No, you can’t sir!

Sitting in the treatment room kind of reminds me of what it is like waiting in the airport terminal, waiting for some trip to begin, anticipating the upcoming change of scenery, place and position on the planet.  Maybe it's the configuration of the treatment chairs.  Big, wide bays of lounging chairs facing each other, several yards of distance between them and views of many faces and backs of heads in front of and behind you depending on which bay you've been assigned.  Maybe it's the coming and going of people, the sound of rolling chairs and machines, much like the sound of rolling luggage, and the snippets of conversation one can tune into or out of depending on proximity.   The pre-chemo drip does alter the senses somewhat, as far as trips go, so you do have an altered relationship to time, to people, to the moment.  You're sitting in the chair long enough, not dissimilar to the length of waiting time that modern commercial airline travel requires, two...

Chemo session numero sette was another swift and unproblematic one.  Almost halfway through the chemotherapy process has me feeling optimistic and relieved, hopeful the second half will be as routine and easy as the first and greatly assured I can handle what is to come before surgery time.  Admittedly, I am not putting much mental energy into that piece just yet, but I'm confident in the surgeon I've chosen and trusting I will know the right course of action to take when that time comes.   I tested negative in having a mutation in the "breast cancer genes": BRCA1 or BRCA2, so I do not have the higher risk of developing breast cancer or ovarian cancer, compared to the risk associated with testing positive in those genes.  This means I don't necessarily need to have a double mastectomy, but rather a lumpectomy surgery, and any reconstruction surgery to the breast that has the tumor(s).   This makes me remember the adage "be careful what you wish for"......

Who would've imagined I'd take to my shaved head so easily and with delight?  I certainly didn't expect it. The sitting for it was fun. Otto's ever-welcoming excitement upon seeing me walk in "Traeger Treehouse".  The styling expertise and precision by Tricia, and how lovely the mild vibration of the razor felt on my scalp.  The confidence-boosting moral support from both Mark and Tricia made the initial horror of the reason why this was happening at all, fly right out the door.  We had music playing while the kitchen became a salon.  Wine and margarita's may have been served.  A chance to sport a mohawk was given, with Mark hunting for the packed-away Halloween box where the spiked, black choker and bracelet was hiding (couldn't be located, so no incriminating photos).  Not a bad way to close down a Monday. Prior to this, on Friday evening, I brushed my hair for the last time.  Disturbingly, I could feel the vast amount of hair leaving my scalp, ...

Treatment last Wednesday was the smoothest one yet and my residual worry about the port was dispelled in a manner of seconds as nurse Lisa assured me it looked fine.  It was still slightly purple, she agreed, but chalked it up to an undissolved stitch that had worked its way to the skin.   Melissa, my friend and former employer from my “Fireworks” days (back in the late nineties, Austin’s best paint-your-own-pottery studio) met me at Texas Oncology and our time in the waiting room was brief.  We chose a nice window seat in the treatment room, fairly sparse of patients and very quiet, the soft hum of Mopac traffic a soothing white noise behind the beeps and whirs of machines and rolling chairs.  Spotting Lisa’s beautiful forearm tattoo, a blooming red rose, sent Missy almost singing along with a song she’d just heard on the way over with the lyrics “I love your attitude, your rose tattoo” and it sure was apropos of the moment. The time flew as we caught up on life, he...

"That looks really bruised and swollen!" Teresa's eyes were big as she surveyed my port site and called other nurses to get their opinions.  They decided it was significant enough not to take blood from this morning, the first step of the infusion process, and wanted Dr. Patt's advice on whether to proceed with today's medicine.  They instead drew blood from my arm and while the lab processed those samples, I waited with my friend Janet, enthralled with her tales of unearthing human skeletal remains from the 1600's on her most recent dig in York, England, until it was time to meet with Sarah Howard  for my biweekly exam. Worried that my port site may be infected, she definitely did not want to use it for today's administration, if it was to happen at all.  When drawing blood earlier the nurse also excised the swollen area and sent it off to the lab, with results not available for up to 72 hours.  Sarah thought that since my blood samples showed low white ...

Texas Oncology had closed for Thanksgiving and post-holiday led to a backup in the treatment room.  Many bodies needing chemo last Wednesday had folks waiting much longer than normal, for me and my sidekick of the day, Francine, ninety minutes in the reception area.  It is a cozy place, however, now especially with the lovely frosted and festively decorated Christmas tree and the ever positively cheery staff.  We made the most of it with lively conversation and moments absorbed in our own thoughts, books and tasks.  Francine is a rockstar who has endured more physical challenges with cancer than anyone I know, and yet remains upbeat and mostly joyful, despite the warranted depression and moments of rage that would be abnormal not to have, and I love her dearly. Once in the chair the treatment went well and though I felt fatigue and wooziness set in with the Benadryl, I only had to rest my eyes a short bit and was able to keep my cold mits and footies on longer this t...

Not quite yet, but it is almost time for the big haircut.  These last few days the amount of hair left on the brush has been disturbingly much, just when I was starting to believe I might be one of those lucky few who keeps her hair despite chemo (without cold capping ) but I'm still ok with it...hair will regrow.  It's funny, this summer I thought of giving myself a small tonsure , to coincide with the beginning of my next level of  Jingui Golden Shield  qigong that I started in July (Golden Bell/Torso) and decided not to...some things may just be too weird, even for me.   But I'll admit:  I've often wanted to feel what it's like to have a freshly shorn head, at least once in my life.  To concretely practice the art of letting go with a part of me that although is constantly shedding and regrowing, is still such a consistent representation of the "me" with whom I so firmly identify.  I've especially loved how long my hair has grown, during t...