Archive for the ‘Surgery’ Category
Thursday, February 18th, 2010

Photo: Indenture, Flickr
Former Fox News anchor and conservative journalist E.D. Hill was back on “The View” today, talking all about the nipple-sparing mastectomy she had two weeks and two days ago. She shared previously that she would have the prophylactic surgery, even though she did not have breast cancer, because of a strong family history. Now that it’s over, she has no regrets.
Hill said she had very dense breast tissue, and cysts, and some suspicious stuff, too — like a gray area that kept showing up on mammogram, sonogram and MRI. Post-surgery pathology revealed this area to be pre-cancerous. Left untouched, it could have turned into the disease Hill hopefully has escaped with this preventative surgery.
Hill is now in the process of reconstruction, with expanders in place, and she’s speaking out about what some believe to be a drastic measure — removing breasts without a breast cancer diagnosis.
Most readers here believe Hill made the right decision, and many of you have made the same one. Thanks so much for sharing your stories. They matter — really, they do.
Tags: E.D. Hill, preventative mastectomy, prophylactic mastectomy, reconstruction, The View
Posted in Prevention, Surgery, Tests | 1 Comment »
Wednesday, January 27th, 2010
Former Fox News anchor and conservative journalist E.D. Hill informed “The View” co-hosts today that she will have a preventative double mastectomy. Essentially, she does not have breast cancer; she just doesn’t want to get it. And since a strong family history increases her chances of developing the disease, she’s taking action to keep herself as healthy as possible.
Seem too extreme to you? Or would you do it, too?
Tags: double mastectomy, E.D. Hill, Fox News, preventative, The View
Posted in Surgery | 29 Comments »
Wednesday, January 20th, 2010

http://jennlyon.com/
Former “Survivor” contestant Jennifer Lyon died on Tuesday night. Breast cancer. She was 37.
And this is exactly why I can work myself into a tizzy about the disease: because very young and otherwise healthy women die from it, and since I’ve had it, and there’s a chance it will come back, it’s pretty hard to not get all worked up about it. Mostly, I have hope, though, and I’m pretty sure I will survive for the long haul. I figure if I have more hope than worry, then life will be a whole lot more fun.
More about Jennifer: According to PEOPLE.com, the reality TV star, who placed fourth on “Survivor: Palau” in 2005 and passed away in her home in Oregon, was first diagnosed with stage-three breast cancer a few months after her “Survivor” season ended. She had a modified, radical bilateral mastectomy, then chemotherapy, then she took Tamoxifen. (Tamoxifen is a drug used to prevent recurrence for those who qualify for it. I don’t.)
Jennifer apparently found something suspicious in her right breast in the summer of 2004, but she chalked it up to scar tissue related to breast implants, and she let it go — for a long time.
Don’t do that, people! Don’t let anything go — if you find something, find a doctor. Right away. Then demand a mammogram, an ultrasound, an MRI — just don’t self-diagnose. The results can be tragic.
If you can remember just one thing about breast cancer, make it this: if caught early, this disease can be stopped. It doesn’t have to grow and spread and take over other organs. Small tumors can be removed, your body can be treated, and you can survive. Really, you can. So check your breasts (forget those who tell you self-exams are unnecessary and mammograms can wait) and report anything — anything — that just doesn’t feel right.
OK?
OK.
Tags: Jennifer Lyon, Palau, Survivor
Posted in Chemotherapy, Death & dying, Diagnosis, Prognosis, Surgery | 10 Comments »
Thursday, December 24th, 2009

Side effect of cancer treatment: limited range of motion in my left arm
I do have my breast. And I have a fairly good prognosis. My lump was removed and measured 1.1 cm, which is small. My lymph nodes were negative for cancer, although four were removed for biopsy purposes. My margins were clear, and there was no apparent spread of cancer. My cancer is considered stage 1. And that is good. I have two incisions, one in my armpit where lymph nodes were taken and one underneath it, on the side of my breast. They are both about 3.5 inches long. Besides a bad skin reaction to the tape I was bandaged with, everything went well. There are minor inconveniences right now. As my incisions heal and my skin tightens, it’s harder to lift my arm. So I have exercises I must do each day. Because of the missing lymph nodes, I may have trouble with swelling in my arm so I have to watch for that. I have not been able to shave my armpit since my surgery on December 3.
And now I await the next step in this battle. I will begin receiving chemotherapy in mid-January. This will last for three months. I will go for treatment four times, once every three weeks and will have a combination of drugs sent through my body via IV. The purpose of chemo is to kill rapidly growing cells, and cancer cells are rapidly growing. Unfortunately, all rapidly growing cells are killed, like hair cells and bone marrow cells. The chemo should kill any cancer cells that floated away from my breast, if any did. I don’t know how I will react to this process, as each person responds differently. At the very least, I hear I will be tired at times during each three-week time frame. I may also be tired from the radiation. This will begin three weeks after chemo ends.
NOTE: It didn’t happen exactly like that: Instead of receiving chemo every three weeks, I had it every two weeks — it’s called dose-dense chemo, and if the patient can tolerate it, it’s thought to be more effective. Did I tolerate it? Well, I survived, but I was hospitalized twice because it was so hard on my body.
I will receive radiation every day for 6 weeks. The purpose of radiation is to zap the actual area where the cancer was found to prevent it from recurring. Many women take a drug after chemo and radiation to prevent recurrences. The drug (usually tamoxifen) is taken for five years. My body will not respond to this type of drug due to negative estrogen receptors (if they are positive, the drug can be taken) so chemo and radiation will be my only two real treatments.
NOTE: Radiation went just fine. It was a breeze compared to chemo, and my skin didn’t burn too badly. The biggest hassle was the drive to and from the appointments. And while it’s not such a big deal, my left arm has limited range of motion due to the combo of surgery, scar tissue and radiation. See photo above — my right arm touches the ground, but my left arm won’t.
For now, I am trying to keep life simple. Joey and Danny help me do that. Joey knows I am frequently going to the doctor for a “boo-boo” I had in my “booby” and he has been very attentive. One day after a doctor appointment, he said, “Mommy, you need to go home and rest. I’ll bring you a banana.” He is almost four years old. Danny, at 19 months, does not seem to know anything is going on and it’s my hope that he never has any recollection of this path our lives are taking. I will never forget it, though, and that’s OK. I will take this experience and make it matter. A friend sent me a breast cancer bracelet inscribed with trust your journey. I do. I trust that I will be fine in the end. And I trust that I was given this fight so I can help others. That is why I have written this. I hope everyone who reads about my journey is affected in some way. Perhaps it will increase the amount of women who do self-exams. Maybe it will arm others with information to help loved ones who are affected by this common disease (about 1 in 8 women will get breast cancer at some time in their lives). Maybe it will spread hope. At the very least, writing helps me. And for now, that is enough.
NOTE: Writing still helps, five years later.
Tags: Chemotherapy, Radiation, Surgery
Posted in Awareness, Chemotherapy, My story, Radiation, Surgery, Survivors | 9 Comments »
Saturday, December 19th, 2009

SuperFantastic, Flickr
Sending out some well wishes to a few friends — Carmen, who, on her second run with breast cancer, is recovering from tram flap surgery. And Lynea, she’s navigating the murky waters that come flooding in after a new breast cancer diagnosis. Also, Stacie, sporting a newly-shaved head as she fights her way through the burden of chemotherapy. Genne, too. She is healing from a mastectomy and reconstruction, and the whole ordeal has challenged her to the core.
If you are somewhere along the path of cancer survival and would like a wish sent your way, please leave a comment and tell me what’s going on in your world.
Tags: Chemotherapy, mastectomy, reconstruction, tram flap surgery, well wishes
Posted in Chemotherapy, Diagnosis, Hair loss, Surgery, Survivors | 5 Comments »
Wednesday, December 2nd, 2009
On Thursday, December 2, I had a radioactive dye injected into my breast. The dye slowly collected in my main lymph node, the sentinel node. During surgery, this lymph node would be blue so the doctor could easily find it and biopsy it. The biopsy would give him clues about my other lymph nodes. For the rest of this day, I was very anxious about surgery. I didn’t know what kind of prognosis I would wake up to hear and whether or not I would still have my breast.
Tags: biopsy, radioactive dye, sentinel lymph node
Posted in Awareness, My story, Prognosis, Surgery, Tests | No Comments »
Sunday, November 29th, 2009

SarahMcD ?, Flickr
On November 29, I met with a surgeon at Shands who prepared me for my first step: surgery. He said he would remove the lump and would determine whether or not my lymph nodes were cancerous. He would check all the margins around my breast to see if any surrounding tissue was affected and would identify all the defining factors of my cancer. If he found extensive cancer, he would have to remove my breast. I had to sign a form stating that my surgery was to be a lumpectomy but could turn into a mastectomy. My surgery was scheduled for Friday of this same week.
Tags: breast, lump, lumpectomy, margins, mastectomy, Shands, surgeon, tissue
Posted in Awareness, My story, Prognosis, Surgery, Tests | No Comments »
Thursday, October 29th, 2009

www.cancervacation.com
First, let me say that Julia’s website is not for the faint of heart. She admits it, with this statement on her blog: “CancerVacation.com features written material, illustrated artwork, digital artwork, and medically-themed photography that may contain nudity, blood, or other things that one might classify as ‘ooky’. If you are under the age of 18, if it is illegal for you to view this type of material, or if it was not your intention to visit this site, then please leave by clicking here.” (Julia heads you back to the Google search page when you click on her site.)
OK, you’ve been warned.

www.cancervacation.com
Now, even though the images you’ll see at CancerVacation might be a little raw, they are completely and entirely breast cancer real. They show surgery (Julia had a mastectomy, plus hysterectomy), hair loss, weight gain (yes, because being sick and bald isn’t quite enough!) and just about everything else central to the fight for life. There’s even some fun stuff, like paper dolls.
Basically, if you want an authentic look at breast cancer, Julia has the goods.
“When I first found out I had cancer I immediately went online to find out anything I could,” she writes on her blog. “The results were very disappointing. Nearly all of the photographs, especially, were deficient in multiple ways… usually the best you could find was a grainy, anonymous sort of ‘before’ and ‘after’ set. There is a very understandable reason for this; a lot of women don’t want to be photographed in any state of undress and especially not during a time when they’re vulnerable and scared. Most women don’t think, “Wow, I have cancer – I need to take some pictures of this!” Most people who have just been diagnosed with cancer are shocked and worried and have other things on their mind other than documenting the whole thing for other people.
So here was my opportunity to fix that. Sure, there weren’t easily accessible photos of what would happen to me during my mastectomy (and the following procedures)… but there will be for the next woman, right? This is something that (I think) I can fix.”
Tags: Cancer Vacation, Julia
Posted in Awareness, Chemotherapy, Diagnosis, Surgery, Survivors, what-breast-cancer-looks-like | No Comments »
Monday, September 14th, 2009

Photo: amazon.com
I should be working — editing nine posts for That’s Fit so they can publish tomorrow — but I’m too sad at the moment, because I just heard that 57-year-old Patrick Swayze has died of pancreatic cancer. He battled the disease for 20 months, which is a lot longer than many folks get (the survival rate for this type of cancer is just 4 or 5 percent for five years), but still, 20 months is not good enough. And so my mind is scattered by the news of his death, and the realization (again) that cancer is a nasty and evil opponent. And while I’m lucky that my chance of surviving breast cancer is 93 percent (November 2009 = five years), I feel more vulnerable right now than I do on most days.
Doesn’t help that I also just read that former “ER” actress Maura Tierney just had surgery for breast cancer and has dropped out of NBC’s new show “Parenthood.” The star’s spokesperson says that 44-year-old is “deeply disappointed” not to be participating in the show, and that “Ms. Tierney and her doctors remain confident that the outcome of her treatments will be positive.”
I’m confident too, because really, my hope is a lot stronger than my fear, and so I just need a bit to recover from the sadness. Then I can get to work.
Tags: breast-cancer, maura tierney, NBC, pancreatic cancer, parenthood, patrick swayze
Posted in Death & dying, Diagnosis, Surgery, Survivors | 3 Comments »
Sunday, August 23rd, 2009
Here are 44 women and their breast cancer scars.
Powerful.
Simply powerful.
The Scar Project.
Tags: the-scar-project
Posted in Awareness, Surgery, Survivors | 6 Comments »
Saturday, August 22nd, 2009
Every scar tells a story. Here’s Angi’s:

Angi Navarro
I got my first port in April 2005. I was told I should probably get a port prior to chemo (for breast cancer), so I found a general surgeon who could perform the surgery ASAP. I only had to do four rounds of chemo, but I didn’t want to take any chances with ruining my veins. As it is, I only have one arm which can be used since I had lymph nodes removed on the other side. After I completed my chemotherapy, I went ahead and set a date to have it removed, since it was pretty much useless as far as using it instead of an IV for surgery and such. My general surgeon didn’t find it necessary to take me back into the OR to remove my port. Instead she did it right in her office, claiming it wouldn’t hurt. At the time I had it removed, only three months had passed. So when she took a scalpel and sliced through the original incision, she was cutting through a healing wound — and it hurt. The site never healed correctly after that. Scar tissue formed on top of scar tissue. But still, it wasn’t all bad.
In 2008, when my cancer returned, it was thought that I would have to endure chemo again. So when the breast surgeon went in to remove bits of my chest wall, she placed a port so I wouldn’t need another surgical procedure. It wound up unnecessary, as I underwent radiation instead. The port sat unused until April of this year. I was undergoing breast reconstruction surgery, so my plastic surgeon removed it. Not long after, as it was healing, I noticed some areas that hurt when I touched it. Upon closer inspection, I found that I had very small bits of nylon surgical sutures poking out of the scar. I couldn’t pull them out or cut them any closer to the skin. These stitches sticking out, along with scar tissue on top of scar tissue, made for a pretty uncomfortable area. When I found out that I would be having revisions made to one of my breast implants, I asked my surgeon if he could make it a little less sightly. He agreed to revise the scar for me as part of my procedure on Monday. I’m looking forward to being able to wear my seat belt and bra straps comfortably again.
There’s a lot more to Angi’s cancer story than this. You can read all about it on Cancer is NOT a Death Sentence.
If you’ve got a story you’d like to share, please leave a comment, and I’ll be in touch.
Tags: Angi-Navarro, Chemotherapy, Port, Surgery
Posted in Chemotherapy, Port, Radiation, Surgery, Survivors, what-breast-cancer-looks-like | 2 Comments »
Tuesday, March 24th, 2009




Tracy says, “I decided to shave my head before my hair started falling out. I asked my family and some friends to come with me so that I wouldn’t lose my nerve. It was an extremely emotional day for everyone as you can see from the picture of my husband and children. But what I found out in the end is that I still looked like me when I looked in the mirror and once I accepted it, my family did the same. One of my favorite pictures of all time is the picture of my newly shorn head with the hands of my husband, my mother and my two children on it. I think it shows strength and acceptance and that has been the story of my breast cancer journey. Strength from family and friends, strength of my own and acceptance that these are the cards we were dealt. I have recounted the entire head-shaving day on my own blog and find that it is one of my favorite entries.”
To read more about Tracy and her inspiring journey, visit her blog here.
Want to show me what you think breast cancer looks like? Please send me a photo that captures the essence of breast cancer, and I will display it here. Email to jackidonaldson@gmail.com, make sure your shot is at least 450 pixels wide and tell me something about the photo. No blurry pics, please.
Tags: bald, hair, tracy
Posted in Chemotherapy, Family, Hair loss, Inspiration, Kids, Resources, Side effects, Surgery, Survivors, what-breast-cancer-looks-like | 2 Comments »
Friday, March 20th, 2009

I admit it, I’m concerned about my weight. Not worried about it, just concerned about in a way that makes me work at keeping it right where it is. But I don’t exercise and eat right (yesterday doesn’t count) for weight reasons alone. I also do it for my overall health, which really is a bigger concern for me than the numbers that stare up at me from my scale each day.
A healthy lifestyle as it relates to cancer prevention gets a lot of press. It’s pretty much a fact nowadays that by eating certain foods, ditching all the junk and working up a good sweat most days of the week, we can ward off all sorts of disease. Simple stuff. Also pretty high pressure.
Now that I’ve had cancer, I know that the way I live my life can quite possibly keep me from getting it again. So I do my best. But when I cheat and eat that plate of chicken nachos or skip a day (or week or month) on the workout circuit, I feel guilty, as if I’m rejecting the medicine that can keep me well. It’s a weird mix of motivation and burden. Knowing I have the key to a long, healthy life makes me want to eat veggies for all of time. But knowing I have the key to a long, healthy life makes me feel like I’m doing myself a major disservice when I steal fries of my kids’ dinner plates.
I know, I’m human, and I can’t be perfect all that time. Still, it weighs on my mind. Which is why today, I walked for 3.5 miles, and tomorrow, I plan to lift a few weights. A fruit salad is on the menu for breakfast this morning, and I’m recommitting to a ban on most packaged foods. It’s the least I can do to ensure I’m here for the long haul.
Photo courtesy of Pink Sherbet Photography on flickr
Tags: cancer, Diet, Exercise, fitness, medicine, Prevention, scale, weight
Posted in Chemotherapy, Diet, Exercise, Hair loss, My story, Prevention, Side effects, Surgery, Survivors | 1 Comment »
Saturday, March 14th, 2009

Today, I shampooed, conditioned and combed my old wig. It sits drying on my bathroom counter. When it’s all done and pretty, I’ll mail it off to my friend Carmen, who just the other day had her first chemotherapy for breast cancer.
This is not Carmen’s first experience with chemo, and it’s not the first time I’ve sent her my wig. This is her second dance with the breast demon, you see, and so she’s had chemo before, she’s lost her hair before and she’s worn my wig before. She’s not happy she must do it all again. I’m not either. I am happy to help, though, and that’s why I’m eager to get my hair to her, so she can be ready when everything comes tumbling from her scalp for the second time. Hopefully, for the last time.
Dear Carmen,
Best wishes to you. I know life must seem crappy and uncertain right now, but there is one thing you should know for sure: You will look so much better wearing this wig the that styrofoam head wearing it right now. Your eyes are more sparkly, your skin is more radiant and your nose is so much prettier (what the heck happened to that thing?). You are beautiful, my friend — hair, no hair or fake hair. And when you get all your new parts, you will be one hot momma.
Hang in there, Carmen — your battle might be new, but your fierceness is not. Fight with all your might, and you will again emerge from the darkness. And remember these words, because if cancer ever invades my body again, I want you to throw them right back at me.
All my love,
Jacki
Posted in Chemotherapy, Diagnosis, Family, Hair loss, Side effects, Surgery, Survivors | 1 Comment »
Thursday, January 29th, 2009

1) I have two beautiful boys who made big entrances into the world: One was 10 pounds, 9 ounces and the other was 10 pounds, 2 ounces. No C-sections. Just lots of drugs, lots of a pushing, a vacuum and two whopper episiotomies.
2) My big boys left me with big tummy skin. Five years after the second baby arrived, I had a tummy tuck. I must say it was one of the best moves I’ve ever made. Something about sitting down and not having a roll of skin flop over the top of my pants is quite liberating.
3) My biggest boy (Joey, he’s 8 years old) won’t stop growing. The kid wears my same shoe size, is something like four feet nine and weighs well into the 80s. His doc thinks he may be six feet six when he “grows up.”
4) A tummy tuck is not the only surgery I’ve had. Before kids, I had a breast reduction and lost 4 pounds of dense, heavy tissue. I went from a 34 DDD to a 34 C. Another great move.
5) My reduction may have saved my life, because 8 years later, a cancerous tumor showed up in my left breast. Had all that tissue not been removed, the mass could have been buried deep inside, detectable perhaps only at a late stage.
6) My breast cancer was caught early (I found it while taking a shower). It was stage I, with no spread to lymph nodes. Still, it was aggressive and so my treatment was quite harsh.
7) Being bald was the toughest thing I’ve ever had to endure.
8) I am a licensed cosmetologist. Thought I didn’t want to go to college, so I did a vocational program in high school. Then realized I did want to go to college and spent the next seven years there.
9) I got my undergrad degree from Kent State University and my grad degree from the University of Florida.
10) I was born in Ohio and lived the majority of my years there. Yet Florida seems more like home, maybe because my mom and sister live here.
11) Someone I know thinks my mom, sister and I look exactly alike. I guess that means I look 62 or my mom looks like she’s in her 30s. I’m going with the latter.
12) For 30-some years, my sister and I were never told we looked alike. Then my hair grew back brown instead of the blonde it had always been, and it’s like we’re twins or something.
13) I have very poor vision. What someone with perfect eyesight can see from 400 feet, I can only see from 20 feet. I hid my glasses in my bedroom closet for the whole year I was in first grade. Wonder if that made things worse.
14) It took me 37 years to learn how to eat well. I figure a healthy lifestyle is my key to surviving cancer so no red meat, alcohol or sweets for me. I only drink water (although not enough, I’m pretty sure) and try to consume lots of fruits and veggies. I watch calories and fat but sometimes go overboard on the bad carbs. I just can’t resist restaurant bread.
15) I’ve been known to exercise obsessively (to maintain my weight and stay healthy too) but am sad to report that I’m just not feeling the motivation lately. Burnout, maybe.
16) I’m a neat freak but not a clean freak. I don’t clean once a week or anything, just when I notice the dust piling up. But everything must be in place at all times.
17) I traveled to Europe just after graduating from high school and for the whole month I was away, I wanted to be home. I never want to go back.
18) I hate to travel. I hate packing, driving or flying long distances, living out of suitcases. I was miserable on a flight to Hawaii many years ago, and while traveling from Ohio to Florida as a kid, I could will myself to sleep for almost the entire drive.
19) My boys have never seen snow but can’t wait to see it. And I can’t imagine ever getting them to a snowy location, because it will require travel.
20) My boys want a baby sister. I don’t want another baby.
21) I miss my grandma, who died three weeks after my second guy was born.
22) I love candles and silence.
23) I love when my boys are really happy. My heart breaks when they are really sad.
24) I have been married for 13 years. John remembers exactly what I was wearing the day we met. I remember that he complimented me on my cute toes.
25) I’ve worked at a hair salon, a yogurt + tanning salon, as an RA at Kent State and a judicial officer at UF, as a college administrator, a preschool assistant teacher and as a server of booze at Blossom Music Center in Ohio. My favorite jobs, though, without question: Mommy and writer.
Posted in Chemotherapy, Diagnosis, Diet, Exercise, Family, Inspiration, Kids, My story, Resources, Side effects, Surgery, Survivors | 3 Comments »
Wednesday, January 21st, 2009

My friend Carmen just had surgery yesterday.
A double mastectomy for her second fight with breast cancer.
Here’s hoping it’s her last.
Photo courtesy of S.³ on flickr
Posted in Diagnosis, Inspiration, My story, Surgery, Survivors | 3 Comments »
Friday, January 9th, 2009
Chemo was bad. The next worst thing about breast cancer, though, was this nasty allergic reaction I had to the tape/latex used during my surgery to remove the tumor that threatened my life. What started as a few red bumps grew into quite a mess of blistery yuck. It burned and itched, made my skin crawl and sent me nearly over the edge. My surgeon (and a dermatologist he pulled into the case) had never before seen anything like it, and they hadn’t a clue what to do about it. They gave me Xanax to get me through.
The reaction happened again, in response to an antibiotic I received while hospitalized for low blood counts. And now, it’s happened again.
Tegaderm tape could be the trigger of this allergy. Well, either that or latex. So I always list both as allergies when asked by medical professionals. I’m sure it’s on my chart at the dermatologist office, but somehow I was sent home after my skin cancer surgery on Monday with bandages containing, oops, latex (there they are, pictured above, apparently “ouchless”). Sure enough, I slapped them on my arm, covered my stitches and then 12 hours later discovered the mistake I’d made. A mess of blistery yuck. It burns and itches, makes my skin crawl and is sending me nearly over the edge.
Double check. That’s what I’ve got to do from now on. No more assuming that someone else is going to look out for my best interests, that someone else is going to actually read my patient paperwork for a listing of my allergies. Nope. It’s all on me. Well, all over me, right now. Which is proof that no one can take better of me than me.
Posted in Chemotherapy, Hospitalization, My story, Side effects, Surgery, Survivors | 3 Comments »
Tuesday, January 6th, 2009

I know, it’s gross. Or maybe you don’t think it’s gross, I don’t know. Regardless, I publish this picture as a simple reminder that careless sun bathing during teenage and young adult years can cause this to happen to you, like it did me. Heck, reckless sun-seeking behavior during childhood and old age can do it too. And it doesn’t need to be sun bathing. Running outdoors, walking your dog outdoors, tossing a football outdoors (hey, that reminds me: Go Gators!), anything that keeps you in the scorching rays without sunscreen or other cover-up gear for more than, say, 15 minutes is downright dangerous. Go ahead and enjoy your 15 unprotected minutes each day (this is your best bet for soaking up a good dose of vitamin D), but otherwise, be warned, my friends. Or you could look like this.
Posted in Awareness, Diagnosis, My story, Surgery, Survivors | 2 Comments »
Monday, January 5th, 2009

I’m not sure what I expeceted when I reported for my skin cancer surgery this morning. I mean, how bad could it be? The spot on my arm was small, after all. Really small.
The surgery wasn’t bad, really, it just wasn’t what I had in mind. Here’s how it went: Technician girl got me all set up on a reclining chair-type thing. Head back. Feet up. Towel across my tummy. Affected arm on towel. Doctor comes in. Technician girl shoots numbing stuff into my arm, all around the cancer spot. No pain, just a few pin pricks. Doctor explains that while the cancerous spot is a circle, she will make a cut like a football to make suturing easier (same thing my tummy tuck doc did too). Problem with this is that it makes the incision lots bigger, longer. This is one thing I did not anticipate. I also didn’t anticipate feeling the doctor cut my skin. “I can feel that,” I told her. Technician gave me a few more numbing shots. “I can still feel that,” I shared. More shots. Finally, I felt nothing more.
I have no idea what the doctor did, really, because I didn’t look. I never can look when a doctor does something to me. It makes me queasy and dizzy and well, the same way I feel when I don’t look.
“I feel dizzy,” I told the doctor, as she tugged her stitches back and forth through my skin and black spots flashed before my eyes. She reclined my chair even more, told me in five minutes I’d feel better. It took a bit longer than five, and a glass of water, before I could make my way to the reception desk to pay for the pleasure of this surgery. Armed with written instructions, some bandages, an ointment and an appointment card (stiches come out in two weeks), I was on my way. And here I am at home, with an almost entirely numb left arm and hand, feeling pretty certain I’m going to have one beauty of a scar when this thing heals up. Yea, not what I expected. But hey, in the words of Joey, my new 8-year-old: “Things could be worse.” Indeed, they could.
Posted in Awareness, Diagnosis, My story, Surgery, Survivors | 3 Comments »
Friday, January 2nd, 2009
It’s skin cancer, that little red spot on my arm that I watched and watched and watched. It must have taken me months to get my butt into the office of my dermatologist. What’s wrong with me? I know what’s wrong: Even after having a serious form of cancer, I still believe the darn disease isn’t going to happen to me. A red patch on my arm? Probably nothing. So I plug along, until it hits me that the thing isn’t going away, that its changing shape and color is probably a sign of something I don’t want. Cancer.
I think I knew the day of my biopsy what the outcome would be. And my phone call this morning confirmed it. Basal cell skin cancer. Bummer. It’s not a big, scary deal, though. Most skin cancers are of this variety and are largely curable.
I’m headed to have this cancer removed on Monday. A doctor will dig deep and remove everything she can. And I won’t have it anymore. And then hopefully, I will learn my lesson and report to her office for anything else that looks remotely suspicious. That’s my plan, anyway.
Posted in Diagnosis, Exercise, Hair loss, Inspiration, My story, Side effects, Surgery, Survivors | 3 Comments »