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today is the motherwear breastfeeding blog’s 17th carnival of breastfeeding and the theme is pumping.   while i didn’t choose to submit for the carnival, i am chosing today to write about pumping.

i’ve written before about my love hate relationship with the pump… well, mostly about the hate portion.  its rhythmic sucking makes me sing little songs to it’s always irritating tempo.  then they mix around with the gymboree songs already stuck in my head.  then i realize how badly i really do need the prozac and ativan.

i don’t know for sure how long it’s going to last.  i’m trying to be realistic about the prospect of having cancer, undergoing chemo and pumping for (hopefully only) six months.  it’s kind of like starting out nursing.  i tried to limit my expectations of myself.  i said i’d aim for six months and then see if i could go for a year.  that seemed ridiculously long to me at the time, much like pumping for six months does now.  but a year came and went and well, here we are.

nugget daddy stayed down at my parents’ last night so nugget and i have been left to fend for ourselves for the majority of the past two days, save for a playdate and lasagna drop off yesterday afternoon.

i didn’t get to pump at all yesterday.  i can’t pump in front of nugget.  that would be like asking your pregnant best friend to take you to happy hour.  i meant to pump last night once she went to sleep, but i fell asleep, too.  my boobs had been angry ever since.

nugget likes to have her naps with me in the peanut shell, but this limits my options for the duration of naptime as to what i can actually accomplish with twenty pounds of sleeping toddler strapped to my chest, lovely though as she feels snuggled against me.  her grandmamie puts her to sleep in the stroller and i bribed her into it with chocolate chips this afternoon so i could pump, finally, and subsequently blog about it.  lucky you!

i was so angry the first few times i pumped after starting chemo.  it was like rubbing salt in the wounds.  i couldn’t nurse nugget and i had to stand uncomfortably in the bathroom watching my milk fill up plastic bottles instead of a happy baby.  and then as i would dump the ounces of heartache down the sink a new wound would appear like a gaping mouth to catch my salty tears and sting my aching soul.  what a waste.

you won’t find much if you google “cancer” and “breastfeeding” except for articles about nursing after breast cancer.  “chemo” and “breastfeeding” yields the same contraindication tagline over and over, and “cancer” and “breastmilk” mostly just points you to article after article about this guy who drank breastmilk to fight his prostate cancer.  those, mostly sensational and local news, articles mention milk banks selling milk to cancer patients when they have excess available to sell.  it costs $3 an ounce.

i’ve had plenty of time to think about that guy and those $3 ounces while making up songs to the pump’s rhythm and calculating how much i’d just poured down the drain.  warning!  here comes the crunchy freaky part.  squee!  maybe you want to stop reading, uptight next door neighbor guy or old school grandpa, maybe there’s a golf game you’d rather be watching. okay, so seriously, why the fuck would i want to keep dumping my milk down the drain when other cancer patients are paying good money to get their hands on it?  i don’t know what exactly it might do for me, but it sure won’t be doing anything at the bottom of the sink that’s for sure. so i sucked it up and sucked it down.

it was sort of gross at first, though why exactly i’m not sure.  i think it was the temperature.  i can’t think of any beverage i regularly consume at body temperature.  but now i’m used to it and pleased by thought that i might actually be doing something to help save my own life.

so, now i have a new goal.  i want to pump twice a day for the whole six months, or however long it might be.  i know i might get sick.  i know i might have to stop if i do.  but if i approach it the way i did breastfeeding, then maybe i can make it through.  maybe if i tell all of you about my plan then i’ll be hell-bent on reaching my goal.  maybe some mother out there trolling the interwebs for a glimmer of hope will find my blog now, instead of all the other useless crap i found.

 
here’s what i have to report after yesterday’s appointment.

well, it’s either stage 2 or stage 2a.  the a or b is determined by the presence of systemic symptoms like fever, nightsweats, etc.  the majority of the nodes involved are in the left side of my neck and in my chest, nothing beow the diapragm.  the marrow biopsy was negative but the pet scan shows that the spinal section near the affected area of my chest might also be involved.

i’m tentatively scheduled to start treatment on thursday.  i don’t have to.  my doctor said if i wanted more time with nugget i could have it because this type of cancer isn’t going to change in just a few days.

i have an appointment today with the oncology nurse practitioner to go over a bunch of things, kind of like the way they do it at the reproductive endocrinologist (ivf clinic).  my mom is going with me this time because she hasn’t met the oncologist yet.  i’ll decide when i’m going to start treatment after discussing our schedules with the nurse.

the first treatment will take the longest because they have to go slowly to check for any allergic reactions.  after that each session will take around three hours.

me of little faith

the nasty bits

i’ve ordered two books, anthony bourdain’s the nasty bits and lewis black’s me of little faith, but i’ll definitely be needing to download a bounty of new podcasts to help pass the time.  i’ve been in the treatment room once before, but it was mostly filled with older people who all seemed very into their various magazines and healthy snacks from home.  somehow i don’t see them providing me with hours of entertainment.

we’re meeting with the oncologist this afternoon.  i suppose now we’ll start to get some answers.  how sick am i?  what kind of treatment?  when will it start?  how long will it take?  as you can imagine, the list goes on and on.  in fact, i bet you’ve already asked me your own list of questions.  everyone who calls or writes has their own set, but they’re almost all the same.

“how are you?”  really, how am i?  shitty.

“when do you go to the doctor next?”  today.

“what stage is it?”  i don’t know yet.

“how’s your husband?”  he’s fine.  he doesn’t have cancer.

“how’s your daughter?”  right now?  she’s fine.  why don’t you ask me again after i’ve started chemo and she’s crying hysterically because she wants to nurse and i can’t?

“is there anything i can do?”  yes.  you can call me.  or visit.  or write.  a lot.  i need more distraction than you think.  please do not make me bad food or offer to take my daughter somewhere.  let me complain.  let me sleep.  don’t think you need to tell me how i need to “keep a positive attitude” or that “kids are so resiliant.”  don’t tell me about your problems.  i don’t give a shit.

these precious things

wordless wednesday

i could wait forever to get the news, but somehow i’ll be dragging myself in to meet with the surgeon on friday for both a follow up and the final pathology.  i’ll promptly be getting a second opinion as suggested by my husband’s parents (they’re both mds). 

in the meantime, i’ve started prozac and xanax.  i try to pump every now and then, but it makes me sick just to look at the pump’s bag, let alone open and use it.  i can’t seem to let down despite attempted relaxing, thinking about nugget, or smelling her blanket, so i’m not really getting that much.

tomorrow is nugget’s gymboree class and slightly early 15 month appointment.  i’m glad we scheduled that early so i can nurse her after her vaccines.  i’m sure her ped will secretly be thrilled to hear that she’ll possibly be moving on to cow milk.  blech.  she seems to think that she “needs” that because she’s dropped back down to her birth percentile since she started walking.  somehow she doesn’t get that she was just a fat and happy breastfed baby and now she’s a normal active breastfed toddler.  ugh.  don’t even get me started.  i guess she’s lucky i started my meds or else i’d likely have gone off on her.

i’m not even sure to where to start.  remember that fever?  it finally went away.  then it came back.  a second set of bloodwork later, the doctor still thinks it’s viral.  i get  a chest x-ray to rule out pneumonia.  then i need a ct scan.  then i need a biopsy.  then the biopsy has to be done under general anesthesia by a mediastinoscopy, and a bronchoscopy is thrown in for good measure.  now they think I have hodgkins.

i know that there are readers who will get this so much more than others that have already heard it from me.  my biggest fear?  what if I have to have chemo and stop nursing my daughter?  it’s going to break her little heart (and mine) if she looks up at me, her mama, with her pleading, beautiful blue eyes and signs for her nursies and i have to say no.

i can’t say any more than that right now.  i just can’t.  this fear is crippling me and the tears won’t stop.

nusring on a united flight

wordless wednesday

on a wednesday

wordless wednesday

the nugget is an excellent signer.  you would think we would have been using a sign for “nurse” since it is her hands-down favorite thing to do.  sadly, we haven’t.  i just haven’t found a non-farm animal-related sign that suited us.  so, today i decided to abridge the standard asl sign for “milk” to just an open-and-close motion, one less indicative of handling an udder.  we’ll see how it goes.

i also like this woman’s suggestion (excerpted from lifeprint.com):

“currently we sign MOMMY and MILK. It would be so much faster to combine the signs and sign MILK while my thumb is on my chin for the sign MOMMY. basically it would be thumb on chin, and squeezing the remaining fingers.”

read the rest of her question and dr. vicar’s answer here.

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