It’s been four and a half weeks since my surgery. I am finally starting to feel better.
The cellulitis infection that I have been battling these past 10 days, along with surgery recovery, seasonal spring allergies, swelling of my arm from the intravenous antibiotics, and drug side effects have taxed my body.
I have been feeling miserable and lethargic. Light physical activity was an exertion. The post-surgery exercises to regain my arm and shoulder strength and mobility were difficult to do, as the infection constrained my ability to move and added more irritation and pain to the surgery’s severed muscles and nerves.
It has been a slow and stubborn recovery in combating cellulitis. It is not a very common complication of mastectomy surgery and can be fatal if not treated aggressively. Ongoing monitoring of the infection was critically important in treating it. It took the partnership of my surgeon, various nurses, and me watching the symptoms to see if the infection was diminishing or increasing.
The hospitalization to receive heavy dosage intravenous antibiotics and then a strong oral antibiotic when I got home was slow to make this infection leave my body. In the last week I had the wound drained twice by my surgeon, and three times by nurses to try and get the infection under better control.
The infection was still not clearing properly one week later, and I started to develop chills. With this new symptom, my surgeon directed me to get to the emergency ward of the hospital to have him check the infection. He came in on a day off, on a long weekend, so that he could cut open the wound site to drain the infection to facilitate clearing it.
I now require daily drainage of the site and replacement of surgical dressings by nurses for the next few days until the infection is completely cleared. The re-opening of the surgery incision is working well. The infection fluid that has been pooling and preventing recovery is now clearing my body.
I am feeling stronger and healthier for the first time since my mastectomy.
It has been a frustrating and difficult recovery. I am on the mend and the “old me” pre-surgery is showing some signs of returning! I am able to do my strengthening and conditioning arm and shoulder exercises more easily now. I even had enough strength this morning to resume short walks in my neighborhood to get my body healthier to continue to aid in my surgery recovery.
I am getting better each day. I continue to tackle living with cancer with Strength, Courage, and Determination.
The saga of fighting cancer continues. I had a new twist to contend with over the weekend.
On Saturday, I developed a cellulitis infection as a surgery complication. The infection symptoms medical caregivers tell you to look for post-surgery were not the ones I was experiencing, so this infection came as a big surprise.
Cellulitis is a nasty infection that spreads quickly. It requires high dosage antibiotic intravenous drugs to start ridding your body of the toxins that have attacked it.
Coupled with discomfort of the infection, remnants of mastectomy surgery side-effects, and some heavy duty antibiotics and painkillers, my body feels like it’s under attack by multiple enemies. The antibiotics and painkillers are doing their job, but they have made me drop-dead tired.
It’s early afternoon as I write this blog. I don’t have enough energy today to get out of my pj’s and have a shower. I’m that tired. This type of tiredness is new to me. I’ve have never felt this kind of fatigue.
My surgeon says this is a normal symptom that I am going through with post-surgery recovery and infection fighting, which is compounded by strong antibiotics and painkillers. He also forewarned me that I would experience an even greater fatigue than this in chemo treatments that are likely to come.
This unexpected chapter in living with cancer began when I went to get medical attention for the infection. I ended up in the same emergency ward that I attended a couple of weeks ago following my surgery.
It was quite a different story this time. There was no partying “cast of characters” in this episode, except for one. She was on some kind of mind altering substance and thought she was at a different emergency hospital. She was initially seen and was waiting for her test results in the ER waiting room. Once she realized she was at a different hospital, she walked out the door and did not return. Her name was called for the follow up to her tests, but she was not to be found. One surmises that she went to the other hospital’s emergency ward.
This time, our wait in emergency was one hour vs. 11 hours from our earlier encounter two weeks ago. This time, the visit resulted in an admission over the weekend in a hospital that was different to the one in which I had my surgery.
Hospital surgical wards are interesting places. They have their own sounds.
There are the feet shufflers and the hackers and hurlers who deal with surgery complications. There is a multitude of visitors and their voices. There is the buzz of beeping machines, and the rhythmic sounds of medical pumps administering medicine to patients. The nighttime sounds of a surgical ward do not mirror those of daytime. It’s quieter. Overnight sounds you hear include witnessing the moans, snores, and nightmares of roommates that you don’t hear in the daytime.
On weekends, the hospitals are often filled with part-time staff, residents, and interns who are your primary caregivers. Senior medical staff is on call if their services are needed.
Over the course of the two days that I was in hospital, three different surgeons on call reviewed my case, but only one came to see me. The primary care was in the hands of a senior surgery resident along with interns specializing in surgery. One surgeon on call directed the senior surgery resident and an intern on how to handle my case during the emergency room’s examination. This surgeon did not see me.
A second surgeon supposedly was the one who admitted me into the hospital late Saturday night for treatment of a spreading cellulitis infection. I did not meet him until Sunday afternoon when he came to see the infection on my surgery site.
An intern who was in the ER when I was admitted handled the Monday morning medical rounds. Later that day, a third surgeon signed my discharge papers and issued me my prescriptions for home care.
The discharge nurse tells you upon discharge from the hospital after surgery, that if you have any complications you should to report to any emergency ward for attention. We chose a hospital that different from the one where I had my surgery. It was closer to home, and the commute with an infection discomfort and horrid fatigue was easier to handle than going to the surgery hospital at the opposite end of the city.
Regrettably, we should have made the longer trip, as the other hospital is the home of my surgeon and his colleagues. I had an infection follow up appointment with my surgeon yesterday. Intuitively, I got the sense that my emergency and continuity of care would have been better delivered by him or one of his colleagues at the surgical hospital vs. trusting it to others at another facility.
This is another lesson learned in my cancer treatment and care. As my infection is still causing complications, my surgeon has given me his after hours contact info and wants me to call him directly at any time if I need further care. He will take care of me at the hospital in which I had my surgery. I am comforted and relieved to know that I can bypass emergency wards and a lack of continuity of care in helping me to recover by dealing directly with my surgeon.
I am working on trying to regain the use of my right arm, which lacks mobility and strength because of the mastectomy. My surgeon would like to have my mobility improved and supports physiotherapy, acupuncture, and massage to improve muscle injury, tension, and restriction. These have worked for me in the past with long-standing chronic neck and shoulder mobility problems.
The addition of my affected surgery muscles will be a new challenge for my physiotherapist. We will embark on physio treatments starting tomorrow. In time, I expect that I will be able to return to restful sleep once again after the infection has passed, my stiff muscles become more pliable, and my muscle tension headaches cease.
I’m trying to get more rest than in the past so that I can continue to recover from the surgery and infection. I will blog when I can.
In the meantime, I keep my chin up and continue to fight this cancer battle with Strength, Courage, and Determination.
She liked it so much she had to go back.
The Canadian Cancer Society says that one in nine women is expected to develop breast cancer during her lifetime and one in 28 will die of it.
My elderly next-door neighbor on one side of our home is a breast cancer survivor of nine years. Her daughter is a breast cancer survivor of 11 years.
My next-door neighbor on the other side of our home was diagnosed with breast cancer two weeks after I was. Her cancer surgery followed mine five days later. We are recuperating together.
What are the odds that three houses in a row on the same side of the street each have a woman living with a breast cancer diagnosis? How bizarre is that? One in nine Canadian women will develop breast cancer in her lifetime…really?
One of the breast cancer neighbors has wondered if the electric power substation that is a few houses down on the street has anything to do with it. There are some studies that have been conducted that say there is a connection, others say it’s not so. One of my surgery recovery nurses mentioned that there might be a connection. It instantly made me wonder if we need to sell our house that we’ve enjoyed as of late following extensive renovations to the interior and the yard.
The neighbor who is in active breast cancer treatment at the same time as me shares some similar characteristics. Neither of us have breast cancer histories in our families. She is a handful of years older, and has been a working professional for her entire career. She is used to accommodating a demanding job, is busy with it, and carries a lot of responsibility as a manager. She has worked full time outside the home for three decades and raised two children while doing it. Like me, she too is having a hard time slowing down her life dramatically in living with cancer.
In this journey, there is some comfort in traveling with my neighbor as she also battles for her life against cancer. I feel less alone as my experiences are also her experiences. We have the gift of time to spend together to get to know one another better, and to support each other in living with the same illness.
We compare notes about our cancer travels. It is therapeutic to know that we are experiencing many of the same feelings, fears, and surgery recovery symptoms. We compare notes about our boredom and adjusting to having time on our hands that we’re not quite sure what to do with. We compare notes about our hubbies and kids and how this disease touches lives beyond our own, forcing those close to us to travel in their own unique journeys in living with a family member who has cancer.
Now that my neighbor and I are both feeling a little stronger post-surgery, we are starting to go on daily walks together. We are enjoying the sunshine and fresh air that greets us on these jaunts along with the benefit of exercise to help us recover better. We are looking forward to sharing coffee and tea on our patios this summer as we undergo treatments, rest, and recover in managing our cancer.
Together we face our journeys in living with cancer with Strength, Courage, and Determination.
My surgery recovery is slower than I thought it would be. I am still quite weak and tired. I am bored, housebound, can’t drive yet, and am unable to do a whole lot as I rehabilitate. This is a radical change of pace for me.
Yesterday was a day of mild anxiety. Nearly three weeks have passed since my mastectomy. It was time to see my surgeon for a post–surgery follow up appointment.
Two bonuses came from the surgeon’s visit.
The first bonus was that the sentinel node that was removed during surgery underwent a post-surgery biopsy. The results re-confirmed that cancer had not spread to the lymph nodes. It was localized in the area where it was initially diagnosed. This is good news.
My surgeon also confirmed that the surgery biopsy results of carcinosarcoma of the breast were concurrent with the initial biopsy results that led to the mastectomy treatment.
The second bonus is that I finally had my surgical drain removed. What an instant relief that was. No more pulling and pinching with twinges of pain that the drain caused. I can now stand straighter as the pressure of the drain prevented me from doing so. Last night, I moved from three weeks of sleeping on a recliner to sleeping on a bed. I could finally experience a restful sleep.
My surgeon said that I might not be required to undergo chemotherapy and radiation. The cancer appears to have been self-contained in the lump that was removed with the mastectomy. The mastectomy biopsy results are now being sent by the surgeon to a medical oncologist for a second opinion to determine the next steps. I now am waiting a few weeks to see what will happen with my treatment.
During the visit, I was asked if I would give consent to have the removed tissue donated to medical research. I didn’t hesitate to sign the consent form. It’s my small way of helping medical researchers to study this rare form of breast cancer to learn more about it to the benefit of other future patients.
At this point, I am cautiously optimistic with the surgical biopsy results.
I am concerned about the uniqueness of carcinosarcoma as it can be resistant to chemotherapy and radiation treatments. It is also an aggressive form of cancer that can return and grow quickly.
I trust my surgeon’s expertise and that of the medical oncologist who will look at my results to determine the next steps. I suspect that if a patient does not need to go through chemotherapy and radiation, then they bypass these treatments. Time will tell what applies to me.
A “surgery only” step wasn’t one that I thought would be part of my treatment plan, given that my tumor was over three centimeters when it was removed. In pre-surgery medical visits with various members of my treatment team, I was told that chemo and or radiation are part of ridding your body of cancer. Mentally, I prepared myself for chemotherapy and possible radiation as they generally follows cancer surgery.
There is somewhat of a “security blanket” I feel with these other cancer treatments. They are preventative measures to ensure that any remnants of cancer are (temporarily) eliminated. I’m a bit apprehensive about the possibility that chemo and radiation may not be required.
If my treatment outcome does not include chemotherapy or radiation, I will be somewhat relieved. But, I will not forget that cancer will always be a part of my “new normal” life now. I know that I will have to be very vigilant in self-monitoring of my body for any potential cancer symptoms arising. I know that regular medical check-ups will now be part of monitoring for a cancer recurrence for the rest of my life.
For now, all is well. There are some surgical side effects that we’re watching in the next couple of weeks that include some post-surgery swelling, and restricted motion and strength in my arm. My daily post-surgery exercises are continuing as I try to improve the use of my arm. I may need to undergo some physiotherapy to regain full use of my arm.
I am learning to live one day at a time with a cancer diagnosis. I am learning to live with my “new normal” with Strength, Courage, and Determination.
I’ve never been much of a dreamer. I’ve never been much of a gardener. My family and others close to me will attest to that. They would say that I’ve been too grounded in reality and practicality to dream and to garden.
Chalk it up to being too busy raising a family. Chalk it up to working full time outside the home with the start of gardening season colliding with the busiest time of the year at work. Chalk it up to the Herculean task that is required to turn Manitoba gumbo into pliable soil to make a garden grow.
This year is going to be different. My family is raised. My work is on hold. My garden gumbo is going to be “gone-zo”.
A cancer diagnosis has robbed me of some of my dreams and hopes. Instead, it is teaching me to let go of old dreams and hopes and replace them with new chances to dream and to hope. These new dreams and hopes are more realistic. They reside closer to home instead of far-away lands. These new dreams and hopes are gifts that are waiting for me to respond.
In living with cancer, one of my new dreams is to blend horticulture with hope to create a “Healing Garden of Hope” in our back yard. I was inspired to create a private healing (and scaled down) garden after viewing this breast cancer healing garden video from the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hBTD_KT5fMM
Healing gardens have their origins in ancient times when monasteries used them as environments to focus on one’s mind, body, and spirit rather than on the symptoms of a disease. Today, healing gardens are experiencing a revival as hospitals and treatment centres erect them as alternative therapies for managing chronic diseases and other ailments.
There is something soulful, tranquil, and peaceful about resting in the surroundings of a healing garden that I am drawn to partake in this summer. The garden is meant to provide sensory experiences in a calming and restorative landscape.
The healing garden is where I want to spend time this year to recover and rest from my cancer surgery. The healing garden will replace our annual cabin rental holiday this year, as medical appointments will be keeping me in town. The healing garden is where I plan to spend hours in conversation with people who matter to me, as their visits become more and more meaningful now as I live with cancer.
In thinking about the healing garden and it’s “how to’s,” my computer dictionary aptly describes my handiwork with horticulture as a noun: “your gardener apparently knows very little about horticulture.” Truer words were never spoken about my gardening abilities. However, I am open to learning and am undaunted by this gardening challenge.
I know that amongst the “Warrior Women of the Amazon Tribe” and the “Action Heroes” who are traveling with me on this cancer journey, that there are teachers and practitioners of horticulture amongst them who will help me to make this dream become a reality with their help. A local greenhouse and a landscaping company that will design and build our healing garden will aid them.
The healing garden will provide me with the soothing environment I need to continue to accept my illness and help prevent me from being resentful about my cancer diagnosis. My hope is that the garden will help to allay my fears in this cancer journey.
Daily, I choose to reframe my thinking about my cancer diagnosis by turning a negative outlook into something positive. Daily, I choose to be positive, as being negative is counter-productive. It takes too much of my energy, which I’d rather channel into something positive each day.
I look forward to positive experiences this summer in the healing garden as I spend soulful time with loved ones. We will have many meaningful conversations surrounded by fragrances, fluttering butterflies and songbirds. My healing garden will help me to continue to fight cancer with Strength, Courage, and Determination.
When you’re in the throes of battling cancer, it’s easy to get preoccupied on focusing on yourself. Some would say this is the way it’s supposed to be, that this is necessary.
While you’re dealing with this disease, there are many unsung heroes in the background who are a part of this cancer drama. They are the “burden bearers.”
The burden bearers take on the tasks of everyday life so that you can get better without worrying about what needs to get done when you can’t “do the doing.”
The burden bearers have triple roles: they go to work, they step in to take care of you, and they step in to take care of the day-to-day details when cancer strikes. They step in to run your household when your cancer diagnosis forces you to step out.
Our household has been a family unit for over three decades. My husband’s shift work made me become the primary caregiver of our children and the COH (Chief of the Household) in taking care of family life. I became a master juggler as a full time professional working mom, CCR (Chief of Child Rearing), and maintainer of all things household.
Circumstances dictated that I had to become a fiercely independent and a self-reliant master juggler. It became a way of life.
This way of life is now one that I struggle with in letting go of control and letting others step in so that I can focus on battling cancer and getting better. This is ultimately the biggest lesson I need to learn in this cancer journey. This lesson will be applied to many situations in the next few months as I face each stage of cancer treatment that awaits me.
There has been a definite role switch in our family as we all live with a cancer diagnosis. We are all finding our ways of adapting, but it is difficult. The role switch isn’t easy for me, my husband, my kids and their mates, and our extended family. It’s an undoing of decades of routine, of decades of predictability, of decades of normalcy. Things are different now, routines are different now, and our lives are different now.
The primary “burden bearer” in this cancer journey is my husband. At a time when he was looking forward to his retirement that is around the corner, he acquired a new lifetime job as a “cancer husband.”
He is now the COH. The CCR role is diminished with adult children. He still works full time with his customary schedule of two-week rotations, alternating shifts, late nights, weekends, and long days. His energies are taxed with work and the new cancer husband job. His stress has doubled.
He is learning to become a master juggler in keeping many balls in the air while working full time, attending to cancer patient care, cancer medical appointments, household tasks, and yard work. At times, it’s overwhelming for him.
Cancer survivors have told me that they feel the “burden bearers” of this disease are not them, but their spouses and others who care for them in dealing with this disease. I believe it because I see it. There are days when my husband looks weary and tired from bearing the burdens of being a cancer spouse.
But, his dedication and attentiveness are unwavering. Words can’t describe my gratefulness to him, my children and their partners, my extended family, and my friends for their love, care, and help at this difficult and demanding time in our lives.
Together, we will all get through these challenging cancer travels. Together, we will fight on with Strength, Courage, and Determination.