You’d think that once they’ve cut your boobs off, dosed you up with chemo for 3 months and then marinated you with Herceptin for a year you’d be good and DONE and they’d let you MOVE the fuck ON. But no. That’s not how it works. I WAS WRONG. This is how it works:

6 months = magic number

It appears that if something were to change in your body, it would take 6 months, because that’s how often they want to see you. Not 7 months or 8. Nope. 6 months.

I went to see my surgeon last week (the cute one who once demonstrated a sense of humour when he said I could get a tattoo of a camel on my sand dune chest). It’s been 1 1/2 years since bilateral mastectomy surgery, so I’ve had a few check ups with him since then. OBVIOUSLY my chest is totally healed up so I was going to cancel (it was SO BLOODY NICE AT THE COTTAGE), but I came home for the appointment because I’m a model patient. (insert grace face emoji)

The check up followed the same procedure as the last ones:

he called me out of the waiting room
led me to an exam room and asked me to gown up, how are you doing, blah blah blah
when he came into the exam room he had me lay down on the exam table & draped me to my waist with a sheet
I had to put my left hand under my head while he ever so respectfully moved the left side of my gown to the side and palpated my chest / scars, etc all while chatting in a distracted way

(Ok, I found that to be SO freaking funny!! I MEAN, I HAVE NO BOOBS!! Does he REALLY need to do the draping and respectful lifting thing? Does he do that with a dude?? I dunno. I just seemed WEIRD that he’d go to all of the effort.) The other reason was so funny was because I’m SO ticklish, and I’ve got my arm up and bent with my hand behind my head and he’s probing around – Jesus it was so very hard to keep from bursting into laughter when he was doing that. Ok, back to the bullets…

he switched to the other side, he palpated and I giggled
he asked me to de-gown and go to his office for the obligatory post exam chat

I said to him at that point “I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but what exactly is the point of these visits?”. Deadpan response “I’m looking for recurrence.” WTF ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT RIGHT NOW?

I had no idea.

Obviously recurrence is a thing

I mean, wouldn’t I go to my oncologist to check for recurrence? My family doc? I figured that the surgeon’s job was to cut out the cancer, not to identify recurrence.

But what do I know?

So we chatted about recurrence. I recalled that at my last oncologist appointment she said that the only way to know if it’s come back is if, well, it comes back. There are no tests. (I didn’t believe that… would YOU believe that?) My surgeon attested to that. He said to watch for pain where there was no pain, shortness of breath, and lumps / bumps where there were none prior. My immediate thought? What scale of shortness of breath are you talking about?? I’m not exactly fit (as evidenced by the extreme cardiovascular challenge of walking up and down approximately 200,000 steps in my recent trip to Italy).

*There are a shit ton of steps in the Cinque Terre, Florence and Positano. Fair warning, my friends.*

But that’s another story. Back to the surgeon’s office …

I ventured to ask him “So … if it were to come back, would it go to my brain first?” NOPE. Turns out it’s the lungs or the liver. Good to know.

Next up?

I’m heading to see a new doc – Dr. Derek in the dirty dirty Shwa (don’t worry, that’s just where he does consults). He’s a plastic surgeon who has a golden reputation for mastectomy reconstruction. I’m very interested to meet him – not only to ask him the following questions, but to see how he’s doing since he (apparently) broke both of his wrists in a cycling accident in June.

These are my questions for Dr. Derek:

what are the options for my sand dune chest?
which is the least invasive?
which will heal the fastest?
what are the timelines for each?
what have most women with a chest that looks like mine opted for? (I can’t figure out how to word that one correctly)
do you have any before and after pics? (before and after reconstruction, not the cycling accident… but I have been thinking about the broken wrists, I’ll be honest)
who do you recommend for mastectomy tattoos?

So that’s where I’m at. How are you? And if you have any more questions for Dr. Derek, let me know.

These days I’m thinking about being DONE and what it means for me to be DONE (yell a bit when I put done in caps, ok?).

I’ll break it down a bit for you. In the next two weeks I have:

a meeting with my surgeon
my final Herceptin treatment
my portacath removed

Each of these appointments represent a different kind of DONE (nice job) and a bit WOOT WOOT (emphasis here too, please, maybe twist your wrists in a circle).

Surgeon Visit

First of all, surgeon man is very charming WOOT WOOT, so I like to visit him, and this will be my last visit with him. Nuff said about that. Secondly, I’m planning to talk to him about plastic surgery and the hypothetical referral that I was given by someone that I cannot recall right now (I think it was he the surgeon, but could have been my family doc). Bottom line is since I don’t know who said they’d refer me, or who they said they’d refer me to, I haven’t been able to follow up, and therefore I don’t know where I’m at with the referral. This is my life. Just ask my secretarial staff.

I digress. Why do I want a referral? Two reasons:

My chest wall looks like sand dunes. I don’t need breasts, but I’d prefer tabla rasa rather than a Dali-esque distorted chest wall. Who cares, you might ask? Well, I care. When I wear clothes that cling I don’t care that I’m “flat chested / non-breasted” (the name of my imaginary post-retirement company that sells bathing suits with no cups). But I don’t want clinging tops that show the deep tracts of my scars. That just looks wrong. Troughs across my chest are not a great look.
I want to have some tatoo work done on my chest WOOT WOOT and I’m thinking that the “memories of boob” bumps could impact the design options. (But what do I know about the effects of bumps on tatoos…)

So ya, I want to see a plastic surgeon. Can she (yes, she’s a she, I remember that much), … can she do something easy to flatten me out? What about the one deep sink hole? That thing is just going to look worse as the years pass, I can tell you that.

*Belly button #2 and portacath bump in upper right. Vogue material right here.*

You can see why the surgeon appointment is an important DONE for me – because it’s a done with a twist. Done with him, and on to surgeon #2. WOOT WOOT!

Final Treatment

This one is a clear DONE. My treatment regimen was 12 chemo treatments (in a row, so once/week for 12 weeks) and 18 Herceptin treatments (once every 3 weeks for a year). I had to miss one Herceptin treatment because of the heart attack, so that’s why I’m finishing 3 weeks later than prescribed. No biggie.

I’ve been counting down the treatments since the summer, each time taking the nurses the same number of treats as treatments that I have left. So it’s become a bit of a “thing” for me. I started with 13 dipped oreos, then 12 muffins …

I really love the nurses in the chemo suite – they’re all so welcoming, positive, gentle, nice… (even the one who I had some reservations about once – I’ve kept my eye on her). Because of the nurses, the chemo suite becomes a safe place to be when you’re in treatment. People are in various stages of feeling shitty, and the nurses treat their patients like family. It’s a nice, calm place to be, and I actually enjoy going. I know that sounds whack, but it’s true. Warm blankets, understanding and a couple of cookies go a long way.

I can’t say that I’ll actually miss going, but it does feel kind of like the end of summer camp. I have to say goodbye. To make it easier, and to thank them for getting me through it, my good friend Annie is coming with me and bringing a whole bunch of her gorgeous charms that she makes out of recycled glass. I’m going to have each nurse choose a charm for her necklace or bracelet. I’m excited to say thank you that way. I think they’ll love Annie’s work. WOOT WOOT!

Truly though, I won’t feel truly DONE till …

Portacath Removal

I get this sucker out one week after my last treatment. Take a look at this video – it gives me video envy! I have no idea how that woman got permission to video the removal of her portacath, but I’m seriously jealous!! It’s so cool to be able to see what’s being done to you.

Having the portacath has been a huge asset. It has been so easy for the nurses to deliver chemo and Herceptin. I have seen some of the other patients’ struggles with collapsed veins, and I’ve felt so grateful for my port. It was also super handy when I had morphine injected straight to my heart while I was passing that GD kidney stone! The relief was literally INSTANT (jazz hands here).

Many people will tell you that cancer is a “journey”. It’s true, it is. My journey is almost DONE. It’s about fucking time.

Making it Work

… creations and life in general

Tag: surgeon

Still with the Doctors