I've Been Remiss (but not in remission)

I finally got back to this blog.  I honestly forgot about it. I have chemo brain, a weird, forgetful, semi-competent state that is caused by chemo (and probably by the stress and preoccupation a cancer diagnosis begets). I'm sorry, to you, the reader, and to me.

I really needed an outlet, other than my friends and family. I'm sure they are tired of me by now. So, I'm back.  And I'm gonna bleed here instead of on my peeps.

Yeah, but...

Last week, I had a segmental mastectomy, removal of ten lymph nodes and a port-cath placed through which to receive chemotherapy for a year.

The news regarding my cancer, that 'they got it all', meaning they removed tissue until the margins were free of cancer, was a huge relief.  I have been quite sore from the surgery, but feel better physically every day.

And, now, what? The fear that we all had was exhausting and it was a relief for my family and friends to get back to their normal.  Yeah, but...

How am I to do that?  I still have to have chemo, feel like shit, service the disease for a year, lose my hair, and be afraid.  Its as if, because the surgery was a success, things are 'right enough' for my friends and family to not have to 'check in', to not send a message.  God, I sound like a brat.

But, I am afraid.  I have not kicked this cancer.  I have a huge recon, search and destroy and mop up program to survive.  I am afraid of the illness itself, then of the 'cure'.  I am afraid of feeling weak and sick for a year, of losing my hair, of being forever changed, of the loss of seeing myself as a whole and healthy person.

And, that's just boring and uncomfortable to be around.  I wish I could put me on hold for a while...

Gal pal support

You make me laugh. You assure me that all my shoes will find good homes 'after'. You joke about falsies and lopsidedness and migrating implants. You hold me gently so as not to cause me pain. You speculate about baldness. You inspire mad dashes to the loo in hysterical laughter. You are my friends, sisters and nieces, and I love you for harassing me through the pathetic part of breast cancer...

Shut up and empathize...

Good thing: saying simply 'I'm sorry. If you need anything let me know.'
Bad thing: 'My aunt/cousin/mother in law/coworker had brain/breast/lung/toe cancer and s/he beat it/died/suffered/ was a miracle from God.

Shut up. It's not about you. Just say 'Sorry' or 'Bummer' or 'Wow'.

The rest is self serving and makes YOU the focus. We have enough to deal with to worry about your shit. Or to even say 'Oh, wow, sorry...about... YOU...'

Guns A'Blazin'

Diseases may come and go,

but I intend to die in a shoot out...

Avoidance, infection, susceptibility...

I remember thinking of folks I knew who 'got cancer '. Of the hushed tones and gravity with which their names were spoken from then on by my parents. I knew, by the sadness and finality, then the forced bonhomie when our paths crossed, that these were the walking dead. That was fifty years ago. Treatment has come so far since them, as has survivability. I remember wondering, as a child, what it felt like to have that news, that knowledge, that death sentence. Scared the hell out of me. I was afraid of 'catching' it. No one told me any different. And now, with that rich and vivid history, I am 'that person'. As a medical professional, I recognize the progress and the prognosis, that I have a great chance of beating this disease. But, the little girl inside is still terrified, wishing I could switch sides of the street when I see the Now Me coming..

'Til death do us part...

So, I was lamenting the fact that I finally got Feral Husband all trained up and civilized, mostly, and some other woman will reap the benefits after I'm gone. My sister suggested that I take him with me. So, for now, thats the plan...