Tag Archives: first time

And then I posed in lingerie

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I was about 20 minutes away before it hit me: soon, I would be standing in my panties in front of a stranger. This is just not something I do…

Right after I was diagnosed, I started thinking of ways to commemorate this process, to celebrate what I would go through and where I would end up. Something to look back on later and feel – dare I say – good about myself.

It seemed obvious: boudoir photos.

In my mind, I knew what I wanted. A story – now, chemo, surgery, reconstruction. I wanted it to be pretty. To celebrate me. Photos of me. For me. Through some of the toughest times. I just wanted the story to be a beautiful telling of…me (and the superficial things that make me…me like hair and boobs).

I started researching photographers right away. Some were sketchy (“rent a hotel room and I’ll come take photos”). Some were too focused on sex (whips, chains, handcuffs, lots of nudes). But there was one photographer’s website that spoke to me.

She profiled ladies of various sizes, all beautifully photographed. I loved that she brought in her own hair and makeup person (instead of going to a salon then the studio). I liked that it was an “all ladies” team.

I sent her a message right away, explaining my situation and what I was looking for. I also told her that I was kind of tight on time since I’d be losing my hair soon.

I didn’t hear back right away, and I started to second guess my idea. But then Jenn did email and was very apologetic for the delay. It was Valentine’s season (dammit – didn’t even consider that!), and she was completely booked. We went back and forth on email a few times, and I was resigned to this just not happening.

On Wednesday, she emailed saying she was having lunch with another boudoir photographer in town who would be able to get me in before I lost my hair. She sent me a link to the website. It was fine. It would certainly satisfy my desire to have photos, but the photographer’s style wasn’t as soft as I wanted. I ignored the email.

Yesterday, Jenn emailed again. She had a last minute cancellation and wanted to offer it to me. I jumped at the chance. I had less than 20 hours to get ready.

There wasn’t time to shop (or get waxed or do any real thinking). I grabbed a duffle bag and tossed some lingerie, scarves and jewelry into it. “Just wing it,” I thought.

Then I fell asleep super early last night, and never gave it another thought.

This morning I had an early doc appointment. (More on that later, but woo-doggy, chemo is working! Cell counts are crazy low, but the doc isn’t placing any restrictions on me.) Then I went to my mom’s for breakfast. She wanted to see my lab work and make me eggs and bacon. An hour after breakfast, it was off to the photographer.

The studio was in an old warehouse building, full of various artist studios. Jenn’s studio was on the fourth floor (with no working elevator). Of course I was early. I sat on the cold concrete floor and thought about what was about to happen.

“In an hour, you will be almost naked, in front of a stranger, posing for photos,” I thought. “What the fuck are you thinking?”

I don’t kiss on the first date (or second….). I’m a suburban mom who isn’t overly adventurous or crazy. I have no piercings (outside of my ears) or tattoos. I drive a very neutral colored SUV. I’ve never dyed my hair an unnatural color. Look up conservative in the dictionary, I might be featured. And I’m okay with that.

And I was about to take off my clothes.

I played on Facebook while I waited. Theresa, the hair and makeup artist arrived. We made small talk while waiting for Jenn. Then it was time.

“What did you bring?” Jenn asked as she showed me into a makeshift dressing area behind a silky purple curtain. She and Theresa stood behind me as I opened my bag. Suddenly, I wasn’t very confident with my choices.

“Um…It was so last minute that I just grabbed stuff I had,” I tried to explain. “No time to go shopping or stuff…”

“That’s what usually happens,” said Jenn. “Let’s just see.”

I took out some bras and panties and set them in a pile. A few camisole/teddy kind of things. A corset. Some scarves. A longer gown. A pair of nude heels. Random jewelry, mostly pearls (as if I was trying to hang onto some sort of innocence through this).

Jenn and Theresa rummaged through the piles. A few things were discarded because of lack of support (“We want the girls to look good.”) The longer gown would cover too much. We settled on a black and white camisole, a purple corset, and a turquoise scarf.

Next was hair and makeup. We talked about what I wanted, and settled on a more polished version of me. A little sexy, but not slutty or sex vixen. Theresa cleaned off my makeup and got started. She noted my super dry skin (which will only get worse), and said it looked like it was dehydrated. (OMG, I can’t possibly drink MORE water!) She got to work. So many brushes and colors and…stuff. Now, I enjoy spending time in a Sephora or a good makeup counter, but I had NO idea what most of the stuff in her kit was. I was turned away from the mirror, so I couldn’t see anything. I could only follow commands (look up, look down, lips slack).

Every few minutes Jenn would come into the room and ooh and ahhh. They both went on and on about my eyes and playing up that feature. They both agreed to do minimal stuff to my hair (“just some boost at the roots!”). An hour or so later, and I was turned around to look in the mirror.

OMG.

It was perfect. Sexy eyes, but very, very natural otherwise. And I couldn’t believe what a difference false eyelashes make. (Note to self: buy false eyelashes because…hotness.)

Jenn wanted to start with the black and white camisole, and she ushered me back to the dressing room to change. I closed the curtain behind me and stood there. This was getting real – and weird. I looked at my piles of stuff. I slowly took off my shoes and tank top. I started to get self-conscious about my panties. What ones will I wear with the cami? Does it matter?

Full strip. Full change. Toss on heels. I added a long pearl necklace, and I walked into the bright studio. Jenn had me start by sitting on a white couch against white sheer curtains. I felt awkward. Where should my legs go? How could I look casual while I was sitting in panties, a camisole and three-inch heels? And I was very aware that my necklace was hanging between my breasts, calling attention to the reason I was there.

Immediately, Jenn put me at ease. She walked me through how to sit, pose and lay. Where to look, how to hold me head, where my hands should go. And I just went with it.

A few clicks later, and it didn’t matter if I was almost naked, posing for photos. I wasn’t holding in my stomach or worrying about bulges. I posed on the couch, a chaise, and a bed, against the windows. I completely trusted Jenn to make this happen. She showed me a few of the photos on her camera. It was perfect. It was the prettiness I wanted.

We went through the same process with the corset, but with a more sexy lip color and a huge tulle skirt (her skirt added to the corset was FANTASTIC!). For the final look, I decided to go with a high waisted boyshort and completely topless with the scarf covering my nipples.

Then it was over. I changed back into yoga pants and a tank top (yay, hot flashes!), and Jenn and I talked about future sessions. I’m thinking the next one will be in May, toward the end of chemo. She’s super excited about being part of this journey with me, and I cannot wait to see how it all comes together.

I would have NEVER considered a boudoir shoot, but now I’m a convert. Completely out of my comfort zone, but I’m still riding a high from it. So, so, so happy that I did it.

 

Weekend update

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It’s Sunday night, and I’m feeling pretty damn okay. Little lazy, but not over fatigued. Aware of my bones, but not in pain or discomfort. Slight headache from lack of caffeine since I’m concentrating on water consumption. (I’m allowing one coffee or one soda a day.) I’d say on a scale from 1 (feeling completely shitty) to 10 (feeling great), I’m about a 7. I’m okay with that, especially since the docs predicted today would be the worst day post-treatment.

  • The day of and the day after my first chemo, I felt somewhat hyper. Lots of energy, lots of talking, almost restless. I got some stuff done around the house I’d been putting off. I played with the kiddos. Ran a few errands. No nausea at all, but I’m on four different anti-nausea meds through Tuesday. I did start having hot flashes, though. Oh boy, hot flashes are going to suck. (Luckily, not as many today.)
  • Big lesson learned over the last two days: when the nurse says “drink as much water as you can to flush the meds,” she is not issuing a challenge. Day of chemo, I drank 200 ounces of water in about eight hours. Saturday, I drank the same over about 10 hours. Too much. I felt like a beached whale by the end of the night.
  • Yesterday, my mom (who hasn’t left my house since Thursday night) deep cleaned/disinfected the entire house. I’m talking bleach and Lysol and every nook and cranny. My house smells super sterile.
  • I found my “cranial prosthesis” (aka wig). It was a great experience. The shop is owned by a woman who has been through cancer two times. I explained that I didn’t want to be old-looking or look like helmet-head, newscaster hair. I tried on about six wigs. One was a complete no, the other five were contenders. I took pictures and mom, the kids, a few very trusted friends and B weighted in. Everyone agreed on my first choice, which is very close to how my hair looks when straightened. A few positive comments on a second one (one friend called it “French assassin. Cute but sexy,” so I decided to order both. Unfortunately, there aren’t any nice curly hair wigs, so I’ll be straight for a few months. But, it’s probably for the best – if my hair grows back straight, I’ll be used to it.

Glad to be going back to work tomorrow. It wasn’t the holiday break I imagined, but I’m thankful I had the time to get so much medical stuff accomplished and have the time to process what’s going on. I feel good about where I am with my medical team and treatment plan. I feel pretty good physically and mentally.

No doctors until Friday, then it’s a quick appointment to check my blood levels and discuss how the week went. Next chemo treatment: February 6.

 

MUGA done, port installed – two steps closer

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I’m on a first-name basis with the woman at the hospital registration desk. She instantly greeted me by name and pulled up my file when I walked in the door yesterday.

It was a busy Tuesday – one heart test and the installation of the mediport.

The MUGA scan was fairly easy. A quick blood draw, a 20 minute wait while a radioactive tracer was mixed with my blood, then I was ushered into the testing room. The blood was injected back into me (now with radioactivity!) and the radiologist placed three heart monitors on my chest.

Then I slid into the machine. It was kind of like an MRI, but MUCH more open and there wasn’t any noise. I could see the monitor showing what was happening in my chest. (The camera uses gamma rays to watch the radioactive tracer move through the heart and get pumped through the body.)

You know when you lie on the grass on a cool summer night and just look up at the stars? And how, if you’re somewhere without much “light noise,” you can see thousands of stars above you? That’s what it looked like on the screen. My body, full of stars.

The whole test lasted about 25 minutes. It was so easy and comfortable, I almost fell asleep, looking at my “stars.” The MUGA is important because a few of the chemo drugs could affect the heart muscle so the docs need to make sure my heart is strong going into chemo AND to get a baseline so my heart can be monitored at different points during my chemo regimen.

I had a few hours before the port installation, so I went home and worked on my syllabi (two done, one to go!). Then back to the hospital.

I had to be there about two hours before my procedure was scheduled. It was a long wait, but I was prepared with one of the books that’s been on my nightstand for way too long. (Gone Girl, reading the book before I see the movie. Really liking the book. Yes, my “for fun” reading is WAY behind the rest of the free world.)

More blood drawn, urine sample to prove I’m not pregnant, an IV of saline and antibiotics started.

Two hours later, I was wheeled to the operating room. This room was a little different from other ORs I’ve been in. This one was designed to use X-rays as part of the surgery to “see” where the port catheter would be placed into a vein in my chest.

More chest monitors, blood pressure cuff and oxygen thing on my finger. Lots of cleaning of the skin and prep of the area (left side, near my collarbone). Then everything turned blue as a drape was placed over my face and right side of my body.

My skin was numbed with a local anesthesia. The nurse pushed a tiny bit of general anesthesia through my IV, and she asked if I wanted more. I declined. I talked to the surgeon and nurses through the whole procedure. I couldn’t feel the incisions (two were made) but could tell when the catheter was winding its way from my collarbone to the middle of my chest. I could feel the doc use a tool to make a “pocket” between my skin and muscle to hold the actual port. I could feel the in and out of the needle as they stitched everything back up.

At this point, the surgeon said he was taking his time to make sure the stitches would heal with minimal scaring. “Doctor,” I said, “I’m having my right boob cut off in a few months. I really don’t think a couple of little scars on the left side will matter much.” (He laughed uncomfortably, but still took his time.)

Because I had so little general anesthesia, I was released less than an hour later.

Two incisions for one port. Yay no more needle sticks!

Two incisions for one port. Yay no more needle sticks! Also, why can’t anyone come up with a nicer hospital gown? Not flattering.

There’s some soreness where the port is placed, but it’s completely manageable with Tylenol. One of the two bandages came off this morning, and everything looks fine. (I covered it with a band-aid – Lalaloopsy, of course – to keep the area as clean as possible.) I just want to be super careful over the next few days because ports placed on the left side can “move” from their original location. The procedure was easy but I’d like to not go through it again until it’s time to remove the port from my body (which won’t be until “everything” is over).

It’s just weird to think I have a triangle-shaped plastic “thing” in my chest now. But it’s also nice to know that needle sticks and IVs are done since everything (except the radioactive MUGA tracer) can be accessed/pushed through the port.

Tomorrow’s supposed to be the MRI. At this point, I’m not sure I want to lay on my stomach for that long with the newly installed port. I may reschedule. This doesn’t not break my heart.

Everything is really, really real now that the gateway for the chemo drugs is in place. I’ll feel better when I get the first round finished on Friday. (Breathe…)

Shopping for my head

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Today I tried on “head accessories” – scarves (untied and pre-tied), turbans, and sleep caps. There were two other women in the shop, both had been through chemo – one of them preparing for her third time fighting cancer.

The women were super helpful with what I would need and not need. They talked about the importance of super soft materials and showed me what to look for in the placement of the seams in a turban and pre-tied scarf. They shared how to wash and care for these accessories. They showed some tricks for handling an accessorizing the “tails” of the scarves.

We talked about skin care (probably get really dry) and nail care (could lose my nails but I can still paint them using special polishes, albeit with limited color options – I’m going to miss regular manis-pedis).

I bought several things, and I gained quite a bit of confidence in figuring out how to rock this inevitable bald-thing. It was actually kind of fun trying on stuff. I look pretty damn good in a few of the turbans and scarves… Best estimate, I have 7-21 days after my first treatment before I start losing my hair.

I also got the contact information for the wig fitter/cosmetologist. She has limited hours at the hospital retail shop, but she runs a salon not far from my mom’s. I hope to get an appointment with her this week/early next to help me navigate the world of wigs and how to draw (hopefully) natural-looking eyebrows.

Shopping included looking for somewhere to store all the new stuff for my head. Some assembly required, but this ended up perfect.

Shopping included looking for something to store all the new stuff for my head. Some assembly required, but this ended up perfect.

Tomorrow, I have a heart test (some of the chemo meds can damage the heart so I need baseline results so I can be evaluated over the next few months) and the installation of the mediport (to administer the chemo and have blood drawn through this process).

It’ll be a long day.

Fun story: I tried on one of the pre-tied scarves this afternoon to show the kids. Lauren’s reaction: “Why are you the only one who gets to be a pirate? I want one, too!”

Oncology and telling Ethan: things are moving FAST

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After the MRI fail this morning, I waited around for one more appointment: the oncologist. Several survivors have told me that the oncologist is a super important part of the medical team, so it’s important to have confidence in the doc.

I checked in (the girls at the desk already know me by name – ugh) and sat in the same seat as last time. Again, I was the youngest by far. And again, the elderly patients were enamored by the TV (“The Chew” this time, not Kelly Ripa).

Suddenly three shrill bells sounded, followed by a message, “Medical emergency in the cancer center, infusion room. Medical emergency in the cancer center, infusion room. Medical emergency in the cancer center, infusion room.” All hell broke loose as 13 (by my count) medical people ran down the hall from all directions. It was about 30 minutes before an old man was taken down the hall to the hospital by gurney.

Soon after I was called by the nurse. We went through my medical history and the same series of questions I answered with the surgeon’s nurse earlier this week. I mentioned that I didn’t make it through the MRI this morning, and she said to make sure to mention that to the doc. The nurse took my vitals (blood pressure was a little elevated, but still within the normal range). When she went to take my temperature via my ear, she gently moved away my hair and said, “Oh, your hair is so pretty!” (I started to tear up.) She explained some of the things I could expect from chemotherapy and some of the recommendations this oncologist usually makes to his patients.

I waited for the doctor after the nurse left. “Fuck, this is an oncologist’s office. I have CANCER,” I thought. This was feeling really REAL. This was the toughest wait I’ve had so far. Oncology is SERIOUS. Surgery I get – cut it off, but chemo is scary.

The doctor came in, and I instantly liked him. He made me feel really comfortable. He asked the basics, then he said, “Do you want to just jump right into this?”

He explained the basics of chemo and how it’s changed over the years. Side effects, like vomiting and nausea, are manageable. He encouraged me to think of chemo as “medicine for cancer” not “poison.” His plan includes two phases prior to surgery: phase one will include Adriamycin (aka “Red Devil”) and Cytoxin (with neulasta to help grow cells lost from the two other meds), one treatment every two weeks (4 treatments total), and phase two will include Taxol and Carboplatin (second one only if my body can tolerate it without dropping my cell counts too low), one treatment each week (12 treatments total). With this schedule, I’m done with chemo by the end of May.

We talked about other chemo side effects like menopause (being in my 40s, instant menopause is very likely), when I’ll lose my hair (about 7-10 days after first treatment) and what I can/can’t do (no birth control pills).

Then he said, “You’ll start chemo next week.”

Back the bus up…WHAT?! (Tears. “Shit’s getting real,” I thought.)

We compared schedules – my class schedule versus his breast clinic schedules at two hospitals. We settled on Friday mornings. I don’t teach on Fridays and that gives me the weekend to recover.

He typed some notes in the computer, placed some orders for necessary pre-chemo stuff (a heart test, installation of a mediport in my chest) and wrote a prescription for lorazapam (to help me get through another attempt at the MRI). And he called the nurse to have a “chemo education session” with me.

“You’re young and healthy. I have no concerns about you in this process. I’m confident you’ll do fine with this,” he said.

The nurse came back in with a book to take home (so much casual cancer reading) and several documents detailing the various medications I’ll receive during chemo and those to manage side effects. We spent another 40 minutes talking about my fears and concerns. She printed a prescription for a wig (that’s weird to type!), we hugged, and I left the cancer center.

 

First thought when I got in the car: I can’t hide this from Ethan any more. He’ll notice when I start losing hair… I planned the conversation in my head on the drive home. I’ll tell him tomorrow – Ethan and I are spending tomorrow together (he has a doctor appointment so I’m keeping him home from school).

I got home. Mom had already picked up the kids, and Ethan was working on homework in the dining room.

I briefed my mom and told her I had to tell E. A few minutes later, Ethan said he was ready to review his work. I walked into the dining room. “Hey, pal, we need to talk tomorrow,” I said.

“Is it about your boob?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, I know something’s going on. But I don’t want to talk about it tomorrow.”

“Now then?”

I went back to the beginning. I found a lump, went to the doctor, had some images done. “The doctor told me the pictures looked funny,” I explained.

“Funny haha or funny strange?” he asked.

I made a face with my fingers in my ears and my tongue out. “Well, not funny haha. The lumps weren’t doing this. It was more like this,” I said as I made a sad face.

“It would have been funny if the lumps were making the funny face,” he said. Yeah, that would have been funny.

I continued with my explanation: they took samples from the lump with a needle on Christmas Eve, and they called with the results saying it’s cancer. “The good news,” I said, “is that it’s caught super early.”

“It can be cured?” he asked.

“Yep,” I said. “But the doctors need to do a lot to treat it.”

I explained chemo (“medicine for cancer that attacks fast growing cells. Know what other cells besides cancer grow fast? Hair. I’m going to be bald!” He laughed and studied me for a minute. “That’s going to be funny! I’m going to take pictures of you everyday bald!” Sure, kid, whatever floats your boat.)

I explained surgery. He asked, “You’re going to have ONE BOOB?!”

“Maybe,” I said. “They can rebuild it, though.”

“Will it be removable?”

“Maybe. I haven’t decided yet.”

“Wait… Do they rebuild your boob with metal? Will you have metal boobs? Oh! Wait! Super Mom! You’ll have metal boobs that shoot toxic milk!” he said.

He seemed really disappointed to find out my boobs will not be metal. Nor will I shoot toxic milk from my nipples.

“You’re handling this really well,” I said.

“You said that when you told me you were going to start dating. No big deal. You’re going to live another 60 years,” he said.

Nailed it, kiddo. Nailed it. (Well, not the metal boob part… Where that visual came from makes me a little nervous.)

Tomorrow: genetic testing