Tomorrow is supposed to be a "BIG" day for I am to report at 9:00 AM at the Swedish Surgical Center for a 10:00 AM removal of my "power port" (or as I like to call it, the bottle cap under my skin.) What this means is that I am finished with chemo. Finished, I tell ya.
And yet somehow, I don't see this as progress. I wish I could. Really. And yet I can't. I know...such sour, dour grapes.
I know why. I have reached a point of total weariness. Let me tell you why- every F*CKED up side-effect that happens to like less than .02% of the population has happened to me. Let me count the ways:
1) Lung puncture from said port insertion- check! (Surgeon: "It happens in less than 20% of my cases...)
2) Deep vein thrombosis from said port causing my left boob to swell up like something one would find in a circus freak show-check! (Oncologist: It happens in less than 10% of my cases...)
3) Lung damage from chemo- check! ("I see maybe two or three patients a year in my practice with this problem...")
What the HELL universe?
Aparently there's some "small" risk associated with the port removal. I wait with baited breath to see if my lucky number gets called. Though, I think it's only bruising....And really, with enough narcotic pain relief, I can spin that into some incredible, death defying tale.
Seriously though, if I hear from one more person in a white coat, that the side effects- while all very real, are also really rare, I think I'll pull out their hair (mine hasn't grown back yet.) I now have a veritable STABLE of medical professionals. It's not enough to have just ONE oncologist. Nope. I now have a radiation oncologist, medical oncologist AND a pulmonoligist. I did get to say good-bye to the blood clot team though. A small victory.....And each one of these paid professionals has been brought on board to assist me with the wacky side effects of curing cancer....
And here's the kicker- I get to start radiation almost two weeks earlier than originally scheduled. In preparation for radation, on Friday I did a test run. I walked in like a lamb to the slaughter. Really. I was told that I was to be fitted with a mask. Now- I've been to a spa. I have had a mask put on my face. And I foolishly figured I would just relax into it. Ha!
Two members of the medically trained staff had me lay down on this really skinny, hard bed at the mouth of a giant CT machine. Then they slapped this warm crap on my face that had the consistency of pizza dough. They smoothed it over my entire face, scalp and shoulders. And then I heard it- 8 very loud bolt-like clicks- bolting my covered head and shoulders to the table. Then I was told "Hey, we're gonna open the top of your gown a little bit to expose the chest area we're going to zap. Are you comfortable?" Seriously? Was I comfortable? In what universe would ANYONE be comfortable under those conditions? And, get this, the mask is so tight on my face, I couldn't talk. Breathe? sure! Talk? Forget about it. And I wore MAC's Ruby Woo lipstick to the appointment. What a mess....
But wait- there's more.....
They then took my photograph. Not once or twice. Uh, uh....Six or seven times. All the while I'm thinking "What the Hell?" My face is covered in a mask- so that's a saving grace. But, my chest- (and c'mon now, let's be honest, I'm 43 years old and gave birth to two kids- my boobs are the consistency of soup.) is hanging out for the world to see. Dear GOD.
I swore to myself that I would get my hands on as much atavan as the pharmacy will allow. I promise to take it the second I get on I-90. With 20 sessions of radiation I'm staring down, I plan on being as high as a kite the entire month of November and for a good part of December. The wrapping of this year's Christmas gifts will be- um, artistic.....
I'm weary folks. So in preparation for tomorrow's proceedure I did what only a sane woman could do. I got a pedicure and ate cupcakes for lunch. Dinner will be a tub of cream cheese and steak.
Wish me luck.
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