Icy Fear Through My Veins

Recently I made quite a splash around my town and e-town when I announced to the world (well, just my friends and clients) that I was cancer-free. I was kinda loud and proud about it actually. Friends from high and low were full of congratulations for me. Then we all did what we all do, got back to work.

I've been healing nicely (officially 2 1/2 weeks after surgery as of today). My horse's patoot of a surgeon did a very fine job by leaving only the teeniest of scars straight across my chest. Apparently this isn't always the case with mastectomies according to those in the know. So, even though I don't like the guy, I will say that he did a really good job on me, and I have enjoyed the lack of complications.

All is well then. Or it was until I looked in the mirror this morning and saw a lump protruding from my rib on the left side. It's true that I've been feeling some pain there since right before my surgery, but dismissed it as nothing. Now, I could clearly see it protruding, 1/4 inch out, maybe 3 inches straight down from where my tumor was located before it was removed.

ICY. FEAR. SHOOTING. THROUGH. MY. VEINS.

That is the only way to describe what happens to your mind and your body when you think it might be possible that you have discovered more cancer. Or that the original tumor left a little present. Or a baby. Or whatever the hell it is.

I had heard of this icy fear thing happening to other cancer folks, but didn't think I would be the type to fall into the I-once-had-cancer-so-now-every-little-thing-might-be-cancer-hypochondriac pit. But in I went, and fast. There was no stopping it. Balls to the wall full out fear. It definitely wrecked my day.

I have a followup with my stink-ball surgeon tomorrow and I will ask what it is. Hopefully ... well, I don't know, why speculate? I'll keep you posted.

As always, I couldn't do it without you. But if you could hold my hand for a minute, that would be great - Love, Jen B.
http://www.jenniferbunker.com/

It's Over

Two and a half months, 22 doctor's visits, and one mastectomy later, I am officially done with cancer.

My Oncologist said that I will not require any further radiation, chemotherapy or even Tamoxiphen. I have no more increased chance of contracting cancer than any other person on the planet. It's over for good.

I have been released back to my regularly scheduled life.

I'm not the same. I'm better.

And I couldn't have done it without you.

All my love and gratitude - Jennifer

36-Year-Old Christina Applegate - Double Mastectomy

I thought that this article about Christina Applegate was interesting. (Article on MSNBC). After her diagnosis with Breast Cancer, she decided to have a double mastectomy after also learning that she tested positive for the BRCA1 gene. This meant that she had her healthy breast removed at the same time as her cancerous breast. In the article she jokes that after her reconstruction is finished she'll have the perkiest breasts around!

I really commend Christina for making that decision. I'm sure it was agonizing to make. I will also be tested for the BRCA1 gene and if that test is postive, it is likely that I too will have my good breast removed and then do reconstruction on both of them.

But unlike Christina, I wasn't ready to say goodbye to both of them. I am glad that I still have one. Maybe it is baby steps, but it was right for me.

My hat is off to her and others like us who are forced to make such difficult decisions, and then do it with grace, style, humor, and positive energy. We are pretty amazing women if I do say so myself.

I feel great today, how about you? Be sure and give yo momma a hug today, okay?

I see my Oncologist later this afternoon. I'll report in about what he says.

My love to all - Jen

www.jenniferbunker.com

The Surgical Follow-up

I went to see the surgeon today for my one-week post-surgery checkup. I was excited and nervous because I knew that I would be getting my drain out, all the bandages off, and then going over the pathology to find out if the cancer has spread or if we got it before it did.

To be honest, I'm not sure what I was more anxious about. Just thinking about it all gave me a mild freak-out in the Doctor's waiting room but sweet Liz managed to settle me down before the lid blew. Sara is in Montana on a well-deserved vacation, so poor Liz had to endure this one all alone. She hugged me sweetly and soon it was my turn to go back to an examining room.

I was terrified that the staff or my doctor would remove my 12 inch X 5 inch dressing by ripping it off my body. After seven days of melding into my chest skin and underarm areas, that sucker was on for the duration. I went back and forth in my mind about would they, or would they not remove that bandage by ripping it off or by prying it off lovingly instead. Either way, I knew that my skin was in for a tough time as the bandage covered a very large amount of skin.

I had also had heard that the drain removal is super painful. I could feel that my drain was into me a good 6 inches, starting underneath my arm and going to the center of my left chest. I had read about both the drain removal and the tape removal on the Internet and had become very nervous about both things. (Note to self: Never read about scary things on the Internet after 3:00 p.m.)

You would think that my mind would be fully on the pathology, instead of these issues, wouldn't you? As it turned out, my surgeon came into the room and ripped that bandage from one side to another in one fell swoop before I even knew what hit me. The pain, though monumental and causing involuntary twitching, lasted only a few minutes. The surgeon who is never one for ceremony, compassion, or even words, took care of THAT issue. One down.

Next, he had me lay down on my back. He artfully distracted me with small talk while fiddling with my drain site. In the next second the stitches were cut and the drain was out with no pain. The man does not fool around. Two down.

I looked down to see what I looked like. Well, for sure my breast is gone and it is not pretty. I have a scar straight across with some skin left for my reconstruction. My friends, I don't know if I can ever get used to what is there now. It is very difficult to see, but there was no other alternative. Even though I don't like it, I have to learn to live with it. I will consider losing a breast one of my great life tragedies, but I traded it for my life and I will always stand by that decision.

Or .... did I trade my breast for my life? Maybe not. What if my cancer had just been a teeny pre-cancer? This was information that we had not known because I had two vastly different pathologies on my June biopsy, one reporting a serious cancer the other a stage 0 pre-cancer. What if I had given my breast up for a teeny pre-cancer? I had been thinking about that and the moment of truth was at hand.

The Doctor pulled out the pathology report and began. As it turns out, my surgery was "curative". Likely no need for radiation or chemo, although I now must go see the Oncologist to confirm this. My tumor was mildly estrogen positive, a condition that requires most women to take Tamoxifen for several years afterwards to control future cancer growth. The tumor itself was bigger than everybody thought. It was also a high-grade comedo type DCIS tumor. This means that it was the bad cancer, and it had been poised to become invasive.

But it didn't. And now it won't. The pathology also showed a proliferation of other calcifications which is how this cancer begins its journey. Think of them as baby pre-cancers, just a twinkle in their mother's eye at this stage, but poised to grow and mature into more cancer.

I had done the right thing after all. I followed my own intuition, fired two surgeons who wouldn't, and endured a third who just didn't care. But I did it. And, I think it's over. Mostly. Hopefully.

Love you all, I do. Jen

www.jenniferbunker.com

Home From the Hospital and Doing Great

Thanks so much to everybody who called, emailed, and brought flowers and cute teddy bears. I don't know what I would have done without my sisterhood through this.

I am back, one boob short of when I left. My family jokes that maybe I lost a pound (due to my famously small breasts). Jeepers, everybody's a comedian!

Like all my hospital stays I had a great experience. What's not to like? Nice nurses bring you warm blankets and keep you from barfing after surgery. They are kind and sweet and even reminded Sara why she once wanted to be a nurse.

I have had literally NO PAIN at all. We don't know why, but I did not need my pain meds in the hospital nor have I needed to take any percoset at home. I am taking 2 Tylenol for swelling and that is it. Why a person would have an 8 inch gash/amputation and not feel pain is beyond me. I have loads of energy and I feel great. I even managed a shower this morning.

My boobless area is bandaged tight. I see the surgeon next Thursday to get that off. That will be a low moment, but was the right choice.

I woke up in the hospital and realized with a start .... I am free of cancer. I won, you dirty bastard! Even if I had to give you a boob to do it!

(Actually, that is hopeful thinking, because we really won't know if the cancer was invasive until the I get the pathology back sometime next week. If it was invasive, we are talking a whole other ballgame. But we'll talk it then, not now. Today, in my mind, I am free of cancer.)

So, here's the details of my surgery, if you are interested. If not, you are done here. :-)

What strong woman doesn't have strong women behind her? Liz and Sara postponed their lives to be with me through 18 doctor's office visits and one mastectomy. They prepared my home before I left, secured any doggies and kitties and made me one heck of a hospital basket of soft comforting goodies. Precious adorable Josh has been checking in when he can even through the excess of estrogen and emotion. He is to be commended for his continued love and support. Love you, son.

I headed off for surgery at 7:15 a.m. on Thursday. With entourage and many pillows in tow, I arrived resigned and ready to get on with it. They checked me in and gave me the world's worst hospital gown along with the poofy hat. I didn't don the hat out of defiance and they let me get away with it, for a while. The girls toddled along behind my bed as I was pushed around the hospital to my various stations. (Note: They push you through the halls where regular people are walking. I would have been mortified to see someone I know!)

My first stop was to have radio active dye injected into my breast. This is done to check the sentinel modes for any cancer. The dye is injected, then you must wait two hours before it makes its way to the nodes. You are totally radioactive and that time, which is worrisome. Once the dye "seeps" to the right place, the surgeon uses a Geiger counter while in surgery to test the nodes. Because this kind of cancer attracts the radiation molecules, if there is cancer in a node, the Geiger counter will find it and then the surgeon removes it. I probably didn't explain that right, but anyway, I waited my two hours with my faithful servants, and finally it was my time for surgery.

I liked my anesthesiologist who listened carefully to my heart issues and made the appropriate notes. A resident who told me he was just finishing up medical school then rolled me into the operating room. On the way, he told me I was going to get the best "margarita" ever and that it would make it so that I just didn't care any more. He was right, I saw the stark white of the operating room and everybody in masks, but I just didn't care. They asked me to move myself to the operating table, which I happily did. Then, the best part ever ... I just went black.

In previous operations I had to play the game ... "Now count backwards from 100 ... here we go ..." That's when you know you are going out and it causes such anxiety in those two seconds before you go. This time, the wonderful med student simply filled my IV with the juice and didn't say anything as he did it. Bless his heart for that.

The surgery took 2 hours and then (for reasons we don't know yet) I was in recovery for two hours longer than we expected. This caused the girls some anxiety as somebody had told them I would be in my room shortly, but I then didn't show up for several hours. However, I woke up feeling fine in the recovery room and and had no pain at all. They wheeled me to my room where my nannies were waiting for me.

I immediately had the best nurse in the world, a guy who asked me if I felt nauseous (I did) and did I need some meds (I did). He took care of my and though I was dozy I noted that he talked at length with my girls and answered their questions. He was kind and sweet and that means a lot.

The rest for me was a lot of napping. Josh visited later that day which is a big deal for him as he hates hospitals. I had low blood pressure issues, 88/50 through the night along with a high heartbeat. It was concerning but the nurses kept a good eye on it all while I dozed. I slept all night long and woke up already to go around 7 a.m. I never saw or talked to my surgeon even though I asked all day long to talk to him. That is how they roll in Utah, and it is kinda sad. But, he did what I hired him to do and I guess that is okay enough.

I have a drain which is such a drag and kinda gross. I will get that out on Thursday. I'm already anxious to go to the nice ladies at the one-boobie-bra store and see what they can fix me up with. I just feel ready to get back to my life.

I need strong prayers that my pathology shows the cancer was not invasive. Then, I need prayers that my insurance will not be any more mean to me than they already have been. Then, I need my clients to call me cause I am ready to get back to work.

Thanks AGAIN, there are no words to describe how much your support means to me and my kids.

Love (the one pound lighter) Jen

www.jenniferbunker.com

Canser is Messy

I've put off blogging for some time now while I pondered a big decision I had to make. When I started my blog, I wanted to be honest and open and it's been really beneficial for me, more so than I originally anticipated actually.

But for a while I just needed to hang back while searching for an answer that truthfully still hasn't come with any real clarity. Normally confident and decisive, I don't know what's been toughest to bear, the decision that I have to make or the indecisiveness that I still feel in making it.

It just goes to show that cancer is messy. There are no clear answers. In the end, I had to trust my gut and instincts in order to move ahead.

So today, after many agonizing days of thought, I decided to have a mastectomy instead of a lumpectomy.

I would equate the difficulty of coming to, and accepting, this decision along the lines of when you have a cherished pet who you decide to put to sleep. You know that you must do it, but there is no peace in the decision, and the days leading up to the final event are filled with what-ifs, a zillion mind changes and second guesses.

Ultimately, I had to choose from two horrible choices. One just happened to be a little less horrible than the other and that is why I chose it.

Cancer is messy. The decisions are agonizingly difficult. The friends are dear. The waiting is torture. But I choose to live and so I do what I do.

My surgery is Thursday the 7th. I am as uneasy and as unsure as I have ever been about anything. I'm not sure which is worse, surgery or the resulting aftermath. But like many people before me, I'll troop into the hospital and do what I have to do. And I know that I chose life.

Cancer is messy.

http://www.jenniferbunker.com/