Relief.

So, after all my ballsy "hey, I'll have an MRI and this time, it will all be easy!" thoughts, of course things couldn't go smoothly.

Had the MRI last Friday.  Almost first thing Monday morning, the technician called me and told me there was something 'suspicious' on the left side.  I couldn't believe it!  Where could something suspicious even be?!  They took everything off, didn't they?!  Immediately, I begin panicking that the five errant cells have taken hold and this whole health nightmare would begin again.  The technician did mention that perhaps the MRI was just picking up scar tissue, but that would have to be confirmed.

The technician then told me I needed to come back in for a directed ultrasound and a physical exam.  She said someone would call me later to schedule it.  Um, what?!  You just call to give the perhaps-bad news and then leave me hanging?  Grrrrrrr.  A few hours later, Dr Pay in Advance's office called and said she wanted to do the physical exam herself, then I should have the ultrasound.  So we made an appointment for this morning.

Being me, I couldn't just sit and brood on my own, so I called my sister.  She told me to e-mail my plastic surgeon's office and see what they might have to say about scar tissue.  My sister is very smart.  I e-mailed the office manager, who is always very kind to answer my paranoid e-mails, and talked to her later that afternoon.  She said that yes, scar tissue can develop, and it would probably be fine, but I should keep them in the loop.  And if, heaven forbid, I needed a biopsy, not to worry because insurance would cover replacing the ruptured implant.  OK, so...I felt better talking to her for about the first few minutes.  After that, not so much.

Two days of terror, worry and concern I wouldn't be able to do all this again.  Then I would tell myself to calm down and just decide that yes, it is indeed scar tissue screwing up the MRI and nothing is the matter.  I was having quite the conversations with myself, especially at night.  I went to a reading of a new musical Monday night, which took my mind off things, then worried most of the day yesterday.  I feel sorry for my workmates.  Then I saw a show last night (post to come), which took my mind off it pretty well.  Didn't sleep at all and dragged myself into that dang office again this morning.

For once, I didn't have to pay Dr Pay in Advance in advance.  That was a first!  Which kinda scared me.  But she came right out and said she thought it was scar tissue, too, but we should do the other tests, just to be sure.  When the nurse took me back to the examining room, we stopped at a scale.  I said, really?  We have to do this now?  I'm depressed enough.  She laughed and said never mind.  Then, when we got into the room, she took my blood pressure.  She said, um, that's REALLY high!!  Are you nervous about something?  I said, uh, YES.  Hello.  Doesn't she read the chart?

Dr Pay in Advance came into the room and took a very long time doing an exam.  She also peppered me with questions, like have I had the flu recently, do I feel pain, any changes in general health since my last visit.  She said she did feel something, but was certain it was scar tissue underneath.  Since the MRI didn't show any activity on the breast wall behind my implants (and that's the area she's worried about), she was confident things were fine.  Though she did say she wanted to take my blood pressure again before I left and if it wasn't lower, she was sending me back to the cardiologist (Dr They Didn't Operate On Your Legs).  I said, believe me, once everyone says I'm ok, the blood pressure will skyrocket downward.

So down I went to the third floor and waited around for the ultrasound.  Good times.  I hate waiting in that waiting room.  The tension in there is always palpable.  I picked up the People magazine and tried to relax and lower my blood pressure.  Finally, they took me into the ultrasound room.

It's a strange feeling, or non-feeling, to have implants tested.  I see that the technician is pouring that gel stuff on my person, and I see her pass the wand back and forth, but I can't feel it.  It's just really strange.  The technician seemed, to me, to be taking an awfully long time to look at scar tissue.  Then she went and got this weird disc that sort of looked like a bar of glycerin soap.  She put that over the area, then put the wand on top of that.  It was just odd - how could she get a reading if she wasn't actually touching the area?  I didn't understand.  Then she went out to get a doctor (and by now I'm sweating bullets), then the doctor did the same thing.

Thankfully, FINALLY, the doctor agreed that it was scar tissue under there.  She suggested I have another MRI next year, and maybe even a mammogram (blech), just to make sure everything stays in tip top shape.  As long as she said it wasn't bad news, I was happy.  Then I had to go back up to Dr Pay in Advance's office and wait around for her to read the test results herself.  After maybe an hour, she came and sat with me in the waiting room and told me yes, it was scar tissue, nothing to worry about.  WHOOSH.  Big relief.  OMG.  No words.  Then she made me take another blood pressure test, which, indeed, was scads lower.  Everyone laughed and I went on my merry way.

But.  Wow.  I know I've had it pretty easy this whole time.  They caught the DCIS early, I had everything taken off, I've had no complications (imagine me knocking wood right now).  But I just could not wrap my head around starting the whole thing over again.  And adding more invasive measures to the mix, because I can't imagine having things quite so easy again if another problem should crop up.  I believe I've mentioned my avoidance/denial way of life.  Having a two-day worryfest before getting the all clear is not conducive to that way of life.  I'm thinking I may have to go home tonight and watch a really sad movie (I have A Tree Grows in Brooklyn on the DVR, that should do the trick) and have a really big cry-out.  Then, pull up my big girl pants and get on with things.  Which is what I probably would've done if the news had been bad, but I'm thanking my lucky stars that I didn't have to put that theory to the test...

Wow. Two Years.

I don't necessarily want to do another "oh, here's what happened two years ago today..." post, but I did want to ruminate on a couple of things.  I mean, it's not like I sit around and think hmmmm, I wonder how many days it's been since my surgical adventures.  :)  But there is something about seeing the date on my desk calendar that makes me think twice.

Anyway, I can hardly believe two years have gone by since my surgery madness!  In some ways, it seems like yesterday and I'm still getting used to new body parts!  But, in some ways, it's just the way things are and the ways things have always been.  Strange.  I do find myself, though, sometimes thinking of myself 'before' and 'after.' 

I will admit that another reason to 'reminisce' is that having a post-implant MRI on Friday did bring back many unpleasant memories.  I've been back to that building a dozen times, but going to the testing floor?  Uncomfortable.  Dr Vera Wang had said it was fine to have an MRI to make sure my implants are in good shape, but Dr Julie Halston did NOT want me to have one.  She said it was unnecessary.  The winner this round was Dr Pay in Advance, the biggest worrywort of an oncologist ever.  She has been hot for me to have an MRI as a 'baseline' test for anything that might come further down the line.  Because one of my pathology reports showed a suspicious five cells that may have migrated elsewhere, she wants to make sure they aren't planting themselves behind my implants.  She says there's an infinitesimal chance that will happen, but better safe than sorry.  Right.  Naturally, it panics me.  Every twinge around my implants causes me to stop and hold my breath.  And those phantom itches?  Drive.Me.Nuts. 

Every time I talked to someone, I made sure to mention my implants.  I don't think the MRI scheduler was too thrilled with my paranoia, but hello, I wanted to make sure they were careful around the implants!  You break 'em, you bought 'em!  She tried to tell me they didn't compress, but I've had my share of MRIs in the past.  They totally compress, to make sure nothing moves during the test.

My original appointment was at 5:30, but because of the incoming storm, they called and asked if I'd like to come in at 2 instead.  I said sure.  But then I didn't even get in to the MRI room until around 3:45.  So dumb.  I realize they were probably scrambling to get more people in early, but man.  Sitting around and sitting around is not good for my imagination.  I imagine all sorts of bad things in those waiting rooms - imaginary conversations that usually end with Dr Pay in Advance saying "oh, let's do some chemo.  just in case."  Oh, and the very nice girl who couldn't find my vein for the IV?  Sigh.

I hate MRIs.  I totally believe a man invented this test.  You completely throw your dignity out the window to lie on a table, crawl on your belly and try to put the objects of the test through a couple of holes.  Interestingly, this time, they had me put my arms up over my head, instead of at my sides.  I wonder if that's because implants don't naturally hang and keeping arms up will keep them in the right position?  I don't know.  It was vaguely more comfortable, though it sorta creeped me out because it reminded me of Jill Kinmont in The Other Side of the Mountain.  After she was paralyzed.  Shudder.  Moving on.  During the test, they had put a headset on me and I listened to some classical music, though it's hard to hear the music over all the noise the MRI machine makes.  I also like to count to distract myself.  I would've distracted myself by thinking of the pleasant gathering I had originally planned for afterward, but the stupid bad weather put the kibosh on that.  So I had to have a nerve-wracking test AND miss out on drinks with my dear ones.  Double dumb.

OK.  Putting stupid scary medical tests out of my brain.  Moving on.  I can also hardly believe it's been two years since I had a nice white tile floor in my kitchen!  I'm so lazy, I haven't replaced those dingy fire-stained tiles.  Though I don't go in my kitchen all that much anymore.  I so need to work on that.  Cooking for myself: good.  Ordering in via the genius that is the Seamless phone app:  bad.  And expensive.  I would be ever so rich if I didn't eat...

And realizing that it's been two years since I've talked with 'friends' who suddenly stopped contacting me and dropped me from their lives once I shared what was happening, is also freaky to me.  I'm generally pretty good at judging people and selecting friends.  I wonder if there's significance to the fact that these particular people who dumped me were all straight men.  Not that I had romantic feelings about any of them, but still.  I know it reflects on them more than me, but it still makes me sad and causes me to worry about a whole myriad of other things.  Who can I trust?  Can I ever really share?  Again:  before and after.  Will that feeling ever go away?  And will I ever stop looking at the calendar in February and taking a deep breath?  Probably not, i guess...

I guess I can't fill out a certain kind of survey anymore! (TMI alert)

You know the kind of survey I mean - the one that gets e-mailed around your circles of friends and asks questions like: who was your first prom date, do you prefer vanilla or chocolate, what is your favorite color and DO YOU HAVE ANY TATTOOS??  Now that I have to answer 'yes' to that last question, no more surveys for me...

Yes, the saga of my new breasts is (hopefully) complete.  I made a visit to Dr Vera Wang's tasteful office on the East Side yesterday and had my nipples tattooed.  For some reason, I had sort of forgotten about this appointment.  For one thing, I made it in January.  And for another, I guess it's part of my denial/avoidance thing.  I'm just tired of thinking about it.  And I'm not looking forward to another period of breast high-maintenance...

I got to the offices early and was ushered in quickly.  As I was changing into the lovely peach-colored robe, I took a couple of photos - one of yet another syringe, and one of a color wheel and Spirograph-looking wheel guide.  Interesting!  Dr Vera Wang came in and made small talk.  Then she showed me, on the Spirograph thing, which sizes she thought would be appropriate for me (I ended up choosing a circumference a bit smaller than the 'normal' size), then we decided which shades would be good for my skin tone.  I thought it was funny she thought a combination of beige 2, beige 3 and rose would go well with my "red" hair.  I didn't remind her that my red hair is fake.  Just like my breasts, I guess.  :)

The process was pretty painless.  She did numb me, since I'm starting to have some sensation, especially at the top of my breasts (which she said was excellent news - uh, ok).  Then she got out a little machine that looked and sounded like a dental drill.  She drew the circles on, colored them in with the custom-mixed pigment, then drilled/tattooed it on.  I felt a little pressure, but that's it.  It took her a couple of tries to get the colors quite right.  She had me take a look and, yes, I got a little teary.  There they were.  Breasts that almost looked as they did last year.  Not really, but close enough.  The color looks a little dark right now, but she said that's because the tattooing brought blood to the surface and the colors will lighten over the next week or so.  More gauze bandages, antibiotic cream and the return of my stupid surgical bra that makes me look like I have the chest of a pudgy twelve-year-old boy.  Oh well.  I can stand it for one more week.  The whole tattooing process took about a half hour.

I see Dr Vera Wang next month, to make sure the tattoos are right, then I'll only see her once a year after that.  It will feel strange, seeing these doctors occasionally instead of all the time.  But it will help me get back to feeling like myself, I'm sure.  She took one last look before she left and said, "You look beautiful."  Thanks to you, Dr Vera Wang.

One more fun photo.  I admit I was a little anxious walking from the subway over to her office this morning.  Imagine my happiness seeing this billboard on my way.  Imaginary boyfriends always make a day better and put a spring in a girl's step... :)

**Six years ago, I reviewed the hideous stage production of Festen; five years ago, it was the Kevin Spacey Moon for the Misbegotten; four years ago, I saw Candide at New York City Opera; three years ago, I greatly enjoyed the Lincoln Center revival of August Wilson's Joe Turner's Come and Gone.  April is always a big theater month for me...

More Thankfulness

We're a week out from Surgery #4 (hopefully the last one EVER), and I'm ever so thankful everything went smoothly.  I need to get the name of the anesthesiologist so I can send him a thank-you note or something.  I sailed through recovery, got home relatively early and was eating French toast while laying on my couch in a nice timely manner.

I had to be at the hospital last Monday at 6am, which was fine, because I prefer to have these surgeries early (I get dehydrated really quickly, so the later the surgery, the farther away from my last drink of water we get...).  I admit to being a little nervous walking across a deserted 32nd Street so early in the morning, and I actually got stopped by a guy asking where Sixth Avenue was.  I told him and mentally prepared myself to poke him with my umbrella if he decided to follow me.  He didn't.  Oh, me of little faith.  So, anyway, I got to NYU a little early, and I sat down in the day surgery waiting room.  Boy, I really never need to see that room again.  After me, another woman about my age came in, then a family of three arrived: a mom, her 10-ish-year-old son, and the grandma.  Oh my.  I think the boy may have been autistic or something, but he was out of control, especially for 5:45am in a hospital surgical waiting room.  He kept running around, pushing any button he could find (good thing I had gotten up there in the elevator before him!), yelling and being generally disruptive.  I tried to convince myself that displacing my anxiety into being annoyed by this kid would work, but it didn't.  I was just anxious about the surgery AND annoyed by the kid.  Thankfully, a nurse came out and took me and the other lady back into the little surgery prep rooms.  I think she was being kind and getting us out of the earshot of the out-of-control kid (I do feel guilty for having little-to-no sympathy, but I'll cut myself some slack here).  I didn't hear the little guy any more that day, so I do hope all went well for him and his family. 

After sitting in the little room for awhile, the first nurse they assigned to me came in to begin the seemingly never-ending questions about my age, weight and latex allergies.  I realize they have to dot all the Is and cross all the Ts, but it gets annoying answering the same questions 75 times in about an hour period.  When the nurse told me I needed to take a pregnancy test, I said I could tell her, with 1000% certainty, that there was no chance I'm pregnant.  She looked at me, very sternly, and said "How??"  As if I were telling her it was physically impossible, as opposed to situationally impossible.  I pointed out the number of years the gestation would have to be for me to be pregnant, and she said, "So what?  You have to take the test anyway."  Oh, ok.  With no sense of humor here, it's going to be a LONG morning.  :)

Note:  if it's raining when you go to NYU Medical Center, don't carry a big umbrella.  It won't fit in the locker they give you for your clothes.

Anyway, I talked to about fifteen different doctors and/or nurses about my age, weight and latex allergies.  Dr Vera Wang finally came in and said, "So, this must be easier since you've been here before!"  She's so sweet, I felt bad contradicting her, but I said, "Um, no, it's actually HARDER each time.  I know more things that could go wrong!"  She looked perplexed and then moved on.  I became her art canvas, as she drew on me with her little black pen, where things were going to go, how big they were going to be, and so on.  I did decide on having the nipples done, but made sure to tell her I didn't want huge honking headlights.  She said they get smaller and flatter as time goes on, so we'll just have to see...

After I saw Dr Vera Wang, then I met Mr Anonymous Anesthesiologist (well, he told me his name, but I forgot it).  He said he saw in my files that I had problems the last time with the drugs and could I please explain them to him?  I talked him through everything, he listened and never condescended, which was great.  He then put in my file that I have an allergy to compazine and said he would do all he could to make sure I didn't get sick this time.  I felt very reassured by his attitude.

Finally, nurse #75 came back to take me to the operating room.  They give you one of those little hats and walk you for about a mile, until you get to your room.  I climb onto the table, lie down, and try not to be nervous.  I told Mr. AA that it's historically been difficult to put IVs into my arm and my hand is a better bet.  So, he speedily got it into my right hand, walked over to my left side to put me on a heart monitor, came back to my right side and said "Hmmmmmmmm."  I said, "Is that a good hmmmmmmm or a bad one?"  He said he just needed to tighten the tape holding the IV in, and not to worry.  What, me worry??  You could hear my heart monitor pounding pounding, so finally, Mr AA said, "You know what?  You seem anxious.  Let me give you a little something now."  I said, "That would be nice, thank you."    That's the last thing I remember until they woke me up in recovery.  :)

I have a vague memory of Dr Vera Wang telling me my blood pressure got really high during the procedure and I should probably see my cardiologist about that.  I apparently told people my feet were tingling, too, but I have absolutely no recollection of that.  Unlike the last procedure, I didn't have any heart irregularities afterwards, no one yelled at me to keep breathing, I didn't feel like I was going to be sick, and I didn't feel like I wanted to pull my hair out.  Yay!  I think I only laid around and dozed for about an hour and a half, then I got to sit up in a chair for awhile and eat some crackers, then I went home!  Thanks to my fantastic friends, I didn't have to worry about going to the drugstore (there's a pharmacy inside NYU Medical Center, so a dear one went and got my prescriptions filled while I was dozing), and I didn't have to worry about finding a cab to get me home (another dear one came and picked me up in his car).  Easy peasy, thank heavens.  Who's a thankful girl to have so many dear ones spend their days making her life easier??  ME!!  My friends thought it was good karma that people were moving INTO the apartments that had been gutted by the fire that happened the last time I got a ride home!  I'll take all the good karma I can find.

I'm also thankful I haven't had much pain at all, maybe some twinges here and there, so I mainly just slept and relaxed all last week, except for Thanksgiving Day, when I took a car so I could spend the evening with people I love and who love me.  Delicious food, delicious friends = perfect Thanksgiving.  I was still pretty tired, but I enjoyed myself all the same.  It's amazing how tired you can be after a minor surgical procedure.  Thursday was also the day to take off the bandages and take my first post-op shower.  That actually took quite a bit out of me.  I probably should've done it in the morning and then napped before dinner, but I didn't plan ahead (that should be the title of a chapter in my autobiography).  I thought everything looked good, though.  The right side, now lifted, looks more like the left side, and the nipples, though kinda goofy-looking without any areolas, seem about right.  So, all's good on that front.  I actually kinda like how they look now. 

I had my follow-up appointment with Dr Vera Wang this morning and she said all looks good to her, too.  No heavy lifting and no bouncing (?!) for the foreseeable future.  She also suggested I wear a bigger bra for awhile.  Great, more bra shopping.  I have to see her again after the holidays and then we'll talk about the tattoo areolas, after which, fingers crossed, I will be DONE.  (fingers crossed again)  For which I will be VERY thankful.  :)

Can we turn this brain off?!?! (TMI alert)

No wonder I'm not dreaming--I can barely sleep.  My brain is swirling, swirling, with a thousand things.  It's always like this, this time of year; I worry about work and our big annual event.  Will it be a nice evening?  Will our winners feel celebrated?  Will all the plans I made go well?  Will we make ANY money?  Arghhhh.  I also worry about the holidays, for some dumb reason.  I guess because I put such high expectations on them.  I want to make sure I get just the right gifts and for everyone to like their gifts, plus I want our time together to be stress-free and special.  How stupid to put stress on yourself over trying to be stress-free!!!  To add to the anxiety, I haven't been home all year, so I start to cry when I think about flying home and finally seeing my darling dad.

I also have yet another surgery coming up.  I know it's not complicated and that it's more cosmetic than health-related, but I'm still anxious.  I don't want to have more problems with the anesthetic, and I'm still unsure I want to have the nipple replacement.  I never loved my nipples to begin with, to be frank, so I just figured I wouldn't get new ones.  Or, if I did, I would just get the tattoos and be done with it.  Since Dr Vera Wang told me I'd need to get an adjustment to my right side, which is sagging and will apparently continue to drop further until she tightens the 'hammock' underneath, I wrapped my brain around having that done (not so much because it looks uneven, but because it's getting more and more uncomfortable), even though I'm afraid to have another surgery, but I haven't been able to wrap my brain around getting the nipples, too.  When I was trolling the message boards (yeah, yeah, I know I said I wouldn't do it anymore), I saw that normally a doctor takes tissue from another part of your body and uses it to construct the nipple.  Blech.  Unappealing for so many reasons.  Staph, anyone??  But I was just talking to Dr Vera Wang's office assistant and she seemed really shocked I wouldn't want to have the nipples replaceed.  "That's like getting a new Christmas tree but not putting the ornaments on!" she said.  Well, using a Christmas tree analogy is one way to get my attention.  Plus, she told me, Dr Vera Wang doesn't do the procedure with other tissue, she apparently saved some under my scars and will be using that.  So...more to think about.  The surgery is scheduled for three weeks from now, so I still have some time to decide.  I've never really been about how I look naked, but I suppose it makes sense to look as much like I did before as medically possible. 

I'm also kinda thinking about how I look more lately because I got a strange letter in the mail.  It isn't signed, but seems to be from someone who knows me.  It says they've long admired me and wish they had made a better effort to get together, and would I be amenable to trying now?  Even though they're now married?  A couple of pals thought it was just a sort of chain letter, since it's typed and had used an address label on the envelope.  But I don't know.  The letter mentions tennis (even my Roger), travel, red wine and theater.  It also mentions using a code word on Facebook.  So I feel vaguely uneasy that someone out there is waiting for something from me.  Something I don't think I'm able to give, for many reasons.  I have an idea who the letter-writer might be.  Putting the married part aside (and I really do actually only have one rule, no married men, learned that lesson the hard way),  even though I thought I was trying to open myself up to the possibility of being with someone eventually, the reality keeps me awake at night.   I had a therapist once tell me that I keep myself overweight and hide behind long hair and glasses because I'm afraid of intimacy.  OK, maybe.  Probably.  Still true, probably.  And now I REALLY have an excuse!  Why would anyone want to look at fake boobs??  Sigh.  I know a gentleman worth waiting for won't care, but I need to stop having doubts.  Put away the wall.  And probably stop reading Persuasion or watching the Hallmark Movie Channel...

But is this anonymous letter-writer the answer?  A step in the right direction?  Or will I feel even worse?  Yet more to keep me from sleeping.

Mission Accomplished (almost)

So, I've made it through the exchange surgery.  I guess maybe I was expecting too much, but I'm a little disappointed in how the implants look and feel.  I know that it takes time for the implants to settle and drop, but still.  They don't look much different than the expanders.  They are softer to the touch, for the most part, but inside I still feel tight and swollen.  I'll be seeing Dr. Vera Wang next week, so I will have to talk to her about how I feel--is it that I'm expecting something else, or is it that they don't sit right?  Who knows...

The procedure went well, but recovery was again a little frightening.  With all the trouble I've had with anesthetic, I may opt out of having the nipple reconstruction.  I'm also supposed to talk with Dr Pay in Advance about having my ovaries removed at some point to eliminate all of my extra estrogen.  But I just don't think I can do another procedure that requires a general anesthetic.

I arrived at the medical center at 6am and was in surgery by 7:30.  The surgery went well, but I went into severe shakes when I was coming out of the anesthetic.  To calm the shakes, they gave me demerol.  The demerol made me nauseated, so they gave me compazine to control the nausea.  They told me that the compazine would make me sleepy and when I woke up, I would feel better.  Instead, the compazine made me jittery and anxious.  The anesthesiologist told me that was a rare side effect, but hello.  If there's a rare side effect, I'm going to find it. 

By around 1pm, I was going crazy, so I asked if I could sit up in a chair and get ready to go home.  But then a nurse got nervous about my heart issues.  I was again throwing PVCs and the heart monitor kept beeping--the student nurse kept coming over to me and reminding me to breathe deeply.  At one point, I thought I was going to hyperventilate.  It's a vicious circle, I guess.  But all of the doctors said that I was asymptomatic and not really having substantive heart problems.  I asked if I should see Dr They Didn't Operate On Your Legs, but no one said it was necessary.  I guess I just don't like anesthetic.  Or drugs in general.  I am a lightweight when it comes to medication.  I always have been.  Plus, seriously, how many times can someone be put under in a six-month period?  I wouldn't think it would be good for anyone, whether in good health or not. 

Clearly, I'm going to need to lose weight and figure out this vegan thing moving forward.  That seemed to lower my blood pressure before.  I just have to be more serious about it and not so lazy.  It gets easy to be lazy during recovery, then it gets harder and harder to be diligent when you're allowed to be.  Wah wah wah.  My mom says she's proud of me, especially for not complaining, but I feel like I complain in my mind all the time!  I know I'll never feel the same again, but that doesn't stop me from expecting some changes or some relief as the months go by.  Maybe once I get out of these surgical bras and wear something other than an extra-large button-up shirt, I'll feel more like me.  Some kind of positive would be most welcome at this point. 

Looking forward to some ballet this weekend.  That always lifts my spirits...