Ready to Rumble.

I woke up feeling better than I have in a week.  I guess that’s what happens when you remove a large infection from your body. So while I am sort of a Lopsided Boob Cyclops, I don’t really care because 1) I can stuff my bra, 2) I think having one breast might increase my fundraising (seriously, who says no to that?), and 3) I am not in pain for the first time in I can’t tell you when. I am ready to rumble.

I do not miss you, Right Implant.  Peace the F out.

A few thoughts today:

1) Do you know I had a breast reduction in 1995?  This seems very ironic to me now.  Oh Universe.  You’re funny.

2) There is a place in the Piper Cancer Center that, God Forbid you end up needing clothes, bras, or a wig following a mastectomy or some such procedure, is wonderful.  Tina’s Treasures.  The name makes me want to shoot Tina a little bit (TREASURES??), but aside from this, they are lovely, helpful women who have tons of experience helping you look and feel better after all this crapola.  I will be going in (again), this time for a right breast-type-thing. (They even make a tank-top with pockets for my friends, the Drains.)

And this reminds me.  I know exactly what this gel-like thing is because we used to “borrow” my sister’s and toss them around her living room like bean bags.  It seemed entertaining at the time, and her kids really liked it. The best part was when we were going somewhere and Jodi would start yelling for us to help her find her boobs.  They were usually behind the couch or on top of the TV.  I want to feel bad about this, but the memory still makes me laugh. Turnabout is fair play, and maybe Xia will enjoy a game of beanbag toss with mine.

3) My Doctor mentioned something about me not having enough tissue for another reconstruction.  He went on to say something about taking the skin from my back.  Shut the Front Door, Dr. Silence of the Lambs.  From that point on, I started LA LA LA-ing in my head. I can’t hear youuuuuuuuuuuu.

4)  I have very little recollection of writing the entry I posted yesterday.  I just re-read it, and it sort of seems familiar…but only vaguely.  Ahhh anesthesia, I love you. Maybe I should try medicated posting a little more because yesterday’s post was a new record.  Thanks readers.

5) August in Phoenix, and I’m not allowed to shower.  Enough said.

6) My 3-Day Team, Team Hope Chest, has a Facebook page.  Please like us.

7) We now have LOTS of people who want to THRILLER FLASH MOB!  I knew it, this idea is genius.  Details coming soon.  Tell your friends.  What do you think about pink gloves?  A little twist on MJ?

Becca

Tags: anesthesia, back, beanbag toss, breast reduction, face, Flash mob, reconstruction, rumble, shower, Team Hope Chest, Thriller, Tina's Treasures

I Walk With One.

Hasta la vista, Righty.

Took the noon surgical appointment yesterday, instead of my tried-and-true 6am.  Bad call. Left a little too much time to fill. Took Xia to school (Discovery Tree, best ever), went to the grocery store, lifted too much (but we seemed a little past that point), and headed home.  Bad headache, took a few tylenol, and threw up a few times.  Not eating was not a problem.

Then John took me to the hospital to lose a breast.  Again.  How tired he must be. We sat in the corner, our “regular” seats. With the air vent on full tilt, the two TVs blaring and the other waiting room waiters chatting, I folded over in my chair and put my forehead on John’s legs in front of me. And that’s how we stayed until the nurse came to get us 30 minutes later.

I’ve got Pre-Op down, amigos. They just copy my chart from last time and off we go. Lynn, Bonnie, you are both lovely.  Thank you. Nurses rock.  Dr. C., your anesthesia is, I’m sure, the bomb.  But it’s your humanness I like the most.  When they wheeled me into the OR, I was trying very hard to be a grown-up, and said, “I don’t know why I’m crying.”  Dr. C said, “Rebecca, with what you’ve been through, I’d cry too.” Thanks Dr. C.

And then I was out.

At home, John set me up with Saltines, Susan sent pizza our way (after hosting Xia for a swim date), and Dawn dropped off ginger ale and my favorite cookies. Yum.  While I was out, Xia drew a collage of a school bus, a fire truck, a train, Dora, and the featured piece, President Obama.  Then he taped it to his bedroom door.  That made me laugh.  For those of you who know my husband, you are laughing, too.  If you had told me a few years ago that John would let a picture of a Democrat hang in our home, I would have suggested you consider a crack pipe intervention.

Today, I feel better. I am trying to ignore that Right Drain is back. Instead, I am thinking of the endless t-shirts I can make for the walk:   I Walk With ONE.   Reconstruction Zone.  I’m a Little Lopsided.  Or how about my new friend, Mastectomy Barbi, screened onto a T?  Too much?

Becca

Tags: dawn, Drain, I walk with one, john, lopsided, mastectomy Barbi, Obama, OR, reconstruction, surgery, Susan, Xia

Shannon’s Turn.

I am running Teammate Shannon’s blog today.  It is embarrassingly (and inaccurately) nice, and I told her I didn’t think I could post it without a disclaimer that Shannon really hasn’t known me for that long.  So there, Shannon really hasn’t known me for that long. For those of you who have known me longer, you might want to skip this post or the desire to “correct the record” could drive you insane.

Tomorrow I lose the right implant. Tomorrow will be rough. Looking in the mirror is not going to be fun for a while, clothes will not be fun for a while, and the thought of starting over with reconstruction on my right side will not be fun … ever.

So I am focusing on nice things today.  Puppies. Brown paper packages tied up with string. Natalie Merchant in the 90′s. Shannon’s post.

Thanks Shannon.  I knew I was holding on to your post for a reason.  I read it and remember that we are all more than what we look like.

(I don’t know who this woman in the picture is, but sweet Jebus, I wish I did.)

-Becca

******

From SHANNON:

Our Team Captain is on a surgery marathon–far too many in the past month. So many, that when I mentioned to my daughters that Rebecca was having another surgery, Journey looked at me wide-eyed and said, “WOW”– Marley, forever the realist, stated, “She’s always having surgery”. During this go-around, Rebecca has asked for volunteers to step up as guest bloggers-Hmmmm, having been deemed as “a private gal”, which I am, I’m at a loss as to what to blog about. So, I thought I’d blog about someone else–easy enough.

Last September/October-ish I was headed into school and ran into this woman. I introduced myself, she did the same. Come to find out our kids had become fast friends. With that, we decided to get together after school for some park time. I liked her immediately. She was easy to talk to, easy to laugh, had a wry sense of humor, didn’t fllinch at “inappropriate comments”, and loved coffee. One day, over a cup of coffee at Luci’s, she directed this guy, who was looking for the milk, to the milk. Yes, it was a minute gesture, but kind nonetheless. We laughed about the notion of helping, even if it was not expected nor wanted–annoying help, if you will. She must have an altruistic gene, because helping is what she does. It’s like she never got the message that you can’t change the world by yourself.

In casual conversation I mentioned that it would be nice to put together a care package for our “troops”. Within 24 hours, she had emailed our kids’ teacher that “we” were interested in putting a care package together for the other teacher’s son, who was in Afghanistan. I’m a ponderer, not a doer, and socialize primarily with “ponderers”, so this caught me off guard. A “doer”!!! What the hell is she thinking, making promises that we may not be able to keep. I was feeling anxious about the logisitcs of getting it there, what to put in it, pretty much all those “w” questions put me in a tizzy. Needless to say, it all came together perfectly.

Come to find out, this was simply a splash in the bucket of “help”. She was so moved by the Rockstar Ronan blog that she wanted to help. So with 8 other women and a unwavering spirit, they put together an AMAZING fundraising event to honor/help Ronan and his family, as well as get the word out about neuroblastoma and the havoc that it wreaks. A phenomenol feat in 3 weeks time.

Just prior to that, she recruited 4 women to walk 60 miles in 3 days with her–all in the name of Susan G Komen, breast cancer research, and a cure. She volunteered to be a Susan G Komen ambassador. She has been blogging about her own experiences, as of late–probably because it will find it’s way into the hands of somebody who really needs to read it, “helping” them cope with whatever they are going through.

Rather then walk around the elephant in the living room, she invites him to sit a spell and have some coffee–I am in awe of her and happy to call her a friend.

Her name is Rebecca.

-Shannon

Tags: blog, brown paper packages, Natalie Merchant, puppies, reconstruction, shannon, surgery

Dear Right Implant.

Dear Right Implant,

This is a tough letter to write.  We have been through so much.  For 18 months, you have lived at my side, sort of.  I have treated like you my own.  But the time comes when a gal has to know when to cut her losses and call it a day. I think you and I are there.

I suppose I could take some responsibility for the demise of our relationship.  I stood when I was supposed to be laying, did a little lifting on the side, and watched HGTV when I sensed  you were more of an MTV implant.  But Right Implant, you should know that you are really quite needy.

When you fell from your perch, so to speak, I bumped you back up. When you exposed yourself to the outside air, we covered you.  Twice.  When you decided to start internally bleeding on my San Diego vacation, we made you our first priority.  When you broke out in hives, I ate Bendaryl like candy even though it made me walk into things. And last but not least, when you decided my own skin was not adequate for your needs, we offered you the skin of a perfectly lovely cadaver.

Now, really, Right Implant, I think I have done my fair share to make you comfortable.  (I hate to compare, but Left Implant didn’t need a Welcome Wagon basket to feel at home.)  And now, after 18 months, you decide to thank me with an infection.  A raging bacteria infestation that is causing your home’s temperature to rise and ache, and frankly, makes you look ugly and distorted. It’s not a good look, my friend.

Well, you’ve cut off your nose to spite your face.  This is it.  Adios Right Implant, I have had enough.  You just can’t make some implants happy.

Becca

Tags: dear right implant, reconstruction, right implant

Narinda.

Hi Readers. I took a small break from my own blog. I am sore, sore, sore, but so far, Hannibal the Cadaver Skin seems to be taking to me.

This time, my mom came into town to help.  She came out, woke up at 5am with my son, took him to school, took him to therapy, and played and played and played.  My child Never Sits Still.  Thus, neither did she.  While I laid in bed, watching 100 hours of Say Yes to the Dress, my mom took care of my life.

I have a list that is entirely too long of friends who don’t have their moms because of cancer.  This hit home when I got my friend, Narinda’s, email.  I sort of took it for granted that my mom would leave lovely San Diego and come to Hot as Hell Phoenix to help me.  I do not take it for granted any more.  Thanks Mom.

Narinda’s Email:

I was going to e-mail you earlier about your blog, I truly love reading it.  Sometimes it brings me to tears.  Cancer is near-and-dear to my heart too.  My mom passed away in January from lung cancer.  While I know you blog about breast cancer, cancer in any form is devastating to families.  So I relate to so much of what you say.  My mom was diagnosed with lung cancer on December 8, 2010 and she passed on January 9, 2011.  She only lived with it for one month (actually she probably lived with it much longer but she didn’t know) but it was an excruciating painful month.  It’s still hard to come to terms with what happened.  One month is not long enough to prepare for the news and one month is not long enough to attempt to heal and one month is not long enough to say goodbye.  So I read your blog and think about my mom and then cry.  Then I keep reading and laugh… happy tears.

Narinda and her family got one month.  ONE MONTH.  How do say everything you need to say in a month? How does your mom pass along a lifetime of memories about you to her new grandson in a month? How do you sort through and cherish your life experiences in a month? How do you digest that an integral, a necessary, part of your family will be gone in a month?

You do not.  Cancer steals people.  It steals families.  It steals memories and lifetimes, and it can do so in a month.

I am walking for Narinda.  And for her mom, who deserved so much more than a month.

Tags: cancer, mom, month, narinda

The Pitbull by Teammate Susan Karber.

Another guest blogger!  Uber-Teamate Susan (read about Susan here, paragraph 2), with her Massachusetts accent, is subtle – something I long to master.  She is rarely the center of attention, is soft-spoken and supporting. Frankly, I thought she was too nice to hang with me. But then…you get to know her…and Susan is freaking hysterical.  Her subtle wit creeps up on you. I love that kind of unexpected humor. And here she is, poking a little fun at someone I like to call ME.

SUSAN’s TURN

You know that song..”Whatever Lola Wants…Lola Gets?”

Let’s just say Rebecca reminds me a lot of Lola.  She needs a Guest Blogger.  Well, then, that’s what Lola, um, Rebecca, gets.  Not because she is a taker, but because she is a giver.  She deserves to rest that body of hers, read books and eat Entenmann’s Glazed Donut Holes until her body catches up with her amazing generous spirit.  I have titled my Post : The Pit Bull.  For those of you who know her, you already know where I am going with this…

The Pitbull

Shortly after I signed up and became a member of Team Hope Chest, Rebecca suggested we meet at a nearby coffee house to toss around fundraising idea.  As walkers, we are each required to raise (gulp) $2300.00.  So, after dropping off our kiddos at pre-school, Shannon, Rebecca, and I headed to the Coffee Grind to come up with a game plan.

Let me just say I knew Rebecca as one of the fun mom’s at school.  I adored her son.  My sons adored her.  We were Facebook friends, but I didn’t really KNOW Rebecca until I sat across from her at a coffee house latte in hand.   In the span of 30 minutes, she talked about raffles and trunk shows;  t-shirts , jewelry, and purses.  She had commitments and sponsorships lined up. I heard of amazing businesses like Flipped Bird, Dos Fannies, Poor Little Rich Girl, Jewel Ya, Blair B Designs (just to name a few) who had already agreed to support our  walk. She had calls into different aspects of the media.  There was talk of a Facebook page and a blog.  If all this didn’t leave me feeling slightly inebriated, she leans in, looks from me to Shannon and says, “Oh yeah, one other thing” pauses for effect…”Thriller.”

“Thriller?” we both questioned.

“Thriller!   Think of it …A Flash Mob to Thriller during the walk!  We’ll learn the moves, teach our kids, and  break out our dance routine on Day 2.  It will be great!”

I’m not sure if it was me or Shannon who squeaked out a “Really?’

As she continued to talk an image began to form in my mind.  As it took hold, I blurted out, “Has anyone ever told you that you remind them of a pit bull?” (famous for locking it’s jaw and not letting go)

Unfazed, she said, “Yes, once in court opposing counsel referred to me as ‘the pint-sized pitbull.’”

I nodded my head slowly and let the realization seep in that not only was I training for a 60 mile walk, but I also needed to learn the dance moves to Thriller.

Tags: Blair B, Dos Fannies, Flipped Bird, Jewel Ya, pit bull, Poor Little Rich Girl, Susan, Team Hope Chest, Thriller

Me & My Treadmill by Teammate Holly.

Hi Team Hope Chest Readers.  I have to pretend that my right arm is broken, per my doctor’s orders, and I’m not sure I would be able to type with a broken arm.  Even though I am doing so now.  So guest blogger time!  First up is Teammate Holly, who we call 0-0-1 around here. Like 007, but way better.  6 spots better, to be exact.

xoxo

Becca

HOLLY’s TURN:

Our Team Captain asked for volunteers to guest blog.  Apparently, her blogging has interfered with her healing process after her second reconstructive surgery and she is under the knife again today, for the third or fourth time – she has had so many surgeries I cannot even keep track.  So here I am.

Shannon, one of our teammates, requested a blog on treadmill motivation.  I am far from an expert in this field, but some days it is just easier than others.  Sometimes it is easy, when my hot boyfriend also wants to go to the gym and I RUN, not walk, on the treadmill, because even though he is on the other side of the gym, I feel like he is watching me, and I don’t want to look like the total wuss that I really am.  So I run.  And I don’t get off the treadmill until he comes over to me because he is ready to leave.  That works.  So, while I am not suggesting you married ladies go find a boyfriend as a gym partner, the buddy system works.  A partner in crime makes you accountable.

Today, I woke up motivated, well not quite.  First, I watched last night’s Bachelorette.  And now it is after 10:30 and I still have not made it to the gym, but I am dressed for the gym and ready to go and I WILL GO today, even without my gym partner/BF, who is otherwise occupied today.  Why?  Well, for one, Rebecca, whose boobs tried to kill her, is getting a dead person’s skin put into her body today.  So, I can’t drive my fat ass and blubbery belly to the gym and make nice with the treadmill for an hour?  At least I have that option.

Another, Maya, Rockstar Ronan’s mom.  I read her blog last night.  She refers to cancer as a F*%kwad.  Love that word.  Hate cancer.  In whatever form it takes, be it in adults or children, in the boobies or the organs, or whatever, it sucks ass no matter what.  How can we make it stop?  We can walk 60 miles.  And if it means I have to train to be able to complete 60 miles.  So be it.

Last but not least, it’s for Juicy.  My mom.  Also a rockstar.  Cancer killed her.  It, in a way, has killed me.  But, I still have to get up every day and keep on living, which is much easier said than done some days.  I try like hell to focus on the good, on what I can do to help stop this stupid F#$kwad of a disease.  I can walk 60 miles, but not without training.  And on that note, it’s off to the gym.

Holly

A pic of Holly’s mama.  We miss you, Juicy.  

Tags: cancer, gym, holly, juicy, rockstar ronan, treadmill