A Day at the Beach No Longer a Day at the Beach

Did I mention I went to the beach recently and that I came back with an unusual reddening of my skin along the scar of my mastectomy, along with a raging outbreak of what I presumed was the onset of adult acne on my face? Because they occurred at the exact same time, I put the two symptoms together and thought they might be related. The only thing that came to mind was that they were reactions to something internal - like a leak in my implant? So off I went for yet another round of medical appointments.

First stop, my plastics doc. She determined the implant was intact and there were no issues with it. She suggested the redness might be "radiation recall," but because the skin had actually turned into very thin scabs in some places, she said it could be a staph infection, especially considering the rash on my face, too. Thus, I was sent on my way for a consult with a dermatologist.

By the time I was able to get an appointment with the skin doc, much of the rash and redness/scabbing was clearing up already. Nonetheless the dermatologist took a small chunk of skin off my breast for a biopsy and then scraped a few skin cells off my face for testing, too. And that was that. Should have results soon.

What is it This Time?

Went for my mammo as prescribed. When I finished checking-in, I was led to a dimly lit room where the machine was waiting for me. After the first couple of pictures were taken, I took a seat, covered myself with the hospital gown... and waited. I passed the time by mentally chanting to myself, "it's going to be fine. It's going to be fine. It's just the implant valve. I'll be fine."

Then the devil on my shoulder would ask, "but what if it's not okay? What are you gonna to do then? How are you going to handle it?" ...And then I'd think back about all the crap I've been through. So I answered myself firmly, "well, I'll just have to soldier on and live through it again. What else would I do?"

And then I'd start thinking, "it's going to be fine. It's going to be fine. I'll be alright..." And the conversation in my head would repeat like a broken record. (For you kids out there who may be reading this and don't know what a record is, it's the device used by your parents' generation to listen to music. We didn't have CDs and iPods and streaming webcasts "in the old days.")

As if I wasn't nervous enough already, the nurse came back to the room and announced, "the doctor wants a few more images." Bummer. I went along with the plan and as I ignored the compression of the machine plates bearing down on me, the voice in my head grew more determined. "I'll be okay. I'll be okay." I was intent on being okay.

You can imagine how alarming it was when the nurse returned a second time and told me the doctor wanted me to have an ultrasound. I thought, "damn, why does he need to see an ultrasound?"

"An ultrasound? You mean right now?", I said. "Yes," she said, "but don't worry, we can do it here. We have a room right down the hall." She pressed her back against the door to hold it open for me as she gestured for me to walk out in the direction of the appropriate hallway.

In a somewhat detached and bewildered state of mind, I was led to an examination room a few doors down. Before I could get my head around what was going on, I said hello to the sonogram lady and crinkled the paper covering the exam table as I took my place on top of it.

She began, "this is just a gel I'm going to put on you. It might be a little cold..." Her voice fell away while I listened to my own thoughts pinging around my brain, trying to reassure myself: "yadda yadda...whatever" "...been there done that." [pause] I looked over to the screen. I thought to myself, "What the heck are we looking at? I don't see anything. I squinted and looked closer. I continued my inner conversation, "What angle are we looking at? I don't see anything but squiggles of black, white and gray." I suddenly snapped-back to the outside world when the lady put down the wand or mouse or whatever that thing is and stood up from her chair. "Okay I'll be right back with the doctor so he can take a look for himself." Huh? Take a look at what?

So in comes the doc, shakes my hand and takes a seat at the helm. He rolls the wand back and forth a few times and stops. Oh... finally I can make out an image on the screen, and it sure looks like the valve to me. "Well we don't see anything suspicious," the doc said. "But obviously with your history we wanted to be thorough." Thank goodness. I'm grateful for the extra care. I was relieved, but I was also a little mad. Mad because I was scared for nothing and because I know it won't be the last time I question my health. I'm annoyed by this whole cancer thing. It's a royal pain and it will always be hanging over me until we find a cure. Remission is great, but a cure would be awesome. Thank you to everyone out there trying to make it happen.

Mammogram Time

It’s been months since I’ve updated this blog with all of the fascinating goings-on in my life. Why haven't I written you ask? Well, don’t get me wrong - I don’t mean to sound unappreciative - but it's because I really didn’t think people actually “followed” my blog, or even if they did, I thought certainly they wouldn’t care much about it after my treatment was done. Boy was I wrong. I can’t believe how many times I’ve been asked about it, or how recently I’ve been told by someone that they had been to my site only to be disappointed that I hadn’t written anything lately.   I'm flattered. Thank you. It just so happens that the time is right to insert a couple of new comments for your reading pleasure. I had an appointment with my oncologist this week. And I cried. I cried because not more than a day before my appointment, I learned that an acquaintance’s mother died from breast cancer. News like that brings it home and all of the emotion comes crashing down again. I get distressed about the very thought of dying, despite my aspirations to be an old woman when I grow up (citation needed). The outcome of my doc’s appointment was a recommendation for genetic testing and an order for a new mammogram. There’s a palpable spot on my "good" boob. I think it’s just the valve from my implant. . . maybe the implant shifted. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what I thought about the lump I felt on my other originally-cancerous-boob, which as we all know, turned out NOT to be the valve, but rather the recurrence of breast cancer that led to this blog. Surely lightning won’t strike three times, but better to be safe than sorry. So I’m trying to get myself scheduled for new pictures. Apparently there’s a catch to it now. I was told today that the Women’s Imaging Center that I’ve been going to for the last six or seven years isn’t part of my insurance network. Here's the twist: it’s the same insurance I’ve had for the last four or five years that used to cover my screenings! I have to scramble now to obtain pre-authorization before the procedure will be covered. Is this an ominous sign of things to come in our health care system?

Let it Flow

Any gentlemen reading my blog might want to skip this post -- especially if you're my brother-in-law, Andrew, who rolls his eyes whenever the conversation turns to female issues. Of all the things in the world one can dream of real or imaginary, I had a dream about menstruating. Yes, menstruating. Most women I know dread getting their period each month, but in my dream, I was excited - make that downright overjoyed - to finally have mine back!! I can think of plenty of women who'd consider me crazy to wish I had a period. But I do. I feel like I was robbed. If I hadn't had cancer the first time, maybe Stephanie would have a brother or sister. And now having cancer a second time, I'm pretty sure our family size is sealed. But clearly if I'm dreaming about dispensing eggs and having a womb that prepares for it, maybe it will come true.

Happy Birthday, Happy Lifeday

Today is my sister Jennifer's birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JEN! Tomorrow marks the one-year anniversary of being told I have breast cancer again. As promised when I started writing this blog, I'm still here to tell you about it. It's a good thing Doreen Gentzler isn't coming over for a before-and-after segment (you might recall she was on my doorstep when the "you have cancer" phone call came last year) because I don't look anything like that young, hip, sexy mama of yester-year that you see in her newscast video of me. Nothing can erase the wear-and-tear that the chemo put on my body over the past year, but like it or not, it's what God gave me, or should I say, saved of me, and that's what matters. So I raise another glass, baby. Life rolls on.

The New Dollard Manor

It's been a month since we moved to our new digs in Clifton, VA, and I'm just now past the middle of a mess. We've been living with boxes strewn about, tons of laundry to wash and glassware and china to dust off (I wanted to make sure everything was clean before putting it away). There are continuous piles of trash, donations, and recyclables to be disposed of properly. Our pictures and mirrors are currently hung wherever a nail already existed (and believe me, the locations make no sense, so when you visit, keep in mind it's not my decorating strategy). The bathrooms all needed sanitizing, and the carpets are more stained than anything I've ever seen in my 20 years as a Realtor. We steam-cleaned them for now, but they need to be replaced. And did I mention the paint colors? You have to see it to believe it. Again, we're living with it for the time being, but repainting is at the top of the list of things to do alongside replacing the carpeting.

We haven't even begun to tackle the outside of the house. I'm amazed by the amount of debris and abandoned garden "chachka" (or tchotchke?) we keep finding all over the place. But a comprehensive walk through and clean-up of the property will have to wait until Spring now that the leaves are down.

Don't get me wrong! I'm not complaining...really. I'm just re-living out loud how enormous the task of moving turned out to be. It's been worth it. I love my new house. We feel right at home here with 6 bedrooms and 6 acres for a family of three. What in the world possessed us to buy such a property, you ask? Well, because (a) we have a large extended family that we want to accommodate; (b) we like to party (as everyone knows) and the house lends itself to that; (c) after two episodes of cancer, I deserve it; (d) it was a good deal; (e) I wanted room for my dog boarding and training business; and (f) Mike needed to experience what a commute is like so that he can relate to 90% of the people who live in Northern VA. Okay, granted we didn't move for the latter reason, but nonetheless, Mike has to drive a little further these days in order to enjoy the peacefulness and outdoor space that he wanted, which we now have. So far everything seems to be working out.

Stay tuned for our open house details. You may actually be invited.

Saddle Up for Breast Cancer

I've lost track of the weeks. It's easy to do when you have the rest of your life ahead of you, and thankfully, I do.

I recently attended the horseback "Ride for the Cure," a breast cancer fundraising event, in Middleburg, VA. Middleburg is located in one of the prettiest areas of Virginia. The beautiful Piedmont. Rolling hills, meadows, vineyards, and expensive horse farms. The town of Middleburg is a quaint, historic, pedestrian-friendly enclave of antique shops, galleries, pubs and fine dining establishments. It was a beautiful day, and to add to the scenery, the leaves were starting to glow in shades of yellow, orange and red.

The Middleburg Ride for the Cure was the first equestrian event of its kind, at least in these parts. There were a reported two hundred horses and riders, including my good friend Deidre and her horse Pippin. Our day started off when Deidre ceremoniously pinned a ribbon on me and we (me, Stephanie, Deidre and Pippin) shared a "survivors walk" tribute around one of the sand riding rings. I was wearing sandals so I took them off to walk barefoot. Apparently that was a first, too - which the announcer pointed out over the loudspeaker, trying to be funny. We also had our picture taken by local reporters. Oh well. So what if I wasn't dressed appropriately? It didn't bother me. It's not like I walked in horse manure or anything.

The horses were decked-out in pink ribbons, braided manes and tails, flowers, pink polo wraps and saddle blankets, and the riders sported pink baseball caps, hats, pins and ribbons, pink hairdo's and t-shirts printed with the names and pictures of women they were honoring. It was really something special to behold.

Stephanie and I went into town for a little lunch and window shopping while the actual ride took place. We (people without horses) weren't allowed to walk. Afterwards, we stood at the start/finish line of the route thanking and welcoming back the riders as they returned from the ride. We were a two-person cheering section. It was fun. Goofy, but fun.

Although Stephanie and I didn't stay, the event continued into the evening with a silent auction, dinner and entertainment. Next year we'll make sure we sign-up for the whole thing. I enjoyed myself so much that I think this will be my top choice when it comes to attendiing an annual "breast cancer" event. Who knows...maybe I'll have a horse to ride in the future. I'm pretty sure I could get used to an equestrian lifestyle. With or without my sandals.

A Pink Surprise!

Whew! The last few weeks have passed with blistering speed! There's so much to tell you about. But first, I want to thank all of you who helped with and attended the "surprise!" party that was thrown for me in my sister Jennifer's backyard. (And yes, for those of you who are wondering, Jen is indeed the same sister who swore Old Red looked good on me during my first battle with breast cancer. So this ploy is just another example not to trust her.)

On the evening in question, Jennifer invited me over for dinner (or maybe I invited myself, I'm not sure). She said they were having happy hour at her house, which is nothing unusual. Her house is located in a good spot for the locals to descend on for such soirees.

To play-up her ruse, she called me wanting to know when I was going to show up. I was running late as is customary. She sounded annoyed, as is customary, and claimed she was going to start dinner without me because they were starving. Okay, no problem. Not wanting to arrive empty handed, I decided to make a quick stop at a nearby 7-11, which turned out to be a NOT-so-quick stop because a street that used to be 2-way was turned into a 1-way and I was detoured through a maze of other streets to get back to my original heading. So I finally arrived, unsuspectingly but even more late, to my destination and the waiting guests.

Jennifer was outside sitting on the front stoop. I assumed the kids were out back and she was sneaking a smoke. She watched me pull up and made fun of my parallel parking. Nothing unusual there. I was completely unaware of any mischief going on. I followed Jen in through the front door where I was greeted by my sister Joan, who was her perky self and all dolled-up in pink. Still nothing out of the ordinary to me. I thought it was a pleasant surprise to see her in town. I figured she had a day off from work and decided to visit. So I remained clueless about the monkey business taking place. I came into the kitchen and saw my friends Deidre and Kelly through the window. They aren't from around town. In a bewildered state I thought, "what are they doing here?" My brain couldn't process it so I walked out the back door in a zombie-like state. And "wow," there it was - a gathering of people boozing it up and hooting "surprise" and "congratulations!" I was stunned. The party-goers were all dressed in pink, there were pink ribbons everywhere, bouquets of pink flowers, and champagne. Lots of champagne! And I made it my mission to circulate among the guests and raise glass-after-glass until it was all gone. Needless to say, I had a fabulous time.

So "THANK YOU," thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who made it to the party and for all of your gifts and well wishes, and especially to my sisters who put it all together. It was such a wonderful "welcome back" to my layperson's life.

YIPPEE

Week 41: my PET scan results are in......TREATMENT WAS A SUCCESS! I should be good for another 5 years, depending on where you get your statistics and whether or not you believe them. For the most part, they say I have anywhere from about a 52% to 64% chance of survival. Personally, I plan to be in the 100% range. That means I can keep on smoking, drinking, spitting, swearing and speeding.  So step aside world... I'm back.

PET Scan Coming Right Up

Week 40: I'm due for my PET scan tomorrow afternoon. I have nothing to fear or so I keep telling myself. I trust my positrons are all emitting normally by now. However, I'm not looking forward to the pain and cramping from having my "bad arm" raised over my head motionless for so long. I cringe just thinking about it.    I think I'm becoming a wuss.

By this time tomorrow, I'll be a radioactive. Wish me luck!