I got an email from a friend today who referred to her upcoming surgery as her M&M surgery: mastectomy and microscopy. How did I miss this??? me — the queen of M&M’s! the world’s most loyal heavy user of M&M’s. How did I miss the chance to nick name my double mastectomy my M&M surgery????
you gotta love this. The other day, a woman volunteer walked into the chemo room with her dog. She walked her dog around the room person by person giving us each a chance to pet her dog. Yes… that’s right; she brought a big hairy dog into a room filled with people whose immune systems are as compromised as possible. Bring your dog; don’t worry if the patients are allergic; just don’t talk on your cell phone! You can’t make this stuff up!
Now that I’m chemo bald, I spend virtually no time getting ready in the morning. No hair to blow dry, no hair to brush, no hair to obsess over. No bad hair days. No frizz. No gray hair. No fading highlights. Believe it or not, I now have bad ear days though. Some days I can’t believe how weird my ears look … they stick out; they have weird creases; they aren’t symmetrical; they’re not the same color as my face. Who knew??!!
I look forward to frizzy hair days again soon!
You may be aware that every year the Washington Post runs a Mensa contest where they ask readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition. If you’re not familiar, take a look at the attached link. Some are pretty funny.
http://walkinthewords.blogspot.com/2009/01/washington-posts-word-fun-add-subtract.html
I have my own non-Mensa “cancer girl” submission:
Last week I had dinner with one of my hip friends in NYC. He normally mocks me for being overly preppy, suburban, and conservative. When he saw me in my “Rhoda goes to Kwanza” head scarf, however, he told me that I had turned “urban chic” into “turban chic“. I went on to point out that when I got tired of being called “cancer girl”, they could call me “turban chick“………
…..ok…. so the Mensa people are more creative, but I thought this was pretty good for a middle aged, middle IQ chick….
Earlier in my BC journey, I blogged about all the wonderful things I don’t have to do because I have cancer. http://thethingaboutbreastcancer.com/2008/11/22/chemo-amnesty-plan/
(see Nov 22 “chemo amnesty plan” blog if this link didn’t work).
My new favorite thing about cancer is that no one is asking me to write the “25 random things about me” on Face Book. I think everyone is afraid that it wouldn’t be funny and clever, but that it might be some sort of very topical rant like this:
1. I take Compazine at first sign of nausea
2. if that doesn’t work, I take zophran 30 minutes later
3. If I feel totally crappy, I take ativan,but it sometimes makes me tired
4. I sleep in a cap, cause the pillow case still pulls at the few hairs I have remaining on my head
5. every time I get a paper cut, I use a whole tube of Neosporin to avoid infection
6. I eat every 2 hours, keeping the people who make simple carbohydrates in business, despite the touch economy
7. when I tie my scarves in the morning, I sing the “la la la la la” Rhoda song
8. the nexium seems to be working for the acid reflux
9. the “magic mouthwash” makes me gag a little bit, but it does help with the mouth sores
10. Despite 6 weeks of chemo, my skin does not seem to be pale gray; I’m also not bone thin
11. during my chemo weeks, I don’t enjoy my morning coffee … this is truly depressing
12. I enjoy my Edy’s slow churn caramel praline crunch frozen yogurt no matter which day it is
13. I’ve switched to an extra soft tooth brush; it’s like being 2 years old again
14. Lemon Sorbet tastes really good when you’re a little queasy
15. fudge pops taste really good when you’re a little queasy
16. While the port is a convenient way to get chemo, it’s an annoying little devise on a day to day basis
17. I sometimes forget that I’m bald and I answer the door without putting on a cap, freaking out the UPS guy more than once.
18. I bought 2 wig-like things that I’m quite sure I’ll never wear
19. I get out of breath when I work out on the elliptical (this is as depressing as not liking the taste of coffee!!)
20. the bagels in the chemo room are stale, but I eat them anyway
21. the magazines in the chemo room are out of date, so I bring my own
22. I’m the only one in the chemo room who eats throughout my treatment (don’t they know about granola bars?????)
23. it’s amazing how fast you can get ready in the morning when you don’t have to do your hair
24. it’s actually quite warm and cozy to wear a scarf on your head when it’s 14 degrees
25. I’m flattered that Little Stevie is wearing a “shmata” on his head at the super bowl in support of me. 
Do you remember when you gave birth to your first child? While in the hospital, I remember being slightly afraid to hold my daughter, thinking I might drop or break her. I was so envious of the nurses who held the babies with such confidence and authority, swaddling them like little tortillas in their hospital blankets. They knew the babies wouldn’t break.
So… here I am 14 years later having the same fear over my new (yet temporary) breasts. Six weeks after surgery, I finally got the courage to lie on my side, still worrying that I would wake up and the “tissue expander” (AKA temporary implant) would collapse, break or rupture.
I use body wash in the shower … the rest of my body gets slopped around like it was an old rag, but I gingerly wash my new breasts the way I imagine somebody would dust the Hope Diamond.
When I sneeze too hard I look down to make sure they haven’t fallen off. I stop for a second and make sure saline hasn’t ruptured throughout my body.
Recently, on the one day the temperature cracked above 32 degrees, I got the courage to go out for a morning run. To be fair, it was mostly a walk with a few blocks of running. Still ‘n all, I have great news to share: they didn’t fall off. They didn’t slip down my belly and wind up in my fanny pack. They’re still firmly attached and giving me some sense of normalcy until I can get my permanent implants this summer and start this whole fear of breakage again……………
Once again, my friend “Casey” has agreed to be the guest blogger on my site. She’s someone I’ve known for almost 40 years, since she moved to my home town and we caught a frog together in her backyard in 3rd grade. (ok… stop laughing… I know I’m not exactly “nature girl”, but I used to be outdoorsy!!). I saw this friend for lunch this weekend, and she gave me the name “cancer girl”. At first, it made me wince a bit, but she later explained she meant it not as a moniker of weakness or disease, but rather as a super-hero of sorts, a cartoon character who takes no prisoners and fights every fight with grace, dignity, and in my case, smooth skin and a matching scarf. Read below and you’ll see why I love this friend. She pretends to be snotty and sarcastic on the outside, and yet we all know she has a heart of gold. I’m lucky to call her my friend.
Perspective.
It’s the time of year when everything is grey. Outside, the dust all over my house, the sky, the ground — almost everywhere you look.
We are in the after Christmas, pre Valentine slump. Once again, I did not get an “Every kiss begins with Kay” Christmas— you know, where the husband hides the ginormous diamond inside an eggplant or something. I am for sure not getting one of those Lexus SUV’s with a big bow on it in my driveway for Valentine’s day either. Yet— I have been thinking about gifts I have received this year. Surely the gift of perspective has landed on me hard.
We all complain about our hair, “it’s grey, it’s stripe-y, it’s falling out”. Watching my friend wear her scarf like a diamond tiara over her little bald head— truly gives one perspective.
Our husbands/partners jobs and careers— all fodder for complaining— until that job is gone. Perspective— busy people worrying about their own families, careers and jobs, using their names, connections and everything in their power to help someone else even make a contact for a job.
Our bodies— no longer a size 8, no longer boobs that are perky — but every doctor appointment that you leave fine, every day your hands and knees and legs move easily gives you perspective on how lucky you are no matter what size or shape you are in.
Friends— we all feel we never see enough of our friends. Commitments, careers, children— all come first— yet what a gift— to even have friends. It doesn’t matter whether you see them once a week or once a year. Perspective is knowing the friends are there, in your heart, in your head— very often, like voices in your head, but always there for you
If you don’t have a Wii, you can probably skip this post. If you do, you’ll be aware that each player gets set up in the system. There is a whole elaborate system where you can customize the players (AKA Wii Mii’s) to resemble the people in your home. My little daughter loves this customization process. My husband’s the tall one with the blond crew cut and bright blue eyes. My teenager looks dramatic with her dark brown eyes. My 11 year old has made a Wii Mii version of herself with cute red hair and freckles. Prior to yesterday, my “Mii” was an attractive woman with a corporate bob and stylish glasses. Yesterday, in the ultimate way of saying, “get with the program, Mom; you don’t have hair and won’t have any until summer”, my daughter re-did my Wii Mii as a bald woman.
With a stroke of the Wii remote control, I went from being cool calm composed career lady to chemo cancer chick!
I thought this was a sobering moment, until my husband reminded me that she did it with a total light-hearted feel, maybe showing us that she’s dealing with all of this better than we are……………
Who remembers the 80’s? Remember those quirky little novelty items — chia pets? You would water them and fake hair/fur would grow. I recently discovered that chemo has made me the anti chia pet. Every time I shower, a little more hair falls off my head. It’s like a magic trick! The part that’s really odd is that you think you are 100% bald, and yet more hair falls out. Does it grow in over night just to fall out in the morning? As though chemo isn’t annoying enough, you need this little mental torture every morning?
I guess I could look on the bright side … I might finally have something worthy of David Letterman’s “stupid human tricks”.
