Positively Glowing (at least my right boob is)

FULL of surprises.

Radiation.  That's where left off about a month ago, right?  I was making light of being bare-chested in front of various strangers and bragging about my 4 new tattoos, just as giddy as someone who doesn't know what's about to happen can be.

Kind of like those first two kids who got killed in Friday the 13th.  Remember them?  Weren't they the couple that was about to go at it in bed when they got run through from below?  They for sure didn't know what was coming.

That's pretty much how I was, back at the end of April.  No idea.

OK, I make things sound awful, and we'll get to that in a minute, but it's not all that terrible.  I mean, I've gotten used to being topless a lot more easily than I thought I would, and can position myself on the treatment table pretty efficiently anymore, and the radiation techs and doc are nice and all.  OK, so what does it matter that they've all seen mah bewbs?  It doesn't. 

Lesson learned.  Boobs ain't all that.

Now to the unpleasant 'lesson learned' part, which is: do NOT believe anyone if they try to tell you that radiation isn't so bad.  They are LYING, if my my 4 weeks of experience (2 more weeks to go, if you're interested) is any barometer. 

I thought things wouldn't be so SO bad in the first week, because there didn't appear to be any noticeable effects at all.  Why, this was going to be a breeze!  Jason Vorhees lies in wait, not even making the jasonjason noise.

By the start of week 2, lil' gal (my right boob is the smaller one, so this is what she's called) was a tiny bit pink, which is 'normal' according to the doc and techs, so let's just go ahead and treat you more, as planned.  It sure feels like we're being watched, doesn't it?

By the end of week 3, it was VERY clear which parts of my chest were being irradiated, as they had turned bright red in a very specific pattern.  The bit in my armpit turned a funny color and started to hurt.  'Oh gosh' said the doctor. 'You should do some salt soaks on that and use some steroid creams if it itches and take a pain reliever if you need to.'  Jason rises from the corner and lunges across the room, knife raised and ready to strike.

Today is the end of my 4th week of treatment, and here is what's going on: the underboob itches like crazy, it hurts to touch the center of my chest, the whole breast is beet red, the armpit is weirdly colored and painful, the skin is getting rough and feels thick, and every once in a while the nipple sends out a shooting pain with no real provocation.  Sis is MAD, y'all.  This is for real and happening and I can't stop it and won't someone rescue me?

No, not for at least two more weeks, and guess what?  The damage is CUMULATIVE and might even get worse after treatment stops, hun.  Jason's going to keep on stabbin', I'm afraid. 

 Jason is a jerkface.

Two more weeks.  Ten more treatments.  Keep slathering those moisturizers and don't touch your chest.  This too shall pass.

Eventually.

 Tiff out.
 PS - do not GIS 'radiation dermatitis.'  Just...don't.

I am a marked woman

So tiny.

There's nothing really like laying on a cold hard exam table with your boobs fully out for the arriving doctor to examine and draw all over while trying to make small talk.  Surely it happens all the time, but this was MY first experience with such and it was...something.

I have had two children and so am no stranger to folks feeling around the ol' bits and bobs; by hour 3 of pushing with Thing 1 I was ready to have the janitor get a good feel in case he/she could just Get The Baby Out Already, but this was different.  So casual.  So matter-of-fact.  So, normal.

And therefore I was comforted.

The doctor and my radiation tech were very appreciative of how well the lumpectomy scar is healing, which I'm sure they tell all the girls, so I called them out on it and they declared as to how I'm a veritable pro at healing up from things. 

Again, comforted.

Then the doctor went away and the tech put me through my paces in a CT scanner to have a good look at my guts (more like my thoracic cavity I guess), while I still was tits out to the world.  The procedure was interesting - I got to watch the spinny thing inside the scanner that was taking pictures of my innards, and that was cool.

Then, I went and got 4 new tattoos.  By way of celebration, as ye do.

HAHAHAHAHAHAA!  JK, the tatts were given to me by the radiation tech, who will use them to align me in the particle accelerator thing so that only those parts of my body that are meant to be blasted with radiation in fact ARE blasted, and nothing else.

I've had tattoos before, and so was ready for the gun.

No gun.

Instead, a drop of ink is placed on the spots marked by the doctor, and a single needle prick gets enough of the ink under the skin to be useful (see picture above for about-actual size).  Amazing.  Each tiny dot counts as a tattoo in my book, though I suppose they could be considered as 1 total work of art.  I like the sound of 'I got 4 tattoos today!' better.  Your mileage may vary.

Finally able to sheath the breasticles in bra and tee once more, I was released to the Covid-infested wild, only to have to return in a week or so to start the radiation process in earnest.

Every weekday for 6 weeks I will rely on my new tats and the expertise of the doctors and techs to administer the right amount of radiation to the right place so that, we all hope, the freaking cancer is chased from the premises for good.

Wish me luck.

Tiff out.

In which I lose my fingernails

Writing about cancer and chemotherapy for the last few months has been largely for my own benefit, but I do hope that whomever might stumble across these entries looking for information finds some value in what I've written.

I have tried to be honest about my experience, but not too 'down' on the whole swath of Things That Have Happened, because it's just been something to live through and not something to let take over my life.

Until the last couple of infusions happened.  The last one (#6) especially tried very hard indeed to take over my life, but let's not get ahead of the story.

Generally, what I've described in these blog entries has been my experience in the short term; a few days to a week or so after chemo and what happened to me.  One person's journey, as it were, because if I tried to speak for everyone who has walked my path I'd be a fool and more than a little overbearing.  Not this gal.  Not now.

So, let's walk a little further down that path, and review what happened throughout the period of a couple of weeks after the 5th infusion.  I was feeling OK, but had noticed that the after-effects of the chemo had lingered a few days longer with that round (oh naps, how I love thee!) and the damnable bone pain was taking way too long to resolve.  I felt personally attacked, I'm telling you.

And then I noticed something weird was going on with my fingernails.  It seemed like the white part was getting longer, rapidly, and in the wrong direction.  Like, it was expending toward the nail bed, not away from it the way normal nails grow.  What the what?

Then the nails started to discolor, turning a gross-as-heck yellowish color, some nails even looked like they has some kind of brown smudge under the yellow.  It was hard to tell.  Unsightly, for sure, and in an evil turn of events, very painful if they were bumped or pressed on in any way.

You have no idea how many times a day a person bumps their fingernails.  It's a lot.

There was, of course, a visit with the nurse practitioner before infusion #6, at which I showed her my nails and she said 'oh yeah, that will happen.  Just keep them cut short and they'll grow out.  Is the same happening to your toenails?'  At the time the answer to that was 'no' (talk about your blatant foreshadowing...)

And so, over the past 3 weeks, ever since the last infusion, the nails have indeed been growing, I have been keeping them short, and now would like to share what they look like in case you see me out and about and think I'm turning into a fungus, because I am not, it's just that chemo killed my fingernails just about dead and this is what happens, sometimes.

Those lines in my thumbnails represent each time I got an infusion and the nails died a little.   They're called 'Beau's lines,' which I don't think is very funny.

ALL THE NAILS.  Not to be too gross, but they can be lifted off the finger surface all the way down to the pink part.

While it's not uncommon for people to experience some changes to the nails during/after chemotherapy, it is very uncommon to lose a whole nail.  It appears that once again I am a unicorn in the world of health care, being all rare with the side effects and in addition taking things to the limit of the possible overall experience.

Why, just to add insult to injury and possibly make me a liar to my care staff, even my toenails have decided to get in on the fun.  Nobody gets a break in MY body, oh no, everyone gets to experience some flavor of weird!  Good thing I don't have to wear fancy shoes very much, or ever, because that's not going to happen anytime soon (or, you know, ever). 

So that's been happening, along with daily afternoon dry heaves, which, apparently, can continue for WEEKS after chemo ends.  WEEKS, I tell you, and no surprise that the woman who didn't get nauseated for most of the chemo journey is now getting it because, obviously, my body misses being poisoned every few weeks.  Figures. 

2020 is proving to be an interesting year, and one in which I had better be learning a lot about myself because the lessons are there and I can't risk ignoring them.  Best to not tempt fate, right?

Tiff out.

My chemo regimen

Almost done with the last one.  

To wrap up my chemotherapy journey, here's a bit of background -

I was diagnosed with estrogen- and progesterone-positive, HER-2-negative breast cancer in September of 2019.

I had a lumpectomy and sentinel lymph node dissection in October 2019, and a power port placement in November 2019. 

Chemo started 04 December 2019. 

This is my treatment regimen, once every 3 weeks:

• Day before and after infusion - 4 mg dexamethasone BID

• Day of infusion - by mouth - Pepcid 20 mg (antacid), Decadron 12 mg (antiinflammatory),  Ativan 0.5 mg (sedative)

• Day of infusion - by port and in order saline 500 ml bolus, Aloxi 250 mg (nausea med), Cinvanti 130 mg (nausea med), Taxotere 133.2 mg over an hour (anti-cancer chemotherapy), Cytoxan 1065.6 mg over 45 minutes (anti-cancer chemotherapy), then a heparin flush.

• Day after infusion - Neulasta 6 mg subcutaneous (stimulate white blood cell production).

---

Translation of brand names to generic:

Pepcid: famotidine.

Decadron: dexamethasone

Ativan: lorazepam

Aloxi: palonosetron

Cinvanti: aprepitant

Taxotere: docetaxel

Cytoxan: cyclophosphamide

Neulasta: pegfilgrastim

---

Common effects of this treatment regimen for me have been:

• Irregular/rapid heartbeat for a couple of days after infusion - a known side effect. Can be ameliorated somewhat by heavy hydration to flush out the meds.
• Bone pain starting 3 or so days after infusion, 2 days after Neulasta.  This is a known side effect.
• Fatigue.  Obviously a known side effect.
• Nausea about a week after infusion.  Also a known side effect for which medications were prescribed.

Oh, and my fingernails are in the process of falling off.  This is common and is the same as hair loss, which is an expected effect of both Taxotere and Cytoxan.  I expected the hair loss, but  was hoping to keep the fingernails.  No luck.  Oh well.

All in all, while chemotherapy isn't something I'd wish on anyone, it wasn't so bad and certainly a better experience than I would have had a few years ago.  Treatment options and medications have improved since then.

That's it.  One for the memory books, that I probably won't whip out for the grandkids.

Tiff out.

Chemo's over. Done with. I hope I never have to go back.

The magical unicorn stage has been reached!  Pretty soon that ol' port can come out!

Dose #6 happened today.

The. Last. One.

The last PLANNED one,  I should say, because never say never when it comes to that rat bastard cancer.  That's a bet you shouldn't hedge.

So yup - last one.  The process went well, as usual, with supportive nurses and The Comfy Chair (I never did use the massage function), and Biff the Bagel-Getter.  We were lucky, today is the last day they're allowing visitors in the ward.  Tomorrow I would have been without a delicious breakfast bagel unless I went before the appointment!

After I was unhooked from the machine and was getting ready to go, all the nurses came over with noisemakers and harmonicas and shout-sang 'For She's a Jolly Good Fellow!' with gusto, right at me, then gave ma graduation certificate and a bag full of what I think is Aveda body lotions and stuff that volunteers make to hand out to us graduates.  Pretty neat, and I apologize to anyone on the ward who was trying to catch a few winks as I was leaving.  I hope it's your turn to be feted really soon.

So, yeah.  Done.

Pretty happy about that.

Now comes radiation, so we're only done with stage 1 of treatment.  But still, chemo's done.  That's huge.

Tiff out.

The one with all the nausea

It's caught up with me, the chemo has.  Four rounds of it and I didn't really experience many issues, but that fourth round, the one that saw my neutrophils plummet and got me on an antibiotic and made my fingernails hurt?  THAT one set me up for some later-stage nausea that just Would. Not. Go. Away.

I did not take medication for it, being the fool I am, even though I've had the medication at the ready since chemo started in December.  Didn't really 'feel bad' enough' for me to put yet another chemical in my body.  Powered through, like we're all supposed to do.

Idiotic?  Oh my yes.

Then came round 5, which started out fine but then my fingernails started to delaminate (at least I THINK that's what's going on, as the nail bed is turning white from the tip toward the base and it feels like they are separating from the finger itself but I'm not testing that theory too much because it's gross and I'm not about the life right now), and I have had some muscle aches (likely from sitting around all day), and then, a few days ago, the nausea struck again.

Oh the nausea.  I'm OK-ish in the morning, but by mid-afternoon I'm praying that my stomach would just go ahead and heave already to satisfy whatever demon has poking my vagus nerve and playing the world's WORST game of 'tickle fight' that invariably ends up with my face in a trash can, coughing and heaving and crying and blowing snot.  It's not a great look, and it feels even worse.

What prompts me to write this is that I just had an attack a few minutes ago.  I'm sure it was great fun for Biff to listen to, what with all the choking and gasping and shit.  Thankfully, nothing generally comes UP, so it's just a lot of terrible noises and some sweating going on, but still, there's no good way to puke, is there?  Heaving brings momentary relief, but only momentary.  It may come back, certainly by tomorrow.  At this point I have to admit defeat - chemo has gotten the best of me, and I'm quickly giving up even some 'not-great' parts.  

Time to go bust open that bottle of pills.  Idiot no more.  I'm going to chase that fricking demon out and grab back some goodness in my current living situation (such as it is with all the coronavirus sequestering going on.  I don't leave the house much/at all right now, being as how I don't really relish the notion of heaping a potentially deadly respiratory infection onto my current list of issues).

Silver Lining: Final infusion is in 2 days.  Praise be!

Tiff out.

Rounds 4 and 5

Me and this guy don't get along all that well.

One thing I can say about the memories of round 4 of chemotherapy is this:

LEVAQUIN SUCKS.

Or at least it sucked for ME.  I was put on a 7-day course of it to guard against potential infection, because as of a week after infusion 4 the ol' neutrophils hadn't come up to speed and it would have been very easy for me to get buggy and sick.  So, Levaquin.  Which sucked.  Muscle aches, rapid heartbeat, constant nausea, you name it.  I made it 5 days until the next scheduled lab work, and was relieved beyond measure when the tests came back in the normal range and I was given permission to go off the antibiotic.

This is only my experience.  Not everyone reacts like this to it, I'm sure.  I appear to have a very low tolerance to this particular drug.  It happens.

Just don't want to have it happen again.

---

Round 5 happened a couple of days ago.  Other than the nurse basically attacking the port site with the alcohol swab to clean it before access (weird, the ouchy accidental bashing sort of helped take down the pinch of the needle access!), everything was fine.  No reactions, chair was as comfy as ever, no complaints.

Sent Biff out for Bruegger's bagels (right around the corner from the treatment center!) and asked him to get a dozen + schmear for the staff, which he did and they appreciated.  I opted for the smoked salmon on an everything bagel, because I can taste it and I'm worth it.  Biff gets the Western bagel with a tomato schmear.  Breakfast almost in bed!

The day after infusion I go in for a shot to pump up my immune system.  Normally it makes my bones start to hurt a couple of days later.  That'll be tomorrow, if I'm lucky, though the twinges are starting up now.  I'll take a Claritin before bed to get a jump on it and then a couple of ibuprofen in the morning to manage the discomfort, but that's about it.  Other than drinking a ton of water and taking my regular meds, that's about the extent of my after-care.

My nurse-oncologist is really happy with how I'm doing, which makes me feel great.

---

Next one's the last one.  Then we start radiation.

---

In a bizarre occurrence, during this most recent infusion I had a great need to find out what time it was at one point.  When I checked, it was around 10:30.  No real reason to need to know the time, because where was I going anyhow?

Turns out it was around that time that my former sister-in-law was passing away after a long road with her own (rare) cancer.  She would have been 55 next week.  She will be missed by family and friends for a long long time.

Tiff out.

(image by By MarinaVladivostok)

Round 3

That's pretty much it.

Chemo #3 is over which means I'm halfway done!!  Yay!!

And because chemo was 10 days ago, that means I'm halfway through the 3-week infusion cycle.  Each cycle, it's taken about a solid week to start to feel decent, and even then 'feeling decent' only means that I MUST nap once a day. 

Today is the third day in a row that I haven't napped, but I might just sneak in a quick one while the sun shines brightly through the kitchen window.  Can't work in the kitchen right now what with that sun, so why not practice some self-care?

Seems like every round of infusion I get a little GI bug, or the chemo just lingers a bit longer than a week and the stomach/gut upset is a manifestation of its perseverance.  A week +  day after infusion I usually wander around trying to get warm and feeling like there's a little fever milling around my person.  I know what to plan for, so it's not bad, but I do feel under the weather for a bit over a week.

Ain't nothing like days 3-5 though, so I count my blessings.

And while this whole cancer thing isn't everything that's gong on in my world, it sure does color it a different shade of reality. 

This too shall pass.

Round 2

The second and third weeks after chemo are really not all that bad.

One forgets how things go, in other words.

Then infusion day comes around again, the stabbity needle enters the port (EMLA cream does f-ckall for that moment of pain, BTW), and the chemicals begin a-flowing.  Then the next day - the neutrophil boost (pegfilgrastim in this case).

I think I mentioned last time that it's my opinion that chemo wouldn't be so bad if not for the pegfilgrastim shot that's given the day after.  Oh sure, it's meant to boost your immune systems by getting those neutrophils and stuff to come pouring out of the old bone marrow to fight infection, but what isn't fully appreciated is THE PAIN associated with that process.  Deep down bone pain.  It's sort of awful.

'Take a Claritin at night' they say.  I do.

'Then take an Aleve in the morning' they say.  I do.

All is well for a few hours after each administration, but by about 2 p.m. I'm grunting like I'm in labor, hoping it's time to take another nap, just for today, just for an hour, because maybe after that the pain will abate and I can do more than shuffle and moan.

On the plus side, my zombie impersonation is coming along nicely.

On another plus side, there is no ascertainable GI effect this time around, which leads me to believe that I might have picked up a little bug at the infusion center last time I was there that got those gears spinning a little too fast and got me all dehydrated.  So, WIN for that not happening this time.

By tomorrow this groaning pain should be skipping out the door (fingers crossed!), and by Wednesday a return to about 80% power should be in place.

That's about it - I'm still bald, obviously.  My head feels kind of nice when I rub it. 

Tiff out.

Chemo affects it all

It's been a week, folks.

First chemo infusion was on 04 Dec, with a Neulasta shot on 05 Dec.

BTW: chemo for me is docetaxel + cyclphosphamide.  Once every 3 week, plus the pegfilgrastim chaser.

How did it affect me?  Thusly:

-Day of infusion - no biggie

-Day after: no biggie

-Day 3: I believe I blogged it.

-Day 4, a Saturday:  HURT.  Wow, ow.  Pain, ache, ow.  Shiver.  Nap.  No food thanks.

-Day 5, Sunday:  Like Day 4, but WORSE.  Way worse.  No rest to be had, even in sleep.  Can stay awake maybe 30 minutes between naps.  Finding many creative place to rest.

-Day 6, Monday:  Pain is letting up (thanks, Clariitn!)  5 hours of work meetings is about all I can handle.  Napping on a 1-hour nap, 45-minute work schedule, still get stuff done.

-Day 7, Tuesday: Better, somewhat, though still with the loose bowels and really NOT loving the idea of eating at all.  Get work done, only need one nap to make it through the day.  Still shifting sleeping places at night just for novelty and the chance to rest.

-Day 8: Wednesday: A trip in for bloodwork shows that 1) all labs are NORMAL (YAY!) and 2) my BP is super-low and I'm dehydrated.  Jeez, HOW?  (also, I've lost 10 pounds since last week so...)  I'm drinking 2 liters of water a DAY, but a lot of it still still coming out 'the back end' as watery poops, so that's probably no help.  Get hooked up to IV fluids for a couple of hours.  Have no idea idea what I might be missing for work, don't care.  Told to cut out the BP meds until next labs visit.  Drive home, nap.  Try not to expose myself to any food smells, as that will kick off some retching.  Nothing awful.

-Day 9, Thursday: feel pretty good.  Only need one afternoon nap.  Work is productive.  Couch still comfiest place to sleep.  No pain or nausea.  Might be kicking this, hoping the GI stuff goes way soon,

-Day 10, Friday:  Feel almost normal.  Still some chills, but no pain or nausea. 

-Day 11, Saturday:  Feel normal.  No complaints, just need to sit down every once in a while to rest.  On completely voluntary nap taken, because it's SATURDAY.  GI tract appears to be back to normal.  We put lights on the Christmas tree, I bake.  A slice of pizza for dinner. Sleep in bed all night.

-Day 12, Sunday:  Wake up stupid early, and because Biff does too we are at Waffle House by 4 eating delicious breakfast, home by 5 to relax (me) or nap (Biff).  Will decorate some more today, make a tree topper, and throw some more festive bakery in the oven, I'm sure.

So, there it is.  The first few days were OK, but by the third day after after infusion and 2 days after Neulasta, I was completely out of it.  For 2.5 days I was very very uncomfortable, antsy, exhausted, mad, and sick.  Every day after the improvements have been vast and appreciated.

Fingers crossed this is a pattern that repeats and doesn't intensify.  Next infusion is the day after Christmas.

Tiff out.

First infusion thoughts

That's one of 'em.

Wednesday 04 Dec was the first infusion for treatment of whatever residual cancer cells might be bounding around in my bloodstream affixing themselves to far-flung places in by body that only they can find to use to hide from my immune system/natural defenses.

I'm not a fan of lurking cancer, so agreed with the treatment plan to flood my system with poison to eradicate the issues.  Many many poisons.  The treatments are infusions of docetaxel and cyclophosphamide once every 21 days +/- a little Ativan if you're so inclined and a bit of anti-nausea meds to get you over the first few days of what could be very unpleasant indeed.

In prep, I was supposed to have applied some EMLA cream, which is used to numb the skin over the port (it's lidocaine and prilocaine), but I 'did it wrong' and instead of just gobbing on a whole raft of the shit on the site I kind of rubbed it in and then covered with an occlusive dressing.

WRONG, and proved so when it simply didn't do much to ease the sting of the needle going into the port.

No matter - just a little pinch, but not one I was expecting so not the best surprise ever.

Then the blood draw, then the saline, then the pre-meds, then a 50-minute drip of the docetaxel, then a 15-minute flush, then 50 minutes of cyclophosphamide, then a flush and some heparin added, and I was out the door.  About a 4-hour process, all told.  None of which was bad.

I decided to NOT get a filgrastim (Neulasta) 'pod' for home use, because it truly sounds like a pain to manage, so went in the next day for a shot of that to keep the neutrophil counts up, after taking a claritin to ward off the bone pain that can sometimes come as an after-effect of the GCSF being administered (that's granulocyte colony stimulating factor to you).

The shot was yesterday.

I stayed up way too late last night getting work done, then got up too early this morning to start meetings at 6:30 a.m.

Made it to about 2:30 p.m. before the overwhelming urge to take a nap overcame me, and crawled into the recliner, where 2 hours of glorious rest befell me almost immediately.

Pretty sure it was work that did me in, but who knows?  I might be experiencing a little med fatigue, or just flat-out mental fatigue with what this week's been all about.

All in all though, not a terrible experience.  No bad effects, I didn't have to ring the bell, and walked out of the unit feeling pretty good.

I still don't recommend it.

Tiff out.

Dermabond is NOT my friend

It really sorta does have something to do with this post.

A couple of weeks ago I had a chemo port placed.  Pretty standard-issue stuff, but the process was still weird.  It's never a good thing to be completely aware that your flesh is being rent asunder and objects placed within your body.  The tugging and pulling - ugh.

As often happens with surgery nowadays, the sutures place under the skin are supposed to 'dissolve' in 7-10 days, to which my body says 'HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!  SO FUNNY!'  Nope - not gonna happen.  My system will chew on those suckers for several weeks before deciding it doesn't like the taste of them atall and does NOT want that ish dissolving anywhere near it, so it spits them out.

That's right.  Stitch spitting is a thing, and not just at county fairs.  It's actually not all that uncommon, so I'm not a total and complete weirdo, but yeah, the process can take MONTHS before the last remnant is evicted.  Do NOT GIS that if you know what's good for you and whatever you last ate.

AND NOT ONLY THAT, but nowadays the surgeons like to close the superficial wound with skin glue, or 'Dermabond.'  Approximate the edges, slather some of that stuff on, and et voila - in a few seconds you have nice tight junctions that should remain stuck in place for at least a week before sloughing off. Just don't get it wet, by God, or  the dermabond might dislodge prematurely and who knows what evil will find its way into your body and render all reasonable medical aid pointless?  It's your funeral, bub, at least you'll be clean for it, you water wastrel.

Word to the wise: if you've ever experienced some sensitivity to medical tape like is used on wound dressings, beware the Dermabond.  BEWARE, I say.  Because if you've had a reaction to other  adhesives, you have a very high likelihood of reacting badly to Dermabond.  Oh, the old-school medical journals thought atopic reactions were rare, but do a touch more digging and examples GALORE begin to surface, must like the horrible itchy blistery rash will if you are exposed to the Dermabond.

I could not figure out why the incision sites were so damned itchy, and painful, and annoying.  Just to accidentally touch them, even under the occlusive dressing, was horrible.  I wanted to SCRATCH them, but even a light finger-press on the sites made me want to punch a Viking.  Relentless itching, and flashing pain.  I was loath to remove the dressing because 1) do NOT get the sites wet, do you want to kill yourself? and 2) I was afraid the skin might come along with the surgical tape, much like what happened after getting my c-section dressing removed. 

As luck would have it, jut about a week after the placement I had another doc appointment, and the head nurse wanted to take a look at the site, so removed the dressing.  She SAID it looked like it was healing well, so of course I took her word for it.

Until I got home.

Y'all.

It looked like I had a second-degree burn in the shape of what I can only imagine was the brush that applied the glue.  The skin was discolored a deep brown and was DRY, wrinkled, and very not-right-looking.  And was still itchy.  Like a medically-induced poison ivy rash, really.  Very sexy.

(Also do not GIS 'dermabond reaction.')

Remember that thing I was told about the Dermabond coming off on its own in a week or so?  LIES.  It was 13 days before that shit started to roll off my chest, and as my older son pointed it, 'that was probably also the top layer of your skin Mom.'  There's a very good chance he's right about that. 

But what (generally) sweet relief.  I've been able to sleep in a bed for a few nights now (previously it felt like the site was going to open up if I laid down, such was the tugging and pulling on the wound site), and I can turn my head enough to see traffic without having to swivel my whole torso.  Glorious.

Bottom line is this: If anyone ever comes at me, scalpel in hand, in the future and swears that they're closing with Dermabond and it doesn't cause skin reactions, I'm going to pretend they're a Viking.  And punch them good and hard.

Tiff out.

Ranking the surgeries

If you're wondering, the answer for me is 'YES.'

I promised a takedown of my recent surgeries, and will now rank them in order of which one I'd be 'OK doing again' to 'please never again.'

#1) Biopsy of a mass in the boob: The anesthetic was a little squinchy, but the nice nurse held my hand so I wouldn't try to 'help' the surgeon sterilize the punch zone.  A few pokes and tiny cores samples later, and I was out the door in next to no time.  Steri-strips held me together A-OK and the bruising was minimal.  10 days to no visible after-effects.

#2) Extraction of a broken tooth: the lead-up is always super-owie when you're walking around with a fractured infected molar - who would have guessed?  This is one surgery (I count it as such bcs of the stitches placed to hold the gum together once the offending member is removed) that has real and immediate benefits, friends.   Yank that tooth out, stick some dead guy's bone powder in the deficit, squash some surgical membrane on top of that, and stitch 'er up.  Yeah, sure, the 'soft foods' dies must be obeyed, but I LIKE mashed potatoes and refried beans so no huge sacrifice.  Not like I want to go around chewing on hard things and risking further fractures!  Also about 10 days to heal and for the stitches to fall out (I do NOT 'absorb' stitches like doctors keep telling me I will).

#3) Breast lumpectomy:  I wasn't aware it happened, and that's for the best, I'm sure.  Apparently I am 'difficult to intubate,' and wound up coughing up a few clots for a couple of days and had a very sore throat for a week.  The two surgical sites healed up pretty well over a couple of weeks, though the site where they took a few lymph nodes for testing was SORE for at least 3 weeks.  The actual lump extraction site stopped hurting after about 5 days, but node site didn't want to give up that easily.  I think there are stitches wanting to rise up and escape through the skin, is what I think.

#4) Chemo port placement: I WISH I wasn't aware of what was happening, but was not given the choice (not that I'd have wanted more general anesthetic, given the whole intubation issue).   Awake and aware the whole time, for the lidocaine to the IV placement to the cutting and pulling and tugging and stitching, I knew about it all.  Certainly unpleasant, and a week later the port site STILL hurts but is, according to the oncology nurse I saw yesterday, healing well.  I suppose when a fair-sized lump of plastic is shoved under your skin and then said skin is stitched up (AGAIN WITH THE STITCHES!), there's bound to be some long-term sensitivity.  But still.  It's freaking pain, and I haven't been able to shower for a week now, what with water being the Enemy and such.  I did take a bath two days ago, which was great, but there's something about being older and chubby that makes getting OUT of a tub way way harder than getting INTO a tub. 

So yeah - 4 surgeries in the last month or so, if you can believe it.  I've done my time in the operating theaters of Wake County, is what I'm saying, and don't want to have to read another after-care pamphlet anytime in the near future.

Oh wait.  I start chemotherapy in 10 days.  There's a whole BINDER full of stuff I need to read up on.

Maybe I'll go shop for head scarves first.  Folks tell me it sucks being bald in the winter.

Tiff out.

Headed into port

Sure wish this was the 'port' in question.

Woo, y'all.  I had me a day yesterday, I'll tell you that much.

It's not every day you get scrubbed up and have a piece of medical machinery stuffed under your skin and into a vein, I suppose, but that's what happened to me yesterday.

I am now the proud symbiont of a 'power port,' which sounds cool, like I can now charge my cell phone on my collarbone or something, but the reality is a little more harsh.

This port is there for chemotherapy.

Yup.

Ya' gal got diagnosed with breast cancer a little while ago,.  Had a lumpectomy about a month ago, then once healed from healed from THAT got the news that not ONLY was radiation part of the plan for a potential cure, but chemotherapy was considered a wise add-on (something about 'fast growing lesion') prior to the radiation in order to ensure the best possible chance for said cure.

The chemo is a HUGE surprise.  I should be researching 'short hairstyles' right quick, because I've been told its all a-gonna fall out in a few weeks.

But, no.  I kind of don't care what the hair looks like, and I digress from the point of this post, which is the port.

The POWER PORT.  Different from a regular port, because with a POWER PORT I will be able to withstand pushes of CT contrast much more easily than trying to deliver it through my tiny weak arm veins, because there will be more CT scans with contrast in the next few months.  Guess that doesn't happen for everyone.  It's difficult to find the silver lining...

And THIS is for a person who got an 'all clear margins' on the lumpetomy!!

Nothing's ever easy.

Tiff out.

All clear!

Nothing atall to do with the lead story here.  Read on for the tie-in.

I mentioned a CT scan in the most recent post.  Because I had one.  Because there was some concern that what currently ails me had escaped the fence and might have gone a-wandering.

Nope.

No evidence thereof.  All clear.

Praise be!

---

Also, I am the kind of Mom who gives her grown son magazines like 'Eating Well' and 'Real Simple' to maybe help him get ideas about cooking and life and stuff.

I KNOW those mags have turned toward the women's market, but they're chock full of good stuff and I don't think that just because a magazine has ads for tampons in it they should be shunned by the male population who might get some good out of an article on getting your financial house in order or how to cook a roast or set a table or talk about difficult issues or make a pie crust.  These are not only women's issues, for Pete's sake!

Even that feminine hygiene thing.  Because apparently 60% of women are wearing the wrong size sanitary pad.  I mean, that's not something a guy can mansplain to a bunched-up gal, but at least he can be aware of the issue, right?

---

Speaking of children - our boys came over for dinner tonight and it was fabulous.  Chili, cornbread, dominoes, and conversation.  It was great.

Except that last hand of dominoes.  All tiles drawn on the first round, and only two people could play.  The winner got by with only about 230 points in the last hand.  Cut-THROAT.

Tiff out.

Ranking the Scans

Your medical professional will let you know if you must buy tickets to this ride.

In order of my preference of bodily scans, on a scale of 1-10:

1) Ultrasound: fun, slippery, motion pictures, 3-D live action, just a lil' chilly.  Ease level = 1.

2) X-rays: no pain, no chill, just 2D obscurity. Possible visual payoff at the end now that we are in this age of digital X-ray, which is very cool. Ease level = 1.

3) Mammogram: necessary:  Just do it, just don't wiggle around too much or the squishing will re-commence.  Play 'statues' with yourself and see if you win.  If the operator is nice they'll let you look at the insides of your own boobs at the end. Ease level = 2.

4) CT scan (with contrast): tolerable.  GI oral contrast kind of yummy (lemonade flavor).  Bed comfy enough.  Would be better without the IV contrast, to be honest, that stuff had my heart doing a jig for the first couple of minutes.  Breath holding a challenge.  Fast.  Nothing to see when they're done.  Ease level = 2.5.

5) MRI (with contrast): Somewhat tolerable.  Probably better if not done face-down.  Staying still is a challenge, many noises are a distraction, the light rock coming through the headphones barely cut through.  Contrast feels weird.  Like experiencing a light skirmish where your body is the actual field of warfare.  Also nothing to see when they're done.  Ease level = 4.

So, what on earth might be a harder level than laying on your stomach with an IV needling your arm while a whirring, clanking robot scans your body for deficits and you can do nothing but lie there quite still and allow things to happen?  I'll tell you: doing ANY of these things while in pain, or fear.  That's what the dentist is for - X-rays of broken teeth = a 7 on the 'ease' scale, at least.

In the last few weeks all of these things have happened to my body, and I was in no pain at any time (well, except for the dentist).  Not even for the IV installs.  Phlebotomists are getting good, my friends.

Next up: I'll rate my three, no FOUR, recent surgeries.  Newest one is in 2 days, so stay tuned!

Tiff out.

PS - the last couple of months have been interesting.

Christmas Crampus

How very festive.

I'm simply bursting with Christmas cheer this year!  Why, there are even lights on the tree AND front porch!  I bought a wreath!  I've started writing greeting cards, even!  Six of them so far, then I had to stop because I'm not used to actually WRITING BY HAND anymore and lo, the cramps start early when you're as out of practice as I am.  Folks are just going to have to accept that I can probably only do a few a day and enjoy their daggone cards whenever they arrive, because by now it's way too late to expect them to be delivered before Santa shows up.

Confession: I am using the cards I bought last year and never mailed.  So sue me.

---

Our 10th anniversary is coming up soon, and to celebrate we went and bought us a hot tub.  At first we were going to go on a cruise, but didn't plan (sense a pattern here?) far enough ahead and then a hot tub show popped up, we went, and now can stroll out to the backyard any time we want to and immerse in luxurious hot spa-licious neck-deep water.

I might not get around to wrapping all the Christmas presents, is what I'm hinting at.

---

Speaking of presents, I did nearly all of my shopping online this year, per usual, but did go to the Lidl and Aldi for yummy German goodies.  The gifts have all arrived, and are sitting in a pile in one corner of our bedroom.  I do not recall everything I purchased, or for whom, so opening the boxes should prove to be quite exciting.  The size of any clothing will be a hint, and I THINK one of my boys isn't getting any clothing at all (a first!), but who knows?  I could have forgotten to get someone anything atall!

We're running low on wrapping paper too.  Guess a trip to the dollar store is in order.  Just as soon as  I drop these 6 Christmas cards at the Post Office.  SOMEONE might get one on time!

---

I'm off from work now until 02 January, which seems like a long time but isn't really enough.  I'm already dreading going back to work a little, because 2019 is going to be gruesome.  My main project is is a high-value prospect for the company and as such is on a HIGHLY accelerated timeline, which already gives me stress belly.

Not for nothing that I recently purchased a big bottle of magnesium supplements.  I'll be ringing in the new year with those bad boys in my system.  Fingers crossed they work!

---

And on that high note, I shall leave you with my very best wishes to you for a joyful holiday, and all the best in 2019!

This is the look I'm going for this year - gettin' lit!

This thing on?

It never ever pays to go back to sleep right away after waking up too early.  That's rule #1 for a happy day.  If you DO go back to sleep, or try and only fitfully succeed, you might just find yourself working as lead marketing assistant for the "Hugh Louis and the Neuse" band (I think you know who I mean), managing their music catalog and having to constantly shift the banners on the wall to which of their songs are playing best right this minute.

Of all 8 of their albums.

In 2018.

When the last popular song they had on ys olde top twoscore (U.S.) was in 1991. 

Never mind - you must memorize and track all of them, which of course is helped by the only station they pump into corporate headquarters being the only station that plays all of their music, ranked by current popularity and re-ranked daily.

BY YOU.

So that's one way to have a nightmare.

---

This is the first blog post of 2018.

I am really tired of facebook.

There is a person I know who posts at least 20 things a day on that platform.  Most of it is absolute rubbish, reposts of 'news' or pictures of themselves doing things that nobody even very interesting would be interesting enough to want to see that many posts from.

Then again, I used to blog every day, so...

I think that maybe, like, TWO pots a day on FB are enough?  That seems like a lot, even for a dying platform that some folks have climbed aboard to use as their social media bully pulpit.

Just guessing here, but I bet the folks who do that don't know about Reddit.

---

Three months ago someone I worked with said they were worried because they still had to finish their Christmas shopping.

This is not a thing I worry about.  Christmas shopping starts, generally, on 01 December and ends when you can no longer overnight a package in time to wrap the gift and stick it under the tree.

(OK, confession time - I have started holiday shopping this year.  The ol' credit card was sticking me in the thigh on Black Friday, so what are ya gonna do?)

Can't break with tradition though, so will spend the next week or so thinking on what I plan to purchase, wait to get a tree, maybe not decorate it at all, then dread going back to work in 2019.

TRADITION!

Pneu to the neighborhood

Will hurt you for no reason.

Last Friday I was complaining (again) about being sick.  Also last Friday, AFTER writing that post,  I hie'd myself to the doc in a box down at that local CVS to get checked out, as the sounds in my lungs were getting louder and I was of the opinion that, in fact, I wan't getting better, but worse.

A call the previous day to my doctor's office resulted in the advice to 'take Alka-Seltzer Plus cold medicine,' which had not helped.  A call Friday afternoon to the doc's office yielded no satisfaction either, as they weren't able to see me and couldn't prescribe anything to me for this because it's been two years since I needed an inhaler and ohwell.  Sucks to be me.  Therefore, the doc in a box.

Turns out I have/had pneumonia.

Turns out I walked out of that CVS with three shiny new medications to combat the pneumonia, and an admonishment to come back Monday if I wasn't feeling significantly better.

It took until Sunday afternoon (48 h after diagnosis and start of antibiotics) to start feeling a little better.  Here it is Wednesday, and I still can't draw a deep breath without my throat tickling and setting off a coughing fit, but I don't have a fever anymore, don't make noises when I breathe, can smell food without heaving, and can stay awake for simply HOURS at a time.

I think I'm going to make it, is what I'm saying.

Seems like  I go through this every couple of years.  It's not something to make a habit of, that's for damned sure.

As a result, of course I don't have stuff ready for Christmas, but ohwell on that too.  It'll get 'done' or it won't.  The tree is up, the lights are on it, and Biff has hung the outdoor lights, but that's it.  I'll probably spend some time tarting up the place before Christmas day, but first  I should do the Christmas CARDS, which won't get to where they need to be by Monday anyhow, but ohwell on that too.

Or is it 'No-well'?

Tiff out.

I'd like to offer up a nice complaint, with a side of whinging

Oh, why hello ailments, how has it been 3 long months ago that I last got horribly ill?  That long?  You say you missed me?  I wonder if you think I can say the same about you.

Oh, to feel your clammy hands on my brow, to be overcome with the flush of feverish heat, to choke and sputter at your advent and, truly, through your entire time with me, you make such a vivid impression.

Why, this time around you have given me more gifts that I have any right to expect.  Shall I name them for you?  Of course I shall, for remembering this visit in case you never come to me again will remind me of the intensity of our time spent together.

You have bestowed on me:

• Coughs
• Chills and fever
• MUCUS so copious I hardly know where to begin in description
• Nausea and vomiting.  Truly unexpected.
• Lung noises so many and varied that last night I thought I was dreaming of an Australian woman saying 'oh no' time and time again, but in reality it was just my upper left lobe doing a damned good impersonation.  Really, very impressive, and how specific!

It's been 4+ days now though, sweet friend, and I must ask you to go.  When you are here, I hardly get any sleep, or work done, or  chores completed, and as impactful as our lives together have been in these last few days, I feel the need to return to more mundane aspects of life.

Like, breathing freely.  I miss that.

And eating.  I miss that too.  This was not your best gift, I must say.

Also, I have discovered that as much as I LOVE MY BED, it's not the best place for me when you are around.  Sad, I know, but the recliner that is so reliable in the times we spend together isn't the best place to catch all the requisite 'zzzs' one needs to be fully functional.

So, I bid you adieu.  We have had some intense moments together this year, and looking back on them I will all the more appreciate the fact that I have now, I believe, gotten over you.

With this, I ask that you don't visit me any more.

Consider yourself broken up with.

Tiff