Blog problems

Guess some of you are having problems logging in.   I had some problems the other day.  So we should communicate about the WP via Email. 

I checked my pocket book and looked under the cushions, just can't come up with enough change to make the trip to Southern California.  So I propose we do a Skype-Type / New Age Woodpecker. It could be fun. Jackie and I can sit on the deck, So Cal girls by the pool, East Coasters in your favorite spot, or if you can wing it, come on out (either spot).  What-do you think? 

High Tech and penny shy in Phoenix.
Annie

Me and my tattoo

I was reminded in my dream that I have a Tattoo. It's small, it's inconspicuous and will always serve as a reminder of  the women who have kept silent and endured breast cancer treatment.  In it's tiny existence it comes to me in my dreams, poking fun at me, urging me to speak.  A coworker asked me to speak to a daughter, another to a sister, and another to a friend. These women have fears. Fear of death, fear of inconveniencing others, fear they will lose the love of husbands and lovers, fear they won't be pretty anymore, fear of burdening family finances, fear that friends won't know how to communicate with them anymore, fear of being pitied. And I'm sure there are a whole host of other fears.

When I was first diagnosed I had several women reach out to me.  One, a breast cancer survivor of 25 years, came to my place of work just to hug me.  I didn't know how to respond.  I see the ladies in pink and just can't join the ranks of the walkers and the T-shirt wearers, the ribbon pin wearing soldiers. Yet I understand that works for them - they are the cheer leaders, there is comfort in numbers.  One reaches out with a solitary hug, others walk for the cause, some are just there for you when you need a PB&J or leave a home cooked meal in your refrigerator knowing when the world is too exhausting. 

It's been a year now.  When do I start counting my years in terms of survival? What is my anniversary date, initiated by which event?  Or are there several?

Survival. What a concept. In my dreams I remember I have a tattoo.  An indelible dot documenting my endurance.

Just can't wave like I used to.

My last visit with Dr.K-Hair I complained about the anesthesiologist.  With big sad eyes he nodded and shook his head, "yeah, these guys get a little desensitized, I will talk to them".  He did.  I had the bandages and few stitches removed this week, I am now officially done with that part. Doc wants to see me again (gee, I'm flattered) and is very concerned about some deep vein thrombosis in my right arm.  I have swelling in my hand and upper arm.  Cute, especially when I wave. I start (again) lymphedema therapy next week.  Fun, get to have some stranger apply whispery soft "compression" an my arm and chest.,coach me on the lymph system (how many times do I have to hear this?) and prescribe exercises that I already do. However, and Jackie can attest to this, I'll have to deal with it for the rest of my life.  May as well accept that fact.
I also have to get used to the idea that my chest is scary, ugly gross.  It's so severe. I still have tightness in my shoulder and underarm as a result of the radiation.  The skin still wants to "shrink" and remains discolored and rough. The scar is healing well - for the second time. Rough, scaly, itchy dry and tingly. I'm not to wear anything (bra like) tight right now until I return to see the Doc in 3 weeks. So hear I am, again, one loose breast in motion under loose clothes - cute, especially when I wave.  Truth is, I don't wave very often.

Let's not EVEN talk about my new Tuck 'N Roll package.

Let's pick a day - a place

I like So.Cal Idea for WP - but offer up So.OR as an option.

DATE:  8/13/11

VOTE

When dogs fly

The days weather has me pulling weeds, potting herbs and watching the clouds. We've taken to feeding the local Jays, Doves and occasional squirrel.  The Jays are active, loud and brave.  Today I was in my dinning room, working on my computer when something caught my attention.  I looked up, nothing.  I figured Joey had just walk through.  A few minutes later I glimpse a shadow.  To my surprise  a large Blue Jay was perched on the first stair step looking right at me. I called to Tom "hey there's a bird in the house". The Jay responded before Tom.  He hopped down to the floor and took a step towards me.  I pointed to the back door.  I asked "Rudy? if that is you, go outside".  The Jay took wing, flying low to the ground right out the back door.  Once out he perched on the deck rail and squawked at me.  He did not leave.  He jumped over to the bird feeder and dug his beek into the mountain of sunflower seeds.  He came up with one seed and tossed it to the ground, hopped down, peeled back the hard black shell and left the meaty insides (I think, for me).  He hopped into the Sycamore tree and watched me carefully while I examined the seed and kicked it off the deck.  I turned and went inside.  The Jay jumped back to the railing.  There he sits, watching and waiting. Fat, squat Rudy-like. 

Medical Update, again.

Whew! When will this be over? Never, I suspect.  I can't keep writing about how sore I am, how miserable I am, how down right pissed off I am.  I am. This visit to the hospital was a little different.  Tom dropped me off and returned to work.  The hospital is beautiful. It's a place I'd like to go to just sit and sip coffee and read the paper. This adventure began with confirming my name.  I've been going by Vada - this keeps my communications separate from work and family. It's also whats on my ID. Don't want to confuse anyone.  So this morning the volunteer insisted my name was Anne.  I said, "Vada". She said "Oh well it says here your name is Ann, She put down Anne."  I shrugged, not knowing who "she" was, but chose not to argue but then said, "Vada", Vada Anne". Well, we're off to a good start. I followed Miss in Pink, in her nylon smock through the double doors, down the hall and to a private pre-op room. It was nice.  New slip resistant socks (a big hit among the elderly-why are they always such ugly colors?), backless smock, warm blanket, electric leg warmers (for those pesty blood clots) and IV fluids, Yum.  I had a CNA, LPN, RN, Technician and floor monitor checking me every 10 minutes.  Checked in at 7:45am - Surgery at 9:15am.  I was wheeled, and wheeled and wheeled and wheeled  so far from my original location I had to ask the orderly if he was taking me to the parking garage.  Just as I did he POPPED two big doors and I entered the surgery theater.  Younng men introduced themselves and got busy with tasks at hand.  The  anaesthesiologist stole my pillow from under my head and said, "If you want your pillow you'll need to crawl over to this table". I hesitated . . . Did he just tell me to crawl over to the operating table?  He did!!  So I scooted my bare butt over into the waiting arms of a nurse/attendant who tugged on the sheet causing me to roll like a sausage. I answered all his questions, "what is Dr. K-H doing for you today?" I thought I heard a smirk- just another boob job - in his voice.  I told him I was having the tissue expander removed from my right breast area.  He asked if I was having an implant.  I let him know No, the radiation damage had made this too painful and I elected to reverse the process. His tone changed. I think if he had read his notes he wouldn't have had me scoot my own bare ass.  I also showed him my pink wrist band that singled DO NOT TOUCH THIS ARM.  I had a little lympodema episode - my fingers and hand decided to swell. A vein in my arm "irritated" and was quite painful. It made me wince with pain each time I moved  Finally drugs were administered, I didn't have to count backwards - the "heat" in my hand exploded and I remember saying "shit, that really hurts".  Recovery - room.  Nice sweet young ladies, giving me more meds.
I went back to my room.  Dr. K-Hair visited, said all went well. Asked if I needed drugs, I said, yeah-sure. He checked my arm.  He was more concerned about my arm than chest.  My chest immediately felt so much better. I have a new drainage tube.  Ahha! I have my ninja suit with built in drainage tube pocket.  Long story short, my recovery was easy. Easy until the evening when my body decided to purge all the drugs in my system. I have a new appreciation for rehab. The next morning I was fine.  Got up and wanted to (finally) clean my house.  But I didn't. I now have a puffy pit with a lot of tugging, numbness and sensitivity. Tuck 'N Roll x 2.  It's not over until it's over. 

Sorry, this is me feeling a little sorry for myself.  Having a little pitty party today. I just want to feel normal again. Me? Normal?  Not sure what that is anymore.

A large Canadian Goose just cruised by noisily putting Joey under the picnic table. A nocturnal  animal knocked over the bird feeder scattering sun flower seeds on the deck. Small finches hop around from seed to seed while Joey crouches under the picnic table, still. More geese can be heard in the distance among the rooster's crow and laying chickens.  Waa,waa,waa,  WAAAAK! I can almost feel their pain as each egg is laid. Nearby highway traffic noise sounds like ocean waves - overcast, green, chirppy and nippy. My favorite part of the day. On my couch under the techno warmth of my laptop.

The front patio has new potted tomatoes, peppers and herbs. The summer sun just barely making a showing this week is now hidden by a blanket of high thick clouds. It smells like wet hay. The local farm has recently "downed" a complete orchard of aging pear trees. Ghastly grey trunks overturned with their roots reaching towards the sky, like Zombies from the grave. Spring calves wander too far from their mothers that prompt a chorus of bellows and moans.  All is well, the blackberry bramble impede their journey and the little ones turn and trot on spindly legs back to the comfort of the big mama bellies that steam in the cool morning air. 

Coffee, bathrobe, fuzzy socks. Tom, Joey, local wildlife. Green fields, cows, roosters and geese. Potting soil, wet grass and smooth stones.  Oh, yes.  Kentucky Derby Day.  Where's my hat?  Never mind my hat, where's my Bourbon and Branch (no mint julep for me)?

Life is good.  Love you all. 

Deflated

I was greeted with puppy-dog eyes and sighs of concern and empathy. After careful consideration the needle performed the reverse action of its original intent.  Ounces of saline were extracted through the port from which originally implanted.  Bee-sting points pricked and flamed on the surface of stretched and non-compliant flesh-there was no give, no forgiving, no flexibility. The taught drum slowly deflated emphasized  by the hiss of sucking air through clenched teeth. Sadness, sympathy and light pats of reassuring hands, soothing hums while bacterial disinfectant applied. The bandage hung loose under the silver sheen of perspiration. The deed was done. The promise of perfect taa-taas lie flat like the sagging flesh left in the wake of this clinical procedure.  Instantly the shoulder drops, the back muscle relaxes and a future with a full range of motion seems possible. Surgery is scheduled for May 12th to remove the expander.  Yes. I immediately feel my brain recharged and my energy kicking into a new direction of purpose and intent.  I  hurt, but its all good.  I am woman. I am mono-boob. I'm over it. Deflated? yes, physically-no, in spirit.  Now, where do I get one of those wine bras?