Read at Your Own Risk

I couldn't sleep. Again. I'm so tired of the pain on my right side, I don't know what to do. My left side drain seems to be draining properly and isn't really giving me much issue. I know the right side drain is clogged. Want to know how I know? Not much is draining into the drainy thing-a-do AND I'm swollen like about 200 times more than the other side. I took a picture to prove I'm not exaggerating. Notice the HUGE difference in sides? (I edited out the surgery scars)

I had a planned doctor's visit today. Mom and I scampered out the door only stopping to buy me a hazelnut ice coffee from McDonald's. Tasty! Even with my wonderful coffee drink, I'm still in a just horrible mood. It wasn't just lack of sleep that got my mood bad, but another heart stopping lump that I found. Yes, before going to sleep I was messing with the drain on my right side and thought I felt something hard just under the skin. It felt about the size of a pea. I messed with it for about half an hour hoping it would disappear somehow. When the silly thing never went away, I had to wake up Tom. Conversation went a little something like this:

Tom: What's the matter?

Crazy Cancer Girl: I found a lump

Tom: WHAT?

CCG: Feel this (grabbing his hand and pulling it toward the area of said lump)

Tom: (pulling hand back not wanting to feel) I don't want to feel. There is nothing I can do tonight.

CCG: Just feel it!

Tom: Why? How is that going to make you feel better?

CCG: TOUCH IT! FEEL THE LUMP! JUST DO IT! FEEL THE LUMP! FEEL THE LUMP! FEEL THE LUMP!

Tom: (sigh) Ok, where is it?

CCG: (placing Tom's hand on the lump) Here. Do you feel it?

Tom: Yes, there is definitely something there, but don't wig out. It could be anything. Make sure you ask the doctor about it. Please get some sleep now.

CCG: (Totally wigging out and getting hysterical on the inside) Ok, good night. And thanks.

CCG: (Lying in bed worried and wide awake all night.)

Tom: (Lying in bed worried and unable to get back to sleep because of worry.)

Anyway! We get to the doctor and I tell her my right drain is clogged. She, of course, being the professional, messed around with it for 20 minutes before announcing to me that the drain was clogged. She's good, that gal. So here is what happens when your breast drain gets clogged up (read at your own risk):

1. tape is removed from part of stitched up breast area

2. area is wiped clean

3. local anaesthesia shot

4. giant needle - like you see on cartoons with a HUGE suction thing on the back (sorry about all the medical terms, hope all you non medical people are still able to follow this) is poked into swollen area

5. pull back the suction thing anddddddd....... nothing

6. turn needle in different direction and pull back ......... nothing

7. turn again and......... nothing

At this point I had to tell her that I thought perhaps what she was doing wasn't working - she obviously was unable to figure this out on her own. Eventually enough - she did agree.

8. repeat steps 1 - 4 but about two inches over from where she tried the first time.

9. pull back suction thing andddddddd...... viola!

SA WEEET RELIEF!

Seriously, by the time she fill that giant needle thingy (I didn't look to see how much liquid it held, but my guess is a couple gallons), I felt so much less pain. Much less pressure under my arm.

I did ask her about the lump, but she wasn't even slightly concerned. She said there was no way that went unnoticed during surgery. She said it was probably just a fatty build up that happened after surgery. Promised me it was nothing. Whew. Those are words I can trust now.

I go back to the doctor on the 27th and HOPEFULLY I will get these horrible drains removed. I pray they get removed and I pray that until they finally do, I am able to live more comfortably with them.

Random Items

This is a picture of a breast cancer cell. Neat, huh? I just copied that off the net, so I don't know anything else about it except that it's a breast cancer cell. Probably not actual size.

I have had many people call and e-mail me to let me know they are having problems posting comments. I don't know why. I did a tiny amount of research and found where it says that this is an issue they have been working on since Dec 29. Sorry, y'all. It's a free blog site, so I guess I'm getting what I pay for.


I'm insanely sleepy today. I've not had the energy to get up and do anything. My pain level is starting to ease, but is still worse than I expected to be by this time.

My mom has been doing a fantastic job helping me out. She's driving me to doctor appointments and cooking and cleaning and laundry. Thanks, Mom!

And that's it. I will post to let y'all know what happened after my appointment tomorrow.

Good night!

Tom Here on Sheri's Behalf

Sheri is having a bad night after a not-so-bad day. She's in a lot of pain from ... surgery, drain tubes, we fear BLOCKED drain tubes, and nausea, which could be from the pain, or the pain pills, or both. Whatever the causes, since she's too blah to blog, but is nonetheless bursting at the seams with news too weird and too good to keep to herself, she asked me to pinch hit for her. Gladly!

A quick refresher:

1. The MRI results were NOT good! It showed "hot spots" or "areas of concern" in ...

A) Sheri's left breast, which indicated that the tumor was bigger than they first thought. Recall that they started out with an estimate of 6 to 7 millimeters (about 1/4 inch). Then every time we talked to them after that, they upped the estimated size even more! First it was 1.5 cm (about 1/2 inch), then they went over 2 cm (about 3/4 inch). That in turn moved her from a stage 1 tumor to a stage 2 tumor.
B) The lymph nodes on the left side. The oncologist estimated that 1 and possibly 2 nodes were cancerous. (She put it at 80 percent that Sheri had cancer there.) Based on this, she went on and staged Sheri as a Stage 2, N1 (one node).
C) Her right breast, where there showed several ... spots. The oncologist didn't say they were cancer. Could be pre-cancerous, she said. (Still not good.)

2. Surgery removed everything in question. Recall that they did a quick check for cancer in her lymph nodes during surgery and didn't find any. But pathology had a boat load of tissue to search through and we were told that it could be several days before we got the results of checks on her left and right breasts and her lymph nodes.

Today was the day!

Okay, Sheri's nodes are clean. We've come to LOVE percentages based on these two numbers alone. Sheri was given that original 90 percent chance that she didn't have cancer. Frankly, she was too cocky, based solely on those odds. She was as you all know the "1 in 10." Someone had to be. Now, faced with the 80 percent chance of having cancer in her lymph nodes, she accepted her fate. She HAS TO BE in the 8 out of 10, right? Wrong! Ha! Is God trying to tell us something?

We'll just thank God and try to make sense of this another day.

The spots in Sheri's right breast were not cancer. Again, thank the Lord! She can't remember for sure what the clinician said they were. She remembers that it's rare. I've taken a guess that she said it was calcification. It's a guess! If someone is smart enough to know that's not possible, keep it to yourself. Deal?

Here's the kicker....

From the outset, Sheri has been given the "opportunity" to save her breast (left) or breasts (both). They were less enthusiastic about doing lumpectomies after the MRI showed "the spots" in Sheri's right breast. They said, "If that's pre-cancerous tumors then I'm afraid we'll be chasing the cancer, but if you want to try to save your breasts, it's an option that's still on the table." Sheri of course thought about it (who wouldn't?), but in the end, you know her decision.

So, the tumor which just keeps getting bigger and bigger was upped today to almost 3 centimeters, which God only knows how big that is in a unit of measure that we can understand. I believe they ended up quadrupling that tumor's estimated size over the past 2 months. Next month it will be a bolder!

But it gets better!

Sheri's left breast has gotten more attention over the past 2 months than Jessica Simpson's waistline, butt, and ugly jeans combined! She has routinely and repeatedly had doctors give her breast exams. She's had probably 8 to 10 mammography shots from virtually every imaginable angle. She's had a sonagram. She's had the MRI. After all of that, she still had the option of them performing a lumpectomy. And had she made that choice, she would have never known about a SECOND tumor in her left breast! Gasp!

You read right friends and fellow countrymen. They missed a tumor of 1.3 centimeters in her left breast! Even as I type this, my head is still reeling! I don't even know what to do with this news except to thank God!

We have had one weird incident after another throughout this ordeal. Recall that Sheri went in for a low thyroid and her family doctor who she just met decided to do a breast exam. He felt something. But ... even after the mammogram CONFIRMED a lump, neither the surgeon nor the oncologist could find it during their exams. I should say, they couldn't find EITHER ONE OF THEM! If you don't believe in God then you say, "Wow, how lucky!" I say "wow" alright, but I end it with "how wonderful! Thank you Lord!"

From that so-called flukey first lump discovery to the so-called flukey second lump discovery and every day and every way in between, the Lord has been there. He could have dazzled us without cancer, but there's something about the cancer that seems to guarantee that we're paying attention. We are! We are impressed! And humbled. And eternally thankful.

Lord willing, Sheri will be back tomorrow night with hopefully more light and laughter. I like a good yuck too, but right now I am just too blown away by God to joke much.

As always, thank you for your prayers, kind thoughts, generousity, warmth, and friendship. You are all wonderful!

Lord bless.

Tom

A Strong Woman

Two unbelievable months ago all of this started. Since being diagnosed, I've heard a lot of people call me a strong woman. Many people expressed that they don't think they could do what I'm doing. I have to do this, what other choice do I have?

There was a time when it wasn't a black or white choice. In the beginning there was a gray choice. I had options! After my MRI results showed what could possibly be four small areas of cancer in my right breast, and a large portion of the original lump had been left behind in my left breast, I lost the gray. My only choice became black or white: lose the cancer-filled breasts or keep them and let the cancer spread throughout my body. Here I am now, two months later, staring at my chest where my breasts used to be. I had no choice. I have no choice but to keep going through this.

Today was the day the bandages came off. Today I'm back falling apart again. I believed people when they told me I was so strong and confident. It's days like today that make me realize I'm not strong. Being forced down a path that I never wanted to go down isn't an accomplishment. At times, I've walked this journey with my head held high in determination, but there were times I was clawing the ground with my fingernails and begging God to not make me walk any farther.

I'm glad I'm keeping this blog so I can go back and read previous posts. I'm using them as a way to remind me of the blessings that have come about from my cancer. Today I stepped out of the first shower since my mastectomy and I needed those reminders. I was so happy to finally be able to bathe since my surgery, but I wasn't prepared for that first real look at myself in the mirror. I don't know how long I stood there - I think I was in shock. No amount of reading, researching or looking at post surgery pictures of other women could have prepared me for that moment.

After quite awhile, I decided I just couldn't stand looking at myself anymore. It's a weird experience when you are in such a state of shock that you don't realize you had started crying. I was feeling sorry for myself. I hate that. The best thing I could do was just get dressed and try and forget about what I've lost and how I desperately wanted it back.

I'm not strong. I'm doing what I have to do. God didn't give me a choice.

*note: It's almost 4am and I've still not been to bed. I posted this much earlier in the night and I just finished reading it again and trying to save it into something that isn't rambling nonsense. I was going to just delete it and start over tomorrow, but I'm too emotional. Anything else I write right now will probably turn out like this. Let me fight this depression then I'll be back with my usual weird blog posts.

God Bless,
Sheri

Wonderful Gifts

First things first...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PRINCESS VAL!


Now - I want to say thank you to everyone for all the wonderful presents that have been sent to me. Flowers, plants, scarves, hats, cards, chocolates, muffins, fruit and a wonderfully tasty cookie bouquet that I did not share. This is not the official thank you to everyone that gave me gifts - I just wanted y'all to know I am receiving AND appreciating them. I've fallen behind on replying back to e-mails and returning phone calls.

Tom was right...I don't deserve all of this.

Thanks to all of y'all I've been able to find so many blessings from breast cancer. I wouldn't wish this disease on anyone, but I hope everyone is able at sometime in their life to feel the love and caring that has been poured my way. The constant prayers, encouragement, advice and comments on my blog from people I've never met overwhelms me. My family would drop anything and everything to help me. Old friends and new friends are bringing me food and prayer. I love you all! But you're not getting any of my cookies.

*****

Pain today has been almost unbearable. Yesterday I was miserable, but able to get up and walk around - today I've been in my bed or recliner with very little movement in between. Tomorrow will be better, right?

Feeling Swell

It's the middle of the night and I just got off the phone with my surgeon. Because I have these neat little drains hanging down from my chest, I shouldn't have much swelling - but I do. And it is getting worse.

It started this afternoon when I realized it hurt when my right arm was flat against my body. It also hurts to lift my arms any higher than chest level (that part is normal though.) Mom agreed that the swelling was bad and we talked about putting in a call to the doctor's office. We decided to wait until tomorrow (Sunday) to see if it would get better on it's own.

My armpit area on up to my collar bone hurts like crazy. I also noticed that my neck felt warm to the touch. Upon closer inspection, it appears the neck wanted to join in on the swell fun. I can't get a decent picture for you to appreciate just how much my neck has puffed out and turned red. Tom said he can't tell that my neck is swollen. This amazes me. I used to think Tom was a pretty dang smart guy. I guess it's true what they say: you never really know someone until you lose your breasts.

Anyway, I checked my paperwork and it said to notify my doctor if I have any unusual pain or swelling. This is my first (and last!) double mastectomy, so I have no idea what is considered to be pain and swelling out of the ordinary. I woke up my surgeon and described the pain (the most horrible pain in all the world and the pain pills weren't working and I was even taking more than I was directed to take...how'd she like those apples, hmm?) I told her about the swelling, too. She wanted to know which side. I told her the right side. She said it was the port-a-cath that was probably causing the "discomfort" and nothing for me to worry about. I was told to double check the drains to ensure there were no clots clogging them up. Gross.

OH! And I could try Advil to help manage the pain.

And she went back to her comfortable sleep.

Mom Arrives

I am miserable. The pain pills seem to last a little over 2 hours, but I'm only allowed to take them every 4 hours. I don't care anymore. I'm taking the pills whenever I need them. I have drains where my breasts used to be. They make it impossible to get comfortable.

Thankfully my mother is here to help out for the week. I'm done for the day. Back to bed. Tomorrow has to be better.

Happy Valentine's Day! Blah.

Home

There was a gentleman in the hospital room right next door to mine who kept forgetting to breathe. Why did I just tell you this? Because the hospital was kind enough to blast some sort of foghorn sounding device as a gentle reminder to him to breathe whenever he forgot. He forgot to breathe a lot. A LOT! My doctor told me I could go home as soon as I felt up to it. Thanks to breathless dude, I'm home sooner than I probably wanted to be. Tom and the kids can be my nurses until my mom gets here tomorrow.

I'm sleepy, tired, in pain, queasy, whiny, kinda hungry, covered in hives and extremely boobless. But I'm home. And as far as I can tell, no one in my house seems to be having any problems breathing - so I think I'll finally get some sleep.

I'm proud to say I walked through that part of my journey without many tears since waking up in the recovery room. I can feel God's hand with me - guiding me to my next step (a scary one.) Monday I go in to have the bandages removed.

(Tom again, on Sheri's behalf)

Greetings from the land of drains and pains! As the night wore on and then turned the corner on Friday morning, Sheri has been slowly coming to. Her first trip to the rest room looked more like the last quarter mile of a marathon run. All uphill. While wearing a ruck sack. With ankle weights. And for good measure, maybe toss in a fat guy trying to tackle her. It wasn't me! Ten hour earlier, she came in this hospital full of energy and terror. Two breasts and lots of tears later, Sheri can hardly get out of bed! Her first steps to the restroom were like a newborn fold's first wobbly steps. But Sheri's return trip to bed was better. Then her next trip to and fro' the restroom was much stronger! She's already coming back! (Thank you, Lord.)

I look at Sheri for any signs. She's smiling and cute and everything that makes Sheri Sheri. Then she winces and we call for pain meds. But either way, she's a keeper!

It's early morning and sleep is fitfull. We were told a short while ago that Sheri's discharge papers are ready to go. Lord willing, we are out of this joint at first light!

Lord willing, this is my last transmission from the front lines of breast cancer. If all goes well, you all will begin receiving emails from Sheri later today and maybe a post by this evening. Until then, thanks once more for all of your prayers and more.

You are all wonderful and this all is to God's glory.

Lord bless!

(From Tom)

I am logged into Sheri's blog from a computer kiosk just outside her room at Saint Lukes South in Overland Park, Kansas. Surreal, huh!

It is surgery day! It doesn't seem real that it's been almost two months since they first discovered the lump in Sheri's left breast. Two months from that first alarming finding to this, a day that would bid farewell to her breasts.

Our day started with us hastily getting ready for our early morning trip to the hospital. We arrived around 9:30 AM, with Sheri in a full-blown tizzy. Our Pastor was there to meet us. Sheri was falling to pieces, with tears streaming down her cheeks, that ashen look on her face, and nervous shudders rippling through her body. This is what utter helplessness feels like!

We had just enough time for the Pastor to say a quick prayer and then off to Sheri's room for preparations for the procedure that has become known as the dreaded sentinel node test. Sheri's research on the 'net and her talks with doctors and nurses had built this test up in her mind as the ... MOST PAINFUL TEST ON THE PLANET! To hear Sheri talk, you would think that Dr. Mengela himself invented this test! Sheri has stressed repeatedly that she was more worried about this test than the double mastectomy. Okay....

They weren't going to give her anything other than a little lidocaine creme to "ease the pain," but Sheri's tears and obvious nerves forced their hand and they finally gave her a little something to "take the edge off." Then the test....


A really sweet seeming lady injected four radioactive isotopes around each areola, which means that Sheri had to endure four needles poked into each breast with precious little pain killer. Our first blessing of the day was that it didn't hurt NEARLY as badly as Sheri's extremely active imagination had her believing it would. Mind you, it hurt, but even if it was a 10 on the pain scale, that's far below the 1,000 that Sheri expected it to be. Suffice it to say, she made it through, giving the lady a minimal scowl on her way out of the room.

An hour later they took Sheri to radiology for the test itself. They came back with the word, we found her sentinel nodes. In the distance I imagined faintly hearing the Marine Corps band playing that crowd favorite, "We Found the Nodes!"

Now, for those of you following this silliness, finding the nodes was merely a step in the process, but not THE step. Come surgery time, still hours off, the surgeon would remove the sentinel nodes and do a quick handoff to the path guy, who will do a quick looksee for cancer. Depending on how many, if any, nodes have cancer, they take one or two more (as a precaution). Given Sheri's MRI results, the oncologist said it "was 80 percent" that Sheri has cancer in at least one lymph node. But I'm getting ahead of myself. It was only 11:00 AM and surgery would not be for at least 2 more hours.

Between 11:00 AM and 1:30 PM, I went back and forth between Sheri's room and the waiting room, where our wonderful children patiently (and at times IMPATIENTLY) sat waiting on this day to end. Finally at 1:30 PM they wheeled her to surgery and we hit the door running to Bob Evans (Jerry Owens, for you Dallas folk) and then we zipped home to let the evil rat dog out to pee.

We got back in plenty of time for more waiting. Tick, tock, tick, tock. A kind lady from our church joined us in the vigil. In fact, she had been there for a long while before we got back. (I felt bad for her having had to wait alone.) Finally at 5:45 PM Sheri's surgeon came out smiling. I quipped, "Well, you're smiling. Hopefully that means that you didn't lose her." She said, "No, we didn't lose her." (Let's count that as a big blessing.)

She then went on to say that Sheri was in recovery, talking, doing well, etc. She said that they didn't find any cancer in the lymph nodes on either side. Thank God! Of course, she reminded me that pathology will continue to look in the days to come, but that quick initial test during surgery showed no cancer. What more could we ask for?

Between pain and nausea, they've given Sheri lots and lots of drugs since she came out of the OR. She has not spoken 20 words to us since. It's three hours into her recovery and she just took her first sips of soda and ... right back to sleep.

Sheri wants me to tell you all how much we both appreciate your prayers, your love, your gifts, and your kind offers of help. You all have been so gracious! I want to say that we don't deserve any of this, but if Sheri were awake she would say, "Hey! Speak for yourself!" So, I will. I don't deserve this.

Lord willing, Sheri will get to go home tomorrow. Lord willing, Sheri doesn't have any more cancer than we first knew about. Lord willing, Sheri is on her way to a full recovery. Lord willing.

Thank you all for everything. Your kindness means more to Sheri than you will ever know. Lord bless.

Tom (for my beloved Sheri)

Tomorrow

I've had a lot of e-mails and calls asking me what time my surgery is tomorrow...

My actual surgery is at 1:00pm (they estimate it taking about 4 hours.)
I have to be at the hospital at 9:00am for a sentinel node test. From what I understand it is extremely painful. I'm under unbelievable stress tonight, because of what I've heard about this test.

Due to everything going on the next few days (kids are out of school until Tuesday, my mom coming into town on Saturday and that pesky little surgery) Tom will not be updating the blog right away. He said he'll get to it first chance he gets.

God Bless you all for all your prays.

Much love,

Sheri

Literally

Pet peeves

These are mine in no particular order...



Please don't use the word literally incorrectly. "That was so scary I literally died." No, you did not.


If you are now behind me 110%, that means you have only been behind me 90% up until this point. The best anyone can do is 100%. It just is! I didn't make the rules.


When you drink please don't gulp. I have no idea why, but that swallow sound makes me literally want to rip your head off. Ok, maybe not literally, but I will give you a disapproving look.

********

Sorry, I'm just very cranky today. I can't get rid of my migraine that I've had for two days now. Yesterday my beautiful cousin Valerie (my aunt Judy's daughter; not to be confused with my other beautiful cousin Valerie who is the daughter of my aunt Audrey) and I went wig shopping. I now have two very lovely wigs that I would love to model for y'all, but am unable because of this stupid headache.

I literally want to rip my own head off.

By the way, wig shopping? SUPER FUN! Especially when done with a super cool chick like my cousin Princess V.

Plastic Surgery

To reboob or not to reboob...

So, I'm watching the Grammy's tonight and it got me thinking about plastic surgery. I know what you're thinking, "Wow, Sheri, how could the Grammy's get you thinking about plastic surgery?" I have no idea, really. I think it's my narcissistic personality.

Plastic surgery, from what I understand, is extremely painful. Do I really want to put myself through the pain of reconstruction surgery? Is it just for vanity reasons? I know, once again, I'm putting the cart ahead of the mastectomy mule, but this time it's not my fault. Blame Paul Mccartney, Smokey Robinson, Barry Manilow and many many other singers that I thought were old, but turns out they look shockingly (and I mean that literally) young.

Ughhh, I'm tired of thinking about all this. I'm glad I decided to take time off from all this cancer/surgery drama. I'm feeling very relaxed. Now if only I could get Sir Paul to lose the "oh no! Sheri's got cancer" look from his face.

When to Worry

Last night was a bad, bad, bad, bad night. Bad!

Tom and the kids went to bed last night. I decided I would stay up to worry about nipples. As many of you know, worrying about nipples is very thirsty business. Sooo, I went to pick up my little half empty glass of water and almost dropped it, because of a stabbing pain in my elbow. It took a second for that to register before I got physically sick from panic. All I could think was that my dad was right to be upset with me for cancelling my bone scan last week. At my last appointment with Dr Young, she asked me if I was having any unexplained pain in my bones. Nope, I told her, only emotional pains. I was so cocky; I was feeling fine! Now here I am having a sudden sharp pain in my right elbow.

RATS! Bone cancer?

I had no idea what to do. I thought about waking Tom, but I knew that I would only end up worrying him, too. Might as well just let him sleep. Unfortunately, each moment that passed last night the more anxious I got. Even the slightest weight put on my elbow would cause pain. At 4:30am, I was playing online bingo in an attempt to get my mind off this new found panic. It had an added benefit of being very boring; therefore, finally getting me tired enough to be able to fall asleep.

When I woke up this morning, my elbow was still hurting just as badly; so, I knew I had to tell Tom. I calmly told him about the sudden, unexplained pain. Bless Tom, he was so sweet. He talked about how it was too early to be alarmed. He said he knew it had to be rough for me, because with every new pain comes the fear that the cancer has spread elsewhere in my body. I showed him my arm and it was then that he wanted to know about the bright red scrape and the bruise on my forearm and elbow.

Huh?

Ohhh! I forgot I banged my elbow while taking out the trash yesterday.

Never mind.

Losing a Part of Me

How long until she is able to put her arm down? Since I'm having both breasts removed, my fear is that I'll look like I'm being held up at gun point for days on end. Truth is, I know that it will be painful for me to lift my arms for quite a long period of time after surgery.

We can all pretend that poster doesn't look THAT bad. But it does. Who can tell me what is missing from this picture? Class? Class? Anyone? Anyone? (Julie H., please close your eyes, because talk is going to be about nipples.)

I am going to lose my nipples. That is messing with me worse than you can even imagine. I know that there are people out there who are missing arms and legs and would trade places with me in a heartbeat. They're just nipples! Yeah, but they're mine.

Due to the fact that my surgery needs to happen without anymore delay - plus the added fact that they want to start chemotherapy as quickly as possible after surgery - I will not be able to have reconstructive surgery at the same time that I have my breasts removed. Things will be delayed greatly if we try to schedule my breast removal to be followed immediately with plastic surgery. You see, I need to be healed before I can start chemo. Reconstructive surgery slows healing time. If you do not start the reconstruction process right after the original surgery, your nipples will be lost. I know, I know, I know! My life is worth so much more than something so trivial as nipples. I'm scared what it will be like to wake up without breasts AND any hint of what should be there.

(My cousin's boyfriend offered to donate his nipples to me - he said boys don't need theirs. I had to kindly decline that touching offer. Thank you, Rick! I will bake you cookies.)

The fun part is knowing that after all is said and done...once all the cancer is blasted out of my body...I get to start painful surgery all over again with the reconstruction process. I have to remind myself to not think about any of this mess right now. This was supposed to be my nine days of no cancer talk. Easier said than done. I'm only supposed to be thinking about the next step that lies ahead on this journey. Again, easier said than done. Tonight I fell off the wagon.

Here's where I am right now: my house is clean; my laundry is caught up; I'm having a wonderful time with my family; I'm laughing with neighbors and I'm feeling less stress than I've felt since the day I found out I have cancer. But, I still have that little voice in the back of my mind reminding me that I have cancer.

Cheesecake might shut that voice up.
Only one way to find out!

Seven Days

An actual phone call:

Sheri: Hello?
J: Hey! You didn't update your blog yesterday.
S: I've nothing new to report about the cancer until after my surgery on the 12th. I thought I made that clear on my last post.
J: So?
S: (sigh) The point of this blog is to update about my breast cancer.
J: So?
S: I'm done with doctor appointments and tests. There is nothing more for me to put in the blog until I have my surgery.
J: But I like your blog and you are so beautiful and I've discovered that if I do not read your blog everyday that I cannot make it through the day. Yesterday I spent 12 hours in the fetal position while waiting for your new post. Please don't make me go through another day like that again.
S: Others feel this way?
J: Everyone in the world.
S: I had no idea.
J: There is no way you would have known, because you are completely free of ego.
S: I will admit that is one of my better qualities - and I have many. Hey? You want me to list all my great qualities?
J: YES! PLEASE!

Obviously, the call went on for many hours after that and I don't have to time to type all that out.

SERIOUSLY now - the purpose of this post is to say thank you to everyone for their kind words about my blog. You've no idea how good it makes me feel to know that a) people are actually reading what I'm typing and b) that people are enjoying it. As anyone can imagine, going through this is a roller coaster of emotions. The wonderful feed backs, kind words and especially all the prayers have made this almost bearable at times. If no one minds, I think I'll continue posting for the next 7 days, even if there are no more breast cancer updates.

Nine Days

Today was my last doctor visit until my surgery on the 12th. No more tests or consultations or anything else. All I have to do is count down until the surgery date. On Feb 12, I will be having my breasts removed along with some lymph nodes and up to four drains put in. I will have a shunt implanted above my heart for chemotherapy. On the 12th I will find out if I need radiation or not; it's depending on how many lymph nodes show cancer and how close to my chest wall the tumor is. All that and they think I should be out of the hospital and happily at home the next day. Happily was my word. It was sarcasm.

I'm not going to sit around worried about what is going to happen in 9 days. I'm no longer going to spend all day and night researching breast cancer or crying on the phone to people because I have breast cancer. It's all pretty much set now. No matter what else I learn or how sad I get between then and now, nothing is going to change. This operation is going to happen. And I'm ok. I am truly ok.

I can't imagine that I will be updating my little blog everyday between now and then. I guess I could keep updating the blog, but it seems unlikely that people will keep coming back to read things like, "today I was going to wash clothes, but my Netflix movies came in so I ate an entire bag of Cheetos and watched movies."

Here's hoping Netflix comes in tomorrow!

My Journey

I'm looking at breast cancer not as a battle, per se, but as a journey. I know a lot of survivors say they won the battle and I think that's awesome. They did win. But for me, I don't feel that I'm fighting. Not really.

What I have done is to see the best doctors in the Kansas City area. I've listened to their advice and prayed to God to guide me in the correct direction. I will now do everything in my power to survive.

My power is praying, asking for prayer and following the advice of doctors and specialists that I trust. My journey is doing these things one at a time. (Does any of this make sense?) For me a battle is mean and fierce and bloody and painful. Yep, cancer is mean and fierce and bloody and painful, but I'd rather look at it as a path I'm being forced to follow. (Now is anyone following?)

I have absolutely no idea how this journey is going to end. I don't. I know how I PRAY it will end. Is everyone aware that since the day I found out I have breast cancer my survival rate has done nothing but drop? I started out having a 92% survival rate. Once it was discovered that I was triple negative I moved down to 77% survival rate. Right at this moment I have been moved to the lovely rate of 68% chance of making it through alive. All I want to do is live. My family wants me to live. My friends want me to live. People I have never met and yet they are praying for me want me to live. As far as I'm concerned: I have a 100% chance or a 0% chance. All the numbers the doctors keep throwing around are a pure waste of my time.

Today I took my first real step on my journey. I cut my hair off. It was a horrible painful thing for me to do. I cried. I cried because I cut my hair! How sad is that? But I'm determined to find the good with every step I take. Today someone will get 24 inches of the most beautiful hair in allllllllllllllllllllllllll the world. My awesome, wonderful and beautiful friend Robyn sent me this Bible verse today: 2 Kings 2:23-24:

23 From there Elisha went up to Bethel. As he was walking along the road, some youths came out of the town and jeered at him. "Go on up, you baldhead!" they said. "Go on up, you baldhead!" 24 He turned around, looked at them and called down a curse on them in the name of the LORD. Then two bears came out of the woods and mauled forty-two of the youths.

When Robyn sent that verse, I was in the process of getting my hair cut. I told no one I was going to cut my hair today. I wasn't sure I could go through with it and didn't want people asking me about it if I ended up chickening out. (I feel that way about going on a diet, too. If you tell people you are going to do something and then you don't do it, someone might laugh - or mention it in their blog. I personally don't know anyone like that, but I've heard they are out there. Those people are bad, but you must love them anyway.)

I know God is looking out for me - even for something as simple as a haircut. My haircut had to be done and I am now not even slightly upset about it. Thank you, God.

And to you, Robyn, I promise to never tell anyone of your random act of kindness. (By the way, if anyone hasn't read Rob's comment to me under the "Perhaps I was too hasty" entry, I highly recommend you do. Things are so much clearer now.)

Prayer Works

So much for taking the night off.

I decided yesterday to take today off from the blog since there wasn't going to be anything more to report until tomorrow. Turns out I was wrong. And I was bored. And I had a nightmare, so I was having a tough time going back to sleep.

First and foremost, I realized I had forgotten to share a very uplifting story about how God has guided us when we needed Him. There is that saying that goes: "be careful what you ask for, you just might get it." We turned to God and He gave us the answer we needed, but not necessarily what I wanted to hear.

As y'all know, my oncologist first recommended the best course of treatment for me would be a simple lumpectomy followed up with a pretty mild chemotherapy (she said I wouldn't even lose my hair) and radiation. Tom and I were both bothered a little, because this seemed an extremely unaggressive approach to what I know to be a very aggressive cancer. Tom asked Dr Young flat out, if I were her sister - would it cause her to change her treatment plan. She, of course, said no. But! We had the option to go ahead and have my left breast completely removed or both - should I worry about the cancer ever returning. What a choice.

My very emotional choice was to find a new oncologist, which we were unable to do. I had decided I was scared and I couldn't risk the cancer ever returning therefore I was going to have a double mastectomy. Tom told me to really think and pray about the doctor's opinion and advice. Of course this upset me! I was already getting the poster boards out for picket signs. My plan was to march around the hospital with a sign that said, "Dr Young doesn't care about Sheri's cancer." Now I had to add, "and neither does Tom." (I was never really going to do that, you know, right? That is a huge hospital, and I'm very lazy.) I did give Tom and the doctor the silent treatment - the doctor didn't notice and I think Tom enjoyed it.

Anyway! We decided the best thing we could do was to turn this decision over to The Lord. Tom and I prayed together and told God that we were leaving this up to Him to give us the answer for which we were searching. The next day is when I got the call from my favorite person Donna telling me it appeared that I have cancer in both breasts. I know God's watching out for me and guiding me - I just have to remember to ask Him to lead instead of the doctors.

AND secondly: After much prayer, it has been decided that I will be cancelling the two tests I have scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. I had been praying to decide if I really needed the tests. The two scans were going to cause me to be at the hospital all afternoon, which meant Tom had to miss more work, and we had to make special arrangements for the kids. Something inside me kept telling me I didn't need those tests. I finally told Tom my concerns, which is when he confessed to having the same thoughts, too. We prayed together and feel very much at peace with this decision.

What's Normal?

Nothing much going on today. I'd love nothing more than to keep my life moving on as usual until the treatments begin. I've tried to make a list of things I want to get done before before the surgery, but all I can think to do is eat cheesecake and take naps.

Truth be told, I'm so consumed with this cancer stuff that I'm neglecting my daily chores around the house. I wish I could figure out how to keep life moving as normal. Don't get me wrong - there are a lot of pluses to sitting around feeling sorry for yourself...people have no expectations for me and they don't say anything when I eat an entire cheesecake* in a single day.

*according to the st lukes cancer center, this is bad.

So here is my goal: stop whining, get up off my butt, clean my house, and get my life back to "normal" until I physically am unable to take care of my family.

I'm out until Monday night. Peace out, nice people.