Today has been rough. Vanderbilt has moved the breast cancer chemo operations out to the satellite facility, One Hundred Oaks. It's the site that had once been proposed to become home for my clinic, the Dayani Center, but it now looks as if we will never move to this ideal location. Instead I am to come here for my check ups, and for these last few chemo sessions. It's tantalizing in it's proximity to home, aggravating today as the operations here are not yet smooth and the wait was staggering. Just to top it all off, there was a false-alarm fire drill that caused an evacuation of the building and slowed things down further. I've got cramps (and I'm sure that's not good as I have no ovaries) and I got nauseous and a bit dizzy walking out of the building in the throng of the evacuation into the heat outside with my port accessed and the tubing hanging out of my shirt.
We finally got into an infusion room - a windowless cubicle - I usually request a window and mostly have gotten one, but the last couple of weeks, not. Then we had some nurse or tech come in and get some papers without even looking at me and Dave finally hit the ceiling. The stress pushed my buttons and I finally busted out in tears and just couldn't stop crying for a while. I feel fat and ugly and frustrated. I've stopped wearing a wig as they were irritating my scalp and switched to hats; maybe I should start wigging out again. I don't think that would help the emotionality, and I don't relish a return to wig-dom. I want my hair back. I want eyelashes-is that so much to ask?
I should probably try to get a massage this weekend. It seems to make me more tolerant, more patient, less cranky.
I re-met with Dr. W this past Monday; he was the second opinion surgeon that I went to see before my initial breast surgery who gave me some very good information about the value (or lack of it) of axillary resection. He took my phone calls on his cell phone and spoke with me at length when I had questions and helped me feel confident and that my opinions and my individuality were being honored. I wanted his input on the mastectomy question, and he supported the option for me. He didn't know why the radiation oncologist had pushed me so hard toward aggressive radiation, but he felt that mastectomy without radiation was a reasonable choice for me. It was helpful to hear from him; now the issue is whether he or K should do the job. Dr. W sure is inspiring, kind and handsome (and K is sweet and cute, too). It's tempting to go off campus for this one, but I think I'll probably be sorry in the long run if I do; more hassle with the expansions, more expense. We'll see what I think of his plastic surgeon and time frame. I am considering it, though.
In the world of irony, I attempted to purchase an electric wheatgrass juicer off of Craigslist, and hearing my situation, the seller, a wholesaler, generously offered it to me as a gift. I was thrilled-it's brand new in the box-but got it home, read the assembly instructions, set it up, plugged it in and a resounding silence responded to the on-switch. Nothing happened. I took it apart and put it back together about 10 times-zilch. I called the manufacturer and asked if there was a trouble shoot, they said no - send it in and they will repair or replace. I sheepishly texted the gift giver and he said he'd swap it out. I hope the next one will crank up. Otherwise, it's off the manufacturer. Nothing is easy!
Saturday the 9th of October I will walk in the Race for the Cure. I have a hard time with big crowds, but will have a small group of friends walking with me. Heck, I could walk home from where the race takes place; if I hate it, I'll peel off and walk the dog away from the hubbub. I'm looking forward to it as a celebration of the last weekend in between treatments. Last one, Wednesday the 13th, I'm thinking about bringing a cake in to work. Last time! I can see the finish line, finally. My Race for the Cure will be a personal victory lap.
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