Hair-shaving Party!!!

     So, true to cancer forum predictions, my hair started to fall out around day 14 after treatment.

At the hospital for an echo-cardiogram,
day 15 after treatment.

Truthfully, my first experience with the hair loss was the evening of day 13. I reached up and tested my hair, and painlessly came away with a pinch of 12-15 hairs. Yikes! I giggled nervously as I showed my husband and sprinkled them on the carpet. My expected response of tears was suddenly forestalled when my three-year-old reached over, grabbed twice as much hair than I had just pulled out of my head, and laughed maniacally as she sprinkled it in my upturned face. I was trying to see how much she grabbed when she let it go and it was all over me! She honestly thought it was hilarious that mommy's hair was coming out! We went to bed, and I was relieved when my pillow wasn't covered in hair the next morning. However, three different times during the next day, if I was distracted by homework (or Facebook or whatever,) baby girl would reach over and yank out another handful of hair! I tried to get mad at her, honestly I did, but she laughed and giggled each and every time she did it. Stinking-cute spoiled little angel.

     By Saturday (day 16) morning I started seeing the damage on my pillow. By the afternoon I decided I'd had enough of the mess, and I scheduled a head-shaving party by texting a few friends and my family. Sunday I showed off my nifty trick to some kids at church in Primary. Some of them appreciated it, one of them did NOT. Oh boy, sorry honey!
     After church, I took a nap in the backyard so the kids would play outside. It was so nice to curl up in two cancer quilts in the sun! When I woke up, I asked my five-year-old son if he wanted to try and pull some of mommy's hair out, because we were an hour away from the party, so why not?

     To my surprise, his handful was MUCH larger than his sister's, and I knew he'd left me with a pretty decent bald spot in the middle of my mohawk! We chased around the yard for awhile, he kept trying to get another handful, and I kept tickling him.

     By 4:00 we were at Relik Salon in Orem where my sister-in-law, Nateal, works. We brought cheese squares, crackers, a veggie tray, and brownies. We waited the customary fifteen minutes or so for everyone to arrive, and then I gave anybody who wanted a chance to pull some of my hair out. Yes, kind of creepy. But in that fascinating way. Then Nateal taught my children how to use the clippers, and if they wanted to, they gave them a try on my head. Shane took a middle stripe out of my mohawk, and if I hadn't been laughing so hard I would have cried! It didn't take long once the clippers were safely back in Nateal's experienced hands. The hair loss looked pretty funny up close, I'm not sure if anyone got a picture that showed how funny the little lines and spots of baldness looked.

Unfortunately, my nephew was not thrilled
about joining the head-shaving. 

     Pretty soon, my brother's head was shaved, my twin sisters' panels done, my brother-in-law's, my other brother, my nephew... the hair just kept hitting the floor.

     When it was my dad's turn, they told me I should be the one to cut his hair. That's when I finally cried. I didn't want anyone to cut their hair, but they all wanted to show support for me. My dad has cancer, but won't need chemo. There was something just really sad to me about cutting his hair off for my cancer.

     Anyway, then Nateal had a panel, courtesy of her husband (she trusted him with the clippers?!), and my baby girl came up to me and said "Mommy, I want a haircut, too!" "Really? You want just a little cut off?" "No! I want it like this..." and she motioned and indicated my head. "No, honey, we are not shaving all your hair off."

     She wandered off for a bit and came back later. "Please Mommy? I won't even cry. I promise!" She is super animated when she talks, and uses excellent hand motions and all. I caved in and let her get hers done like her Aunts'. I cried a little then, too.

     Another sister-in-law took the chair, and two hours after we started we were finally done and ready to take pictures of all the baldies - including the little niece who just has barely any hair because she's a tow-headed little blondie.

     In all, twelve of us had something shaved.

I had two dear friends in attendance. One wore a scarf in her hair in a show of support, and the other brought me a bag of M&Ms with a super cute poem. Three additional family members and friends who don't live near us sent me pictures of their head-shaving, as well. It was quite the party, one I don't think any of us will ever forget.
     Another friend shared this quote from The Velveteen Rabbit, and I just had to steal it for the occasion:

     He said, "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

     If I wasn't Real before, cancer is the sure-fire way to make it happen. I am surprised at how little my baldness bothers me. I don't mind covering my head in public to make others more comfortable (and it is a lot warmer) but you may also spot me happily bare-headed in the grocery store, or cheerfully explaining my hair loss to a child. I also have no reservations about posting pics online. Baldness has always strangely fascinated me, so if you share in that fascination please forgive my grainy pictures. I'm sure my sister will take some fantastic ones for me soon.

The day after.

I figured about 40% of it was gone.

2 days after

Can you tell I sat out in the sun for 15 minutes with suntan oil on my head?
I plan on swimming with the kids this summer. I don't want to accidentally get a sunburn, so I'm going to slowly expose my scalp to the sun each day. 

Can you imagine if I hadn't cut it and just let this much... come out? 

The patchiness is normal, and it's why most people choose to cover their head.
The Dr. told me not to "Bic it", since your scalp is sensitive,
and one mis-swipe and you've opened yourself up for an infection.

     I'm so grateful for my support network. I can't even thank everyone who has made a difference, because it would be in the hundreds. People are constantly checking in on me, asking how they can help, opening up with me, sharing their feelings and love, sending me gifts, making me laugh, and saving my life. Do you really wonder why I'm so happy when I've been constantly surrounded with, buoyed up by, and inundated with love? I love you all, too! <3

Portacath, First Chemo treatment

Bard Power Port
My purple Lego

     "How are your veins?" I hate this question! My veins are a combination of responses! They can be great. I can be an easy stick. My veins can also roll, They tend to be shallow. They infiltrate. They hold firm. They bruise. They get irritated. So when the oncologist  asked with reference toward my impending chemo, I was grateful for my husband's presence. He had no problem telling the Doctor that my veins have given me a lot of trouble at times, but not always. Dr. R. reviewed my chart, and stated "Well, you've had a double mastectomy, and most of the time when we deal with those, we usually recommend a port anyway. How would you feel about a port?" No digging for my veins? No risk of infiltration (when the medicine ends up in your arm instead of in your vein)? "Sign me up!"
     When I spoke with my General Surgeon again, she showed me the port that would be placed under my skin, and explained a little about the procedure. "What kind of recovery will I be looking at?" I asked. "Nothing compared to what you've already been through!" She happily replied. But I was like, "What?! It can be in the same sentence, though?!" Yikes. I have class the week of my port placement. I want to go to class. I need to go to class. We went home from that appointment, and a week or so passed. My husband's mom contacted me inquiring about the port placement. "Are you sure you want to get it the day before you start chemotherapy? My niece's port has been painful and uncomfortable. She says it's taken days to ignore the pain from it..."

See those cool palpation points? That makes the port like a lego brick.
Yup. I have a purple Lego under my skin.

     Yikes. I thought this was no big deal! Like, it's just a catheter like an IV being place inside your body with this little triangle, no biggie, right? So I got online on the cancer forums and started reading about port placements. SIGH. GROAN. I read about horror story after horror story. Most people get their port at the same time as another procedure, so they don't know how much pain was due to the one or the other. Many are on the forum with the explicit purpose of stating how terrible their pain is, and nobody warned them, and has anyone else experienced shooting pains up their necks three days later that can't be controlled with medicine and leaves them in tears and I HAVE SCHOOL TO ATTEND!!! LOL!
     But the placement is scheduled, and quickly approaching, and there is no better date to insert this device into my body, so I attend an earlier section of one of my classes on Wednesday, and we head to the hospital. The doctor is a little behind, so after being confined in the pre-op room with my hubby (who likes to torture me by offering me food and drinks that he knows I cannot have) for more than an hour I am more than ready for the procedure to start.

Since operating rooms make me want to dance,
I wonder if I missed my calling in life? ;)

     I wake up in the recovery room and there are some of the same nurses from the last time I was in this room. Yeah! Let's party! "Hey, do you remember me?" I ask, because people sometimes don't anymore with the punk haircut. "I think I do," says one nurse, "I seem to remember dancing with you the last time you were here." "Yup, that's me, you guys should be dancing. Wouldn't life be better if we all took a little time to dance at work?" Yeah. I'm telling you, anesthesia makes me a party in a hospital gown. I didn't take ONE SINGLE LORTAB for my port placement. I went to class, came home, went to bed, got up, went to chemo, came home, went to class, went to bed, etc.... My portacath has been relatively painless. Thank goodness for the small favors, huh? Spoiler, I didn't publish this post and have re-evaluated my recovery.

Chemotherapy - the ultimate depilatory
Yeah, and don't even get me started on what the... why
this... picture is so crazy wrong. Hair removal and
flowers and near nudity and floating in sunsets. GAG.

     So Thursday we drop the kids off at various sitters houses, and head off for the hospital again. As the medial assistant leads me back through the suites I say to her "So, I understand you're here to offer me the most expensive depilatory on the market." She stumbles for a minute and says "...yes, chemo is very expensive..." with that kind of question in her voice that wonders if she's responding correctly. I suppress a sigh. I had hoped we'd start off the day with some laughter! Since my chemo was the very next day after port placement, the surgeon left the needle in for the chemo nurses. Yay! It takes awhile before they begin my treatment, and three different people ask me "Are you ready?" To which I reply or imagine replying things like "Hook me up!" "Let's do it!" "Let's get the ball rolling!" "No, I'm here and ready to go, and am now going to lecture you all about why chemo is a bad idea for treating my breast cancer..." I'm sure if I had more sarcasm in my body it could have come pouring out to great effect. Unfortunately, sarcasm usually occurs to me after a situation has concluded. I would be way funnier in real life if I had sarcastic bones in my body. Maybe. I can dream, right?!

   The pre-drugs (anti-emetic and steroid) are no big deal. The first chemo drug makes me queasy. The second makes me uneasy. We don't have to stop my treatment once. I ask my husband for a coke, and for crackers or nuts during the treatments to help with the nausea. I had brought a coconut water with me, which I mixed with the Coke. This seems like it should cause lightning strikes due to the sheer monstrosity of my blasphemy, but hey, I'm getting poisoned by medical professionals, so I guess it all works out somehow. By the time the kids are going to be getting home from school, we are done and on our way home. Just like the nurse said, the best way to describe how the chemo feels is not very easy to communicate. I feel a little "off" or "uneasy".

     I feel uncomfortable inside. I feel tired. The queasiness isn't quite like morning sickness. It sits higher in my digestive tract. It's lighter than morning sickness as well. I suspect by my next treatment that will be less true. I took some compazine in the afternoon to ease the queasiness, and dragged my mom out walking with me because the nausea subsides as I walk. I slept fine the first night, but only after I took a lorazepam the Doc and given me. I was up with my littlest on the couch watching a show and eating lemon drops one moment, and collecting my drool in my hand and dragging her to bed the next! Yuck! LOL, but by the next morning I was doing pretty well again. I took another compazine, and we were off and running for the entire day. I went to bed the next night around 10:00 pm or so, and woke up at 3:00 pm the next afternoon! I could tell I'd slept in, but honestly, I expected it to be ten or eleven in the morning when I got up. It was rather unsettling to sleep that long and not realize that I had been so out of it for so long. Thank goodness with it being Saturday my parents and sister and daughter all took turns taking care of the kids!
     Since then, my days (and especially nights) have been rather yucky. Like, stay near the bathroom yucky that ain't no one, no how, ever gonna' read about that kind of yucky, yucky. Not fun.
     I was supposed to get my expanders filled today, but even my mom didn't like the way my port looked this morning. By the time I saw Dr. J's Nurse Practitioner she said "I don't think we want to get anywhere near that thing with a needle right now." It's been hurting, too! Grr. I was so okay with not taking any pain control for the port placement, but here I am, nearly a week post-op, and I took one tonight.

I have to leave the steri-strips on until they fall off. Notice how the skin around
my port looks angry at me? And you can see the redness as it extends up the
catheter. What I don't have a clue about are all the red spots. They must be like
"We're mad, too, cause the purple Lego should have been rainbow colors.

     We're not certain it's infected, in fact, we're rather assuming it's not infected, but just to be on the safe side I'm on antibiotics. Funny, I had noticed it was getting more and more tender each day rather than less painful, but the general yuckiness of the chemo convinced me not to get too concerned. Let's hope tomorrow will find my skin looking less bruised, angry, or whatever the heck it is trying to communicate. We'll go for calm. Calm skin. And maybe some yoga... I haven't made it back to the gym since the port placement, and my husband keeps telling me it's not going to happen if my body isn't up for it. Well, "Come on, body! We need this, so deal with the trauma!"
     Oh, one additional note - everyone at Dr. J's office LOVED MY HAIR today! They made me feel so special and pretty and tough and punk and YES, I CAN KICK CANCER'S TRASH. YES. I. CAN.

The (Punk) Haircut

Unfortunately I destroyed most of the pictures of me with
short hair. I do have a few in the storage unit, but
graduation pics last forever (I stole this one from my
sisters' FB photos).

     Right after I found out about my cancer, I had a couple of close friends contact me privately with some carefully thought out advice. "Have you considered cutting off all your hair before chemo? You could donate your hair to locks of love..." it went about like that, but more compassionate! Anyway, I love my hair long. I cut it short once in High School and well, it just never looked right. I never got the hang of styling it. I grew it out as soon as possible, and it was terribly, horribly awkward for most of two years. I swore I would never - NEVER cut it shorter than my chin again. Unless I had cancer. ;)
     I was also a bit confused about what to expect regarding hair loss at first. People kept telling me they knew someone who didn't lose their hair during chemotherapy. Like, they lost some hair, but kept enough to look normal. I did some research and discovered something like 80% of patients lose enough hair to shave it (actually, there was a LOT of conflicting information about numbers of patients with hair loss, but it was almost always in the strong majority). I thought, "Well, I will take the chance that I'm one of the 20% then..." But, when I spoke with my oncologist he made it sound like a for sure thing. "You will lose your hair around day 21." There was not a "most people" or a "chances are" or any qualifier on that statement. It made me uncomfortable that he seemed so certain. So, I did more research, and this time, I included my chemo drugs (cytoxan and taxotere). I found on the Cancer Research UK site this little gem:
Side effects:

• Hair loss – in 8 out of 10 people (80%) hair falls out completely but it grows back once the treatment ends

Notice that word 'completely'. Yeah. That means 2 in 10 still experience hair loss, but they might not lose every hair on their body. Maybe they keep their toe hairs! I read a lot of forums too, and the consensus was that patients start losing their hair on day 14 and by day 21 if they hadn't shaved it yet, they gave up and did!

Free online virtual makeover but don't get started
unless you have hours to spend playing with
the different styles!

     So, I decided if I was that likely to lose it all and shave my head anyway, I might as well get rid of most of it. I all ready struggle keeping my house clean - I don't want to add a full head of hair lost strand by strand to the mess! I did a virtual makeover or twenty. I searched pixie cuts, knowing it was likely I'd want some kind of style as it grows back in as well as while losing it. And, who knows? Maybe it'll come back in super curly - which is quite common! 

     How many times in life does a woman know she's going to lose all her hair? I figured I might as well take advantage of the experience. I pinned images to Pinterest and started speaking with my amazing sister-in-law/hair-stylist, Nateal, about what I might be wanting. (Just as a side note - I have 3 amazing s-i-l/hair-stylists. Nateal just happens to have lots of experience with the kind of style I want to go for.) She didn't even question me, but said "Okay, yeah, we could do something like that." She admitted to me as we got started today that it did make her just a bit nervous, but when she spoke with my brother about it, he reassured her by saying something like "That's just Megdalynn. Once she decides something, she jumps in with both feet. Don't worry about it, she knows what she wants or she wouldn't tell you." I love that he knows this about me! 

Aw, look how old I got!

     I'm actually sitting in the salon, writing this post as we get ready for the next step. By the way, Nateal is still taking clients at Relik Salon & Spa in Orem. Give her a call at 801-22-1947, she's got skillz! And let her know I sent you! (Yes, she can do NORMAL stuff too.)
     The best part about this? I CAN'T WAIT to see people's reactions!!! My kids, my husband, my classmates, my gym friends, ... my primary class.... Oh boy. Too late now! The box of color has already been opened. Might as well do it right! 

     Honestly, the virtual makeovers did not do a lot to build my confidence for this. It didn't help when I showed my dad the images and he said, "That doesn't even look like you." I replied, "I know, but it's me." "Well, what picture did you start with? Are you wearing any make-up?" LOL! My dad, bless his heart, does not like short hair on women! 

     Here are a bunch of pictures from the salon.

    I thought I would cry today, especially as the locks started hitting the floor - but what burst out of me instead was an intense fit of the giggles! 

 I like the cut way better than I thought I would. It doesn't add 20 pounds to my face the way the one I had in High School did. Or, at least, I hope it doesn't! The funny thing is, even if it does, the attitude it incorporates screams "I don't care!" anyway!

I laughed all the way through the cut, and had to take a little break to collect myself before the fade design - so it wouldn't get messed up by my laughter!

Original hair design by Nateal Ernst, Relik Salon, 801-225-1947

I loved it when my friend shared my video post on FB and said "she's fighting like a girl"! I think that will be my motto this week. It's going to be a long one, filled with doctors' offices. I'm earning that spring break!

 

Mastectomy - psychology and recovery.

     Argh. I am so behind on my blog! But, hey, aren't you proud of me for taking some time to recover? OK, OK, I admit, I have pushed myself too hard a couple of times. I am trying hard to be a patient patient. Well, hard for me... My recovery has gone quite well. The Doctors are impressed, but not actually surprised since I am fit and young compared to the majority of their patients.
     I'm going to get personal here again, so if you want to skip six paragraphs...

This image from Google is pretty representative
of my scars. Not bad, huh?

     My scars are pretty awesome. On my left, under my breast, my scar measures about three inches. I have two on that side because they spared my nipples. My scar above my nipple, over where the tumor was located, is about two inches. My scar on the right side is barely two inches, and all ready fading into obscurity.
     The pathology from my surgery indicated that my Invasive Ductal Carcinoma (IDC) was surrounded by Ductal Carcinoma In Situ (DCIS). Sometimes the medical personnel try to make that sound less scary by saying the cancer was surrounded by pre-cancerous cells. They are trying to simplify the difference between the invasive cancer and the non-invasive, but they're not fooling me.
My grandmother had a double mastectomy to remove DCIS. Hers was not invasive, but still warranted removal. Anyway, treatment choices for the remaining DCIS (which is microscopic) include either radiation, or further excision. Based on my own feelings, and the recommendations from my tumor board, we are going with further excision. Dr. J, the plastic surgeon, will use the same incision line they used to remove my tumor to cut out just a little bit more tissue. The DCIS remaining was like a tail, or a feeler, extending toward my sternum. I am pleased to avoid the radiation!

     Within half an hour prior to my surgery, Dr. J. came to visit me practically skipping. He was excited that Dr. T. planned on saving my nipples! Ha! He was more excited about it than I was by far, but his enthusiasm was encouraging. I didn't really view the changes to my body until I got home, though I did pay some attention as the nurses and Doctors checked my incision sites. I ended up with bruising covering the lower half of my left breast, and a scab over my left nipple caused by a small disruption of blood supply as my body started figuring out how it was supposed to function without my breasts. I also had some skin puckering or dimples.

I had two drains, one for each side. A tube, sticking out of my body, connected to a plastic bulb shaped about like a grenade. The drains collect excess fluid to reduce swelling. Gone were the breasts that had fed four children. They had expanded and retracted so many times they were no longer perky. They were no longer full. They were so small, they were also (fortunately) not saggy. I earned those imperfections. They were mine. Looking in the mirror at home - at my skin beaten up and stretched over the expanders - I observe the new perkiness and mourn the loss. Is it weird to miss something imperfect? To trade imperfection for something most women desire - and feel like you got short-changed?
     A long time ago in my youth I was obsessed with my body image. I tried so hard to create a body that was not mine. I starved myself. It took many years before I realized why I had been sinning. During my time teaching young women in the church, I shared with them the story of my journey, and the testimony I gained about loving our bodies because they are God given. He doesn't create mistakes. I learned to accept my body and my perceived flaws because those very flaws are a gift to me from God. I no longer mocked His design. I was grateful for it. I changed my psychology. And now, my figure more accurately reflects what society says women should look like. It disturbs me.
     When I first discovered my breast cancer I was unaware of the congressional act that mandates insurance company coverage of breast reconstruction for policies which cover lumpectomy or mastectomy. I anticipated attending my classes with one breast, as I knew it would be unlikely I would be able to tolerate a prosthetic for several months after the surgery.

Mastectomy Swimsuit Fashion
I love the empowerment in these pics.

I was okay with that, but I knew it would be difficult at times, and that no matter how much I tried to 'gear myself up for it', I would mentally struggle with the implications. I was relieved to find out about the act of Congress in response to my personal situation. Upon further research, I discovered the act was passed based on research into patients' psychological well being post-mastectomy, with or without reconstruction. The evidence heavily supports healthy psychological outcomes for reconstruction, and especially for younger women. I am also grateful that each woman can choose what is right for her personal well being. I would completely support a woman of any age desiring to forego reconstruction. So why did I choose reconstruction? It's complicated. I didn't mind being small, but I have to admit, part of my self identification as a woman includes my breasts. Beyond that, I considered the effect on my family.  My husband is tremendously supportive of me making whatever decision I want regarding my own body. He wants me to be happy, and I have to speak with him at length before he expresses even the hint of an opinion. Still, he is a man, and he admits he enjoys breasts. I considered our intimacy. I thought about my children. I'm still uncertain regarding the lessons my children would have learned from either outcome, but felt strongly that my youngest ones would have had a much harder time without the reconstructive surgery. I struggle with my culture's view on women's breasts. I have for many years, but my breast cancer brings the topic to my mind often.

Are you kidding me?
That's the biggest syringe I've ever seen!

     My expanders were 'filled' for the first time today. 100 mL of saline were pumped into each side. The procedure itself was not painful, but the same places that have been causing me discomfort this week have hurt more since we left the doctor's office. It reminded me of water balloons being filled. My husband thought it simply erased some of the skin dimples and puckers that had resulted from the surgery, and didn't see any size difference. They will expand them one more time than what I feel is 'my size' so that the implants do not damage my skin. What is 'my size'? I don't know. I all ready feel more blessed by the extension of my life than I deserve. I all ready feel more perky than I would like to be. I all ready have more... fake breast (?) ... than I started out with! Does it even matter? I suspect I could have made my way through life without breasts and still been just fine. My own psychology confuses me. Oh, and you can feel the unnatural nature of the expanders underneath my skin. It is very... weird! I try not to think about how alien the expanders are because I don't want to convince my body to reject them! Even other people can feel the expanders - they are a little creeped out by the unnatural feel of the plastic underneath my skin.
     I started doing physical therapy on my own before receiving clearance from the doctor. I was ready! I'm glad I will see her again this Tuesday because I want to start doing yoga again. I miss the gym!
     

Equity, and my *only* surgery

My surgery went better than I had hoped on Friday, the 20th. I had completed my pre-screening at the hospital the day before: two blood tests, a urine sample, and a chest x-ray.

My report time for the procedure wasn't until 11:00 am, so I had plenty of time to not eat or drink anything in preparation. Normally this would have bothered me, but my nerves must have helped me ignore my thirst and hunger. When I checked in at surgical services, I was sent back over to the imaging lab. Wasn't I just here? Deja vu! Third time's the charm I guess. This time I was lead to a room with a a curtain and bed in the back of the room. The nurse and tech explained that the radiologist would be inserting the radioactive dye used to perform the sentinel node biopsy. Oh boy. I had hear that sometimes this procedure is done through the areola, and that it can be very painful. I took advantage of the opportunity to ask the nurse. She told me it just depends where the cancer is at, and that the pain felt varies from patient to patient. Super reassuring. The radiologist comes in, and gives me a small shot from the outside of my breast. He explains this procedure has gone through a lot of changes in the last couple of years, that yes, some patients find it painful or experience a burning sensation, but that most find its pain similar to that of a lidocaine shot. Sure enough, it is no big deal for me.

I'm so relieved, that my nervous joking goes beyond my normal comfort level - the nurse tells me I can turn the hospital gown around, with the opening in the back so that it is less revealing. I say "what if I want to show them off while they're still real?" She says "everybody has their own way of coping with this situation, I even know some women have "revealing" parties after their surgeries." I blush at the thought that I was joking and she thought I was serious! I try to assure her I was joking, and then curiosity gets the best of me and I ask about the revealing parties. Yeah. Sorry guys, that is just not the way I'm going to handle having falsies! Later on as we are preparing for surgery the nurse flips through my chart with a confused look on her face. "Do you have any allergies?" She asks me. I smile and say "Nope. I'm perfectly healthy other than the cancer."

She keeps rapidly flipping through pages and says "I can't seem to find the record of your prior surgeries..." to which I reply "That's because this is my only surgery." "You've never had another surgery?" "Nope. I've never been placed under general anesthesia before. I don't plan on doing it again, either." The plastic surgeon comes in with a marker to draw lovely curves on my skin so that they will make sure to put my fake breasts in the right places. I'm glad it's so technical. ;) He is very optimistic, and tells me his cancer patients often look better than before they started. Then he laughs self-deprecatingly, and says "Maybe I shouldn't over-promise!" His nurse reminds me that this procedure today is not about looks. She stumbles around it a bit, and I catch on that she's concerned I might think I will come out of the operation with normal looking breasts. I try to reassure her and be funny - "You mean, I'm going to have a double mastectomy, and I'm going to look like I've had a double mastectomy, with the beginnings of reconstruction. Okay. Yup, got it!" I smile at her so she'll know I'm not being crazy positive because I have unrealistic expectations!

My memory is pretty spotty after they wheel me toward the operating room. Retrograde amnesia, my hubby reminds me, is one of the side-effects of general anesthesia. But, I do remember most of the recovery room. It was pretty funny. Apparently I inherited the "talk it up and share lots of jokes in the recovery room" gene from both of my parents. Their stories are far more humorous than mine. I woke up to the plastic surgeon telling me the procedure was over, and it went great. I must have recognized his voice, because I certainly don't remember seeing him. Several silly minutes later I was in my hospital room. It was strange to be back with my family members and have them know more about the surgery than I did, but I am grateful the docs and nurses kept them informed. All of the five lymph nodes they removed looked clean. Dr. T. reminds me they have a 90 % correct track record on this in the OR. Amazing! I wake up pretty sore, and soon discover that oxycodone is my new best friend. One night I try just taking one pill, instead of the two I am allowed, and I wake up in pain. The nurse offers me some morphine until the second pill arrives and then has time to take effect. "Huh," I tell her "I didn't realize I had a headache. But nothing else changed." Turns out the morphine was nearly unnoticeable! Oh, yeah, and the blue dye they gave me during the operation to help identify my sentinel lymph node turned my urine the same color as lime green jell-o!

Lime Jell-O will make me giggle for a long time!

That was freaking awesome! I spent a lot of time sleeping and visiting with amazing nurses, techs, housekeeping staff, dietary staff, and family and friends. All in all it was like a vacation where you're woken up several times a night to check your vital signs and where you need help getting to the restroom. Oh. That doesn't sound much like a vacation, does it? Good thing they sent me home a couple of days later! I spent as much time as I could sharing my testimony with people. It seemed really, really important that they hear about these really cool faith-building experiences I kept having. I'm not sure many of them 'got' what I was trying to communicate. Maybe I'll do a better job sharing here.
Thursday night I had another profound spiritual experience. As most of you are aware, I belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. I'm a Mormon. Like most Christian religions, we believe in "the laying on of hands" as mentioned in Hebrews 6:2, or perhaps a better example is when Christ's disciples "anointed with oil many that were sick, and healed them" in Mark 6:13. Anointing and healing through the power of God is mentioned in many places throughout both Old and New Testaments. I've had practitioners of other faiths lay their hands upon me and bless me in Jesus' name. I've also been anointed and blessed through the Preisthood power by members of my church. I have faith that miraculous healings occur through the power of God (and through our faith) even in modern times.

While I knew this kind of healing was not part of God's will for me during this trial, I also have faith that He might have other, more important blessings to bestow, so I asked for such a blessing the night before I went into surgery. As my father placed the oil on my head, I felt a little surreal moment, and said "I feel like we just barely did this. Would you guys mind if we switched it up tonight, and Shane anoints me and my dad gives the blessing?" To be honest, it had only been a week and a half since my last blessing, so we really had just barely done it. "Whatever you want!" They both say, and promptly trade jobs. So. My dad gives me this incredible blessing. My mom and husband are listening. My dad does his best with interpreting what the spirit gives him to say, which apparently includes blessing me with equity. And telling me about the equity I am being blessed with. And what I will do with the equity I am being blessed with. As the blessing closes in Jesus' name, I say "Wow. I'm not sure I know how to react to that." My mom shakes her head and lets it drop into her hand as she says my dad's name with her "what were you thinking?" tone. He starts to apologize to me - "I'm sorry babe, I know that blessing didn't make a lot of sense..." and I stop them both and tell them "NO. That's just it. It made perfect sense TO ME. I know you it didn't make any sense to you. That's why I don't know how to react. That blessing was to me, the words were meant for me, and I understood what Heavenly Father needed me to hear." Then I got to share some pretty amazing things with them, and clearly, I am not sharing all of these things on my public blog, but let me tell you about this one. Equity. When that word came out of my father's mouth during my blessing it was like someone else was talking to me. When he expounded on the equity I was being blessed with, and what I am destined to do with that equity - I'm telling you. It was divine. What my spouse and parents didn't know was that I have been studying the health economics of breast cancer for my English class. During my brief examination of the articles I'm considering using for my research project I became a little bothered by some of the moral implications of the studies. Since I want to become a health economist, it's kind of a big deal that I not have moral reservations regarding what I want to do with my life, you know? So, during my study I decide I'm going to tackle a rather hairy aspect of the research. The two objectives of health economics are efficiency and equity. I'm going to examine the equity side of the issue, and try to hold health economics accountable to these objectives. The two objectives are almost mutually exclusive. This is why it is so critical that both objectives be acknowledged and promoted. One without the other will not lead us to optimal health care knowledge. It's massive. It's just this huge thing to me, and it's all wrapped up in this giant process of me deciding what I want to be when I grow up and how I will make a significant contribution to the world. And there it is. In my blessing before my double mastectomy. I am blessed with equity. And I KNOW.

This is inspired. It is not a coincidence. Our language is beautiful and complex, but a word like equity doesn't randomly show up in a blessing for health. I just can't seem to communicate how cool this is to people. It's profound. God spoke to me, and He made it obvious that it was coming from Him. I mean - I know He's there. I know He loves each and every one of His children. Sometimes it just feels like "but there are so many of us..." or "but He's so busy..." or a million other ways in which we discount the enormous magnitude of His belief in us! That word - equity - it was not my father's word. He didn't know what he was talking about. My mother was almost disappointed in the blessing because I wasn't blessed with the things that you would expect to hear in a pre-operation blessing. But I was blessed with what I needed. And I was told what I needed to hear. And whether you know what "equity" or "efficiency" or "economics" mean, I think you can recognize that this was not an average experience. There is a grand design. God loves us. He loves me. He loves you.