The most recent trip to GW Hospital went pretty well – as I described the other day. However, I didn’t quite imagine that the healing process would leave me so tender.
I am thankful for the advances in science that make it possible for me to have this port implanted. I am not however, too excited about having it just yet because it is making sleep (one of my favorite things) a little more difficult to come by. The area around the port is really tender. It is covered in bandages (which come just to the base of my neck) and generally, I’m just uncomfortable. At night, I am constantly tossing and turning because I have to place my breasts just so… in order to minimize the pain from either the weight of my boobies pulling at the bandages or the pressure from my body weight pressing on the tender area.
I am thankful for the advances in science that make it possible for me to have this port implanted. I am not however, too excited about having it just yet because it is making sleep (one of my favorite things) a little more difficult to come by. The area around the port is really tender. It is covered in bandages (which come just to the base of my neck) and generally, I’m just uncomfortable. At night, I am constantly tossing and turning because I have to place my breasts just so… in order to minimize the pain from either the weight of my boobies pulling at the bandages or the pressure from my body weight pressing on the tender area.
So… I had a hard night’s rest last night. Despite being quite tired, I didn’t sleep much. That’s okay since I have a long weekend to try to get in the sleep that I’ve missed.
This morning as I was changing my bandages in the bathroom at work – I burst into tears when I looked at the bruising around the port and the catheter and the surgi-strips holding it all together. I can’t even explain what made me cry. Pulling bandages off tender skin is never that much fun, but I don’t know if that was why I cried or if it was something more.
Its Friday, my cousin is coming to visit and it’s a holiday weekend. I have been elated over far less… but I am really sad right now. I think it’s the impending chemotherapy.
Short work weeks are rarely fun, but I will only be in the office one, maybe two days next week. I have to go to the hospital every day next week (except the holiday) for one reason or another… and I am scared again. I am worried about the work that I imagine (well, know) will pile up while I am out. I am worried about the results of my CT scans. I don’t know what they are looking for, so I’m worried about what they may find. And really, I have no idea what to expect on Thursday, the first day of chemotherapy.
I mean really… what’s that like? To sit for hours while you knowingly let someone pump chemicals into your body to kill certain cells seems really outrageous – and crazy. Am I crazy? Should I refuse chemo and start researching other ways to treat this? Are there other ways to treat cancer? And why are so many women suffering (and dying in some cases) from breast cancer? I know that its treatable, I know that many women go on to lead wonderful productive lives… but I also know that at least one woman, my aunt Vinnie Lee, died from breast cancer.
I think about my aunt Vinnie a lot now. I wasn’t very close to her. She was my eldest aunt on my mom’s side. And my clearest memories of her include some wretched wigs (sorry auntie… but its true) and how I didn’t get a popsicle for dessert one night because I refused to eat liver. (gag…) But aunt Vinnie was still my auntie…and just like I love all my aunties, I loved her too and I knew that she loved me. She died quite a few years ago now, and at the time of her death we didn’t know why she died. We only knew that she was sick. We found out (well, I found out) later that she had breast cancer and died from it.
I remember being a little angry finding out about it after her death. Thinking that it was something that the family should have known about sooner but ultimately, she wanted to deal with it in her own way. Now that I am facing the same thing, I can understand wanting to maintain some control over your life… though I feel like I need to wear a t-shirt or something so that everyone knows. But then, you know that I’m different that way.
I hate hearing “I have breast cancer” in my head or the way my voice cracks every time I say it. I absolutely hate it. And I am beginning to loathe the way that people look at me as though I’m about to die on the spot. (I don’t hate the people, I just hate that pity-look in their eyes) I despise looking at my “fabulous boobies” and seeing them swollen, bandaged and bruised. And I hate looking at them now, knowing they won’t look the same way in a few months.
Its weird feeling so out of control over your own body. I don’t know how other people with life-altering, life-threatening illnesses deal with it… but Nicole is struggling with feeling like I am at the mercy of other people. Normally, I am a strong advocate of hiring the right professional for the job. You can’t be an expert at all things, right? That logic is failing me now. Why can’t I fix this? Its my body, shouldn’t I know how to care for it?
Right now, I still blame myself. What didn’t I know, didn’t I do, or what did I do? Was a bad person, did I hurt someone and this is my punishment? Is God angry with me? Did I drink too much, eat too little liver…? Should I have run more, or should I have gotten a reduction years ago when my boobies were growing out of control? Would that have changed things? Should I have had children years ago, even though I wasn’t ready..? Or should I have been more happy – like a recent article suggested – in order to make sure that I didn’t get breast cancer? What did I do wrong?
I guess I have finally hit the “why me” stage. I keep thinking that if I can figure out what I did wrong, then maybe I can fix it. And I won’t continue to feel so out of control, so needy for someone else to do for, or care for me…
I guess I’m rambling… and I’m starting to cry again. Maybe it’s the rain. It tends to make me moody and sleepy. So… here’s where we start the final weekend of the summer… sad, weepy, scared, sore, sleepy and generally out of sorts. Someone shared a link to a t-shirt company’s website where all the t-shirts said basically one thing…
F*CK Cancer.
I really couldn’t have come up with a better line if I tried.
This morning as I was changing my bandages in the bathroom at work – I burst into tears when I looked at the bruising around the port and the catheter and the surgi-strips holding it all together. I can’t even explain what made me cry. Pulling bandages off tender skin is never that much fun, but I don’t know if that was why I cried or if it was something more.
Its Friday, my cousin is coming to visit and it’s a holiday weekend. I have been elated over far less… but I am really sad right now. I think it’s the impending chemotherapy.
Short work weeks are rarely fun, but I will only be in the office one, maybe two days next week. I have to go to the hospital every day next week (except the holiday) for one reason or another… and I am scared again. I am worried about the work that I imagine (well, know) will pile up while I am out. I am worried about the results of my CT scans. I don’t know what they are looking for, so I’m worried about what they may find. And really, I have no idea what to expect on Thursday, the first day of chemotherapy.
I mean really… what’s that like? To sit for hours while you knowingly let someone pump chemicals into your body to kill certain cells seems really outrageous – and crazy. Am I crazy? Should I refuse chemo and start researching other ways to treat this? Are there other ways to treat cancer? And why are so many women suffering (and dying in some cases) from breast cancer? I know that its treatable, I know that many women go on to lead wonderful productive lives… but I also know that at least one woman, my aunt Vinnie Lee, died from breast cancer.
I think about my aunt Vinnie a lot now. I wasn’t very close to her. She was my eldest aunt on my mom’s side. And my clearest memories of her include some wretched wigs (sorry auntie… but its true) and how I didn’t get a popsicle for dessert one night because I refused to eat liver. (gag…) But aunt Vinnie was still my auntie…and just like I love all my aunties, I loved her too and I knew that she loved me. She died quite a few years ago now, and at the time of her death we didn’t know why she died. We only knew that she was sick. We found out (well, I found out) later that she had breast cancer and died from it.
I remember being a little angry finding out about it after her death. Thinking that it was something that the family should have known about sooner but ultimately, she wanted to deal with it in her own way. Now that I am facing the same thing, I can understand wanting to maintain some control over your life… though I feel like I need to wear a t-shirt or something so that everyone knows. But then, you know that I’m different that way.
I hate hearing “I have breast cancer” in my head or the way my voice cracks every time I say it. I absolutely hate it. And I am beginning to loathe the way that people look at me as though I’m about to die on the spot. (I don’t hate the people, I just hate that pity-look in their eyes) I despise looking at my “fabulous boobies” and seeing them swollen, bandaged and bruised. And I hate looking at them now, knowing they won’t look the same way in a few months.
Its weird feeling so out of control over your own body. I don’t know how other people with life-altering, life-threatening illnesses deal with it… but Nicole is struggling with feeling like I am at the mercy of other people. Normally, I am a strong advocate of hiring the right professional for the job. You can’t be an expert at all things, right? That logic is failing me now. Why can’t I fix this? Its my body, shouldn’t I know how to care for it?
Right now, I still blame myself. What didn’t I know, didn’t I do, or what did I do? Was a bad person, did I hurt someone and this is my punishment? Is God angry with me? Did I drink too much, eat too little liver…? Should I have run more, or should I have gotten a reduction years ago when my boobies were growing out of control? Would that have changed things? Should I have had children years ago, even though I wasn’t ready..? Or should I have been more happy – like a recent article suggested – in order to make sure that I didn’t get breast cancer? What did I do wrong?
I guess I have finally hit the “why me” stage. I keep thinking that if I can figure out what I did wrong, then maybe I can fix it. And I won’t continue to feel so out of control, so needy for someone else to do for, or care for me…
I guess I’m rambling… and I’m starting to cry again. Maybe it’s the rain. It tends to make me moody and sleepy. So… here’s where we start the final weekend of the summer… sad, weepy, scared, sore, sleepy and generally out of sorts. Someone shared a link to a t-shirt company’s website where all the t-shirts said basically one thing…
F*CK Cancer.
I really couldn’t have come up with a better line if I tried.
