Monday, July 27, 2015

Wined and Dined

A common complaint you hear from people is that they feel like their surgeons aren't nearly as attentive to them post-surgery as they were pre-surgery. The surgeons tell them how great and how life-changing the surgery will be, then afterwards, when the patients are disappointed with the results, they are like, 'Oh, oops, a lot of times it doesn't work! Read the fine print!' In other words, people feel wined and dined, then discarded. Of course, there are always two sides to every story, just sayin'. This seems to be a not-rare (even if not super common) thing in orthopedics; I'm sure we all know someone who had a semi-elective surgery for an orthopedic condition that didn't really do anything. (I say semi-elective because as someone who suffers from a painful orthopedic condition, I understand that just because something won't kill you, it's not really 'elective' if you want to give yourself a chance of continuing to live a normal life.)

Although I have little experience with plastic surgeons, they seem like they might be a wine you and dine you group of individuals. I've always been wary of plastic surgeons, although I now realize that many of them do much more noble things than just cosmetic surgeries. Many of them reconstruct people's faces after horrific accidents, many treat patients with severe burns, and many treat cancer patients. Technically, breast reconstruction after a mastectomy is an elective surgery, even though is far from the same thing as an elective breast augmentation, IMO.

I'm starting to worry that I've been wined and dined by Dr. T. I mean, I don't feel purposely deceived or anything. This wouldn't be logical considering it was just dumb luck that got me face time with Dr. T in the first place, and he had about 15 minutes to review my case before I saw him. It's just that maybe he has one of those magnetic personalities that makes a person a successful winer and diner, one that sucks people in immediately, whether intentional or not. Being in academia, I'm constantly told that students decide within the first five minutes of the first class whether or not they like you. Or is it two minutes? Or 30 seconds? Whatever. It's not a long time. But the point is, despite the fact that I'm sure someone got a doctorate in education for figuring this out, there is probably some truth to it. LOL.

Needless to say, as time passes and my anxiety levels rise, I'm feeling less love toward Dr. T, and more distrust. I don't know if this is rational or not; hopefully not. I sent him an angst-y e-mail on Friday about what, if anything, I needed to do to arrange to see this hematologist colleague of his, and to be fair, he did e-mail me back on Saturday morning to let me know that they would call me. And to be fair, they did call me today. And they told me the first appointment they had was August 27th. Ummm, okay, that's... not helpful. But apparently Dr. T just submitted a referral for a 'routine consult.' So basically I threw a hissy fit and told the woman I had breast cancer and was scheduled for a mastectomy August 26th, and got myself an appointment on August 10th. But still, I'm feeling somewhat annoyed and wary that Dr. T is the one who is making me see this guy - and it can't be just any hematologist, but it has to be this supposedly Top Anticoagulant Hematologist - but yet I'm the one having to throw a hissy fit to get an early enough appointment. We seem to moving at the pace of an elective cosmetic surgery, not a patient has cancer and had one positive margin after the first surgery, and three positive margins a month later, so we need to GET THIS SHIT OUT OF HER ASAP surgery. Yes, the reconstruction is elective, but the mastectomy is mandatory. So either way, the breast has to be amputated on August 26th, and the surgeons themselves are the ones telling me that if I'm going to do reconstruction, I'll be much better off doing it at the time of the mastectomy. As Dr. L would say, argggg and poop.

I'm also a little disconcerted about this late date considering I really cannot do any appointments August 12-18, and what if this guy wants to do more tests? Like... is he magically going to look at me and tell me I'm either okay or not okay? Or have he and Dr. T already decided I'm NOT okay to do this surgery, and Dr. T doesn't want to tell me, so he is making his colleague tell me? (This is what I fear the most.) What exactly am I supposed to be discussing with this guy? A little guidance might be nice. As Dr. Evil would say:


At any rate, I've decided to be proactive, because for me, planning helps alleviate stress. If I really do have a clotting disorder, I want to know sooner rather than later. Definitely not just a few days before surgery, at which point I have no idea what I'd do. If Dr. T feels like it is a real possibility that I can't do this type of reconstruction, I want to know NOW. Even if it's just something like a 10 or 20% chance, I want to know. I at least want to know what he is thinking, even if it is bad. I am okay with bad, as long as it's not out of the blue and completely unexpected. So I called Dr. A, my PCP, today and requested to have my blood tested for clotting disorders. We actually talked about this a while ago, before I knew I had cancer, just because this is something you should know about even if you don't have cancer. I couldn't do it while I was taking Xarelto, though, and I think he said I needed to be off Xarelto for a month before we could do the test? Anyway, I've been off Xarelto for over a month, and figure this is one thing I can take care of immediately, with my PCP. After some ado, I got an appointment to go in on Wednesday for a blood draw. 

I also e-mailed Dr. L over the weekend about whether it would really be possible for her to do routine post-mastectomy care for me, and what, if anything, I would need to do to arrange for this to happen. I haven't heard back from her, so I guess we will see if she is a winer and diner, too! All in all, I'm feeling extremely angst-y and somewhat disillusioned. I guess one thing that's becoming really clear right now is that this is going to be an adventure until the bitter end. Maybe I'll talk to my PCP about the anti-anxiety meds after all.

Friday, July 24, 2015

Emergency Room (for my computer)

Today was not a good day. Even in a normal, healthy, cancerless mode, I'm an emotional basketcase, so the ups and downs of all of this are practically killing me.

The day started out in typical fashion with me waking up, getting coffee, and attempting to log onto my computer, only to discover that it was on the fritz. I won't bore you with the technical details, but basically the screen was blinking incessantly, to the extent that I couldn't even shut the computer off to restart it to see if it was a fluke. I had to actually turn it off by using the power button (imagine that), but that didn't help. After three restarts, my computer was still acting like a bipolar in manic mode. So after getting my daughter dropped off at summer camp and my son dropped off at daycare, I went up to work and went by the IT department on my way to my office. The way my computer was behaving screamed VIRUS to me, so I figured it might be a quick fix. Except it wasn't. And there was no fixing to be done. (Now is a good time to let you know that I am basically computer illiterate, so if I say shit that doesn't make sense, I apologize.)

Three hours later, I left with a computer that only works in safe mode (but hey, I can still blog from it!) and a prescription for a new computer. Three hours. And I sat there the whole time and watched the guy work for three hours straight, so he was really working on it for three hours. It turns out the tech was one of my former students, so maybe that's why my computer got all-star treatment, but hey, that's better than my computer getting on the fast track to organ donation, because I have plenty of former students who would have gone that route. LOL. The weird thing is that I don't use our tech support very much, so I wasn't even sure if they even fix personal computers. I mean, they should, because I use my personal computer for work 90% of the time I'm using it, and the only reason I don't pursue getting a laptop through the university is because then I would worry about blogging from it. And, when I come out with my best-selling book about breast cancer, bad hips, and DVT, I don't want the university to have any rights to the millions of dollars I am going to make off of it, hahaha.

I was kind of surprised that when I took my computer in, they never asked me to fill out any paperwork or verify that I was indeed part of the university or anything. I mean, heck, I could have just wandered in off the street, but I guess they knew who I was. I realized this later, when I received a couple e-mails through my university e-mail, detailing the condition of my computer and asking me to fill out a survey about the service they had provided, even though I never filled out any paperwork or anything. Ummmm, creepy? Or good? The creepy thing is that the login for my computer is my hotmail account, and every time the tech had to reboot my computer, which was many times over the course of three hours, he had to ask me to re-log in. Eventually I just gave him my password so he could do it himself. I mean geez. But then tonight, I got paranoid and Googled myself based my hotmail account... and yeah. Let me just say that if you have a public blog, and at one point I left a comment about drinking too much or how ultrasounds of unborn babies are creepy, I may have deleted those comments. Don't take it personally.

At any rate, since it was a personal computer, I wasn't allowed to leave it and come back later. (Bureaucracy, gotta love it.) So I stayed. And of course, I had no idea it would be three hours. I include this detail because it was actually sort of interesting to watch the IT help desk in action; it was much like watching a medical team in action, only with much less at stake. I can attest to the fact that the techs really did try very hard to save my computer, and these techs were quite competent and knowledgeable people. IT help, sort of like medicine, is pretty hit or miss. I know that a lot of tech-y types live by the mantra of Your failure to plan does not constitute an emergency on my part, which I get. Really, I do. At the same time, for faculty at a university, there is tremendous pressure to use technology in our teaching, and many of us are not trained in this sort of thing, nor do we receive regular opportunities for training in this sort of thing (though it is getting better). So our emergencies are often not our own failure to plan, but failure of the system to make sure we don't have emergencies in the first place, by educating us. So yeah, if I were computer literate, I wouldn't have these emergencies. But then half of you wouldn't have a job, the same way probably half of health care workers in emergency medicine wouldn't have jobs if people received more regular care for their conditions. So deal with it! And fortunately, they did, because I was most definitely not in the mood for any shit today. 

Anyway, apparently the graphics driver on my computer is dying. I think it has been faulty from the get-go, but that is a different story. The tech/my former student was very apologetic in telling me that it was a fixable condition, but that I would probably be better off just buying a new computer. So around 12:30, I finally headed up to my office to water my plants, get files off my work computer, and re-connect with some of my colleagues. (Interestingly, one of them just had surgery to fix a torn labrum.) At this point, I am planning to teach my pre-term class, so that is good news, I think.

Around 2:30, I left to head off to Best Buy to get a new computer. This really isn't the way I had planned for my day to unfold, and dealing with the dead computer added a whole dimension of stress to my life that I realize probably sounds trivial, but was still RIDICULOUSLY ANNOYING. I'm sure you can all relate to the stressfulness of a dead/dying computer, but it was even more ridiculously annoying considering all of the other technology fails I've had in the past month, which I have not written about because I really try to keep my bitching to a minimum, and reading about washers and phones that don't work is some boring shit. As I texted a friend, if it is appliances that keep dying on me, I guess I should be happy with that. But at the same time, I sort of feel like, geez, could I catch a fucking break?! Yes, I know it could be much worse, but it could also be better!

Around 4:30, I was still messing around with various laptops in Best Buy, and trying to eke out information from the ridiculously unhelpful 'customer service' guys. I had been texting back and forth with a friend I was thinking of hooking up with this afternoon, before my computer emergency, and with my husband, about dinner plans, and whether he could pick the kids up. So when my phone rang right after I'd finally managed to get some real help, I figured it was either my friend or my husband, only it wasn't, it was Dr. T. Even though I knew it was him, because I programmed him into my cell phone after our chat on Monday, I must have sounded really pissy when I answered, because after asking for Waning (he remembered I don't like to go by Ms. Moon), he said, 'I'm sorry to bother you.' Haha, yes, how inconvenient that you called me! 

Let me just say that Best Buy is not the greatest place to have a Cancer Conversation, and especially not after you've just expressed annoyance that after over an hour, no one is really helping you, so someone finally does, and then your cell phone rings, and you act all high and mighty and say, 'Sorry, but this is really important.' It was so bad that at one point I apologized to Dr. T, saying that I was at the store buying a new computer, and it was really loud. So then, because he is awesome, he asked me what type of computer I was buying, and I told him a Lenovo, to which he responded Oh, in a disappointed voice, sort of as if he knew something I didn't. So then I was like Are they bad?! Because I haven't bought it yet! (and I've never had one before, but I have had a Dell, HP, and Toshiba, all of which sucked) and he was like, No! I just really like Macs. So I told him I had tried to be a Mac lover, but even after personal tutoring and group therapy, I hate Macs, and he was like oh, okay. LOL. I guess it's like implants; it's a personal preference. :) (And, by the way, I'm kidding about group therapy.)

Anyway. I think I heard/understood/absorbed about 50% of what he told me, but the bottom line is that he's not okay proceeding with this surgery until I get my blood completely checked out, by a hematologist of his choosing - 'one of the best anti-coagulant hematologists there is.' As he said, 'I just really don't want you to get another blood clot.' Dr. T said he had been e-mailing back and forth with his colleague about my case and that the final conclusion was that I need to have a full work up, but 'I think we can do this before your surgery.' I think. Not, We can do it, like he said at my first appointment with him. Sigh. And, of course, there's always the 'What if?' factor. If I'm okay, and I don't have a clotting disorder or any other factor that puts me more at risk than average, he thinks we can get an all-clear before August 26th. But what if I don't get an all-clear? What then? We didn't discuss this. 

And again, I'm grateful he is being thorough, and I have to admit that I am curious, after all these years, to get a more precise explanation of my condition and its possible significance. As Dr. T told me, 'I'm just uncomfortable that you got this diagnosis with no details.' Honestly, it's something that has been given so little attention throughout the years that I almost stopped putting it down when I filled out medical history forms (especially since there is no specific question about it; I have to put it in 'other'). In fact, I could have easily forgotten about it or convinced myself that it was something that I had made up, except that when my son was born, someone (can't remember who) told me, 'We discovered he has something called hemoglobin E.' That person was about to explain to me what hemoglobin E was when I said I knew what it was because I had it. And that was that.

Of course, I don't want to have a blood clot during this surgery. If I did, the best case scenario would be that the flap transplant wouldn't work, and it would all be a waste. The worst case scenario would be that I have a pulmonary embolism or stroke, and become a brain-dead vegetable. Or I could die. But the former would be worse, in my opinion. So I appreciate the precautions. (On a side note, I wonder how much plastic surgeons pay for malpractice insurance. I bet it's a lot.) However, now I am at a point where the fact that this might not be possible for me is a reality, and UGH, that is just a low I cannot handle right now, especially not after the high I've been on. 

So while I'm still praying for the best, I'm not feeling as hopeful as I was earlier in the week. And one way or another, these next five weeks are not going to play out as I planned, and will be filled with a lot of uncertainty. If it all works out in the end, it will be okay, but if it doesn't, well... I don't even want to go there. 

Tuesday, July 21, 2015

Save the Date

August 26th.

Just as I was deciding that today's entry would be about how I am BURSTING with impatience, I got a phone call from UH telling me that they were finally able to schedule my mastectomy. For August 26th. WTF?! That is sooooo long to wait! And now, even though I have a date, I am still BURSTING with impatience! And I do not want to sound ungrateful, but Jesus, that is a long time to wait.

The guy who called me was very apologetic and said he understood it was a long time to wait, but 'scheduling three surgeons is difficult,' and this was truly the earliest they could do it unless there is a cancellation. And I'm guessing the cancellation rate for cancer-related and/or reconstructive surgery isn't that high. UGH!

But, I'm going to try to look at the positive side of this. I mean, really, despite my impatience, I'm not exactly dying to have my boob cut off. So in reality, the only negative thing is that I am BURSTING with impatience and want this over with. Also, it changes the tentative plans I had made with my department, which were greatly helping my angst. Now we have to revise all those plans, which will not help my angst. I'll get over it, though.

The positives:
  1. I was scheduled to teach a pre-term one-week intensive course August 12-18 that I didn't think I would be able to teach, but that I may be able to now. I'm still working this out with my Chair, who already has a commitment from someone to step in. Honestly, if I could teach this course, it would be a good distraction, and give me something to do for a few weeks. It has been so long since I've taught it - I couldn't teach it last fall because of my hip/DVT issues - that I'd need at least a solid week of prep time. I think this would be good for me in that it would give me something to do other than read blogs about breast cancer all day. Because I have summers off, my summer has been consumed by cancer, which is not a good thing. 
  2. Regardless, work-wise, this gives me time to get my shit together pre-mastectomy, so that when I return mid-semester, I'm not scrambling.
  3. It gives me over a month to try to gain some weight. Of course, it also gives me a month to lose weight. Unfortunately, I am a person who loses, not gains, weight when I am stressed. I think I wrote earlier that the only positive thing about my diagnosis is that I stressed off about five pounds in the first few weeks. LOL. I will need to actually formulate a high-calorie diet plan and stick to it. While I never really worry about my weight, I'm not a tiny person. I do actually watch what I eat to maintain a weight around my ideal. I've been frustrated over the past year about not being able to walk a lot due to my hip pain, and the weight gain that has accompanied this loss of function, so I know I can gain weight. The key will be not just eating crap all the time - I still need to stick to eating a balanced diet and stay as active as I can, but I'll try to see planning out a high-calorie but nutritious diet as a fun challenge, knowing that I am feeding my future boob.
  4. It gives me over a month to complete many of the projects that I've been wanting to do. Due to the nature of my job, I really don't get any major projects done during the school year, and I tend to save them all up for my long breaks. Obviously my major projects (most of which are of the home improvement variety) did not get done this summer. But now I have the time and the motivation for a few of them. At the top of the list is painting. Our house was a foreclosure, then was 'flipped,' so the entire house is generic, 'realtor' beige, and after three years, it drives. me. crazy. The only room I've painted is my daughter's (twice, actually), and I've been wanting to paint my son's. However, my own bedroom is now at the top of the list, as I figure I'll be spending a lot of time in it post-mastectomy, and really don't want to have to stare at such boring brown walls. It's definitely time for a face lift.
  5. On a smaller scale, it also gives me time to REALLY prepare and get organized. I can do a bunch of cooking and freeze a bunch of meals, I can go back-to-school shopping with my daughter, I can buy birthday presents for my son (whose birthday is 8/22), I can sew pockets into my shirts so I don't have to spend $60 for a post-mastectomy shirt. Etc. Etc. Etc.
  6. It gives me time to put together and execute my mastectomy 'bucket list' - for lack of a better term. Hopefully it's not a true bucket list, lol, but I do have a few overly indulgent, upper class extravagant things I want to do, just because I can (like getting a pedicure, which I've never had before!).
  7. It gives me time to get some other affairs in order, so to speak. Not to be morbid, but I want to redo my will as well as do an advance directive. These are things everyone should do, even if they don't have cancer. After all, anyone can die at any time. My husband and I did do an official will after my daughter was born, but we haven't done one since my son was born, and it's just... a good idea. We had been talking about doing it even before all of this. And even without this, I'd want an advance directive. I think everyone in my life knows I do not wish to be kept alive if I am a brain-dead vegetable, but then again, you never know how difficult it might be to honor this if the time actually comes. Again, I'm not trying to be morbid; anyone can become a brain-dead vegetable at any time, but let's face it, with this complicated surgery, it does increase those odds significantly.
  8. Before all of this bullshit, I had three major professional goals for myself over the summer: take a physiology course, become a registered EMT, and take the GRE. I'm toying with the idea of trying to do one of these before August 26th (one of the latter two), but I don't want to put too much pressure on myself, especially if #1 comes to fruition. This is more like a Plan B, if it turns out I don't teach my week-long course and am driving myself crazy with my incessant blog reading. All of these relate to my future professional goals, but needless to say, a new job/career change isn't at the top of my list right at the moment, especially considering how great my department has been about everything. I've already completed an EMT course and passed my practicals (barely), but to become a registered EMT in my state, I need to pass the national registry exam. This isn't a really hard thing, just one of those things you really do have to study for. If I took it tomorrow without reviewing, it's very likely I would fail. It's sort of the same situation with the GRE; I could take it tomorrow and do okay, but I'd do much, much better if I studied a little. It has been a long, long time since I've done standardized-test math (or really any math), and it never hurts to review the meaning of some of those esoteric terms no one ever uses. (Vocabulary is not my strong suit. I have friends who speak English as a third language who scored higher on the GRE English section than I did.)
So there you have it. 

Now, some prayers. These will appear at random times, because I decided it was too stressful and way too Type A to box myself into a set blog prayer schedule.

Blessings
  • I'm very grateful to have a set date for my mastectomy. Even though it's not as early as I had hoped for, it's a relief to have a date I can plan around. I am a planner, and planning things helps relieve my anxiety. I used to be an avid listener of Dr. Laura (don't judge me... even though she would, lol), and whenever anyone referred to a fiancĂ©e or fiancĂ©, the first thing she would ask is, 'Do you have a ring and a date?' because without a ring and a date, 'engagement' is non-committal. So while I don't have a ring, it is a blessing to have a date. :)
  • Most of all, I'm grateful that this is not an urgent, life-or-death surgery. If you need a mastectomy, and doctors are rearranging their schedules and moving heaven and earth to fit you in ASAP, it means you aren't in good shape. So I'm thankful to have a prognosis that doctors don't see as something that needs to be done immediately. 
Hopes
  • I still haven't heard back from Dr. T regarding my hemoglobin E and DVT issues. I'm praying very hard (pretty much on an hourly basis) that I am, in fact, a good candidate for DIEP reconstruction. But if not, I pray for the strength to handle what would be a definite low. 
  • As crazy as it sounds, I'm praying for the health and safety of all of my surgeons. (That sounds like something a super religious person does, right?) Five weeks is a really long time, and even though I put my doctors on a pedestal next to God, they are real people despite having Godlike powers. I know Dr. T is going out of town the first week in August to go to a soccer tournament with his son. He could be in a plane crash or a car accident, or his son could be gravely injured and he might have to stay with him in the hospital. He could get sick. He could discover that he himself has cancer. So I pray everyone who is going to do this surgery, which is the answer to my own prayers, will remain safe and healthy and able to do this surgery to the best of their ability when the long-awaited day finally comes. 
  • I pray that I will continue to be uplifted by the amazing support I've received from my friends. I love you all. :)
Let the countdown begin. 

Monday, July 20, 2015

Dr. T and Hemoglobin E

Despite the fact that for me, writing is my Xanax, I usually try to limit myself to, like, one post a day. However, mourning the loss of a complete stranger merits a post of its own, separate from the logistics of my own impending mastectomy. Ever since my awesome encounter with Dr. T last week, I've been waiting for University Hospital to call me with a definite date for my surgery, and have been getting reeeeaaaaally impatient. If cancer doesn't do it, the waiting. will. kill. you.

In a previous post, I wrote about meeting with Dr. L, and how she had been surprised that Dr. T hadn't more seriously considered a nipple-sparing mastectomy. I mentioned that we had discussed it, but that I hadn't really retained any of the details. So, on Saturday, curiosity got the best of me, and I e-mailed Dr. T through his personal e-mail, which he had given me, though I still felt a little bad about it. Among other things, I wrote:

I saw my [in town] surgeon (who did my lumpectomy and re-excision) on Thursday. She inquired about doing a nipple-sparing mastectomy or at least an areola-preserving surgery, and I told her you said that would make the reconstruction more complicated. I know you explained it, but I don't think I quite caught it. (A lot of details seem to go in one ear and right out the other these days.) Of course, the most important thing to me is to give the overall reconstruction the best chance of success and good results, and if sparing the nipple/areola makes it more difficult I totally understand. I guess at this point I am just curious about the details I missed the first time around.

Dr. T responded early this morning, simply saying:

Waning, 
Can you give me a call this afternoon - after 4pm? I can discuss this with you in more detail and address your questions much better. My cell is XXX-XXX-XXXX.
Ty Tahm, MD

Okay, so I know he gave me his personal cell number from the get-go, but even so, it seemed a little bit much. But since he had personally 'invited' me to call him, I knew it was okay. Nonetheless, I was super stressed about calling him. I called him around 4:15 this afternoon, while my son was out at my mother-in-law's, but unfortunately he didn't answer. It was sort of creepy, though, because his voice mail was something like, 'Hi, this is Ty...' which drives home the point that this really is a personal cell number, not one the university issues so you can pretend it is personal (plus, it's an out-of-state number). I've never had a doc's personal cell phone number, and figure the day I'm expected to give my students my cell phone number is the day I need to quit, so... it's not a trivial thing, and a privilege I don't dare to abuse.

Dr. T called me back around 6:00, about the time I had given up hope I'd hear from him today. The funny thing is that when I answered my phone, he asked if he could speak to 'Ms. Moon.' I paused for a good second, then realized, Oh wait, that's me, then said, Um, this is... Waning. Then he actually sort of gave me a hard time about it, haha, like, Oh, you don't like to be called Ms. Moon? I mean, I've come to understand it's a sign of respect some physicians use; my very sweet, but unfortunately somewhat incompetent, orthopedist introduced me to this. I sort of thought it was because he was so young, but maybe some doctors feel that if you have to call them Dr. So-and-So, you should have a title as well? Who knows.

Anyway, he briefly explained the whole nipple thing, which I honestly didn't get 100% or even 50% the second time around. Basically it would involve an extra incision and further consultation with Dr. C, which would obviously add complexity to an already fairly complex puzzle. However, he is fully willing to pursue it further now that he knows it interests me. Honestly, it doesn't matter to me that much. I mean, it does. Don't get me wrong. Just like the mastectomy, it suddenly matters more than I would have thought, knowing that it's a realistic option. I think when I initially met with Dr. T, I was just so thankful he was willing to work with me that I was willing to take whatever he could offer, and didn't want to be overly needy. But now... I am getting more needy. LOL.

Oddly enough, the nipple thing didn't seem to the be the top thing on Dr. T's mind. After our nipple conversation, after which I was perfectly willing to hang up and let him have dinner with his family (around 6:15, when I was also preparing to have dinner with my family), he said, 'Soooo...' and I braced myself. In my experience, soooo.... is not usually followed by good news, and especially not from doctors you see when you have cancer. He followed the soooo with, 'I was reviewing your medical history, and saw you have a history of...' I was fully expecting him to say 'DVT,' even though we discussed this at our meeting. I just figured it was one of those 'Oops, I wasn't really worried about it when I thought you were seeing me for a second opinion, but now that I'm actually going to do surgery on you, I am.' But, he went on to say, 'I saw you have a history of hemoglobin E.'

Yup, guilty as charged. I've written about having hemoglobin E before, and the last person to take a serious interest in it was the anesthesiologist during my first surgery, even though it so did not matter at that point. Dr. T asked if I saw a hematologist 'to manage it,' and I said no, and admitted that I knew absolutely nothing about it except that a doctor had told me almost 20 years ago that I had it. I added that this was pre-Internet era (he chuckled knowingly), and that it was only discovered because I was tired all the time and had a history of anemia. I didn't even know if I was heterozygous or homozygous or what, but would actually be interested to know.

Dr. T went on to say there was study that showed that people with hemoglobin E who had had their spleens removed were at higher risk for blood clotting. He then added that he knew I hadn't had my spleen removed, and that he was fairly confident that my blood clot was a result of my hip surgery, BUT, he just needed to be sure I was at minimal risk for blood clotting. We had discussed this during my consult - because the surgery involves re-connection of many blood vessels. If any of them clot, the transplanted tissue will die, and you're screwed. And no matter what, you have to be under strict observation post-surgery for 48 hours. But at the time, he said post-surgery DVT, especially after hip surgery, was different than DVT out of the blue, which is what both medical oncologists had said.

But based on this one, probably obscure study (which I will for sure look up now), he was worried. He said, 'I hope you don't mind, but I e-mailed one of my colleagues, who is a hematologist, and told him your history, and asked if I should be worried about doing this type of surgery.' He said this very apologetically, and added, 'I just want to be as safe as possible.' I assured him I was 100% okay with being as safe as possible, and that I definitely didn't want to die during surgery, nor go through all of this only to have a failed surgery. And furthermore, I was completely willing to undergo whatever further testing might be necessary so we could be certain I don't have a clotting disorder. I mean, I am pretty sure I do not, and I shared my history of insane nose bleeds with him (I actually had to have my nose cauterized in first grade because it wouldn't stop bleeding), but still. Better safe than sorry. This could be life or death. And even if it isn't, I'd hate to go through all this hell only to hear at the end, 'Oh sorry, your flap didn't take. Your blood vessels clotted, and the tissue died' (which is within the realm of possibilities even without abnormal blood). It was sucky enough to hear my hip surgery didn't work because my surgeon wasn't thorough enough to review the complete anatomy of my hips, and I'd like to avoid that in the future, for sure. FOR SURE! Of course, I'd be devastated, after all of this, to find out this surgery isn't possible, but at the same time I'd rather know before than after. And I'm VERY grateful to have a doctor who is being extremely thorough.

In the end, Dr. T said somewhat apologetically that 'We are really trying to schedule this surgery as soon as we can,' but reiterated that he wanted to do everything safely and in a way that gave the greatest chance of the best outcome, and that we needed to give his hematologist colleague up to 48 hours to review my case and get back to him. After he heard from him, he would e-mail me 'or something' to let me know what the conclusion was. He was so apologetic about it that I had to keep assuring him I was not only okay, but was also appreciative, of the fact that he was being thorough. I said something along the lines of wanting the best care possible, and he finished it off by saying, 'which is why you came to see me.' Pause. 'I mean, why you came to UH.' HA! We both laughed at this 'joke,' which was actually not really a joke. It's true. Like I said before, Dr. T is the perfect combination of confident, but yet down-to-earth, compassionate, and in no way arrogant, the evidence being that we were having this conversation on his personal cell between 6:00 and 6:30 PM. I also looked him up on PubMed, and he has a bajillion publications, several of which are about preventing blood clots during reconstructive surgery, so whatever confidence he has, he has the credentials to back up.

Of course, I hope that everything continues to unfold in the way it seemed to be unfolding after my initial meeting with Dr. T. But if it does not, I at least have full faith that my doctors honestly have my best interest in mind. I truly, truly believe this, and that is a really huge thing.

Ashleigh Range

As I mentioned previously, my vacation 'beach reading' consisted of reading blogs about breast cancer. A lot of them don't have a happy ending, or are headed toward what is obviously not going to be a happy ending. Some of them are insanely funny, some insanely informative, some insanely sad, and some all of the above. Of course, anyone can start a blog, for free, so buyer beware. The only requirement I have for the blogs that I follow is that they be well-written, but most importantly, very real. In the Internet age, I can read about any medical description of a procedure and even watch a video of it being done on YouTube, but the reason I read blogs is because I want to know what it's REALLY like, from a person who has actually been through it or is currently going through it. I want to laugh and cry and be like OMG I can totally relate! and feel like the blogger put into words the things I'm feeling but just can't express. 'Real' is usually some combination of informative, funny, and sad, all at the same time. Of course, none of this is OMG HAHA FUNNY, but as a friend recently wrote me, It's horrific. I really think you have to laugh for crying. And then maybe a good cry anyway.

At any rate, during my Googling spree in Florida, I came across a blog by a woman, Ashleigh Range, with metastatic breast cancer. I was immediately sucked in, and maybe that wasn't the best thing, especially since in reading through the whole blog (which I stayed up two nights in order to do), I understood the grim reality that most people feel fairly optimistic at the time of their first diagnosis. Very few people are terminal from the get-go. Though, to be fair, as far as breast cancer goes, Ashleigh's diagnosis was fairly grim from the beginning; it was a rare type of breast cancer called inflammatory breast cancer, which is at least Stage III by definition, because what causes the 'inflammation' is cancerous cells clogging up the lymphatic system. So IBC patients are thrilled to have a Stage III, versus Stage IV/terminal, diagnosis. Hers was also triple negative, which in Breast Cancer Land is not a good thing, because there currently aren't great treatments for triple negative breast cancer.

Despite Ashleigh's cancer being as different from mine as possible in terms of breast cancer, and despite the fact that we are obviously extremely different types of people (a lot of her blog is about God and Jesus and her absolute, unwavering faith), I was immediately drawn in. Each entry is so well-written and heartfelt, that I can feel the absolute amazingness of Ashleigh and her husband radiating from each entry. But still, it is very real. Amazingly optimistic, yet real. Although she and her husband are very up front about the fact that they believe in miracles and believe in a God who can and does grant personal miracles, and that prayer increases the odds of a miracle, they have never been in denial about the fact that Ashleigh was likely going to die. At age 30. With a two-year-old and a one-year-old.

And she did die. Yesterday. But I read it on her blog this morning, and I won't lie, I cried. I cried more than I have cried over my own diagnosis and all that has followed. It seems ridiculous, crying over the passing of a complete stranger, when people all over the world die horrible deaths for no earthly or (in my opinion) divine reason. Ann Silverman, another of my favorite bloggers, writes about coping with the death of someone you didn't 'really' know but yet cared about deeply here: http://www.butdoctorihatepink.com/2015/03/rip-lisa-bonchek-adams.html. Apparently trying to mourn the loss of an 'Internet only' friend or even someone you just knew through a blog is difficult territory, uncharted in even this 21st century age of the Internet. In a way, it can be harder than losing a 'real life' friend because there aren't real protocols in place for losing people you never met in the flesh, and people think you're crazy if you do.

Ashleigh's husband's words today embody why this is a couple whose blog draws in complete strangers. He wrote:
We Christians use a lot of platitudes to describe death; phrases that, despite their underlying truth, become saccharine and trite in how they seek to make death's reality and apparent finality more palatable.  "She went home"; "she went to be with Jesus"; "She passed away"; I've even heard "graduation day" used to describe this.  I was there in the room, so let me be perfectly clear: she died. 
Death is swallowed up in victory.  O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting? -1 Corinthians 15:55 
The use of this passage at funerals has always struck me as slightly misguided.  Where is death's sting?  It's right. here.  I'm feeling it's sting as I try to make arrangements, answer a hundred "how are you doings?", and most of all when I sit down with my two-year-old and try to explain how it is that mommy can love him very very much but that she won't be here with us any more. How hard she fought to stay with us.  How even though she was very sick, now she is all better.  How she is in heaven with Jesus.
So this morning I cried. A lot. Maybe some of those tears were for my own uncertain future, but despite the fact that I didn't know her and only discovered her blog a few weeks ago, Ashleigh Range's death had a huge impact on me. It's that 'real' side of blogging that keeps me reading blogs. What a terrible, terrible loss of a really incredible individual. And I write this knowing that some of you will understand this. Some of you who read this I know only through the Internet, yet we have 'known' each other over 15 years, since before I was married and way before I had kids. Before you were married and had kids. Before you even graduated from high school. You are dear friends to me.

RIP Ashleigh, and I pray with all my heart for her widower Brad, and her two young sons, ages two and one. This breast cancer stuff, it sucks. It really, really sucks.

Saturday, July 18, 2015

Peace be with you.

I had a perfect evening.

A friend came by after work and we had a late-afternoon mojito (part of my get fat quick plan), then after she left, we went out to dinner as a family at a lovely restaurant downtown - a gift from my brother and sister-in-law. As we were enjoying our meal, my husband asked if it was a Christmas gift or birthday gift or what, and I said, 'No, it's a cancer gift.' Since they live far away, they sent us a gift card instead of bringing us a meal like so many others have.

Afterward, we went to a Johnny Cash show - one of those imitation bands. It was a little late for the kids, but they know Johnny Cash, because I make them listen to him in the car when I get sick of listening to the Frozen soundtrack. Going to shows like this is not really my top choice of activity, but my husband really wanted to go, and I'm glad we did. I think the average age of the audience was, like, 65, though. LOL. The band brought A LOT of attention to the fact that we had brought our kids, saying how great it was that some parents were introducing the younger generation to the great musicians of the past. It was sort of embarrassing.

I absolutely love Johnny Cash. About 20 minutes into the show, I was overcome with an overwhelming sense of peace. Everything is going to be okay. I know it. I feel so calm, happy even.

I am so lucky. I have insurance, good insurance, and my husband and I have good jobs. We have money in savings, and what better use for it than life-saving medical treatments? I just ate dinner at a fabulous restaurant that someone else paid for, then went and listened to some of my favorite songs ever all night. Really, what is there to complain about?

I think part of the reason it has taken me so long to get to this point was just the horrible timing of my pathology report coming back when Dr. L was on vacation and I was getting ready to go on vacation. When I met with Dr. M just before leaving, he did encourage me to see a plastic surgeon ASAP and now I understand why. At the time, I knew this was tough but I didn't realize just how much easier it would have been if I could have met with a plastic surgeon before we left.

After I got home on Wednesday, I sent Dr. T a slight emo e-mail, letting him know how happy I was to get to meet him, that I had full confidence in him, and that he was the answer to my prayers. I thanked him for making an appointment I literally felt sick about into a very uplifting experience.

He replied early the next morning:

Waning,

Thanks so much for the email. I think it's unfair for women to receive news like that without an opportunity to discuss reconstruction with a plastic surgeon. So, I was very glad that we were able to meet after you met with Dr C. She is outstanding, by the way.

Attached is an information sheet that I put together based on some feedback from my patients. It will outline some things to consider when you get home after the surgery.

Please use this as a resource and reach out to me whenever you have questions and concerns.

Best,
Ty Tahm, MD

I feel so full of peace right now, I want to bottle the feeling up and carry it with me through the next few weeks leading up to surgery. It reminds me of my church-going days. One tradition in our church was greeting the people next to you with a simple shaking of hands and, 'Peace be with you.' They reply, 'And also with you.' So, dear friends, peace be with you, as it is also with me.

Thursday, July 16, 2015

Farewell, Dr. L

I had an appointment with Dr. L this morning, one that I had set up while on vacation. After yesterday, there was actually no purpose to the appointment, but I went anyway. I wanted to tell Dr. L of my decision in person, and I actually felt really stressed about it, as evidenced by the fact that when the MA took my vitals, my systolic blood pressure was 128, my pulse rate was 106, and I had a 99.7 degree fever. I felt sort of guilty, like I had been sneaking around behind a significant other's back and was now dumping her. I even brought her flowers. (No, I'm not kidding.)

Dr. L was her usual wonderful self, and put me at ease right away. And fortunately, she brought up the fact that I had gone to see a different surgeon up at UH without me having to. I mean, I knew she probably knew, because she is actually part of the university health system, so she is on the same patient portal as the folks at UH. When she asked me about the appointment, I told her I had found a plastic surgeon who was going to do my reconstruction. I quickly added that I was very sad, because I really wanted her to do my mastectomy. She totally understood, though, and as it turns out, I was right. The DIEP flap reconstruction I'm choosing isn't possible in my town because it is so complex and requires a team of surgeons working very closely with each other, and we do not have a major medical center where this type of thing happens. So the choice is not a hard one. She said the only flap reconstruction that the plastic surgeon she works with does is a TRAM flap reconstruction, which is much simpler, but removes your transverse abdominis muscle. She agreed that at my age, a TRAM flap reconstruction isn't the best option because of the long-term effects/risks of losing your abdominal muscle.

She did express surprise that I had enough tissue for a DIEP flap, though. I said Dr. T was going to have to use tissue from both sides, which Dr. Google told me is called a stacked DIEP flap reconstruction, and is considered even more specialized than a plain old DIEP reconstruction. Then I added that Dr. T said I might need a fat transplant later, and he could take fat from my thighs, which I was pretty psyched about. LOL. She asked if we had considered using my butt, and I said that my husband liked my butt the way it was. Then she made a funny face and admitted, 'I'd feel weird having part of my butt on my chest.' Ha! She did say that taking fat from the thighs and injecting it into a reconstructed breast gave very nice results, and that this was a good option for me. Then she joked that I'd be looking like Barbie in no time.

She inquired about the possibility of sparing my nipple or maybe just the areola, and I told her I couldn't remember the details about why this would make the reconstruction more difficult. But I think I will e-mail Dr. T for clarification now. Dr. L said that nipple reconstruction never worked out very well, but whether or not having a nipple matters 'depends on how nipple-y you want to be.' Ha ha, yes, she really did use that term. Nipple-y. Seriously, I've thought a lot about this while on vacation, and spent a creepy amount of time looking at women's breasts, and nipples, and found my eyes wandering to Dr. L's breasts as we were having the conversation. No perky nipples. I told her the thing about nipples is that I don't want to be 'nipple-y'; in fact, I'd be more inclined to want my other nipple cut off so I just don't have to worry about them at all. I was surprised when she said some women actually do this because they don't want nipple reconstruction, but 'It is weird to have one nipple out there (THO, or titty hard on, as my friend from high school used to call it) and the other one gone.' This is what I love about Dr. L. She has a very buoyant personality, but yet she doesn't sugar coat things. She is the perfect combination of positive and realistic; light-hearted and serious. It might seem trivial to be thinking about nipple weirdness in the midst of a potentially life-threatening condition, but I've noticed that even terminal cancer patients mourn losing breasts, losing their fertility, and things that seem small when you are likely going to die within a year. Perhaps this is how we maintain a sense of normalcy, a sense of ourselves.

There is something comedic about the conversations that revolve around breast reconstruction, but maybe that is a testament to the conflicting messages women get about their breasts. It is funny and yet not funny at all. In the end, Dr. L said she thought I was making a good decision, and said that if she were me, she would do exactly what I'm doing. Her endorsement meant a lot, simply because I have such a great deal of respect for her. So I reacted appropriately and burst out crying (and unfortunately I'm not kidding).

From there on out, I think it was more of a therapy session than anything. We mostly talked through some of my emotions while she hugged me and I cried. She said she was honestly surprised that some women could come to her and so easily ask her to cut their breasts off, without a second thought, and said she felt like I had 'an appropriate amount of sadness.' And even though I'm having the mastectomy done at UH, I can still call her for anything; I'm forever a part of her 'team,' and We will get you through this. She said if I need any post-mastectomy care that is not worth driving up to UH for, she is happy to provide it - like, 'when you need your drains removed.' I made a face, thinking about the reality of it all. Apparently the drains you have in you after a mastectomy are pretty much The Grossest Thing Ever. Dr. L responded to my face and said, 'Yeah, the drains are pretty gross.' Ugh.

Toward the end, I told Dr. L the hard thing about cancer was that doctors who did oncology stuff were so amazing, top-notch. She replied that was a good thing, no? I said it was going to be really hard for me from here on out to find doctors who could live up to my standards. I think she appreciated that. Then we joked about different types of doctors, swapped information about a few, and she agreed with me that in general, orthopedists are THE WORST. I said I was certain that after all this, I would never ever be able to find an orthopedist who was even close to acceptable. Then I added somewhat jokingly that I was tempted, since the mastectomy will surely bring us up to our out-of-pocket maximum for health care, to have my hip reconstructed before the end of the year. I'm not really seriously thinking about this, just because it would be way too much trauma for one year, both emotional and physical. Based on the pain from the lumpectomy, I'm guessing the pain from the mastectomy would make being on crutches pretty impossible. Dr. L said that of course I needed to take care of the cancer first, but also empathized with how difficult chronic pain is.

Eventually she brought me some information about various cancer resources - therapists, support groups, and whatnot. A few of them actually look useful. One thing that looks interesting is that the hospital offers yoga classes every other Monday night for cancer patients, which I am interested in trying to attend. I feel like my body has sort of gone to hell over the past year, especially since losing my ability to do my favorite type of exercise, which is going on walks. I really want/need to do something physical, and yoga might help with my stress as well. At the same, going into a yoga class with seasoned yoga-goers (with fresh, perky boobs in tight, nipple-revealing yoga get-ups) seems somewhat stressful right now. A friend and I had discussed going to yoga together, but now with all of this, I don't see it happening soon. But yoga with other suffering people might not be so bad. LOL. And as Dr. L pointed out, the yoga instructor is an oncology social worker with an understanding of people's needs and limitations.

In the end, I semi stopped crying, thanked Dr. L over and over, and gave her the flowers that I had dug up from my garden and put into a pot. At first I had made a bouquet from cut flowers, but it wasn't very pretty and looked like it would be messy. Plus, I wanted something that would keep living, not slowly fall to pieces and leave sad-looking flower skeletons in a vase of algae-filled water on her desk. Yes, you can read into that. There is some symbolism here. She was extremely appreciative. Then the nurse navigator came to say goodbye to me and I started crying all over again. You'd have thought I was just told that I was in Stage IV. It is amazing how much a doctor can impact you - good or bad. Of course, I am sorry that I had to know Dr. L at all, but I will forever be so grateful for the care that she provided for me, and for her absolute, genuine compassion. It has truly been a blessing.

Wednesday, July 15, 2015

An Answer to My Prayers

Finally, a happy post.

I am so, so happy right now. Like really seriously happy, not just happy in a 'happier than I have been in two months' happy (though that, too).

My consult up at University Hospital was amazing. A-M-A-Z-I-N-G.

It started off just sort of eh, whatever, with a surgical resident being the first person we saw. She asked if this was a second opinion consult and I said I actually didn't want to treat it that way; I was seriously considering having the surgery done at UH. Ultimately I think it was a good thing I made that clear because I think it may have changed how the rest of the appointment unfolded. The resident then proceeded to take a decent history and started to discuss options, when Dr. F, the surgical oncologist, came in. She was fine, but certainly no Dr. L. Interestingly, she did mention that doing a second re-excision was an option, even though I've moved past that in my mind. Before I left on vacation, I would have loved to hear that, and cling to it as a reasonable option, but I realize now it's not the best option. Choosing this would be a decision based on emotion and fear, not logic. In the end, Dr. F said she would only recommend it if it were really, really important to me to try to conserve my breast. The obvious downsides to this would be that there is absolutely no guarantee I'd have clean margins afterward, and even if I did, I would still need radiation, and my breast would end up somewhat deformed. She said unfortunately the margins that would need the most re-excision were on opposite ends, and I'd end up with a large dimple in my breast that would pull my nipple outward. However, things would remain normal in the center - 'Your cleavage would be the same.' LOL! Seriously, I don't even wear bathing suits that show cleavage, so that SO doesn't matter to me. I told her I had moved beyond that in my mind, and wanted to discuss mastectomy with reconstruction options. She asked if I had met with a plastic surgeon yet, because the plastic surgeon is really the most important person in this process, and the person who could answer my questions. I said I hadn't, so she said she would see if she could arrange to have one of their plastic surgeons come down and talk to me, which turned out to be an awesome thing. I was hoping, hoping, HOPING I'd be able to see a plastic surgeon, or that at least with this consult I would have an 'in' to get to see one faster. As it turned out, Dr. F called over to plastic surgery and said one of the surgeons, Dr. T, could come over in 15-20 minutes.

While on vacation, I did a fair amount of Google-stalking of the plastic surgeons available to me. The one Dr. L works with has impressive credentials, but I was sort of turned off by his web site, which focuses mostly on cosmetic surgeries. Going into this, I was very biased toward the UH plastic surgeons, because it seems that their focus is mostly on reconstructive surgery following cancer, amputation, and bad accidents, and less on tummy tucks and lip implants. I remembered reading about Dr. T on the web site, and was happy to get a chance to meet him without even having to make an appointment. What great luck!

After about 20 minutes, there was a knock on the door, and a young guy who was clearly not Dr. T came in. I only knew this for sure because Dr. T, based on his name, is clearly Asian, and this guy was not clearly Asian (though it turns out he is actually half Japanese). It was actually a third-year medical student doing a surgery rotation. We talked a bit, and he was an interesting guy, although his interview skills needed some work. (I should have suggested that he take an EMT class to learn how to effectively take a patient history. LOL.) He just recently finished a Ph.D. in organic chemistry, then decided to go to med school, and I feel like we ended up talking more about him than me, but that's okay. In the end, I think he regretted coming in so early, though, because it was probably another 20 minutes before Dr. T came in, and there were some awkward silences, one of which he filled by saying, 'Hopefully Dr. T will be here soon.' Oh the joys of the teaching hospital!

Finally Dr. T came in and it was pretty much love at first sight. I honestly wasn't sure what to expect because I've never met a plastic surgeon before. Also, I mentioned that he was very clearly Asian from his name, so I didn't know if he was going to be Asian Asian or Asian-American Asian. It turns out it was the latter, so I didn't have to worry about this being a brilliant-surgeon-I-can't-understand type. Dr. T was Amazing with a capital A. Capital everything, actually. Like I said before: A-M-A-Z-I-N-G.

He started off by discussing my medical history with me, though he had clearly already read up on me beforehand. (This is actually one of the really impressive things about UH; everyone I've seen there, even the med students and residents, have reviewed my history fairly thoroughly before they come in the room.) We briefly discussed my overall health, my hips and DVT, my kids, his kids, my job, and the fact that he had just moved here from Texas. However, he and his wife are actually from Virginia originally, so 'I'm not one of those Texans.' LOL. One of his colleagues in Texas was offered the position of Chief of Plastic Surgery at UH, then later offered him a position. Since his wife hates humidity, she had been hoping to leave Texas, and was thrilled. Also, like me, his wife was adopted. She's from Korea, but like me, is Asian American only in appearance, but otherwise American American (whatever that means). Dr. T, who is apparently Korean American, said he had always dated 'Americans' and his wife was the first 'Korean' he had ever dated, and his parents were excited he was finally dating a 'Korean girl.' He had to explain to them that she wasn't really Korean, but even so, they would speak Korean to her, and 'I had to keep telling them, She can't understand you!' Hahahaha!

Eventually, we got down to business and he said, 'So, if you are educated, which I know you are, because you are...' In that brief blip, I was trying to predict what he was going to say. I know you are educated because... Because I teach at a university? Because I'm Asian? LOL. Instead, he said, '... because you are a breast cancer patient.' He then went on to say that in his experience, all breast cancer patients were extremely educated about breast cancer and always knew exactly what they wanted. Then he said, 'So tell me what you want.'

It was that easy. I didn't have sit there and listen to him talk about implants and pros and cons and blah blah blah. I just said I wanted to do a mastectomy with flap reconstruction, and waited for him to tell me I wasn't big enough. He did ask why I didn't want implants, and I just shuddered, and apparently that was good enough for him. Then he gave me a good, long look for what seemed like ages (probably 2-3 seconds in reality), then said, 'You don't have a lot to work with.' (Insert le panicked sigh here.) But then, 'But I've done flap reconstruction on a woman your size... I can do it.' (glee!) I can do it. I told him I had read about the options, and knew there were various places from which the 'flap' could come, and 'I am sure I have a B-cup of fat somewhere on my body.' He said, 'If all you want is a B-cup, we can definitely do it.' (Ummmm, yes, I'm not exactly looking for augmentation in the face of a mastectomy.' LOL.) But those magic words, we can definitely do it, were amazing to hear. There was no hemming and hawing or Hmmmm, well, maybe I can do this or that, or Are you sure you don't want to consider an implant? Just a very simple and confident, I can do it. We can definitely do it. And it was confident in the right way; not an overly-confident, sleazy I can do anything you want me to for your business type of way, but an I understand this is really important to you and will figure out how to do it type of way. There is, of course, the unspoken understanding of this being the difficult route, but he didn't need to tell me that because he knew that I already know that.

So then he started the physical exam, which had the potential to be extremely humiliating, but was not at all. I felt as dignified as one can standing half-naked in a room with a male medical student (Dr. T did ask if it was okay with me if he stayed) and a male plastic surgeon pinching all of my fat, on all of my body parts that were potential sites for fat donation. He even had me stand facing my husband so my husband could verify that he wasn't being inappropriate, ha ha. He started with my abdomen, which despite my best efforts to expand over vacation, is still not very big. At one point, he sort of frowned and said, 'You really don't have a lot of fat here.' I started to get nervous, thinking he was going to change his mind, and pointed out that my thighs were fat. He said thighs were a viable option, then starting pinching my thighs. Then I added, 'Or my butt. How about my butt?' So I lay down on my stomach, and he examined my butt and said my butt would work, at which point my husband said, 'I like her butt.' So Dr. T said, 'Your husband likes your butt, so that's out.' OMG LOL. Seriously.

After much poking and prodding, Dr. T had me stand up, then he looked me in the eye and said, 'Here's the thing...' I braced myself, thinking he was going to change his mind. He continued, 'You don't have a lot of fat.' Pregnant pause. 'I can do this; I can figure it out, if you are willing to let me figure it out. I promise you I can figure out a way to make it work.' I promise you I can figure out a way to make it work. Then he looked at me, as if asking for my approval. I smiled and told him that was exactly what I wanted to hear. At this point, the fact that he understood that I was 'well educated' meant a lot, because he knew that I knew that this was not going to be easy, and maybe even that I knew it would take a 'special' surgeon to do what I wanted, and that I was okay with him having to 'figure it out.' Going into this, I wanted a surgeon who would be okay with my desire to not have implants, who could work with the fat that I have to give me a breast that is not saline or silicone, however small. I am okay with the fact that he hasn't done a lot of flap reconstruction on women my size, because quite frankly, in this day and age, most women are not my size, so there are very few surgeons who have extensive experience with it. What is more important is his surgical skills in general, and willingness to work with me.

Dr. T did mention at one point, 'You know, implants are safe.' He went on to explain some data, then said, 'If my daughter needed this, I would let her have implants.' I took note of the fact that he said let, not recommend. Then he added, 'But I completely understand why you don't want implants.' And that was that. Perhaps this was just due diligence, because he didn't push it any more. OMGILOVETHISGUY.

Also, at some point during the exam, he told me that it was extremely important for people to feel comfortable with their plastic surgeon, and that he always told people that if there was anything at all about their surgeon that made them uncomfortable, that they should move on immediately and without question. After saying this, he looked somewhat expectantly at both me and my husband, as if asking if we were comfortable and okay with everything. I didn't quite know what to say, but then my husband gave a little chuckle and declared, 'I'm having fun!' And... it was fun. Sort of. Obviously it was not fun in that 'vacation on the beach' sort of fun, but it was 'fun' in that it was not at all traumatic, and what could have potentially been the most humiliating and degrading experience of my entire life, at a point when I'm already feeling like I'm at rock bottom, was the complete opposite. I never felt embarrassed or degraded; it was all the right combination of light-heartedness and seriousness. We laughed and joked, but never to the extent that we lost sight of the fact that this is some weighty stuff. While I'm trying to wrap my mind around one of the most traumatic experiences of my life, I'm also joking about how all the beer I drank on vacation went to my thighs instead of my gut. Reality + sense of humor = totally my style.

Other random tidbits from our visit, because I cannot organize them into any coherent fashion:
  • Dr. T agreed to do a surgery where he takes all of the fat from my abdomen to try to recreate a breast for me. He was not certain this would be 'enough,' but offered, 'If it isn't enough, and you can't live with it, I can do a liposuction and a fat transplant from your thighs.' This would be approximately three months post-mastectomy. Although my thighs have more fat, and he could use a thigh to make a 'flap' during the original surgery, this would involve taking a muscle (the gracilis), and then I would have one fat thigh and one skinny one (and be missing a muscle, which is not trivial).
  • At one point, when Dr. T was squeezing my love handles, he declared, 'This is what it is like to be a plastic surgeon in Asia!' I didn't quite get what he meant, but then he went on say that in Asia, I'd be 'normal,' and not a I need a special plastic surgeon to do my reconstruction type. 
  • He mentioned that this is a complex surgery, and will take 6-8 hours, although he has done it in as little as 5. I assured him I did not want him to rush. I think this is one of those things where I'm supposed to act aghast and be like HOLY SHIT! EIGHT HOURS! but he already knew that I knew this, so it wasn't an issue. Then he said that because it was a complex surgery, he would need an additional surgeon, and that he would request that his colleague, who was the Chief of Plastic Surgery, perform the surgery with him. Then, as if I needed convincing that this was okay, he added, 'If I were having surgery, I'd want the Chief of Plastic Surgery at UH operating on me. He's really good.' Pause. Then he added, 'And I'm pretty good, too.' And the latter was so perfect, so full of the right combination of moxy, joking, and seriousness that it lifted my spirits and truly made me feel like this is going to be okay.
  • We had a frank discussion about my nipple and nipple-conserving mastectomy. He said that technically I would be having a prophylactic mastectomy, and that I was a candidate for a 'nipple-sparing' procedure. However, sparing my nipple would make the reconstruction more difficult, and he followed this with a bunch of technical details about which I had not actually educated myself. He made it clear that he was willing to work around my nipple if doing so was important to me, but if not, he could also do nipple reconstruction later, if I wanted. In the end, I told him that the overall reconstruction was more important to me than my nipple, so if my nipple had to be sacrificed for the greater good, so be it. To which he responded, 'This is going to be easy. You are so reasonable.'
  • Dr. T talked to me about the scars I will have from all of this. They will be ugly, but I'm okay with that. He mentioned that I'll have a scar from one hip to the other, but that it should be below my bikini line, and I assured him I don't care about that; I am too old for bikinis. He will also have to cut my belly button out and re-attach it, so there will be a scar all the way around it. (This stuff is not for the faint of heart.) Then he said that he was very good at minimizing scarring, and actually spent a good deal of time fixing scars that other surgeons left. 
  • Dr. T said that he was going to treat this as a cosmetic surgery as much as a reconstruction. When he said this, I think I looked at him with surprise, not really understanding what he meant. Then he said, 'You have a really nice figure. At your age, and after two kids, you look great. We should preserve that.' Honestly... in retrospect, that meant a lot. He didn't say it in a creepy or inappropriate way, just very matter-of-fact. I've never thought of myself as a super vain type, but... I love how I look. Basically, I love everything about my life except for my stupid cancer and stupid hips, and I would love to preserve my good looks, if possible. I mean, in my adult life, I've never really given serious consideration to being 'good looking,' especially since I've been happily married for 15 years. If I have to be deformed and scarred and gross to keep living this awesome life, so be it, but at the same time, if I have a surgeon who wants to save my life and my figure at the same time, then praise God. 
  • Dr. T then said that if I was unhappy with a result, to give him a year before I was angry with him, because this was lengthy process, and he would need a full year post-mastectomy to make everything right. This will involve follow-ups and probably revision surgery. His words: 'If you're angry with me about something, I'd ask that you not be angry until after a year. This is at least a year-long process.' 
  • I asked him, after all of this, what options there would be should I end up having cancer in my right breast, and needing a reconstruction. He said, 'I have a surgery for that,' followed by some details. 'It can be done.' But then he suggested that we not get too far ahead of ourselves, that we take care of what's trying to kill you right now.
  • In the end he asked if it was okay if he took some pictures of me, so that he and his colleague could make a plan. He promised me my face was not in the photo and that he would not post them on Facebook. He took the pictures with his cell phone, which was okay with me, because: 
  • He gave me his e-mail, and personal cell phone number. He said: 'I'm not giving you my cell phone number because you are special; I give it to all of my cancer patients.' Then he added, with a twinkle in his eye, 'But you are special.' LOL. He said the university didn't like it if they gave out their e-mails and cell numbers, so they wouldn't print these on their business cards, but then said, with a shrug and roll of his eyes, that this was what he preferred - that I could e-mail him, call him, or text him at any time. Then he said, 'But I do surgery almost every day, so please understand it might be up to 24 hours before I respond.' SERIOUSLY?! Somebody pinch me, this has to be a dream! WTF? Seriously. I have to be dreaming.
This brought back memories of when I was shopping for ski boots, and the saleswoman told me that shopping for ski boots was similar to shopping for a wedding dress; you know when you've found the right one, and don't need to look anymore. You stop there. I think this is the same. Dr. T is The One. I am sure. I don't need to look further. I am so certain of this that I told UH to schedule my surgery ASAP, for whenever. And as much as I love Dr. L, I don't doubt this decision for a minute. As sad as I am that Dr. L will not be doing my mastectomy, because I love her so much, I'm thankful Dr. T was so amazing that there is no question left in my mind that no matter what the inconveniences, Dr. T is the one I want taking care of me.

I am so very, very, VERY grateful for this unexpected blessing.

Tuesday, July 14, 2015

Options and Prayers

My parents left for France today. It's sort of weird, but sort of a relief, just because I've got a shit ton of emotions pouring out of me right now, and as I've mentioned before, for some reason, my parents make all of this more difficult to deal with. When I think about it logically, I realize it's because I think this might actually be harder for them than it is for me, and they are not handling it well. And their not handling it well makes it really difficult for me to handle it well. It's sort of hard for me to imagine that they might return to a one-breasted daughter, but in all fairness, I was supposed to be starting radiation right now, not having a mastectomy, and they did wait until they were sure I was not terminal before going forward with their plans. So there you go.

Anyway, I am going up to University Hospital for a consultation tomorrow. I scheduled this a long time ago, right after I discovered I had positive margins from surgery #2, before I met with Dr. J and Dr. M, and seriously thought a second re-excision was a viable option for me. I even posted on the breastcancer.org forum, asking anyone who had had two re-excisions for their thoughts, and got absolutely no response. So this is not something that actually happens in real life. What was that movie in the '90s? With Winona Ryder? Something like Reality Sucks? Or maybe Reality Bites? Yes, I think that's it.

Regardless, I'm actually happy to have this appointment because I am seriously considering the possibility of having my mastectomy with reconstruction at UH. Based on my intense Googling and ferocious blog reading with on vacation, I've pretty much decided that I absolutely do not want an implant. Traditional reconstruction options after a mastectomy are done with an implant - either a saline implant or a silicone implant. This involves a painful process wherein a tissue expander is placed under your pectoralis muscle at the time of mastectomy and, over several months, injected with solution to stretch your chest. Later, another surgery is required for the 'permanent' implant, which is only 'permanent' for, like, 10 years, assuming it doesn't leak, in which case you need to have it replaced right away. It is this a painful process requiring several surgeries, as well as ongoing care of the implant. While I understand this works for many, it is not for me. It just isn't.

This leaves me contemplating the following options:
  1. Single mastectomy without reconstruction. The advantages to this are that it would be a relatively easy recovery, and I would probably be able to teach in the fall. The disadvantages are that I would feel like a uniboob FREAK, and unbalanced (both literally and figuratively). It's just hard for me to imagine not being able to get up in the morning and go about my business without feeling like I need to first don my prosthetic boob. I already can't function without putting in contacts in the morning. I have 20/900 vision and a small nose, so glasses with one-inch thick lenses and I don't get along very well, so it's daunting to think about adding a strap-on to my morning ritual. Maybe this is trivial and maybe I will change how I feel about this eventually, but this is what I'm feeling right now. 
  2. Double mastectomy without reconstruction. The advantages to this are that I would be more balanced and probably more at ease. Despite the fact that there is no scientific or medical reason to think that I have breast cancer lurking in my right breast, I cannot help but feel this is the case. Even though I think it might be weird to be completely breastless, I think in some ways this might be easier for me than having a single breast. On a practical level, it would certainly be easier. On the other hand, I don't know how I feel about amputating a healthy breast, and the pain that goes along with it. I've written about this here. Emotionally, parting with two breasts seems like double the trauma as parting with just one. Also, none of the doctors I have met with have counseled me to have a double mastectomy, so I am not sure how it would work if I decided that was the route I wanted to go.
  3. Single mastectomy with flap reconstruction. Flap reconstruction uses fat from your own body to create a new breast. There are different forms of flap reconstruction; from what I gather, the fat can come from a number of different places. The most 'current' form of reconstruction is DIEP flap reconstruction (do not click on the link if you are squeamish about this sort of thing), which uses fat from your abdomen to create a new breast. The advantages to this are that you do not have an implant, your new breast is 'natural,' and you get to have fat removed from another part of your body. (Who doesn't want this?) The obvious disadvantage is that this is a complex surgery with a pretty horrendous recovery, and the outcome depends on the skill of surgeon. I mean, duh, that's always the case, but with this surgery, it's really, really important to have a good surgeon who is experienced in doing this surgery. It is a lot more complex than traditional reconstruction with an implant, and also involves several steps.  
After much reflection, #3 is my definite top choice. I have been praying this will be an option for me. I know that UH does this procedure, but I am not sure if I can have it done locally. As much as I love Dr. L, if the plastic surgeon she works with can't do this, I need to consider the possibility of doing it elsewhere. Unfortunately, it obviously involves a rather lengthy hospital stay, so having it done at UH, or an even more distant location, would present logistical challenges, but I feel like it would be worth it in the long-term. The other question mark is that I do not have a lot of abdominal fat. It is ironic; for my whole life, I've been blessed with a really flat abdominal region. As I've grown older, I've lamented that I'm starting to get somewhat of a gut, but now, I really, really wish I had a bigger one. (I actually TRIED to gain weight over vacation just so it would increase my chances of being a candidate for this surgery.) The thing is that I am not a super thin person; I am pretty average. It's just that I tend to accumulate fat in my thighs and butt rather than my abdomen. However, apparently these are also candidates for fat donations, especially the buttocks, so I feel like I really need to consider all of my options in terms of where I could possibly have this surgery done, no matter how inconvenient it might be. I don't have huge breasts, and like I said, I'm not a skinny person. I know that I have a B-cup's worth of fat somewhere in my body; I just need a surgeon who will understand how much I DO NOT want an implant, and work with me. I pray I can find one. 

So here are my prayers for tonight: 

Blessings
  • I'm thankful to have the opportunity for an appointment at a place that offers cutting-edge care.
  • I'm thankful my husband is going to accompany me to the appointment, because driving stresses me out, especially in places with which I'm not super familiar.
  • I'm thankful my friend and colleague (about whom I wrote in my last post) is going to watch my daughter early tomorrow morning, and then take her and pick her up from theater camp, so she doesn't have to miss it. 
  • I'm thankful the university daycare has drop-in space for my son so that I can have a conversation with the surgeon without a three-year-old in the room, and also have my husband with me. It's like having your cake and eating it, too. :) 
Hopes
  • I hope the appointment is informative, and worth our time. I hope I leave knowing much more than I do now.
  • I pray with all my heart the surgeon will tell me that I am a candidate for flap reconstruction. 
And now, I am off to take an Ambien. I took one last night, and got six solid hours of sleep, and ohmygosh, it was divine. I am already feeling so much better today than I was a few days ago. I am hoping with all my heart for continued improvement. 

Monday, July 13, 2015

Even the best type of cancer really sucks.

I've written before that I have a ridiculously low tolerance for stress. Seriously, I should probably be on some sort of anti-anxiety medication, but I hate taking medication (it stresses me out) and I also hate going to the doctor (it stresses me out), so these latter two points pretty much make the former impossible. And anyway, even if I went to the doctor and got a prescription for a chill pill, I probably wouldn't take it as I should, seeing as how I haven't even been able to take Vitamin D regularly despite knowing that I'm severely deficient. But that's not what I came here to write about. I actually came here to write simply because writing is one of the most effective outlets for my anxiety, so I create problems to write about. Okay, so that's not totally true. My problems are real; it's just that a person with a higher tolerance for stress would probably not see them as things worthy of writing about. They would just think, Eh, whatever, and get over it, then go clean the bathroom, which is what I should really be doing.

Yeah so anyway, where was I and why did I come here? LOL. It's like I have chemo brain, but wait... I'm not even doing chemo. Which, by the way, apparently makes my cancer 'not real' in some people's minds. It's not cancer without chemo. Whatever, people! It's like the moms who feel like you didn't actually have a 'birthing experience' if you didn't give birth to your kids naturally, without drugs, or worse, had a * gasp * C-section! OMG! It's hard enough being a mom in this insane world of competitive mom-ing (which I've already openly admitted to being DFL in); I don't exactly want to get into a pissing contest of My Cancer Is Worse Than Your Cancer.

Which is sort of why I am here, I think. The last paragraph provides a good segue, anyway. My cancer is not worse than your cancer; in fact, as far as cancer goes, it's pretty much the best cancer you can have, which is actually what my PCP told me when he broke the news to me. He said something like, 'If you have to have cancer, this is the best type to have.' In the large scheme of Cancer Land, I feel sort of guilty about having the best type of cancer: early stage, not overly aggressive, estrogen and progesterone positive ( = treatable), and in a body part that can be easily removed. But you know what? It still fucking sucks. Suckity, suckity, sucks. And I know that I'm supposed to feel grateful that I don't have advanced cancer, or triple negative cancer, or metastases, and trust me, I am, but having even the best type of cancer sucks way more than not having cancer at all. And I know this would all be much easier if I had a positive attitude, but seriously, after 40 years of being me, it is about as unrealistic to expect that I will miraculously become positive as it is to think that forgoing traditional treatments and ingesting various oils from the health food store will cure me. (Yes, someone actually suggested this to me. Seriously, even if you are tempted, resist the urge. I beg you.)

Not that I came here to have a pity party, but one of things that has been sinking in over the past few weeks is the reality of my 'new normal.' And speaking of 'new normal,' apparently this is one of those cute little catchy terms that is thrown around a lot in Cancer Land, along with things like 'cancerversaries' (which makes me want to throw up just reading it). I think when I was initially diagnosed, I was just so happy that I had the best prognosis possible that I got somewhat complacent, perhaps even smug. I felt like cancer was a little blip of inconvenience that was going to rob me of a summer vacation, but after all was said and done, I would go on with life and put it behind me. But as I move toward accepting my new reality, I realize this is so. so far from the truth. I was not wrong to rejoice in having 'the best cancer possible,' because I do have a good chance of going on to live a regular life and dying of something other than cancer (maybe something even worse), but the reality is that even the best cancer is no walk in the park. This is, at best, something that will cause me life-long anxiety, and at worst, come back in future in a location other than my breast (in cancer speak, a 'distant metastasis,' or simply 'mets') and kill me. Most people are familiar with the term 'remission,' but with breast cancer, they don't use the term remission, but instead 'no evidence of disease' or 'NED.' This is sort of unsettling; you are never truly cured. They can't ever say you don't have cancer; you could have it and they just can't see it. Sometimes they can't see it until it pops up somewhere else in your body, at which point it is life-threatening, and you are considered 'incurable' and terminal. And although I have the 'best cancer possible,' it is not The Very Best, because I am only 40. The Very Very Best in the My Cancer is Better Than Your Cancer scheme of things would be that I would have this cancer at age 80, or even 70, or 60, or 50. As my oncologist has reminded me, cancer at 40 is different than cancer at 60.

It has been surprisingly hard for me to wrap my mind around the idea of a mastectomy, and to be honest, I've been surprised by how hard it has been for me. I have a lot I could say about this, but I'll save it for a post of its own. For now I will just say that it is a difficult thing, no matter how you might feel about your breasts. However, looking waaaay forward, the mastectomy is not actually the most upsetting thing, and that's saying a lot, seeing as how I just wrote about how upsetting the mastectomy was. LOL. There is some relief in knowing that with a mastectomy, it's unlikely that I will need radiation, which is also much more difficult than many people realize. Unfortunately, a mastectomy will not eliminate my need for anti-hormone therapy. My cancer is strongly estrogen and progesterone positive, which is good news in that it is treatable, but bad news in that in order to treat it, I need to mess with my hormones. This is complicated, and has some really unpleasant side effects that while not life-threatening, can really diminish your quality of life. This is a long-term thing. It is quite possible that in the near future, I will not only have a mastectomy, but also have my ovaries, and perhaps uterus, removed. This is not a difficult surgery from a purely surgical standpoint, but as a biologist, I understand that ovaries do a lot more than make eggs so that we women can have babies. But I'll save all that for a post of its own. On top of this, if I go this route, I will need to take a medication called an aromatase inhibitor for ten years, which can have really bad and sometimes intolerable side effects. This is the best case scenario, that I live to experience all of this.

And again, I know I should be grateful I have a good chance of surviving this. I am. Don't get me wrong. I really truly am. I've been reading blogs by people in Stage IV who can't wait to have a mastectomy and radiation and chemo because anything that will give them a 5% chance of living for another six months is an amazing thing. If I were terminal, this post would be much, much different, and I am very grateful to not be terminal. At the same time, I don't believe that we should necessarily have to be happy all the time just because things could be worse. Things could always be worse, but they could also be better. I also understand that very few people who are terminal were terminal at the time of their first diagnosis; in fact, many started off like me. Of course, the Internet is biased toward the terminal, because terminal cancer provides more blogging material than I had cancer and now I'm over it does. I've never been a person to take a lot for granted; in fact, I feel that I've lived such a blessed life, I keep waiting for something horrible to happen. So, as morbid and pessimistic as it may seem, I am not going to take my 'best cancer possible' for granted. While I will continue to be grateful for what it is, I will never lose sight of the fact that this is something that can kill me. Maybe this is the beginning of the end of the crazy awesome luck I've had for the first 40 years of my life.

One of my colleagues is a very accomplished academic who, over the past year, has also become a good friend. This colleague's research is highly focused on breast cancer, so it did not surprise me when she told me that her mother had passed away of breast cancer. This was when my colleague was in high school and her mother was in her 40s. This colleague is a lot like me - not very open emotionally - so I don't know if her reluctance to talk about terminal breast cancer with me is that she just doesn't like to talk about it (which I get) or that she doesn't want to talk about it with me because she knows what I'm going through and her personal experience with this does not have a happy ending (which I get). At any rate, in the few discussions we've had about breast cancer, she shared with me that in the end, her mother had refused chemo because she was just done with everything. I never caught the full details but it's something like her mom had a mastectomy, had her ovaries and uterus removed, took tamoxifen, and was just... done. She said her mother felt like everything that could be taken from her had already been taken and saw no reason to keep fighting. So she refused chemo, and died. I get it, I do. I've had a few experiences with our medical system that make me truly understand why, at a certain point, many people feel like Just fuck this shit! And yet it hurts, knowing that my colleague went on to get a Ph.D. from Harvard, become a really amazing academic, marry and have two kids, and the whole nine yards. It must have been really bad for her mom to give up all chances of seeing this because she was done. It makes me worry just how bad this is going to get. Will I reach a point where I don't have any fight left in me? Where I just feel like a shell of a being with no reason to want to at least try to keep living? Is my colleague angry with her mother for not doing everything in her power to live to witness her accomplishments, to be Grandma to her children? Would my kids be angry with me if I just gave up, or would they understand?

A lot of people have told me that I've been very brave throughout all of this, but the truth is I have not. I have gone with the most straightforward choices in all cases, which is what any rational human being would do. I've also wallowed in self-pity, been self-centered, self-absorbed, short-tempered with my kids, I've lamented trivial things like not going on vacation, I haven't resumed my daughter's piano lessons because I'm still ticked off with her piano teacher, I've felt like I was at rock bottom even though I am aware it can and will get much, much worse, and might not ever get better, that my rock bottom now might very well be the baseline in my 'new normal.' In short, I feel like I've been a big, giant crybaby, minus perhaps the crying. It is not a good feeling.

But don't worry. I have a plan about how to get through this, how to stop wallowing in self-pity. It started with me going to see my PCP today to get a prescription for Ambien. (I started writing this yesterday.) With the exception of the first week of vacation, I've been averaging about 4-5 hours of sleep per night, in 1-2 hour increments, since about May 1st. This is not enough. This lack of sleep is certainly not helping my mental state. I am exhausted. Dr. A and I briefly discussed the possibility of me taking an anti-anxiety medication or an anti-depressant, but for now I am going to forget my worries about losing the ability to fall asleep on my own and take Ambien as needed. If this doesn't help significantly (though I believe it will), I will consider an anti-anxiety or anti-depressant. I've got other plans in place, too, but I will have to save those for another time. Right now, I need a nap.