Me & Izzy April 2008
The Journey
Sometime around Thanksgiving, 2007, I discovered a lump in my breast. Once discovered, I could not pretend it wasn't there. But I had no money, and no insurance, without which I couldn't even get a doctor to look at me. It was holiday season, and everyone was probably on vacation anyway. I settled into a low-grade depression for a few weeks and tried to finish up a few commission paintings I was working on before.... what? Before I died, I guess I was thinking. I hate owing anyone anything. I said I was going to do those paintings, and I was going to do them!
Just after Christmas, a couple of Jehovah witness ladies stopped in to see me. I usually don't answer the door to them unless I need some paper to light the woodstove with. But this day, I let them in. What the heck did it matter to me now. They could trace the genesis of every contemporary event to some passage in the bible and make their case for belief in God if they wanted to. I am a very tolerant person, and had nothing else to do anyway, and certainly nothing to lose. At some point in the conversation, I mentioned the lump I had found in my breast, and the fact that I had no money, insurance, or way to pay for next weeks groceries, let alone any kind of diagnosis and treatment. That was the most fortunate self-disclosure I ever made. One of the women was a breast cancer survivor, and told me about the Maine Breast and Cervical Health Program. I called immediately after the New Year Holiday, and got an appointment with a doctor for the end of the month. That doctor confirmed what I already knew. I had a lump in my breast . Then he referred me to a surgeon, who began the diagnostic process.
Visually documenting my personal journey in paintings included in this Breast Cancer Journal has allowed me to depict the raw psychological impressions following surgery or when all my hair fell out after chemotherapy. These paintings bridged my experience and understanding, and facilitated acceptance of my new reality. They made manifest the life force necessary to move beyond the pain and brutality of breast cancer to a place of sharing the love of life itself.
Self Portrait Post Surgery
8"x10" watercolor
I had bilateral mastectomies and lymph dissection on February 20th, 2008
A Friends Success
8"x10" watercolor
A friend had been through a similar surgery just before me in December. Phone calls and support, from her as well as many other breast cancer survivors were and continue to be very important to me during this time. I have found a local group I like very much, and an online chat with a great group of BC survivors that is always there for me any time of the day or night.
Winter 2008
8"x10" watercolor
The logistics of getting through a major surgery like this in the middle of Maine winter were daunting, but many neighbors and friends rallied and came through for me. The three woodstoves were fed 3 times a day, my mail was brought in, dishes done, and my dog walked every day. My freezer was packed with individual servings of delicious home cooked meals lovingly made by some very caring people. The whole thing was terrifying, but I was able to not worry about keeping the house warm and what to eat, and just focus on recovering from surgery. The lymph dissection left me with lymphedema, and I went to Physical Therapy 5 days a week for a month to learn how to manage that. I couldn't pick up a pencil, forget about a piece of cordwood. The walks and decks were shoveled and wood boxes kept full. I realize how very lucky I am, and appreciate everything that everyone did for me during that very scary time.
2nd Chemo Therapy
8"x10" watercolor
Chemotherapy is almost as scary as the surgery. I had a portacath surgically implanted in my chest and mainlined directly into my heart. The first 8 weeks I had 4 infusions of Adriamycin and Cytoxin. I lost my hair and my fingernails turned black, but I kept my appetite, and nausea wasn't an issue at all. After foolishly trying to drive myself to treatment, I called the American Cancer Society and hooked up with their Road to Recovery program. I am so grateful for the trained volunteer who drives me to treatment, and home again after an exhausting day of lab work, doctors' appointments, and chemotherapy treatment. She is great! I couldn't say enough about her kindness, dependability, good conversation, patience, and gentle humor that has made my trips to the hospital for treatment endurable.
Complications
8"x10" watercolor
Some time after my portacath was implanted, my body decided it didn't like this thing in my vein and decided to attack it. I thought I might be coming down with something and am very glad I mentioned these new symptoms of pain and swelling in my neck to my doctor. She cancelled treatment and sent me to the vascular lab where a scan found a huge embolism in my jugular vein. The next month was a nightmare of twice daily self-injections of an anti-coagulant, and varying amounts of a blood thinner, requiring a blood test almost daily as attempts were made at establishing and maintaining therapeutic levels of medication. My left arm and hand were already swollen and numb from the lymphedema. Now the clots were causing my right arm to swell. Often my blood became too thin and my doctor would call me and take me off everything, cautioning me to watch for signs of spontaneous bruising and internal bleeding. This situation became as hard and scary to deal with as the risks and side effects of chemotherapy.
Self Portrait, Mid-Treatment 20"x16"x1" oil on stretched canvas.
After the first course of chemotherapy was done, I began a "dose dense" course of Taxol infusions every 2 weeks for the next 8 weeks. I was lucky I did not have an allergic reaction to it, but a few days after the infusion I did develop severe, incapacitating bone pain which lasted almost to the next infusion 2 weeks later. I did get pain medication for after the next infusion, but as the effects are cumulative, I was disappointed that I experienced a lot of pain even with the pain medication.
About this time, I was also beginning to try accept my new physical appearance. I was not only sporting a new pre-pubescent profile, I was also completely bald! I thought it could be worse when I considered the alternative to treatment. As long as I didn't look in a mirror, it was easy to forget about the change in my appearance and the fact that I was a breast cancer patient. But I needed to face myself and this disease I am fighting, so I decided to do a portrait of myself.
Self Portrait Near the end of Chemotherapy
22"x15" watercolor
I am coming up on my last Taxol infusion and the end of my chemotherapy treatments on July 16th. No further treatment is planned after that. I suppose I will be monitored, scanned, and tested periodically to make sure there is no recurrence of the breast cancer anywhere in my body. And, of course, the embolism is still there big as ever, and clotting continues to be a problem. So I will have to deal with that. In this most recent self-portrait there are a few clouds on my horizon, and at the moment, not much else. After months of being physically un-able to paint without my arm and hand swelling to the size of a pumpkin, then a period of not knowing what to paint, watching my online sales all but stop and not able to do a thing about it but watch the bills stack up on my kitchen table, it is good to be able to spend time in my studio again, and look forward to sales picking back up again soon. I have learned new ways of caring for myself, and this disease broke my isolation and shattered what was a very reclusive lifestyle. My life is much more balanced as a result.
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