Don't Look Back

Three years ago on December 4th, 2014 I began the surgery process.
The process of removing the cancer from my body.
The process of reconstructing what I was left with.

Now three year later, on December 6, 2017,
 I had what I hope will be my last and final surgery.
Over three years of surgeries.
My body is tired.
My mind is tired.
And the multiple scars are still ever present - in every aspect:
physical, emotional and mental.
Recovery is slow and painful but I am so grateful for family and
friends and strangers who are willing to pitch in and help wherever I need.

In the beginning I had this idea in my head of what would happen on this journey.
First would be chemo for 18 weeks, then surgery at the end of the year with immediate reconstruction.  At the time I didn't think I would need radiation. 
In my mind I would be done and complete with everything in less than 6 months
and I would go back to my "normal life."

Crazy how life, treatments and things beyond my control took
me in such a different direction.
I realize that my old life is gone,
and I think that is part of the mourning process with cancer.
It totally changes you.
You are not "you" anymore.
You become a different person, as you should.
You are supposed to grow and learn.
I think if you live through and with something such as cancer -
It should change you.
There is no going back.
There is no "getting back to normal."
It is you, however, that can decide if it will change you for the better or worse.
So while I am relieved that this journey is coming to an end,
in reality there will never be an "end" to this.
There are constant daily reminders of what has happened and what is on the horizon.
The end is an amazing feeling, but one that also brings a fear that I can't describe.
So I will keep moving forward, however slow I may be:
Because I have to.
Because I need to.
Because I want to.

I always wear a daily reminder; my favorite bracelet I had engraved with the words:
"Don't look back, you're not going that way."


Recently a friend, Cammi Higley, posted on Facebook:
"Finding joy in the journey involves talking about deep down honest truths. This journey has been filled with every emotion imaginable. I've had good days, sad days, scared days, great days, laughter days, mad days, funny days, mean days, painful days, gleeful days... cancer is every one of these. It tilts you and pushes you and just when you feel like you can't keep going - you do. You just do. You have to.
Your self image, self esteem and self worth are tested beyond comprehension. Cancer isn't glorious, beautiful, wonderful, magical, mystical, lovely... but the journey is. The people you meet are. The love that surrounds you is."

Seasons

I love fall.
I love the cooler weather and the change it brings in the air.
I love the rich colors in the trees and beautiful sunrises and sunsets.
I love the family gatherings, parties and just general togetherness.
I love the food - lots of it.

But the end of the year also brings about doctor's appointments galore!
Sometime I feel like that is all my life is.
Waiting for appointments,  waiting in waiting rooms and waiting for doctors.

Appointments for post-op care from the last surgery.
Appointments for pre-op screenings for the next surgery.
Appointment for an ultrasound to monitor the nodule on my thyroid.
Appointments for issues with my feet.
Appointments for occupational therapy for my arm.
Appointments for problems with my neck.
Appointment for a DEXA scan to check my bone density.
Appointments with my oncologist.
Appointment for labs to do blood draws.

Gotta get them all in before the year is over
and the high deductible resets.
I keep pretty busy with just all these appointments,
then throw in all the kids activities and school.
Plus Christmas is coming.



I am exhausted when I fall into bed at night.
But it is a good tired and I am so grateful I
am still able to do all these things.
I am hopeful for the future where I will only have
1 or 2 appointments for the whole year, and no more surgeries!
I know it is coming, I can see the light at the end
of the tunnel and it will be amazing.

More Why's

I don't often use these words, but lately ...
I am mad.
I am angry.
I am sad.
I am scared.
I am devastated.
I am heart-broken.
And frankly just pissed-off.

At who or what,
I don't know.

And why?
I don't know that for sure either.

What I do know is that I am having more survivors guilt. 
And I hate that these things are happening to friends I care about.

I found out yesterday that my old high school seminary teacher and friend, Dave Thurston passed away. We have been in touch throughout the years, especially after I was diagnosed, and a few months ago he reached out to me.  He told me he had just been diagnosed with stage IV pancreatic cancer. It was very advanced.  The doctors were giving him 6 months. That was just over 2 months ago.  I will be forever grateful that my family and I were stuck in traffic on the freeway one weekend in December last year.    Trying to pass the time I was scrolling through Facebook and noticed that he posted a picture of miles of backed-up cars.  I showed it to Ryan and mentioned how it looked a lot like where we were.  Ryan decided to see if he could find the exact spot the picture was taken from by looking for the license plate and vehicle in the center of the picture.  Sure enough he found Bro T sitting in his big rig, stuck in traffic, too.  Ryan called me and I quickly ran back, just a few dozen cars, and hopped into his truck.  Call it fate or destiny, chance or luck - I will call it serendipitous. Dave and I were able to sit and talk for hours about the past, kids and all the crazy things going on in both our lives now.  I will always treasure this last visit and remember his warm smile and incredible laugh. Thanks for being such a great teacher and caring friend Brother Thurston. I will miss you.

Also-

Yesterday one of my friends, Ryan, from support group had a PET scan followed by an appointment with her oncologist.  Her cancer is back and it is in her lymph nodes and has spread to some of her bones.  She was diagnosed about 8 months before me.  Same type of cancer.  Now she is Stage IV.  She was the first "cancer friend" I met.  She helped me so much in the beginning when I was first diagnosed.  I would text her random questions about things I didn't know or understand and she would always have time to answer me and give invaluable advice.  She welcomed me into group and made me feel supported, loved and not so alone.  My heart aches that she has to go through it all over again; port surgery, heart scans, new doctors, new meds and chemotherapy!  This woman is an amazing mother and an incredible teacher and caring friend. She is funny and strong and compassionate and brave, and honestly  - cancer picked the wrong chick to mess with because she is going to kick its @$$!!!  I totally love and admire you Ryan.

My 15 Minutes of Fame

A few weeks ago I went a beam signing for the new cancer wing at the hospital. 

There I met a lady who worked for the 

Communications Department at IHC.  

She asked me if I would be willing to 

share my story for their newsletter.  

Well here it is  - my 15 minutes of fame.

 https://intermountainhealthcare.org/blogs/topics/transforming-healthcare/2017/10/my-breast-cancer-story-kimberly-rosenberg/

My Breast Cancer Story: Kimberly Rosenberg

It was a hot June day when 35-year-old Kimberly Rosenberg answered a call from her doctor. What she heard on the other end of the line changed her life forever: “The test came back positive. You have breast cancer, Kim.” 

Kimberly was 9 months pregnant when she was diagnosed

Are Yuiz.

“I don’t know what happened after that,” Kimberly says. “My mind just didn’t process it. I remember crying and that’s about it.”

Kimberly was a mom of three and nine months pregnant at the time of her diagnoses in 2014. While playing with her children one day, she was accidentally hit in the chest. She shrugged off the pain at first, but then worried when it wouldn’t go away.   

“I was feeling the area and found a lump,” she says. “I didn’t think too much of it. I thought it was just related to pregnancy and hormones. I had an OB appointment coming up, so I figured I’d just ask her. Everything kind of snowballed after that.”

After finding out the lump was indeed cancer, things happened quickly for Kimberly. She gave birth to a healthy baby boy three days after getting the call, and then treatments began two weeks after that at Intermountain Dixie Regional Medical Center. Kimberly’s life was then filled with chemotherapy, radiation and various surgeries — including a double mastectomy and hysterectomy.

“I had my biggest surgery in January 2017,” she says. “It’s called the DIEP flap. You spend a week in the hospital, and then it probably took about four months to recover. They basically cut you open from hip to hip and dissect your stomach — tissue, skin, fat, and muscles — and use this to do breast reconstruction. The surgery was a little over 10 hours. It’s a big surgery. Now I am doing fantastic, I had a surgery in July and hopefully my last one in December.”

Fighting cancer and raising a young family is not an easy task, but Kimberly found strength through her caregivers, loved ones — especially her husband and mother — and the friends she met in a local breast cancer support group.

“One of the best support systems for me was Jilynne Hafen, the social worker at Dixie Regional,” she says. “I have cried in her office more times than I can count. She’s got me through some really hard times. The support group is also invaluable to me. We’re always trying to find other women who are going through the same thing. We don’t want anyone to feel alone or confused.” 

When her treatments began, Kimberly received several care packages from loved ones full of treats, blankets, water bottles and other useful items. She said it’s the little things that mean the most, like even a quick text from a friend. “I love getting an occasional text, email or phone call that just says, ‘Hey, we’re thinking about you and hope you’re doing OK,’” Kimberly says. “That really gives me a push and motivation. It keeps me going.”

Kimberly is getting better and better every day, and she doesn’t let breast cancer define her. She enjoys spending time with her family in the great outdoors, and looks forward to skiing — both water and snow — again when she fully heals. “I’m excited to get back into skiing,” she says. “I’ve had to take a two-year hiatus. Maybe next year I can return to all the activities I love.” 

For information on breast cancer services at Dixie Regional, visit http://bit.ly/2xeSmGI.

Why

Cancer has taken another life.
Why?

This morning I found out a friend has passed away.
She was diagnosed a few months after me in 2014.
Except her cancer came back and spread to her brain.
Why?

She fought.  She fought hard.
I saw her in July at our monthly support group meeting.
She looked good, happy.
Except the experimental treatments were not working and
the side effects were too great, it was no longer worth it.
She decided to quit all treatments as of a few weeks ago.
Less than a month!
Why?

I hate cancer.

She was amazing.
She had one of the most positive attitudes of anyone I have ever met.
My heart aches for her family - her husband and four children.

Most days I do pretty good.
My last surgery went well and I feel well.
In fact on Sunday we went hiking all day at the Grand Canyon.

I can't say I don't think about cancer - it is alway there, always on my mind.
But days like today - it feels like I hit a wall.
It is all I can think about.
A flood of "why" questions surface,
and I don't have any answers.
Survivors guilt is a complex emotion,
and I haven't figured out how to navigate it yet.

Last month I met a new friend at support group.
She is awesome.
She posted this on facebook - so I stole it from her.
Her words are perfect.

"Finding joy in the journey involves talking about deep down honest truths. 
This journey has been filled with every emotion imaginable. 
I've had good days, sad days, scared days, great days, laughter days, 
mad days, funny days, mean days, painful days, gleeful days... 
cancer is every one of these. 
It tilts you and pushes you and just when you feel like 
you can't keep going - you do. You just do. You have to.

Your self image, self esteem and self worth are tested beyond comprehension. 
Cancer isn't glorious, beautiful, wonderful, magical, mystical, lovely... 
but the journey is. 
The people you meet are. 
The love that surrounds you is."

Cammi Higley 9.4.2017 #fightforcammi #pinkforcammi #itsgonnabeokay

Speeding By

Time is speeding by.

The kids start school next Monday!

I am excited, they are not.

Well maybe Alyssa.

Gage will be an only child for 2 hours and 35 minutes, 5 days a week.

Maybe I will get caught up on some things-

probably not.

I am doing pretty good.

Surgery went really well and healing has gone great.

I did not realize how involved the removal of the standing cones,

points on my hips, was going to be.

Between fixing those and part of the left breast,

I came out of surgery with 18 new inches of incisions.

And for the record - compression garments suck!

All of them.  

The one on my arm is tolerable, I have had a lot of swelling in my arm from surgery, 

travel, bug bites and a run in with a metal shed corner that scratched my upper arm.

Crazy how all those things can affect my arm so much.

I am also wearing one that goes from rib cage down to my calfs.

It is super awesome in this 100 degree summer heat.

Overall, I am still sore and tired.

Always tired.

I feel like it takes forever to regain any strength and energy.

Actually I still don't feel like I have any strength or energy since this all

started over 3 years ago.

My surgeon wants to do one more surgery closer to the end of the year,

I told him I would think about it.

Not sure if my body can take any more.

It would be great though - give everything a nice finished 

look with almost perfect symmetry.

I love my new nose - and I will love it even more when the 

rest of the swelling goes down over the next 3-6 month.  

Compared to what I remember of the issues and pain from 

breaking it 18 years ago, this time was a sinch.  

I feel a little sad that I have missed out on some fun things this summer - 

zip lining, water skiing and rappelling - 

But next summer, 

Will be awesome!

At Home

Sorry for the slow update but I wanted to let everyone know how I am doing.
I had to be at the hospital at 5:30 am on Wednesday.
They got me all checked in, blood drawn and IV in.
(The nurse had a little bit of a hard time getting the vein
so she kept fishing around and that was kinda painful.)
I got to the OR just before 8 am.
I believe the surgery was just over 4 hours.
The surgeries went great. Both doctors said it went just as planned.
I came out of anesthesia well, but they held me in the triage room
a little longer because my oxygen levels were somewhat low.
Ryan was right there when I got back to the recovery room.
I had some blaugh jello and then some yummy yogurt.

After some pain meds I starting feeling better.
I was released about 3 pm.
The meds started to make me feel drowsy,
so after I said Hi to the kids, I took a nap until 7 pm.
I ate a little dinner, talked to family and friends and
then started the process to get ready for bed.
Bandages, ointments and meds.
I have yet to see anything, other than a few bruises.
I am wrapped from my calves to my armpits.
and my nose has a lovely cast on it.
They have given me clearance to shower in a few days, yay.
I can't wait to see how everything turns out!

Thanks to everyone for your thoughts and prayers.

Ready for the 5th

Surgery is right around the corner - again.
And I am in a hurry-get-everything-ready mode.
House cleaned, menus made, groceries bought
and help lined up so I can just relax and take
a nap at any given moment, if I want.

This help is, of course, my wonderful mother and Annette, my sister in law.
Without them I honestly would not know how to handle most of the daily tasks.
They come to clean and play with kids and take care of me.
And I don't know how to thank them or repay them.

Each time I think this is the last surgery and I come to terms with it,
I find out that there might be another one in a few months after the doctors see
how things have settled.

It may seem like I enjoy surgeries, but I do not.
I accept them as part of what I need to do in order to regain my body
and come to terms with my new normal.
I feel I am getting closer, I think this could be my last one.
I finally believe there is a light at the end of this long, scary tunnel.
Each one has helped and taught me something about myself,
and those around me.

This should be a shorter surgery -
Somewhere between 3-5 hours.
I guess anything would be considered shorter compared to my last one of almost 10 hours.
It is also an out patient surgery.
This is what I would call a touch-up surgery.

They are removing my standing cones, yea that is the medical term.
Basically it is where they started my incisions during the last surgery and it made these funny points that stick out on my hips.
They are injecting some fat along my radiated side where there is a bunch of scar tissue that is hard, this fat should soften it.
They are also taking fat from my flanks and upper thighs to even out both my breasts and make them more symmetrical.

AND

I am having my nose fixed.
I am a little embarrassed to say I am having a cosmetic rhinoplasty
but I am extremely excited about it.
After I shattered my nose almost 20 years ago, I have hated it.
And I figure, hey why not - I feel like with everything I have been though
I deserve it.
I have scheduled it a dozen times since 1999, but I either got scared or felt
guilty so I backed out.
But not this time.

As crazy as it sounds I am actually
looking forward to Wednesday.

Not This Date

My Cancerversary date is approaching on Saturday.
It will be three years since I heard those words.
Words that changed every aspect of my life.
But I don't want to dwell on that day,
I choose to celebrate the day I was declared NED.
(No evidence of disease)

I am a member of a number of support groups on Facebook
and the other day a lady in one of the groups wrote this:

I won’t tell you that I wrote goodbye letters to all my dear ones before surgery, 

you might think I’m a pessimist.
I won’t tell you that I had days where I wanted to end it all while I was in chemo, 
you might thing I’m suicidal.
I won’t tell you that I am so angry about how my body looks now, 
you might think I’m ungrateful.
I won’t tell you how hurtful your ‘helpful’ tips to beat cancer naturally were, 
you might think I'm lazy.
I won’t tell you how painful it was to be told that I didn’t qualify for disability pension 
because I wasn’t given a prognosis of certain death, 
you might think I’m greedy.
I won’t tell you how disillusioned I am by the wait times for surgeries, 
oncology appointments and other cancer checks, 
you might think I am self-absorbed.
I won’t tell you how ugly I feel, 
you might think I’m narcissistic.
I won’t tell you how scared I am of a recurrence, 
you might think I’m a hypochondriac.
I won’t tell you how angry I feel when my caregiver tells me that my 
cancer means that he has lost out on things as well, 
you might think that I’m unsympathetic.
I won’t tell you how rejected I feel, 
you might think that I should just be grateful that he stayed with me.
I won’t tell you how much I fear for my children, 
you might think that I am a negative person.
All these things I will not tell-because if I do, I just might not be able to 
hold onto what I have left in the ruins of my life. 
Cancer has taken my confidence, my pride, my financial stability, 
my health, my sexuality, my youth, my optimism.

 2017 IS THE YEAR THAT I'M GOING TO TAKE IT BACK!!!!!

Just Day by Day

Where in the world have I been?
Things are so crazy around here lately
by the time I fall into bed at night I can't remember
the last time I sat down or sometimes if I had something to eat :)

With the end of the school year comes all the
activities, parties, and field trips!
Abby has softball and Kaden is doing baseball  -
so we are at the fields 3-4 times a week.
Throw in some dance and scouts and preschool.
Not to mention my dozen or so doctors appointments.
I am in the car or at Walmart a lot.

I think I am doing pretty well,
on the days I have time to think about it.
All the incisions have healed up beautifully
and everyday I am still in awe how doctors can do
this type of surgery.  I am truly blessed with how
smoothly everything went and continues to go.
(I finally made it back to sleeping in my bed!)

I  do struggle with how fast I seem to run out of energy and stamina.
(Plus the side effects of my meds that will last for the next 8 years.)
We went on my favorite hike on Mother's Day.
And I loved every minute of it - we were gone for about 5 hours.
But boy did I pay for it - the whole next week.
I was so tired and just couldn't keep up with anything.

There are a few areas that need to be addressed/fixed,
so I will be having another surgery in July.
I feel a little vain about it, but I figured I have been
through so much, I deserve to be happy with my reconstructed body!

I really liked this article, his words are so true.

Cancer Only Happens to Other People, Right?

By Steve Pake

Wrong. Although we know anyone can get cancer, no matter what age, health condition, or genetic history, we still never think it's going to happen to us. So, what do you do when it does?

 
I was never going to get cancer. It just wasn't in my life plan. Young adults don't get cancer, only older people. Even when young adults do get cancer, it was only something that happened to other people--not me.

After my cancer fight, I was just going to bounce back to life like everybody said I was going to and settle right into that "new normal." I wasn't going to suffer from chronic-fatigue issues for years due to the after effects of chemotherapy and chemotherapy-induced peripheral neuropathy. I also wasn't going to have to walk around with an extremely uncomfortable stent for six months, trying to save a failing kidney. I also wasn't going to have terrible issues with anxiety, with depression, and with post-traumatic stress. I was just going to pop back to "normal" after cancer as though I merely had a really nasty case of the flu. Right?

The reality was, of course, very different. I couldn't keep up with my children and my body felt like complete hell and as though it had aged 30 years. I was in tremendous amounts of pain on a daily basis and my mind was a total wreck. My chronic fatigue after cancer was so bad, that I barely had the energy to make it through the day most days.

None of this was in my life plan. This wasn't the life that I had expected, nor was it the life after cancer that I had expected, either. Cancer threw so many unexpected challenges my way. Despite my best efforts, my post-cancer demons still managed to find ways back into my life, but I learned to evolve spiritually and to develop faith as the ultimate way of overcoming. 

Never give up, and never stop believing in yourself. Keep your hearts and your minds open, and surround yourself with positive and uplifting people that believe in you too, who can help to carry you during the times you might stumble.

Cancer wasn't in my life plan, but I've made a far better one now.

Six

Six weeks was the magical number to hit.
Most likely things have healed and
shouldn't give me future complications.
Shouldn't.

I saw my surgeon again today to have him look at everything.
Stomach incision looks good.
Some of the nerves running down my left leg either
got accidentally cut or hopefully just nicked or bumped.
This is causing numbness and pain.
If it is the first - it will be permanent.
If it is the latter - it will slowly get better.
Only time will tell.

My abscess is looking better too.
Just taking its time to heal.
I have developed a rash and blisters from the tape that
I use to cover the abscess though.
Hopefully that is all it is and not an underlying infection.
My doctor drew with a black sharpie around it and said
if it spreads outside the marked area he will call me in
a prescription for medication - oh goodie.

My hematoma is getting smaller.
I have been putting on heat and massaging it every night,
and I can definitely tell that helps, well that and ibuprofen.

All of my restrictions have been lifted - sort of.
I can slowly start lifting things over 10 pounds.
If possible, I can reach or stretch my arms above my elbows.
(I think this one will take time and occupational therapy
just like after my mastectomy - my range of motion is gone
and it is painful to raise my arms very high.)
Walking is still about the only exercise I should do.
I can try sleeping in bed but most likely will be going
back and forth between it and the recliner.


I still have quite a bit of pain in my upper chest on the left side.
From what I understand, in surgery they moved around the muscle
and then put stitches down to my new breast to help hold it in place.
But now the weight is pulling on the muscle and stitches and makes
it feel like it is ripping and separating inside my chest.
He thought it would be a good idea at this point to wrap ace bandages
around me.  It is a little bit of a guessing game - too tight and it will
constrict the new vessels and could cut off the blood flow to the flap; or
too loose and it won't do any good.
(On a happier note, after he wrapped me I looked down  - I  have cleavage!)

Then I talked to the doctor about all the various pains
I have been having; ribs, stomach, armpits, ect.

He explained a little bit more of how the DIEP surgery was done and
it makes a lot more sense as to why I am having pain in those areas.
But basically his bottom line was - I am overdoing it.

I struggle because I already feel like I am only doing half a job.
Half a wife, mom, housekeeper... - all of it.
Mom guilt is hard.
I know to take it easy.
I know I need to rest.
I know I don't need to do it all.
It is just hard.
But I know I will get there.

Coming Along

You would think since I really can't do much - I would at least update this blog more frequently.

I had a three week appointment with my doctor in St. George a few days ago. ( I am lucky to be able to have my follow-up appointment down here with my wonderful surgeon instead of having to travel back up to Salt Lake.)

The boring news - I still have numerous restrictions.
No lifting over ten pounds.
No reaching or grabbing things that extend my arms above my elbows.
No exercise or stretching, besides walking.
No laying flat, which means I am still sleeping in a recliner.
I hope in three more weeks most of these will be gone.

The ok news - I have a few spots along my incision that have started to split open.  My doctor is not too concerned yet but we are watching them to make sure they don't get infected or increase in length.
Otherwise, the rest of my incisions (which is a lot) look great! I have decided incisions are really weird.  Sometimes I have feeling and sometimes they are numb.  But a lot of the time it feels like a whole bunch of little needles are stabbing me.  I had shingles last year and it feels very similar.  All the nerves, from hip to hip, that were cut during surgery are firing and trying to establish new pathways - and it is painful, but I am told it is a good thing.

I also have developed a few hematomas in my left breast.  A hematoma is an abnormal collection of blood outside a blood vessel. It occurs because the wall of a blood vessel wall, artery, vein, or capillary, has been damaged and blood has leaked into tissues where it does not belong. However, depending on the size, location and cause of the hematoma, the area may need to be drained surgically.  Basically it is a pile of blood that has hardened.  Sort of feels like I have a few rocks on the outer edges of my breast.  Now that my back is feeling better (see below), this is what hurts the most.  It hurts to have anything touch them, but the doctor wants me to massage them in hopes of breaking them up and then my body will naturally re-absorb it.  

The good news - my back is getting stronger and feeling better.  Two weeks ago when I would try to walk down the hall I had such intense back spasms and shooting pain that I would have to stop and grab anything I could for fear of falling and crumpling onto the floor.  But now I am standing a bit straighter although the pain from trying to stretch the abdomen scar keeps me slightly hunched over still.

The great news -   I got my last of 5 drains pulled.  If you haven't ever had one I cannot explain to you the relief and freedom it is to get rid of them.  It is a love/hate relationship for sure.  I understand their necessity and function - but man are they painful, annoying and constantly in the way - and if you drop one - AWWWWWWW.

I also had a stitch right on my hip that had worked its way to the surface, so the doctor was nice enough to pull it all the way out. It hurt way more than the drain - maybe because he had to use pliers to get it out.

But the best news of all is my mother is still here.  She decided to stay another week to continue to help me.  She is so great to have here.  Not only does she do all the house stuff I dislike - dishes, laundry (how she gets it all done in one day I will never know), cooking and shopping.  She helps the kids with homework while I nap and is the chauffeur for me and the kids.  She modifies and sews my clothes so I have something to wear and helps me with all my wound care.  But my favorite - I love having her around to just sit and talk to.  I don't know what I would do without her. (Plus the fact that she is the one who will edit this so everything makes sense, is spelled right and has all the correct punctuation.)  Thanks Mom!!!

Also thanks to everyone for the calls, emails and texts asking how I am doing -

In short, I am doing good.

Not Really Prepared

First off, I want to apologize for not sending out an update sooner. I honestly still don't know how to write down what I am truly feeling at this point. I think after you go through any major life/body altering change it takes some time to process.

I have been preparing for this surgery for almost 2 years, I was even a little excited to report to the hospital at 5:30 am. I talked to lots of other women who have had this surgery, even some women who used the same surgeons. I prepared meals, menus and arranged for my kids to be taken care of. I researched the surgery, asked hundreds of questions during my multiple doctors’ appointments; and organized and bought items that would help with my recovery.  I feel like I did not go into this surgery blind.

Ryan was able to get home from work early on Wednesday afternoon and we loaded the two littles in the car and drove to my sister-in-law's house. My mom had already driven to St. George that afternoon, ready to take over the house duties and caring for the older two. Annette was so excited and ready to play with Gage and Alyssa. Driving away, saying goodbye to my kids, knowing it would be a least a week, maybe two before I would get to see them again. That was the hardest part.

I met lots of doctors, assistants, nurses and the anesthesiologist the morning of the 19th. The last few things I remember was kissing Ryan goodbye and a young kid wheeling me down a long hall to the operating room. A young doctor came over and introduced herself and said she was going to give me some meds - one to help with nausea and one to calm my nerves. I remember being wheeled through the double doors and moving from the bed to the cold surgery table. I remember thinking, “holy crap”, there are a lot of masked people in here. I couldn’t make out my team of 3 surgeons but I started counting all the others.  I got to twelve and then I don't remember anything else.

The best estimate my surgeons had for the surgery was it would take 4 to 6 hours. Six hours passed. Then seven. Then eight turned into nine. My surgery lasted nine hours. I don’t remember much of that night. Waking up in my room, saying hi to Ryan and that is about it. Friday was not much better. A pain I did not expect was in my left arm. Something having to do with the position it remained in all through surgery. I could hardly lift it. I recall asking  Ryan to massage it over and over again. I was in and out of sleep, trying to eat a few things from my clear liquid diet down, a few visitors and my first attempt to get out of bed and stand. 

Nothing, really nothing could have prepared me for the pain. I was literally cut in half, hip to hip, and it felt like it! Honestly, the first time I saw my new breasts and stomach I was a little scared, I looked Frankenstienish, But a flat stomach was awesome and I had two boobs again! I have to admit not seeing a belly button was a little weird. The medical team seemed pleased with the way the flaps and incisions looked and how I was progressing along. I was monitored every 2 hours. Between getting vitals and medications, checking on the viability of the flaps with a Doppler, and stripping my JP drains, I was not alone very often; they did this round the clock. I did not sleep very well or for very long periods. The first night they had to call in the on-call doctor because I was not breathing well and my oxygen levels were low, so I needed to be put on oxygen, after that I was fine. At one point I had the blood pressure cuff on my arm, O2 sensor on my finger, oxygen nose cannula, 5 JP drains down each sides, a flap monitor on each new breast and two special stitches for the Doppler readings. I was pretty much tethered to the bed, which was fine with me because I didn't want to go anywhere.

On Saturday, more family came to visit and I am sorry if I was not very social or even that conscious. Ryan had to leave on Saturday to head home. Saturday was an okay day and there was talk from one of my doctors to possibly be released on Sunday. But on Sunday, I woke up in a lot of pain and was having a really rough time and crying a lot. I received so many pretty flower bouquets, chocolates and even homemade chocolate chip cookies. I asked my doctors if I could stay until Monday. By Monday I felt my pain was in better control but I still did not feel ready to leave the safety of the hospital. My sister came to get me and received a crash course on how to be my nurse. I left with pages and pages of documents on what to watch for, what meds to take, things not to do and things to do and when to call the doctor.

My sister has been an awesome nurse, making sure I eat and rest, helping me to move more, and keeping track of my meds. She even has to help me strip my drains, and it is pretty gross!

My sister-in- law was so sweet to bring my younger kids up to see me yesterday. It has been a week and miss them like crazy. She is going to drive them down to St. George today and stay through the weekend to help.

Currently, my day consists of waking up, eating breakfast, walking around a bit, sitting down when I get winded and to much in pain. Then lunch and a nap. Later dinner, more walking and sitting and then to bed. Honestly I am so tired, worn out and in pain. I didn’t even think of any pain other than the incision, but oh my back! I feel like it is always going to give out on me and I will crumble to the floor.

Friday I have my post doctor’s appointment and I will see how things are healing and if I am released to make the trip home. I am not sure which option to hope for.

Tomorrow

I feel like I have been waiting forever for tomorrow to come, 

yet how did it get here so fast.

After my failed reconstruction in December 2014, 

I knew that someday I would want to try

another type of reconstruction and as a preventive measure, 

have a left mastectomy.  

I knew I would wait for a while because I was tired of surgeries 

and I wanted Gage to be a little older.  

For me, the hardest part of the original mastectomy was not being 

able to pick him up and hold him against my chest, or hug my 

other children.  

But, now his is 2 1/2 and is in the "I do it" phase.  

I feel more ready and feel like I have prepared for this surgery.  

Had I done this surgery over a year ago I don't know if I would feel that way.  

This delayed reconstruction has given me the time I needed to make sure 

this is really what I want and come to terms with the way things are happening. 

So tomorrow is the day.

To say I feel excited sounds absurd, even to me.

To say I am scared is an understatement.

There are only a few times in my life I can remember feeling such conflicting emotions.

I am eager and excited to put another surgery behind me and be that much more closer to feeling 

"whole"again, for a lack of a better word.  Yet the gravity and size of this next surgery 

frightens me to no end.  I will be the first to admit I am not a good patient.  

I want to rush through and get back to my normal routine as fast as I can.  

But I know that is not wise.

So I have to graciously accept help and slow down. 

This letter has been circulating around the internet and facebook for a while, 

yet I find it fitting that it popped up on my news feed today.

It is beautifully written and made me feel more at peace as I head to the

hospital tomorrow morning.

An Open Letter to my Patient on the Day of her Mastectomy

October 16, 2013

Hello Dear,

Today is the day. I am a member of the surgical team who will take care of you -- the team 

that will remove your breast to treat the cancer that has tried to make a home in your body. 

We all have our role today, and the world would see yours to be the "patient." 

I see it as something more: a powerful gift to us.

Because you remind us why we do what we do.

Today will feel sterile and scary. And I am sorry for that.

I wish there were a better way. Today we will ask you to take all your clothes off and put 

in their place a gown. Women before you have worn it. Women after you will wear it. 

Be sure to ask for warm blankets, because we always have plenty. 

We will ask of you your blood type, your medical history, your allergies. 

We will ask you to lie down in a bed that's foreign to you. 

We will have to poke you so that we can start an IV.

You will meet many nurses, doctors, and hospital employees. 

We will write down important things for you to know. 

Your surgeon will see you soon. 

He will have to mark the breast we are having to remove today.

We will take you into the Operating Room -- a room only few have seen. 

There will be bright lights, lots of metal, instruments that you've never seen, 

and we will be dressed in gowns, gloves, and masks. 

Over our masks, we hope you can see our eyes reassuring you as you go off to sleep.

Today is the day you will have to say goodbye to a 

part of your body, a part of yourself.

Your breast has felt the warmth of a lover's caress, 

has fed your child with life-sustaining milk and connection. 

You have many memories stored in your breast, stories none of us today know about. 

Somehow I wish I knew them.

And yet. Here we are. We must do our rituals. 

We must scrub our arms and hands with alcohol so that we can fight off infection before we start. 

We don our gowns, our gloves, our masks. 

We must drape your body in blue.

You are exposed. And unconscious. 

And it must be difficult to trust. I honor you, Dear One.

My job is to help your surgeon take away the cancer. 

I get a bird's eye view of the process. 

The surgery begins and I feel your warm skin through my gloves. 

I wonder what stories you already have and the ones that are yet to come.

We carefully remove your breast. It never gets easy to see or to do. 

You must know this. 

It never feels natural, it never feels cavalier. It feels sacred to me. Every. Single. Time.

I look down and see your pectoralis major --- the big muscle behind your breast. 

A source of strength. It is beautiful and shiny. 

Sometimes it contracts a little bit while we work. 

Sometimes the muscle is bright red and young. 

Sometimes the muscle is faded a little. 

But it is always strong. 

I like to gently touch it with my fingers. 

Because I feel your strength there.

We must send your breast away now. It officially leaves your body. 

I always feel an ache in my gut in that moment. 

There is no way for you to fully prepare for this day, Dear One.

I like to think that your body is already healing, 

as we close the incision we had to make.

Sewing your skin back together feels like I'm helping a little. 

But I know it's actually all you doing the work. 

Even as you sleep, Dear One.

We will put a bandage on your incision. 

We will wake you up. 

We will tell you everything went well. 

But the road is just beginning for you.

I saw you today.

You are beautiful.

You are strong.

Thank you for entrusting me and my colleagues with your most intimate moments. 

I am honored to be a witness to this phase of your life.

Because now the healing begins. 

Now the grief is in full force. 

Now your breast is gone and in its place is a memory.

I watch you as you wake up. 

And I want to make it all go away. I can't. 

Today your body underwent a transformation. 

And today our team took care of your body. 

I hope we took care of your heart, too.

There is nothing we can say or do to make it go away. 

But please know that I care. We care. 

Behind our masks and gowns are heavy hearts and sometimes tears.

Yours are a gift today. 

Because you remind us of human resilience. 

You remind us of strength. 

You remind us of trust.

I saw you today.

You are beautiful.

You are strong.

I will not forget.

---Niki, your Nurse Practitioner First Assistant on the Surgical Team