Kristen Gets Hitched

My friend and favorite bachelorette finally threw down and got married. After 3 (?) engagements, she strutted her stuff to her man and said, "I do." Oh, the wedding was an odd one. Determined not to do it by the book (she never has in the past; why start now?), it began with Kristen sitting in the bathroom as the makeup 'artist' painted red flowers on the side of her eye. Her voice trembled, "I can't believe this is all for me!" You're kidding, right? The funny thing was Kristen in that moment actually believed that she was never treated like a princess before. If it were anyone else, I might have been laughing. Kristen's WHOLE life is all about her and she has had soooo many experiences of people taking their bows at her feet. It would have been the phoniest comment but Kristen is the ultimate actress- she believes her sh*t. She can be anyone else she wants whenever she wants and today she was the proverbial bride - in black, red and patent leather.

The setting was gorgeous. Someone's private home in Park City overlooking the surrounding resorts. The Brazilian drums beat and the groom, then bride, shimmied through the crowd dressed in freakish Halloween-meets-red light-district attire. Their friend Melissa read "The Naked Poem" like we were at a poetry slam, the Rabbi went on and on about something that really made no sense - even referenced Jesus!- then called the high priestess, angel, high queen...ME to start the series of blessings. I skipped up to the front, joked and got anecdotal, read a short 'blessing' which was more of toast for the happy couple of the hour and finished by wishing them lots and lots of sex. Made the crowd laugh. ;) Six others came forward with blessings of varying lengths. After, DJ Steve played from what they called the Jellyfish, poledancers did the garter dance, and, later, people gathered round for the firedancers and hula hoopers. The cops showed up around 1 a.m. and sent the burners (Burning Man fans) off to Summerween and the rest of us home.
My only complaint was the food. It was like I was at a Mormon wedding (even though they're not Mormon). Nuts, cheese, crackers, fruit and wilting shrimp
cocktail; tiny (homemade) cupcakes for dessert. I brought a bag of Tater Tots and passed them around pre-ceremony and became everyone's best friend. I actually met one man who had never had a Tot! He ate three. I devirginized him. :) To be honest, we were warned there would be no food but that's my favorite part of a wedding. I'd much rather eat than drink. I guess you can't blame Kristen. With somewhere between 100-200 people attending, it saves a whole lot of money serving nuts instead of chicken.
The whiskey ran out within an hour, but there was plenty of beer, wine and vodka with fruit juice or Red Bull. On my empty stomach, I got hammered and wound up being one of the last to leave. All in all it was a fun party but surreal as a wedding.

What Not To Say To Someone With Cancer

Will everyone PLEASE chill on the cancer horror stories?? I'm a bit tired now tonight. Didn't sleep very well last night (4 hrs), spent all day at the Outdoor Retailer show, strolling along the aisles forgetting my life has changed forever and now I've had the shittiest evening of all time.
I took Sage up to Kamas for a kiddie pool party my friend was throwing. Over cake, she thought she was helping by introducing me to a woman who had grade 1 breast cancer like me. Except that after treatment and a clean diagnosis/prognosis from her dr, she got the same in the other breast and now has jaw cancer. Which means she's probably going to die sooner rather than later according to the radiology oncologist I spoke with last Thursday. Then, my friend described another friend of hers who died of brain cancer at 29 and another who has it presently, and finished by telling me her aunt died of lung cancer despite never smoking. As my friend Kristen put it, "What the hell was that woman thinking?!"
I got home, curled up in a ball in the corner of my closet and sobbed. This is not helpful nor what I need to hear right now!
I was doing fairly well for the last few days. Today, not so much. What I need right now is a good therapist, 100 other stories of how women like me live the same life span as those who never had cancer and a 2-hr pedicure/massage. Not conversations with women who can't get ahead of the eight ball or who die. I'm scared enough as it is, dammit. So please, make something up or at least save those dire tales for those outside of earshot. Thank you. :)

Ta Dah!

All's well so far. Took the bandages off this morning. My mom acted very pleased and impressed with the job my surgeon did. I'm sure considering the circumstances there was no way I was going to look much better. But I looked down and saw this divot on the side of my breast that made me want to cry. I actually did when I stepped into the shower and no one could see or hear me. That's how reality hits you. Alone, in the shower, as you look at the aftermath of this disease. In an attempt to cheer me up my dad commented that my boobs never looked that great in the first place. Gee, thanks dad. He was kidding of course but tough love ain't always well placed. Boo hoo.
It did look a little better when I toweled off and, in a bra and shirt, you can see nothing different. From head on you can't even tell I had a piece of me scraped out. Only when you look down, over my shoulder. The skin fold is a bit more prominent. You can also see the crescent incision around part of my areola. I'm told that will heal to near invisibility.
When I undressed tonight I noticed that the swelling had gone down a little and the dent was less noticeable. I'm adjusting. Plus, it's way better than nothing - literally - considering a mastectomy was on the table last week.

Just got back from a dinner at Deer Valley for MountainHardwear media to kick off the OR show. At the top of the Wasatch lift in Cushing's Cabin, we dined on caprese and tofu salads and tons of roughage. Since I vowed to overhaul my diet, this is a great start. I haven't had a single French fry in 48 hours!
I made it through three hours of socializing and the boob's not bothering me yet. My parents are slightly pissed. They think I'm not taking care of myself. But laying in bed 24/7 just isn't me. Part of my recovery is getting back to business; doing dinner tonight and meeting with my peers was medicine too. I did, however, back out of the 10 mile hike they had scheduled at 6am tomorrow morning. That might have been overkill.
I opted for a shorter walk then meeting up with everyone for lunch at noon. I feel a tad guilty for not being more of an invalid. My parents drove all the way out here from San Diego to help me for the week but there's not much to do anymore. I'm up and about trying to work and arranging meetings.
I'm (almost) as good as new. I'm missing part of my boob and I can't lift anything with my left arm but other than that I can deal. Emotionally, I'll have bouts but you can't schedule those. My mom has been fantastic in the morale department while I was healing but now I'm getting lectured about taking care of myself. I feel like I'm back in high school where I have to hide what I'm doing or what I plan to do so I "don't get in trouble". I really don't want to lie in bed all week. I want to get back to my life.
What life will that be now? I can almost black out what the last two weeks brought. But then I look down or move too quickly and I'm reminded of their gravity. My life has definitely changed. I'm different. I'm not like everyone else, and not in a special way. In a way that causes awkward silence or thoughtful stares or false sympathy. I can't even say I'm a cancer survivor because it's not necessarily gone yet.
Soon, two or three weeks, I'll be radiating the crap out of it and then, maybe, I'll be a survivor.

I popped two lortab tonight to sleep well. Drifting off as I type.....

Surgery set for today.....

"This was kind of fun," said the medical radiologist as he shook my hand goodbye. "I know it sounds bad to say and I don't think I've ever said this, but it's been kind of fun." I entertained him. The man who basically told me that if my cancer comes back, I will die, left happy. Well, that makes one of us. I had just spent three hours hearing what the doctors involved in my case thought and recommended; answering my unending questions about cancer, the prognosis, the protocol, the aftereffects and so on. I guess not every victim er patient is as charming and spirited as I am.
The concensus? Lumpectomy and radiation; bilateral mastectomy (with implants) later if I'm positive for the breast cancer gene. Surgery is tomorrow. I'm impressed by how thorough this process is. From the start it's like they've done this before or something. ;) One in 7 women will develop breast cancer and, depending on the severity (stage) and the treatment you go through, there's about a 15% chance of it coming back. If it comes back in some part other than the breast, you die in three years. At least that's what the oncologist sentenced. Gulp.
The other physicians and nurses say he was just trying to make a point. His job is to get everything the first time around and not mess around with trying to spare your feelings, your skin or your initial physical suffering. For those who couldn't face losing a breast or doing radiation for cosmetic reasons, take note. The end result of all this is that I take the knife to boob tomorrow afternoon. 1:30pm to be exact. They will cut out the tumor (2cm, Grade 1), send it to the lab for biopsy, test my lymphnodes for spreading and possibly remove any infected ones, then sew me up. I go home that evening and back to normal in a day or two....except that it's not like a normal surgery.
It's not the end of a problem but the beginning. In two weeks, I will have 30 days of radiation to make double sure there're no cancer cells left in the breast AND maybe 4-6 MONTHS of chemo if those little bastards have spread to the nodes. Chemo's the thing that kills everything- your hair, your nails, your chance for more kids. It also causes nausea and vomiting. Yep, it's bad. But it also kills the poison that could kill you, the docs say to make you feel better. So how did this happen? I asked a cancer nurse if there was something I did that caused the cancer. She said, "You're a woman." Wasn't bleeding once a month for all of your adult life punishment enough??
I wouldn't wish this on anybody but at the same time, I would never volunteer to be that one in seven. It really does suck and you have no idea how to deal with all of this information. It's not supposed to happen to me, I think to myself.
The post followup mammogram revealed a Grade 1 well-differentiated invasive ductile cancer. A lump in the upper left outer quadrant of my chest. At that point I could feel the lump- because I knew where to look; it's about the size of a hot tamale jelly bean. I am a bit calmer compared to last week. I suppose thinking about it all weekend, Googling and talking to docs prepped me for today. I'm sure I'll be a waste case once the path report comes back. All I can handle is the lump removal. Everything else is surreal. Mastectomy might be my only option if the genetic test for that breast cancer gene is positive. It also means I'm a candidate for ovarian cancer. This is all happening soooo fast. One day, I'm doing my annual exam, the next I'm possibly losing two breasts and two ovaries. I can't stop thinking about everything I have going on this month- OR and Ryan's parents coming to town on the 30th. We're supposed to go to Jackson. Now's not convenient for cancer.
Ryan's family knows and they're incredibly supportive. It kills me that I'm putting everyone through this storm. The burden is hard enough for me to bear. No one else should have to deal with it.

Finally the guts to share this with everyone....

I woke up this morning thinking- wishing - yesterday was just one big nightmare and not real. That I could go about my day as if the bomb had never been dropped.
I have breast cancer.
Well, at least that's what the radiologist seems to gravely think after surveying my follow-up mammogram and ultrasound. 'It doesn't look good, I'm afraid' he said. Oh yeah- he kept saying he was sorry- like he had bumped my cafeteria tray or something. Your instinct is to say 'that's ok' but I held my tongue ... because it's NOT OKAY! And now it's the god damn fourth of July weekend and doctors have all decided that medical issues can wait.
I have an appt wed. with a general surgeon that may or may not take my insurance so I'm not sure if I have a 'next step' yet, even though I need one. I guess I could just pay for the office visit and find another doctor to do the surgery after Dr. Neumayer makes a diagnosis but then it would be like getting a second opinion and all of this is about time. Get this thing out. We don't yet know what stage it is, whether it's spread to lymph nodes and would require radiation or chemo or both. The consensus for sure is that a lumpectomy is in order.
I figure since I was planning on a boob job eventually, that they might as well lop the whole thing off and something good can come from tragedy. Yes, tragedy. That's how I feel. I always thought that if someone told me I had cancer I would fight like hell (which I will) and have that fiercely positive attitude to carry me through it. How the hell are people positive? I've been crying at the drop of a hat since before the doc actually broke the news. I didn't cry myself to sleep because I was drunk and passed out, but this morning the tears turned back on. This isn't me- this teary chick. And that hurts even more- to feel so doomed.
The thing that scares me the most in this whole world - death- is sitting on my shoulder. I go get this biopsy, they tell me it's spread, that I need chemo, the hair falls out, I'm sick and tired all the time, my organs stop functioning and I die. That's not how I saw the rest of my life the day I met the radiologist.
I'm supposed to be holding Sage on my shoulders at the fair, dancing with her at her birthday parties, taking her skiing in Europe, hugging her at her graduation and telling her how gorgeous she looks on her wedding day. I'm supposed to be arcing at Alta when I'm 80! Not gone. Not someone's memory. I don't want people to be sorry for me. I wanted them to be envious.
Could this all just be a scare? They take a lump out like people have cysts removed all the time? But the radiologist with his somber countenance and heavy tone crushed that hope. Ryan cried too yesterday. He heard it as well. Stef talked with us after and he said that made him feel a little better. Like we had a plan and it wasn't all death and roses. He's really in this with me. I hate myself for bringing him all of this 'life'. If he dated someone his own age, he wouldn't need to experience all of this. Poor guy.
I keep going through my head - was it the junk food I eat, the coffee (but over the year it doesn't begin to total what the average - healthy- person drinks), karma? But I never killed anyone.
I've always been a lucky person. Does that mean I will also be lucky here or that my luck's run out?