I'm Still Here

Yes, I know my last post was January 19.  Apparently I was busy or something.  The short update is that I’m still healing, so there’s still some pain and itching and awkwardness both mentally and physically.  Details follow.

Celebrated bra-less nights as of February 19 after helping to officiate at a Bar Mitzvah (not just any Bar Mitzvah, but the rabbi's son's Bar Mitzvah, and it was amazing), saw plastic surgeon on March 16 (OMG thanks to Elyssa for going with me while Rod was on a business trip) and don't go back until September. But next date to keep in my sights is May 1, after which I don't have to wear a bra in the daytime if I don't want to - just in time for the warm weather floaty tops! (In a decidedly twisted twist, the long line bras are more comfortable than regular bras because they don't cut in so much around the band - that area on both sides is (still!) tender.

In the meantime, I will use the summer to make some decisions regarding further work, i.e. removing fat (unfortunately not all of it, just a little) from the abdomen to fill in a "soft tissue deficit" where the mastectomy removed all of the mammary tissue and left a bit of a dent (shorter way of saying "soft tissue deficit.)  Also must decide about tattoos to mimic the physical characteristics of my, as they say, original factory equipment.  (I believe headlights would be a reasonably appropriate and non-clinical term to use here - but that's as far as I'm going.)

Dr. D'Amico is still delighted with his own handiwork (using the word "cute" far too often for my taste - what grown woman wants to have that area described as cute?  Really!)  But I have now been to my own doctor, his nurse practitioner, my chiropractor, and my oncologist, and they have all pronounced it as very fine work.  So, that's good.  I like when all of my medical professionals have respect for each other's work, even if they're not necessarily enamored of one another.  (Breast surgeon thinks plastic surgeon is crazy; plastic surgeon thinks breast surgeon is uptight; oncologist things plastic surgeon is "an interesting guy.") 

Also while Rod was away mid-March, Elyssa went with me to the oncologist, whose office is, I swear, one of the happiest places on earth considering what business they're in. I reported that I was dutifully taking my Tamoxifen, that I had stopped my Celexa (depression med) and also the Ambien.  Getting off the Celexa was important not only because it means I don't need an anti-depressant, but also because it is one of the medications (though low on the list) that interferes with the efficacy of the Tamoxifen.  I switched out the Ambien for some Advil PM and THEN learned (through what they tell you not to do, which is look up stuff on the Internet) that Benadryl, the ingredient that makes you sleepy in Advil PM, potentially interferes even more than the Celexa does.  So, now I'm trying my trusted low-dosage of Ativan if I wake up in the night and can't get back to sleep.  Which happens every night.  Yes sirree, the hot flashes, night sweats, insomnia, and (more) moodiness (sorry, Rod) are not only side effects of the Tamoxifen, but could also be exacerbated by my age and my proximity to menopause.

I'll go back to the oncologist in the fall for an estrogen level test (to see if I need to move to another medication - Tamoxifen works better when you're still making estrogen) and a bone density scan. In the meantime, sometimes we sleep with the window open on my side of the room, even when it's below freezing outside.  Thank you, hot flashes.  And, if one more person at work asks me "Aren't you cold?" as I wander the halls in short sleeves or sleeveless, I am going to go a little sleep-deprived crazy on them.

Also mid-March was our congregation's 40th anniversary celebration, combined with our rabbi's 10th anniversary celebration, locally known as the "40/10."  It was a crazy (good crazy) weekend, including our Purim Shpiel (photo of me dressed as Melanie from Gone With the Wind/Esther on my Facebook page,) a dinner-dance, and a Friday night service that was almost 3 hours long but "rocked the house."  I got to sing a song with one of my Jewish folk idols (also immortalized in a photo on Facebook,) in front of a microphone and everything, plus I made a brief, and if I may say so, well-received, presentation to the rabbi.  (This, by the way, is how my regular doctor pronounced me no longer depressed - he asked me if I was doing less than I used to.  I said that considering the whole rabbi son Bar Mitzvah thing and the singing in front of everyone thing and speaking in public with a little ad-libbing thing, I was doing more, not less.)

Holding all of this together is my regular visits to my therapist, who manages to make me think clearly enough to untangle little problems masquerading as big problems.  I don't know if my depression would have naturally dissipated over time without her help but I wouldn't have wanted to find out.  I'm going to stick with it for now; I don't think I can afford not to - not quite yet.