Surprise, It's Cancer!

Life happens, when you are making other plans

  • MY JOURNEY
  • ABOUT ME
IMG_1808.JPG

The Saga Continues . . .

September 14, 2017 by Monique Bryan

The backstory of the vacuum attached to my boob, it sounds worse than it is, I promise.

1 week post abscess . . .

Since the eruption of the abscess it was a week full of anxiety and anxiousness I couldn’t pull myself out of. I was just so worried and kept checking the wound (like every 5 minutes) to see how it was doing. I felt like I had to constantly keep my mind occupied or I would continue to obsess about what was happening under my shirt. It made me sad, angry and frustrated and I was sure I was making myself crazy.

It’s been a while since I posted as I have been dealing with this abscess. It has been a roller coaster AGAIN!

This is what went down . . .

After the hematoma, I felt better for all of two days then my boob started to swell up again. Little by little it was getting bigger and more painful. I was like, “Has the hematoma returned?” I called my doctor and asked if that was normal, they said yes, but still deep down I felt like something was off. Man were my instincts right! The next day I noticed a small clear liquid escaping from the recently sewn (for the second time I may add) wound. I blotted it leaving a light red smear on the gauze. Oh F, here we go again! But this time I knew it was infected, it was a little yellow and a little red, not like the dark red color like before. I just hoped and prayed the antibiotics I was on would do the trick and it would go away. No such luck! That night, 3 a.m. to me exact, I woke up to a small puddle of liquid on my sheets. It was official the wound it fucked/infected. Not knowing what else to do I slapped some gauze on it, taped it in place and hoped for the best until morning. I called the doctor first thing and they told me to come in that afternoon. By now my boob was super swollen and so sore I felt like it was jumping off my chest. But luckily it wasn’t oozing like with the hematoma so I thought, it can’t be that bad . . . Boy was I wrong again!

That afternoon Corey and I went to see my surgeon and he was prepared this time in case he had to do any impromptu procedures. I started disrobing and explaining what had been going the past few days. He just nodded and said, “Monique a picture is worth a thousand words, so let’s just take a look.” I proceeded to remove the bandage slowly, and before I could even get it off fully a yellowy red liquid started oozing out from all sides. My mind was racing, “What the F was going on???” The bandage had created a suction like effect and as soon as I pulled that bandage off it exploded all over the exam room. It was disgusting and more importantly I couldn’t stop it! By now this yellowy reddish liquid was oozing all over my chest, neck, down my side and on to my pants. Corey was rushing around grabbing paper towels, as was the doctor - I was just trying not to barf.

Doctor: “I need to open it up.”

Me: “What the hell is this?”

Him: “I don’t know until I get in there.”

Then he had to throw a gown around me and rush to a room down the hallway because there wasn’t a suction machine in that room. Argh! Get it together doc! There he cut open the wound he had just stitched less then 5 days prior and the suction machine went to work. I could feel it sucking out the liquid like I was at the dentist, and it sounded horrible, so I squeezed my eyes shut and told myself to go to a happy place in my mind. I kept picturing Corey and I on a beach somewhere in Spain, me in some hot new shades and him in a stylish fedora. The doctor had decided he didn’t want an audience and had pulled the curtain so I couldn’t see Corey’s reassuring face.

I don’t know how long it took, I just squeezed my eyes shut and stayed in Spain until I heard the suction machine come to a halt.  For a minute, the room was just still. I opened one eye and peeked down at the hole in my breast (Agh!) then over at the doctor who had his eyes closed. WHAT THE F is he doing?!

Me: “Doc. what are you doing?”

Him: “Thinking.”

Me: “About what??” I mean I know he is a good doctor but right now he is making me question his capabilities!

Him: “How to tell you I cannot close it back up.”

Me: “What are you talking about?”

Him: “If I close it back up it will just do this again, it’s infected and it needs to drain on its own.” Me: “What about the antibiotics?”

Him: “That won’t help, it’s an abscess, it needs to stay open.”

Me: I hate you – No I didn’t say that.

Now Corey had come around from the curtain and I looked at him in horror.
Me: “So it’s just going to stay open, I will have this hole in my chest? That don’t make any piece of sense.”

Him: “We are going to pack it and you will come back in a couple of days and see the wound specialist. But this is going to take some time to heal.”

Me: “How much time?”

Him: “Up to 2 months and the scare will not look nice, but you can see a plastic surgeon later to talk about that.”

Me: “2 months?! What about my radiation?”

Him: “That will need to wait.” 

Me: “Doctor(blank) I am not very happy right now.”

Him: “I know.”

Me: “What caused this?” Me secretly thinking he botched my surgery

Him: “No way to say, it’s bacteria.”

Me: Death stare. Later I would spend hours on the internet trying to find someone to blame, but would come up empty. It appears he is right, there is no explanation (that’s not infuriating or anything, is it?!) My system is weak from the chemo, end of story.

I left that office feeling totally defeated and angry. I had an hole in my chest and that I couldn’t comprehend. At least I wasn’t in pain anymore, after he suctioned out the liquid, my boob had gone down to its regular size which was reassuring. However, it wasn’t until I saw the wound specialist (I didn’t even know this profession existed), that I found some peace.

Me: “Do you see this sort of thing often with breast cancer patients?”

WCS (Wound care specialist): “Hmmm I wouldn’t day often, but I have seen it a lot with women who have surgery and then go through radiation and it’s the radiation that opens the wound up. So, I guess it’s a good thing you haven’t started radiation.”

Me: “I was supposed to start this week.”

WCS: Yeah, I would hold off if you can, consult your radiation oncologist. The body will heal on its own, but radiation will prevent that, although sometimes radiation trumps wound healing. Me: “So it just stays open like that?”

WCS: “Yes, the wound needs to stay open so while the infection drains out the cells can regenerate from the inside out.

Me: “It makes sense . . . I guess.”

To that end she proceeded to hook me up to a pico vac, which vacuums out the infection through a thin tube hooked up to a battery pack that runs 24 hours a day, (lucky me I get to carry it around until it heals). At first, I was really pissed, then I was like, at least this vacuum thing allows me to move around and I don’t have to be bed ridden. She really knew what she was doing and I am happy my surgeon referred me to her.

The pico vac vacuums the abscess onto a bandage taped to my boob and is changed every 3 days. It doesn’t hurt, it just vibrates and has to go where I go. So, no I won’t be wearing any tight dresses or sexy v necks any time soon, but I am getting more creative on how to hide the battery pack under my clothes.  

The pico vac vacuums the abscess onto a bandage taped to my boob and is changed every 3 days. It doesn’t hurt, it just vibrates and has to go where I go. So, no I won’t be wearing any tight dresses or sexy v necks any time soon, but I am getting mor…

The pico vac vacuums the abscess onto a bandage taped to my boob and is changed every 3 days. It doesn’t hurt, it just vibrates and has to go where I go. So, no I won’t be wearing any tight dresses or sexy v necks any time soon, but I am getting more creative on how to hide the battery pack under my clothes.  

Its two weeks post abscess explosion and the wound care specialist says it looks like it is healing. Hooray! I meet with the radiation oncologist next week, hopefully we can put it off so this dang thing can heal. Fingers crossed. 

 

September 14, 2017 /Monique Bryan
pico negative wound therapy, doctor, abscess, wound, wound specialist, hematoma, infected, gauze, bandage, dentist, exam room, impromptu, pack, radiation, radiation oncologist, surgery, breast, boob, surrpriseitscancer, plastic surgeon, tube, vacuum, vibrates, infection, blood, liquid, negative pressure wound therapy system, boobs
Comment
IMG_1663.JPG

Hematoma Kiss my Ass!

August 28, 2017 by Monique Bryan

 

So, if any of you have seen my last post on social, the scar from my lumpectomy had sprung a leak and a doctor told me, not to worry, it will stop on its own, and to go live my life. Well that was a week ago and turned out to be some horse shit advice!

**WARNING, if you are squeamish at all DO NOT READ ON. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! And yes there is a pic.

Let me paint the picture for you . . .

It’s Thursday morning and I wake up to a soaked bra full of blood, but no pain. I’m nervous for sure, but think it’s ok. The doctor said as long as the blood is dark in color it’s old blood and it’s nothing to be concerned about. She said it was probably a Hematoma, and it would heal on its own in most cases . . . I had also done some googling on my own, just to put my mind at ease:

Hematoma (Blood Build-up): Like a bruise, a hematoma is a mark on your skin because blood is trapped under the surface. A hematoma usually refers to the mark created when blood builds up in a surgical wound where tissue has been removed and in some cases, the blood may need to be surgically drained, usually by reopening the incision made during breast cancer surgery.

YIKES!

So, prior to this blood bath sitting in my bra I wasn’t too worried. I nervously removed the soaked bandage and from there it wouldn’t stop. It just oozed slowly and consistently for hours. I started to panic. I was deep breathing, then pacing, then cursing. The gauze wasn’t doing shit so I was scrambling with bounty paper towels (they are supposed to be super absorbent, right?). I let out a scream and started to cry and thought, WTF?? I am not OK with this, what is happening? Why do they keep telling me it is ok when there is clearly something not right?! WHY IS THERE SO MUCH BLOOD??” I called my surgeon’s office (who was finally back from vacation, who goes on vacation after cutting people open anyway?) and let his assistant know what was happening and I wanted to come in. She called me back saying he was in surgery, but to meet his at the office in the hospital at 3pm. I called Corey and told him the situation and he came home to check it out right away. By the time he arrived I had already gone through half a roll of the bounty paper towels (which were working great by the way), and was standing at the top of the stairs topless holding the paper towel under my boob to catch the blood. Luckily, he is not squeamish at all, he just looked at it and said, “It’s ok, we will see what the doctor says.”

 

Untitled design.png

 

We wrapped up the oozing boob and hit the road. When we arrived, I changed into my oh too familiar surgery gown, and waiting in one of the rooms for the doctor to arrive. When he does I explained the situation. Since his face never changes I didn’t know what he was going to say next.

Doctor: “OK, Monique we have two options; option one, let the hematoma drain on its own, but it could take up to two months, or option two, I can open it up and drain it right now. But the scar will not end up as pretty.” 

I looked at Corey wide eyed, my head was spinning. I thought, open me up, again? No anesthetic? The scar was healing so well, what did you mean by not so pretty? This wasn’t an operating room; do you even have the tools to do this right here and now? Is this woman next to you even a nurse, she wasn’t wearing nurse like attire? Me: “Doc.  what caused this, is it something I did?” 

Doctor: “No, it was nothing you did, unless you were doing jumping jacks, which I highly doubt, this happens in 1 out of 6 patients. It could be from the chemo and the medications you have been on, really, it’s hard to say. I would prefer not to have to wait two months though, because that would delay your radiation.”

Me: “I don’t care about the scar, I just want this to end, so drain it.” 

He started right away, the nurse (she was in fact a nurse so I take back what I said before), pulled out all the tools, and set him up. I could have sworn this was an examination room, but they had kit ready to go! He used local anesthetic so it didn’t hurt, however I could feel it all. I could feel him squeezing, and although he had put some cloths around the wound to catch all the blood that was being spilt, I could still see the gauze was being changed every few seconds. Worst of all I could smell the blood, it smelled like raw meat, and it made me sick. If I didn’t think I was going to eat meat before I definitely couldn’t eat it now. I kept my eyes closed for the most part, and tried to go to a happy place and block out what was happening. Why oh, why did I decide to sneak a peek, right at the moment he was using tweezers to pull out a blood clot and slap it on the towel beside my face? Ugh! I didn’t open my eyes again until it was over.

Then came the stitching, I could feel him tugging on my skin, it was horrible! Then the doctor said something that disturbed me, “I wish we had used a contrast color thread, the lighting in here is not great.” WTF does that mean? Nurse replies with, “I’ll go get a flash light.”  What kind of make shift operation is this? I am trying to remain calm, especially when she came back unable to find a flashlight. Me: “I have a flashlight on my iPhone, would that work?”  Corey pulls out my phone and the nurse tries to shine the light for the doctor to see . . . it doesn’t do shit. Doctor: “It’s ok, I’m about done.”  Now I am panicking that he can’t see what the hell he is doing and that not so pretty scar he had warned about, may be even worse! Now I know why they put you to sleep during surgery, it’s not just for the pain, it’s to protect you from the possible mental anguish. I am clear blood and gore isn’t for everybody. I haven’t had any major surgeries in my life, so for some people this may have been a cake walk, but for me it was traumatizing and I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there.

When it was finally over my boob was half the size it was before, all the swelling was gone, but the scar was gross to look at, thank-fully they covered it with gauze so I wouldn’t have to. Corey came over kissed my head and said, “I’m proud of you.” I replied with, “That was horrible, let’s get the hell out of here please.”  We went home still reeling from what had just happened. At least it was over . . . or so I thought.  4 days post open boob surgery and I am still in pain and feels like I had surgery all over again. Maybe everything is fine, maybe a new hematoma is taking shape, who the hell knows?! There is no way to really prevent it after all. How frustrating is that? I am super angry, frustrated and sad. All this laying around (although necessary), is making the rest of my body stiff like a grandma; my radiation will have to be pushed until I am healed (date is TBD), and I am so scared the hematoma will return because my boob is swollen again!  I am really in my feelings these last few days, which I hate! All I want to do is eat ice cream, chips and pizza (when I know my body needs greens juice, salads and healthy shit!)

Yes, I know it could be worse, it always could be worse, but not addressing how I am feeling would make me even crazier then I feel right now, and who needs crazier, I sure as hell don’t! I am sure Corey would agree.

I meet again with the doctor on Thursday, we will see what the next steps are. The journey continues. 

 

August 28, 2017 /Monique Bryan
hematoma, cancer, surpriseitscancer, doctor, surgeon, nurse, surgery, greens juice, angry, frustrated, sad, operating room, operating, boob, blood, stiff, body, post surgery, gauze, gross, blood oozing, local anesthetic, blood clot, tweezers, radiation, scar, squeezing, sick, sewing, bruised, blood under skin, trapped, blood trapped, mark, tissue, surgically drained, reopening, incision, pain, drain, breast, breast cancer, breast cancer surgery, squeamish, bounty paper towels, healed

DIDN'T THEY WARN YOU?

March 31, 2017 by Monique Bryan

First, I will apologize in advance if this post is not as coherent as the previous ones. The quickness I pride myself on, (and know myself to be), may be hidden under what they tell me is, “chemo brain,” a sort of fogginess that your mind endures while undergoing treatment. It has been 1 week since my first chemo treatment and today marks the day they tell me I will start feeling some what, “normal” again. Well those fuckers better be right because these last 6 days have been the worst days my body has ever experienced.

What I pictured I would be doing during this much-deserved time off:

  1. Well resting of course (I have fucking cancer)
  2. Reading books
  3. Possibly learning a new language
  4. Experimenting with new vegan recipes
  5. Writing New York Times bestseller (of course)
  6. Creating a new clothing line (I mean why not?)
  7. Making my own line of #Fcancer emojis
  8. Feng Shuing my bedroom (Note I mentioned this to Corey and his eye roll couldn’t have been more dramatic)
  9. Doing my Taxes (that’s a lie)
  10. Taking up yoga and start meditating (becoming all Zen and shit)
  11. Binging on Netflix (of course)
  12. Reflecting on the important things in life (you know like, #Fcancer emojis)   

The funny thing about chemo is it has a whole other plan that it never lets you in on. It sweeps in like a cloud and says something like, "You funny girl, this is not a vaca" . . . Fucker. 

The first day after chemo was fine, I mean I felt a bit tired but not too bad (you saw the last blog post I was ready to go!) By day two I thought maybe I would be, the one, who would beat all those adverse side effects chemo is so famous for:

Fatigue

Hair loss

Easy bruising and bleeding

Infection

Anemia (low red blood cell counts)

Nausea and vomiting

Appetite changes

Constipation

Fever (Just to name a few . . .)

I WAS WRONG! By day two in the afternoon shit went down. So yes I was warned, however it's like a mother telling a pregnant person that pushing a baby through your vagina, (sorry to be so graphic), is going to hurt like hell, are you ever really prepared for that? I'm just saying.

Let’s start with #1 FATIGUE. You know when I read that I was like, “OK I’ll be tired, no big deal, I know what that feels like, sort of like after a spin class, right?” HA! I KNOW NOTHING!!! I have tried to describe this feeling to people and the best comparison I could come up with is, it's sort of like being hit by a truck. How many people know what being hit by a truck really feels like? Not many. But one can imagine, right? WRONG!

It’s kinda like this . . .

  • Walk down the stairs? Walking back up felt like I did an hour of CrossFit.
  • Every conversation had a time limit, (one minute I’d be speaking the next I would feel like a hundred pound weight was sitting on my body).
  • One minute I am staring at my husband so grateful he is here, the next I am wondering why is he taking so fast and so loud, (he later informs me was not the case), regardless it exhausted me and I need a nap.
  • One minute I wish I was back in my old life, worrying about stupid shit like what to wear, the next I’m grateful that not combing my hair is a deal breaker because that would require lifting a brush.
  • One minute I want to cry woe is me! The next? Well I am asleep to be quite honest, it takes way too much energy to even feel sorry for myself. LOL!

In short, my limbs felt like Jell-O, and every little movement took effort.

Then there is the nausea . . . one minute I’m famished and the next the smell or site of food is repulsive. Each day melts into the next, which I suppose is irrelevant when the only thing you have planned that day is to "keep you spirits up.” That's something people say to me, "keep your spirits up!" Or, “Monique it’s mind over matter,” (that one REALLY makes me want to take baseball bat to a knee cap). It’s like if I could have my mind tell my body to get it’s act together I would not have cancer, (AND my mind could alleviate, the constipation from hell, the 24-hour indigestion, the fluctuations in body temperature, the dizzy spells, metallic taste that pops up out of no where! The joint and muscle pain, the bouts of fever, and the chapped lips that stop shed a new layer of skin daily), all with the power of my mind! Wow I would be so powerful! Soooo I recommend not saying that to people undergoing chemo, just a tip.

**(Mood swings may or may not be a side effect as well, I can neither confirm or deny that).

In short CHEMO SUCKS! Not like in a getting a Brazilian wax, tattooing your face, ripping your fingernails away with pliers kinda sucks. More like . . . well like I said, unless you have done it, there really is no comparison. But hey today is better then yesterday, hooray for day 7!!!

 

 

 

 

March 31, 2017 /Monique Bryan
fatigue, chemotherapy, chemo, dizzy, nausea, side effects, #fcancer, fever, blood, brusing, baby, infection, anemia, vomiting, hair loss, chemo brain, reading, cancer, New York Times Bestseller, emojis, Feng Shui, zen, yoga, meditaion

What to know more?

Sign up with your email address and help me curate an event to remember. You will be the first to know when registration opens.

We respect your privacy.

Thank you!

Powered by Squarespace

E: monique@surpriseitscancer.com