My PSA for Your Hootnan-nays

I find myself telling my cancer memoir quite a bit.  To moms at the baseball field.  To moms at dance class.  To the cashier and the lady behind me at Target.  Anyone that knows-- or even kind of knows me-- knows that I love an audience.  Usually my stories consist of how I am asked to make bologna sandwiches or put a ponytail in a Barbie's hair or download Crossy Road on my phone all while I am taking a shower.  Meanwhile, their father is leisurely watching an episode of Moonshiners on the Discovery Channel.  Because apparently my children don't know that their paternal DNA donor  can indeed take the wrapper off a Kraft Single.   Even though my husband would gladly remove the cellophane from that orange square of processed cheese delight, my kids apparently think I do it better.

But for the past nine months most of my chatter and small talk has been about cancer, and how I am feeling, and how the kids and Clay are doing.  And for the record, we are all doing pretty good considering the amount of stress we are all under.  So that brings me to my public service announcement about breast cancer.

My PSA face.  And I love, love, love the necklace Kelly Sonnenberg!

Whenever I tell my story, I make sure to let everyone know that I had gotten mammograms early.  I had to get special orders from my doctor to have early mammos, because I wasn't 40 and insurance wasn't going to cover it, or something like that.  I say this because even I am shocked that I didn't notice my cancer earlier, given that my tumor was the size of a burrito as big as my head.  If my head was the size of a large lemon.  But I had had mammograms, and everything always came back fine, so I thought I had nothing to worry about!  My thought process was that I was proactive and I was taking preventative measures so nothing was going to be wrong.  Wrongola.  

It has been over nine months since I was diagnosed with advanced stage breast cancer.  In the past six or so weeks, six of my friends have been diagnosed with some sort of breast cancer or precancerous condition.  Luckily it seems like most have caught it early, and you know how I hate to brag, but I like to fancy that theirs was caught early because my story urged them to get checked sooner rather than later.  Because, ugh, my stomach gets all barfy feeling whenever I think of a friend having to go through what I have endured.

So here they are, in no particular order, weird breast cancer warning signs that happened to me.  Except I didn't know they were warning signs at the time.

1.  Itchy, itchy side boob itches.  I have no clue how long this went on.  Years for sure.  It would come and go.  I would scratch and scratch and curse my bras for being so annoyingly itchy.  I would buy those Maidenform T-shirt comfort bras to stop the itching.  I would search for tags that were not there that I thought was causing the irritation.   Then I thought it might be detergent or soap.  So I bought Free and Clear everything.  Still itched.  Now I know that I was itching right where that cancer was growing.  This is a symptom of cancer.

2.  Discoloration of skin.  I done scratched so much that it changed the color of my side boob.  Maybe scratching so much was the effect of the skin discoloration.  Or maybe it was a cancer symptom.  Either way, my skin turned flaky and a tannish color right where that cancer was setting up shop.

3.  Inverted nipple.  I thought this was just from breast feeding three kids back to back to back with no break.  I thought those babies had just done some permanent damage to ol' lefty.  Turns out it was the cancer pulling that nip inward.  Just slightly.  I couldn't see a huge difference between the two, but there was a slight difference.  Not identical twins.  Fraternal.  

4.  A faint line.  The more I think about it, I had a faint line across my left breast for a long time.  I never stared at it in the shower or anything, because hello, I was always being asked to make someone chocolate milk or put together a Hot Wheels track while I was in the shower!  But it was a very light indentation.

5.  Muscley feeling in only one side.  Here is where I really went wrong.  I don't know how long I felt something in my left side, because my boobs always felt like that starting when I was pregnant.  Fibrous feeling.  Like a muscle or something.  What I didn't know was that it is NOT normal to feel this in just one side.  Feeling it in just one side is a big neon flashing warning signal.  I thought cancer was supposed to feel like a marble or a Skittle.  Sometimes it does.  But mine sure didn't.

6.  A dent.  This one I had no clue about until I started Googling "breast cancer signs" after my last mammogram when the tech told me that I definitely was going to need to come back for my pictures. When I lifted my arm, the skin on my boob would pull in and make a huge dent.  This was the cancer.  I sent this picture to my midwife friend Jen wanting her to tell me that it was no big deal. She didn't.  And it was a big deal. I couldn't get the full effect of the dent, because well, I don't own a selfie stick.  But this is what it looked like with my arm halfway up.  

I have just sat here for ten minutes debating about whether or not I should post this picture.  But if I would have known about this symptom a couple years ago, I still might have that underboob and not be starting my second round of chemo and not be slathering Radiaplex all over my burned up, chopped up, radiated side.  So I hope no one thinks this is in poor taste.  I just want women (or men) to know that something that looks like this should be checked out immediately.

These were my personal warning signs.  There are others!  I just didn't experience them.  My advice?  Get your mammograms.  Encourage others to get theirs.  And take care of yourself!

Radiation Station

I have a new best friend at radiation.  His name is Dick and he is from Wisconsin.  I like to refer to him as "Dickie from Wickie."  He appears to be about 112 years old and gets laser beamed right after me every day.  My appointment is at 10:45 and his must be at 11.  He's a big Badger guy, and I'm a big Buckeye girl and we have the Big Ten in common.  There is really no point to this story.  I just want to remember Dickie from Wickie--and the way my brain works nowadays I am afraid I will forget how he sat in the lone chair outside the zapper room waiting for me to be done.  The on deck chair.  

You don't get to make as many friends at radiation as you do at chemo--because it goes so quick.  Like 20 minutes start to finish.  I was nervous at first, because I had to  sign my name in at the front office and then walk to the dressing room all.by.my.self.  Not a big deal, right?  Except that those doctors' office hallways are like a corn maze.  At any turn you could end up seeing someone buck nekkid in a patient area or walk into the break room and see all of your therapists eating donuts or accidentally end up in a restricted radiation zone.  Luckily this never happened, but it sure as the dickens caused me anxiety.  Not like I need a Xanax anxiety, but elevated heart rate anxiety. 

Anyways, I figured out the corn maze right quick and learned how to sign in and strut through the front office like a hot shot.  I'm pretty sure all the newbies in the front waiting room were looking at me with admiration--knowing that I was a seasoned professional.  

This has been my routine for the past six weeks.  Once I get through the maze and into the ladies dressing room I rip open the plastic bag for the coralish pinkish colored gown.  Pretty sure it's my color.  I never even tried for the green or maroon ones.  Creature of habit.  I have had a good response so far to radiation--so I don't want to jack it all up by messing with the color of my open front gown. Makes total sense, I know.   Plus it matches my lipstick pretty good.  I am way more into make up now.  I suppose that happens when you are at the fugliest point in your life!  Hoda and Kathie Lee are always playing in the dressing area.  God I love them.  Always boozing and talking about the Bachelor and Brangelina.    

Sadly, there is never anyone that speaks English in the waiting room with me.  I always like to hear everyone's story.  I know that I have mentioned it before--but old people get competitive with their medical woes.  Like always trying to one up one another with who is worse off.  It's a pretty fun game to play, and I always get bonus points for being young and having little rugrats.  But I only had a lady that no speaka Ingles with me, and I couldn't ever play a round of "I'm closer to death than you are."  Bummer.  But then I do have Dickie from Wickie.  So there's that.  

After "Ms. Klausing" gets called by one of the radiology peeps I walk the maze back to the zapper room where I have to say my birthdate for the one gazillionth time.  Then I have to lay on a table built for someone with the waist size of Barbie.  I know that I am of sturdy German stock, but I don't know how some folks fit on that sucker!  Once I am all lined up with my new dot tattoos, the radiation folks leave the room and it feels like someone is moving the table around with a joystick.  I doubt that is what happens, but that is what it feels like.  Then this doohickey whirs around me for about 10 minutes and I'm done!  On Mondays I meet with my awesome radiation onco or his PA where they check out my savage tan skin.  Wondering how I know my doc is awesome?  He is a Buckeye.  Good looking AND smart, like all of the OSU grads I know!  

The only adverse effects I have had from radiation are extreme fatigue--more of that here in the final weeks--and at one point I felt like I had a chip or pill caught in my throat for a couple weeks.  That was from the radiation messing with something in my throat.  I have what they call supraclavicular radiation.  At least that is what I think they call it, and they laser beam my left armpit up to the left side of my neck.  They adjusted it and the caught chip went away.  And I was glad, because that was about as annoying as getting a Facebook message telling you to copy and paste AMEN or else you love the devil.  I just started getting blistering and burning on my chest and in my armpit, but I am pretty sure I did more damage in 1990 slathering baby oil on and laying out in my backyard with a pink pastel ghetto blaster, a neon bikini, and lemon juice in my hair.  Savage tan then and savage tan in my left armpit now.  My left armpit that I can't wear deodorant or shave.  So you might want to keep your distance.  

My third major portion of my cancer treatment is almost over, and I have what appears to be a cigar burn mark on my left shoulder from radiation to serve as a sweet memory.  Now on to the next segment, the six month chemo trial!

My radiation office in Cape Coral.  Lucky that it is only about 5 minutes from my house.

Repping Ohio State on my first day

My first day!  Right after the momentous OSU/Michigan game

Always going with coralish pinkish.

Just another examining table.  It's like my new davenport.  

In the waiting room.  I had taken another picture but I looked way too humongous in that sucker.  

The Christmas tree that greeted me after getting zapped!  Happy Holidays 2016!

The doohickey