The Long Overdue Post About Cancer

I've sat down to write this post countless times and each time I've deleted everything and walked away from my computer. Perhaps because when I do finally post this it becomes real. It means that I've finally typed it out in black and white and sent it out into the interwebs for all to read and know that I have cancer. Admitting it to myself has been the hardest part. I still don't think I'm quite there, but I'm getting closer. Maybe this will help...
On April 2, 2012 my day started out like any other. In fact, it was better than most! Iris and I had a fun morning browsing the thrift stores and then we met up with my husband for lunch (which almost never happens because of his busy work schedule). I headed to the hospital to have the staples removed from the biopsy that was done the week before. I took my seat in the waiting room and was browsing through a recipe book when my doctor came in to the waiting room to call back the patient that was before me. I smiled and we made eye contact and immediately I knew something was wrong. I could just feel it. When it was finally my turn to head back we made small talk about the weather while she removed the staples and said that my scar had healed nicely. She told me they got the biopsy results and that they weren't quite what they had expected. Turns out that it was cancer and a very rare type at that. She handed me a small piece of paper with the technical term written on it Dermatofibrosarcoma protuberans. DFSP for short. In a very short time I was given a lot of information. Not everything stuck with me. All I pretty much remember hearing is Cancer. One in a million. Infertility. Chemo. Radiation. Surgery. Wig. Locks of Love. MRI.

(Left to right) 1.Welcome to cancer! Let the blood testing begin.  2.My new favorite word.  3.Pills and pills and more pills. 4. Prep for 6 more biopsies = 22 stitches.

The doctor then outlined the entire perimeter of my now tumor (I had always just referred to it as a bump) with a purple pen and took several photos and sent me on my way. I wasn't sad or scared at all at first. It was literally like the news just breezed right through me. I thought about calling my husband to tell him but knew that he would never take me seriously over the phone (I'm kind of a jokester!) so I drove home and told him face to face. He cried. And then I cried. I cried because the only thing that really registered with me was that the doctors had told me we had to stop trying for our second child and it was something we both wanted so desperately.

The next few days were a blur. I didn't want to do anything or go anywhere or tell anyone. The best way I can describe it is that I felt heavy. Heavy hearted. Doctors called, appointments were made and family came over. And of course we Googled. And I cried a lot and just marinated in each and every moment I had with Iris because no one could tell me how bad this cancer was just yet.

 1.Bald mannequins in a store window. Who needs hair anyway?! 2. Sunsets with my girl make the day better.  3.My right ovary. 4. Prep for egg retrieval surgery.

Things started to get rolling and I met with several specialists and doctors and surgeons and dermatologists and I was even put up on a hospital board where doctors from all over San Diego came to meet me and review my case and try to brainstorm the best way to approach this. It was all so overwhelming and surreal. I heard what each of them were saying, I was right there in the same room, but it never really felt like they were talking about me. Eventually it was decided that the place I could get the best care would be in Houston, Texas at MD Anderson Cancer Center. I hated that idea. I've never left my baby overnight and the thought of leaving her for a week to go meet with doctors was awful to me. But I did it. I also went through emergency egg retrieval and all the fun (not!) that goes along with infertility, like hormone injections and countless ultrasounds. 

My local doctors had pretty much prepared me for the worst. They said that I could expect to be put on chemotherapy and to lose my hair. To expect some sort of surgery, worst case being the entire left side of my head and possibly some of my skull. To expect a lengthy recovery period and an entire year before any cosmetic surgery would be considered. I appreciate their blunt honesty, I really do. But the words that I heard over and over are "It's going to be really hard to look at yourself in the mirror." And then I cried some more. Because I'm a girl and I care about things like that, and yes, I realize that in the grand scheme of things looks aren't really all that important when the rest of your life is on the line, but hearing all of this at one time was really overwhelming.

1. 4 months ago I didn't know what an Oncologist was, not it's my home away from home. 2. Hospital halls are always so eerie. 3. Leaving Houston. 4. Chemo in hand.

Long story short; yes, I went to Texas and I couldn't say enough good things about my experience there. The doctors at MD Anderson want to try to use surgery as the last option because of how severe it would be. It was in Texas that I was introduced to the scary world of radiation therapy and was told that it is in the future for me, but I can't think about that right now. Right now I focus on today and today I am on chemotherapy. A very mild version called Gleevec. It came with a long list of scary side effects and I've only been taking it for 2 weeks, but so far it's been pretty manageable. I am tired a lot (not sure if that's from the chemo or my very active 2 and a half year old) and I'm nauseous, especially when it's hot. And just recently I've developed a rash, which I'm told is normal, that itches like crazy and is not much to look at and is pretty much all over my body. (If you ever see me out, I swear it's not contagious!) but otherwise I'm doing well.
 There are days when I feel sorry for myself but they are very few and far between. I know that I am lucky. Lucky to have doctors working for me to find a cure for this. I am lucky that I can still hold my girl and kiss my husband. And walk, and talk and see and hear. I'm lucky that I have such a supportive family and an amazing best friend who put her life on hold back in Costa Rica and flew out to spend two weeks with me so that I could forget about cancer for awhile. And even though I dread taking it each day, I'm lucky that chemotherapy exists and that it is available to me. All of that is so much more than some silly reflection in a mirror.

This whole thing has been a huge reality check for me. My world before cancer was near perfect and I never even knew it.

A little side note: I'm back to blogging! I'm pretty excited about it even though I'm not quite sure which direction I want my blog to go in. I still love outfit posts and thrifting but they are very low on my list of priorities right now. In the meantime I'll be giving the blog a little facelift! I hope you all will continue to join me on this journey! One more thing...I apologize for all the iPhone/Instagram pics on this post but it really is the main way I take photographs these days. Follow me on Instagram @shestall