"Not Fair"

No, I didn't say it. Well, yeah, I think it and probably have, but my ex-husband actually emailed that it was not fair that he would have to watch our daughter sometimes while both hubby and I are working in the next few weeks before my surgery.

Mind you, it's not a lot. 3-4 nights a week. Usually he watches her less, but we have a busy schedule.

Plus, he doesn't have to support himself. Or, apparently, pay child support.

So, I laugh at his "not fair" view of his world. A world where, at 50 years old, he doesn't have to work, his bills are paid, I have no idea what he does all day but certainly he does not clean his home or do much constructive work. Doesn't cook, according to my daughter (that's the grandparent's job). He used to cook when we were together - once in a while, but a man who "can't cook" and a George Foreman grill are magic. And, how hard is it to cook eggs, make a salad, cook pasta? I mean, really. My daughter can cook quite a few dishes at 11 years old. And she can clean up the house (with a lot of coaxing, but she CAN - and she goes to school all day!)

Anyway, my violin ain't playing for that pathetic slob, but I'm still very upset. I'm looking at canceling a lot of really good work - work I NEED for many reasons - financial, career sustainability, and sanity.

But they're not worth my daughter's well being.

She drew some very telling illustrations last week, of family members. Hubby and I had really nice ones, we're fun, we like things she likes, we are kind, we are hard working (cons were that we like healthy food - but she does too! I think she was looking for something to write).  Her dad? Doesn't like things she likes. Is "sort of " hard working. Forgets to pick her up at school. I saw right through it. Crying for help. But afraid to ask. What do we do with that? I know she knows that we are here for her, that we don't judge. As long as she tells the truth - we can work everything out. She is becoming clear that lying is really the way to get in trouble in this house. But, that's how her dad lives, so I can see her conflict.  She can do anything there. She gets what she wants. She can be a sloth watching tv round the clock and when we have her, we have no time to play - because we're catching up on homework so she doesn't fail. But dad doesn't get that, he was kicked out of high school. And look at the success he is!!!

So, I have cancer. I'm trying to gear up for this surgery and some very challenging work ahead of me - it will be emotional and I'll have to try and not cry. In fact, a song I heard for one show talks about breast cancer in a lyric. I started bawling when I heard it, and I was on the street!

But, poor ex husband. It's not fair for him at all. It's not fair that he doesn't have fucking BALL CANCER.

Fuck him.

My child is sacred to me. He doesn't live like we do. He doesn't get it. If I have to cancel all of this work we will suffer financially, my head will really suffer from the loss of work, my premature disappearance from "the scene", but in the long run - she is my baby. She is more important than anything. If we drop way into debt over this, but she feels safe, that's what we will do.

Someone suggested to me that we have musician friends hold a concert to raise some cash for my recovery time - we're really going to be hurting for a while since I won't be able to do what I do for many months after. At first I didn't think it was "me", but hubby and I thought maybe he could do something with friends from both sides. I'm worried about it, the financial toll. I say I'm not, but that's a lie. I have stashed away from good jobs, but I worry that it will hurt us in the future. I guess we'll sort it out. But it sucks to worry about stuff like this, when I know my ex is suffering so.

And as I wield my sword of sarcasm, I realize how much he hurts me. And I shouldn't let him. If you know him, you can probably understand a tiny bit of my pain. Hubby said he wants to call him and talk, and I advised him to record the conversation. There is a reason I only email with him - he is a pathological liar and at least I have proof, though his writing abilities are at best at a 2nd grade level. And I'm not kidding or being mean. It's true, and sad. Sometimes I have to reword what he wrote and ask him if that is what he meant. Seriously.

Anyway, I get my baby girl back in an hour or so - and I have been procrastinating so much on what needs to be done around the house. Something tells me I will not get much done, but of course I hear that voice in the back of my head that says I will have tons of time after October 24.  That seems fair!

Busy times... but pre-op labwork is done

I stopped in to see my breast surgeon (not the plastic one, the one who taketh away...) and his lovely nurse. Had a great chat, picked up some copies of records, had an EKG, and they sucked out a few gallons of blood. I'm proud of myself for not passing out, but maybe I'm getting used to all of this. Or maybe, I was too tired to care.

It's been a hectic week. I have a long night of working ahead of me, so I booked a massage beforehand. Meanwhile, after seeing the docs (oh, and by the way - I tested as NEGATIVE for the genetic mutant stuff... yay!) I did a bit of shopping to try and find another sports bra type of garment that zips or snaps or something up the front without wires and padding and crap. NOTHING. I even went so far as to stop into a Kmart. I figured, they HAVE to have a good stock of old lady underthings! Nope. I guess Kmart is jumping on the young'n bandwagon. I went to a few other stores too. I may just have to wear the surgical bra they will issue to me and find an alternative way to keep the girls in place while I wash and dry the hideous garment.

Of course, I'm assuming it will be hideous. Anything hospital issued is... which reminds me - I should look into a new robe for the hospital. I know I will hopefully only be there a day, and with the blood and what not... well, maybe I should stick to their plan. But I could bring some sharpies and have my daughter and husband decorate it for me. Would they be mad? I could say I don't know who did it. Must have happened when the pain meds were carrying me blissfully to a world without missing breasts - my dreams.

So, I will pack my bedazzler. Just in case.

I also looked for a few button down shirts, but things were either too expensive or too cute. I really don't want to stress about my drains spilling onto the top that I thought would look so cute on when I'm healed. I just need ugly shirts that open and close in front. You'd think I was looking for an old lady bra or something!!!

I just scarfed down some leftover fried chicken that my daughter left behind. I did have it with about 2 cups of fresh baby organic spinach, and my cottage cheese/flaxseed concoction. And a glass of kombucha, followed by a cup of coffee (well, I already have cancer, so I've decided that I can have a treat). Besides, I'm in PMS mode! Which brings up my next question... what's for dinner???

Anyway, the doc did mention that after surgery we will talk about any other treatments that will be needed. Which, I didn't want to speak aloud (much like "Voldemort"), I assumed was either Chemotherapy or Radiation. Am I allowed to say no to Chemo? I mean, I am. Of course, it's my body. I guess we'll just see, but damn, I do not want to endure what my mom did so many times over the course of 10 years.

However, I look good bald. I was close to bald for 8 years on and off. Apparently my head is nicely shaped. But I'd like to keep my hair right now. That would be the least of my fears, though. I'm sure nobody looks forward to being poisoned. Except those weirdos in those freaky cults.

So that's the news. I spoke with a therapist friend yesterday and she really made me break down and cry. She encouraged me to take as much time as I can after surgery, no matter how physically well I'm healed. My brain hasn't had time to make sense of any of this. I'm running 24/7, and I'm so booked right until surgery - it's a miracle (I'll be sure to squirrel away the cash so my family doesn't starve) and doesn't give me too much time to think and have a meltdown. But after? I'm sure I'll be melting down a bit, I'll have more time to think than I ever have in my life. Yes, I still plan on cleaning closets. I plan on planning new color schemes for the apartment. Lots of stuff needs to be done. But maybe, my brain can rest and reset. I'm a Type A, if you believe in categorizing yourself by letter. At first, I thought it meant "Awesome", but I now realize it means "AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!"  Interesting to see how I can calm my mind. Pain meds should help. I may end up watching Quincy again - hubs and I watched some this summer on Ye Olde Netflixxe, and we are still quoting it. Jack Klugman, you are going to possibly be my Cancer Recovery Mind Numbing Hero. I mean, I LOVED that show - not saying it sucked by any means, but you can definitely watch and laugh and forget about the fact that your breast tissue is now in  a garbage can at the hospital. At least until the mystery is solved.  "Just like your theories, Quince..."

Back to this cancer thing...

Sorry I got off track with the ex. It's funny, people either forget their stupid pasts in light of illness, or really show their true colors. I'm going to show mine by continuing to be a hilarious human being, by trying my best to NOT let anyone bring me down (even you, Cancer - stupid bitch!!!), being Mom and Wife to the most amazing people in my tiny family, and by rocking my career up until my surgery date.

Yup. That's right. I almost turned down a bunch of really cool work when I got my diagnosis. I was so scared that I'd have to back out last minute, I'd let people down, but the truth? Doctors are happy to work around MY schedule. I mean, they can't operate with me not there, right? I'm glad I'm not on death's door - so we could wait a bit. And I have gotten more calls, it seems every nook and cranny could possibly be filled from now until surgery! What the .... !!!

Today, I received my surgery date. October 24th. Mark it down in your calendars. Don't eat after midnight to show your solidarity with my breasts if you feel like it - I sure hope I'm not hormonal when this rolls around, 'cuz I can sure wolf down 3 times my weight in snacks when the timing is right (or wrong)! I have been through several surgeries with my daughter and always hated the no eating rule - I get it, but try to tell a 4 month old that she can't eat or drink anything after midnight until they put her under. Um, I was never great at baby talk, but if she could go through the heinous situation several times in the past 10 years, I can do this. In fact, her last surgery was a doozy - and with 3 sites healing, swelling like mad, she refused even baby tylenol. I think she's more Surgery Gangsta than her mom. Maybe I can learn from her. But, just in case, I'll keep some pain meds handy. At least some wine, as long as hubby opens the cork for me (and I'm allowed a sip by the docs!)

Yes, a few skills I realized I can work on while recovering. Opening a wine bottle. I'm the worst. I barely drink, which might be part of the problem, but I can mangle a cork like nobody's business. Perhaps I should start purchasing wine in a box. I can also catch up on a million shows. We don't have tv, but thanks to Netflix, I can fry my brain by letting the screen tell me everything - no need for imagination!

More useful skills I can work on - learning a new language. Learning to play the piano better than a toddler. Cleaning out every nook and cranny in our home and making the Goodwill jump for joy. Of course, I'll need some help with all the scar tissue and pain and what not, but it's one of those projects that I always want to get done and get bits and pieces rolling once in a while. I want to simplify.

I also want a massage chair. A REALLY good one. We don't have the cash for one, but damn, it seems like an investment in my health. I have back issues anyway, and I can only imagine that lying on my stomach on a massage table will be painful and scary. And what therapist would be willing to drive their elbows into my back, knowing what my front has just been through?

Any good suggestions? I have credit cards. What the hell. I guess I can consider it a welcome gift to my new boobies.  Or something. Help me out, folks.

I think insurance should pay for crap like that. Or at least help out. Seriously, recovery clocks in at around 6 weeks. Depression, pain, inability to do what I do for a living, and then the requirement to crawl before I walk in my talent - I'm old! I've worked hard! Now I'm going to have to start over again... I think I deserve a present that will help me recover.

I'd also like a really shallow gift - but eventually I'll buy it or outgrow it. It's a fancy handbag. And I love handbags. And it's a classic that I could pass down to my daughter - if she ever decides to like girl things. However, chair first.

Then, new cancer free boobs.

In the meantime, clear the home, watch some mind numbing tv, learn a language, learn to open a bottle of wine without looking like a complete ass, become a pianostic virtuoso.

Then, career back on track.

Eventually, new handbag.

Funny thing about being an artist. Everyone wants to work. I'm very lucky in getting calls as I do. A short time ago, I got a message from someone in the business, just saying "hi". This person never says hi. In fact, I can't really remember a time that this person was kind to me, though I was incredibly kind in their direction.

Something tells me that the cancer cat got out of the bag, and said person wants my gigs while I'm out of commission.

I know my people. As hubby likes to identify human beings as being "our people" or not... this is not "our people". But I can only hope that folks like this will eventually grow up or learn a lesson. Yes, I'll need to refer others to gigs that I have to turn down due to an inactive career, in the healing phase. Those gigs will go to "my people", those who say hi and mean, "how are you? I really care about you as a person and not as someone who can possibly get me a gig".

Enough of this negativity. Just puking out some stuff that left a bad aftertaste. Message deleted. Smile on my face. Because, by mid December, I will be among the living, and working toward being better at what I do than I am now. And I like to envision that I will be kicking ass by January or February, even if they are small asses.

The good thing about being busy, is that you feel less like you're waiting for your death sentence.

Wow. What a day. Up at 6 after moving furniture the night before and getting a whopping 5 hours of sleep. Practice my craft, get my kiddo up and ready for school, sequester the cats in the bathroom so the workmen don't hurt them (and vice versa, naturally!), work for 9 hours, then to a rehearsal, then to a freakout match with ex-hubby. Apparently, he is still an ass.

I finally got a chance to enjoy a yogurt, move some furniture back, reassure the cats that they will not have to live in the bathroom, and scream in my isolation booth. Next, a glass of wine. And, no doubt, another restless night before my 6am alarm. This will happen until late Saturday night.

I still haven't heard back about the genetic testing. I still feel like I live in a dark hole inside my brain, emerging to work like crazy, be supermom, be distracted, just to lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling, *hoping* that I will wake up in the morning instead of being consumed by cancer and dying in my sleep. I know, stupid. But, it's how I feel.

I've had fantasies of using Cancer as my excuse for everything. Bump into someone on the street by accident? "Oh, I'm sorry. I have cancer. I can't help it" - can't hear what someone says? "Sorry, my hearing isn't the same since my cancer diagnosis" - late for an appointment? "Boy, this cancer really gets in the way of being punctual" - get angry at someone for no reason and start yelling at them? - "sheesh, sorry you had to see that. My cancer rage is really out of control these days"... and so on.

But I don't do it. I do joke with hubby as we walk down the street and stuff happens. I tell him he should use it, too. It's just as easy to proclaim, "Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry, I didn't see you standing there. My wife's cancer really has affected my depth perception".  This could really take on a life of it's own.

But there it is. Living a life inside my body. I sometimes get the heebie jeebies thinking about it. It's like a parasite, feeding off of me. Wish I'd gotten a tapeworm instead. At least then I could stress eat and it wouldn't go to my middle! Damn, what I wouldn't do for some cake right about now.

But here I am. With cancer. And a cancerous ex-husband. And a wonderful current husband. And a lovely daughter. I feel for her, she has to spend time with her dad, and he's just toxic. He teaches her to lie to me. He lets her fail in school. I wish I could take her away from him - and he has asked time and again if he should give me full custody since our divorce - which is what I have wanted all along, but then he chickens out and denies it. He also says he's going to move to Europe. Um, he has no money, at least - none to pay child support at it's lowest rate (for an unemployed dad). Europe is always very expensive when I go on business. But then again, he lives in Denial. He thinks everything bad in his life is my fault. Shit, I was a newborn when he was our daughter's age. I had never heard of most of the things that he partook of illegally until I met him and he had to explain (after we were married and pregnant) what those things were. If I had known earlier, I wouldn't have stayed. But then I wouldn't have my girl. And that would suck. It always amazes me that he blames me for all sorts of shit that happened before I ever met him. Must be nice to have a scapegoat for everything.

Oh, Karma... where the hell are you? And why did I get the cancer? I'm not perfect, but crap - I could give you a list of folks who are begging for it. In fact, I mentioned to hubby that my ex is probably jealous of my cancer. Always the victim. No matter, I'm sure he's using my cancer as his excuse in lots of scenarios.... HOLY SHIT! He's using our game, the one where we joke about using it as an excuse for everything.

Wow, maybe he's smarter than I thought. Sorry, I'm just not thinking clearly anymore. It's the cancer...

ps. Did I mention that he forgot to pick her up from school today? I ran over to hang with her and see what would happen, and when I mentioned that he was supposed to pick her up, she sighed and said "oh wow. Dad forgot me. What a shock", and I really don't want my kid to grow up like that, but there it is. I did win Cool Mom points with her friends, so there's something!

Gloomy Sunday? Baking soda water can cheer you up!

Not really, but what a haunting tune. Check out Big Maybelle singing it. Yowch.

I was syncing my phone this morning, apparently there was an update so I figured , it won't kill me to update before I go to the gym. Except that something happened, and it had to abort the whole thing - and had to restore my phone to factory settings. Now I'm recovering it, I'm assuming without the update. A waste of time, but I couldn't leave home without my phone and music. So instead, I moved furniture - which I had to do since tomorrow there will be more construction at home. It's been an ongoing project in our apartment complex. I sure hope it's over soon. Still more to move, but I got some done, had a nice raw almond butter sandwich on Ezekiel bread for breakfast, and, after being hungry still (story of my life!) a little organic cottage cheese with flaxseed oil. I am not a fan of this new brand of cottage cheese we bought - Organic Nancy's. It's really got a biting taste - but I can't waste the crap, so down it goes.

Had an interesting day yesterday - morning workout with my man, then a nice long walk to get my hair trimmed, followed by an accidental passing by of an old friend's health food store. I've done it before and he's never been in, I guess being part owner, you don't need to... but I stopped in anyway, and he was there! We talked a lot about good things, and I told him about the cancer. It was interesting  talking to him  -  and he highly recommended drinking Baking Soda  and water to oxygenate the blood.  Do a search and you'll find many articles on it - combining with other ingredients or on it's own. So I got a bag of Bob's Red Mill Baking Soda (I'm sure better than the box that has been open in my fridge for a year or more!) enjoyed my chat, and ran off to dinner with the man.  Sushi. I didn't realize how I'd been craving it!

All in all, a nice day. He was exhausted when we got home - usually that's my role! We were going to work on a project but he just couldn't, so off to bed we went. I sat up and read a stupid health magazine (one of those things from an airline frequent flyer program I think) and laughed at how shallow it was about health.  But it put me to sleep eventually.

Woke up as my guy was leaving for his flight, and went back to sleep on and off a little. It wasn't easy, so I got up, head pounding. Took care of some biz I had to, got dressed in gym clothes... and that was 3 hours ago. This damn phone kept me from hitting the gym, but it hopefully will be done with whatever it's been doing. I need to sweat a bit. My head is still killing me and I just want to sleep, but I know it would never happen.

I hate feeling so uncertain about anything. I want to know if I have the gene. I want to know when my surgery will be, how long I will be unavailable to the planet as an artist, how long until I can work on my craft again. It sucks not knowing.

But I did choke down a glass of baking soda water. And my friend was right - it's like drinking sea water but not as salty. I can do that easily. If I can choke down that damned Noni juice, and this Nancy's organic cottage cheese, well - I can do that easily.

I wish I could just try to heal myself naturally. If this were 13 years ago, I would have gone that route. But now I have people that I love, people who love me. I've been on my own for so long, relationships were really bs, I've never been connected to anyone like my husband before - and my daughter, well, it goes without saying that I need to be my best for her. Speaking of, my phone is still updating but I'm going to get my gym shoes on and get ready to hit the door when it's done! And after that - fun times with my girly - I sure hope she did her homework!

A very frustrating day, unrelated to cancer.

My ex husband. Worse than cancer. If only I could have an Ex-stectomy and radiate the shit out of him.

And rebuild him with a fake ex. Even if it were just a mannequin, it would be smarter.

In other news... I still have cancer. And I'm tired and try to stay as upbeat as I can. But the ex husband... boy, he really screws all that up. And he knows he does. It's what he does best. Trying to make others more miserable than he is.

Om.  4 agreements. I am rubber, he is glue. Other shit.

Glass of wine and book. I have to get up in 7 hours. But something tells me I won't sleep. I know, I need to take care of myself. About that Ex-stectomy...

...Survey says...

How many hours do you think a consultation with the plastic surgeon would take? 1? 2?

Try 3.

Yup. 3.  That's 1.5 hours per breast.

But we felt good about the visit. Once I got over the cramp in my hand from filling out so much paperwork, we talked to the nurse. All vitals showed that I am alive. And my pesky 5 lb. weight gain turned to 4. Though we had Chinese food for dinner, so who knows what tomorrow will bring.

I learned a lot. About expanders (did you know that they have a magnet? We're definitely going to test it out with refrigerator magnets post op!). It'll be months of "Fill 'er up" until the exchange happens. They inject saline into the bugger until it's the right size, and my pec isn't too mad about it (and yes, I'll have to lay off the bench press for a long time). But I'll have a brand new breast. And they will exchange the expander for a shiny new silicone jellyfish, minus tentacles.

After learning the process, I don't want to exchange for porn star size. I may even end up a little smaller. I think when I reach 90, I'll be glad. Though if I have a hard time eating, my cookie crumbs will end up on the floor instead of my chest. Sigh. But the whole lack of tissue, the thinness of skin without actual breast tissue, well, I don't want my DD's to rip through my chest wall one day and, say, land on the sidewalk, squirming little bloody tentacle-less jellyfish quivering on the ground, fearful of the busy NYers stomping down the sidewalk, not looking up from their smartphones, and slipping and popping my gorgeous faux mammary blobs. Though, it would teach them to not text so much... but still, I'd be bummed about the girls. So, let them text, and let me have a normal sized chest.

And the doc addressed my concerns about being even. Which I've never been. So we'd most likely add a baby'plant to the other side. Unless the genetic test comes back bad. I mean positive. Which is negative. Meaning, my other breast will meet a similar fate.

Things like "nipple reconstruction" make me want to puke. And we only looked at illustrations of how it's done. Yikes. Also, cadaver tissue to help anchor the new stuff I'll be wearing on the inside. No disrespect for the dead, but wow.

But the good, or bad, news is that I don't have enough chubosity for them to suck out my gut or love handles to use. I guess I should take that as a compliment, but I was kind of hoping they could give me an actual waist. I even asked if he could take a little from my chin, which literally would be half an ounce. A girl's gotta try, though. I guess I'll have to take care of that when I'm older and more wobbly. And pay out of pocket. Though, after this whole ordeal, I'm thinking that I won't want any elective surgery.

The bad news about the implants, nothing is forever. Except love. Unless it's crap love. Lucky for me I have the real thing. Unlucky for me, implants are not true love - so every few years I have to get checked to see if I have silicone coursing through my veins. Of course, the best course of research will be MRI, and I'm not too keen on that whole scene. Maybe I'll just see if I start to deflate. Hopefully they'll have a better system by then. Or maybe I can get them to use something less realistic but hard to pop. Like play-doh. Or Fart Putty!!!  I once bought this on the road and it had me in tears. How fun, to have my breasts fart with every hug. I'd just blush a little and say, "Oh, so sorry. I've had a mastectomy and reconstruction. I thought Fart Putty would keep it funny, and now - breast cancer is no longer the somber discussion it once was". But something tells me that the surgeon will not agree to give me a farting breast.

That's all for now. I guesstimate this to be a 9 month process. I will have to lay off of my craft in it's fullest form - but will be doing the bare bones of my art within a couple of months after I go under the knife initially. A lot of rehab, a lot of massages from hubby (I've already suggested that I should be getting daily back massages to prepare me for this experience. A foot rub will certainly help as well, don'tcha think?) and a lot of positive thinking and laughing (see: farting breast).

And now, I'm watching my daughter play a video game that I have yet to figure out. But I'll bet that I will be one badass video gamestress during recovery.

I do believe I've made up quite a few words in this entry. I think it's the MSG talking. I know, folks really don't use it anymore, but I'm trying to find an excuse for my insanity. Work with me, people.

We're off to see the surgeon, the surgeon of wonderful boobs...

Well, we got an appointment for the plastic surgeon tomorrow - the guy that works with the guy that we love. As I understand it currently, they'd work together, lop off the old and begin the new (expanders and what not) in one long-ass day. Perhaps 7-10 hours.  I say, suck a little fat out of my chin, taper my love handles, and perhaps remove a few ribs. Since I'll be there, knocked out and will have to endure recovery no matter what - why not?

We still haven't told our little girl. How do you approach the subject? I figure the more info we have, with a game plan in place, it will be better. Because we still don't know shit. I don't want to tell her that I have cancer, but I don't know what we're going to do, or when I'll have surgery, or what they're going to do in surgery.

That leaves a lot of room for worry.  For us too - which is why I'm glad we got in tomorrow. They nicely fit us in last minute, switched some appointments around. I guess the folks they switched already had their game plan in place.

I've put on a few lbs. I'm not fat - if you know me, I tend to flip flop between "fighting shape" and "not bad for my age". I hate that saying, but it's true. I'd much rather be in great shape, regardless of age. I know it's stress. I know it's me being depressed and not able to get my butt to the gym (and when I go, I feel kind of lame, I work slow, I lift less, I "work out like a girl", essentially). That's why it's best for me to go with hubby. Sometimes I want to kick him in the nuts when he acts like I'm being a badass, but of course I love him to bits. Nuts and all. So I tell him to shut up as I huff and puff lifting whatever God-forsaken weight I am stuck under or grunting to lift. And I love him endlessly for his encouragement.

So I need to be better. For me. For my daughter. For my recovery from whatever they're going to do to me.

It's amazing, I'm really not taking in more calories. I'm just less active. And sad. I think sadness affects metabolism. Has anyone ever studied that???

So, once again, Fuck You, Cancer. Fuck you for making me lose my breast in the near future, possibly both. Fuck you for making me sad so I am now carrying a few extra pounds. And fuck you, because I am ridiculously healthy in my lifestyle and diet. Why can't you pick on someone who needs a wakeup call? Not me.

Oh well. I'm in it. Maybe it's a sign that I should begin eating fast food and living like a sloth.

Too late, I'm hooked on my healthy lifestyle. Let's hope my new boobs are way better than these things. There MUST be a bright side to all of this.

Supplementing and cancer centered eating and other voodoo

I promised a few days ago that I would post a list of the crazy things I'm doing to try and kill off those stupid cells.

1.  According to the Budwig Center, a tasty blend of cottage cheese and high quality flaxseed oil is what'cha need to be cancer free!  Mmmm. I love both of those things. Every day, I take my handy Cuisinart Smart stick hand blender and pulverize the two to become one. Rumor has it that if you simply stir them together, you may clean out more than your cancer. It works well as a salad dressing, and even tastes guilty in texture. I used to use a little flaxseed oil, salt and some kelp flakes, but now? Mmm, you can season this stuff and feel like you're back at the Hidden Valley Ranch! I had a slight obsession with ranch dressing when it made it's debut in the 70s or 80s, but had to stop when I realized that my salads had 2,000 calories in dressing alone.  Today, hubby and I picked a ton of fresh basil from our garden, so I whipped up some basil, garlic, and walnuts (another cancer cure!) to make a creamy pesto that I spread onto some toasted Ezekiel Bread - which is flour free and made from sprouted grains. So it has a slow burn, or glycemic index, doesn't make you chubby like regular bread, and tastes incredible. We've been addicted to this bread for years.

2. Zeolite. Sounds like some superhero, and maybe it is.  Non toxic, detoxifying, made from earth clay.  Sucks out the toxins - heavy metals (that's so 80's, anyway!) and other harmful chemicals and environmental crap.  It holds a negative charge and bonds with the toxins. Crazy, 'eh? Apparently you can use it for a facial too, I may have to try that tonight. Or add to bath water... I'm not that rich, but someday! After my MRI, this stuff made me nauseous, I think it was the large amount of crud that they pumped into my blood to see the cancer dudes dancing in my breasts.  I'd rather feel a little sick than glow in the dark!

3. Walnuts. Conveniently, my favorite nut (besides my husband!!!) That's an easy one to incorporate, as always with nuts, raw and unsalted are best. Sprinkle on salads, throw into your homemade pesto, use as a garnish on dinner plates, and if you must cook them, I highly recommend baking a cobbler.  My husband makes the best cobbler, ever.

4. Turmeric. I started using turmeric for it's anti-inflammatory properties, a week before my diagnosis. If only I'd needed the healing properties sooner for inflammation, but hey - better late than never! I have it in a liquid that I drink with water, and I love the flavor, so we add it to food (it's good in that cottage cheese/flaxseed oil mush!)

5. A very good friend of mine suggested I try Noni juice when he heard of my diagnosis. First of all, it is VILE. I'm getting used to it. But the best mixture I found is prune juice - if you like prune juice of course! Grape juice is a good mask too. We tried triple sec and that worked wonders, but of course, is not the best idea.  Sigh. But I can now drink it straight and not vomit.

6. Infrared Sauna. I bought an infrared sauna bag after going to a spa for this treatment, months ago. I realized that, as nice as it was to go to someone else's quiet zone and get wrapped in a sauna bag and sweat for an hour, I could buy a bag myself for the cost of several treatments. Lucky for me, it's good at zapping cancer! Unlucky for me, I didn't use it much because it was hot, and then I was out of town. But I have it, so even if I can hop in it 20 minutes a few times a week, it feels great and I feel detoxified just a bit more.

I'll probably revise this list, there is so much I'm doing that I always have - green tea, leafy greens, lots of veggies and fruits, blahblahblah. Perhaps that's why it took so long for the cancer to grow in me. I'm the oldest woman in my family to be diagnosed - and I'm young!  Well, I like to think I'm young. Ish.

My first decent workout in a while...

Met the hubby at the gym this evening, and I felt like a girl. Usually I feel strong, I know what I'm doing, but tonight felt like such a struggle. The weights felt so... well, heavy! But he said I was keeping at my usual pace, and even when doing bicep curls, the weight I would have preferred was being taken, so I upped it by 5 on each arm, and somehow struggled through the ends of the sets. I think I cursed a bit under my breath, but I did it.

I keep thinking that I need to get strong now, before they chop me up and I have to lay in a bed full of scar tissue and foreign objects, trying to get to know my brand new body. I figure I should get a head start on it. Plus, I've just been too lazy. I've been depressed about it all. But I know, there is nothing worse than letting yourself sink into that for too long. Yeah, crying is good. Hiding under the covers for a day is therapeutic, as long as it's not a week. Or longer. I haven't had time to cry, or hide. I've been finding snippets of time to do so, and maybe tomorrow will be a good opportunity to go away for a day, in my head. But tonight, I lifted heavy things, I did cardio (which I hate, but I know I need to keep my lymph flowing), and after - we had organic, grass fed burgers. And onion rings. And we laughed a lot. I married my best friend and I'll be damned if this shit ruins our amazing life together.

Fuck you, cancer.

MRI results

Most of my visit with the oncologist today is a blur. All I know is lumpectomy is not a possible solution, so the whole bugger has to come off. We'll call the plastic surgeon tomorrow and try like heck to get an appointment next week for consultation - as my schedule is nuts over the next few weeks. Overall, I'm not shocked. But of course, I am.

Apparently, the cells are scattered in the upper lateral quadrant. Feisty little buggers. So there's no big old thing they can scoop out. And I just had a blood draw to see if I carry the gene. If so, it's OFF WITH YOUR... oh, that's the wrong body part. But I'd most likely just have to get rid of all that chick tissue and have reconstruction, which is probably a more aesthetically appealing solution anyway. Hell of a recovery time, and the surgery will most likely be between 7-8 hours or so, but hey. I've done 12 hour rehearsals for a month without break. I can do anything.  Sort of.

The most wonderful thing about this doc is that he's really smart, but also compassionate. He's like the grandpa you see in warm, fuzzy family shows or made for tv movies. He's the guy that cares about you as a person, not as a patient or a number.

I found out through my regular doc that after our initial visit with him, he ran over to the radiology joint to look at my shots there. Apparently you can see better on the actual machines than you can on the prints they provide. Sort of like Fotomat quality in the 70s. I guess.  Also - he saw us on his day off.

And he gave us his cell phone number. His nurse gave us her number and said to call anytime with anything or nothing.

We are still going to get more opinions. Of course! You don't sign up to chop your boobs off without being sure that's the best idea. But, my gut tells me that he's the man for the job. And I very rarely have nice things to say about doctors.

My general doc, who is actually a nurse practitioner, is also cut from a similar cloth. She will suggest to me that certain boosters are due, things that I generally am not cool with, things that can be cured.  And she will say that she can give me a pamphlet to bring home and read, but that most likely I won't opt to have the shots. Let's save a tree. That's better than giving me paper that she knows won't change my mind.

I'm glad that the nausea is gone for now. But I was not hungry today. I forced myself to eat a salad at 1:30 so that I wouldn't collapse while running to the doc. Glad I did, especially since they sucked all that blood out for genetic testing. Got home and hubby had fixed a plate of salad and asparagus with some HOT FREAKING PEPPERS. I love spice but have been laying off for a while. It was so delish but so hot! Luckily I had some cold home brewed kombucha awaiting.

Which reminds me, entry soon regarding the various supplements I've been taking. If you have any experience with any of it, please chime in and tell me what you know. If you're curious, look them up and tell me what you think. I'm not doing anything too crazy, I'm just doing the best I can with what I've got - a favorite quote from a favorite person of mine. A real grandpa figure, and boy, he knows how to live. I'm going to get better at it.

MRI is more dizzying than the Cyclone

2 days later, and I feel a bit nauseous and dizzy.

But I was able to pick up the CD of the images. Not sure I will be able to make heads or tails of anything, but at least I have something to show for my vertigo.

I guess it could be worse. I could have cancer! Oh, shit.

Compiling lists of potential surgeons is also dizzying, which is why I'm not as organized as I should be. I'm usually quite the little organizational machine, but I guess when it's stuff I like, or want to do. I'm not so gung ho about chopping my upper lady-bits off. Or being shot with laser beams or poisoned to kill every creature in my body, good and bad, great and small.

I do know that after I choked down my salad, I rather enjoyed the nectarine I purchased. I'm definitely craving sweet rather than savory. Perhaps I should have waffles for dinner.

A pet peeve of mine was brought to light by a loved one. I don't mind when people say they are praying for me - but when they say they are praying and that I'll be ok (presumably by the power of prayer), that's another story. If you decide to "pray for me", that is your religious or spiritual belief. That makes YOU feel better, that does not kill the cancer cells, or quite frankly, make me feel more confident in my recovery. I need more than prayer. I need good vibes - which may sound like the same thing to you, but not to me. Vibrations are thoughts that travel. If that is indeed what you are doing, and not praying to a God that I may or may not believe in, then different words are much appreciated. If you say you are praying, sending good vibes or thoughts, and are there to support or vent to, that's super. Something I've observed over the years, from my days of going to church, from arguments over religion, from respecting other peoples beliefs and then being looked down upon for not believing in theirs.

Live a good life, do your best, and truly let others live their lives as they believe. That's what I believe in, dizzy or not.

Sorry for my little rant. Really, this hasn't happened - yet. I'm just trying to open up some minds out there, respect your loved ones, and if you don't respect their beliefs, if they're not good people living a good life, then perhaps you're not meant to be there for each other.

I wish I had another nectarine. This nausea is killing me. Wait, that's the cancer! (insert giggle, this shit ain't gonna kill me, and I believe that... most of the time).

MRI, done. WHAT???

Lawdy. This morning was a doozy. Got my girl to school this morning, and ran home to get ready for my MRI.

I thought of going to my gym to do some red light therapy - it's really relaxing and supposedly the red light might be good for cancer. Meaning bad for cancer, good for me.

But I was too tired. AKA - depressed.

I actually considered not going. I considered never seeing another doctor again.

Then my husband called. And I remembered that sweet girl I dropped off at school, and how she needs me more than anyone right now. I heard the voice of the person I've been waiting for all my life. Shit. We just got married. I can't die now! 

So, I went. I felt so weak. My legs have been hurting me for weeks now. It's all mental, I know.

I had to get undressed and put on a flimsy gown. They put an IV line in my arm. The waiting area was about 50 degrees. They brought me a sheet and put me in front of a heater. I considered asking if I could build a campfire, when I was called into the room. Apparently, MRI's are made to look like a spaceship ride. Only it's not fun. And a lot more expensive.

I had to lay down on what looks deceivingly like a massage table. Same sort of face cradle. Except there are these two humungous holes in the table for your breasts to gently cascade out of. I wanted to tell them that I could use a few sizes smaller, but apparently, all went well. 

I had earplugs and noise canceling headphones. If only there were more they could do. Talk about loud. WHAT??? 

Face down, boobs hanging, I was brought back into the spaceship. Tick, tick, tick, BEEP BEEP BEEP... it went on for what felt like days. But, being a musician, I was rather amused by the way the tempo would speed up, the funny rhythms that sounded like a little kid trying to be a rock drummer on his/her pots and pans in the kitchen. The beeps were piercing. I'll bet if ambulances and police cars put that kind of sound on their sirens, folks would get out of the way a lot faster.

I had to actually stop myself from laughing at some of the rhythms that would start, speed up, and abruptly stop. I didn't want to have to go through this again, especially with the nasty radioactive crap they were pumping into my veins. So I suppressed my laughter and oddly smiled through much of the procedure. I'm sure if they could see my face, I would have gone straight to the loony bin. "Keep the robe on, dearie. We have a nice jacket for you. Buckles up the back..."

When I got up, my arms were numb and tingly from having them overhead all that time. I'm not sure how Superman does it. I told them that it was the worst massage I've ever had.

Oddly, I went the wrong way when I left. I did that before, with hubby. And decided it was a sign to go to Loehmanns. I decided I can buy anything I want to, for being such a good girl. But I got nothing. I didn't feel like trying anything on. I even saw earrings I loved, but I didn't want to stand in line. By the way, there was no line.

I did pick up some fruit and asparagus on the way home. Asparagus is supposed to annihilate cancer. Perhaps that's why pee smells so awful afterwards. It's CANCER!  Maybe not. But I always thought that the awful smell was a sign that something bad was being carried away, so I will continue to eat piles of asparagus until it smells no more.

I barely made it home. I just feel so weak. I walked by the door of a massage place I like, they always take walk in's, but I didn't want to walk up the stairs. I didn't want to take off my clothes and lay on a table. THAT seemed like too much work, and I'm a massage whore, excuse the term. So you know I was definitely not myself. 

I'm home now wishing I'd gotten that massage, but I'm glad to be here. I drank my Zeolite - it is supposed to cure everything. I drank some of my kombucha - it is supposed to cure everything. And I guess I should have some Noni juice too. You guessed it.  

I also ate a gluten free bagel - wasn't really hungry but I had fixed it this morning and it was in my bag. I'm not sure if that was a good move though, I don't think it cures anything.

What to do now? I have to practice but I can't imagine doing it. Maybe I'll get in my sauna bag again. It would be smart to sweat out the crap they pushed into my veins. The other night, I only lasted 20 minutes. But it's better than nothing. I don't feel like I have much of a tolerance for anything right now. If my building lit on fire, I'd have a hard time motivating. Maybe that means I need a nap. Well, at least I'm alive, and the MRI is done. I wish I had a robot to clean my house right now, because that's something I really should be doing. It's not bad, but it's one of those days where a spotless home would be really relaxing. We'll see. Maybe I can man up and get some shit done.

Feeling weak

Stupid. I feel weak. My legs feel like rubber bands.

I'm a strong girl. I used to be a personal trainer. But this morning, I could barely stay on an elliptical for 30 minutes. I just want to sleep. I just want to eat. This could go in a bad direction if I don't keep myself in check.

I'm not undergoing any treatment yet. I'm pretty much the same physically as I was a few weeks ago, before my diagnosis. The mind is a powerful little sucker, huh?

So now, my daughter will be home soon. I have to pick up the house, and cook dinner. And look happy. I will be happy to be with her, but I dread the fact that someday soon, we will have to tell her.

This morning I saw my hubby off to his weekly teaching gig. He either flies or takes a train. Today, it was the train, which is better for me. Especially today. The only reason I made it to the gym at all, which is close to the station. But being alone today with my brain yammering has been a weird experience. I don't mind it, but I do know that I'm depressed. I think I'm going to have to "man up" so to speak, and have some video game fun with my daughter tonight!

Tomorrow morning after I drop her at school, I'll head to the MRI. I'm not looking forward to being locked in a tube for hours, listening to gunshots and being unable to move or breathe at times. I may just have to treat myself to something special after. Though, that something special may be just a cab ride home and a good cry under the covers.

A day to think

My husband has been out working all day and won't be back until well after 2am. And he leaves tomorrow to work out of town until Tuesday night. Late.

Today was to be a day of getting things done. And I did get some stuff done. Laundry (which he normally does, but it's been too crazy around here and I knew he would have to have some clean clothes to bring on his trip!) I did a little cleaning in my clothes - set aside things to donate. Lots more to clean and I'm hoping to get to them tonight, but I've been spontaneously crying. Nobody is around but I still feel like a jerk.

I've known now for over a week that I have cancer. It's no big shock - I've spent much of my life waiting for it. But still, it feels shocking and unexpected.

I took a hot bath and got bored after 3 minutes. I've been nibbling on things all day - on top of everything else I got my period last night. So I'm hormonal too! I am happy it came early though, apparently it's not good to have your period during an MRI, so I'm hoping it will be a short one. The doc told me to not cancel regardless, I mean, I DO have cancer. And I won't get a false negative regardless. He told us that, and it all made sense. I know I need to eat well, but all I want is chocolate! Good thing the only chocolate in the house is protein bars. And my legs feel so weak - the stress and emotions and hormones aren't allowing me to run to the store and grab a bag of cookies. And I don't have the energy to bake them. Maybe I will have a protein shake and go to bed. But I really want to work on making my closets more manageable and my donation pile substantial enough to bring it to the Goodwill tomorrow. Because I need a reason to take a decent walk. Usually I'm a very health conscious person and want to find ways to keep active, but today I didn't leave the house (except to go to the laundry room). I'm depressed, at least temporarily.

Wouldn't you be?

I'll make a separate entry explaining little nutritional things I've been up to since the diagnosis. What I really should do is crawl into my sauna bag and sweat out some toxins. I have even read that cancer patients who use sauna regularly can decrease the size of tumors, or something along those lines. Apparently, above a certain temperature, those suckers die off. And I know my rubbery legs will feel invigorated. I just have to set it up... and I'm feeling so apathetic right now.

Ok, I just convinced myself that I shouldn't be an idiot - so off I go to sauna for at least 30. Need a big glass of ice water first, it's hot as hell already!

Invasive Ductal Carcinoma diagnosis

"How did I spend my Summer Vacation?"

I know, I'm a grown ass woman, and I don't "get" summer vacation. In fact, I haven't had a legitimate vacation in nearly 10 years. Impossible? Hardly. I work a lot, and I travel for work. Therefore - the thought of packing a suitcase, paying for my own flight and hotel, standing in the security line at JFK or LaGuardia, being stuffed into an airplane, unpacking at the destination and trying to relax seems like an awful lot of work. Vacation for me? That sounds like watching a movie on my couch - or better yet - in bed with a big bowl of home popped popcorn and my family. And sleeping in. Maybe ordering sushi  and having it delivered.

Anyway, this past summer I was out of town for work. I worked 6 days a week, and had one day off. That was my schedule - and one would think, just one day off a week? But to me - it sounds like heaven. Unfortunately, the day before I left, I had a mammogram and sonogram. No biggie - I have been getting these awful tests done since my 20's. Having a strong family history makes the doctors furrow their brows and tell me what a shame it is, and back when I was in my early 20's and barely knew anything about the world, I was advised to consider a prophylactic double mastectomy with reconstruction. It was the thing to do back then, for women like me (well, at the age I was, I was more of a girl). Somehow, I decided I wouldn't, even though I remember one doctor telling me that it was like getting a boob job and tummy tuck. My breasts are not porn-star quality, and they are uneven, and I didn't workout at that age, so yes, that all sounded really intriguing. But still, I never did it. I like to think that I was smart about it, but really, I was petrified.  No matter, it was all for the best.

Fast forward 20 years. I was at work (yes, one of the 6 days of the week that I was working out of town), working VERY long days, some days were 14 hours. Busy days. Lots to do. My phone on silent. I'd look at it, and see several missed calls from my doctor. And the diagnostic radiology joint. No time to call back, I had to find lunch, or dinner, or a bathroom.

I finally picked up the next day, excusing myself. It was my doctor, sounding worried. Something suspicious on my mammogram. Yes. Every mammogram seems to have something suspicious for me. Every year. But they're not usually this aggressive in calling, and I am not known for picking up my phone. I told her my deal. I plan on coming home on my one free day a week - to do nice things. Do some work for my own business, go to the gym, get a massage, spend time with my daughter after her day camp lets out, and eventually have some time with my brand new husband who was also away on business my first week out.

But now my plans changed. Now I had to go back and get more tests. Seriously? Can this wait?

So each week, I ran home from a busy job just to get flattened, squished, felt up without having a glass of wine first, and eventually, biopsied with a horrible needle the size of a small missile with an equally horrible noise. And, true story, I nearly passed out during the biopsy. They didn't get the little chip inside to mark my spot because I turned the color of one of those Goth Kids and nearly fell over. Imagine if that missile tore through my breast - I guess the cancer could have spilled out of the hole, but I'm also guessing that I wouldn't be that lucky. Anyway, they safely got the needle out, luckily having sucked out all the tissue they needed, and laid me down so that my lips would once again turn pink, and I no longer looked like Dracula's wifey.

That was right before my last week out of town. Hubby went with me for that visit but wasn't allowed in. I'm glad. I was a hot mess. And by hot I mean disgusting. Pale, sweaty, tear stained, and with the word "YES" written on my left breast, random pen markings, and a fresh hole taped up. Not my finest hour. The nurse walked me out to my husband when they were certain I would live, and said "Feed this woman!" We had the best burgers, fries and beer of our lives. Normally health food freaks, I needed a damn burger. And a few sips of beer - yes, he got himself a cheap date.

So I waited for results. They guesstimated 2 days.  2 days later, no results. 3 days later, no results... until my doctor called in the afternoon. I figure since I already spoke with the office that day, that it was safe to pick up the phone that afternoon while I was watching Breaking Bad on the elliptical at the gym. I was keeping it mellow, with the new hole in my boob and with it being all bruised and taped up. So I picked up - thinking maybe they needed info, who knows... but instead, I learned that I have Invasive Ductal Carcinoma while gliding on an elliptical, and decided that 45 minutes was long enough. I took my phone call to the locker room. Thank goodness it was empty.

I cried. I ended up talking in a stall because I was such a disaster. We lost signal, and so I cleaned up my face, put on my sunglasses, and hoped for the best as I rushed to the exit, and did some bad-ass speedwalking like the ladies do out in Long Island. (They do, right?) Got back to home base without seeing anyone I knew - thank goodness I wasn't in my real neighborhood.

I called my husband. I cried. I cried when I hung up. I couldn't stop it. I had to go back to work in a few hours. I couldn't not go! Somehow I made it through with big puffy red eyes. I cried during intermission, but luckily my false eyelashes didn't fly off my head. I cried as soon as I walked in the door to my summer apartment. And I cried myself to sleep, and possibly during, judging by the way I felt the next morning. But I made it through the night. And my husband arrived late that night, and we cried.

But we also went to a party. I didn't say much, but he was the very masculine Belle of the ball. And I watched him, listened to him, and smiled. He was happy. We were together. We left at 3am and walked 20 minutes back to our apartment. We looked at the stars, we talked, I cried a little, and I'm pretty sure there were more tears when we got back to my temporary home.

The last day, we went to a barbecue. We ate, made friends, got to know others better than before, ate, laughed, ate... and after my last gig, we headed to the last bus to take us HOME. So we could cry some more, and figure our shit out.

When my daughter came home, I couldn't get enough of her. Her stories, her mannerisms, her laugh, her excitement, the sound of possibilities in her voice that make a mom melt. And I knew, I was going to be ok. She needs me and I need her.

I've only been back less than a week, but we met with a surgeon today. A real breath of fresh air. He's an older guy, and I thought, he's probably stubborn and does things one way and one way only. WRONG. He explained absolutely everything we know up to this point, in a way that was smart but easy to understand without being dummied down. We took another look on the sonogram. We inspected the huge pile of images we brought from my previous month long adventure. Looked more like a planetarium to me, but it all started to make more sense.

And, although we won't know until Monday's MRI, he thinks I'm not a ticking time bomb. Sounds good to me!

Popped by Fish's Eddy to get some glasses for the mister, and Sephora to buy some eyelash glue for me.  I have Cancer, but I'm still going to be me.

I have a good life. And cancer. I know many who are not lucky like me.