CANCER: Keeping the light on

Dear Friends-

It has been a good TWO years, since I bothered to blog about cancer. And well, that was for very good reason. You see, I am one of the lucky ones. I am in remission. 

Hell, yes. That's right...RE-MIS-SION. BUT WAIT...There's more....

If anything I've learned about cancer, it's that this is an unshakeable beast. Hardly a friend. More like a really shitty house guest that simply refuses to leave, after eating all yo' food, crapping in your toilet, and eventually sleeping with your spouse, after seducing your teenage son...

That kind of guest. 

And while my lymphoma is slumbering away in remission land, I was pulled back into the clutches of this ruthless bastard by way of a kind woman named Emma Thomas, just last week. (it's always the nice ones...)

After a standing 6 month blood work up with my amazing GP, Dr. Philip Capp (honestly, I know of no man who pulls off a shaved head and clogs quite like him...TOTAL G!) we had a discussion about a rather sensitive part of my female anatomy- my boobs. 

Without a hint of irony, he and I talked about my girls. Specifically how lymphedema has wreaked havoc on my left one. As a well-endowed lady, (ahem,32 DD) I am at odds with my undergarments. No longer able to rock those amazing underwires due to lymphatic drainage issues, I am at a loss for how to support these lovely ladies. And I am in pain. ALL-THE-TIME.

After four years of this madness, I have resigned myself to breast reduction surgery.

I KNOW...Such a radical solution to a seemingly innocuous problem. But trust me when I tell you, there is nothing small or innocuous about this problem. NOTHING.

So, Dr. Capp sent me off to the Swedish True Family Women's Cancer Center, who would determine my fate as a breast reduction candidate. And that's where I met Emma.  

Emma is an ARNP. With a brisk, purposeful stride, she walked into my exam room bearing many sheets of old skool college lined loose-leaf paper with actual notes on them, and gave me a firm handshake.

She started off by saying: "After reviewing your files I have seen you have quite a history with cancer." And folks, I kid you not- she actually read the damn files....She threw all kinds of Yvette, cancer specific data at my ass. My head was reeling. I mean...who WAS this woman? And why was she so well prepared?  Who DOES that shit anymore? 

Annnnddd, while my head was spinning...she followed up with: "So, you know...given your history and the fact that you had radiation of your chest wall you KNOW you're at greater risk of getting breast cancer, right? They told you this, right?" 

THE HELL? 

Ok, that's not fair. I DID know that. But, honestly, I kind of forgot about it. Just like I forget about all the other shitty cancers I am eligible to receive as my parting gift. ("Contestant- do you want to know what's behind door number 2?" "CANCER!" Audience applause) 

And while I am not one to fall apart at getting shitty cancer related information, this one stuck with me. Partly because I've really enjoyed the hell out of being healthy, right? And also because I was reminded that vigilance is the price of admission for my life. 

During my exam, my mind kept wandering to that stupid ad for Red Roof Inn: "We'll keep the light on for you." Except, this ain't no fucking low rent motel. And the light I need to continue to burn is a reminder about staying "woke."  

So, thanks to Emma, I now get to go to the boob specialists TWICE a year. And we're gonna discuss Tamoxifen at an as yet to be determined date.  Apparently it works wonders at keeping breast cancer at bay....like it's some kind of bug spray...or deer urine in the garden...or Ritalin...

I guess that's all good. And I thank my lucky stars (despite the traffic and cost of living) to live in a place that employs people like Dr. Capp and Emma.

And cancer, I'll keep the light on for your ungrateful ass; but don't you even think about seducing one of my kids. I'm not playin'.