Garden of Dandelions

Raise your hand if you can't believe it's been 3 weeks since my surgery.

Let me tell you, that's on my looooong list of things I will hopefully never take for granted again. Being able to raise my hand. Along with: getting out of bed, changing position in bed, getting up from a chair, getting in and out of a car, buckling my seatbelt, and more. Whew.

Why so long for an update you ask?

I literally just typed that I've had limited use of my arms. Why would you even ask that question? (Insert winking emoji face here) Also, it's kind of hard to write a blog when you can't remember what's transpired. David and the kids are helping me piece some of those days back together. "I did what...?" " I said what..." Not funny viral video type things, darn it (I love those). Just day to day happenings and conversations I have no recollection of. Gotta watch this crew though. They're likely to ad lib things just for the fun of it. "Yeah Mom, you said you didn't care if we wore belly shirts now and that we could wear them to Sunday School".

Truth be told, I actually didn't even have all the info I needed for a complete update until YESTERDAY. Heavens to Betsy. Talk about being weary of the wait!

I completely understand now why a cancer diagnosis is referred to as a journey.

Journey: noun-A traveling from one place to another, usually taking a rather long time; trip.

Mine wasn't supposed to be a cancer "journey". It was supposed to be a cancer "jaunt" back in March. I cannot believe all the stops and detours I've made in between then and now. My 2nd diagnosis, my skull scare, craniotomy, lumpectomy changed to bilat mastectomy. I've had more pictures taken of the inside of my body than there are pictures of me growing up. (Third child problems. Tate's just lucky he was a boy. Ensuring I took a plethora of pics. Had he been another girl, I may have just said, Been there. Done that.)

On with the update. I'll share the good, the bad, but probably skip the ugly here. Although I'm fine talking about the ugly with you if you'd really care to hear. It just doesn't quite fit with the theme of my blog. It's more Edgar Allen Poe-ish. And I don't want to scare anyone who may stumble upon this entry down the road about to undergo their own surgery. To them I would say, "I made it!! You will too! It sure doesn't feel like it some days. Keep on keepin' on. Ok, that one's cliche. But seriously. You will not want to get out of bed. But you have to. And you will feel 87% better when you get up and around. That's a solid B+, my friends."

The week leading up to my surgery, I started to panic.

Over dumb things.

It was all of a sudden imperative I wash our couch throw pillow covers and hose down the front porch chairs no one sits in.

And my linen closet? No way was I heading to the hospital with that in such disarray. I pulled everything out, threw out old, haggard linens I was too embarrassed to donate, and arranged the leftovers neatly. I spent a few minutes holding on to Tate's little hooded dinosaur towel, before it found itself in the toss pile. Nostalgia got the best of me so I pulled it back out and cut just the hooded dinosaur head off for a keepsake. But that just looked creepy, so it all went back in the trash.

We sent Reese off to Florida the day before my surgery on a school trip. Which was well timed. Her first trip without us and I couldn't even worry because I was sedated half the time. Handy. I still didn't care for the fact she kept going over who got to keep what if her plane crashed. "Can you not?!" I finally said.

That same day, my sister showed up at my doorstep with her roomba, wanting to know where she could help. Her house is spotless. Mine was a hot mess. I delegated living room duties to her and she set to work. Scrubbing the fireplace doors, glass candle holders, and making a pile of little hidden treasures from under the couches, exclaiming more than once, "I just love to clean!". I'm still trying to decide which one of us was adopted.

Enough build up to surgery. Let's get on with it. Spoiler alert: I made it through. David took, what is now hands down, my most unflattering picture of all time before I was awake from anesthesia. Scrub cap and all. If I ever find that framed in one of his offices somewhere, all of his belongings will be tossed onto the front lawn.

When the nurse came in later that evening to help me up for the first time, she said, "Now, you'll have to rely on your leg and stomach muscles these next few weeks."

How convenient. I have neither.

My pessimistic tendencies became amplified. My 2nd day home I thought, "This is it. I've peaked. I'm going to feel this way for the duration of my Earthly days." But I discovered I have this spunky little inner voice that is both motivating/sassy, "Heavens, Girl. What in the world?! Millions of women have gone through this surgery before you and are walking around as we speak with full use of their upper appendages, not dragging themselves around like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Now get out of that bed and change your shirt for crying out loud."

I can only sleep on my back currently. And can't change position without difficulty. My skull incision still feels weird to sleep on so I can't put too much pressure on the left side of my head. Just call me Goldilocks. I've tried all the pillows in the house. Some too firm. Some too soft. I sleep slightly raised, with more pillows to prop my arms. I'm like a little Tetris piece trying to fit in my bed nest/recliner just so.

And I would like to take this opportunity to thank Facebook for all the helpful pop up ads and articles. Experimental treatments for cancer. Personal stories of those who've lost their battle. Various cancer memorabilia. So sweet of you to remind me every single time I get on your site for the past few months that this is part of my life now. Really. (Insert eye roll emoji here)

Fast forward a week from my surgery. (Since everything is fuzzy that happened before that anyway.) I had an appointment scheduled with my oncologist to get my pathology report and find out the treatment plan. Of course that would have been too easy. And they called saying my path report wasn't in yet so there was really no reason to come in. Could I reschedule? For two weeks later? My report actually came in a few hours after that phone call, at which point my oncologist had already left for vacation. My breast surgeon was very considerate and called me with the results but wasn't able to go over anything further as far as treatment.

The entire report is 9 pages long. But the gist was I actually ended up with three types of breast cancer and a huge area of cells that are markers for developing future breast cancer. Too little too late there, buddies. Would have appreciated the heads up a bit earlier. My sentinel lymph nodes on each side were positive. And my surgeon then said, "I was very happy when the report showed you also had invasive cancer on the right side that we didn't know was there."

As I began questioning her medical certification in my mind, she went on to explain that if there hadn't been invasive cancer on that side, the positive node would have meant the left side had already spread and I would have been Stage IV.

Here we go again! I feel like a cat. That's twice now I've dodged a Stage IV diagnosis. I should have 7 lives left at this point.

My left nodes had to be dissected out. So that's now my "bad" arm. And it's not to be traumatized by anything further like blood draws, blood pressures, etc. It even gets to wear a fancy sleeve when I fly or exercise so I don't develop lymphedema. I want to get one with tattoo designs. So I'll look super tough on the airplane and no one will mess with me. The nurse helpfully explained I'll still be able to engage in my regular activities like yoga, gardening, crocheting. That was great news. If I actually did any of those things to begin with.

I could not get through this without my support system. I. LOVE. YOU. GUYS. (Which, yes, includes all of you reading this). David got his own Facebook post already regarding his support, and I could actually write about 12 more for him. I have a select few friends/family who are impatient and can't wait for my blog posts. So they demand immediate updates after all my appointments. Bossy little things.

And it's amazing to watch their replies roll in. All of their different perspectives and responses are JUST what I need to hear at that time.

"Crap! Hate that!"

"Are you kidding me??"

"You've made it through the worst, you'll make it through this too."

"So, how are you after hearing that news?"

I have friends who've been through it, nurse friends, friends who say "What can I do?", and friends who just "do". I have friends checking in I haven't talked to since high school. I'm on church prayer lists in at least 3 states that I know of. People I have never met and probably never will meet. With many more individually praying for me around the world. This is both overwhelming and humbling for a wallflower like myself to be smack dab in the middle of such a huge circle of supporters.

Sorry to say, your stint isn't up quite yet. Since I was node positive, my treatment plan will be chemo followed by radiation. Beginning week after next. Yes, I've already ordered a new ball cap: Chemo Hair. Don't Care. 

Reese asked, "Do you want us to shave our heads too?"

Drue looked appropriately horrified.

"Well no!" I put their minds at ease.

"Ok. We'll just make Tate shave his then..."

Sure, because him shaving off the half centimeter of hair he currently has as his Summer cut would be a huge sign of support.

"No one's shaving anything!"

Just when I thought things couldn't get crazier around here...