Healing

It's Thursday night. Last Thursday night, I was still getting my mouth swabbed with ice chips, I think. The whole thing is rapidly becoming a blur. Tonight, I went downstairs, ate the yummy chicken pot pie my neighbor brought us, and then helped two kids with homework for a bit.

This is amazing progress ... compared to yesterday. I am not always having such a wonderful, uplifting time, and I'm generally not appreciating anything, anything at all. I'm cranky as can be and I want the bathroom mirror covered so I don't accidentally get a full-body view again. Until getting my antibiotic changed I was having nightmarish reflux and that awful metallic taste in my mouth. I bet many of you are going, "Eww, yuck, I remember that." Drains. Ugh, I would never explain it to you if you don't know. Consider ignorance bliss, as I surely would have given the choice.

My poor husband is completely exhausted in every way possible, and yet he is never, ever not available for me. And the kids: he's taken over helping Allison with the homework because I needed to come back upstairs. And to all the sweetest people who want to and have helped so much, there's not much else that can be done. It's the pillow fixing, and the ginger ale getting, and the back rubbing and the phone answering, and the sitting in the bathroom with me while I cry my way through refreshing showers. Only a spouse gets stuck with that stuff, and I don't know what miracle brought me this one who convincingly insists that my completely ruined body turns him on.

So it hasn't been a great week, but today was the best of it. I went to Wu's office this morning and got rid of three of the four drains. By Monday this last one should be gone, too. I'd even get back to Penn tomorrow if they could get rid of it for me, or maybe the visiting nurse could do it. The NP prescribed a new antibiotic, thank goodness, and suggested probiotics. So we went to Wegman's on the way home. I actually got to go to Wegman's! I rode around the store on one of those scooters, which improved my mood a bit. I got the hang of it quickly, and it was fun. And nothing, of course, beat the opportunity to be a little mobile again. The probiotic pill made a big difference almost immediately. My mom brought me a sandwich, and I ate it! That Wawa shortie probably matched the amount of calories I'd eaten in the past three days. After that I napped for two straight hours, and then I had that pot pie. Yay!

I don't know what tomorrow will be. I might be back in tears, feeling sorry for myself, or maybe I'll progress another little bit. Hard to say. I'm trying to keep my eye on the ball, and the ball is not me curled up into a small one (although, how nice if my body would do that!).

So, healing, physically, emotionally. I don't know. The word mastectomy is so far beyond me, how could I have had one? All I have right now is the future, and I'm still praying it's there for me. My next appointment is with Czerniecki on Wednesday morning, but I'll try to update before then. I know some of you are checking far more often than I write. I would write shorter posts more often, but ... shall I tell you about my week again?

The question you won't ask (and other stuff)

A few brave souls have ventured to go there, at the risk of sounding tacky, but I imagine at least most of you are curious to know: how does it look?

When I was in recovery, the very first thing I remember is a nurse telling me Wu did a brilliant job, and my breasts look amazing. I would have thought she was trying to help, but her tone was kind of awed as she spoke, as if this was a particular work of art. Honestly, that's continued to be the theme during the course of my stay. This has never been an area of my body worthy of complimenting before, but now that I have gotten past the obvious issues and can look at the shape ... wow! They're nice. The question is, how much is swelling, and how much will stay. Is it possible you'll be seeing a debut of low-cut tops this summer for the first time in my life? Heck, if I have something to show off, I've now earned the right. And I would owe it to Dr. Wu, don't you think?

Would you like to read about my hospital stay? I guess it's like any other hospital stay (umm, not so pleasant). I fought the urge to flee on Wednesday morning, and as I was trailed by Ken and both of my parents, and Jill, I probably wouldn't have made it far. But I cried as I made the transition to patient. It's a tough transition, putting on that gown and that silly hat and those paper shoe things when you feel great. Once again, they had trouble with the IV stick, messing up my right hand. They got it into my left hand, but later it infiltrated and it had to go back to my right. So the IV was the literal thorn in my hand for the past five days. I spent so much time worrying about moving the wrong way and ruining it.

In recovery, I drifted in and out of consciousness to the steady background hum of CNN. The nurses weren't paying attention, so I carefully provided updates for them, which they didn't believe. "Really, Obama took the oath again tonight," I insisted. "Only a crazy mother would make sure her dead daughter had her favorite blanky before stuffing her in trashbags." Okay, I probably wasn't quite that lucid.

Believe it or not, there was no transport available. Every 15 minutes or so I'd be told I was moving to my room, and then I would lie there, knowing my family waited to see me looking god-awful but alive. It took 3 hours to get me up there, and then I don't remember too much. My mom stayed the night, and she was a huge help. She swabbed my mouth with ice when I couldn't take the dryness. I couldn't talk until someone swabbed my mouth. That was the worst thing at the beginning.

Friday was the worst. I was allowed to eat, but too nauseous to do it. I had to get up, but it was excruciating. Everything was horrible and wrong. Wu came in looking like a Barbie doll with her swinging waves and the best boots I have ever seen, and said I'd feel much better the next day. I didn't give her the finger because my breasts are now shaped nice. But she was right, as you know, because on Saturday I stopped staring longingly at the computer in the corner and started to use it.

I'm ready to go home. Last night I yelled at Allison about incompleted homework, and I want to watch the shows I have on dvr. My lungs are still way, way off from normal, so the phone is not easy. Walking once around the hallway here feels exactly like a 3-mile run felt during the summer. But you know where to find me online, and I love hearing from you.

Thank you, thank you, so much for helping to take care of Ken and the kids. Ken is tired, but he's handling it all without going crazy, and I know that's because my friends' and family's unending generosity and love.

Love,
Michelle

hello from the other side

I'm awake, sitting in a chair, so big improvement!

The surgery went okay, as much as I don't remember a moment of it. I needed two transfusions, which was unexpected, but it turned out okay. And I have some worrisome bruising, but Dr. Wu assures me I don't need to REALLY worry. I might have some scarring. Well, gee, that's unfamiliar! Dr. Czerniecki thought his part of the surgery went really well, but he laughed at me for making him wear and Eagles surgical cap just three days after the team blew it. It turns out he's not much of a football fan, but he would've liked a Flyers or Sixers cap.

I felt awful Thursday and Friday, and today I woke up sort of hungry. I'm definitely a bit better. I went for a walk in the hallway, and I can get up from and sit down in the chair without too much effort. There's a lot about surgery that's really gross. I'm impressed that there are so many nurses out there who choose to deal with it. Speaking of gross, I looked at my chest today. I cried a bit, but it'll be okay, too. Actually, you can already tell the shape is nicer than it was.

Dr. Wu gave me the option to stay until Monday instead of going home tomorrow, and I jumped at that. I am afraid of having non-professionals taking care of me, and of going up the steps, etc. One more day here ought to make a difference. I'm glad to have the choice to stay.

My voice is still a bit sore for talking. Everyone is here now, Jonah is drawing me pictures. Thanks for all the calls, well wishes and support.

Love,
Michelle

Tomorrow

I have to be at the hospital at 6 am. People keep calling me brave, but I'm terrified. About everything. I'm sorry, I know I'm supposed to be strong. I don't mean to let anyone down, but it seems wrong that everyone who gets cancer suddenly gets the word "courageous" attached. Look at this week's cover of People with Patrick Swayze. I'm not courageous, I'm barely able to manage a date change without a nervous breakdown. Fighting to stay alive is nothing more than a human instinct, and I guess parents of young children have more reason to fight than most anyone else. I'll dump the "tatas" (yucky word), not because I'm brave, but because I love the world and I want to see how my kids turn out. I want to be there every step of their way, telling them what to do even when they don't listen. I'm simply the type of person who doesn't like to miss anything. If I can't hear something I repeat, "What? What?" until I annoy someone enough that they let me know what I wasn't paying attention to the first time around.

I guess I won't really run away, though. What is it they say? I'm great at messing up expressions, but I think I have to put on my big girl pants and deal with it. Is that right?

Very Long Post

Maybe I ought to write more often. I have a friend with a Caring Bridge page for her husband, and she updates it constantly. By 3 pm the day she started it, she'd had more posts than I have here. And as much as you can enjoy reading such a thing, I enjoy reading her updates. Anyway, Darren is going through a lot, so we're thinking of him, too. And then there's Hugh's blog. He's my cousin and one of the followers of this blog, and he's a brilliant writer, incredibly funny. He updates all the time, especially about his beautiful new baby girl (my newborn cousin Sophie Sterbakov). If you can get to her birth story from here, and you're not sensitive to reading about lots of poop, it's worth the read.

The truth is, I've an interesting, overly full week. On Monday I went to Penn for my pre-op appointments. I went with my mom, who had wonderful news when she got into the car: a job offer! I'm so proud of her. She went on an interview, and got a job. This was the first time in my lifetime she's done that, and for those of you who know Esther ... well, her esteemed reputation in the court reporting community played a role, I'm sure. I digress. We got to Penn with NO PROBLEM, thanks to Ken, who knew I needed a GPS. What a difference! The Penn Tower lot had a line a mile long, while everyone ignored the signs for the new Perelman Center lot. Czerniecki's office just moved to Perelman, so I figured I'd park there. Beautiful, EMPTY lot. I hope nobody finds it. My mom was suitably impressed with my knowledge of the buildings, as I went from appointment to appointment. I tell you, I'm good at HUP's campus, as long as I'm inside.

I didn't see any surgeons. At Wu's office (I'd been spelling her name wrong) I met with the nurse practitioner, who assured me I will be able to type on my laptop and even read a book after surgery. I will have some use of my arms right away. Yay! Once again, the negative nodes thing helps me. They don't have to remove anymore nodes, so the surgery is less involved. After two months I can start doing arm work at the gym. Amazing! And my stomach will feel like it did after my c-section, which was bearable. I'll be in an ICU for a couple days, but that's just because of drains. I didn't ask exactly what are drains. And don't tell me, I'll be surprised.

My trip to Czerniecki's office was easy, because I was the only appointment of the day. Who else wants to go when the guy is on JURY DUTY. That's right, Dr. Czerniecki got jury duty. I really think he should be above such a thing, but apparently so does he. Maybe that's why he ignored the first three "invitations" and was going to be in serious trouble if he didn't show. Luckily he wasn't retained, which we all figured. Just a formality. Anyway, according to Nancy (the NP) because I have the best kind of invasive breast cancer (er positive, node negative), I'm eligible to have this new test called an Oncotype DX. This will help determine the future likelihood of recurrence. If the likelihood is very low, chemo might not really help me. I don't know quite what to make of that. I lean toward wanting to be as absolutely cautious as possible. On the other hand, someday I'd like to be like Frances, whom I met at the synagogue last night. She looks like she's about 75, but she told me she's "93 and a half." She has glasses to match each of her outfits, and she can't hear a thing. I don't know how chemo decreases my life expectancy.

Speaking of last night at the synagogue. Rabbi Bossov is so much like me sometimes, it's scary. He was impressed that I made it to services so soon after my procedure, which he announced to the congregation. He'd gotten it stuck in his head that I was going in this past Wednesday, to the point that he called 5 hospitals, and some of my friends, looking for me. Even though I obviously look perfectly fine right now, he was convinced, upon seeing me, that I'd had a bilateral mastectomy and reconstruction and made it to services two days later. It was a good laugh, and nice to share it with my friends, including the rabbi.

Is anyone still reading? Boy. I still have to, HAVE TO, thank Barb for coordinating schedules for me. She's so freaking organized, it's mind boggling. She just has to shake her head at me (and the rabbi) as she has all of my family's meals planned out for weeks after the surgery, and an army of people bringing dinners. Barb, and of course Civia, who's getting all three of my kids off to school on Wednesday, including Jonah (who will be with her until the start of PM kindergarten). Civia is there for me everyday, every good day and every bad day, and I'm blessed to have her as a friend. Thanks to everyone who is reading this, for being there and keeping me in your thoughts and prayers. I hope you never go through this, but if you do you'll learn how incredible people really are.

Finally ... a plane crash in the Hudson and all those people have reason to believe in miracles ... best news story of the century.

No, that wasn't finally, this is: GO EAGLES!!!!!!

the wig guy

I wasn't planning to post today, but I thought I'd jot a note about my visit to the wig guy (Joe Minniti). I thought, going to a wig guy, that I'd be trying on different wigs and testing different looks. Not so, not at all. Instead I found myself in a salon chair getting a pep talk about cancer, listening to his entire family history (everyone is an oncologist or a cancer survivor). He explained the entire process, and said I will never be bald (at least in front of anyone), and I will never be traumatized because of my hair. The big thing he emphasizes is that I will look the same. Next weekend he's going to trim my hair and get out the gray pieces (what gray pieces?). The wig will look just like my hair ("this is not the time to experiment," he advised). He said I'll still be able to tuck my hair behind my ears, and I'll even be able to wear it in a ponytail during the summer! He'll go to the hospital, come to my house, whatever, to make sure I have everything I need. At the end, he'll phase the wig to meet my incoming hair so the transition will be seamless. I've had some bad days in the past week, and I left there feeling better than I had since Monday when I looked too far into the Internet (I know, I know). As most of you know, I love my hair, so the fact that I left the wig guy feeling optimistic is huge.