Monday, March 8, 2010
Saturday, June 14, 2008
The Here and Now
This might be silly to you, but I did the most wonderful thing this morning. I put my hair in a pontail. It may have taken 10 minutes and 50 bobby pins. It may set a record as the world's smallest ponytail. It may look like a cross between a ping pong ball and something a cat sicked up but I really don't care.
This time last year I was sporting a GI Jane and that was actually an improvement over my previous look, the Uncle Fester. My current hairdo may look ridiculous but it's mine :o) I did not take it out of a box or off a fake styrofoam head and put it on ~ it was already there, and that's the part that makes me oh so happy :o)
So be sure to keep your sense of perspective when life (or the weather) hands you a bad hair day. It could be worse; you could have a "no" hair day. I think I'll go take another peek at the back of my head in the mirror (just one more time...)
Saturday, April 26, 2008
3 - Nothing to Worry About...it Happens All the Time
It's Thursday, June 22nd. I got a letter from the Clinic today; it says, "Your recent mammogram showed a finding that requires additional imaging evaluation. Most such findings are benign and do not represent cancer..."
So now what? I have to go back? Again? Just how many is most I wonder. Less than half? One fourth? Maybe it's nothing - no - probably it's nothing. Mom is forever telling me, "Jennifer, do not borrow trouble..." Okay, first things first. Appointment, I need to make another appointment. Next week? Nothing this week? Okay, Tuesday June 27th it is then thank you. Five days, I can handle five days I think (maybe, hopefully).
I don't have any risk factors, not really. My mom had cancer a few years ago - she was 65. I talked to my gyn about it, though and he explained that the medical rule of thumb for family members and breast cancer was, "Age of diagnosis minus ten years." Okay, so I just need to remember that now. I'm only 40; and this is my first mammogram. So following that rule of thumb I'd only need to panic if I was what, like 55? I'm 25 years younger than she was so I should be okay, shouldn't I? That's a whole other 15 years on top of the original 10; so I'll be fine then, right? I mean I'm not overweight, I don't smoke, I exercise every day, eat lots of fruit, drink tons of water...Um, this is probably a good time for me to go ahead and confess to random chocolate splurges and general avoidance of most vegetables whenever possible. I always thought that there was some kind of Grownup Appetite Gene (Ha - couldn't help the acronym - GAG - due to the current topic :o) that would just magically kick in when I hit adulthood and cause me start liking coffee and vegetables. Well if there is such a gene I sure didn't get it...Okay, I'm digressing here, big time.
Finally! Tuesday - at last! It's not like I wasted the time I had to wait. I spent large chunks of it conducting an informal survey of sorts. Almost everyone I asked had been called back at least once. Apparently women with dense (fibrous) tissue get called back fairly frequently. I had one friend that said she'd been called back six separate times and had several needle biopsies; brrr - sure hope I don't have to go that far.
Back in the waiting room, follow me please, gown, yadda yadda yadda, okay thank you ma'm and you're all done. This time, though, I didn't go right back out the door. This time I was asked to wait a few minutes, and a few more, and then a few more. Finally, a man holding a folder came in; a radiologist. It seems there's a bit of a blur on my mammogram; not even enough to call a spot, just a faint blur. It's probably nothing to worry about. Now if you'll follow me please, we'll go to have an ultrasound, to be sure that it's nothing.
Seems I've left the refrigerated section and am now in frozen foods; it's cold in here! Lay on the table please, arm over your head, this will be a little chilly. Hmm, now where have I heard that statement be- YIKES! - and thank you ma'm for the blob of ice-cold (ew! what?) icky stuff you just squirted on me. Stare at the ceiling time and think of something (anything) else. Round and round and round she goes...uh-oh. You know, I'm not the smartest person on the planet but when a technician starts going over and over the same area and presses just a little harder each time? I start feeling that feeling; you know the one I mean? The one that causes your stomach to begin to tighten and then to churn. The one that makes you want to just grab the person and yell, "What is it? What do you see? What's wrong??"
It's going to be okay, really. It's eighty percent; 80% of the time it's nothing. I just need to come back and have a needle biopsy done, that's all. To be sure, okay? You're only 40 after all, so it's probably nothing, a cyst maybe; don't worry it'll be fine. This coming Monday okay for you? Okay, great. We've got you all set for a needle biopsy on Monday, July 3rd at 8:00a.m. All right, well we'll see you then on Monday, and you have yourself a good weekend...
So now what? I have to go back? Again? Just how many is most I wonder. Less than half? One fourth? Maybe it's nothing - no - probably it's nothing. Mom is forever telling me, "Jennifer, do not borrow trouble..." Okay, first things first. Appointment, I need to make another appointment. Next week? Nothing this week? Okay, Tuesday June 27th it is then thank you. Five days, I can handle five days I think (maybe, hopefully).
I don't have any risk factors, not really. My mom had cancer a few years ago - she was 65. I talked to my gyn about it, though and he explained that the medical rule of thumb for family members and breast cancer was, "Age of diagnosis minus ten years." Okay, so I just need to remember that now. I'm only 40; and this is my first mammogram. So following that rule of thumb I'd only need to panic if I was what, like 55? I'm 25 years younger than she was so I should be okay, shouldn't I? That's a whole other 15 years on top of the original 10; so I'll be fine then, right? I mean I'm not overweight, I don't smoke, I exercise every day, eat lots of fruit, drink tons of water...Um, this is probably a good time for me to go ahead and confess to random chocolate splurges and general avoidance of most vegetables whenever possible. I always thought that there was some kind of Grownup Appetite Gene (Ha - couldn't help the acronym - GAG - due to the current topic :o) that would just magically kick in when I hit adulthood and cause me start liking coffee and vegetables. Well if there is such a gene I sure didn't get it...Okay, I'm digressing here, big time.
Finally! Tuesday - at last! It's not like I wasted the time I had to wait. I spent large chunks of it conducting an informal survey of sorts. Almost everyone I asked had been called back at least once. Apparently women with dense (fibrous) tissue get called back fairly frequently. I had one friend that said she'd been called back six separate times and had several needle biopsies; brrr - sure hope I don't have to go that far.
Back in the waiting room, follow me please, gown, yadda yadda yadda, okay thank you ma'm and you're all done. This time, though, I didn't go right back out the door. This time I was asked to wait a few minutes, and a few more, and then a few more. Finally, a man holding a folder came in; a radiologist. It seems there's a bit of a blur on my mammogram; not even enough to call a spot, just a faint blur. It's probably nothing to worry about. Now if you'll follow me please, we'll go to have an ultrasound, to be sure that it's nothing.
Seems I've left the refrigerated section and am now in frozen foods; it's cold in here! Lay on the table please, arm over your head, this will be a little chilly. Hmm, now where have I heard that statement be- YIKES! - and thank you ma'm for the blob of ice-cold (ew! what?) icky stuff you just squirted on me. Stare at the ceiling time and think of something (anything) else. Round and round and round she goes...uh-oh. You know, I'm not the smartest person on the planet but when a technician starts going over and over the same area and presses just a little harder each time? I start feeling that feeling; you know the one I mean? The one that causes your stomach to begin to tighten and then to churn. The one that makes you want to just grab the person and yell, "What is it? What do you see? What's wrong??"
It's going to be okay, really. It's eighty percent; 80% of the time it's nothing. I just need to come back and have a needle biopsy done, that's all. To be sure, okay? You're only 40 after all, so it's probably nothing, a cyst maybe; don't worry it'll be fine. This coming Monday okay for you? Okay, great. We've got you all set for a needle biopsy on Monday, July 3rd at 8:00a.m. All right, well we'll see you then on Monday, and you have yourself a good weekend...
Saturday, April 19, 2008
2 - The Mammogram
December 8th, I'm 40. For some reason, I expected this to be a traumatic experience but it isn't. Just another birthday; I don't feel any different (and why should I, really?) The biggest thing about 40 is that it means now I have to go get a mammogram and golly, I can just hardly wait. I suppose when school is out for the summer, I'll get that little chore taken care of along with my annual ick (need I elaborate?) We'll just make the month of June a superfun time of year...
Well, here I am lending new meaning to the phrase, "Summer Fun". Not. Had my annual checkup last week and passed with flying colors; one down, one to go before I can finally relax and enjoy my summer. Sitting in the waiting room at the Women's Clinic, I seem to be the only one under the age of 80. Why? Do I really need a mammogram? I mean, I do the whole self-check deal every month in the shower and just had my annual checkup. Surely if anything was there that shouldn't be my gyn would have found it, right?
Oh, goody it's my turn - hope it doesn't hurt...
Tech seems nice; here's a gown, put this on with the opening to the front (well, duh - kinda makes you wonder how many people would put it on the other way, though, doesn't it?) You're not wearing any deodorant, are you? Is she kidding? Lady, this is the South and it's JUNE - of course I'm wearing deodorant! A box of baby wipes was given to me to correct this heinous error on my part, and then we were ready. Well, she was anyway (I had my doubts).
I'm just over 5'8" and most of it is legs (I spent a large number of years closely resembling a stork before I finally grew into them : ) Ordinarily, being somewhat tall is irrelevant with the exception of wardrobe issues (ever try to find a 6 long in pants??) and the ability to pull things from top shelves without a ladder. So why am I telling you this? Because it's relevant. The tech (who was about 5 feet nothing) leads me to the mammogram machine and explains how I'm to lay "it" on the little shelf, which will be a little cold - and why don't they just say it will feel like a slab of ice? If you've already had a mammogram, you know the drill. If you haven't, picture yourself hunched forward - chest out - boob on an icy slab - one arm up in the air - the other shoulder dropped down - and don't move. If I can actually achieve and hold this position, I wonder if it means I'm now eligible to join the circus as a contortionist?
Have you ever seen one of those pressing machines at the cleaners? They look sort of like two small ironing boards that you squish together and in a whoosh of steam, your pants are pressed perfectly flat with a nice deep crease. As the tech began to lower the top part down on my breast, that was the image that popped into my head (except for the steam). How is it that the top part is even colder than the bottom? Can you get frostbite doing this? HEY! Can you stop now? Geez lady, I'm going to have to install brackets underneath the paper thin shelf you're making there. Wow (and ow!) my boob is seriously flat; I think to myself were it not attached I could probably slide it under a door someplace...
Remember the height difference? Well, this put my freshly-flattened breast just above eye level for the technician. So there I stood, waiting, completely contorted, as the tech stood on her tiptoes periodically making a little bit of a jump to see better. mumbling about fibrous tissue and density as she squished it even further. Who are you calling dense, short stuff? I'm thinking you're not too bright yourself, or you would go get a stool to stand on. Twit. It's awfully hard to be diplomatic sometimes. Of course my thought process segued from the dry cleaner's to the eye doctors as she bounced up and down to see what she was doing...Better 1? Better 2? Better 1?... Finally, we were through. They'll let me know the results in a few days by letter, thank you ma'am and have a nice afternoon.
Thank goodness I only have to do this once a year...
Well, here I am lending new meaning to the phrase, "Summer Fun". Not. Had my annual checkup last week and passed with flying colors; one down, one to go before I can finally relax and enjoy my summer. Sitting in the waiting room at the Women's Clinic, I seem to be the only one under the age of 80. Why? Do I really need a mammogram? I mean, I do the whole self-check deal every month in the shower and just had my annual checkup. Surely if anything was there that shouldn't be my gyn would have found it, right?
Oh, goody it's my turn - hope it doesn't hurt...
Tech seems nice; here's a gown, put this on with the opening to the front (well, duh - kinda makes you wonder how many people would put it on the other way, though, doesn't it?) You're not wearing any deodorant, are you? Is she kidding? Lady, this is the South and it's JUNE - of course I'm wearing deodorant! A box of baby wipes was given to me to correct this heinous error on my part, and then we were ready. Well, she was anyway (I had my doubts).
I'm just over 5'8" and most of it is legs (I spent a large number of years closely resembling a stork before I finally grew into them : ) Ordinarily, being somewhat tall is irrelevant with the exception of wardrobe issues (ever try to find a 6 long in pants??) and the ability to pull things from top shelves without a ladder. So why am I telling you this? Because it's relevant. The tech (who was about 5 feet nothing) leads me to the mammogram machine and explains how I'm to lay "it" on the little shelf, which will be a little cold - and why don't they just say it will feel like a slab of ice? If you've already had a mammogram, you know the drill. If you haven't, picture yourself hunched forward - chest out - boob on an icy slab - one arm up in the air - the other shoulder dropped down - and don't move. If I can actually achieve and hold this position, I wonder if it means I'm now eligible to join the circus as a contortionist?
Have you ever seen one of those pressing machines at the cleaners? They look sort of like two small ironing boards that you squish together and in a whoosh of steam, your pants are pressed perfectly flat with a nice deep crease. As the tech began to lower the top part down on my breast, that was the image that popped into my head (except for the steam). How is it that the top part is even colder than the bottom? Can you get frostbite doing this? HEY! Can you stop now? Geez lady, I'm going to have to install brackets underneath the paper thin shelf you're making there. Wow (and ow!) my boob is seriously flat; I think to myself were it not attached I could probably slide it under a door someplace...
Remember the height difference? Well, this put my freshly-flattened breast just above eye level for the technician. So there I stood, waiting, completely contorted, as the tech stood on her tiptoes periodically making a little bit of a jump to see better. mumbling about fibrous tissue and density as she squished it even further. Who are you calling dense, short stuff? I'm thinking you're not too bright yourself, or you would go get a stool to stand on. Twit. It's awfully hard to be diplomatic sometimes. Of course my thought process segued from the dry cleaner's to the eye doctors as she bounced up and down to see what she was doing...Better 1? Better 2? Better 1?... Finally, we were through. They'll let me know the results in a few days by letter, thank you ma'am and have a nice afternoon.
Thank goodness I only have to do this once a year...
Friday, April 18, 2008
1 - The Here and Now
It has been 1 year, 9 months and 13 days since the bottom dropped out of my life. Even though I've finished treatment and passed my "one year from date of diagnosis" survivor mark, I don't feel back to normal. Actually I'm not sure we ever quite get there, do we? My cancer is in remission now but some part of it still exists on the fringes of my subconscious. It surfaces here and there to torment me and remind me that it's never really over, but it CAN be pushed far enough into the background that it doesn't overshadow your entire life.
As strange as it may sound, my life has been enriched by cancer in so many ways. Things that used to be important are not, and in the same vein, things that once were not, now are. My Christian self has changed for the better. I can be grateful that God has brought me through this and asked me to experience it. I've discovered that I am a much better Christian when I am suffering in abject misery; this is not a very flattering thing to realize but whether I like to admit it or not it's true. I have met some truly amazing people on this journey, and it is my biggest hope that reading this will help another patient somewhere. Anywhere. Even if it's only one person, I want you to know that there really is life after cancer; and sometimes it's even better than the one you had before :o)
Note: My additions to this blog will likely be rather random (translation: whenever I can stuff one in my ridiculously full schedule). I have a very dry, slightly sarcastic sense of humor so you will probably see these :o) in large numbers (since you can't actually see me, it cuts down on my list of offenses - mostly :o) See?
Perhaps I should also add a disclaimer that blogging (which sounds like some sort of obnoxious personal noise for which I should apologize) is new to me. As I try very hard to avoid injuring anyone's feelings, I would ask you to please be kind in your comments. This is, of course, assuming anyone actually reads past this first post...
As strange as it may sound, my life has been enriched by cancer in so many ways. Things that used to be important are not, and in the same vein, things that once were not, now are. My Christian self has changed for the better. I can be grateful that God has brought me through this and asked me to experience it. I've discovered that I am a much better Christian when I am suffering in abject misery; this is not a very flattering thing to realize but whether I like to admit it or not it's true. I have met some truly amazing people on this journey, and it is my biggest hope that reading this will help another patient somewhere. Anywhere. Even if it's only one person, I want you to know that there really is life after cancer; and sometimes it's even better than the one you had before :o)
Note: My additions to this blog will likely be rather random (translation: whenever I can stuff one in my ridiculously full schedule). I have a very dry, slightly sarcastic sense of humor so you will probably see these :o) in large numbers (since you can't actually see me, it cuts down on my list of offenses - mostly :o) See?
Perhaps I should also add a disclaimer that blogging (which sounds like some sort of obnoxious personal noise for which I should apologize) is new to me. As I try very hard to avoid injuring anyone's feelings, I would ask you to please be kind in your comments. This is, of course, assuming anyone actually reads past this first post...
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