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Archive for the ‘chemotherapy’ Category

Shout or whisper: It’s another ‘N’ word

Posted in Boston, Cancer, chemotherapy, Decisions, Discovery, hair, Planning, radiation, recovery, tagged , , , , , , , , , on March 18, 2014| Leave a Comment »

I don’t know why, but I’m suddenly feeling shy and hesitant to post certain things. I got the best news in a long time this afternoon and wanted to tell every stranger I walked by that (spoiler alert) I can now get nipples, but as soon as I got home and thought about updating this blog, I got nervous. Then I saw on Facebook “Duke Porn Star on What People Don’t Understand About Sex at Work” and I thought, “Jeesh, if she can talk about that, I can talk about nipples!”

I found the first lump on March 14, 2012 and this Thursday will be exactly two years from the day I received the call informing me that I had cancer. This is, and I think will always be, a tough week for me. But Tara and I often talk about rewriting memories and maybe getting this news puts a new, happier anniversary on my calendar.

Today I went for my follow-up with Dr. H, my super fabulous reconstructive surgeon. As Cory pointed out to me today, I’ve been worrying about this visit for weeks. Even though I’d been told that the right one would heal differently due to the radiation, I wasn’t sure that the way it was healing differently was the right differently. I’ve thought over and over about friends who have had trouble with their implants – one who said it was like a baseball, another who just had it replaced for the third time – for a total of five surgeries in the last 11 months!

So as Dr. H inspected it with his normal dead-pan expression – he must be a great poker player – I mentioned nervously some of the things I’d observed, like some of the scarring being hard in places, and an end that just didn’t seem as healed as the rest, and I asked if it was healing normally or if it was worse. His response? “It’s healing abnormally well!” He explained that it’s actually better than he expected and really as good as we could hope for a radiated breast. Phew!

So then I asked the question I’ve been waiting to ask since the April 30, 2012, when I lost my breasts: “Can I make the appointment to get 3D nipple tattoos?” Dr. H smiled, nodded, and replied, “Yes, you certainly can.” Woo hoo!!! I also found out that I don’t need to go all the way to Maryland for them (although Vinnie appears to be the Michelangelo of areola tattoos and amongst the pioneers of 3D nipple tattoos). Dr. H recommended Juli Moon right down the road in Lynn, assured me he’s never heard anything but good things, and showed me her portfolio.

Needless to say, I called as soon as I got in the door, before I even got my coat off. I didn’t make the appointment yet as I need to check some things with my schedule, but it looks like in early May I will feel just that much more normal again…

And for some of my friends who are just in the beginning stages of this journey – recently diagnosed, just finished surgery, in chemo or radiation – it may feel like forever, but that will be over soon! You’ll be through treatment, your hair will grow back, you’ll regain your strength and so much of your life. It will be your new normal. And it will be wonderful, and you will be stronger for all you’ve been through! And this is all for you! I wouldn’t be on here talking about nipples if I didn’t think it would help answer some of your questions and ease your road ahead! xoxoxo

 

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Looking Back

Posted in Cancer, chemotherapy, Decisions, Discovery, Planning, radiation, recovery, tagged , , , , , , , , on February 19, 2014| Leave a Comment »

At least once every couple of weeks, another person tells me a friend or family member was just diagnosed with cancer. And it’s often breast cancer. I honestly had no idea how common it was until I entered the cancer world nearly two years ago. I now know so many (mostly) women who are all at different stages of their cancer journey. I have one message for every single one of you, no matter what stage of treatment you’re at now: you will get through this!

Treatment will end – and, honestly, that will be one of the hardest parts. But you will move on. You will get your hair back – on your head, your eyelashes, your eyebrows, all of it. You will get (if applicable and you choose) new boobs. You will stop feeling so tired. You will start remembering things again. Your head will clear. The tingling will go away. Your visits to the hospital – your home away from home for so long – will grow further and further apart.

People will no longer be able to tell by looking at you that you had cancer. In fact, many will forget you had cancer. You will never be able to forget, but you will stop thinking about cancer constantly. You will go a full hour without thinking about it, then a few hours, and then even a full day! (I haven’t gone longer than that yet, but expect eventually I’ll even go a week or more without thinking about it – at least I hope!) Your life will resume a new type of normal, which, if you want it to, can at least resemble your old normal.

For my friends just starting their journey, considering their options and deciding their route: it may seem like forever, but honestly, one day (maybe about two years from now) you will be looking back, amazed at how much has happened in such a short amount of time – and happily moving on with your life…

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Curt Schilling is No Different than Monica’s Mom

Posted in Boston, Cancer, chemotherapy, Discovery, hair, prayer, tagged , , , , , , , , , on February 5, 2014| Leave a Comment »

Curt Schilling, the former World Series Champion Red Sox pitcher just announced to the world that he has cancer. Tears welled up in my eyes. Not because I know Curt personally, but because I know exactly how he felt when he heard those words, “You have cancer.” It was probably the same way my friend Monica’s mom felt when she was diagnosed. And Greg. And Lisa. And Patrick. And Bonnie. And Giuliana. It doesn’t matter if you’re famous, if you’re young, old, a guy or a girl. The world as you know it has ended.

Cancer doesn’t care if you’re rich or poor. You can’t buy your way out of cancer. And the doctors, nurses, and other healthcare workers at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, Brigham and Women’s Hospital, and I’m sure other hospitals, treat you the same regardless of your bank account. They want to help you beat it, whether your name is in the newspaper or not.  

I hate that anyone has to go through what I did – and some much worse. If I knew Curt, I would tell him the one thing that matters most: It’s all about your attitude. Stay positive, truly believe you will beat it, and (with lots of prayers, support and your dream team of doctors) you will. Be like Monica’s mom who, when she lost all of the hair on her head, simply said she’s happy to be saving money at the hairdresser. Because when it comes down to it, she’s no different from you, Curt. Cancer doesn’t care. But luckily people do.

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