My Very Special Thanksgiving

I said I would get around to posting to update about my surgery sometime before Christmas, but I thought I'd add a little cheer to the subject. Most of you are spending this day stuffing yourselves with turkey, green bean casserole, sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie, and of course stuffing. Although I will be doing the same (except I prefer dressing to stuffing and if you're southern you know there's a difference!) I will also have a little something extra to celebrate besides the glorious time of year we remember the Pilgrims and the Indians by eating and planning a shopping extravaganza for the following day.

This Thanksgiving Day, I celebrate ONE YEAR CANCER FREE!!!!!! That's 365 days, people! A full 365 days without cancer cells in my body on a silent advance to take over. I'm a bit excited to tell the truth. Well, more than a bit, really. I'm stoked, I'm flabbergasted, I'm overjoyed, I'm ecstatic, and that's all without pulling out the thesaurus! So, I'm warning you now: If you see me on Thanksgiving Day, be prepared to see a goofy grin and sparkling eyes, and lots of peeps, heehees, and hahas out of me. This moment is the most monumental of 2013 for me. Try saying that 5 times fast!

If I'm posting about this moment, I guess you kinda figured out on your own that I'm doing well after my last surgery. You're smart that way, right? :) I knew you were. I went in for surgery on September 18th and after quite a few hours waiting because they called us in too early, I was taken back and had my right breast ripped out of my body had a skin saving mastectomy on my right side and my port removed, since I haven't had chemo in over a year and the port wasn't working correctly anyway. My memory of my first mastectomy in September of 2012 is kinda hazy, so I was pleasantly surprised to have this thing called "bear paws" to wear while I waited for surgery. It is a gown like thing with a hose attached. At the wall end of the hose, you can turn on air to hot or cold or anywhere inbetween. Of course I had it maxed out at hot for a while (why are hospitals so cold?!) but I kept having to turn it off so I could hear the people talking to me in the room, since I didn't even take my hearing aids for fear of losing them. I did get to enjoy my sister and niece's company along with my hubby's and I don't think I was grumpy from lack of food until right about the time they came to get me for surgery. Don't tell, but one of the nurses let me have ice once after I told her I was getting parched since I normally consumed about 64-70 oz. of water in a day. I liked her, a lot!

A couple of fun things happened that day, and by fun I mean not so fun. First, was the I.V. thing. Normally, I have no problem getting the I.V., just a problem with the I.V. getting in. I blame my mother. She had tiny, rolling veins; I have tiny, rolling veins. Anyway, I was supposed to get the I.V. in my right arm per my doctor's instructions, even though I was having surgery on the right, because I've had lymph nodes removed from my left. My right is a little easier to get needles in, but barely. The nurses were so nice and apologizing for what all they were having to do to me after my vein rolled on them the third time. I don't usually look at what they're doing if it hurts and this time I'm glad I didn't, because when I glanced over, blood was pouring down my hand and puddling onto the floor. I don't mean just a few drops, I mean like someone stuck a pig (oink!oink!) or squirted ketchup on the floor. It took both nurses to clean me, them, and the floor up. I have never bled like that before, but at least on the fourth or fifth stick they got the I.V. in.

When I woke up from the anesthesia, though, I was dismayed to find that the I.V. had been put in my left foot. Um, can you say OUCH! That was the most painful place I've ever had one. The reason for it being there was something to do with the risks of it being in either of my arms because of the whole lymph node thing, but I remember most the pain and discomfort of the thing being in the top of my foot. The nurses wanted me going to the bathroom on my own, which was fine and I was able to do, but walking on the foot with the I.V. was horrible. Especially when I was groggy, about to pop, and snagged the I.V. line on the corner of the bathroom door because the pole wouldn't roll into the bathroom. Yep. Lovely it was. And one of the pain meds they gave me had to go in the needle in my foot and it burned and was cold all at the same time, so bad I teared up.

The other not fun part was when I woke up from the surgery. When they wheeled me back, I was joking and laughing with the nurses and fine. However, when I woke up it was to "I'm going to throw up" being said by none other than me. I won't describe the part that followed, only to say that has never ever happened to me in all of the surgeries I've had. It was not pleasant. Apparently my usage of essential oils has become ingrained because the next thing to come out of my mouth is "I need ginger. My husband has it." The amused male nurse fetched it and let me put it on, while I answered his questions about Young Living essential oils. The Ginger certainly made me feel better and eased the hurling.

I didn't get sick after that, didn't have to have morphine, and relied on percocet and my essential oils to help with the pain and discomfort. And like last time, I couldn't get enough to eat. The kitchen didn't like me much...

I had hardly any drainage from the surgery this time, even though they put in two drains. I ended up having the drains taken out early because there was no drainage to drain, and the lines were pushing on a nerve in my upper chest causing a low grade fever and lots of pain in that area. Oddly enough, I had hardly any pain at the incision site, especially when compared to the pain the drain lines were causing. I was able to go home the day after surgery, once again like last time. However my foot hurt like, well, you get the idea.

This time I knew what might help, so I was using Frankincense and Sacred Frankincense for my cells and tissue, plus ice packs, pillows, etc. Getting the plumbing working again wasn't fun, but a little bit better than last go around. The not so fun part was getting a stomach bug when I went for my post-op appointments with my doctors. I didn't wash my hands as much as I should've while I was there, and a day later "boom" and I lost eight pounds over the next two weeks.

It took me more time to heal up from the stomach bug than from the surgery. Keeping my energy up and the mental fog at bay was and is hard. But, each day I do get a little bit stronger. Just not as fast as I wish, because I had to work hard to get to where I was. I also will only have six months before the next round of surgeries, so part of me struggled with even trying to get back to where I was only to go through it again. There were some dark days mentally, I'll be honest with you. Thankfully, I had some great prayer warriors interceding for me and the dark days passed and praise music was the light shining the darkness dim.

Now, you see why I'm back to the whole giddy, celebratory attitude that a major milestone is under my belt and that I get to celebrate it with family and eating till I burst! Happy Thanksgiving everyone and remember we all have something in our lives to be thankful for, even if it is just the lives we are living. God bless you and yours.

Hiatus from blogdom

A good many of my not so many readers know what all has transpired since my last post in September, but I've not written about it. I think my head didn't know what exactly was going on in my heart and how to express it in written form. But now that it has been six months since that post, I might be ready. Maybe...
On December 28th, 2010, three months after my mother's final diagnosis, she entered heaven. I think of our last trip together and how much fun we had; I think of how my mother loved the beach, but I loved the mountains. I would go to her favorite place just to watch her with my children, to watch my children with her and spend valuable time with my family. Yet, truth be told, I'm not looking forward to the beach this year. I guess because what I will see is this:

where I wish, in that selfish part of me, she was sitting. Where I wish I could walk up to her and chat about the day or tell her what the kids were doing or tell her about the latest things going on with us. I look at this picture and remember when I took it, somehow knowing that picture would have profound impact on me. That place will never be the same to me for I will forever see the thousands of memories beside me there.
That may seem very dreary and sad to some, but that is grief. I've honestly had a hard time with grief in ways I never expected to. It has been difficult to express my feelings or even understand them myself.
See, the dynamics of my family were put to the test during my mother's last months. It was taxing on everyone involved, but some of it drove wedges between some of my family members and there was nothing to do to stop it. We watched my mother drift into a state she proclaimed for years she never wanted to reach. Yet, too much was keeping her here. I'm not the one to judge just what, but it was hard to watch nonetheless. We also live a good ways away and having income limitations kept our trips down to few, so I wasn't able to be there every moment.
At the beginning of December, my mother lost her memory. I don't mean she didn't know what a pen was, I mean she didn't know who she was. She didn't know me, she didn't know my children, her own husband, etc. Her physical capabilities just about completely left. It was heartbreaking, heartwrenching, and gutwrenching to hear my own mother ask me who I was. I mean I've seen it in movies, I've had to remind a great-grandmother who I was, but not the woman who gave birth to me and fed me and raised me! And I was at a loss as to what to do for her. She was frustrated and angry and mad and a different person. Even her laugh was different.
It was so hard to explain to my children, why their grandmother didn't know them or didn't get their knock knock jokes anymore, or didn't understand what she was supposed to do with the spoon. I couldn't even understand it, much less explain it.
My mother adored my children, and she was their best play buddy. Even just months before her death she loved spending time with them.

I am trying to move on. Obviously life has whether I have or not. I've come to understand how grief can change you. People kept telling me not to hold it in, not to prevent myself from crying, not to hold back. However, when I tried to find that part to let it go, I couldn't find where it went. I dealt with so much grief in watching her go. I said quite often that I started grieving 9 months before the Dr. said there was no more treatment available. Maybe there was no more to find, but nonetheless it has changed me. I'm quieter now, my husband has to prod me into revealing my feelings. I like more alone time, especially destressing time, which my husband has been wonderful in trying to provide often. I guess I'm more staid now, probably because in a certain aspect of my life my brain thinks I'm living a parallel universe, a paradoxy, a twilight zone if you will. And, since its not real it won't have any honest effect on me and I will wake up soon to find it is all like it was in the summer of last year. That is denial, yes, I know. But apparently comforting, too.
My mother was my best friend, my mentor, a mediator between my dad and I, a play buddy to my children, a confidant, and we could talk about just about anything. I'm so very thankful for all of the wonderful friends I have in this world, many my friends since we were teenagers. I have vented and ranted and raved to them and they understand me. One friend has even walked this exact path before me. I have great advice givers and listeners of my troubles, for which I am truly thankful. Above all, they are helping me to come to terms with the new me, explore my grief, acknowledge it, develop into a stronger more resilient woman, and find ways to keep the memories of my mother and I alive. You will never meet another woman as strong, as much of a fighter, as much of a friend as my mom.