Yvonne Perry's Blog

Liver Spots

CANCER BONUS: It gives you a free pass to eat whatever you want during the stress of treatment. Delicious fun.
CANCER MYTH: All people with cancer shrivel to thinness.
CANCER BUMMER: My ass is huge!

Thursday, August 27th marked the one-year anniversary of my bilateral mastectomy surgery, and I’m happy to say that the date passed without notice. That is, until Friday, August 28th, when I was on the phone with St. Peter’s Hospital to pre-register for today’s CT Scan.
“Oh, you had surgery yesterday?” The woman asked.
“Noooooo, no surgery yesterday that I know of. . .”
(Small giggle) “Oh, that was last year!”

Ummm, yeah. Last year. And what a year. . .

I haven’t written in a while because, frankly, after the freakishness of last summer I was determined to enjoy this one. And I have. Wasting time on Facebook. Hanging by the pool with my kids. Hosting BBQs. Traveling to see friends. Jogging on the beach without a bra. (Yep, they still don’t move!) Stuff like that. It’s been great.
But those breezy days came to a screeching halt this week, when not only did school at UAlbany start again, but I had to go in for my scheduled “one year later” Pelvis/Abdomen/Chest CT Scan. Laying there on that table with those laser beams spinning around my torso, I tried to stay chill.
Whoosh! The contrast entered my veins and flooded my bladder with heat. Just chill. . .
I pretended I was playing a patient in an episode of “House".
Then reality reared it’s ugly head, and I amended my fantasy and pretended I was doing an industrial film for GE. Much more likely. . .

Today’s CT scan will be compared to the one I had right before my surgery, and will check for metastases. Last year, there was an aggravating spot on my liver, and despite my doctor’s assurance that “everyone has spots somewhere", I’m a trifle nervous. Breast cancer just loves to spread to the liver. So I wait for my test results and pretend this drama is all just make-believe.

Hey, whatever gets you through the day, right?
Thanks for holding me in the light. . .
xoYvonne

Waking Up at Last!

Today was sunny and hot for April. My husband took off a few hours from work in the middle of the day, and we walked for miles through the neighborhood. Talking and laughing. When we got back home, we stripped off our clothes and jumped into our pool. The water was cold. Cape Cod ocean cold. It seemed like the silicone in my chest was freezing into two large ice cubes. Another thing that has changed about my body. The old boobs floated and bobbed freely. Swimming topless used to be like instant relief. But today in the pool , as I looked at my scarred, naked body and my solid, immovable new breasts. . . it was still difficult to feel badly.

My refrain: I’m alive! I’m alive! I’m alive!

As Mark and I shivered and dripped indoors, the heat from the air was matched only by the heat of our affection for each other. Only twenty minutes until the girls get off the bus. . .

I’m alive! I’m alive! I’m alive!

And though the reminders are all around me, everywhere. . . these last nine months often feel just like a dream. A scary dream. And I’m waking up now, I’m waking up.

I’m alive! I’m alive! I’m alive!

Pricker Nips

I’m done with my surgeries and it’s back to business as usual. Well, except for a curious phenomenon I refer to as “pricker nips", which involves stray dissolvable stitches that are not in a hurry to go anywhere. Ouch, watch out for the little cacti! Add something else to the list of things no one prepares you for. Oh, and the tattooing must wait until the fall, when the graft is fully healed and the “areola tattooing specialist” (yes, there is a woman out there who specializes in this!) comes up from New Jersey.

What a relief it is to know that there is (hopefully) no more imminent pain lurking just beyond the horizon. Turns out the grafts took amazingly well. When a very patient nurse cut off my bandages and removed my stitches last week, it seemed like Christmas morning. What’d I get? What’d I get? Wow! Just what I wanted!

I can’t really explain how different it feels to look “normal” again after so long. To step out of the shower and glance in the mirror and not see a freak I don’t recognize. I know that there are many women out there who choose to forgo this last surgery because the nipples provide no real practical purpose once your child-bearing years are over. But to me, there is a design element that simply cannot be ignored. They’re supposed to be there! I wanted them back. Psychologically, I needed them back – and even if I can no longer feel them, I’m indebted to Dr. Jeff for doing such a spectacular job.

Today I went bra shopping again. All those old hard-working bras I used to own are no longer needed now that my pectoral muscles are holding the silicone in place. But I do need to wear something to hide the new perk in my girls, if you know what I mean. As I wandered around the lingerie department at Macy’s, a nice older woman named Audrey asked me if I needed any help. Hell yes! I don’t even know what size I am anymore! But poor Audrey got confused. “Are they bigger now?” she asked, when I explained I’d just had surgery. “No, cancer.” I replied - and immediately felt bad when I saw her face fall. But she ended up being very helpful and even told me all about her breast reduction done at Childs Hospital years ago. Everybody has a story, and you can never forget that. . .

Meanwhile, I’m pretty busy again. Some of you already know that I was down in the city the day after my last surgery auditioning for Law & Order, Criminal Intent. Perhaps I was still giddy from the anesthesia, or perhaps just feeling invincible. . . but I booked a fun scene with Julianne Nicholson and Jeff Goldblum – a.k.a. Detectives Wheeler and Nichols. We filmed last Thursday, and the episode (titled “Passions") should air sometime in late May/early June. And no, I didn’t bash the skull of that girl in the alley. And yes, Jeff Goldblum is a quirky sweetheart. . . he was lovely to work with.

Also, I played “Burr’s Secretary” (sounds glamorous, huh?) in a movie called “Winter of Frozen Dreams” that shot here locally a few years ago. It is airing Friday night 4/3 at 8PM on the Lifetime Movie Network (not the Lifetime Channel) on TV. There are a number of other local actors in the film in smaller roles (like mine), so see who you can spot! Fun fact: the role of Burr was played by my friend Adam Ferrara, whom I worked with years ago on Candid Camera. You may have caught him this winter in “Paul Blart: Mall Cop". If you catch WOFD on Lifetime, feel free to laugh at the goofy glasses they made me wear – it was supposed to be the 70’s! Here’s a link to the trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vnQwS5LhHiw

If you don’t have cable or just really want to get out of the house Friday night (April 3) - then come on over to the Recital Hall at the University at Albany, where I’ll be narrating some of the libretto for Capital Opera’s The Marriage of Figaro, which I also helped to stage. Guess who sits on the board for Capital Opera? Yup, my very own Dr. Jeff. I wonder if it will be weird for him to see me in a real gown and not a hospital gown? Another HS friend of ours (Richard Mazzaferro) is singing the role of The Count. The show starts at 7:30, and tickets are $5-$10 - just call the Box Office at (518) 442-3997. The singers are unbelievable, trust me on this. Mozart, Italian, and fancy evening wear - how can you lose?

Saturday I’ll be in Saratoga all day filming a commercial for Saratoga Gaming and Raceway, and Sunday I’m shooting a scene in a short film directed by my friend Rich Lounello. Next week I’ll be shooting some more spots for Taft Furniture. So I guess it’s fair to say I’m back in the full swing of things! I’m basking in the light at the end of a very long tunnel, and the warmth is just lovely.

With deeply felt gratitude,

xoYvonne

My New Shamrocks

I remember years ago, when I was still on the soap, thinking that I just wanted a scene where I was in a hospital bed and had those little oxygen tubes up my nose. Don’t ask me why. . . I think I thought of those clear plastic tubes as a rite of passage into true daytime television. Like - I couldn’t ever claim to have been on a soap opera unless I had videotape of myself lying in a hospital bed to prove it. Oh, the drama!
Then came the storyline I’d been waiting for. My character got in a big car accident, and I was thrown from my vehicle. I was found unconscious and not breathing by the side of the road, and had to be resuscitated via mouth to mouth. Then my car exploded. It was all very dramatic. Sure enough, the next scene found me lying in a hospital bed. I’d finally earned my little oxygen tubes! Give me my oxygen tubes, I wasn’t breathing! But I was denied. Denied! No little oxygen tubes up my nose. In fact, I had an instantaneous recovery and was bouncing around on screen by the next episode. God, I was pissed.

Now, it’s hard for me to imagine even the idea of romanticizing being prone in a hospital bed.

Yesterday I was admitted into the ambulatory center at around two pm to get prepped for my final (hopefully!) surgery. I peed into the cup for the mandatory pregnancy test. I changed into the well-worn gown. I got my IV plugged into a vein in my arm. I put on my little hair cap. And I waited. I read about Julia Roberts in Allure magazine. Why isn’t that my life? And I waited. I chatted with the nurses who checked in on me (I know several of them by now, being such a repeat customer). And I waited.

And finally Dr. Jeff showed up.
He took out his Sharpie and drew on my fake breasts where my new fake nipples would be.
Couldn’t feel it. Surreal.
Then he drew on my hip where they would harvest the skin for the grafts.
I could feel that.
Then he left, and I hopped back onto my little hospital bed, with the wheels and the side gates.
And I waited.
It was almost four o’clock when the anesthesiologist finally came in. I remember saying to her “Look, either you’ve got to knock me out right now or give me a hamburger, because I am starving!” What’s with me and these late surgeries? It’s like torture!

So finally I got wheeled into the OR, and I got to see the big lights and the surgical equipment and the nurses in scrubs. I thought it was all pretty cool.
(But still no oxygen tubes up my nose. I’ve given up that dream.)

And then *poof* it was over and Mark was sitting by my side.
Dr. Jeff must’ve worked fast, because I was home by six o’clock!
My friend Nancy’s husband was just dropping off a big pan of baked ziti, and before I even said my “hellos” I had a fork in my hand and was chowing down without a dish. Then my mom served a big corn beef and cabbage dinner, which I also ate. And then I fell asleep.
And boy did I sleep!

So, today I still don’t feel a thing on my poor boobies. I’ve got these bandages that look like they’re rolled into a ball sutured right to my chest. They a sickly shade of yellow, I’m told because they’ve been treated with a petroleum solution that helps the graft to take. Did I mention that they are actually sewn onto me? Talk about weird.
But I still can’t feel them.

Now, my hip is another story. I’ve got a seven inch incision on my right hip, and those nerve endings are still doing there job, of that I am sure. Ouch! It’s been bleeding quite a bit, but I’m tough, I can take it. The hardest part is just leaving it alone. So I try not to think about it.

Was the surgery successful? I can’t tell yet. The official unveiling will be next Monday.
Meanwhile, I remain stitched, bandaged and bleeding. . . but still optimistic that my St. Patty’s Day shamrocks will be just what I ordered!

Top ‘o the mornin’ to ya!
Top ‘o the boobies to ya!
xoYvonne

Cancer Math

“To live every day as if it has been stolen from death, that is how I would like to live. To feel the joy of life. . .To separate oneself from the burden, the angst, the anguish that we all encounter every day. To say I am alive, I am wonderful, I am. I am. That is something to aspire to.”
From The Art of Racing In The Rain by Garth Stein

Who misses February, raise your hands, now? Anyone? Anyone at all?
Me, I’m sitting firmly on both of my hands. No wait, I’m typing with them. But they are definitely not raised. February Stunk with a capital S. And I’ve gotten so many nice e-mails wondering why I haven’t written in so long, and the short answer is “Well, I didn’t feel like whining. . . who wants to listen to me whining?” (Amazing how quickly a “good attitude” can abandon you when you are in constant pain.) So as it was, poor Mark and my Mom bore the brunt of my misery, though anyone who ran into me last month will attest that I gave new meaning to the words “spontaneous weeping”.

Well meaning friend: “Hi Yvonne! How are you feeling?”
Whiny Yvonne: “Oh, OK I guess” (cue weeping) “Well, my rib fucking hurts and I can’t sleep and I can’t poop and I move at the speed of a 90 year old and why oh why did this happen to meeeeee?”

Suffice to say it just wasn’t pretty.

In the end, it seems the bruised rib I last wrote about was some badly torn intercostales muscles under my left implant. It hurt like a mother for three solid weeks. I’m pretty sure it happened one night at a rehearsal less than a week after my exchange surgery. Lesson learned: give yourself time to rest after surgery, you idiot! But no, I had arranged to begin teaching again at UAlbany and rehearsing a staged reading for Theatre Voices the same week, and I just kept re-injuring myself. I spent February break lounging on the couch, and it wasn’t until then that my body finally started to heal.

Some cancer treatment math:

Inability to recline + lack of sleep = physical exhaustion (A)
Torn rib muscles + chronic pain = emotional exhaustion (
Numerous sedations + drug interactions + paralyzed peristalsis = bloody bowels and an emergency colonoscopy (C - that was fun, let me tell you)
A + B + C = spontaneous weeping

But now it is March, and my rib has finally healed (No more pain, but still moving slow. . .) and I can lay flat again (Hello, my dear bed! How I missed you!) And I don’t have colorectal cancer (Welcome Dr. Carla to my list of healthcare providers. . .) and all is nearly right with the world again.

Another reason I haven’t written: though I have obviously shown my lack of boundaries when it comes to discussing the details of my various “breast issues”, I learned that I draw the line at sharing details of my “butt issues”. I do have some boundaries after all! Aren’t you all proud of me? And glad I spared you? Glorious side effects. Collateral damage, if you will.

So now I come at last to the remaining surgical step to my reconstruction: areola graft and nipple reconstruction. Some of you have even asked me “Yvonne, they took your nipples too?” Yes, they take the nipples too. And it just makes sense. . . if breast cancer starts in the lobes or the ducts, and the lobes make milk and the ducts transport the milk – where do you dispose of the milk? Nipples, of course – they are all part of the reproductive organ of the breast. And if the cancer has spread into the fatty tissue of the breast (as mine did) and the whole shebang is sensitive to hormones, just like your tumor. . . .well then, it all has to go!

No breast tissue left + no recurrence = CURE
That’s the kind of cancer math where I want an A+

Now lots of women are just fine with spending the rest of their lives as nipple-less as a Barbie Doll. Hey, they even make nipple prostheses. If I wanted to, I could have had a mould made of my old nipples before the mastectomies. Yeah, ummm. . . that didn’t happen. So instead, I will have a slice of skin removed from my upper thigh. Dr. Jeff will then shape the skin into two circles and graft them onto my new boobies. Then he will do something called a “modified star flap nipple reconstruction” to simulate the bud of a nipple.
No, I said “simulate”, not “stimulate”. Sadly, those days are over. Geessh!

This is happening on Monday afternoon. It was supposed to happen on the 11th, but being the surgery-delay queen that I am, I postponed it so I could go to an audition in NYC on Wednesday.
In the end, I decided that after nearly seven months without nipples, what’s five more days?
The phone call I did not force my agents to make:

Yvonne’s agent: “Hello, ABC primetime casting? Yes, our client has a previously scheduled nipple reconstruction on Wednesday. Can she audition for your sit-com pilot some other time?”
ABC Casting: “No.”

So, my recuperation regimen for next week is to wear very loose clothing and not get my graft wet. No shower until the stitches come out. That should be exciting. Looking forward to it. Sigh.
Oh, and plenty of Metamucil.
Yours in boobage,
xoYvonne