So here I yam, starting to get my dainty self prepped for the dramatic surgery I get to enjoy next week. My Mastectomy Buddy went in yesterday…and I hope to hear from her in a day or two.
Her adventure is even more dramatic, because she has an actual invasive cancer. Thank the Lord (or Lady), I managed to escape that. Her mastectomy: pretty much de rigueur. Mine: pretty much a matter of smarts.
So we’re keeping her in our thoughts.
And we’re also keeping another Dear Friend in our thoughts: as I was driving into the ‘hood yesterday afternoon I spotted her strolling up the road with her big, friendly, lop-eared dog. Her husband has been enjoying lung cancer these past many months. She looked tired, even haggard. I stopped to block traffic and chat. She said they had hospice in. Called their son, who’s on his way in from out of town. Hospice worker was amazed the old boy made it through the holidays. She says he sleeps most of the time.
God, please let us sleep through the dark of that good night.
So where were we? Yes. We were thanking our lucky stars, because things could be worse. Much, much worse.
This afternoon, with barely a week that’s not occupied by holidays and parade road closures to go, I decided I’d better get my act together.
Insights:
1) One can order the desired peri-surgical gear from Amazon and waypoints rather than running around the city searching for recommended items.
2) One could, in theory (only in theory, right?) stock up one’s favorite boozie-poos and open the bottles. These, then would be ready to go without any painful struggles.
We’re told that for the first three to six post-surgical weeks, opening screw tops and especially adult-proof caps is excruciatingly painful. If unscrewing the cap on a bottle of detergent hurts, just imagine the effect of a corkscrew applied to a cheap bottle of wine!
3) We want some comfort food, and we don’t care how fat it makes us!!!!!!!!!
4) All those items in daily use — the dog dishes, the giant Costco bottle of Maker’s Mark, the French press coffeemaker — really, truly NEED to come down from the high shelves in the kitchen.
So it’s time for a raid on Amazon, there to buy a package of two female versions of the famed Wife-Beater: in woman language, “cotton tank tops.” These, we’re told by those in the know, will absorb any leakage (t0 be expected, argh urk) from the tubes installed in our chest to collect drainage from the not-so-gaping wounds to be inscribed thereupon.
From there to Knitted Knockers, which gives away freebie knitted prosthetics to the cancer-victimized…sorry, by golly, to “cancer survivors.” 🙄 This, even though we know our friend Windy City Gal is making a much nicer pair for us. We figure an extra pair, even though evidently inferior to Windy’s, will be handy to have around.
Then it’s over to PinkPockets, there to ask for a set of five self-stick “pockets” to attach to the inside of whatever piece of clothing you care to name, to hold the “grenades” (suction devices) for the drainage tubes we will be fitted for. Mastectomy Buddy has kindly provided a strap-on bulb-holding purse, which looks like it (also!) will be superior, since one of PinkPockets’ customers complained vociferously that the product’s double-sided tape didn’t work.. So the stick-on pockets, too, amount to a back-up.
Buddy’s daughter whipped up a pair of these, one for her mom and one for moi. They attach to you with an elastic waistband, and they hold four (count’em, FOUR) grenades. Is this handy and dandy or not?
The plan is to wear this out of the hospital — whenever it gets here, it goes straight into the Overnight Bag collection.
Thence, we’re off to Sprouts, via the Walgreen ‘s.
At Walgreen’s, I picked up a package of safety pins, said to be necessary to pin the grenades…uhm, the drain pump thingies…to a bra or your clothes. (Ha ha! I love it where this writer compares the thing to a church incense censer!!!)
Also picked up a cheap toothbrush — I use an electric toothbrush, once affordable but now pretty much out of the question, which I am not about to take to a hospital — plus some dental floss to pack in the overnight baggie. WonderDentist, thank you very much, hands out toothpaste samples every time his underlings clean your teeth, so I had a nice new little tube to add to the pile of loot.
Crossing two main drags on foot from the Sprouts to the Walgreen’s, I pass a big bearded bruiser of a guy all decked out in a black leather gladiator outfit, complete with a black leather miniskirt. He is unsmiling. Does he take himself seriously? Is he stoned? Is he the butt of some biker gang’s initiation ritual? Or is he just crazy as a loon? I do not know. I dodge inside the store and lose myself in the labyrinth of aisles, knowing there’s a way out through the pharmacy and that the pharmacists do not have the physical strength between the three of them to stop me from vaulting over the counter and blasting out the back door.
At Sprouts, what should I stumble across but a package of lovely chicken thighs and two packages of lovely lamb shanks? Both of these are the Stuff of Comfort Food.
The plan is to cook up an entire package of Costco pasta, toss it in a little olive oil, and freeze it in small packets. Then cook up all four lamb shanks with lots of onion, garlic, celery, and red wine. Freeze this into portion sizes, too. And last night I grilled the chicken pieces and dropped them in the freezer.
Contemplating the comfort-food qualities of these items, I recalled one of my favorite childhood dishes: my mother used to make this incredible garlic chicken under the broiler.
She would spike plenty of butter with garlic powder or (more likely) garlic salt. Then she’d baste the chicken pieces with that and run them under the oven broiler until done. (We lived in apartments, so there were no outdoor grills. Besides, no one ever heard of a propane grill in those days.)
Heh. My mother never used real garlic. Literally, I never saw a head of garlic until I reached graduate school and took up with friends who fell under the influence of Julia Child. She wouldn’t have known what to do with a clove of garlic. And come to think of it, I don’t know if my mother ever saw actual whole garlic.
Well, no bottles of powdered dehydrated garlic reside in my house these days. Only the real stuff will do.
It’s not the same.
I minced a couple cloves and melted them into some butter; basted the chicken thighs with it and let it sit for awhile. Added some adobo powder, figuring that would add the sort of je ne sais quoi flavor of artificial spice. Grilled, with frequent basting.
The result was very good, but not the same as my mother’s. Probably in reality better. But not the same.
Oh lordie! I overslept; it’s almost time for the cleaning lady to show up and the chill’s not off the house yet and I haven’t even started to fix dog-and-human-breakfast.
And so, away!
I’m like you and like to plan ahead.
Don’t forget to make a lot of food for the doggies, so they can have their comfort food, too. 😀
LOL! That, too. I’m not making, at this point: They’re getting the extravagantly expensive FreshPet, which costs significantly more even than human food but is a LOT less work. I intend to get ten days or two weeks’ worth into the freezer, cut up into individual servings that a friend can just set on the floor for them.
After I feel back to normal, they can get home-made food. But for the nonce, easier does it better…
Good Luck Funny…You are a better person then me….I’d be scared crapless. Sorry to hear of your friend and her poor husband with the lung cancer. My Dear Dad is undergoing treatment for lung cancer and it is no easy task. It is especially hard on the care giver…my Dear Mother…aside from being the chief cook and bottle washer she is now the duly appointed “cheer leader” for DD. Glad to hear your DF is getting a bit of a break with the hospice care. We try to give my Mom at least one day a week she can get out and shop a bit, maybe have lunch with her sister so as she can “come up for air”. I go down and try to get Dad to go outside and enjoy the day a bit as he does sleep a lot. Once more…Best of Luck …
Lung cancer is not what we’d call a cheering predicament. I’m so sorry your family is having to go through all this.
Luckily my DCIS had not yet morphed to invasive cancer. This means I get what’s called a “simple” mastectomy, with no removal of lymph nodes. While it sounds blood-curdling, I’m told a simple mastectomy is really not a lot more drastic than a lumpectomy, which is not especially painful — the biopsy was MUCH worse than any of the lumpectomies. What makes the simple mastectomy a bigger pain in the tuchus (well…wrong end, I suppose!) is that they do install “drains” exactly as they would for the more radical procedures. This is because your body “sees” the void where tissue was removed and wants to fill it with fluid — sort of the way you get a blister when you rub a spot on your heel until layers of skin lift from underlying layers. These are apparently not very painful, but they’re a major nuisance — you can’t sleep on either side, you have to manage them as you’re moving around, and you have to empty the fluid and measure it until your body decides to quit doing that. This strategy helps you to avoid getting a seroma or a hematoma, which (sort of like a blister) really is pretty painful.
Weirdly, I actually feel quite positive about this, for several reasons. The number one reason is that by removing both knockers, we will reduce the chance of ANY kind of recurrence to less than 1%, and thereby reduce the chance of a malignant growth to less than .5%.
That alone is HUGE.
Other benefits accrue to lobbing them both off:
* It ensures that I will never have to go through any of these shenanigans EVER again.
* It makes me even on both sides, so I won’t be lopsided
* And therefore it allows me to make a choice of going around flat as a ten-year-old boy or wearing any of a number of types of fake boobies.
* It means I will not have to take Tamoxifen or aromatase inhibitors.
* It means I will never, ever, EVER have to submit to another mammogram as long as I live. That alone is enough to mark the event’s anniversary as a major feast day.
* And, in the minor delight department, it also means I’ll never have the headache of shopping for a damn bra again, unless I choose to hang prosthetics off my chest. Which I may or may not do, depending on my mood.
* And, hilarously, it also means that should I choose to do so, I can create the illusion of being ANY BRA SIZE I PLEASE! heeeee!!!! How about a perky DDD?
Somehow I don’t feel the word “simple” and mastectomy should be used in the same sentence…I think you will be the first to admit this has been one heck of journey…especially in that this is “it’s not cancer yet surgery”. But as you point out the pluses seem to out weigh the negatives and not having to worry about breast cancer has to feel great.
As for lung cancer…it amazes me the progress that has been made in care and treatment. I recall a friend’s Mom got lung cancer and that was it…basically tried chemo and sent her home to wither and die within months of diagnosis. But my Dad has just passed the 2 year mark in October. True the chemo is tough but he can still function and watch the sun come up each day. His original diagnosis predicted 6 months survival with no treatment. So this is quite the gift… But IMHO it’s hardest on the caregiver…like your friend, my Mom looks like heck…and you have to make her take some “time off” for herself…
Yes. My friend’s husband has had the cancer for quite a long time — at least a couple of years — AND he had emphysema to start with. Considering the pre-existing condition, it really is pretty darned amazing. And La Maya had a friend who survived quite a few years with lung cancer…I’d say…what? about six years maybe? At least that long. Intermittently he’d have to visit the Mayo for some more chemo, but it wasn’t an all-the-time thing. In between treatments, he had a good life.
Their son must be here by now — he was on his way in from Maryland (?? I think) when we spoke. I’m sure he’ll be a godsend for her, and he probably will talk her into taking a break.
The hospice people thought he would pass over the Christmas holidays and were surprised when he sprang back. But it can’t possibly be much longer. She has good friends & family in southern California, so she may go over there once the dust settles. I hope she’ll find a way to get out of here for awhile.
Surprisingly, removing a boob is not such major surgery IF they don’t have to remove lymph nodes, too. Remember, these things are on the outside of the body cavity, so major organs are left untouched. The presence of invasive cancer is what morphs mastectomy into a very heavy-duty procedure, because removing your lymph nodes all up and down your arm is not a joke. You need your lymph system to fight infection and to move the natural fluids that accumulate in your body. Additionally, a more radical mastectomy may include having to remove muscle that could be affected by the cancer.
Basically all a simple mastectomy does is remove the fat, glands, and ductwork perched on the outside of your chest. No muscles are taken. If you’re post-menopausal, none of that stuff is functional anyway — you’re not going to be nursing any babies, and though your sex life is not over yet, you’re past the age of having to attract a man for the purpose of making babies or to help keep a roof over your head. Large numbers of middle-class women no longer need a man for the latter purpose at any time of life, anyway. 😉
Of you’re younger, of course, it’s a big emotional deal, especially in a culture like ours where a woman’s value as a human being is so tightly wound around her physical appearance and how it measures up to conventional standards. And most younger women do want to find a man and, if possible, hang onto him for awhile — that won’t be so easy if one’s body has been surgically mutilated.