Calling all diggers

I had this idea that having spring tulips and daffodils to look forward to would help me get through this long, tough winter. I got excited, and found a great deal on daffodils and muscari. I mentioned the idea to several family members, and boxes of bulbs have been appearing throughout the last several weeks. As a result, I have several hundred flower bulbs looking for homes in my yard.

Due to unanticipated circumstances, however, my Martha Stewart of bulbs has altered her plans to visit and won't be coming until after bulb planting season. Which means, we really could use some help. Anyone visiting this week who doesn't mind getting dirty, we have a great project for you. And next weekend is open season for anyone who wants to come up, say hello, and get some daffodils (or a crocus, or a hyacinth, or a tulip or three) into the garden. I'll make the hot apple cider and hot cocoa!

Evanston forecast.....chance of Lynns

Tomorrow, Friday, I am planning my first solo venture down to Northwestern. I'm meeting my PhD dissertation advisor, and going to hear a talk by a friend. It will be my longest drive, and longest solo outing since I was diagnosed. It will also be the first time I am out with lots of people that I know, but aren't my inner circle, with my chemo-chic look. I'm a little nervous. Thinking about the trip also reminds me of everything I HAVEN'T done - written that paper, applied for that fellowship, read that book...

I know, I know, what I am doing takes energy, and time, and concentration. And is pretty much the best excuse ever. ("Pardon me, Miss Millman? Can I be excused from gym class? I have cancer.") And, every time I try to do something, I get tired. (I HATE being tired. Ask my mom.)

It would be easier, I think, if I either felt fine all the time or crappy all the time. But chemo feels like having a rotten flu every other week. And, even though the active phase is truly horrible (throwing up is just no fun. even in gatorade technicolor. ESPECIALLY in gatorade technicolor.) I think the off weeks may be worse. Because there is the illusion of being healthy, and productive, and capable. But it is really only an illusion. I am easily overtired, quickly overwhelmed, and just don't have the focus that I need to do intellectual work. But I worry, is it because I haven't tried hard enough?

Sorry, dear readers. This post was meant as a 'hey, anyone who is thinking of being in Evanston tomorrow, I'll be around' notice, but quickly devolved into navel gazing.

I am really OK.
Just tired.

So, what should I look like?

I've been really anxious about all of the surgery I have in my future. We've gotten comfortable with the decision to do the bilateral mastectomy, rather than just the right breast. I'm only 35 now, and, because of the BRCA2 mutation, my chances of having breast cancer again in my lifetime are very high. Rather than spend the rest of my life in a cycle of worry-mammogram-biopsy-worry, Zack and I decided that it would be better for our quality of life to remove the left breast along with the right. As Dr. S says, "it's just an overgrown sweat gland". (Here's hoping the insurance company agrees with our assessment. All my doctors have offered to write letters and fight for me if it comes to that.)

Yesterday, Zack & I met with a plastic surgeon about the reconstruction options. Dr. L spent over an hour with us - it was really incredible. The biggest decision to make up front is whether to do a primary reconstruction (where the plastic surgeon would begin the reconstruction process during the same operation as the mastectomy), or a delayed reconstruction. Radiation does nasty things to skin, other tissues, and implants. Therefore, the chances of complications go up astronomically if I start reconstruction before the radiation. Bottom line: because I'll need a heavy series of radiation treatments after the mastectomy surgery, there isn't a lot Dr. L would be comfortable doing until that process finishes. Zack and I feel strongly about avoiding complications that would lead to extra surgery, so we've decided not to take the risk.

For me, this means that I'll wake up after the mastectomy with a completely flat chest. In some ways, I welcome this opportunity to see if I mind that body shape before making a decision to change it. (I just had a flashback to being the last girl in my gym class to wear a training bra). Zack, of course, has been absolutely supportive of whatever decision I ultimately make. His only concern has been my emotional well-being: he worries that the dramatic change will be hard for me to assimilate.

Our meeting with Dr. L took a lot of the pressure off, because we don't need to make a decision right away about what sort of reconstruction to do (implant and/or using part of a back muscle). Federal law requires insurers to pay for post-mastectomy reconstruction whenever we decide to do it - even years from now. The reconstruction process takes longer than I thought, though (4-6 months).

Overall, we are happy about our decision to wait because it matches our priorities. Step one: beat cancer. Step two: figure out a cup size.