What Lies Ahead

I had a horrible night last night.

Yesterday being Father's Day and the longest day of the year, the kids got to bed way too late, about an hour after I wished I were in bed. My husband is a really fantastic father, but one thing he absolutely sucks at is getting the kids to bed. I do my part, then... an hour later, he does his part. Anyway, around 9:30, when he was still putting the kids to bed, I decided to fold some laundry and watch Seinfeld. Around 10:30 PM, I took half a hydrocodone and immediately fell asleep. I woke up at 3 AM, tossed and turned for a few minutes, then got up and went to the bathroom. Usually if I go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, it's more of a sleepwalking/sleeppeeing exercise than anything, and I can go right back to sleep. But this morning I lay there for another 30 minutes before giving in and realizing there was no way I was going to sleep.

I was wide fucking awake, and my mind was racing in a million different directions. So I've finished surgery, hopefully. What next? This whole time I've been so focused on the surgery and so overwhelmed with work and accepting my diagnosis and educating myself about breast cancer and researching doctors and working through family bullshit and adjusting to my new reality and yada yada yada, that I've had little time to think about What Lies Ahead. And that is mostly a good thing. It is a classic stress management technique to try to stay in the moment. But now... Now I need to contemplate the future. Because the future is here.

I was thinking last night - what if surgery was the easy part? Surgery sounds so major, I just figured that has to be the hard part, especially with chemo out of the equation. And hell, I haven't cooked in, like, ages, because it turns out when you have surgery, your friends feed you and your family. It's not a bad gig. LOL. And as I educate myself about radiation therapy and its side effects, and anti-hormone therapy its side effects, I worry. I mentioned I didn't feel fully prepared for just how bad the lumpectomy was going to be, and in reading through the message boards on breastcancer.org, it seems like a recurring theme with radiation and hormone therapy that many women weren't prepared for how much they were going to suck. As I lay in bed last night, I kept thinking of how I feared the side effects of chemo so much, that any treatment that didn't make my hair fall out would be a-okay with me. I now realize that's not the case. Like... I have suuuuuuper terrible and sensitive skin - how awful will radiation be for my skin? And y'all already know I am a fucking bitch, so golly gee, I just can't wait to get on some medication that causes mood swings and insomnia. That's going to rock.

Probably the worst part is that there is really no end in sight. This is forever, my new reality. Even in 10 years, if I stop taking medication, I will forever worry about the cancer coming back. Many people say that they will do whatever it takes for peace of mind - have their breasts cut off, their ovaries and uterus taken out, radiation, chemo, the whole nine yards. But I will never ever have peace of mind again, no matter what I do. For the rest of my life, I will fully expect this cancer to come back, and the next time in a place that will kill me.

It is a weird thing, having cancer, then having it cut out of you. In theory, I should no longer have cancer, yet it seems too early to go around telling people, Yeah I had cancer, last month, but it's gone now. At the same time, saying, I have cancer sounds so morbid. Like Hey dude, I have cancer, be nice to me, I am dying! Is cancer like alcoholism - once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic, even if you've been sober for 20 years? At what point can you say you had cancer, past tense? I don't feel like I will ever be there, and that is an awful feeling.

But, onto more practical news. There is no point in wallowing in self-pity. We are all dying, after all, some of us faster than others, and some of us of things we won't ever know about until the moment they kill us. Knowing one of the dangers that lurks on your personal horizon is not necessarily a bad thing.

I finally got out of the bed around 3:30 AM and went downstairs to the office and spent two hours watching gymnastics videos from the 2004 Olympics. LOL. By 5:30, it was light and the birds were chirping, and I was tired, so I went back upstairs and got in bed. Of course the kids were up at 6:30 after a slumber party in my daughter's room with 10 kids total (eight of them imaginary, mind you). So basically I was a zombie all day. I had a follow-up appointment with my surgeon's nurse practitioner, and my mom came and watched the kids. Unfortunately, I'm sure whatever amends we made were erased because I was soooo tired and really didn't feel like talking to her. I'm sure she interpreted it as me being angry. Whatever.

My appointment was fairly useless. The pathology report from my surgery still isn't back (WTF?), so the NP and I briefly talked about my pain, and what type of bra I should (or should not) wear to help aforementioned pain. She didn't really have any amazing insights; I mean, I've tried just about every possible type of bra and they all have their downfalls. I left with an ace bandage wrapped around me, which kind of helped my breast pain, but in the end was too weird. So it immediately came off when I got home.

The NP also said that I have a little fluid build-up in my surgical site - a seroma. However, it is not really worrisome. It is not infected, and sometimes seromas can be good, because the location of the lump fills with fluid, which is like a natural implant, and gives 'a better cosmetic result.' LOL. It's only really a problem if the fluid build-up causes pain and prevents healing; then you need to have it drained, which trust me, isn't high on my list of priorities. I realized, though, when the NP was talking to me about seromas, that I really don't care about the cosmetic results. I mean, I sort of do I guess. Less disfiguration is always better. But it's not as if anyone really sees my bare breasts enough that I would think, Hey, I'm so glad I have fluid build-up where my cancer used to be because now I don't have a dimple in my boob, and I didn't even have to get an implant. I mean WTF? I guess it goes with the lumpectomy territory. Everyone assumes if you opt for lumpectomy, it is a choice that is ultimately grounded in the cosmetic outcome, when sometimes it's really more because you didn't want to go through the pain of having your entire boob lopped off.

Anyway, I'm now five days post re-excision lumpectomy and I have to say I feel pretty good. I've been able to settle into a fairly normal routine, with a few restrictions, and I'm not even a week out. All in all, it's good news, but one thing is for sure - I'll be taking an Ambien tonight.