Ironically, Danny first refused to nurse on my right breast in October 2005-- my first sign of cancer. It's appropriate that I ended my breast cancer treatments nearly three years ago during Breast Cancer Awareness Month.
It took me only five weeks to realize that something was wrong with my body. The last normal weeks of my life. It took another four weeks for a breast exam, mammogram, ultrasound, surgical appointments, fine needle aspiration and finally, a core needle biopsy, before my diagnosis on December 22. Merry Christmas. Nine weeks. And life is never the same again. Nine. Short. Weeks. And every month since has been Breast Cancer Awareness Month.
So I'm putting on the pink for the month of October. I hope it helps even one woman do a self-exam!
In the meantime, however, I have a website to share with you. It's called The Urban Dictionary. It is a dictionary of slang. Like Wikipedia, Urban Dictionary is publicly defined site. As a parent I find this site extremely useful. As an ex-kid I find it irresistibly entertaining! In that light I offer you a few of my recently found favorite slang words. See if you can figure out which one I submitted...
Cybercondriac: An individual that reads symptoms of illnesses on the net and begins to believe they're sick.
Half your age plus seven: A dividing-line / rule, whereby one may not make a Romantic/erotic/sexual move toward someone who is not at least half one's age, plus seven more years. Ha! My co-worker is forever quoting this rule. He swears that since he is 30 it is ok for him to date women that are 22. Makes perfect sense until you reverse it. By this calculation at 43 I should be able to date a man twice my age less 7 years. That's 72 years old!!!!! Gah!
Restless Lip Syndrom: When a person keeps interrupting a conversation and can't keep their mouth shut. Hee... I know a few who suffer from this.
Sticker Paralysis: The effect caused by having a really awesome sticker and no appropriate place to use it. General symptoms include keeping the sticker in a drawer and never actually using it. Sometimes resulting in affixation remorse.
Nipple Envy: What a woman feels when she sees another woman's nipple erection and hasn't completed her post-mastectomy reconstruction. I so suffer from this!!!!!
Pisshap: A mishap involving urine, usually after a mass amount of alcohol has been consumed. This one has worked its way into my every day conversation!!!!! And that's kind of sad...
Showing posts with label the "girls". Show all posts
Showing posts with label the "girls". Show all posts
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Friday, October 31, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
Countdown
It's that time of year again. The end of fiscal year. The time of year that all Federal Government Contracting employees work until the money is alllllll gone. Day and night. Weekdays. Weekends. Did I mention we don't get overtime? One of the great ironies of Federal employment is that we do not fall under federal labor laws. Instead, we get "comp time", an hour off for an hour worked.
At any rate, In just 8 short days, I will get my life back. Just in time for October, aka National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Working towards my new focus, bringing Breast Cancer out of the shadows and into the light, I will be hosting a fund raiser for Young Survival Coalition.
I thought about doing a walk, or (gulp) a run... But any one that knows me would recognize that as a pipe dream. So I decided to go with what I know. Beverages. Namely, the adult kind. And it just so happens that YSC is sponsoring a Drink Pink, Think Pink campaign. So, I am going to throw a Pink Cocktail Party!
I'm just so excited. The very thought of a pretty pink Pomegranate Martini just might get me through the next eight days...
At any rate, In just 8 short days, I will get my life back. Just in time for October, aka National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Working towards my new focus, bringing Breast Cancer out of the shadows and into the light, I will be hosting a fund raiser for Young Survival Coalition.
I thought about doing a walk, or (gulp) a run... But any one that knows me would recognize that as a pipe dream. So I decided to go with what I know. Beverages. Namely, the adult kind. And it just so happens that YSC is sponsoring a Drink Pink, Think Pink campaign. So, I am going to throw a Pink Cocktail Party!
I'm just so excited. The very thought of a pretty pink Pomegranate Martini just might get me through the next eight days...
Friday, July 4, 2008
Validation
My oncologist, Dr. Villa, has always been one who shoots straight from the hip. She was clear on that very first day in her office that I would need a mastectomy. Ultimately she would lobby for a single, calling my urge for a double mastectomy "an emotional response" and medically unnecessary until we knew the results of my genetic testing.
All emotions aside, I knew I wanted a double mastectomy for several reasons. There was an emotional component in that I never wanted to experience that phone call - "It's breast cancer." - again. Removing all of the traitorous breast tissue in my body seemed the most expedient means toward that end. But there were other reasons equally as weighted.
The Girls had always been very large. "Huge tracts of land", is how Daddy-O and his English mates referred to their like. Don't you love how the English turn a phrase? I couldn't imagine spending the rest of my life so unbalanced. I imagined a two-humped camel with one hump missing, traveling through life disfigured with either a hump on it's shoulders only or worse, a flat back and a hump on it's rear-end. Then there were the physical consequences of being so lopsided: back problems.
Yes, I was absolutely, firmly for a double mastectomy. Yet, I had a single. Yes, I buckled. I am a sucker for the rational and practical. Calling my decision an "emotional response" caused a knee-jerk fear of potential regret. So I didn't ring the bell that couldn't be un-rung. Yet. But I did later when the genetic test came back positive for the BRCA2 mutation. With my gut instinct vindicated I had them lop off the rest of the potentially mutinous breast tissue with reconstruction.
Word to the Wise: Trust yourself. Know yourself. If you want a double mastectomy and you are being persuaded otherwise, follow your heart. It is your body. You, and only you, must live in it.
That was another consideration in my decision... reconstruction. Oh how inviting the thought of buying bras in normal sizes and cute colors. The wardrobe potential alone was enough to start me daydreaming... Not to mention the budgetary boon of eliminating chronic chiropractic care. SOLD. The girls and I were downsizing!
Once my reconstruction options were laid out for me, DIEP Flap or nothing (watch this cool 3D version), I had second thoughts. The surgery was anything but simple. The prospect of not lifting my baby for 3 months was daunting. My family and friends were completely against the surgery. The scars are giant, the recovery long and the surgery intense. The surgeon was also out of network for my insurance company so I would have to pay his $10K fee on my own. I was also anxious to return to work and get my life back to normal. No small issues, these.
Daddy-O and I discussed reconstruction at length. He was very supportive but not much help. It didn't matter to him, he said. He'd love me the same either way. Just what I needed to hear but still no help for making the decision. Ultimately I had to examine my own feelings on the matter.
After many, many hours of introspection I came to one simple conclusion. I was only 40 years old. I hoped to have many, many years left in my life. Years in which I intended to feel sexy and sensual. Emotionally I wasn't sure I would feel that way breastless. I certainly didn't in my current state of disproportion. In general, not having reconstruction felt like I would be giving up, acknowledging that cancer would ultimately win. I felt that rebuilding my body was tantamount to rebuilding my life. A physical manifestation of the hope and faith in my ability to survive. In short, planning for the future.
So I did it. And I have never regretted it once. Not during the long weeks of recuperation. Not when I couldn't lift my baby. Not when I saw the giant nasty scars. Not once. Not ever.
I thought maybe I was the only one who felt like that. But according to this article I read this morning, women who have reconstruction experience lasting psychological benefits.
Validation. At last.
This has been cross posted at Mothers With Cancer.
All emotions aside, I knew I wanted a double mastectomy for several reasons. There was an emotional component in that I never wanted to experience that phone call - "It's breast cancer." - again. Removing all of the traitorous breast tissue in my body seemed the most expedient means toward that end. But there were other reasons equally as weighted.
The Girls had always been very large. "Huge tracts of land", is how Daddy-O and his English mates referred to their like. Don't you love how the English turn a phrase? I couldn't imagine spending the rest of my life so unbalanced. I imagined a two-humped camel with one hump missing, traveling through life disfigured with either a hump on it's shoulders only or worse, a flat back and a hump on it's rear-end. Then there were the physical consequences of being so lopsided: back problems.
Yes, I was absolutely, firmly for a double mastectomy. Yet, I had a single. Yes, I buckled. I am a sucker for the rational and practical. Calling my decision an "emotional response" caused a knee-jerk fear of potential regret. So I didn't ring the bell that couldn't be un-rung. Yet. But I did later when the genetic test came back positive for the BRCA2 mutation. With my gut instinct vindicated I had them lop off the rest of the potentially mutinous breast tissue with reconstruction.
Word to the Wise: Trust yourself. Know yourself. If you want a double mastectomy and you are being persuaded otherwise, follow your heart. It is your body. You, and only you, must live in it.
That was another consideration in my decision... reconstruction. Oh how inviting the thought of buying bras in normal sizes and cute colors. The wardrobe potential alone was enough to start me daydreaming... Not to mention the budgetary boon of eliminating chronic chiropractic care. SOLD. The girls and I were downsizing!
Once my reconstruction options were laid out for me, DIEP Flap or nothing (watch this cool 3D version), I had second thoughts. The surgery was anything but simple. The prospect of not lifting my baby for 3 months was daunting. My family and friends were completely against the surgery. The scars are giant, the recovery long and the surgery intense. The surgeon was also out of network for my insurance company so I would have to pay his $10K fee on my own. I was also anxious to return to work and get my life back to normal. No small issues, these.
Daddy-O and I discussed reconstruction at length. He was very supportive but not much help. It didn't matter to him, he said. He'd love me the same either way. Just what I needed to hear but still no help for making the decision. Ultimately I had to examine my own feelings on the matter.
After many, many hours of introspection I came to one simple conclusion. I was only 40 years old. I hoped to have many, many years left in my life. Years in which I intended to feel sexy and sensual. Emotionally I wasn't sure I would feel that way breastless. I certainly didn't in my current state of disproportion. In general, not having reconstruction felt like I would be giving up, acknowledging that cancer would ultimately win. I felt that rebuilding my body was tantamount to rebuilding my life. A physical manifestation of the hope and faith in my ability to survive. In short, planning for the future.
So I did it. And I have never regretted it once. Not during the long weeks of recuperation. Not when I couldn't lift my baby. Not when I saw the giant nasty scars. Not once. Not ever.
I thought maybe I was the only one who felt like that. But according to this article I read this morning, women who have reconstruction experience lasting psychological benefits.
Validation. At last.
This has been cross posted at Mothers With Cancer.
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