Wow.  That was probably one of the worst follow ups I've had.

I had my 6 week follow up with Dr. A. after my surgery.  The started out bad when I realized I was still sick with some kind of cold or sinus infection, so I felt like crap.  Then I got into another argument with Jeremy, which made me feel more depressed.  Then on the way to my appointment, I tried to take a dose of cough medicine, only to spill it all over my lap.  I had to stop in Tanger to get a clean pair of pants and a shirt.  Ugh!

I get to the appointment and I make Jeremy wait in the waiting room.  Once in a room, I waited forever for the doctor.  I realized he had lots of other patients that day, so I tried to be patient.  Several time the nursing assistant came in and out to check on me and get my vitals.  At one point, the nurse came in and said she needed to take the 'after' photos for my bio and chart.  I told her I didn't want to do that because I wasn't happy with the results and I think Dr. A. will need to do another surgery.  She kind of shrugged me off and made me pose in front of the fancy curtain.  She took all the photos and left me to wait some more.

Some time later Dr. A. came in.  He didn't say much, but did ask me what I thought of 'the job'.  I broke at that point - I started telling him how they weren't the size they should be, that the incisions looked questionable and that they weren't 'settled' correctly.  I was almost to tears trying to tell him how unhappy I was about my boobs, but I tried to hard to keep it in.  When he was done, I finally cracked and just kept saying They're not right and asked why my expanders were bigger than what I have now.  I could see he was becoming frustrated with me, but I couldn't stop myself.  Then at that point he proceeds to tell me that they are the size that they are supposed to be and that there is nothing wrong with them.  He then reaches over, pokes my belly and tells me that women that have bigger bellies have more of a problem with their breasts not being as prominent.  He hinted that if I lost weight, my breasts would come out further.  He then tells me to have the nurse weigh me today and then he would check my weight again when I came back in 8 weeks for my next follow up.  For the first time in a long time, I was speechless.  I could only nod and say 1-2 words while he and the nurse walked out.  And then I lost it.  I bawled.  I did the ugly cry face.  I was sunk.  After the already shitty day I'd had - now this needed to sink in?  I got dressed and walked out of the room, but when the nurse asked me to step on the scale to be weighed, I angrily told her that I wasn't doing it.  I rushed out to the front, paid my copay and left.

It took everything I had to keep Jeremy from going back into the office and raising a stink.  After all, he's pretty protective when he sees me crying - for any reason.  All the way home I would randomly started crying - and then stop - and then start again.  I couldn't stop.  Not only had my boob job totally flopped - the boob job I thought would be the finale to my breast cancer journey - but the man I once idolized as a charitable surgeon and friend was now brushing off my concerns and pointing out one of my many other insecurities.  He called me fat!  I was this size when he met me two years ago - but he wants to make sure I know it now?  I realized after that appointment that he no longer cared about me or my journey with breast cancer - he was just another plastics surgeon.  Is he doing this to all his breast cancer patients?

I may or may not go back in 8 weeks.  I just hope my incisions heal well and I don't have any more important questions, because I don't think he would help with either.

It's been a week since my surgery.  I'm on a roller coaster of emotions - and it's not looking good.

The day of surgery, I arrived on time and things started out smooth.  Dr. A. was running a little behind, but I was trying to stay patient.  Jeremy sat with me and kept me occupied.  When Dr. A. came in, he seemed in a rush and quickly went through the surgery process and what would be done.  When he got to the under-chin lipo procedure, he told me where he would put holes and made the comment "You know it's just liposuction - it's not a miracle cure".  My heart dropped.  I looked at my husband and then looked back at Dr. A. and said "Well I'm not sure if that was meant as a compliment or an insult."  He seemed to ignore my comment and moved on.  Shortly after I was wheeled off to surgery, doing my princess wave to all the nurses and techs that passed me on the way.

I woke up in post-op feeling pretty terrible.  The nurses were a lot nicer to me this time and even brought me a diet soda and some jello, instead of choking crackers.  I was very hard to wake and had trouble keeping my oxygen up.  I started crying because it was so hard to stay awake and keep the damn machine behind my head from beeping uncontrollably every time my oxygen dropped below 95%.  I was emotional, and my poor husband was my outlet.  When Dr. A. came by, I was almost in tears when I asked him why my chest was so flat (I elected to have D size implants).  He looked me over and said they were looking fine and that he knew he put "Cs or Ds in there".  I gave up and started crying as he shook Jeremy's hand and left.

The next two days were the hardest I've had since my mastectomy.  Everything was sore.  I had no arm strength.  Even getting in and out of the recliner was enough to make me bust out in tears.  On top of it all, My boobs were flat and my neck and jaw were sore as hell.  I lashed out at Jeremy repeatedly, which makes me surprised he stuck around for so long.  I was supposed to have a 24 hour follow up, but Dr. A. was at a conference all day so he couldn't see me.  He did call my cell around lunch time to check on my progress.  I told him I was miserable, but was trying to stay positive.  After all, there wasn't much I could ask him about without him looking at me in person.

Jeremy and I went home the day after my surgery, and it was a struggle just getting in the car.  Every position hurt, but I somehow managed to sleep all the way home.  I was too exhausted to unpack or do anything else, so I jut stayed in bed and tried to find a comfortable way to lay down or sleep sitting up.

A week later I had my follow up appt.  I walked in the clinic fully banded up, sore, and still flat.  Dr. A. looked me over and examined my stitches and incisions.  Thank God I wasn't having any major complications and everything was healing correctly on the outside.  I asked him why I felt so flat and why the implants were not as prominent.  I felt like he brushed me off by saying that they are still heavily bandaged and they only appear smaller.  Miss C. changed my bandages and coated me in a smelly iodine solution and then I was on my way home again.

So hear I am, a week post-op surgery, and I'm not feeling much better.  I don't know what is screwing with my hormones so much, but I'm feeling depressed and am crying more often since the surgery.  I mean, I know I'm in pain but that can't be it.  Everyone is trying to make me feel better, but nothing seems to work - which makes me feel worse.  I go back to work net week, so I know I need to get myself together.  I've been trying to get back to normal.  That's what this surgery was supposed to do!  But why isn't it working?

It's the day before my last surgery - and I'm freaking out!

Tomorrow I'll go back in to surgery with Dr. A.  He's gonna take out my expanders and replace them with my 'permanent' silicone boobs.  It's the final phase of my reconstruction and is supposed to make me feel like myself again.  I've had to delay the surgery twice, so I'm glad it's finally here.  I'm so glad my cousin let me stay at his place tonight and for the next few days so I can be close to the hospital and close to the clinic for any post-op appt.  I think I'll buy him a six pack of beer or something to keep in his fridge for when he gets back.  lol

Tomorrow is the last step in getting back to normal.  My last surgery in this loooooong journey.  I'll be getting my final boobs and will no longer have to be reminded of cancer.  I'm trying to not to get my hopes all up and think this is going to be some glorious transformation, but I'm so ready to be done.  No more planning or future surgeries.  No more explaining why my boobs are giving me problems with the expanders.  No more frequent trips to the surgeons.  No more.

Of course I'm scared.  I'm nervous.  I'm exhausted.
I'm scared post-op recovery is going to be hard.  I don't have as much faith in myself as everyone else does in me.  I'm tired of  'recovering' and 'healing'.  I just want to fast forward to a few months from now when I can be myself again.  Where I can focus on my new self - my new me.

Today is my 9th wedding anniversary to my great husband.  Sometimes I feel like my affection for him is similar to Arnold and Helga - "Your eyes, like two green jellybeans,  Are pools I want to bathe in,  My head doth swoon, and yet,  I want to beat your face in"
We've been on a roller coaster, but we're still going.  I want to do something special next year for our big 10 year celebration, but can't decide what.

Of course today also marks 19 years since I was diagnosed with leukemia.  It was so long ago and so many times I thought I was finally done being sick or damaged, until some other problem came up and was eventually traced back to the cancer, the chemo or the radiation.  I think the last straw was being diagnosed with breast cancer two years ago - that was my final smack in the face.  Ugh.

But I always acknowledge that I've had great doctors and care teams all along the way.  I love my doctors like family and am thankful they have continued to treat me over the years.  I'm especially thankful for my pedi oncologists for helping me transition to the oncologists and breast surgeon that I have now.  Without them, I would have been lost trying to navigate this on my own.

19 years and counting...

So last week was supposed to be my surgery day.  My final phase of reconstruction.  But it wasn't.  It didn't happen for me.  Again.

I had everything worked out.  I had all my prescriptions ordered.  I had my payment plan worked out.  I made sure Jeremy was home to drive me.  I had everything planned.  I was ready.  But three days before surgery my foot started hurting.  It was a tell-tale sign, but I ignored it.  The day before my surgery the pain had gotten so bad I went to my DR and did bloodwork.  Later that day the hospital in Dallas called to do my pre-registration.  When I mentioned the foot pain and my suspicions that the gout has flared up again, she told me we'd have to wait and see if they would proceed with the surgery.   teared up, but was sure something like gout was not going to stop me.

A few hours later Dr. A. called and sadly told me that they had cancelled my surgery.  The hospital did not feel comfortable operating on a diabetic with an active gout flare - it was deemed to risky.  He apologized over and over and told me he would reschedule with me right away.  I hung up with him and broke down crying right there in the break room.  The walls weren't soundproof, so I'm sure my coworkers heard me bawling.  I had to call my boss and tell her to cancel the time off I had scheduled and that I'd be at work the next day.  I spent the rest of the day and the weekend crying and pouting. 

It's a new week and I've started the gout medicine, so it'll be another week before everything clears up.  I won't reschedule my surgery until I'm sure the flare is gone.  For some reason God decided this was not the right time for me to have my surgery, although I have no idea why.  Yeah yeah I know I'm not supposed to know why - but I'm getting tired of having meltdowns and going insane.

I still gotta pick myself up by my bootstraps and get ready for the next surgery date.  Whenever that may be.

Yesterday was my pre-op appt!

Surgery is right around the corner!  Fingers and toes crossed nothing goes wrong this time!

I saw Dr. A. yesterday.  He was in a hurry and I think the clinic was busy, so we didn't get to talk long.  He explained again about switching out the expanders for the implants and what kind of incisions he'd be making.  I asked him about after care, but he said their wouldn't be too much needed since it was going to be a simple trade out.  I won't have any drains, clean any incisions or keep up with any bandages.  Whoo hoo!  I'm not sure what to expect or what to think - I just want this to be over.

At the end of the visit, I got my quote for my part of the surgery.  Minus the cost of the surgeon and anesthesiologist fees, I'll owe the hospital $1,400.  I know I'll need to work out a payment plan or something.  I can't let money get in the way of my new boobs again.


On a side note, at my visit today I made a drop of drain pouches to donate.  I only had about 20 pouches in all to donate, but it felt good to walk in with big bags to leave with them.  When I was checking in, a patient was coming out and had one of my drain pouches in her hand.  She said Dr. A. had given it to her for the drains she showed me she still had.  I talked a little about the pouches and then showed her the shower ones I crocheted.  She was so excited about them and dug through the bags at all the different colors and designs of the pouches.  She offered to pay me, but of course I told her she could just send me a thank you email - each pouch has a card with care instructions and my personal email.  She excitedly took 2 or 3 pouches with her and it made me feel so good to see how happy my little gesture can make someone like her.  Now I want to go home and make more.

I guess this is kind of like a second anniversary.  Another birthday?  Another mile marker?

Two years ago today I waited on the results of an emergent breast biopsy Dr. L. had done in her office.  I had been a referral from Dr. G., who assured me I was in good hands with her and got me an immediate appt.  After speaking with Dr. L., going over the mammograms, and doing the biopsy, she told me I'd have to wait over the weekend for the results.

I remember sitting in her office and just kept repeating what was going on in my head.  I knew it was cancer, but needed to hear the words from someone else.  I needed someone else's confirmation besides my own.  I knew I'd have to go through more hell - surgery, chemo, medications, etc. - and part of me felt ready to do it.  But not knowing what was coming was the worst part.  I'd have to wait 3 more weeks to see an oncologist who would finally tell me what I'd have to do.

I feel like I had a false bravado and kept trying to pump myself up to be strong and brave for everyone.  Looking back now, what I really needed was to be allowed to be human.  Allowed to cry, allowed to be in pain, allowed to whine, and allowed to say I've had enough or that I can't do anymore without judgement.  If I ever get sick again - God forbid - that'll be the only thing I ask from everyone.

I got fitted for a new lymphadema sleeve last week!  I'm so excited! 
Of course it'll take six weeks to get here and bill my insurance, but I'm still excited!

You're supposed to replace your sleeve every 4-6 months at most, but I admit I haven't done that.  They're expensive and we only have one store in Tyler that has them/orders them.  There is one in Dallas right down the road from my hospital, but I never get a chance to go by there.  But I sucked it up and went to the one we have in Tyler and made sure I didn't need to adjust my size or measurements.  So now I just wait for them to call and pay my $80 fee -  at least that's an estimate they told me after the insurance pays.  Ugh.

I got a plain, beige one this time.  But some day, I'm gonna have a fancy, stylish one that rocks!  Something like one of these:

It's a new year.  But things don't feel any different - not really.

I feel like I'm in limbo or something.  I can't move forward until my boob surgery is gets closer and I can start planning for that.  Other wise I'm just doing follow ups - Follow ups for the cancer, follow ups for the breast surgeon, follow ups for the diabetes, follow ups for primary doctor - the list just goes on.

I'm hoping to get a new lymphadema sleeve this year since the one I have is practically falling apart.  I'm excited to buy new bras and clothes after my boob surgery is done.  There's so much I want to do this year, but is this the year for me?  It's hard to look ahead.  Two years ago my biggest worry was newly diagnosed diabetes, but then I was diagnosed with breast cancer.  A year ago I was getting ready to finish my treatments and have my port removed, but then I lost my job.  Ugh!

New years always suck.  I used to b optimistic about them, but I feel like God is making fun of me if I do and instead just chooses to prove me wrong.