Ants in the completely impatient Pants

I am not a good patient. Yes, that would be Not. I cannot sit still.

However, I am sleeping 10+ hours a night. I take naps all day. I am eating really well. Really well (of course, if you know me.) I am taking mounds of vitamins and supplements that form piles rivaling those at Old Folks Homes. I do little arm exercises. I go for walks. I hang out when I can. Then I nap again. But I am so antsy pantsy it is driving me nuts.

After a day or two the achy swelling in my calves subsided from ... the surgery? medication? ... and they are ready to roll. Vroom vroomvroom vroom vroom VROOM... The totally unsympathetic Legs are saying to the Upper Body, "Whassamatta?? Had a little surgery? Big whoop, a little boo-boo. Let's get this show back on the road. We haven't gone for a run since last week already."

The Upper Body (mostly the right arm and chest), trying not to look wussy or that the chunks removed from it was any big deal, retorts back in a squeaky, cracking voice, "Yeah, sure... we can still keep up, no sweat! Hey, we can now reach up and wash her hair! Full range of motion is returning... even though... mumble mumble... maybe there's still pain... So ok, maybe not running yet, but how about a bike ride, no problem!"

"Yeah!" pipes in the good-working yet not-so-bright Left Arm.

Even the Brain is getting in on it. "Well, when she called the doctor's office today and they said 'NO. NO YOGA YET, JENNY... simmer down,' they did say she could ever so gently ride the stationary bike at the gym (that is, when I desperately asked about going to the gym. And it was phrased more like "Alright, if you absolutely MUST go, then gently...")... and really what's the big difference between a stationary bike and a not so stationary bike, anyway?"

Now the Upper Body was outnumbered on all fronts and with the Brain completely convinced, battle is over, this bike ride was going to happen no matter what. It was 85 degrees! I can't drive on medication! How else can I get to the beach and take a nap? Geez.

Rachel ("Ray-Ray," to me) Solomon is a lonnnnng-time friend from SUNY Purchase where we went to college together. She lives up the street from me with her ridiculously cute family and produced two of my all time favorite offspring-people ever, Milo and Charlie. Rachel has been so amazing, stopping by with bits of yum-yum food (introducing me to Kettle's Tuscan Three Cheese potato chips ...love...at...first...bite... hold on a sec, I need to go finish that bag right now...) and love and Milo & Charlie hugs; she checks in on me. She perked right up like a watch dog when she overheard my Mouth speaking for 4/5ths of my Body saying kind of off the cuff that we might ride the bike out to the beach. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a minute... is that a good idea, JJ?" and I guess it sounded even less like one when I told her about the doctor's office telling me to reign it in. I promised her I would try not to go. 'Try' being the operative word.

When she texted me a couple hours later about possibly stopping by and checking in again, I was totally busted. "Uh-oh. @ the beach," I had to text back. But I did have an absolutely glorious nap in the sun by the salt water during high tide and a great sailboat race going on...

So today, with my arm tingling and the armpit swelling with some fluid, one could think that maybe Monday's two-mile bike ride -- on an almost 100% flat terrained bike trail, and peddling as carefully and daintily as a shy turtle desperately trying not to draw attention to itself -- I mean broken ducks could have passed me -- maybe was too much. Maybe. My Brain most definitely refuses to see the connection or accept any such responsibility. The Left Arm is just out to lunch reading comics, taking a snooze from all the extra work it's not used to. And the Legs are so unbelievably thankful that they got any kind of exercise at all (I could feel the medication moving out of them afterward, it felt soooo good) that they refuse to have any part of this armpit "Conspiracy Theory" (their words.)

I have the snakey vertical cut on my right breast where they took out the tumor, and another incision in my armpit where they removed two lymph nodes to test and see if the breast cancer had spread to them (and my whole system), a procedure called a Sentinal Node Biopsy. I heard on Monday that the second and more comprehensive test came back on the lymph nodes and they are negative (clear of cancer) and because of this I won't need chemo! Big whoopin' YEY!! for that! It's that armpit incision where the swelling is. Nothing is red though which is a good sign there isn't infection.

Ultraconcerned after learning about the ride, Rachel stopped by the next day with a "Whoaaaa Nellie, Take It Down a Notch" care package. She packed up about seven of her best DVDs, involving Strangers With Candy (to fight my Amy Sedaris withdrawl), Will Farrell, David Bowie, and bunch of other great stuff; magazines featuring, of course, more Amy Sedaris, Flight of the Conchords, and essays on spiritual enlightenment and philosophy. Great mix of visuals and verbiage, covering all comedy and existential topics (are they really so separate anyway?) And let's not forget the T3C chips* and a gluten-free brownie that would actually knock your wheat-allergy socks off. Rachel gave me the same "simmer down" talk that the doctor's office did and threatened to call every two hours to find out my whereabouts. She would put one of those home-monitoring ankle bracelets on me if she could.

After the bike ride I hurt my (already hurting) arm getting the backpack off. That induced my first true "I Hate Cancer" meltdown and cried -- bawled -- and yelled -- for over two hours straight. I had read about this, that it's not the breast cancer that makes you feel like crap, it's the treatment that does. The stuff that makes you feel better makes you feel like doo-doo for the first time. I've been trying to be so positive throughout this whole thing, cracking under reality was bound to happen sometime. I've cried and been depressed, but this was blow-out. Normal, I know. I really don't want to portray myself as some Suzy Sunshine, I wasn't totally surprised by it. I woke up Tuesday puffy from percocet and the massive eye-ball beating.

Adam and Dale gave me this awesome shirt they found at a grocery store in the middle-of-nowhere Missouri. Adam asked if they should go in, and Dale's spidey t-shirt senses were tingling in the parking lot: "I think we're going to find some good t-shirts in there..." Oh yeah, bingo.

As for the fluid puffing my armpit. Try this at home: take a hard boiled egg. Lift your right arm up. Place egg in armpit. Put arm down and squeeze elbow to ribcage. If the egg didn't crush and if you kept squeezing and the egg really, really hurt you, that is the sensation and pain I'm having right now. Oh, and add in some tingling down to the wrist and numbness in the arm. If I didn't have this painful fluid I would feel pretty darn amazing (in context) actually.

That tingling and numbness is why I initially called the Doctor on Monday. The nurse explained this is normal. "That actually comes mostly from, well... how do put this... from having your arms, well, tied down. Like Jesus. On the cross." Well, if that sure doesn't give you a super clear visual, let me show you what she's talking about. Here's a photo they took of me during surgery (I added skiers on the bunny slopes to make this family-friendly). I know, not my prettiest moment in life:

Is that a man or a woman? I dunno... I could tell better if it weren't for those skiers...maybe...

Yup. That position right there. Having your arms strapped down in that horribly twisted position for hours, is why people have to go to physical therapy. It causes extreme pain, tingling and numbness, all of which I am still feeling. The physical therapy is because frequently people can't lift their arms past shoulder height after this. But my range of motion is really good now, I can swing my whole arm (gently... gently, Jenny...) in all directions. I do little exercises.** I wish I could go swimming and that part KILLS me. (I can't because of risk of infection.)

Which is why the fluid is here. My theory is that it's God's way on jumping on the Cool Yer Jets bandwagon. Its called "Seroma" (fluid back-up) and it is when the lymph nodes that are used to draining fluid no longer know what to do with it after some are removed. This is more common with mastectomies, which is why you get sent home with drains put in your side. The nurse on the phone said it is less common with lumpectomies, but not rare. I'm convinced this is the Universe's way of making sure I don't over do it. Because clearly without the seroma I was ready to start moving around too much before I should. So now not only does everything hurt more, I'm mega tired and I feel like a sore throat is coming on. Nice work, Seroma! We got her back on the couch watching movies and napping every two hours again!

Tomorrow I go to Dr. Clarfeld for follow-up to my surgery and he'll also drain the fluid. The nurse said they keep doing that till the lymph nodes figure things out. Today my oh-so beloved friend Ben Morgan -- a massage therapist -- came by on the way to his friend's show in Seattle and showed me how to massage my lymph system and get the fluid moving. I have yet to try this invaluable technique as I have been sitting here ever since typing this blog, which also hurts my armpit. I know, I know! I am getting off and going to bed now.

One last thing. When I came to after the operation in incoherent delirium, I mentioned probably three times to Dr. Clarfeld that I wanted a milkshake. When I was more aware and wheeled back to Recovery, there were Julie and Rob, with a milkshake.

I learned later that while I was still conked out, Dr. Clarfeld went to the waiting room and told Julie and Rob how the surgery went. They heard the good news and then said they were going to the cafeteria while I sobered up. That's when Dr. Clarfeld came back to me and I started muttering "I want a milkshake." He, the surgeon, then went all the way, floors down to the cafeteria, sought out and found my sister and Rob, and told them I was awake and needed a milkshake. The surgeon personally did that. He didn't send his nurse or anyone else, he did that. I will love this man till the day I die.

Day Two of 100+ deg heat. I couldn't have food or drink for eight hours before the operation (11pm the night before). So even though I woke up at 4am on day-whatever of our heat wave, I was not allowed to have even a stinkin' sip of water. Here I am at 1:30pm the next day with my glorious milkshake, best one in my whole life.

* I was filling in more info to Lisa about Kettle's Tuscan 3-Cheese chips, and she says, "Hey have you been to their website? It describes them as "A Mediterranean vacation in a bag. LET’S RUN AWAY TOGETHER." Oh yes, between the percoset and the potato chips I can hardly tell I'm on a couch in Ballard...

** Here are the exercises:
http://medicalcenter.osu.edu/PatientEd/Materials/PDFDocs/exer-reh/upper/ad-lump-mast.pdf