Contrasts

My first annual mammogram took me back to the Top Top Radiologist. Note the contrasts:

Once again I was photographed by the enormous breast clamp. The radiology nurse said breast pain reduces as you age. "How much older do I have to get exactly?" She didn't know but was quite amused. I snapped the photo while she took my pictures to the TTR for her expert opinion.

10 minutes later back she came. "We have to do an ultrasound."  Meek as a lamb I tripped along after her with my coat on , like a secret flasher.

More contrasts.

This is what I could see supine on the bed, as my right breast was painfully examined with the ultrasound device.  On screen the tissue looked greyish, and the cysts were revealed as contrasting black holes. 

The nurse kept apologising as I kept wincing with the pain. I've become a real wuss and I think my constant low level pain makes me more wussy when I experience any additional pain.

"Ooh that doesn't look too good" I say when I see a mucky looking cyst. (I can cast an opinion now that I'm an expert on breast ultrasounds.) So I wasn't surprised when 15 mins later the TTR came in to talk to me. All my old cysts are there, but smaller, she says. She restarts the ultrasound, and goes over the mucky cyst.

 "I'm a little concerned, but it does look like debris, which you're allowed to have. I'll send  the pics and report to the Breast Surgeon Supreme, and he may decide it needs to be drained. But I think it's Ok really."

It's never black and white is it?

Dear Me

"... And you don't know where you stand, and did something pass you by? And if you are dismissed, will you get another try?"  (Obsolete. Sara Groves)

After having my check up with the breast surgeon, I'm now coming up for my next mammogram. I'm not looking forward to it, and I wish they would just do an ultrasound, after all if there is anything suspicious and sinister in my left breast they will do an ultrasound, so why not just skip the boob eating monster and let me have the more gentle sonic device?

And yes, I know it is my right breast... but I seemed to have formed the habit of referring to it as my left breast because I mean the "left behind breast". Right breast now seems to mean there was a 'right' one and a 'wrong' one. Of course, this is all said in my head. I don't talk to people about my breasts, passed  (sic) or present, as really they're not interested, and rightly so. The prosthetic one does a good job of helping me front up to the world and capriciously weathered Hobart is scarf friendly, so cover up of imbalance is easy. It's really when cuddles are needed that the difference is noted.

Today the youngest PS was in heartbroken tears, having failed his sailing class. He has so enjoyed this sport, but they say he doesn't concentrate hard enough, or try consistently, so he can't move on to the next level with all his friends. Try again in a year they said.  We sobbed together in the recliner, me as at other times, shifting the cuddle position because the prosthetic breast feels wrong, and a barrier somehow. "Why are you crying Mom?"

"Because you are" I say conveniently, but really I'm crying because:

• he's hurt and I can't make it better immediately
• failure is a part of life (despite what all the facebook and other mothers will have you believe about their incredibly gifted, always successful children)
• I want him to try again next season and face up to his peers  moving on, and possibly teasing him about failing
• because he has been left behind and they will tease him and we have to equip him with strength, maturity and resilience so he can cope with it all
• I feel like a failure myself as a mother - after all my kids don't win the art prize, or get into the sports teams, (dropping the ball, and  kicking an own goal make up the list of PS's sporting achievements) or win scholarships, or school prizes; or get invited to a birthday party nearly every weekend, or even get invited for a playdate ( we do  nearly all the inviting) nor do they have any particular specialness that would provide an acceptable reason for these things
• half of my chest is flat and my DH doesn't care - yes that's nice but I wish he was at least a little bit upset and disappointed
• I want to have a few days away just me and DH, but we can't afford it and anyway, DH prefers to stay home

Dear me! the side effects of the hormonal treatment are really effective. Along with the common ones of joint pain, bone pain, breast pain, insomnia and constipation; depression is settling in like October rain in Durban. The package says to consult the doctor if depression appears. Hmm. that will have to wait.

There are other reasons for tears:

• my uncle died of lung cancer this week. He was diagnosed just before me, and our treatments overlapped, although continents apart. We will all miss that good, cheerful, simple hearted man who knew about taking pleasure in the small daily things of life.
• a respected and liked ex colleague has found new cancer in her hip and possibly liver.
• so many people are struggling financially, and with disability, extreme anxiety and even psychosis in their children; and I'm not able to help at all.
• the list could go on and on, and persist

I need to do this:

lay down my arms, give up the fight; quiet my heart for a little while. Be still and know that He is God.                                                        

A Sad Day

" And I'll be cross," I said, " if I ever have to have the other one off,  after I told you to take it off when you did the first one." "Our standard response" he said sheepishly, "in the early days in the face of the panic after diagnosis is to refuse to take the non cancerous breast off."  In my 'It's one year since the mastectomy check up with the BSS" I surprise myself with 2 things - anger and tears. The tears were in my voice when I answered his question about whether I'd changed my mind about having a reconstruction. "No" I said shaking my head firmly, and the tears burst into my throat and nearly spilled from my eyes as I said I'd had enough surgery, thank you. Which lead into my "cross" statement.  In the days since my check-up I have simmered with anger and frustration. And like a pot of water left simmering too long, water has been spurting out of my eyes most of the day.

I'm frustrated because once again I was judged as not being able to make my own decisions and be responsible for them. A man decided that I was in no state of mind to make a clear decision; decided to protect me from "bad stuff". Why do they do that, and what am I left with as a result?

I will be 49 soon and I have lost It. "Do you feel different, possibly that your thoughts are muzzy?" When I tell him no, I feel as if I have lost Me, He asks, in what way? Where do I start?  My slower thinking; my problems with words, or my appearance?  My hair is grey and so curly it frizzes. This means I have to keep it short or I look like an over styled poodle. I cannot eat very much, or my stomach and bowels twist themselves into knots. I have lost weight. On the one hand good because I fit into size 6 again, on the other, my remaining breast has shrunk in size and no longer matches my false breast, and my beautiful bras don't fit properly. I look back with longing to the days of age 42 - 48 post childbirth and breast feeding when I had a figure of sorts. Those were my prime years I think. The problem is, nobody cared, and nobody cares now either. We all know it is not how you look that is important, it is how you are. Blam. (word made up by my then 3 yr old who knew enough not to swear).

This is how I are: emotional: angry; sad, frustrated. Hormonal. Men should be really grateful for hormones, and PMS and Menopause. They can blame them for women's emotions and be excused of any wrongdoing, or omission. I think I will write to Sara Groves and ask her if God just gives her the words to my life and I supply the meaning, or does she feel what she's writing about?  From her latest album, Invisible Empires comes this line "it's hard to feel obsolete."

I feel obsolete, but I have to think of my DH who also feels thus, as he waits to hear whether he will keep his job or not (again). I cannot change anything that has happened,  or have any control over what may happen, and at the moment I cannot seem to change how I feel either. I heave sobs into DH's warm neck as he pats my back and says "we'll get through this... we'll find a way. It's OK, he says, you're just having a sad day." I take an aspirin and pray for strength. I pick up a library book and start to read about a 49 year old woman whose behaviour is so disgusting I find myself praying like a Pharisee, thanking God I'm not like her! Then I have a silent laugh to myself, get up and do my housework.

"Pain is no measure of His faithfulness" sings Sara, "He withholds no good thing from us. I will open my hands, will open my heart; I am nodding an emphatic yes to all You have me". As I listen, I change my minds pitiful picture of myself to one of a threadbare picanin, running alongside a gifting car, on a dusty road, under a hot summer sun, with arms outstretched, hands cupped ready to receive, and willing to share.

The First Time

Since Christmas I have gone through a number of "first times:" - the first time I went grocery shopping since my 2nd chemo treatment; the first time I drove to town on my own since my 3rd chemo treatment; my first full haircut; ( the curls are so curly that length gave me a seventies look. For those who are young among you, think afro); and coming up as January draws to a close, the first anniversary of finding that suspicious lump in my breast.

Another first time was being able to walk the dog the full length of our beach path in both directions. On my way back from that walk, a young woman pushing a toddler in a pram strode past me, and my poor peripheral vision only picked up once she passed that she was wearing a cancer scarf on her head with no hair showing under it. I confess I stood there staring after her with my heart doing a twisting thing in my chest. My mouth had dropped open but I had no courage to call out to her.

I was reminded of the many times people stopped and stared at me when I was obviously covering up a bald head. I recall a woman stopping in the street and watching me wide eyed and jaw flopped open. I was upset by it at the time, but maybe she was praying for me as I was for the woman with the toddler. ( I hope I was less obvious though). Not all stares were upsetting: there was a man , much taller than me, who almost bumped into me one wintry day when I had been too cold to care about appearance so had a woollen beanie on my scalp. He came to a speedy halt on his toes, looked down at my head and pointed. His mouth held the jaw drop position. I laughed all the way back to the office.

One morning, with my purple and silver threaded scarf elegantly wound around my head, I walked through a crowd and caught the eye of a short haired woman. Her sympathetic little smile said: you and me,both. So I smiled back.

The attention I received as a bald person, and the compliments, exceeded any I received when I had hair. It has made me think back to other times when people have stared at me. I would get lots of looks when I was pregnant. Some people,looked with interest, some with sympathy, some with longing. The best looks I got were from men who looked at me with undisguised joy and curiously pride. I was surprised the first time it happened, but it happened often enough for me to notice a trend. It was one of the highlights of being pregnant. I used to drive an old Mini. People would do the mouth drop thing when I drove past them in those days. One person laughed and pointed. As a 16 year old in my primrose yellow dress, I caught the eye of a cute sailor with a Bruce Willis smile. We shared nothing more than eye contact and a big grin, but his "I see you" smile soothed a lot of teenage angst.

It's amazingly easy to encourage someone. A simple little smile, nod, or a brief moment of eye contact that says "I know. " It comes unasked for, unexpected, at random, but so at the right time, that it is a gift from God. I wish I'd smiled at the woman with the toddler. Next time I will.

1 Thessalonians 3: 12 -13

1. And the Lord make you to increase and abound in love one toward another, and toward all men, even as we do toward you:
2. To the end he may stablish your hearts unblameable in holiness before God, even our Father, at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ with all his saints.

Driving Miss Crazy

Tomorrow it will be six months since my really cool brain surgery, and I'm pleased to say that the insult to my brain has given me real insight into the effects of brain injury on function. When I first came home from the hospital, I needed to walk with a stick to keep my balance, and I needed a bath stool to help me in and out of the bath, and to sit on while dressing. What had previously been unconscious and automatic, became a deliberate exercise in motor planning. Problem solving was just that! When I filled the bath too full with hot water, it was a struggle for me to work out what I would do, and I had to carefully think out each step. Quite frightening for someone who typically just gets things done! I recall how proud I felt of myself the first time I completed the entire bath routine on my own. With my my stick in hand I opened the bathroom door, to see DH beating a rapid retreat. (He'd been secretly hovering outside the door in case he needed to come in and save me.) "I did it" I said and stepped forward with my head high and my face smug.

"You've got toilet paper dragging off your shoe" he said.

My biggest concern since I returned to work is that I don't think as quickly as I used to. Since in my work I constantly do battle with bureaucrats who don't seem to think at all, I doubt that they notice or care that I may be slower off the mark, but it irks me that during my time of being out of action, there has come onto the market a pen that is smarter than I am! My handwriting, never great, has been appalling since my op, and my efforts to stay mentally on the ball, and also recall what everyone has said in a meeting is too much for my holey head. So I'm hoping my new Smart Pen will fill the gap.

Yesterday, my long awaited Drivers assessment with the Occupational Therapist came about. I wasn't feeling too confident. A practice drive with DH had him clutching the door handles in fear, and at one stage he screamed that I was going off the road to the left! I walked to the OT's office which was in a beautiful old Edwardian house. She invited me to sit in a chair in what would have been the drawing room, and started the testing process. Simple eye hand co-ordination activities that I could , as it turned out, do with my eyes closed. After testing my ability to rotate my head and upper body, she checked my feet and legs for strength. Then she sat square in front of me.

Her feet she explained, were the car pedals, and I was to press her feet with mine to accelerate and brake on her instructions. We got started.."accelerate" and my right foot pressed her left one..."brake" and my left foot moved forward, quickly retracted and my right pressed the brake. "oh I'm glad you did that she said, or we'd have a problem right off!" "No" I said, "this is obviously a manual car. I was going to put the clutch in." so maybe I can still think quickly.

On the actual road, in the dual control automatic car, I managed to brake and accelerate effectively and safely, and do 3 point turn, parking and reversing convincingly enough, that she judged me safe to be on the road, although said I'd obviously forgotten a few subtleties in my 7 months off driving. So I am booked for a refresher lesson next week. I'm thinking that after Christmas, I need to gather all the bills and expenses that have arisen out of this year of illness, treatment and surgery. But on reflection, that may drive me crazy.

Better to be thankful that we came out of it afloat. I should keep to my driving motto: reverse only when absolutely necessary.

Fear not

Anxiety whimpers, and faith comes in like a strong mother in the night, ready to reassure,and comfort; get you ready for the next day.

Were you afraid during this time? The minister asked me that. No, not of dying, or being ill, or in pain. But for my children, my family. But not overwhelmingly. Reasonably.

Some of the ladies at the breast cancer support group told of being fearful every time they visit the doctor; of every check up. I determined not to be fearful, knowing that I could cast my cares on Him, and that I did not need to be troubled or afraid, and despite a certain hypervigilence to symptoms, I have not been fearful. Then in October I had another MRI,and I was fine, until they slid me in, headphones and mirrored helmet on. It took half a minute for me to press the panic button and cry Please take me out!

So what do you fear?

"yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever"

I got down to praying and kept my eyes shut and my body still so they could get on with the MRI. After praying about as many matters and people as I could think of, prayers gave way to planning how I would get out of there if the building fell on top of me and the machine closed me in. So God kept me safe while I whimpered quietly to myself, and wow, pretty soon they were hauling me out. Sorry for being a ninny back there I said. No worries: actually if you just look back through the machine where you were lying, you can see he windows to the street outside. Right, well if I'd known I could have done a quick wriggle backwards and smashed the windows out to escape, I wouldn't have had a moment of fear!

But, what's wrong with a bit of healthy fear? It makes you alert, rouses your senses, gets you thinking; opens the door to a conversation with your best Friend, and then you find out that the light you didn't see was there all the time. But then, when the true Light came into the world he created, the world didn't see him either. Fear makes you Pay Attention!

I haven't heard the results of the MRI, but I'm not worried, and the BN asssures me I'm correct in thinking that if anything was amiss I would have heard by now. So I've been getting on with still being me, although I look different, hobble instead of walk, actually use stair banisters, put up with my PS teasing me about my 'hormone bones', and laugh at my DH who, with his injured "mallet finger" told me to lean on the table and stand while he moved the chair back, because he couldn't pull me up. Needless to say this left me sort of dangling over the table.

I now have high spots in the day when I'm less cognitively muzzy, and I don't fall asleep in the chair after dinner every night. If I do chance to fall asleep, it's not long before my irritable stomach adds it's complaints to my 763 joints trying to push out of my skin, turning me into a COW (crabby old woman). The house is much cleaner, and the usual chores are done in good time. Best of all, my visual field test showed a left quadrantanopia, and a fuzzy spot in the upper right quadrant, but I have enough vision to drive again. That is, once I get an appointment or letter of clearance from the Doobster (neurosurgeon). hopefully my KD can get some thing from him before the New Year.... yay! the neuro clinic nurse and I suspect a letter from the KD, got me an early appointment with a rehab specialist, who cleared me medically to drive! Now I just need to be passed by the occupational therapist as competent to drive! Once I've seen her, I may get my independence back, although I surely have enjoyed car trips with my DH.

As Christmas approaches I am aware that we are edging closer to being a year hence from my cancer diagnosis. I haven't forgotten about the MCGrath Foundation breast cancer nurses fundraiser. My BN has been a huge help to me, and I know that all the other women also appreciate their BNs. A worthy cause.

I'm so glad I've learned over the years to trust in God, He really has been with me in this every step of the way.

Girl Talk

It's been 6 weeks since I was discharged from the hospital, and looking back I realise, my cancer diagnosis and mastectomy kept Summer outdoors; the early chemotherapy treatments allowed me to sit on my porch and feel silken Autumn air, and Easter displayed a glorious, richly coloured Autumn. The allergy to the chemo treatment and my reaction to Phenergan were like the first cold winds that shook the leaves from the trees; easily cleared by the leaf blower that was my brain tumour, and suddenly we were in cold, dark, Winter.

3 weeks into my recovery from brain surgery, the next phase of cancer treatment, began. I had expected to be put on Tamoxifen for 5 years, a hormone treatment with serious side effects, including that 1% of women can get uterine cancer on it. No longer trusting stats, I did some reading and discovered there is a newer treatment (Arimidex) that blocks the body from making estrogen, which is safer - provided you have strong bones. It has some nasty side effects of its own, but is suitable for women who have begun menopause, as I have. Chemotherapy caused, and I quote one of my nurses here: "violent medically induced" menopause.

I have the required bone density test- another body scan ( I think I am really in some bad science fiction movie), with a favourable result. My oncologist prescribed Arimidex for me without me having to ask, and by the end of that week I have a box of medication which shows me I am back on the pill. The onco described the side effects to me - joint and bone pain, but was pleased to tell me I have bones healthier and stronger than many women younger than me - it was on the tip of his tongue to say"half your age" but he caught himself in time. More scary than anything he said, was the whole network of support that you need to sign up for while on this medication, and because I am officially menopausal. If it's not so bad, why do we need all this support?

Before I go any further: women will tell each other (possibly reluctantly) about their hot flushes, and each will say something different. For me, although they are settling down now, the best description of a hot flush is that it is like an orgasm that has aggressively, and irrevocably, gone to the Dark Side.

The day before my apointment with the onco to establish this next phase in the treatment, my Breast Nurse called me - she who kindly and faithfully visited me and kept track of my progress - ( and who knows whether her presence among her colleagues worked in my favour to boost their efficiency?) to say that we should get together to talk about how I'm doing and "you know, little things like, oh sexuality and such." "What's that?" I said.

She arrived the day after my onco appointment, and we chatted amicably about other menopausal symptoms and side effects of Arimidex, like {vaginal dryness} and fatigue, low libido,and fatigue, ... and the new look me. "At least" I said, "the bone scan, shows it's safe for DH to 'jump on my bones'". For some reason, the BN couldn't talk for a few seconds, so I told her about my definition of a hot flush. She probably wanted to slap me and say "I'm trying to have a serious discussion here!"

The new look me took some chit chat time. Basically, I've gone from a vain and skinny 17 yr old who thought her nose compensated for her flat chest, to a vain 48 year old who wonders in that brief momentary glimpse in the bathroom mirror :"who's that?" Now I have literally a half decent sized chest and am glad of my sticky out ribs. Truly one nose could never do to compensate for 2 boobs so now I'm sorted. The hair is the hardest to deal with especially since the brain surgery. My ward neighbour looked very mannish with her shaved head, and I do too, in my eyes, although My DH says not. My youngest had a friend over who saw my bald head - "you look just like a man" he said!

Nothing like a good laugh to calm down emotions, and a few more weeks have seen some changes, and now instead of baldness, I actually have an official hair style: crew cut. I also have been doing some serious sleeping and lazing around, and last Friday felt sufficiently energised to carry out my plan to join my work collegues for an unofficial visit to the support group we run. As I bathed, the signs of re growth (annoyingly, evidenced by the need to shave once again after freedom from that chore), and increased weight, made me think " it's like Spring has come to my body early, because it is still Winter outside! For the first time in ages, I put on my prosthetic, made to fit breast ( and super attractive underwear - on advice from the BN and got all dressed up to go out.

After my visit, I returned home for rest, and read my Bible. People have said to me, that it is amazing how I have kept my sense of humour in all this; but, how could I not, When God is so Funny? This is what came up in my reading :

Ezekiel 16:vs7

"I have caused thee to multiply as the bud of the field, and thou hast increased and waxen great, and thou art come to excellent ornaments: thy breasts are fashioned, and thine hair is grown, whereas thou wast naked and bare."