Margaret Treanor Frey

author . artist . singer

Page 5 of 9

Expelling the Cadaveric Scapula

My hair is growing back. There’s a light fuzz on my head, stubble on my legs, and yes, three whiskers on my chin so far. I wonder how far it will get before my next rounds of chemo make it all fall out again…

The pain from the surgery itself is mostly gone, Unfortunately, the cadaveric spacer scapula has … /shifted/. It’s sticking out about an inch and a half on the top of my shoulder, and the head of the humerus swings forward and back in a way that won’t be tamed by any conformation of the sling I’ve got. There are no comfortable positions. Walking or riding in the car causes shifting that quickly ramps up the constant discomfort into a sharp cramping pain. Rather than the broken shoulder I had before, I suppose now I’ve got one that’s permanently out of joint.

Well. Not permanently. I can put up with it because it’s only temporary (and my doctors have miraculously obliged with pain med refills, no fuss). We still don’t have a ship date on the replacement scapula, but there’s no reason to think they won’t come through on their late January estimate.

Mom, who has been the perfect help these last three months, is back in Buffalo for January. She has her own life to put in order. She’ll be back in a few weeks, but for those few weeks we’ll need a little help, especially with getting Sarah to and from school. (Ishould have been able to walk her myself this far post surgery, but the shoulder is getting worse rather than better.) I’m hoping some neighborhood people will be able to commit to doing it on a regular basis rather than farming it out piecemeal to different people on different days. It’s too chaotic that way, and a little nerve-wracking.

We’ve had a lot of people visit during the last few weeks. Even though I’m stuck on the couch for most of it, I really appreciate seeing friends and having the house full of noise and light.

It keeps the whole thing from being a formless blur.

Now, if only I can keep from panicking when Sarah brings up birthday party plans for February…

What? More chemo?

Yesterday, my oncologist said he wasn’t planning anymore chemo, since the margins were so clean and I reacted so badly to it. I didn’t really listen to the part where he said, “depending on the decision by the tumor board.”

The tumor board met this morning, and is of the collective opinion that I need 3 more rounds of chemo after the reconstructive surgery. My oncologist actually sought me out where I was waiting at the surgeon’s office for my post-op checkup to tell me in person.

I burst into tears.

He says this time they would just do the adriamycin, and not the cisplatin, so it shouldn’t be so bad. I guess I have a couple of months to reconcile myself to it.

Or I could refuse.

When the surgeon arrived later, he had the same message. The tumor board ‘overwhelmingly recommended’ additional chemo. I didn’t cry again, though. I had gotten it out of my system.

They took out the stitches and the drain, so there was some consolation. I can take the sling off to shower, now.

The shoulder still aches big time. I tried to clean up for house guests, and it’s turned into me sitting on the couch shouting instructions to Sarah. Bring that here for me to look through. Put this in recycling. Etc. She’s putting up with it pretty well so far. I’m lucky I have such a good helper girl.

And such good helper friends. It helps a lot to know that I’ve got support. Thanks guys.

Good Margins

Pathology came back from the most recent surgery, and the margins all came back negative. I should hope so, since they clipped off an inch or so from my clavicle, just to be sure. The drain stays for another week, but it doesn’t bother me too much. They also said I could start taking my elbow out of the sling to stretch it as long as I was careful not to engage the shoulder. That’s an improvement. Still sleeping a lot.

Scapulectomy

I’m home. I ache. I’ve got a drain still in (Sarah is fascinated by it). It was heartening to see all the well wishes when I got home. Thanks guys. Trying to find a comfortable position on the new couch…

Tommy the Cat

When I was a kid living in Augusta, Georgia, we had a wilderness just beyond our back yard. There was a stream going through some woods, populated with roving dogs and deadly snakes.
Our intrepid tom cat, imaginatively named Tommy, was attacked by a dog, or several, once in that wilderness. He dragged himself all the way home, his shattered leg dangling behind him. We didn’t know if he was going to make it. The vet had to remove his femur completely. Being a cat in the early 80’s, there weren’t any fancy 3D printed replacement femurs, so he just had to do without.
When we picked him up from the vet, he was shaved and stitched and groggy. They had given us a box to transport him. The whole ride home, he pulled himself up on his front legs so he could see us all and meowed longer and louder than I had ever heard him. “I don’t know if you all know, but I have just been to hell. I’m so glad to be here with you, I can’t even say.”
There was something about how urgently he pulled his torn body up in that box to be with us that has always stuck with me.
I’ve been feeling like that a lot lately. I can hear the meowing in the back of my head.
Anyway.
Here are my shoulders. I’ve always been vain about them as one of my best features. Not necessarily in how they look, but how strong they are. Were.
Wave goodbye to the left one.
Even after I get the reconstruction, this will be a Frankenstein mess of scars that will never quite work like it used to.
So many people I know have had breast cancer (four in the last year), that I’ve put a lot of thought into whether or not I would go for reconstruction, if it happened to me. And I’ve thought, no. Good riddance. I’m done with boobs. I realize very different calculations happen for everyone, but for me it would be like losing my hair. Every once in a while I catch myself in the mirror and am surprised again at my shiny baldness, and the most response I can muster is, “Oh. That happened.”
But the idea of my arm hanging helplessly off my body makes me nauseous. This must be how other people think about their hair. Or their breasts. A desecration of the sacred body with all its pieces on, the way it should be.
“Your hand will still work fine,” says the surgeon. “You just won’t be able to put it where you want it.”
Well. That makes it okay then.
He tells me that some people don’t even bother with the reconstruction. But then, he acknowledges that their back and neck get sore from maintaining the asymmetry. I’m not sure what he was trying to convince me of. That it’s not so bad?
Obviously, there are worse things. There are always worse things. I don’t care about those things (with the exception of possibly actually dying). This is what I lose sleep over right now.
But what happened to Tommy the Femurless Cat? He never even had a limp. He even once chased and took down a jack rabbit bigger than himself. It was impossible.
Maybe I’ll turn out like Tommy.

Facial Hair

TMI! While parts of my face remain naturally furry, the hair has fallen out of other parts of my face. Those parts of my face feel a bit like rubber. On the bright side, the chemo killed all my whiskers. (I knew it wasn’t my imagination that those suckers were ‘fast growing’.)

Scapula Delayed Again

Saw the surgeon today. Had to wait over an hour (why is that considered normal?). The tumor has grown a little bit, according to the most recent MRI. The chemo may or may not have slowed it down.

Re Fancy Drug Trial: It’s only Phase 1. That makes it a lot less attractive. Also, given that it’s already grown a little bit despite being exposed to some of the most toxic substances deliberately given to humans, we’re more inclined to just want it out.
Re WTF Scapula Not Done Yet: The surgeon is going to meet directly with the company on Friday, and ask if I can be jumped the queue, since cancer patients aren’t considered as having ‘elective’ surgery.
Re Resection w/o Reconstruction: Yes the arm just hangs there (shudder), but you can still use the hand and forearm.

If we can get the scapula done faster, we’re going to wait a little and do everything at once.
If we can’t get the scapula done faster, we’re still going to take the tumor out, hopefully in December, but there will be another surgery in January for reconstruction.

The whole thing just makes me tired. Or maybe that’s the 3 hours of sleep I got last night.

Scapula Delay

Ugh. The hospital just called to tell me the chrome scapula won’t be ready until mid-January, did I still want to keep my resection date of 12/5? Ugh! No. We’re meeting with the surgeon tomorrow to go over it.

Planning Surgery

The CT scan of my chest was clear yesterday, okaying me for surgery (still no metastases). Tomorrow we do an MRI so they get a clearer idea of where all the cutting will be taking place. The surgery might take place as early as 12/5, but there’s some confusion over whether they’ve finished making the scapula yet (which might be made out of cobalt chrome). I’m still having trouble with reflux, but Damon’s magic potion of baking soda gets me through meals fine.

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