Yes, that quote is in reference to exactly what your dirty mind thinks it's in reference to.
I had my first post-op follow-up appointment at my plastic surgeon's office today. It was just for the nurse to check my healing and change my bandages, so I wasn't expecting anything earth shattering to occur.
But then I took off my shirt and showed her my boobs. (And just so you know, I don't do that for just anyone!)
"Wow! You look like you had just an augmentation, rather than a total mastectomy with reconstruction!"
Apparently people who have a mastectomy with reconstruction tend to have a lot of bruising and swelling and some bleeding from the sutures. I only have some swelling. No bruising or bleeding. In fact, the nurse decided she wasn't going to change my bandages, but just remove them entirely. Now the girls are free-ballin'.
That means I finally got my first real look at them in the mirror, and I gotta say, I can see why the nurse was so impressed. The really do look good considering what they've been through.
The really weird thing about them though, is that I can't feel them. I mean, they're totally and completely numb. It feels like I have a couple of bricks strapped to my chest. It's very disconcerting! I know that I won't completely regain sensation, and parts of my breasts will always stay numb, but I wasn't fully prepared for how they'd feel right after surgery.
You're probably wondering why I'd need painkillers if I'm numb. Well, you'd be surprised by how it's possible to be both numb and in pain at the same time. The painful areas are not the actual boobs, but the areas adjacent to them. But good news: today my pain was so much improved, I was able to stop taking Percocet!
And I think we all know what that means...
WINE!!!!
That's right! Whereas yesterday's post was brought to you by Percocet, tonight's post is brought to you by a delightful red blend.
That means I can let out my inner "I love you man!" and take a moment to get sappy about all the incredible friends and family who have gone above and beyond to make my recovery so much easier and more enjoyable. You all know who you are, and I just want to say to you: Your kindness and generosity are so very much appreciated. I wouldn't be recovering so quickly if it weren't for your giving spirits. I really do love you, man!
I swear, I've only had one glass of wine!
Friday, November 16, 2018
Thursday, November 15, 2018
The Mastectomy Marathon: Where's My Finisher's Medal???
Well, my friends, the deed is done. My old boobs are no more. The whole experience has been sort of like a marathon. First, I had to get up really early in the morning and drive 30 minutes to a starting line of sorts (the hospital), then I endured a 6-hour-long event (my surgery), and now I'm pretty sore from it all.
Of course, the one big difference is that they don't give you narcotics at the finish line of a real marathon, which is something that race directors may want to think about.
Surgery day is kind of a blur in my mind because I was knocked out or doped up for most of it. Here's what I do remember of it:
My surgery was scheduled for 7:30am, and I had to arrive at 6am to get checked in and prepped for surgery. I put on my sexy hospital gown, got started with an IV, and endured a steady stream of nurses and doctors coming into my room to ask me questions and give me information about what was going to happen. A radiologist came in and injected a radioactive element in my left breast that would be used to locate my sentinel lymph nodes (the first nodes draining away from my breast). These nodes would be biopsied during surgery to determine if my cancer had spread at all. (Spoiler alert: my nodes were all clear - YAY!)
Just before I was wheeled back to the operating room, I was given some Versed to help me relax. I was sooooo relaxed, like, yeeeahhh maaaaaan. *makes flowy motions with hands*
Once I was in the OR, I had to scoot from my bed to the operating table, and all of a sudden there were a whole bunch people swarming me - nurses, doctors, assistants, probably a few of my 2nd cousins and I think I even saw Elvis in there. The anesthesiologist leaned down to tell me he was going to start my anesthesia and before I knew it, I was out like a light.
Twenty seconds later, I woke up. Well, it felt like 20 seconds to me. I imagine it felt much longer than that for my family and friends who were waiting for updates and results. The actual surgery took 6 hours. SIX HOURS. You see, I had two surgeons working on me at the same time: a breast surgeon, who performed the mastectomy, and a plastic surgeon, who performed the reconstruction. The mastectomy itself only takes a couple of hours, but the reconstruction is a much more involved procedure.
Upon waking, I felt zero pain and was really dizzy, as if I had just drunk 4 glasses of wine in rapid succession. I spent about 20 or 30 minutes in the recovery room waiting for the room to stop spinning. My mouth was extremely dry from not drinking any liquids in the previous 14 hours, so I was extremely grateful when the nurse offered me ice chips. Then she offered me a grape popsicle, and I felt like I had won the frickin' lottery!
I was wheeled down to my hospital room where I would spend the night. My room was comfortable and cozy, and I actually slept pretty well that night despite the constant beeping of monitoring equipment, and the inflation-deflation cycle of my calf compression wraps. I had completely lost my voice from being intubated during surgery, so I had to croak out my requests to the nurses and food service staff. That was a hoot. Somehow though, everyone understood me. They must get a lot of voiceless people coming out of surgery.
Fast forward to now: I am recovering at home. I'm doped up on Percocet. Mila won't get off my lap. I'm loving my comfy recliner. I'm already running out of shows to binge watch. The pain comes and goes, and as long as I keep up with my meds, it's tolerable. (Again, does this not sound like the day after running a marathon???) My range of motion is pretty limited (I can't put my own hair in a ponytail), but I am keeping up with the stretching exercises I was given and it seems to be slowly improving.
Today I managed a slow 2 mile walk around my neighborhood. It was good to get the legs moving. I'm not allowed to run for 6 weeks (*sobs uncontrollably*), but I'm strongly encouraged to walk as much as is comfortable, so that will be my fitness plan for the next 6 weeks.
I guess you could say I'm officially cancer-free now, which is pretty awesome! I wasn't kidding when I said I was here to kick ass.
*roundhouse kicks the air because arms are not able to karate chop right now*
Take that, cancer!!!
*falls over because... Percocet*
Well, it's the thought that counts, right?
Of course, the one big difference is that they don't give you narcotics at the finish line of a real marathon, which is something that race directors may want to think about.
Surgery day is kind of a blur in my mind because I was knocked out or doped up for most of it. Here's what I do remember of it:
My surgery was scheduled for 7:30am, and I had to arrive at 6am to get checked in and prepped for surgery. I put on my sexy hospital gown, got started with an IV, and endured a steady stream of nurses and doctors coming into my room to ask me questions and give me information about what was going to happen. A radiologist came in and injected a radioactive element in my left breast that would be used to locate my sentinel lymph nodes (the first nodes draining away from my breast). These nodes would be biopsied during surgery to determine if my cancer had spread at all. (Spoiler alert: my nodes were all clear - YAY!)
Just before I was wheeled back to the operating room, I was given some Versed to help me relax. I was sooooo relaxed, like, yeeeahhh maaaaaan. *makes flowy motions with hands*
Once I was in the OR, I had to scoot from my bed to the operating table, and all of a sudden there were a whole bunch people swarming me - nurses, doctors, assistants, probably a few of my 2nd cousins and I think I even saw Elvis in there. The anesthesiologist leaned down to tell me he was going to start my anesthesia and before I knew it, I was out like a light.
Twenty seconds later, I woke up. Well, it felt like 20 seconds to me. I imagine it felt much longer than that for my family and friends who were waiting for updates and results. The actual surgery took 6 hours. SIX HOURS. You see, I had two surgeons working on me at the same time: a breast surgeon, who performed the mastectomy, and a plastic surgeon, who performed the reconstruction. The mastectomy itself only takes a couple of hours, but the reconstruction is a much more involved procedure.
Upon waking, I felt zero pain and was really dizzy, as if I had just drunk 4 glasses of wine in rapid succession. I spent about 20 or 30 minutes in the recovery room waiting for the room to stop spinning. My mouth was extremely dry from not drinking any liquids in the previous 14 hours, so I was extremely grateful when the nurse offered me ice chips. Then she offered me a grape popsicle, and I felt like I had won the frickin' lottery!
I was wheeled down to my hospital room where I would spend the night. My room was comfortable and cozy, and I actually slept pretty well that night despite the constant beeping of monitoring equipment, and the inflation-deflation cycle of my calf compression wraps. I had completely lost my voice from being intubated during surgery, so I had to croak out my requests to the nurses and food service staff. That was a hoot. Somehow though, everyone understood me. They must get a lot of voiceless people coming out of surgery.
Fast forward to now: I am recovering at home. I'm doped up on Percocet. Mila won't get off my lap. I'm loving my comfy recliner. I'm already running out of shows to binge watch. The pain comes and goes, and as long as I keep up with my meds, it's tolerable. (Again, does this not sound like the day after running a marathon???) My range of motion is pretty limited (I can't put my own hair in a ponytail), but I am keeping up with the stretching exercises I was given and it seems to be slowly improving.
Today I managed a slow 2 mile walk around my neighborhood. It was good to get the legs moving. I'm not allowed to run for 6 weeks (*sobs uncontrollably*), but I'm strongly encouraged to walk as much as is comfortable, so that will be my fitness plan for the next 6 weeks.
I guess you could say I'm officially cancer-free now, which is pretty awesome! I wasn't kidding when I said I was here to kick ass.
*roundhouse kicks the air because arms are not able to karate chop right now*
Take that, cancer!!!
*falls over because... Percocet*
Well, it's the thought that counts, right?
Monday, November 12, 2018
Sh*t's About To Get Real
Well, tomorrow is the Big Day. Capital B, Capital D. I had my pre-op appointment today to go over all of the procedures I'll need to follow before, during and after my surgery. It was a little overwhelming, to say the least. I mean, I'm a pretty organized person and I'm good at following instructions... but that's when I'm NOT doped up on oxycodone. Who knows what the addition of heavy narcotics to my bloodstream will do to my ability to remember the instructions, let alone follow them!
This morning I did my final workout, a nice 6.5 mile run with hill and speed intervals. It will be at least 6 weeks before I'm allowed to even think about running again, so I savored every step today. The good news is that I will be allowed (and encouraged) to walk as soon as I am able, so I hope to do that a lot during my recovery. Maybe not while I'm on the pain meds though, as I might fall off the treadmill. Or worse, get lost in my own neighborhood. I can just imagine the phone call now:
"Hello, is this Aaron? Yeah, this is the Milwaukee Police. We found your wife wandering aimlessly down Burleigh Ave in her pajamas, mumbling something about 'needing to get to the bowling alley for cosmic bowling'. You know anything about that?"
So, yeah... maybe no unsupervised walking for the first several days.
First thing's first though; I just need to get through this surgery. It's going to be a bitch. The nurse even said "this surgery is going to kick your ass." Well, apparently this surgical team has not had the full-on EVILY experience before. Because the only thing that will be delivering serious ass kickings around here is me.
*wildly karate chops the air*
(Tell me you're not picturing that in your head.)
I've come here to fight and win. It may suck for a little bit, but I will get through it. As soon as I'm able, I'll be back here to tell you all the nitty gritty details of my surgery. Until then, think ass-kicking thoughts for me.
This morning I did my final workout, a nice 6.5 mile run with hill and speed intervals. It will be at least 6 weeks before I'm allowed to even think about running again, so I savored every step today. The good news is that I will be allowed (and encouraged) to walk as soon as I am able, so I hope to do that a lot during my recovery. Maybe not while I'm on the pain meds though, as I might fall off the treadmill. Or worse, get lost in my own neighborhood. I can just imagine the phone call now:
"Hello, is this Aaron? Yeah, this is the Milwaukee Police. We found your wife wandering aimlessly down Burleigh Ave in her pajamas, mumbling something about 'needing to get to the bowling alley for cosmic bowling'. You know anything about that?"
So, yeah... maybe no unsupervised walking for the first several days.
First thing's first though; I just need to get through this surgery. It's going to be a bitch. The nurse even said "this surgery is going to kick your ass." Well, apparently this surgical team has not had the full-on EVILY experience before. Because the only thing that will be delivering serious ass kickings around here is me.
*wildly karate chops the air*
(Tell me you're not picturing that in your head.)
I've come here to fight and win. It may suck for a little bit, but I will get through it. As soon as I'm able, I'll be back here to tell you all the nitty gritty details of my surgery. Until then, think ass-kicking thoughts for me.
Thursday, November 8, 2018
New from Fisher Price: The Busy Breasts Playset™!!!
Every medical professional I have seen in the last 14 months about my boobs has told me I have "busy breasts". Really??? I mean, they don't feel busy. They're just... there. But apparently they have been quietly working away at remodeling the kitchen and solving differential equations and I had no idea. Good for them!
Except that it's not good for them. Not only are they doing advanced calculus, they are also a hotbed of abnormal cellular activity. And that's how I ended up here, newly diagnosed with breast cancer. I don't know if people still read blogs anymore, but I thought this would be a good place to document my journey. So for anyone out there reading this: welcome, and thank you for joining me! I will try not to put you to sleep with my musings.
When I mentioned to my friend Shelley that I had "busy breasts" she joked that it sounded like the name of a children's toy. Indeed it does! I actually think this is a novel idea and would be willing to license this intellectual property to any of the major toy manufacturers (I'm looking at you, Fisher Price).
So what exactly would be the function of that toy? Well, based on my personal experiences during the last year or so, I have some ideas:
Now who wouldn't want to buy this toy, am I right???
It certainly sounds more fun than being the owner of actual busy breasts and experiencing all these things being done to me. But I have to say, even though my poor boobs have been through a lot, I am so grateful for it because my cancer was caught early, which means I should be able to live a long, healthy life.
To properly preface this blog, let me take you all back in time a little bit. Last fall, I had my first ever mammogram, and the radiologist spotted a bunch of "mystery stuff" (my technical term, not his), which resulted in me having 4 core needle biopsies (2 in each boob). Three of the biopsies were all clear, but one of them showed something called Atypical Ductal Hyperplasia (ADH). This isn't cancer, and it's not even technically pre-cancer, but it is often found alongside cancer and can be an indicator of future cancer risk. So I was sent for a surgical biopsy to remove a larger tissue sample from that area. Fortunately, no cancer was found, just ADH, so I was free to go until the next year.
This fall, I had my second mammogram and the radiologist spotted a bunch of NEW mystery stuff that wasn't there last year in both boobs. Well, isn't that cute??? He did 4 more core needle biopsies (2 in each boob again, because we don't want either boob to feel shortchanged). Now, if you've never had a breast biopsy before, you may not know that each time they take a biopsy sample, they insert a tiny titanium marker into the breast so that they can see it on future mammograms. These markers come in various shapes and sizes, because some people may have more than one biopsy. In the course of a year, I had had so many biopsies (8 total), they had run out of marker shapes to give me. I actually have duplicates! The radiologist who did all of my biopsies was clearly starting to get sick of seeing me. To be fair, I think I was getting more sick of seeing him. I mean, he wasn't the one getting repeatedly stabbed by very large needles.
The biopsies from my right boob (which had ADH last year) came back all clear. Whew! I figured I was good to go, because that was the breast I was most concerned about. But then a few days later I got the call about my left breast biopsies. I'll never forget that moment on October 10, because I had just gotten off a plane in Florida and was ready to start a nice family vacation when the nurse called me to tell me I had breast cancer. That bitch!
Okay, actually she was very sweet and not at all a bitch. I can't imagine having to do what she does and deliver this kind of news to people with compassion and kindness. Nurses rock!
So you may be wondering what happens now. Well, I'll tell you. And then you'll be sorry you asked.
In the last month, I have had more doctor appointments than I can count on both hands. The most important appointments were with my breast surgeon (who did my surgical biopsy last year) and my plastic surgeon. My breast surgeon, who was not thrilled to be seeing me again a year later, and this time about the other boob, gave it to me straight. She said she hardly ever makes this recommendation to anyone, but due to my young age and my Very Busy Breasts™, she was recommending a bilateral mastectomy (BMX for those of you who like medical jargon) with immediate reconstruction. I'm glad she recommended that, because I was about to ask for it. We were on the same page. Sure I could just have a lumpectomy and radiation, but with all the changes going on in my boobs, it was super likely I'd have to get poked with more needles every year until eventually I'd leak like a water balloon with lots of holes in it. That's really no fun for anyone (despite the fact that it sounds kinda fun to watch).
So, let's just chop 'em off and be done with it!
My surgery is scheduled for November 13, and it is fast approaching. The breast surgeon and the plastic surgeon will work in tandem. The breast surgeon will perform the mastectomy on one side, then when she moves to the other side, the plastic surgeon will do the reconstruction on the first side. The goal is to keep my own nips, but they won't know for sure if I can do that until they get in there and make sure there's no funky cancer cells lurking in that area. The goal is also to go direct to implant, but if they can't save enough skin to accommodate the implants, they will have to insert tissue expanders that will be gradually filled over the course of many months to stretch the skin, before being swapped out for implants.
Something else that will be done during my surgery is a sentinel node biopsy, where they check a few lymph nodes near the cancer site to see if the cancer has started to spread. The results of this will determine the need for further systemic or targeted therapies (such as chemo or radiation). Since the cancer was caught early, the hope is to not need chemo or radiation, but we'll cross that bridge if/when we get to it.
TL;DR, I'm swapping out my old cancer-containing boobs for a new set of cancer-free boobs, and after that, I don't know exactly what will happen, but I'll keep you posted.
I think this is a good first blog post. I could go into a lot more detail, but let's be honest - you don't want to read it, and I don't want to type it. I'll have lots of time during my recovery to post stuff (and some of it may be morphine-inspired). For now, I'll just say: Thanks for reading!
Now if you don't mind, I'm going to get back to my Busy Breasts Playset™. It's Bonus Biopsy™ time!!!
Except that it's not good for them. Not only are they doing advanced calculus, they are also a hotbed of abnormal cellular activity. And that's how I ended up here, newly diagnosed with breast cancer. I don't know if people still read blogs anymore, but I thought this would be a good place to document my journey. So for anyone out there reading this: welcome, and thank you for joining me! I will try not to put you to sleep with my musings.
When I mentioned to my friend Shelley that I had "busy breasts" she joked that it sounded like the name of a children's toy. Indeed it does! I actually think this is a novel idea and would be willing to license this intellectual property to any of the major toy manufacturers (I'm looking at you, Fisher Price).
So what exactly would be the function of that toy? Well, based on my personal experiences during the last year or so, I have some ideas:
- Squish the toy firmly between two plates using the Marvelous Mammogram Playset™ (sold separately). Repeatedly. Make sure to squish it at multiple different angles. It's fun! So squishy!
- Decide that the toy has not been squished nearly enough, and squish it a few more times.
- Use the Super Ultrasound Playset™ (sold separately) to more thoroughly examine the toy. Oooo, looks like aliens and potatoes on the screen!
- Use the Magnificent MRI Playset™ (also sold separately) to peer deeply into the toy. It is recommended that you also purchase the No-Noise Earmuffs™ for use during this step, as the Magnificent MRI Playset™ is extremely noisy.
- Now here's where the fun really starts: Get out your Bonus Biopsy Kit™ (sold separately) and have a blast removing bits of "mystery stuff" from your Busy Breasts using extremely thick hollow needles. You'll want to use your Pathology Playset™ (sold separately) to find out what these bits of mystery stuff are made of. The excitement of finding abnormal cells will keep you on the edge of your seat!
- When your Pathology Playset™ shows that some of the mystery stuff is rather questionable, get out your Surgery Starter Kit™ (sold separately) to slice into your Busy Breasts Playset™ to remove a larger chunk of mystery stuff. Again, use the Pathology Playset™ to evaluate the mystery stuff. If it looks okay, put your Busy Breasts Playset™ away for one year, then start over again at Step 1.
- When you re-do Step 5, you may find that your Pathology Playset™ discovers something called "cancer" (1 out of every 8 Busy Breasts Playset™ has this "feature"). If you find this, the Surgery Starter Kit™ won't be enough and you'll need to add on the Mastectomy Bundle™ (sold separately). This bundle includes not only precision surgical instruments, but also a whole new set of Busy Breasts™ that should be a lot less busy than the original set. Note: it is not recommended to use the Marvelous Mammogram Playset, Bonus Biopsy Kit, or Mastectomy Bundle on the replacement Busy Breasts.
Now who wouldn't want to buy this toy, am I right???
It certainly sounds more fun than being the owner of actual busy breasts and experiencing all these things being done to me. But I have to say, even though my poor boobs have been through a lot, I am so grateful for it because my cancer was caught early, which means I should be able to live a long, healthy life.
To properly preface this blog, let me take you all back in time a little bit. Last fall, I had my first ever mammogram, and the radiologist spotted a bunch of "mystery stuff" (my technical term, not his), which resulted in me having 4 core needle biopsies (2 in each boob). Three of the biopsies were all clear, but one of them showed something called Atypical Ductal Hyperplasia (ADH). This isn't cancer, and it's not even technically pre-cancer, but it is often found alongside cancer and can be an indicator of future cancer risk. So I was sent for a surgical biopsy to remove a larger tissue sample from that area. Fortunately, no cancer was found, just ADH, so I was free to go until the next year.
This fall, I had my second mammogram and the radiologist spotted a bunch of NEW mystery stuff that wasn't there last year in both boobs. Well, isn't that cute??? He did 4 more core needle biopsies (2 in each boob again, because we don't want either boob to feel shortchanged). Now, if you've never had a breast biopsy before, you may not know that each time they take a biopsy sample, they insert a tiny titanium marker into the breast so that they can see it on future mammograms. These markers come in various shapes and sizes, because some people may have more than one biopsy. In the course of a year, I had had so many biopsies (8 total), they had run out of marker shapes to give me. I actually have duplicates! The radiologist who did all of my biopsies was clearly starting to get sick of seeing me. To be fair, I think I was getting more sick of seeing him. I mean, he wasn't the one getting repeatedly stabbed by very large needles.
The biopsies from my right boob (which had ADH last year) came back all clear. Whew! I figured I was good to go, because that was the breast I was most concerned about. But then a few days later I got the call about my left breast biopsies. I'll never forget that moment on October 10, because I had just gotten off a plane in Florida and was ready to start a nice family vacation when the nurse called me to tell me I had breast cancer. That bitch!
Okay, actually she was very sweet and not at all a bitch. I can't imagine having to do what she does and deliver this kind of news to people with compassion and kindness. Nurses rock!
So you may be wondering what happens now. Well, I'll tell you. And then you'll be sorry you asked.
In the last month, I have had more doctor appointments than I can count on both hands. The most important appointments were with my breast surgeon (who did my surgical biopsy last year) and my plastic surgeon. My breast surgeon, who was not thrilled to be seeing me again a year later, and this time about the other boob, gave it to me straight. She said she hardly ever makes this recommendation to anyone, but due to my young age and my Very Busy Breasts™, she was recommending a bilateral mastectomy (BMX for those of you who like medical jargon) with immediate reconstruction. I'm glad she recommended that, because I was about to ask for it. We were on the same page. Sure I could just have a lumpectomy and radiation, but with all the changes going on in my boobs, it was super likely I'd have to get poked with more needles every year until eventually I'd leak like a water balloon with lots of holes in it. That's really no fun for anyone (despite the fact that it sounds kinda fun to watch).
So, let's just chop 'em off and be done with it!
My surgery is scheduled for November 13, and it is fast approaching. The breast surgeon and the plastic surgeon will work in tandem. The breast surgeon will perform the mastectomy on one side, then when she moves to the other side, the plastic surgeon will do the reconstruction on the first side. The goal is to keep my own nips, but they won't know for sure if I can do that until they get in there and make sure there's no funky cancer cells lurking in that area. The goal is also to go direct to implant, but if they can't save enough skin to accommodate the implants, they will have to insert tissue expanders that will be gradually filled over the course of many months to stretch the skin, before being swapped out for implants.
Something else that will be done during my surgery is a sentinel node biopsy, where they check a few lymph nodes near the cancer site to see if the cancer has started to spread. The results of this will determine the need for further systemic or targeted therapies (such as chemo or radiation). Since the cancer was caught early, the hope is to not need chemo or radiation, but we'll cross that bridge if/when we get to it.
TL;DR, I'm swapping out my old cancer-containing boobs for a new set of cancer-free boobs, and after that, I don't know exactly what will happen, but I'll keep you posted.
I think this is a good first blog post. I could go into a lot more detail, but let's be honest - you don't want to read it, and I don't want to type it. I'll have lots of time during my recovery to post stuff (and some of it may be morphine-inspired). For now, I'll just say: Thanks for reading!
Now if you don't mind, I'm going to get back to my Busy Breasts Playset™. It's Bonus Biopsy™ time!!!
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