Surgery went well, Anna is waking up:)

Here is your "C" card...and don't forget your gift bag.

Prompt: Write about something you learned how to do.

An excerpt from my 10 year old son's recent school paper:

"Tip! Tap! Here, I'll give you a hint...if we didn't have it, we would crawl. It's walking. It starts with standing. You need to stand before you walk, and you stand by sitting down first and then putting two feet on floor. Now, balance yourself upright. It's easier than it sounds!"

Here's mine. Recently, I have learned how to accept peoples' kindness and support. I'll echo C and tell you that it's easier than it sounds! For example, today, I had my second opinion appointment at the big cancer center, a place I secretly call in my head Cancer R Us. Ken had his first day of classes today and he has to be tired of being my rock so I didn't want to ask him to go to yet another appointment with me. I totally prepared myself to go alone, but several friends offered to go with me and I am super glad I let one of them. For one, she knew how to get to it. (Cancer R Us is about an hour away.) For two, in the waiting room, there were lots of couples...mothers and daughters...husbands and wives...mothers and sons...single women with ipads. Let's just say, I was glad to be a woman and her friend and not lady in corner with her Kindle. (Thanks, Nancy!)  It's emotional. Many of the women have no hair and unlike my local car care center, they don't have People's Court blaring on the television. It is quiet and sad.

I got checked in. I got my cancer gift bag. (Seriously, they give you one packed with flyers about living wills and counseling. It's the kind you might would use at the grocery store to be green. Only it is pink and screams cancer. Don't want my food touching it.) After much wait time and lots of good girl conversation, I met with the big super cancer doctor...who basically reiterated everything my first local breast surgeon told me a month ago. I still have cancer. It is still three distinct "islands" in my left breast. It is still lobular and stage 2 and yes, the boob has to go, and no, we can't definitively tell you if you'll need radiation or chemo. Won't know until surgery. Same, same, same. Still good to know AND two more unknown people got to see my boobs. Winning yet again.

I reflect on how great it was to have Nancy there. I just started this journey and already I have lots of cards, flowers, a massage gift certificate (!), a house cleaning gift certificate (!), itune gifts, casseroles promised, and many, many prayers. I have been given a mixed CD (the modern version of a mixed tape) and a peach package and I receive at least ten well wishes a day through email and text. Ken jokes about the "C" card and how it certainly has its benefits. This morning as he was ironing his shirt, we joked about all the things we could have people do for us. For example, Ken needs all his shirts and pants ironed, and Caleb needs a costume by next week so he can be Johannes Gutenberg in his school's historical timeline.  Buddy needs to be groomed, and next time he pukes which could be now, someone needs to come clean that. The baseboards are disgusting and I wanted to repaper my bathroom, and the kids need to be picked up and dropped off and Caleb needs someone to tell him how to spell "enchanting" or whatever every few minutes...but all these things have to be done in an "Anna" disguise so I still have a presence in my kids' life. That's it, right? I need someone to live my life most days (even when I am not sick or depressed), but the thing is that I want to live my life. That's the point of all this treatment. Still, I appreciate all the love. Thank you, thank you, thank you.  I appreciate every phone call, every text, every Facebook note.

Now...I need someone to write thank you notes for me...with my handwriting.

What would Kelly Bundy do?

As I wait for my surgery date (1/27) and other appointments, I research. What do I research? Well, naturally, I find myself googling celebrities that have had breast cancer. I figure that here is a group of people with unlimited resources and a big set of eyes on them. What did they do and how did it work out for them?

I have compiled a list for other curious minds…

Cynthia Nixon (known to me as Miranda). Miranda, the lawyer and my alter Sex and the City ego, was diagnosed at 40 and had a lumpectomy and radiation. Winning.

Sheryl Crow (because every day is a winding road) was diagnosed at 44. Winning. Just ordered her cookbook from Amazon on foods and spices rich in cancer-fighting nutrients. You know I will share…as much as copyright laws allow.

Edie Falco (Nurse Jackie that was married to a Soprano) was diagnosed at 40. She never told anyone because she didn’t want a pity party. No kidding…she is Carmela Soprano. Winning.

Elizabeth Edwards (wife of butthead) had an unhappy ending. She was a Carolina girl, like me. She is an inspiration for her winning spirit.

Christina Applegate (Kelly Bundy and my favorite celebrity story) was diagnosed at 36. She chose a mastectomy and reconstructive surgery. I like her the most because she is currently on a cute new show called “Up All Night.” I think it is funny but mostly, I just study her boobs which look fabulous.

Melissa Etheridge (Come to my window…) was diagnosed at 43 is winning and describes her cancer experience as a spiritual awakening. Sing it, sister.

Julia Child, who survived breast cancer, later died of natural causes and not from eating too much butter.

And the list goes on…Betty Ford, Erma Bombeck, Bette Davis, Juliette Gordon Low, Linda McCartney…some made it and some didn’t, but they all have stories to tell. We all have stories to tell. Winning. See. My People magazine subscription is totally worth it.

By the way, my slides have been located.

"Hi. Medical Records Division. How may I help you?"

Well, the good news is that those “areas of concern” on my right side appear to be a bunch of cysts. The bad news is that the cancer on my left side is more extensive than they originally thought.  Looks like my choice of lumpectomy or mastectomy is off the table. Mastectomy it is.

Since my last posting, it has come to my attention that we have this awesome cancer center in Tampa. Why not utilize it, right? I think I want a second opinion. So first I call my insurance and make sure that’s covered. While I am cruising my insurance policy online, I get a glimpse of my outstanding claims. Holy smoke.  It is already buckets of money and I see that I got charged twice for MRIs. Now granted I had two MRIs but supposedly I had to get the second one because the machine messed up. Uh, is that my $8000 fault?  I mention this to a friend of mine and he says, “Oh yeah, you will probably need to hire someone, a like consultant person, to get the billing straightened out. We did that with my wife’s illness and it saved us like $50,000.” I’m sorry. Say what?

Anyway, a second opinion is covered. So I call them to set up an appointment for a second opinion. No problem, nice lady (and my new best friend) says- Just get all your records sent over. Get the paper faxed to this number. Get the film mailed to this address, and get the slides sent to this address. So I drive around town, signing release forms, and submitting requests. There is a problem with the slides, however.  My biopsy samples were sent to two labs (for two opinions on the pathology). Neither lab can locate my slides. So I got my patient care nurse harassing the lab. I got my new cancer center best friend harassing the lab. I’m harassing the lab. All this got me thinking. It got me thinking about nice little old ladies that don’t have someone to advocate for them. Gave me an idea…

When all this is over, I’m going to start a consulting business. Let’s call it “Rent a Bitch Agency.” Our services will include hiring out experts to fuss at others on your behalf. We can even have branches. There will be a patient advocacy branch of course, and one for medical records (need that one asap). We’ll have a branch for medical billing since there is a documented market for that. You know, we could really expand this thing, say have a branch for parents, too. You could rent a bitch to negotiate your kid’s education plan with the guidance counselor. (I would totally work in this area. I’d be a great “bitch” for that.)  Parents could rent a bitch to heckle the soccer coach- “Come on, coach, it isn’t like you guys are winning, and little Johnny paid $45 to play just like the rest of them!” I’m telling you that this idea will make me millions. Maybe even enough to pay all my medical bills.

The nitty, gritty details.

I will start from the beginning just in case there is some woman out there who is ignoring a situation that just doesn't feel right. For me, I have felt a lump in my left breast for probably eight months now. Crazy, right? Well, maybe not so crazy when you are only 38 years old with big lumpy boobs and no immediate family history of breast cancer. Finally, due to my husband's nagging (Thanks, babe.), I got it checked out by my ob/gyn. He scheduled me a mammogram...which then lead to a follow-up ultrasound...which then lead to three roto-rooter style biopsies and two cyst aspirations...which then lead me to here- a diagnosis.

Specifically, all three of my biopsies came from my left breast and all three samples came back positive for invasive lobular carcinoma. Don't worry. I have already googled those three words a million times, and ILC is a type of cancer that begins in the milk-producing glands. Only about 10% of all invasive breast cancers are of this type. (Crap...I hope that people still want to research it.) The biopsies also indicate that I am Estrogen and Progesterone Receptor positive. According to my doctor, this is a "good" cancer. It means after the cancer is removed, I can take medication for five or more years that will suppress my hormones, and all will be well. When I met with my doctor a couple of weeks ago, she indicated I could go with a lumpectomy and radiation or with a mastectomy. Either way, I get new boobs due to a law passed in 1998 that says insurance must provide for that. (God bless America.)

Since my conversation with the breast surgeon, I have met with a plastic surgeon that explained the procedures associated with each type of surgery. Also, I have had two MRIs. Unfortunately, I have recently learned that the MRIs indicate more "areas of concern." This time on my right side. With this new knowledge, there may be no choice of treatment plans. To tell the truth, I am leaning toward a double mastectomy anyway. I want these puppies off. Give me fake fun bags. I don't want to be looking over my shoulder the rest of life waiting to do this all over again. Turns out, I'll be paranoid anyway though, as the path report indicated that I may be at increased risk for signet ring gastric carcinoma. (Googled that one already, too...stomach cancer). Sucks, sucks, sucks. So where am I now? Well, tomorrow I go in for yet another ultrasound to investigate these "areas of concern." I am hoping there is no need for another biopsy because that has been so far the absolute worst part. After the ultrasound, I'll meet with the breast surgeon again. This whole process seems awfully slow. Jeez...isn't there cancerous crap growing exponentially in my body?

Let me add that comments are appreciated. While I don't want any sympathy, I do want to keep my friends and family updated and informed. Plus, I love when people tell me survivor stories. Getting cancer is sort of like getting a new car. All of a sudden you realize how many people have that same car out there. Lots of women have been through this and came out the other side. Can't hear enough of those stories.

Not so pretty in pink.

First of all, don't let my blog title offend you. I am super grateful for the Susan G. Komen Foundation and all the research funded by them. Those pink ribbons raise awareness, provide support, and bring in a lot of research dollars. Thank God for that. When I say "I hate pink ribbons", I mean just that...literally. I hate the color pink. In fact, if you look in my closet, you won't find one pink item (unless you count the few pink t-shirts I obtained from breast cancer awareness walks- ironic, I know.) Moreover, I am not a huge fan of ribbons. I am the type of low-maintenance person that wraps gifts in comic paper and doesn't even put bows on them.

It isn't just that. I learned I had breast cancer in the beginning of December. I was totally shocked. I didn't feel sick. I didn't look sick. It was freaking Christmas, people. Considering this, I did what any number of normal people would do, I pretended it just wasn't so. Pretty easy to do actually. I went to holiday parties and taught my classes. I smiled a lot and fussed at my kids about their dirty socks on the floor. It would have been even easier if those damn pink ribbons weren't everywhere. Now, everywhere I look I see them- a big pink slap in the face that I do indeed have breast cancer. While I reserve the right to temporarily return to the land of denial every now and again, I am ready to face the music.