The Word of the Day is...

...Dosemetrist.

When I first heard this term, I had to stop the conversation and ask what it meant. It was used during my first visit to Radiation Oncology, when a staff person pointed to an office and said "That's where the Dosemetrist will work on your treatment plan."

That had me worried. What the heck was a Dosemetrist? Some mad scientist with a bunch of beakers?

*******

This lull in treatment has been pretty nice. I'm definitely feeling better and have more energy. In terms of appearance, the hair on my head is growing, though only on the sides and back, as if I've been tonsured.

Me, looking up "Dosemetrist"

I have one eyelash left, which puzzles me.

Every day, at least once a day, I put on my magnifying glasses and look in the mirror for any signs of the other 73 (I counted them before they fell out) growing.

I imagine my eyelashes sprouting, like all the seeds I see peeking up out of the dirt in my garden. Little black dots turning into little stubby hairs turning into undeniable eyelashes. And here the sprouts are, plus the one eyelash.

*******

I started a Yoga/Pilates class on Wednesday, the first time I've taken either. My friend Jos is attending with me. In the past year, we've both had embarrassing fart moments, a true sign of middle age and a scary harbinger of things to come. Prior to the class starting, we reminded each other of this and joked about one of us letting one rip during the class.

Well, I did. It was during a Yoga pose I'd just mastered.

Not the Yoga move I mastered

I've come to understand that I can get away with just about anything, being bald and obviously in treatment for cancer. Everyone in the class ignored my bout of wind. They probably thought "Oh, it's that woman with cancer. She probably doesn't have any control over her body while she's sick."

I've since learned that it's not unusual to fart in Yoga.

On the way out, Jos said someday we'd look back fondly on this little episode. "Yeah," I said, "When we're so old we're farting all the time, we'll look back fondly at the time we only farted once a day out loud."

*******

Last Friday I had my third visit with the Naturopath. She wanted to see me after chemotherapy and before radiation therapy. I don't know if Naturopathy will help keep cancer from returning, but I'm certainly willing to give it a shot.

I had hoped that I could do this via diet, but I left the Naturopath's office with a list of supplements to take, including Meriva Curcum, fish oil capsules and Turkey Tail Mushroom, which I've seen in local forests.

Turkey Tail Mushroom

She also said that the aloe vera gel recommended by the Radiology Oncology Nurse Practitioner wouldn't be nearly as effective as seaweed compress on radiation burns.

I ran all this past my Oncologist, and he didn't have any problems with it.

As I said, I'm willing to try alternatives, if they do indeed assist in keeping cancer from returning. But how will I know if it's working? It will be easy to determine if it's not.

I showed her my fingernails and toenails, which are somewhat of a rainbow of colors between brown and red, due to the chemo. The Naturopath advised me that it may be hard for me to expose my toenails this summer because they'll be ugly or I may lose them. I told her and her intern "I'm bald. What do I care about how my toenails look?"

*******

When I go to chemo or radiation, I often park in a location where I can easily see the apartment building my grandfather's firm designed.

Albert Jasper Roush died from lung cancer at 50, though he never smoked. His son, my father, had the BRCA mutation and I suspect my grandfather is the parent that gave it to him.

*******

Last week at work, a temp who I've hardly said anything to came over, to my desk and said "I heard you've had breast cancer. So did I, 13 years ago." She then proceeded to tell me about her diagnosis, treatment, surgery and reconstructive surgery.

She asked me lots of personal questions. I was politely cold. I found her casualness irritating, and her dragging my personal life into her realm of acceptable questioning offensive.

I don't want to buddy up with every other woman who's had breast cancer. By having cancer and going through treatment, I haven't joined a club. I doubt if I'll go on cancer walks or participate in other fund-raising activities.

This doesn't mean I'm not willing to talk about it, but it has to be when I'm comfortable and with people I'm comfortable with. I'm happy to respond to queries from people I'm fond of and I'm okay with being bald and making it visibly obvious I'm in treatment, but that doesn't mean I am casual about having cancer. In fact, I'm pretty deliberate in my various responses.

I hope if I'm never that casual about my illness or intrude on someone's privacy the way the temp did, I'll recognize it and stop myself.

******

On Wednesday, we went for the second visit with Radiation Oncology. They took me into the back to change into a gown. I was escorted into a room with a CT scanner. The tech told me the Radiation Oncologist was going to come in and use a permanent marker in locations on my breast and under my arm, and the tech put some little knobby things on the marks. 

Knobby Things

The tech ran me through the CT scan. I was laying on my back with my head turned toward the right and my left arm stretched up over my head.

After the scan was done, she removed the knobby things and informed me she was going to give me two small tattoos. I asked if I could pick the color, and she said "Yes, as long as it's purple."

"I'm going to put a drop of dye on you in two spots and then jab you with a needle." That's the jist of what she said next. And she did indeed jab me with a needle in two spots.

I now have two tiny purple dots on me.

I was done, and free to go. They're going to call me in the next week or two to set up the final treatment planning session, at which they'll refine the map of my body, give me one more tattoo and probably give me my first radiation therapy treatment.