Spring is my favorite season with the annual reawakening of plant life from its sleepy winter stupor. Nature’s palette presents pictures Monet would proudly boast that he’d painted.
I love and hate spring at the same time. Chalk it up to allergies that ushered themselves into my body this past 72 hours.
Spring is a time when my body surrenders to the attack of winter mould, and the eruption of pollen with spring rains and warmer temperatures. Spring was officially ushered in our neighborhood yesterday as street cleaners dusted off the debris of winter in front of our house.
Today, my body is reacting to spring. It’s having a hard time fighting off the invasion of histamines that are determined to make me miserable with the arrival of my yearly seasonal allergies. Spring allergies suck!
Spring is the time of the year where stores can’t keep enough tissue on hand. Household garbage cans overflow quickly with soggy nose wipes. Stocks are rising across the land as stores struggle to keep tissues in stock for people like me.
The allergies mimic colds, but they’re not colds. As my kids would say when they were young: “I feel yucky.” Perhaps my body just can’t fight them off this year as its battling a bigger enemy in fighting cancer and recovering from surgery.
Grab the tissue. Sneeze, sneeze, sneeze. Blow the nose. It’s been blown so much that it’s red and sore. Then there’s the scratchy, itchy throat, watery eyes, and coughs. Then there’s the aches that come with sneezing, coupled with the residual effects of breast cancer surgery and sore chest muscles. My allergies are winning the war for attention with my body today. As a result of this duel, I’m more tired today.
Did I mention the upside of spring allergies? I end up with a sexy, raspy voice that comes with my allergies. Men like hearing this voice on the other end of the phone line. I laugh every time this happens.
Allergies and low voices take me back to a time when I was a radio and television reporter early in my communications career. Women like me with naturally low voices were always in demand by men who ran newsrooms in the 1980’s. You have to trust me on this one--I could write a news story. Actually I wrote many news stories in my print and broadcast career. It wasn’t just my voice and tall slender body that got me those reporter and newsreader jobs! Honest…
Relief will be welcomed in the next 48 hours. My breast cancer nurse told me that I could take some anti-histamines. Breathing and sleeping will get better as the drugs kick in.
I sneeze on. The cancer battle continues with Strength, Courage and Determination.
The Shaker hymn “Simple Gifts” that dates back to 1848 is one that puts into perspective how I should live my life.
Unfortunately, it took a cancer diagnosis seven weeks ago to wake me up to tell me that my life was sorely out of balance. I was blind to the simple gifts that are all around me in my daily life.
“'Tis the gift to be simple,
'Tis the gift to be free,
'Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
It will be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gained,
to bow and to bend, we will not be ashamed
To turn, turn, will be our delight,
'Til by turning, turning, we come round right.”
I’ve known this hymn’s lyrics for many years. Before my cancer diagnosis, the hymn’s words had some meaning for me. However, I wasn’t paying attention to the words.
The hymn humbly reminds me that how I lived when I was “well” wasn’t healthy in so many ways. The “well” days of yesterday were jam packed with work, family, and community obligations. There was little time available to reflect on the simple gifts I am given each day. I took many people and things granted.
Cancer has helped me to recognize the simple gifts I have in my life. In living with this disease, each person and each encounter I now have presents me with endless opportunities to see that life’s gifts are freely given to me every day.
Cancer opens one’s “eyes of awareness” to gifts in your life. The simple gifts have the most meaning. We tend not to notice them when we are living on overdrive in our daily lives. Cancer peels away the layers of life to get to the core of your being. Cancer peels away the layers of a person to get to the rawness of their soul.
So what simple gifts have been given to me in journeying with a cancer diagnosis?
Hubby’s Workmates
My hubby returned to work today after lovingly and attentively taking care of me in the first week of surgery recovery. Our house is now eerily quiet. I miss our teatime chats that not only warmed my tired and weak body, but warmed our friendship as well.
It’s his birthday today as he returns to work and his “new normal” in living in a family with a cancer diagnosis.
There have been many simple gifts given to him by others in this cancer journey.
His workmates collected money and bought a home meals catering service for us. This kind gesture helps me continue recuperating while he works, and removes his worry about dinner prep for several meals.
Others are reaching out to him via work and home email messages of encouragement and cheer. Some friends of his are walking with him in sharing their experiences as cancer survivors or as family members of someone who is living with cancer. A few of my “Action Heroes” are waiting to book tee times with him to ensure that he relieves some stress to help him stay well.
“J x 2” First Time Home Buyers
Life carries on, as it will. I don’t want any people in my family to stop living their lives just because of my cancer diagnosis. Living with cancer just forces you to change directions in your life in unexpected ways.
In the midst of the countdown to my cancer surgery last week, our son Josh and daughter in law Jill were given notice that the home they were renting was going to be put up for sale. It was not news they wanted to hear in a tension filled week.
But, adversity turns into opportunity. They were planning to buy their first home earlier this year, then decided to postpone doing so because of my cancer diagnosis and wanting to spend more time with me. House buying is now back on their “to do” list.
My husband and I have always been the biggest cheerleaders in the lives of our kids. We have been blessed with so many simple gifts they have each given us in their 26 and 21 years. We have always made ourselves available to help them in their needs, which are changing as their lives evolve.
We’re now coaching our “J x 2” kids in a new phase of life—buying a home for the first time.
Helping our kids to pursue owning a home presents us with many simple gifts daily. They’ve asked their dad to accompany them on open houses on the weekend to teach them about what to look for in buying a house. They send me emails with houses they’re interested in so that I can be part of this adventure as I recuperate.
Last night, they came over to excitedly share good news with us on their mortgage pre-approval and their weekend plans to see more houses. They engaged us in dialogues on how to interact with real estate agents, how to buy home security systems, the style of houses they are looking for, and the ups and downs of placing bids on houses in a hot sellers’ market.
There is a satisfaction in knowing that we did something right as parents to launch them on their journeys into fully functioning adults, and now as successful young professionals who want to own their own home. It’s rewarding to sit on the sidelines of their lives to see them successfully experience the rites of passage into adulthood, which includes home ownership.
This weekend will be busy with them updating us on their house-hunting adventures. It’s a fun time for all of us!
Baby Jaxon
Five-month-old baby Jaxon is a “simple gift” to me in this cancer journey. He greets you with a smile as wide as the Grand Canyon. His eyes twinkle with every person he meets.
This little guy is the first grandchild of our good friends of over 30 years. Their daughter and her husband let me enter into their new world of parenthood before my surgery. They invited me to take a stroll with mom and babe during one of their daily walks.
It is a moving image to see how Jaxon’s mom lovingly holds him in adoration for the miracle of life she holds in her hands. All is well with the world when you are given the gift of witnessing the love of a mother for her baby. He has been so lovingly welcomed into the world since his first day of birth on a cold day last December.
Jaxon’s laughter comes from his toes, wiggles his body in delight, and makes him gasp for air between giggles. His belly laughter is a pure and simple gift to anyone who is in the presence of his giggling. Each time I hear him laugh, my eyes tear with joy. Happy babies spread their happiness to others around them.
I look forward to more of his giggles and watching him grow.
Living Room Florist Shop
My daughter Marissa is a keen observer of life. She has always worn her tender heart on her sleeve. She has bright expressive eyes and is equally bright as a person.
This week on the day after I came home from surgery, her gift of living in the present resulted in a comment about the people who are journeying with us as a family in living with cancer.
“Mom, do you realize that since the week of your cancer diagnosis, we have had flowers in our house continuously? So many people care about you, that’s amazing, Mom!” (editor’s note: amazing but not surprising!)
It is indeed.
The beauty of nature surrounds me in every corner of the living room as I rest and recover. The flowers sprinkle their soft fragrances throughout our house and wake up our senses each morning. Simple gifts showered through nature.
I bid adieu for today, as I become more and more aware of the simple gifts in my life. I fight on with Strength, Courage, and Determination.
Breast cancer unclothes you in your humanity.
Overnight, it makes you shed the multitude of masks that you wear. It makes you strip down to a level of “realness” that you wouldn’t reveal when you are well and competing for survival in the world.
You can’t hide your deformed body that is permanently changed to help you conquer cancer. You can’t hide your physical and emotional pain and discomfort. You can’t hide your restlessness in living with this life-threatening disease.
Cancer makes you look into the mirror of mortality.
You don’t need to perform or ask for permission from others on how to behave when you have cancer. Unfettered permission is given to you to be who you are in coping with cancer.
Letting Go, Surrendering, and Casting Off
Perfection has no home in living with cancer. Control cannot reside in one who lives with cancer. This is a hard lesson for me to master. Letting go and surrendering to live day to day isn’t easy.
A wise dear friend, and cancer survivor, reminded me of this lesson three days before my mastectomy. “With cancer you have no control, you have to learn to let go,” he said with heartfelt words from one who has made this journey before me.
Slowly and stubbornly, I am learning this new lesson after a lifetime of being in control of my life. Cancer continues to be my teacher. It is instructing me in life’s lessons of letting go, surrendering, and casting off.
You cast off power suits and trade them in for yoga suits. You cast off wearing make-up for skin care. You cast off a coiffure for a short haircut, baldness, and eventually a wig. You cast off deadlines for rest time.
You cast off doing optional things, transferring your energy to healing and becoming well again. You cast off pretty much anything that takes you away from focusing on getting better and spending time with loved ones.
A New Kind of Love is Spoken
Cancer places you in a season of your life when you are most vulnerable in front of others. Somewhat ironically, they love you even more.
The eyes that see you living with this disease see your vulnerability and brokenness daily. This same vulnerability exposes you to experiencing a new kind of love from others. This new profound love is more sincere, more genuine, more deeply rooted, and is expressed more often.
Others’ thoughts that once waited to be verbalized no longer sit in the confines of their minds. Others’ thoughts now are expressed as words, gestures, and actions of love and caring. Those who love and surround you no longer withhold saying how they feel about you, and the place that you hold in their hearts.
My love for each and every other person on this journey with me—be it family or friends, has also changed with this cancer diagnosis. This disease presents many moments each day to tell others how special they are in my life.
My sister said it best on Sunday: “In a weird kind of way, this cancer diagnosis has actually become an unwanted gift in your life. It’s giving you a second chance to live.” I couldn’t say it any better.
Tender talks replace idle chatter. Every encounter with a loved one is a present from the soul of another person waiting to be received, unwrapped, and accepted by me. All who journey with me fill my daily life with blessings and hidden treasures. I have been given a rich life through cancer. I am grateful for this “unwanted” gift.
I live on with profound love surrounding me. I fight on with Strength, Courage, and Determination.
Spring arrived early this year, welcomed by all. It came at the beginning of April, melted small amounts of winter snow, and stayed. We have a bonus month of spring this year.
Yesterday was a glorious spring day. The temperatures pushed past 20° and the warm sunshine brought smiles to everyone’s faces. In neighborhoods all around the city gardeners tilled soil, landscapers prepared lawns, and the animal kingdom came out from hiding to partake in the warmth of the spring day.
There is energy in the air that comes with the arrival of spring. Yet there is also stillness.
Squirrels scamper and scurry on fence tops and tree branches. Bugs buzz. Trees in bud eagerly await the first spring rain to explode open their leaves announcing their presence on prairie landscapes. Crickets chatter. Birds chirp and sing in the distance. Feathered mates sing love songs to one another as they build their family nests.
Smells of pollen punctuate the spring air. Sunshine peeks through the bright blue sky, sprinkled amidst the cotton balls of dancing clouds. Looking downward, tender shoots of grass fight against yellowed winterkilled lawns to join with the forces of nature to bring in a new season.
Best of all, Manitoba mosquitoes haven’t yet surrounded us with their presence—but they will very soon!
It’s the best time of year to sit outside on a patio to enjoy the sleepy earth of winter waking up to launch spring in its place. Nature’s colors and voices round out your sensory experiences. It’s the kind of day you dream about experiencing when its -30° with howling winds in January.
Late last summer, we decided it was time to remodel our back yard in anticipation of our daughter’s wedding this August and the social activities that come with nuptials. A cobblestone wrap-around patio replaced a poured concrete slab. There is a coziness presented with many opportunities to finally enjoy our backyard without its former ugly clutter.
One weekend last August, I happened to come across an end of season sale at a local greenhouse. They were clearing out patio furniture with major discounts. The ideal patio table, six chairs and an umbrella were waiting to be claimed by a happy owner. It was meant to be. My name was on it. Impulsively, I bought the set knowing we would want one this year. We enjoyed a few barbecued meals around that table as a family before we put it away last fall waiting to be used again this year.
Life has a way of prioritizing things for us in ways we don’t expect. There is a well- known expression that says: “Man plans, God laughs.” We planned to use this set for backyard entertaining. God had a different plan.
The patio set will now be my relaxation anchor in living with cancer and reducing stress to get better. Who would have thought that a major overhaul of our back yard last fall and the purchase of a patio set would bring simple pleasures and joy?
A Place of Rest and Recovery
After the long hours in emergency a couple of days earlier, my energy levels increased enough yesterday to be able to sit outside on the patio and enjoy a cup of tea with hubby who is off this week taking care of me while I recuperate.
A cup of tea has a way of soothing a weary soul at anytime. Our household enjoys a collection of teas that fill our kitchen and thirst, and calms us at the end of each day.
The patio set is going to become my best “non-human” friend in this cancer journey. It gives me a reason to go outside and rest in comfort. It enables me to discard my worries for a short while as I surround myself with sunshine and nature.
It will be a place of rest and recovery. It will be a place of visits with family and friends. Coffee chats and teatime tales be warmly welcomed here. Fortunately, family and friends have left me with a well-stocked supply of tea to enjoy!
My husband embraced the chance to sit at the patio and welcomed the spring day as much as I, taking a break from running the household. He mused saying, “this is the kind of day you keep promising yourself that you should take time to enjoy, but you put it off to do other things instead. I’ll get to it, we say to ourselves, but we don’t.”
Hitting the “Reset” Button of Life
My husband’s philosophy on living with cancer in our family pretty much sums up how it is. “Cancer makes you hit the reset button on life,” he said as he sipped his cup of tea on the patio. “It gives you a second chance on life and how to live,” he said.
He’s right.
Cancer has a way of instantly changing what we value in life and how we want to spend our time. You learn very quickly what matters and what you need to let go of. As a cancer patient you want to stay positive because it helps in managing your life-threatening disease. But in the back of your mind, you learn to live with it daily as you don’t know how much time you have left to spend with loved ones. Cancer is a visitor that doesn’t completely leave your thoughts—ever.
I’m told by cancer survivors who are now in remission, that its just part of living a “new normal” in your life. It’s also probably why us cancer patients are always busy. A friend of mine whose husband has survived prostate cancer says, “cancer people always have projects.”
I can identify. You feel like you are racing against the countdown clock. There are so many things you have thought about that you that you would like to do with your life. Cancer shortens the time in which you can.
The reset button reminds me of how fragile life is and how I have taken so much for granted. I am thankful for this fresh start in my second life. The blessings of the reset button are abundant.
The Warrior Women of the Amazon Tribe, the Action Heroes and others are my inspiration in this fight against cancer. I live daily, with Strength, Courage, and Determination.
I am the last person to be up-to-date tech-savvy as my family and work staff can attest. I come from an era of over three decades ago where I used a standard typewriter and white-out to do my college assignments.
Blogging and learning how to use an iPod are the new technology additions in my life with this cancer diagnosis. My son-in-law and husband tease me saying I’ve moved from a Sony Walkman (circa 1980’s) to using the first version of an iPod (circa mid 2000’s). I think I’m doing well jumping technology decades in six short weeks!
The blog came as a result of the urgings of my 20-something kids and their mates who said it would be the best way to stay in touch with so many on the travels with cancer. I’m still resisting Facebook.
I have heard from many of you that you are enjoying reading my cancer blog. It’s my e-journal and a healthy way for me to share my story with others. Thank you for your feedback and comments.
I am learning so much from all of you in this journey of healing. Your warm words of encouragement give me something to look forward each day as I recuperate. The blog is now a positive part of my new daily routine and is something to look forward to as my former boss, breast cancer survivor, and mentor suggested would be an important part of my “new normal” life in living with cancer.
Making the Blog Interactive
Some of you have already joined the blog as followers. Some have posted comments. A lot of you have tried to become followers and want to post comments, but are having trouble completing the log-in registrations to do so.
My tech-savvy family members tell me that there is a method to become blog followers and also enables you to post comments on my blog.
Here is how you can interact with me on the Strength, Cancer, and Determination blog:
In the right margin of the blog page you will see a heading called “Followers”. If you wish to become a follower, you need to click on the word “Follow “ and that will take you to a sign-in page. If you don’t already have one, you must establish an account with one of the services listed.
To create an account, for example, with Google, click on “Create a New Google Account” for on the sign-in page.
Enter your email address, choose a password, and then re-enter the password.
“Enable Web History” will automatically be checked. This means that Google will track and store your web browsing history. If you are not comfortable with that, uncheck this box.
If you wish to enter your birthday, you can, but it’s not necessary.
Read the “Term & Conditions” and then click “I accept. Create my account”.
In order to post a comment on any of the blog entries, you must be logged in on your Google account if you wish to publish your name with the comment.
You can also comment anonymously by selecting “anonymous” from the drop down menu below the comment box.
In either case, once you enter a comment and click on “Post a Comment”. A word verification appears below the comment box. Click on the phrase “Word Verification” and another box appears. Type in the letters found above this box and then click “Post Comment”.
And that should do it. If your comment does not appear immediately, refresh the page and it should then appear.
Post operation day 2 raised some concerns with my surgical drain.
I’d read our take home materials from the hospital on warnings and didn’t see the ones that addressed my concerns. So at 11:00 that night, my family decided that a hospital visit to an emergency ward was required to make sure nothing was abnormal with the surgery recovery.
As it was the weekend, my surgeon was not available. We didn’t have an on call contact to check with on concerns. The breast health centre wasn’t open for a consult. We didn’t have a choice but to go to an emergency department at one of our city hospitals.
The last time I “put in time” at an emergency ward was over 15 years ago when I fell down a flight of stairs and broke and dislocated my sacroiliac. (As I said in an earlier blog, I don’t get sick but accidents do find me!)
Well, well. Little did we know what was in store for us in that emergency room sojourn.
My sister and medical folks in my social circle have said that full moons tend to see an increase of people in emergency wards. It’s also a time that allegedly changes the behavior of people.
We arrived at one of the hospitals in our city, to be greeted with a full room of people waiting to see ER physicians. We were told it would be probably two hours and that the staff would try to see us as soon as they could so that I could get home quickly and continue to recuperate.
Others came and went in the time we sat waiting. Some were in and out in minutes. Many continued to wait with us.
The hours passed, and passed, and passed. Early morning infomercials hawking air purifiers and muscle machines kept us awake, but not amused. We sat through several episodes of wallet-fetching promos.
At the point that an evangelical minister came on the telly to sell us on registering for his conferences to help us on our Judgment Day, I got up and asked the security guard to change the channel. A chorus of relieved “thank-you’s” echoed from others in the waiting area who also hadn’t yet seen a doctor. CNN was chosen as the replacement channel.
People Watching
Emergency rooms are among the best places to “people watch” in big cities.
You see all kinds--young, old, and multiple “frequent flyers” in an emergency ward. You can’t help but find some compassion, humor, and pathos in the lives of the frequent flyers.
One of them was treated for a foot problem, was discharged around midnight, told he could go home by admitting staff, and bunked out in a lounge chair overnight as he didn’t have a home to go to. He got up at 9 a.m. and left.
Several of them knew about how to access heated blankets to stay warm while waiting for their appointments.
Then there was the group of eight frequent flyers who were all well known by the hospital staff. Two shifts of security guards called them by name.
On this particular night, there were several occasions where the guards had to remove the obnoxious and inebriated contingent that kept returning to see their buddy in ER. Sadly, they are a group of homeless frequent flyers that seek shelter in the familiar confines of a hospital emergency ward.
ER Staff
When we came to emergency, an admitting clerk opened my file with a nurse. The clerk worked the rest of her shift, got off duty, went home to sleep, and came back the next morning to put in a new day.
She glanced into the waiting area on her arrival at work, looked our way, and said: “You’re still here?” She shook her head in disbelief and went on to get a coffee to start her day.
Ten hours later from when we arrived, we were summoned to an examining room between shifts changing over. The examining rooms’ hallway was full of people waiting to get admitted onto hospital wards. Most of the examining rooms were full with other patients undergoing procedures. The ER wait was explained in full view through our eyes. Such is the domino effect of hospital bed shortages that backlog emergency wards.
While waiting for the doctor, we had to endure the ranting of an ER nurse who was coming to the end of her hectic shift. She felt she had a license to vent at the patient beside me about the comings and goings of people in hospital emergency wards on Sunday nights. “They’re sick, and wait all weekend to be seen. Or, they come in on Sunday nights just to avoid going to work on Monday morning,” she complained.
Wow. Nursing burnout. Un-professionalism and cynicism at its finest. It’s time for that nurse to get another job. Heck, I’ll even help her by brushing off her resume and updating it as I’ve done for many others!
Her comments made me feel very guilty for bothering emergency staff. I was branded a nuisance without having been seen.
Based on the length of time that I waited and the crabby nurse’s comments, I really felt that I had no business appearing at an emergency ward two days after major surgery about such “trite” concerns as possible problems with a surgical drainage. What a difference in care and attitudes of nursing staff when compared to what I encountered only two days earlier at another hospital with my surgery.
We saw an ER resident almost an hour later after getting to an examining room. He apologized sincerely for the long wait and started his check-up. He told me not to feel bad for coming to the hospital with my concerns. “It was the right thing to do,” he said trying to bring comfort to me in this anxious situation.
A surgery drainage was a relatively new experience for the young and learning doctor. Wisely, he had consulted the nursing team and an on-duty surgeon to confirm his treatment intentions.
In the end, it all ended up positively. The symptoms I was experiencing were not uncommon, but weren’t ones I was told about prior to leaving the hospital post surgery. It was also an opportune time to sort out some of the conflicting information we had received on drainage and wound care with the resident doctor.
The highlight of this visit came when the “new on shift” attending ER nurse walked into the examining room to change my dressing. I got the biggest hug from her when she realized whom I was. I’d known her since she was a young teenager.
We had spent hours conversing at the local Y when my children swam there and she sat at the poolside lifeguarding swimming classes. Our son had been a friend of hers throughout high school. She was his escort to high school grad, and they shared part-time jobs as life guards at the local Y, working to earn money for university.
I had the pleasure of witnessing her grow into adulthood as a bright, warm and caring young adult. Our family also shared in her life’s journey several years earlier when her dad was dying from cancer.
She is now a new graduate nurse who chose to work in emergency having previously worked as a paramedic. Early in her career, she already is a great nurse. Lucky are the patients she will care for.
After a farewell hug from her, we went home relieved and exhausted. It was 29 hours since I awoke on the previous before that I could now plunk down to sleep. Day two was not the best day for surgery resting and recovery.
Last night, as I got ready for another round of sleep, I looked out at the brightness of the clear nighttime sky. A full moon in its entire splendor greeted my weary eyes. It explained everything that we had encountered.
Strength, Courage, and Determination. I fight on. A new day awaits.
We have all had a very busy weekend and have been fortunate enough to visit with many friends and family at home. For the next several weeks as Mom recovers, we kindly request that you phone before you drop in to make sure Mom is up to having visitors. This will be even more necessary down the road once chemo starts and infection becomes more of an issue. We really appreciate your company and your understanding!
The Merits of Fitness in Recovery
Prior to surgery, we were told that boosting up our exercise to at least a half hour a day would make a big difference to our surgical recovery. Admittedly, I wasn’t sure what difference this would make. The skeptic in me wanted some proof.
I did increase my exercise to a minimum of 45 minutes per day with some moderate daily cardio in Aquafit or brisk walking.
There were days when I would have rather stayed home—especially if I had not slept well overnight. But I chose to be a warrior in the fight for this disease, and exercise was a simple part to play in my role on the treatment team. The bonus from the exercise is that my body actually felt better. I slept better. It was a bit part I played.
We were also told that a minimum of 30 minutes of exercise each day should now be a permanent part of our lives as someone living with cancer. Exercise helps to keep the body strong in helping to prevent a cancer recurrence. Exercise will now be a part of my daily routine, and one that I will no longer forfeit as I once did.
As I waited for the anaesthetist to come up with my anaesthetic regime, one of my surgical nurses commented on my fitness as she probed my arm for a vein to inject the intravenous. “Nice muscle definition on your arm. Do you work out? That will help you a lot in your recovery.”
The rewards for my hard work in the pool and pounding pavement in the neighborhood were realized.
In surgical step down, another nurse who was helping me to get out of bed to take a trip to the bathroom with my intravenous pole (whom I called my girlfriend, “Patsy Pole”) commented: “You work out, I can tell by the muscle tone in your legs. That’s a bonus for your recovery.”
Win #2 for cancer girl! Ego bolstered. Body gratified by exercise.
Once I was fully awake and the anaesthetic wore off, I was only asking for pain killers until late afternoon. I didn’t need any more painkillers after that. I had a painkiller prescription filled for home use after discharge. I still haven’t had to crack open the bottle for pain relief.
The whole surgical procedure went far better than I thought it would. No pain. No nausea. No cancerous lymph nodes, and the localized cancer was removed. All I needed to do for the rest of the night was sleep—with my blissful Bair blanket, of course!
I am on day three post-surgery, and there is still no pain. It’s unbelievable.
Gratitude
When one lays in a recovery bed and are coherent post-op, there is a lot of thinking time in between cat-naps.
The positive outcomes of the surgery made me grateful for many things and people in my life.
I am grateful for my family, extended family, friends, colleagues and medical team members who have cheered me on in this cancer journey. Their touches, warm smiles, well wishes, and proactive care were appreciated.
I am grateful for the actions of others who have supported me on this journey. Each gesture of caring from every person that has touched my life with this cancer experience has etched positive memories in my mind, as I heal from the first phase of treatment in this life-threatening disease.
I am grateful for the exposed vulnerability of others in their emotional meltdowns of relief after my positive surgery outcome. These meltdowns unveil the hidden strength of character in the human side that of all of us have in living with this cancer diagnosis. I am sure there will be more of these episodes. They are a gift of presence.
I am grateful for the depth of emotion people have shown me in living with cancer. We all share in the humanity of this disease.
I am grateful for my family doctor who hurriedly took charge of the treatment situation early on in this journey. She was simply outstanding.
I am grateful for her referring me to an excellent surgeon.
I am grateful in his approach of empowering me to take an active part early on in my cancer treatment. When the time came for surgery, I was grateful for his finely honed skills, his warm and supportive bedside manner, and his knowledge in taking care of me. And of course, I am grateful he approved the use of the Emla cream!
All of my nurses were absolutely top notch. I am grateful to all of them for their professionalism and care. They each had positive and upbeat personalities and compassion. They gave me the best care of me under every phase of my care from admission to discharge. At one point, when my son was overcome with relief post surgery and fainted after he saw me, they rallied around him and took care of him too until he revived!
The nurses made sure that the little comforts in life like a hot cup of tea, pudding cups, and warm fuzzy slippers were included in the “feel good” part of my recovery. And yes, they were always available to escort “Patsy Pole” and me down the hallway when a bathroom trip was needed.
Pizza Party Celebration
One of my nurses—I can remember her name as it was the same as mine, fell into a chat with me about the gluten and lactose sensitivities noted on my medical chart. She said her sister had Celiac disease, and told me about a local pizza chain that recently started to offer gluten free pizza.
Joy! I haven’t had pizza in ages because it’s hard to get gluten free pizza from local pizzerias.
That was a reason in itself to party.
Then there was a reason to celebrate that the surgery was over. There was a welcome home rationale for a party. There was the completion of our daughter’s university degree and commencement of a new job earlier in the week that got lost flurry of the days leading up to surgery. There was the excitement of our son and daughter-in-law announcing this week that they are starting to look to buy their first house sometime this summer.
We celebrated all of these milestones in the comfort of our family home. A pizza party for all! It was great, as gluten free and regular pizza sat beside each other at the dinner table.
Male Warriors: “The Action Heroes” Emerge
In an earlier blog, I wrote about the role that women are playing in this cancer journey. They’ve affectionately been called the “Warrior Women of the Amazon Tribe.” They provide me with emotional support, friendship, and laughter.
Gents, I apologize. Your role was somewhat minimized.
Although I did mention my appreciation for your support, little did I realize the force within the male movement surrounding me on this cancer journey. And it’s growing—daily!
There are lots of men who are traveling with me. Each of them is wonderful, each of them provide special gifts of friendship and support to me.
They include my hubby and son, and son in law to be, brothers, friends, work colleagues, neighbours, acquaintances, and my medical team. I hadn’t stopped to count the number of men who are traveling with me until after I got home from surgery. It was part of my gratefulness reflection.
The Warrior Women are over 40 strong, but the men aren’t far behind at almost 40 and counting. Thank you gents!
For the men with on this journey with me, you hold much affection in my heart. You are now knighted as my “Action Heroes” on this cancer journey.
Welcome Action Heroes. Thanks for traveling with me in spirit, in action, and in reading my blog!
I fight on with strength, courage, and determination.
The Surgery
The time leading up to surgery was busy, as one expects.
There were vital signs to take, pre-op preps, a blood thinner injection for surgery, and the need to stay warm leading up to and during the operation.
The surgery was to be an hour and a half long procedure, getting me out of the OR just before noon.
Blissful Bair Hug Blankets
In the last year or so, the hospital started using new blankets to keep patients warm during their procedure to prevent infection. They are a feather light, disposable, and are heated by an electric vacuum pump that that fills blanket baffles full of 38° air.
Pure bliss! It’s was especially comforting when one is cold from not being able to eat since the night before, and colder yet in anticipation of surgery. My hands and feet just couldn’t warm up until the Bair Hug blanket arrived.
Having your entire body wrapped in this electric blanket that gently caresses you with warm air was delightful. That hospital experience alone was great! The blanket kept me warm during surgery and helped to minimize the risk of infection.
I wanted to take the machine and blanket home with me. It was that great! I was reminded again later that day of the “bliss of the blanket.” That heated blanket soothed me, surrounded me, and kept comfortable and warm so that I could sleep cozily and recover.
Radioactive Injections
Part of the pre-op procedure involved having to have an isotope injection in the areola so that my surgeon see if the cancer had spread to other areas, especially the lymph nodes.
Generally, patients are to get four to five of these injections prior to surgery without any anaesthetic. Ouch! It apparently stings and can be quite a painful procedure. It was something I dreaded going through, but knew it was necessary.
Prior to surgery, in my visit with the breast cancer nurse educator, she had mentioned that one of her patients had used Emla cream, a topical anesthetic for dermal anaesthesia prior to the injections.
It supposedly was completely safe to use and does not disrupt the anaesthetic. Her patient said using the cream was a breeze in freezing the area that would receive the injection. After the appointment, I immediately went to a drug store and bought the cream.
Arriving at the hospital that morning, I showed my day surgery nurse the cream and asked her to check with my surgeon on its usage. She warned me that the hospital hadn’t let patients use it with other breast cancer surgeries. As this was my surgery, and I wanted to have a say in my treatment, I gave her the cream and asked her to check with my surgeon to see if it could be used. She did.
I won. The surgeon confirmed it was safe to use and asked that it should be applied one hour before the operation.
When the time came for the injection, my surgeon autographed the surgery area with a felt pen to outline the procedure, and injected me with the radioactive needle. While other surgeons may use four to five needles to inject the lymph node area for surgery, I only needed on as my surgeon follows a different treatment regime. He injected me with the needle. I felt no pain. The cream did its job, beautifully. I was now the patient, and a teacher.
“You didn’t wince,” commented my surgeon. “From now on, I must tell my other patients about this cream. How did you hear about it? Where did you get it? Did you need a prescription?” Such are the merits of a patient pro-actively taking on some of their treatment care during their cancer journey and collaborating with their surgeon.
In spite of the schedule the surgeon had that day—he had three breast cancer operations scheduled—he still made one-on-one time with me. I was first. He made sure he kept in touch directly with me, choosing to roll me into the operating area himself after the injection, rather than having an attendant do so.
He was not too impressed with the wheels on the gurney. They kept veering to the right side, making negotiating the hallway and corners tricky. I compared it to using a shopping cart that needed to be fixed. We chuckled.
I was rolled into the operating room, and was transferred to the OR bed. I could hear music playing as the operating room nurses were readying the area for surgery. My surgeon likes rock music! I underwent anaesthesia and was out.
Serenity: Floating on Clouds of Prayers
As I waited for surgery, I felt calm. The anxiety of waiting for surgery for six weeks, then days, then hours, then minutes, was slowly coming to an end.
When I was rolled into the nuclear medicine area of the hospital, I had a few minutes to wait until my surgeon was available to inject me with the radioactive needle. A wave of peace came over me.
I was no longer scared. I was so calm that I could have fallen asleep. It felt like I was floating on clouds of prayers.
I know that countless prayers were offered for my family and me in the weeks that led up to the surgery. Hundreds of individual and congregational prayers were offered up from Combermere, Ancaster, Calgary, Halifax, and other near and far destinations. All welcomed, all helpful. I was at peace with what was to come and grateful for the prayers of so many.
Recovery
Late in the afternoon, after the surgeon has completed all of his operations, he came into recovery and gave us a report on how the operation went.
The surgery went very well. A simple mastectomy was all that was required. The cancer was localized only in the lump where it was found. There was no cancer in any of the lymph nodes, thus none had to be removed, and recovery would be so much easier. The best news ever!!!
Sandra 1, Cancer 0.
Of course, we still have to wait for more conclusive results from the biopsies that will be undertaken by a pathologist on the removed tissue.
My medical team will have a better indication of what the next treatments are in the next two weeks. In mid May, I have a surgery follow up appointment at which time I will be told by my surgeon about who my medical oncologist will be and the steps that will follow.