"...when we finally know we are dying, and all other sentient beings are dying with us, we start to have a burning, almost heartbreaking sense of the fragility and preciousness of each moment and each being, and from this can grow a deep, clear, limitless compassion for all beings." ~ Sogyal Rinpoche
Across the board, everyone I know has been surprised and sorry to hear about my breast cancer. However, there seems to be some differences in focus. Some people (mainly men, I think) are primarily concerned with what it feels like to face the prospect of losing a breast. "I can't imagine what you must be going through," they say. "Losing a breast!" Others ask me regularly if I'm thinking about my own mortality. I find myself having to examine these questions, even though I seem to be living a sort of half life since I was diagnosed. I'm not feeling much about anything these days.
A young woman who just moved in across the street from me was raped a couple of weeks ago. She came home from running errands on a Sunday morning and found a naked man in her home. My friends and my therapist expected me to be afraid after it occurred. I'm certain I must have looked askance at such an assumption. I wasn't afraid, not even before they caught him. I was cautious, of course, but I'm always cautious. I'm always aware of what's going on in my surroundings. I work out five days a week and I taught myself to stand up tall, I cultivated a vigorous walk. When I make eye contact, it's clear that you do not want to fuck with me.
Besides, why be afraid at this point? I'm far more concerned about long term survival than short term pain. Or even long term pain. I experienced sexual assault many times as a child. I lived through long years of terror of extreme physical violence. I watched someone I loved being tortured. One of my good friends commented a couple of years ago that I have a backbone of steel. At the time, I was a little puzzled.
Now I rely on that steeliness to steady my panic about how long I'll be here, how much time I'll have to grow my limitless compassion.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Monday, August 29, 2005
Daily Wrap Up
"It is the duty of children to wait on elders, and not the elders on children" ~ African proverb
I finally talked with my stepson and his wife yesterday. They called sometime before my operation, but not since. I'm sure Hubby is keeping them up to date on the Breast Cancer Saga, but I've been hoping for a call or an email from them just to wish me well. I even admit to being hurt by the seeming indifference to my plight. Okay, that just sounds unbelievably whiney. I do not whine. Starting over.
I spoke with my stepson and his wife yesterday. My daughter in law has had her jaw surgery, which she compared to my breast cancer. I said hello, how are you and something to the effect that I do, indeed, have breast cancer. There was a brief pause before she said, "I've got something similar." You can imagine my shock and horror. "Oh no! What's wrong?" She broke her jaw while she was eating a taco. I know. Exactly the same as breast cancer.
We talked about how the jaw surgery went and I just started blithering on about what's been happening and what is yet to come on the breast cancer front. She advised me that she knows a guy whose father had prostate cancer, went to Mexico to be treated herbally and is now cancer-free. She didn't exactly advise me to head on south of the border, but there was an implied suggestion there. I'm not going to Mexico. She suggested Tai Chi. And accupuncture.
These things may be an expression of caring. Sometimes people don't exactly know how to say they're concerned or they wish you well. Suggesting you go to Mexico and abandon conventional treatment just isn't the way to do that.
My stepson seems to be working steadily. He's also been recording some new music. We discussed his mom's bout with breast cancer several years ago. I've wondered how the prospect of another family member with cancer would be for him. I could be wrong here, but I think he may be avoiding the necessity of acknowledging it. Who knows. I'm not interested in additional speculation as to why he hasn't been in touch. He's a guy. That pretty much sums it up, probably.
On the work front, we may be losing another employee. Ed, the computer guy, died several weeks ago. I think he was in his late 70's or thereabouts, so it wasn't a tragedy. I just don't think I've ever experienced that before. Now another person, a woman, is in the intensive care unit at one of the local hospitals. An insect bite became infected, she went to the minor emergency clinic and they summoned the ambulance immediately. After she got to the hospital, her kidneys failed. The infection had reached frightening proportions, an 8" x 10" section of her tummy. She's responding to dialysis and antibiotics, but I think there's still some question as to her eventual recovery.
My other dearly beloved co-worker, k., is out of the office again. This time her husband had a really, really bad headache yesterday that sent him to the emergency room. They didn't know what was wrong with him. (Let me hazard a guess here: a headache?) He woke up with the headache again today so she decided to stay home with him. She was afraid to leave him alone. He called the office early this afternoon and reported to us that he's feeling better (let's all celebrate!), but his wife is spending the rest of the afternoon with him. This is the woman who thought her sinus infection was comparable to breast cancer. The world is just filled with nitwits and I seem to attract them.
I woke up feeling down today. Who the hell knows why. It's just been one of those days when the sun is shining, but I'm completely incapable of bucking up. Yoga tonight may help.
America held hostage day 1424
Bushism of the day:
"You know, let me talk about Al Qaida just for a second. I made the statement that we're dismantling senior management, and we are. Our people have done a really good job of hauling in a lot of the key operators. Khalid Shaikh Mohammed. Abu Zubaida. Ramzi--Ramzi alshibh or whatever that guy's name was."
—Bush, at a July 30 press conference
Source: Washington Post, July 30, 2003
Website of the day: Recovering from Workaholism
http://www.io.com/~workanon/
I finally talked with my stepson and his wife yesterday. They called sometime before my operation, but not since. I'm sure Hubby is keeping them up to date on the Breast Cancer Saga, but I've been hoping for a call or an email from them just to wish me well. I even admit to being hurt by the seeming indifference to my plight. Okay, that just sounds unbelievably whiney. I do not whine. Starting over.
I spoke with my stepson and his wife yesterday. My daughter in law has had her jaw surgery, which she compared to my breast cancer. I said hello, how are you and something to the effect that I do, indeed, have breast cancer. There was a brief pause before she said, "I've got something similar." You can imagine my shock and horror. "Oh no! What's wrong?" She broke her jaw while she was eating a taco. I know. Exactly the same as breast cancer.
We talked about how the jaw surgery went and I just started blithering on about what's been happening and what is yet to come on the breast cancer front. She advised me that she knows a guy whose father had prostate cancer, went to Mexico to be treated herbally and is now cancer-free. She didn't exactly advise me to head on south of the border, but there was an implied suggestion there. I'm not going to Mexico. She suggested Tai Chi. And accupuncture.
These things may be an expression of caring. Sometimes people don't exactly know how to say they're concerned or they wish you well. Suggesting you go to Mexico and abandon conventional treatment just isn't the way to do that.
My stepson seems to be working steadily. He's also been recording some new music. We discussed his mom's bout with breast cancer several years ago. I've wondered how the prospect of another family member with cancer would be for him. I could be wrong here, but I think he may be avoiding the necessity of acknowledging it. Who knows. I'm not interested in additional speculation as to why he hasn't been in touch. He's a guy. That pretty much sums it up, probably.
On the work front, we may be losing another employee. Ed, the computer guy, died several weeks ago. I think he was in his late 70's or thereabouts, so it wasn't a tragedy. I just don't think I've ever experienced that before. Now another person, a woman, is in the intensive care unit at one of the local hospitals. An insect bite became infected, she went to the minor emergency clinic and they summoned the ambulance immediately. After she got to the hospital, her kidneys failed. The infection had reached frightening proportions, an 8" x 10" section of her tummy. She's responding to dialysis and antibiotics, but I think there's still some question as to her eventual recovery.
My other dearly beloved co-worker, k., is out of the office again. This time her husband had a really, really bad headache yesterday that sent him to the emergency room. They didn't know what was wrong with him. (Let me hazard a guess here: a headache?) He woke up with the headache again today so she decided to stay home with him. She was afraid to leave him alone. He called the office early this afternoon and reported to us that he's feeling better (let's all celebrate!), but his wife is spending the rest of the afternoon with him. This is the woman who thought her sinus infection was comparable to breast cancer. The world is just filled with nitwits and I seem to attract them.
I woke up feeling down today. Who the hell knows why. It's just been one of those days when the sun is shining, but I'm completely incapable of bucking up. Yoga tonight may help.
America held hostage day 1424
Bushism of the day:
"You know, let me talk about Al Qaida just for a second. I made the statement that we're dismantling senior management, and we are. Our people have done a really good job of hauling in a lot of the key operators. Khalid Shaikh Mohammed. Abu Zubaida. Ramzi--Ramzi alshibh or whatever that guy's name was."
—Bush, at a July 30 press conference
Source: Washington Post, July 30, 2003
Website of the day: Recovering from Workaholism
http://www.io.com/~workanon/
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
I'm now a cliche
Sometime in the past four days, I've developed a massive crush on my breast surgeon. I'd be willing to bet that happens pretty regularly. That's what makes it so fucking annoying. He's not a particularly attractive man and we've only spoken together for about 30 minutes in all four of the times we've occupied the same room.
My therapist would say that it's just a viable distraction. I think about how much I love my surgeon in order to not think about breast cancer.
This whole situation is a shining example of what positive benefits can be latched onto from a truly bad childhood. I have got survival skills to die for (sorry, I just couldn't help myself). This latest distraction is just one among many tactics I learned years and years ago.
People in my office are in awe of my good cheer. They don't know I'm spending my time fantasizing about my oncology surgeon. One of my co-workers just poked her head into my office to remind me to leave. I'm on an abbreviated work schedule while I recuperate from surgery. I guess that means I need to leave. Oh yay...more time to think about the doctor!
My therapist would say that it's just a viable distraction. I think about how much I love my surgeon in order to not think about breast cancer.
This whole situation is a shining example of what positive benefits can be latched onto from a truly bad childhood. I have got survival skills to die for (sorry, I just couldn't help myself). This latest distraction is just one among many tactics I learned years and years ago.
People in my office are in awe of my good cheer. They don't know I'm spending my time fantasizing about my oncology surgeon. One of my co-workers just poked her head into my office to remind me to leave. I'm on an abbreviated work schedule while I recuperate from surgery. I guess that means I need to leave. Oh yay...more time to think about the doctor!
Monday, August 22, 2005
Good news and bad news
"If God had intended for breasts to be seen, He wouldn't have created large woolen pullovers" ~ Tracey Ullman
I returned to Hospital Land last Thursday to have the surgeon perform a follow up exam. The appointment was scheduled for 4:00 p.m., but it was 8:30 before I finally got to see him. That was okay because they didn't make me wait in one of those tiny exam rooms.
When the doctor arrived, the news was mixed. On the up side, they found no cancer cells in the sentinel node biopsy. Excellent news! On the other hand, they found cancer cells throughout the tissue in my breast. That means I will most certainly be having a mastectomy, chemo, radiation and reconstructive surgery. I was stunned. I was in no way prepared to hear any of that. I just kept nodding my head as they talked to me.
They're going to conference about my case today, to determine in what sequence things will be done. I have a fairly rare form of breast cancer and it's manifesting in unusual ways. This man who performs breast cancer surgery every Monday, Wednesday and Friday hasn't ever seen a case where cancer cells are so rampant in one breast, with no lymph node involvement. The cancer is low grade, but everywhere. I'll need to have a bone scan and CT scan of my liver. I'd really like to get that over with immediately so I could just breathe a little easier about the whole metastasizing issue. I found out today that my next appointment won't be until mid-September. After the tests, I'll meet with the medical oncologist (as opposed to surgical oncologist) to get results of the tests and be informed as to what comes next.
Once again, the hardest part was calling people and telling them the news. Without exception, everyone started crying. Oddly enough, the only time I felt like I was going to cry was when my surgeon hugged me. I generally have a distinct aversion to being touched by men I don't know extremely well. I guess after someone has cut out huge chunks of breast tissue, there's no reason to stand on formality.
I think it may be easier to be the patient sometimes than the person who loves the patient. There's a profound sense of helplessness when it's happening to someone you love. Since it's happening to me, I've already come to terms with my own helplessness. It doesn't bother me that much anymore and it only takes a couple of seconds for me to weed out the things I can or can't control. After that, it's just a matter of ongoing distraction. Because of my childhood, I am absolutely outstanding at distracting myself. People around me are awed.
I keep telling people that I'm fine for right now. When my hair starts falling out and I have a missing breast, I may not be so cheerfully detached.
I returned to Hospital Land last Thursday to have the surgeon perform a follow up exam. The appointment was scheduled for 4:00 p.m., but it was 8:30 before I finally got to see him. That was okay because they didn't make me wait in one of those tiny exam rooms.
When the doctor arrived, the news was mixed. On the up side, they found no cancer cells in the sentinel node biopsy. Excellent news! On the other hand, they found cancer cells throughout the tissue in my breast. That means I will most certainly be having a mastectomy, chemo, radiation and reconstructive surgery. I was stunned. I was in no way prepared to hear any of that. I just kept nodding my head as they talked to me.
They're going to conference about my case today, to determine in what sequence things will be done. I have a fairly rare form of breast cancer and it's manifesting in unusual ways. This man who performs breast cancer surgery every Monday, Wednesday and Friday hasn't ever seen a case where cancer cells are so rampant in one breast, with no lymph node involvement. The cancer is low grade, but everywhere. I'll need to have a bone scan and CT scan of my liver. I'd really like to get that over with immediately so I could just breathe a little easier about the whole metastasizing issue. I found out today that my next appointment won't be until mid-September. After the tests, I'll meet with the medical oncologist (as opposed to surgical oncologist) to get results of the tests and be informed as to what comes next.
Once again, the hardest part was calling people and telling them the news. Without exception, everyone started crying. Oddly enough, the only time I felt like I was going to cry was when my surgeon hugged me. I generally have a distinct aversion to being touched by men I don't know extremely well. I guess after someone has cut out huge chunks of breast tissue, there's no reason to stand on formality.
I think it may be easier to be the patient sometimes than the person who loves the patient. There's a profound sense of helplessness when it's happening to someone you love. Since it's happening to me, I've already come to terms with my own helplessness. It doesn't bother me that much anymore and it only takes a couple of seconds for me to weed out the things I can or can't control. After that, it's just a matter of ongoing distraction. Because of my childhood, I am absolutely outstanding at distracting myself. People around me are awed.
I keep telling people that I'm fine for right now. When my hair starts falling out and I have a missing breast, I may not be so cheerfully detached.
Monday, August 15, 2005
Moving Right Along to Surgery
My time is limited these days, so I'm temporarily suspending fabulous quotes and the daily W. count. Sometimes you just have to make adjustments.
Back to the breast cancer fun. I was in so much pain all day that I'm probably forgetting some of the things they did to me. The next big event I remember occurred some time after the mammogram, when they sent me off to a cot to wait for the nuclear medicine guy to arrive. Nuclear medicine guys are like the rock stars of cancer pre-op. Everything stops until he gets there and he brings a small coterie of groupies with him. I'm sure they have some practical function other than to admire his dedication to detail, but I have no idea what it might be. My guy brought some very scary looking equipment to ensure no one else was exposed to highly carcinogenic materials. He injected radio isotopes into the area where those wires were sticking into my breast. He he pressed down hard and jiggled the skin several times to make sure the poisonous dye got spread around adequately, I suppose. That felt great. I had enough presence of mind to wonder whether introducing cancer-causing agents into an already cancer infested area was such a great idea. I wondered about how that will alter my future.
We had to wait a little while for some reason related to the radio isotopes. They need to get settled in or something. I was just glad for a break in the action centered around the needles. They shuffled me off to wait in yet another freezing room for the next leg of the adventure. I was cold and tired, but I'd ceased to be hungry long ago. By that time, I'd begun to feel a little like I imagine people felt after they arrived at concentration camps. I was stripped of everything that was personal--no clothes, a number instead of a name, no shoes, no food, no water, no one I knew to hold my hand. You get my drift.
Eventually, a young woman came to get me. She made me get up on an incredibly hard and cold table while she attempted to take some kind of pictures of the radio isotope saturated tissue. She took the pictures and sent me back to my little cell to wait while they made sure she did her job well. She didn't. We did two more rounds of photos. The second time I was bleeding from the wires, so we had to wait until that stopped before we could try again. By the time they got what they wanted, I was in so much pain from the needles and the jostling and the lying flat on my back on cold hard surfaces that I couldn't even think anymore. I was like a dumb animal, enduring the torture without thought. I was so worn down it didn't even occur to me to cry.
After about six hours of being shuffled from one cold place to another, with needles sticking out of my breast, they finally got around to operating on me. They removed about 1.3 cm of tissue and did a sentinel node biopsy. They are cleverly postponing sharing the results of the biopsy until I see them on Thursday. Will I have chemo or not? Just another wonderful surprise from One of the Best Cancer Hospitals In the Country. They will let me know on Thursday. That is, unless they change the appointment. They have this truly annoying habit of telling me I have an appointment at a certain time on a certain day, then telling me it's on another day and time when I call to confirm. God, I love it when they do that. People keep asking me if it doesn't stress me out to have this ever-changing appointment situation. Oh heavens no, I love being kept in the dark about these things. It's just so much more fun and interesting if, in addition to wondering whether I'll have chemo or another operation, I also get to wonder about when my appointment is actually going to occur.
I just went directly back to work last week, three days after surgery. No one required that I do that, I just thought I should. In the little paper they gave me after my operation, they told me I could just resume normal activities. So I did. My therapist, my psychiatrist and my mother would all like to know why I thought that was a good idea. Well, if they had said, for instance, "resume normal activities, but only for four hours a day," I would certainly have been sitting on my sofa instead of sitting in my office in front of the computer. It has become apparent that I wasn't supposed to resume my activities. Goddamn it. It's so annoying to know that I could have been hanging around my living room, eating bonbons instead of watching one of my co-workers have a serious case of the weepies all day.
As to why my co-worker was weeping at her desk every time I walked by, I was not much inclined to question her. She had already compared her sinus infection to my breast cancer...they're essentially the same in her mind. I don't mean to sound overly dramatic, but I'm pretty sure that breast cancer trumps sinus infection every single time.
Another of my colleagues has decided that she is going to drive me to Houston and back on Thursday. Has she asked if that's what I'd like to do? No. Why bother to ask me. In fact, when I thought the appointment was last Thursday (see above), she wanted me to change the day specifically so that I could leave the driving to her. Oh, sure. Let me alter my breast cancer schedule to accommodate your needs.
I think I've complained enough for the day. Here's the deal. On Thursday, I find out what happens next. In the meantime, I'm continuing my friendly relationship with Xanax.
Back to the breast cancer fun. I was in so much pain all day that I'm probably forgetting some of the things they did to me. The next big event I remember occurred some time after the mammogram, when they sent me off to a cot to wait for the nuclear medicine guy to arrive. Nuclear medicine guys are like the rock stars of cancer pre-op. Everything stops until he gets there and he brings a small coterie of groupies with him. I'm sure they have some practical function other than to admire his dedication to detail, but I have no idea what it might be. My guy brought some very scary looking equipment to ensure no one else was exposed to highly carcinogenic materials. He injected radio isotopes into the area where those wires were sticking into my breast. He he pressed down hard and jiggled the skin several times to make sure the poisonous dye got spread around adequately, I suppose. That felt great. I had enough presence of mind to wonder whether introducing cancer-causing agents into an already cancer infested area was such a great idea. I wondered about how that will alter my future.
We had to wait a little while for some reason related to the radio isotopes. They need to get settled in or something. I was just glad for a break in the action centered around the needles. They shuffled me off to wait in yet another freezing room for the next leg of the adventure. I was cold and tired, but I'd ceased to be hungry long ago. By that time, I'd begun to feel a little like I imagine people felt after they arrived at concentration camps. I was stripped of everything that was personal--no clothes, a number instead of a name, no shoes, no food, no water, no one I knew to hold my hand. You get my drift.
Eventually, a young woman came to get me. She made me get up on an incredibly hard and cold table while she attempted to take some kind of pictures of the radio isotope saturated tissue. She took the pictures and sent me back to my little cell to wait while they made sure she did her job well. She didn't. We did two more rounds of photos. The second time I was bleeding from the wires, so we had to wait until that stopped before we could try again. By the time they got what they wanted, I was in so much pain from the needles and the jostling and the lying flat on my back on cold hard surfaces that I couldn't even think anymore. I was like a dumb animal, enduring the torture without thought. I was so worn down it didn't even occur to me to cry.
After about six hours of being shuffled from one cold place to another, with needles sticking out of my breast, they finally got around to operating on me. They removed about 1.3 cm of tissue and did a sentinel node biopsy. They are cleverly postponing sharing the results of the biopsy until I see them on Thursday. Will I have chemo or not? Just another wonderful surprise from One of the Best Cancer Hospitals In the Country. They will let me know on Thursday. That is, unless they change the appointment. They have this truly annoying habit of telling me I have an appointment at a certain time on a certain day, then telling me it's on another day and time when I call to confirm. God, I love it when they do that. People keep asking me if it doesn't stress me out to have this ever-changing appointment situation. Oh heavens no, I love being kept in the dark about these things. It's just so much more fun and interesting if, in addition to wondering whether I'll have chemo or another operation, I also get to wonder about when my appointment is actually going to occur.
I just went directly back to work last week, three days after surgery. No one required that I do that, I just thought I should. In the little paper they gave me after my operation, they told me I could just resume normal activities. So I did. My therapist, my psychiatrist and my mother would all like to know why I thought that was a good idea. Well, if they had said, for instance, "resume normal activities, but only for four hours a day," I would certainly have been sitting on my sofa instead of sitting in my office in front of the computer. It has become apparent that I wasn't supposed to resume my activities. Goddamn it. It's so annoying to know that I could have been hanging around my living room, eating bonbons instead of watching one of my co-workers have a serious case of the weepies all day.
As to why my co-worker was weeping at her desk every time I walked by, I was not much inclined to question her. She had already compared her sinus infection to my breast cancer...they're essentially the same in her mind. I don't mean to sound overly dramatic, but I'm pretty sure that breast cancer trumps sinus infection every single time.
Another of my colleagues has decided that she is going to drive me to Houston and back on Thursday. Has she asked if that's what I'd like to do? No. Why bother to ask me. In fact, when I thought the appointment was last Thursday (see above), she wanted me to change the day specifically so that I could leave the driving to her. Oh, sure. Let me alter my breast cancer schedule to accommodate your needs.
I think I've complained enough for the day. Here's the deal. On Thursday, I find out what happens next. In the meantime, I'm continuing my friendly relationship with Xanax.
Friday, August 12, 2005
Mapping my breast with needles
I've been advised by one of my doctors that I shouldn't have been working as much this week as I did. That means I'm going home at lunch and not coming back.
Another segment of the breast cancer ordeal. I had to show up at the hospital at 8:00 a.m. on the day of surgery. No food. No water. No coffee (OH NO!). Not even any chewing gum or breath mints. What the hell is the deal with that?
First they trotted me off to the ultrasound room, where they took all of my clothes away from me and delivered them to my hubby in the waiting room. I was a little cheered up because I thought that meant I might be getting the surgery done early in the day so I could eat later on. (My needs are so basic at this point...even just coffee would have been fine.) A woman came in first and did some looking around. Then an actual doctor came in to have a look-see himself. They then split into two teams. The doctor was busy making marks on my breast and the woman was continuing to look all around my breast with the ultrasound thingy. The doctor put a number of marks on my breast and then he got the lydocaine. I knew that was a numbing substance, so I started to wonder what the fuck they wer planning to do next.
What they did next was one of the worst things I've ever had to endure. They stuck two needles (more like fine gauge wire) into my breast. He left them there and told me not to look at them. The woman who had been doing the ultrasound work helped me get up and get the hospital gown on over the needles sticking out of my breast. Mammogram time. Needles are being jostled around while they're mashing my breast between two plexiglass plates. When she was through, she taped a styrofoam coffee cup on top of the needles. I guess that was supposed to keep people from moving them around. I laughed as she taped it onto me. That was the last time I laughed that day.
On that note, I see it's time for me to go. I'll have to continue my adventures later.
Another segment of the breast cancer ordeal. I had to show up at the hospital at 8:00 a.m. on the day of surgery. No food. No water. No coffee (OH NO!). Not even any chewing gum or breath mints. What the hell is the deal with that?
First they trotted me off to the ultrasound room, where they took all of my clothes away from me and delivered them to my hubby in the waiting room. I was a little cheered up because I thought that meant I might be getting the surgery done early in the day so I could eat later on. (My needs are so basic at this point...even just coffee would have been fine.) A woman came in first and did some looking around. Then an actual doctor came in to have a look-see himself. They then split into two teams. The doctor was busy making marks on my breast and the woman was continuing to look all around my breast with the ultrasound thingy. The doctor put a number of marks on my breast and then he got the lydocaine. I knew that was a numbing substance, so I started to wonder what the fuck they wer planning to do next.
What they did next was one of the worst things I've ever had to endure. They stuck two needles (more like fine gauge wire) into my breast. He left them there and told me not to look at them. The woman who had been doing the ultrasound work helped me get up and get the hospital gown on over the needles sticking out of my breast. Mammogram time. Needles are being jostled around while they're mashing my breast between two plexiglass plates. When she was through, she taped a styrofoam coffee cup on top of the needles. I guess that was supposed to keep people from moving them around. I laughed as she taped it onto me. That was the last time I laughed that day.
On that note, I see it's time for me to go. I'll have to continue my adventures later.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
What's the matter with me?
I was planning to write more about the major fun I've been having with breast cancer, but I'm feeling uninspired at the moment. The past couple of days I've been in a sorrowful mood. I don't exactly know why, but one of my colleagues noted that I might be sad because I have breast cancer. Oh come now. That's way too easy.
I've also been having more pain the past couple of days. It's been much worse than even the immediate aftermath of surgery. I have these exercises to do every day that definitely increase my level of pain.
I'm also just tired, I guess. I've been at work all day the past couple of days.
I'm boring myself again. Maybe tomorrow.
I've also been having more pain the past couple of days. It's been much worse than even the immediate aftermath of surgery. I have these exercises to do every day that definitely increase my level of pain.
I'm also just tired, I guess. I've been at work all day the past couple of days.
I'm boring myself again. Maybe tomorrow.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
The Day Before Breast Cancer Surgery
I've been having such a rollicking good time in my absence that I hardly know where to begin. I know. I'll start with last Monday. A couple of my colleagues were out of the office on Monday and the woman who is supposed to answer the phone called in to say that one of her daughters had pink eye and this crisis would make it impossible for her to get her sorry ass in to the office. Pink eye. I fail to see why this would necessitate staying home. We have a young college student who answers the phone, but she doesn't get to the office until 11:00. So, yes, boys and girls, I did stay until 11:00.
I still had to drop off one of my huskies to get her vaccinations current, cook enough rice and chicken for my diabetic huskie, pack my clothes, take both huskies to the kennel where they were going to stay (all the way across town)and a handful of other miscellaneous errands. I went to the grocery store to pick up the aforementioned chicken and rice. I was also supposed to be getting additional insulin.
Here might be a good time to mention how much I hate grocery stores. There are far too many people in them and every single one of those people is somehow managing to be in my way. They're chatting in the middle of an aisle. They're listlessly looking at the salad dressing and blocking me from getting to something I need. They're trying to mow me down because they've come around the corner too fast to see me. I was prepared, though. I kept breathing deeply and focusing on the matter at hand.
I got home and found that I'd forgotten the insulin. Back to my neighborhood Walgreens, where I was fourth in line at the pharmacy. By the time I got to the counter, I had already been praying not to get the stupid pharmacy tech. You could tell she was stupid way back at the end of the line of sick people (who were probably radiating germs, all of which were landing on my person). I got the competent employee, but the stupid one didn't know how to finish out her transaction, so they switched and I ended up with Stupid anyway. I told her I need a vial of Humulin L. This is really common stuff. Lots of human diabetics use it. She looked at me like I'd suddenly started speaking Swahili.
"A vial? Of?" she asked.
"A vial of Humulin L." I said it loudly, hoping that would help her understand what I wanted.
Blank look.
"It's insulin," I said. No, I did not yell. I was hanging on to the remaining shreds of patience left in me.
Stupid slowly shuffled off in a way that made me think that, even if she knew what insulin is, she had absolutely no idea where it might be located in the pharmacy. She paused for a moment before she rounded the corner and the competent person noticed Stupid was fucking up again.
"Insulin?" Stupid said.
"It's in the refrigerator." The competent one left her customer and went off with Stupid to show her what a refrigerator is and where it's located in the pharmacy. I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that once the competent one got involved, I'd have the insulin in my hands in a matter of minutes.
Wrong.
Competent One returned to her customer, but there was no sign of Stupid anywhere. Finally she shuffled back over to the counter, gazed at me and said,"We don't have that."
I was ready to leap over the counter to beat her to death with a prescription bottle. It might have taken some time, but I assure you I would definitely have killed her had I been given the chance. No time for murder, though. Off I went to yet another Walgreen's.
I stood in line and, when I got to the counter, I looked at the young man who seemed like he might be able to help me. I requested Humulin L. He smiled at me and told me he didn't know what that is, but that he would definitely get it for me.
I helped by telling him it's insulin. Another competent person was dealing with the drive-through prescriptions, but she pointed him in the right direction. Sure enough, he came back in short order, put the insulin in a bag and took my $30.
I drove back to my house, where my husband was standing in the kitchen looking miserable while cooking rice in the microwave. I counted up the bags of rice and the separate bags of chicken. We had enough. I started to load everything into the car, but then I noticed the time. It was too late for me to meet the 6:00 p.m. deadline for dropping off my dogs. At that point, I lost all ability to function and had absolutely no clue as to what to do next.
America held hostage day 1405
Bushism of the day:
"Our enemies are innovative and resourceful, and so are we. They never stop thinking about new ways to harm our country and our people, and neither do we." —Bush addressing a group of witnesses at the signing of the Defense Appropriations Act for Fiscal Year 2005 in Washington, DC on Aug. 4.
Website of the day: Quackpot Watch
http://www.quackpotwatch.org/
I still had to drop off one of my huskies to get her vaccinations current, cook enough rice and chicken for my diabetic huskie, pack my clothes, take both huskies to the kennel where they were going to stay (all the way across town)and a handful of other miscellaneous errands. I went to the grocery store to pick up the aforementioned chicken and rice. I was also supposed to be getting additional insulin.
Here might be a good time to mention how much I hate grocery stores. There are far too many people in them and every single one of those people is somehow managing to be in my way. They're chatting in the middle of an aisle. They're listlessly looking at the salad dressing and blocking me from getting to something I need. They're trying to mow me down because they've come around the corner too fast to see me. I was prepared, though. I kept breathing deeply and focusing on the matter at hand.
I got home and found that I'd forgotten the insulin. Back to my neighborhood Walgreens, where I was fourth in line at the pharmacy. By the time I got to the counter, I had already been praying not to get the stupid pharmacy tech. You could tell she was stupid way back at the end of the line of sick people (who were probably radiating germs, all of which were landing on my person). I got the competent employee, but the stupid one didn't know how to finish out her transaction, so they switched and I ended up with Stupid anyway. I told her I need a vial of Humulin L. This is really common stuff. Lots of human diabetics use it. She looked at me like I'd suddenly started speaking Swahili.
"A vial? Of?" she asked.
"A vial of Humulin L." I said it loudly, hoping that would help her understand what I wanted.
Blank look.
"It's insulin," I said. No, I did not yell. I was hanging on to the remaining shreds of patience left in me.
Stupid slowly shuffled off in a way that made me think that, even if she knew what insulin is, she had absolutely no idea where it might be located in the pharmacy. She paused for a moment before she rounded the corner and the competent person noticed Stupid was fucking up again.
"Insulin?" Stupid said.
"It's in the refrigerator." The competent one left her customer and went off with Stupid to show her what a refrigerator is and where it's located in the pharmacy. I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that once the competent one got involved, I'd have the insulin in my hands in a matter of minutes.
Wrong.
Competent One returned to her customer, but there was no sign of Stupid anywhere. Finally she shuffled back over to the counter, gazed at me and said,"We don't have that."
I was ready to leap over the counter to beat her to death with a prescription bottle. It might have taken some time, but I assure you I would definitely have killed her had I been given the chance. No time for murder, though. Off I went to yet another Walgreen's.
I stood in line and, when I got to the counter, I looked at the young man who seemed like he might be able to help me. I requested Humulin L. He smiled at me and told me he didn't know what that is, but that he would definitely get it for me.
I helped by telling him it's insulin. Another competent person was dealing with the drive-through prescriptions, but she pointed him in the right direction. Sure enough, he came back in short order, put the insulin in a bag and took my $30.
I drove back to my house, where my husband was standing in the kitchen looking miserable while cooking rice in the microwave. I counted up the bags of rice and the separate bags of chicken. We had enough. I started to load everything into the car, but then I noticed the time. It was too late for me to meet the 6:00 p.m. deadline for dropping off my dogs. At that point, I lost all ability to function and had absolutely no clue as to what to do next.
America held hostage day 1405
Bushism of the day:
"Our enemies are innovative and resourceful, and so are we. They never stop thinking about new ways to harm our country and our people, and neither do we." —Bush addressing a group of witnesses at the signing of the Defense Appropriations Act for Fiscal Year 2005 in Washington, DC on Aug. 4.
Website of the day: Quackpot Watch
http://www.quackpotwatch.org/
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)