I think I might be getting my body back

My calendar looks empty, without all the chemo appointments. I've got other medical appointments lined up, but not the weekly voluntary poisoning.

After two weeks without any chemo, some things remain the same. I still have no eyelashes. I'm not able to exercise. My eyebrows are hanging on by a... eyebrow. I occasionally get that gross sensation at the back of my throat, the poison telling me it's there. My hair is still maddeningly short.

Some things are different. I'm not exhausted. I'm willing to go out and meet friends. I have a little bit of fuzzy hair on my head. 

And, the port is out of my body and in a jar on the dining room table.

I took some photos the night before surgery, knowing it would be removed.

The little lump that was

Yesterday afternoon the spouse picked me up at work, and we headed to Capitol Hill. We went to the surgery center, checked in, and were invited into a surgery room.

The RN took my information. I asked if I could keep the port, once it was removed. She said probably not. She asked me to change into a "gown" and left.

The PA came in, made sure I understood what was going to be done, and invited me to lay down on the table. I asked if I could have the port, and she said "Sure." She said she'd put it in a bottle.

Once I was on my back, the PA told me to turn my head to the left, I assume so that I wouldn't look at what she was doing. I scratched my head and she advised me not to do that again. She told me I'd feel lots of tugging when the Lidocaine kicked in and she started wrassling with the port to get it out. She said that the port had been in long enough for tissue to adhere to it.

Great.

She did indeed wrassle and I did indeed feel lots of tugging. She had to give me more Lidocaine when I said "Owie!" My feet were dancing some odd jig.

Meanwhile, the spouse was behind the curtain, out of sight, and asking me "Is now when you want me to take photos?"

 

I could hear the scalpel cutting my flesh - an awful sound.

She finished, stitched me up, and handed me the port.

It reminds me of the various alien things that are inserted into heroes' bodies by villains in science fiction movies.

I had to promise not to ever remove it from its jar, as it's a bio-hazard. Yeah, sure.

*******

Yesterday I tried researching before and after photographs of chemo patients, specifically what their hair looked like before chemo and what it looked like when it started growing back. I was hoping to get some idea of what's happening (or not) with my hair.

I wasn't successful, but I did learn that perhaps the reason the fuzz on my head is so gray is because chemo kills the hair pigment that produces color.

*******

Slowly and in fits and starts, I'm getting my body back. The port is out and when the surgery wound is healed, all I'll have to show for the bit of Borg that was in me is a scar. I have a little more energy. There is hair, though it's growing at a snail's pace.

Some things remain affected by the chemo. My fingernails and toenails are streaked with black. My body is horribly out of shape. My feet hurt.

Some things are permanently changed. My left breast will always look different now. I have a long scar on it and under my arm. My left underarm is still numb; a result of the damage done to the nerves there when the surgeon scooped out tissue to hunt for cancerous lymph nodes. I'm told that this may not reverse.

My skin is very dry and my hands look about 70 years old. I never have been particularly concerned about moisturizing as a cosmetic, and as a result I suspect my hands' aging has been made permanent by the chemo.

*******

It's hard to not be affected by my physical appearance when one breast is now different.

Granted, the only people who will probably ever notice are my husband and I, and the many medical professionals who are now a part of my life.

When I'm naked and look in the mirror or look down, the change is impossible to ignore. The breast that had cancer is smaller. In a way, it looks younger. The nipple looks as if something inside my breast is tugging on it. There's a long scar on the side of my breast.

My attention has been on treatment and I predict that as treatment becomes a thing of the past, I'll care more about my appearance, including my breasts.

When I start looking normal again, the parts of me that are permanently abnormal will then capture my attention.