I don't really have anything interesting to say. But I am having a bout of extreme frustration with my situation and I don't want to sit with it quite yet. I want to write about it first. I usually do things the other way around. This post may be more like a catch you up to date on how things are actually proceeding in my cancer journey/ bitch fest than anything else. Don't look for inspiration here. This is just me venting.
I've gone back to work full time. I feel great when I'm at work so know its a good thing for me. It's nice to have some what of an income again. But I often wonder if its still too much. Much like when I fist started chemo, I seem to have an allotted amount of energy and then I crash. I have lost all interest in cleaning my house, mainly because I don't have the energy for it. I used to love to nest. Now the chores that I used to love feel like chores and i find myself fantasizing about a house cleaning service. I'm also interviewing plastic surgeons to get second opinions regardimg my reconstruction debacle. That takes up a lot of time. There is also the research. What could have caused the infections? The fear of more infections, the fear of more surgeries, the fear of a less than desirable cosmetic outcome due to very delayed reconstruction. These are all thoughts that when I let my mind free to roam, plague me. I have reached out to my current surgeon to let him know what I'm doing and say that he isn't completely off the table to continue reconstruction, that I had been traumatized by what happened and I really needed to feel like i was getting all of the information that I could and making the best decision for my care. That relationship was difficult to consider parting with, I think it has a lot to do with him seeing me from the beginning. He saw me when I was who I was. Pre cancer treatment. The people I now meet see a bald chick with no breasts. a new beast for sure, but there was comfort in having someone who is in charge of restoring something cancer takes away see you as the person you once were. And we become attached to these people as we plow through these terrifying blows we are handed. He had been a beacon of hope for me. He was going to make me beautiful again. And he did, but things went wrong and now I'm left with this. I wanted to sit down and consult with him again possibly. It was a heartfelt email. I didn't want him to be blindsided and I wanted all the cards on the table. But he hasn't responded. So I'm a little annoyed about that.
Like I mentioned earlier, I will feel great for a few hours a day and then I crash. When I crash its so hard though. I feel I still have so much healing to do, and I worry that my plate is too full. I wonder if my efforts shouldn't be so focused on finding a new surgeon when I am still I'm cancer treatment, and there are other things that are paramount to my healthcare. For instance, I have to start getting screened for ovarian cancer every 6 months (it should have happened by now) but the OBGYN that I chose, because she takes a more holistic approach, is practically impossible to get a hold of. I had my initial consult with her where we discussed how we would screen and watch for tamoxifen side effects, and she would get my cancer records and proper test orders from my other doctors and get back to me. This was over two weeks ago. Still nothing. I wish I didn't feel a sense of urgency concerning reconstruction and would focus more on these things. Having the second of my implants removed eased some of the urgency since I hated wearing a prosthetic and I hated only having one boob. I also hated feeling torn about whether to stick with my surgeon or find a new one when I had one perfectly reconstructed breast and one deflated mass of skin. Now at least when I start over, it's a clean slate, if you don't count the scar tissue and all of the things that go along with my already being operated on four times in the last year. But there is a sense. I mean, in clothes I feel cute ish. I bought a padded bra. It covers up the mess underneath. I'm comfortable with the flat chest in clothes. But every time I undress I look down and I am reminded that I had cancer, am still fighting, and this is really happening. I lost my breasts. Psychologically there is a huge jump from waking up with expanders in serving as breast mounds and never having to see yourself flat...to going into a surgery that is supposed to be the easy one, to ending up with two chewed up looking pieces of flesh on your chest with deep red scars underlining them, at a time when things were expected to be wrapping up.
Then there is this awesome skin rash. It started a few days ago, on my belly. By this morning it was hip to hip and as I type it is crawling onto my back and my legs and up my mess of a chest, swarming around my port and creeping onto my shoulders. I spoke to both my oncologist and the nurse of the infectious disease doc on my case today. Oncologist wanted to wait to see what ID doc had to say, assuming he may take me off the diflucan. ID doc didn't bother to get back to me so I had to call his nurse at end of day. Oh yeah, she had spoken with him. He said he has never heard of any reaction like that to the drug and to take a Benadryl. If it doesn't go away or goes worse ill have to come in and see one of the other doctors since he will be on vacation. It could be the tamoxifen, my hormone blocking drug; it could be the diflucan, my antifungals drug. I've been on both for the same amount of time. I'm also having searing chest pains and shortness of breath. This could be a result of all of the surgeries. This could be a side effect of the tamoxifen. This could also mean that although I'm holding my shit together pretty fucking well, I'm pretty anxious about the situation. Faith or no faith. The shit gets old when it doesn't stop slinging.
I'm tired. I'm so very tired. That's the truth.
