Turkey and Tassels

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 28, 2011 2:35 PM, EST

Turkey and Tassels

Gaiam Pilates. Windsor Pilates. The Firm. Billy Blanks' Tae Bo. Jillian Michaels 30 Day Shred. Carmen Electra: The Lap Dance. The Method: Cardio Boot Camp. These are all workout videos that I own. From time to time, each one has been my favorite. Nobody kicks your butt like Billy Blanks...except maybe Jillian Michaels. And nothing is as calming as Pilates. But nothing, I mean nothing in my workout DVD stash is as much fun as Carmen Electra's Lap Dance Video!

Mama is the middle of three girls, one of many things other than genes that we share in common. Her older sister Laslie had the first of 6 grandchildren to my Granny. Sam is my only male cousin on Mama's side. Sam grew up in Birmingham, while the rest of us cousins lived in Montgomery. Sam was always at the table for Thanksgiving dinner, but was never a fan of the typical Thanksgiving food that blanketed Granny's dining room table - turkey, cornbread/oyster dressing, Ocean Spray canned cranberry sauce, green bean casserole, squash casserole, sweet potato casserole (yeah, another casserole!). Thanksgiving dinner was truly a feast with all of the trimmings. And we still pick on Sam because he was not a fan of the feast. So every Thanksgiving, my Aunt Laslie and Uncle Sam would stop at Wendy's on the way into Granny's to feed Sam before lunch. It cracked us girls up for two reasons: 1) Our Mama's never would have fed us fast food in lieu of any dinner, more or less Thanksgiving, and 2) Who in their right mind wouldn't want oyster dressing and canned cranberry sauce?! And I ask that with the utmost sincerity!  

Thanksgiving dinner always seemed more loud and joyful than other family get-togethers. Our family of (mostly) women gives new meaning to the term "Chatty Cathy." Cathy has nothing on us! It's kind of a prerequisite for the women in our family to be able to carry on multiple conversations at one time. And this is why: If you can't listen to the conversation next to you while you carry on one of your own, someone next to you is either talking about you, or you are missing something interesting. If you can't manage to converse in this manner (with a personality), you may as well pack it up and have dinner at your in-law's house. We're a tough group to crack, but when you are in, you're in.

Like all of us girls, Sam grew up, got married, and started a family. Who knew that this die hard Auburn fan would marry a die hard Bama fan?! Sam is the biggest Auburn fan that I know, and this just seemed like a tragedy (kind of like that football game this weekend if you were an Auburn fan)! And then I met her - Lyndsey is a BLAST! And she fits into the family like a piece of a puzzle that was always missing. She gets chatty with the best of us, and she holds her own in the conversation. And she knows how to host a party! Their wedding was classically beautiful, but their wedding reception was the most fun. I will never forget how her cake glittered with sugar - gorgeous! The music was good, and the guests were dancing the night away. Finally, it was time for us to leave. My cousin Ann and I somehow ended up in lobby of the Vestavia Hills Country Club, doing the moves to Carmen Electra's Lap Dance workout video in unison. Keep in mind we were sober...and attending an absolutely beautiful wedding reception. While it sounds completely inappropriate, there were no witnesses who are willing to step forward, and even our Mamas found it pretty funny. It was a nice ending to a beautiful evening. The point is, you never know when your workout routine will come in handy...or who else may know it.

Last Monday I went in to the Filling Station. I'm going to borrow a term coined by a mother-daughter duo I've never met - Dr. Quintero injected 50mL's of saline into my tissue expanders, and I now have "booblets!" He placed two L-shaped needles with tubes hanging from them in the ports of my expanders. Dr. Quintero and Nathan made some reference to tassels, and I said, "Damn! It's too bad there's not a back story for that!" Little did I know how well it would fit with the the Lap Dance story, even if it was just a workout video! It was about that time, too, that I became a little woozy, uncrossed my legs, and concentrated on my breathing. Something about looking down at two needles sticking out of my chest kind of got to me. I was fine, but I didn't need to look at the tassels again. Dr. Quintero injected the saline. It's pretty crazy how much pressure that is - it suddenly feels like a couple of cement blocks are sitting on your chest for a few minutes. I guess that's the expansion. When he was done, he placed small round band-aids over the injection sites. It was so fun to have mock nipples that I left them on for a week!

Dr. Quintero mentioned that he had spoken to Dr. Hatmaker (my mastectomy surgeon). She warned him that Dr. Hargis (my Medical Oncologist) was strongly leaning toward the need for radiation due to my age. All other factors in my case lean against radiation, but my age tells them to treat me as aggressively as possible. My appointment with Dr. Paris (my Radiation Oncologist - and who can keep up at this point?!) was scheduled for today, and she gave me some pretty amazing news - we are NOT doing radiation! While she wants to treat me as aggressively as possible, the long term affects of radiation in my case outweigh the health benefits. This is WONDERFUL news, because not only does it mean that I am DONE with treatment, but it also means that I can get on with my every day life and that my reconstruction will not be compromised! I can go back to work next week (if all goes well at the Filling Station tomorrow), I can return to my "new normal" world, and I can start working out! Carmen Electra, eat your heart out! 

This Thanksgiving has been very special to me. Although Nathan and Logan were in Wisconsin, and Parker and I were in Alabama, I have no doubt that we were all together in spirit. My aunt and uncle Tina and John Wilson made a traditional feast like I remember as a child, and I joined a couple of cousins at the eternal kiddie table. I could have eaten nothing but the oyster dressing and canned cranberry sauce, but I didn't exhibit that much self control. It was a good time with family and friends, and we were grateful for so many things. I am thankful for more babies on the way (not mine!). I am thankful for my amazing Mama, the support of my friends and family (all of you - no matter where you are), and for modern medicine. I am grateful for Logan, Parker and Nathan, and for the health and happiness of the people who surround me.

God Bless,

Bean 

The Filling Station

I moved from Tuscaloosa, Alabama to Madison, Wisconsin on January 10, 2001. It was a miserable drive for many reasons. Mama, Jayme and I were all moving. And because we were all over the age of 16, we had 3 cars to drive.  Mama was driving an all-wheel drive silver Honda Passport. She was leading the caravan. Jayme followed in her Ford Taurus, and I was the caboose in my Nissan Altima. I had never driven in the snow, and as we used to say in high school, “Nuff said.” In hindsight, it might have been nice to have walkie talkies…keep in mind that in 2001, not everyone had a personal cell phone. I know it’s hard to recall a time where we could ride in a car for 14 hours and actually focus on the road, but it really wasn’t that long ago.

When we hit the Champaign/Urbana interstate changeover, the snow began to fall, and the ice began to form. It was nerve-wrecking, to say the least. Thank heavens we had nothing to distract us from the road. When we reached Highway 12 in Madison (“The Beltline”), it was nine o’clock at night, the roads were wet and glistening, and traffic was heavy. Mama veered over to exit, Jayme followed, but when I turned to look past my blind spot, it was too late. There was an eighteen wheeler between me and the exit. I slowed down, let him pass, and immediately moved behind him. But it was too late – I had already passed the exit. It’s not like I had a GPS – it was 2001! I don’t even think we had Napster in 2001, more or less a GPS…and more or less 3 of them! I had no choice. I pulled over on the side of the interstate, turned on my flashers, and had what I like to call a good old Southern conniption fit! I cursed my Mama more in that 3 minutes than I have ever cursed in my life (okay, that’s a slight exaggeration, but you get the gist). After the longest 3 minutes of my life, I sucked it up, turned my flashers off and my blinker on, and I got back on the interstate. I prayed as I got off at the next exit, returned to the Beltline in the opposite direction, and took the correct exit. I found Mama and Jayme at the Arby’s just off the Beltline, where Jayme was screaming at Mama, “You lost my sister!” Mama was ready to leave Jayme there to go out and find me, but timing was on our side. We were back together again, at the Arby’s in the slums (if you could call it that) of Allied Drive. We got through it. This is what we do.

I met with Dr. Quintero Tuesday. Dr. Quintero laughed after he read my blog for the first time, “I’m glad that my office was clean!” If you don’t recall, I had a total of 3 reconstructive surgery consults. One of the offices was, to put it lightly, disheveled, and I made mention of it in a post. Dr. Quintero’s office on the other hand, is nothing short of adorable. First, it is in one of the most desirable resides in Louisville – St. Matthews. The area reminds me of Montgomery, Alabama’s Old Cloverdale district. On the edge of the neighborhoods, there are great old homes that have been converted into businesses. And Dr. Quintero’s practice just so happens to be one of those converted homes. Angie is the first point of contact at the practice. She has the practice smelling like freshly lit candles, and there isn’t a speck of dust in the office…anywhere. And everyone in the office has a great attitude. I had no doubt after seeing that office that the people in it could take care of me with meticulous attention!

After a skin-sparing mastectomy there are several medical risks, such as infection, pneumonia, or blood clots. After those things, it seems that the most important complication is necrosis (a medical term for the skin dying). This happens if the skin does not get enough blood supply after the surgery. There’s not a whole lot that I could do to prevent this…it’s kind of like it either happens or it does not. In my case, my skin has stayed intact. I have some swelling and very little bruising, I have 2 drains that drain the fluid (so there are no dressing to be changed), and my incisions are glued (yeah glued, how cool is that?) together.  Dr. Quintero said that the only thing I had any control over out of all of those things is the slight yellowish bruising across my chest. He said that if I wanted to get rid of that, all I have to do is expose it to a little sunlight. It might cause a little drama in the neighborhood if I start lying out topless…even without breasts!!  I have a LOT more range of motion than I thought I would one week post-surgery. I am trying my best to taper off of my pain pills. And my spirits remain high. I am recovering just as I should…and Dr. Quintero was pleased.  He said that when I come back into his office next week, he will likely pull both of the drains and begin filling my tissue expanders. So from this point forward, I will refer to Dr. Quintero’s precious St. Matthews office as “the filling station.”

Let me go backwards a little bit about these drains. Naturally after surgery there is some fluid at the site that needs to be drained. I have plastic tubes coiled underneath my skin that drain said fluid to these little suction bulbs that fit into the palm of your hand. This isn't painful, but it isn't exactly comfortable either. The idea is that every day I will have less and less drainage. When the drainage is less than 30mL per 24 hour period two days in a row, they are ready to come out. I hate that Dr. Quintero will likely read this before my appointment tomorrow, and he will know that we are not there yet! Getting there...just not there yet. But as far as the drains go, they can't just dangle. They need to be "secured." The hospital sent me home with a string that goes around my neck to safety pin the drains to, and Mama bought a couple of drainage-pocket tank tops, but I've come up with a better method that I thought I would share. It turns out that there is an advantage to having been pregnant in the last year. Belly Bands! They are about $15 (the tanks were about $30), and you don't have to put your arms into anything! They can just sit across your belly, and they are flexible, so they are one size-fits-all, and they keep the drains in one place so that you can carry on with normal activities without having to rearrange. Useless information to most people reading this, but I had to share it because I thought it was smart. I think my chemo brain is slowly but surely taking leave.

The tissue expanders are like hard, empty implants under my muscle. Despite their thickness, I am still as flat chested as a twelve year old boy. It’s kind of nice not to have these ridiculously large breasts that I was so accustomed to. It does not hurt my back or shoulders to sit up straight, so my posture is improving daily. It’s actually amazing to me how much bulk breasts add to your body. Those 4 pound breasts have had me in a Large shirt for the past 10 years. I Skyped BF Nicole last week and gave her a profile view, to which my quick witted friend said, “You look thin…have you lost weight?” I replied, “Yes, actually, about 4 pounds! While wearing a Medium shirt is nice, I have to remember that it is temporary…maybe. Technically I get to choose the size of Shelby and Yvette, so I could potentially be a Medium Frey after all is said and done.

There are a couple of reasons that we use tissue expanders. The obvious reason is to expand the tissue. I have plenty of skin, but my muscles (which will lie over the implant) need to be stretched so that the implants will “fit” into the space. If you can picture yourself sitting on the floor with your legs straight out in front, then picture someone pushing your back so that you fall toward your knees. The stretch that you feel in your legs at that point – that’s what my chest feels like right now…constantly. This is aside from the incision pain and overall pain from the surgery. I expect that this is how I will feel every time the expanders are filled with more saline. The second reason for the expanders is that they “hold” the space that they create for the implants. They allow my tissue to heal completely before we place the implants. Once the implants go in, they should have ample “space.” The expanders do something else – they are flat now, but over the next couple of months, I will stop by the filling station to have saline injected into them. They will inflate, week by week, until I have decided that I am satisfied with their volume. Dolly Parton may be calling again before we know it!

Whatever recovery holds for me in the next couple of months, I know I will get through it. And I am 99.99% sure that I can do that without cursing Mama. She’s been a strong support for Nathan, the boys and me before, during and now after the surgery. I really don’t know what we would be doing right now without her. She was walking out the door yesterday, and Logan looked at her as he said with fear, “You’re coming back, right, DotDot?” And I thought, “Yes, praise God!” And I know we will get through this because I have faith, an amazing support system, and a positive outlook. I can’t go back to work until my drains are removed, I can lift 15 pounds, and I can get through the day without pain meds. I can’t pick up the boys until I can lift 25 pounds (yes, my 10 month-old weighs 25 pounds). I can’t drive until my drains come out. I can’t reach higher than my shoulders. I can’t lie flat – I sleep sitting up against a “study buddy,” and I cannot wait until I can lie on my couch and watch a movie. But I will get there. I know this, because this is what we do. 

Bean

Meeting Expectations

After living in Wisconsin for 3 weeks or so, Mama strongly encouraged Jayme and I to find “something we enjoyed with our time which would allow us an opportunity to generate some independence until school started” (aka, a J-O-B).  It made sense. What good was it to be sitting around a house in a new city with your sister and no money? Sold. I interviewed and scored a position at Pier 1 Imports.

My time at Pier 1 was priceless. I made great money, put away a good furniture stash for later, and made some really good friends (shout out to Anj and Emmer). I always smelled good when I left there – I called it “eau de Pier 1.” The store had 2 walls of windows and exceptional lighting. Pier 1 stores are designed to showcase the products, and the products are known for a specific look, quality and price point. In essence, the job was easy because the brand and the product sold itself.  This is the most important part about working. You should believe in the product or service that you are “selling,” and believe that you are dispensable, because if the product or service is what it should be, it can sell itself.  And the brand behind it should be recognizable as a brand that produces that product.

I use this at work to explain customer service expectations. When a consumer pays for a product, they have a certain expectation of what that product is “worth.” It is our job as the face behind the brand to deliver a product that is consistent, worth paying for, and leaves the consumer wanting to return for a similar experience. In healthcare, our service is our product.  So our product ought to be what our patients expect it to be…and in most cases, more than what they expect it to be.

So when you are 32 years old and walking into the Main Surgery building to have your breasts removed, someone should greet you. They should tell you that they are not going to see you through to the end of your day, but that the people who do will take excellent care of you. And that should set the expectation for the 32 year old mother of two, as well as her husband and mother, who will sit for the next 10 hours in utmost anxiety. Instead, we heard that there was another patient having surgery with a similar last name – a young lady who we later saw with no hair coming out of an office – coincidently a breast cancer patient.  Mama looked at me and said, I’m not sure what that other girl is having done, but you remind everybody you come into contact with that you are TINA and you are having a double mastectomy.  I agreed that if I came out of surgery missing a different body part that I would be pretty miffed.

I was taken back to Pre-Op, where I met my temporary nurse. She was good, and she was funny. She prepped me for my sentinel node injection, gave me an IV, and then explained what was going to happen.  We laughed (however inappropriate) about the patient nervously chatting on the other side of my pre-op curtain. She was a hot mess. The Anesthesiologist came in and explained what was going to happen, and then he prescribed 10mg of Valium. Mama and Nathan were brought back to my Pre-Op room before I was given the Valium and whisked away to Radiology. When I entered Radiology, the Nuclear Medicine Technologist held my hand as the Radiologist injected a radioactive dye into the outside border of my right areola – the pain was about a seven out of ten, and that was after the numbing medicine was applied for 2 hours. But I was expecting an eight out of ten because Dr. Hatmaker set the expectation. The Nuc Med Tech squeezed my hand harder than I squeezed his. And then I was wheeled back to Pre-Op. It was at that point that I would have been considered “loopy.”

I sat in my stretcher, giggling uncontrollably at Nathan, whose head seemed larger than normal. It was like a scene out of Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland…this great big floating head looming over my stretcher. I spun my finger at it like a horizontal tornado and poked him in the nose. “Do you want some Valium, too? I bet they’d give you some if you asked!” And then I proceeded to poke him in the nose again, as I whispered loudly (as if no one could hear me except Nathan), “You should ask for some…really!”

Dr. Hatmaker came in and said that we could get started early if that was okay with Dr. Quintero.  She already had a page into him. He returned the call while she was standing there. He said that it was fine if we started early, but he wanted to see me first! This is why I chose him to reconstruct me – completely personal connection, beginning to end. I remember very little from that point, but I do remember Dr. Quintero making reference to some things in my blog (pancakes, Bess and Gretchen, etc.) while my giggles continued uninterrupted.

Anesthesia is funny. It takes very little time to set in, and when it is over the patient has no concept of how much time has passed. And yet, I found myself thinking when I woke up, “That was quick!” My Recovery experience was pretty good. I physically handle anesthesia well, so I was just trying to enjoy the experience. Here’s the thing about Recovery. Staff will talk about anything because they feel that the patients won’t remember the experience. And perhaps this is correct in most cases. Not so much in mine. My nurse was male, which I had no problem with whatsoever. He was really good. But he pointed out to the nurse across the Recovery room that she charted her whole patient’s experience under my medical record. Turns out, it’s hard to remind people that there are two people with similar last names having similar surgeries when you are on an operating table. I’m glad they caught it, but it shouldn’t have happened. And I shouldn’t know about it. They reminded me over and over again in recovery that I said, “Roll Tide!” when I found out that my lymph nodes were clear. This reminded me that my lymph nodes were clear, and that made my time there easy.

My expectations as an Inpatient were easy: Your pain is going to be controlled; We are going to take good, safe care of you; We are going to be nice. I had heard in health care seminars that this is what patients expect – in that order, and it is true. And for the most part, my expectation was met. Maybe someday I’ll tell the exception story.

I was discharged on Saturday evening. Dr. Quintero came in, told me what to expect over the next few days, and explained that my skin was now the biggest concern. If my skin has good blood supply and survives recovery, he has more to work with. He pulled two of my four drains. I leaned over the bed, looked at his shoes, and said, “You look like you got into a fight with a highlighter!” I’m glad he found my comment about his fluorescent tennis shoes funny!


Dr. Hatmaker called me early this week to let me know that my final pathology was back. As expected, the left breast was clear of any disease. I had clear margins of 5mm to the skin on the tumor, so this is GREAT news. She is leaving the decision for radiation up to the Oncologist, but that is not expected. I have a call into him. I was staged after chemo as a Stage Ia - this is the BEST stage possible for my cancer.

Now I am home. I have ample skin to work with, and I apparently had good blood supply. I have 2 drains that should come out next week, and I am taking less pain medication than I was a week ago. Recovery is going as expected, with no complications that I am aware of. I am meeting expectations.  If the desired outcome is a consumer who is satisfied with a product, then Hatmaker and Quintero are selling consistent, quality work. But I wouldn’t say that their work is the product because that would make the surgeons dispensable. My surgeons are the products that sell themselves. There aren't enough windows or exceptional lighting in the world to showcase that, but even Pier 1 would be proud.

Bean    

Roll Tide!

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 6, 2011 7:27 PM, EST

Roll Tide!

I had a boyfriend once who Mama disliked so much that she pretended that she liked him just so that he would go away. Now Southern women are bred to pull this off like nobody's business. It is a skill that is passed down from generation to generation, and it can be advantageous in many situations. This situation in particular worked out exactly as Mama had planned it. Jackson was a bit of a brut. He worked in a gym, and was a total gym-guy without being a "meat head." He had a great body, was a total jerk, and he had a horrible relationship with his parents. He was a great example of how I was an "adult," and how Mama no longer had a lot of influence on who I hung out with. He never hit me (I'm way too sassy for that), but he punched a hole through a wall when I told him I was leaving. 

Somehow Jackson charmed me into going to the beach for the weekend before moving to Wisconsin, and I fell right into that trap. He picked me up in Montgomery, but said that we had to "flip by Tuscaloosa" on the way to the beach (keep in mind that the beach is in the opposite direction) because he left the credit card that he borrowed from his parents back in T-Town. I assumed that mean that it was at his apartment. That wasn't the first time I was wrong about Jackson. We pulled up at his parents' house around 1:30 in the morning. He was in there for no more than a few minutes before he returned to the car. We headed down to Gulf Shores. I will never forget pulling into West Beach as snowflakes hit the ground. It was one of the most memorable drives of my life. And darn if we weren't in the hotel (off the beach, mind you) for all of 5 minutes before Mama was calling me. She told me that Jackson's Mama called her to tell her to warn me that she was calling the police because Jackson "borrowed" the credit card without asking. Seriously?! Here I am trying to prove to Mama that I am an "adult," and I'm living life like Thelma and Louise! Only Louise over here (aka, Jackson) didn't inform Thelma (me) about what the heck was going on. Louise drove me back to Montgomery that night, and I don't think I said a single word the whole way.

Mama later said that she knew that Jackson was a creep from day 1, but she knew that if she ever said anything to me that I would have married him. She was probably right. It wouldn't have been the first time I made a poor choice out of stubbornness, or that I did something that someone told me not to do. In fact, BF Nicole says that the best way to get me to do something (and Mama agrees) is to tell me that I can't do it. Present me with an opportunity to prove you wrong, and I won't rest easy until I've done it!

That's not all that comes from my stubbornness. I have been known to stand my ground or give support when I felt it was necessary to make a point. I have 2 sisters and 3 maternal cousins, and we grew up very close with one another. Sam is the oldest and the only male - the next male closest in age to Sam is Logan, who is now 3! So Sam was outnumbered, and wanted nothing to do with us girls. Big sis Tiff was next, and she was way too cool to play with the rest of us. I was next in age, followed by MKat, little sis Jayme, and Ann. The four of us were inseparable. Ann had (and still has) lots of personality - like it was difficult to compete with! She used to run around with a fake microphone (anything would do), singing, "Close your eyes, give me your hand..." She was good, too, but there were only so many times you could hear Eternal Flame. And it was never relevant. One time in particular, we were at Granny's house, and Ann was once again singing - this time in the bathroom while the rest of us played in the make-up drawer. MKat put her hand over Ann's mouth to stop the eternal songstress, and Ann burst into tears. She ran to Granny, screaming that MKat slapped her. Granny told MKat to remove her make-up and sit in the breakfast room table until she was told she could play again. This was the 1980's time out. I had a HUGE problem with this, mostly because I had witnessed the "slap," and I felt that MKat was punished in error. I marched into the bathroom, removed my make up, and sat down at the breakfast room table. Granny was surprised to see me there, and when she asked me why, I may have gotten a little sassy. "She didn't do anything wrong, so if she has to sit here for doing nothing, I am going to sit here with her!" And there I sat. A few minutes later, Granny said, "If you apologize you can go play." MKat stood up, apologized, and was excused. I stood up, and Granny's eyes went straight through me, "I wasn't talking to you. Sit down."  And it was then that I learned a lesson - you have to be willing to take a stand when you believe for something, but you better be ready to pay the price.

When I awoke from 6 and 1/2 hours of surgery on Thursday evening, my first thought was, "Boy was that quick!" As it turns out, anesthesia doesn't allow you any concept of time. This, for the patient is an excellent advantage. For the people waiting anxiously for 6 1/2 hours for their wife, daughter, sister to wake up from a procedure that determines cancer-free vs. additional treatments, this is no benefit. Dr. Hatmaker began my surgery with the sentinel lymph node biopsy. Typically, a radio-active dye is injected and "highlights" the sentinel node (the lymph node that the breast cancer is most likely to spread to first). In my case, 4 lymph nodes highlighted, so the "sentinel" node could not be determined. Preliminary pathology showed that ALL FOUR NODES WERE CLEAR!!! This is AMAZING NEWS! Because of this, I will likely be staged surgically as a Stage IIa (or maybe even a Stage I). Dr. Hatmaker has an infectious smile. While Nathan received a call from the operating room when my lymph nodes were said to be clear, Mama and Nathan were elated to see that smile once Dr. Hatmaker's portion of the surgery was complete. And then it was time for Dr. Quintero to work his magic. Dr. Quintero, who I adore for the personal connection that we made throughout the process of choosing a reconstructive surgeon, was straight business when discussing my case with Nathan and Mama after they moved me to recovery. This made a big professional impression on my family, and it was appreciated. Both surgeons have showed multiple dimensions over the past few months, and it has been refreshing for all of us to see such a well-rounded and respected team of physicians working to heal me.

Back in Recovery, as I came out of my sleepy state, I was told right away that my nodes were clear...all four that were removed. My first words out of surgery? No, not "praise the Lord!" as one might expect. My first words out of surgery as I learned that my lymph nodes were clear were, in true Bean fashion, "Roll Tide!" The Recovery team got a big kick out of this, and they told the story to everyone who came into recovery over the next couple of hours. I'm glad I was so entertaining! You know I wouldn't have had it any other way!

I spent two nights in the most beautiful hospital unit that I have ever seen. I'll have more on this later.

I am now home. Nathan's Mom will leave tomorrow, and Mama is here to stay for a while (God bless my Mama)! Our life as we know it has changed forever, and I am bound and determined to make it for the better. As a result, my lifestyle diet has started. I lost 4 pounds (of the 12 that I gained while on chemo) prior to surgery. Dr. Quintero says that Bess and Gretchen each weighed about 2 pounds. Even with all of the IV fluids post-surgery, I came home 4 pounds lighter. Let's call this a kick off to the weight loss plan. I plan for my post-surgical weight to be my new high end of the scale. 

Whatever my weight, I hope that God gives me the gusto I need to make better choices moving forward. And with my new lifestyle diet (I call it the not-fun-but-cancer-free-diet) and fitness plans (once the healing is complete, it's time to get some major cardio going), this should be reasonably achievable. Who knows, maybe I'll end up running marathons in a couple of years? Maybe someone should just tell me I can't do it! I bet my Mama knows how this will pan out!

One thing is for certain moving forward, I stand by my decision to have a bilateral (double) mastectomy. It wasn't the easiest decision to make. It may be a hard recovery and an unpopular option with difficult consequences. But when I am here 50 years from now, playing on the floor with my grandchildren, I will be grateful for the steady and talented hands of Dr. Hatmaker (and I will never forget that smile), and I will be talking about Dr. Quintero's personal and professional connection for years to come. And for that, I am thankful to my entire medical team of physicians - Jeffrey Hargis (Medical Breast Oncologist - Owsley Brown Frazier Cancer Care), Allison Hatmaker (Breast Surgeon - Baptist Hospital East), and Juan Quintero (Plastic and Reconstructive Surgeon - Private Practice).

Bean

I Am More

Wednesday, November 2, 2011 2:17 PM, EDT

I Am More

 

Surgery is tomorrow. Pray for no complications, a swift recovery and healing. Pray for peace, calm and positive thoughts. Pray for clear lymph nodes and clear margins. Pray for a cancer-free Bean.

I am not a pink ribbon

I am strength. I am humor. I am Mommy. I am “hunny.” I am sister. I am daughter. I am “angel from heaven.” I am warrior. I am defender. I am scared. I am soft. I am calm. I am wiry. I am rowdy. I am thunderous. I am bright. I am gleaming. I am beauty. I am faith. I am supported. I am falling. I am getting back up. I am fighting. I am older than I feel. I am full. I am kind. I am optimistic. I am fearful. I am hope. I am awareness. I am not a pink ribbon. I am more.

October is Breast Cancer Awareness month, for those of you who have been under a rock for the last 31 days! On Halloween, we hosted our first PINK-A-BOO at work to promote diagnostic women's services (mammograms, etc.), obviously wrapping up Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I wore a giant pink ribbon for the promotion, but I kept saying throughout the day that "I am not a pink ribbon. I am awareness, I am hope. I am anything but a pink ribbon." Hence the mask.

I want to make it very clear that I have nothing against the color pink. And although Mama had us wrapped up like little gifts with perfect bows in our hair for every occassion when we were little, I also have nothing against ribbons. In fact, I look at pink in a whole new light now. Pink has raised awareness about breast cancer, which raises dollars and "sense" to combat the disease, which means that treatments are pretty standard. So if your mother or sister or bosom buddy is diagnosed, there is most likely a treatment regimen that "fits" her type of breast cancer. That's more than pink - that's awareness.

Pink is the signature color of Shelby from Steel Magnolias, the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure, the American's Cancer Society's Making Strides Walk, and many Survivors alike. Team Bean walked in Louisville's Making Strides Walk, and I was seriously overwhelmed by the power of pink! It is disheartening to see so many people affected by breast cancer in one way or another.

So for these reasons, I am appreciative of PINK. But pink has made me a bit of an impulsive shopper. I buy "pink" because it supports breast cancer. Even my shoes are "pink." It wasn't until this week that I stumbled upon a website that explains that some "pink" items actually cause breast cancer (BPA, chemicals and toxins, etc.), and that you should be careful not to support products that cause cancer, then give a small amount of proceeds to fund unidentified breast cancer research. Check out www.thinkbeforeyoupink.org for a full explanation. I cannot possibly do it justice.

I've never considered myself a "pink" girl. I am a girly girl, hands down, but not really pink. I'm more of a black and blue girl. But even a bruise turns to pink eventually...

Bean