everything is, as always lately, a little fuzzy regarding weekly happenings. i imagine if i wasn't currently blogging, i would have no idea and no record of what actually happened during The Great Coronavirus Quarantine of 2020. last sunday, we went to a couple of easter services from the comfort of our living room; always good to see familiar faces and hear familiar voices. early in the week, i found myself complaining that my stretching didn't seem to be helping anything, and in fact, i felt like i was getting worse. so on tuesday, i called the physical therapist's office; they got me scheduled in the next day. silver linings from the global pandemic.

i showed up on wednesday (wearing a mask this time!), temperature check, waiting room, arm bike, pulley stretches (i sit on what looks like a weight machine, with a length of cable with handles attached to the ends running up and over a pulley; as i pull my right arm down, it helps pull my left arm up to stretch it). then it is into the exam room, i lay down, she starts manuvering my arm. this is all similar stuff to last wednesday, but one of the stretches (which i know i did last week without much issue) causes me to sit up and swear. completely unfazed, she asks where exactly it hurts and presses around a bit. "i think you do have some cording," which explains a lot. cording (axillary web syndrome, technically) is a weird but often common result of breast cancer surgery. it's unclear why it happens, or what it is exactly, though it clearly involves damage due to the trauma of surgery. basically, it causes 'ropes' or 'cords' of scar tissue of some sort along the lymphatic vessels, which sticks together and hardens. for me, it feels like having guitar strings tighten inside and along the length of my forearm and some of my upper arm, just from doing something as simple as trying to make my arm straight. it's super tight and painful, and doesn't feel like a normal muscle stretch -- it feels more like a thin burning right along the guitar string (cord). i would find myself walking around the house with my left arm bent as though it were in a sling, involuntarily avoiding the burning feeling by not allowing the arm to stretch. not great when you're supposed to be moving your arm for recovery. sometimes you can see the cord, sometimes you can't (i can't, but then again i can't see into my own armpit), but you can definitely feel mine if you press in the right places. the therapist pushed and prodded and massaged, and i groaned and swore and kicked my heel against the table from the pain. then she moved my arm into the same stretch that began this cord-finding adventure. and i felt no pain. i squinted at her. "is this the same stretch you did a few minutes ago? are you MAGIC?" she said no, no magic, but one of the cords got released, allowing arm movement i couldn't have done ten minutes before, or in fact, all week. she showed me how to try and help loosen the remaining cords at home, which is more or less a weird armpit massage -- digging into the armpit, finding the cords (which feels SO strange), and pressing and moving them. it sounds unpleasant both internally and externally (and it is, on both counts), but it's not terrible. silver lining of having a numb armpit. we schedule appointments for the following monday and wednesday to continue working on the cords, and she releases me with orders of cord massaging and continued stretching.

friday was the dry run in radiation oncology. no visitors are allowed in the hospital these days, so it's just me for radiation appointments (not that there would be anything exciting for andy during these, but old traditions die hard). temperature check, receptionist who remembered me from the planning appointment, dressing room, gown. one of the radiation techs led me to their station, which is a different room than the CT scan planning. they explained the daily checking in process (name, date of birth, is this you in the photo?), and how they would be able to see, hear, and talk to me from their station while i am in the radiation room. because when radiation is happening, no one should be in that room... unless they have to be. they led me down a short hallway (just around a couple of corners, really) to the radiation room. big machine with a large round bit of it jutting out near the top, long thin movable table underneath, the immobilization cast from last wednesday at the head of the table (photo below, me included). they have me slip my left arm out of the gown and lie face up on the table. i get my arms positioned in the cast, hands on top of my head; the little breathing box is taped to my belly, and a warm blanket is put on my legs. they try to put blankets on my arms, but i am in hot flash territory at that moment and wave them off. so this is where i am for about half an hour. the two techs line me up on the table, presumably using the three tattoos i received from the planning appointment, guided by the red laser lines emanating from various parts of the machine. i don't know what it is actually called and just saying "machine" over and over is going to get old, so for now i will refer to it as The Baconator, as i assume it will be giving me a nice sunburn bake over the course of the next six weeks. the entire light blue portion of The Baconator rotates 360 degrees, which i.. was not expecting? i don't know what i was expecting. i know enough that i should have expected it. but when you see a massive medical machine, you don't automatically think, "hey, i bet that thing rotates like a clock."

The Baconator slowly spins around me, stopping and whirring and clicking every few inches/seconds, while the techs read off random numbers to each other. sometimes one tech is in the room, sometimes they are both at their station. when they are both at their station, i can hear their disembodied voices over the intercom while i am alone in the room, making The Baconator seem a little more like HAL 9000. sometimes i watch the bits moving inside the machine through the glass when the big round part is above me; sometimes i switch my focus on the reflection of myself on the glass, seeing the red laser beams across my torso. at some point i realize my arms are getting chilly, so i am less relaxed on the table, but i have chosen that fate. also, it's hard to relax on a flat, plastic table anyway. mostly i find myself wondering if i'll ever be able to move my arms again, as they are both falling fast asleep. i get another sharpied x-marks-the-spot sticker, this time on my upper left chest. for positioning, something something. i'm sure lots of other details happened, i don't know. eventually, they are finished, and i re-cover my left side with the gown. one of the techs walks me out, explains a few things, answers a few of my questions, gives me another bottle of aloe vera, and then i am on my way.

this weekend we used our quarantine time to finally order lots of prints and put together a photo book. from our wedding. which was almost two years ago. uh, better late than never? good times. Week 34 is in the books, and Week 35 brings the first week of radiation. let's do this.

another week, another appointment with both the physical therapist and radiation oncologist. my PT appointment was on monday afternoon. nearly empty parking lot, temperature taken at the door, the daily dewine and acton show playing in the waiting room. the PT walked out with a cloth face mask/scarf, and i regretted leaving mine in the car. i had debated wearing it, as it is one of those painting-style n95 masks with a one-way valve; which means, for the most part, it protects me, but not necessarily others, as my breath is making its way out (a very small amount, but still). so it seemed selfish to wear in close quarters. i discussed this with the PT as she had me warm up my muscles on an arm bike, which is probably exactly what you are picturing. more warming up and stretching in the main room, then to a private exam room where i laid on a table while she performed other massages and stretching and YOW some of my muscles did NOT want to be stretched. but that's exactly why i was there. breathe in through your nose... out through your mouth... try not to scream. she measured my range of motion after all this, and i had improved quite a bit since wednesday. she wasn't convinced that i would definitely be stretchy enough for the radiation appointment, but she was hopeful, as was i. on my way out, as i mentioned running next door to giant eagle, she said, "you should definitely wear your mask." i did as i was told, and found that a majority of other shoppers were also wearing some sort of mask. all of us just bopping around, looking like the calmest apocalypse ever. it felt both oddly normal and completely bizarre all at the same time.

wednesday morning i headed to riverside's radiation oncology department, and dr. d was not kidding when she said the patient parking lot is twenty steps from the front door. temperature taken at the door, and i walked to the front desk, where a man in scrubs was chatting with the receptionist. "are you maria?"... why yes, yes i am. he was one of my radiation planning technicians (no idea if that is his actual title, but you get the idea), and he guided me to the changing/waiting room area. i changed into a gown, which was decidedly NOT like one of the cushy white spa robes supplied across the street at the bing center. also, no hgtv playing (no televisions at all, in fact, as things don't seem to take very long in radiation world). i couldn't figure out how to close the gown, probably because it doesn't, so i was resigned to holding it shut. he walked me down the hallway and helpfully pointed out different rooms and various doors and explained where they led and i promptly forgot all of them. we ended up in a room with a ct scanner (a giant medical donut-shaped machine, with a narrow human-sized table that can run through the donut hole), where i filled out some paperwork, and then clambered onto the table, lying face up. my head and shoulders were lying on a foamy air-filled sort of thing, which would eventually become both my immobilization device and arm support. and above me (that is, past the top of my skull, not floating from the ceiling) were two handles, which i would need to grab to get into position. this is, of course, what i had been working toward during the past week. it sounds so easy! reach back and grab the handles! but not in post-surgery world. i had gotten as stretchy as i could at home before heading to the appointment. but i couldn't.. quite.. get.. my left hand.. around.. the handle. i could get my fingertips there, but i needed to be in a position that i could eventually be in for thirty minutes. it became clear it wasn't going to happen, so after another radiation tech showed up, they were able to figure out a new plan. "can you put your hands on top of your head?"... why yes, yes i can! however, we had to try a few different positions, because my long arms and bony elbows needed to fit through the donut hole. we finally found a position that i could hold and return to consistently, and they did some magic with the foamy air-filled thing, which formed and hardened around my head, arms, and shoulders. this would now be mine for the radiation journey.

during all of this, lots of other activity was happening. objects were getting taped to me, marks were being made on my torso, some narrow black goggles were placed over my eyes. meanwhile, my upper body is IMMOBILIZED, so i can't actually see any of these things happening. at some point, dr. d came in to see me, and excitedly waved at an angle where she knew i could actually see her, or at least her eyes and the top of her head and her jazz hands, given that my head was tilted to the right and my range of vision consisted of a small sliver beneath the goggles and above my left cheek. at some point, a disembodied voice asked me, "when is your preferred time for radiation? 9:45a, 11:30a, or 2 o'clock?" (my answer was 11:30a, and to this day, i have no idea who asked me that). the radiation tech asked me if i could see blue and yellow lines in my goggles. i squint and say no. he peers at them and realizes they aren't on. now powered up, i can see a blue rectangle in the goggles, and a thinner long yellow rectangle/line underneath. both stretch across my field of vision, and both are floating up and down, the yellow one moreso. as the yellow line rises and passes through the blue rectangle, the yellow line turns into an even thinner green line. (say it with me... "yellow and blue make green!") after a few seconds, i ask, "i'm looking at my breathing?" "yep!" as the table i am on slides back and forth through the donut, i am occasionally called upon to hold my breath -- specifically, in a way that keeps my yellow breathing line within the blue rectangle (turning the yellow line into a green line, if you are still following along). kind of a weird game, but not difficult. we are doing all of this to determine where my heart and lungs are in relation to where the radiation will be shooting through my chest, and whether my radiation appointments will or will not involve me holding my breath at times, in order to cause minimal radiation damage to my heart and lungs. eventually, i am done with the donut and the goggles, and they slide me out of the donut. i finally glimpse the tiny plastic box that was attached to my torso and recording my breathing, as it is untaped and removed. and now that i have been all lined up and measured, it's time to get inked! i never thought i would get any tattoos, but here we are. nothing exciting though, just three tiny dots -- one on my upper stomach, and one on each side of my torso. they felt like some serious bee stings; extremely unpleasant but not overly painful. these will help the radiation techs get me into the correct position for future appointments. i also have a mark with a clear sticker over it near my bellybutton, though i can't remember if that is going to be another tattoo or not. finally, i am out of the molded form and sitting up.

i am handed a small card with my schedule: a dry run next friday, where i have a radiation appointment without the radiation, so that we have practice getting me all positioned. and then, starting the monday after that, six weeks of radiation appointments, five days a week. the radiation itself probably takes five to ten minutes, and the other fifteen to twenty minutes is just set up and positioning. i am told that this is generally easier than chemo, so i am hoping that is the case. i am expecting some bad sunburns and cumulative fatigue... we will see how it goes. i briefly see dr. d on my way out, receive some aloe vera and aquaphor as parting gifts, change back into normal clothes, and head home. i am oddly tranquil about the whole thing and am mostly just happy that my arm cooperated enough to make today happen.

so goes Week 33 in Cancer Land. the social distancing life continues: working from home, playing board games, internetting, lots of walking around the neighborhood. un/fortunately, i insisted on keeping up with the current cultural zeitgeist, and we are currently six episodes into tiger king on netflix. i hate everyone in it, but can't keep from watching it. life is even stranger than fiction sometimes. let's do this.

Week 32 has been fairly uneventful, though it included reminders that i am, in fact, still making my way through Cancer Land. on monday, i received a call from the physical therapist's office, and got an appointment scheduled for wednesday morning. when i arrived at the facility, i had my temperature taken at the door, was asked the usual questions (no, i have not left the country in the past 14 days, i have barely left my own house during that time, thank you very much), and was sent on my way. the physical therapist was the same one who had taken my arm circumference and range-of-motion measurements in late february; she took measurements again for lymphedema (none) and range-of-motion (which i am sure were at least half of what they were in The Before Times). she didn't think there was any cording (axillary web syndrome), just very tight muscles. she did some prodding and massaging of my arm, getting a feel for my areas of pain, numbness, and stretchiness (or lack thereof). she showed me a few different exercises to do at home, and i was on my way. of course, these are weird times we are living in, so when i got home, i immediately tossed all of the clothes i was wearing into the laundry room, and took a shower. just, you know... in case.

thursday morning was the appointment with my new-to-me radiation oncologist. no worries about contaminated clothing this time, as it was conducted via telephone (check-in information with the nurse) and facetime (visit with the doctor). dr. d explained that yes, i would need radiation, and that it would be five days a week, for six weeks. this was nothing new to me, and it is what i have expected since the beginning of this long journey. i told her about my range-of-motion issues, and she was happy to hear that i had already had a PT appointment to get that going. dr. d explained the arm positioning i would need to have, which i would sort of envision like putting your hands behind your head while laying down, and looking at your feet. so, i don't need to be 180 degrees above my head, but even with my arm being supported in the position she described, i am not there yet... probably 90 degrees at best, right now. we optimistically set the radiation planning and positioning appointment for wednesday morning, though i can cancel if it's not looking like i'm stretchy enough. we talked shop about my diagnosis, and she agreed with dr. m regarding a clinical diagnosis of inflammatory breast cancer (IBC). it doesn't change anything, as my entire treatment process would have been exactly the same, but having that more or less confirmed helps my brain for whatever reason. overall, dr. d seems lovely, and the whole telehealth appointment worked out just fine.

after the appointment, i left a message with the physical therapist's office, as she had asked me to update her if i set up a radiation appointment. they called back, and i now have an appointment for monday afternoon. so, more medical massage, stretches, and laundry additions in my future.

saturday was clearly gorgeous, and i was tired of looking at the same leaves and branches all over the deck, so we tidied up the backyard in the afternoon. sweeping is a little tricky and very slow when mostly using just one arm, in case you wondered. however, between that and some light pruning, i displaced lots of old leaves and we now have about 10% more patio than before. andy did some yard magic, turning an ad hoc planter box from one part of the deck into support/repair for a slowly deteriorating step on another part of the deck. great success!

this morning, as we prepared to do our now usual Light Exercises While Watching/Listening/Participating In Church, i noticed we were both starting with positions where we laid down on the floor. andy asked why i was chuckling. "well, this looks very jonestown right now." today has been chill. tomorrow i will slowly start working more hours, and will see how my PT is going. updates on the radiation planning will hopefully arrive in the next entry. we're not done yet, but getting verrry close. let's do this.

welcome to Week 31 in Cancer Land! i am having a hard time remembering details from our current life of constant saturdays. i did start working from home on monday afternoon, which is notable. we had a 27 person conference call as we all navigate these new offsite waters. it was a little chaotic, but good to hear everyone's voices. at some point during the week, i worked out a way to use my old laptop as an extended second monitor, so that has helped my work efficiency quite a bit.

on wednesday, i was scheduled for an appointment this coming thursday with a radiation oncologist. if i do end up going forward with radiation, i am aware from others who have gone through similar treatment that it is very likely i will need to position my arms over my head, in order to get things lined up for proper zapping. i realized after making the appointment that i am nowhere near being able to do that, so i called my ohiohealth patient navigator for advice. i told her that i don't think i'm where i should be in terms of range of motion with my left arm, though i have nothing to really base it on. she agreed, she encouraged me to keep pushing myself on the stretches, and she put a call in to dr. h, who called me later in the week. "would you be willing to go out and see someone for physical therapy?" "yes, although i don't know how that all works nowadays!" she said she would put in a referral for PT, though she agreed with me that she isn't sure what, exactly, would happen. as for me, i discontinued the "once a day, ten times each" instructions on the physical therapy sheet i was given in my surgery discharge papers, and have been trying to do multiple types of stretches every couple of hours. we'll see where i am by thursday.

mostly the rest of the week was a revolving assortment of work, youtube, meals, neighborhood walks, board games, stretching, and tidying nooks and crannies i usually ignore. this morning was another Online Church While Doing Exercises In The Background, this time with central city. we took a walk in the sun and wind, and later ventured out to get a few supplies, and to support two of our favorite restaurants for indian food and donuts. right now, we've got the windows thrown open, and i am listening to the clickety-clack of the vertical blinds in the living room that i desperately dislike but for which i don't currently have a better solution; andy is outside, getting in the first mow of the season. sounds like spring to me. let's do this.

coronavirus has swept the country in Week 30. flatten the curve! i probably should have been writing things down during the week, given that basically every day is the same around here. lots of sleep, lots of internet, lots of board games, lots of wondering how long the toilet paper supplies will hold. (don't worry, my in-laws are hooking us up soon).

the beginning of the week was the now-usual blur of nothing and everything. (i'm sure many of you can now relate). the only blip on the radar for me was a shower on tuesday night, and including it as an Actual Event sort of makes me sound like i am seven years old, and in many ways, i feel like it. it takes me some time to take showers, and put on shirts, and socks, and shoes, and coats, so getting me ready and/or out the door is like every sitcom montage of a kid taking forever to get dressed to go anywhere. but with less tantrums. anyway, it was another shower involving press and seal out of an abundance of caution, and another shower where i wonder if i will ever get proper sensations back on the left side of my body. it's really weird and it really messes with my brain and i really want to go back in time to when none of this was ever even a concern of mine. alas, here we are.

wednesday afternoon was the post-op appointment with dr. h. upon opening my gown, she exclaimed, "your incision looks great!" i paused momentarily, because remember, this is the very surgeon who performed my mastectomy. i mean, she's not WRONG, but i had to stop myself from pointing out that it seemed just a wee bit self-congratulatory. she noted that the tape over the incision was still pretty intact (i think showering is supposed to help it come off, but if you have been paying attention, dear reader, showering is a bit of a chore nowadays). hilariously, she had to leave the exam room to get a pair of gloves. BECAUSE PEOPLE ARE STEALING GLOVES. FROM THE EXAM ROOMS. WHAT THE HELL. anyway, she came back begloved and proceeded to remove the still very sticky tape all along my incision and she apologized for it and it wasn't exactly painful but it wasn't exactly pleasant and i suspect she might think i am a weirdo with poor hygiene but hey i just try to follow directions. it's funny, because the thought of removing the tape myself would never occur to me, and indeed would seem grossly negligent to me, while an expert is like, duh, what is wrong with you child, you don't need this anymore. she reiterated the good news of the pathology report -- the tumor shrinking to 3cm, and just two out of the six removed lymph nodes showing any signs of cancer. also, i keep forgetting about having ductal carcinoma in situ (DCIS) in there somewhere. DCIS is considered pre-invasive/non-invasive stage 0 cancer. i knew this from the biopsies in august, but obviously, we were working on treating the 9cm, stage 3, grade 3, invasive sucker, so the DCIS was just always sort of going to be along for the mastectomy ride. but i thought i should add that here to be thorough, now that we are at the end of the pathology journey. she also suggested that i may not need radiation, but she has a referral in to a radiation oncologist to discuss options.

thursday morning felt oddly familiar: starting the day with numbing cream, press and seal, a blood draw, and a visit with dr. m. upon arriving at the oncology office, there were plenty of warning signs and social distancing reminders and surgical masks as a result of covid-19. we checked in and then it was down the hall for my blood draw. i cannot imagine having to get chemo during this time. besides the obvious problem of being immunosuppressed, visitors are no longer allowed in the infusion area. which, clearly, i get it, but it made me quite sad. cancer is already a bit lonely, and this pandemic certainly isn't helping those in chemo treatment. on my way back to the exam room, i had my usual weigh-in, and showed surprise at the number. i haven't exactly been very active, and my appetite is alive and well, so how did i LOSE weight? andy figured it out before i did, saying, "well...", and subtly gesturing to my chest. OH. RIGHT. RIP, hillary. we settled in to the exam room and soon dr. m arrived in surgical mask and gloves. we went over the good pathology news, and i asked her opinion on radiation. she recommended it, given the state of my reddish breast skin and tumor growth at the beginning of all this. i felt the same; again, we will see what the radiation oncologist says. she then started in on my new regimen for endocrine (hormone) therapy. i had been so focused on the short-term pathology results and radiation plans that i had completely forgotten about this long-term treatment. sad trombone. there will be two drugs i will need to be on to keep my body from producing estrogen, as my particular cancer feeds on it, and we don't want to welcome it back. the first drug is zoladex (goserelin), which is administered via injection into fatty tissue every... six weeks i think? it works by telling the pituitary gland to tell the ovaries to stop producing estrogen. the second drug is aromasin (exemestane), which i believe will be a daily pill i will need to take for five to ten years. it is an aromatase inhibitor, which means it blocks the enzyme aromatase, found throughout the body, from converting hormones into estrogen. farewell estrogen, hello more menopause side effects! good times. at some point, dr. m asked, as i have been asked post-surgery by almost every health professional, "how is the incision looking?" now, each time i am asked this, i know the appropriate and factual and easy answer is "good!"... however, i just cannot help myself, and instinctively and honestly answer, "well, *I* think it looks like a nightmare, but everyone says the incision looks good and is healing well, so... yeah." she asked how i was dealing with it, which we talked about for a bit. i like her a lot. she departed with an air high-five and then we were on our way. andy dropped me off at home while he went to work. however, in half an hour, he was back, with newly granted permission to work from home. he managed to get a decent setup going with his laptop, and i continued with my very busy day of internetting on the couch.

friday was unseasonably warm, and we threw open the windows to let the sun shine in. this accidentally put me into spring cleaning mode, so while andy worked downstairs, i slowly tidied up those areas that usually get ignored: baskets full of receipts and random oddities here, piles of printed but never used recipes there. it was easy and productive and a nice way to spend the day. i think i may have forced andy to watch blades of glory that evening? everything is running together nowadays. (it's mind-bottling!)

at some point on saturday, we went out for groceries and supplies, which now seems prescient given the stay-at-home order being put into place. when we got back, i started up my long-forgotten car and took it for a spin. aside from the tiny pillow to cushion the seat belt across my chest, and some slight discomfort in my left arm, i seem a-ok to return to driving. not that there are going to be many occasions for driving in the near future!

today was a weirdly active sunday. laundry started in the morning... i only have so many shirts i can get in and out of lately, so it is a more common occurence than usual. andy and i tuned in to this morning's livestreamed church service from central in athens, while both doing our own respective physical therapy/exercises all over the living room. i found it comical and efficient. after that, it was lunch and then a nice walk around the neighborhood. it was a decent temperature and sunny, and lots of people were out and about. i think everyone is a little bit starved for human interaction, as there were lots of eye contact and waving and smiling amongst most everyone we came across (plenty of social distancing, of course). there was definitely a "we're all in this together" vibe i was getting. we did some light yard work outside, then organized one of the closets on the main floor (and subsequently filled the guest bedroom closet with lots of old jackets, but that's neither here nor there). in other news, my hair is starting to come back, although the top has been coming in slower than the sides... we took electric clippers to the new salt and pepper strands to even it out a bit. andy made dinner and now here i am, finally finishing this post. overall, recovery is going well, and i welcome you all to join me in The Art Of Staying Inside A Lot, currently in progress for several weeks here. next week, i expect to slowly continue regaining motion in my arm, and also slowly begin to work from home, currently in progress for my colleagues for several days now. social distancing, everyone! let's do this.

given that i had basically spent the previous twenty-four hours in bed and/or sleeping, i was uncharacteristically, but not surprisingly, up and awake before 9am on saturday. have you ever tried to get yourself out of bed using zero percent of one half of your upper body? i hadn't either. andy helped me up and out of bed, and then it was time for the morning drainage routine. each drain grenade has a plastic flap attached, and a safety pin runs through it to attach it to my surgical bra, which as you can imagine, is all tremendously attractive. andy's new morning and evening routine consists of unattaching drain #1 from the bra; opening the stopper of the drain; emptying the contents of the plastic drain by squeezing it, releasing the weird blood and lymphatic fluid into a measuring cup; plugging the stopper of the drain while keeping it squeezed (thus providing suction to make the drain work); milking whatever is left in the tubing and forcing the contents down into the drain; reattaching the drain to the bra; then rinse and repeat for drain #2. then he records the amount of fluid from each drain onto separate sheets of paper. good times.

later in the morning, katie stopped by and delivered a slow cooker full of chicken soup, as well as some ready-for-slow-cooking bags of frozen recipes for future meals. we visit for awhile, and then she is on her way to visit family. i take up residence on the couch, gingerly elevating my arm on pillows as we navigate day #1 at home, with the smell of chicken soup in the background. shortly before noon, andy's sister emily came by, as she happened to be in the area that morning. she was happily surprised at how well i was doing, and noted that her nursing skills did not seem necessary during her visit. after emily departed, we had lunch, and i took the opportunity to sit on the couch in front of the tv, watching all of my ridiculous youtube channels for basically the entire afternoon. it was mindless and glorious, and also required very little movement. later on we took a very short walk, for which i am sure i looked fairly disheveled, but it was good to be moving around outside. the evening consisted of us watching several episodes of arrested development.

that was the first full day out of the hospital. most of my time spent at home has been samey samey -- every day is saturday! i am sure specific things have happened, but do you really care WHICH board game we played on sunday (great western trail) as opposed to wednesday (orleans)? probably not. generally speaking, i have been getting plenty of rest, waking up late (10:30am rise and shine? yes, please), trying to do gentle beginner exercises with my left arm as instructed, taking short walks, and spending lots of time on the couch with the tv or my laptop. andy has been puttering around the house doing his own things as well, helping me with weird things i can't do on my own (getting certain dishes down from the cabinet, putting on shirts, preparing meals, doing laundry and dishes).

showering is now a whole elaborate experience which also requires assistance. i was told i could take a shower 24-48 hours after surgery, but not allow the drain sites to get wet, and also, not to allow direct shower spray onto the drain and incision sites. besides being confusing, this did not sound like much of a shower to me, so i don't think that happened until wednesday. it involved my trusty press and seal, tape, lots of maneuvering, and plenty of help from andy. even so, it's going to be awhile until my left armpit gets some deep cleaning, so, sorry to anyone approaching me from that side!

some particular moments from particular days... after looking at the weather forecast early in the week, it seemed like monday was going to be gorgeous, and the next few days not so much. so after andy ran some errands and did some yard work, we headed out to stauf's, a coffeehouse in grandview. there was a severe shortage of tables outside, but we found a bench, got ourselves caffeinated, and enjoyed the weather and the people watching. as someone who has always been an 8-to-5 employee, i am always perplexed at the amount of people out and about at, say, 2pm on a random weekday. what do you do? how is this possible? i don't understand.

sometime during the afternoon on tuesday, i got a call from the dr. h with an update. she said the pathology came back with good news: the tumor at the time of surgery was 3cm (which is still large for a tumor in general, but much smaller than my original size of 9cm!), so the chemotherapy had definitely done its job in shrinking the tumor. she said that the margins were clear, which means that it appears they did not leave any of that tumor behind. she also said that they ended up removing six axillary lymph nodes, and only two tested positive for any cancer -- only two tested positive during the biopsies in august, so it appears there was no spread. from what i can tell, it seems unlikely that i will need more chemo, but likely that i will receive radiation (it seems like that has always been the plan for me). however, the whole phone call lasted perhaps one minute, so i will get more details next week on any other information regarding pathology and/or future steps from both doctors.

on wednesday, andy's mom sent a meal of lasagna, garlic bread, and salad, delivered by his sister, sarah. his mom stayed behind on account of possibly? maybe? starting to come down with something? even though it was probably nothing. but you never know, because CORONAVIRUS 2020. anyway, we all had a nice lunch and sarah hung out for the afternoon, which was lovely.

thursday was relatively exciting, for it marked two days in a row in which each of my grenades drained 30ml or less of fluid. i called the doctor's office and we were scheduled to come in at 2:30pm to have the drains removed that day. it was a very strange experience. it didn't hurt, exactly, but the feeling of having two tubes pulled out of your body (about six inches worth, on the inside) is not one i would necessarily like to reminisce about. not painful, but super weird, sort of giving my stomach the flippy-floppies. i felt much less mutant-like with the tubing and grenades no longer hanging out of my body.

i noted earlier that coronavirus is currently taking over the world. i find it convenient that my surgery and recovery time has forced us into accidental self-isolation just as everyone loses their minds over toilet paper. however, we were interested in what it really looked like Out In The Real World, so friday evening we ventured out on an anthropological excursion to kroger. we decided beforehand that if the lines were crazy, we would just walk around, take it all in, and gawk. as it turned out, not a whole lot of activity on a friday night, so we picked up a few things like normal people. among the things that people in grandview reduced to empty or almost empty shelves: broccoli, bananas, apples (aside from granny smith, which amuses me), bread (aside from gluten-free loaves and a variety of buns), milk, eggs, pasta, pasta sauce, frozen vegetables, toilet paper (obvs). it was interesting to say the least. but we got some fresh fruits and veggies, along with other usual items. to be honest, i am at the point where i could have used more toilet paper, but we've got enough to manage.

today has been pretty chill. i didn't wake up until 11am(!), had some coffee, and decided it was time for a shower for the first time without the drains. still an adventure, mostly involving one of the old drain entries not quite getting scabbed over, so that was gross, but we made it happen. i also managed to put on a non-button-front, but very stretchy t-shirt, so, progress? since then it has been lunch and watching the large, fluffy snowflakes fall outside. andy has been busy running the dishwasher, doing laundry, and washing pots and pans. the washer recently ended its cycle and notified us with persistent beeping, while andy was in the middle of other kitchen cleaning activities, leading him to exclaim, "i'm only one man!" (spoiler alert: this also happened when the dryer began beeping).

all activities in the outside world seem to have been cancelled, and i have to say we're pretty prepared to do not much of anything, given our past week or so. i am still healing, so still doing a lot of resting. i am still not supposed to be doing any lifting or pushing or pulling with my left arm, but otherwise trying to resume normal activities and doing light exercises for it at home. i'm sort of numb and sore, but not in any pain, really. i meet with the surgeon on wednesday and the medical oncologist on thursday... i imagine there will soon be a radiation oncologist in my future. so far, things seem to be going according to plan for Week 29 (not the life plan i envisioned, but the plan in place since august, anyway). let's do this.

ah, Week 28... where to begin? it started off pretty chill: board games at giant eagle on monday night, shopping for post-surgery clothing on tuesday night (note: i now own not one, but TWO pairs of sweatpants, which will make certain folks out there happy and/or amused). wednesday was my last pre-surgery evening, so andy and i went out for a nice dinner, then came home and played a long-ish game (terra mystica), until about midnight. this was perfect for keeping my mind occupied and not dwelling on what was happening the next day. as we were playing, i had a breakfast casserole baking in the oven. if you're thinking, well, this seems like a weird time to have breakfast casserole, you would be right! but i had been informed that my arrival time at the hospital was scheduled for 1:15pm, and i was allowed to eat solid foods up until 5am. so, of course, i planned to wake my ass up at 4:30am and shove food into my face to avoid getting too hangry by the time surgery rolled around. this.. this is what normal people do, right?

i indeed woke up before 5am on thursday, consumed some eggy, sausage-y goodness, and promptly went back to sleep. i eventually got up around 9:30am? i talked with andy about mourning the loss of hillary and all of the emotions that entails. then i sort of wandered around, getting some last minute things around to pack (spoiler alert: i used approximately 3% of all the stuff i packed). i had a small amount of black coffee and lots of gatorade (both allowed/recommended up until 11:15am). then it was a repeat of my shower the night before, using the remaining portion of the antiseptic liquid soap i had been given, in order to scrub up for surgery. i used way more than necessary for both showers and still had plenty left in the bottle, so if anyone ever needs that Fresh Hospital Smell, let me know... i'll hook you up. soon after this, it was time to pack up the car and head downtown.

just a random thursday afternoon... traffic was minimal. not random for me, of course. we arrived at grant around 1pm, the valet whisked our car away, and we headed to the surgery check-in desk. he confirms my name and date of birth, and adds my entourage to his list. "andy.. husband.. blue jacket.. button down.. white stripes." anyone else? yes, paul and serena, friends. then we wandered around looking for the perfect place to sit, which didn't last long for me, as my name was called shortly after. it was probably just shy of 1:10pm at that point, so we were hopeful that perhaps the day's events would move along quickly. (spoiler alert: they most certainly did not.) i left my bag with andy just as paul was arriving. i greeted paul with a quick hug, then left them both as i got escorted to pre-op, located upstairs. the nurse (or volunteer, not sure) innocently asked, "oh, was that your dad?" "no, but he is going to LOVE that you asked that!" and i, of course, texted this to andy, paul, and serena as quickly as i could. i was handed off to another nurse, with the usual tasks: height, weight, reason for being here?, pee in a cup. then i was shown to Bay 9 and had more usual tasks with another nurse: name, date of birth, blood pressure, pulse, oxygen levels, reason for being here? did you shower with surgical soap this morning? then i was left to change into a hospital gown and non-skid socks, put everything i was wearing into plastic bags, take my place on the gurney, and wait for.. everything. one of the first characters to show up was a very young guy in charge of starting my iv, as it seems ports are not typically used during surgery. i have never had trouble getting an iv or blood work started. SPOILER ALERT: HE HAD SOME TROUBLE. first of all, it was in a weird spot along my lower thumb, which i noted as odd. it hurt when he tried to start it and oh, did it hurt when he started DIGGING AROUND IN THERE. i'm starting to see stars, he seems to be wrapping things up, i look over, and there is no cannula in my vein. "all that and it's not even IN?" he was very apologetic, but i was very much in pain and perhaps a little bit cranky about it. "would you like me to give you a minute before trying again?" "YESSSSS," i hissed through clenched teeth. he quietly packed up his things and left. within a couple of minutes, a new, different nurse came in. "couldn't get the iv, huh?" she said as she unwrapped an alcohol swab, and swiped DIRECTLY over the spot with MUCH PRESSURE SUCH PAIN and i do believe through the new stars i whisper-screamed "jesus, FUCK!!" which clearly startled the nurse. "oooh, he really dug around in there. i'm sorry." thankfully, she got it in quickly, no digging, and i was thankful that my blood pressure and pulse were already recorded because i was damn near through the roof at that point.

generally speaking, it is a parade of different nurses and medical personnel during pre-op. around 2pm, a nurse called down to the waiting area so that i could have some company with people who were NOT wearing scrubs. about ten minutes later, andy showed up. "no offense, but only you?" "they only told me i could come up." i had told the nurse differently; we got it all figured out, and eventually paul and serena joined the pre-op party in Bay 9. i had been told at that point that surgery was scheduled for 3:30pm. given my arrival time, obviously my surgery had already been bumped, but hey. more time with friends and family, i guess? (spoiler alert: we had the pleasure of each other's company in Bay 9 until almost 5pm.) an anesthesiologist turned up at some point, asking the usual anesthesiologist questions: do you have sleep apnea? any loose teeth? issues with anesthesia? i let him know of my usual need of more lidocaine and usual sensitivity to nausea. he was very soft spoken and i almost thought he was currently under the influence of anesthetics. some time after that, dr. h stopped by with the usual surgical questions. "and what procedure are you having today?" "well, i believe we are saying goodbye to hillary today." she laughed and said, "oh, you must not be a hillary fan." i insisted no, no, it's not that, she just happens to be on the left. i gestured to my right breast, informing her it was condoleeza. she laughed again, and i imagine she just thinks i'm nuts. the parade of personnel kept changing, as we were there so long that staff were starting and stopping their shifts. we even got anesthesiologist #2, who seemed more alert than the last one, but had a habit of not finishing his sentences. he also relayed airline safety procedures that the medical community had incorporated into their procedures? i guess? oh, also, shortly before #2 came in, i had gotten a serving of pre-op drugs. when he asked if there was anything he could do for me, i said "HOW ABOUT GETTING ME IN TO SURGERY?" now, in my mind, it was light and joking, but judging by the reactions of everyone in the room, and also being informed by andy later, my tone was... more than a little cranky. i truly blame the drugs. finally, some operating room nurses showed up, put a hairnet on me (ha!), and i knew this was it. i said goodbye to everyone and got wheeled into the OR. when i had surgery for my port, i remembered one bright light, oxygen mask, and then i was out. this time i remember several nurses being there, getting slid onto an operating table, laying around for a little bit, then finally the oxygen mask and... out.

i was in surgery from 5pm to 7pm. i faintly remember knowing i was in a post-op surgery bay from the nurse-y sounds around me. i don't think i ever opened my eyes there. i do, however, definitely remember coming to for bit, sitting up, and trying to alert nurses by repeating "sick, sick, sick, sick..." and quickly releasing the contents of my stomach several times before they were able to shove a vomit bag into my right hand, though most of the damage was done. i assume this was all over a hospital blanket, since i seemed to be in the same clean gown as earlier. maybe not, i don't know. this is all i remember from post-op surgery recovery.

around 9pm, i was wheeled from the surgical center to the main hospital, room 908. i recall lots of bumps and elevators along the way. i recall being told it was 9pm and feeling badly that everyone had to wait around for so long. i recall seeing and hearing andy, and nurses and assistants introducing themselves. i didn't do a lot of looking, as first of all i didn't have my glasses on, and second of all, opening my eyes and looking around made me dizzy. blurry nurse blob with a beard, blurry nurse blob without a beard, okay, got it. lots of vitals getting taken. got my shins wrapped in some weird automated leg massagers to ward off blood clots, and i recall saying i looked like i was ready to play soccer. nurse without a beard offered a list of food items, of which jello was the only one that sounded good. when he came back, he apologetically informed me that they were out of jello. i was sort of sad but honestly not very hungry anyway. mostly i had andy feed me sips of water from a stryofoam cup, a majority of which i just sort of rubbed all over my parched lips, using just my lips, which i am sure was very sexy and charming. mostly i laid there with my eyes closed, as andy talked to me and updated me on what he knew. when i was in recovery, dr. h had come by and said that everything had gone to plan, some lymph nodes had been removed, tissue had been sent to pathology, two drains had been placed, overall things had gone well. he said that paul and serena had stayed with him through dr. h's update. we discussed whether or not andy should stay the night in the hospital's recliner, as it was a bit of a toss-up. (spoiler alert: i was occasionally woken up by the snores emanating from andy throughout the night... far from being distracting, it was actually quite comforting.)

i more or less slept for my entire time in the hospital, with a constant stream of nurses and assistants and vital signs and questions throughout. i was a little surprised when breakfast arrived, as it didn't seem like serving eggs and french toast at 3am made any sense. it was, of course, probably 7am or so, but i had lost all track of time. it was around this point that i started getting really annoyed at the slick 4' x 4' pad underneath me. i believe its purpose was to assist in moving me from one gurney/table/bed to another, but mostly it just made me slide down while in any upright sitting position. i managed to scoot myself up to be able to eat, but it was an ongoing battle during my stay.

maybe around 10am, stephanie, a nurse from the breast health clinic visited. she had dropped off a bag of various dressings, gauzes, and information on thursday during pre-op. she was back to demonstrate to us how to care for my incisions and drains. i have one large incision running across the left half of my chest, and a couple of inches below that, i have two long, thin, flexible tubes running out of my body. they are stitched in place to my skin on one end, and on the other end, each of them are attached to a small, plastic, vile, hand grenade: these are my drains. what do they drain, you might ask? good question. it seems to be fluids that my body is sending to the site in order to help the healing process, and those fluids range in color from red to yellow and sometimes little bits of stuff and it is pretty gross. the drains work via suction and collect in the grenades and need to be emptied and measured and when they each collect less than 30ml per day for a couple of days, then i can be scheduled to get them removed during an office visit. (for a sense of scale, the first day was 95ml and 50ml; yesterday was 35ml and 25ml).

but i am getting ahead of myself. as stephanie was beginning her duties, the morning nurse and a trainee nurse came in to check on me. there was a lot going on as the breast health nurse unzipped my bra and uncovered my incision dressings. i watched as she did so, slowly realizing that this was the first time someone had checked my incision area while i actually had my glasses on. once she has peeled away the original dressings, i am confronted with the new me, just as the other nurses ask if there is anything i need before moving on. i put my head back, close my eyes, take deep breaths, and shake my head no, because i cannot speak at this point. they leave the room, stephanie continues her motions, but i am done for the moment. the tears arrive, andy comforts me. "this is the first time she's really seen the incision." she stops and leaves the room to give us some time. shit is real, hillary is gone, my body changed. the time for mourning has arrived. it's not like losing an appendix, or removing a gall bladder, or even replacing a heart. something that is simultaneously seen and yet not seen by everyone, every day; a distinct portion of a woman's body that is, let's be honest, pretty awesome; a part of me for over forty years, no longer exists. out of my control. poof. empty.

cancer is really fucked up, man.

i cry for awhile. eventually, i pull myself together, and andy calls stephanie back into the room. sometimes blood clots and gunk get into the tubes, which obviously interferes with drainage. so to make sure fluids can move through the tubes properly, they need to be "stripped" or "milked" which is 90-95% less hot than it sounds. she shows us how to do that, gives us some instructions on dressings and gauzes, and wishes us the best. from this point on, we are just waiting for a visit from dr. h for updates and discharge status. in the meantime, it was the usual parade of staff. i had eaten only part of my breakfast (mostly the french toast and orange juice), but when lunch was dropped off, i ate almost every bite of tilapia, rice pilaf, fruit, brownie, and ginger ale, which were all pretty good. (the cream of mushroom soup was a thickly textured no-go for me). then more waiting. andy walked the halls and stairwells several times throughout the day to get some activity. a chaplain came by at some point, but my life is full of pastors, so i was all set.

finally, at around 3pm, a doctor who was not dr. h arrived, which was kind of annoying for me, because i just wanted to see dr. h and ask her some questions about the surgery. dr. h has virtually no chill, but in a good way. this doctor seemed to be all chill, and it was kind of annoying. we were told that we had prescriptions for antibiotics and norco (hydrocodone and aceteminophen) waiting for me. we explained that norco makes me nauseated, could we get something else? well, if it makes you nauseated, don't take it. um.. thanks for that brilliant problem solving, but it doesn't really help anything. if i actually thought i would NEED stronger painkillers, i would have pushed back, but given that i had been living on tylenol since yesterday evening, we dropped the argument. whatever. a wheelchair was summoned, we started gathering up all my stuff, and soon enough, Room 908 was behind us and the circus of valet parking began.

andy headed to the valet station while the nurse pushing my wheelchair started to deposit me outside. "um... yeah, i don't have my coat on, please take me back inside." andy was busy with the valets, so i sort of shoved my coat on from the front, like a smock, and a few seconds later i hear andy exclaim, "these aren't my keys!" the valet gestures to a shitty car outside and andy is like yeah... that's not my car. apparently there is a whole separate procedure for cars dropped off the day before. once we explained that, the valets located the correct keys, andy put down his mental conspiracy theory pitchfork regarding car-stealing hospital valet systems, and we loaded everything, including me, into the car, and were on our way.

it was good to arrive at home. it was sort of a blur of activity. i had basically been sleeping for the last 24 hours, so i set up shop on the couch, becoming a bit of a gravity suck of pillows, slowly but surely gathering them all around me. andy mostly unpacked everything, and i imagine i ate the breakfast casserole for dinner? or maybe mashed potatoes? it was an evening of updating and texting and messaging and calling and resting and recovering. oh, it was also an evening of confusing the pharmacist, as i told andy to fill the norco prescription, but for only five pills, as a just in caseies. andy said the pharmacist was insistent on filling it for the full 28 pills, but finally gave in to our wishes. i mean, HELLO OPIOID EPIDEMIC? i understand trying to make our lives easier by avoiding another prescription, but trust me, i barely plan on even taking one of these, let alone requesting another prescription. anyway, i caught up on some colbert while andy was out procuring medicines, and had a pretty normal bedtime, around 10pm.

probably the longest post in the history of this blog. i'm cutting this one "short" (through friday evening of Week 28), but there will be far less to write about regarding recovery week. also, i feel like i've been writing this forever. thanks for all the well wishes, prayers, and support. on the road to recovery... let's do this.

after spending sunday acclimating to the correct time zone, it was back into regular life. monday afternoon was an appointment with a physical therapist to take measurements of my arm. after the removal of axillary (near the armpit) lymph nodes, there is the danger of developing lymphedema in that arm. basically, your lymphatic system is a sort of drainage system that helps your body fight infection and disease, and lymph nodes are little filters that play a large role in keeping things clean and moving along. when these nodes are removed (in my case, due to the presence of cancer in at least two of them), it damages the system and increases the risk of lymphatic fluid building up. this results in the possible swelling of the arm and hand, and can be irreversible if not caught and managed immediately. so, the circumference of my arms was measured every 4cm, as well as the range of motion in my left arm, as baselines to compare to in the future. hopefully i will never have to deal with lymphedema in any way, because it sounds like a giant pain (literally and figuratively).

after the appointment, i went shopping for.. well, i wasn't exactly sure what. mostly shirts that open/close in the front, and comfy pants, for post-surgery attire. i won't be able to lift my left arm above my head, and likely will not want to do much with it at all, so button-front shirts are recommended. thankfully, i still don't have any hair to speak of, so not being able to shampoo with my left arm is not going to be an issue at all. anyway, i channeled my inner 90's kid and got a few large flannel shirts, some flannel pajama pants, and a couple of not-at-all characteristic short-sleeve button-front shirts; one is a little more frilly than i would prefer, and the other one is just fugly but hey, they were cheap and they'll help get the job done.

wednesday was some kind of pre-surgery pre-admittance appointment. i was under the impression this was going to involve a physical, but i either don't remember what is involved in a physical, or i was mistaken. mostly just had the usual vitals taken, got asked a zillion medical history questions, and the doctor (who i had never met and is one of those types who fancies himself a comedian) listened to my lungs. then another nurse came in with pre-surgery instructions regarding eating, drinking, medications, etc., and that was it. i felt like this could have been done over the phone, but whatever.

yet another appointment on thursday, this time with the medical oncologist (she has been in charge of my chemo). this was a weird visit, mostly due to the fact that they seemed busy and a little behind. the blood draw went fine, and then andy and i sat in the waiting room for about half an hour. then we were taken back by a nurse who was not dr. m's usual nurse, though the usual nurse appeared just in time to usher us into a room. after that, a nurse practitioner whom we had never seen came in, who did most of the things i expected dr. m to do, so i was a little confused as to what else needed to be done. after another fifteen minutes or so of waiting for dr. m, with the NP in the room (which felt super awkward), dr. m showed up and basically said my labs looked great and i was ready to go for surgery. good news, but it was a little bit of a crazy train to get to the end of this appointment. afterwards, andy departed for work and i attempted more shopping. i couldn't for the life of me find any camisoles or comfy pants with pockets that suited my needs, but i did find a new hat... after being in the desert, i realized that other than baseball caps, i only have winter hats. so i now have a lighter weight hat, and my hot flashes are thanking me already. OH i almost forgot, before shopping, i stopped by the bing cancer center at riverside. i picked up some free knitted knockers (i'll just let you google that if you're interested), and stopped by the over my head boutique. i went partly to browse (though i found it is a small store -- there is not much to browse, it seems primarily to exist for wig and prosthesis fittings), and partly to ask about what i would be sent home with on thursday. the woman was super helpful, and went to the back and grabbed a sample of items so she could actually show me the mastectomy bra and drain holders that i would be given after my surgery. it was helpful to have an idea of what was in store for me.

later that evening we met up with josh for some greek food. the last time i went to this restaurant, my dinner seemed bland, but i couldn't tell if it was from chemo, or if the quality was slipping. i am happy to report that my meal was delicious, and it made me realize that i think my taste buds are almost completely back to normal. great news!

friday and saturday were social evenings: friday with andy's brother and wife, and saturday with the wolfes. in no particular order, among other things, the following were enjoyed: pizza, forbidden island, lots of cheese, tiramisu, raiders of the north sea, hard cider, cards against humanity, and good company.

today was church, lunch with andy's family, and soon after, a walk in the sunny (though windy) day. and, of course, blogging about Week 27 in Cancer Land. surgery is this thursday, march 5th, at grant, at an undetermined time. to be honest, i am not looking forward to it, at all, and in fact, it still seems a bit like a dream. i suppose i am mostly ready for it, though there are still plenty of things to do and pick up and clean and prepare. it might be that the Week 28 blog is late due to ALL THE REASONS, so be patient. i'll hope to at least give a quick non-bloggy update on facebook as time allows. this coming week is just another week in this stupid, terrible journey... let's do this.

monday was presidents day, and also ultrasound day. back to the bing center, back to the white spa robe, back to the goopy ultrasound gel. this time condoleeza (right breast) was getting the examination, out of precaution. i thought nothing of it for 99.9% of the time, from referral through results. only one moment, during the exam, did i think, whoa, if this is another cancer, this is a huge problem. approximately four times during the ultrasound, the tech stated, "you have REALLY dense breasts." which i already knew, and still never know how to respond to the observation. yep? thanks? i KNOW, right? it's always a little weird. anyway, the radiologist confirmed that the area dr. h noticed was a cyst, and that i just have fibrocystic breast tissue. which i suspect means more ultrasounds in the future than most people? good times.

the rest of the day was some shopping, some laundry, and some packing. packing for what, you might ask? well, i had decided that since i was going to be mostly cooped up post-surgery, and had been pretty tethered to columbus for the past 12 weeks of chemo, it would be good to get out of town and into some sunshine. some slightly last minute plans were arranged a couple of weeks ago to visit my old friends heather and bj, out near las vegas. when you're living through february in the midwest, the desert seems like a good option.

so tuesday we both went to work, left a little early, had a quick dinner, and packed up for nonstop flight. drove through little to no traffic, shuttled in from the long term parking lot, checked our bag, got through security. all was well until about an hour before boarding, when our flight was delayed from 7:40p to 8:59p. booooo. but the plane at least showed up, and after a very quick boarding process, we were on our way in seats 2D and 2F. we landed at the las vegas airport and were surprised at the amount of people in Terminal A. at 8:00p in columbus, most everything was already shut down in Terminal B on a tuesday night. not so in vegas... people everywhere and slot machines ahoy at 11:00p. we took in all the neon, got our bag, and ordered our first uber. after dumping our stuff in the guest bedroom, we chatted briefly with heather, then tumbled into bed just after midnight.

so Week 26 was mostly spent in the las vegas area, with sunny 60 degree weather and good friends. there were visits to a cactus garden, grocery shopping (andy's favorite), red rock canyon, hoover dam, and the las vegas strip. it was good to be outside, walking and hiking in the sun. much of the time was spent catching up, learning each other's new rhythms of life, enjoying dance parties with the kids, and just sort of chilling out. it was a nice respite from the cold and from appointments and a welcome visit to new lands and old friends.

today was recovering from a red-eye flight, unpacking, and figuring out what time it is. tomorrow, it's back to doctors and appointments and my last full week pre-surgery. it doesn't quite feel real yet, but i'm sure that will come. let's do this.

monday and tuesday of Week 25 were uneventful; wednesday afternoon was the surgical consultation with dr. h. she was happy to see and feel how my body had responded to chemotherapy, namely, that she felt basically normal tissue in my left breast at this point. on the other hand, she felt something in my right breast and ordered an ultrasound on condoleeza, though she was sure it was just a cyst. (spoiler alert from the future: just a cyst! nothing to worry about). dr. h stated that ol' hillary will be not long for this body, and a left mastectomy and axillary lymph node dissection is scheduled for thursday, march 5th. once again, surgery will be at grant, not riverside, as i believe she switches between the two each thursday for surgeries. i would have preferred riverside, but the thursday before was too early after chemo, and the thursday after, well, why not just get it done as soon as possible? so, grant medical center, it is. i need to get scheduled for an ultrasound, an arm measurement (to get a baseline in case of future lymphedema symptoms), and pre-surgical testing, which sounds like a physical plus other things? it is at this point that i remember, oh yeah, cancer requires a lot of appointments. chemo world was pretty chill in the sense that it is a pretty regimented schedule; plus, i was there every week or every other week, so there was no need for phone calls. now, i can look forward to receiving various calls from some version of (614) 566-xxxx and wondering just which office is calling me this time? the surgeon? the patient navigator? the imaging department? central scheduling? some other nurse? good times! anyway, we finish up the appointment, i get a parting gift of antiseptic body wash for the future surgery, and we all promptly forget to send me home with my signed letter to be excused from work for six weeks. (spoiler alert from the future: i picked it up after my ultrasound!).

thursday evening was grocery shopping, and friday was pho for dinner and a mike doughty show at skully's. he was the lead singer of soul coughing, which i never really listened to, but i enjoy his solo stuff. we got there early, paid holy cow are you kidding me?? for a couple of beers, and chilled in the balcony for a bit. the green room is also up in the balcony, which i find weird, but whatever. shortly before 9pm, the opening band makes its way downstairs to the stage, dressed in coveralls and ski masks. okay then. i couldn't find any information on them online before the show, and i wasn't super interested in wandering down yet to see them. we couldn't see the stage from where we were sitting, but when the band started playing, it was obviously mike doughty singing. we peered down at the stage, and yep, it was a guitarist/vocalist, a cellist, and a drummer. mike doughty and band, with the opening act of... mike doughty and band (excuse me, "baby men"). we make our way downstairs and more or less listen to 30-45 minutes of them sound checking/jamming. i am not usually a fan of random jamming, but he is so random and entertaining, it was pretty great. nothing was said, at any point, that they were just playing in costume, neither before they left the stage, nor as they came back on 15 minutes later, un-costumed. opening for yourself... brilliant. the official set was pretty chill, as the drummer took an understated, subdued approach. there were a few soul coughing songs, and some interludes in which he told the future as requested by concertgoers, but mostly older solo songs. the crowd skewed older, so it wasn't too rowdy or stupid; the sound mixing was perfect, i brought earplugs but didn't need them at all; and overall, a fantastic show. totally down with this as opposed to whatever sappy, needlessly expensive valentine dinners were happening elsewhere that evening.

saturday was a board game day at our house. we made a large vat of chili (well, two vats, as it turns out that just one of our vats was not large enough to hold the recipe), plenty of snacks, and had several people over for games. it was a lovely way to spend the day.

sunday afternoon was a meal and birthday party for andy's oldest niece, and later in the evening we joined friends for dinner. it was everyone's first time for boodle night at a filipino restaurant, which more or less means your table is covered in banana leaves, and the food you order is served straight onto the banana leaves and you eat it all with your hands. have you tried eating rice with your hands? i am pretty sure boodle night also needs to be laundry night. at any rate, our food was delicious, and made for an entertaining meal with friends. my inisal chicken was good, but andy's bok choy, fried chicken skins, and pork belly inihaw were perfection.

things are going well in Cancer Land, all things considered. i think Week 26 is gonna be a good one. let's do this.