All I didn’t want for Christmas was a hot flash

My birthday was a couple of weeks ago. We have a family tradition where the kids get to go to a discount home or clothing store and do a little shopping of their own and they then get to present the buffet of small gifts to either Mom or Dad as their gifts. We all love it, because when it comes to birthday presents, we’re a quantity-over-quality kind of family. This year, the kids didn’t disappoint. The girls “bought” me a scarf, earrings, candles, a shirt, some notecards, and some face wipes. John got me an electric heel-pumicer. Nothing says love like a pedicure tool from your six-year old.

Once all of the festivities were over, he immediately insisted we test out his gift and suggested I hop in the bath to prep for a pedicure that he, naturally, was to provide. He came along to the bathroom to monitor my bath’s progress (speed, really, he was anxious to get going) and as I toweled off, he asked, while poking at my nipple, “Why isn’t that boob popping out like the other one?”

It occurred to me that he, and everyone, might appreciate a status on my post-operative physiology as well as a summary of how chemo seems to be affecting it, because let me tell you, it’s been a real trip.

1. The boobs. I have two, new, circa 18-year-old breasts. Scars are limited to 5-inch smiles below them where tissue was removed and implants inserted. If I were to wear, say, a bikini top, no one would have any idea that I had had a mastectomy or implants. My nipples survived (thanks to Tom Irving, natch) the battle, but are sometimes a little slower to respond, to answer John’s question. Generally, they look good, and real, though seem a little far apart to me. It could be that I am used to being a little bigger but I’ll be checking that with the plastic surgeon next week. #lesscleavage #sorryguys
2. The numbness. This is a real thing. Maybe other people in my circumstances wouldn’t care about this but it is more jarring than I expected. I had 15 lymph nodes removed from my left armpit and one taken from my right. And of course I had all that breast tissue removed. As a result, my entire chest area, most of both armpits and upper back-near-my-armpits area is completely numb. From what I understand, so much of the blood supply to my nerves was removed that there just isn’t much to feed them anymore. I have been told that nerves grow 1/4″ a year and some sensation may return. But it’s weird to have entire cross-section of your body feel, well, nothing. I don’t know if I will ever get used to it.
3. The hair loss. AC chemo pretty much guarantees hair loss, and happily, and surprising even to my oncology team, I didn’t really lose any at all on my head. With two rounds of Taxol under my belt, I’m told I am pretty much in the clear. I have lost it everywhere on my body but my lashes and eyebrows remain for now. As for the body, I feel like women from the age of 13 on spend a lot of their grooming time trying to get rid of hair, so that part has been exceedingly liberating. I only wish my body and the weather were ready for skimpy bathing suits! To keep the hair on and around my eyes, I’ve been using Rodan + Fields Lash Boost and Younique Lash Serum, which I think have preserved my lashes and brows. I am also using a LOT of Maybelline Waterproof Mascara. Waterproof because I seem to burst into tears at the drop of the hat. Or at a Hallmark Christmas Movie. But if my lashes were to all fall out, given how lucky I have been with cold-capping, it’d be a small price to pay.
4. The early menopause. WTF. Since I’m so “young” to have breast cancer, the chances that this is permanent are slim. But for now, I’m totally going through menopause! The biggest indicator of this right now seems to be hot flashes and night sweats. I might ask Santa for rubber sheets because I seem to be waking up at least once a night, freezing and completely soaked. Coming up next, dry skin, dull, lifeless hair, and a dry vagina. Aces! I can’t wait! Sounds like Santa should also bring me a VAT OF COCONUT OIL.

That’s about it. Of course there are other small, weird things: mouth sores, weak immune system, dry nose and eyes. All temporary, all completely manageable. I have two more treatments and then I’m done with chemotherapy, and I’ll be very happy to shut the door on this little chemistry experiment.

What else should I ask Santa for? Any ideas?