I went to see my plastic surgeon this week to review the last details of my surgery and receive the last fill of my expander. I have requested that my surgery occur in March but also listed my preference as after March 15. This will better coincide with Steve and the kids' Spring Break.
My doctor also added another 100 cc's to my expander, which now contains 450 cc's. For the first time, it hurts. I guess, I should not say that it hurts, but it is fairly uncomfortable. I know that I can have cc's taken out to relieve the pressure. However, I am reluctant to do so as I am a bit tired of going to doctor appointments. Having cc's taken out would add two more appointments to the docket--one appointment to take fluid out and one to add it back.
In case I have not explained the process, my expander is held in position by muscle, its purpose being to expand the muscle and skin slowly in order to hold the future implant. They add anywhere between 50-100 cc's of saline to the expander with every visit, spacing my visits about three weeks apart. It feels a bit like getting your braces tightened.
Unlike many friends that I have met on my journey, these expansions have never bothered me. Watching my the expansion on my chest grow into something that looks like a breast has been kind of like watching Christmas presents multiply under the Christmas tree as Christmas approaches. Now, fully expanded to the size of an actual breast, I am excited but yet feel more like that pregnant mother whose baby is two weeks overdue.
It think what bothers me the most is the combination of its size and hardness. The thing is as hard as a rock. I move, it does not. When I sleep, the only way I can get comfortable is on my back--and I am a side sleeper. That being said, I always wake up in the middle of the night sore, having rolled onto my side while sleeping.
I suppose, this will all get easier as by body adjusts to this most recent expansion. However, I know it is not getting any softer. My plastic surgeon has assured me that by new breast will feel nothing like its current substitute. Thank goodness!
That being said, I am just keeping my eye on the prize and trying not to think too much about the actual surgery itself because I am really not looking forward to adding another scar to a different part of my body. But this is another blog entry, altogether.
I really do not mean for this blog to sound negative. Actually, I am in a fairly good place right now. I am busy with work and the kids, enjoying most aspects of the crazy, busy lifestyle we have made for ourselves. The kids sports are gearing up as they usually do this time of year, with their participation in soccer, baseball, softball and gymnastics, all running at the same time. They are growing and learning so fast, I do not want to miss any of it. Work is busy but rewarding, as I continue to adjust sans a more hands-on supervisor. Life is good.
In closing, I am thankful every day that I survived cancer and the only thing I have to complain about is a rock-hard, fully filled expander on the left side of my chest. And what I have not mentioned is my excitment of having a breast on my right side again. No more prosthetic, yay!!!!! My road to recontruction is coming to a close and I could not be happier.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Cruising into the New Year
The holidays were an emotional journey for me this year. A journey full of memories of last year, both good and bad, encompassing how far I have come, both physically and figuratively. Lucky for me, this journey also led me onto a cruise ship for an 8-day trip aboard the Carnival Spirit with my husband and kids.
The trip was planned this past summer, after we were forced to cancel our summer vacation so I could undergo radiation treatments. I desperately needed a vacation on the books. My husband and I knew that a cruise could be enjoyed no matter my state of health, strength or physical ability. And so, it was planned. Booking far in advance, we were able to get a great deal on a great room with a balcony. Pure heaven!
The trip was just as we hoped. We relaxed. I got a massage. The kids made nice friends. We enjoyed the ports of call. We danced. We ate way too much. As I have not had reconstruction yet, there were a couple of moments for me that were less than ideal. However, the money we spent was worth every penny and I relished in every moment of the cruise with heightened sensibility.
As we laughed and played, the thought echoed in my brain, "If the cancer comes back, my kids will always have the memories of this cruise." The thought comforted me like a warm blanket on a cold morning. The context of the thought did not. It was not until I fell in love with a painting at the on-board art auction that I realized why. The picture is of a woman sitting gracefully on a couch gazing directly at her on-lookers. The innocence portrayed by her eyes, body language and even in the choice of colors struck at my core, touching me so deeply that I cried.
I put it into words for my husband when he asked me who the woman in the painting reminded me of. Without hesitation I answered, "Me".
Upon further reflection, I deduced and shared that she represented the innocence that cancer stole from me and my children. The caution that inhibits a cancer survivor. The fear that will live in my children as they are situated on what I envision to be a "most watched list" for signs of cancer. I think back on the days when I was in high school and college. I did not have a fear in the world. I was young and strong. Death and illness was not something I knew or thought about. I did not take my vitamins. I lived in excess of all of those things that young adults live in excess of. Full of potential and free from fear, I celebrated life with the joyful pleasure of the child who knew no different. Now, my kids know different. They understand life as a precious gift that once broken, can only sometimes be fixed. Their innocence is what cancer stole from us. That innocence is what I see in that painting.
I am realistic, too. I expect there will be a many, many times that my kids will choose to ignore that they are at risk for cancer. I know they are not aware of this fact now. Hell, I try to ignore my risk for recurrence myself. However, I know better than to dwell in my fears. I will teach this to my children. As Oprah stated so eloquently, "Live your best life." That is the end game. That is what this cruise was about. And when I look at the smiling faces pictured below, I know that we accomplished just that.
Happy New Year, all!!!
The trip was planned this past summer, after we were forced to cancel our summer vacation so I could undergo radiation treatments. I desperately needed a vacation on the books. My husband and I knew that a cruise could be enjoyed no matter my state of health, strength or physical ability. And so, it was planned. Booking far in advance, we were able to get a great deal on a great room with a balcony. Pure heaven!
The trip was just as we hoped. We relaxed. I got a massage. The kids made nice friends. We enjoyed the ports of call. We danced. We ate way too much. As I have not had reconstruction yet, there were a couple of moments for me that were less than ideal. However, the money we spent was worth every penny and I relished in every moment of the cruise with heightened sensibility.
As we laughed and played, the thought echoed in my brain, "If the cancer comes back, my kids will always have the memories of this cruise." The thought comforted me like a warm blanket on a cold morning. The context of the thought did not. It was not until I fell in love with a painting at the on-board art auction that I realized why. The picture is of a woman sitting gracefully on a couch gazing directly at her on-lookers. The innocence portrayed by her eyes, body language and even in the choice of colors struck at my core, touching me so deeply that I cried.
I put it into words for my husband when he asked me who the woman in the painting reminded me of. Without hesitation I answered, "Me".
Upon further reflection, I deduced and shared that she represented the innocence that cancer stole from me and my children. The caution that inhibits a cancer survivor. The fear that will live in my children as they are situated on what I envision to be a "most watched list" for signs of cancer. I think back on the days when I was in high school and college. I did not have a fear in the world. I was young and strong. Death and illness was not something I knew or thought about. I did not take my vitamins. I lived in excess of all of those things that young adults live in excess of. Full of potential and free from fear, I celebrated life with the joyful pleasure of the child who knew no different. Now, my kids know different. They understand life as a precious gift that once broken, can only sometimes be fixed. Their innocence is what cancer stole from us. That innocence is what I see in that painting.
I am realistic, too. I expect there will be a many, many times that my kids will choose to ignore that they are at risk for cancer. I know they are not aware of this fact now. Hell, I try to ignore my risk for recurrence myself. However, I know better than to dwell in my fears. I will teach this to my children. As Oprah stated so eloquently, "Live your best life." That is the end game. That is what this cruise was about. And when I look at the smiling faces pictured below, I know that we accomplished just that.
Happy New Year, all!!!
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