Oh yes, Shakespeare. I like to utilize my Masters in Lit every once in a while. So there you go--a literary title. Is it weird that Shakespeare just pops into my head like that? Don't answer. And the 'FBtF' is because i'm already tired of typing, 'From Boobs to Foobs.' I'm lazy like that.
I've had a totally craptastic time sleeping since last Wednesday--the day of the surgeon visit--the day we found out about "Boob Removal 2012," or "Boobmageddon," as I refer to it in my head. Any time I wake up, I just can't fall back to sleep. And what irritates me about this whole thing, is it's not as if i'm WORRIED, per se, about the surgery...so it's particularly annoying that i can't sleep. I wake up, and immediately think, "BOOBS." And that thought is generally followed by, "I'm hungry. Wait...why am I hungry? I shouldn't be hungry. I want a peanut butter sandwich. Or a steak. BOOBS." It makes no sense. So, I end up sitting at my laptop, working at 5am. Or 3am. Or, if i'm not working, i'm sitting at my laptop with a cup of coffee--thinking about boobs.
It's odd. I'm not really thinking about MY boobs, and no, I don't have visions of boobs dancing in my head like sugarplums (a fitting reference to the season, yes?). It's just a large-scale, boob thinking. To narrow it down even more, it feels like i'm just WAITING for something...which, i am, so i guess that makes sense, but it's extremely annoying.
Since Boobmageddon, i've also felt like doing...well...not a damn thing. I don't want to work, I don't want to go to gymnastics, or cheerleading, or piano practice, or theatre, or get the mail. I want clean my house. I feel like i'm nesting. But really, what the hell am i nesting for? When you're pregnant, it's to get things ready for the new baby. Maybe i'm getting stuff situated for the foobs. Then I can walk into the house and say, "Welcome home, fake boobies! It's all nice, and sparkly and clean for you! Let me show you your room." I should put the "Newborn Nursery" scent in my Scentsy...
And on that note (i'm rambling...see how that happens?), I realized, at some point shortly after Boobmageddon, that I'm not coming home with a full set. I'll be coming home with 'tissue expanders.' Ew. That term is so gross. I prefer to call them "boob builders." I just thought of something else--the surgeon's name is Robert, so certainly, he goes by 'Bob.' So, he's 'Bob the Boob Builder.' I can imagine him, during surgery, asking the nursing staff, "Can we build them?" and they all answer, "YES, we can!!" Anyways...so i'll be coming home with boob builders. And my boobies will be small. And it will take them months to grow. It will be like puberty again. Seriously. I didn't even GET boobs until i was 15, now i have to go through the impatience of getting boobs at 38. That makes me laugh out loud. Perhaps, I should once again read, Are You There, God? It's me, Margaret. "We must, we must, we must increase our bust!"
So...my word of the day: PATIENCE.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 26, 2012
From boobs to foobs--2
Freaking surgery was moved to Dec. 28th. I may die of mental exhaustion before then. Dammit.
Nov 23, 2012
From boobs to foobs--Part 1
I hope you all had a fabulous Thanksgiving! I know we did. Low key, restful, and fabulous. The turkey was great, we all ate too much, and just enjoyed each other. :)
So, we have new news in our household, and, as time wears on, I know that this 'news' will come out, so I figured I might as well let you guys know: I have a bad boob. I have one that's trying to kill me. Bastard boob. Of course, it's the left one--and it makes sense, because those of you that personally know me, also know that the left side of my body is completely useless. It's like having random appendages. I can't even flex my left arm--my brain doesn't make the connection on that side. I'm surprised I can walk, and not just drag my left leg like Quasimodo (of which The Munch does a brilliant impression).
Backstory:
3rd week of October: I had a hurty area on my right boob--here on out to be known as 'smart boob'--which because of the prying of my mother, I went to go get checked out. The gyn/ob felt something, as well, so she scheduled me for a mammogram.
Oct. 24th: Mammogram. It didn't hurt as much as they said. The nurse was freaking me out, saying, "I know this is going to hurt...i'm sorry..." yadda yadda yadda. It didn't hurt at all. Thumbs up to the chicks for beating the hell out of the boobs when I was nursing them--good job, ladies. The tech mammogram'd both sides, then they did an ultrasound on each side. She then told me to go wait in the 'holding room' while the doctor looked at my film. About 10 minutes later, the tech came back and said they needed to do the left side again. "The right side, you mean?" I asked, "because that's the 'bad' side." She assured me that the right side looked fine, and that they needed to redo the left side. Alrighty then. Turns out, I have 2 areas of calcification (common) in ye olde left boob. So, they scheduled 2 biopsies. P.S. Smart boob was fine--it was muscle inflammation. Most likely because i'm a badass and when i do chest presses/push ups, etc., my beasty muscles irritated it. (That's my explanation.)
Nov. 1st: I head to the Breast Center with my mom in tow. They do the first biopsy (easy-peasy), then, when they pull the contraption out of my boob, i start bleeding all over. And by 'all over,' I mean on the floor, on my arm...out of a TINY incision. It was ridiculous. The nurses were taking turns pressing on me with full body weight to get me to stop bleeding. It could have been scary, but really--these nurses were awesome (shout out to Michelle!), and although it sounds bad, it wasn't too awful. Annoying, yes. Awful and/or scary, no. One of the nurses said, "I'd like to go get your mom--do you mind if she sees your breasts?" bwahahahaaa! I looked at her and said, "She used to wipe my butt--she can see my boobs." So, mom got to come keep me company while I bled for AN HOUR AND 45 MINUTES. It was awesome. Of course, I developed a huge hematoma. It was gross. There was no way they could do the other biopsy, so nurse Michelle bound me up like a freaking china-woman's foot and sent me home. That binding was so tight, i could barely breathe.
Nov 13th: The doctor called and told me it was DCIS (ductal carcinoma in situ). Basically, a "beginning" cancer that is confined to your milk ducts. After nearly 4 years of nursing these 2 kids, you would think they would've sucked it outta me. No such luck. The doctor says worst case scenario is 6 weeks of radiation. She lied. She makes me an appointment with a surgeon for a 'consultation' on 11/21.
Nov. 16th: Biopsy number two. I made sure to schedule it when my favorite nurses were there. At this point, i've had so many people touch my boobs that it's weird--but i'd like to narrow down that number to a select few. So, nurse Michele wins. Plus, she's sarcastic--I feel right at home. This biopsy goes easy--like it's supposed to. No bleeding--in and out in 2 hours.
Nov. 21: Boob man consultation time! I go meet the doctor. At this point, we've already discussed the possible options. We know with my history of melanoma (4x in 10 years), that i'm probably not on the "let's just cut it out" side of things. Plus, i'm under 40. The odds are really crappy. We find out the first area of cancer has areas that are 'microinvasive'--which means they're little jailbreaking shits that are busting out of the ducts. So they have to remove lymphnodes in my armpit, too. In the doctor's words, "There's a 99% chance that the cancer has NOT spread." Now we just hope that i'm not in that 1%. Unless we're talking about the lottery--then damn skippy--sign me up for that 1%. The first area was grade 1/2, and the second area was grade 2. The doctor says what we I planned on hearing, "Double mastectomy."
So, that's where we are. I have a consult with the plastic surgeon next week, and the surgery/reconstruction is tentatively slated for 12/17. They're moving quickly--which I appreciate. I'm fine with it--I really am. I think people (some, anyways) are expecting me to be an emotional wreck. They're just boobs. They served their purpose, and now, I get new fake ones--foobs. I keep calling them 'frankenboobs.' The good news is, my chances of reoccurance now get knocked down to 0%. Gotta love those odds!
That's it...crazy, right? I'm not a whiner, not a pity-partier, not a worrier...I'll be just fine. You can definitely feel free to pray/send positive thoughts about the lymph nodes--but save the most positive thought and prayers for my family. I don't want any of them to worry--particularly my sweet babies.
So, we have new news in our household, and, as time wears on, I know that this 'news' will come out, so I figured I might as well let you guys know: I have a bad boob. I have one that's trying to kill me. Bastard boob. Of course, it's the left one--and it makes sense, because those of you that personally know me, also know that the left side of my body is completely useless. It's like having random appendages. I can't even flex my left arm--my brain doesn't make the connection on that side. I'm surprised I can walk, and not just drag my left leg like Quasimodo (of which The Munch does a brilliant impression).
Backstory:
3rd week of October: I had a hurty area on my right boob--here on out to be known as 'smart boob'--which because of the prying of my mother, I went to go get checked out. The gyn/ob felt something, as well, so she scheduled me for a mammogram.
Oct. 24th: Mammogram. It didn't hurt as much as they said. The nurse was freaking me out, saying, "I know this is going to hurt...i'm sorry..." yadda yadda yadda. It didn't hurt at all. Thumbs up to the chicks for beating the hell out of the boobs when I was nursing them--good job, ladies. The tech mammogram'd both sides, then they did an ultrasound on each side. She then told me to go wait in the 'holding room' while the doctor looked at my film. About 10 minutes later, the tech came back and said they needed to do the left side again. "The right side, you mean?" I asked, "because that's the 'bad' side." She assured me that the right side looked fine, and that they needed to redo the left side. Alrighty then. Turns out, I have 2 areas of calcification (common) in ye olde left boob. So, they scheduled 2 biopsies. P.S. Smart boob was fine--it was muscle inflammation. Most likely because i'm a badass and when i do chest presses/push ups, etc., my beasty muscles irritated it. (That's my explanation.)
Nov. 1st: I head to the Breast Center with my mom in tow. They do the first biopsy (easy-peasy), then, when they pull the contraption out of my boob, i start bleeding all over. And by 'all over,' I mean on the floor, on my arm...out of a TINY incision. It was ridiculous. The nurses were taking turns pressing on me with full body weight to get me to stop bleeding. It could have been scary, but really--these nurses were awesome (shout out to Michelle!), and although it sounds bad, it wasn't too awful. Annoying, yes. Awful and/or scary, no. One of the nurses said, "I'd like to go get your mom--do you mind if she sees your breasts?" bwahahahaaa! I looked at her and said, "She used to wipe my butt--she can see my boobs." So, mom got to come keep me company while I bled for AN HOUR AND 45 MINUTES. It was awesome. Of course, I developed a huge hematoma. It was gross. There was no way they could do the other biopsy, so nurse Michelle bound me up like a freaking china-woman's foot and sent me home. That binding was so tight, i could barely breathe.
Nov 13th: The doctor called and told me it was DCIS (ductal carcinoma in situ). Basically, a "beginning" cancer that is confined to your milk ducts. After nearly 4 years of nursing these 2 kids, you would think they would've sucked it outta me. No such luck. The doctor says worst case scenario is 6 weeks of radiation. She lied. She makes me an appointment with a surgeon for a 'consultation' on 11/21.
Nov. 16th: Biopsy number two. I made sure to schedule it when my favorite nurses were there. At this point, i've had so many people touch my boobs that it's weird--but i'd like to narrow down that number to a select few. So, nurse Michele wins. Plus, she's sarcastic--I feel right at home. This biopsy goes easy--like it's supposed to. No bleeding--in and out in 2 hours.
Nov. 21: Boob man consultation time! I go meet the doctor. At this point, we've already discussed the possible options. We know with my history of melanoma (4x in 10 years), that i'm probably not on the "let's just cut it out" side of things. Plus, i'm under 40. The odds are really crappy. We find out the first area of cancer has areas that are 'microinvasive'--which means they're little jailbreaking shits that are busting out of the ducts. So they have to remove lymphnodes in my armpit, too. In the doctor's words, "There's a 99% chance that the cancer has NOT spread." Now we just hope that i'm not in that 1%. Unless we're talking about the lottery--then damn skippy--sign me up for that 1%. The first area was grade 1/2, and the second area was grade 2. The doctor says what we I planned on hearing, "Double mastectomy."
So, that's where we are. I have a consult with the plastic surgeon next week, and the surgery/reconstruction is tentatively slated for 12/17. They're moving quickly--which I appreciate. I'm fine with it--I really am. I think people (some, anyways) are expecting me to be an emotional wreck. They're just boobs. They served their purpose, and now, I get new fake ones--foobs. I keep calling them 'frankenboobs.' The good news is, my chances of reoccurance now get knocked down to 0%. Gotta love those odds!
That's it...crazy, right? I'm not a whiner, not a pity-partier, not a worrier...I'll be just fine. You can definitely feel free to pray/send positive thoughts about the lymph nodes--but save the most positive thought and prayers for my family. I don't want any of them to worry--particularly my sweet babies.
Nov 9, 2012
More Munch
Clairey's looking through the ads we got in the mail today, pointing to things and saying, "Hate, hate, hate, like, like, like..." She gets to one thing and goes, "Oh...yum...hey, mom...what's 'Gravy Train'?"
"It's dog food," I say.
"Hmmm...some dog food just looks good...like these bacon strips."
Never a dull moment.
"It's dog food," I say.
"Hmmm...some dog food just looks good...like these bacon strips."
Never a dull moment.
Nov 2, 2012
Can i have some cheese?
I have to hand it to myself. I'm a really positive person. Like, REALLY positive. I rarely let shit get to me. And honestly, I deal with a bunch of shit. I run myself ragged, and am generally one click away from a straight jacket and institutionalization. So...allow me to bitch for a mere moment.
My past two weeks have been nothing short of just plain 'ol, downright, pissy. But here, I get to randomly rant. Aren't you lucky?
Last Tuesday I had my regular 6-month visit to the dermatologist. Where he felt the need to remove 3 more spots on my skin. That, because I count, is a total of 32 skin biopsies since 2003. I've had malignant melanoma 4 times, so I should be used to this. But no matter how brave and nonplussed i try to be, i still worry. So, I worry. In my brain. That's exhausting. Good news is, the doctor called and told me all 3 came back clean. The bad news is, they called while I was at the Ob/Gyn--being told that I had 2 spots in my left breast that needed to be biopsied. I guess more 'good' news is that they move quickly with me because of my fun cancer history. I'm just glad my cervix wasn't involved this time.
So, a few days later (yesterday) I found myself at a boob center getting a double biopsy on Lefty. Easy, right? Not with me. Ever. A simple freaking biopsy ended up taking 4 hours because i would not stop bleeding. For nearly 2 hours, I had nurses taking turns compressing my left boob so hard that I thought my ribs were going to break. There was blood down my arm and all over the floor. Apparently, I have thin blood. And I like to bleed. Yesterday, before they bound me in Ace bandages, I had a hematoma the size of an egg.
The good news? I only got 1 biopsy, it's on my left side (and i'm right handed)...and...stretching here...I got up super early for work because i couldn't sleep. The bad news: I have to go back for the second biopsy, i'm starting to bruise down my left arm, and it hurts to move.
WHY does this shit always happen to me? I suppose because I can "handle" it. What I REALLY want to 'handle', however, is a bottle of wine and a beach vacation. Because this shit sucks goat balls.
Now...feel free to send me some cheese with this 'whine.'
My past two weeks have been nothing short of just plain 'ol, downright, pissy. But here, I get to randomly rant. Aren't you lucky?
Last Tuesday I had my regular 6-month visit to the dermatologist. Where he felt the need to remove 3 more spots on my skin. That, because I count, is a total of 32 skin biopsies since 2003. I've had malignant melanoma 4 times, so I should be used to this. But no matter how brave and nonplussed i try to be, i still worry. So, I worry. In my brain. That's exhausting. Good news is, the doctor called and told me all 3 came back clean. The bad news is, they called while I was at the Ob/Gyn--being told that I had 2 spots in my left breast that needed to be biopsied. I guess more 'good' news is that they move quickly with me because of my fun cancer history. I'm just glad my cervix wasn't involved this time.
So, a few days later (yesterday) I found myself at a boob center getting a double biopsy on Lefty. Easy, right? Not with me. Ever. A simple freaking biopsy ended up taking 4 hours because i would not stop bleeding. For nearly 2 hours, I had nurses taking turns compressing my left boob so hard that I thought my ribs were going to break. There was blood down my arm and all over the floor. Apparently, I have thin blood. And I like to bleed. Yesterday, before they bound me in Ace bandages, I had a hematoma the size of an egg.
The good news? I only got 1 biopsy, it's on my left side (and i'm right handed)...and...stretching here...I got up super early for work because i couldn't sleep. The bad news: I have to go back for the second biopsy, i'm starting to bruise down my left arm, and it hurts to move.
WHY does this shit always happen to me? I suppose because I can "handle" it. What I REALLY want to 'handle', however, is a bottle of wine and a beach vacation. Because this shit sucks goat balls.
Now...feel free to send me some cheese with this 'whine.'
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