My Amazing Scientific Discovery

Who would have thought that a hillbilly tramp stamp would be the cure for what ails me?  I?  Am a genius!


I pulled weeds in the backyard for four hours on Sunday afternoon, when it was unusually warm and sunny for the Oregon coast.  As always, I slathered on J's SPF 60 sunscreen, and I wore long sleeves, long pants and a hat.  I didn't think to cover the area under my clothes.  Which I should have, because like many of my newly too-small clothes, my shirt did not stay put.  So I now have a truly evil sunburn right where I should would rather have a tramp stamp. And it hurts.  Like hell.  Though probably less than this did:

I have a shoebox full of leftover opiate-based drugs at home, as well as any number of other fanciful pharmaceuticals.  But I am not at home, and, alas, you cannot procure Oxycontin at the airport anymore, what with the sniffing dogs and all.  You can, however, buy Tylenol.  And it even comes with this super cute folded paper cup!  For free!  The cup was free, I mean. The Tylenol was crazy-spendy.

It was basically useless on the sunburn, but it did wonders for my letrozole-induced leg and knee pain.  Who knew?  OK, my oncologist did tell me I could take acetaminophen, but I forgot that almost as soon as he said it.  I just don't have the pain-reliever mindset.  I mean, I almost never get headaches, but when I do, I walk around all day like, wow, bummer headache, dude.  And it never crosses my mind to do anything like take an aspirin.  I have been drowning in pain for almost a year and now...wow!  If I had figured this out a couple of weeks ago, I probably would never have written my last post (props to anyone who sensed the depression/desperation).  So I took another Tylenol today.  And yeah!  The pain tremendously diminished, although it's still there, and clearly I can't take this stuff every single day for the next four years, but it's so very nice to know it's there when I need it.

I'll take one of these, please:

Wild Abandon

Three car "incidents" in 15 days.  You say accident, I say incident.  Semantics!

BEFORE

(No "after" picture because I don't know where my camera is.)

I'm just an idiot?  I'm just distracted? I'm just a menace?  I just don't know.

Next topic.

J and I went to Portland to take Uncle C and Aunt J out for brunch to celebrate UC's birthday, which I spaced out last week.  (I am sensing a theme.)  We had a lovely meal at Wild Abandon in Southeast, and then J and I saw a puppet-show version of "Stellaluna."  She liked it well enough; I was bored, distracted, hot flashing and wishing I hadn't spent the money.  And I have concluded that puppeteers are their own special breed.

And the name for that breed is "creepily and aggressively enthusiastic."  I don't deny their obvious talent.  I just think they are a little...much.

There's really no logical segue to the other thing that's been weighing on my mind lately:

Cancer.  

Or more specifically, the aftermath of cancer.

In the last 18 months, I:

• Found a lump (September 2010)
• Had a negative mammogram and ultrasound (9/29/10)
• Had a lumpectomy (10/19/10)
• Was diagnosed with ER+ breast cancer (10/27/10)
• Had a positive MRI with an enlarged lymph node (2 actually)
• Had a core needle biopsy of an enlarged lymph node (11/12/10)--negative, so I got to avoid the full axial dissection
• Had a sentinel node biopsy (negative!) and a port placed (11/16/10)
• Had chemotherapy (11/23/10, 12/14/10, 1/3/11 and 1/24/11)
• Had a bilateral mastectomy (2/18/11)
• Started aromatase inhibitors (3/1/11)
• Had my ovaries, tubes and uterus removed (4/28/11)
• Had my implant exchange (8/18/11)
• Had nipple reconstruction, with areolae made from abdominal skin grafts, and fat grafting (12/8/11)  

The only thing I have left is the nipple tattoos.  And the rest of my life.

My health is good, as far as I know, and I only hope that I am not jinxing it by writing that here.  But cancer never really goes away, at least psychologically speaking.  If you are very lucky and your cancer doesn't come back, you are in remission.  That means it can still come back any time, though the risk does decrease over time.  And if it does come back, in my case (since I have no more breast tissue) it's almost certainly going to be metastatic, and that's incurable.  Some nights it keeps me up; some days, thinking about it causes car incidents.  

I used to be afraid of death, and I used to want to live forever.  Now I am accepting of death, though I will fight hard if I have to.  All I want now is enough time to raise J into the woman she will be.  And to be there for her when she faces her own risks and fears.  And, hell, while I'm at it, to dance at her wedding and see my grandchildren.  Each day farther from the paralyzing terror of diagnosis, I want to live just a little longer.  Tempting fate? Ordinary hubris?  Or just a healthy recovery?

The thought of recurrence is scary.  I think of it every time I stand up and my knees and ankles cry in protest from the AI.  I think of it every time I get on the scale, for being heavy increases your risk.  I think of it every time I pour a glass of wine, for drinking increases your risk.  The only thing that doesn't increase risk, as far as I can deduce, is smoking, the one vice I have never had.

When I lie in bed at night, I think of all I have lost, and it goes well beyond hair and body parts. I have lost my innocence, my sense of "it can't happen to me." I have lost my place in the universe.  I have gained a new one, of course, but it's a different place on a distant shore.  Cancer has been bad for my marriage, bad for my family, bad for just about everything.  But I am alive, and to borrow a line from John Irving, cancer can't "get the me in me."  

Love in the Time of Pertussis

J got three shots today...varicella, MMR and DTaP.  And for the first time since her first H1N1 (no one knew when the health department would get them in, so we had very little notice), I wasn't there.  What a crap mom I am!  She was supposed to get her immunizations last week, at her well-child exam, which I took her to! She'd been sick, however, and we were headed to Oaks Park and then Busytown, so her doctor let us put them off a week.  I had somehow thought she was supposed to get them before starting kindergarten, but I guess they have moved this back to the four-year-old check-up, so I wasn't expecting it. G took her this morning, and of course he was more than capable.  J took it like the champ she is, and a shout out to Ally at PMG for giving shots so quickly and expertly.

But I still feel like crap.  

I feel bad, I hasten to assure you, because I wasn't there.  I do not feel bad because I think vaccines are dangerous/cause autism/make you gay.  I don't.  I fully support immunization, and people who argue that "herd immunity" protects children piss me off.  If you want to be part of this society, there are some things you have to do.  You pay taxes, you keep your stereo at a reasonable volume, and you vaccinate your kids.  Sure, your kid might handle measles swimmingly, but what about the kid down the block--the one who can't get vaccinated because he has cancer and a compromised immune system?  He sure as hell isn't going to handle measles.  And what about all the babies who are too young for the vaccines but not too young to die of the disease?  I guess that's OK as long as it's not your kid.

Don't get me started.

Anyway, the verdict is in that I am a crap mom.  Am I also a crap wife? 

It's possible I am not the best wife.  I mean, I can't rule it out.  But I have done more than 50% of the heavy lifting, and I'm tired.  Really, really tired.  


Just sayin'.