Do I dare say the O word...

So as I previously said, I was released from the hospital the day before my daughters 5th birthday.  The next day arrived, I don't even remember where the party was, but I remember that I was happy and relieved that I was there for her and to spend the day with my family.  

The next thing I remember was receiving a phone call from my breast surgeon informing me that it was time that I speak to an oncologist.  O yea, he said it, the O word- ONCOLOGIST.  The only thing that I knew or thought I knew about oncologists were that they treat cancer patients and they don't get too close to their patients because they die on them.  (I also watched that TV show 'HOUSE' and Wilson was an oncologist.)  So I didn't know much but I did know that I didn't want one.  

Anyways, so he gave me the number to one oncologist and I trusted his judgment, so I proceeded to make an appointment with him.  (I will not mention names, although I should- here is why.)  I am not sure of the days; however, on the day of my consultation I arrived at his office, which was nice and spacious, complete with magazines, comfy chairs, and I think a fish tank.  So the usual nonsense was required: what is your name and birth date, filled out paperwork, supplied license and insurance card, and then they collected my co-pay.  Whatever!  My husband and I sat there for only a few minutes before we were called in- which was OK by me.  This hunch-back man in a white lab coat greeted us at the entrance to his office.  (Needless to say I was not impressed.)  I do not remember the whole conversation but he wanted to hear my journey thus far and I told him.  He then continued to stare at the paperwork for a few more minutes.  The silence was broken by his announcement that it was time to do a physical exam.  I was like 'WHAT.' 

He proceeded to lead us to an exam room (again, not impressed).  There was not one picture or flower or anything that resembled hope, healing, or cure from disease or cancer.  Anyway, the room had the typical doctor counter with a sink and cabinets that had locks on them as well as this random, ugly brown desk in the corner with a chair- so weird.  So this desert mouth (o yea, I forgot to tell you that when he was talking to me, his mouth was so dry that he developed white sh*t on the sides of his mouth- it was GROSS) man took out this folded cloth and said, "Here, this is a poncho.  Take off your clothes, everything including your bra.  It is okay to keep your panties on.  Then put this poncho on."  Well, you could imagine how happy I was- NOT!!!!!  I flat out told him NO!  I was like I absolutely will not do that.  My husband was so embarrassed that he asked the doctor to leave the room so he could 'talk' to me.  He didn't 'talk' to me; he scolded me and told me that I was embarrassing him and being disrespectful to the doctor.  (I honestly didn't care.)  So needless to say, I did not listen to myself or my instincts (my gut feeling to run the F out of there) and I proceeded to take my clothes off and put that stupid poncho on.  Well desert man came back in and he 'conducted' his physical exam- to be honest I felt like I was getting molested by an old man with my husband watching.  From what I remember it was over quickly- I don't think that I have ever gotten dressed so quickly before in my life. 

After that, we returned to his office (I don't remember why), but then he told us that he had to review everything and to make another appointment so that he can discuss his findings.  BLAH, BLAH, BLAH- I want more money from you is what I heard- LOL!   So we were compliant and did just that.  It was about a week later, and there we were back in his office, paying the co-pay again.  We were called in rather quickly, just like before.  So we were lead into his stupid office again.  He started talking and then all of a sudden his phone rang.  Can you believe this, this a**hole picked it up.  Yea he picked up the phone and then proceeded to have a conversation about another patient with us sitting right there. I would have been okay with a short quick conversation BUT NO- he had what seemed like a 10-15 minute conversation about ANOTHER PATIENT!!!!  Well I got frustrated, and I walked out (maybe stormed out) to go and use the bathroom.  I took my time!!!! When I returned he continued his conversation- like another 5 minutes.  I couldn't believe the balls on this guy.  Anyway, when his rude ass finally got off the phone,  He spent like 10 minutes with us- told me that he wanted to do chemotherapy, radiation, and then hormone therapy.  He had no compassion in his voice, no bed side manner, and his f*ing mouth was as dry as the damn Sahara.  So yea then Pete and I decided that we needed to think about how we wanted to move forward and that we would call him about what our decision was. 

When we got to the car, I told Pete that I never wanted to see that man again in my life.  So, I never called him back.  However, like a week later, this doctor had the nerve to call my husband to find out what my decision was- this guy seriously made me sick to my stomach!!!  But I never saw him or spoke to him again!!!     

  

What's Next

Things are looking up

About three weeks after my surgery, one of the drains stopped draining and the other one was only draining minimally.  I was so excited because I knew that the drains could come out and that it was a step in the right direction.  So off to my plastic surgeons office I went.  The nurse seemed to be on the fence about taking them out; she eventually agreed that it was time and pulled them out.  I was so happy, I didn't feel like I was carrying these drains around and I could finally shower without having to worry about anything!  WAHOOOO for me!

    

Well that didn't last long... I want to say not even a week later I developed a fever.  Peter, my husband, gave my advil and that seemed to help.  Then out of no where (well I thought it was out of no where) he called my doctor.   The doctor told him to look at the where the incision was... sure enough that was bright red and swollen.  OH MAN- have I not had enough!!!! (Apparently not!)  From what I remember, he asked that we come into the office immediately for him to take a look at it.  Before I knew what was going on, I was on my way back to the hospital (you can imagine how happy I was- NOT!) 

 

My Hospital Visit

We arrived at the hospital maybe 10-15 minutes later.  We had to go through the ER, which was disgusting to say the least.  They put me in this room next to this older gentleman that kept peeing in this bucket thing- I honestly was going to lose my shit.  So, I told them that they needed to move me (I am sure other words were shared) and they told me that I could stay in the hallway- "are you f*ing kidding me?!" I believe were my exact words.  They weren't.  Anyways, they ran a few tests and then told me that they had a room for me.  They told me to put on one of those hospital gowns, I told them "NO!" I wore sweatshirts with a zipper front and baggy sleeves.  After getting admitted (YUP- I was admitted) to the hospital, I was finally told that I had an infection in my left breast (opposite from where the original cancer was).  When I asked how I could have possibly had an infection after all of the antibiotics that I had been taken after my surgery and the drains.  It was then explained to me that it was a UTI (urinary tract infection)- yea I had a UTI in my breast- WTF!?!?!?!?!?  Seriously, I couldn't believe my ears.  Well this nonsense landed me a full week stay at St. Francis Hospital for IV antibiotics (I guess I just didn't get enough the first time).  I was finally released the day before my daughters 5th birthday.  Also, something that I was not happy about.   

The Next Few Weeks

The Next Day

When I woke up, the kids were already awake as were Nana and Pop and the house smelled of bacon, eggs, pancakes, and coffee (which people with cancer should only eat organic eggs- again more on this later).  "YUMMY!" I thought.  I had to shout to Pop to let him know that I was awake to help me off of the couch so I could go to the bathroom; until you have had surgery you don't realize how connected your whole body is- I basically couldn't use my arms for much.  After I got out of the bathroom, he quickly delivered 2 more pain pills to me, he stated that he never wanted to hear me in pain like that again- LOL.  I agreed, took the pills, and then he helped me up the stairs for breakfast.  Nana had already made me a plate of eggs and toast with a cup of tea (WOW- actual food).  I enjoyed every last morsel!  

Not long after breakfast, Peter arrived.  I was so relieved to see him, and I was glad he was feeling better.  I tried to give him a hug- but he gave me a kiss instead (better option- again I couldn't really use my arms at this point).  So while Nana and Pop cleaned up the rest of breakfast, we were chatting and Pete was asking me about how everything went and so on.  Then Pop brought up about what happened the previous night and how many pain killers I took.  Well, Pete's eyes nearly fell out of his head.  He asked to see the bottle and realized that I almost over dosed on pain killers- LOL.  We all started laughing- I couldn't believe it because I really didn't feel any different, I just wasn't in pain.  He then went on to explain that if it were given to me in the dosage that was prescribed then that probably would not have happened.  HAHAHAHA- well that is what I get for not paying attention; OOPS.  

 

After a little while, Pete packed us all up and we drove home.  It felt so good to be in my own house.  And guess who greeted me at the door, my beautiful Roxy.  She was a gorgeous black rottweiler.  She was wagging her tail, well her nub, so fast that I thought it was going to fall off.  I will never forget, she walked right past Pete and the kids to get to me- as soon as she reached me she just nudged her head on my side and somehow she knew not to be rough with me.  So, Pete set me up on the couch with a pillow and blanket and the remote control; guess who sat right next to me on the couch- you guessed it, my Roxy.  I did not understand this at the time, but she definitely felt my energy and knew that I needed some extra TLC.  I definitely got extra love from her. 

 

As I was settling into my house and the couch, I was trying to get a handle on what happened to me, what attached to me and what hurt if I moved certain ways.  Well here is some advice, don't try to pick your arms up- OUCH!!!!!  Also, don't put any weight on your arms or try to pick yourself up from the couch- another huge OUCH!  I then realized that sitting on my ass was PERFECT and very comfortable.  I started to take a look around as to what was on my body, I took notice of the four drains, two on each side of my body, that were coming out of my body from underneath my armpits.  I could recall the doctor saying something about them- again I was not listening.  Anyways, they didn't hurt and honestly they were just annoying.  I had to keep them in my pockets of my sweatshirt otherwise they would fall out and pull on my skin.  (side note: Peter read through my paperwork and it stated that the drains needed to be drained at least once a day and when they drain no more than like 1 oz or something like that then they can be taken out.)  Other than that, there was really nothing.  The stitches were on the inside of the incision, which are on the bottom of my breasts, which is awesome- little to no scars!

  The Next Few Days

The next few days were easy, I was taking the prescribed pain meds and all was right in my world.  I had more than enough help; my mom made us dinner, my mother-in-law did laundry, someone was always taking the kids or they had school.  Like I said, all was right in my world. 

         

Most of my days were spent sitting on the couch, eating candy (someone with cancer should not eat candy), and watching Shameless.  (Check it out- it is one of the best shows to watch if you want to feel good about yourself and laugh at stupid shit).  So my days were spent relaxing, healing and waiting for the drains (side note from before) to stop draining.  It was very uneventful but exactly what I needed for my body to heal.  

    

The Road to Recovery

Recovering...

The next morning, I woke up with little to no pain- which I was happy about (I mean who wants to be in pain😁)  I believe I was on a light diet, as I just had major surgery, so I had a disgusting cup of tea and maybe a bagel or piece of toast.  Besides the fact that hospital food is gross anyway- anyone with cancer should be limiting/ eliminating their carb intake (more on that later).  Everything was going smoothly.  Then I got a phone call from my husband; wondering how I am doing, what am I doing, and what time I would be able to leave?  So I answered all of his questions: I was fine, little to no pain, I was laying in bed (not really moving in fear of somehow changing the no pain to painful), and that I needed to wait for the doctor to come in and make sure that everything was ok for me to go.  He then proceeded to tell me that he got food poisoning from the food he had the night before and that he wouldn't be able to pick me and that I would be staying at his parents house because he didn't want to get me sick. UGH! I wasn't upset at him, I was just disappointed that I wasn't going to be able to see him until the next day.  I was also nervous (which is a useless emotion that doesn't do anything but cause stress for all of the 'what-if's' of the world) because I was at my 'lowest' and I just wanted to be comfortable in my own home.  However, it was extremely nice of my in-laws to open up their home to my children and myself.

There I was lying in bed, somewhat comfortable, watching television and then walks in a priest.  Well, my heart just about beat out of my chest and my eyes nearly bulged out of my sockets.  My immediate reaction was that someone didn't tell me something and that I was dying.  Then this poor guys stupidly opens his mouth and says something (I don't even remember) and I replied with, "Do I look like I am dying, what do I need a prayer for?  Who sent you in here?"  I am not sure what he said after that, but he quickly exited my room (hehe); maybe I scared him off- LOL.  😂  So I went back to watching mindless television, almost insulted that a priest dare to walk in and try to be nice to me.  The next thing I knew my doctor entered; I couldn't be more happier because that meant I would be leaving soon.  So he looked at his work (with a smile on his face- I guess he thought he did a good job), and then told me what he was looking at and how to take care of myself when I was home.  (Keep in mind that I really wasn't paying attention). I proceeded to tell the nurse to make sure that everything that he said was in writing so I could show Pete.  She said no problem and then she got my paperwork together so I could go home.  In the mean time, I called my father-in-law to come and get me.  He said no problem and within 30 minutes he arrived and I was ready to go.  I got up to walk out of my room, when the nurse IMMEDIATELY stopped me and told me to sit myself down in the wheelchair- I was NOT happy about that- however, I agreed because I just wanted to get the hell out of there before they changed their minds.

Pop (my father-in-law) had the car ready and waiting at the door that I was rolled out through and somehow I got into it without much difficulty (another small victory for me!).  Besides the fact that he looked scared that he would somehow hurt me, we began our journey back to his house.  Well, everything was fine until we got to the main road, which in NY from all of the snow and winter weather, was warped and had pot holes all over it.  I think he hit almost every pot hole (not on purpose).  As the car was going THUNK, THUNK, I was hanging on for dear life and my poor father-in-law felt so bad, his face was beat red.  He asked in a worried voice, "are you ok?"  Gritting my teeth, I stated "yup, all good here."  He felt so bad, he quickly got into the other lane and drove the rest of the way home nice and slowly, being sure that we were on a smooth road.  The drive was probably around 20 minutes, and then we arrived safe and sound; Pop looked relieved!

Nana (my mother-in-law) greeted me at the door with my kids (Lizzie was 4 and Peter was 3) who ever so gently said hello with a hug and a kiss (they honestly were amazing about this whole thing- even today- they are so understanding and supportive!).  Apparently, they helped Nana get the house ready for my arrival with blankets and a pillow on the couch- seriously, how amazing!  So I sat on the couch and watched television with them for a while- now that is exactly what the Dr. ordered.  Soon after that, my husband called to make sure that everything was alright and that I was settled in; like I said before, I couldn't see him until the next day because he got sick and he was sick all night- I really felt bad for him.  Anyways, for the rest of the night I watched TV with my kids, ate dinner, and got "ready for bed" (sat back on the couch and Pop fluffed my pillow).  Everything was fine until about 2AM.  "AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!" I SCREAMED in agonizing pain.  Pop came running (I mean running) down the stairs.  "WHAT'S WRONG!" he shouted.  "I am in so much pain" I yelped.  He quickly got my pain pills and gave me 2 of them.  It took about 10 minutes to kick in but when it did I felt much better.  Pop was like, "I don't know how much your supposed to get but that should be ok until tomorrow."  It was because for the rest of the night, I slept like a little bug in a rug.

The Next Step

My Surgery:

March 25, 2014

We arrived at St. Francis Hospital in Roslyn, New York a few minutes early; therefore we were instructed to sit in the waiting.  I don't remember filling out much , if any, paperwork.  My heart began beating out of my chest the whole 15 minutes we were in the waiting room, which felt like an hour.  When my name was finally called, I walked up to the nurse who then immediately asked (for the 1,957,898th time) what my name and birthdate were; begrudgingly I answered with a huge attitude. (My husband gave me the evil eye for that one- hehe)  Next, was the worst part of all- I was told to take off ALL of my clothes and then put that stupid gown on- I honestly HATE being told to put on one of those stupid gowns that smell like sh*t and god only knows who wore it before me,  what they washed it in or even if they washed it!  Needless to say I have a very big issue with those gowns.  

Anyways, after all of that drama, I climbed into the hospital bed (which I find to be very uncomfortable) and a nurse came over to begin my IV, which I also dislike but not as much as the gown situation.  At that point, my sister and my aunt arrived.  They were chatting with me and as random people (visitors to other patients, doctors, or nurses) walked by, phrases like 'what are you looking at?' or 'what the f*ck do you want?' just "slipped" out of my mouth.  Since, I was being a crazy lunatic to everyone that walked by, it was requested (by my husband) that they give me a sedative.  My plastic surgeon had then come by to draw on me (another thing that I disliked but I understood why) and again he looked at me like I was an art piece and I knew that he was going to make sure that I would be as back to my old self as possible.  Just as he was finishing up, my mom and brother showed up.   A little background about my mom, she likes to talk and she talks even faster when she is nervous or scared.  So when my breast surgeon came over to talk to us about the procedure and the tests that they still had to do on me (which would be done after I was sedated), there went  my mother yapping it up with the doctor.  My husband was getting so frustrated that I thought he was going to reach across the hospital bed and tape her mouth shut (LOL).  The next thing I remember was a nurse coming by and giving me a shot via the IV- this made me very drowsy.  My husband then, as calmly as he could, asked everyone to make their way to the waiting room.  He then leaned over and expressed his love for me and wished me luck as they rolled me out.  (again, these details are a little fuzzy as the sedative started working). 

Looking back at this experience, it is my opinion that it was perfectly reasonable that I felt anxious, scared, and angry before going into surgery.  I was going in there with all of me and was only going to leave with 80 % of me at the same time be on painkillers and antibiotics and some other pills that I just took blindly.  (We will get more into emotions later).  

  

I remember being brought into an EXTREMELY cold white room with bright lights.  They asked me, if I could, to move onto this colder smaller and more uncomfortable bed then I was already on- but at this point I did everything they asked with a smile on my face- hehe.  (So a little background information- when I was at work about a week before this day, my co-worker said that when she had to have surgery she requested that the nurse tell her a joke before she was sedated- just so that the last thing that I heard before going under was something funny.)  So I did just that- I made sure that the nurse told me a funny joke before I went under: what do you call a bear with no teeth?  a gummy bear.  Well, I guess I laughed and then fell right to sleep.

When I 'woke up', I could feel my mom's hand on my hand.  I knew it was hers because I could feel her nails.  I remember groaning because I could feel pain that was intense- well I quickly passed back out again; later to find out that a nurse heard me and gave me a painkiller via my IV again.  I honestly have no idea how much time passed by but when I finally really woke up- I saw my mom at my bedside.  I asked her where Peter was and she said he went to go get food.  I didn't feel any pain, or anything for that matter for a long time after that- I felt like I was on drugs- well I guess I was- LOL.  I do not remember much of the recovery room, except this one woman (or man- I am not sure) started coughing and dry heaving.  Well, that was it for me- I NEEDED to get out of there.  I don't remember waiting a long time before they rolled me up to my room (apparently with these surgeries- it had to be an over night stay; which was fine with me- I just wanted to be left alone to sleep.)

My husband settled me in and made sure that I didn't need anything and then he went home.  I could imagine it was a very long day for him.  Not too much later, I fell right back asleep....

      

How it all started

How My Journey Began

It all began in February of 2014.
"What's that?" asked my husband, Peter, as he was feeling a lump on the side of my breast.  "I don't know!" I snapped back, in a concerned yet I don't want you to know that I am concerned voice.

So you could imagine my next step was to go straight to my gynecologist to figure out what was  going on.  She felt the lump and the tissue around it and the other side.  She didn't have a definitive diagnosis, so she sent me to Zwanger and Pesiri Radiology (which I found to be like a workshop and I felt like a number and not a patient) to get a mammography.  I am proud to say that it is/was my ONLY mammography that I will ever have for the rest of my life- honestly, I am very much OK with that!  After reading the results, she still wasn't sure so she sent me to a breast surgeon to have further testing done; begrudgingly I obliged.

I walked into his waiting room that was beautiful in nature; complete with a waterfall, plants, and televisions that showed random health facts and pharmaceutical drugs with a tremendous list of side effects.  After an extremely long wait time and a lot of paperwork, I was finally brought into the exam room; where the doctor did a physical exam.  For some reason, at this time I felt humiliated and embarrassed, like I did something wrong.  Anyways, he told me that a diagnosis could not be made without further testing, specifically a biopsy.  So, he sent me to a woman's health radiologist for a biopsy- this place and the doctor were amazing!  The waiting room and office were nothing special- there were chairs and magazines and a reception desk; yet somehow, I felt very safe and well taken care of.  The doctor brought me into her office to talk to me about the procedure.  She spoke to me in a way that didn't make me feel stupid nor scared about what was happening.  From there, I changed and she performed the biopsy, talking to me throughout the whole time.  It honestly wasn't as bad as I imagined.  This occurred on Friday, February 28.  She told me that I would get the results on Monday- she reassured me that she would call me as soon as she found out and not to worry and to have a great weekend. Well I did the best I could...

Monday, March 3 (which is my mother's birthday) came around and I woke up like any other Monday and got ready and went to work (I was a TA in a school district at the time).  The students arrived at 8am and they had a special first period, so I was in my room getting ready for the day.  Then suddenly, around 8:10am, my phone rang- I immediately knew the number, it was the radiologist.  I couldn't believe she found out already.  Before anything else was said, I heard, "I am so sorry Michelle, but you have breast cancer," she stated in a very sorrowful voice (it truly sounded like she was sorry).  As you could imagine my heart sank, I was speechless, and I couldn't believe the words that were being told to me.  I am sure there was more to the conversation, I honestly do not remember it.  I just remember feeling lost and 'what am I going to do now,'  'what about my kids?' and literally sobbing uncontrollably.   I remember trying to tell my husband but words were not coming out, so one of my co-workers'/friend helped me relay the message to Peter.  Another conversation that I do not remember a lot of.  The news spread like wildfire throughout the building and I was told to go home and be with my family.  So I drove home, very slowly, where I met Pete and I just melted in his arms.  Although, he never cried in front me, I could feel him shaking as he held me for what seemed like hours. That night, we were surrounded by family and friends that were consoling Peter and I as well as trying to keep my kids busy.  I can't remember the next few days, as I drowned my sorrow in bottles, yes I said bottles, of wine.  After I finally came to grips with the reality of having breast cancer, I knew that I needed to do something about it.  I made an appointment with the breast surgeon again. 
    
On my way back to the breast surgeon I went.  Again, waited an extremely long time to be brought back into the exam room for yet another physical exam.  This time, after he was finished with the physical exam, he brought Pete and I back into his office; which was covered in figurines (if I remember correctly, they were elephants).  I thought it was very strange, at this point I didn't care because I felt I needed his help to cure me of cancer.  His discussion resulted in two options: the first being a lumpectomy, which would be the removal of the lump and more biopsies (apparently they found more dense areas in my other breast), and the second being a double mastectomy, which would remove both of my breasts, including the cancer tumor and any surrounding tissue and/or lymph nodes that were affected.  Instantaneously,  I thought well DUH! Of course the double mastectomy.  I definitely do not want to go through a biopsy again!  Peter agreed.  So I was on course for receiving a double breast mastectomy (I don't think it fully registered what was happening- I just didn't want to have cancer).

From there, he sent me to a plastic surgeon.  It was this doctor that would be taking care of the reconstruction of my breasts; whether it was filling them back up to their original size or making them bigger.  I chose to just fill them back up to their original size with silicone implants.  He said he would be able to do this directly after the removal of my natural breast tissue- which was great because that meant I didn't need another surgery.  I didn't mind this doctor because he was straight to the point, he looked at me like I was an art project (which I valued- I wasn't just a number to him), and his office wasn't anything special- chairs, and a coffee table or two with magazines.  I felt comfortable in his office under his care, and so did Pete.

After all of my consultations and recommendations with all of the doctors that would be associated with my case, I was on track for surgery on March 25, 2014.  I would be receiving a double mastectomy with reconstruction.  Needless to say, but at this point I was excited to be cancer free.  Another plus was that this type of cancer treatment was covered under my insurance, so we didn't have to pay out of pocket.

At this point in my journey, there were many feelings that were going through my head: fear, anger, betrayal,