It’s taken me forever to write this post. I’ve been busy with renovating this house and building another one and lots of other projects.

I got through all of the radiation treatments, thought I was tempted to skip the last one in the name of rebellion. They gave me a certificate for finishing the course with “bravery and humor”. It was cute, so I forgave them for using Comic Sans font. I got my choice of either a mug that was safety orange and had the name of the cancer center on it, or a bead bracelet. Um, bracelet, please. I can’t find it to show a photo, but it was pink and had some beads with roses on them and three or four little silver charms, two of which I removed, the pink ribbon one (Not a Komen fan) and a tiny cross. No credit to Jeebus for any of this, thanks.

The most lasting souvenir is the permanent “tan” on Pancho and adjacent armpit area.

I did really like my doctor and the techs. And they were generous with the swag, I must say. The facility was as good as expected, the tweeness was minimal. A couple of things that irritated me a little, lots of sunflower “art”, a selection of party poppers packaged with encouraging sayings on a table in the waiting area,(“Oh lawdy, PLEASE don’t let anyone party pop me on my last day’ was my fervent wish. They didn’t) and a puzzling plaque on the coffee cart inscribed “In Memory of (someone’s name) Cancer 2001-2011. Nice of the family to donate the cart, not fun to be reminded daily of someone who battled cancer for TEN YEARS and obviously lost to it. Almost made me feel guilty for pocketing those hot chocolate Keurig pods. And, if I ever have a cart dedicated to me, I want it to say “Drink up, Bitches! Love, Kk”, and I would stipulate that they never put a can of damned SHASTA soda on the cart. I mean, are we animals?

I am still not sure I should have submitted to the radiation treatments. It was a true damned if you do or don’t situation. Between the two surgeries and rounds of anesthesia a week apart, and the boob blasting afterward, I think it affected my brain. For a few months I have been scattered, distracted, uncoordinated, and slow moving. It’s difficult to remember the operative (no pun intended0 word in a sentence as I am speaking it. The worst blow came when I was watching Jeopardy and couldn’t get most of the answers. That’s one of my only skills, and as trite as it seems I felt robbed of something I enjoy by the whole tit-rot treatment process. It has been a few months since then, and I’m happy to report that my mental fog has lifted considerably although I’m still physically clumsy. So I can clear the Jeopardy boards once again. Just don’t ask me to walk to the living room to watch it without tripping on a rug.

So concludes my tale. I consider myself fortunate that David Niven was caught early, and hopefully stays away. Another sign that my fog is lifting, I realized just a couple of weeks ago that the name I was trying to come up with when the nurse asked me about calling with results was David Attenborough. I’ll take It’s Your Nerves Talking for $200, Alex!

 

 

 

Blog Uncategorized witch's tit #radiation #radiationtherapy #oncology #oncologist #surgery #radiology #breastsurgery #hospital #witchstit #mammogram