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Posts Tagged ‘cancer’

Got My First Tattoo Today

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on June 5, 2023| 4 Comments »

I wish my son was here for me to tell. He would get a kick out of my first tattoo even though it is really not impressive. I have four tiny dots (about the size of a . ) on my torso tattooed with India ink. They are there so when I go in for radiation treatment, the radiologist will know where to point the lasers.

Backing up. I do have to have five days of radiation even though I am technically “cured” of breast cancer. The radiation is to ensure that no stray cancer cells were left behind (“leave no cell behind!”) and reduce my chances of ever having a tumor again. I’m cool with that. I am thrilled that I won’t have to endure chemotherapy. Radiation is just a road bump.

Last week, I met with the radiology oncologist who explained everything to me and gave me my options (I had three). Given the small size of the cancer, I chose the least invasive radiation plan which is streaming the radiation only on the site where the cancer was. No whole breast radiation, and not three weeks of it. I consented to the tattoos.

Today, I went in for a “sim” test on the CT Scan (Sim=simulation). They need to figure out the best position for the cancer patient to be in to maximize the radiation and to protect the heart and lungs. Radiation is good for you, but it is also very bad for you. Fortunately, my cancer was on the left side and that already helps protect the heart. I imagined this process would take some time as the tech figured out the best position for me to lie in and I also expected that position to be a bit uncomfortable. It was neither.

The first position worked, and it was not an uncomfortable one. I may get a bit of a neck cramp at the end of the first radiation treatment. I think the process took ten minutes, including the placement of the tattoos. Those dots will never be as fancy as my son’s tattoos or those of my beloved daughter-in-love, but at least I can brag that I have them. Can’t show you them (probably can’t even find them), but… I have them.

This short process was followed up by a consult with one of the radiology nurses who schooled me in how this is all going to work: side effects (minimal), checking in, consult with the radiology oncologist part way through, skin care, where to go, and so on.

It got dicey then. I had to fill out this form dealing with my emotions and mental outlook (I swear it is really good!) and under one heading was the question: “Are you dealing with the loss of a loved one?”

UM. YES. And then I had to tell my story to an incredibly empathetic radiology nurse who kept asking sympathetic questions and crying. To say it ripped my heart to shreds is to put it very mildly. I kept trying to tell her that going through cancer was nothing… but hitting that wall of loss still echoes in my heart. She hugged me when I left the office, but I sat in the car afterward and tried to collect myself. I came home and just sat in the garden, trying not to feel anything.

I really don’t want anyone’s sympathy. But- BOOM! – a stranger asks and then loses it over the tragedy of MY life. I don’t want to minimize my hurt by saying, “Others have it much harder” BUT … my life isn’t tragic. There have been tragedies and I may never fully recover from them. I will say my son’s name every day (and my sister’s, and my mother’s, and my father’s, but especially my son’s name). I am not who I was 2.5 years ago. The world shifted.

Even so, I wanted to write about my cancer journey with humor and funny anecdotes. It isn’t the end of the world. Even if it was a more severe cancer, it wouldn’t be the end of the world for me. This is just an obstacle in the road.

After all this is over, maybe I will get a real tattoo. Something that speaks of joy and living life to the fullest in honor of my son.

I thought the worst of today would be figuring out my position on a hard table with half my clothes off in a room of strangers, but that’s pretty darn minor. The hardest was trying not to lose it in front of an Empath who truly understood my pain. The hardest was reliving those frantic hours between December 10 and December 12, 2020. But I got my first tattoo.

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Ellen

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged on January 8, 2009| 5 Comments »

I’ve thought about this for a few days. I got this phone call at work that was a bombshell. You’re not supposed to get calls like this at work, but Ellen is forgiven because first – and foremost –  she’s my friend. And I met her through work.

I’d overheard that she “terminated” her license (real estate) and I wondered what that was about. Ellen has always been a methodical real estate agent, not a lot of business, but always something going on. I wondered if the down economy was forcing her out, or her health? She’s struggled with a lot of issues since I first met her six years ago.

She is a funny woman with salt-and-pepper hair who dressed in that down-town Portland style: lots of layers. I’d just taken over the position of office coordinator and was busy whipping a failing office into order. It was a horrid mess: the previous coordinators had been unorganized, couldn’t alphabetize and were far removed from the anal world of “everything has a place.” (Just ask me: I can be really anal about where things GO. And how to alphabetize!)  Ellen was just another agent in the office, albeit one with a crooked smile and a twinkle in her eye.

I could count on Ellen to be insightful, well read, and bitingly funny. She could say something and just walk away and I’d be standing there trying not to burst into hysterics. Or pee my pants. She could look at an interpersonal relationship, analyze it, and have some very profound thoughts on it. Always spot on.

I left that position about three years ago, but I never left my love for Ellen. We’ve kept in touch or at least tried to. And so I wondered about her new status as a “terminated” agent.

Then she called me. She told the story as if it was a huge joke: how she went to the doctor because she thought she was having a terrible asthma attack, and when they did an x-ray, they couldn’t find her right lung. “But it was there yesterday,” she said.

Her lung was full of fluid so it didn’t show up on the x-ray. And there was something on the bottom of the x-ray that disturbed the doctors. So they had to do a CAT scan (or is that a CT scan? Don’t ask me: I am medically impaired). The end result was this:

Ellen has ovarian cancer.

She started chemo this week. Without chemo, they gave her six months to live. Ellen is only a couple days older than me. She can’t die.

OK, that’s incredibly selfish, so let’s be more specific (and even more selfish): I don’t WANT her to die. She’s my friend. She’s funny. She’s sweet. Thoughtful. Articulate. And she’s my friend.

I hate cancer. And I really hope that cutting sense of humor stands Ellen in good stead in the next few months.

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