Sandy's shit - literally

Ok, people, if you're uncomfortable with bodily functions, do not read this post. Leave now. This will be graphic. I repeat, this will be graphic......but kinda funny. Poor Andrew has shared my blog site with the people he works with and he'll be so embarrassed by this post. Sorry, baby!! You're the one who said "I do"....my dad asked if you were sure that day!! Ya shoulda run when you had the chance (now, you're too old to run!! ROFL!!! says the girl with the shell-shocked boob!)

The subject of the day is....Sandy's shit (and pee). Do you know that when you get blue dye injected into your boob, it will come out? Do you know that they don't actually warn you? Seriously!! Can you imagine...just imagine....going to flush the toilet and everything that just came out of you is blue? Not a deep blue but , well, a neon blue. Bright blue. This is fricking disturbing, people!! Disturbing.

Well, now that that's out of my system, I can move on. (Out of my system!! Get it? OMG! I'm so funny!!!) I'm recovering well. Slowly, I think. Andrew disagrees. I wanted to work tomorrow but I don't actually think I'm going to be able to go. I am in pain. In my armpit. I can't put my arm down but I can't put it up either. It's sitting there in limbo. I have to hold a big pillow up against my body and carry that around. Not really something I can hide, you know?

I go see the doctor on Thursday afternoon. I imagine after that I'll go see an oncologist and get set up for the radiation. From what the surgeon told me, I wait until 3 weeks post-op and then start the radiation and it goes for 6 weeks/30 treatments. That means by Christmas I should be through with all this. It's definitely life changing. I have a lot of questions and I want answers. I'm going to get graphic again and go on a little rage (fair warning), but I do have a point. Again, this will be graphic and will make you cringe...no fainting here, people, I actually lived through this and it must be talked about.

Three hours prior to surgery, I had to have some radioactive liquid injected into the nipple (four times!). There is a purpose to this. They inject it so that it will travel through the milk ducts into the lymph nodes. Then, during the actual surgery, a blue dye is injected and it follows the radioactive liquid and the surgeon, using some sort of device that find radioactive materials and the visual of the blue dye, can find the sentinal (first) lymph node. The goal is to find out if this lymph node has cancer. If it does, then the cancer has spread, if not (that's me!) then, most likely, the cancer has not spread. OK, so I understand all that. What I don't understand is why it has to hurt so much to have this stuff injected. I understand that they can't freeze the area because the freezing "stuff" will get in the way of the traveling liquid. I don't understand why, if I already have an IV in my hand, they can't give me something to put me in lala land so I don't have to scream and cry during this procedure. I mean, I was hysterical, crying. It was awful!! The worst pain I've ever been in. I'm telling you, if a man had to have four needles filled with radioactive liquid injected into his scrotum? He'd be put out. I betcha every single person who just read that cringed. Didn't you? I think this is a gender thing and I want answers.

It is my understanding that three women went through this prior to me on that Friday morning. This is just one hospital. How many women, on a daily basis, go through this? Was mine unusual? Did I just get a bad technician? Why, on earth, would the technician tell me it would be "like a bee sting" and then it ends up being more like being stabbed in the nipple 100 times? I know I sound bitchy, but I'm really mad about this. I want answers. I want to know why my cancer book didn't mention this? Why didn't someone tell me? Argh!!!

OK, on to more pleasant topics....

I want to officially thank my sister, Kim, for coming down. It was just what I needed and you was more helpful than you'll ever know. Right from providing me with lipstick for the surgery to reading the poem (thanks Ruth!!) right before I was wheeled into surgery to stroking my hair to "the unveiling" and holding me while I wept. You are an amazing sister and I'm so proud and grateful to have you in my life. I also must add that I will never, ever play trivial pursuit against this woman! Holy crap!! I've never met anyone who remembers so much "stuff". We're sitting there watching tv and she knows so much "stuff" - right from which movie an actor has been in and who they're married to and how many children they have to what machine gun would be used to blow someones brains out from 1/2 a mile away.

I also want to thank my mom and dad for putting up with my very tearful call last night. Kim had gone home, Andrew and Kevin had gone to the gym and it hit me. The whole thing just hit me. Hard. I called them and I just wept and wept and wept. It must be so hard to be up in Canada with a daughter with cancer in Florida and not be able to be with her (they really can't be here - my dad had two knee replacements done this summer and he can't travel, yet and my mom needs to be there with him). They will be down in time for the radiation treatments, though. That'll be good. I'm definitely needy in that area and I admit it. I need my hand to be held and they've got the perfect hands.

Then, I want to thank all the people who have been e-mailing and calling. Wow. I'm overwhelmed with the good wishes being sent my way. It always amazes me when I talk about my cancer how many other women have gone through it and I just didn't know. Then they'll say "I'm a survivor". Wow. It's just mind-blowing and so very hopeful for me.

Wow, with all these thank you's I feel like I should be getting a trophy or something. An Oscar or Emmy. How about "Cancergirl of the year"? That's it, I'm going to put on my tiara - OMG!! I should have worn that to the hospital!! I didn't think of it. But I am going to put it on right now. I love my tiara!!

So, this blog entry would be exactly what I'm going through. I'm like a rollercoaster. Up and down, up and down. Mad - the "why me" question is forefront. Grateful - that other women have shared they're stories with me and that I have the best cancer there is. Sad - you should see my poor boob. Happy - I'm going to live and will be a survivor. I just wish this was as much fun as a roller coaster. I'm not going to sugar coat it, though. That's just not me.

So, Cancergirl moves on. I'm going to take a nap, now, and try to get comfortable and look at my pretty flowers people sent to me and read my book and look forward to a time when I can say I'm a survivor...

Have a great day, everyone! I gotta go get my tiara on and warn poor Andrew. I wonder how many times I can embarrass that poor man! teehee!!!!