Working On My Relay for Life

Well, it's been a while since I've written here. I've started substitute teaching, had some more surgery for reconstruction (which looks fantastic I might add) and started volunteer work for the upcoming Relay for Life for the American Cancer Society (ACS). As my mother-in-law told my husband, "she can't stay still can she?" Guess not.

Anyway, my friend Dana recruited me to the planning committee for our area's upcoming Relay which will happen March 22, 2013. As I attended my first meeting talk came around to the kick-off dinner. One of the planners said, "We need a speaker." Then someone else said, "Someone new. Someone people haven't heard their story."

I could feel the stares burning my skin and hear the tapping of fingers on the table.

"Someone who recently battled the disease," ACS lady said.

OK, I give. When I offered to speak, they all acted surprised. Gee, they are REALLY BAD ACTORS! No Oscar winners in this group.

So I jotted down some comments and stood before about 30 organizers the following week. I tried to hit the fine line between depressing and naive or worse, Polly Anna. I started off by saying, "Well, when I first got the diagnosis my husband and I sought some solace. We went to a bar." That got some laughs.

I rattled off some positives of cancer -- get to try a new hairstyle; people bring to you loads of food; you can take a guilt-free nap at anytime. I also said that some people thought my death from Stage III breast cancer was eminent, I became a walking, 5'2 confessional booth. Now those people are starting to look a little worried.

That got more laughs.

Anyway, after I finished, the newspaper editor rushed over to me, asked for my notes and interviewed me. Then the ACS lady came over.

"That was so good!" she gushed. "I didn't know you could speak. Why didn't you tell us? You should do this more often."

So now I'm on their Speaker's Bureau.

But what was really great for me was hearing other stories. I met someone whose sister was diagnosed with terminal cancer. That was 15 years ago. Then I heard of someone who has successfully battled three bouts of cancer over several decades. I also met a woman my age who was diagnosed at age 25 with breast cancer.

"I had been married for a year and a half," she told me. "We didn't have children yet."

She went through surgery, chemo and reconstruction. She's accomplished raising a family, working full-time and being a multi-year Relay for Life participant.

So this weekend I'm off to San Antonio for the South Texas Summit. I've been told to wear purple which should be pretty easy since that's TCU's color too. From what I gather, the Summit is a planning, sharing, and bonding experience. I'm really looking forward to hearing more inspirational stories.

But between now and then, I've got to pay bills, walk the dogs and do laundry. Life doesn't stop even for cancer.

I'll let you know how the Summit goes.

Wondering if I should spray paint my hair purple? Nah, maybe I'll just buy some super purple eye shadow.

The Wondering Texan

Cruising Through Mid-Life With B-12 and Kim Kardashian

 Last night I was invited to go on a "moms' sunset cruise" with my friend Cindy. Our boys go to school together, and as such the case, we parents have formed a friendship.

As the five of us watched the early fall sun lower over the horizon, we talked about what most middle-aged women talk about. Weight. And organic health food. And B-12 shots.

Forget the hot guy conversation, the new car debate, or the recently purchased cocktail dress talk of yesteryear. Today my life has become a series of conversations on how to avoid weight gain. Every once in a while, the topic will change to sore joints, but I digress.

We meandered through the bay looking at cranes and searching for dolphins while we sipped wine and ate cheese, which I thought was kind of funny given the topic.

"I hear if you give up alcohol, you can lose weight pretty fast," I said.

You would have thought I pulled the drain plug on the boat.

"Well, yeah, but who wants to do that?" asked Sara. "I give myself B-12 shots." Apparently, she buys a monthly supply at a very reasonable price.

We were like the Sex and the City girls except more accurately named Weight and the Married Women.

Then one of them said, "We should go dancing at Sharkey's. It's so much fun. Let's go eat healthy Mexican food at this restaurant, then go dancing."

Cindy asked, "Is it safe?"

What? The food or the bar? Or possibly the dancing? I didn't get the question.

"It's totally safe. The people are preppy and they play '80s music," Sara said.

Flashback 1986. I lived through the'80s and not sure if I'm able relive it.

Of course, not having been to a dance club in about two decades I had to ask, "Do we bring our husbands?"

I could hear the gurgling sound of salt water rising around my ankles. I almost said, "Just joking!"

Obviously, I was batting a 0 on the conversation scale. Eventually they started to talk amongst themselves and occasionally nod over in my direction.

Then they started talking about frozen fruit slushes. Peel and cut up a banana into chunks. Place in a freezer bag, but don't neatly place them in the bag because it makes it harder to break apart and put in the blender. Then add some other fruit or coconut juice, not milk which is higher in calories. Of course, you can always add rum or vodka, they said.

I was eager to jump into the conversation, so I said, "Well, last week I went to an interval training class and couldn't sit down for days. But, I kept going because I wasn't about to let a woman 20 years older than me beat me."

Blank stares.

"Well, I have to do something to get my butt off of the back of my thighs," I laughed.

They politely smiled, then one asked, "How much weight do you want to lose? A half a pound?"

They all literally looked me up and down, laughed, and took another swig of wine.

So I tried to steer the conversation to brighter ground -- hair dye.

"Who does your hair?" I asked. "I haven't found anyone here yet."

Yes, I was back in the conversation! They were all eager to give me their hair stories.

On the latter half of the cruise we picked up another couple and their college-age daughter. They started talking about the new IPhone 5 which of course the daughter has ordered. Then they started talking about storing photos in "the cloud," and other technology advancements.

I had to say to Miss College, "I don't understand Twitter."

I could feel her eyes roll. "You don't understand what Twitter is?" Miss College asked.

"No, I know what it is," I said. "But why do people like to communicate that way?"

"Well, a lot of celebrities communicate that way," she said.

"OK, but why do average people want a Twitter account?" I asked.

"Well," Miss College said. "You can directly talk to celebrities. People like Kim Kardashian can respond back to you."

"Why do I want to talk to Kim Kardashian?" I asked.

Again I was sent back to the familiar four walls of my dog house.

So, this is what I have learned thus far in my life - I've never really outgrown my odd girl personality. I'm a dork. A card carrying dork. Leading the 'hood of dorkdom in stares, smirks and furrowed brows.

Oh well, it's nice to know some things remain consistent in life.

Still wondering why I would want to talk to Kim Kardashian? I mean, really?

The Wondering Texan




 

Substitute Teaching Middle Schoolers

Well, I'm about to embark on my latest adventure - substitute teaching.

A lady in my water aerobics class gave me the idea saying she thought I would be good at it. I guess she figured if I can control a couple of menopausal ladies in a pool of water, then I shouldn't have any problems controlling hormonal middle schoolers in a classroom. At least I won't have to contend with hot flashes other than my own. Plus, it allows flexibility for my reconstruction process, adds a little extra cash to our account, and gives me new purpose.

So, I applied and went through the background check. I've been finger printed and been given a pep talk by the school district official. The substitute teacher coordinator gave me six substitute teaching assignments at the middle school. All in math. The last time I was in a math class was when they didn't allow calculators in the class. The other week, my husband was watching a YouTube video on how to operate my daughter's calculator for advanced algebra.

"Don't worry, we're basically looking for people who can control the class. You'll been fine," she told me with a smile.

I guess she figured that since I have two middle school children of my own, I am uniquely qualified.

Tomorrow is my first day at the school. And you know what most people are asking me? What am I going to wear. Yes, it's true.

"You're not going to a corporate office," my neighbor told me.

Then there's my daughter's comments.

"Mom, don't tell them your last name," she said. Then she added, "So, how are you going to be?"

I wasn't following her question and asked for an explanation.

"Well, are you going to be a mean substitute or a cool sub?" she asked.

'Well, I don't know. I guess I'll be myself,' I told her.

A moment of silence. Then she said, "Well just don't tell anyone your last name."

Then I called my dad figuring I could at least get some parental support. I overreached.

"Really?" he said. "Math?"

A moment of silence.

"Oh. Well that should be ...good."

At least he didn't tell me not to tell anyone my name. Or tell me what to wear.

I've faced a corporate layoff and cancer, so how hard can it be to face seventh graders?

I'll let you know.

Wondering if I can bring candy into the classroom as a motivational tool. Without peanuts of course.

The Wondering Texan

Burning With Fall Expectations

It's hot and dry here along the coast which makes the fall season seem like a mirage. I hope it's somewhere out there, but don't think I'll see it anytime soon.

My neighbors just got back from Lake Michigan and told me they actually had to layer on clothes. This has put me in a melancholy mood. I mean, last weekend my daughter went to a beach party and they couldn't play volleyball because the sand was too hot.

Even the hummingbird migration seems to have stalled in the heat. A few have been flitting around the feeders and, in my optimism, I bought a 5 lb. bag of sugar in preparation for the feeding frenzy. The sugar is still in my pantry collecting more dust than hummers. The local HummerBird Celebration is this weekend with special speakers, bird banding and other special activities. Hopefully, it will be full of hummers, not bummers.

One of the hummers from last year's banding activity.

Although there's not a flock of hummers, certain other animals have made their presence known. Moles have made our yard look like a field of land mines. Traps have been set, yet remain waiting. So far, the traps have netted none. Our dogs, one. Yes, one of my dogs caught a mole and brought it to the back door as a sacrificial offering. I've never seen a mole up close. In a way it was kind of cute with its long, pink nose. But, not cute enough to receive a pardon.

The heat has taken a bite out of fishing.

Then there are the roaches. The nasty, flying, size of a city bus, roaches. With 22 Live Oaks in our backyard and the drought, they have set up camp around our home. I called an exterminator and bought a can of Raid. It's all-out war. I don't know why I think I may win this war considering they have been around since the dinosaurs.

Yesterday I pulled out some of my fall decorations and bought a few chrysanthemums. But of course, I can't plant those in the front yard due to the deer. Our other rodent. As I planted the flowers, a stream of sweat rolled down my back. That kind of takes the fun out of decorating.

So, I'm hoping cooler weather (I'm not even going to wish for a cold front) arrives soon. It's supposed to be in the mid-90s today. Better than the low-100s. But still not hot toddy weather.

Oh, the weatherman just said we may get some "isolated showers." Wondering if he's just teasing us? He's such a joker!

The Wondering Texan

The Long Process Back to Cleavage

Back on June 22, I had my breast reconstruction. As I mentioned in my previous blog, it wasn't an easy surgery. Luckily, growing the "girls" is a lot easier.

One of the charming scenes in downtown Fredericksburg.

I was in Fort Worth for three weeks to receive weekly injections to stretch the skin and muscle. Ironically, this coincided with my 30th high school reunion. I have to admit, having perky new cleavage for my high school reunion was awesome.

The view from the Pedernales Cellars winery.

One night I modeled for my husband several dresses looking for the perfect one for the reunion dinner. A side product of having reconstruction is that you almost get a new wardrobe. You wouldn't think having cleavage would be a big deal. And I wasn't hugely endowed before. But it's amazing how even a little cleavage helps fill out dresses or tank tops and what it does for your morale.

No, we didn't see Waylon and the boys.

So, with the perfect dress packed, I left for Fort Worth for my "fills" and reunion. Getting a "fill" is kind of like expanding a water balloon. Not knowing exactly how this was going to work, I imagined the nurse coming in with a huge needle attached to something like a Super Soaker water gun in which she would pump me full of water. Well, I was semi-correct. The nurse came in and rolled a port finder over my chest.

"Hey, it's like a stud finder," I joked. "My husband has one of these in his toolbox."

The finder shows the nurse where the port entrance is, then she inserts a tiny needle which is attached to a little tube and syringe. Slowly, the water is injected. And here's the weird part. It really looks like a water balloon filling. It's instantaneous gratification.

Yes, the injection stung a little but as the nurse quipped, "That's good. Well, it's not good that it hurt you, but it's good that you still have some feeling there...you know, that it's not all numb...for you will...well...it's just that sometimes..."

"I know what you're trying to say," I offered her.

Then the doctor came in and spoke to me about the differences between silicone and saline implants. He suggested silicone.

"But, I want the safest implant," I said. "I don't need anymore drama."

But he assured me silicone is nothing like the previous generations. "It's kind of like a gummy bear," he offered. "If I cut a gummy bear, nothing leaks out."

The difference between the two is that saline can be adjusted to make both sides perfectly symmetrical. But it will be hard like a melon.Whereas, the silicone is a softer, more natural feel.

"If it were me, I would prefer a more natural feel. But you do what you feel is best. It's just that the silicone will be softer..."

Then a funny thought came to me. This is so awkward talking to a man about what feels more natural. But although he is a medical professional with countless hours of medical school and probably a nice school loan to go with it, he is in basic form a man.

Two weeks into my filling process, I met my husband in Fredericksburg, Texas, for a getaway weekend. He had to stay home and work while I underwent my transformation.

When we got to the hotel room, I burst out, "So, you want to see them?"

"Wow, they look good. They're already bigger than the originals."

I don't know why, but I was insulted.

"They are not," I said.

"They are," he said.

"Are not," I said.

"They are bigger," he said.

Then we both looked at each other and smiled at the stupidity of this disagreement. I mean, just what was the point?

"Do you want to go out and walk around," he offered.

So, now I'm in the holding pattern. I have to wait six weeks for the skin and muscle to completely adjust before I can get the expanders taken out and have the permanent implants put in.

Oh, and my high school reunion went great. No one was the wiser of my ordeal and I felt great. And here's a bonus, I was voted as one of five women who physically have changed the least since 1982.

I told me husband, "Isn't that funny? With everything I've been through in the last 2.5 years, my classmates think I haven't changed."

The Wondering Texan

Getting the New "Girls"

Well, it's been a busy summer for me. A week and a half after returning from vacation, I traveled up to Fort Worth for the beginning of my reconstruction surgery. I can't believe it's been two and a half years since my life changed forever.

My back scars about seven weeks after surgery.

I won't gloss this over for anyone who is facing breast reconstruction requiring "flaps." Let me just tell you, it sucks donkeys. That being said though, I'm really glad I went through with it.

First, it's about a four and a half hour surgery in which the doctor takes muscle and skin from the back and relocates it to the chest. Then he/she puts the expanders underneath the skin which will be filled with solution over the next few weeks to stretch the skin out for the permanent silicone or saline implants. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.

The very first thought I had when I woke up was 'What the hell was I thinking?' I felt like a herd of elephants had stampeded over my body.

My wonderful nurse gave me hope when she said, "Here's your morphine drip button. You can press it up to three times an hour." Click.

My second thing I thought was 'Thank God for morphine.' Click.

I was told not to move much. The nurse said, "Pretend you are a T Rex with the short arms. Keep your elbows close to your body. That's your range."

OK, that may sound easy. But have you ever tried to wash your hands without extending your arms? Or even pull up your pants without stretching too much? It's not easy. It makes a good case for being a nudist.

On the second day in the hospital, I decided I needed to get up and walk. It would help me feel normal and relieve my back ache. As I held on to my young nurse's arm, we walked past the nurses station. I noticed that all of the nurses seemed to be in their 20s. Then I heard one of the nurses behind the station "whisper" to the other, "Who is that?" The other young nurse responded, "Oh, that's Mrs. X, she's the sweetest lady." What bothered me was the tone of the voice. You know, the sing song kind you save for two-year-olds and 90-year-olds. I guess to them I looked like an old lady shuffling around in my bathrobe and no-skid socks.  I felt like saying, "Girls, I can hear you! I haven't lost that yet."

Joking aside, the most unpleasant part of the whole thing were the four drainage tubes protruding from my body. I also had one "pain pouch" strapped around my neck with a tube going to my back. I guess it's similar to an epidural. They didn't hurt, it's just hard to move, put on clothes, and sleep.

Speaking of sleep, it didn't come easy. As I told my cancer survivor friend Sara, 'I was like a newborn. At first all I did was eat, sleep and poop.' And Sara responded, "Except that you can't poop for about a week after surgery." Thanks Sara for that reminder.

I don't know if it was because of all of the medications, the difficulty moving, or worry, but I seldom got more than three continuous hours of sleep.

Which brings me to a very important point. If going through this surgery, one must have someone there at all times. I will say this is no light duty care the person gives the patient. This person must:
1) Help drain the drains twice a day
2) Help the patient get into and out of bed
3) Make meals
4) Help the patient get dressed
5) Track all medications given
6) Help monitor healing
7) Drive the patient to doctor appointments
8) Be a cheerleader
9) Be on call 24/7

For doing all of this, my dear husband has elevated his status from mortal man to near god status. He has earned his right to throw his dirty laundry on the floor, forget an item off of the grocery list, and most of all, force me to watch three straight hours of PGA coverage on cable. The latter did help my sleep status.

But a week after the surgery, two tubes and the pain tube were removed. Slowly I was returning to normal. But the most encouraging news was when the doctor saw me and said it looked great. He then left and let the nurse remove the tubes. Suddenly, we heard a knock at the door and he popped his head back in. I thought he was going to ask the nurse to help him with something, but instead he looked at me and with an excited voice said, "You really do look great!" He was obviously proud of his work as was I.

Next time, I'll tell you about the filling process. Imagine filling water balloons. Until then, I hope this helps someone who is facing what I have faced.

Wondering which I should get? Silicone or saline?

The Wondering Texan

American Family Loose in France

Chenonceau started in 1513 in the Loire Valley.

Bonjour! My family and I recently returned from 10 days in France. It was the first time my husband and kids have traveled abroad. And it was the first time ever my family have been together for 10 days nonstop.

Well, as evidenced by this post, we all survived each other. I wasn't worried about getting lost in France; gypsies or terrorists; lost bags or the language barrier. I was worried that we would be scratching each others' eyes out by Day 5. 

Chateau de la Tortiniere built at the end of the 10th Century. Now a hotel.

Seriously, before leaving I tried to remember a time we have spent that many days together without an escape route. I think the closest thing was back in 1995 on my honeymoon. And that was without kids or a language barrier.

When I voiced my concerns to my friend Carol, her advice was "drink lots of wine." I did, and it was delicious. We quickly learned that in France, the dollar doesn't buy much. However three things are reasonable if not cheap -- wine, bread and cheese.

Our bedroom at de la Tortiniere

We went to the Loire Valley, Provence, and Paris. We saw castles, dungeons, gardens, museums, open markets, the Eiffel Tower and cobblestone streets.

But what was really fun was seeing another country through the eyes of a pre-teen and teenager.

When we arrived at our first hotel, our daughter plopped on the couch and started flipping through TV channels. "It's all in French," she stated. "Ugh."

Ruins of the historic town Eygalieres.

"Well, that's probably because we are in France," I told her.

My husband is a sort of tech nerd, so he reprogrammed the TV to English. I was a little bummed by that.

But then, the real horror came. Our adapter, which we borrowed, was for England, not France. Now that was a bigger problem and one travelers didn't have two decades ago. The chargers alone must weigh a total of five pounds. But he figured out how to charge by plugging into the TV.

Gordes, built into a side of a mountain.

As we made day trips around in our little rental car and navigated France's many roundabouts and tollways, my husband quipped, "I feel like that guy in An Idiot Abroad," referring to the BBC show of three guys one of whom is sent around the world to test out new experiences.

"Maybe we could be the American version," I mused. "American Idiots Aboard."

Roman coliseum in Arles which is under renovation.

Another learning experience came when we ate lunch in Arles one day. Upon finishing our lunch we tried to pay only to learn that they don't accept credit/debit cards. My husband had to scurry around to find a cash machine which he found six blocks away.

When traveling aboard, one quickly begins to appreciate things both countries have. For instance, in France, the countryside is clean with many wildflowers in bloom. No trash lining roadways. But here's my rundown of each country's top things.

France:
* Clean streets, yards, and towns
* Excellent wine, cheese and bread

Our Hotel Buci room in Paris

* Beautiful countryside and quaint towns
* Long, luxurious lunches (two hours)
* Fresh vegetables and fruits
* Cute boys (this one is from my daughter)

USA:
* His/her bathrooms with sinks and toilet seats
* Manned tollways
* Highways that aren't tollways
* Clothing/shoes at reasonable prices
* Pharmacies open at night
* The can-do spirit
* The consumer driven economy.

Family portrait in Provence.