October 20: Today I quit taking Tamoxifen and the drugs that made it tolerable. Enough is enough!
October 22: Had a mammogram today.
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
Thursday, May 22, 2014
Breast Reconstruction
I wanna new rack {visualize my pouty face and arms crossed here. Perhaps a bit of foot stomping}
When I was diagnosed and weighing out the options for treatment, I firmly believed I would be able to get my breast fixed to sort out the aftermath of said treatments. Little did I know how it actually works. To begin, you need to realize that my booboo was high on the breast. Lots of cutting and cooking later, what remains is a cremated blob complete with a perpetually erect nipple. Because of the bony (remember I'm skinny now and yes I'm bragging) location an implant isn't appropriate. What it comes down to trying to preserve what is left of my breast and then adjust the left side accordingly. Now before I go on I would like to state the following: Yes I'm grateful to be alive. Yes, I'm grateful to be able to camouflage my altered breast, I'm grateful to be strong and healthy. Grateful for treatments. Grateful, grateful, grateful. But I'm also sad. And disappointed. So don't judge me for sounding like a spoiled child who wants something better, just because better exists. Maybe I should be happy with what I have and to a degree I am. Anyway, none of that is the point. Ok, I gotta back up or scoot ahead. Whatever. It's been two years since the radiation treatments ended. I was finally fit and ready for a nice pair of B cups . Instead of picking out a new set I was totally shot down. Not even a little pair of A cups. I cannot receive reconstruction because the government won't pay to cover the liposuction required for the fat grafting which is the only suitable procedure. I left the surgeon's office totally defeated. Then I thought about paying the $6000 for the liposuction myself. It would suck but I would do it. With a spring in my step and a plan in mind I went to see the surgeon again. I left more disappointed than the prior trip. It can take maybe four or five 'harvests' to build the breast over a period of months. Unfortunately, they have no way to store the fat so new fat must be sucked out with each procedure. The harvested fat is then processed and injected into the breast where, with lotsa love and luck, it will stay alive. I'm a confident person. Do I complain about my scars, the deep furrows above my nose, my carnie-sized hands and feet, my stubborn grey hair that resists hair dye or my double chins? No. Do I wear skinny jeans when I'm clearly knock-kneed and not designed for skinny jeans. Yes I do. Do I roll out of bed and into my car without caring about brushed hair, teeth or if my clothes match. Ummm hmmm, yes, yes, yes. So why the f@ck do I care that my breasts don't match? Because one nipple (remember 'perpetually erect') points at my chin a full 4.5cm above my other nipple. I never want my nipples on display but when the gym is 62degrees, it happens. I don't want to wear a filler or nipple daisies or whatever they are called. I want to put on a bra and not make modifications. I want a matched set. Twins aren't important but sisters would be nice. I want my clothes to hang properly. I want my nipples to point in the same direction, preferably not at my chin. Greedy? Maybe I am. In the meantime, let's just hope for change.
When I was diagnosed and weighing out the options for treatment, I firmly believed I would be able to get my breast fixed to sort out the aftermath of said treatments. Little did I know how it actually works. To begin, you need to realize that my booboo was high on the breast. Lots of cutting and cooking later, what remains is a cremated blob complete with a perpetually erect nipple. Because of the bony (remember I'm skinny now and yes I'm bragging) location an implant isn't appropriate. What it comes down to trying to preserve what is left of my breast and then adjust the left side accordingly. Now before I go on I would like to state the following: Yes I'm grateful to be alive. Yes, I'm grateful to be able to camouflage my altered breast, I'm grateful to be strong and healthy. Grateful for treatments. Grateful, grateful, grateful. But I'm also sad. And disappointed. So don't judge me for sounding like a spoiled child who wants something better, just because better exists. Maybe I should be happy with what I have and to a degree I am. Anyway, none of that is the point. Ok, I gotta back up or scoot ahead. Whatever. It's been two years since the radiation treatments ended. I was finally fit and ready for a nice pair of B cups . Instead of picking out a new set I was totally shot down. Not even a little pair of A cups. I cannot receive reconstruction because the government won't pay to cover the liposuction required for the fat grafting which is the only suitable procedure. I left the surgeon's office totally defeated. Then I thought about paying the $6000 for the liposuction myself. It would suck but I would do it. With a spring in my step and a plan in mind I went to see the surgeon again. I left more disappointed than the prior trip. It can take maybe four or five 'harvests' to build the breast over a period of months. Unfortunately, they have no way to store the fat so new fat must be sucked out with each procedure. The harvested fat is then processed and injected into the breast where, with lotsa love and luck, it will stay alive. I'm a confident person. Do I complain about my scars, the deep furrows above my nose, my carnie-sized hands and feet, my stubborn grey hair that resists hair dye or my double chins? No. Do I wear skinny jeans when I'm clearly knock-kneed and not designed for skinny jeans. Yes I do. Do I roll out of bed and into my car without caring about brushed hair, teeth or if my clothes match. Ummm hmmm, yes, yes, yes. So why the f@ck do I care that my breasts don't match? Because one nipple (remember 'perpetually erect') points at my chin a full 4.5cm above my other nipple. I never want my nipples on display but when the gym is 62degrees, it happens. I don't want to wear a filler or nipple daisies or whatever they are called. I want to put on a bra and not make modifications. I want a matched set. Twins aren't important but sisters would be nice. I want my clothes to hang properly. I want my nipples to point in the same direction, preferably not at my chin. Greedy? Maybe I am. In the meantime, let's just hope for change.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
It's been a loooong time....14 days x 10000 in cancer cell time
It has been a long time but I told you that this was my journey. What have I accomplished, learned or taught in the last year. Wow, just realized I'm a one year and day away from diagnosis. Shit that just hit me like a bag of bricks in the face. Something had me down but I couldn't figure it out. I guess that was it. God no, I have absolutely no reason to ever feel down. Don't get me wrong. I think I just had a body suggestion that this year was something to remember and one with mixed emotions. OMG, I am so sorry. My short term memory is BLEEPING non-existent! Where was I ...
Right. I do not have pubic hair on my head. I think it may be real people hair. Here was my hair growth phase: 1) grow hair...any hair of any kind and display it like you were dressed by Elton John (bit of pride/bit of shame) 2) realize your hair resembles SOS pads (curly wiry soap pads)...cut it short. 3) let it grow a bit and realize you have a lot more pubic-style hair on your head than your body--->shave it...again. 4) Fuck this! I would rather be bald. Shave this shit off my head! 5) by golly... I think my hair is finally straight!
Don't even think of coming on and commenting about how lucky I am to have hair. I know I am lucky. I am also lucky that I am not a troll with short hair.
Book your mammograms. It is almost time to start harassing again....REMEMBER...I would never, and i mean NEVER have had one without a nudge from my doctor...just do it. It earns you a bottle of wine...swear to God!
Cheers
Jeannie
Right. I do not have pubic hair on my head. I think it may be real people hair. Here was my hair growth phase: 1) grow hair...any hair of any kind and display it like you were dressed by Elton John (bit of pride/bit of shame) 2) realize your hair resembles SOS pads (curly wiry soap pads)...cut it short. 3) let it grow a bit and realize you have a lot more pubic-style hair on your head than your body--->shave it...again. 4) Fuck this! I would rather be bald. Shave this shit off my head! 5) by golly... I think my hair is finally straight!
Don't even think of coming on and commenting about how lucky I am to have hair. I know I am lucky. I am also lucky that I am not a troll with short hair.
Book your mammograms. It is almost time to start harassing again....REMEMBER...I would never, and i mean NEVER have had one without a nudge from my doctor...just do it. It earns you a bottle of wine...swear to God!
Cheers
Jeannie
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