Preparing for Surgery: Take 5

Staged Reconstruction - that's what the doctor calls this series of "procedures."  (Hey, anything I have to have anesthesia for, and sign 20 pages of waivers prior to, I consider slightly more than a procedure, but there it is.)

Tuesday, November 8, is my next, and I thought, last surgery.  But when I went to the doctor last week to talk about what he would be doing (more on that later) he said something about doing this in "stages."  Isn't 5 enough?  Trust the surgeon, Luke/Rebecca.........say it with me, now.  I trust the surgeon.  I trust the surgeon. I trust the surgeon.  Rod says to trust the surgeon.  It's still a little hard to not have control here.

So, in September we had a "little look" at everything and I went in fully expecting that what I had was pretty much all that was going to be.  Considering what he had to work with post-mastectomy (very little) and based on the compliments from my other doctors and anyone else who wanted to have a look, I felt both lucky and still a bit dissatisfied.  But, I figured I got the "picky gene" from my mom and I had myself ready; if the doctor said this was as good as it got, it was okay.  As always, it's the uncertainty that gets you.

But, he didn't say that.  He said, now that everything had "settled" (I know, it sounds funny now, kind of like a house settling, but it's fairly accurate) he could see what else needed to be done. So, fat grafting (taking fat from elsewhere - and more about THAT later) and probably switching out the implants for different ones, and some excess skin removal where nobody but me (and he) notices.  2 hours or less, outpatient, I have no idea what kind of anesthesia, and a week from tomorrow beginning at 7:45 a.m.  I don't have to be there until a respectable 6:30 a.m. and I don't have to spend the afternoon/night before (in which I have to work my longest day) graffiti-d up with Sharpie marker because he's not around until the morning of the surgery, so he'll do it then.  You know it's a slow news day when I'm excited that I get to take a full shower at 5 a.m. the day of a surgery!

I'll have to wear "compression garments" (read: Spanx-like) for 2 weeks, 24/7 because he gets the fat from the abdomen, and "we want to avoid fluid buildup."  Oh yes, we do! (I guess it's better than the long-line bras.  I hope.  I pray.)

He has to get the abdominal fat via liposuction, and for a special low, low breast cancer patient price (not covered by insurance,) he'll just get the rest while he's at it. I've known about this for a couple of months, and so have not bought ANY new pants.  Here's where I really ought to tone down my expectations, but I just can't help it.  And to those, including me, who feel liposuction is just a risk no one need take, I say - he's gonna do it anyway, so risk already being taken.  In for a penny, in for a pound.  Or maybe 2 or 3. Maybe it ought to be "out for thousands for dollars, out with some pounds?"  (Wonder if the implants weigh more than the fat he'll remove?)  Hmmmm.

Fat grafting is how you get a little more "padding" where there used to be mammary tissue higher up than the actual "mounds." (I've learned some new terms.)  Fat needs to establish itself and "hook up" with the blood supply, so you can't graft a lot of it at once or it dies.  Hence, the potential need for future grafting, depending on how this batch thrives and if more is needed.  The discussion of tattoos is, temporarily, off the table.  I'm glad I don't have to argue that any more, this time around.  We'll get back to it later.


I've already called the anesthesia department at the hospital and gotten them to put a note in my folder re: IV line in arm rather than hand.  Rod (because his office was closed due to a power outage for the first time in about 20 years) waited patiently through a 3 1/2 hour run to the hospital for pre-admission bloodwork and EKG, and to the surgeon's office to drop off the "if I don't make it, it's not your fault" signed paperwork - and to get my $200 worth of compression garments approved. (For the record, I was told I should just buy two: one to wear and one to wash.  Really? This is my underwear for two weeks, day and night, and TWO?  Silly, silly people.)

Tomorrow (and in a rare display of sympathetic behavior on her part, I have to thank Dr. Eskow's receptionist, Grace for giving me an appointment in less than 24 hours) I go get a physical that I didn't know I needed (and I've never needed for previous surgeries) until my paperwork arrived in the mail on Saturday.  ("Please have the results of this forwarded to our office no later than a week before your surgery.")  You do the math. It's just barely getting done.

But it's all getting done, and we move ahead, bit by bit.

Been Gone, Too Long

Eek!  I realize it's been since July 4 since I posted. The summer flew by in a whirl of preparation for the school year, combined with some teaching of the rabbi's and cantor's students and my adult students who continue to want to learn!

Tonight's post is pretty specific.  Tonight I spoke at our Breast Cancer Awareness Shabbat and below is what I said.  (The last "prayer" section a bunch of us, survivors, family, and friends said together from the bimah.)  I thought I was going to be really nervous, but it turns out that it's easier to speak your own words than chant Torah or read prayers!

Shabbat Shalom

I know that breast cancer is not only a women’s issue; as a matter of fact, my sons’ school principal Bill Bruterri was diagnosed and treated many years ago.  However, tonight I am speaking on behalf of myself and all of the women I know, and the women you know, and the millions we don’t know, who are affected by this modern plague.  

 If you watch a lot of reality television, the word “survivor” might bring to mind tanned, muscular men and women wearing  shmatas and not much else on some godforsaken island fighting over who gets to stay there.  But those folks don’t deserve the title.  That word, survivor, is better saved for all of the women who are or were in treatment for breast cancer.   It even applies to those who had a “close call” and are now forever on the alert - and are, whether they like it or not, a part of this club that none of us would choose to be a member of. We know more than we’d ever thought, and yet never enough, about testing, and surgery, and treatment options.  We know which of our friends faint at the sight of blood but make a mean chicken soup, and which of our family members will take the most accurate notes at the doctor’s office.  On any given day, one of us is carting around films and test results in giant overstuffed folders. We are prepared, we, the “Sisterhood of the Traveling Mammograms.”

  When I was diagnosed in the spring of 2010, I asked my friend Nancy Levene, who you heard speak so eloquently on Erev Rosh HaShanah, “When do you start counting the days for the five years? (meaning, so that you consider yourself a survivor?)”;  She answered, “the day you are diagnosed.”;  She’s right, you know.  You never hear about “breast cancer sufferers” or “the breast cancer afflicted” or even “breast cancer patient” (unless you are at the hospital or a doctor’s office.)  You only hear “breast cancer survivor.”

 We have now reached day 21 of Breast Cancer Awareness month, and for these 3 weeks every news and talk show has hosted experts with advice, facts, and figures on fighting and/or avoiding this disease.  Those numbers aren’t important to us.  Like it or not, the number that matters to us is ONE.  I am the one with breast cancer, she is the one with breast cancer, her friend is the one with breast cancer, her mother is the one with breast cancer.  We are the one we worry about. When we hear our tradition say: “If I am not for myself, who will be for me?” breast cancer survivors know that means it is okay to be selfish, to be taken care of, even though, or maybe especially because, we are used to being the caregivers ourselves.  And it means it’s okay to struggle with being unclear about doing or not doing things. It gives us the permission to keep moving forward, to keep asking questions that will help us understand - to try to hold onto some semblance of control over what happens to us.

 However, our tradition also teaches: “If I am only for myself, who am I?” After our silent prayer tonight, and then at the end of the service, we will sing a song by Dan Nichols, called “Chazak.” The chorus in particular felt appropriate to me because it speaks to us as individuals, but it reminds us that we must be not only for ourselves.  We must, as the chorus says, “be strong – let us strengthen one another; be strong, let us celebrate our lives; be strong, let us strengthen one another; chazak, chazak, v’nit’chazeik.”;  In order to continue to be there for each other in a more formalized way, a group of us would like to start a breast cancer support community here at Beth Haverim Shir Shalom.  We know that we want to meet monthly, and we’d love to start in November.  Please let me know if you would like to be a part of that group.  We will not be giving out medical advice, but we do plan to share our stories and compare notes, talking together and gaining strength from each other’s experiences.

As is customary in this wonderful community of caring, we offer prayers of well-being for each other, and receive blessings in return.  I would like to invite anyone here tonight whose life has been touched by breast cancer, whether you are a survivor, a caretaker, a family member, or a friend, to join us here on the bimah.

 Tonight we pledge our support to you, everyone who survives with breast cancer; tonight we thank you the caregivers – the family, the friends, and the co-workers who offer meals and childcare and driving and flowers and gifts and lovely notes and funny cards and telephone calls.

 

Oh God, as we offer this prayer as individuals but all together, may we be strengthened by the voices of those around us.

We pray for high numbers where they should be high, and low numbers when they should be low.

We pray for peace for the families and friends of those who have not survived; we pray that their memories live as a blessing.

We pray for wisdom, skill, and compassion in our medical professionals.

We give thanks for supportive spouses, helpful children, wise parents, and understanding friends.

We pray for patience enough not to become discouraged, hope enough to overcome all fears for the future, and faith enough to know Your Presence.

And, as we move forward into the rest of our lives, we pray that pink will someday return to being merely a color in this amazing world we are lucky to be a part of.

Chazak, Chazak, v’nit’cha-zeik.  Be strong, be strong, and let us be strengthened.

Amen.

Pink Oneg!

Pink Pumpkins by Nancy Levene :)