Chemotherapy. I spent a week with blisters in my mouth, unable to talk and barely able to eat. My hair is now falling out. I've lost most of my pubic hair. Of course, on the up side, I haven't had to shave anything. Legs and underarms are nude. I noticed this morning that my skin has started to peel.
My next round is on November 22. I've already started to dread it. I'm going to buck up about this, but it's just taking a little longer right now. I plan to have a serious discussion with my medical oncologist about the mouth issue. I can be very determined and vocal when situations warrant. I'd say this warrants it.
People constantly tell me that I'm an inspiration. They're easily inspired. About the best that could be said about me is that I don't mope or take to my bed. I frequently find things funny and invite others to laugh with me. Is this inspirational? Maybe that's just because I choose to search for personal meaning in this current travail.
I think that it's imperative, when one has lived such a difficult life as mine, to try to find some meaning in it. If I believed that all of my suffering has been random and meaningless, I'm not sure I'd wish to continue. Meaning is a tricky thing, though. Sometimes it can take years to assimilate terrible circumstances, wade through the pain and actually find reasons why all that suffering wasn't pointless. There are definitely some things I'm still trying to puzzle out. I'm patient, though. I have time.
I establish some meaning for myself. That is not necessarily the meaning the universe has assigned to it. Nonetheless, there are lessons to be learned if one is capable of waiting patiently for them to become manifest. At the end of all suffering, now and in the past, is a way to become more fully human. For as much as I have suffered, I'm more able to see the suffering of others. I'm more able to find compassion for others.
For a month or so, I've been working toward releasing all of the anger, hatred and resentment that I carry around with me. Some of it is easy to find. I could probably name five or six people I'm enraged with just off the top of my head. There is a lot that I keep hidden from myself. Rage has never been an acceptable emotion for me. My dad pretty much had that market cornered. Unfortunately, I will have to dredge it up in order to let it go. That's quite a task.
Today my lesson is that I am more than the sum of my parts. I am more than my breast, my hair or my skin. It's much easier than learning all of the places in my being where I've stashed some rage just so that I could function effectively in the world. That's the other part of being an inspiration, I guess. Having the heart to keep going, come what may.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Mastectomy Aftermath, Part 2
Don't walk in front of me, I may not follow.
Don't walk behind me, I may not lead.
Just walk beside me and be my friend." ~ Albert Camus
I finally had to look, goddamn it. I accidentally ripped out the remaining drainage tube after taking a shower. I was fine with that, really sick of having the reservoir attached to my hip. My mother came over and took a look at everything to reassure herself that I didn't need to make a trip to some medical facility. Then I was left to deal with it myself. In order to clean the wounds with alcohol, I have to see the wounds. Apparently I've decided not to have any feelings about it. I try to avoid catching glimpses of it when I'm psychologically unprepared. So far, so good.
On Thursday, I have a follow up with my beloved surgeon. It's not until 6:00 p.m., though, so I anticipate having to sit in the stupid little exam room with a huge patient gown on until around 8:30. That's just the way he is.
I don't quite get the gown thing. Everytime someone hands me one at the hospital, it's enormous. Do they only expect to have patients 200 pounds and larger? It never fails that I end up having to try to find a bathroom while hanging onto the tent, tied in the front. It would be funny if it weren't quite so chilly.
Things are going pretty well. I've been dedicated to trying to regain my range of motion in my left arm. I was so looking forward to getting my yoga practice up and running, but I'm lucky if I can just lift my arm straight up at a 90 degree angle. I had great flexibility and strength before all of this started and I can't imagine what it must be like to try to rehab if you're not in shape to begin with.
Today is the eight year anniversary of my father's suicide. Saturday was the first anniversary of my best friend's death. I'm right on the razor's edge emotionally these days. I actually started crying about an Elvis song playing on the radio. I don't even much like Elvis.
I dreamed about my father last night, but I don't recall what happened. I think about Becky virtually every day. I can't believe she's not here even now. Sometimes I'm still angry that she left so soon. I miss her so much.
The weeks prior to surgery, when I was afraid, I'd imagine all of the people who loved me standing around me, with their hands on my shoulder, my arm, my hand. They were comforting me, reminding me that there's no reason for fear. Either way. Live or die. No reason for fear. When I was a little girl, I would swing as high as I possibly could, beyond fear, and at the apogee, let go. For just a few moments, nothing could hold me to the earth. Not my parents and their madness, not my own misery, not even my rage. Letting go is still exactly the same. These days I'm flying free, no holding on just like then. I count on the universe to keep me aloft. I count on gravity to hold me close until it's time to go. I count on the people I've loved, who've gone on without me, to remind me of who I truly am.
America held hostage day 1388
Bushism of the day:
"But we will bring the weapons and, of course—we will bring the information forward on the weapons when they find them. And that will end up—end all this speculation. I understand there has been a lot of speculation over in Great Britain, we've got a little bit of it here, about whether or not the—whether or not the actions were based upon valid information. We can debate that all day long, until the truth shows up."
—Bush, unwavering in his certainty that one way or another WMDs will appear in Iraq
Source: The White House, "President Bush, Prime Minister Blair Discuss War on Terrorism," July 17, 2003
I live for the Karl Rove, Scooter Libby thing these days.
Website of the day: Health Journeys: Resources for Mind, Body and Spirit
http://www.healthjourneys.com/
Don't walk behind me, I may not lead.
Just walk beside me and be my friend." ~ Albert Camus
I finally had to look, goddamn it. I accidentally ripped out the remaining drainage tube after taking a shower. I was fine with that, really sick of having the reservoir attached to my hip. My mother came over and took a look at everything to reassure herself that I didn't need to make a trip to some medical facility. Then I was left to deal with it myself. In order to clean the wounds with alcohol, I have to see the wounds. Apparently I've decided not to have any feelings about it. I try to avoid catching glimpses of it when I'm psychologically unprepared. So far, so good.
On Thursday, I have a follow up with my beloved surgeon. It's not until 6:00 p.m., though, so I anticipate having to sit in the stupid little exam room with a huge patient gown on until around 8:30. That's just the way he is.
I don't quite get the gown thing. Everytime someone hands me one at the hospital, it's enormous. Do they only expect to have patients 200 pounds and larger? It never fails that I end up having to try to find a bathroom while hanging onto the tent, tied in the front. It would be funny if it weren't quite so chilly.
Things are going pretty well. I've been dedicated to trying to regain my range of motion in my left arm. I was so looking forward to getting my yoga practice up and running, but I'm lucky if I can just lift my arm straight up at a 90 degree angle. I had great flexibility and strength before all of this started and I can't imagine what it must be like to try to rehab if you're not in shape to begin with.
Today is the eight year anniversary of my father's suicide. Saturday was the first anniversary of my best friend's death. I'm right on the razor's edge emotionally these days. I actually started crying about an Elvis song playing on the radio. I don't even much like Elvis.
I dreamed about my father last night, but I don't recall what happened. I think about Becky virtually every day. I can't believe she's not here even now. Sometimes I'm still angry that she left so soon. I miss her so much.
The weeks prior to surgery, when I was afraid, I'd imagine all of the people who loved me standing around me, with their hands on my shoulder, my arm, my hand. They were comforting me, reminding me that there's no reason for fear. Either way. Live or die. No reason for fear. When I was a little girl, I would swing as high as I possibly could, beyond fear, and at the apogee, let go. For just a few moments, nothing could hold me to the earth. Not my parents and their madness, not my own misery, not even my rage. Letting go is still exactly the same. These days I'm flying free, no holding on just like then. I count on the universe to keep me aloft. I count on gravity to hold me close until it's time to go. I count on the people I've loved, who've gone on without me, to remind me of who I truly am.
America held hostage day 1388
Bushism of the day:
"But we will bring the weapons and, of course—we will bring the information forward on the weapons when they find them. And that will end up—end all this speculation. I understand there has been a lot of speculation over in Great Britain, we've got a little bit of it here, about whether or not the—whether or not the actions were based upon valid information. We can debate that all day long, until the truth shows up."
—Bush, unwavering in his certainty that one way or another WMDs will appear in Iraq
Source: The White House, "President Bush, Prime Minister Blair Discuss War on Terrorism," July 17, 2003
I live for the Karl Rove, Scooter Libby thing these days.
Website of the day: Health Journeys: Resources for Mind, Body and Spirit
http://www.healthjourneys.com/
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Mastectomy Aftermath, Part 1
If you are distressed by anything external, the pain is not due to the thing itself, but to your estimate of it; and this you have the power to revoke at any moment.... " ~ Marcus Aurelius
They removed my left breast about two weeks ago now. I haven't looked yet. I may never look. I have family members who are very sweet about helping me deal with the wound so I don't have to get too personally involved. It's working out great for me; I may never have to leave the safety of my profound denial. Of course pain doesn't give me that option. I can't just delegate it to someone else. Pain is the least of my problems, though.
Every painful event is measured by what I've come to call "The Needles In the Breast Scale." I have yet to come across anything that crosses that threshold. I spent the day after surgery throwing up. Even soft drinks refused to take up residence in my stomach. Meanwhile, nurses kept coming and going, telling me that I needed to drink water and, noting that I was throwing up, about to throw up or having just done so, would wander back out of my room on the pretext of getting someone or something to help me. I wouldn't see them again for another hour or so, at which time the whole process would start all over again. My doctor's assistant told me that it was just a reaction to the anesthesia and I should be better in about 24 hours. I nodded my head, but I was skeptical. She was right. At almost exactly 24 hours, the nausea completely disappeared and I started eating solid food.
I was really just out of it for about 8 hours after the surgery. After I got into my room from the recovery room, they brought some chicken consomme for my enjoyment. I started eating, but I was still under the influence of the morphine drip. I would get a spoonful of soup, lift it to my mouth and fall asleep before it actually got there. I ended up wearing more chicken soup than I ingested.
I'm at work today for the second day in a row. I'm trying to keep my fatigue level under control, so I'm only staying a couple of hours at a time. I woke up with some pain today, so I was already a little tired before I got here. All of this is by way of saying that , though there is much more to say, I don't quite have the wherewithal to say it. There will be more when I'm more able.
They removed my left breast about two weeks ago now. I haven't looked yet. I may never look. I have family members who are very sweet about helping me deal with the wound so I don't have to get too personally involved. It's working out great for me; I may never have to leave the safety of my profound denial. Of course pain doesn't give me that option. I can't just delegate it to someone else. Pain is the least of my problems, though.
Every painful event is measured by what I've come to call "The Needles In the Breast Scale." I have yet to come across anything that crosses that threshold. I spent the day after surgery throwing up. Even soft drinks refused to take up residence in my stomach. Meanwhile, nurses kept coming and going, telling me that I needed to drink water and, noting that I was throwing up, about to throw up or having just done so, would wander back out of my room on the pretext of getting someone or something to help me. I wouldn't see them again for another hour or so, at which time the whole process would start all over again. My doctor's assistant told me that it was just a reaction to the anesthesia and I should be better in about 24 hours. I nodded my head, but I was skeptical. She was right. At almost exactly 24 hours, the nausea completely disappeared and I started eating solid food.
I was really just out of it for about 8 hours after the surgery. After I got into my room from the recovery room, they brought some chicken consomme for my enjoyment. I started eating, but I was still under the influence of the morphine drip. I would get a spoonful of soup, lift it to my mouth and fall asleep before it actually got there. I ended up wearing more chicken soup than I ingested.
I'm at work today for the second day in a row. I'm trying to keep my fatigue level under control, so I'm only staying a couple of hours at a time. I woke up with some pain today, so I was already a little tired before I got here. All of this is by way of saying that , though there is much more to say, I don't quite have the wherewithal to say it. There will be more when I'm more able.
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Things I don't generally like to admit
"Change alone is unchanging." ~ Heraclitus
I'm feeling a little spaced out today. I missed taking one of my antidepressants for a couople of days and it makes me feel a little like I'm having an acid flashback. Not in a good way.
I'm still living in denial about what's going to happen next week. I spent a lot of time trying to get my mind right about losing a breast and I still haven't come to terms with it. I'll just have to deal with it when the time comes.
Have I talked about how ironic it is that this is happening to me? I was abused over a period of years when I was a very young child. I had a father who absolutely could not keep his dick in his pants. I have this rock solid idea floating just below the surface of consciousness that women are valuable to men to the extent that they're physically attractive. See, I don't even like to admit that to myself. My intellect rejects that idea. I am, after all, a feminist.
My breasts have been one of my best features since I was a teenager. Now if it were butt cancer, that might be different. I'm not crazy about my butt and I never have been. Mainly because I don't really have one. Well, I have one now because I work out like crazy and I have well developed gluteous muscles. I've never herd of gluteous cancer before, so I'm not sure that's even in the range of options.
No one ever thought I was very pretty until I was about 18. Lots of people thought I was beautiful after that age and up until at least my early 40's. Some people still do, but that's just because they love me, I think. It's been a hard thing to give up, even though I'm very aware of the many other aspects of myself that are interesting. Nonetheless, it's a hard thing to come to terms with.
I anticipate being a much different person at this time next year. I don't recall when I started to be uneasy with the concept of change, but I'm definitely a little anxious about it now. I suppose that's why I'm so fond of the Nina Simone song, "Everything Changes." It's a heartbreakingly beautiful song. Everything does indeed change, all of the time.
I think there are definitely parts of one's personality that become solidified and resistant to change pretty early on. I'll always be an introvert. I'll always be intellectually curious. I'm sure there are other qualities that I came equipped with at birth that just are what they are. There is a fair amount of damage that was inflicted on me at a very early age that also seems to be immutable.
The ways that those qualities are manifested in my behavior have probably changed over time. Or not. Scientists can't tease out which is weightier--nature or nurture. I'm certainly not going to be able to figure it out. But I digress.
Right now, I think the challenge will be to open to whatever lessons are available to me throughout the coming year. I hope I'm able to recognize them when they become available to me and, having recognized them, embrace them. It's a tall order, I know. May I keep my heart and mind open. It's about the best I could wish for.
America held hostage day 1362
Bushism of the day:
# "First, let me make it very clear, poor people aren't necessarily killers. Just because you happen to be not rich doesn't mean you're willing to kill."
—Bush, speaking about terrorism and poverty
Source: Public Papers of the Presidents, "The President's News Conference With President Macapagal-Arroyo of the Philippines," May 26, 2003
Website of the day; Sacred Text Archive
http://www.sacred-texts.com/index.htm
I'm feeling a little spaced out today. I missed taking one of my antidepressants for a couople of days and it makes me feel a little like I'm having an acid flashback. Not in a good way.
I'm still living in denial about what's going to happen next week. I spent a lot of time trying to get my mind right about losing a breast and I still haven't come to terms with it. I'll just have to deal with it when the time comes.
Have I talked about how ironic it is that this is happening to me? I was abused over a period of years when I was a very young child. I had a father who absolutely could not keep his dick in his pants. I have this rock solid idea floating just below the surface of consciousness that women are valuable to men to the extent that they're physically attractive. See, I don't even like to admit that to myself. My intellect rejects that idea. I am, after all, a feminist.
My breasts have been one of my best features since I was a teenager. Now if it were butt cancer, that might be different. I'm not crazy about my butt and I never have been. Mainly because I don't really have one. Well, I have one now because I work out like crazy and I have well developed gluteous muscles. I've never herd of gluteous cancer before, so I'm not sure that's even in the range of options.
No one ever thought I was very pretty until I was about 18. Lots of people thought I was beautiful after that age and up until at least my early 40's. Some people still do, but that's just because they love me, I think. It's been a hard thing to give up, even though I'm very aware of the many other aspects of myself that are interesting. Nonetheless, it's a hard thing to come to terms with.
I anticipate being a much different person at this time next year. I don't recall when I started to be uneasy with the concept of change, but I'm definitely a little anxious about it now. I suppose that's why I'm so fond of the Nina Simone song, "Everything Changes." It's a heartbreakingly beautiful song. Everything does indeed change, all of the time.
I think there are definitely parts of one's personality that become solidified and resistant to change pretty early on. I'll always be an introvert. I'll always be intellectually curious. I'm sure there are other qualities that I came equipped with at birth that just are what they are. There is a fair amount of damage that was inflicted on me at a very early age that also seems to be immutable.
The ways that those qualities are manifested in my behavior have probably changed over time. Or not. Scientists can't tease out which is weightier--nature or nurture. I'm certainly not going to be able to figure it out. But I digress.
Right now, I think the challenge will be to open to whatever lessons are available to me throughout the coming year. I hope I'm able to recognize them when they become available to me and, having recognized them, embrace them. It's a tall order, I know. May I keep my heart and mind open. It's about the best I could wish for.
America held hostage day 1362
Bushism of the day:
# "First, let me make it very clear, poor people aren't necessarily killers. Just because you happen to be not rich doesn't mean you're willing to kill."
—Bush, speaking about terrorism and poverty
Source: Public Papers of the Presidents, "The President's News Conference With President Macapagal-Arroyo of the Philippines," May 26, 2003
Website of the day; Sacred Text Archive
http://www.sacred-texts.com/index.htm
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
New Surgery Date
Hurricane Rita postponed the surgery, but today they rescheduled me for October 5. I still have to get there a day early so they can do the CT scan and anesthesiology thing. I asked the physician's assistant, Lori, if we couldn't just postpone it a bit longer until the plastic surgery guy is available. She had mentioned he was booked through November when we first discussed this. Now I guess he's busy through January.
I'm incredibly bummed out. I finally just gave up the whole idea of getting my mind right about this. It isn't going to happen. I'll just have to come to terms with it after the surgery. Or maybe I'll never come to terms with it. I just have to get through it, one way or the other.
I'm incredibly bummed out. I finally just gave up the whole idea of getting my mind right about this. It isn't going to happen. I'll just have to come to terms with it after the surgery. Or maybe I'll never come to terms with it. I just have to get through it, one way or the other.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Hurricane
The hurricane is threatening to ruin the upcoming trip to the hospital. It would be fine with me to postpone the mastectomy a bit longer, but the nodule problem is making me completely nutty. I'm still planning on going, but I understand that they're evacuating Houston, so that doesn't bode well. I'm unconvinced that the weather forecasters know what they're talking about. Hurricanes are unpredictable creatures who like to veer off suddenly into unanticipated directions.
Of course, on the up side, if I still needed a reservation in Houston, I'd probably be able to get one now. I don't need a reservation, though.
Farewell sex was better than I anticipated. I've been so uncomfortable with my poor mangled breast and I was afraid that would make it hard to have my husband touch it. I was afraid he wouldn't touch it because I think I needed some reassurance that it doesn't ick him out. What a sweetheart!
Of course, on the up side, if I still needed a reservation in Houston, I'd probably be able to get one now. I don't need a reservation, though.
Farewell sex was better than I anticipated. I've been so uncomfortable with my poor mangled breast and I was afraid that would make it hard to have my husband touch it. I was afraid he wouldn't touch it because I think I needed some reassurance that it doesn't ick him out. What a sweetheart!
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Tests and Farewell Sex
My surgery is scheduled for September 26. In the meantime, I have to go Friday for more tests! Yet another CT scan (I'm guessing it's of the breast, but no one has seen fit to tell me, the patient) and another chest x-ray. They're also taking blood, but that's not a big deal. I just want them to stop. Stop it. Just stop it.
The people at my office have arranged for a massage on Thursday morning. I can't wait. I love massages, but I haven't scheduled one all summer because of my breast. It sometimes still feels very painful to touch and that's completely unpredictable. Sometimes I have no pain, sometimes I do. Makes it a little hard to plan.
Hubby and I are having farewell sex this evening. I'm not sure how open I'll be to that with one breast missing. Just in case, I'm giving him (and me) one last hurrah. Who knows, I may schedule in another tomorrow night. You have to have something to look forward to, you know.
The people at my office have arranged for a massage on Thursday morning. I can't wait. I love massages, but I haven't scheduled one all summer because of my breast. It sometimes still feels very painful to touch and that's completely unpredictable. Sometimes I have no pain, sometimes I do. Makes it a little hard to plan.
Hubby and I are having farewell sex this evening. I'm not sure how open I'll be to that with one breast missing. Just in case, I'm giving him (and me) one last hurrah. Who knows, I may schedule in another tomorrow night. You have to have something to look forward to, you know.
Friday, September 16, 2005
A Year Without My Breast
Before we can become who we really are, we must become conscious of the fact that the person who we think we are, here and now, is at best an impostor and a stranger. - Thomas Merton
I'm just back from the city where I'm being treated for breast cancer. Shortly after I returned yesterday, my surgeon's physician's assistant called me to tell me she can't schedule the plastic surgeon until the end of November. In addition to the mastectomy, I'm also scheduled for a bone marrow test and they'll install the port through which I'll receive chemotherapy. None of us feels particularly comfortable with waiting that long. My other option is to have the mastectomy done on September 26 and leave things as they are until later. Much, much later. Lori informed me that I won't be having reconstructive surgery for a year. Once again, I was not prepared for that news.
As a survivor of sexual abuse and the weirdest fucking childhood of anyone I know, the mastectomy triggers a lot fear. It's a terror that is both predictable and astounding.
My breasts and I have always had an unusual relationship. On the one hand, they were one of my very best features. Even as I've gotten older, they haven't begun to sag. On the other hand, I've had more men hold conversations with them than I can count. It can be annoying beyond compare to try to have a serious, intellectual discussion with someone whose eyes never get above my chest. On the other hand, breasts are the source of enormous power. That hasn't mattered as much after I met my husband. My hubby loves my breasts. On the face of it, you'd think that would be a good thing. It is a good thing until one of them is getting ready to disappear for a year.
I know Hubby loves me for much more than The Girls. He loves my intelligence and sense of humor, my gentleness and compassion, my creativity and humor. Nonetheless, I find that I'm terrified that he'll leave me when only one of The Girls shows up to party on date nights. It's so hard for me to confront those fears and I think that, no matter how much reassurance he gives me, I probably won't be able to rid myself of them.
That's because the problem is me, not him. When you've spent many years of your life reaping the benefits of being pretty, you just have to start to wonder if the world will be more difficult to navigate when that's no longer a factor. Do I have something to offer the world other than the way I look? Of course. Maybe I'm just uncertain as to whether other people can recognize those things.
I hate it that I feel this way. If, twenty years ago, someone had told me that there would come a time when I would be afraid of losing my attractiveness, I would have told them they were fucking idiots. And yet. Here I am. I can't help but think that this ha something to do with the values with which I was raised. Specifically, the idea that men really are shallow assholes who only respond to women's sexuality.
In my house, if the woman wasn't having sex the right way (i.e., the way my dad wanted it), then one could be replaced. Or one could be beaten until they got it right. Sex was the be all, end all. You cannot imagine how wrenching it is to write about this. It feels like something inside of me is being ripped apart. No matter how much I may identify myself as a feminista, the bottom line is that it seems I've adopted those values. It's just one of those nasty little secrets I've kept from myself.
I suppose the opportunitiy to be seized in this situation is a greater acceptance of myself, without regard to how I look. I suppose I should use this time to test the assumptions I've made about men and about me. Opportunities abound. I guess the question I'm left with is whether I'm strong enough to see them and, having seen them, can I find my way to embrace whoever will be still standing at the end of this year. I know she will not be the same woman who now sits here, typing.
I'm just back from the city where I'm being treated for breast cancer. Shortly after I returned yesterday, my surgeon's physician's assistant called me to tell me she can't schedule the plastic surgeon until the end of November. In addition to the mastectomy, I'm also scheduled for a bone marrow test and they'll install the port through which I'll receive chemotherapy. None of us feels particularly comfortable with waiting that long. My other option is to have the mastectomy done on September 26 and leave things as they are until later. Much, much later. Lori informed me that I won't be having reconstructive surgery for a year. Once again, I was not prepared for that news.
As a survivor of sexual abuse and the weirdest fucking childhood of anyone I know, the mastectomy triggers a lot fear. It's a terror that is both predictable and astounding.
My breasts and I have always had an unusual relationship. On the one hand, they were one of my very best features. Even as I've gotten older, they haven't begun to sag. On the other hand, I've had more men hold conversations with them than I can count. It can be annoying beyond compare to try to have a serious, intellectual discussion with someone whose eyes never get above my chest. On the other hand, breasts are the source of enormous power. That hasn't mattered as much after I met my husband. My hubby loves my breasts. On the face of it, you'd think that would be a good thing. It is a good thing until one of them is getting ready to disappear for a year.
I know Hubby loves me for much more than The Girls. He loves my intelligence and sense of humor, my gentleness and compassion, my creativity and humor. Nonetheless, I find that I'm terrified that he'll leave me when only one of The Girls shows up to party on date nights. It's so hard for me to confront those fears and I think that, no matter how much reassurance he gives me, I probably won't be able to rid myself of them.
That's because the problem is me, not him. When you've spent many years of your life reaping the benefits of being pretty, you just have to start to wonder if the world will be more difficult to navigate when that's no longer a factor. Do I have something to offer the world other than the way I look? Of course. Maybe I'm just uncertain as to whether other people can recognize those things.
I hate it that I feel this way. If, twenty years ago, someone had told me that there would come a time when I would be afraid of losing my attractiveness, I would have told them they were fucking idiots. And yet. Here I am. I can't help but think that this ha something to do with the values with which I was raised. Specifically, the idea that men really are shallow assholes who only respond to women's sexuality.
In my house, if the woman wasn't having sex the right way (i.e., the way my dad wanted it), then one could be replaced. Or one could be beaten until they got it right. Sex was the be all, end all. You cannot imagine how wrenching it is to write about this. It feels like something inside of me is being ripped apart. No matter how much I may identify myself as a feminista, the bottom line is that it seems I've adopted those values. It's just one of those nasty little secrets I've kept from myself.
I suppose the opportunitiy to be seized in this situation is a greater acceptance of myself, without regard to how I look. I suppose I should use this time to test the assumptions I've made about men and about me. Opportunities abound. I guess the question I'm left with is whether I'm strong enough to see them and, having seen them, can I find my way to embrace whoever will be still standing at the end of this year. I know she will not be the same woman who now sits here, typing.
Monday, September 12, 2005
More Tests
This will be the last blog for a little while because I'm going out of town (back to the hospital) tomorrow morning and won't return until at least Thursday afternoon. I had made a reservation at my usual hotel, but I discovered this morning that I didn't make one for tomorrow night. Oh, no problem, I thought, all of the evacuees are probably living in quarters that are a little more convenient and a little less pricey, given the long-term nature of their hejira. Wrong. Wrong in a big way. I tried to add a day to my existing reservation, but they were booked up. I called my mother and gave her some numbers to call of hotels close to the hospital and I went online to see if I could track something down. I found another hotel, same chain as my usual, but it was downtown and extremely expensive. Then I found a hotel they chose to describe as "high rise." It was very close to the medical center, but it could definitely be iffy accomodations and the most important thing to me is to be as comfortable as humanly possible. My mom found one that's pretty close, we think. I ended up cancelling all reservations for tomorrow except for the one my mom made. I don't know how I managed to get myself so confused about the dates of my medical tests, although I think it likely has something to do with the fact that I don't want to go.
That's been the almost incessant litany this weekend. I do not want to go do this. That kind of inner chatter just annoys the hell out of me. I used to do it all the time about working out. I'd start at around 3 p.m., with my regular workout time scheduled for around 7 p.m.: "I don't want to work out." "You have to." "Yeah, but I'm tired and I just don't see why I shouldn't take a break." "You have to work out." Finally, of course, I would just do it. I finally managed to find a way to break out of that stupid incessant arguing with myself, but I haven't been able to transfer it to the breast cancer scenario. My current response to not wanting to go is, "It'll be okay. I'll get it over with and everything will be okay." Oh yeah. That's really helpful. About twenty minutes later, I get to start the argument all over again.
Hubby's performance is imploding because of his co-author's atrocious behavior. He's managed to get fired from the production, which is so impressive, really. How does the co-author get fired? Now he wants to renegotiate rights to archival materials, script, et., etc. The performance is this coming weekend. My husband seems to be dealing with all of this relatively well. I know he's already stressed out about my breast cancer tests, so I'm sure this magnifies it exponentially.
That's all there is today because that's all the time I have.
That's been the almost incessant litany this weekend. I do not want to go do this. That kind of inner chatter just annoys the hell out of me. I used to do it all the time about working out. I'd start at around 3 p.m., with my regular workout time scheduled for around 7 p.m.: "I don't want to work out." "You have to." "Yeah, but I'm tired and I just don't see why I shouldn't take a break." "You have to work out." Finally, of course, I would just do it. I finally managed to find a way to break out of that stupid incessant arguing with myself, but I haven't been able to transfer it to the breast cancer scenario. My current response to not wanting to go is, "It'll be okay. I'll get it over with and everything will be okay." Oh yeah. That's really helpful. About twenty minutes later, I get to start the argument all over again.
Hubby's performance is imploding because of his co-author's atrocious behavior. He's managed to get fired from the production, which is so impressive, really. How does the co-author get fired? Now he wants to renegotiate rights to archival materials, script, et., etc. The performance is this coming weekend. My husband seems to be dealing with all of this relatively well. I know he's already stressed out about my breast cancer tests, so I'm sure this magnifies it exponentially.
That's all there is today because that's all the time I have.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Two Questions and the Answer
Whosoever wishes to know about the world must learn about it in its particular details.
Knowledge is not intelligence.
In searching for the truth be ready for the unexpected.
Change alone is unchanging.
The same road goes both up and down.
The beginning of a circle is also its end.
Not I, but the world says it: all is one.
And yet everything comes in season.
Heraklietos of Ephesos
Yesterday, I found myself pondering two questions.
Does god hate me?
Does the relentless afflictions in my life really reflect god's profound love for me, because god knows I'm up for it?
I really get tired sometimes of endlessly bucking up and surviving the nasty things that seem to follow me around in life, right from the beginning until today. I generally try not to see the broad panorama of my life because it's just a bit much to embrace. First there was my parents, then my uncle, then a rape, then a suicide and, finally, breast cancer. I would really appreciate it if the universe would just give me a break for a while.
I'm already getting anxious about my upcoming visit to the hospital. It will be a fun-filled adventure featuring CT scans, a bone scan and more blood work. The blood work is just a small blip on the radar screen, but the thought of having to lie still on a table for two hours is unnerving. When I had surgery, they made several attempts to do an MRI so I was on and off that table several times. By the time I got to the surgery holding area (I know there's another word for that, but my word is more indicative of how it felt), my lower back was in so much pain. Too much pressure applied for too long in that area. After they put a pillow under my knees, I was much better. There will be no pillow this time. I've been waking up at 5:00 a.m. lately and, though I'd like to blame it all on the corticosteroids I'm taking for poison ivy, I know that anxiety plays a role, too.
It's okay. Telling myself over and over that I don't want to do these things is really stupid and counterproductive. Somewhere in here the universe is sending me a message. Ultimately, I believe it is a message of love and growth. Staying open to that understanding waxes and wanes. If I get too absorbed in the suffering aspects, it may just prolong my inability to see clearly the potential for positive changes.
Knowledge is not intelligence.
In searching for the truth be ready for the unexpected.
Change alone is unchanging.
The same road goes both up and down.
The beginning of a circle is also its end.
Not I, but the world says it: all is one.
And yet everything comes in season.
Heraklietos of Ephesos
Yesterday, I found myself pondering two questions.
Does god hate me?
Does the relentless afflictions in my life really reflect god's profound love for me, because god knows I'm up for it?
I really get tired sometimes of endlessly bucking up and surviving the nasty things that seem to follow me around in life, right from the beginning until today. I generally try not to see the broad panorama of my life because it's just a bit much to embrace. First there was my parents, then my uncle, then a rape, then a suicide and, finally, breast cancer. I would really appreciate it if the universe would just give me a break for a while.
I'm already getting anxious about my upcoming visit to the hospital. It will be a fun-filled adventure featuring CT scans, a bone scan and more blood work. The blood work is just a small blip on the radar screen, but the thought of having to lie still on a table for two hours is unnerving. When I had surgery, they made several attempts to do an MRI so I was on and off that table several times. By the time I got to the surgery holding area (I know there's another word for that, but my word is more indicative of how it felt), my lower back was in so much pain. Too much pressure applied for too long in that area. After they put a pillow under my knees, I was much better. There will be no pillow this time. I've been waking up at 5:00 a.m. lately and, though I'd like to blame it all on the corticosteroids I'm taking for poison ivy, I know that anxiety plays a role, too.
It's okay. Telling myself over and over that I don't want to do these things is really stupid and counterproductive. Somewhere in here the universe is sending me a message. Ultimately, I believe it is a message of love and growth. Staying open to that understanding waxes and wanes. If I get too absorbed in the suffering aspects, it may just prolong my inability to see clearly the potential for positive changes.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Sometimes Ignorance is a Blessing
After deciding I could read just a tiny bit in my "Living Through Breast Cancer" book, I was demoralized once again. I have yet to find even one sentence in that book that hasn't upset me. I know that's what happens; it happens every single time I open the damn book. Nonetheless, I don't seem to be able to stop myself. I'll think, "Oh, this part will be okay. This is past all of the torture stuff." Finally, I've figured it out. I can not have the book in my house. My mother volunteered to take it and she even offered to read it. I don't really wish for her to read it because it's too upsetting. Obviously, I don't have any control over whether she reads it, so I've let that go. As she started to leave with the book on Sunday, I had this panic attack and I tried to get it back from her. She's not going to give me the book back. Damn.
I've moved on to a book written by Bernie Siegel, M.D. He's a surgeon who's handled a lot of cancer cases. I had to call a halt to reading that book because his premise is that those of us who get cancer do so because they've given up on life. What the hell is that supposed to mean? Isn't that just blaming the victim? I have most certainly not given up on life. Sometimes I take a brief hiatus, but I always regain my will to engage in life. The fact that I have this blog is ample evidence that I haven't give up anything. I have, in fact, reclaimed something that I'd stopped doing long ago. If I was going to give up on life, I would have done it in 1965, after my suicide attempt. I guess I'm going to finish the book--because I compulsively do that--but I don't agree with his central premise.
I've moved on to a book written by Bernie Siegel, M.D. He's a surgeon who's handled a lot of cancer cases. I had to call a halt to reading that book because his premise is that those of us who get cancer do so because they've given up on life. What the hell is that supposed to mean? Isn't that just blaming the victim? I have most certainly not given up on life. Sometimes I take a brief hiatus, but I always regain my will to engage in life. The fact that I have this blog is ample evidence that I haven't give up anything. I have, in fact, reclaimed something that I'd stopped doing long ago. If I was going to give up on life, I would have done it in 1965, after my suicide attempt. I guess I'm going to finish the book--because I compulsively do that--but I don't agree with his central premise.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Limitless Compassion
"...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.
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.
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)