My Knockers are Huge

" Knitted Knockers are a light comfortable knitted prosthetic that when placed in a bra has the shape and feel of a real breast, and are more comfortable than silicone prosthetic breasts. "

Someone told me about Knitted Knockers and learned I could get some for free. After I had a breast removed, I quickly became comfortable in my own skin - something I was worried about before my surgery. I was okay with the image presented to me in my mirror but after a relatively brief recovery, I started to worry about how I would present myself to the rest of the world.

As if it should matter.

I was told I could pick up some Knitted Knockers at the cancer center. Indeed, I was given me a bag full of knockers, all of them ridiculously large. I had four pairs of knockers in various sizes and even the smallest were larger than I was previously or ever hoped to be. I pulled some of the stuffing out of one of them and used it to pad my bra. The rest, I returned for someone else to use - someone who had been substantially more endowed.

By doing this, however, I missed an opportunity to play a practical joke on my brother-in-law and his wife. I was going to see them for the first time since my surgery. Thinking of this too late, I could have worn a (greatly reduced) knocker inside my shirt but not where my boob should be - maybe higher and closer to my shoulder - and waited to see how long before they said something (if at all). I could have let it fall, sliding down to my waist, and acted as if I didn't notice that anything was amiss. I could have worn the knockers as they had been presented to me, going from barely noticeable to a double D!

Sadly, none of this occurred to me before I arrived at their house. Cancer isn't funny but there's no reason we can't use humor when coping with it. I didn't get to play my joke on my in-laws but we still had a laugh over it anyway. As for the other knocker - the one I'm not using to stuff my bra, I find great humor in watching my cat bat it about my apartment.

jk - I don't have a cat but the image cracks me up.

How aware of breast cancer do you really want to be?

Do you want to see a woman with only one boob? Maybe you don't want to be that aware. (How about that for spooky?)

Remember when it was daring to go without a bra? What if women with breast prostheses didn't wear them in October? 

How aware do you really want to be?

Sadly, far too many are aware of breast cancer already, one way or another.  Me, I'm living through it a second time. Sort of. My cancer was sooooo 2019. Among the other challenges 2020 has brought, I am facing reconstruction of the same breast for a second time. 

The implant didn't fail, my skin did. A spontaneous wound appeared exposing the implant to contamination which meant the implant had to be removed. I could theorize as to exactly why a wound such as this might occur but the most basic of answers is the skin tissue was too thin, weakened when a hematoma was drained at that location less than a week after last year's mastectomy.

Rare, they say.

Hopefully, awareness will bring change. Actually dollars, one hopes, for research, for a cure. My challenges are relatively small (pun intended). I want to bring awareness in a different way - one that isn't pink and cheerful. I don't really want to be a part of this survivor/warrior/I-kicked-cancer's-ass club. 

Oh, I'm surviving. Better than that, I'm thriving and to be honest, I feel great in my own skin. Far better than I expected I would. For the first time in my life, I feel comfortable not wearing a bra. My husband's regret is that I didn't discover this freedom back when I had two boobs.

I'm discreet in public so don't worry about being too aware of breast cancer in the grocery store, say. But I might be wearing a hoodie that says "Uniboober" on it. Or, "one headlight." Or glasses that read, "My boobs were down there."

Sorry, breast cancer isn't funny. But at some point, one gets tired of crying. If you're facing now, I hope you're hanging in there.

What the actual F?

Good evening and welcome to "What’s Going on with My Boob?" This episode includes a deep dive into what the actual fuck wherein we will look at who said what to whom and when.

First, we have Dr. E who, if you remember was convinced that Dr. M refused to get involved my treatment. Dr. E now recommends that the patient (me) see Dr. M.

Dr. M now has to answer the question, "What the actual fuck?"

Join me as I interview multiple doctors, surgeons, and heads of very important departments as they all evade actual responsibility for my case. (Maybe they should run for office.)

Do I have cancer? No.

Do I have symptoms? No.

Am I overreacting? Probably.

But, then again, who knows? Stay tuned to see what does or does not develop.

Into the tunnel

And, so, the journey to healing begins. In reality, it probably began when I first sought medical attention. It's the first step in finding a way to be free of a disease or, in this case, free of a condition (that of having an open wound exposing me to infection). You could think of surgery as the beginning but it's really somewhere in the middle. Seeking answers is probably the beginning. Even before, being aware of a problem. 

Each step after that is toward some goal or resolution. Each decision is with an image in mind, a vision of the end result. 

There's a certain "been there, done that" (don't think they have a t-shirt for this yet) mentality this time around. This particular journey didn't start with a diagnosis of cancer. Rather, it is a Groundhog Day version of reconstruction, jumping into the middle of a story already in progress and getting stuck in an never-ending loop. (Although, I sincerely hope this is my last time around this particular track.) My point being, I think even my healthcare providers expect I know what to expect.

With the cancer diagnosis I was guided through every step. I had a three-inch binder telling me everything I could expect. This time, I'm asking my surgeon's staff things like, "should I sleep on my back or be propped up on pillows?" They look at me and blink saying, "I don't know. I'll ask the doctor." And, then, they never get back to me. In a perverse way, I'm glad I had cancer last year. At least, I received the tools I need to take care of myself this year.

Hubby is the same. He's been great in the Picking Up The Slack department though I was pretty well organized before the surgery. I got stocked up on groceries and had meals in the freezer. The laundry was done and the sheets had been changed. He hasn't had to do much but I'll give him 5 stars for letting me do nothing.

In the In Sickness or In Health department, I would give him 3 stars. He hasn't been attentive to my schedule regarding when to take my medications (or times when I need to eat so I can take my meds) or when to empty my drains. I've done that mostly on my own. But, when it came to taking off my bandages, he was right there beside me as I saw myself for the first time without one breast. We dealt with my body's new image together and it was fine. We were ready, supportive, and caring.

He gets no points for Pampering. I have had zero coffees in bed. Just before surgery, my office mates ponied up a total of $45 to be added to my Starbucks card for my birthday. (They know me so well.) I was already in quarantine in anticipation of the surgery so I couldn't go out to get one for myself and I didn't want to risk Hubby bringing home something more than coffee by going out to get it for me. I told him that I was looking forward to have a triple grande soy latte in bed the day after surgery - the popsicle to my doctor's visit - but three days later, it has yet to materialize. 

I'm griping now because I actually made him coffee.

Maybe it's more than my body that needs to heal!

I can tell you that regrets and unfulfilled expectations are no salve and won't do anything to help my body heal. Moving forward, trusting, being patient, and accepting my image as it is - that's what I'm learning. And I'm also learning that small kindnesses are important to me and that it makes me feel good when I do those things for others. 

The surgery went well. The pain and bleeding were minimal. It's only the drain that bothers me now. It's in a very awkward place and I keep getting tangled in the tubing and yanking on the stitches. I'll ask if I can get that removed tomorrow. 

Despite the lack of bedside coffee, there is a light at the tunnel. It's bright and joyful and I'm headed straight for it. All will be well enough.

You said it, sister.

Astra understood how I felt but also confirmed that DCIS is referred to as “Stage 0,” a “pre-cancer,” and sometimes, even, a “non-cancer.” It was validating for her to tell me that sometimes a diagnosis of DCIS is even harder than, say, a diagnosis of Stage 1 because it’s not something you can see. It’s not something you can feel. It’s not invasive. Yet, it’s treated exactly like any other breast cancer. The only evidence of it is a few tiny white grains on a grayscale image and a single core needle biopsy. It represents a tiny amount of information upon which very big decisions must be made in a very short period of time.

This is an undated entry in my journal from last year.

A few tiny white grains begot a mastectomy and now second one - only this time, I won't be able to do immediate reconstruction. This, I learned today. It's not what I wanted but it seems it's the only option at this point.

A surgeon will remove my breast on October 8.

All in all, it's not the worst thing that can happen. Shit, a friend of mine just let me know their son died of an accidental overdose. That would be worse. 

On the other hand, I'm not sure pain is relative except as to oneself. So, sucks for me.

I'll get through this. Really, I can do this. It'll be bumpy (bad choice of words) but at the end of the road I will be (theoretically) restored. It'll take time, patience, and trust - and I'm not necessarily good with any of those things.

In the meantime, I'll try to amuse myself by designing snarky breast cancer awareness apparel. For example, a pink hoodie that reads "uniboober."

And, maybe I'll eat more ice cream.

A doctor a day keeps the apple away.

 Oh, wait. That's not how it goes, is it?

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month

 Can I say I would rather not?

I want to get this off my chest

My Boobs are Trying To Kill Me

I never wanted to tell you that I had cancer

I don’t wear pink

My Eyes are Up Here

Nipple

These are all titles I considered last year as I pondered whether to write about my cancer journey. The first title was something a dear friend said to me. The five year anniversary of her Stage 1 diagnosis is this month. (I love you, V, and I'm hella glad your boobs didn't kill you because I need you to get me though this!)

I told as few people about my cancer as I could get away with. I tole my immediate family, my employers, and the friends I saw nearly every day. Otherwise, I didn't want to make a big deal of it. Whatever I was going through, it wasn't as bad as so many other cancer patients, past and present, had it. Regardless of what I was personally going through, it felt like sympathy was not warranted. 

I have two pink shirts. I wear them rarely. I'm just not a pink girilie-girl. Grew up with boys, had only boy cousins for (30 years), and had boys. I have one grandson. We get along fine. I have no idea what to do with my granddaughter when she asks me to do her hair. Needless to say, I'm not comfortable wearing pink to show my support for breast cancer research and survivorship. Don't get me wrong, I support both of those things. I just don't feel like advertising my own situation.

I've never really had a problem with guys staring at my chest (because my boobs were so small) but it's a common complaint among women and now that all of my focus was on my boobs, I imagined everyone else's was, too. I was still here, though, and I wanted to people to see all of me.

Finally, "nipple" is a word that gets used with alarming frequency in the early stages of breast cancer. It's practically (and, in fact, was) dinner conversation with - well, everyone. It's all about the nipple. Can it be saved? Can it be reconstructed or tattooed. Are there nipple prostheses? The answer is yes to all of them but here's the thing. If you're going to have breast cancer, you and the people you're closest with are going to have to get comfortable with the word "nipple" because it will be used frequently in the first several weeks. A lot.

The title of this post is my attempt at humor. I wanted the cancer off my chest. (Sadly, now, I'm getting my wish.) There was a time I wanted the implant off my chest. I wanted to get all that I was feeling - am feeling - off my chest. 

I just want it to be over as I'm sure so many other cancer patients do. I'm just doing the best I can. I hope you are, too.

What happened?

There's a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza ...

Then, fix it!

There's a hole in my boob. I don't know why. It's about as big as the o in boob. Not big but big enough to to introduce bacteria to the implant.

Hello, implant. Meet bacteria.

I can actually see the implant through this hole.

A tiny window into my soul??

I've had an open wound, now, for over a month. Antibiotic medication seems to be keeping any infection from becoming serious. The surrounding tissue looks fine, there's no fever, and no elevated white blood cell count. Can't we just put a bandage on it? 

The answer is, universally, no. If you search for "implant extrusion," you may see the words "rare" and "dangerous." (You may also see some disturbing images so do so at your own risk.) Yet, not one doctor of the five I've seen so far has bothered to offer one.

The chances of it healing, I've been told, is zero. For a variety of reasons, the chances that any patch would hold is nearly zero. I don't want to believe this and yet I have no reason to believe my doctors are not well trained. Even the inter webs agree with science! 

Still, I hope. Even as I plan to move forward with surgery. 

Correction, surgeries.

I'm about to lose my boob for a second time for a cancer I didn't have

While this site was created during a time when I was experiencing extreme back pain, I've more recently been experiencing issues with the flip side. Namely, my breasts. The journey, to date, has been these last 20 months. 

It began with a diagnosis of breast cancer. It was in situ, referred to as Stage 0, meaning there were cancer cells found in milk ducts (of one breast, in my case) that were not yet invasive into the breast tissue (which begins Stage 1). For many reasons, a unilateral mastectomy was recommended. 

Because my diagnosis was Stage 0, it is referred to, by some, as a non-cancer. One oncologist did just that not long after my breast was removed. 

It felt like a slap in the face.

Fast forward to today, it is being recommended that my breast be again removed. This time, it will be an implant rather than breast tissue but I will still need to face the painful task of reconstruction for a second time (in as many years). The process will take months, over three calendar years. Three maximum out-of-pocket deductibles.

This non-cancer will cost me $20,000 before it's over and my insurance company an estimated $150,000.

This new boob had better be pretty spectacular.

In fact, I've already pondered whether we could add a squeaky valve while we're at it. It would be a wildly inappropriate party trick to squeeze my boob and have it squeak. But for a hundred and seventy grand, it really should do something.

[Update: if I include the amount my employer paid to hire a temporary replacement while I was on sick leave, the total cost of my fantastically unfantastic boob is closer to $200,000. If my entire body was valued at the same rate of $200k per .44 lb, I would be worth more than $56 million. Take that, Jaime Sommers.]

At Bay

Today, everything seems to be back to normal. Thankfully. Yesterday, I went out for my usual run and couldn't do it. I had to stop.

I didn't run today but I didn't feel any pain this morning as I went for a gentle walk. I iced my back twice yesterday and was diligent about sleeping with a pillow between my knees last night. And, today, so far so good.

I don't usually have back pain. Not since 2009. Sure, I get reminders if I'm tired or have done too much - a quick zinger down my leg - but I haven't had all-day pain like I did yesterday. I feeling grateful that the pain wasn't worse - or worse, longer.

Recurrence

Well, I hope not but today is a bad day. Haven't had this much pain since - well, when did I last post? It's more uncomfortable than painful but it's persistent and I walk with a slight limp to accommodate it.

Hoping a good night's sleep will do it.

Better, Still

Wednesday, the 21st (of November) we flew to Hawaii. Another long day of travel. I rolled up my windbreaker and used it as a back pillow on the six-hour flight over. I felt fine when we got there (Who wouldn't?) and it really didn't give me any trouble while we were there.

We flew to San Jose the following Wednesday, the 28th, and then to Portland on the 29th. We drove to Seattle on the 30th. That's a lot of travel. I was a little sore over the weekend but that's worked its way out since then and I'm pretty much back to normal.

Which is, mostly pain free, most of the time. Every once in a while I get a little jolt of pain down the back of my right thigh and I can still be stiff and sore in the morning.

I'll take it.

Better

Saturday didn't get much better. I had ice packs on all day and ended up taking at least two more Advil. The massage helped but I wasn't going to take any chances. Lying face down can be painful for me even if I'm getting a massage and I did get "stuck" on a massage table once.

The thing is, it doesn't hurt to lie face down. It hurts after I lie face down for any period of time so I don't know I'm going to have a problem - until I do. One time, I had a massage and afterward I had a very hard time getting off the table. Once I did, it was nearly impossible to dress myself. This is a very awkward position to be in when you're naked. By the time I was fully dressed, I was in tears.

This time, I had Hubby come to the massage room when I was done just in case I had any problems. I had some difficulty but I was able to dress myself and my husband's reward was to see me naked so I guess it worked out for both of us.

Sunday, we drove to Portland and I probably did a little too much getting ready - laundry, changing the sheets. A little stiff and sore when we got there and since then I've been keeping a pillow or rolled up towel behind my back.

Yesterday, I went grocery shopping at a Fred Meyer and since it was raining outside, I considered the shopping trip to be my exercise for the day. I walked all around the interior edge of the store before I bought my groceries. It was too much. I was sore and had difficulty carrying my groceries to the car.

So far, today isn't too bad. Then again, all I've done so far today is avoid writing more of my book which is a bummer because I'd like to have 1,000 words done by noon and it's 11:00 am. But this is it, the last of my planned goofing off for today.  I'll make a cup of coffee put a pillow behind my back and get to work.

Damn - how many words was that?

Anything But Brave

Sorry to report a little back pain today. I guess it's more than a little or I wouldn't bother to post it here. I don't remember my pain level chart (it's here somewhere) but the pain level is high enough that it's very uncomfortable to stand. Sitting is a little better and right now I've got an ice pack on it - the second one for the day. Sometimes walking makes it feel better but I'm not that far along in my day.

I've had four Advil so far - which in the scheme of things isn't much of anything - and I went back to bed and lay down for a while - which you could attribute to any number of things that don't include pain. Like laziness, for example.

I scheduled a massage for later today - I think that will help. In the meantime, I don't plan on doing anything too strenuous. I might even take the laptop to bed with me and do some writing there - which is the origin of this very blog. Hopefully, it won't come to that today but lying down is the only position where I don't feel pain and I won't hesitate to use that strategy.

Not going to try being brave.

50 Days, One Year Later

A year ago today, I called up the fine surgeons at the hospital and told them No, Thank you. It was the right decision. Once I got off all the pain meds, I felt better. Much better. Good enough to get back to a normal life. Like walking. Like just being able to stand up.

There's no doubt in my mind that I still have a herniated disc and that it's a matter of when, not if, the pain will return. It reminds me every once in a while that it's still there - a mercifully gentle hello from my backside. Stiffness in the morning some days. An electric current that runs down the back of my leg from time to time. I wonder how old I'll be when it decides to get my attention for good. Whether I'll have insurance. Whether I'll have help. Whether pain management has improved any or if back surgery will be done as routinely removing a wart.

In the meantime, all I can do is do the best I can. And, to be grateful while I'm at it. To that end, I made a resolution to walk more. I started before the first of the year, and now I've walked 50 days in a row. Every day. There have been a couple days I had to walk inside - at a mall - but mostly I walk outside regardless of weather. I also try to walk during daylight hours but that isn't always possible. After one particularly busy day, it got to be eleven at night before I could get my walk in. I donned a reflective vest, grabbed a flashlight and went walking.

I don't go far. About a mile. But I go. Every day.

And I'm pretty happy about it.

Holidays

I didn't spend them on the floor this year so that's good. I get an occasional reminder - a not so gentle but generally brief jab of not exactly pain - that lets me know my fattened disc is still back there. It doesn't inhibit much except touching my toes and visiting the chiropractor. I don't know that either of those things would do any harm. I'm just not anxious to find out.

Otherwise, good. Happy to be upright, generally pain free, and walking. Outdoors.

Indulgences

Someone asked me today how my back was doing. It's a nice thing when someone does that but lately that question almost takes me by surprise. That's so yesterday. I suppose the greater the tragedy the longer it takes to move on from it which is to say that while it seemed tragic at the time, my back pain was small on the greater scheme of things. Thing is, I hardly think about it anymore and it's almost like the pain I felt was in a dream, a different place or time. (On the other hand, don't think I take it for granted. It was serious to me.)

I was still thinking about this later in the day when it occurred to me that there were only two things that were not to be missed just because I was confined to living in bed. This is ridiculous, I know, but it's absolutely true that no matter my condition I did not miss a single spa appointment. Specifically, my facials and my hair colorings. Two each.

This is a true testimony of my vanity, without a doubt. It took monumental effort and some coordination to pull off those visits and I never thought to cancel them. Did I go to work? Heck, no. I couldn't make it to the kitchen without needing to lie down. Was I expecting company? Again, the answer is no.

Here's the punchline. I did all that to maintain my "natural look." Embarrassing but true.

So, here's a bold-faced plug for the ladies I apparently cannot do without, ladies I would overcome, apparently, any obstacle to see. For facials and skincare I see C.J. at Park Lane Wellness Center and for hair I see Lynda Nuce-Warner at the 85th Street Salon. I have been seeing them both for close to fifteen years, if I had to take a guess. More than ten, anyway.

If I was at an awards ceremony or I walked around with production credits trailing behind me, these two names would clearly be on the list somewhere. You ladies make me look and feel great.

What A Difference Five Months Make

I was here in November, eating Vicodin and happy about it. I was in town (Palm Desert, that is) for a wedding and I had been in so much pain I wasn't sure I was going to be able to fly. Well, sit is more accurate since I, myself, cannot fly.

At the time, sitting was becoming a challenging occupation the way that touching one's toes becomes challenging for the elderly. That may seem exaggerated but elderly was what I was feeling, even as I edge towards that reality, as my pain kept me from doing things one normally does.

It wasn't long before not being able to sit was to develop into not being able to stand, and a reality I had not previously known. That of pain on a level I thought was made only of legend, the storytelling of people who were a little off, of seekers of attention. Little wonder those stories are not believed. They are unbelievable. I didn't believe it could be true, either, until I lived it. And, thank God, it was only for a short while.

But the story I tell today is one of remission. I am back in Palm Desert after an odyssey that bridges much more than distance. And, leaving out the details of what happened between then and now, I am happy to say that I am walking, biking, and swimming - all without pain. All without drugs.

I am here again, in April this time, not to see a wedding, not in pain, not taking drugs. And happy about it.

Strut

I saw a massage therapist on Sunday who is more into whole body therapy than massage. What I mean is, he is more of a diagnostician than a relaxing kind of fellow. In fact, his therapy is anything but relaxing.

The good news is, it didn't hurt (much). The last massage (in October) just about killed me! (Well, not really but it hurt a lot more than it helped.)

He gave me homework. I need to walk as if my leg muscles start just under my rib cage rather than at my hips. To effect this walk, I have to lean back so as to engage my stomach muscles and take a long stride. He said I should look snooty if I'm doing it right.

The reason he has me doing this is to acquaint me with some new muscles. Some of the leg muscles do indeed attach themselves at a point higher than the hip. Strengthening these muscles (and stretching others) will help me hold my body (specifically, my pelvis) in better alignment with my spine.

And there you go. Good as new.

I've been strutting around the neighborhood (not making any new friends) for the last couple of days. I can feel these muscles at work. Time will tell if this provides any lasting corrective or rehabilitative response in my body. It's worth a try, I figure.