The Good, the Bad, and the Boobie

The prayers and good wishes have worked their magic.  My visit to the Cancer Center was very reassuring.  Well, for the most part.  When I walked in the receptionist commented on how great I looked, which was nice.  Then the nurse called me, and she commented how great I looked.  Still nice. We went down the hall toward a treatment room and ran into the patient advocate, who commented several times how great I looked.  Here's the thing:  I didn't do anything special to get ready for my appointment.  Nothing.  I haven't lost weight or changed my hair or bought any new clothes.  I started wondering how crappy I must have looked before.  Ah, well.  Apparently I'm over that now.

When the doctor came in he took a look at the problem area on my boob, then he did a full exam.  He was pretty sure he knew what was going on but he called in another doctor for a second opinion.  The consensus is the goo balls coming out of my skin are excess sebum, which occurs naturally but usually in small amounts that you'd never notice.  My mammary ducts apparently are clogged, which causes the sebum to build up, until it has no more room, at which time it seeps from my pores as yucky little goo balls. They are very sure that this does not indicate infection or recurrent cancer. Yay!  The bad news is, there is really no treatment for it.  It should clear up on it's own  but if it doesn't the only course of action is to surgically clean out the clogged ducts. Because the effected area is relatively widespread, they don't know how feasible surgery would be for me.  They advised I wait until my next mammo in April, unless it gets worse or shows signs of infection. The area is tender but it doesn't bother me too much from a pain standpoint; it's just the yuck factor that I don't care for.  So waiting isn't a problem.  They do want me to chart how often and how much goo I see, so they can see if it's getting better or worse.  And I have to keep using the skin cream I got last time. 

The assumption is this was caused by radiation treatment, since it's only happening in the treatment area.  The radiologist said it's not common but they've seen it before.  The hormone therapy could be making it worse.  Since it isn't harmful I don't need to worry about it.  Maybe now I'll start sleeping better.  My blood pressure was up yesterday.  Considering everything that's happened recently, I'm not surprised, but I do need to do a better job of taking care of myself.  

I'M DONE!!!!!!!!!!

I had my last radiation treatment today ~ Wahoo!  Thirty five down, NONE to go!!!!!

After my treatment I was presented with a celebration cake. Then I had a meeting with the cancer guide, who officially proclaimed me a "survivor".  She gave me some info on upcoming survivor programs, and had me ring the bell mounted on the wall in the waiting room to signal the end of my program.  Everyone stood and cheered.  It was a pretty awesome moment.

When Walker got home from work, I took him out for lunch, where  I ordered a margarita as big as my head.  Can I tell you - we work nights, and not on the same days, so going out for drinks has become a major event reserved for very special occasions and vacations.  I usually don't miss it, and I can't even begin to guess the last time I had a margarita.  But: I have been dreaming of this cocktail. Every. Single. Day.   I have no idea why, and there was absolutely no reason why I couldn't have had one during the treatment phase. I just never did.  I would lay on the table, looking at the cherry blossoms painted on the light covers while the machines buzz around me, and I would tell myself that as soon as I got through my last treatment I was going out for margaritas.  It got to the point where I could smell the lime, taste the salt....Bizarre, I know.  It would have been more like me to give myself a big basket from Ghiradelli or something.  Generally, chocolate is my bribe of choice *grin*.

Having taken these treatments for over seven weeks, I've pretty much gotten my afternoon routine down.  I was thinking that I should take advantage of the time I've carved into my day and spend it alternating between exercise, which I've sorely neglected since my surgery, and taking care of the little "issues" around the house that have cropped up.  If I spend an hour a day on one or the other, I should have both me and the house in shape by spring. 

Right now, though, I'm focused on Christmas.  We didn't get cards sent out this year, and we didn't put up a tree.  We didn't host our annual Thanksgiving dinner.  We aren't hosting Christmas.  But I shopped for gifts online, and I'll be there to watch my not-so-little niece and nephews open those gifts after we sit down for a delicious dinner at my baby brother's house.  That, for me, is the best part of the holiday season.  The only part I don't want to leave out.

My Boobs are Making History!

Okay, that's kinda misleading.  Well, maybe not. Here's the story; you can decide:  the radiologist I go to works for Mayo Clinic.  Before I started treatment he showed me a breathing technique called "gated breathing" that involves taking a deep breath, then breathing in and out in shallow breaths while trying to keep your lungs full. They strap a belt around my ribcage that attaches to a set of lights over my head.  The goal is to keep the center light lit up through each zap of radiation.   I don't know if the technique is new, but the device that measures the breathing is new for the clinic.  I am one of only seven patients who have used the device at this facility.  The staff kept telling me I was really good at gated breathing, but I thought they were just being encouraging.  Apparently not.  Yesterday, the doctor told me that the CEO of the company that makes the monitor was visiting the clinic and they wanted him to see me in action.  The doctor asked my permission and of course I said yes.  I would do anything to help anyone who is developing equipment or treatments or anything that helps patients.  The purpose of gated breathing is to create an air barrier between the girls and my heart.  The air barrier helps prevent the radiation from damaging my heart and causing a heart attack down the line.  Gated breathing is reducing the radiation load on my heart by over 50%.  So absolutely - it's important, and I don't care who watches me.  Hell, if it would do any good in the fight against breast cancer, I'd put the girls on a billboard in Times Square.

So today, after I got strapped into my get up, two guys in suits came in and looked at how the device was attached to me.  They were present through the treatment and the series of xrays that I also had today.  Afterward, I was sitting in the waiting room making a jigsaw puzzle with my mom when one of the suits came over and talked to me.  He was telling me that he was impressed with my ability and that he wished everyone was able to do it, and my mom answered, "Oh, we make puzzles at home all the time."  Gotta love my mom. The doctor also stopped me and told me again how great I was at this breathing thing.  He thanked me for letting the visitors come into my treatment.  He said it was important for them, going forward, to hear from the patients now and learn from us. 

The thing is, I never had a hard time with this technique.  The doctor showed me how to do it and asked me to practice before I started treatments.  So I did.  I had it down pat before I was ever on the table.  The ataff  tells me some people never pick it up.  I did figure out, pretty much right away, that I don't need to take the shallow breaths as often as I was taught.  As soon as I had the lights providing feedback it was a piece of cake.  So while the compliments are nice, they baffle me a bit. I do think it's pretty cool that I got to demonstrate to a big shot how to use his own equipment, LOL.

The other exciting thing is that today, I started getting "boosts".  A boost is a concentrated radiation zap along my scar line.  They do these last, which means I've completed the first stage of radiation treatment.  That's the exciting part.  I get zapped three times a day, instead of twice like the normal treatment.  Other than the extra zap, the boost is the same from my perspective. The skin around my scar is just red - no peeling, no blisters, and no icky bruise color.  I'm not sure but I would guess that the boosts will change that.  I'm hoping that the fact that it's scar tissue means that I won't feel it as much.  We'll see....

The only other boob news is that, while my skin is still peeling quite a bit, there's new skin coming in now.  The burn cream and dressings seem to be doing the trick.  I never did lose that patch of skin under my arm that the doctor was concerned about.  Of course, now that I've said that I'm sure it will come off tomorrow. The doctor told me that my skin is looking better now than they would expect at this stage of treatment.  Wahoo!   Only six more to go.....

Just Stuff...

I'm sitting here listening to freezing rain hit my windows.  It's kind of like white noise - it lulls me.  Right now, I don't think it would take much to put me in a stupor.  I have never experienced fatigue like I have this week.  If I sit still for too long, I fall asleep.  No road trips for me for a while.  I don't drive any further than my office, which is a twelve minute commute.  Even I can stay awake for twelve minutes.

My peeling skin has gotten much worse, and more painful.  I have patches of open skin in several places in my treatment area.  My clothes rubbing cause the discomfort, as does showering.  I can't do much in the shower but the rest of the time, I have these dressings to wear.  They look and feel like the packing material my last computer was wrapped in.  The only place in town that carries them is the home care pharmacy in the hospital complex, and I walked over there on a windy day when we were experiencing single digit temps.  I chose to walk because parking is scarce in that area, but I was regretting that decision as I waited at the crosswalk for ANYBODY to stop.  I can't believe how many drivers, warm in their cars, ignored the few of us standing at the corner in a marked crosswalk.  How incredibly rude, especially given the weather and the fact that we were in the middle of a hospital campus.

I'm down to nine remaining treatments.  I can't wait to be done.  All in all, it hasn't been too bad, but as the doctor told me last Tuesday, it's going to keep getting worse from here. He said that in two to three weeks after I finish treatment my skin will start healing.  Two to four weeks after that, it will be completely healed.  I'm looking forward to that, counting down the days.

Right now, I'm grateful for a warm home. I have Diva tomorrow, and we'll whip up some holiday treats.  Walker will be busy digging everyone out from the snow that fell before the rain, so it will be just us girls.  We don't need to go into the storm at all.  Maybe we'll just stay in our jammies.  I like that idea.

Radiation Takes the Lead

Oh. My. God.  My boob hurts.  Radiation has started kicking my ass.  After twenty treatments (only fifteen more to go ~ wahoo!) the side effects have kicked in, big time. I am so. Stinkin'. Tired.  Pretty much all the time.  My skin goes from dark tan to red to blistered to dark tan in phases throughout the day.  It itches like crazy, and out of the blue I get these pains that feel like I'm getting stabbed in the boob with a needle.  And I do know, first hand, what that feels like.  The area under my arm is so dark it looks purple, like a big, nasty bruise.

The doctor tells me that eventually my skin will peel, which will make the itching stop.  I have burn cream with Lidocaine for the pain. People keep telling me to take it easy, to rest, yada yada.  Well, believe me, I would love to.  But you know, I have a job and another job and a home and a cat and a family and myself to take care of.  There's only so much resting I can do before things start to fall apart. I'm literally counting down the days until I'm done with the daily runs to the cancer center. The treatments take less than fifteen minutes but the whole process - getting there, checking in, changing clothes, treatment, changing clothes again, driving home - adds up to over an hour.  In twenty more days, I can use that hour for extra sleep. Right now I just have to power through.

In the meantime, I take it one day, sometimes one hour, at a time. 

Radiation Therapy

Finally, I've started radiation treatments.  Wahoo!  Okay, it's not exactly a party but it isn't bad.  The treatments only take about ten minutes and the techs are fun to work with.  If you can get past being topless in front of a bunch of people, it's not a big deal.  I'm long over the whole topless thing.  I lost my last shred of dignity when I had to spend two full days naked, with a catheter hanging out of me, in a glass walled room full of people at Mayo when I had treatment for a uterine fibroid.  I think there were twelve people coming and going through that one.  Nothing much embarrasses me any more.

Each week day I go into the cancer center, change into a gown, and wait to be taken to the treatment room.  It's pretty much like the sim:  gown comes off, lay on the table, feet strapped together, bumper under the knees, arms up overhead and held still by my custom bean bag pillow thing. A couple of techs line up my tattoos and leave the room, then I start doing gated breathing and the radiation thingie zaps at my chest.  Turns out I'm really good at gated breathing.  The techs kept telling me I was the best gated breather they've ever had, and I was all proud of myself, but then I found out that the breath monitor is a brand new piece of equipment at the cancer center so only a couple of us have used it.  Still, I asked for a banner and a crown.  Hey, a title is a title.  It's not often I'm declared the best of something.

After my first treatment, I got dressed and headed out to the front desk.  As I passed through the waiting room I was surprised to see my mom sitting at a table working a jig saw puzzle.  She was all settled in with a cup of coffee and a muffin like this was just another part of her routine.  I had told her that she was welcome to come to the cancer center anytime, but I am able to drive myself so I really didn't expect her to come.  She brought me a snack size Butterfinger candy bar.  I love my mom.  She was there the next day, too.  With another Butterfinger.  After my treatment I sat down with her, and we finished the jig saw puzzle together.

Radiation Therapy 101

On Wednesday, I had my first appointment with a radiation oncologist.  The appointment consisted of a review of my breast cancer history, as well as an overview of the upcoming radiation treatments.  I've been reading my "How Not to Die of Breast Cancer" book so nothing came as a big surprise.  About the only thing I didn't know was that I would get my first tattoo ~ a tiny dot that will serve as a reference point for the treatments.  A permanent reminder of my experience, as if I could ever forget.

The radiation oncologist was aware of the situation with my insurance, so they are prepared to hold off on my treatment until November first, when they become part of my insurance network.  And after I got the call from the Mayo Clinic business office, informing me that I would have to pay up front for any out of pocket expenses, I went in prepared to fork over the copay for the consultation, but was told that they don't collect payments at the cancer center.  Anything I owe will be added to my monthly clinic bill.  Huh.  Guess they didn't get the memo from Mayo.  Oh, well!

I know this will sound odd, but I kind of enjoy my appointments in the cancer center.  Don't get me wrong ~ I will be perfectly happy when all this is behind me, but everyone at the cancer center is friendly, informative, and encouraging.  If you have to go through cancer treatment, I hope your local facility is as great as mine.