THE LATEST POOP

OK here's the latest poop on me. I'm writing it HERE because I don't want to have to repeat myself.

It looks like I'll be around for a goodly longer time than expected. This is what I know to date: My PET scan and MRI both show that my breast cancer has yet to go on the scenic tour. It is still put up at the left tit motel. This is a very good thing. It means that I am NOT riddled with cancer. It will be easy to remove. AND I get some really perky new tits. Yeppers, it's really all good.

As I've related in past postings, I have the BRACA gene mutation which gives me an 85% higher chance for recurring breast cancers in my lifetime. I have decided on a radical mastectomy which all my doctors agree is a wise choice. I met with the reconstructive surgeon today and my situation is a bit more complicated than just throwing a couple of silicone bubbles in place of what was. All that will get me is, well, what looks like what is. After losing all the weight, I am rather deflated. So my Cancer Adventure involves the "Inflate O Boob Ride". YAY! The surgeon inserts expanders. Then I get to come into the office and get "inflated" to whatever size I choose. After the "Inflate O Boob Ride" is over, he removes the expanders in another "minor surgery" and then I get to heal all up.

A few bummers. I have to lose the nipples. And pain. I'm scared shitless that they will be unable to properly medicate me, as they completely failed after hip surgery and more recently with an upper GI and colonoscopy. These concerns have been related to the Dr. but there will most likely be a need for serious written instructions to everyone concerned. I don't want any fuck-ups. Oh, and I still get the "Wonders of Chemo Experience". Blech. Yes the hair still goes away. I will still wear crazy wigs. I really hope it doesn't make me constantly nauseous, because that is one of the worst feelings besides chronic pain.

I am still a non-smoker. It is Friday night and I had my last cig on Monday morning. I have used no nicotine replacement therapy. There were some visual issues the first couple of days, but in terms of physical withdrawals, they were really minimal. The psychological triggers are still strong, especially after a meal or driving certain places. I know these feelings are temporary and one day soon I will be passing the small throng of smokers stuck outside in the miserable weather and just feel sorry for them. For anybody who is interested in getting rid of the slavery of smoking, I suggest Alan Carr's book "Quit Smoking the Easyway". And that is all I'm going to pontificate on the matter because I refuse to become an ex-smoker asshole hypocrite.

I love you all so much for your caring and kind thoughts, prayers and words. You have no idea how blessed I am to have you all in my life. Thank you from the bottom of my sassy little heart.


 

The End of A Long Ass Friendship

I've informed many of you what's happening in my life right now. For those of you who might not have gotten the news, the stage 0 breast cancer I had in 2005 which was really a big nothing has returned with a vengeance. This time it has presented itself in a lump and also in a lymph node. This is what I know at this moment. I will need a radical mastectomy (both tits) , reconstruction (new tits) and then chemotherapy. Both surgeries can be done at the same time with one really important caveat. I MUST QUIT SMOKING. And I MUST DISPLAY ENTHUSIASM ABOUT QUITTING SMOKING TO THE RECONSTRUCTION SURGEON or he will not accept me as a patient. Okey dokey. Word heard. I could just ignore the reconstruction and wake up totally mutilated. Ehhh..not an option I'm afraid. I'm just too vain. But giving up my long white buddies? The friends I have purchased for 31 years? The stinking thing I really happen to like sucking on must go away? WOW. Those of you who have never had a smoking addiction have no clue how difficult this is. Those of you who have quit and badger me also have no clue about my fondness for the action of smoking a cigarette, the rituals built around the action, the day to day usage which has (in my mind) helped keep me sane. Or has made me insane when I could not conveniently have access to them. So instead of a puff, I take a deep breath and try to describe how and why I got here in the first place.

I didn't start out smoking cigarettes. I hated them. My mother smoked for years. I got a burning cherry stuck inside my nose when I jumped on her lap the wrong way when I was about 5. You'd think that would foster my distaste at an early age. the stank permeated our clothes, the house, the cars, everything. Then she just suddenly quit. She said she stopped inhaling and just went from there. (not an option for me, sadly) I tried one of her leftover cigs when I was 14 and it was miserable. Yes I had the predictable coughing fit and subsequent green face, and it didn't help that the pack was probably pretty stale by then. But there was something much more interesting to smoke...pot. And I could do that.

And so it went. I smoked pot occasionally with my friends. The old pot was pretty low grade, mostly shake and seeds, as compared to the "super pot" on the market now. We'd smoke a couple of joints and get silly. We'd walk around the neighborhood and just zone out. It wasn't a regular thing, I never went to school high or sold it. When I was 16 I started hanging with a different bunch from high school. If there was pot, that was the first choice of smoking. But they smoked cigarettes too. Long menthols which were cool going down, not chokey at all. I'd get a head rush from them. I would bum cigs whenever I got together with these folks until I realized I should contribute and I then bought my first pack, Benson & Hedges Menthol 100's. They cost 65 cents. And now is where I start to sound like an old 60's educational film: It didn't take long to get me hooked. Maybe a week. I remember very clearly standing at a bus stop in Westwood, lighting up a cigarette, taking a puff and not getting the head rush anymore. I thought to myself, I'm addicted to cigarette smoking. I'm really gonna regret this one day. But our teenage selves are immortal! Who the hell cares about the future? Cig smoking made me new friends in the girl's bathroom at school. I chatted with all kinds of lively people over years and years of dead butts. I don't even want to think about how many I've smoked over the years. It's too terrifying.

So today is THAT day I predicted at that Westwood bus stop. Not that cigarettes are the direct cause of my cancer. I have a genetic pre-disposition to breast and ovarian cancer. I certainly don't imagine it helped. And there are so many positive reasons to quit especially in these p.c. days, where even one whiff of cig smoke could cause someone to cough exaggeratedly before they get into their polluter car as  response to my bad habit. Plus being a smoker pretty much bans me from just about everywhere, including open spaces like Central Park, or the sidewalks of town, even friggin bars. AND I got stink eye in Vegas casinos too... and it's still legal to smoke THERE. Needless to say the cost. They are a lot more expensive than the originally affordable 65 cents a pack, even if I order online from the Indian Reservation in Seneca NY. Man, if I could have all that cig dough back... Oh, I'm not even gonna go there. Regrets are for losers.

I've got 4 cigs left. What to do afterwards? I'm fidgety with my hands. My husband made the predictable tawdry response (men!) Knit? (I suck at that) Clay?(Even worse in Art School) Write more?(fiction? seriously?)  Photoshop? I don't really suck at that, perhaps I will do more of that. I must find another way to reward myself. Cigarettes played a very important part in placation. I would do a job and when I deemed it completed, I had a smoke. Should I employ a masseur to be readily on hand? Smoking was also a good boredom chaser. If I was in a situation that was just way too dull, a cig would at least give me something to do. I suppose I should learn to use my new phone camera photo apps better. There are a lotta "shoulds" involved here. "Shoulda coulda woulda" Loser words, too.

I figure if legendary filmmaker and die-hard smoker Jon Waters could quit, anyone can. He was a major chainer. He wrote about how nasty he realised smoking was after he stopped doing it. I'd really like to get to that place. Not that I want to be an asshole to smokers. I hate THOSE people, the ones who used to smoke and now get all up into people who still do, big hypocrites. I just don't want to "like" it anymore. In contemporary TV and film it's always so easy to tell who the villain or the drunk is...it's the smoker. I don't want to be categorised as evil because I have a nasty habit. And I'm awfully tired of standing outside of wherever, whenever, in the elements, missing out on everything, all just because I need to smoke a freaking cigarette. So, long white friend who really is not my friend, was never designed to be my real friend, just a fake friend who wants to suck money and life out of me, consider our relationship OVER. Because I want new tits. (After I finish my last 4.)

Mortality and Death and Other Morbid Stuff People Never Want To Talk About

People really HATE talking about it. It's like death is just something that happens to OTHER PEOPLE and we'll deal with it when we have to, maybe. But when I mention the real possibility that I might not make it to my next century, nobody listens. All I ever get back is "You're a fighter, it'll be ok" or"Let's not talk about this now..." WTF? Everybody spouted off interminably when I was pregnant. I suppose the miracle of new life supplants the miracle of making room for that new life.  Even the death industry people speak in hushed tones, as if showing any kind of emotion may validate the fact that your loved one is actually, for-real, umm, dead. Or maybe they're just trained to expect mourners to act lively and they are to be the counterweight.  So I'm going to write about it just because I can. Don't read this if you choose not to, that's no longer my problem

I'm facing a good chance that I have breast cancer yet AGAIN. And this time it looks to be very aggressive.  I am waiting on a definitive answer from the biopsies they took on Wednesday, and of course during these long weekend days I've been doing probably way too much thinking.  Trying to make decisions about mastectomies, reconstruction, how big do I want my new boobs to be, how much pain will I have to experience, etc, etc, etc. But I'm also considering that the cancer may have spread. After all, I have lost a ton of weight and my Dr's have had no idea what was causing this. So of course I also go to the "fatal place".  What will I do then? 

I have always believed that every person deserves death with dignity. Ever since I saw my grandfather writhing with pain in the hospital from stomach cancer, shouting out to my dad for help, drugged out of his mind, hooked up to machines in a room that looked like the inside of the space shuttle. I was 13 then and I chose to stay in the waiting room for subsequent visits. My poor mother died alone in a hospital room as well, even though she had paid for home health care insurance. I suppose there is no way to truly guarantee that the dignified option will happen, but I sure as damn well don't ever want to be a permanent guest in a nursing home. Been there, done that, 7 days after I broke my hip. Interestingly, every employee I spoke to said that they had "plans other than being stuck there"...

I watched a documentary about a guy who had Lou Gehrig's disease and decided to go to Sweden to have a Dr assisted suicide rather than be a burden on his family as he declined. It was sad, but also rather liberating to watch. This gentleman made his own decision about his life and his death. How cool is that? And his wife honored his wishes all the way. This is a missive to all who say they love me as to what my wishes are. Please pay attention. I'm dead serious.

So if I do have inoperable cancer or treatment (chemo) is only gonna give me like 6 more months or something else just as useless,  I'll take a miss on that, thanks. My heart's desire is to travel. I will do as much as I can. I am so gone. Don't worry, I'll keep taking pictures with my phone camera and posting the best to Facebook. I'm not going to drop off the face of the planet. If anything, I will become more engaged, on a global level. It's going to be so cool.

When I get to the point where I simply cannot go any further, I'm STAYING HOME. Bring in hospice to keep me comfy, but don't drug me to oblivion. There are still snarky things to say and politics to follow.

And after...please cremate me. I know, being Jewish, I should have a plot all picked out and paid for. Let's get this straight. I HATE Hillside Memorial Park. Almost my entire family is buried there. The place gives me only crap memories. I don't give a rip that Al Jolson has a huge palatial fountain. Physical space is for the living, not my rotting carcass.  I have much more twisted plans for my disposal, Read on.

On the "Celebration of Life"...it's the new revamped funeral. Can we take a miss on that, too? You know how I hate trendy stuff. Just have a party. Keep it cheap. BYOB. Play my IPod on shuffle for music. I have only one request...please play "Funeral For A Friend" by Elton. If I can, I'll do some fairy magic for you all. That will be way cool. Eat, drink and be merry. And only dress in black if you usually do anyway.

Ash disposal (here comes the twisted part) Heheheheh. So those of you who really know me know that I love, love, love SNOW. So here's the deal. I could have made this really hard and forced you to watch the weather and check snow levels all winter like I do, but I realise you probably have more important things to do. Soooo.....Under NO CIRCUMSTANCES will my ashes box be left in the closet.( I will haunt the hell outta you if that happens.) You will drive up to Lake Tahoe, in the winter following my death, hopefully on a snowy day (there's at least gotta be snow on the ground) and scatter the ashes anywhere around the lake where you think you won't get caught disposing human remains. Easy. Don't save any ashes. And try not to pull a John Goodman, either, but know if you do I'm gonna laugh at you. So watch the wind.

So now I've written about the stuff NOBODY ever wants to talk about with me. Deal.





    

Another Long Waiting Weekend, Me and Angel

This is being written not to elicit pity or prayers or condolences. Writing is my catharsis, amongst other creative tasks. I could scream, throw things, weep, be still or get numb, all of which I have done the past few days, but nothing is more satisfying than actually concentrating on making something that comes from ME. That's just the way I roll.  This is simply the reason for all the cryptic Facebook status updates I've been posting, and I think being honest is the best way to answer for them. 

Back in 2005 I had my first mammogram. I was called back by the imaging center so they could get more films on a certain part of my left breast. After those were completed, I was brought into the radiologist's office where he showed me a magnified cluster of irregularly shaped cells. It looked really hinky to him and the next step was a biopsy. Not the most wonderfullest of procedures, but the results were called DCIS, basically stage 0 breast cancer. The cancer cells were stuck in a milk duct, probably had been there for several years. A simple lumpectomy would probably get rid of it.

I met with a surgeon who explained that they had to take a much larger piece of the breast around the cancerous cluster in order to get the largest margin to make sure that they got it all. So I went through with it, outpatient surgery, a little scar, no harm done. The surgeon said afterwards that they were successful in removing all the weird cells, and that I actually had 3 types of cancers in there, only one of which was a very aggressive type. I was then referred to an oncologist who recommended radiation therapy. I figured that if the surgeon said they got it all out, why bother with radiation? And I was pretty disgusted at being a product of the "cancer industry" at the time anyway. So I refused. Being a really cool oncologist, he said he understood, but he did suggest I take a test to see if I had the BRACA gene mutation. This is a hereditary gene thing, very common to Jewish women of Ashkenazi descent which increases the risk of breast and ovarian cancers to 85% in a lifetime. The test results came back positive. I have the BRACAI gene mutation. So this affected my entire game plan.

I toyed with the idea of being totally pro-active. Maybe I should just have a full mastectomy and get reconstructive surgery? Back in '05-'06 there weren't a lot of choices for decent cosmetic surgeons in my area. I ended up having consultations with doctors in San Francisco, the first who would do the mastectomy and the next who would do the reconstruction in the same surgery. My biggest fear is waking up and finding myself udderly mutilated. (pun intended). But the idea of having to travel all the way to San Francisco and then find a place to recuperate for two to three days was daunting. I decided that I was just going to let things be, get yearly mammos, and if I ever got cancer again, I would then get a new rack. And things did go swimmingly up to a couple of weeks ago.

A little digression....I am an insulin dependent diabetic. Have been since 1994. I also share my home with cats. I have done that for most of my life. At one point, we had a cat named Coco who was probably the most devoted to our family pet we ever had. One day she started looking ill. Being an observant pet person, I can tell when a cat isn't doing well. I took her to the vet and they did blood work. The next day they called and told me she had diabetes and that I needed to come in so they could show me how to give her insulin shots. They must have thought I was bonks because I just laughed on the phone. "I'm also on insulin" I told the poor vet tech. Needless to say, giving her her injections was no big whoop, and after a time, Coco didn't need the shots anymore. Cats can cure themselves of diabetes. I hope someone is studying this. They say that pets can take on the illnesses of their humans. I find it more and more true when I hear stories of people who have to give their dogs thyroid meds or prozac or whatever. Our bonds with our animals can be more than emotional.

When my mother died, I inherited her pure bred persian cat Angel. He is a likeable fellow, good tempered, curious and loves people. My mom bought him as a kitten from a breeder, and he could have had any number of weird genetic personality problems, but we lucked out.  Other than the necessity of professional grooming services, he's been pretty low maintenance. Starting about a month and a half ago, this otherwise very heavy, solid fifteen pound cat started to lose weight. I really began to notice it after he got shaved for summer. There's no way you should be able to feel bones when you pet a six year old cat.

Back to me. Two weeks ago I was adjusting my tank top and felt a lump. It was just above the place I'd had the breast cancer. And I'm not talking a pebble size lump. I'm talking the size of a marble that kids trade away a week's worth of lunches for. WTF? I'd just had a mammo in June and it was clean!  I was just about to go to Las Vegas for Photoshop World. On Wednesday I went to the Breast Imaging Center. They did a ton of mammos of the lump site. After the radiologist looked over the films, it was decided that an ultrasound was in order. An ultrasound can detect if the lump is a mass or liquid filled. If it was indeed liquid filled, then it would in most cases be just a cyst, and they could drain it and all would be fine. BUT NO. It wasn't. I have to say that the staff is wonderful at our breast imaging center, they really care and understand. I expect they have seen the whole spectrum of emotions, but they still have the ability to deal with the patient as an individual. And they fast-tracked me for a biopsy. Based on my ultrasound, not only is the lump suspect, I also have something in a lymph node.  They did the biopsy and put a teensy metal marker at the sites for future surgical use. I was told that I would probably get the results by Friday. That was yesterday. I received no phone call regarding any results. I suspect that even if any results come in today, I won't get any notification until Monday.

Angel: I brought him to our local vet on Thursday. The Dr. was very concerned and did blood work. He called me yesterday and said that Angel's in liver failure. The good part is that it wasn't caused by any virus, but he really wanted to have an ultrasound done to find out what was happening. So we took Angel  to the state of the art animal hospital in Loomis, about 35 miles down the hill. Their staff is also amazingly caring, and I bet they see some heinous stuff, being a 24/7 emergency clinic. They did an ultrasound and ultimately a sorta biopsy on Angel's liver. The state of the art Dr told us that Angel might have lymphoma, (read CANCER) but that the test results could take a couple of days, and maybe by Monday we'd have definitive results. I broke down in the state of the art Vet hospital and a vet tech took me into an exam room. I blubbered my troubles to her and she just hugged me for a long time.  She also told me that kitty lymphoma is not necessarily a death sentence. It can be treated. And I know that breast cancer can be as well. But I still have so many questions. Will both me and Angel lose our hair? (He will most certainly look worse than me) Will we both be sick and vomiting?Or does his treatment involve just a pill? And mine?

It sucks that I have to make such decisions, but I really think it's time for that mastectomy, because the major emotion I have is anger. I'm really sick of this shit. (Fortunately we have a new set up here where I can get the mastectomy and reconstruction same surgery in our local hospital, so no having to travel to San Francisco.) I have so many things I love to do on my schedule. And I'm not letting this get in the way. For those of you who believe in the power of prayer, and if you're so inclined to include me and Angel in them, I have only one wish: For us to be HAPPY. No matter what. Thanks.