It's Not a Spider Bite

I thought a spider bit me. I must have offended the arachnid group at some point, and they sent in a very angry representative - and then I rolled on him. That is what I imagined. Nine days later and the bite was still driving me crazy. It finally dawned on my little pea-brain that maybe I should have it looked at. Maybe all the stuff my body has gone through in the last nine or ten months has rendered it ineffective to deal with a pissed-off venemous creature. I felt a little stupid saying, "I think I have a spider bite that I can't fight off - do I need an antibiotic or something"? The doctor looked at it and said "That's not a bite". "It is either genital herpes or shingles". Why did he even offer genital herpes? It's on my shoulder blade. Being who I am though, I have to explore this - "Is that really an option?" There is something evil in me that enjoys making doctor's a little uncomfortable. Pay-back is a mo' fo' . . . no? The poor unsuspecting M.D. stutters through an implausible explanation of how one might contract genital herpes on their shoulder blade. Just let you're imagination run wild here. I did. I'm not buying it, (and neither is he, but he put it out there and now must make it seem possible) nor am I letting it go. "Exactly how would one get genital herpes on their shoulder blade"? Now, trying to extricate himself from the crazy patient, who has no patience - and no longer suffers fools lightly, he changes tactics and determines that it is most likely shingles. Ya' think? Good lord - cancer has turned me into one of those crazy, cranky old codgers that no longer gives a hoot what anyone thinks.

When I was about to be wheeled into surgery a couple of months ago - literally all hooked up to IV's, weird leg massagey things pumping up and down making sure you don't throw a blood-clot, bad, useless hospital gown - the nurse comes in with her final check-list. She asks (and I quote) "Do you have any serious illnesses we should be aware of"? I know. Let that sink in. I did. Inject a long, uncomfortable pause here. "Do you mean . . . other than the cancer?" Nervous laughter. I realize they have their legal lists they have to go through but really? I mean, I've only been in and out of that place every other week for month's on end. There have been so many moments like this one through this process. It's like I'm living in a paralell universe, and it's almost normal, but everything is just a little skewed. I still have to question it all sometimes. Is this really happening?

So . . . shingles. Obviously, just cancer was getting a little old. Dull, actually. All I could really do was laugh. Shingles? Okay. Bring it on. It seems small after hearing "You have cancer". It is quite annoying though. It hurts. It itches. There isn't really anything you can do about it. It's a virus - the adult manifestation of chicken pox. It has apparently been dormant in my body since I was a kid and had chicken pox. Now, with my immune system depressed, it popped out. A nasty spider bite would have been preferable. It's just one more little side story from the big "c" coaster ride. It makes me want to SING! I feel pretty, oh so pretty . . .

The Broken Vase

I feel like a broken vase. They have glued me back together admirably. I retain my basic original shape with only a chip missing here or there. But, I'm not sure if I could actually hold water or flowers anymore. I miss holding the flowers. A big chip could pop out at anytime, and we would have to start the gluing process all over again. Why did I think I could simply get treated and get back to "normal"? There is no normal - I need to find a new normal.

Right now, I feel like I have no control in my life. It is dictated by appointments for treatment and all of the after effects from those treatments. The physical side effects are obvious and right out there. I can handle those, as annoying as they are, they are manageable. It's the emotional scars that are just beginning to surface, that, I'm not sure what to do with. You have to identify them before you can even deal with them. I don't have them all identified yet. And the emotional scars are not just mine. They spread out in ripples to those closest to me. As difficult as it is to identify my own issues, it's even harder to grasp what I've caused in those around me.

I'm not "cancer girl". I'm not the "cancer car". I'm not a "broken vase". I'm just a woman, with a life threatening illness, trying to find her way back.

Second Base Fine Tuning

So this week I get nipples. Yeah! The doctor made it sound like an easy, no-brainer operation. One hour - outpatient - a little skin origami and wham-bam-thank-you-mam out the door kind of procedure. It probably is for him. Me? I don't do this kind of thing every day, so I had to ask the nurse, exactly how do they create nipples? She literally described it as being like origami. My brain immediately pictured little flying cranes on my chest. Off the test pattern look in my eyes, she reassured me that they look really good. I have found that "really good" is subjective terminology in the oncology world. My idea of "really good" could be quite different from their idea of "really good". Like when the plastic surgeon proudly displayed to me some pictures of his work and assured me that he could get those kinds of results for me too! I then spiraled into a three-day depression with the knowledge that my lovely, soft breasts were about to become Frankenboobs. I had to keep reminding myself that the alternative was not cool - and to keep my eye on the end goal. I choose life over bodacious ta ta's.

Having said all that, the nipple surgery is not so slam dunk as it originally sounded - but, I do not have Frankenboobs either. They turned out pretty darn good - and I can't resist playing show-and-tell with some of my girlfriends. (whether they like it or not!)

So - nipples, here I come! One more piece of the puzzle in putting me back together again. Unlike Humpty Dumpty, all the Kings horses and all the Kings men have been doing a fine job on me. Maybe Humpty was just an ass and they simply didn't want to put him back together again. I suppose it could be that horses don't have opposable thumbs, but then what excuse do all the Kings men have. Nope - Humpty Dumpty was an ass. That's my theory and I'm sticking to it.

Top 10 Things I Never Thought I'd Say

10. I was raising funds for cancer research by doing a marathon - who knew those funds might go directly to me.

9. I don't mind donating, but I didn't want to be the poster child.

8. I think the 26.2 mile marathon I trained for would have been easier than the marathon I got.

7. Bald isn't so bad.

6. Other than no energy, numb feet and a runny nose, I feel pretty good!

5. A cancer shower party? How fun!

4. Who would have thought that having your breasts amputated would make it hard to grate cheese?

3. I'm getting nipples this week!

2. Can they be perky? I don't want to look like Yoko Ono.

1. I have cancer.

Hair's Looking At You!

It is the new year and I am thrilled to finally have hair again! For months, I was a complete skin-head. Then for the next couple of months, I had fuzz. Finally, I looked like a Marine. A Marine with an enviable Brazilian wax job. It was an odd combo, no two ways about it. Now, I can finally put product in my hair and almost style it! I do not wish to sound ungrateful in any way, shape or form for the fabulous hair explosion, however, having said that - let's just put the brakes on here a little bit. Now I have to call my insurance company to see if it will cover some hair removal costs. You heard me right. Before I start my new circus career as the bearded lady, I need to see what can be done. Is this a test? Is God giggling right now? Perhaps it is His little kick in the kiester to get me writing again. Well . . . it worked didn't it?

I have had trouble writing for the last few months. Cancer is a thief. A thief of so many things. A thief of time, identity, my brain, my ability to focus on anything other than myself. I have simply not been fully present for my family or my friends or so many things that used to hold such importance for me. I can't get away from it. It's not that I didn't know logically that cancer was all around me - but now I see it everywhere I go. It's as if I bought the "Cancer car". Now, I see them everywhere. Every other person is driving one. The tricky part is that none of us knows which custom package we purchased. Did we buy the extended warranty? Am I a Volvo with hundreds of thousands of good miles left on me, or am I a Pinto . . . just waiting for that next rear-ender to cause an explosion? Apparently I didn't get air conditioning in my model. Those hot flashes sure are super, good fun though. Also, they give you a nice rosy glow! When I am in the midst of one, I feel a bit like a praying mantis. I might just bite the head off of the next person who has the misfortune of speaking to me. On the bright side, my kids reflexes have gotten really fast. They are all crazy, wicked good at dodge ball now.

I used to wonder, as a parent, if any of my constant nagging and pushing was getting through to my children. Now that I haven't had the energy to be a truly effective nagger, I see that some of it did work. On the up side, they have all been forced to grow up a little, and become a bit more self sufficient. On the down side, their grades reflect my lack of interest. I feel badly about that, however, I try not to beat myself up about it too much. They will all be fine ultimately, with or without my nagging. (and perhaps with some years of therapy)

My surgery was almost nine weeks ago now. Everything went well. They were able to do reconstructive surgery at the same time and I must say that I am pleased with the results. I am in physical therapy now, and there is steady improvement in my mobility. Once I can get my left arm up over my head and hold it in that position, we will start the next phase. Radiation. I haven't really even focused on it yet. My surgeon says that I have done all the hard parts. She says that radiation is a cake-walk after chemo and surgery. That's good. I could use some cake. Is there such a thing as a "pie-walk"? I like pie even better. You know what I really like . . . biscuits and gravy. When I finish radiation, I think I'll have a piece of cake AND a piece of pie AAAAANNNND, smother it all in gravy! I'll just have to be careful to keep it out of my beard.

Where Are You?

"I haven't seen anything new on your blog lately, is everything all right?", "Are you still writing?", "You don't write anymore." Into my head pops that gooey Barbara Streisand/Neil Diamond duet "You Don't Bring Me Flowers". Let's see Bab's and Mr. Spangly Shirt go through four months of chemo and keep showing up with posies! I've got posies! They are rattling around in my brain - I just don't have the energy to actually write them down! It makes me cranky. You probably already picked up on that. As crabby as I am, it pleases me that people want to read more. So, here goes . . . Thursday was my final chemo! I was giddy as they dripped the toxins in one last time. My Dr. told me I should be proud that I made it through all six. They couldn't do one more - too many of my bodies systems are no longer bouncing back. I can't say that "proud" is the adjective I would have chosen - maybe "fubar". They certainly take you to the brink. I am lying on that brink now, like a wet dishtowel. Sunday was my birthday. I woke up at one point to find a shiny balloon tied to my wrist. My daughter thought that would be nice. My son wrote "Happy Birthday!" on the balloon. As sweet and adorable as all that was, I couldn't help but feel like the 100 year old tchachki in the corner with the pathetic, sparkly balloon tied on in an effort to jeujze it up. We decided to simply postpone any birthday celebrations until I am up and about again. If it is still floating, I'll have to put my sparkly balloon back on.

So much has happened since I last put my thoughts down, I don't know where to begin. After my 5th chemo, I did an MRI for the surgeon to get a good picture of what she's going to be operating on. Imagine my amazement when what they found was NO visible invasive cancer at all! As difficult as the chemo has been, it has certainly done it's job. What does all this mean? Do I have to do the 6th chemo? Yes. Is there still surgery involved? Yes. I had non-invasive as well as invasive cancer. Although non-invasive is good - it can't be touched by chemotherapy. What are my odds of another cancer starting up in the other breast? Unfortunately, fairly high since my maternal grandmother died of ovarian cancer. Mine is a hormone driven cancer - so it's going to be a double mastectomy to reduce the risk of recurrence. They will do reconstructive surgery at the same time. You know the old ditty "All's I want fer Christmas is ma two front teeth..." - change the lyrics a little and add some hair - that's all's I want. My daughter told me last night that she can hardly remember what I look like with hair. She only remembers that it was fat. I love that description! Me and my fat hair!

It is almost two weeks since I wrote those last two paragraphs and things have changed a bit. As it turns out, my oncologist wants to do radiation therapy. That may compromise the reconstructive surgery happening simultaneously. I should know in the next week, just what the plan is. I am trying very hard not to think in terms of - I have to have radiation, but that I get to have radiation. My cancer is being treated aggressively, and that gives me the best chance against further metastases. I am struggling with looking at my situation with a "glass half full" attitude. I am getting there - it's just that right now, I'd like that glass to be half full of vodka. Give me a few days to process it all, and I will want ginger ale again.

Adding Insult to Injury

Two words . . . abrupt menopause. That's right, one more fabulous side effect to add to the list. Can I just say that one more time? It rolls off the tongue so nicely - abrupt menopause. At least a dozen times a day now, I have these intense hot flashes. Being completely bald currently, I have an image of my head being like a light bulb - white hot and glowing as if someone has switched it on. There's no warning, and seemingly no particular thing that brings it on. But suddenly, it feels as if a room full of people could read by the light of my head. Either that or I've just gotten one heck of a good idea!

The particular type of cancer cells that invaded my body have hormone receptors. This is actually a good thing. They now have drugs that attach specifically to those hormone receptors - so they target the cancer cells directly. As swell as this is, it does bring about menopause. There's no easing into it - you are just there! I receive that drug along with the old tried and true chemo that shreds everything in it's path. There is a third drug in there that attacks all fast growing cells. Cancer cells are crazy, fast growing cells. Unfortunately, so are skin cells, blood cells, hair follicle's, your digestive tract, and your sinus passages. Hence the runny nose, general barfiness, baldness, anemia and fatigue, and on the bright side, surprisingly soft skin. It's like having a head-to-toe exfoliating mask on! Your skin is always playing catch-up and replacing the old with new soft stuff. If I could somehow bottle just that side effect, I could make a gazillion dollars here in Hollywood, where all the celebs would pay big bucks for really soft skin!

Did I say hot flashes? I must now revise that to normal flashes. The hot flashes are so frequent, they outnumber the times when I am a normal temperature. My oldest son walked into the kitchen today and caught me with my head in the freezer. I'm pretty sure he is convinced that I've gone round the bend. My daughter, who walked in moments later, and ever the pragmatist exclaimed "You're wasting cold air! But while you're in there, could you get me a popsicle?" She's going to do just fine in this world.