Port Me

Posted on January 8, 2018 by pioneerintrees

Tomorrow I am going to have my toxic drug portal installed. It will deliver all of the nasty chemicals to my cells without any fuss or muss or burning skin. Ahh. How nice! It’s called a portacath, meaning a portable catheter. It’s made up of two parts: a small disk (port) and a long tube (catheter). Hence the name.

Where does it go?

It will be inserted in my chest, just under the clavicle. Each time I go for a treatment – whether it be for the 12 doses of Paclitaxel (chemotherapy) in the first 12 weeks or the Herceptin (the targeted therapy) in the remainder of the year (18 doses) – the drugs will be delivered through the portacath. Nurses can also take blood through the portacath, even though my veins are quite charming and easy to take blood from.

Giving blood — *I think the nurse had performance anxiety. I can’t recall ever having had a drop of blood spill – or it hurting. Serves me right for taking a picture.*

How is it put in?

Usually this procedure is done in Surgical Outpatients and I would be knocked right out, requiring that a breathing tube be inserted. But as I’m obviously an early adopter, I’m having it done in the Diagnostic Imaging department instead with “twilight anesthesia” (yes, I’m the very first one). This means that I will be in a semi-conscious state. No pain, no anxiety, no need for a breathing tube, no memory of what happened. (This last part is unfortunate, because I’d really like to watch if I’m going to be semi-conscious. I have many questions.)

In fact today during my teaching session (in which someone tried to teach me…) I asked the nurse how it’s done and waxed on about my vision of the procedure. She gave me a blank look. All she said was “There are 2 incisions.” Blew apart my whole vision, in which … of course I’m going to tell you … I think that the tube is inserted first – it looks like it has to run up and over the collar bone and then down into the Superior Vena Cava. (Remember that one from Biology class? It’s the large vein that runs in to the heart.) The disk is then attached to the tube, and slid under the skin. A couple of stitches later and it’s all done. But likely that’s not how it happens. If I come out of the twilight I will let you know what I see.

Here is a professional diagram, proving that I am likely very close to being right.

How does it work?

Once it is in my chest, each week the nurse just has to poke the special needle through the skin into the top of the port and start the drip. It’s not inconvenient like a PICC line, which is inserted in the arm and has an external port that you have to look after. Apparently I can sleep on my stomach (although I’m not sure if it will be comfortable) and I can swim with it (you can’t with a PICC line). Plus it will make me look like I have an alien microchip implanted in my chest, and that’s cool.

Why Not be a Wig Maker?

Posted on January 5, 2018January 6, 2018 by pioneerintrees

Well, I’m going to lose my hair. Chemo starts next week and I’m told I have about 10 days before it falls out. So I’ve decided to be proactive. I’m going to cut off my braids, grab my glue gun and make them into a version of a wig. Not kidding.

I was inspired by Scout. On the run, she hacked off her pink tipped and therefore very obvious hair, fashioned two cute pigtails and then plopped a little black toque on her head.

Well if she can do that and still look like a million bucks, so can I. Check it out:

So on Monday I’m going to see Jenny, who has agreed to help me out. She will cut off my braids. (I realize that this could be a delicate procedure … I’ll have to secure the top somehow so it doesn’t unravel.) I’ll set them aside while she fixes up whatever is left on my head (seriously folks, it’s going to be gone in 2 weeks. Who cares??).

Then I’ll hot glue the braids to the inside of a comfie black beanie that I found laying around the house. (I’ll have the exact location of the braids marked on the beanie ahead of time, don’t you worry.) Later on I’ll sew a soft band of something over the hair, sandwiching the braids to the hat. This will help to avoid irritation from the glue and ends of hair rubbing against my bald bald head.

This is what it should look like in the end, when I plop another hat on top.

goofball — Of course I won’t have eyebrows…

So ya, that’s the plan. Handmade wig making. Why not?? FYI, a short haired wig (made with real hair) costs $1800 and long hair is around $2500. Can you believe that?? Omg. I’m going to get me a turban, plop it over my cool skull cap with braids and I’ll be good to go.

Word of the Day: Receptor

Posted on December 29, 2017 by pioneerintrees

Before my breast cancer journey began, I might have guessed that a receptor is a mechanical part of a TV tower. Or something like that. Perhaps I wasn’t paying attention in Biology classes. (Sorry Mr. Bailey! But thanks for the quilt!)

What are Receptors?

Turns out receptors are a big deal when it comes to breast cancer. There are three types of receptors on a breast cancer cell:

estrogen receptors
progesterone receptors
HER2 receptors (human epidural growth factor receptor 2)

What does it mean?

When you have breast tissue removed and sent to the lab, they identify whether or not the 3 receptors are positive or negative:

POSITIVE: This means that the cancer cell IS receiving signals from that hormone or protein, telling the cell to grow.

NEGATIVE: The cancer cell IS NOT receiving signals from that hormone or protein to grow.

Why is this important?

It determines your treatment. If any of the receptors come back Positive, then you are a candidate for “targeted therapy” – treatments that target specific characteristics of cancer cells. Good thing. Because other therapies like chemotherapy is a systemic therapy that targets all quickly growing cells … such as those that are in your gut, mouth, vagina, and that grow hair and nails. Yes, vagina.

So, for example, if you test positive for one of the two hormone receptors, then you can use hormone therapy to cut off the supply of estrogen and / or progesterone to the cells. These are called targeted therapies. Boom! Dead cancer cells without the need to throw a ton of chemotherapy at your body. (Note: This is when a positive result is actually positive … not like my last post when a Negative is a Positive.)

With that in mind, a triple negative pathology is NASTY … since only chemotherapy can be used.

What’s my pathology?

Let’s take a look (this is the 2nd path report btw):

My hormone receptors are both negative – so no hormone therapy for me. Move on to the HER2 receptors. Positive. WOOT WOOT!

What’s HER2?

HER2 are proteins that control how a healthy breast cell grows – until they stop working properly, get out of control and replicate in a crazy ass way.

This is the first thing I read about HER2, from the American Cancer Society website:

“For about 1 in 5 women with breast cancer, the cancer cells have too much of a growth-promoting protein known as HER2/neu (or just HER2) on their surface. These cancers, known as HER2-positive breast cancers, tend to grow and spread more aggressively. ”

Oh great. That doesn’t sound so positive…

So what’s next?

So to be sure that there there are no rogue cells journeying around my body, we have to hit those HER2 positive cancer cells with some drugs. And the best treatment is to combine some of the targeted therapy (good) with some of the systemic therapy (not as good). This is what my oncologist has recommended:

1. Herceptin (this is the brand name – the medical name, trastuzumab, is hard to say):

This is a monoclonal antibody (a man-made immune system protein).
It blocks the ability of the cancer cells to receive chemical signals that tell the cells to grow.
Sometimes it is given alone and sometimes accompanied with chemotherapy.
Causes flu like side effects (fever, chills, nausea, muscle aches).
Oh, and it can cause congestive heart failure … more on that in another blog post…

2. Taxol (chemical name Paclitaxel)

One of the taxane chemotherapies that interfere with the cell’s ability to divide.
In order for it to find the cancer cells it needs to hitch a ride on herceptin, which incredibly knows where to go (because it’s targeted …. remember?).
It uses solvents to dissolve paclitaxel, the main ingredient, so the medicine can enter the bloodstream. I will have to take pre-medications to minimize reactions to the solvents. Oh can’t wait for that.

So that’s where we’re at folks!! I know what’s coming … just have to firm up a few dates and get myself fitted with a portacath!

Oh so many more stories to come… like what I’m going to do with this stunning hair before I lose it all!!

When Negative is a Positive

Posted on December 10, 2017 by pioneerintrees

When looking for signs of malignancy in a pathology report, a negative result is a good thing. A positive result is a bad thing. My biopsy was positive for cancer. Bad. Treatment? Take it out. Done.

This week I received the first pathology report that gave data on 3 things that were removed during surgery: Lymph Nodes, Right Breast and Left Breast. Since I knew that the Right Breast contained cancer cells, it wasn’t expecting any huge surprises, just more details. The Left Breast was removed prophylactically (for my convenience) so I wasn’t expecting anything there. But the Lymph Nodes? Now that data was going to be important.

Such great news! Negative! Woot Woot!

Before we go too far along, let me explain a bit about the lymphatic system – that will give you an idea of why this is such a big fucking deal.

The lymphatic system carries lymph – a clear fluid (from Latin lympha, meaning water). Lymph works in conjunction with the circulatory system (which carries blood). It travels along and filters through lymph nodes (we have between 500 and 600 in our bodies). Here’s a look at the area of interest to me:

Lymph nodes and the lymphatic system are very important in the cancer world, because when you have cancer, the lymphatic system acts as a highway (to hell). It carries cancer cells all over the body where it can take root, grow and kill you. That process is called metastasis. I’m sure you’ve heard of metastatic cancer. Sucks.

When cancer cells travel in lymph, they will get caught up in the lymph nodes. This is why, when looking for any spread of cancer, the surgeon first figures out which nodes the cancer tumor drains to, and then does a biopsy of those nodes. With breast cancer the surgeon takes out one or more axillary lymph nodes. They are in the armpit as you see in the diagram above. In an earlier post I told you a bit about how I was prepped for the sentinel node biopsy. I found out later that only one node “lit up”, which was a good thing since the surgeon only had to take one out.

sentinel node biopsy — *This is what they do to figure out where the “hot” node is.*

Of course, since it’s deep in the armpit, the surgery involves digging and scraping through the pectoral muscle so it’s a bit tender. But I digress. My “hot” node was negative, and that’s what’s important. No cancer in my lymphatic system. Phew!

The second set of results were details about the cancer in the right breast – which we knew a bit about already, mainly that it was Ductal Carcinoma in Situ (DCIS) with microinvasions. That means that there was cancer in the duct with some invading out of the duct. Details from the pathology report:

the cells are Stage 3 invasive ductal carcinoma
there were multiple foci of microinvasion in the 4cm x 3.6cm area (as shown in the MRI … so mastectomy was the right call). 🙂
the two foci were 2.5mm and 2.1 mm
there were clear margins around the larger area
It is named “high grade comedonecrosis” or “Grade 3”, positive for EIC (extensive intraductal component) Which translates roughly to “really fucking bad”, as my surgeon pretty nearly said, but without the swearing.

The data revealed that it was bloody good that they did a mastectomy, rather than a partial mastectomy (otherwise known as a lumpectomy). It was a bit of a crap shoot to do it since MRI results can often be a “false positive”. I decided to err on the side of caution and had both breasts removed. Glad I did.

Next step is to meet my oncologist. He / she will read the next pathology report that identifies my cancer cells’ receptors. These receptors indicate what makes my cancer cells grow, and so from that, they determine the treatment plan. But that’s for another blog post.

Thanks for hanging in!

Coming Unglued

Posted on December 5, 2017 by pioneerintrees

I’m coming up to 3 weeks since having my breasts removed. Since I left the hospital I have subconsciously been measuring my progress by the amount of gluey bits that I’ve been able to remove from my body. I know this because now that it’s almost all gone, I’m still not healed. And I’m appalled. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

glue in the armpit — *Just kidding – these are bruises from where they taped me to the table. (OMG, really? Yes.) But note the tape going WAY up into my armpit!! Seriously excessive.*

I came home a few hours after surgery. I was hopped up on oxycodon and therefore didn’t care that the tape attaching the bandages to my body came high up my chest, straight around under my armpits and across my back. The next day, when I realized that the tape was preventing me from moving freely, I pulled back a few centimetres along the perimeter and tucked it in on itself, like a rebel. Thus began my journey into tape removal, and in my mind, recovery.

big ass bandages — *This first bandage was more like a halter top. Note my work on the edges to make a nicer finish.*

I guess that my tape removal = healing theory came from the premise that this healing thing was going to continue on a predictable trajectory. Tubes out, big pad of bandages off, staples out, smaller bandages off, steri-strips on, steri-strips falling off, … no tape. Done! HA! How easy was that??

Look at how the glue turns black – even on the edges of the steri-strips! Yeech.

Now, as I have gone off all drugs except for the odd extra strength ibuprophen, I’m ALMOST glue free, and yet … what’s that I hear? Oh. It’s nerve endings yelling at me! Wearing a shirt hurts. Wearing anything hurts. That is, unless it’s really tight. I feel like a deep pressure junkie. I stand around pressing my hands flat against my chest to make the sensation go away. It’s not quite pain, it’s more like a humming, or the feeling when you’ve had frostbite and then you come into the heat. Burning. Pins and needles. It’s very distracting. Driving with an ice pack under the seat belt is distracting (but feels so great!).

It’s actually fascinating to probe around the scar tissue and feel the edema in some areas (soft and pillowy) and scar tissue (?) in others (hard and unrelenting). I don’t know exactly where the surgeon dug and scraped to get at the sentinel lymph node, but I can guess.

So ya, I’m almost 3 weeks from surgery and still unable to do basic stuff without wincing, such as:

wipe the table
pull open the cutlery drawer
drive standard
braid my hair
take off a shirt (how come it’s easy to put it on?? makes no sense)
sleep on my side
push myself up from a seated position

At my last appointment my surgeon drew me a diagram to explain it. There are nerves that run up through the breast tissue from the chest wall to the skin on top of the breast. He’s cut all of that tissue out, and in the process cut the nerves. So now I like to think that they are talking to each other. “Hey!! Where are you??” Not sure how long it takes for the nerve endings to chill out and the swelling to subside so that the skin can meld with the chest.

chest diagram. — *This is my version of the doc’s drawing. Lou can weigh in on how well I did.*

In the meantime, tomorrow I will work on removing the last few bits of glue.

Staples Out, Chill Out

Posted on November 29, 2017 by pioneerintrees

A couple of days ago nurse Bonnie took out my staples. I had to lay on the bed while she took them out. No standing allowed since some people pass out. (Oh great. Isn’t that foreshadowing??) She seemed to be struggling a bit with the disposable staple removal device … I think mainly because she had baggy rubber gloves on. I was close to asking her to take them off, but she looked so determined. She took out one or two staples that didn’t hurt at all and then the digging began. Now that was not so pleasant. “Oh this one is hard to get a hold of. We’ll come back to that later.” Oh great.

remover — *This little removal tool is pretty clever! Shove it under, squeeze. It crimps the staple in the middle, causing the tucked under part to shoot up and out.*

When it was all said and done, 53 staples were out and 12 steri-strips were put on. Why? Well, “just in case the incision doesn’t hold”. Oh, ok. Great.

Any special instructions about the steri-strips? (I’ve learned to ask this.) Oh yes, says Bonnie…

no lifting anything over 5 lbs
no pushing
no pulling
no reaching over your head
anytime you are doing exercises, stop when it hurts – don’t push past that (read: no shampooing the top of your head)
no baths

Piece of cake. I’ll just go ahead and do NOTHING.

icing the chest — *This is me going slowly bonkers. Keeps the swelling (and tenderness) down though…*

She didn’t say no knitting, so I knit up this cowl (thanks to Dana for the wool).

goofy cowl shot — *Again with the crazy eyes…*

It’s a basic pattern except that I added in a little triangular part on the bottom edge so that the wind doesn’t whistle into my coat above the top button. I HATE that about cowls! They are just a bit too short for coats that you don’t button right up to your chin.

Next up – go to see the surgeon. I plan to ask him a whole lot about the surgery itself, such as:

Where exactly were the lymph nodes taken from … that really swollen and painful spot or is that something else?
How many were taken?
And do you realize that the left side of my chest looks a LOT different from the right?
Did the resident do one side and you did the other?
And what did you do with my gorgeous nipples? I should have donated them. Or bronzed them.

Of course I will also get the first set of results from the surgery – information about the lymph nodes. Big question – was there any cancer in them? If there was, then they will likely want to take out more nodes … but not necessarily. Or they may want to radiate the lymph node area … but not necessarily. If there is no cancer (obviously a good thing), they won’t take more nodes, but it doesn’t mean I’m done with treatment. That will depend on what the breast tissue says … and that’s another 2 – 3 weeks. Could be radiation, could be chemo.

One step at a time.

In the meantime, knit. And make a plan for physio and massage therapy. (This surgery does quite the number on your shoulders and back.) And watch a little Netflix. Recommended last night are: Ozark, Shameless and Lion. Oh and Melissa implores me to watch Coronation Street, but then I’d drive people bonkers with my British accent.

Stapled

Posted on November 25, 2017 by pioneerintrees

The other day Ripley starting barking, so I knew I had company. I looked out to see a van coming up the lane. A man hopped out and headed toward the front door with a large paper bag. I’m thinking “Hey someone ordered Chinese Food for me!” Nope. It was a bag of medical supplies. The packing slip said “Staple removal kit.”

Of course I’ve been anticipating the procedure. It’s next, after all.

First though, let me tell you just a wee bit about how I survived nurse Amanda removing my drains. It was quite easy. She cut the suture, then I braced myself by putting my hand on her shoulder and followed her instructions. “Take a deep breath in, now breathe out …..” Then I swore a lot.

Here’s one of the drains that came out:

At any rate, I got through that. No problem.

drain hole & bruising — This shows the drain hole that is healing, but check out the pattern of bruising! Turns out that tape affects bruising a LOT! The angled bruise marks above the hole are from tape, the rectangle around the hole is also the same shape as the bandage. I think that’s all rather weird.

So now, the staples. I have 26 staples across the left, 27 staples across the right. The surgeon explained that depending on the stretch / tension in the skin he would either be doing invisible stitches or staples. I got the staples.

What exactly does that mean about my skin? It’s tighter? I’m more apt to be an idiot and do too much each day? I would NEVER do that! Anyway, I wonder about his choice. Because the staples are very very cruel. They look cruel and feel cruel. When the pain meds wear off they tingle and sometimes burn. I can’t sleep on my side or hug anyone. I know that they are doing their job and allowing the incisions to bond together. They’re just a bit much.

At any rate, Amanda told me the date that the next nurse would be coming to take them out (day after next…) and I asked “soooo, how exactly do you take those out”?

I of course was imagining the various staple removers that I have used – one that looks fairly sinister, with 4 fangs that come together when the hinge is squeezed, and other that seems to rely on a measured thrust under the staple. Neither of these seemed like good options for my chest. I waited with some dread as she rooted through her kit to find hers. Finally she pulled out a slim device and showed me.

This one is from the paper bag (yes, I had to open it, what can I say?):

She explained it in simple terms which I will do my best to pass on here: the device bites the staple in the middle, crimping the staple and forcing the curved ends (that are nicely tucked under my skin) to pull up and out. Just like that.

I’d rather have Chinese Food.

Drains, Draining, am Drained.

Posted on November 22, 2017 by pioneerintrees

It seems that when they take a pound of flesh, they must leave a drain. I have two.

What are drains? I will tell you. Drains are the collection agency for my chest wall fluids. I find them to be somewhat fascinating. If you don’t, you may want to stop reading.

As I was saying, drains are like highways for all that must not remain. The drains in me are soft plastic tubes that are inserted into either side of my chest wall. Of course you can’t just have a drain springing out of your chest, it must be sewn into place (yes, that’s correct, note the thread).

They work similar to a sprinkler system – but reversed. Where the tube goes into the chest wall, it changes into a flattened version of itself, with holes for the pools of blood to enter. (The nurse told me this info so I must believe her … although she’s taking them out tomorrow so I can check for myself.) The fluids then travel into the tube and make their way down down down to a plastic bulb that holds up to 100 cc of fluid.

full — *This was taken the day after surgery, when there was a lot of fluid behind the incision. It was ready to be emptied.*

clipped on — *This is a more manageable volume. Simply attach to stolen hospital pants and you’re good to go!*

As you can see by the above photo, the bulbs at the bottom can be pinned to your pants or shoved in an inner jacket pocket. The tubes hang around looking for things to snag on so that you can swear regularly. It’s their job. Best to tuck the drain tubes away.

Every 24 hours (or more often if they get heavy) you have to empty the bulbs, measure the fluid and record it. I will get my drains out once they produce less than 30 cc in a 24 hour period. After draining the bulb you must squeeze all the air out of it before you re-cap it. The suction in the bulb literally pulls the fluid out of the chest wall. Cool!

Once in a while the fluids stop moving – a clot forms at the beginning of the drain and it needs to be persuaded to move down to the bulb. So you have to hold the top of the tube still (very important) and pull the clot down to the tube. It’s a process called milking. Takes a bit of time and can cramp up the shoulder as it’s a bit awkward.

fresh dressing — See how that blood is just sitting up there? When it’s there for a long time it needs to be pulled down. Nice chest eh? Bruised and swollen …

The drain site is covered with gauze and taped. The nurses use 4″x4″ gauze and a swath of tape (note the above photo). They don’t seem to give a shit that it hurts like hell to pull off the bandages – especially under the armpits. I felt compelled to amend the situation and make my own mini version.

The drain gauze is taped neatly, overlapping a long strip of gauze that is keeping the staples and incision protected. (Staples? They’re a topic for another day.) And that’s all you need to know about drains.

Oh, and good for you for being brave and reading the entire post. Are you a fan of Grey’s? ER? Oh ya!!! Push the epi!

Feelings of Booblessness

Posted on November 19, 2017 by pioneerintrees

It’s been a whirlwind getting to this state.

dressing — *Booblessness, staples, drains & nausea (and still smiling when I’m not bossing people around…)*

September 14th was a routine mammogram, November 17th bi-lateral mastectomy … and all of the requisite appointments in between. It went like this…

Routine mammogram, mag view mammogram, family doc appt to explain biopsy, biopsy, family doc appt to explain result of biopsy, surgeon, bloodwork, MRI, surgeon, surgeon, bloodwork, surgeon, surgery, recovery. All in 2 months.

Lots of support along the way from Paul, my family, friends and staff, with helpful tips like this…

… and of course lots of chocolate, books, wine, knitting materials and tea. People know me.

I only had to have the right breast off – as well as a sentinal node biopsy. I wanted the left breast off as well. It wasn’t having an “Angelina Jolie”, which everyone comments on me having – from friends to nurses to the anaesthesiologist. Her surgery was entirely preventative and she had reconstruction done at the same time. I wanted to have my left breast off purely for convenience. Sounds pretty vain, wanting to part with my own flesh because I’m too lazy to make a concerted effort every day to make the vacant space on the right look like the sagging boobie on the left. Truth. I didn’t want to have to put forth the effort involved to have a prosthetic boob handy in order to avoid putting anyone in a state of discomfort. I’d rather toss on a T-shirt when I want to. And put on a SET of IDENTICAL prosthestic breasts when I feel the need.

So … here I am now. In recovery. Staples come out on day 10. After that I’ll be wearing this beauty that my loving sis got for me. I think it will be pretty much 24/7.

*This camisole is built specifically for people who have had a mastectomy – there are little slits for the fake tits to go in… but it also hugs in super tight.*

After the healing I’ll find out the results of the sentinal node biopsy. (That’s where they inject isotopes in to the nipple area just before surgery, then track the nodes that they go to and mark them with a sharpie. The surgeon removed those nodes during surgery and now they are off to the lab where they will be dissected and searched for cancer cells.) And after that, I’ll find out the results of the breast tissues. The data that comes back from the lab will inform the next steps of treatment. One step at a time.

And in the meantime, I need to go fake boob shopping and Annie & Bree and I will be designing mastectomy tattoos …

Into the Pink, Literally and Figuratively

Posted on November 3, 2017 by pioneerintrees

This fall, as I took a bit of my spare time to finish up some projects that were “on the needles”, my world turned pink. I had a pink “pussy” hat to finish up and a pair of pink socks 3/4 finished. Funny how the things that sit so quietly in their little bags can cause so much noise in your brain! Knitting as a metaphor. Wait for it.

With the pussy hat – my 6th, thanks to Deborah – I had to deal with a dropped a stitch in order to get it done. Just as speed bumps can influence you to take an alternate route, so can the dropped stitch influence the knitter to avoid the project.

Dropped stitich — You just can’t live with a dropped stitch. Total speed bump.

I actually don’t mind fixing this problem – it’s so much like magic, after all. But it takes good lighting, concentration and a steady hand and those conditions are not always available (best not to do while passenging in the car, especially when Paul is driving JK). Rather than frog it (slang for rip out the knitting, FYI), you simply go back to the column containing the dropped stitch and unravel that column all the way down to the stitch that is waiting there patiently for you to notice it. Totally rewarding. And cool.

Picking up the stitch — Pick up one stitch at a time. Heal that sucker! (Another metaphor. Wait for it!)

Once that’s done, carry on, do some ribbing, sew it together and you have a cool pussy hat. Handy when traveling in the States.

Second pink project was a pair of socks knit from Zauberball, one of my favourite sock yarns because of the awesome colour, quality and knitability. I had one sock entirely done and the other was ready to turn the heel, so that only took a short while and a few Netflix movies. According to this blog post I started knitting these socks 10 months ago. GAH! (And yes, I like them short. Metaphor? Oh sheesh.)

Around this same time that I was knitting up these two pink projects I went for a regular breast screening mammogram, and then a second call back (for a “mag view mammogram”) that confirmed that there was something there. That led to a biopsy and before you knew it, I was in Pink Land. Yes it’s a place. Meeting with a surgeon, booking an MRI, having the MRI, seeing my undulating boobies on a big screen, discussing surgical options, figuring out recovery times… That has all happened. Breast cancer. I can barely say it since it puts me in a club that I don’t want to be in. But I’m in it. Sigh.

I’ve decided to write here so that I have a place to communicate to those who may want to hear my voice. Here I can talk about the pinkness of it all, in my own time and with my own crapload of crazy metaphors and likely swearing. Not necessarily the details – but maybe the details. Ya, probably the details. But I don’t know. All I know is that is that I really don’t have the energy to talk to everyone about it in person. There are just too many people who will want a quick update – with or without a concerned look, supportive hug, casserole or encouraging pink card. I don’t think that I can manage all of the updating – it’s just too much to face all of the time … all of the caring is overwhelming, and I’ve only just told my family, a couple of close friends and my staff. I sound ungrateful, I know, and I do feel guilty and apologetic (as all good Canadians do). But I have to manage other shit in my life – like my family and my work and my own self.

Of course feel free to add comments here as usual. And if you want more info, reach out to my “pink crew” for any more details. They are: my sibs, mom, best Aunt Donna, other besties Kerry, Wendy, Cath, Dana, and of course Paul.

Thanks and peace out for now.

My staff is awesome – organized this m&m group costume with me in pink – how great is that?? Love them.

Making it Work

… creations and life in general