Yvonne Perry's Blog
12/01/08
You Name It
Wow, what a great Thanksgiving we all had!
Mark, the girls and I visited my best childhood friend and her family in Virginia. I got to meet her new six-month old baby Ginger, and am happy to report that Ginger was not bothered by the bocce balls in the least. Ginger rocked my world! So what if she couldn’t get comfy enough to fall asleep in my arms, at least she happily played in my arms while awake! I’ll take it!
(Although I think while we were playing on the floor, she kicked me in the right boob and may have injured her foot. Sorry about that, Ginger. . .not a lot of “give” there.)
And as a bonus, my friend Denise had some prescription mouthwash left over from when she got hormone-inspired mouth sores during her pregnancies. Score!
F@#$ you, Tamoxifen, and your lame side-effects!
Did you ever bite into a hot slice of pizza and burn the roof of your mouth?
Did you ever drink your coffee too fast and scald your tongue?
Did you ever brush your teeth too hard and scratch up your gums?
Did you ever bite the inside of your lip, and it turned into a big honking canker sore?
Did you ever imagine what it might feel like to have all these things happen at the same time?
Last week, I didn’t have to imagine. I can honestly report that it feels like chewing on knives.
But Denise and her magic mouthwash saved my Thanksgiving – yeah! Taste buds just in time for apple pie! 
(Which my sister Martha made, and which was awesome. . .watch out, us Perry girls know our pie.)
So, I’ve gotten some funny e-mails from friends who contributed their names for my next surgery, when these saline expanders will be removed and replaced with more comfortable and natural looking/feeling silicone. My favorite was changing “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang” to “Titty Titty Bang Bang” – perfect! (Thanks Cousin Jackie).
Another good one: “The Double Mammy Whammy”
I’m officially throwing down the gauntlet to all my creative friends out there for a good name for my surgery on January 16th. Give me your best stuff, now!
I’ll sign off with a shout out to my wonderful husband Mark, who manages to keep me laughing through the pain. It’s easy to have a good attitude when a man like him has your back. All the more impressive since he hasn’t had my front for a while now.
(C’mon, I couldn’t resist. . . )
Blessings-
xo Yvonne
11/21/08
The Year of the Rat
It occurs to me that thoughts of my own mortality inevitably lead to thoughts about destiny. Do we all have a destiny that is unavoidable? Are some people destined for greatness, and others destined for suffering?
Can I control my own destiny?
To a great extent, I think the belief that we have some say in our destinies is expressed with one simple word: HOPE.
I sure hope I beat this cancer. Without hope, I get depressed . . . as most people do. So I must have a lot of hope because I don’t seem to get too depressed about all this. And what I can’t control through diligence, research, following doctor’s orders and keeping a good attitude . . . well, the rest I just offer up to God. And this, I guess, is called FAITH.
Who knew I had so much faith inside of me? I sure didn’t.
But last night, as I was sitting in a Chinese restaurant with my two girls, I found myself perusing the Chinese Horoscope on my paper placemat. The Chinese Zodiac is all about your destiny being determined by the year you were born. I’m oversimplifying, of course. . . but it did occur to me that most of 2008 has been The Year of the Rat. The last Year of the Rat was 12 years ago, or 1996. So I thought, hmmmm. . . Was that a good year for me? Wait, that was the year I lost the best-paying job I’ve ever had, went to London, went to LA, and barely saw Mark at all. 
12 years before that? 1984, the year I graduated HS and went, trembling but excited, off to college.
So, although I wouldn’t classify The Year of the Rat as a traditionally BAD year for me, it certainly has proven to be a tumultuous – even life-changing – year each time it rolls around. I was born in a Horse year, and guess what my placemat tells me is the year least compatible with a Horse? You got it – a Rat!
On January 16, 2009 I have my next surgery, when the hard saline bags go bye-bye and I get my silicone implants and – hopefully – some centered cleavage and some restful nights of sleep. I call that surgery the “changing of the guard”. My swap meet operation. My switch ‘em out. My chitty-chitty-bang-bang. 
The next Lunar New Year is 10 days later on January 26, 2009. I’m gonna take these bocce balls and smash the Rat in the head with them. I plan to welcome The Year of the Ox with brand new boobies and a very large cocktail!
But will I be “cancer free”? I’m thrilled that radiation is off the table, but (as I’ve said) I must take the drug Tamoxifen for the next five years. If the cancer has not metastasized to my bones, lungs or liver by then. . . then I can consider myself officially in remission. . . possibly forever. Hopefully forever.
For the time being, the Tomoxifen is messing with my hormones enough to cause me to break out in (yes, “in” as in “inside”) my nose and on my chin. I also have bleeding gums and some pretty nasty mouth sores. These side effects should go away as my body “adjusts”. Dr. Gina likened these symptoms to what some women feel when they first become pregnant, or first deliver a baby, and their hormones are being wonky. But I don’t get a cute baby out of the deal. In fact, I have been strictly warned NOT to get pregnant while on Tomoxifen. Wouldn’t it be just like me to have medically unexplained infertility my whole life, and then get pregnant when aged 42 and on a cancer drug? So I’ve got to think about birth control for the first time in nearly 20 years. Yee Hah!
Cancer, cancer. . . fun, fun, FUN!
When I am able to stop treatment around my birthday in 20013, we will be preparing to welcome the Year of the Horse – my birth year!
I can’t wait for The Year of the Horse. . .I’ve got faith it’s gonna be a good one!
xoY.
11/18/08
Non-Radioactive!
Hiya folks!
Good news tonight 
- I just got off the phone with Dr. Rinaa at Dana Farber in Boston. My case was presented today in front of all the radiation oncologists specializing in breast cancer (called a “Tumor Board", remember?) - and upon further review, they concluded that there was no real evidence of lympho-vascular invasion on my slides. These were the exact same slides examined by St. Peter’s here in Albany, but with differing results. As a result of these clarified findings, and combined with all the other pathology from my case, the opinion at Dana Farber is to “lean away” from radiation therapy.
That being said, I could still decide to get radiated, and no doctor would think I was crazy. 
(Well, with the possible exception of Dr. Jeff, because of how radiation could affect my reconstruction results. . .) But I think most of you could tell from my previous e-mails that I am hesitant to radiate. And what I’ve learned is . . .
-Find a team of doctors that you trust. It will save you a lot of running around.
-If you think a doctor is not paying attention to you as a person. . .(i.e.: Dr. Todd, the radiation oncologist here in Albany). . .don’t let “all that running around” keep you from getting the information you need. There are times when a second opinion is warranted.
I, for one, am much more confidant in my decision not to radiate after hearing what the doctors at Dana Farber had to say. And guess what? I’m right where my general oncologist, Dr. Gina (right here in Troy), said I would be weeks ago. “I don’t think you’ll have to radiate.” Go, Dr. Gina!
Am I a trailblazer? Am I bucking the medical trends? Am I being reckless?
As intriguing as all of the above sounds. . . ummm, no I’m not.
But it’s sure nice to know my gut was right on this one!
xoYvonne
11/14/08
Wicked Lame
I remember some of the first things I thought of after that day (July 25th) when I was told “You have cancer, Yvonne". Inside my head sounded something like this (in this order):
1. I don’t want to die.
2. I really don’t want to lose my boobs.
3. I don’t want to be in this club.
4. I really, really don’t want to die.
5. I don’t want to tell anyone, because I don’t want this to be the most interesting thing about me.
6. Really, I don’t want to die.
7. OK, I need to tell someone. . .immediately!
The first person I told was a neighbor who happened to be watching my girls on the day I had my biopsies. I knew she was a cancer survivor herself (lymphoma) and would have some empathy. I’d just driven straight to her house, alone, with a band-aid on each breast. . . wondering why I’d decided to drive my 5-speed that day. (Shifting with bruised boobies. . . what was I thinking?) When I walked in her front door and she asked “How’d it go?", I couldn’t even get the words out of my mouth. Yup, I just cried on her couch and hoped the kids wouldn’t walk in. “You have cancer” may be hard to hear, but “I have cancer” is - at first anyway - infinitely harder to say.
It’s amazing, though, how quickly I have gone from barely being able to speak those three little words, to pouring out every detail of my cancer to anyone who will listen. (And if you’re not around to listen, I’ll send you one of these tediously long e-mails, eh?) Doctors, colleagues, practical strangers. . . I should be embarrassed. But I wonder if all of you, my dear friends and family - and all you others - who read my writing and feign interest in every personal detail I spew. . .I wonder if you realize how instrumental these e-mails and our talks are in helping me to process all that is happening to my body? Because, let me tell you, cancer is a lot to take in. And I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that the details fascinate me quite a bit. Sometimes I hear myself explaining something to someone, and I think to myself “Reign it in, girl, you almost sound enthusiastic!” I’m such a freak. It’s like I’m getting an MS in Cancer, and I plan to graduate Summa Cum Laude. Let me tell you what I learned today! But it helps me, and I’m so grateful I have so many people in my life who just get that about me. . .
You may have noticed that I didn’t have a “Why me?” moment, or a “There must be some mistake!” moment. . .even though all the books say I should have had them. I really didn’t. I did, however, have a pretty big “Crap! I don’t have time for this!” moment. But then I noticed that, actually - I did have a little break in my schedule. Thanks God, for giving me something to do these last few months! Whew, good thing I’m not bored. . .wouldn’t want that. That would really be hell.
You know what else is hell? Another little cancer gem I learned this week. My friends David and Vicki just had their first baby. . . little Eleanor Ann was born on my birthday! And as I held her for the first time, I was shocked that I couldn’t get her to stop crying. I used to kick ass in the stop-this-baby-from-crying business. I had a body built for soothing children. Nuzzle up to me, kid, and let what mother nature provided give you comfort. But alas! The bocce balls are no good. It’s bad enough I can’t hug my husband properly, now I’m scaring newborns. It was like asking a baby to fall asleep on a rock. And it felt foreign to me as well. You all know that babies can tell when a grown up is uncomfortable - they have a sixth sense for that kind of stuff. Yup, I was uncomfortable having 2lbs. of saline, plus 8 lbs. of kid pressing against my ribcage. Sorry Eleanor!
Cancer is wicked lame.
Ooop, there’s my inner Boston coming out. Mark and I spent several hours yesterday discussing my case with Dr. Ken (Stanford and Harvard Med grad., but still - he looked like he could be my little brother. Son? Sigh.) and Dr. Rinaa (Specialist in breast radiation oncology - who didn’t look much older than Dr. Ken. Sigh, again.) at the Dana Farber Cancer Institute. As soon as I got my head around the fact that I was being examined topless by a guy who looked like a frat boy - albeit a clean-cut frat boy - I was OK. And, let me just say that Dana Farber has this cancer-treatment thing down to a science, literally. From the gracious people who meet you in each department, to the specifics of their forms, to the bright, clean waiting rooms, to the intelligence of their doctors . . . you just know you are in good hands. Both doctors were smart, patient and thorough. But I now know without a doubt that when it comes to the radiation question in my case, I am in an official medical “grey area". Who knew that “grey area” was a medical term? Alas, that’s me. There’s just not enough data on women with my symptoms to put me in an accurate statistical pool. 
How much would undergoing radiation therapy improve my long-term survival?
Just no way to really gauge. But the percentages seem pretty low.
So, I’m left looking at some immediate repercussions of radiation. There is a real possibility that radiating my skin would negatively effect my reconstruction efforts - the most dire being implant burst. This would necessitate the removal of my implants. Needless to say, a fake boob under my skin (no matter how uncomfortable) beats a fake boob tucked in a bra and stored in a drawer at night. . . at least in my case. And these percentages are much, much higher.
Meanwhile, my case will go in front of the Dana Farber “Tumor Board” next Tuesday. This is when questionable cases are presented to a larger group of specialists for opinions. They will be examining whether my slides indicate that my cancer was “definate for lympho-vascular invasion” (as St. Peter’s reported) or “foci-suspicious for lympho-vascular invasion” (as Dana Farber concluded). Was there really evidence of cancer cells in my bloodstream on the way to my lymph nodes? These conflicting reports could also affect my decision.
See what I mean about getting an MS in Cancer?
Working my way back to you, little Eleanor!
Blessings-
Yvonne
11/07/08
Lucky Decision #2
July 17th. I have my routine mammogram and ultrasound scheduled at Imagecare in Latham, NY. My last two were done at St. Peter’s Hospital Breast Center, but Imagecare was in the same building as my new doctor - so I decided to go there instead. Lucky decision #2. My mammogram went without incident. I then proceeded to the ultrasound room, where a technician named Cynthia Hamilton awaited me. Remember Cindy’s name, I know I forever will. She’s the wonder woman who saved my life. So, as Cindy squirts gel on my boobs and gently but thoroughly passes her magic wand over me, we make small talk about what she sees and how she sees it. Most people have seen an ultrasound image of a fetus in the womb. . ."Look at the baby!” . . .remember how proud you were to be able to pick out even a foot? “I see the head - that’s the head, right?” Well, the images made by a breast ultrasound aren’t nearly as interesting. Lots of gray fuzz. OOooooh! There’s a cyst! Oh, and another! Wow, three cysts! Three round peas in my right breast were about as exciting as it got. I grilled Cindy on how she knew that they were only cysts. Something about their color and shape and stability. Anyway, she took pictures of my pea-cysts, and I trusted her.
Cindy passed over both breasts twice. “I like to go two times, just to be thorough.” Go Cindy. Eventually I noticed that she was spending a lot of time on my left breast. But there were no peas to see on the screen. “I’ll be right back", Cindy said. So I laid there in my gown and tried not to feel too chilly. Five minutes passed. Then one of the most beautiful young Indian women I’ve ever seen in a white coat entered with Cindy. Say hello to Rupal Chopra, DO. Specializing in radiology. Very young and pretty. “Whassup?” I ask. They murmured. Murmur murmur. More gel. More passes over my left breast. More of nothing but fuzz on the computer screen. The grey fuzz started to bore me. I started to pass the time by staring jealously at Rupal Chopra’s beautiful long brown fingers typing away at the keyboard of the ultrasound machine. Why can’t my fingers be that slender? And her nailbeds, ooph. Lovely. La dee da dee da.
They both left the room. Now I realize they were consulting my mammogram images. . . but at the time I was just left to shiver in my gown and look at the bad art on the wall. Did they get that poster at TJMaxx?
When they returned, they went back to my right breast. My right? Wah La! Look at that (much bigger) pea. How did Cindy miss that one? And back to my left breast again. La dee da.
Finally, I got fed up. Surely an ultrasound shouldn’t take this long? Cindy and Dr. Chopra said there was a “slight change in the shade of grey over here", but they couldn’t find it for long enough to get a clear picture. They looked confused. I’ll say it. . . they looked stumped. But then again, maybe they were trying to stay calm for my benefit. Anyway, I ended up with an appointment for a breast MRI a week later. “Let’s try to get a clearer picture, shall we?”
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- A Brief Lull
I’m in a holding pattern here.
The sky seems clear enough, but there is some garbled communication coming from the control tower, so I’m just circling the landing strip until the messages from the people in charge come in a little clearer. It was a really rocky take-off, and there was some intermittent turbulence, so I’m hoping for a smooth landing to end this trip. . .At the moment, I’m happy to say, the flying is easy.
It seems some of my e-mails have been passed around, and I have been lucky to hear from several amazing women whose mastectomy surgeries are looming. Others are ahead of me, and they share their stories of survival. Inspiring all. But I realize in writing and speaking to these women that I only started sending these e-mails out after my surgery, and we invariably end up talking about our diagnoses and that dreaded day when we were first told those surreal words: “You have cancer.”
What was that “rocky take-off” really like? It seems like both a lifetime ago, and as if it happened to someone else entirely. I wrote about it, but didn’t want to bore everyone in this e-mail. If your interested in that part of my story, you can find it soon (with my previous e-mails) on my blog:
www.yvonneperry.com/yvonneblog
Meanwhile, I’m waiting patiently until next Thursday, when I have an appointment back at Dana Farber in Boston with a specialist in Radiation Oncology. Again, hoping for some clarity on this radiation issue. One thing we breast cancer chickees learn quickly: My breast cancer is not the same as your breast cancer. . . or your neighbor’s or your aunt’s or even that woman the doctor saw just before me. Each combination of symptoms, surgeries, and test results gets you to your own, individual prognosis. The new wave in cancer treatments is recognizing that patients need to be looked at in an individual, specialized way. There is not a blanket, one-size fits all way to treat this thing. (Imagine. . .four years ago, with a tumor my size, I’d be getting high dose chemotherapy right now. No contest.) So things are a-changing!
What I am realizing, as I read and research, is that my specific combination of pathology reports is a bit. . .well, odd. Different. Not so common. C’mon, at my age, who grows a tumor as big as mine, as undetectable as mine, requiring the kind of surgery I had, and not have any spread? Turns out most Ambers as big as my Amber are not as lazy as my Amber. Amber was obese and bored. She liked to hide and not draw any attention to herself. The anti-Yvonne? Funny, in this very informative book I am reading by breast cancer expert Dr. Susan Love, most tumors my size fall in either of two categories: “Very Aggressive” - (as in “Wow, that sucker is growing fast!") - or “Patient Neglect” - (as in “How could that scared woman ignore a lump that size for so long?"). Neither scenario applies to me. Sigh.
I won’t see Dr. Jeff (he’s the plastics guy, remember?) again until January 8th, when we will discuss my next surgery. . . sadly I will not be getting “Boobies by Christmas", but I’m willing to wait an extra few weeks if it means the end result will be better. Yes, sometimes I trust my doctors! Boobies by Chinese New Year! Nipples by Easter?
Meanwhile, I do not miss the weekly syringes full of saline, and I’m coming to an awkward truce with my bocce balls. As I explained to some of you already, these expanders feel like I’m wearing an underwire sports bra that is two sizes too small, and I just…can’t…get…it…off!!! Pleasant, right? But this is the first time since August when I feel like my body is truly healing. . . when some doctor, nurse or test result isn’t traumatizing me weekly. . . . so I’m enjoying the lull.
OK, I’m off to Rite Aid to pick up my prescription for Tamoxifen, which I start taking today. So much for my “lull".
Check in with me in five years. . . because when I turn 47 and I get to go off that drug, I’m throwing a party.
If I’m still alive, that is.
(Some morbid humor. Bah ha!)
I leave you with a warning. If the next time you see me, I grab your hand and say “Feel how hard these are, just feel it!” as I force you to touch a boob that was previously off-limits (many of you have already fallen victim to this behavior) - just try to remember that, in my own warped way, I’m only trying to get a little empathy. Or maybe to educate a bit more. Or maybe just to share my fascination with what my body is capable of enduring. Or maybe all of the above, with a dash of “That Yvonne has no boundaries!” thrown in.
My apologies.
And my love.
xoYvonne
- A River Runs Through It
Another week, another couple of needles in my chest. Fun fun!
Old cleavage: Like the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon. . . narrow, deep and dark.
New cleavage: Like the Hudson River near the Palisades. . .wide, shallow and very sunny.
The only thing I’m even attempting to “embrace” lately is my new reality. Big, hard, fake bocce balls where my breasts used to be.
Remember when I couldn’t lift my arms after the surgery? Now I can’t put them down. These expanders reach well under my armpits. Bizarre.
And since I can’t lay on my back (gravity pulls) or my sides (swollen) or my stomach (as if!) - my recliner is my new heaven.
But I get by with a little help from my friends. Yeah. Yeah! My friends rock.
Yesterday’s expansion killed, but last week was really just lovely on so many fronts.
After a wonderful weekend away with some college girlfriends at a spa at the end of September (cocktails and compliments, gotta love old girlfriends) and a relatively painless week since I downgraded to only 60cc’s of saline per side. . .last weekend was the Race for the Cure in Albany. Over 40 people signed up to run or walk for “Yvonne’s Team - Blackbirds for Boobies"! It was quite moving and a great reminder of all the fabulous people I grew up with in Voorheesville. They inspired me to even run the 5K, which I finished in 36 minutes - woohoo! Then I did the 2 mile family walk, and then I came home and slept for 3 hours! “Overwhelmed” isn’t a good enough word to describe how that outpouring of support made me feel. . .
(Just two examples of how my friends rock.)
Family is pretty cool too. Case in point: My 75 year old dad walked with the girls, Mark and I, and then even partied with us that night.
My goal is to be like him someday: 75 and not taking a pill.
This week has been spent trying to wrangle an appointment down at Sloane Kettering for a second opinion on the adjuvant therapy front.
Not sure I need to go all the way down there for a case like mine. . . so I’m figuring it out.
I’m still a bit confused on the radiation issue, as this is the first time since my diagnosis that I am getting differing opinions from my doctors.
Is it worth the leathered skin, brittle ribs, scarred lungs and possible heart damage just to zap any cancer cells that MAY remain, even after such radical surgery? Gotta tell you, I’m not yet convinced. So, off I go to try to see more doctors.
The more I learn, the more I realize that every cancer is different. . . even just amongst breast cancer.
Cancer. It’s like a full time job. Sigh.
I think God knew I had a break in my schedule. “Hey, the renovations are done and Yvonne isn’t in a show this fall. . . let’s see how she handles this! You know how she hates down time!”
I was fighting tough last week. Feeling good, feeling good. That all you got in ya, God? ‘Cause this isn’t even scratching the surface of what I can handle. Bring it on , Bring It On!!!
OK, Yvonne, 60 more cc’s per boob. Hurt much? How tough are ya now that you can’t sleep and can barely breathe?
Sorry God. I’ll stay humble. Attitude of gratitude. Got it.
Off to do some of Leigh’s yoga stretches to ward off lymphedema in my left arm. And nap. Oh, a nap!
I’ll say it again. . . my friends rock.
Peace out–
xo Yvonne
- All My Kids
Hi all-
In case you are interested in seeing my chest make its last professional appearance (OK- not really, I’m in messy scrubs and look like I’ve been delivering babies all night - not glamorous)–
Anyway, the All My Children episodes I shot as “Dr. Rydell” - the new OB/GYN at Pine Valley Hospital - will air starting tomorrow:
Thursday 9/11
Friday 9/12
Monday 9/15
Tuesday 9/16
They are fairly unimpressive from an acting stand point - I seem to remember a lot of “stand there, hold this clipboard, and look concerned” but I had a good time being on a soap set again.
All My Children is on ABC, usually at 1PM.
That’s it for now, but they told me I’d be back if they needed me, so here’s hoping someone else in Pine Valley gets knocked up or needs a hysterectomy or something.
Peace out. . .
xo Yvonne - Beautiful Betraying Breasts
Two MRI assisted needle biopsies today. That was not fun, let me tell you. Long talk with radiologist. Nothing confirmed until next Wednesday when the pathology is back from the lab. But she’s pretty sure the right breast just has a fibroid. The left, however, she’s 99% sure is cancer. Sigh. Now I need to find a surgeon, she says. Not saying anything to my family until next week’s lab results, but thought you should know. Long road ahead for me it seems. Sigh. Did I sigh already? And wouldn’t I get diagnosed with breast cancer in August when all the surgeons are on vacation? haha
xo Yvonne - Bocce Balls
Hello to all my fabulous peeps. . .
Tough week behind me, I’m not gonna lie.
Last Thursday’s expansion left me in chronic discomfort and very Motrin-dependant until this Tuesday. But as Fernando Lamas (and then Billy Crystal) famously said, “It is better to look good than to feel good". . . which leads me to this week’s observation:
People who see me for the first time since my diagnosis tend to react in one of two ways. Either they are so shocked that I don’t look wan and pale that they incredulously exclaim “Wow! You look so good!” and I feel like I should moan in pain or something so they don’t think they’ve wasted too much energy on prayers for my recovery. . .or, they see that I seem to be fine and conclude that the worst must be over and this cancer is beat. This latter reaction is usually followed by a strong hug and a change of subject.
While neither reaction is my reality, I find lots of humor in the irony of both.
Yeah, I guess I look pretty good. But whenever someone says I do, I honestly fight the urge to lift my shirt, expose my jagged scars and the oddly shaped lumps where my breasts used to be and say “Tell me how good I look now, why dontcha?". OK, I’ve actually done that a few times. Sorry. More often, I’ve been known to force people to feel my bocce balls (thanks to injectable saline, they’ve been promoted from Tupperware lids by now) and acknowledge how insanely hard they indeed are. I’m not proud of this behavior, mind you. And really, I’m flattered that people still think I look good. But c’mon, did you think I would let cancer be my excuse to show up to a single doctor’s visit without doing my damndest to look fabulous? I showed up to my bone scan looking like I was invited out to dinner instead of being asked to lay perfectly still for 15 minutes while a machine was lowered dangerously close to my powdered nose. Today at the plastic surgeon’s, Dr. Jeff even noticed that I’d changed my hair! I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I’d done it for my first meeting with Dr. Todd, my radiation oncologist who I was meeting later in the day. You heard me right. . . I curled my hair special for a new doctor.
But here’s the thing. And it works. If I do my best to look good, then it becomes easier for me to convince myself that I feel good as well. It’s easier to laugh (even when you are sitting in an office being told you should do the radiation you were hoping to avoid – which happened to me today) when you feel confident. When I look good, I feel confident. And confidence is what gives me a good attitude. And my attitude is what is going to beat this cancer. And I am going to beat this cancer. . . so if I have to put on some lip gloss and wear a new outfit to get there, then that is what I’m gonna do. Because make no mistake, cancer is a real drag. It is at its best, uncomfortable. . . and at its worst, scary and painful. And my reality is that this fight is not over yet.
So get this people: the other day I bought a strapless dress. A strapless dress! It’s the bocce ball bonus! I haven’t worn anything strapless since that unfortunate tube top I had back in 1978. Now my goal is to find a reason to wear it. . .
Today was my 15th wedding anniversary. . . and four people have either seen or touched my chest - and none of them have been Mark.
I’m gonna go upstairs now and see if I can fix that travesty. . .
Heartfelt love to you all. Truly.
xo Yvonne
PS - If you are in the Capital District, tune in to Benita Zahn’s Health Report during the 5 o’clock news on Channel 13 (NBC) tomorrow (Friday). Earlier in the week, she was here interviewing me, Mark and the girls re: the Susan Koman Race for the Cure. We talked a lot about breast cancer diagnosis/treatment for pre-menopausal women like me.
“The aim of life is to live and to live means to be aware.
Joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware.”
Henry Miller
- Bummers and Bonus'
Cancer Bummer: Being treated for cancer during “Breast Cancer Awareness Month” means I can’t even go to the grocery store without being reminded of my own mortality.
Cancer Bonus: I’ve never been this trendy before!
Today I got some good news: The results from a blood test I took a few weeks ago called a BRACAnalysis came in. Happily, I do not have the “cancer gene” that would make me (and my siblings) more susceptible to certain cancers. (Especially the ovaries).
Cancer Bummer: When before I might’ve worried about getting cancer someday, now I’ll never really know if or when it will return.
Cancer Bonus: If you have good neighbors (like I do) they will cook for you.
Today I met with Dr. Gina, my oncologist. She’s pretty cool. Radiation is still on the table as an option. She made one call and got me in at Dana Farber in Boston for a second opinion. (I have an appt. scheduled for November at Sloane in NYC, but it’s not with the doctor I want. . .)
Here’s how it works. Docs consider three main things before recommending radiation:
1. Lymphatic involvement. (n/a)
2. Good/bad margins. (mine were good, over 2 cm.)
3. Tumor size. Over 5 cm? (Here’s my stickler. Remember, I had drastic surgery b/c my tumor was a whopping 5.1 cm.)
So even though I didn’t have 2 out of the three problems, my tumor size is throwing a wrench in the mix. But barely. And the clinical trial numbers reflect women of any age (mostly older) and of any grade tumor (mine was low) and with any combination of the above concerns.
So you can see where this decision can be confusing. In the end, it will be up to me. It’s tough.
Cancer Bummer: Becoming a statistic can rob you of your individuality.
Cancer Bonus: I like the attention, though. . .
I had what (hopefully) will be my last expansion today. Dr. Jeff was wonderfully calm as I grilled him about the intricacies of silicone breast implants. Then I had 40ccs injected per side. Not nearly as painful as last Thursday, which left me whimpering in pain the entire night. The new pain meds don’t hurt, no pun intended. . .
Cancer Bummer: Though there is a lot of information out there, sometimes you can’t find the specific answers you are looking for. Cancer research for self advocacy feels like graduate school all over again.
Cancer Bonus: I’m learning a lot, and have met a lot of doctors. Doctors are smart people. I like smart people.
I am still in physical therapy, which basically involves soft tissue massage. Several times a week I lay topless on a table and get my fake boobs rubbed by a girl named Kary. There is no longer any shame. No shame at all. But Kary says my “fascia is responding well” and I have (so far) no “capsular contractions". It’s the small things, people!
Cancer Bummer: At the moment, my breasts have been robbed of their sexuality.
Cancer Bonus: Remember that 5K I ran last week? No bra. No bra at all.
On the creative front.
Thought it would be fun to try to get on the Ellen Show in LA to tell a bit of my story.
I submitted a short essay. If you want to lend your help, go to this link:
http://ellen.warnerbros.com/show/respond/?PlugID=109
If you click “Know someone who’d be perfect for this? Pass it on” and enter your e-mail, it would show your support.
Wrote a monologue about this phase of my healing for a show at Russell Sage created by my good friend Leigh Strimbeck. It will be performed by another friend (and excellent actress) Shannon Rafferty. The show is called Mirror Mirror. If you’d like to see it, I’ve attached the poster! One weekend only - but there is an additional Sunday matinee on 10/26 not listed on the poster (I’ll be there then!)
Finally, next Monday I have a big audition down in NYC for a lead guest star on a popular TV show.
Since all of your karma is helping me so much, can I play the cancer card here? New mantra: “Cast Yvonne"!
Cancer Bummer: For reasons both physical and sensory, it is now nearly impossible to shave my armpits. I’ve become a careful contortionist in order to not look like a gypsy.
Cancer Bonus: Playing the cancer card. (See above)
I probably won’t write next Thursday, as it is my birthday and I’ll be in NYC with Mark.
Heartfelt love all around.
xo Yvonne
- Cancer Update
Hi ya’ll!
Lot’s of good news this week:
Bone scan and CT scan were clean for malignancy spread. WooHoo.
And my bloodwork and hormone levels are all good, too.
More pathology came back reinforcing that my tumor cells are Grade 1 and non-aggressive and have a “low proliferation rate". Yay!
Bad news is the tumor is large, invasive and infiltrative - meaning it has no clear margins. So, mastectomy is really the only way to go for me.
Hold me in the light on August 27th - that’s when I have my first surgery. We are all hoping that my lymph nodes will be clean, which I won’t know until after the first operation. If this is the case, I have a small shot at NO adjuvant therapy - which in English means. . . maybe no chemo!
Then let the re-building begin!
Thank you all for your wonderful e-mails and calls!!!
Big kisses-
xoYvonne - Devil Dodge
Two thoughts:
WHEW! and
THANK YOU!
The WHEW is because today I found out that I had a, yes folks, a LOW Oncotype Score!
The THANK YOU is because all the chanting, praying, visualizing and general good vibes out there focused on my recovery are so obviously helping. Thank you!
So, My Oncotype score was an 11 out of 100. Remember, I was shooting for a score less than 20!
Basically, an oncotype score is reached by testing the expression of certain genes within my specific tumor. It provides an individual, quantitative assessment of the likelihood of disease recurrence. . . and is helpful in determining if the stress of chemotherapy on my body would be worth it. Would doing chemo affect the likelihood of systemic recurrence for my type of tumor? The answer, a resounding NO! WooHoo!
Turns out I had a big, dumb, pretty tumor!
Big: why it necessitated a mastectomy. . .
Dumb: it hadn’t yet figured out how to become lymphatic and kill me. . .
Pretty: It looked a lot like normal cells (Grade 1) which is why it could hide for so long.. .
(Thank God it wasn’t smart and ugly, trust me on this. . .)
I’m thrilled in a cautious way - I will still go down to Sloan Kettering for a second opinion. And I will still have to go on a drug called Tamoxifen for around 5 years. Tamoxifen is an estrogen blocker, (an orally active selective estrogen receptor modulator, to be clear) as my tumor needed estrogen to grow. The goal is to starve out any remaining “rogue” cells.
I still look like a science project has gone awry on my chest, but it is thrilling to know that there is an end in sight to the wonkiness and general discomfort.
New mantra: Boobies by Christmas! The hard, Tupperware lids I’m sporting right now are simply not acceptable. . .yuck.
Bless you all. . .
xox Yvonne - Feelings, oh oh oh feelings. . .
So today in the car, driving back from my appointment at Dana Farber Cancer Center in Boston, I was talking to Mark about. . . well, we talk about everything, but basically about how I was feeling. Because when it comes right down to the next phase of my treatment, that’s going to be the big question: How’re you feeling about this, Yvonne?
There were no definitive answers to be found at Dana Farber. As I sort-of expected. The doctors I met (Dr. Rachel and Dr. Ian) were lovely and smart and patient and gave me lots of their time. What should I do as far as adjuvant treatment? Tell me, I wanna know! But here’s the thing. With my specific pathology, there’s no real, definitive answer.
I wouldn’t be crazy to want to do chemo.
But I wouldn’t be crazy not to.I wouldn’t be crazy to want to get radiation.
But I wouldn’t be crazy not to.I wouldn’t be crazy to want to stop my ovaries from producing estrogen.
But I wouldn’t be crazy not to.Do I attack, guns-a-blazing, or do I stay calm and “First, do no harm.”
The only solid thing I do know is that I would be a bit crazy
not to take a five year dose of Tamoxifen. But Dr. Gina and I’d figured that out already. Remember, my tumor was classified as ER/PR positive. In laymen’s terms, that means that my type of tumor needs certain hormones to grow - primarily estrogen. The side effects of Tamoxifen are usually pretty benign.Here’s a brush-up course:
1.) Breast cells have special receptors on their surface, and these act as the eyes and ears of the breast cell. When something binds to them, the message tells the cells to turn something on or off.2.) Many breast cancer cells have receptors to the hormones estrogen (ER+) and/or progesterone (PR+).
3.) ER+ and PR+ cancer cells like to have those hormones around to grow. In essence, the hormones can spur them on. . . allow them to duplicate and “do their thing” - like take over!
4.) Hormone therapy is a type of systemic cancer treatment used to treat hormone sensitive breast cancer. Tamoxifen is a drug called a SERM, or “selective estrogen receptor modulator.” SERMs work by blocking the message center of the cell so the hormone can’t get into the cell. If the hormone can’t get inside the cell, then it is hard for the cancer to keep growing. We then hope any rogue cancer cells shrivel up and die, bitches, die!
Now, there is another group of drugs called AIs, or “aromatase inhibitors". These are better for post-menopausal women, as they pretty much stop the body from producing estrogen altogether. No hormones there to block, get it? (To simplify: a SERM blocks the absorbtion of certain hormones. An AI stops the hormones from being produced in the first place). Only for someone my age, no hormones means. . . Hello! Early menopause! I’ve already gotten fairly personal in these e-mails, so I won’t get into those lovely side-effects. We’ll just stick to the above the board topic of bone density loss. If you’re really interested about menopause and just looking in the mirror doesn’t do the trick, I’m sure you could turn to any woman of a “certain age” and get down and personal with her. But me? I’m not crazy about pushing that particular envelope.
So here we are back to “How do you feel, Yvonne"?
The answer to that, before my diagnosis, was a resounding “Better than I’ve felt in years!”
The answer to that today (since the cramping from my last expansion has stopped and I’m learning how to sleep in a bed again) is “Better than I’ve felt in two months!”
And how do I feel about treatments that I know will affect my quality of life right now, but may (there’s the key word - may) improve my chances for no recurrence? Because basically, I could go nuclear on myself right now, and still get a recurrence. No guarantees. Or I could do the minimal and get no recurrence. No guarantees. They just don’t know.
How do you feel, Yvonne?You know, I’ve never been one to over medicate. That’s just me. I don’t do drugs. I don’t drink to excess. I don’t even manage to take a vitamin regularly. When I look in that mirror, that’s the woman I see. I’m the anti-hypochondriac. Maybe that’s why Woody Allen won’t cast me? I dunno.
So, I’m thinking on it. I’m thinking on it.
Blessings,
xoY - Halleluiah!
Great news this morning!
My lymph node biopsy reports came in this morning, and my surgeon has informed me that they were all CLEAN! This is great news because it means the cancer has most likely not spread to the rest of my body, or metastasized elsewhere.
Other (sort-of) good news was that my tumor was nearly double the size they originally thought (a big honking 5.1 cm - did my boobs do anything on a small scale???) so I definitely made the right decision with the mastecomies. Whodda thunk I could hide a tumor that size for so long, eh? OK, get your jokes out now…
I must now wait a week to meet with my oncologist, and get something called an Oncotype DX test (http://www.breastcancer.org/treatment/chemotherapy/new_research/20060126.jsp)
to determine if Chemotherapy will help me or not. The size of my tumor is still a concern in determining my adjuvant (meaning: post surgical) therapy.
Obviously, I feel like all the positive energy out there is helping me keep a positive outlook here. . . so again - THANK YOU for your concern, thoughts and prayers!
Meanwhile, I feel better daily - hoping to get these annoying drains out soon so I can dress normally again!
xoxox Yvonne (& family) - Have I Ever Been This Busy?
HI everyone.
It’s Sunday night - my first day off in a week - been rehearsing 10-6 daily for the New Play Festival at Proctors. (What do my kids look like again?) My head is often spinning, but happily, we’ve been getting lots of press - in the Times Union wknd. section Thursday, and a big photo of the cast was in yesterday’s Schenectady Gazette. I have especially been enjoying the work on a new play called “General Desdemona". The playwright, Egan Reich, has been very collaborative with us and the director, Kevin Maguire. Cuts, re-writes, changes in character and blocking. . . wow,we’ve all really had to stay on our toes! But I do believe it has shaped up into a really powerful play. I am especially impressed with my cast-mates, they have really raised the bar for me. Everyone is so good. . .
Please visit the Proctors website for tickets and information, and do come!
www.proctors.org/events/1460
I have a smaller role in “Battles of the Band", and it has been a completely different experience in every way! Contemporary language, and a band right on stage. . . never had to play a scene over a rock ‘n roll band before. . . feels like college all over again. . .But there are some younger actors in that play that are really stepping up their game.
Looking forward to hearing from any of you who manage to catch the show(s). We are open through April 27.
Best-
Yvonne - Hello from Webmaster
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- Indeflatable Me
I’ve decided to name my fat, dumb blonde tumor “Amber". And no, I’m not trying to offend any Ambers out there (though it does sound appropriate) . . .but did you ever see that jewelry made from yellow rocks with pre-historic bugs fossilized inside? That’s amber. That’s also what my MRI looked like on the day I first realized I had something large and spindly crawling around in my breast tissue. Fat Amber, the dumb blonde tumor.
More on cancer Amber later.
Thursdays seem to be the days I visit a certain Jeff Rockmore, MD - plastic surgeon extraordinaire . . . who also happens to be a HS friend of mine. As luck has it, he’s one of the most talented breast reconstructive surgeons north of NYC, and I think I may have actually danced with him at my Junior Prom. Now I tease him that his Voorheesville reputation is on the line, as he is the man in charge of making my chest look presentable again. Dare I ask for fabulous? I’m asking.
Some of you have expressed a bit of confusion regarding some of my treatment references in previous e-mails, so I thought I’d clear a few things up. If you aren’t interested, feel free to stop reading (fair warning) and know that I’m progressing nicely.
Cari, my physical therapist (also originally from Voorheesville - what was in the water out there?) has told me I’m a poster girl for mastectomy and reconstruction recovery. But most of you know I’m a bit competitive. Just don’t ask me to do any yoga moves yet. Up dog, not. I digress. .
Anyway. What’s with the “Tupperware lids” comments, you may wonder. Well, I’ll tell you.
My surgery 4 weeks ago had two main parts to it.
First, (Hello Dr. Suzanne) I had a modified radical mastectomy, including the removal of 6 lymph nodes, on my left side. This is where Amber lived and grew. This is where I am still swollen and numb. F%$@ you, Amber! On the right, I had a prophylactic mastectomy. My biopsy on that side revealed only a benign fibro adenoma. But I did have cysts and other stuff growing over there that gave me pause. So buh-bye.
Second, I had the first stage of my reconstructive surgery. (Hello Dr. Jeff!) This involved cutting into my pectoralis and serratus muscles to create a pocket for my tissue expanders. The tissue expanders look sort of like a bigger version of a deflated implant. They have a magnetic valve in the front. Their job is to slowly stretch out portions of my muscular wall and remaining skin so that eventually ("Boobies by Christmas", remember?) I will be able to hold an implant. This is the aspect of my surgery that made it hard to breathe when I woke from my anesthesia. Turns out you need those pectoral muscles to breath right. Who knew?
Sounds comfy, doesn’t it? Wait, it gets better. Now I go see Dr. Jeff every Thursday and get what is called “an expansion". Today I had my third expansion. This intriguing process begins with a nurse using a miniature stud finder to find the magnet in the valve of my expanders. Once she finds the valve, she comes at me with a gi-gundus syringe filled with saline. I try not to look. After 90 ccs of saline are injected into each side, it’s like fast-forwarding through 4 months of puberty. I’m back to a c-cup already! Too bad they are shaped like deformed footballs and are hard as rocks. Motrin is my very dear friend. Say it with me again, people: Boobies by Christmas! I’ve taken to fantasizing about sleeping on my stomach. Oh, remember those days? Again, I digress…
So, after my 6th expansion, I will have to live with my fun rock boobs for 2 months or so until my muscles lose some of their elasticity. Then I get my second surgery when Dr. Jeff will work his magic and give me my silicone implants. Hopefully they will look and feel a tad more natural than my tupperware.
Did that sound gross? Little bit TMI? Make ya squirm?
Well, I haven’t even mentioned the nipples yet. . .(OK, I’m gonna stop!)
Meanwhile, if you see me. . . hug me gently!
Fondly fondly fondly-
xo Yvonne - Is February Over Yet?
Welcome to the last week of February. Whew.
After a fairly disasterous cruise last week on the Disney Magic (don’t get me started), my family and I have settled back into our much more relaxing home. Suffice it to say, we like things calm and running on schedule. . . and minus all the soda and fried food. At least we got warm last week - it sure is snowing here today!
I had a surprisingly busy week.
Found out today I was cast in the New Play Festival performing at Theatre 440, next door to the main theatre at Proctors in Schenectady. I’ll be playing roles in both “General Desdemona” and “Battle Of The Bands” - both world premieres. I’m delighted to be working on these plays, and also with Kevin McGuire again. He directed me last fall at Hubbard Hall in his production of “The Elephant Man". The plays open in the middle of April. . . you can find out more about the schedule by visiting: http://www.proctors.org/places/440
I was also cast in “The Grass is Greener” at Oldcastle Theatre Company in Bennington, VT. If you’ve seen the 1960 movie on cable, I’ll be playing Hattie, the Jean Simmons role. Fun. Eric Peterson will be directing. I last worked with Eric when I played Rosmary in his production of “Picnic” in the fall of 2006.
I’ve also been getting lots of e-mails from fellow UAlbany alums from both far and wide, as their spring 2008 issue of UALbany Magazine just came out, which highlights graduates in the entertainment industry. I did the interview months ago, and had nearly forgotten about it - but I hear they gave me a full page - woo hoo It’s been cool to hear about some unexpected people catching it. You can read the article online at: http://www.albany.edu/pr/magazinenew.shtml
Just click on the That’s Entertainment link.
Spent several hours last night working with Mike Fuerstien on editing my new reel - which is kind of like the sports equivalant of “highlights” of what I’ve been up to lately. My old agents in NYC, Don Buchwald & Co., have requested one. Yes, I’m considering doing some TV work in New York again. We’ll see if anything pans out. When I get the new reel done, I’ll be sure to post it on my website, and I’d welcome your feedback!
Next weekend, Mark and I are traveling to Miami together (for his business - and no kids this time!) - where I’ll get to catch up with several college friends and see “Spamalot” again. My friend Paula is in the national tour. . . if it’s coming to your town and you haven’t seen it yet, GO!!!
OK - there are kids that need to be tucked in.
Until next month - peace!
xo Yvonne - Lucky Decision #1
As I said, I wanted to write a bit about how these last few months all came about. . .
This past June, for some business reasons totally unrelated to my health, I needed to get a physical. I was feeling great. My regular doctor was cutting back on her schedule, and couldn’t see me until the end of October. So I decided to get myself a new doctor, and found one that could see me a week later. Lucky decision #1. I remember joking with him while he was listening to my lungs, “Hey, I bet I’m the most boring patient you have.” As I anticipated, the exam went without incident. He was a “he", so I skipped the female exam stuff. Save it for the OB/GYN, right? But before I left, I asked him to order me a mammogram and ultrasound.
“But you just had both 14 months ago” he said, “and you’re only 41.”
“Yes, but my grandmother died of breast cancer at age 36. I want to stay on top of this.”
“Do you feel a lump you’re concerned about?”
“No, but self exams are hard for me to judge with my fibro cystic breasts,” I replied.
“And why the ultrasound?”
“Well, I have dense breast tissue that makes my mammograms difficult to read.”
He agreed. There is a difference between being a hypochondriac and knowing your own body. A good doctor can tell the difference. - Lucky Decision #2
July 17th. I have my routine mammogram and ultrasound scheduled at Imagecare in Latham, NY. My last two were done at St. Peter’s Hospital Breast Center, but Imagecare was in the same building as my new doctor - so I decided to go there instead. Lucky decision #2. My mammogram went without incident. I then proceeded to the ultrasound room, where a technician named Cynthia Hamilton awaited me. Remember Cindy’s name, I know I forever will. She’s the wonder woman who saved my life.
So, as Cindy squirts gel on my boobs and gently but thoroughly passes her magic wand over me, we make small talk about what she sees and how she sees it. Most people have seen an ultrasound image of a fetus in the womb. . ."Look at the baby!” . . .remember how proud you were to be able to pick out even a foot? “I see the head - that’s the head, right?” Well, the images made by a breast ultrasound aren’t nearly as interesting. Lots of gray fuzz. OOooooh! There’s a cyst! Oh, and another! Wow, three cysts! Three round peas in my right breast were about as exciting as it got. I grilled Cindy on how she knew that they were only cysts. Something about their color and shape and stability. Anyway, she took pictures of my pea-cysts, and I trusted her.Cindy passed over both breasts twice. “I like to go two times, just to be thorough.” Go Cindy. Eventually I noticed that she was spending a lot of time on my left breast. But there were no peas to see on the screen. “I’ll be right back", Cindy said. So I laid there in my gown and tried not to feel too chilly. Five minutes passed. Then one of the most beautiful young Indian women I’ve ever seen in a white coat entered with Cindy. Say hello to Rupal Chopra, DO. Specializing in radiology. Very young and pretty. “Whassup?” I ask. They murmured. Murmur murmur. More gel. More passes over my left breast. More of nothing but fuzz on the computer screen. The grey fuzz started to bore me. I started to pass the time by staring jealously at Rupal Chopra’s beautiful long brown fingers typing away at the keyboard of the ultrasound machine. Why can’t my fingers be that slender? And her nailbeds, ooph. Lovely. La dee da dee da.
They both left the room. Now I realize they were consulting my mammogram images. . . but at the time I was just left to shiver in my gown and look at the bad art on the wall. Did they get that poster at TJMaxx?
When they returned, they went back to my right breast. My right? Wah La! Look at that (much bigger) pea. How did Cindy miss that one? And back to my left breast again. La dee da.
Finally, I got fed up. Surely an ultrasound shouldn’t take this long? Cindy and Dr. Chopra said there was a “slight change in the shade of grey over here", but they couldn’t find it for long enough to get a clear picture. They looked confused. I’ll say it. . . they looked stumped. But then again, maybe they were trying to stay calm for my benefit. Anyway, I ended up with an appointment for a breast MRI a week later. “Let’s try to get a clearer picture, shall we?” - Mounting Confusion
I’ve been knee deep in research on my type of cancer, and though I won’t know certain things until after more tests (I have a bone scan and a CT scan scheduled for Wednesday, and plan to have certain hormone and genetic blood tests done - also, I won’t know for sure if the cancer has spread further until after my lymph nodes are biopsied during my surgery) – but I’m confidant that because I caught this so early I may avoid certain troubles… my pathology sounds very similar to the type of breast cancer Sheryl Crow had (invasive, but stage I) - and she didn’t end up having to do chemo!! That’s what I’m hoping for. . .
Anyway, my first surgery (which will be a lumpectomy and lymph excision) will be 2-4 weeks from now. Then I’m probably looking at some reconstructive surgery to both breasts (my tumor is “T2″, between 2-5 centimeters) - to - you know - even them out again. Good thing I’ve got tissue to spare, right? ;-) But maybe not - again, depends on what they find.
I’m just grateful for all the advances in breast cancer research/treatment in the last 10 years. . . it’s made me feel confidant that my outlook is good. Just, like I said, a big pain in the ass (boob?) for a while.
Oh well, if I have to replace them with fake ones, maybe they will stop growing! (sigh!!)
I’m going to wake up from surgery and have lost my entire identity. Will just have to forge a new one (ones??)Love to all of you-
xoYvonne
PS My All My Children episodes will air TH-FR 9/11 and 12, and M-T 9/15 and 16. I’m there a lot in the scripts, but don’t say a hell of a lot, so don’t expect anything too spectacular…!! - New Prayer
OK, folks, get the word out. . .
All the prayers for no lymph node involvement seemed to work, so here’s my next request. . .
I’m getting my tumor tissue analyzed in some lab out west for a test called an “Oncatype DX” - which can tell if my type of tumor’s recurrence can be helped by chemotherapy. If I get a score below 20 (out of 100) then that means, NO CHEMO!!!
So, here’s our new mantra – “Low Oncatype Score"!! Say it with me now!
Test results are due around the 18th.
My right drain got pulled out yesterday and wah la! I can nearly use my right arm again! I hope to get my left drain out (that’s the side that had the cancer, and where they removed lymph nodes) on Thursday morning, when I will also hopefully get my sutures removed and my first “inflation” - woohoo! These T-Rex arms are pretty useless. I’d like my range of motion back without fear of a hard plastic straw jabbing me in the ribs. Nice.
My good friend Dino Petrocelli came here Saturday morning to take some photos, as I am thinking of doing some writing about my cancer experience. There’s not nearly enough writing/research/testing/drugs aimed towards us pre-menopausal (i.e.: young) women with breast cancer. He took a great photo of me with my Jackson Pratt drains. Mmmm, pretty! (not!)
I’ll try to post it - but it’s on my Facebook page.
Love the good karma coming at me in waves. I’m feeling it. . . THANK YOU!
xo Yvonne - Non-Radioactive!
Hiya folks!
Good news tonight- I just got off the phone with Dr. Rinaa at Dana Farber in Boston. My case was presented today in front of all the radiation oncologists specializing in breast cancer (called a “Tumor Board", remember?) - and upon further review, they concluded that there was no real evidence of lympho-vascular invasion on my slides. These were the exact same slides examined by St. Peter’s here in Albany, but with differing results. As a result of these clarified findings, and combined with all the other pathology from my case, the opinion at Dana Farber is to “lean away” from radiation therapy.
That being said, I could still decide to get radiated, and no doctor would think I was crazy. (Well, with the possible exception of Dr. Jeff, because of how radiation could affect my reconstruction results. . .) But I think most of you could tell from my previous e-mails that I am hesitant to radiate. And what I’ve learned is . . .
-Find a team of doctors that you trust. It will save you a lot of running around.
-If you think a doctor is not paying attention to you as a person. . .(i.e.: Dr. Todd, the radiation oncologist here in Albany). . .don’t let “all that running around” keep you from getting the information you need. There are times when a second opinion is warranted.
I, for one, am much more confidant in my decision not to radiate after hearing what the doctors at Dana Farber had to say. And guess what? I’m right where my general oncologist, Dr. Gina (right here in Troy), said I would be weeks ago. “I don’t think you’ll have to radiate.” Go, Dr. Gina!
Am I a trailblazer? Am I bucking the medical trends? Am I being reckless?
As intriguing as all of the above sounds. . . ummm, no I’m not.
But it’s sure nice to know my gut was right on this one!
xoYvonne
- Post Surgery #1
Hi guys!
Niki seems to be the only one I can catch on the phone (BTW, thanks all for NOT calling - I’m sleeping weird hours and the phone wakes me…) so thought I’d send out another e-mail—-
The surgery, I’m told, went well. But I had a very bad reaction to the anesthesia, so let’s just say I hope never to repeat Wednesday. Blech. But I was released first thing Thursday morning and have finally been able to rest, which is priceless.
I’m pretty boobless, which must mean pigs will fly soon and the world has stopped turning.. In three weeks the inflating will begin, woohoo.
Meanwhile, I’m asking for positive thoughts re: my lymph node pathology - won’t know ‘til next week what those reports say, but I am SO hoping the nodes are “clean"!!!
Meanwhile, I have lots of neighbors helping with the girls and my mom is like the gestapo – barring the door and answering the phone and cooking meals and just generally allowing me to rest and heal, and it seems to be working!
Guys, my next goal is making the Adelphi girls wknd in Sept., and if things keep going so well, I’ll be there with bells on and nipples off! haha!
Love you all-
xoYvonne
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