One day I will have it all together! I seriously thought this during my childhood. HA! Wow... What does that even mean? Having it all together...that's an interesting phrase.
I do not and probably will not ever have it all together. I've had a hard time with my mother's death in the past few weeks. I know that people think "she should have moved on by now", "Darla is taking this harder than she should", "I can't believe she's still grieving". A piece of my life is gone. Gone. Mothers don't judge you. Mother's are the only ones that have your childhood stories in their head. Mother's are the ones that patch your BooBoos no matter how old you are. When my first husband left, my mother held me (more than once) while I cried. When I told my mother that I thought I had a drinking problem, she didn't judge me. I have so many things I really need to talk to her about. I know I know. I have friends that will listen to me ramble on. I have family that will too. But they're not my mom. The last movie I watched with mom was The Lake House. The last thing I ate with my mother was Chinese that we brought into the hospice hospital. The last words she said to me were "I love you, Baby". I can still hear her voice. I wonder so often what she would think right now. Would she be proud of the photography stuff I'm doing? She always liked to look at them. Would she be disappointed with my work habits right now? Would she support my decision for the double mastectomy? Would she pet my head before I go into surgery? Would she be holding my hand at each appointment? What would she say if I just put my head on her shoulder to cry? You don't move on. You don't ever finish grieving. You learn to live with a piece of your heart, and your life gone...missing.
I got the date of my surgery set. That was nerve wracking and a relief at the same time. I'm still nervous. I'm having so many mixed emotions. One minute I'm sad, and the next I'm frustrated and mad. I can't seem to find a happy medium. I think it's just that there is so much in my head...so much running through my mind. I have so many tough things that I'm going through right now. So much more detail than I feel comfortable blogging about. I have a friends sister that committed suicide last week. One of my friends is an affair (she's single). One of my friends is having an affair that is destroying her emotionally. One friend is in the hospital. One friend is going to marry a man that she doesn't love. One friend is having severe depression and having a hard time separating herself from her past. One friend is financial trouble and seems so very depressed. My sister has a drinking problem. My dad's been coughing up blood for 2 years and won't go to the doctor. I have so many appointments. I'm working 12-17 hours per day at my day job. I'm actually down 3 employees right now. I miss my son. I miss having the kids at home. One of our girls is thinking about moving out of the state. I'm buried at work. I have a friend who's girlfriend is battling breast cancer and doing chemo. I have a friend who's thinking about divorce. I've needed a hair cut for months. I'm worried about all of this. And when one thing seems fixed...some other chaotic thing replaces it. This again is why I wish I had mom to talk to. Don't misread my emotions. I have a ton of things to be thankful for as well. Please do not assume that all I do is complain. It's not like that. I have a ton of things in my life that I am so thankful for. I really do. :)
I think life is like that for everyone. There are always life storms. Learning to dance in the rain...that's the hard part, and the fun part. :)
~Darla
Friday, September 26, 2014
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
Who's gonna wipe my hiney?!?
I am really thankful that I am able to blog. I know this isn't everyone's thing, but it is such a release. When you have no one to talk to...blog.
Last week I had a follow up appointment with Cassie. She is the surgeon that will be removing the breast tissue during the first surgery. As I have said before, she is fantastic! I love her demeanor, her calming voice, and her ability to explain things in a way that I understand....minimal medical terms. She even draws pictures if she needs to. :) The appointment went well for the most part. So far after each appointment I have walked to my car with a smile, and then I sit in my car and cry. I let it all out. I just sit there pray and cry. No one knows this. This is the first time I've admitted it. It's not because I'm sad. This is just a lot. It's a lot of information. It's a lot to understand. It's a lot to accept. It's a lot to carry everyday. It usually takes me back to my mother. I saw a video the other day on The Pink Ribbon FB page. It was a girl the day of surgery and a few days following her double mastectomy. I always have so much respect for those people who document their journeys. Anyway, I cried. Not because of the pain she in, not because I was going to go through that same pain, not because I felt sorry for her. I cried watching her mother hold her hand. It's selfish, and it's jealousy. I know it's wrong to be jealous, but she had her mom. My mother won't be holding my hand when I go into surgery. Don't get me wrong!! I have plenty of people who love me and will be there with me. There will be way more people than need to be there, but none of them are my mother. I wonder if they will let me keep my pocket angel in my hand during surgery? I'll have to remember to ask. I have really gotten off topic....back to my appointment. Sorry. So, Cassie explained to me that the incision will not be under the breasts. It will be in a () shape around the nipple. It will be two incisions one above the nipple and one under that connect on either side and make a rounded diamond shape. They will remove all of the breast tissue through this "hole". When they begin removing the tissue on the second breast, the plastic surgeon will come in and install the "bag" (it's called a tissue expander) on the first breast. There will be three people working at the same time to get done as quickly as possible so that I am not under anesthesia longer than necessary. This process will take 4-5 hours. When the "holes" are sewn together it will be a straight line. It will be 5-6 inches across each breast. The drains will be located on the outside of the incisions. There will be two tubes from each breast. One is a drain tube, and the other is a tube in which the fluid will be injected each week. It's quite possible that the surgery will be the first week in January. That's only 14 weeks.
The first week following surgery will be very difficult. I will be unable to use my arms. The bandages will need to be changed. I will have to wear a special cami-shirt that fastens in the front. I will have to wear front buttoning shirts as well since I won't be able to do over the head things with my arms. This is going to so very difficult. Who's gonna wipe my hiney?!? One of the first thoughts I had. I know that I shouldn't have a problem with this, but this is a big deal for me. Other than my mother, NO ONE has ever had to clean my goodies!! I don't even pee in front of my husband. How do I think that I am going to let him help me with this task? This is a very big concern for me. I know there are people that will do it...I can name several: my grandma, my husband, my sisters, my daughter. I know these people will do it. I don't want them to. I want to go pee alone, and wipe myself! Uhg!!! How awful. OH my gosh!!! It just occurred to me: what if I'm on my menstrual cycle? *blank stare* I am done with this paragraph.
I have so many things in my head. There are so many concerns. There are so many ideas bouncing around. I can't keep focused on one thing. I replace all of these thoughts with work. I have started working more hours. I get up at 4am with my mind running a hundred miles per hour. I get to work by 5am, and work work work until 6,7,8pm. When I get home, I edit. I keep my mind busy. Lately we have been going to dinner a lot which gets me out of the house and away from editing & working for a little bit. It's good for me. I know it is.
It's so hard to be at home. A while back my son (Brian) decided that he wanted to go live with his dad. We waited until after the spring season of baseball because our lives revolve around baseball. I moved him to his dads this summer. That was a very tough day for me. Now I walk by his empty room, and sometimes I stop to cry on his bed. I miss him so much. I still talk to him. I get him every other weekend, but after having him for his entire 12 years of life...it's hard to not have him at home. He was honest with me in this decision. He said that he had prayed for a long time before the topic had come up, and he was certain that this was what he wanted to do. I know it doesn't mean that he won't come back home. I hang on to a glimmer of hope that one day he may decide that he wants to come home, but I also realize that's not fair to his dad who has missed so much in Brian's life since we separated in 2006. This too runs through my head all the time.
I am worried about so much that is going on in my life. I am not a worrier. Not typically. Some days my brain is in over load. Most days. Some days there is so much in my head that I don't voice, and that makes me feel so alone sometimes. Do not get me wrong...I know that this is one of the many times in my life where there is only one set of footprints. I am so thankful for a God who loves me so very much. More than I can possibly fathom. That is comforting in itself.
~Darla
Last week I had a follow up appointment with Cassie. She is the surgeon that will be removing the breast tissue during the first surgery. As I have said before, she is fantastic! I love her demeanor, her calming voice, and her ability to explain things in a way that I understand....minimal medical terms. She even draws pictures if she needs to. :) The appointment went well for the most part. So far after each appointment I have walked to my car with a smile, and then I sit in my car and cry. I let it all out. I just sit there pray and cry. No one knows this. This is the first time I've admitted it. It's not because I'm sad. This is just a lot. It's a lot of information. It's a lot to understand. It's a lot to accept. It's a lot to carry everyday. It usually takes me back to my mother. I saw a video the other day on The Pink Ribbon FB page. It was a girl the day of surgery and a few days following her double mastectomy. I always have so much respect for those people who document their journeys. Anyway, I cried. Not because of the pain she in, not because I was going to go through that same pain, not because I felt sorry for her. I cried watching her mother hold her hand. It's selfish, and it's jealousy. I know it's wrong to be jealous, but she had her mom. My mother won't be holding my hand when I go into surgery. Don't get me wrong!! I have plenty of people who love me and will be there with me. There will be way more people than need to be there, but none of them are my mother. I wonder if they will let me keep my pocket angel in my hand during surgery? I'll have to remember to ask. I have really gotten off topic....back to my appointment. Sorry. So, Cassie explained to me that the incision will not be under the breasts. It will be in a () shape around the nipple. It will be two incisions one above the nipple and one under that connect on either side and make a rounded diamond shape. They will remove all of the breast tissue through this "hole". When they begin removing the tissue on the second breast, the plastic surgeon will come in and install the "bag" (it's called a tissue expander) on the first breast. There will be three people working at the same time to get done as quickly as possible so that I am not under anesthesia longer than necessary. This process will take 4-5 hours. When the "holes" are sewn together it will be a straight line. It will be 5-6 inches across each breast. The drains will be located on the outside of the incisions. There will be two tubes from each breast. One is a drain tube, and the other is a tube in which the fluid will be injected each week. It's quite possible that the surgery will be the first week in January. That's only 14 weeks.
The first week following surgery will be very difficult. I will be unable to use my arms. The bandages will need to be changed. I will have to wear a special cami-shirt that fastens in the front. I will have to wear front buttoning shirts as well since I won't be able to do over the head things with my arms. This is going to so very difficult. Who's gonna wipe my hiney?!? One of the first thoughts I had. I know that I shouldn't have a problem with this, but this is a big deal for me. Other than my mother, NO ONE has ever had to clean my goodies!! I don't even pee in front of my husband. How do I think that I am going to let him help me with this task? This is a very big concern for me. I know there are people that will do it...I can name several: my grandma, my husband, my sisters, my daughter. I know these people will do it. I don't want them to. I want to go pee alone, and wipe myself! Uhg!!! How awful. OH my gosh!!! It just occurred to me: what if I'm on my menstrual cycle? *blank stare* I am done with this paragraph.
I have so many things in my head. There are so many concerns. There are so many ideas bouncing around. I can't keep focused on one thing. I replace all of these thoughts with work. I have started working more hours. I get up at 4am with my mind running a hundred miles per hour. I get to work by 5am, and work work work until 6,7,8pm. When I get home, I edit. I keep my mind busy. Lately we have been going to dinner a lot which gets me out of the house and away from editing & working for a little bit. It's good for me. I know it is.
It's so hard to be at home. A while back my son (Brian) decided that he wanted to go live with his dad. We waited until after the spring season of baseball because our lives revolve around baseball. I moved him to his dads this summer. That was a very tough day for me. Now I walk by his empty room, and sometimes I stop to cry on his bed. I miss him so much. I still talk to him. I get him every other weekend, but after having him for his entire 12 years of life...it's hard to not have him at home. He was honest with me in this decision. He said that he had prayed for a long time before the topic had come up, and he was certain that this was what he wanted to do. I know it doesn't mean that he won't come back home. I hang on to a glimmer of hope that one day he may decide that he wants to come home, but I also realize that's not fair to his dad who has missed so much in Brian's life since we separated in 2006. This too runs through my head all the time.
I am worried about so much that is going on in my life. I am not a worrier. Not typically. Some days my brain is in over load. Most days. Some days there is so much in my head that I don't voice, and that makes me feel so alone sometimes. Do not get me wrong...I know that this is one of the many times in my life where there is only one set of footprints. I am so thankful for a God who loves me so very much. More than I can possibly fathom. That is comforting in itself.
~Darla
Monday, September 8, 2014
Everyone's "dream body" is different.
Let's talk about my weight history. Let's talk about personal goals. I love blogging all of this stuff...because one day I may want to look back and remember these things.
I have always been firm in my belief that if you want something bad enough, you can obtain it. I realize there are exceptions to this belief. Let's say my goal is to have a date with Dwight Yoakum. That's not gonna happen. For one, I'm married, and that's completely inappropriate. Secondly, he's doesn't know I'm alive nor will he ever. I suppose if I wanted it bad enough I could be a groupie, and travel the country to be at his every concert. I could stand outside his house, and wait for him to meet me...or wait to be arrested. The fact still remains. If you want something bad enough, you will anything to obtain it. Make sense? You can pick just about anything and figure out the order of events that would need to happen to obtain it. If you want it bad enough. :)
So, now lets talk about my weight. *rolls eyes* Through high school I was always 120-125lbs. I am 5'1", so that's not rail thin. I wore a size 5. I've always had large thighs. Always. I'm not pear shaped, just evenly proportioned. I, like a lot of people, gained weight after high school. I was still a runner as an adult. I love to run. I love winter runs with the cold air in my chest. I love the way my legs feel like jelly after a long run. At the age of 23, I got married to my first husband (we don't all get it right on the first try). I weighed 130. I didn't run as much, but I still ran. I've been a vegetarian as long as I can remember, so I eat mostly healthy. My enemy: rice and pasta. I love rice. I super love pasta. Pasta is the easiest way to make a vegetarian meal and be full. Starches in general are not healthy unless you are really exercising. Running 3 miles a couple of times a week was not burning it off. I was not a soda drinker. I have never been a big fan of sweets, so I was able to maintain a healthy weight without a lot of exercise.
Right before our first anniversary, I was in a pretty bad car accident. I rolled a Ford Explorer on a gravel road on my way home. I hurt my hip really bad. I had no seatbelt on because I was only driving a few miles from the post office in town to our house out in the boonies. I remember the first few flips. I held the steering wheel as tight as I could. The first flip broke all of the windows on the drivers side. As I was holding the steering wheel my whole left side hit hard on the gravel road. I did not have skin on my left side from upper hip bone to my knee. There was no way I could run. It was months before I was able to. I put on weight. Not a ton, but it happens slowly.
I got pregnant with my son right after our first anniversary. I weighed 143. I was so sick with him through the entire pregnancy that I only gained 7lbs. I weighed 150lbs when I gave birth. I left the hospital weighing less than when I got pregnant. When my son was 5, my husband left me. No hard feelings. We were not terrible together, but we had our problems. All these years later, we are still friends. He's a great guy, but we just couldn't make it. No, this is not what I wanted, but I understand why he left. It takes two people to make a marriage work. Both people have to want it. It is NOT a one sided commitment. Enough about that. So, I was hurt and angry that he left me. I'm not sure why I was shocked, I wasn't a good wife. Cleaning and dusting are not my strong suite. :) When he left, my eating habits became horrendous. I was eating anything I wanted. I wasn't trying to be healthy. I didn't care any more. I had no one to impress.
In the first year after he left I gained weight. Not terrible. I was 155ish and wearing a size 11. My weight was still evenly distributed...I was just bigger all over. Again, don't get me wrong. This is not a bad size. I knew lots of people that would have liked to be a size 11. This was my first time in a double digit size. I wasn't particularly concerned. After all, I was a vegetarian. Pssssh. Vegetarians are some of the most unhealthy people because they don't do in a healthy way. I wasn't a vegetarian because I just love Bambi, cows, and chickens. I really just don't care for the chewing part. I know that's weird. It's the fleshy tearing part that bothers me. I periodically like a hotdog if I'm in the mood. I've been known to eat sausage wraps after a couple beers and a Red Flyer wagon ride. That's a wild story...for another time. :)
So, I was 28, single, eating crap, not exercising, and not caring. By the time I was 30 I weighed 195. I didn't realize that I had put on that much weight. It was around Christmas time, and my mother insisted on a picture of all of us girls and our partners on the front steps of the house. In the picture I was big. I was the biggest sister. There are 6 of us girls, and I was the fat one. I know that 195lbs doesn't seem like a lot. I know there are people out there that would love to be 195. I know this. I do not think that heavy people are gross. I see the beauty inside and out. Little known fact about me: I am a chubby chaser. I date heavy people. I love them. I love the way weight looks on people. I am not the only one out there that is like that. This is not an absurd obsession. I love sexy rolls on men and women. I love heavy people. I really do think that curves and rolls are sexy. However, looking in the mirror, I didn't like them on my self. I did not feel sexy. I felt that couldn't pull off clothes that were in style. Girls that were bigger than me were wearing these cute clothes, and looking fantastic. I didn't feel good about my self. I started wearing clothes that were big and flowing. I wore baby doll shirts way after they went out of style. When I met my second husband he was 300lbs. I love every single pound of it!! 195lbs is not a bad weight. It would be a fantastic weight for someone 5'7". At 5'1" I was not carrying the weight well. I started noticing things that were more difficult to do. I hadn't even tried to run in at least 2 years. I was still eating crap food. Lots of fast food, vending machine cuisine, tons of soda, and lots and lots of salt. Mexican food was my go to. Oh yes, cheese enchiladas, rice, beans, guacamole, and a basket of chips and salsa. This alone is about 2,000 calories. I would eat this for one meal. So, it's possible that some days I was easily taking in 5,000 calories. I was eating 2 breakfast tacos each morning. Potato and egg breakfast tacos...200 calories each. Mexican food for lunch because that was really the only restaurant in the town I worked in at the time. Dinner was whatever. A large can of Ravioli, Pasta salad, usually Italian food because it was cheap and easy to make. I maintained 195 for a while.
I met my second husband when I was 33. Actually we had known each other since the 5th/6th grade. He was a year ahead of me in school. We will skip all of the details on how we met up again. I'll blog about that at another time. :) When we met, nothing had changed with my eating habits and exercise. I weighed 190. I was wearing a size 18. We dated for almost a year when he asked me to marry him. We both wanted to work on our weight before we got married. He lost almost 40 pounds, and I lost 15. We were both using the My Fitness Pal ap. That was huge for me. I really had no idea how many calories a person was supposed to eat. I certainly had no idea that I was eating 3-4xs my daily caloric allowance. I had a really hard time with this. Pasta is 200 calories for one cup. I could easily sit down and eat an entire box of Mac and Cheese by my self. One box is 1200 calories. My problem was not just what foods I was eating, but also my portion intake. It was a real bummer to only lose 15 pounds in 8 months. I felt again like a failure. My weight through the first 3 years of our marriage fluctuated between 170-185. After my mom died last year, I was eating crap again. I was really fed up with life, my body, just everything. Depression was probably not as far off as I'd like to think it was.
Sometime late last year, I mentioned to my daughter something like "blah blah back when I was a size 7". She said, "I don't ever remember you being small". Ouch. My kids only remembered having a heavy mom. I don't care for the word heavy...I prefer chubby, but whatever. This year, 2014, was the year. I was done. I was not going to live like this anymore. Ricky was fed up with his weight as well. It's hard to be intimate when you feel disgusting. We were being intimate in the dark only. No daytime hanky-panky. Hiding away from intimacy and avoiding affection because you are uncomfortable in your own body is damaging to a relationship. I can understand how one could become depressed being overweight and hating it. So, in January, we went to the gym and bought a one year membership. Oh yeah, big commitment. January 1st 2014, I weighed 187 lbs. I was wearing a size 16 at the time. We were going to the gym and working out at least 5 times a week. I was still using My Fitness Pal. I was really really careful with portions and food choices. This time was different. I had weighed more than I did nine months pregnant for the last 7 years. I was determined to get under my 9 month pregnant weight. I was almost 30 lbs heavier than I was at 9 months pregnant!! This was going to be hard, but I wanted it bad enough. I wanted it really bad. I was talking to a friend one day about wanting to lose weight. She is heavier than me. She actually got upset with me for talking about being overweight, and how I needed to let it go because a lot of people would love to be my weight. She told me that I was not overweight, and I needed to let it go. She said that I actually "piss her off" when I talk about it. I had no idea. I seriously had no idea. I was actually a bit in shock. All people are different. Everyone's "dream body" is different. I quit talking about my weight to anyone that was bigger than me. I certainly didn't mean to offend anyone. I would never intentionally offend someone. Well...not about that. Anyway, back on topic. So, by March we had really been working out almost every day. We were eating better, and reasonable portions. Ricky drops weight faster than me. I think males in general lose faster than women. He was really slimming up. In late March I weighed 173lbs. I was doing it!! I was losing weight!! I had lost 14lbs in 3 months. Not really as fast as I was hoping, but hey! It was happening.
It was in April that we fell off the wagon. Lovely. We quit going to the gym. Life was crazy. I was working 70-100 hours per week. I was eating out of the vending machine. I guess I didn't want it bad enough after all. In June, I had put some of the weight back on. I'm not sure how much because I wasn't recording it at that time on My Fitness Pal. In July, I tried to put on a pair of my bigger jeans. They were a size 16. They were too tight to be comfortable. How could I have not wanted it bad enough?!?
In early August, I was done (again) with this weight problem. This time I did something completely different. I prayed. I cried and prayed. I told God that I was sorry that I was not respecting His temple. If my body is a temple of God's then I was shaming His temple. I felt terrible about it. I asked him to take away my want for crap food, fast food, and vending machine cuisine. It was an entirely different outlook on my weight. I started going to the gym without Ricky. I was working out harder than ever. I started taking B12 on a regular basis (which my mother always said I needed to take). The first few days I noticed an increase in energy, and loss of appetite. I chalked that up to stress at work and lack of time to eat. I remember a time that I had gone to the vending machine and nothing looked good. Nothing. I instead had a huge thing of water. For the first week, I couldn't figure out the loss of appetite. One night really late at work probably 9pm or so, it hit me. Maybe it was the B12?? I searched loss of appetite with B12. BINGO!! Apparently at weight loss clinics, they actually inject patients with B12 to help with weight loss and hunger. Really?? Duh! Should have totally researched it before popping those things like TicTacs. I was taking 3000 micrograms per day. Prior to this I was drinking 10+ Diet Cokes per day for energy. The need to have sodas was gone. I love the taste, but no longer needed them for the caffeine boost. I drink maybe 1 a day now. I haven't had on in three days, and haven't needed the caffeine. I feel fine. The energy is level and healthy. I know about the loss of appetite now, so I have to actually think about eating. It's unhealthy to NOT eat. I am eating small portions, still going to the gym, and taking 2,000 micrograms per day of B12. I am spreading it out through out the day. I start the day with 1,000 micrograms. Then I take 1,000 more after lunch. I am still hitting the gym hard. My eating choices are so much healthier. I don't want fried foods. At all. I don't want pasta. I don't like the way it makes me feel. If I do have pasta, it's a very small amount. I've only had one cup serving of pasta on the last month. I eat vegetables. I actually crave them. They are fantastic for energy, and easy for the body to burn. I quit eating salads. The salads I was eating were high in salt and calories. If I want a salad I eat some lettuce leaves and a few tomatoes. I really feel that God heard me and is helping me. He has taken away my craving for all of my favorite foods, potatoes, fries, rice, salt, butter, soda, fried anything, bread, and so many other things. I almost feel swollen after I eat bread. I had a half of a biscuit yesterday at lunch. It didn't even taste good. It tasted like...dough...or flour. It wasn't good.
My husband is not happy with this. I think he feels that I am starving to death. I'm not. I am eating. It's just not what he is used to seeing me eat. I am by no means suggesting that anyone try this. I am not a doctor, and I am certainly not a health expert. I did talk to my doctor, and I am not overdoing the B12. Someone else at work started taking B12, and has discovered the same thing. He actually has to remember to eat something during the day. Another person said that it did not change anything for them. They mentioned it to their doctor during a routine physical in which the doctor told them that B12 is good for energy but only for those who are B12 deficient. So, it's not for everyone. Last night I went to the gym. For the first time in as long as I can remember I was able to wear a shirt that was snug on my body. I've been wearing tee shirts, but they are all way to big and hard to work out in. I was wearing a fitted tank!!! I can't ever remember a time in my life when I was able to do that.
I was not going to blog about this in fear of offending someone because I felt big at 187. I figure that I write this blog for myself and my life experiences. I want to make it very clear that I am not PC. I speak what's on my mind without a filter. I have always been like this. I just speak what I feel. I hope this doesn't end up on some media page where it goes viral and people bash me for my choices and opinions. Who is anyone to judge my opinions? Yeah right, it happens all the time...to all of us.
I would like to finish up with saying that today I weigh 157lbs. My size 14s are too big, but I'm not in a 12...yet. I do not have long term goals...I am just marking my goals at 5lbs at a time. My goal is 5 more pounds by Friday of next week. Small goals are so much easier to work towards...for me.
My apologies for this being the longest blog I've ever written...I just like to talk. :) I can talk on here to myself for as long as I want to. :)
I have always been firm in my belief that if you want something bad enough, you can obtain it. I realize there are exceptions to this belief. Let's say my goal is to have a date with Dwight Yoakum. That's not gonna happen. For one, I'm married, and that's completely inappropriate. Secondly, he's doesn't know I'm alive nor will he ever. I suppose if I wanted it bad enough I could be a groupie, and travel the country to be at his every concert. I could stand outside his house, and wait for him to meet me...or wait to be arrested. The fact still remains. If you want something bad enough, you will anything to obtain it. Make sense? You can pick just about anything and figure out the order of events that would need to happen to obtain it. If you want it bad enough. :)
So, now lets talk about my weight. *rolls eyes* Through high school I was always 120-125lbs. I am 5'1", so that's not rail thin. I wore a size 5. I've always had large thighs. Always. I'm not pear shaped, just evenly proportioned. I, like a lot of people, gained weight after high school. I was still a runner as an adult. I love to run. I love winter runs with the cold air in my chest. I love the way my legs feel like jelly after a long run. At the age of 23, I got married to my first husband (we don't all get it right on the first try). I weighed 130. I didn't run as much, but I still ran. I've been a vegetarian as long as I can remember, so I eat mostly healthy. My enemy: rice and pasta. I love rice. I super love pasta. Pasta is the easiest way to make a vegetarian meal and be full. Starches in general are not healthy unless you are really exercising. Running 3 miles a couple of times a week was not burning it off. I was not a soda drinker. I have never been a big fan of sweets, so I was able to maintain a healthy weight without a lot of exercise.
Right before our first anniversary, I was in a pretty bad car accident. I rolled a Ford Explorer on a gravel road on my way home. I hurt my hip really bad. I had no seatbelt on because I was only driving a few miles from the post office in town to our house out in the boonies. I remember the first few flips. I held the steering wheel as tight as I could. The first flip broke all of the windows on the drivers side. As I was holding the steering wheel my whole left side hit hard on the gravel road. I did not have skin on my left side from upper hip bone to my knee. There was no way I could run. It was months before I was able to. I put on weight. Not a ton, but it happens slowly.
I got pregnant with my son right after our first anniversary. I weighed 143. I was so sick with him through the entire pregnancy that I only gained 7lbs. I weighed 150lbs when I gave birth. I left the hospital weighing less than when I got pregnant. When my son was 5, my husband left me. No hard feelings. We were not terrible together, but we had our problems. All these years later, we are still friends. He's a great guy, but we just couldn't make it. No, this is not what I wanted, but I understand why he left. It takes two people to make a marriage work. Both people have to want it. It is NOT a one sided commitment. Enough about that. So, I was hurt and angry that he left me. I'm not sure why I was shocked, I wasn't a good wife. Cleaning and dusting are not my strong suite. :) When he left, my eating habits became horrendous. I was eating anything I wanted. I wasn't trying to be healthy. I didn't care any more. I had no one to impress.
In the first year after he left I gained weight. Not terrible. I was 155ish and wearing a size 11. My weight was still evenly distributed...I was just bigger all over. Again, don't get me wrong. This is not a bad size. I knew lots of people that would have liked to be a size 11. This was my first time in a double digit size. I wasn't particularly concerned. After all, I was a vegetarian. Pssssh. Vegetarians are some of the most unhealthy people because they don't do in a healthy way. I wasn't a vegetarian because I just love Bambi, cows, and chickens. I really just don't care for the chewing part. I know that's weird. It's the fleshy tearing part that bothers me. I periodically like a hotdog if I'm in the mood. I've been known to eat sausage wraps after a couple beers and a Red Flyer wagon ride. That's a wild story...for another time. :)
So, I was 28, single, eating crap, not exercising, and not caring. By the time I was 30 I weighed 195. I didn't realize that I had put on that much weight. It was around Christmas time, and my mother insisted on a picture of all of us girls and our partners on the front steps of the house. In the picture I was big. I was the biggest sister. There are 6 of us girls, and I was the fat one. I know that 195lbs doesn't seem like a lot. I know there are people out there that would love to be 195. I know this. I do not think that heavy people are gross. I see the beauty inside and out. Little known fact about me: I am a chubby chaser. I date heavy people. I love them. I love the way weight looks on people. I am not the only one out there that is like that. This is not an absurd obsession. I love sexy rolls on men and women. I love heavy people. I really do think that curves and rolls are sexy. However, looking in the mirror, I didn't like them on my self. I did not feel sexy. I felt that couldn't pull off clothes that were in style. Girls that were bigger than me were wearing these cute clothes, and looking fantastic. I didn't feel good about my self. I started wearing clothes that were big and flowing. I wore baby doll shirts way after they went out of style. When I met my second husband he was 300lbs. I love every single pound of it!! 195lbs is not a bad weight. It would be a fantastic weight for someone 5'7". At 5'1" I was not carrying the weight well. I started noticing things that were more difficult to do. I hadn't even tried to run in at least 2 years. I was still eating crap food. Lots of fast food, vending machine cuisine, tons of soda, and lots and lots of salt. Mexican food was my go to. Oh yes, cheese enchiladas, rice, beans, guacamole, and a basket of chips and salsa. This alone is about 2,000 calories. I would eat this for one meal. So, it's possible that some days I was easily taking in 5,000 calories. I was eating 2 breakfast tacos each morning. Potato and egg breakfast tacos...200 calories each. Mexican food for lunch because that was really the only restaurant in the town I worked in at the time. Dinner was whatever. A large can of Ravioli, Pasta salad, usually Italian food because it was cheap and easy to make. I maintained 195 for a while.
I met my second husband when I was 33. Actually we had known each other since the 5th/6th grade. He was a year ahead of me in school. We will skip all of the details on how we met up again. I'll blog about that at another time. :) When we met, nothing had changed with my eating habits and exercise. I weighed 190. I was wearing a size 18. We dated for almost a year when he asked me to marry him. We both wanted to work on our weight before we got married. He lost almost 40 pounds, and I lost 15. We were both using the My Fitness Pal ap. That was huge for me. I really had no idea how many calories a person was supposed to eat. I certainly had no idea that I was eating 3-4xs my daily caloric allowance. I had a really hard time with this. Pasta is 200 calories for one cup. I could easily sit down and eat an entire box of Mac and Cheese by my self. One box is 1200 calories. My problem was not just what foods I was eating, but also my portion intake. It was a real bummer to only lose 15 pounds in 8 months. I felt again like a failure. My weight through the first 3 years of our marriage fluctuated between 170-185. After my mom died last year, I was eating crap again. I was really fed up with life, my body, just everything. Depression was probably not as far off as I'd like to think it was.
Sometime late last year, I mentioned to my daughter something like "blah blah back when I was a size 7". She said, "I don't ever remember you being small". Ouch. My kids only remembered having a heavy mom. I don't care for the word heavy...I prefer chubby, but whatever. This year, 2014, was the year. I was done. I was not going to live like this anymore. Ricky was fed up with his weight as well. It's hard to be intimate when you feel disgusting. We were being intimate in the dark only. No daytime hanky-panky. Hiding away from intimacy and avoiding affection because you are uncomfortable in your own body is damaging to a relationship. I can understand how one could become depressed being overweight and hating it. So, in January, we went to the gym and bought a one year membership. Oh yeah, big commitment. January 1st 2014, I weighed 187 lbs. I was wearing a size 16 at the time. We were going to the gym and working out at least 5 times a week. I was still using My Fitness Pal. I was really really careful with portions and food choices. This time was different. I had weighed more than I did nine months pregnant for the last 7 years. I was determined to get under my 9 month pregnant weight. I was almost 30 lbs heavier than I was at 9 months pregnant!! This was going to be hard, but I wanted it bad enough. I wanted it really bad. I was talking to a friend one day about wanting to lose weight. She is heavier than me. She actually got upset with me for talking about being overweight, and how I needed to let it go because a lot of people would love to be my weight. She told me that I was not overweight, and I needed to let it go. She said that I actually "piss her off" when I talk about it. I had no idea. I seriously had no idea. I was actually a bit in shock. All people are different. Everyone's "dream body" is different. I quit talking about my weight to anyone that was bigger than me. I certainly didn't mean to offend anyone. I would never intentionally offend someone. Well...not about that. Anyway, back on topic. So, by March we had really been working out almost every day. We were eating better, and reasonable portions. Ricky drops weight faster than me. I think males in general lose faster than women. He was really slimming up. In late March I weighed 173lbs. I was doing it!! I was losing weight!! I had lost 14lbs in 3 months. Not really as fast as I was hoping, but hey! It was happening.
It was in April that we fell off the wagon. Lovely. We quit going to the gym. Life was crazy. I was working 70-100 hours per week. I was eating out of the vending machine. I guess I didn't want it bad enough after all. In June, I had put some of the weight back on. I'm not sure how much because I wasn't recording it at that time on My Fitness Pal. In July, I tried to put on a pair of my bigger jeans. They were a size 16. They were too tight to be comfortable. How could I have not wanted it bad enough?!?
In early August, I was done (again) with this weight problem. This time I did something completely different. I prayed. I cried and prayed. I told God that I was sorry that I was not respecting His temple. If my body is a temple of God's then I was shaming His temple. I felt terrible about it. I asked him to take away my want for crap food, fast food, and vending machine cuisine. It was an entirely different outlook on my weight. I started going to the gym without Ricky. I was working out harder than ever. I started taking B12 on a regular basis (which my mother always said I needed to take). The first few days I noticed an increase in energy, and loss of appetite. I chalked that up to stress at work and lack of time to eat. I remember a time that I had gone to the vending machine and nothing looked good. Nothing. I instead had a huge thing of water. For the first week, I couldn't figure out the loss of appetite. One night really late at work probably 9pm or so, it hit me. Maybe it was the B12?? I searched loss of appetite with B12. BINGO!! Apparently at weight loss clinics, they actually inject patients with B12 to help with weight loss and hunger. Really?? Duh! Should have totally researched it before popping those things like TicTacs. I was taking 3000 micrograms per day. Prior to this I was drinking 10+ Diet Cokes per day for energy. The need to have sodas was gone. I love the taste, but no longer needed them for the caffeine boost. I drink maybe 1 a day now. I haven't had on in three days, and haven't needed the caffeine. I feel fine. The energy is level and healthy. I know about the loss of appetite now, so I have to actually think about eating. It's unhealthy to NOT eat. I am eating small portions, still going to the gym, and taking 2,000 micrograms per day of B12. I am spreading it out through out the day. I start the day with 1,000 micrograms. Then I take 1,000 more after lunch. I am still hitting the gym hard. My eating choices are so much healthier. I don't want fried foods. At all. I don't want pasta. I don't like the way it makes me feel. If I do have pasta, it's a very small amount. I've only had one cup serving of pasta on the last month. I eat vegetables. I actually crave them. They are fantastic for energy, and easy for the body to burn. I quit eating salads. The salads I was eating were high in salt and calories. If I want a salad I eat some lettuce leaves and a few tomatoes. I really feel that God heard me and is helping me. He has taken away my craving for all of my favorite foods, potatoes, fries, rice, salt, butter, soda, fried anything, bread, and so many other things. I almost feel swollen after I eat bread. I had a half of a biscuit yesterday at lunch. It didn't even taste good. It tasted like...dough...or flour. It wasn't good.
My husband is not happy with this. I think he feels that I am starving to death. I'm not. I am eating. It's just not what he is used to seeing me eat. I am by no means suggesting that anyone try this. I am not a doctor, and I am certainly not a health expert. I did talk to my doctor, and I am not overdoing the B12. Someone else at work started taking B12, and has discovered the same thing. He actually has to remember to eat something during the day. Another person said that it did not change anything for them. They mentioned it to their doctor during a routine physical in which the doctor told them that B12 is good for energy but only for those who are B12 deficient. So, it's not for everyone. Last night I went to the gym. For the first time in as long as I can remember I was able to wear a shirt that was snug on my body. I've been wearing tee shirts, but they are all way to big and hard to work out in. I was wearing a fitted tank!!! I can't ever remember a time in my life when I was able to do that.
I was not going to blog about this in fear of offending someone because I felt big at 187. I figure that I write this blog for myself and my life experiences. I want to make it very clear that I am not PC. I speak what's on my mind without a filter. I have always been like this. I just speak what I feel. I hope this doesn't end up on some media page where it goes viral and people bash me for my choices and opinions. Who is anyone to judge my opinions? Yeah right, it happens all the time...to all of us.
I would like to finish up with saying that today I weigh 157lbs. My size 14s are too big, but I'm not in a 12...yet. I do not have long term goals...I am just marking my goals at 5lbs at a time. My goal is 5 more pounds by Friday of next week. Small goals are so much easier to work towards...for me.
My apologies for this being the longest blog I've ever written...I just like to talk. :) I can talk on here to myself for as long as I want to. :)
Friday, September 5, 2014
He's gone.
Last week I got the call that my grandpa was not doing well and was in the hospital. I had a shoot that day in downtown Austin, but went to the hospital immediately after. When I got there it was just me, my grandma, and my sister, Danielle. My grandpa was laying there with one of those breathing machines on trying to sleep. I always remembered him as a big guy, but this time he looked very thin. He wasn't rail thin or what I would call skinny. He was just so much smaller than I remembered him being. His hands looked frail and soft, not the big, hard working hands I remembered from my childhood. He was sick and it showed. We sat there and visited with my grandma. We call her Granny Sue. She looked tired. We talked and chatted for about an hour or so, and then I headed home. On the way home, I wept. How could my big strong grandpa be so thin and sick? This was a man that was always moving around doing stuff, tending to the chickens, building furniture, working on ATVs, planting and so many other things. He was a moving around kind of guy. He also loved watching westerns. All these memories poured through my mind as I watched him lay there trying to sleep. The hum of the machine would periodically bring me back to current and to the conversation with my Granny Sue and Danielle.
He was moved to hospice center in Austin called The Christopher House. He was moved there 3 days ago. I hadn't been to visit at that facility yet.Yesterday I got the call around 2:00 that they were giving him about an hour to live. I was finishing up some stuff at work so that I could leave. It was pouring down rain very heavy for about 30 minutes, so I also wanted to wait for that to pass. I was just about to leave when Danielle called me to tell me he was gone. I wept a bit and then left work to head up there. I turned the wrong way down MLK Blvd and ended up on campus. Oh what a terrible time to be on campus. College kids Everywhere. In Austin a lot of streets are one way, so it's hard to get turned back around. A 10 minute drive took me about 45 minutes. When I got there, I walked right passed my aunt. She didn't recognize me. We went totally opposite directions as adults. We are only 11 months apart and we were VERY close to each other when we were children. I remember at the family reunion this past summer when I saw her, I had to walk away so that I could cry. I hadn't seen her in probably 10 years. She looked unhealthy. I could tell she was on drugs. She was dirty. Her hands were dirty, and her fingernails were jagged and had dirt under them. How did my very beautiful aunt turn into this adult? As I walked past her yesterday, I felt that she was probably on drugs. She looked directly at me as she lit her cigarette. I made eye contact, but continued walking. I went in the room where my grandpa was lying on a bed. Family was all around in chairs, and no one was really talking much. As I entered the room I hugged 2 of my aunts, and then went directly to his bed side. He looked pale which is to be expected. I put my hands on his arm. He was cool to the touch, but not yet cold. I knelt down beside the bed, still touching his arm. I looked at his face a wept. I cry without making a sound, not always, but most of the time. Tears streamed down my face as I remembered so many things about him that I would miss. He looked so much older than he did when I was a kid, but it was still him. We spent a lot of time over at their house as kids, but as we grew up we didn't visit as often as we should have. I regret that now. Knelt beside his bed, it was now real to me. He's gone.
I sat around the room with my Aunt Mackie, her brother, Randy, his wife Melissa, Mackie's kids, Chase, Cole and his wife, Heather, and my Granny Sue. We chit chatted, reminisced, and then one of my cousins (either Cole or Chase) busted out in song. My grandpa would always sing the craziest songs. We couldn't remember all of the words, but together we were able to piece together most of a song he would sing about meeting a giant who has a box about an acre square...he kept his money in there...come a time come a tippy time a day. I have no idea if he made that up or what. We sang the chicken song as well. Oooooh I had a little chicken and he wouldn't lay and egg so I poured hot water up and down his leg. Oh the little chicken hollered and the little chicken begged and the poor little chicken laid a hard boiled egg. The tune that the ice cream truck plays is to the tune of that song. I think of him every time I hear and ice cream truck. :) He was quite the prankster and jokester. We talked about silly things he'd done. We talked about the whoopin' Shelly (the aunt I passed on the way in to the building) and I got because we were jumping off the pool house into the pool. We had been watching Randy, my uncle do it. He was only a few years older than Shelly and I. He had been jumping off the pool house, but we are the ones that got caught doing it. And that may have been the only whoopin' I ever got from him. We talked about old times, good times, memories, and butt whoopin's. We tried our best to sing his crazy songs. It was good. He won't be forgotten. He was a saved Christian, and he was sick. I know where he is, and that he's no longer sick. What more could I possibly ask for?
He was moved to hospice center in Austin called The Christopher House. He was moved there 3 days ago. I hadn't been to visit at that facility yet.Yesterday I got the call around 2:00 that they were giving him about an hour to live. I was finishing up some stuff at work so that I could leave. It was pouring down rain very heavy for about 30 minutes, so I also wanted to wait for that to pass. I was just about to leave when Danielle called me to tell me he was gone. I wept a bit and then left work to head up there. I turned the wrong way down MLK Blvd and ended up on campus. Oh what a terrible time to be on campus. College kids Everywhere. In Austin a lot of streets are one way, so it's hard to get turned back around. A 10 minute drive took me about 45 minutes. When I got there, I walked right passed my aunt. She didn't recognize me. We went totally opposite directions as adults. We are only 11 months apart and we were VERY close to each other when we were children. I remember at the family reunion this past summer when I saw her, I had to walk away so that I could cry. I hadn't seen her in probably 10 years. She looked unhealthy. I could tell she was on drugs. She was dirty. Her hands were dirty, and her fingernails were jagged and had dirt under them. How did my very beautiful aunt turn into this adult? As I walked past her yesterday, I felt that she was probably on drugs. She looked directly at me as she lit her cigarette. I made eye contact, but continued walking. I went in the room where my grandpa was lying on a bed. Family was all around in chairs, and no one was really talking much. As I entered the room I hugged 2 of my aunts, and then went directly to his bed side. He looked pale which is to be expected. I put my hands on his arm. He was cool to the touch, but not yet cold. I knelt down beside the bed, still touching his arm. I looked at his face a wept. I cry without making a sound, not always, but most of the time. Tears streamed down my face as I remembered so many things about him that I would miss. He looked so much older than he did when I was a kid, but it was still him. We spent a lot of time over at their house as kids, but as we grew up we didn't visit as often as we should have. I regret that now. Knelt beside his bed, it was now real to me. He's gone.
I sat around the room with my Aunt Mackie, her brother, Randy, his wife Melissa, Mackie's kids, Chase, Cole and his wife, Heather, and my Granny Sue. We chit chatted, reminisced, and then one of my cousins (either Cole or Chase) busted out in song. My grandpa would always sing the craziest songs. We couldn't remember all of the words, but together we were able to piece together most of a song he would sing about meeting a giant who has a box about an acre square...he kept his money in there...come a time come a tippy time a day. I have no idea if he made that up or what. We sang the chicken song as well. Oooooh I had a little chicken and he wouldn't lay and egg so I poured hot water up and down his leg. Oh the little chicken hollered and the little chicken begged and the poor little chicken laid a hard boiled egg. The tune that the ice cream truck plays is to the tune of that song. I think of him every time I hear and ice cream truck. :) He was quite the prankster and jokester. We talked about silly things he'd done. We talked about the whoopin' Shelly (the aunt I passed on the way in to the building) and I got because we were jumping off the pool house into the pool. We had been watching Randy, my uncle do it. He was only a few years older than Shelly and I. He had been jumping off the pool house, but we are the ones that got caught doing it. And that may have been the only whoopin' I ever got from him. We talked about old times, good times, memories, and butt whoopin's. We tried our best to sing his crazy songs. It was good. He won't be forgotten. He was a saved Christian, and he was sick. I know where he is, and that he's no longer sick. What more could I possibly ask for?
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
Will I have nipples?
The one thing that people should tell you when you are sick or having surgery: don't Google it. OH what a horrible idea. If you've have ever Googled a symptom, you are pretty much gonna die. All of the horror stories and worst case scenarios are there.
When I found out that I was BRCA2+, I decided to Google what options there were. I was overwhelmed with the options. There was just way too much information. When I talked to my doctor, the only option I felt was right for me and my family was the choice of a double mastectomy. If you have read my previous blog, you know the details on this. Well, that just provoked me into Googling mastectomies. Don't do that. Just don't do it. When I went back to the doctor (Cassie) I was really scared to death, but couldn't let her know I had been Googling this. She did put me at ease, but I really had a lot of questions. She suggested that I meet with the plastic surgeon that would be putting me back together and reconstructing my breasts. However, what did I do before I went? Oh yeah, you know it! I Googled it. *rolls eyes* That made it worse. I joined a FB group for DIEP Flap surgeries. People post pictures on there that scared me even more. I would bawl knowing that I was going to have these horribly mutilated breasts and terrible scars. The DIEP Flap procedure is where a section of your lower abdominal is removed and used to rebuild the breasts with your tissue. The scar on the tummy is hip to hip. They like to tell you that this is kinda like a tummy tuck with your breast reconstruction. Ummmm, no! It's certainly not. A tummy tuck scar is about 4-6 inches just above your...goodies (for lack of a more appropriate word). This DIEP Flap scar on the tummy doesn't look like you can hide it. I was not wanting this procedure. The pictures that people put on the FB page are horrific. Everyone on there is super nice and supportive. They are a team, a family. Its a fantastic support group, but after hearing the stories and seeing the pictures, I was hoping there was another option for me.
As dumb as it sounds, my other serious concern was: do I get to keep my nipples. I think my concern for my nipples is solely based on the fact that...we've been together for a while. Me and my nipples, well we've been through a lot together. :) We're close like that. So, in my head I'm potentially going to have these mutilated breasts, a scar from hip to hip, and no nipples! Fear. I know, how selfish of me? That would go through my head. ANY breasts no matter how mutilated and nippleless are better than getting cancer, right? Maybe? Maybe I shouldn't get reconstructive at all. Maybe being without breasts would be easier. I could lay on my stomach comfortably. I would be easy to hug. I would never have to wear a bra again! All the thoughts in my head and on Google boggled my mind. I was a mess. I would just break down and cry in random places. Several times at work I have gone to the bathroom to weep. I'm almost 40 obviously my breasts are not where they once were, but they're mine. I once wept in a dressing room. I've broke down and bawled at home. The nasty kind of cry where you are sucking in weird breaths, snotting, making the ugly cry face, and wiping your face on your sleeve. Yeah, it's ugly, but we've all done it. I still had so many questions. I would talk to my husband, but I could tell that he had no idea how to react. He can't relate at all. I know it's weird, but I am concerned that with ugly breasts, what if he's not attracted to me? What if he's actually grossed out by what he sees? I understand that he didn't marry me for my breasts (if he did, we have bigger issues to address). I also understand that he'd rather see ugly breasts than to have to stand by and watch my battle breast cancer, go through chemo, and possibly die. To breast or not to breast, that is the question.
Yesterday I had my appointment to meet with the plastic surgeon. LOVE HER! I was nervous all day at work. I ended up getting there 30 minutes early. My appointment was at 3:30. I had to sit and wait a while because the patient before me must have had a lot of questions too. :) I patiently waiting. I even got in a quick little nap which was nice. The nurse came in and asked a few questions, and then took me into another room. The doctor was in shortly after that. I immediately liked her simply because she was about my height. I feel an immediate connection to short people. *shrugs* Not sure why. She drew pictures to show me what the procedure would actually entail. Basically, I will go in and they will cut from underneath the breasts, remove all of the tissue and then insert a flat bag with drain tubes. I will go each week to get 100cc of fluid put into these expansion bags. This will occur for 6-8 weeks. I will start out with smaller "lumps" that will increase when they put fluid in each week until I reach the size of my current breasts (or close to it). The expansion bags will actually be placed under my chest muscle to help mask the round shape of the implant that will be put in at a later date. She explained to me that the "round" fake breasts that you see are when the implants are above the muscle. I really want these to look as natural as they can. I have now accepted the fact that they will never look like mine. They will not look natural. She explained that she is going to give me breasts that won't try to kill me. She also does NOT recommend the DIEP Flap procedure. *huge sigh of relief* I like that. It was comforting to hear her say that. I told her that I had been Googling stuff, and that there were some scary breasts out there. She said, "Bring me the pictures of the ugly breasts, and I'll tell you what was done wrong. I can tell you if the surgeon made a mistake, or if the patient didn't do what they were supposed to. I can tell you that. Also, if you see some that you like, bring me those pictures as well. I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that this is one procedure and done. It will take several surgeries to get them how you want them, but I won't stop until you're happy with them." I felt better. I now know that this will take more than one surgery. I know that she is going to work on them until I'm happy (boy does she have her work cut out for her). I finally asked the big question: will I have nipples? She looked at my bare breasts and said that she felt that she could salvage the nipple, but they would be in the exact same spot that they are now, and that it is possible for the nipple tissue to die which would mean I would have to remove them anyway. Sometimes part of the nipple dies so you have a partial nipple. She said she would recommend removing them to cut out any risk, but that it was up to me. So, I decided right then and there. I will be having my nipples removed as well, and its MY choice. Oh, what a relief! What a huge relief. I don't know the technical term, but the raised part in the center of the nipple is something that can built, and then later I will go to have the colored part tattooed to look like a real nipple. There is a guy in New York that tattoos nipples. I think I am going to journey up there, put my Taylor Texas pin on the map in his office, and get me some Vinnies. :) Watch the video. You'll understand. Click here --> Vinnie, 3D Nipple Tattoo Artist
Six months ago I would not have dared to say the word nipple. I most certainly would not have blogged about it!! Are you kidding me, that's so very personal, and frankly you just don't talk about it. My view on breasts in general has completely changed. I'm blogging about a part of my body that will not be mine. I will never have sensation in my breasts ever again. They will be a foreign thing to me. I can talk about them because they aren't personal. They aren't mine. They are just replacements so that mine don't try to kill me. This is still a hard decision, but at this point in my journey I am positive that I will have the double mastectomy. I am positive that I will have reconstructive surgery. I am positive that I will not have nipples. I am positive that my doctors will do the best they can. I am positive that I will survive. I am positive that I will not live in fear of developing breast cancer. What else matters?
When I found out that I was BRCA2+, I decided to Google what options there were. I was overwhelmed with the options. There was just way too much information. When I talked to my doctor, the only option I felt was right for me and my family was the choice of a double mastectomy. If you have read my previous blog, you know the details on this. Well, that just provoked me into Googling mastectomies. Don't do that. Just don't do it. When I went back to the doctor (Cassie) I was really scared to death, but couldn't let her know I had been Googling this. She did put me at ease, but I really had a lot of questions. She suggested that I meet with the plastic surgeon that would be putting me back together and reconstructing my breasts. However, what did I do before I went? Oh yeah, you know it! I Googled it. *rolls eyes* That made it worse. I joined a FB group for DIEP Flap surgeries. People post pictures on there that scared me even more. I would bawl knowing that I was going to have these horribly mutilated breasts and terrible scars. The DIEP Flap procedure is where a section of your lower abdominal is removed and used to rebuild the breasts with your tissue. The scar on the tummy is hip to hip. They like to tell you that this is kinda like a tummy tuck with your breast reconstruction. Ummmm, no! It's certainly not. A tummy tuck scar is about 4-6 inches just above your...goodies (for lack of a more appropriate word). This DIEP Flap scar on the tummy doesn't look like you can hide it. I was not wanting this procedure. The pictures that people put on the FB page are horrific. Everyone on there is super nice and supportive. They are a team, a family. Its a fantastic support group, but after hearing the stories and seeing the pictures, I was hoping there was another option for me.
As dumb as it sounds, my other serious concern was: do I get to keep my nipples. I think my concern for my nipples is solely based on the fact that...we've been together for a while. Me and my nipples, well we've been through a lot together. :) We're close like that. So, in my head I'm potentially going to have these mutilated breasts, a scar from hip to hip, and no nipples! Fear. I know, how selfish of me? That would go through my head. ANY breasts no matter how mutilated and nippleless are better than getting cancer, right? Maybe? Maybe I shouldn't get reconstructive at all. Maybe being without breasts would be easier. I could lay on my stomach comfortably. I would be easy to hug. I would never have to wear a bra again! All the thoughts in my head and on Google boggled my mind. I was a mess. I would just break down and cry in random places. Several times at work I have gone to the bathroom to weep. I'm almost 40 obviously my breasts are not where they once were, but they're mine. I once wept in a dressing room. I've broke down and bawled at home. The nasty kind of cry where you are sucking in weird breaths, snotting, making the ugly cry face, and wiping your face on your sleeve. Yeah, it's ugly, but we've all done it. I still had so many questions. I would talk to my husband, but I could tell that he had no idea how to react. He can't relate at all. I know it's weird, but I am concerned that with ugly breasts, what if he's not attracted to me? What if he's actually grossed out by what he sees? I understand that he didn't marry me for my breasts (if he did, we have bigger issues to address). I also understand that he'd rather see ugly breasts than to have to stand by and watch my battle breast cancer, go through chemo, and possibly die. To breast or not to breast, that is the question.
Yesterday I had my appointment to meet with the plastic surgeon. LOVE HER! I was nervous all day at work. I ended up getting there 30 minutes early. My appointment was at 3:30. I had to sit and wait a while because the patient before me must have had a lot of questions too. :) I patiently waiting. I even got in a quick little nap which was nice. The nurse came in and asked a few questions, and then took me into another room. The doctor was in shortly after that. I immediately liked her simply because she was about my height. I feel an immediate connection to short people. *shrugs* Not sure why. She drew pictures to show me what the procedure would actually entail. Basically, I will go in and they will cut from underneath the breasts, remove all of the tissue and then insert a flat bag with drain tubes. I will go each week to get 100cc of fluid put into these expansion bags. This will occur for 6-8 weeks. I will start out with smaller "lumps" that will increase when they put fluid in each week until I reach the size of my current breasts (or close to it). The expansion bags will actually be placed under my chest muscle to help mask the round shape of the implant that will be put in at a later date. She explained to me that the "round" fake breasts that you see are when the implants are above the muscle. I really want these to look as natural as they can. I have now accepted the fact that they will never look like mine. They will not look natural. She explained that she is going to give me breasts that won't try to kill me. She also does NOT recommend the DIEP Flap procedure. *huge sigh of relief* I like that. It was comforting to hear her say that. I told her that I had been Googling stuff, and that there were some scary breasts out there. She said, "Bring me the pictures of the ugly breasts, and I'll tell you what was done wrong. I can tell you if the surgeon made a mistake, or if the patient didn't do what they were supposed to. I can tell you that. Also, if you see some that you like, bring me those pictures as well. I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that this is one procedure and done. It will take several surgeries to get them how you want them, but I won't stop until you're happy with them." I felt better. I now know that this will take more than one surgery. I know that she is going to work on them until I'm happy (boy does she have her work cut out for her). I finally asked the big question: will I have nipples? She looked at my bare breasts and said that she felt that she could salvage the nipple, but they would be in the exact same spot that they are now, and that it is possible for the nipple tissue to die which would mean I would have to remove them anyway. Sometimes part of the nipple dies so you have a partial nipple. She said she would recommend removing them to cut out any risk, but that it was up to me. So, I decided right then and there. I will be having my nipples removed as well, and its MY choice. Oh, what a relief! What a huge relief. I don't know the technical term, but the raised part in the center of the nipple is something that can built, and then later I will go to have the colored part tattooed to look like a real nipple. There is a guy in New York that tattoos nipples. I think I am going to journey up there, put my Taylor Texas pin on the map in his office, and get me some Vinnies. :) Watch the video. You'll understand. Click here --> Vinnie, 3D Nipple Tattoo Artist
Six months ago I would not have dared to say the word nipple. I most certainly would not have blogged about it!! Are you kidding me, that's so very personal, and frankly you just don't talk about it. My view on breasts in general has completely changed. I'm blogging about a part of my body that will not be mine. I will never have sensation in my breasts ever again. They will be a foreign thing to me. I can talk about them because they aren't personal. They aren't mine. They are just replacements so that mine don't try to kill me. This is still a hard decision, but at this point in my journey I am positive that I will have the double mastectomy. I am positive that I will have reconstructive surgery. I am positive that I will not have nipples. I am positive that my doctors will do the best they can. I am positive that I will survive. I am positive that I will not live in fear of developing breast cancer. What else matters?
Monday, September 1, 2014
Peeing in the Ficus tree
Sometimes I feel utterly alone. Sometimes I'm surrounded by people and feel alone. This doesn't happen often, but I'm thinking that it's when I have so much going on in my life that I can't focus on my surroundings.
Right now I have 10 photography sessions that I need to get done and edited. I have end of the month to finish closing at work. Brian moved to his dad's, so my mothering skills are not needed at home. I work so much that my marriage is will probably suffer. My mother's death is still heavy on my mind...maybe even more so since my diagnosis. I've had a double ear infection for a few days, and I started my period this week. I also received two traffic tickets by highway patrol...same officer. It's just been an emotional week.
I've also come to the realization that we're not perfect. WHAT!?! Shocker, right? We all sin. We all fall short of perfection. Try it. One day sin free. You can't even do that. You will lie, have impure thoughts, be envious, over eat, whatever. We are sinners. Do we disappoint God every day? How horrible!! God loves us anyway. How about this: you walk through the living room to find your 3 year old son peeing in your artificial ficus tree. You don't stop loving him. You don't disown him. This is how God feels when we sin. As Christians we want to walk perfectly with God. We don't want anyone to look at us and not be able to identify that we are Christians. We don't want to be stumbling blocks for other people. It happens. We are NOT going to walk the walk perfectly. We ARE going to be a stumbling block for someone. It's comforting to know that God doesn't love us less during these times. We were are peeing in the ficus tree, remember that God loves us anyway.
I reread this post...i'm a bit of a weirdo. :) Meh, who cares. No one reads this anyway.
Right now I have 10 photography sessions that I need to get done and edited. I have end of the month to finish closing at work. Brian moved to his dad's, so my mothering skills are not needed at home. I work so much that my marriage is will probably suffer. My mother's death is still heavy on my mind...maybe even more so since my diagnosis. I've had a double ear infection for a few days, and I started my period this week. I also received two traffic tickets by highway patrol...same officer. It's just been an emotional week.
I've also come to the realization that we're not perfect. WHAT!?! Shocker, right? We all sin. We all fall short of perfection. Try it. One day sin free. You can't even do that. You will lie, have impure thoughts, be envious, over eat, whatever. We are sinners. Do we disappoint God every day? How horrible!! God loves us anyway. How about this: you walk through the living room to find your 3 year old son peeing in your artificial ficus tree. You don't stop loving him. You don't disown him. This is how God feels when we sin. As Christians we want to walk perfectly with God. We don't want anyone to look at us and not be able to identify that we are Christians. We don't want to be stumbling blocks for other people. It happens. We are NOT going to walk the walk perfectly. We ARE going to be a stumbling block for someone. It's comforting to know that God doesn't love us less during these times. We were are peeing in the ficus tree, remember that God loves us anyway.
I reread this post...i'm a bit of a weirdo. :) Meh, who cares. No one reads this anyway.
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