Take Matters Into Your Own Hands

Today the US Preventive Services Task Force released new guidelines recommending women start getting mammograms at age 50, rather than at 40 as previously recommended. They also recommend against the teaching of breast self exam (BSE).  You can view their recommendations here, but the reasoning behind the BSE rec is that "For the teaching of BSE, there is moderate certainty that the harms outweigh the benefits."  Yeah, I'm going to have to take issue with that.

I can promise you that I wouldn't be sitting here right now if it weren't for a self exam.  I was 29 years old when I was diagnosed with breast cancer.  That's 11 years, or 21 under the new guidelines, before I would have had my first mammogram;  I wouldn't have lived to get that first mammogram if I hadn't found my tumor through self exam.  These recommendations highlight the importance of knowing your own body, knowing your personal risk for breast cancer and contacting your doctor if you have any health concern. 

A local news station recently aired a segment on how to properly conduct a self exam.  This link will take you to a video that demonstrates the proper technique for conducting a self exam, something many women are never taught. (This video is not safe for work) 

Please take the time to conduct monthly self breast exams and talk with your doctor about when the time is right for you to have a baseline mammogram. 

No Points for Style or Difficulty

This week my best friend will watch her mom start chemo.  And while I don't know how hard it is to watch, I know how hard it is to do.  In trying to prepare her for what her mom is about to go through, I've given her all of the details I thinks she needs to know.  I've left some out; there are some you definitely don't need to know about ahead of time because the imagining can be almost as bad as the real thing.  But I've put pretty much everything out there, from sitting in the bathtub and pulling out my hair by the handful to laying on the bathroom floor and actually hoping to vomit so the nausea would go away. 

In some of our conversations, she's given me way more credit than I deserve for being a fighter.  And while it's true that I did approach my battle with a certain degree of feistiness, that was just packaging.  It doesn't matter if you do the whole cancer thing with a good attitude or not.  What matters is that you do it.

I can admit (now) that I was going for some kind of Olympic gold medal in kicking cancer's butt.  I missed four days of work for my surgery and four days of work during chemo.  During radiation, after I'd been fighting for close to six months, I decided I deserved a mental health day.  I threw a baby shower and a birthday party for my then-80-year old grandfather, got my gold belt in Tae Kwon Do and did all sorts of other things -- during treatment-- to prove that cancer couldn't hold me down.  In the end, the only thing I got was exhausted.  Nobody gave me a gold star on my chart.  Because you don't get points for style or difficulty when fighting cancer.  It's not the way you cross the finish line that matters, just that you do.

Honestly, the only thing that I would have changed about my cancer treatment was how I treated myself.  I would have taken some more time off and not pushed myself so hard.  I'd have taken a few more naps and let a few more people do things for me.  This is my advice to anyone getting ready for treatment: take care of yourself, don't worry about what other people will think of you, take a nap, and give yourself a gold star, because you deserve it. 

It Was A Junior Mint!

Finally heard from the doctor, and it was just a Junior Mint.  Well, she didn't say that's what it was, but she did say that it was NOT cancer, and that is all that really matters.  Thanks so much for all of your thoughts and prayers!  Now I need a nap.

Who Doesn't Like A Junior Mint?

My life often resembles a sit-com, so I'm hoping that today's episode is Seinfeld's "The Junior Mints."  There has been a small lump in my right breast for the past several months.  I initially thought it was part of the expander port, because it was located right along the edge.  But after my exchange surgery, it was still there.  When I brought it to the attention of my plastic surgeon at my last appointment, she made the "Oh, that doesn't feel like something that is normal" face that I've seen before and then quickly caught herself making the face and said "It's probably just scar tissue.  Let's wait a month and see what happens."  Well, the month is up and this morning she took out two pea-sized chunks of me.  They didn't look like Junior Mints, but I'm hoping that's what it will turn out to be.  The pathology should be back by Wednesday of next week.  Monday's holiday delays things a bit.

I've known for a month that this was going to happen today and I struggled about whether or not to write about it here.  I decided not to for a couple of reasons.  First, I was worrying enough for everyone, so I didn't want anyone else to.  Second, I hate "the look."  It's usually accompanied by "the question" and may or may not involve a head tilt.  I don't like people to treat me like I'm sick and the pitying "How are you?" pushes me over the edge.  But there are also a couple of reasons why I decided now would be a good time to break my silence.  This blog is supposed to be about the whole journey, and if I'm hiding parts of that, then it's not an authentic portrayal of how bumpy a ride it actually is.  And I thought now might actually be a good time to let people worry, if they could direct that worry in to prayers or chants or pleas to the universe.  Please don't let this be cancer.  Again. 

October

Just home from the grocery store, where I had my choice of pink soup, pink mops and pink bottled water, and trying to decide whether I'll be able to watch pink football games.  I hate October.  I've said it all before, so this year, I'll let share some other stories about the pinkwashing of October.


Boston Globe - Sick of Pink
Huffington Post- Brace Yourself for Pink Overload 
Newsweek-The Human Condition

Secret Recipe

This secret from today's PostSecret makes me sad and angry and speechless. And I do understand that the point of PostSecret is so people can get things off of their chest that they're ashamed to admit to another person. But this is part of my problem with the "commercialization" of breast cancer."  That someone could think of a disease that will kill you as an easy way to a better body is just beyond  me. I did shed a few pounds during chemo, but between the steriods and the chemically induced menopause, I've gained 25 pounds that would be much easier to lose if I weren't taking this drug designed to keep the cancer from coming back.  And my boob job?  They may look okay with clothes on, but no one will ever be fooled undressed. My incisions, if put end to end, would wrap all the way around my body.  And they'll never provide nourishment to a child.  So my advice is sign up for Weight Watchers, go to Victoria's Secret and count your lucky stars.  That plan is much less likely to kill you and a hell of a lot cheaper.

A Call to Arms

I've been remiss in my updates. It's nothing personal, I've just been so distraught over the beginning of UVA's football season that I can't think straight. Well, not really, but I have no good excuse for what I've been doing. I saw the doctor on Thursday and she pronounced me finally infection free. She also told me I could stop wearing the horrid strap that had been my companion during all waking hours as long as I continued to massage the implant to prevent the formation of scar tissue. Deal!

In three to six months, she'll do some "editing" to the scars. This will be in the office under a local and she'll primarily be focused on removing the holes that she had to put back in when the infection set in. There's also a little skin "bubble" that she'll take out then as well. In spite of these edits, I'm pretty pleased with how thing have turned out. The incisions are still red and angry, but I know that this will change with time. Heck, it's only been a month.

I go back on October 8 and I'll fill you in on that then.

In other news, I've hired a personal trainer. I realized that I have lost a lot of strength in my arms, mostly my right side, since the surgery. I have a really hard time vacuuming. I can pull it towards me okay, but the pushing it back out part of the motion is much harder than it should be. So tonight, I'll be meeting with the trainer at my gym and she'll set me up with a program designed to help get my arms back into shape and also help me drop the weight I've gained since treatment ended. If my arms are working tomorrow, I'll try to update you on the session.

I Not!

Dad's favorite form of entertainment is antagonizing Jackson. He'll level some accusation which must sound horrible to Jackson's ears and Jackson will argue that he's not whatever he's just been accused of. It goes a little like this "Jack, you're a jibber jabber." "I Not, Bubba. I not jibber jabber jibber!" Over and over again. It is pretty cute.

But I know how Jack feels. I often want to shout "I Not!" whenever someone treats me like I'm somehow sick or weak or broken. It has pained me to have to ask my mom to vacuum my house or clean my bathroom this year when I couldn't do it. Thankfully, though, my family has waited for me to ask for help instead of treating me like I need it. I hate it when someone assumes I can't do something for myself.

In the past few weeks, I've been reliving a lot of my cancer experience to dredge up the information that is worth passing on to make the journey a little easier for someone that's going through it now. I wrote five pages of notes on how to get through chemo. But I also wrote several notes on how friends and family can actually help. I think the biggest thing, though, is not treating someone like they're sick. Cancer, and any other health issue, is frustrating enough without being made to feel weak.