Just in time for Easter: I'm a fuzzy chick (More Hair Diaries)

We have been taking the pictures every Friday, but they usually haven't been making their appearance on the blog until Mondays, mainly because I'm easily distracted and more than a little lazy.  Maybe if I put them in sequence it will be easier to see the fuzz growth?  Can you tell I'm really REALLY proud of my fuzz?

4-8-11

4-15-11

4-22-11

The lighting is a little odd in the last picture, making my hair look darker than it appears in real life.  But Aaron was grading papers when I asked him to take my weekly fuzz head shot, and I didn't want to be too annoying, so I just let him stay where he was comfortably sitting.

Speaking of Aaron, the other night he started calling me "Tin Tin."   I had absolutely no idea where he got this, but he told me it was a favorite comics from childhood.  Apparently my current hairstyle reminds Aaron of this.  Here is the cartoon in question with his faithful sidekick, Snowy:

Of course, Mr. Tin Tin has a bit more up top than I do, and when I get that much hair, I hope to more closely resemble the model in this Nieman Marcus ad:

I won't magically shrink down to a size 0, but we're not all meant to be that skinny, right?!

In other, slightly less-fun news, I started physical therapy this week.  I am basically back to my pre-surgery self, but I still don't have full range of motion in my left (cancer side) arm.  I am also experiencing "cording" (axillary web syndrome for you medical types) which basically means that it feels like a tight cord is attached from my armpit (where they removed lymph nodes) down to my elbow.  This, as you can imagine, is part of the flexibility problem.  I have to be able to hold the "movie star pose" (hand behind head, arm bent at elbow, laying flat on table) for 10 minutes at a time for each radiation treatment, so I'm trying to regain my flexibility through a serious of stretches.  It's painful, but I can already tell a difference!

Also, I've started wearing a compression sleeve because I have a moderate-to-high risk of developing lymphedema (swelling due to a blockage of the lymph passages).  I am doing my best to wear it each day, but as it gets warmer and warmer outside, the last thing I want to do is put on a tight-fitting, hideous sleeve!  But if I can avoid my arm swelling up, it will well be worth it.  I'm lop-sided enough as it is, these days! :)

Happy Easter to all!!!

Hair Diaries

I'm attempting to take weekly pictures of my hair to document the growth which seems to be happening at lightning speed.  At some point I can print out all of my hair diary pictures to create a flip book.  I haven't worn my wig in a week and a half now, and I have no intention of doing so in the future.  The hair is still very soft and very blond, and it will be interesting to watch how the texture/color changes as it grows in!

Who's fuzzier?

I'll check in next week with another update and more hair on my fuzzy head!

Just Call Me Mrs. Fuzzy Head

I can't believe it has been 3 1/2 weeks since my mastectomy.  I continue to get stronger every day and am starting to feel like my old self.  There are still a few rude reminders that I may not be 100% back to normal:  I still get neuropathy (tingling numbness) in my feet if I walk around too much; pushing the shopping cart around Target is a burden, when it previously had been one of my favorite activities; squeezing lemons and limes for fresh juice in my spring cocktail now has to be done by my husband; opening jars has to be done by my husband; dragging the trash to the curb has to be done by...well, you get the picture.  I secretly think Aaron likes having the extra opportunities to flex his muscles.  

There are, however, also reminders that life is returning to normal.  On Friday night, Aaron and I were getting ready to go to dinner.  Usually this involves me touching up my makeup and putting on my wig.  After globbing on some mascara (my lashes are growing in nicely, thank you very much), I said "I think I'm going to rock the fuzzy head in public tonight."  It's been in the upper 80s for the past couple of days, and my wig is just too darn hot and itchy, especially atop my new found fuzz.  Aaron was excited about the prospect of being seen with me:  "People are going to think I'm way cooler than I actually am because I'm with you!"  Yes, there are people who may think I decided to buzz off my hair because I'm just that hard core.

 

The reality is, of course, that my hair is finally growing in.  After months of looking like a cue ball with a few straggly hairs that never fell out, my head is now covered with baby soft fuzz.  This has caused a great deal of excitement in our household.  For one thing, we think our beloved cat, Ollie, is feeling a tad jealous of his mom's new fuzz.  When we're sitting on the couch at night watching TV, Aaron will find himself petting his wife instead of the cat.  When I drop Aaron at work, I used to just get a kiss goodbye.  Now I get a kiss AND a head rub.  We had friends over on Saturday night to celebrate patio season, and I was greeted with many hugs and head rubs.  It seems it's just instinctive to want to pet a fuzzy noggin, whether it be on a cat, dog or human.  I can't blame them.  In fact, I like it.  Is our household big enough for a fuzzy cat AND a fuzzy wife?  Time will tell.  Luckily for the cat, my fuzzy state is only temporary.

Cancer Free

First of all, I'd like to say huge thanks for all the prayers and well-wishes over the past couple of weeks.  I made it through the surgery just fine and am doing pretty great now that I'm 11 days out, though I still have physical and visual reminders of the surgery.  Physical:  I feel really sore (It feels like there is a constant knot in my right lower back that needs to be worked out by a massage therapist, and I feel as though I've been training for a power lifting competition, yet my purse is too heavy to carry for more than a couple of minutes (this comes as a surprise to no one who has ever seen a purse of mine, but for the first time ever, my huge purse actually feels like a hindrance).  Visual reminders: one drainage tube is still coming from my back where the docs grabbed the tissue for my reconstruction; the fact that my chest looks entirely different now; the surgical tape covering every incision the docs made; the permanent marker the plastic surgeon used to scrawl over my entire back even though he was cutting from a tiny spot on my latissimus dorsi...Obviously I could go on and on.  The point is that despite the physical and visual reminders, I am healing really well. 
The first days after surgery were pretty rough.  My first nurse in recovery was determined to have me up and walking the first evening, never mind the fact that I had just had surgery that afternoon.  Sitting up for the first time after surgery was probably the most painful thing I've ever had to do in my 30 years, and I *calmly* told the nurse that there must be something else she could do for my pain in order for me to stand up and walk.  It turns out a shot of morphine did just the trick.  I successfully walked the hallway outside of my hospital room.  Aaron could see how much pain I was in told me he was proud of me.  He knows I thrive on compliments.  Aaron spent the first night in my hospital room, and he and mom-in-law spent every day in my room with me, watching me sleep and watching the NCAA basketball tournament.  Judging by some of the match-ups, I'm not sure which was more entertaining at times.
The docs were encouraged by how well I was healing and wanted to send me home on Friday, but this was delayed due to the nausea I was feeling because of all the pain meds.  I turns out putting a whole mess of Percocet and morphine in an empty tummy does not make for keeping much food down.  I finally got home on Saturday afternoon and everything has been much easier since.  Aaron and mom-in-law had the sofa bed pulled out for me, complete with about 20 pillows, fresh flowers, cards and presents waiting for me.
Interestingly, the hardest part of recovery has been sleeping!  Sitting up is basically no problem, but due to the lat-flap procedure, comfortably laying down for a snooze is just about the most difficult thing ever, but I'm taking comfort in the fact that this whole surgery (and cancer) business will be a distant memory soon enough.
I have had two follow-up appointments since the surgery.  On Thursday I met with my radiation oncologist to discuss my radiation plan.  We are going to be very aggressive with radiation due to the size of my tumor and the lymph nodes that were also involved.  The pathology report stated that the size of the tumor removed was 2.9 centimeters (down from 4 cm when I was originally diagnosed), and 9 lymph nodes were removed from my arm pit (6 of which were positive for cancer).  The good news is that the margins of the tumor were clear and my chest wall was not affected by cancer.  Thus, I can state that I am cancer free.  There are many more tests to undergo, but I am trying to relish the fact that all of that nasty cancer was successfully removed from my body. 
The plan for radiation is to do 28 treatments over the course of 5 1/2 weeks.  This means I'll get zapped for 10 minutes a day, 5 days a week.  Everyone who has gone through it says it's nothing compared to chemotherapy, so I'm honestly not dreading it that much.  Also, we won't start radiation until approximately 5 weeks from now, when my body has healed from surgery. 
I also went to the plastic surgeon yesterday.  He looked at his work and declared it beautiful (um, good for him?), and sent the nurse in to take out two of my surgical drains.  This was a happy, if painful, moment.  Having to deal with one's own grossness seeping into surgical drains is not the most pleasant experience.  I am overjoyed to be down to one drain now!
So slowly everything is getting back to normal.  I am taking less pain pills with each passing day, and I'm able to lift my arms higher and do more for myself.  Mom-in-law departed on Tuesday and our good friend, Jenny (also from Minnesota), arrived at our house on Wednesday.  I'm not sure if these Minnesotans actually want to be here to "take care of me" or if they are just chasing the sunshine.  I'll take the company either way.  It is truly beautiful in Atlanta, and the signs of spring keep coming.  There is a huge amount of wisteria in our back yard that is quite breathtaking, and everywhere I look, I have potted flowers and herbs.  We've also improved our back patio with some new chairs, pillows and a big umbrella.  I'm not sure if there is a prescription for sitting outside in the warmth of sunshine, but I can feel the healing powers.

Ollie enjoying a flower arrangement sent by Uncle John and Aunt Deb

Tulips by the front steps

Plants on the back deck

Wisteria!

Me and Aaron

Me and Jenny, enjoying the great outdoors...er...outdoor patios

Signs of Spring

It's March, and in the South that means spring is here (again, I say this with apologies to friends who live in areas of the country where there is still snow on the ground). Everywhere I look there are buds, blooms and grass slowly returning to green.  Except for ours.  Our grass is still dormant, and any green peeking through is actually a weed on which Aaron has declared war.  I've actually heard him talking to the weeds when we are walking through the back yard:  "Just wait.  I've got a new bottle of weed killer.  You're gonna get it this weekend!"  It's his first spring as a home (and yard) owner, and he's taking it quite seriously.

Blooms from our front yard

Other signs of growth abound, too!  I'm most excited about the tiny hairs that are starting to sprout on my lash line.  They certainly aren't long enough to hold any mascara, but they are there and they are growing, and they are a sign of what is to come.  I obsessively check on them every day with my 10x magnifying makeup mirror and I make Aaron look at them as well: 
"Look, baby!  My tiny eyelashes are even longer today!" 
"Yes, Joycie, I see them."
"But look, they're longer than yesterday!"
"I trust you."

He's never quite as excited about them as I am for some reason.  Also, I was sitting in the sun the other day when I looked down and thought that my eyes were deceiving me.  There was baby fine hair on my legs.  It was so fine that I couldn't even feel it, and so blond that I really had to be in the sun to see it, but it was there.  I had been bragging to everyone who would listen that I had silky smooth legs minus the shaving.  It was the only good thing about chemo.  Three days ago I picked up a razor for the first time since October, and I did so happily.  It seems there is something about this ritual in the shower that I missed, something that made me feel very feminine.  And now I have it again.  I'm sure I'll be complaining about shaving again in a month, but today it makes me happy.

And there is a bit more peach fuzz on top of my head these days.  It is very, very soft, fine, and blond/white.  It is also very sparse.  When I look in the mirror, I am definitely still a bald person.  However, when sitting on the couch with Aaron, I always catch him staring at the top of my head.  "I swear your hair is getting longer," he'll say.  I guess he is more excited about the prospect of having a wife with hair on her head than her lash line.

Finally, it seems I forgot to mention one *tiny* detail in my previous post.  My surgery has been moved up one week, which means I am set for surgery this coming Wednesday, March 16.  My oncologist said that 6 weeks after my last chemo infusion would be the optimal time for surgery, so that's what we're going with!  I am tempted to lie and say that I am feeling very brave and not worried at all about the loss of boobs/pain/recovery time/surgical drains/etc...  But the truth is I'm kind of freaking out.  It's not that I think anything will go wrong; I know everything will be fine.  As I've said before, I have complete faith in my surgeons.  It's just that the anticipation is killing me!  Yes, cancer can't kill me, but anticipation just might.  I want to get this over with.  Luckily, mom-in-law will be here Sunday evening to distract me during the final days before I roll into the operating room.  She has informed me that she's bringing with her an army of recipes sure to make me whole again, so to speak.  Sounds like I won't be eating much hospital food after all, thank God!

Construction Zone

A lot has happened since I last wrote.  I received my final chemotherapy infusion (Hooray!!!), I had a breast MRI to check on the size of my tumor, and I met with my surgeons to talk about our game plan.
First, the chemo session seemed to take for...ev...er.  Every drip drip drip from the chemo bag seemed to be spaced five minutes apart. For my final two chemo sessions I had graduated to the private chemo room, which made me feel quite VIP, but I was so antsy this last time that it hardly mattered.  This particular type of chemo is served up with a side of Benadryl, which puts most people to sleep.  Oh how I wish I was one of those people.  It turns out that Benadryl makes my heart race, which only amplifies the antsiness (sure, it's a word) and makes the hours of chemo seem to crawl by at a tortoise pace.  But no more! I am DONE with chemo, and not a minute too soon.  They say the effects of chemotherapy are cumulative, and boy did I feel it this time.  The pain in my legs was almost unbearable at times, and there were shooting pains in the rest of my body that would strike randomly.  Thank goodness for my attentive and sympathetic husband who would give me hugs, massages or draw me a hot bath when I needed him to.  And he listened to me whine.  A LOT.  Not just this time, but throughout the past 4 months of chemo he has been the best caregiver a gal could ask for.  I would have never made it through this without him, and the great part is that I get to keep him even though I'm done with this nasty part of treatment! Incidentally, today marks the 5th Anniversary of our first date.  In some ways it seems like only yesterday, and in some ways it seems like we've been together forever!

Disclaimer:  This next part talks about boobs and surgery.  Shocking, I know.
A week after my last chemo session I had a breast MRI.  I thought this would be as simple as laying back and dozing off while they run me through a machine for half an hour, much like the PET scan I had when I was first diagnosed.  Oh how naive of me.  If you haven't had one, allow me to describe an MRI for you.  Car horns blaring at you, stopping, starting, stopping, starting over and over again.  Every time the blaring would start, I would jump, and of course you are expected to be completely still the whole time.  Why are these machines so God awful loud?  Seriously, I'm asking.  If anyone knows the answer, please pass it along.  To make matters worse, I had to lay on my stomach and put my boobs into square holes while having cold fluid pumped into my veins.  I was laying there thinking "take me back to the PET scan!"  The one saving grace was the lab tech who was prepping me for the test.  She was spunky and hilarious:  "As you can see, this machine was designed by a man, one who thinks women have square breasts.  They told me how much they spent on this shiny new machine, and I told them to send it back."  So funny.  Thank God for her.
The good news is that the MRI shows the tumor has responded to chemo and is smaller than it was before we started treatment.  The bad news is that it is still big enough that I need to have radiation after it is removed.
This leads us to my meeting with my surgical oncologist and my plastic surgeon.  As I mentioned in my last post, I am having a bilateral mastectomy with reconstruction.  Even though there is cancer in only one boob (I like saying "boob" instead of "breast."  "Breast" just sounds so clinical, doesn't it?), we're going to remove both because it lowers my risk of cancer coming back in the other one (from 20% to 4%).  The plastic surgeon will be able to reconstruct my right boob (no cancer) immediately following the mastectomy.  He literally walks in with his team as soon as the surgical oncologist leaves with her team (and my boobs).  Unfortunately, I have to wait a long while before I can get the side with cancer reconstructed.  This is because radiation does some nasty things to skin and tissue.  But radiation is also supposed to get rid of any remaining cancer cells, which is the whole point of treatment after all. 
So this spring/summer I am going to feel a bit like a construction zone.  A lop-sided construction zone.  The surgeons are able to do a skin-sparing technique where they are able to save a good deal of my own skin.  This, along with the back tissue used (latissimus dorsi flap procedure) will help make my new boobs feel more like my own.  An interesting thing to note is how reconstruction is different from your everyday boob job.  In a normal breast enhancement, an implant is place under the woman's breast muscle.  With reconstruction, there is no breast muscle to work with.  This is why I've opted for the "lat flap" procedure.  This way there will be at least some tissue of my own in there.  In addition to tissue from my back, the plastic surgeon will put a "spacer" in my chest before sewing me up.  This is basically a deflated implant that will be filled with saline as I heal.  Once a week I will head to the hospital where the plastic surgeon will pump a little bit of fluid into my spacer until one day I look down and say "Yes!  That's it!  That's my perfect dream boob!"  Then he will take out the spacer and replace it with a real implant.  I'll eventually do the same thing on the other side. 
Radiation lasts for 6 weeks and then I have to wait 6 months before the radiated side can be reconstructed.  This means I'll probably be sporting one of those space-age prosthetic boobs that I referenced in my post on Oct. 17 in an attempt to even myself out.  Because it's already getting warm here in the South (apologies to friends in the Midwest and Northeast), and because chemo has put me in early menopause which causes awful hot flashes, I can imagine that there will be a good deal of time when I am quite simply lop-sided.  I can see it now:  Aaron and I are snuggled on the couch, watching a movie when all of the sudden a hot flash comes.  Normally, this happens and I push him away and rip off my wig and fling it on the coffee table, causing the husband and the cat to give me strange looks.  Soon it will be the same thing, except it will be my prosthetic boob that I fling on the coffee table.  Hopefully this won't happen in public.  It is for this reason that I think I need a t-shirt that reads: "Construction Zone"

Extreme Makeover: Joyce Edition

Incredibly, I have my very last chemo treatment scheduled for tomorrow.  I cannot believe it's here.  You know what they say:  "Time flies when you have cancer"...or something like that.
I've been thinking a lot about makeovers lately.  Maybe it's due to awards season, and the fact that I can't help but watch all of the Hollywood starlets as they arrive on the red carpet.  I love it when movie stars look nothing like the characters in their films.  Yes, these really are pictures of the same woman (the fantastic Melissa Leo from "The Fighter"):

In character as Alice Ward

On the red carpet at the Golden Globes

At least Ollie loves the bed

Or maybe my love of makeovers is due to my addiction to HGTV, and my desire to have one of those celebrity designers come and decorate my bedroom.  I even made an audition video to be on an HGTV show.  I figured I might as well pull the cancer card, considering these shows like to dramatize everything.  I can see it now:  "Joyce was suffering from breast cancer.  Things weren't looking too good until we came to give her a relaxing oasis for a bedroom where she could heal.  Now, remarkably, the cancer is gone."  Seriously though, you can go online to view my video (which is completely embarrassing) and vote for us:  http://my.hgtv.com/hgtvd/Bedroom/Bland-Master-Bedroom/detail.esi?oid=23415134  We're asking for "one star" votes, because the "uber ugly" rooms are the most likely to get made over, right?

Or maybe this makeover mentality is due to my own current appearance.  As I mentioned in my last post, my eyelashes have fallen out.  At this point, my eyebrows are pretty much gone, too.  Now when I wake up and look in the mirror, my face (and head) is completely void of any defining features.  My first thought is always "Good Lord!  When did that cancer patient sneak in here?!?"  My friends who have known me since high school can attest to the fact that it has always taken me a very long time to get ready.  Now my makeup process is even more extensive:  dealing with dry, chapped skin (from the chemo) that is even more acne-prone than it used to be (from the steroids), gluing on eyelashes, penciling in eyebrows...it all adds up to quite a bit of time.  At least my hair is easier than before.  I literally just throw it on.

Fake hair, eyebrows, & lashes!

The good news is that hair starts to regrow as soon as chemo leaves the body.  The bad news is that it might be 6 months before I have enough hair on my head to where I don't feel bald.    The exciting part is that there is no telling what my new hair color and texture will be.  If often grows back very differently after one has undergone chemo, and it usually comes in very curly, at least at first.  Might I have gorgeous locks like Taylor Swift?  In my dreams! 

Additionally, I have scheduled my surgery for March 23.  This is definitely the most "extreme" portion of the makeover.  I will have a bilateral (both sides) mastectomy with reconstruction.  I have another meeting with my surgeons (oncology and plastics) next week, but based on my initial consultation and my own consideration, I will be having a "Lat Flap" procedure (Latissimus Dorsi Tissue Flap Breast Reconstruction).  Rather than posting diagrams, I'll just let you Google that one on your own.  It sounds like a crazy surgery, but I've talked with women who are really happy with it.  And again, I'm at Emory, where breast reconstruction was pioneered.  I'm truly in the best facility for it. 
While I'm looking at a major surgery and major recovery time, I will luckily have my in-laws here during and after the surgery.  Dad-in-law is an ear, nose & throat surgeon -- not a breast cancer specialist, but someone who knows a little something about the human body, surgery and recovery, so he's good people to have around.  Mom-in-law is an accomplished cook, book provider and mother who can lovingly tend to my needs as well as those of my husband, who might be freaking out and feeling a bit helpless during this process.
So this is my makeover story.  I'll post more details about surgery as they become available, along with a disclaimer about the contents of the post.  Some people are curious, but others get a bit squeamish when it comes to gory details.  I am normally in the latter group, so I totally get it.