(If you'd like to start at the beginning, it's here.)
When I was first diagnosed with cancer and knew that my appearance would radically change, I thought I'd take advantage of the opportunity and radically change my fashion.
I thought about how rarely a person has the chance to do this comfortably. Hell, I was going to be bald. Why not change the rest of me, too?
When I still had energy, I went to Nordstrom in downtown Seattle, found an employee in the nicer women's clothes section, and asked her to have at it.
She brought me a number of outfits, and there was one that looked wonderful. Three pieces - skirt, shirt and jacket. These three pieces cost over $1000. They looked really good on me and they were really different for me.
Wisely, I asked them to hold the outfit for a few hours while I continued shopping. I didn't continue shopping, and I didn't return. I couldn't justify spending a grand on one outfit, appearance-changing opportunity be damned.
I have continued dressing like I always have. I haven't transmorphed from an ugly duckling into a butterfly.
*******
I am now seeing that when I was exhausted, un/subconsciously I liked the fact that I could get away with not doing much. It was an excuse to not heed the Conner Curse, the family trait that makes some of us antsy.
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| My brother demonstrating the Conner Curse and being antsy |
Now that my energy's coming back, I will miss the excuse. Separate from the crappy chemo feeling, I am looking back fondly on the hours and days I just sat.
*******
On Wednesday, the spouse and I went to my first appointment in Radiation Oncology. That's where I'll get radiation therapy.
We were put in a small exam room. The receptionist led us there, got us settled, and took my photograph. I complained that how I look now isn't how I look, but she ignored me.
Between her and the Nurse Practioner's visit, I noticed a catalogue for items that scream "I'm bald!"
The catalogue also included a post-surgical drain belt for holding those nasty drains. I could have used this to hold my one drain in one pocket and and a snack or the TV remote in the other.
The nurse practitioner came in and spent about an hour with us, asking us questions, writing things down, advising us.
The one thing she pushed is exercise. She said that I need to start exercising now and to continue exercising through radiation therapy, to keep at bay to the greatest degree possible the cumulative fatigue that I'll experience.
She surprised me by saying that my cancer was Stage 3A. The Oncologist had told me it was Stage 2.
She also talked about where the radiation therapy would be directed and the the skin side effects I'll experience. Apparently my breast, clavicle and neck will have the experience and pain of a bad sunburn, and that it will start getting uncomfortable between 4-1/2 and 5 weeks.
My breast may change shape and my nipple will be sore. I'll be slapping aloe vera gel on the radiated spot three times a day.
When they told me my hair would come in different after falling out from chemo, I asked for red and curly. If my breast is changing shape, I'd like to see them try a vesica piscis.
The machine they're going to use on me is a linear accelerator, which apparently I could build at home and use myself.
She asked to examine me, gave me a "gown", left the room and came back and did a breast exam. Should it be breasts exam if she examined both? Or breast exams?
The Radiation Oncologist then came in. Since the exam room was small, at this point things were getting very crowded. He sat in front of us and said "You asked Kathi some good questions." I couldn't help but wonder if this phrase was one of the primary social skills tools he learned in med school, to make his bedside manner better. Male doctors often irritate me with their lack of compassion, but this guy was okay.
He, too, conducted a breast exam/breasts exam/breast exams.
I'll go back next week for radiation treatment planning, when they'll map out where excatly on my body I'll be blasted:
by the illudium Q-36 explosive space modulator:
Then a week or two after that, the treatments will start, five days a week for six weeks.
*******
Yesterday morning I saw my GP, who I haven't seen since before surgery. She's been my doc for about 25 years, so I can tell her just about anything without worrying.
I was seeing her to get a referral to continue to see the Naturopath, whom I have an appointment with this afternoon. My doc is a little skeptical of Naturopaths, but when I told her the ND actually prescribed pharmaceutical medications, she visibly relaxed.
We chatted about my treatment and she advised me that when I'm done with radiation, I'll be told I'm cancer-free. She suggested that this will trigger some emotional turmoil. It's not the first time I've heard this and while think I'm ready for it, no doubt being ready's not really possible. It must be lived through.
*******
Yesterday afternoon the spouse and I saw my Oncologist. I had a bunch of post-chemo, pre-radiation questions for him, such as the difference between his staging of my cancer and the Nurse Practitioner's.
Apparently about the time I was diagnosed, the method of staging changed. He added "Your cancer didn't."
He said my periods probably aren't going to come back, the reason being that chemo affects hormone production in ovaries. I'm reading "affects" to mean "messes with".
He then said he wanted to examine my breasts...
*******
So I have a few weeks to play. I'm going to try to get out and walk every day, hopefully a few miles. I start Yoga/Pilates next week. I plan to ride my bike to work one day a week in May for the Commute Challenge. I figure that's a good enough start to re-entering the world of physical activity.
*******
Today after my visit with the Naturopath, I'll see my Great-Nephew, who's the best reminder of life that I can imagine.
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