A day to forget

I’m having a hard time. There’s no way around it. I keep trying to turn the corner but I just can’t seem to do it.

Sometimes it’s the big things, the obvious stuff that would keep anyone up at night…like, will the cancer come back, will I live a natural lifespan? That’s understandable…I can deal with all that long term, I think. But it’s actually the little things that hold me back from moving on…I’m finding the subtle stuff worse. All those countless reminders, the myriad ways that the aftermath of cancer infuses every nuance of my life. That’s what is eating away at me. And not just me.

Daniel has a number of mosquito bites on his leg and he is very upset by them. At first I thought it was the idea of a creature biting him that was the trouble, but he seems more worried about the appearance of the red bumps. I’ve had to assure him numerous times that they will go away, he won’t be marked forever.

This morning I think I finally figured out why it has been so disturbing for him. He asked me if the boo-boo on my reconstructed breast would ever go away. The scar from the skin necrosis is significant, and what’s left of my nipple & areola is markedly different than my unaffected breast. I told him that no, it would not go away, but that was okay. I explained again to him that the boo-boo didn’t hurt, it was a scar from when Mama had cancer. Did he remember that, I asked? No. He burst into tears that my boo-boo was there forever -- and that’s when I knew…he was afraid his mosquito bumps would be too. I reassured him over and over again that his bites were not the same as Mama’s scar. He seemed to feel better but was still quite sad that my boo-boo was permanent. I told him that I was okay with mine, that I even was happy to have the scar because it was from the doctors taking out cancer, and if they didn’t do that I would have gotten very sick and not been here to take care of him and watch him grow up.

It’s hard to believe he doesn’t remember the summer of my mastectomy in 2009, but then again, why would he, he was only 2 at the time. He barely remembers me being sick from chemo in 2010 either. However he does fondly recollect my hair and every once in a while he’ll say how much he misses it. It’s longer now, finally down over my ears…but still not long enough to play with the way he used to.

Daniel doesn’t remember nursing, either, and that breaks my heart to pieces, I will truly never get over having to wean him and the painful process that was. He’s heard us talk about nursing, tho, and I’d like to think on some subconscious level it’s still there in his little soul, all those tender moments, that precious experience. After seeing a baby nurse on TV last night he asked me if I could ever give him milk again from my “ta-ta” (what we used to call it). I hesitated for a minute and by the time I was ready to answer him he’d moved on to another subject. I’m glad. I don’t know if I could have held it together even after all this time.

The trifecta came just a few moments ago. I decided to clean out a drawer of a long dresser by our front door. The first thing I pulled out was a receipt. It was from an upscale maternity boutique, one that I visited only once. I needed nursing bras. Michael had found a silly little baseball cap and bought it for Daniel. It was listed on the receipt by what it said across the front…“Boob Man” -- $15.00 .

My kid had mosquito bites, I cleaned out a drawer and WHAM, here I sit trying not to drown my keyboard in fresh tears. Forgive me, I know Memorial Day is something different, but right now for me remembering is overrated. Just once I’d like to forget.

A year ago today...

...on April 1st, 2009 while touching my breast as I was about to nurse my son I felt a bean-sized lump. I tried not to worry, thought maybe it was something breastfeeding related, but knew I needed to get it checked right away. My primary care doc is less than a mile from my house so I decided to just show up first thing and get a script for a mammogram. As I sat at my dining room table the next morning waiting for her office to open I continued to absentmindedly feel my breast. It was then I found the other two lumps. I looked at my husband with sudden clarity and said, “I’m screwed.” It took 26 more days to get the diagnosis of invasive ductal carcinoma.

Since that day last year I have had a mastectomy and reconstruction, discovered the cancer spread ever so slightly to my lymph nodes and have gone through the wound healing process from Hell thanks to skin necrosis. I experienced an SVT after port placement, had almost a dozen chemo infusions and now have been diagnosed with lymphedema. To say this last year sucked more than any other year of my life would be the understatement of all time.

But I’m still here. My kids still have their mother.

That doesn't mean I am positive or grateful or even contemplative. That doesn't mean I haven't cried my eyes out a dozen times just this week alone. It just means that I know I have to hang on, there isn't any other alternative.

So today I will go to the infusion room at the hospital for treatment and joke around with the nurses and all my chemo comrades. We’ll hang out in our vinyl recliners while poison drips into our veins and we’ll laugh…because we always do.

Yup, today I will laugh, and for at least right now, that will have to be enough.

Mental health & Daniel

(Might not post here again till after the weekend -- doc appt tomorrow, will update Mon.)

Stress has been a major issue lately, for obvious reasons, and some that are not.

I had a very anxiety producing childhood and then some traumatic events, all combining to give me post-traumatic stress syndrome, intermittent anxiety and occasional panic attacks. I also once suffered a major depression that lasted about 10 years – undiagnosed and untreated, the end of which was when I gave birth to my precious Megan almost eight years ago.

We call those lost years "the decade I sat in a chair" because that’s pretty much what I did, sit around, self-medicating with food (thus once weighing 300 lbs). Thankfully that was before I had kids. Anyway, clearly I’ve come a long way. But now in the last month or so it felt like all of that was unwinding faster than I could grasp at the fragile threads.

So you can understand why I have a particular concern about cancer & my mental health status.

Naturally anyone would be freaking out about being diagnosed with a serious illness. How that would manifest might be slightly different from person to person, but certainly common reactions would be familiar to many. However in my case there could be additional issues that would heighten a typical or expected level of anxiety to potentially dangerous conditions, physically and/or mentally. That’s why I went running to a psychiatrist, pronto.

Physically I could feel a difference from the moment I found out, no doubt exacerbated by the month long build up of “not knowing” prior. Mere seconds after finding out I had breast cancer I went into an immediate and constant state of completely unrelenting physiological panic – fight or flight. I swear I could feel the adrenaline pumping through my body continuously; it was as if I were vibrating or pulsing. I felt shaky and weak yet I couldn’t stop moving, even if it were just to pace a little. I have very mild mitral valve prolapse and my heart seemed to be pounding harder than I’ve experienced ever before. I barely slept four hours a night total, and even that wasn’t uninterrupted. And the almost constant tears, from soft weeping to raging sobs with just a few moments of dry eyes in between has been draining – literally, I think I have been slightly dehydrated and my eyes and facial skin were radically effected by the salt.

Since Tuesday tho I can feel a discernable difference. Don’t get me wrong, I still feel scared out of my mind, still cry, still feel huge anxiety & depression, but it’s at an ever so slightly lower level physically speaking. The constant vibration is gone; the adrenaline rush is more sporadic and not continuous. My heart doesn’t pound and only occasionally races. I am crying what one might expect to be a reasonable amount…daily, several times, but not literally non-stop.

What changed since Tuesday? Three things.

Monday night I got my refill for Xanax from primary care doc and have been using it more liberally…like two pills during a 24 hr period instead of ½ only at night for sleep.

Sunday evening I began faking being happy around my son as much as I could. On Monday I had to really kick it up a notch, as I blogged about, because I was the only adult around for the entire day & night. I think there’s something to the whole “fake it till ya make it” idea…like it can tweak your brain chemistry a bit.

Most importantly -- Daniel and I have found our way back to each other. Michael thinks we were never really “apart” but it felt that way to me in my sensitive state.

Sadly & gladly he has stopped asking to nurse, tho he did ask me if my ta-ta was happy yesterday, which nearly sent me back over the edge. I told him Mama was happy because I loved him. He hugged me.

At night I’ve been able to comfort him back to sleep if he wakes, my biggest obstacle & concern…I just wrap my arms around him and rest his head on my pillow next to mine (have I mentioned we all co-sleep?) I have nursed him on a couple occasions in the middle of the night if he has woken...more because I wanted to, and since he is practically asleep he doesn’t seem to remember and it hasn’t spurred him on to ask for more at other times. To get him to fall asleep at bed time now I sing while holding & petting him, as he wraps his little arms around me and plays with my hair (note to self, got to get that industrial strength wig). I’m pumping some milk so I still keep up a small amount of supply. I just figured all the info on my situation isn’t in and I don’t want/can’t face giving up on nursing 100% forever completely, not just yet. (cue tears now).

That pretty much sums up where I am in my head at the moment.

Cancer-wise I believe that if my lymph nodes are clear and if I am BRCA negative I will have overcome a bunch of initial hurdles and could even feel more frequent moments that resemble something like what calm used to look like, only different. So that is what I am hoping for now. Thanks to all of you wonderful blessed people that are hoping right along with me.