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Posts Tagged ‘lymphedema’

Overload

Posted in Cancer, family, lymphedema, prayer, recovery, tagged , , , , , , , , , on December 11, 2013| 2 Comments »

I think my head is going to burst. Way too many things running through my mind, and I really can’t focus on any of them.

Today I was 100% focused on helping Tina and family do our best to convince the Parole Board not to release Scott’s killer. It will be several weeks to several months before we will know their decision, but I am confident we did everything possible and pray that justice will prevail.

In fact, I was so focused, it wasn’t until I went to my car and heard the voicemail from the hospital that I remembered I was supposed to call them to confirm my surgery by 3 p.m. Oops. Luckily they were still there and confirmed when I returned their call.

(Pleeeaaaasssseeee do not be offended if you are one of the dozens who’ve asked me this question) but no, right now I am not too excited for surgery. (Tissue expanders are being replaced with implants – finally.) I don’t feel like I have any of that emotion to give. Yes, I am thankful that I will finally get these rocks off my chest and start to feel some semblance of normal again, but no, it’s not the end. It will be months for these wounds to heal, and then I can do the nipples. And even then, although it will be physically over (besides the lovely lymphedema), there will still be somewhere between 4 and 9 years more of Tamoxifen. Honestly, it will never be over, because then, after I go off my wonder drug, I will worry about recurrence…

This feels somewhat like when chemo ended and people wanted me to celebrate. I’m just not feeling it. However, some have suggested a birthday party for my new boobs each year – now that is an idea that makes me smile! I’m not sure how my youngest goddaughter will feel about sharing her birthday with them, but when she’s older she’ll probably get a kick out of it – at least I know I’ll never forget the date! (And it seems so much more fun to remember that date than dates like when I found the lump, got the diagnosis or had the double mastectomy…)

So between the hearing, surgery, birthdays (my 10-year-old Goddaughter and my 102 year-old Nana), holiday parties, decorating, shopping for the holidays, trying to make sure all is wrapped up at work (and push it all out of my mind from now on), etc., etc., I’m fried. I’m actually looking forward to being drugged up tomorrow (uh, well, I guess today now since it’s 1 a.m.). Maybe it will quiet my brain enough that it will reset and all will suddenly be clear. Ha! I can hope, right? At least I know I’ll be amused with mom and Nick taking care of me until Cory’s down this weekend. And with Tara and Mark at the hospital, too, I know I don’t have to worry about anything. And no, Tina, there will be no skyping to laugh at my drug-induced musings – although I’m sure they will have fun telling you all about it…

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Because I Can

Posted in Boston, Cancer, chemotherapy, family, hair, lymphedema, radiation, recovery, work, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 28, 2013| 2 Comments »

“Why, why, whhhhhyyyyy???” I woke up whining. And I hate whining. But it’s also very cold and I hate the cold. And while I love that running lets me eat and helps me not get huge, I don’t love running. (Sorry Phil.) And have I mentioned that I am not a morning person? I thought so. Yet here it is, Thanksgiving morning, when really I don’t need to be anywhere before noon, and what am I doing? Getting up. Early. To run. In the cold. Why? Because this year I can.

I never think of the weather when I sign up for these 5ks. I think of the cause (in this case Multiple Sclerosis – it’s the Boston Volvo Village 5k Road Race for MS) or the other people running (some of my Genzyme Running Team peeps) or the great people watching (people dressed up like turkeys, pilgrims, Indians and I’m sure there will be at least a few Santas).

I did, however, start to think about the weather yesterday, when I heard how incredibly cold today was predicted to be. Andrew asked where and when to meet, and I told him I’d be there if it was above 30 and not raining or wicked windy – I can’t afford to get sick with surgery less than two weeks away. Then, last night when I was snuggled warm in bed, and was thinking how crazy it is to be out in the cold period, I texted Tara.

Me: Remind me there’s no excuse not to run in the morning. I won’t get sick and it doesn’t matter that I haven’t run in two weeks or how slow I am.

Tara: Slow and steady! Something is not just better than nothing, it’s an investment in you. I’m running/walking a turkey trot in the morning. You’ll feel better for doing it.

And I know, as usual, she’s right.

So I woke up and rolled over to check the weather, figuring above 30 and I’m good, since the beams of light shining into my room already told me it’s not raining. And what does the weather say? 30 – and then “feels like 19” – ugh! I could’ve texted Andrew, told him I didn’t want to risk getting sick (which is seriously the big fear in the back of my mind, but also an excuse), but I didn’t. Because then I started thinking about last Thanksgiving.

Last Thanksgiving I couldn’t run, regardless of the weather. Thanksgiving week 2012 I finished my 24th week of chemo. It was the last, but my body ached more than ever, I had tons of numbness and tingling in my fingers and feet, and the lymphedema had just started. And I had radiation still ahead of me. Oh, and I was bald. No eyebrows, no eyelashes and no hair on my head. Running was the last thing on my mind – I was just thankful I could get up in the morning!

So today I am running. Because I can. Because God is good and has given me a great life, and a second chance, and I don’t want to waste it. 2013 may not have been the easiest or best year, but it’s been a hell of a lot better than 2012. I am so thankful for all my family, friends, and work buddies who have stuck by me, encouraged me and even pushed me when needed. And I am thankful for the new people in my life, including someone who makes me smile every day, even when he’s not in the same state! I have incredible hope and confidence that as great as things are now, they are going to keep getting better. And for all that I am beyond thankful.

Andrew just texted.

Andrew: Running?

Me: Yup. Will be there shortly.

So I better stop typing and go freeze, I mean run. 😉 Happy Thanksgiving all! Xo

Post run update: Yup. I ran. And froze. But it was worth it!

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One Month

Posted in Cancer, chemotherapy, lymphedema, recovery, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on November 12, 2013| 2 Comments »

One month from yesterday I will be back under the knife (the unbelievably skilled knife of Dr. H) again. This time, rather than shell shocked and scared, I’m eager and excited. Wouldn’t you be, if you lived 24/7 for more than a year and a half with bowling balls (even light-weight ones) on your chest?

I’m so done feeling like a freak every time I hug someone. I do my best to block it out, but it is constantly there, lingering in the back of my mind: “What are they thinking?” “If they don’t know, can they tell?” “Ugh, this just sucks!”

It’s not just the physical feeling that I’m anticipating – to feel somewhat ‘normal’ again – but for that portion of the waiting to be over. I’m not good at waiting. If you know me, you know patience is definitely not one of my virtues, although I try (lots of deep breaths and exhales…). And I feel like so much of this, after the initial rush to surgery, has been a waiting game. Not that anything about cancer is pleasant and how you want it to be, but does so much of it have to take so darn long???

A few people have mentioned how glad I must be that after the surgery it will be over. Oh, how I wish! I’m afraid this is the never-ending gift that just keeps giving. Every day I’m reminded as I take my tamoxifin (for, oh, five or ten years – and don’t you dare get pregnant while you’re on it!). And every time I get a cut, bruise or burn (yes, I’m a klutz) on my right hand or arm and hold my breath, praying it’s not going to swell. And trying to be good and at least wear the sleeve when I run and fly. And worst of all, the voices in the back of my head analyzing my body and pointing out all the symptoms of related cancers – signs of breast cancer recurrence, subsequent cancers or chemo-induced cancers… it’s hard to shut them up sometimes!

So while no, this surgery will not be an end, I do think it’s going to be a great next chapter, giving me a bit more normal in my life, and hopefully quieting some of those voices in my head…

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