Oh, I KNOW!

Do any of you watch old Fawlty Towers episodes?  You know when the wife is on the phone, ignoring customers,drawling, "Oh, I KNOW!" 

Lately, I have found myself hearing from family and friends who have received breast cancer diagnoses.  Two people  in the last two weeks. 

I guess I know how it feels.  In the case of my sister-in-law, she wants to talk to me about how it feels to get a body part cut off.

Oh, I KNOW!

In the case of my friend, do I understand the fear of the still-unknown-and-soon-to-be-determined prognosis?

I KNOW.

However,  what do any of us know of other people's pain?  How well did I come through breast cancer?  Awesome!  Unless you want to count the emotional blow-torch that I applied to my life afterward.

Anyone who is familiar with my life is aware that I don't have any wisdom.  Or knowledge or answers or solutions.

Oh!  I know.

Crisp, fall weather today.  The high point of my day today was the long run I took along Top of the World Drive.  I ran in the shadow of the mountain for the first 6 miles or so, then came out into the sunshine, still feeling strong. 

I really had to pee, though.  Sara told me that, the other day when she was running with the cross country team, one of the girls had to pee and just went and knocked on a door. 

Wow!  Did the person let her in?

No, they just closed the door in her face. 

Some people are just bolder than others.

The low point of my day was in the ladies' locker room at the rec center, where I changed after running.  I have never really noticed this before, but my left boob is hideous when it's cold!  The circulation isn't great, because the mastectomy side is a thin layer of living tissue stretched over a water balloon.  It looks purple and splotchy, like hands do when they are cold and chapped.  You can see the exact line of the implant. 

High Point, Low Point

My eaves are dripping, but I can see that a dusting of snow  has fallen on the lawn of the apartment complex.  I join the rest of the state in exclaiming, "It's about bloody time!"

I am equipped with a very small palm-full of chocolate chips, because I just couldn't stand it and got myself a little nibble.  Chuck and I are going to a party in a couple of weeks, and I want to feel svelt.  Lithe.  Not plump.  I would love to be just eight pounds lighter, and if I were sufficiently mad enough at myslef, I'm sure I could do it.  Problem is that I'm just not in the right place, self-loathing-wise.  Bummer. 

A realization today:  why I prefer grocery shopping alone.

"Hey, Mom!" 

"Hey, Mom?  Can we get soda today?  Why not?!  I haven't had soda in AGES!
Hey, Mom, wanna hear what I want for my birthday?  There's this game, you have to order it from Amazon.  You wanna hear how it's played?  Well, first the Pokemon...
Hey, Mom.  I'm gonna need a birthday treat for my class. Doughnuts should be fine. Don't worry - I only need 30 of them.
Mom!  Watch this!  Watch this!  Lemme show you how this partic-lee-ar soccer kick goes.  See, if you leap up like this, and then land like this, your position will be just right to....
Hey, Mom!  Are we getting cereal?  What kind are we getting?  What about this kind?  You know, if you realy want to make me happy, you could get Coco-Roos... And can we get marshmallows to put in cocoa?  No, I don't like the kind with the mini marshmallows.  They melt too fast.  Can we get this kind?
Can we get root beer?
Moooooom!?!  How much longer are we going to be here?  I have math!  If I have to stay too long at the store and I don't finish my math in time, then I won't get time for Nintendo.  Oh. My.  God!  [eyes filling]  I just remembered the worst problem.  Susie has place markers that are each equal to 17. Then she has a remainder of two, all of which totals 87.  So let's see... I need to subtract two from...
Can I get gum?
Can I get a lollipop?
Did you know that Sir Isaac Newton predicted that the world would come to an end in the year 2060?  So this is based on his predictions regarding the temple in Jeruselem...
MOM!  Men in Black II!  You should get it!  It's only $5.99.  Chuck would like it, I'll bet!
Hey, Mom.  listen to this:

Tarzan the monkey man, swinging by a rubber band.
He slips.  He falls.  He's hanging by his balls!
They rip!  They tear!  He'll need another pair!

But you know what?  How the hell did he fall so that he got caught by the balls?  That cannot be right."

High point:  A friend at work asked me about the series of four surgeries I had after my breast cancer diagnosis.   She needs to go in for  a touch-up surgery after having a melanoma reoved from her cheek last summer.  She was wondering about my feelings at having to have multiple surgeries, and about my body image now that I am so badly scarred.  I realized during the conversation that I don't care any more about how my left breast looks or feels.  I just don't think about it much now.   Leftie is still numb, two years after my final surgery.  It's true that, where the nipple used to be, there is just an expanse of scar tissue. There is still a long, horizontal incision scar.  I look at this, shrug, ignore it.  Think, "It really doesn't look that bad."

Low point:  Chuck is fed up with the "roommate" thing at Aloha Road.  He sent me a couple of texts during the evening expressing the wish to be at my place with the kids and me.  I concurred that I missed him.  Later, when we were talking on the phone, he told me that the situation at Aloha was on his nerves; and I realized that his earlier texts had less to do with wanting to be with me, and more to do with NOT wanting to be at Aloha just then.  That part of my psyche that loves to mind-fuck me and over-analyze every situation sent messages of embarrassment to the rest of my brain.  The logical part of my brain (sick of this shit and wanting to just be happy and enjoy this lovely relationship) started beating the over-analytical part over the head with the tea kettle.  Last I checked, they were still going at it.  Hopefully, they will have it resolved by morning.  Chuck thinks Aloha can be a pain?  He has never tried living inside my head! 

Doctor Unapproachable

It is 1:39 AM.  I slept all day today, so I have no idea why I am tired; but I know that as soon as my head hits the pillow, I will be asleep.

Saturday was pretty good!  I felt fairly happy. Got household chores done, made a job offer, called a bunch of students for the new term, went out to dinner.  The girl I saw in the mirror was smokin' HOT!

Today?  Forget it.  Thought about CB all day... when I was awake.  That's why it was nice to stay asleep. 

I remember altering my view of "progress" a couple years ago, when I was sick.  I learned not to compare today with yesterday.  Better to compare today with last week; in which case, I am doing better. 

I had my appointment with Dr. Perfect the other day.  The verdict on why Leftie hurts? I'm finally getting some feeling back on that side and I'm not used to it.  For real?  We spent a little time bullshitting each other, then I asked him about depression (although I hesitate to call what I have depression - can't I just be sad?) in cancer survivors.  I asked whether he has had patients over the years who have struggled with depression a long while after the immediate problem has cleared up.  I was hoping he would say, "Yes.  Happens all the time." 

He looked stumped!  It was kind of funny to see him at a loss.  "Well, could be. But people don't talk to me much about how they feel.  I mean psychologically."

He is a very intimidating person in some ways.  Friendly and polite, yes.  Kindly, no.  A little too handsome.  A little too suave.  He does not invite confidences. He has a softer side, but it is well varnished over. 

I remember when I was in the hospital...for...the mastectomy I guess.  One of those times. I was WAY drugged up when he stopped in on his rounds.  He POPPED in the door and cried, "HI THERE, MS. KATE!"  Scared the hell out of me!  I hollered ("AIGH!!") and jumped, which hurt; which made me holler again.  Which made him holler.  He learned his lesson about popping out at me, though.  The next time I was an in-patient, I remember he did his rounds very late at night. I was trying to sleep, but not succeeding because... well, my chest hurt and hospitals are just not all that restful, y'know? I was lying there in jthe light from the street outside when he tiptoed in.

"Hey, Doc."
He whispered, "Hey, Ms. Kate. Still awake?"
"Does anyone really sleep in the hospital?  You're here late."
"Yeah, I went up to the U. to swim laps in the pool."
"Ah.  That's why I smell chlorine."

He didn't turn the light on: just checked to make sure that the bandages were in the right place, and that I hadn't been disobedient and removed the goddamn pressure stockings.  I called him a TED Hose Nazi once.  He didn't think it was funny. 

"Do you like the new bra I got you for your lingerie collection?"
This was a long-running joke between us - I would always wake up with a new, hospital issue bra.
"Sexy!  Thanks!"
"Look!" He pointed out a tiny bit of embroidery.  "It even has a flower!" 

I guess I'm trying to say that he can be a regular human; but it's important not to be too deferential.

He has occasionally told me that I am one of his favorite patients because I tell him what I really think. This might be because my dad was a doctor, so I know that when he's done being Mr. Hot-Shot Plastic Surgeon, he goes home and watches reality TV shows or trims his nose hairs or something.

In this case, though, he was nonplussed.
"Do you need me to refer you to someone for counseling?"
"No, I'm seeing someone, thank you."
"I could write you a prescription for something...."
"Thanks, but no.  I really don't want to do that."
"Well, that's good."  He looked relieved. "Too many people popping 'Sandy candy' as it is."

We agreed that I would see him in July for a graft procedure; but until then, I'm good, unless my mammo comes back lumpy.

After he left, his nurse Patty came to stand beside me while I got dressed. 

"His patients don't talk to him much.  But I can tell you what I see.  It's you tough girls that end up with this problem.  All through the treatments and the surgeries, you say, 'I'm good!  I'm fine!'  Then you crash a couple years later.  He doesn't see it, but it is a pattern."  Wow.  Patty thinks I'm a tough girl.  Pffft.

You would think I would know by now:  talk to the nurses.  They are the ones who know.