Turning Point

2 Aug

It’s been 3 weeks since I’ve seen Dr D and Andrea the breast care nurse. She’s happy with how the scars are healing, but comments I “still look tiny”, and there’s no way I’ll be able to “work full-time for a while yet.”

As Dr D takes a look at how things are progressing I ask if they’re “pool ready?” He says yes and I nearly jump off the bed with excitement. Yes! He’s finally given me the okay to get in the water!

At this consultation we also discuss that ongoing stabbing pain in my back and whether some physio/massage may help. Perhaps the key point of discussion though, is the next operation. We book it in for October 19, around 3 months from now. I have 3 months to get my fitness back (and build a bit more strength!) in preparation.

Dr D asks casually about what size I think I might go. We ascertain that I was a large A-cup, to a B depending on cut/style etc. He checks my records to confirm that I’ve probably ‘grown’ about a cup size. Now to me that doesn’t mean much – my ‘breasts’ are such a strange shape and have been kind of swollen for so long now – it’s hard to tell what they may finish up like. When I ask him how he tells, I’m a little taken aback by how tiny my boobs really were! (I’ve asked a few girlfriends “what do you reckon a boob would weigh?” All too often I’ve been met with “what mine, or yours?” A couple have guestimated a kilo – kilo 1/2. Proof they’re thinking of their breasts not mine!) As it turns out I now have 420mills of saline in each side. As for weight, Dr D tells me that on removal my left breast (which hadn’t been as ‘dissected‘ as the right during previous surgeries) weighed only 300 grams, so comparing that to mills – I’ve gone up around 120-ish – or say a cup size.

We decide this size, or perhaps just a bit bigger will suffice. He promises to tidy up my scars and move the implants in a bit closer too (which will require a bit more dissection closer to my sternum.) I’m glad about that. At the moment I feel like my ‘boobs’ are a couple of inches apart and positioned more under my arms than on my chest!

Back to work is the next big issue. How on earth do I fit back into the hard and fast world that is radio? How do I manage the responsibility of being the News Director and also complete an On-Air shift every day? What will be the reaction to my long absence, diagnosis, treatment, physical state? Is it this – the viewpoint of my superiors, colleagues and acquaintances that has my stomach in knots, or perhaps the question of how I will cope with stepping back into my day-to-day after months of being focused almost entirely on my health?

Mother & Daughter Weekend

2 Aug

This is the beautiful Gaia Retreat just a few minutes from Byron Bay – just what the Doctor ordered.

As my strength improved I was keen to spend some time out of the house. (As comfortable as it is – I was beginning to feel like a hermit!) A weekend away with Mum also seemed like an ideal opportunity to take stock – for both of us. The whirlwind that has been the past few months just happened. We’ve talked lots along the way – but mostly about treatment/possible outcomes. While dealing in a very practical way with the reality of the situation, there hasn’t really been any time to reflect on the gravity of the situation.

Red wine and a sumptuous dessert helped the conversation along!

 

Being Olivia Newton-John’s retreat – there was much support for breast cancer sufferers/survivors. There were also plenty of lovely orchids and lillies – her favourites! A recent photo shoot had the star herself lounging back in this beautiful chair. Being a bit of a fan, Mum just couldn’t resist!

 

Without much explanation – the staff seemed to intimately understand my situation. This is one of the therapists Angelika, who expertly and ever-so-gently gave my cramped back and sides some much-needed attention in the massage room.

Did I mention the food? Everything organic and each dish beautifully prepared. Mum even tucked into the green lentil curry! (For those who know Mum – the photographic proof was necessary!)
Alongside the dining room is a very comfortable lounge area – complete with a well-stocked library and a unique collection of sculptures – including many female torsos.
Although I was hoping to take part in the morning yoga and other daily activities – I was still a little delicate so opted out. I was more than a bit frustrated at needing to retreat to the room for a ‘nanna nap’, but still had a wonderful time.
Mum had a date with one of the in-house naturopaths and also took the time to explore the spectacular scenery from various vantage points throughout the property. We also sat in on the cooking class which had a Middle Eastern flavour – baba ganoush and saffron & cardamom basmati rice!

On Ya Bike

2 Aug

We all know you can’t underestimate the benefits of exercise. (And well..I’m not afraid to hop on the bike wearing bedsocks and jarmies!)

Just balancing on the seat was at first a little daunting, as I wasn’t able to put my hands on the handlebars and push any weight down through my arms.

 


Hey – I’m working on my fitness, not image!

I started out with rides of just 2-3 minutes each day and within a couple of weeks was doing 10-20 minutes every other day. If I can’t get in the pool – the bike will have to do.

Back on track

28 Jul

Getting back on track is challenging.

Okay – that’s an understatement.

My days sometimes revolve around the bath, shower, a doctor’s appointment, or what we’re going to eat and when. With floaties in hand (or across chest to protect it from the seatbelt), I’ve started joining Paul on the grocery run. The movement as we’re driving in the car isn’t as ‘violent’ as it was a few weeks ago. Getting in and out of the car still requires a fair bit of effort and it seems after a few months in the wilderness, I’ve become quite the nervous shopper. (Yes, me!)

You see handbags on shoulders tend to be just at the height of my chest, trolleys can be bumped in my direction, things can fall off shelves and it’s amazing how many children bowl through the aisles without consideration for others. Wanting to scream at them is one thing, but I have on occasion found myself contemplating sticking out my leg to trip them up. Not nice – but it would at least slow them down!

Dr D has also given me the okay to drive. How exciting and terrifying at the same time. I ignore the nerves, telling myself ‘you do it every day’. I still feel quite weak and haven’t been in control of a vehicle for months, it’s daunting to say the least. The floatie is as important as buckling up. I start with 5-10 minute runs along familiar routes, avoid reverse and parallel parking wherever possible and have to remember once I’ve made it to my destination – I need an energy reserve to make it home. Okay – the confidence has taken a hit, but I’m the only one who can ensure it returns. I try for a little outing each day.

Settling In

18 Jul

Dr D is obviously happy with how things are progressing. Although that tiny bit of the scar on my left side has still not healed completely. As such – a relax in the pool is still out of the question. (You know with the chlorine and, ahh – tinted bodily fluid….)

My next follow-up appointment is three weeks away. At first – I go into a bit of a tailspin – I’ve seen him & Andrea each week for the best part of the last three months. In hindsight – this is actually a bit of a milestone.

He’s giving my body and me, time to get back into the day-to-day routine.

I’ve graduated from handing my dirty plates to Paul, to washing up myself. I know it doesn’t seem like a big deal, but these most mundane of tasks haven’t really been on my ‘to-do list’ of late.

As it turns out taking the washing downstairs, loading up the machine, operating the dryer (okay my carbon footprint is on the increase – forget hanging clothes and linen outside for now!), folding and carting upstairs requires a mammoth amount of effort. In fact, it took almost an entire day (between sleep/rest) to get through just one load.

With a bit of help to lift pots and pans, I’m back to making dinner etc. One of the first meals attempted was a good old fashioned roast (enough of the pre-prepared, frozen & re-heated curries etc.) Thought you might like to see Paul’s creative ‘plating-up’.

 

 

 

What would the MasterChef judges think?!

Under Construction – Part 3

5 Jul

Seems we’d hit a nerve – quite literally.

I hadn’t coped with that ‘stabbing’ pain so well and looked a right treat on arrival for the next ‘infill’.

Dr D and my breast care nurse Andrea agreed that the extra amount must have just been pressing on a particular nerve. On my description of the pain, he reached over and placed his hand precisely where I’d been hurting.

Given my discomfort and the fact one of my scars still hasn’t healed completely, I wasn’t sure he’d pop in another lot.

He did, in the hope it may just move things around again and perhaps let everything settle.

 

 

The ‘infill’ went smoothly, but on trying to get up I again experienced that almost crippling pain.

There was no hiding it now – Dr D, Andrea and Paul all saw the tears well in my eyes.

He prescribed a muscle relaxant to ease any spasms, along with some more heavy duty pain relief. And also encouraged a bit of gentle massage.

Both he and Paul could tell from my gritted teeth that I may not be up for that just yet.

 

Andrea suggested that it’s also my body telling us not to go ‘too big’. (For those who’d joked ‘Dr D, can give me a Dr D-Cup’ – it’s not going to happen!)
So – this is as much as the expanders are gonna get! (my nerves, muscles, skin and I have had enough).
The implant we finally decide on (later in the year), will have to fit into the space which’s been created during this extraordinary process.

Plastered, but Well Chilled

4 Jul

The pain and discomfort I experienced during the ‘infill’ process (particularly round two), meant I was not very sociable for the first 3-4 days after each procedure. (Okay – I was a right snot.) I then had a couple of days of feeling not too bad, before the next go.

One well-timed, laughter-filled visit is captured below.

Mick ‘the cleaner’ (just rolls off the tongue – he’s been cleaning at the station from day 1!), Ange and Keegan.


Big Mick found it just hilarious that I’d had the cast done and was slightly flushed when he asked if he could ‘touch it’? With Paul’s permission (funny that hey – not mine?!) He, well – had a feel.

We laughed lots, at many things. Including the fact that the expanders feel cold and hard. Somehow we came to agree that I (or my new cleavage) would be very handy should you need your drink kept well chilled!

Under Construction – Part 2

4 Jul

I’d spent the past week adjusting to the stretching and tightness, but it was time for round two.

The process was the same as the first time. Another 120mills though and my shape had changed dramatically. From my line of sight, my immediate reaction once the covers came off was ‘Holy hell!’

Dr D joked it was ‘like being a teenage girl all over again.’ Funniest part being – it wasn’t! I was quite sporty, had a rather athletic build and never really developed an impressive bustline. This was all new to me!

Incredible – yes. Pleasant – no.


By the time we’d reached the car park I was wincing at an unusual intense sharp pain – like a knife penetrating my breast, going through my chest and out through my back.

I thought it would ease before my next appointment. It didn’t.

I spent the next six days sitting delicately on the lounge or propped up in bed. While trying to avoid any movements which may bring on the stabbing pain, I did keep up the basic exercises prescribed by the physio. Generally though – I was a bit of a misery guts.

Little Miss Independent was having trouble getting around. I found myself giving in and asking for help to perform the most basic of functions such as getting dressed, opening the fridge door and even retrieving a glass for some water to take tablets with!

Truly, the warm water of the bath + painkillers was my only relief during this period.

Needless to say I wasn’t so keen to go back for another round.

Wayne’s World

2 Jul

My PR mate Wayne Hickson and his lovely wife Susie came for a visit.

We’d been in touch regularly so they were well across what had been done, all that was left was for me to share the remarkable results of the first ‘infill’. Quicker than I unzipped my jacket and pulled up my singlet top – Wayne was ripping off his shirt!

Through much laughter between the four of us, Wayne’s comment was something along the lines of ‘Well if you’re going topless – I should join you!’


He tells me he should have been in Manpower! Reckon he’d give Jamie Durie a run for his money?

A Day Out

27 Jun

I’ve been pretty much housebound since the surgery, venturing only to the surgeon’s rooms and back. I was determined this had to change so we could visit our favourite place – Mount Tamborine one particular Sunday.

You see our special friends Jon and Kim Heslop who own and run Witches Falls Winery were hosting their annual Members’ Day and I didn’t want to miss out!

A bit of pain relief on board and floaties in position, we set off up the hill. The run up I’d rather forget (I’m sure Paul would too!) however being able to enjoy that beautiful crisp mountain air, a bit of sunshine, good company etc. was worth it.

I know I’m holding the glass of my favourite pinot – but it was Paul’s. Unfortunately, the painkillers meant this shot was just for show!

Under Construction

25 Jun

Reconstruction of my breasts will be done in two phases. First – the insertion and ‘infill’ of the tissue expanders. Second – another operation to have permanent implants put in place.

The ‘expansion’ process is quite extraordinary. The ‘spaceships’ as we’ve dubbed them, due to their UFO-like appearance are ‘pumped-up’ once a week until the desired amount of saline has been injected. The expanders are the size of a saucer (for your tea cup), made of thick silicone which is moulded into a kind of envelope/bag, with a special chamber the size of say a 20-50 cent piece. It has a special magnetic response system which allows the surgeon to find its position, and start injecting the saline.

My Mum came to the first infill. It was like another mini-surgery by the time my chest was bathed in betadine, covered appropriately and Dr D had worked out ‘X marks the spot’.

A bag of saline hung from a drip pole connected to a needle and he started injecting. After checking whether I felt okay he said “Now we’re going for the Dolly Parton look aren’t we?” “No way!” I exclaimed, as Mum chuckled in the background.

I felt the insertion of the needle in one breast but not the other. From here it got even more strange. Although he was injecting the fluid, it wasn’t like when you have a needle for say tetanus or pain relief. Makes sense really, the fluid was going into the bag in my body – not directly into my body. What I felt was my breathing becoming more shallow, while the skin on my chest, underarms and back tightened to a point where it seemed entirely possible it may split.

That of course didn’t happen.

Mum was truly amazed at seeing the shape of my body change before her eyes. For me, the focus was on breathing, while trying to keep as still as possible.


With two (or maybe four) helping hands I was up and adjusting to yet another unusual feeling. My top half felt compressed – like in a vice. And heavy – like there were a couple of besser blocks sitting on my chest.

These sensations persisted, but the following morning I was happy to be marking ‘two weeks’ since the big operation. (You thought I was smiling and signing peace didn’t you?)


The Incredible Human Body – Part 2

25 Jun

I wont lie and say the next few days were good. They were very difficult – painful, exhausting, frustrating and overall quite cloudy from the impact of the pain relief. (and three anaesthetics in the space of a month.)

What I’m wanting to share though is how amazingly my body wove its way through the healing process.

Day 5. Back home and a big reality check to see the changes, whilst standing in familiar surrounds.

Day 6. Another run in the car, just up to Dr D’s rooms. Wasn’t much fun.

The tissue expanders were really starting to ‘settle’ into place. He changed dressings etc. and was happy. As you can see I wasn’t finding much humour in Paul’s attempts to make me laugh. It hurt to laugh!


Day 7. Staggering. Still can’t believe that only a week prior to this shot, things were so very different.

Driving Miss Kate

25 Jun

There was a strange nervousness I felt at leaving the safety of a hospital room and the staff. (Not that I wanted to stay, I guess I was just feeling a bit fragile.)

Some chilly but refreshing rain was falling as Paul went to get the car. I delicately positioned myself in the seat and placed the protective floaties between my chest and the seat belt.

I’ve never suffered from motion sickness, yet soon after setting off, felt an unsettling wave wash over me. Then I began cursing the rain I love so much, for creating unavoidable potholes.

Luckily for me, Paul and the interior of the car, the trip was over in under five minutes and I was home.

Homeward Bound

24 Jun

Day 5 following the surgery.

I figured if I was going to get home – I had to be able to make it to the entry/exit of the hospital on my own. So, very early, off I trotted. Actually, my walk had a kind of ‘roll’ to it. Whilst I was steady on my feet, I liken the action to a toddler taking their first real walk, as opposed to staggered steps. You know when you can just predict that one wrong step – and they’ll be flat on their face? That’s what I felt like.

It took an incredible amount of focus to stay upright and I couldn’t for the life of me work out why? Blame it on the medication. No! I should be able to make it down the corridor.

I did make it to the doors and back unassisted. It wasn’t until returning to my room and sifting through some of the information provided by the National Breast Cancer Foundation that I put two and two together. I wasn’t a ‘drug-affected toddler’, but rather my centre of gravity had changed due to the removal of my breasts. My body was working so hard in order to maintain the upright position because my balance was totally out of whack.

Reasonable – but also kinda funny when you put the reality and then the image together!

Nurse Andrea (who’d also looked after me following Operation #2) helped me get dressed (real clothes, not jarmies!) and finalised the paperwork for my release. (Sounds like I’d been in jail!)

She is one of many who showed not only professionalism, but a truly remarkable level of compassion during my time at Pindara.

Lack of Sleep = Strange Behaviour

24 Jun

I was just thrilled to be free of all the tubes etc. Paul on the other hand was exhausted.

He’d visited me before work, at lunch and after clocking off for the day. He was delirious. And this – was bound to happen!

Can’t say he wasn’t ‘creative’ in finding another use for the ‘floaties’!

The Incredible Human Body

20 Jun

Putting on a brave face is one thing, relying on heavy duty pain relief is another. I thought I was doing pretty well overall, but admit to struggling when I first woke up.

In all seriousness, it felt as though there was someone (very heavy) sitting on my chest.


Within a little while though I was up and about (and yes, looking a little like an octopus!) Check out how the expanders have settled just 48 hours out from the surgery. Amazing. I know everything else now looks out of proportion – but all I could care about was that the cancer was gone.

Dr D came to visit around the time this shot was taken. He’d just told me the histology showed the lymph nodes were clear so no chemo, and that there was yet another spot of cancer – so he thought I’d made the right decision.

I really am, one very lucky girl.

Just a day after that, I was off oxygen, the drip and all four drains had been removed. Andrea my nurse got a big thumbs up and I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face – I felt like a million dollars!

Still Writing

20 Jun

Getting bored easily is one of my strongest character traits (good or bad depending on the situation!)

When unable to sleep, I was glad to be physically able to write. Although I’m right-handed and my right underarm was particularly sore from the removal of lymph nodes, I just jotted down what I could, when I could. (No thriller, or romance novel I assured the nurses! Just recording what was going on around me so I didn’t lose track).

Oh – and the special ‘pillows’ have been nicknamed ‘floaties’. Floaties for grown ups who’ve lost their boobs. I enjoyed so much comfort from this one I was given before the surgery, one of the nurses managed to find another for my other side. I was very grateful.

Done!

20 Jun

On the trip from recovery back to my room, the entire hospital was treated to me singing out “All gone!”

The cancer yes, and boy was I relieved. But also my breasts. The nursing staff in recovery had a hard time stopping me from pulling down the gown to have a look. No messing about here.

I promise, this is as gruesome as it gets.

Okay the right one is blue from that dye I mentioned earlier, the blue tubes in the centre and to the side are drains, and the big saucer-sized bumpy things under my skin are the start of my new boobs. They are tissue expanders. A thick silicone bag – kind of like a balloon which will be filled with saline over the next month/two.

Observations complete (by myself and family) I was determined to get up and to the bathroom on my own and change before heading back to bed.

A lot of the personal accounts of breast cancer sufferers I’ve read point to many women really struggling to look at themselves in the mirror following mastectomy and feeling an overwhelming sense of grief at what they’ve lost and what’s happened. Having had a few minutes on my own in front of bathroom mirror my family and nurse were braced for me to emerge with some tears – but instead I was laughing. You see that blue dye they injected earlier in the day had to come out somehow – and for some strange reason (I’ll blame the drugs..) I found much amusement in peeing like a smurf!

Operation #3

20 Jun

20 May, 2009. Exactly one month since Operation #1, the bilateral lumpectomy.

Consent for the bilateral mastectomy signed, operation booked and they were about to come off.

My boobs had been the centre of my world for several months now and the morning of the ‘big operation’ was no different. There wasn’t a lot of talking though, just a very uneasy silence. I wasn’t sad, worried, upset – just anxious. My final shower with my boobs was quite surreal.

Dr D was planning to take a couple of lymph nodes just to check the cancer hadn’t become invasive. Without going into too much detail – the process of preparation for a Sentinel Node Biopsy was one of the most unpleasant experiences I’ve ever endured. Four syringes of dye injected around and into the nipple. Yes, I swore.

After hours of waiting for the dye to reach the lymph nodes I had some x-rays done. Then another long wait for the surgery to begin.


A volunteer from Cancer Council Queensland came to visit – bringing with her a heap of information for sufferers and those close to them. She also gave me a pink satin cushion – shaped like one of those neck pillows for travel, assuring me I’d find it very useful for under my arm when I woke up. I had visits from a couple of nurses I knew personally – Kay a family friend from way back, and Wendy who’s married to the boss of Channel Ten here on the Coast. In a sign of how frequently I’d been in recently, I was also on a first-name basis with the admissions nurse Dot!

I was off to theatre mid-afternoon. More familiar faces with a couple of the anaesthetic nurses from my previous surgeries.

Dr D came for that ‘last minute chat’, only this time he had a camera in hand, along with a big purple texta. As he took photos of my boobs I smiled “no need to pose Kate, I’m not getting your face” he laughed. Then with that purple pen he marked out where my boobs sat. Another one of those very strange life experiences.

I was starting to get a little groggy as I climbed from the trolley onto the table, but pulled the gown down for ‘one last look’, much to the amusement of all the medical professionals who now had my life (and boobs!), in their hands.

Reality

20 Jun

Reality was exactly as Dr D had told me the morning after my second operation, however Paul was yet to hear it for himself. There was a total of four ‘spots’ of DCIS. It was ‘multi-focal’.

My immediate question to Dr D was “How can we be sure there’s no more?” “There’s no guarantee” was his simple response.

I’d had time to think about plenty of other questions as well, including;

Chance of recurrence?
Radiotherapy V Mastectomy?
Chance of survival?
Impact on fertility?
What about my left breast?

While I treated this as any other interview (albeit a whole lot more personal), I could see Paul grappling with the magnitude of the situation. Before my eyes he was melting into information overload. At the core of it was this – my breasts appeared to be perfectly healthy why would I consider chopping one/both of them off? Fact of the matter was – at least one of them was diseased. I had no real attachment anymore. My gut feel was it had to go, and if subjecting my body to the more radical option of surgery in order to rid myself of cancer and protect from it in the future – Dr D may as well take both.

Dr D gave me time, said another week wasn’t going to alter the outcome. That period of grace gave me time to try and sift through all the pros & cons – but ultimately, the decision was mine.

I set about speaking to all Doctors involved in my health care, including the Gynaecologist looking after the baby-making efforts. Her words were harsh but very clear “Cancer can kill, and there can’t be a baby if you’re not here.” Point taken.

My family GP was initially strongly against the surgical option saying the radiotherapy offered now can knock out the nasty cells. The footnote was “for now”. I’m sorry, but a band-aid solution was not enough.

I really felt that the radiotherapy was only a ‘short-term’ fix and there was the possibility I may have to face this again at some point in my future. Even so – I went to see a Radiation Oncologist. He explained that if the cancer returned it wouldn’t be possible to use radiation on the same area again, so mastectomy is therefore the only option. He is highly respected, but did little to change my mind. In fact he told me that the radical surgery was “a bit like taking a sledge-hammer to hit a nail.” Well, excuse me! If there’s a sledge-hammer available to smash this so there’s next to no chance it will get me again, then I’m going to grab it with both hands.

This phrase helped seal the deal. I’m 31. I would like to get to his age thank you very much. If surgery can give me the better odds, then I’ll do it.

 

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