to the Chemo Centre to have it done. I was surprised to hear this because I presumed that it would be done through the PICC line anywhere in the hospital. The bloodwork needs to be done before meeting with Dr Clemons so he can look at it and do his doctory stuff. I forgot my phone at home so didn't know the time of my next appointment with Clemons. No worries, Kathleen went into the computer, found the time of my appointment, made an appointment for me to have the blood work done there and paged Clemons to find out what type of blood work he wanted done. The federal government could learn alot from the way this Cancer Centre works. No arguing about who leads and whose job is what and who is the client and who is in charge. And talk about efficient! Certainly there is no ambiguity as to who gets the kudos either - the nurses get them all!

In any event, it was not as restful this go around as I had hoped, but it was great. I was warm in my turtle neck (I found one that rolled up easily to access the PICC), my turquoise shawl that all my colleagues will know b/c I kept it in the office with me at all times, my crazy cancer socks and the quilt mom, Elaine and Daphne made for me. I got lots of compliments on the quilt and the shawl. Sadly, no one else in my Bay had anything special with them - just the hospital sheets and blankets. Boring! I got an odd look from the gentleman in the chair beside my bed when I slipped off my shoes and stuck on my bright pink polka-dotted socks, but I gave him my best smile and he turned away to mind his own Ps and Qs.

I was my usual humourous self (tee hee) and at the end of the session I got hugs and kisses from everyone and holiday wishes. Seriously, it's a great place full of awesome people. I hope none of you ever have to be there, but if you do and if my first experience is the norm, it will be as comfortable and supportive as possible.

Oh ya, the Honeyman and Brothers Farr concert at the Blacksheep was alot of fun. I felt pretty good although I was drinking so much water per Kathleen's orders that I thought at one point that I might drown. I think soon there may be a post here of my mom's friend Lynne eating her hat (she didn't think I would make it out that evening:).

UPDATE: mom didn't work the video properly - so no eating of the hat - but here is the hat that mom and Heather made for the eating.....

Christmas was wonderful. I spent the morning at home with the kids and we had a great time. Then I went upstairs for a nap and the kids did a reasonably good job cleaning up. Laurie, her brother Glenn and his buddy James came over around 15:00 (and woke me up:) and we had another round of gift exchanges and then it was time for all six of us to head off to Mom and Dad's for supper with Heather and Nicki. It was great - mom broke out the margaritas (but not the profiteroles) and everyone had a great evening. There was a Blokus tournament to cap it all off. Logan was greatly handicapped with an Aunt who was more interested in sleeping instead of strategizing and a young cousin who was very interested in climbing Logan the Ladder during the play. He did very well on his own however and only seemed to decline when his aunt woke up! The big winners were Sydny and Granny in the first round and Glenn and Grandpa in the second.

Today the kids and I are planning to begin our Harry Potter movie watching marathon as Santa brought us the complete set on Blueray. Normally we would ski as much as possible this week, but mom is not up for that. They won't even notice that I'm napping through half the movies:)

Happy holidays!

Post Chemo

Good morning one and all. Here is the story of my first trip to the General for chemo. I arrived on time (through some traffic miracle because I still had quite a few things to do at home and left a little late) and headed upstairs to the chemo unit. The receptionist met me and asked me whether I had received training on the computerized Interactive Symptom Assessment and Collection (ISAAC) system. Nope! Bummer, because she had no idea how to use it and usually the volunteers were there to show new patients but they were all off due to the holiday. No worries, I blog now so I can figure this out.

I went over to ISAAC, sat down and pressed "Start". So far so good. The system then asked me to swipe my health card. Again, no problem. Then the damn thing asked me for my password. Hmm. There was no option for "Don't have an account with us? Press here to set one up" or "New patient? Set up your password by touching here". Stumped, I entered a password that I would like to use, hoping the system would pop up a screen that says, "That password is not recognized. Are you a new user? Touch here" Nope. It just told me that I didn't have the proper credentials to log in. Back to the reception desk.

"Ah," she said, "I recall receiving an e-mail with the default password a while ago. Let me check." and she started searching her e-mail. My hope was not high. What if her e-mail looked like mine at work? That would mean about 6,000 unread messages in the in-box and about 100 electronic folders to search, totally tens of thousands of e-mails!! I'd be here until Christmas and I haven't made the blueberry muffins yet!! Apparently her e-mail doesn't look anything like mine because she found the e-mail she was looking for in relatively short order and proceeded to scan through it. Sadly, the e-mail did not contain the necessary information. I glanced back at the computer booth and noticed some papers on top of the desk. "Maybe they have the info." I told her and walked back over. Sure enough, taped to the wall of the kiosk was the default password if you are a new user. Now, while this is helpful and I perhaps should have spent more time sitting and searching the walls of the kiosk for the info, in my defence, the walls were covered with various flyers for various goods and services. Also, who buidls a compputer system that doesn't include all the necessary processes - requiring paper to go along with the paperless system?? In any event, it took less than two minutes, once I had all the info, to fill out the form. I was impressed by the paperless system. So far I have been inundated with paper from the hospital. Tons and tons of information on all kinds of things. I can't imagine why they don't just select from a menu everything that applies to my cancer when I first meet the oncologist and then print it all to a CD and just give me that (with an index that's searchable and user-friendly, of course) and stop with all the paper! Sadly, ISAAC let me down again, it's parting words being "Your report is now printing". After all the computer stuff, I had to take the paper in to the chemo nurse, who was sitting at a computer.........

The receptionst had my chemo paperwork but not the bloodwork that I was having done first for the D-sab clinical trial of which I'm now an official member. She called and they said for me to come on back. I keep calling the place "Pathology" which cracks up the receptionst. Apparently the blood sucking unit of the chemo lab is called "Pharmacology". I understand why not "Pathology" but I don't understand why "Pharmacology". In any event, I explained to the receptionist my noun handicap (I never get them right!) and I just got a strange look. I was once told the name of this brain block that I have (I'm assured it's a real thing), but it was a noun, so I forgot it.

I meet a new tech in the blood section and she is pleased to see the bulge of the PICC in my arm(which I looked up and which stands for Peripherally Inserted Central Catheter - which totally explains the half meter of tubing in me). I sat down and rolled up my sleeve and the tech just said, "Uh oh". These are words that should never be uttered by anyone in the medical field, a tatoo artist or a hairdresser. There may be others, but these are the ones that I have encountered in my life. Apparently what I thought was the pink dissinfectant that they used during the PICC insertion seeping into my jacket and all over the bandage was actually blood. In fact, the bandage was huge with dried blood. No question, it needed to be changed. And that sparked what would be quite the debate!

The tech proceeded to take the six vials of blood from the PICC. When I saw how many vials she had I was glad I had prepared food b/c I was sure that I was going to pass out. (Sadly, as it turns out I had left my food and phone at home together on the kitchen counter. Gladly, I didn't feel faint.) She then told the other tech that she was going to change the bandage. "No way" came the reply. "There is a procedure to doing this. We need to get a nurse. We're not trained. I don't think we want to touch this. We should call the PICC team." That caught my attention. Yes, please get a nurse. Yes, please call the PICC team. I didn't say anything, curious as to how this would pan out. The younger tech was keen to prove her mettle, clearly. She told us both that she had changed a PICC dressing at Bruyere when she worked there and at the General while she was a student. If she wanted to give it a try I would let her - until she hurt me of course - and I could always have the chemo nurse check it to make sure that it was done properly. This was not to happen however as the older, extremely sensible tech went to get a nurse. While she was gone I re-assured the younger one not to worry. "The procedures are there to protect you. I'm a dreadfully mean lawyer, so you really do have to be careful. You'll get your training and then you can explore all the disgusting PICC dressings you want." She laughed and in the result was very helpful during the process, always ready with the saline to help un-stick the dressing and getting all the supplies to hand.

My PICC debacle resulted in three nurses and the two techs coming to my rescue. Everyone was circled round. I felt like human carrion. Slowly, gently, and with the aid of much saline, they managed to peel away the putrid dressing. "Ech!", said one of the nurses. "Ech?! You can't say "Ech!". I'm sitting here. I can hear you." She quickly responded, "Not you, just the PICC!" Ha! not helpful! I told her that I was just ribbing her - mostly to keep my mind off the goo that was my arm, but (and I didn't tell her this part) because you shouldn't say "Ech!" in front of the patient!

Eventually, the techs and one of the nurses went for lunch, the Ech nurse went back to her bay and I was left with one lovely nurse who did a fantastic job. There were major blood clots gooing up everything, I was still covered in pink dissinfectant and you should see the bruise! It's even better than the one I got from the unfrozen biopsy that I survived. The biggest irony in this entire saga is that I had no symptoms from the cancer itself, but the medical profession is now trying to kill me. At this rate, there is a slightly higher than de minimis chance that they will succeed. Off to the chemo bay! (Actually, now I am off to run some errands - only medical and not Christmas b/c I'm ready!!! In the result, I'll have to finish this blog a little later - but I'll do it today - promise.

'Twas the Night Before Chemo

Thanks to help from Laurie, the gifts are all wrapped, I have a tortiere in the freezer for Christmas Eve with the kids, the tree is up (at least until I go to bed and the cats take it down. Again.)and the house is in relatively good order. I think I'm ready.

The PICC (not spelled with "Q"!) went in today. Relatively uneventful procedure but it has left me with a swollen and rather irritated left arm - which is covered pink from my elbow to my shoulder. At least they provided me with a sleeve so that I can still take showers and it is moderately less disgusting than the drain. Can you believe that they put almost half a meter of tubing into me? 44 cm (just over 17 inches) of little blue stuff all the way to the other side of my heart from my left arm! Truly incredible. I only got nervous when they told me they were taking ultra sound of my neck to make sure the tube didn't take a left at Albuquerque (a la Bugs Bunny). That weirded me out.

Mom dropped off a beautiful quilt today that will help to keep me warm tomorrow and all the sessions following. Thanks to Elaine, Daphne and Alice for working on it with mother. It is very beautiful and bright and warm and I know that I will be very thankful to have it with me. Also going to chemo tomorrow are LA's crazy cancer socks and all the good karma that you have all sent my way. Apparently I can bring in my laptop so if they have the wireless running I'll try to post from there.

Needing sleep now in prep for the big day. Love to everyone. See you on the other side:)

Totally Bland Update

Good morning!

Just to ensure you that you are missing nothing from my adventure, here is a little update.

This week I have been injected with dyes and nuclear gunk. Some people at the hospital could access my veins, some couldn't. I had needles in my hand and all over my one good blood draining arm. I drank iodine. I was scanned from tip to toes. I had a full body bone scan and then separate ones for my hands and elbows???!!! I had a CT scan - I have no idea what they were looking at. I held my breath when I was told to. I didn't move when I was told not to. I couldn't nap during my bone scan because I was a bad patient and I forgot to fill out the questionaire beforehand so Derek had to read me the questions and write down my answers during the scan. Haviing missed a nap, I'll never do that again!

I did the last blood test to see if I qualify to be in the Dynosamab (???) clinical trials. D-mab is a drug used for osteoporosis. Apparently breast cancer most frequently spreads to the bones. They are hoping to show that D-mab prevents such a spread. I won't know whether I'm taking D-mab or a placebo - but it's 50/50 so well worth it. If at any point they collect enough evidence to show D-mab is helping then everyone gets moved over to D-mab.

That's it - that was the week. Next week I have a muga and cancer school and then Friday is the big chemo day. I've already bought a ticket to a concert at the Black Sheep Inn on Friday, so I'm hoping that all the drugs they have me taking will ensure that I'm feeling up to it.

Enjoy the last week before Christmas!

'Tis the Season (For Nuclear Medicine)

Apparently there have been rumblings that I am not blogging sufficiently to satiate the audience. For that I apologize. I have been running around trying to get insurance paperwork completed, Christmas organized, Christmas baking, re-upholster all the furnishings I got from my grandparents twenty years ago, having a wall built and a new doorway installed, Christmas baking, creating a raffle basket for Sydny's Christmas water show (which was a success) and trying to get an IKEA wall unit built - with all the right pieces in the right place - oh and moving my fridge and installing a broom closet in the kitchen. Phew, I'm tired just writing it all down. Top all of that off with the fact that I'm so tired I am only working at about a quarter of my former capacity and you can understand how the hours to blog are few.

I will make it up to you today however. Alot has happened since the last blog so make a cuppa (pause while I go and do the same), get comfortable and read on.

The day after the call booking me with Dr. Dent, I received a call that there had been a cancelation and was I available to come in on Friday, the 9th to see Dr Mark Clemons. Sure. The name meant nothing to me and I was only lukewarm over Dent. My sister knew her and says she would certainly see her, although she is rather aloof. I heard stories about test results not being delivered to patients and problems with her staff however. Also, I looked on-line and there was a very low rating with her with similar complaints. With my sister's assurances of competence however, I wasn't going to rock the boat - I would just have to work harder to make her laugh. So, sure, I'll switch to this Clemons guy, why not?

Man, did I luck out. If you look this guy up on line you get nothing but rave reviews. Also, a friend of the family had some experience with him and praised him highly. So great, I've now gone from the 22nd to the 9th and from an okay doc to a great one.

I truck off the hospital for the appointed time (note: Clemons is lovely but runs way late) and run into a beloved former client and her mom who are there - her mom is undergoing the same thing I am. It was great to have a chance to speak with them about the process and see someone who is way further along in the process than I am and still in great spirits and doing well. Bonus that the doc runs late too:)

About forty minutes after my scheduled appointment time, I'm ushered into an exam room by the lovely Hazel. We go over the forms (that I luckily had received just that morning in the mail and managed to complete despite the dust being kicked up everywhere by my contractor, the fact that I had to become a "contractor's assistant" to get the door hung and the crew working in the front room trying to figure out an IKEA wall unit). I ask about the fatigue and burn out that I was experiencing this summer. Is it possible, I want to know, that I was just experiencing some of the symptoms of my cancer. No, is the unequivocal reply. My cancer was caught too early for me to have been having symptoms. While it is still just a working theory, the current view of cancer among the specialists is that it is caused by stress. In lay terms, everyone has cells in their bodies that could become cancerous. The body's immune system takes care of them and prevents cancer from occurring. However, when we are stressed, the immune system is suppressed and the cancer takes root and grows. What Hazel found surprising was the number of years that I lasted at my job before I developed cancer. Someone please take this to my ADM and DM and make sure that they know what I took for the team!

I change into the required gown and in comes Clemons. Very British, younger than I expected and with a slight lisp - I think. Anyway, I didn't understand a thing he said for about the first ten minutes. After the exam we sit down to go over everything. I take out my pen and paper and he grabs it away from me. "What will I do if you make your own notes?" he asks. "I'm going to write down everything you need to know. But my handwriting is terrible so I hope you can read it!" Seriously? So we compromise. I tell him I won't write (I've already lost my pen and paper so this isn't much of a concession on my part) but if I can't read his writing and answer my family's questions, I'm going to send in my mother, sister and aunt and he can explain it all to them. He agrees, but only because he doesn't fully appreciate the enormity of what I've just proposed. One day he might.

Apparently, there was no patient who cancelled so I could have this spot. Clemons was supposed to be at some World Breast Cancer Conference but, the plane out of Ottawa being fully loaded, the flight attendant collapsed and was taken away in an ambulance. (Hopefully she's fully recovered) Having missed his connecting flight, the good doctor decided there was really no point and returned to work - freeing up space for new patients - including moi. The universe is all connected.

So, we're off. Apparently only the size of the largest tumour is relevant - that's 2.5 cm. The grade is 2/3 and only one lymph node was affected to any relevant extent. The two tests that I hadn't seen the results of yet were also in. My tumours were estrogen receptive - which is great because that means my body can be fed full of tamoxifen (anti-estrogen) as part of chemo and kill the suckers that way. They were also Her2 negative - which is also very positive because that one's really difficult to deal with.

Bottom line: Ten Year breast cancer free survival rate with no further medical intervention - 66%; with tamoxifen - 75%; with chemo - 81%. Dr Clemons looks at me with a smile. "Not good enough. I want a 99% prognosis so let's step it up." The smile fades and the eyes widen, "That's not possible. Even your children don't have a 99% chance of survival over the next ten years." "Fine, you take me to 81 and I'll do the last 18 on my own." Another deal negotiated successfully.

So, the plan is chemo for 16 weeks, once every two weeks instead of every three(dense treatment), followed by radiation - I won't know what the deal is for that until I meet with Genest in January - then hormone therapy and finally other possible surgical interventions to be discussed later.

Doc Clemens then moves on to describe for me the expected side effects of chemo: hair loss, yes!!! Eyebrows raise and he's speechless again. "I want curly hair!" I explain. "Ah!"; puking; fatigue; infections and on and on. Then he turns to me and says, "You've met Hazel. She's a cold hearted bitch." Now it's my turn to raise my eyebrows and stare stupidly. "What? That nice lady I met earlier?" "Absolutely. Anyone gets in her way or messes with your treatment and Hazel will be after them. She'll take such good care of you. You've got nothing to worry about and you just let Hazel know if you have any questions or problems." Unfortunately, I'm sure he's only speaking about things related to my treatment, but even so. I've got a bitch in my corner and for once I can sit back and relax and take it easy while someone does the fighting on my behalf. Now I know what it's like to be the client - and I like it!

The only really bad spot in all of this is that I will have to give myself and injection (in the stomach!!) for five days after every chemo session. I have a real problem with needles and I'm not sure that I can do this. Both my mother and brother volunteered WAY too quickly when they heard about this. My sister and sister-in-law (doctor and nurse) are going to help out and maybe I can eventually take this over on my own - but man, when does the bad news stop? I guess that's the price you have to pay for curly hair.

Later!

First Dates

Sadly, I am not referring to those wonderful, nail-biting, butterfly producing encounters between two relative strangers who are hoping fervently that they like the other, and more fervently that the night is not a total disaster and they make a complete fool of themselves.

Instead I am referring to a call from the Cancer Institute regarding dates. I have an appointment on December 22 to see Dr Susan Dent who will apparently be my oncologist. On January 16 I will see Dr. Ginest, the radiologist. Apparently I will not be able to start treatment before the holidays, which is too bad as I want nothing more than to get this kick started. However, on the up side I guess I won't be sick for Christmas:)

Call from the Cancer Institute

Just getting out of the shower on Friday, the phone rings and it's the Cancer Institute, doing a pre-registration. She confirmed my name, address, next of kin and health card number and said that someone will call me next week with dates for appointments.

Of course, it being me, I was dripping wet and could not find my health card for love nor money! I turned my wallet and purse inside out looking for it. I thought about the last time I had used it - which was the day of surgery. I turned out all my jacket pockets, but to no avail.

I finally located it at the bottom of a small pocket in my purse, tucked away all by its lonesome.

Look for big news at the end of next week.

P.S. I've been told that the blog is difficult to read b/c of the background colour. I've changed it - so I hope that it's better for all of you. cheers.

Mirsky Survives!

I show up at Mirsky's office a couple of minutes late and ask the receptionist if she needs my health card. "I don't think so" she replies as she looks at her computer and pulls out my file. I sit and open my book.

"Nothing has changed?" she asks after a minute or two. Huh? Well, I have three holes in my right side and there's less of me to love this time....hmm, how do I respond to that?? "Nothing's changed regarding what?" I ask. "The information on your health card". Ah, lightbulbs.

Soon I'm ushered into one of Mirsky's examination rooms where I continue to read. He pops his head in after only a couple of paragraphs. "You look great. You look like your going to have surgery, not like you just had an operation." Seriously, how do give a guy like that shit??

The visit was brief. We went over the pathology report again and some of the particular symptoms I am having. Nothing to worry about - no sweat - it may take up to two years for all the nerves to come back to life. The oncologist will call as soon as the hormone and Her-2 reports are in. That apparently could take another week or two - but I should hear from them before Christmas at least.

As for the drugs, he wanted to know what the hell I was doing that I needed more than 12 pills. While I was telling him he just shook his head and stared at me. "You can call me anytime and I'll give you more pills if you need them. Most people take it a little easier after surgery and do just fine with one every six hours." I'm not sure that's true, or whether his patients just don't tell him he's stingy with drugs. I told him that I had no trouble getting more and he just laughed and told me to say nothing else about it:)

Time for the examination. He just looked and said, "It looks great. I did a great job." I burst out laughing. I said he thought it looked good only because he did the cutting. "Trust me, when you're the cuttee - it looks like crap and sucks big time." He just laughed.

That's it. Now it's just wait for the last two reports and the call from the cancer institute to take the next steps. Right now my arm is feeling great and the incisions aren't doing too badly - although I appear to have a small infection at the edge of one of the incisions. Dr S called in some antibiotics for me however - so that's well in hand as well!

Milestones and Lessons

What a week! On Wednesday I was ready to write to you all to let you know that I was progressing very well and had achieved some great milestones. I had managed to get three pieces of that dreadful tape off, I got on a sports bra for the first time, and I was out and about on my own - I headed to PetSmart and Costco! Very exciting events. Also, our little Peanut had a urinary crystal and peed all over my duvet and quilt - so I hauled all of that stuff to the basement and washed it. Duvets are really heavy when wet (and quilts are heavy even when dry)!

Sadly, I never got to make that post because by Wednesday evening I was in so much pain that I could barely walk. I tried a couple of Aleve but that did absolutely nothing. The entire surgical area (we're talking three separate incisions/holes!!!!!) was more painful than the day following surgery. It was oozy and inflamed and swollen. Perhaps I overdid it just a noodge. (Jane, none of these exclamation points is redundant. They are all meaningful and required to express my complete dismay at having than many incisions:))

I took a pain pill (Thank you D - you know who you are even if someone else has to read the post to you) and went to sleep. Thursday however wasn't much better and things got much worse through the day, despite the fact that I sat around on the sofa reading all day with almost zero activity. At 15:00 I picked up Logan from school and just the process of showering and dressing was incredibly painful. I called the "We Care" clinic and asked to see the nurse.

The lovely Beth had a look to see if my incisions were infected. She removed all the tape! That stuff is horrible. Everytime I moved it would pull and poke at some sensitive part of my underarm. The tape would fold in on itself and stab me at the incision site! yuk. Beth rinsed everything out and told me that, while she didn't think I had any infection, everything was inflamed and the drain site was not healing well. Leaking at this late stage is apparently not a good thing. Beth put a simple gauze over the drain site and suggested I see my family doc just to be sure. She also asked me to tell Mirsky that the drains are a pain. Poor Mirsky!

Thursday night was Glebe's music night and it was a great show, but I only managed to get through it with a little pill and little movement.

By Friday things were getting much better and dad schlepped me around running errands and wouldn't let me do much. I made a big pot of chili for Syd's chili dinner fundraiser and basically chilled. Friday night I was well enough to catch Hey Rosetta at Bronson Centre.

Lesson learned however. It is better to have some limitations on what I can achieve in a day and what I can do on my own than to be in terrible pain and basically totally dependent on everyone for everything! Intellectually a simple proposition, but very difficult to implement. I hate this part of cancer. Between that and the incredible boredom, this may just be more difficult than I thought.

It is now Sunday morning and I think that getting that tape off has made the world of difference. The site is grotesque but seems to be healing much more rapidly now that it is getting more air and not being repeatedly stabbed by sharp tape. I still have no feeling on the underside of my arm which creeps me out - but that may be only temporary. All in all, much improved. If anyone has any suggestions for what I can do with my mind over the next while - please let me know! Love to everyone.

Call from Mirsky

The surgeon himself called today around 17:00 to let me know what the pathology report said and to follow up from the surgery. The report still doesn't have the results on the hormone receptability of the cancer, which won't arrive until late next week, but he was able to clarify/explain some things.

It seems that two of the sentinal nodes tested positive for cancer so he took all of the nodes out. I wasn't very clear with him on the phone unfortunately as Syd was with me - but he said, "I took that triangle that we discussed in my office." I pulled out the pear pictures and, wouldn't you know it, it appears that he removed all of the nodes - something I was desperately trying to avoid! I got in touch later with Heather who confirmed that with the nodes it's an all or nothing deal - if even one tests positive then they all have to go! I thought that they could remove just one string. [Enter expletive here.] It does explain however the level of pain and discomfort that I've been having. I couldn't figure out why the removal of one string meant that I couldn't go from laying down to sitting or sitting to standing without an incredible rush of pressure and breath taking pain! Now I know. Bending over to pick up anything from the floor is a definite throw back to pre-op days! I need one of those giant pincers on the end of a long stick.

On a lighter note, there were actually three separate tumours that Mirsky removed - the largest was an inch and the combined size of the three was half a centimeter larger than that. They were all stage II. Yay me! He is now sending everything over to the cancer institute but he told me to expect chemo at the very least. My ever-helpful sister has told me that "rad" is always given as well. At least I've had alot of advanced warning for that - unlike the nodes.

Do you suppose the Department of Justice will accomodate me on my return to work by hiring someone to follow me around and pick things up for me????? Frankly, sitting here tonight jonesing for some red licorice, I think that it's the least they could do:)

Drain Free and Showered!

The dreaded drain was removed day before yesterday at "We Care" at Billings. Despite the lame name, the service provided by We Care both at their facilities and through their in-home nurses was exceptional.

The drain really freaked me out. It was the one thing that, pre-op, I couldn't wrap my head around. To have a tube from inside me to outside of me was not right. Plus it was gross. Pain I can manage, blechy-ness is totally beyond me. Thinking of it pre-op made me weepy and by the 10th I had completely convinced myself that I wouldn't have one. Ignorance is bliss - I believe that more every day. Fortunately, a hospital volunteer sewed these wonderful little pouches that carried the drain and tied around the neck for minimal viewing and discomfort. That made dealing with it at home for five days was doable - but only barely.

Mother came to pick me up the morning of the removal. I was nauseous. I seriously thought I would hurl. I had very serious doubts that I could get through this next phase without hurling, passing out from blechy-ness and/or pain or screaming my face off. (That's a really awesome expression by the way, and very apropos my feelings on having the drain removed.)

I waited until the last minute to leave the house and when we arrived three minutes before my scheduled appointment time, I seriously suggested to mom that we wait in the car. She didn't seem to realize that I was serious however.

We didn't wait long before the nurse came out. It was an odd encourter as she had been given only my last name (which no one ever uses if they can avoid it) and my initial. She literally came out and said hello. I wasn't sure if she was for me nor did it appear she was sure either. In any event, we quickly resolved the name issue and off we went to the torture chamber.

The first thing out of my mouth was that I was going to puke and she should really get a bucket. Being a nurse, she wasn't fazed a bit - and never did get the bucket come to think of it. I was sweating enough buckets apparently. She was quite good and told me that everyone was really leery of this process and it wasn't nearly as bad as it seemed from my side of it. I doubted her seriously. She also told me that she would be removing all of the dressings in addition to the drain - which I didn't know and was totally unprepared for. Ignorance is truly bliss.

She had me lay down and she immediately went to work removing the dressings - and just fyi, having medical tape ripped off of one's armpit is painful in its own right. Once she had everything off we got down to business. Although I still today refuse to look, she told me Mirsky did a really good job. She also said that if the nodes hadn't been involved, the surgery would have been nothing. The major part of my surgery and the part that will take the longest to recover from is the node removal apparently. And a week out, I can vouch for that - it is what is continuing to cause me the majority of the pain and discomfort.

She gave me my instructions, "Take a deep breath in through your nose and release through your mouth and I will remove the drain while you exhale." Seriously? I just looked at her and told her that I could hold my breath for an incredibly long time! The meany told me that she could wait me out.

SPOILER ALERT: THIS NEXT PART IS GROSS! The drain was apparently held in place with a couple stitches. One of them was rather "tight" and the nurse had a really difficult time removing it. She had to snip and tug and the stitch and my flesh. I think I might puke just writing about it now. I begged her to leave it in but she wouldn't. She warned me that if she did it would soon start to bug me and Mirsky would tell me it was all in my head if I complained about it to him. That made me laugh - Mirsky wouldn't dare tell me something was "all in my head." The man knows me by now! Anyway, it's out and I lived.

Afterwards, the nurse/meany put on some surgical tape as it had come off during the dressing removal. These will apparently just fall off over the next few weeks and are holding me closed apparently (retch).

The really great news was that, as of that appointment, I am free to once again luxuriate in a shower! Yay me.

I'm now in a boring phase, doing my physio and trying to get back into the swing of things as they were pre-op. I still can't lift the sax to practice, so stay tuned as to whether I'll be able to make the concert on the 13th. Cheers.

To Poop or Not to Poop

Monday. Today I have taken my sick day from the surgery. I managed to "borrow" some extra pain killers from a friend who had surgery and didn't use all the drugs (I now, she's totally crazy - but it's worked out well for me). Her doc gave her enough for several days every 4 to 6 hours while my stingy as all get out doc gave me enough for two days every 6 hours only. Even my sister, who once told me that her bedside manner improved only after I provided her with my OHIP number and to sit down and remain quiet while she continued to practice testing reflexes, thought Mirsky was unnecessarily stingy with the drugs. I'll be sure to let him know my views.

So, while I spent the weekend up and about and ensuring mom did everything properly (she's still speaking to me - even with the sale of the piano so I know that I wasn't too obnoxious)and trying to comfort the kids by being as much my old self as possible, I needed the drugs to do it. This in turn has meant that I've been bunged up completely since Wednesday. This is not a good feeling. I thought long and hard about where the lesser evil lay - in giving up the drugs or giving up moving bowels. Eventually I know the drugs have to stop anyway, so, today was my stay in bed, read, nap and be sick day - and get off the drugs.

I awoke at my usual - 04:15 today and didn't take my dose of meds. I read for a while and eventually fell back asleep until I heard the kids moving about. I allowed them to wait on me hand and foot before they left for school! Logan brought me a lovely cup of tea and Syd brought me a blueberry muffin with a dab of butter. (Before you get to enthralled with the kids, I made the muffins before the surgery and froze them - but she did remember to thaw it out before bringing it to me.) I had a lovely morning. The relaxation, the tea and missing two doses of meds meant that I am no longer bunged up - and feeling awesome about that!

Mom dropped by around noon to clean the mess she made at dinner yesterday and I blissfully read and napped until mid-afternoon. Still off the meds as I write this and the kids are returning from school. Tomorrow the drain comes out at 08:30! Yay!

And now, I need to go and lie down, as the blog and my e-mail has worn me out!

Saturday and all is well

I'm up and about, had a bath and washed my hair, put on makeup and I feel like me again - almost. Dr M is rather stingy with the pain killers - so if anyone has any lying around, I'll take 'em! I'm going to head over to 260 Fingers with mom and Laurie this afternoon. Syd is speaking to me again and seems in much better shape. Yesterday she had a little meltdown seeing her mom with tubes and drains and things. I think seeing me today looking more like myself has helped her alot.

Thanks again to everyone for everything. You are all awesome. Cheers

I'm home!

The surgery staff at QCH were awesome! Sort of like MMI where the front end staff have pickles up their bums and the back room staff who actually do the tests were great.

I arrived on time and was sent to the waiting room just like during the pre-op. The wait wasn't long and I was sent down to Day Surgery. I was greeted there by the lovely Mary. Debs, you should know that I think we should do more to bring the Irish over here. The lovely Mary was all "Top o'the mornin' to ya love" and "tanks to ye" and on and on. I could have sat with her the whole day.

The lovely Mary escorted me into the waiting area and guess what? There were no chairs and no paper clothes! I got flannel pj bottoms and top and then a "housecoat" which was just another top backwards. And I got a bed! I changed and hopped right up there. I conned the nursing assistant, Dan, to let me keep my socks on and the second assistant brought me THREE warm blankets over the course of the morning! Heaven!

I sat and read my book in bed perfectly contented. Dr Mirsky came by for a brief visit and then Lisa took me off to give me the radioactive injection used to follow the lymph node path. Lisa has no friends - she admitted it! That woman caused more pain in 30 seconds than the moronic resident did who biopsied me without freezing! In fairness, Lisa did warn me that it was very painful and that it wouldn't last more than a minute or two - and she explained why that would be. It was sort of like all the advice you get when you're first pregnant and everyone tells you that labour will be painful. You never fully understand until you're in the middle of it. On the bright side, nothing has yet compared to the pain that Lisa caused, although that didn't last more than 30 seconds.

Lisa wheeled me back to the waiting room where I received the news that everything was delayed because the mammogram machine was broken. I found out later that two panels had fried and parts had come from Toronto and Chicago that had arrived late. I was in no hurry. I was lying in bed, reading and warm. Nirvana.

Soon a nurse came over to put in the IV (to help keep me hydrated), provide a Tylenol suppository (thankfully I had the choice to do that myself or have her administer it - guess which I chose) and let me know that I would soon be going for the dreaded wire insertion. If you recall, this is the part of the trip that had the potential to lead to a bloody nose! I sat up a little straighter and got my dukes up.

The mammogram tech came to wheel me over for the wire. I was left in a hallway briefly and then the ultrasound tech joined us. Everyone was lovely and they wheeled me into a bay and pulled the curtain. The US tech started explaining what would happen and then doctor Chow "Call me Abe" joined us. The first words out of his mouth other than "Call me Abe" were, "I'm going to give you a local freezing". Cue angels from heaven. I love Abe. I relaxed and did as I was told. Because it is my right side that's causing all this grief, they had to turn the gurney around which meant that I got to watch the whole thing on the ultra sound screen. That was actually kind of neat. I am eternally gratefull that I got the local - first because Abe's hands shook something fierce and secondly because I watched the needle go in then move around some and I didn't think that would feel good if I could feel. Sadly, the freezing was over way too soon and the wire was rather uncomfortable.

From the wire to the mammogram to ensure that it was properly place and then back to the waiting area. I must say that it was great fun to be wheeled aroun din bed all day:) All that was left was to wait my turn. I took a nap and read a little and it was all frankly uneventful. Shortly before noon I was wheeled over to the OR. I lay waiting in the hallway and eventually Dr M came and spoke to me. We went over the procedure again and did a short Q&A and then he was gone. Presently the anesthesiologist came by to ask a bunch of questions and explain things. He was a dead ringer for Andrew Y! Seriously - an identical twin. Good thing I wasn't too stoned at this point. Mirsky joined us and told the other doc that I was going to be the last patient of the day as the mammo was again on the fritz and they weren't goint o take any chances. If I had been cancelled it would have been rather devastating for me - so I'm very glad that we were able to go through with the operation and I'm very sad for the two women who didn't.

Lastly, a nurse came out to go over my chart and ask me questions and we were all set to - then the fire alarm sounded! She wheeled me into the OR in any event and two nurses and I sat around waiting to see what was going to happen. No one tried to evacuate or check things out - it was really more of an inconvenience than anything. Finally, the alarm ended and there was an announcement that everything was all clear. The anasthe....doc came in and the last thing I remember is proposing to him. Well, in determinig the rightthe drug dose, he asked if I weighed about 120 pounds and I felt marriage was the appropriate response.

Post op saw me back in the same waiting area. I remember speaking with Dr M but sadly don't remember much of what he said except that it was not good. They had to remove the nodes as there was indeed cancer in them and I do have a drain. However, a lovely volunteer, who had been through a mastectomy and had a draiin had designed and made lovely bags to cover and carry the drain. Much more efficient and better looking than my cupboard paper idea, I am very thankful to this unnamed woman. So, Dr M will tell me all about the pathology when I see him in two weeks and I won't be stoned for that visit so I'll be able to remember the details.

A lovely nurse - Tracey I think - helped me to get ready for leaving. In assisting me to get dressed, she started helping me into my pants when I told her we should probably take off the hospital pants first! She responded, "Oh! I'll get the scissors." Now, the pants weren't a fashion statement and would have made Sydny roll her eyes, but I didn't think cutting them off was warranted. When Tracey returned and lifted my gown she exclaimed, "Oh, those pants!" She had thought I was wearing an adult diaper! Seriously, there will likely come a time in my life for that - but either I was stoneder than I realize or I looked really bad post-op for her to have expected that. We had a good laugh over it however.

For now, I've had my second shot of morphine and I'm off to strange dream land. A huge thanks to all of you for cards and gifts and good vibes. Also a big thanks to the staff at QCH who were unfailingly supportive, caring and humourous during my brief visit with them yesterday.

Love to all.

No Room for Procrastination

Well, this is it. In less than four hours I'm banned from food and drink. I have just finished my Peanut Buster Parfait with the kids because I can think of no better way to start a fast:) I've not finished all the chores that I set for myself before going under the knife - but they'll just have to wait. The new perspective I have means I don't even have to stress over all the loose ends I'm leaving.

As many of you have noticed, I didn't do the clock quite right. I'll try to fix it before I sign off tonight. I'm hoping to get some sleep, I've got my clothes and books all lined up (including the ski socks that they'll have to kill me to make me take off) and my strategy for killing time at the hospital. There really is nothing more that I can do now.

Thanks to all of you who have sent wishes and good vibes for tomorrow. I've got my Crazy Cancer book, my cancer cookbook, my chocolate and my magic wand all arrayed beside my bed. Cheers:)

Live with the Butterflies

The first Christmas after we moved to Old Ottawa South, the kids and I went to the "holiday season performance" at HAPS. When I was tucking the kids into bed that night, Logan was unusually despondent. In response to my question about what was wrong he confessed that he hadn't tried out for a part in the performance because he'd been afraid to. He regretted not having done so as some of his classmates and friends were in it and it looked like it was fun.

Logan and I talked about how that feeling of nervousness or "butterflies in your tummy" was a good thing and that it meant that you were thinking about doing something outside of the box, outside of the comfort zone and that in turn meant that you were growing as an individual and doing new things - stretching the boundaries.

"Always live life with the butterflies", I told him. If you think about doing something and it gives you that butterfly feeling then that is the thing that you need to go for. We three turned "Live with the butterflies" into our family motto and I credit that in large measure for the incredible achievements my kids have had and the wonderful things that they've not only dared to try but have been successful with - even if only they knew what the success was.

Sydny, who was very young at this time, heard all the conversations about butterflies and trying new things. The following summer, Sydny and I were bike riding to the RA Centre for day camp. Sydny was relatively new to riding a two wheeler and was nervous about going on the streets, even in our neighbourhood. I told her not to worry - that this was just a "butterfly" moment. She peddaled for another minute and then let rip a tremendous fart! "Ah", she said, "That takes care of those butterflies"!

When I got the diagnosis of cancer I took a good look at everything - as one does. I got alot of work done around the house that I've been putting off (for years in some cases) and I'm having all the furniture reupholstered (it needed to be done 20 years ago when I got the pieces from my grandparents - you can imagine the shape they're in). I've also been flirting with the idea of getting a small tatoo but I could never decide what or where.

Cancer is a real focusser. I am now the proud wearer of a beautiful butterfly tatoo, complete with the motto "Live with the butterflies". And a great big thank you to my kids for following my advice even when I don't always follow it. They are my inspiration.

Community Care Access Centre

Did you know that Ontario has replaced hospital care with the CCAC? I had no idea but, guess what? They seem quite competent. I spoke with them today and found out that a lovely nurse will come and give me uber-gravol and morphine by injection when I get home from the hospital on Thursday and will return Friday morning and do it all over again:) Also, with this homecare the drugs only cost me $2.00 per dose - so never mind the 20% we pay usually, I get the whole batch of drugs for $20.00. I like this. I also get percocet to take after the lovely needles - I presume that is a good drug.

Best news of all, they think it's unlikely that I'll come home with a drain but said that the lovely Dr Mirsky will decide that once he's in there. No drain will make this a cake walk. I was NOT looking forward to a hose leaking parts of me. UKK! Keep your fingers crossed everyone and hopefully I'll avoid it. Cheers for now.

New Family Additions

We have had two very recent additions to our family. On Thanksgiving weekend Sydny brought home a stray cat from her grandparents' place. Peanut (aka Purr Box aka Tinkerbell - even thought that's a girl's name) made a great addition and almost filled the gap left by the loss of Tazzy.

A week later, on an early morning stroll with Laurie, I heard the most bizarre bird call. Not finding the source, Laurie and I walked on but the sound soon grew very loud. We turned around and there was the tiniest, cutest little bundle of grey and white streaking towards us. The poor baby was starving and freezing and not able to fend for herself. She was not going to let us get away - she circled us and walked under our feet and wouldn't leave us. Laurie and I managed to get her back to Laurie's place - after she pooped on me and tracked mud and cow dung all over Laurie. I brought her home and took her to the vet to see if she had a chip (no) and we gave her the worm pill and her first shot and she's now known as Misty, weighing in at three pounds of pure energy. Both kittens are driving poor Sass crazy - but they get along better and better every day. I'm going to try adding a photo.....

Spinal X-Ray

Here I am on a dead Hallowe'en trying to use the quiet time to catch up on the blog and avoid eating so much candy that I throw up. Later, I'll throw up - but for now I haven't had so much candy that I can't write a bit.

The spinal exam was incredibly uneventful - except that I'm convinced that someone from Merivale Medical Imaging is on to me. My appointment was for 11:45 but MMI wants everyone there 15 minutes early to register and fill out any necessary forms. I didn't arrive until 11:35 - and yet no one yelled at me! I gave the registration desk clerk my health card - and instead of one of the meanies calling me over ten minutes later, the clerk herself hand-delived the card to me where I sat in the waiting area!!! Never in all my dealings with MMI had I seen such a thing! I gave a self satisfied smile to the old lady with the oxygen tank who sat across from me. Illness and lack of oxygen mean nothing to these people - but words are mightier than the sword - or at least than the oxygen tank in these circumstances!

The tech came out and called three of us into the back. I went into my little change room looking forward to another interminable wait in a suffocating box of a waiting area - but it was not to be! I was first - no waiting room for me! I was whisked right into the x-ray room. That got the next little old lady a satisfied smile from yours truly as well.

Meditation and Pre-Op

Last Monday my dear friend and former client, Jocelyne, took Kadriye and I to a meditation session.  It was truly blissful.  To learn to just sit in stillness and allow energy to flow through one is a challenge for me, but quite powerful at the same time.  The meditation leader, Lynne Cardinal, was very helpful.  One of the key things she said was that we can all take the energy we receive, both good and bad, chaotic and peaceful, and turn it into positive energy.  As Kadriye said after the session, we have the choice to allow all energy to "burst into light" or to take it out in alternative ways.  This may be a bigger challenge for me than kicking the bejeezus out of the cancer:)  Jocelyne, thanks so much for taking us here and you look like a million bucks btw.

Thursday was my pre-op session at the Queensway Carleton Hospital (QCH).  I highly recomend that this facility be avoided at all costs whenever possible.  It was horrid and has totally sucked all of the fun out of operation day.  First, the place is cold.  I am not referring to the attitude of the hospital staff - but I could be.  I mean it's physically freezing throughout the hospital.  I wore a long sleeve t-shirt, a zip up jacket (that I would wear outside for walking this time of year) and then a short trench coat over that because it was raining.  I never took off even the trenchcoat unless I had to for tests and then I put it back on asap!  It wasn't above 15 degrees in that place, I swear. 

I got to the hospital right on time (parking cost me $14 by the end) and went to the right window, where they took my card and told me to take a seat.  I sat for twenty minutes in a packed waiting room while a few of the staff argued back and forth about who was logged in where and who shouldn't be and the trouble it was causing.  Yay me.  Finally I was called to the desk and asked mundane questions that I had already been asked over the phone and was given a sheet and told to head down the hallway to the pre-op desk.

I meandered down the hallway following paper signs and found pre-op without adventure.  Two women were sitting behind the desk - doing absolutely nothing.  Seriously, they were sitting there gossiping about whatever.  They weren't even pretending to work.  One of them wasn't even sitting behind a desk.  They were just lounging around yakking.  I handed in my sheet.  Cut-backs my ass.

I sat in another freezing waiting room for another twenty minutes.  At one point a nurse or tech went behind my chair to do something.  She bumped me a number of times but I just sat reading my book.  It seems to me that the human race has totally forgotten the phrase "excuse me please".  Because the place was so crowded, they had put a chair directly in front of a station that the staff needed to use - literally with no room between the chair and the station for the staff to use it.  I sat and read and got bumped until the nurse/tech actually acknowledged my existence and turned around and asked me if I could move my chair forward.  Of course, I was happy to oblige - but not sure why the chair was there in the first place!

Finally a nurse came out and called my name.  No introductions, no "good morning", just "follow me".  Fine.  We measured my weight and height and then she took me into a little office to measure blood pressure - and then the jackets went right back on!  By this time my nose was frozen.  She didn't smile.  She finally did tell me that she was a nurse and what her name was - but only after I told her how to pronounce my name and that it was of Scottish descent and not French.  Yay me.

She went through a little booklet with me explaining what would happen on the day of surgery.  She answered my questions but clearly didn't give a flying.....anything....regarding the concerns I stated.  Imagine hearing, "That's just the way we do it.  It's the doctors.  There is nothing I can tell you." in response to my plea for freezing on finding out from her that the docs were going to insert a wire through my breast and into the tumour so the surgeon could find the damn thing  - WITHOUT FREEZING.  Since the experience WAS NOT AWESOME when they failed to freeze me for the biopsy, you can imagine my panic.  Apparently the needle they use to insert the wire is about the same size as the needle they use to freeze - so someone (male, I presume) decided it wasn't worth bothering.  Well, as the individual who is going to have some doctor (probably another resident with my luck) poking around inside my boob with a wire I say, "FREEZE THE DAMN THING".  There are nerves inside my boob too that the freezing needle doesn't directly touch but that would like to be frozen before the fucking wire does!  "That's just the way we do it..."  Seriously?  There may be a bout of fisticuffs before I ever see the operating room on the tenth.

After finishing with Nurse Warm and Fuzzy, I had the pleasure of returning to the waiting room so they could suck more blood from me and do an ECG.  This time I got to witness the same procedure by the station to which I had been subject.  A tech came out and bump, shove to the poor patient in the chair.  Seriously, I get that having that chair there impeding their access is a drag.  Instead of continuously hitting people all day however, I suggest either moving the chair altogether or learning the phrase, "excuse me please".  Rocket science this isn't - too bad good sense isn't common.

After another half hour I was called into the blood sucking back room.  Three techs in there.  One with me, one with another patient and one who just read e-mail - out loud to the other two - mostly about administrative matters as far as I could tell.  Again, cut backs my ass. The tech stuck me with a needle to draw blood.  Unfortunately, she missed the vein so she pulled the needle out part way and sort of moved it over (while still inside my flesh) to get at the vein.  Ouch.  When she withdrew the needle she applied pressure for a short while then removed the cotton swab, gave me a dirty look and said, "You're bleeding inside".  This is my fault?  Of course I'm bleeding inside - you were digging around in there!  Anyway, just don't use that arm and it won't be too bad she assured me:)  And it's not too bad - the bruise from the biopsy is still worse than my arms.

Finally, I was shown to the physiotherapy room where a nice therapist went over the exercises in the booklet that I was given at the beginning and gave me a number to call in the event that I can't remember any of them when I get home.  Then I was free.

Here is how the day of the operation will go.  I can't drive myself to the hospital (presumably b/c I can't drive myself home) - but they won't know if I drive myself in and someone drops mom off at the hospital later in the day and drives my car home...........

I have to be there by 06:30 and I am not permitted anything to eat or drink after midnight preceding, except one ounce of water to take my daily meds.  They are going to insert a wire through all my breasty flesh until they hit the tumour b/c no one can find the damn thing for certain manually.  They are going to inject me with dye in case they need to remove the nodes.  They will then give me paper gown and little paper slippers and sit me in a waiting room with other patients having the same thing done.  It's 15 degrees in there.  They told me that I can't have my phone, I can't wear my own house coat or slippers.  My surgery will be sometime between 09:00 and 15:00!  Seriously, when some foreign, cold hospital administrator was setting up this process, s/he failed to put patients into the equation!  I totally get that we don't want to have lapses in the use of the precious operating time, but seriously, this is the best that we can do?  I don't believe it.  If the average surgery is one and three quarters of an hour then bring us in staggered an hour or so apart.  Whom does it serve, and how, to have people sitting there, starving, freezing and cranky for the entire day?  I'll be hypothermic and I may pass out before I even get to the operating room!   In addition, no one is allowed to be with you while you sit and wait for surgery.  I was told that there was no room.  So, my poor mother is on call for any time between noon and six to come and fetch me from the hospital.  Good luck trying to find me!

Burst into light, burst into light, burst into light...........

Change of Date!

When I got home on Thursday there was a message on my phone from the surgeon, asking me to call him on his pager.  The worst thoughts run through my head:  could the radiologist have found something that wasn't in the crucial 500?!  Turns out that one of Mirsky's patients, who was scheduled for the table on November 10 has called to re-schedule.  Apparently she is travelling on the 10th and has asked Mirsky if she could re-schedule for some time in December.  Now, I don't know about others out there but I just want this damn thing out of me and get the treatment under my belt and get on with life.  Mostly I want it out of me before it spreads.  That is my foremost thought these days.  So far I consider myself to be extremely lucky.  I can't imagine what could be so important as to voluntarily walk around for another month with this thing inside me.  However, the other patients lunacy is now to my advantage, so live and let live!  The BIG DAY will now be November 10th.

Bone Scan

Back to MMI.  I have to go in the morning and then return in the afternoon.  I know that this means that they're either going to inject me with something foul or make me drink something foul.  I get the needle - which is better than the drink in my book.  Sadly however, I find out that what they've injected me with is radioactive!  Awesome!

My instructions are to drink and void continuously so that all of the radioactive junk not absorbed into my bones is out of my body asap so that it doesn't get absorbed elsewhere.  At this point I'm thinking that this was perhaps not such a great idea.  Can I drink enough to save my poor bones too?

Kadriye and I head off to IKEA.  There is no IKEA outlet in Victoria so she wants to browse for new ideas for her loft.  I'm looking for bookcases for my neglected and hence little used living room.  It was rather a harried trip to IKEA as I headed for the batheroom every ten minutes.  However, I can now navigate that store with my eyes closed!  I know all the shortcuts.  What I wouldn't do for a pair of adult diapers at this point.  More water please.

Back to MMI.  Kadriye and I sit in the waiting room - she didn't come with me in the morning as she was checking out a funky book/comic book store in the next mall where I park to avoid the reedonkulous $4 charge at MMI.  We sit in the waiting room and I can see Kadriye's brow start to actually furrow.  The front line staff here need some training.  One poor guy comes in to "register" for his appointment and the receptionist actually yells at him, "You were supposed to start drinking water and hour and a half ago!  We can't do the test if your bladder isn't full!"  Can you imagine how that poor bastard must have felt? 

I had been given a special slip so that I didn't have to wait in the registration line which is quite long.  I was told to just hand it to one of the other front line workers (I don't know how to refer to these women.  There are three windows and they sit at computers typing.  They call people up to give them back their medical cards - but they don't then take you in.  This is quite confusing for most of the people - many elderly who work very hard to get up to the window, often losing their seat in the crowded waiting room and who are then told to go back and sit down and wait until they're called - as if they haven't just been called!  I guess I'll call them receptionists, at least it's polite.)

When I walk up to the woman, I haven't said a word before she tells me that I need to go stand in the other line.  I just look at her for a minute while all of the different responses flutter through my mind.  It's a Schwarzenegger moment.  I maintain eye contact while I pull my special piece of paper out of my purse.  "Oh" is all she says and then tells me to sit down - as if there are any other options in this place.

It's a full half hour past my schedule appointment time and I'm still sitting in the waiting room drinking, peeing and napping on Kadriye's shoulder.  During that time my phone rings and I answer it.  The same "receptionist" is immediately on her feet pointint to the exit, "Go between the doors to talk on that phone" she yells at me.  Again, I maintain eye contact while I tell Debbie that I can't chat right now.  Then I hang up - the entire time looking at this woman.  Maybe it's just my generation, but what is the difference between Kadriye and I sitting chatting and Debbie and I chatting on a phone?  The place is now as quiet as a library until someone else's phone rings and is answered.  I fear the worst and Kadriye and I are both primed to let loose our tongues.  (For those who don't know her, Kadriye has an amazing ability to speak even more severely than I, but all coated in sugar....a skill I must learn.)  However, the "receptionist" doesn't bat an eyelash and the other "client" has a pleasant conversation in Spanish that doesn't seem to perturb any of my fellow Pergatorians.  Perhaps it's me?

Finally I get called.  I have to say that techs and others working in the back rooms of this place make up for what sits out front.  It's quite a difference in atmosphere and tone.  The techs are all courteous and efficient without being rude or hostile.  I begin to relax.  They know the state I'm in here and show me first to the bathroom and then ask me to have a seat in another tiny waiting room.  I'm not there too long before I get called in to the scanning room where I simply have to remove my jacket and empty my pockets and lie down.  Cue Angels singing.  I ask if I'm allowed to sleep and they say "Sure" and even tie up my arms and legs so that I can't move (I presume this is standard and not special treatment like out front) and then give me a blanket and I'm off to my happy place for about half an hour.  Ah.

When the test is over I'm told that I have to wait for the radiologist to read the film to see if there are more pictures required.  I ask if I can wait there with my glorious blanket on the table, but apparently they want to keep taking pictures and so I have to return to the waiting room.  Alas!

The doc wants more pictures of my hip.  I'm not surprised.  I have almost no cartilage in my left hip joint caused by a couple of decades of an undiagnosed or mis-diagnosed recurring impingement.  I've told them this - but if the doc wants me back on a table with a blanket - no problem.  Sadly, the extra hip pictures only take a few minutes and Kadriye and I are on our way home.  No more tests are scheduled.  There will be no more poking and bruising and cutting until the BIG DAY. 

Meeting the surgeon

Wow!  If all the hiccups along the road were payment for getting Mirsky as a surgeon then I would say that it was well worth it. 

I showed up at his office for the appointment and no one was at the reception.  I stood for a minute then grabbed the key to the washroom and left.  When I returned, Dr Mirsky was sitting at the reception desk and greeted me with a friendly, "You must be Donna".  He apologized that the receptionist (her name was something like Barb - so I'm going with that for the blog for now) was still out on lunch but he was confident that she had left me a present.  He scrabbled around on the desk and came up with the proverbial clip board and paperwork.  He told me that he had all the result from the tests Dr S had ordered and I surprisingly asked whether this included the MRI results - the only intervening day having been Thanksgiving Monday.  Nope - he didn't have those but he immediately logged on to the computer and got into the datatbase for the General and found the pictures.  They had taken a couple thousand he explained and he needed to look at only the top 500 or so criticial ones.  He did that while I filled out the paperwork.

Barb returned and we finished with the formalities and I was sent into the office without delay.  Mirsky first asked me what I knew and what questions I had.  He listened!  Men who are reading this - listening - actually listening - is probably the most fundamental thing for a woman in any relationship - EVER.  Mirsky spent two hours with me discussing my case and what the best approach would be and what the next steps were.  Jane:  he drew me pictures! 

He can't draw a breast worth a damn, but he got the message across.  We discussed lumpectomy vs mastectomy; local radiation vs general; chemo; endocrine therapy; the process at the cancer centre; which oncologist was worth her salt and which not; his opinion of the MRI pictures (although he is still waiting for the radiologist's report - which will likely only confirm what he saw on the 500); good websites that I can access; etc. 

His overview was definitely geared to a wide audience.  I literally bit my tongue when he explained to me that "infiltrating" and "invasive" (both terms used to describe my cancer) meant the same thing.  I smiled inwardly when he told me that "carcinoma" meant "cancer".  But when he got to the point where he began to define "unifocal" I had to say something!  I just couldn't take it anymore.  I burst out laughing and told him that if he used a term for which I needed an explanation I would ask.  I think this shows incredible personal growth - I'm developing amazing patience!!!:)

I left the office with four pages of pears drawn on them (seriously he cannot draw) and all the key terms scribbled all over with different colours for everything.  I couldn't have taken better notes if I was still in law school.  He was great. 

So, I remember everything we discussed and I can share the following:  it appears to be a unifocal cancer and no spreading has occured yet despite its invasive character; because neither I nor Dr S could find the tumour on a physical exam and Mirsky could only guess where it was based on the various images (he also did a physical exam and is not 100% sure), he will insert a wire an hour or so before the operation to ensure that he gets the right spot (this means no digging around once he's in there - for which I am immensely greatful); a sentinal node biopsy will be performed while I'm in surgery to determine whether additional nodes need to be removed but he will avoid this if at all possible;  he hates the term "lumpectomy" because he thinks it gives women false optimism, so he will perform a "partial mastectomy" unless one of the reports yet to come indicates anything surprising (the success rate for what I have for a lumpectomy vs full mastectomy is the same); this will be followed by breast radiation which reduces the chance of a local recurrence from 39% to 7%; the rest of the treatment process will be determined by the oncologist once they have removed the tumour based on the condition of the lymph nodes, the actual size of the tumour, the histologic grade of the tumour; the hormone receptors of the tumour and the Herz. 

I am currently scheduled for surgery November 17 but he has put me on his priority waiting list so it could be any time between now and then.  I can't wait.  The bruising and swelling from the biopsy is finally diminishing, the bruising from the MRI injection is peaking and the bruising from yesterday's bone scan is just starting to flower.  Otherwise, I'm feeling great if a little tired.  I've lost almost 20 pounds just from being away from the stress of work and I'm so busy running around doing things for my family, friends and the house that I seriously don't know whether I'll ever be able to go back to the office:)  Who has time for work?

I apologize for the lag in reporting on events here.  My mother has shown great patience in waiting for news.  It's sometimes difficult to find time to just sit and type.

I have taken up playing tenor sax since leaving work.  I'm horrible, but my band, New Horizons, is playing a concert at Dominion Chalmers Church on December 13 and the other members of the band are much better than me!  Not surprisingly, I'm in the beginner band, but there are two intermediate bands, an advanced band and a jazz band.  I heard them in concert last spring and they are well worth seeing so if you have nothing to do that day I'd love to see you there.  Seeing me play live will be something you can use in the future to blackmail me if you'd like (and if the need arises):).

It's almost 10 a.m. now and Kadriye is still a lump in bed, so I'm off to practice playing!  The tenor is especially loud and I manage to make the most obnoxious sounds with it!!

The MRI

The MRI went relatively smoothly.  Any medical exam where you get to lie down and relax is frankly a blessing and a reprieve. 

I had to have an injection for this one - that was the only bummer.  The tech who gave me the injection was quite young and friendly and started asking me a  myriad of questions regarding the cancer:  how did you find it?; how big is it?; when is your operation?; how old are you? and on and on and on....  Finally I just told her I didn't like needles so I was just going to have to read my book while she worked!  Did no one ever tell her that MRIs were supposed to be relaxing, zen times?  Seriously, I've seen less intrusive cross examinations.  Yes Jane, I said "zen".

Happy Thanksgiving

Hi everyone.  I'm off to the hospital for an MRI.  I hope everyone is doing something more fun than that this weekend!  (Actually, of all the tests I've been through lately, this one should be awesome - I get to lie down and sleep and it's totally non-invasive.  Oh, how relative everything is:))

Actually, I spent the glorious day yesterday doing the Perth artists' studio tour and today I'm heading to Calabogie, Chelsea and Wakefield for the same thing with Laurie. 

Enjoy the sunshine and warm temps.

Biopsy Results!

Dr. S starts by telling me that it's bad news.  She may have been thinking that I was holding out for that 5% chance that it was benign.  I can tell however that my body is trying to deal with something - so I haven't even really considered that - except maybe what it would be like, having started this blog and given everyone the bad news, to have to tell everyone that I don't have cancer!  That would have been embarrassing!

It isn't so bad - it could have been oh, so much worse!  The biopsy has confirmed that I have invasive, ductal carcinoma with an overall intermediate grade.  It is classified, on a preliminary basis only, as a Stage IIA cancer as the tumour is larger than 2 cm but not larger than 5 cm and has not spread to the axillary lymph nodes.  All of the test results are now in and there is no indication of any cancer anywhere else.  I have an appointment with a surgeon who comes highly recommended by a number of people Dr Mirsky, on October 11.  I'll be scheduled for surgery after that and about four to six weeks after surgery I'll begin courses of chemo and radiation.  All the details of the follow up treatment can only be determined once the lesion is removed and they can get a definitive grading and classification of the cancer.  So, not nearly as bad as it could have been - and I have nothing to be embarrassed about!

After giving me the news, Dr. S looks at me quite seriously and says, "I just don't want you to turn into a cancer survivor".  Now, there are  many ways that this could be interpreted!  I look at her and say, "I don't even know what you mean".  I'm trying to give her my friendliest questionning look. 

"Well, I don't want you to introduce yourself that way.  The Breast Cancer business is very political."  Again, what?

My cousin Kadriye intervenes, "I think what Dr s is trying to say is that she doesn't want this to identify you from now on."

Dr S agrees with Kadriye and immediately begins to shake her head.  "You're just not that type.  I won't worry."  Awesome!  She does want me to survive, she just doesn't want me to become militant and political and take on a "cancer-identity"!  I love Dr S, without her I wouldn't have found this this early.  But man, she cracks me up!

On a much brighter note, Logan has been selected to attend the biggest regatta in North America in Boston in two weeks.  He'll be the anchor in the four man boat.  Lots of excitement for him.

My cousin, Kadriye, is visiting from Victoria and we spent a glorious day walking to little Italy, brunching at Stoneface Dolly's and doing a litte shopping.  Tomorrow we're planning on sleeping in late and cruising Westboro in the afternoon.

Love to everyone.

A Super Huge Thank You

I just wanted to make sure that everyone knows how much it means to me to hear from all of you with your good karma!  I'm glad to know that you're thinking of me and dancing.  I appreciate all of the offers of help and support - and when I finally start treatment I will definitely be calling on all of you.  I appreciate the time you've taken to send me e-mails and comments.  I really had no idea that I would get this much of a response and it has truly made the world of difference.  Spiritually and physically I'm rockin' adn I'm going to keep that up as long as possible.  Much love to you all.

The Biopsy

Whenever I have to undergo something intensely unpleasant, I go to my happy place.  It's like meditation - I just envision a grassy little place under a tree.  It's where I go when I'm doing the plank (if you don't know what that is you need to work out more), when I'm stuck in an interminable meeting from which there is no reasonable escape, when I'm caught waiting anywhere and I've forgotten to bring a good book to read, and when I'm undergoing some form of unpleasant, invasive medical procedure.  This shouldn't be difficult really. I won't even really be present for it.

They've had a last minute cancellation so I get a call on Wednesday morning (September 28) asking if I'd like to have a biopsy at noon.  "Like" is not a term that I'm associating with this, I think about it knowing that I'm not really prepared for this, but really, what am I waiting for?  Better to get it done and over with - so I say sure, I'd love to.

Off I go to a building attached to the civic hospital.  I am not encouraged by the fact that they young lady on the phone can't really tell me where I'm going - but I have no doubt I can figure that out.  Being penis-less, I can always ask for directions.

I arrive on time at the right place (fortunately the buildings have their names written in giant letters on the front - who knew?).  The lady at the desk is very pleasant and we make each other laugh.  What a great start.

I am soon called into the back by the nurse where I'm given yet another glorious paper gown to wear.  I sit with four other women in another tiny waiting area.  I am soon called by the same nurse into The Room.  She explains to me basically what is going to happen.  It will be an ultra-sound guided biopsy.  She does the first US look and tells me that in addition to the big lump that is causing all the fuss, I have another cyst.  Joy.  No idea whether this is good, bad or neutral.

The nurse explains that, as a teaching hospital,  I will be seen by a fifth year resident as well as the doctor.  No problem.  With a sister as a doctor I understand the need to learn on realy people.  I can't tell you the number of times I had my reflexes checked by my sister.  I think I may still have a small scar or two from her practicing as well!

In comes the resident and explains again what will happen and I sign the consent (without reading it of course.  What would be the point?)  I then explain to the two of them that I'm going to put on my iPod and go to my happy place.  No need to explain anything else, just do what you need to do and get it over with.  I don't need to know as I have zero medical knowledge and I'm not really a participant in the process - I'm just the practice dummy.  I put on my earphones, close my eyes and merrily ease off to my happy place. 

I soon can feel little burning pricks as the freezing begins.  I can hear murmurs in the background.  I have no idea whether they are speaking to one another or to me.  I don't care, I'm almost asleep.  The incision is made.  My eyes fly open - "NOT FROZEN!"  I don't know whether I yelled this.  It's very difficult to tell how loud one is speaking while blaring CCR on the iPod.  The resident looks at me with big eyes.  "Oh.  We'll give you more freezing."  I go back to my happy place.  More little burns.

They take the first core sample.  As far as I can tell, this is done by "shooting" a long hollow tube through the incision and into the tumour.  It retracts with a core sample of the tumour inside it.  My eyes fly open once again - "NOT FROZEN!"  The resident now looks mildly concerned.  "Is it really pain you feel or just a slight burning?"  Seriously?  I can't believe this guy is asking me this.  I've had two children without drugs.  I know pain.  I indicate my willingness to share this pain with him.  He turns to the nurse and merely says, "Go get the doctor".  Holy Moly!

The doctor shows up and she calmly explains to him that he needs to freeze on the other side too.  Hello!!!  Shouldn't they have reviewed this prior to the procedure or something?  They proceed, I am blissfully frozen, I feel nothing but some pressure for the rest.  The resident makes a hasty exit as soon as he's done.

The nurse then explains that the MRI (scheduled for October 9) might indicate a need for a further biopsy, but I'm not to worry if that happens.  She manages this with a straight face as if this procedure has gone off without a hitch.  Often MRIs give false positives apparently so a need for more biopsy is not necessarily catastrophic news.  Well, if I do have to go back, it will be a resident-less procedure!

I am now the most unnatural shades of greens and purples.  I took a photo but I won't post it.  It's for the lawsuit:) 

Follow Up Ultra Sound (US)

Apparently it's not enough to know that I have a one inch tumour.  The medical profession needs to know all about it and needs to know whether I have others.  Fortunately, the search for other tumours is conducted via ultra sound testing and x-ray.  I can handle this!  What could possibly go wrong?  Back to Merivale Medical Imaging where they are seeing me often enough to great me by name on arrival!

The doctor has arranged my appointment - I get a call from MMI telling me of the time - Tuesday at 07:00 which suits me just fine.  This place is basically a strip mall on Merivale.  Guess what?  They now charge for parking!  Can you imagine paying for parking at a strip mall on Merivale?  I paid the first time here b/c I had no idea - $4.00 for 30 minutes it what it cost me that time.  Never again.  Now I park in the next strip mall and walk over.  Are radiologists so underpaid that they need to charge for parking at a strip mall?  Apparently they own the building......

Anyway, the usual check-in lady is not here - apparently she starts work at a more civilized hour.  I go over to the other desk where early patients are apparenlty processed.  I give her my card and explain that I didn't get any instructions for this test - despite having called numerous times and leaving two messages - that weren't returned.  She stares at me - I now fully understand the term "baleful" (foreboding or threatening evil).  Do I need a full bladder?  Did you know that I also need a chest x-ray about which I didn't get a call? 

"I don't work in that department" is the only response that I get.  "Go and sit down and wait and I'll see".  Ouch!  Soon she calls me back up to the desk.  "Did you know you were scheduled for a PVT ultra sound yesterday?  You didn't show up."  Presumably if I wasn't there it's because I didn't know about it.  However, I calmly re-state that I wasn't called for it and that it's a shame no one was available to speak to me one of the five times I called nor returned either of the two messages that I left, because then I might have found out about it!  And why would they schedule me for two ultra-sounds on different days?  (My theory is that they want additional parking fees!)  The baleful look comes out again and she adds, "I didn't work yesterday."  Is she truly that obtuse?  Is this possible?  This woman was hired to work directly with the public!  I look at her and explain as if I'm speaking to a neanderthal, "I'm not saying that you have personally done anything.  You are merely the representative of this office who is currently in front of me."  And then her gleefuul response, "The PVT is an internal ultra sound."

I would ask all readers to pause here and consider this:  an internal ultra-sound.  Think a little longer.  Damn, she wins!!!!!!

I return to my seat and wait.  Soon I am called by the US tech who is lovely and who has been made aware of the screw-ups by the darling woman with whom I've been dealing so far.  The US tech saves the day.  She takes care of everything, she doesn't weep but is professional throughout.  She starts by feeding me four cups of water just to ensure that I'm appropriately uncomfortable (unfortunate but necessary) and then takes me through over an hour of looking for bad spots on all my major organs (and I'm sure some minor ones as well).  We then head over to x-ray which takes less than five minutes and I escape.  Whew!

The good news arrives at the doctor's office later in the week:  nothing found by ultra sound or x-ray anywhere else.  I still need to have an MRI to confirm this - but this is definitely some positive news.  The MRI is scheduled for the morning of Thanksgiving Sunday - cancelling my planned trip north to visit my sister and her family.  Oh well, better to get it over with asap.  Next step:  BIOPSY (joy).