The Pit of Food Addiction

Four or Five years ago, my son - little Man took a job working as a "forensic specialist" in a local mental hospital. His job was essentially one of protection.  He was protecting both the staff and the patient, and truthfully it was really more responsibility than the 19 year old "little man" was ready for.  It did not take long for the idealistic young man who wanted "to improve someone else's life" to decide this stunk.  The mentally ill did not care that they were being protected.  They were being stopped and they disliked that.  A lot.  So Little Man had to learn to deal with bursts of anger, being slapped, and spit upon.  It tested his resolve.  It tested his momma's too!   Little Man told me about the phenomena of being "institutionalized"...the place where a patient has adapted to living within the walls of an institution so completely, that living outside terrifies them.  He rented the "Shawshank Redemption" to show me an example of what he meant.  Some of the inmates of his hospital had been there for 50 years, a place for the "criminally insane."  The hospital he worked in was considered the first step....patients had committed crimes,  perhaps not all but most of them had extenuating circumstances.  The now elderly woman who attacked the man who had been abusing her throughout her childhood and he died from the attack.  The man who caught his wife in bed with his brother...and he beat them both nearly to death.  Those kinds of things put you in a hospital for the criminally insane.

Some years ago, Beth Moore held a Satellite conference, titled "Get Out of that Pit".  I remember two things about the conference....1. She said some of us have been in our pit so long we have taken to repapering the walls.  That is such a thing as I would do.  lol  And 2. was "oh mercy she is talking about my over eating".  ack.  So I apologize if what I say overlaps something in her book which I have not yet read.

I was reading a motivational thought this morning about getting out of our pits and changing our lives.  I was struck with the memory of Bartimaeus in the 10th chapter of Mark in the Bible.  Specifically it reads. 

⁴⁶ Then they came to Jericho. As Jesus and his disciples, together with a large crowd, were leaving the city, a blind man, Bartimaeus (which means “son of Timaeus”), was sitting by the roadside begging. ⁴⁷ When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth,^(AX) he began to shout, “Jesus, Son of David,^(AY) have mercy on me!”   Bart had been sitting in a pit.  Not one of his own making, but he had been living in that pit and surviving.  As a blind man, he had no occupation.  He begged for his foods and clothing.  His needs were provided for by the kindness of strangers and the goodness of those in his city who cared for the handicapped.  It appears however that Bart was not institutionalized into his pit, for he was willing to consider a different option.

⁴⁸ Many rebuked him and told him to be quiet, but he shouted all the more, “Son of David, have mercy on me!”
⁴⁹ Jesus stopped and said, “Call him.”
So they called to the blind man, “Cheer up! On your feet! He’s calling you.” ⁵⁰ Throwing his cloak aside, he jumped to his feet and came to Jesus.
⁵¹ “What do you want me to do for you?” Jesus asked him.
The blind man said, “Rabbi,^(AZ) I want to see.”  Bart took the step on his own.  He did not know yet that this Rabbi would completely change his life.  He asked, but he had not personally seen the results of this Rabbi's work.  So it was in a complete act of faith that Bartemaeus told Jesus he wanted to see.  Ole Bart had opened the door of his pit and dared to look out.

⁵² “Go,” said Jesus, “your faith has healed you.”^(BA) Immediately he received his sight and followed^(BB) Jesus along the road.  Just like that Bart changed his life.  Note that I did not comment on Jesus changing Bart's life although he most certainly did.  But Bart made a conscious decision to set off on a new path and asked Jesus for the healing.  Which meant coming out of his pit and stepping foot on a new path.  It meant that Bart was now responsible for his own life and survival.  No more handouts at the city's gates.

It is so easy to stay in our individual pits and become institutionalized within them.  They give us the ready excuse for not improving or seeking to change in our lives.  Bart could have lived his life on the side of the road, begging for handouts and blaming it on his blindness.  I have talked to real life women who make excuses for their pit...well...."it's not my fault.  Its the way God made me so everyone else needs to deal with it."  There are those who know they are really messed up in the head..."I'm this way because I was abused all through my childhood, there's nothing I can do about it."  I was told by a family member once, "She lived a really hard life growing up, she just never had any options like we do."

And I'm willing to shout "Bull hockey pucks".  My mother had a hard life growing up with an alcoholic abusive father.  But she changed her life through Christ Jesus.  She was willing to open the door of her pit.  I have counseled with women who aren't willing to get the professional help they need to heal from the soul depth damages of the past, simply because they will not longer have the excuse for their bad behaviors.  It's no different than women who blame PMS for their outrageous behaviors every month.  PMS is real and I know that.  It can make us feel angry and tense.  Yes.  But our screaming hissy fits where we attack and verbally decimate our loved ones is NOT PMS.  It is our own lack of self control.  These women are institutionalized to the conditions of their pit.

For years I was institutionalized within my pit of food addiction.  I don't like using the word addiction with the word food.  It feels harsh.  I LIKE food.  I'm not addicted to food.  It's not polite to call food addictive.  I don't know if it's worse being a Christian woman or not, but you know every church function is centered around food.  I can make the excuses, I have excessive taste buds so everything tastes wonderful to me.   Several of my childhood years included times when there wasn't enough food to go around.  You ate what you had, because you weren't getting anything else or any more.  What you left, someone else was willing to eat.  Sometimes I find myself wanting to overeat, because either I paid good money for this...or the unspoken fear that tomorrow there will be no food.  Then I had a whooper of a realization as well.  I know full well WHEN it was I started overeating.  I had a health issue that I was unaware of that contributed to weight gain.  But I started eating from the emotional price of ignoring deep painful wounds.  I was self medicating.  The weight I gained further protected me  from more wounds.  My husband loved and considered me beautiful.  The extra fluff I carried, insulated me from unwanted attention from other men. God has been bringing me to this point, clawing and kicking and much protesting for years.   YEARS.  

Several years ago, the death of an acquaintance who died for no other reason than being about 300 lbs overweight, kind of shocked my husband and I.  We made some changes.  We had this list...no red meat more than once a week.  No processed foods, but eating the real chicken and fish as it came from the ocean or lakes...not covered in bread crumbs.  Choosing to eat the veggie and the fruit instead of the boxed convenient foods.  We did allow ourselves one treat each week.  That treat could be the corn chips and cream cheese that I love, or the giant ice cream cone from Daisy Delight.  It did not matter.  But we limited the event to once a week.  We allowed ourselves the celebratory dinners for birthdays and anniversaries.  Our goal was to normalize our life...not swing the pendulum the other direction.  It is just as easy to become enslaved to the "law" of diet as it is the "draw" of food.  We started losing weight without exercise at that point.  My husband was hitting the 60 lb weight loss, where I was only closing in on the 25 - 30 lbs.  But he had more weight to lose then myself and men just lose it faster.  Then right as we were getting used to this new program and gaining momentum....I found out I had breast cancer.  

The plan fell apart like the paper targets that Little Man uses at the shooting range.  It shattered into pieces.   During chemo, I just ate what would go down and stay down without issue.  Many may recall my obsession for banana pops.  During the metal mouth phase of chemo, banana was the only flavor that got past the metallic side effect of chemo.  Luckily, I loved banana and still do.  We relied on a lot of convenience food after the most horrendous surgery ever, and then the ordeal of radiation. From the ugly honesty of my depths, some things I ate because I liked the taste was only for comfort.  I wasn't hungry, I was in pain.  I was "treating" myself to something tasty rather than using my narcotics.  It could be argued which was better.  But some choices were made in rebellion.  I am eating the bag of cookies because I CAN.  And girl - you know you are in trouble when you buy a can of frosting, with full knowledge that you plan to go home with a spoon to dip peanut butter and pig out.  I wasn't quite IN the pit so much as I had built a scaffolding to sit in the pit.  Not quite in it but not quite out either.

But life is starting to ease back to a new normal, and I have felt the urging to take back the control of what I put in my mouth.  I did so quietly without proclamation.  I told Mr. Rosey it was time to direct our attentions back to the whole foods concept.  He sighed and agreed.  I had the exercise bike brought up to the main floor.  I quietly started implementing the changes.  Then a few weeks ago a young but dear friend made an astonishing pronouncement on her blog.  She was fighting an addiction.  On reading the title, I was concerned.  But as I read, I saw instead that she shared some of my same stinky pit issues.  She bravely pronounced that she had a food addiction.  She was opening the door to her pit (my words) and changing her life.  I knew I had to support her in her effort.

http://marceyc.blogspot.com/2012/05/brutal-honesty-about-my-addiction.html

To read about my friend Marcey and her addiction you can click on the linked caption.  She is a beautiful young mom that you will enjoy.






I offered support to Marcey and told her I battled this pit as well.  But it occurred to me this morning that perhaps I had not made the public proclamation because I didn't want to be held accountable.  I'm not talking about needing people questioning whether I should have that giant piece of carrot cake the other night. (My diabetic educator does that very well thank you very much!)  I'm talking about people who will be supportive, encouraging and perhaps share some wonderful recipes that trick your mind into believing this is WONDERFUL... even if it's not chocolate.  lol  

I don't need people trying to convince me their diet plan works the best.  I don't need devices or special tools.  I only need the Holy Spirit checking on whether I am eating from need or trying to fill some emotional hole.  I need to be moderate in what I eat and moderate in my exercise.  I need to CHANGE my life....not just this month.  For me no prepackaged diet food, special mixes or shakes is going to change my life.  I have to change the relationship I have with food and allow God to fill the emotional holes that I have been stuffing food into.

My goal now is a 60 lb loss and I am now -8 on that goal.  Rest assured I'm not going to post photos of my flesh in the flesh to show the weight loss journey.  That face you see up at the top side of my blog is 90 lbs less than where first I started.  And I'm sure the struggles will appear in the blog as well.

Now for my tip for junk food replacement.  I recently had fresh cut zucchini with veggie dip at a friend's house earlier in the spring.  My husband and I both liked the texture and the crunch, so I have been keeping thin sliced zucchini and squash in the fridge.  My diabetic educator is so thrilled she's doing hand springs and totally giving me the dip options.  Dip has no real carb content so it doesn't do much to blood sugar levels.  But for the calorie conscious friend, the light dips and no fats would work.  Just keep in mind that when they start removing fat, they replace it with chemicals.  So the lower the fat, the higher the chemical content...no longer a whole food.  I fully endorse Daisy sour cream as it's purest form *unless you make it yourself*  But that is my whole food replacement to chips and cream cheese.

Stay tuned for more of Rosey's adventures to conquering the cookie monster.

Linked up with  http://stephaniesmommybrain.blogspot.com/2012/07/is-it-ok-to-be-overweight.html

Popping Rockets

Just for fun, I'm sharing a story from some years back.  It was around 1985 in fact.  I had become friends with Nancy and her son, Mark.  One afternoon, I had been invited to their apartment for PBJ sandwiches.  Not to be one to turn down a PBJ, I agreed and I was walking along the sidewalk under their balcony.

As I crossed under the balcony I was startled by something landing in my hair.  I reached up to grab the object and upon first recognition, I shook it off onto the ground.  A closer look showed me that they were unused, about the time I heard a young voice bellow "BOOM!" and seconds later another offensive object landed at my feet.

I could hardly stand it.  I went up the stairs, knocked on the door, snorting, choking and laughing in her face. She answered the door and seeing my great mirth asked me what was funny.  I asked her, "Do you know where little Mark is?"  Puzzled, she looked at the balcony and answered the obvious, "He's playing on the balcony."

Still giggling uncontrollably I asked if she knew what game he was playing, she frowned at me and told me he was playing "Navy" on the balcony with his boats and toy figures.  I laughed more as I asked "Have you checked out the boy's ammunition?  bwa ha ha

I followed her to the balcony just in time to see little Mark send another item flying over the balcony as he sounded off another "Boom".

"Mark!"  She exclaimed, "What are you playing with?"  She knew very well what he was playing with by this point, but couldn't bring herself to say it.

With joy, Mark held up the 2 tube system and exclaimed "Rockets mommy, Rockets." 

Okay, so I am busting a gut at her expense and the genius of Mark to create rockets out of tampons.  It was quite impressive how the right amount of force could make those puppies soar.  She swooped down to gather up the tubes, stuffing them into pockets, trying to gather up his spent "ammunition" and carry it off.  Little Mark was not very happy with her, and objected loudly to losing his toy rockets.  Have I mentioned he was ALMOST 3?  lol  She looked into the box and shook it at me and told me, "This was a full box!  Where are the tampons?"

I looked out over the balcony railing and peered down.  She followed my gaze down to the walkway below.  Seeing her personal items scattered among the rocks and sidewalk was particularly sufficient to create more guffaws as she yelled "oh no no no no no...." and ran to the door and down the exteriors, yelling to "Mark, you stay with Aunt T.T.!"

I continued to snicker as I watched her scanning the ground and gathering up the blown missiles.  I pointed out the ones I could see, and she gathered them up in the tail of her shirt.  She was about to come back up the stairs, when Mark's movements caught my eye.

I called down to her that she might want hang out for a few seconds.  She simply asked "Do you see more?" I laughed as I called to her, "No, but the captain of the ship has figured his coordinates, armed his weapons and is ready to fire."  Almost on cure, his adorable toddler voice echoed through the courtyard...."BOOOOOM!"

"Tina, stop laughing and take the rest from him!"  So I squatted next to him and told him we had to go in for PBJ sandwiches, so the Navy had to stop firing and meet in the mess hall.  He popped up and ran to the kitchen while I packed the remaining ammunition, and the spent tubes.  Putting them back in the box, I carried it into the kitchen, handing it to Nancy as she went to dump all the contents into trash can.  Mark was climbing into his high chair, as he watched his mother throw away the box.

"Thanks mom!  Thems the BESTEST rockets!"

This time, Nancy and I both laughed.  As true to Naval tradition, you form friendships fast as you never know when a deployment or duty station change just as quickly changed the status of your friendship,  For the duration of our deployment there in Mayport, FL, I would refer to the monthly visits of "ole Flo" as "Popping Rockets." 

I've Lost My Pucketts, Meet the Foobies - Graphic Estrogen content

This was me the morning of my exchange surgery.  Well Actually I was a little more sassy than that.

The pink ribbon emblem show to the left is a place marker.  It does nothing but sit where I would have put a photo.  When finding that google was showing my reconstruction photos along with all the photos of my family, myself and friends, I took the reconstruction photos off the blog.  I don't have any problem with friends who are curious or women searching for breast cancer stories.  I have put the photos off site and every time you see the pink ribbon with a link below, click the LINK and it will take you to that photo.  I hope this clears up any confusion.  It's less convenient, but it's google.  If you right click the link, you can open the photo in a new tab and not lose your place here.  :)



My pucketts (TE) had been expanded to 750 ccs of saline but the right one kept leaking.  The decision was made to hasten to the implant exchange to July 5th.  The longer the TE was left unexpanded the pocket would begin to shrink.  Even after they took it out, I was told, "it was definately deflated but we couldn't tell why."  So because you need the pressure of the Tissue Expander to keep that pocket or capsule stretched out, they scheduled me for surgery.  So there I was.

I arrived at surgery center for my 2nd stage Breast reconstruction otherwise known as the "Exchange" surgery.

To see photo, click and use rosey2012 if asked
This was the last view of the pucketts, 
may they rest in pieces .  The cleavage was
cool while it lasted.

.
Took 3 sticks to start the IV.  Yeah, for lidacaine!  They believed me when I said, hard stick - shy veins.

To see photo, click and use rosey2012 if asked
This is the bilateral view of the TE on
5/3/2012  The tapes and bandaids
are from the expansion to 750 cc

To see photo, click and enter rosey2012 if asked
Dr. Puckett went a little nuts with
the black marker.  The spiderwebs?
not sure I want to know.

I found out what doctors do when they have to poop during surgery.  He first said "we just do it".  And I was like "Whoooaaaa, that has to break the sterile environment!"  Before I blurted that, he continued that they run out, take care of business, have to scrub back in and pick it up where they left.  He said they try to take care of that kind of thing between surgeries because anesthesiologist get really cranky when they are left in sole charge of a patient.  The wienies.

There was a BIG hoopla because I'm supposed to be allergic to Keflex.  Because the IV took so long, they were rushing to get all the other presurgery stuff done.  Someone hung Kflex.  uh oh.  Nurse noticed it was running.  She stopped it and they were rushing around to find out what ELSE to give me.

I get to the OR and I'm surrounded by rushing women who seem more like chickens than nurses, surgical techs or nurse anesthesists.  I was given happy juice which was fun.  I made the ceiling tiles spin.  I looked at the Nurse Anesthetists and asked "What antibiotic am I getting?"  She answered "I don't know yet" and then put me to sleep.  I did find out yesterday I was given IV antibiotics in surgery.

For you who are curious about the surgery and have the scientific nature to watch, I found a very well done video that shows a reconstruction from TE to implant.  I wanted to imbed it but the opening video image was too graphic for those who cannot watch surgical procedures.  Be aware this link is actual surgery done, not simulation or computerized.  Woman's Exchange Surgery from TE to Implant

The first thing I noted upon waking up was the strange sensation of little pain.  Wasn't expecting THAT!  They buzzed around while I tried to get my eyeballs to point in the same direction.  I told them I will recover faster if you allow my husband back her to keep me focused and talking.  They rushed out to get him.

He came back and while I was uncomfortable, it was like 5 on the scale using the pain I awoke with from the Bilateral Mastectomy with 1st stage reconstruction.  THAT was my 10.  They gave me some IV medication of morphine.  Rosey was in good hands.

Yep.  That's me on Morphine.  My new foobies are under all that ace wrap.  It seemed promising under all that wrap.







I was sent home with a list of scripts on of them for Keflex as we discovered at the pharmacy by my husband.  I was given really GOOD drugs.  By 8 pm I had finished with a meal and was feeling beat and for bed.  I took a Dilaudid for sleep because I wanted to not move the new foobies.  Not one way or the other.  I never knew how Dilaudid would affect me, never having it before.  It was the first drug EVER that I felt.

I have been given fentanyl - my pain laughed at it.  One nurse told me after a different surgery that I had been given enough pain fentenayl to put down a horse.  I snarled at her, "Well this HORSE is still kicking.  Find. Something. Else"  She got me Morphine.

Morphine makes me sleepy.  A little goofy if you ask Mr. Rosey, but to tell the truth, I'm not all that impressed with it either.  I could have eaten Darvocet as a cereal and it never budged any pain.  It's taken off the market.  It was a bad drug anyway.  Tramadol makes me sleepy and throw up.  Not a good combination.  I don't know if could take pain away.  I always HAD the pain until I threw up.  Vicodin that people loooove on the black market.  Does not a thing for my pain.

Demorol together with valium finally brought my mastectomy pain within a bearable range, 5 days after the surgery. Percocet can help but not with intense pain.  Having experienced intense pain with the BMX, I was pretty pleased to be so comfortable after the exchange...and I have LONG incisions.

Thurs night.  I took the Dilaudid and before I closed the computer, everyone within my facebook family knew it was affecting me as well.  It became the topic of much humor at my expense.  What I wrote looked something like this....

hi my loves,I lo ed all the pink lips. Yrs, i am ighgh. i can't get the keyboard ro worj right. I habe no diea what the foobies, look liiiiiiiiiiiiiiik. i am wrpaped like nnlike a mimmy...mummy. In wading up i coulf tell immediatlu that thia ws mcuh easier. i did not waked up skeaming. just hurting, insision pain .........

To interpret the above, I wrote, Hi my loves.  I loved all the pink lips.  Yes, I am high.  I can't get the keyboard to work right.  I have no idea what the foobies look like.  I am wrapped like a mummy.  In waking up, I could tell immediately that this was much easier.  I did not wake up screaming.  Just hurting, incision pain...and there was a lot more but this gives you an idea.  I was NOT feeling pain at that point.  Now I finally know what I need after surgery.  I am like my father.  It was hard to get pain meds to work for him too.  We must have some kind of internal resistance.

Friday I went to the clinic and had the giant ace wrap taken off.  I looked down at the new foobies and was pretty discouraged.  Not what I was expecting.  The bottom of the photo was taken at my neck, pointing down if you need orientation.  I was expecting bodacious cleavage, and coconut shell foobies.

To see the photo, click THIS link and use rosey2012 if asked
This was my view of the cleavage looking down my chest.
To say I was discouraged by the sight would be
an understatement.  I felt as if I had gone through
all the pain for PANCAKES?

I have two big round sets of 2 stacked pancakes.  Big and round but they barely project off the chest.  In a dress, I am flat chested.  I was discouraged and felt defeated that night.  I am told by others who have gone there, that I am expecting too much too soon.  That I have to wait for the foobies to "drop and fluff".  No idea what that means,  But I know that I could find no one on the internet that ever showed me what their implants looked like the next day, or a even weekly progression.  There's always a before and an after which is well after the healing is complete.  I plan to take weekly photos.

To see the photo, click this link and use rosey2012 is asked
Nice Bilateral view of the implants from
underneath?  lol  I was nicely drugged at this point.

I took this photo and for the life of me, I can not figure out how I took it. It looks like I held the camera low and shot upward.

To see photo, click this link and use rosey2012 is asked
View of the left incision and missing chicken skin.

I was curious about the long scar on the left side.  Then I recalled him telling me he planned to remove my "chicken skin".  The long scar reached back to the chicken skin area, so he could pull up that loose skin and get rid of it.  I'll trade you a scar for chicken skin.







Sat. I had lunch in town and was looking for a baby gift at Samsclub.  I thought I could handle it as I felt pretty good.  It was hot there, crowded and people were rude.  I couldn't reach the baby clothes.  I was feeling nauseous.  I'm hunting for Mr. Rosey when a sea of breast rolled over me.  Technically, it was a group of 12 - 20 college girls. They walked toward me down the aisle and then split to walk on either side of me.  All of them wearing tube tops, spaghetti straps, halter tops with headlights pointing various directions, different sizes and shapes.  Sitting in a motor cart, my head was breast level so it felt like a sea of breasts.  All of them braless and I was overwhelmed.  Tears welled up in my eyes and I wanted to shout at them,

You don't know how lucky you are to have breasts that you don't have to think about!

Yes, I am a bit breast obsessed right now.  Now. Let me tell you there is a very powerful emotional impact to seeing your reconstructed breast.  I was not prepared for that.. I have found myself looking at breasts, wondering what the bra size for THOSE are, and what is real, padded, propped, and foobie like mine.  I found Mr. Rosey and we went home.  

I'm frustrated because Mr. Rosey doesn't understand how I am feeling and can't understand that he can't fix it. I tried to tell him, I want him to be quiet, say I understand, cluck a time or two, and feed me some chocolate! I'll try to explain this to you. You go into reconstruction, hoping when it's all over, you will feel normal, look normal and feel pretty in a dress. They take the dressings off and you are hit with a big "THAT'S NOT NORMAL!" It's a very low point. Even if what you are seeing IS normal for the day after the surgery, it's the in your face reality that you are never going to be "normal". All you can achieve is to look your best. So this takes a few days to digest and I'm still reeling from this reality.  I think all reconstructed women need to know this ahead of time.

In the meantime, it's summer and every where I look I see breasts. Nearly exposed BREASTS. I found that I saw older women with boobs that obviously needed a stronger bra, and I was still jealous because I will never even experience that. You know my paternal grandmother died about 3 years ago. We used to joke about her boobs...she never wore a bra. She literally had to move the sag bag to wipe her heiney. (please note, I'm smiling in affectionate memory, not in sarcasm or criticism) To my knowledge she never had a mammogram and still did not die of breast cancer. Her old breasts served her well.

I am grateful that medical technology, Dr's skills and science has progressed to the point that women have the OPTION to reconstruct a breast. Our predecessors were hideously scarred and nothing was EVER done to even make the scars easier to look at. My 3rd grade teacher had to have a breast removed. I saw her at the city pools years later. In her suit, her right side looked as if acid had been poured on her. In those days, they removed the breast, and a good portion of muscle as well. Her body was left with a mess of twisting scars that were scary to see. A woman today can choose to remove her breasts and not reconstruct. She is left with a clean line where her breasts used to sit.

But I am still having to face that I have been treated for breast cancer. It was a HARD thing to do. Despite having a reconstructed breast, I'm not sure right now that I will ever feel normal. I'm not sure I will confident. On the street, I do not think people are going to point and me and say "she's not normal", but they will look at me and think...she sure is flat chested or she's had a mastectomy. I know. Because I did.  Maybe because mine started growing at 9 years of age, I have always been breast obsessed.   Over the years, I compared mine to ones I saw. Not in critical manners (not usually, unless they were UNCOVERED). I would note, nice pair, or she needs a different bra, a little on the saggy side and sometimes those women who have reached the age where the girls started sliding down hill, but the woman had not reached the age that she knew it was time to DRESS her age. Yeah, those woman.

I told Kel what Dr. Puckett needs and I think I'm brilliant for this...they need a "clinical care counselor." On staff, to meet with breast cancer patients....well actually ALL cancer patients. But someone to sit down with you and tell you about what to expect from the surgery.  Someone who tells you this is how you feel after this  kind of surgery.  This is what you will see when they cut off the bandages...this is a week.  What a women have to deal with is the emotional impact....and all those things that we don't know to question the doctor about.  Someone who will check in with us through the first 3 months after each surgery to make sure we still feel like we're on top if this.  I am told there is still a lot left to do that can make me feel more and more normal.  Apparently I thought it would happen all at once.  It doesn't.

The next observation.  It is hard to shiver with no nipples.  Seriously, your chest shivers and ripples.  With nipples the shivers all head to the nipples and then out the body...creating the famous headlight sensation.  Every woman knows if she shivers, first reaction is to cross her arms across the chest because those shivers much escape through the nipples.

With no nipple, the shivers just race and ripple around your chest, ricochet down the arms and back up.  It's actually fairly miserable.  They are looking for the exit and they are stuck.  So I wound up shivering a lot longer because they had no escape from the body to relieve me.

Now,  a myth buster. It is said you can tell a woman has implants because she she lies down, her boobs still are topside and not slid down to her armpits.

As snopes would say.      *FALSE

FACT: When you lie down with silicone implants, the bleeping things go where ever they want. It can slide down to your pit, one can stay up while the slides down. Regardless, my "implant pockets" are still healing so sitting up is NOT fun. This is a scientific kind of thing and some other home school mom might know the real term for it. This silicone is called "adhesive gel". It feels like cranberry jelly (think of it without the berries please, that would hurt). So I have this sack of cranberry jelly. I COULD cut the gel separate it slightly and it would slowly ooze together and become one piece again. IT would not look it does coming out of the can, but it comes one piece again. That's the kind foobies I have. There's a scientific name for the process but I'm brain fried. So when I lay down, they S l o w l y ooze to the side. And when I get up they s l o w l y ooze back down. It is not at all what I expected. And because of the surgical process and all the stuff he had to cut out, that oozing process hurts. And maybe mine are too big (the implants I mean). But that concrete bra is gone, the hard re-bar and cement baseball pucketts are gone. I'm left with marshmellow that seems to hang where it wants.  There are things to be grateful for.  I have seen the botched constructions of numerous brave and courageous women that you will never get to know.  I belong to a special club, The Cancer Warriors.  The admission cost is way too high and the steps are daunting.  But when you get to the top of that ladder, then you have the fellowship of amazing warrior women like yourself!

I Am Not a Good Patient. * Estrogen Content*

I really need a frowny face here.  For an update, and I will try to skip through details to get where I am.  I think I will write details in another post.

Arrived at surgery center for my 2nd stage Breast reconstruction otherwise known as the "Exchange" surgery.  My pucketts (TE) were expanded to 750 ccs of saline but the right one kept leaking.  Never knew why.  Even after they took it out, I was told, "it was definately deflated but couldn't tell why."  Because you need the pressure of the Tissue Expander to keep that pocket or capsule stretched out, they scheduled me for surgery.  So there I was.

Took 3 sticks to start IV.  Yeah, for lidocaine!  They believed me when I said, hard stick - shy veins.

Dr.. Puckett came and drew all over my pucketts, spiderwebs and all.

There was a BIG hoopla because I'm supposed to be allergic to Keflex.  Because the IV took so long, they were rushing to get all the other presurgery stuff done.  Someone hung Keflex.  uh oh.  Nurse noticed it was running.

The first thing I noted upon waking up was the strange sensation of little pain.  Wasn't expecting THAT!  They buzzed around while I tried to get my eyeballs to point in the same direction.  I told them I will recover faster if you allow my husband back here to keep me focused and talking.  They rushed out to get him.

He came back and while I was uncomfortable, it was like 5 on the scale using the pain I awoke with from the Bilateral Mastectomy with 1st stage reconstruction.  THAT was my 10.  They gave me a little IV morphine.  Rosey was in good hands.

Yep.  That's me on Morphine.  My new foobies are under all that ace wrap.







I was sent home with a list of scripts, my husband stopped on the way home to pick up.  I was still feeling ok.  I was given really GOOD drugs.

By 8 pm I had finished with a meal and was feeling beat and for bed.  I took a Dilaudid for sleep because I wanted to not move the new foobies.  Not one way or the other.  I never knew how Dilaudid would affect me, never having it before.  It was the first drug EVER that I felt worked.

Friday I went to the clinic and had the giant ace wrap taken off.  I looked down at the new foobies and was pretty discouraged.  Not what I was expecting.  I have two big round sets of 2 stacked pancakes.  Big and round but they barely project off the chest.

Sat. I had lunch in town and was looking for a baby gift at Samsclub.  I thought I could handle it as I felt pretty good.  It was hot there, crowded and people were rude.

The trip was strange.  I was cold.  I put on my sweater, because it's common for Mr. Rosey to keep the ac blowing at temps appropriate for hanging meat. Still I quivered with shivers. Slowly it dawned on me that I was having chills.  I shivered all the way back home.  I needed to answer nature's call, then I noticed I was now shivering so hard, my feet were bouncing.  Uh oh.  Been there before, these are RIGORS.

My temp was 103.6...way to high for "over doing".  I called the surgical resident on call.   He basically said take 2 tylenol and come see me in the morning.

I took my meds, fell asleep.  I awoke, no fever yesterday and felt foolish for having over reacted to a fever.  So I called to tell him, the fever was gone.   Dr. Puckett will want to see me for my regular appointment.

I am very anxious, moody, discouraged and I don't like waiting to get better.  I'm wearing something called a push down strap that makes me want to shriek in frustration.  I don't like missing out.  I feel like the kid who got put to bed when the party started.  There's a lot of emotional stuff tied up in this I didn't expect.  Remember post partum days, I am that emotional.  All over the scale.  I don't have hormones, so I don't know where this comes from.

Saw Dr. Puckett today and he was very happy with his work.  I'm expecting too much too soon, and he thinks the fever and chills is just the reaction to how brutal he had to get with my "pocket".  He put me on more antibiotics just to be safe.  He said I was not the easy, pop them in exchange.  He had to work at it and it became a major undertaking.  He was happy that I was not complaining of pain.  But said I was not the typical exchange.

I am told my body went through more than I was aware of.  I guess the mild pain had made me feel even MORE impatient to just get on with it.  Still no driving, no lifting more than 5 lbs.  Husband hates that 8 lb iron!  Everything itches and twitches and I'm told to be patient.  aaaaaauuuuuuuugggggggggghhhhhhhh.
Now you are caught up without all the detail work.  This was boring wasn't it.  lol

Sunday night Link - UP with Changed by the Maker

Tonight I linked up with a gracious woman at Changed By The Maker as she shares her heart.  Why she became a full time Mom and home school educator.  This is her last post as she goes into a new chapter in her family.  But I know that the content of her blog will encourage any woman who hasn't made the decision what she wants to do or when.

For those who want to consider, she shares wisdom.

For those interested in homeschooling, she shares that process as well.  Check out her older posts and check it out,  :)  

Priceless Treasures in Jars of Clay

Today I witnessed something that floored me, then made me want to weep for mankind.

It was a simple thing.  My husband and I had just dropped off our son and daughter in law at their apt. We were at the stop sign waiting for traffic to thin out so we could pull out into the street.  There on the other side of the street, a VERY elderly woman stepped out on the street and began to cross.  So focused was she upon the street, and her cane, that she was not paying attention to the traffic.

The lane close to her was clear, but the lane on our side was not.  She kept walking and I held my breath as she crossed the center lane with traffic bearing down upon her.  It was a main street in a small community.  Despite what the city officials might want to call this town, "progressive, upcoming, energizing and growing" we knew what it really was.  "Small, proud, territorial, roll the sidewalks up at 6:00, no one locks their door, neighbors look out for neighbors SMALL town America".

But here in front of me, I was being proven wrong.  Rather than stop in the lane and let this very elderly lady get safely to the sidewalk on our side, the driver pulled in so close, she could have pushed the lady.  We watched her impatience with the lady's halting steps across the pavement.  The driver never stopped her car from rolling.  If the lady had faltered and fallen, the car would have hit her.  The sweet elderly lady was totally unaware that the car was there, that the driver was furious or there was a line backing up.

Are we really so busy that we can not wait for a WOMAN to finish her walk across a street?  This was not a highway.  This was a thoroughfare in a small town where we are required to stop for GEESE who walk their goslings across the roads from lake to lake.  Yet the irate driver cared less for this sweet woman's welfare than she had to for the geese.

She could have been my grandma.  She could have been yours.  She was hard of hearing, stooped and wearing a dress with long sleeves and a sweater in the sweltering 102 degree heat.  She passed in front of us, not knowing we were there.  The irate driver, spun past her mouth still spewing her filth from inside the car...(you could read her gestures).  Mr. Rosey pulled out into the street, and just as quickly I told him to stop.  He pulled down another side street like the one we just pulled out of.

"We have to offer her a ride honey.  She's wearing that long sleeved dress and she's out here alone.  Obviously the jerks don't care if she's unaware she's in danger."  So Mr. Rosey dutifully turned around, and at the next block we crossed the drive and blocked her pathway.

Please Ma'am let us give you a ride? I asked.  I had to repeat myself twice.  She was hard of hearing

"Well aren't you a sweet thing" she told me, but she was fine.

I told her it is terribly hot outside, and you have no covering on your head.  Please, I will take you anywhere in town, I offered.

She was smiling hugely as she thanked me but again declined.  She pointed to a diner around the corner, and told me "I'm just headed there for lunch."  My fear of her crossing another street, I pleaded with her to allow us to drive her the block to the diner.

"Oh no," she answered.  "You sweet thing, I have never been asked to be given a ride and I walk everywhere.  What is your name?"  I told her and she again thanked me but declined again, telling me she needed to the exercise.  She is a priceless treasure.

So I told her, if she was certain, to PLEASE take care crossing the street.  She smiled and lifted her gnarled hand to me, the delicate veins glowing through her skin.  "Thank you kindly for the offer and God bless you for it."  It did not feel right to leave her there, but I also couldn't bodily toss her into my vehicle and I did not want to alarm her by insisting that she come with us because my fear was heightened by watching her cross the street.  

We drove away.  I told Mr. Rosey, if she's still walking down that side walk when we come back this way, I will INSIST that she let us drive her to her real destination.  It appears she was telling the truth as just moments later she was no where visible along the long stretch of hot sidewalk.

My heart is kind of achy.  She was such a gentle darling.  Have we as Americans come to have so little value for our elderly that we nearly push them down in the street?  We get frustrated behind them in grocery lines as they painstakingly count out cash.  It was two week ago,  I heard a rude woman yell forward to the elderly woman at the cashier's side as she counted out her bills....One...Two....Three. "Haven't you ever heard of a DEBIT card?"

I held myself together.  I did not let Rosey snark back to that rude trashy excuse of human flesh, but I knew what I wanted to say....Yes, it was really holding up the line.  But she deserved her time in the market just as we did.  We could have easily jumped to another line....our baskets were not unloaded.  I scathingly glanced at the basket of junk food and soda the rude woman waited behind, and at the EBT card in her hand.  Food stamps.  How is that appropriate?  Yelling at the elderly woman buying her butter, cheese, bread, potatoes and milk because she is counting out her cash, while you stand with your basket to purchase what I consider junk with welfare monies?  I would have liked to shaken her, maybe even slapped her a time or two but as I said, I controlled myself.  I could have pointed out that the elderly woman might be able to use cash and not depend on the government to supply her need.

This beloved generation who survived the BIG wars, lived on their gardens, experienced the American dreams, knew what real Depression was but still grew this nation...is not to be subjected to such disrespect on the basis they are slow, they are in the way, they are not productive.

My heart clinches when I read that individuals 75 years of age, will stand before counsels of Dr.s and government who will determine if you are productive enough as a citizen to treat your diseases or if they will decide that you do not contribute enough to society to treat your diabetes, your emphysema, your cancer.  So go put your affairs in order.

And our highest court declared this to be LEGAL?  Yes, I went there.  They will have some fancy name for the process.  It won't be called a "Death Counsel", but as my father said,

When it walks like a duck, has feathers like a duck, has a bill like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks.  Then baby...it's a duck.  It won't matter what OUR government calls this counsel...we know the duck when we see it.

My gut churns and my heart twists as I remember the frailness of the little lady this morning and her delight to be "asked" if she would like a ride.  Who will look out for her and those like her?


I know who it better be.  It darn well better be the church who rushes to the chaos to care for our elderly, our disabled, our sick ones.  Because it won't be our government.  And it doesn't look like general average America will either.

Dear Sweet woman, I pray you made it home safely and that there is someone who checks on you.  I pray you rest easy and your sleep is sweet. I pray you are comfortable in your home and you have plenty of food to eat.   I pray someone loves you and delights in you, and shares your life with joy.  And I pray if you ever need a ride, that I am the driver crossing the street.








2 Corinthians 4: 4-9  The god of this age has blinded the minds of unbelievers, so that they cannot see the light of the gospel that displays the glory of Christ, who is the image of God. For what we preach is not ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your servants for Jesus’ sake.  For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of God’s glory displayed in the face of Christ.  But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.  We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair;  persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. 

Sisterhood Solidarity in Pink

Wear PINK Lipstick in support of ROSEY on July 5, 2012

Calling all my Sisters to cover me in prayer and stand in the gap as I have learned I will be having surgery for my Second Stage Breast Reconstruction aka "The Exchange" surgery on Thurs.  Yes. *wheezing* the day after TOMORROW!

I saw the beloved Dr. Puckett today.  I actually saw him, Dr. Brent, a student by the name of Rindi as well as nurse Mary.  The four of them surrounded me, and checked out the poor deflated Puckett.  It was an unanimous decision that the Right side puckett had a leak.  It was suspected that a leak had developed in the port itself.  The port is supposed to be made of a self-sealing membrane so regardless of how many times it is stuck with a Huber needle (a special needle designed not to core through the special membrane).  Apparently these do not hold up as well as a port used for infusions or taking blood. 

I expected to have surgery next Monday, but as it turned out he was booked.  He gave me 2 choices.  He could put off the surgery, and just have me come in twice a week for a "fill up" (with copays of course) for as long as I wanted to delay.  He did have the concern as to WHY the port might be leaking.  His concern if there was a defect that might "chunk" off, I would have pieces floating round.  Or he had an opening on Thursday and we could "git 'er done."  Yes.  My doctor said "git 'er done."

We decided to “git ‘er done”.

I had been given a book to read about the testing on and concerns regarding the "silicone implant." I had to sign that I had read it.  I told him I had some reservations.  After reading through this book I learned...

A study in Sweden showed that women with implants were more likely to be active smokers.  I told him....I didn't want an implant that would make me jonesing for nicotine.  He smiled good naturedly and told me, he thought he could find some nicotine free implants.  (It meant that Swedish women who smoked were more likely to get implants not the other way around.)  ;)  Side note:  Dr. Puckett REFUSES to perform surgery on smokers.  And if you have EVER in your life smoked, he requires a nicotine test before surgery.  While I was hassling about the concern, I was also hitting on one of his pet peeves. Smoking despite the known health hazards.

THEN I pointed out that studies show women with implants have increased complaints of joint and muscle pain.  But studies could not link them directly to the implant.   I asked him what idiots did the study...he told me quite a few but "why."  I pointed out, that I am not a doctor and I haven't been a nurse now in 20 years.  But it doesn't take a neurosurgeon to figure out that a woman who is having primary breast reconstruction is most likely taking Tomoxifen or Arimidex.  THEY cause joint and muscle pain.  Seriously, who wrote this study?  He agreed next time, I should be included with the panel of doctors.  I told him I am good with that....gotta nail down the details you know.

Dr. Charles Lin Puckett

Then I looked him dead on in his eyes  and told him I also had a grave concern.... possibly a deal breaker even.  This book of implant studies just informed me that women with primary reconstruction may not be successful at breastfeeding.  This time my stalwart protector of the foobie, burst out into a belly laugh.  I was curious as to how anyone might be successful breast feeding without milk ducts OR a nipple.  Talk about latching on issues!   I told him this could be an issue if I choose to conceive again (which is unlikely as there's no more womb at the Inn).  He agreed that this could create great difficulty should I have another child.  Perhaps I could hire a wet nurse.  Hmmmm.

I signed the consent form and they put 120 ccs of fluid into this poor leaky pucket.  It promptly started bubbling and spit the saline right back.  This is what led them to conclude a leak in the port membrane.

There was more paperwork to go over.  They told me to get dressed and meet them at the nurses’ station.  But in less than a minute...less than the time to spin around this 4 x 6 space to pick up my shirt, nurse Mary popped her head in to tell me she was sorry, they wanted to take photos.  Ok.  Whatever they needed.

So I headed out the door and immediately Mary yelped.  "With your GOWN on Tina."  Oh...ooops.  I slid that paper thin "gown" on and stepped back out.  I told her, I have no modesty with these things now.  Not having nipples makes them just cosmetic to me...like mascara, so I wasn't thinking.  She laughed and told me, it was okay.  She was just protecting the guy down the hall from having a coronary while getting his face stitched up,   With or without nipples, she thought seeing a topless woman go by might startle some people.   Oh Yeah, I forgot...they don't just do Breast reconstruction here.

Those kinky doctors wanted topless photos of the front view, right side and left side and then angled so that both pucketts are shown.   I'm supposed to be a "unique case" (That's news?  Mr. Rosey tells me that nearly nightly.) It's to be a classroom teaching tool.  Well it better be. I didn't want to see these photos in the hospital newsletter or taped up in any inappropriate rooms.   But I told her if they ever have another woman like me who is having implants and then radiation, they have my permission to show her my photos.  Even though my face is shown in her (I try to not do head shots myself)   Head on or off photos, I don't care for her, we are a sisterhood.

So they put me on speakerphone with the outpatient surgery center, which promptly violated all my HIPPA rights.  Med students, nurses, full doctors, plastic surgery residents - they all stand around as she asked "Mrs. Blankenship can you tell me your date of birth?"  I rolled my eyes and gave her the date and then told her "Thank you ever so much for having me announce to everyone that I'm 51 years old." sigh.  She laughed and then asked if there was a crowd.  I told her there was, "including the cutie patootie doctors."  They all snickered, but Dr. Puckett looked up from the desk with twinkles in his eyes and he told them, "Don't kid yourselves.  She was talking about me."  Yes, Dr. Puckett I was.  lol

So that business was done and I left to collect my mate for lunch.  This was too much information for texting.  To text this all this, I'd have my thumbs in splints before it was over.  Both of us are in something of a panic, trying to prepare for surgery the day after tomorrow!

So what is up with all the pink lipsticks?

I'm glad you asked. 

Before my bilateral mastectomy (BMX) I read the book "Why I wore Lipstick to my Mastectomy."  I didn't read all of it...but I will.  I read the parts surrounding her having cancer at 27 years of age then have a unilateral mastectomy.  The lipstick was her rebellion against the cancer, against all the people who can't look you in the eyes, and rebellion against the crazy obsession America has with breasts.

She chose a shocking shade of red.  She wanted to be noticed...not just "the 27 year old, right mastectomy".  She was at least going to be the patient with the bright red lipstick.

Find her story here

I want my lipstick to tell everyone in this room, that I think I have a future and I know I will wear lipstick again.  But on my terms next time.  But for now, I have on war paint, I think I'm ready...If I were awake, I would tell them I will still be a woman.  For those who do not believe this, that is why I'm wearing lipstick...I am hopeful and maybe a little sexy.  And slightly in control, just knowing that my lipstick might last.

So I am asking all who know me and even you who do not, to wear pink lipstick on July 5, 2012 all afternoon, while I am having surgery.  To stand in solidarity with this woman who is going through a momentous change in her life.  Help me not feel alone in this war.  I will have my pink lipstick on.  (They are refusing to let me wear ANYTHING else pink.)  Geralyn wore red, and I did for my mastectomy too.  But I am all about the rosey pink.  I glow in pink, so I have decided that I will wear PINK lipstick and request all my peeps to wear it too.  If lipstick offends you, then just wear something pink in my honor.  And when you see the pink...please pray for me.

Dr. C. Linwood Puckett, MD,
Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery 

• For the Lord to give strength to Dr. Puckett as he performs this surgery.  I request that the Lord take hold of his hands and they work together.  And please Lord, keep in mind that this time I'm talking about CHARLES Lin Puckett....

Lynn Puckett, MD, FACOG

• not his daughter in law the OB/GYN. (For a short time after Lynn married Dr. Puckett's son, there was confusion.  At that time he went by Lin Puckett, because he did not like Charles.  He switched to Charles, when women showed up in his clinic for delivery of babies.)  I've already made use of HER end of expertise. 

• That Dr. Puckett eats a good healthy lunch before my 12:00 pm procedure. Enough to keep him from falling over me from low blood sugar, but not so much he's dozing off in a carb coma

• This is supposed to be outpatient surgery, barring complications.  I am rather notorious for complications, so I ask that this REMAINS an outpatient surgery.

• Would it be vain Lord, that I ask that the finished results are kind of nice and pretty?  It's okay that they are crisscrossed with scars...I just want them to be the same sizes, the same shapes, on the same side of my body - the front.  None that go creeping under the arm pit, try to race to the belly button, or crawl over the shoulder.  Can I ask you for a supernatural work of art?  Seriously Lord.  Pretty?

• And Lord…you create order out of chaos every day.  You can create new things just by speaking it.  So please consider speaking a little order into my home?  I look around and I am OVERwhelmed by the magnitude of chores required to be done by tomorrow night.  Okay, yes required is a strong word, but we both know when my home is out of control, I FEEL out of control.  That’s not a good combination for recovery, so please grant me endurance and speed with focus so I can plow through these needs.

• I pray that I tolerate surgery well and recover before I feel the need to end the life of my husband or any other loved one.  I don't deal well with chaos in the home, so Lord, talking about supernatural works?  May the trash that I normally pick up daily..the shoes...the clothes... might I proclaim that they supernaturally find their ways to the proper places.

Okay, despite your misgivings and perhaps skepticism....this IS how God and I talk.  He's okay with my prayers and loves me anyway.  I am his RoseyTina.

Okay, Father in all seriousness.  All these things are important to me, so I pray you go before me and make the path smooth.  Anoint Dr. CHARLES Puckett with more extraordinary skill and expertise as he works to create for me a new pair of foobies.  Make sure his hand is steady and his head is clear.  I respect him a lot and I believe you brought him to me.  So I'm trusting your choice again, and ask you to once again remember that your plans are not to harm me.  You said so in your word.  


I ask you to anoint me with supernatural healing, that my skin, blood vessels and muscles knit together so quickly and so perfectly that it is incredibly clear to the profoundly stupid that this was wrought by you.  And then we give you the glory for my healing.  And while I hesitate to say this part, give me patience to wait the three weeks before attempting to shower.  You know how I strain to rush ahead.  I thank you for the handheld shower head and a smart husband who looks after me.  As we go through this ugly part of the marriage covenant - the for worse and sickness part - bless him for his tender and gentle care for me.  And I pray you help us figure out how to wash my hair because Lord, be merciful.  I was BALD that last surgery so this was not a concern.  It is this time and I believe you are as concerned about my little issues as you are my big ones.  THREE WEEKS Lord!

Father grant my plea that there be no more complications.  This has been a long time coming.  It's been hard and emotional and frustrating and a lot of the time painful and scary.  It is time for us to end this chapter, so I can move on to this new work that you are calling me to.  And I can't move on without you.

I pray that you stay with me and comfort me when I wake up from surgery confused and in pain.  Surround me with the Holy Spirit, so I reflect your spirit even in there.  I ask you to help me be your hands and your feet to those who will serve me so they see you instead.  Bless them for their kindnesses to me.  I pray that when I leave that they are moved by your spirit and seek your face.

These are not little things that I ask.  But I remind you of who you are, my Father and my creator. You make mountains appear and move simply by your word.  All I'm asking is that you for you to sculpt some little mountains for this daughter of yours.  Here I am praying out before the entire www so we want to stand back and see your glory...well...you know what I mean... to see YOU move on my behalf.  We are in this together.  You direct it and I will recover.

I know you have the power and I have the will.  You have the strength and I know the source.  I am covered by the blood of Jesus shed for me and you have called me your beloved.  So in that name of Jesus my intercessor, I pray these things.  Amen

P.S. Please consider clicking on the ACS
banner up top right and donating
any little sum of money for the 
American Cancer Society.  They gave
me so much support when I needed it.
Now I support them.