Monday, January 25 - Day 19

Did I mention that I hate Mondays? Ugh. Even worse with three days off. I’m dragging today, but somehow, I muster the ability to get myself to radiation. You don’t get to skip it if you don’t feel like going, and god knows I don’t want another day added at the end.

When I get there and request my music for the day (Billy Joel), Dan says the music isn’t working. I pause and say, “Uh, no, that isn’t going to work for me.” There are two other guys there milling about – apparently over the weekend they redid their desk and tweaked things, and Dan can’t figure out how to plug the cord back in to the computer. Why doesn’t this surprise me? I would have jumped in to help, but Dude #2 does when he sees my reaction. I stand by waiting to see what happens. Dude #2 gets it working in about 2 minutes and the poor lady before me still in the room and Allision are blasted by Billy Joel playing way too loudly. I try not to laugh. I guess that lady was ok with no music. Nope, not me.

As Dan and Allision adjust me, I somewhat apologize for being so high maintenance (as I ask for the fan). They claim I’m just fine and it’s their job to treat me. Well, yes, that’s true. But I’d bet that most people are much more pleasant and less fussy.

I think of my Dad at this point. He taught us to always have an opinion and always advocate for yourself. You don’t get anywhere in life by being a doormat – my parents were anything by wishy washy. They were active in so many things and spoke their minds and contributed to and fought for causes they believed it. Even before some causes were popular, they were there. I think I was in college (mid 80s) when my Dad because a member of “Parent’s and Friends of Lesbians and Gays” (PFLAG) – I believe it now has a different name. We did not have any family members who were lesbians or gays, but my parents had friends who were, and they stood up for equal rights. We always joked that they might have been disappointed none of us kids or their grandkids were gay. They would have embraced us and supported us. I always felt lucky that they were open minded and accepting. In other ways, maybe not as much so, but for equal rights, definitely. Dad was also a member of the Hemlock Society. I believe in that 100% and wish that it was an option nationwide. Oregon has that one right. I hope I never need to move there.

In any case, I’m out of there as fast as I can when I’m done every day – “see you tomorrow,” they say cheerily. I can’t wait for the last day and not having to hear that again. I’m such a grump.

Tuesday, January 26 – Day 20

Day 20. One third of the way done today. I wake up and decide nothing is going wrong today. Today I am going to be positive and think about positive things. Well, we did go Aurora hunting until after midnight (no luck, but sure had fun with Tom, Dave, and Mark T) so I am drrraaagggggiiiinnnngggg more than usual today. But I’m up, I work, I shower, I get dressed – oh my god – I even put on makeup. I always wear a blouse and wear makeup on days I’m going to see Dr. D. I don’t know why, I guess I don’t want to look like some pathetic hag, which is how I feel a lot of the time.

Today is Elton John. You really cannot go wrong with Elton John. One of the best concerts I ever saw in person – fourth row seats. The only downside was that it was at the Sullivan Arena and the acoustics there are terrible. Oh well, I guess it doesn’t matter now since it’s a homeless shelter. I wonder if it will ever go back to being a venue. I know they need somewhere to put the homeless, but it’s depressing.

I talk to Dr. D today and he still insists the edema in my legs is not from lymphedema or a side effect of radiation. He sends me to get ultrasounds of both my legs to check for blood clots. 

I show up for the ultrasound later that afternoon and the young tech leads me into the room and says, “take off your pants and socks and wear this sheet, you can leave on your underwear.”  Uh…. So today is a day I am wearing leggings. They are thick winter leggings, but news flash, I do not wear underwear under leggings – because duh, leggings have a built-in panel, it would cause panty lines, and well, why be so restricted? So, there you go – I’m going Commando and now have to figure out how to maneuver with just a sheet and not flash my hoohaa at this poor girl (I guess it’s better it’s a girl). I wrap the sheet around myself and sit on the table. Fun times. The girl comes back and makes me lie down. I ponder whether I should just warn her I have no panties on but decide against it. She’s not very chatty or friendly. Normally, I am, but I’ve found I’m just not lately. She slimes me up with the gel and proceeds up and down my legs and hip (and I mean really, right where your underwear would be if you were wearing them). This takes 45 MINUTES! The entire time I’m thinking how ridiculous this is and worrying she’s going to get a full view of my middle aged vajayjay! Poor thing!

At one point, I think of my Dad. I know that sounds odd, but he would go to the dentist and request a hand mirror and wave that mirror behind the dentist’s head the whole time so he could see what the dentist was doing. The dentist was always very annoyed and had no sense of humor. Dad loved to tease people with no sense of humor. This cracks me up and I try not to laugh as I’m lying there with just a sheet covered in slimy gel.

I have no idea if the girl notices (probably), but she never says a word. I survived and couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

Later, I call Dr. Bleicher (my surgeon) to ask about the edema and ultrasound results. She has them and says it’s not blood clots, but she also thinks it’s not from my surgery or radiation. However, since it comes and goes, she’s not very worried. Get compression socks, she says. Super. One more step to officially becoming old – wearing compression stockings. Dr. D’s office also calls and suggests a massage. Now that’s a recommendation I can get on board with.

Wednesday, January 27 – Day 21

This morning the lady ahead of me was running behind. I don’t like waiting and I am never late. But she is tiny and probably my age, maybe even younger, and wears a hat. I assume she’s had chemo and lost her hair. Ok, I can’t be annoyed at her. Later when I mention this to Tom, he says, maybe the person ahead of her is always late or maybe she has anxiety also. So true. It’s a reminder to be kind. What she’s going through may be so much worse.

I request ABBA. Dan says, “Who’s that?” and asks me how to spell it. I give him grief for not knowing about ABBA. They often fuss with the music when I’m in there, which is minor but annoying. Those darned commercials. I say something to Allison, and she says it’s Dan – he doesn’t have a paid subscription, but she does. Well good for her and I comment that a swanky cancer place can surely afford music without commercials. I should let this go, it’s minor. But it’s amazing how every little thing can just bug you. It’s because you are lying there frozen – completely still – trapped for 10-15 minutes and the brain does not shut off. The only distraction is the music and the blue sky with cloud ceiling light panels.

It’s hump day. Two more days in this week and less than 10 days to go. I can do this. I have to finish this.

Thursday, January 28 – Day 22

Well, it was just one of those mornings. When I get there, there is no one at the front desk. I wait a while before Dan finally shows up. Things are just off. I request Train for music. For whatever reason, it’s a day I fall apart. They have to halt the x-rays, come in the room, give me water… I’m too hot. I take off my socks. I sit up, I cry. They move the fan closer. I have no idea why sometimes the anxiety hits me, it just does. After 5 minutes or so, I pull it together and get through it – tears streaming down my face. Allision is on the intercom talking me through it and letting me know how much time is left. She and Dan are both kind. I guess that’s their job. I am sure 99% of people are just FINE with this routine every day; I’m the high maintenance 1%.

I bailed out of there and just sat in my car bawling. It’s SO, SO STUPID! I hate being that person – who falls apart, who cries, who can’t handle it sometimes. People are always saying, “You’re a warrior! You’ve got this!” No, no I’m not and today, no I don’t. What I have is 8 more days of this routine.

This journey sucks. There is NO silver lining to cancer. It’s just a long slog of a process getting through treatment, and then living as a survivor. There’s no glory in being this kind of warrior. I feel more like a trodden upon wet dishrag. Or like Flat Stanley. Flat Ella, that’s it – I am Flat Ella (that would actually be true and funny if they’d cut off both my boobs). Ok, I guess I have to remember that’s my silver lining – no chemo and I still have my boobs, although Frankenboob Rita is a good size smaller than Lucy on the left. Ah Rita, you got downgraded from a DD to a C cup.

Friday, January 29 – Day 23

Rationally, you would think that after five weeks of this journey, I would just be able to approach each day as routine. That I could tell myself – Ok, it’s not that big of a deal. I saw a brief piece of an interview with Michael Phelps on the news this morning. Apparently, he struggles with anxiety. So, there you go – even the most decorated Olympic champion in the world has anxiety and has had to overcome it. Good for him for speaking out – I was cheering him on for every single event without even knowing how human he is. I know behind me in the wings are so many people cheering me on as well. I hear the quiet roar that would be deafening if they were all in one place. I appreciate every text, every card, flowers and gifts that have been sent, and those who ask how the battle is going. Knowing people are thinking of you and rooting for you, even if they can’t understand your journey does help.

Today I request Jimmy Buffet and try to think about Hawaii. I struggle more than an average day because of yesterday. But I breathe and let the tears fall and I get through it. One more day. Seven days to go.

I’m thinking about gifts for the staff. It’s hard to adequately express gratitude when I’ve been a royal pain in the ass for them. I’ll figure out something and, in the end, it’s the thought that counts. I admire them doing this job day in and day out – so many cancer patients. It’s mind boggling really to know how many of us there are. 1 in 8 women. 1 in 9 men. I see them in the waiting room or pass them in the hall and think of what a lonely club it is considering how many people are in it walking the journey alone.

Two weeks from now we’ll be in Hawaii. I focus on that every day and carry on. Keep calm and carry on, they say.