My mom is a wonderful Mom. She is caring and loving. However, as any good Mom, she worries too much about me. Most kids can skin their knee or catch a cold without too much fuss. But when I catch a cold or injure anything, I get a full work up from my Mom. She inspects me, makes sure everything moves and works, checks my temperature, and takes a full history of my activities for the past few days. She then sighs and tells me that I am not being careful enough, and figures out a way to help me be more careful.
All of this came back to me when I headed home last weekend for my check in. I drove to my parent’s house, which is only about an hour away. I walked inside and found my Mom and my little brother walking around the house. Then, I followed my mom to the kitchen and sat down with her to give our usual rundown. It went as follows, loosely translated:
Me: “Hey mom, I am sorry I haven’t been home in a while. Things have been crazy.” Means: Things have been crazy lately.
Mom: “It’s okay, I understand.” Which means: You should be here more often.
Me: “Yeah, but I will try harder to get home more often.” Means: I know you’re not really okay with it.
Mom: “No, hunny I understand you are tired. We understand.” Means: Try harder.
Me: “Yeah, school is really kicking my butt lately, and with work and the volunteer projects it is like I never have a second to myself.” Means: I am so busy, leave me
alone.
Mom: “You took on too much. How are you feeling lately?” Means: I can tell you are not moving as fast as usual, mom sensor is going off.
Me: “Fine.” Means: I’m not fine, but I don’t want to go to the doctor’s so I am not telling you crazy lady.
Mom: “Megan…. You don’t look fine.” Means: If I keep nagging, she will tell me.
Me: “No, I am. It’s just normal stuff. Tired, catching everything from everybody. And I hurt my rib a little bit.” Means: My rib really really hurts, but this is my way of telling you without making it sound too bad.
Mom: “What do you mean you hurt your rib?” Means: Mom sensor is now going off with blinking lights and sirens.
Me: “Well I was just playing around and I accidentally hurt it.” Means: I am a little crazy and I did something not smart.
Mom: “Alright grab your stuff, we’re going to get an x ray.” Means: Follow.
Me: “No!!!! I just made a sandwich!” Means: I’m not even that hungry, but maybe if you think I am starving the mom instinct to feed me will trump the mom instinct to heal me.
Mom: “Make it to go.” Means: now!
Me: “No!!! I’m fine, watch (I leap into the air in a semi-spastic state and fall to the ground and throw my arms above my head in celebration).” Means: This hurts, but just maybe I can fool her.
Mom: “Okay, that means nothing other than you probably smacked your head when you hurt your rib.”Means: You didn’t fool me, you just looked stupid. (Flash back to the Stuart character from MadTv.)
We hop in the car, and drive the ER. We check in and go back to take an x-ray.
The doctor looks at me and asks how bad it hurts. I’m not much of a complainer, and I am used to pain. So I tell him it’s not that bad, and he explains it is probably just bruised. Well turns out, it’s not bruised, it’s broken. The doctor kind of laughed when he came back and told me it was broken. He asked why I wasn’t in more pain, and called me a tough cookie. I thanked him. He wrote me a prescription and other than that couldn’t really do much else. They used to wrap ribs back in the day but not anymore. The x ray really didn’t help much, all it seemed to do was worry my mom even more.
We went home, and I received a list of things not to do. It included things like: skiing, walking into walls, cliff diving, falling, mud wrestling, jello wrestling, extreme Frisbee, etc. These were some of the more pg rated things my mom named. Then, came the curiosity. My mom asked me how I happened to hurt my rib. Here is conversation number two minus the translations but including all of the standard mom faces:
Mom: “So, how exactly did you break your rib?”
Me: “Well me and one of my very good friends were playing Wii.”
Mom: “Well that doesn’t sound too rough?”
Me: “Well, the problem was is it was a very heated Wii match and when I lost it became a very heated wrestling match. You see I lunged, he swung, I jumped, he turned, and it all ended up in the walls of Jericho.”
Mom: “Do I want to ask you what the walls of Jericho is?”
Me: “The walls of Jericho is a wrestling move in which the person puts you on your stomach with your legs in the air, twists your legs, then pushes them to your head, and sits on you. “
Mom: “And who is this friend?”
Me: “My neighbor.”
Mom: “A male?”
Me: “Maybe.”
Mom: “Is the maybe a yes?”
Me: “Probably.”
Mom: “Well… is he at least cute?”
Me: “Good one mom, I see your priorities. Not especially cute when he was sitting on top of me in the walls of Jericho. But normally yes.”
Mom: “Got to look out for the grand kids, don’t want ugly ones. Okay, Megan, I’m thinking we should probably tell your dad a different story.”
So my mom and I finish this up with a few funny looks and some sly snickers. She then tells me that I am to tell this boy that I break easy, and if he is too rough with me again my mom will kick his butt. I reassure her that I will pass on this message, but somehow it is not enough for her. So as I pack up to head back home, she decides to write me a note, pin it to my shirt, and send me home with it.
So, being the strong and independent twenty-one year old I am, I return home to my college housing and walk past my room mate with a note pinned on my shirt that says:
Do not be rough with me. Signed Megan’s mom.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Cancer.. It’s what’s for dinner
Welcome to your first course on Cancer etiquette. There are certain things that Cancer patients find to be very rude when done by outsiders. Now, I am only going to specify a few of them, because let’s be honest, basically breathing near a cancer patient on chemotherapy is annoying. Chemotherapy makes patients extremely aggravated and irritable; it is a true documented side effect. Now I do have to apologize, because even though my last blog focused on Cancer not being contagious, I have threatened to give it to people who had irritated me while on chemo before. I’m not proud of it, but they seemed to be so scared that there was even the slightest possibility I figured out how to choose who to give cancer to, that they left me alone.
I can make any joke I want, you however need to be tactful. If you are not either a close friend or immediate family member of the cancer patient, be aware of playing along with the jokes. You may laugh at ours and make jokes that are variations of our own, but watch out for any cute ideas you get to go completely left field and draw eyebrows on me while I sleep that are intensely arched and make me look angry at everything you say. My jokes are funny; they have to be just for the fact that any humor I find is good humor. Your jokes are not as funny, because if you do not sit with me while I throw up then your jokes just remind me that I do that without you.
Cancer patients have a hard time with smells, sounds, light, and well, people. On chemo, one can throw up at just the mentioning of food. Let me refer you to the day a fight went on in the oncology ward between a cancer patient and a healthy person, and the healthy person almost died first. On the third day of one of my hospital stays I was just finishing up a chemo round when they decided to put another girl in the hospital room with me. It was two to a room so it was to be expected. The problem was that this girl did not have cancer. She had sprained her ankle walking and they did not have any room for her on the other floor. This girl proceeded to order food from the hospital cafeteria, and I proceeded to grimace and pull my blankets up over my nose. I was preparing for the smells, when I realized she had ordered some of the most repellent odorous food known to man: pork chops with onions, tater tots, and a milkshake. As a very aggravated cancer patient, I proceeded to sigh loudly and make fat jokes about the whale next door to me who was upset to be in the hospital for an hour because she was so fat she hurt her ankle. As the food came, she proceeded to stuff her chubby cheeks with as much as she could fit and let it roll around before it was slowly digested by her ravenous and plump belly. As an 85 pound girl who could barely turn herself in bed, I had already hatched a plan to slyly crawl under her bed, take off the safety break, and throw her out the window. I figured it was the best way for the whale to return to sea. I got sick all night off of the leftover smells lingering from her meal. To a cancer patient, we feel that you should just know that we can’t take this. There is no three strike rule, it’s just you’re out.
We do not want to know about your friend who had cancer who is totally fine now and has like three kids and is married and has had no problems after what so ever. Look, I understand that your stories are meant to be encouraging. But for every person you know who has lived from cancer, I know someone who has died. The same way that I don’t link myself to the ones who have died, I don’t want to link to the ones who have lived. Every cancer is different, every treatment is different. It makes no difference to my hope if someone with a completely different cancer and treatment is doing well. By the way, if you can’t even tell me what kind of cancer they had, chances are I will not be banking on you knowing if they have any later problems. You probably think they are fine and never have to do anything dealing with Cancer, but I know that Cancer is something that becomes a constant whether during or after. I’m guessing if that person you know decides not to tell you they still have to deal with Cancer aftermath, that you are just getting the same sugar coated version that cancer patients give to outsiders to make them feel better. Yes, that’s right; sometimes it is the cancer patient who has to make the other people feel better and less scared.
We do not want to know about any friend with cancer that you once HAD. Past tense is not encouraged. I do not want to hear any story about the friend you lost to cancer. I am sorry you lost someone, but no it doesn’t help to tell me how strong someone else you knew WAS. I am so glad that you KNEW someone with Cancer, but keep it to yourself.
By the way, just because you knew and/or heard of someone with Cancer, that does not make you an expert. You still probably know very little to nothing. I have had people tell me they understand what I am going through because they once watched a movie where the character had cancer but they were totally fine after they stayed in the hospital for a couple nights. I have also heard stories about the girl you heard about in high school that had cancer, and you were totally sympathetic for and stood up for while everyone was gossiping. I’m proud of you, but unless you can tell me a story of sitting with her at home after her chemo and holding her head back while she threw up, I’m pretty sure that you have no idea.
I do not want to hear about your cancer scare. I understand that you were really scared the other morning when you found a pimple on the side of your neck and you were sure it was a tumor but luckily it was just an overly large pimple, but do not ask me to celebrate with you that it wasn’t. I am glad you don’t have cancer, but I found a lump on my neck and it was a tumor. Want to celebrate now?
Look I understand that you are trying to be encouraging, but if I decide to open up to you and complain for a few minutes about being scared, let me. It does not help to hear you say everything will be okay or I am just over worrying. When I first found out I might have cancer, all I heard is not to worry because everything will be fine, it’s not cancer, it’s just a scare. That one didn’t work out quite so well, so hearing you tell me again that I am over worrying will only guarantee that I will not try to talk to you about it again. At this point, let me worry and at least be aware of what could happen. Your best bet is to tell me that no matter what happens you will be there with me, and together we will make it okay.
These are just a few rules of Cancer etiquette. Most of them seem reasonable and basic, and yet it is surprising how many people decide to come sit in my room with me while I get chemo, offer me a bite of their tuna fish sandwich, turn on the television, ask me to play cards instead of sleeping, assure me it only gets better, and console me with a story about their best friend’s, sister’s, baby mama’s, twice removed cousin who totally had skin cancer but now that they removed the cancerous mole she is totally fine and will lead a normal life. At that point, I will give you cancer. Don’t doubt me, I figured out how to a long time ago.
I can make any joke I want, you however need to be tactful. If you are not either a close friend or immediate family member of the cancer patient, be aware of playing along with the jokes. You may laugh at ours and make jokes that are variations of our own, but watch out for any cute ideas you get to go completely left field and draw eyebrows on me while I sleep that are intensely arched and make me look angry at everything you say. My jokes are funny; they have to be just for the fact that any humor I find is good humor. Your jokes are not as funny, because if you do not sit with me while I throw up then your jokes just remind me that I do that without you.
Cancer patients have a hard time with smells, sounds, light, and well, people. On chemo, one can throw up at just the mentioning of food. Let me refer you to the day a fight went on in the oncology ward between a cancer patient and a healthy person, and the healthy person almost died first. On the third day of one of my hospital stays I was just finishing up a chemo round when they decided to put another girl in the hospital room with me. It was two to a room so it was to be expected. The problem was that this girl did not have cancer. She had sprained her ankle walking and they did not have any room for her on the other floor. This girl proceeded to order food from the hospital cafeteria, and I proceeded to grimace and pull my blankets up over my nose. I was preparing for the smells, when I realized she had ordered some of the most repellent odorous food known to man: pork chops with onions, tater tots, and a milkshake. As a very aggravated cancer patient, I proceeded to sigh loudly and make fat jokes about the whale next door to me who was upset to be in the hospital for an hour because she was so fat she hurt her ankle. As the food came, she proceeded to stuff her chubby cheeks with as much as she could fit and let it roll around before it was slowly digested by her ravenous and plump belly. As an 85 pound girl who could barely turn herself in bed, I had already hatched a plan to slyly crawl under her bed, take off the safety break, and throw her out the window. I figured it was the best way for the whale to return to sea. I got sick all night off of the leftover smells lingering from her meal. To a cancer patient, we feel that you should just know that we can’t take this. There is no three strike rule, it’s just you’re out.
We do not want to know about your friend who had cancer who is totally fine now and has like three kids and is married and has had no problems after what so ever. Look, I understand that your stories are meant to be encouraging. But for every person you know who has lived from cancer, I know someone who has died. The same way that I don’t link myself to the ones who have died, I don’t want to link to the ones who have lived. Every cancer is different, every treatment is different. It makes no difference to my hope if someone with a completely different cancer and treatment is doing well. By the way, if you can’t even tell me what kind of cancer they had, chances are I will not be banking on you knowing if they have any later problems. You probably think they are fine and never have to do anything dealing with Cancer, but I know that Cancer is something that becomes a constant whether during or after. I’m guessing if that person you know decides not to tell you they still have to deal with Cancer aftermath, that you are just getting the same sugar coated version that cancer patients give to outsiders to make them feel better. Yes, that’s right; sometimes it is the cancer patient who has to make the other people feel better and less scared.
We do not want to know about any friend with cancer that you once HAD. Past tense is not encouraged. I do not want to hear any story about the friend you lost to cancer. I am sorry you lost someone, but no it doesn’t help to tell me how strong someone else you knew WAS. I am so glad that you KNEW someone with Cancer, but keep it to yourself.
By the way, just because you knew and/or heard of someone with Cancer, that does not make you an expert. You still probably know very little to nothing. I have had people tell me they understand what I am going through because they once watched a movie where the character had cancer but they were totally fine after they stayed in the hospital for a couple nights. I have also heard stories about the girl you heard about in high school that had cancer, and you were totally sympathetic for and stood up for while everyone was gossiping. I’m proud of you, but unless you can tell me a story of sitting with her at home after her chemo and holding her head back while she threw up, I’m pretty sure that you have no idea.
I do not want to hear about your cancer scare. I understand that you were really scared the other morning when you found a pimple on the side of your neck and you were sure it was a tumor but luckily it was just an overly large pimple, but do not ask me to celebrate with you that it wasn’t. I am glad you don’t have cancer, but I found a lump on my neck and it was a tumor. Want to celebrate now?
Look I understand that you are trying to be encouraging, but if I decide to open up to you and complain for a few minutes about being scared, let me. It does not help to hear you say everything will be okay or I am just over worrying. When I first found out I might have cancer, all I heard is not to worry because everything will be fine, it’s not cancer, it’s just a scare. That one didn’t work out quite so well, so hearing you tell me again that I am over worrying will only guarantee that I will not try to talk to you about it again. At this point, let me worry and at least be aware of what could happen. Your best bet is to tell me that no matter what happens you will be there with me, and together we will make it okay.
These are just a few rules of Cancer etiquette. Most of them seem reasonable and basic, and yet it is surprising how many people decide to come sit in my room with me while I get chemo, offer me a bite of their tuna fish sandwich, turn on the television, ask me to play cards instead of sleeping, assure me it only gets better, and console me with a story about their best friend’s, sister’s, baby mama’s, twice removed cousin who totally had skin cancer but now that they removed the cancerous mole she is totally fine and will lead a normal life. At that point, I will give you cancer. Don’t doubt me, I figured out how to a long time ago.
Cancer is Not Like Cooties
I have been very involved in both The American Cancer Society and The leukemia & Lymphoma society now for a while. The L&L society runs many programs dealing with raising money and raising awareness. One specific campaign is called Pennies For Pasta. This is a program is set up in the Elementary, Middle, and high schools that allow students to donate their loose change to the cause. This program works so well because it lets every student feel like they are a part of the difference the school makes. Even low income schools are able to make a difference and participate. As part of the campaign, I went around to a few of the schools and talked to the students. I was able to sit down with select students and tell them about my story, the campaign, and how it makes a difference. After wards, I took questions from the students. One of the most common questions I heard from the students, is “How do you get cancer?” “Is it contagious?” “Will I have it because my mom has it?”
I came to realize that one of the things I think is so well known about Cancer, is often left unanswered. These kids were truly worried that Cancer is contagious. This also comes as a reason behind why Cancer patients who go back to school after treatment become avoided. Most of our kids go through school hearing about scary cancer, or watching a family member with it and never really have their parents sit down with them and explain what is going on. It becomes a don’t ask, don’t tell policy. Parents feel like they are protecting their kids by not telling them. Some parents can’t face it enough to be able to talk to their kids about it. Most kids have no idea how to step up and ask about it.
While these may seem surprising to some of you that there are kids today who truly believe they can catch cancer, I have found many adults who still believe this as well. I still have people who are so ignorant about Cancer, that they avoid me or become extremely uncomfortable around me. I once had a person come up to me, but be very careful to leave at least five feet between us so as not to catch my cancer, and ask me if I had gotten over my little problem.
Now, treating this as a post done to be purely educational, there are a few things to take away:
Cancer is not contagious.
Be upfront and open with children, students, and family members when dealing with Cancer.
Ask questions when you are curious, most people would prefer you asked and knew.
As a Cancer survivor myself, I have never once been aggravated by someone truly asking me a question out of pure curiosity. I have had many people ask me things that could be considered rude or ignorant, and yet I remember that I would probably wonder the same. It is always better to have answers, than to worry about asking the wrong questions. As well, to parents who do not want their children educated on Cancer because they think it will ruin their big bubble of perfection, you only hurt your child by shielding them from truth. Cancer is a whole lot less scary when kids feel knowledgeable. From every after school commercial we can remember, it has been engrained that knowledge is power.
So just to answer some of the most common questions people wonder, here goes:
The actual Cancer drugs make you lose your hair, not the cancer itself. The hair grows back, different than before. Cancer is not contagious, you cannot catch it. The best way to prevent Cancer is a healthy diet, exercise, and most importantly regular check-ups with your doctor. Early detection is the best defense. You will not get Cancer because your Mom has it. Cancer is a mutation of the cells. We are making strides every day towards a Cure and more respondent drugs.
But once again, please be aware, whether I talk to you, touch you, share your pencil, kiss you, pass you on the street, or send you an email, this is not like Cooties. I cannot choose to give someone Cancer, and I cannot take it away with a Cancer Shot. Cancer is not contagious, but my cooties probably are.
I came to realize that one of the things I think is so well known about Cancer, is often left unanswered. These kids were truly worried that Cancer is contagious. This also comes as a reason behind why Cancer patients who go back to school after treatment become avoided. Most of our kids go through school hearing about scary cancer, or watching a family member with it and never really have their parents sit down with them and explain what is going on. It becomes a don’t ask, don’t tell policy. Parents feel like they are protecting their kids by not telling them. Some parents can’t face it enough to be able to talk to their kids about it. Most kids have no idea how to step up and ask about it.
While these may seem surprising to some of you that there are kids today who truly believe they can catch cancer, I have found many adults who still believe this as well. I still have people who are so ignorant about Cancer, that they avoid me or become extremely uncomfortable around me. I once had a person come up to me, but be very careful to leave at least five feet between us so as not to catch my cancer, and ask me if I had gotten over my little problem.
Now, treating this as a post done to be purely educational, there are a few things to take away:
Cancer is not contagious.
Be upfront and open with children, students, and family members when dealing with Cancer.
Ask questions when you are curious, most people would prefer you asked and knew.
As a Cancer survivor myself, I have never once been aggravated by someone truly asking me a question out of pure curiosity. I have had many people ask me things that could be considered rude or ignorant, and yet I remember that I would probably wonder the same. It is always better to have answers, than to worry about asking the wrong questions. As well, to parents who do not want their children educated on Cancer because they think it will ruin their big bubble of perfection, you only hurt your child by shielding them from truth. Cancer is a whole lot less scary when kids feel knowledgeable. From every after school commercial we can remember, it has been engrained that knowledge is power.
So just to answer some of the most common questions people wonder, here goes:
The actual Cancer drugs make you lose your hair, not the cancer itself. The hair grows back, different than before. Cancer is not contagious, you cannot catch it. The best way to prevent Cancer is a healthy diet, exercise, and most importantly regular check-ups with your doctor. Early detection is the best defense. You will not get Cancer because your Mom has it. Cancer is a mutation of the cells. We are making strides every day towards a Cure and more respondent drugs.
But once again, please be aware, whether I talk to you, touch you, share your pencil, kiss you, pass you on the street, or send you an email, this is not like Cooties. I cannot choose to give someone Cancer, and I cannot take it away with a Cancer Shot. Cancer is not contagious, but my cooties probably are.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
The Girl With the Boobs and the Hair
Cancer patients have come to look at the positives that come with treatment. Outsiders will guess that cancer patients have a whole new outlook on the world and list benefits such as the new found joy of life, the cherishing of every single day, and the thought to love everyone even more. Well that whole lifetime movie portrayal is wonderful, but cancer patients tend to focus more on the funny, odd things that come from treatment, the positives hidden deep down in the after effects of chemotherapy and radiation. So let me introduce some of the weird benefits that come from chemotherapy and radiation:
Benefit number 1: My new hair is amazing. Yes, my hair is new, I grew it myself, and it stays on. I had lost all my hair to chemotherapy during treatment, and shortly after started to grow it back. Now, in truth, most chemo patients that have their hair grow back are surprised to find it grows back completely different. My hair before was stick straight and blonde. It ended up growing back much darker and curlier. The first few months and first few inches had me resembling Cory from the popular 90’s television show Boy Meets World. As it got longer, it relaxed a little bit and now has more of a natural wave. I have since lightened it myself hoping to resemble the old me a little bit, but I still find it strange that chemo can affect your hair color and texture. This is one of the examples I use when trying to explain how deeply chemo affects one. It can even change their DNA. But, all in all, it is beautiful and without years of damage, and therefore better than yours.
Benefit number 2: I am pretty sure the only reason I have boobs is because of the radiation. This may sound like some kind of joke, but I am convinced that the lasers are the reason I have anything up top. My build before chemo was like a tennis player: Tall, trim, and flat. I was radiated from the very top of my neck all the way down to my hips. After radiation, I have come to find that with my growing hair came a growing chest. This could be chalked up to puberty as well, but I had mostly passed that stage of the game. My mom however is jealous, and every time I leave the house in a low cut top, she tells me she is thinking about getting radiation as well.
Benefit number 3: I have a wonderful conversation starter I take everywhere with me. At the top of the left side of my chest sits a two inch jagged scar. Over time, it has started to fade, but still anywhere I go the first thing people seem to grow curious about is why I have a scar. Most people assume it is because of a heart problem seeing as how it sits on the left side by my heart, but it is in a place to give me multiple ideas for stories. My most frequently called upon story is that of a gang fight when I was turning trick. But I have used things such as a bad boob job, a stabbing, a car license plate, and the occasional ‘What do you mean I have a scar?!?! Where?!?!’ Truthfully, the scar is from a device I had implanted in my chest called a Meta-port. A meta-port sits under the skin in between tissue and is connected to the heart. It is used as a safer and quicker way to administer chemotherapy and other drugs. A needle is just inserted through the chest to the port, and therefore the patient is now what is called ‘accessed’. Still, my scar never fails to be a great conversational piece.
Benefit number 4: Now to be fair, I do have the benefit of looking at life a little differently. More seriously, I grew up a long time ago. I am not your average college girl living in a bubble whose biggest fear is wearing the same outfit as the slutty girl to the sorority party tomorrow night. A splinter is not the most painful injury, and I can talk in depth with others without sounding confused or condescending. I have figured out the whole truth behind quality over quantity, and little moments are not taken for granted. I know who my real friends are, and I focus on them. I take care of the people who take care of me, and are well aware that that will set me up for life. My life is a series of moments, and I know that I need to make the most of them without taking it too serious. I have had something go wrong, and I fought back. Sometimes now I remind myself to accept a slip up or mistake as just something to come back from because it happens. You learn to find the positives in the bad times, like cancer can just equal nice hair and big boobs. Because in the end it’s just boobs and hair, but while I have them I’m going to enjoy them because I worked damn hard to get them. And I would take girl with boobs and hair over girl with cancer any day.
Benefit number 1: My new hair is amazing. Yes, my hair is new, I grew it myself, and it stays on. I had lost all my hair to chemotherapy during treatment, and shortly after started to grow it back. Now, in truth, most chemo patients that have their hair grow back are surprised to find it grows back completely different. My hair before was stick straight and blonde. It ended up growing back much darker and curlier. The first few months and first few inches had me resembling Cory from the popular 90’s television show Boy Meets World. As it got longer, it relaxed a little bit and now has more of a natural wave. I have since lightened it myself hoping to resemble the old me a little bit, but I still find it strange that chemo can affect your hair color and texture. This is one of the examples I use when trying to explain how deeply chemo affects one. It can even change their DNA. But, all in all, it is beautiful and without years of damage, and therefore better than yours.
Benefit number 2: I am pretty sure the only reason I have boobs is because of the radiation. This may sound like some kind of joke, but I am convinced that the lasers are the reason I have anything up top. My build before chemo was like a tennis player: Tall, trim, and flat. I was radiated from the very top of my neck all the way down to my hips. After radiation, I have come to find that with my growing hair came a growing chest. This could be chalked up to puberty as well, but I had mostly passed that stage of the game. My mom however is jealous, and every time I leave the house in a low cut top, she tells me she is thinking about getting radiation as well.
Benefit number 3: I have a wonderful conversation starter I take everywhere with me. At the top of the left side of my chest sits a two inch jagged scar. Over time, it has started to fade, but still anywhere I go the first thing people seem to grow curious about is why I have a scar. Most people assume it is because of a heart problem seeing as how it sits on the left side by my heart, but it is in a place to give me multiple ideas for stories. My most frequently called upon story is that of a gang fight when I was turning trick. But I have used things such as a bad boob job, a stabbing, a car license plate, and the occasional ‘What do you mean I have a scar?!?! Where?!?!’ Truthfully, the scar is from a device I had implanted in my chest called a Meta-port. A meta-port sits under the skin in between tissue and is connected to the heart. It is used as a safer and quicker way to administer chemotherapy and other drugs. A needle is just inserted through the chest to the port, and therefore the patient is now what is called ‘accessed’. Still, my scar never fails to be a great conversational piece.
Benefit number 4: Now to be fair, I do have the benefit of looking at life a little differently. More seriously, I grew up a long time ago. I am not your average college girl living in a bubble whose biggest fear is wearing the same outfit as the slutty girl to the sorority party tomorrow night. A splinter is not the most painful injury, and I can talk in depth with others without sounding confused or condescending. I have figured out the whole truth behind quality over quantity, and little moments are not taken for granted. I know who my real friends are, and I focus on them. I take care of the people who take care of me, and are well aware that that will set me up for life. My life is a series of moments, and I know that I need to make the most of them without taking it too serious. I have had something go wrong, and I fought back. Sometimes now I remind myself to accept a slip up or mistake as just something to come back from because it happens. You learn to find the positives in the bad times, like cancer can just equal nice hair and big boobs. Because in the end it’s just boobs and hair, but while I have them I’m going to enjoy them because I worked damn hard to get them. And I would take girl with boobs and hair over girl with cancer any day.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Don't be a downer...
So, to be a little more serious than usual, there is a down side to cancer. Gasp!!!! No, but there are after affects that come more in the mental form. There is a so called after-sadness. After -sadness is something that comes with the true facing of up-keep, maintenance, and trying to return from a life where you were completely dictated by doctors. I’m sure many would fall in a depression when facing after-sadness or at least categorize it as that, but from what I have come to find in myself and other survivors I know, is that more commonly it’s just random bouts of after- sadness.
These bursts come and they go, they are more common around scan dates or any scares, but they can really manifest themselves whenever they want to. Usually, they come by surprise. For example, Saturday night I was driving home at eleven p.m. from a black tie benefit listening to hard core rock music when all of sudden it hit me. And these are not wimpy tears that slowly well and fall, no these are full blown, grunting, sobbing, snotting, whale tears. They typically last for 30-45 minutes, and then one can’t seem to cry anymore. It passes, almost frightening quickly. But that is why they are bouts. They come when needed, and leave after they have served their purpose. And the purpose comes down to an inner strength. Yes, I refer to crying bouts as moments of strength.
Looking at the reasons, it seems to be a valid title. I hold in so much when it comes to cancer. I can pretend to be healthier than anybody else and be completely convincing, I can cover all my tracks and missteps, and I can portray the very mark of pride and fearlessness. This is where I find strength, in the ability to be first introduced as a bubbly, healthy, sarcastic, weird, nerdy, college girl. Then, maybe after getting to know me you will learn about that one aspect of my life, and be surprised for I hide better than Osama Bin laden in a Short people parade. But the sadness comes, and it comes at the weirdest times, but it renews my strength. Because just when you think something has broken you down and the Dam starts to spill over, you let out a little water and fix the hole. It may break, but a survivor is always prepared. Some may choose to medicate the pain away, medicate the feelings away, hide the pain, hide the feelings, drink the troubles away, complain, run, or talk. But I choose the little down moments which prepare me for a lot of up moments, because then I feel the balance is in my favor.
These bursts come and they go, they are more common around scan dates or any scares, but they can really manifest themselves whenever they want to. Usually, they come by surprise. For example, Saturday night I was driving home at eleven p.m. from a black tie benefit listening to hard core rock music when all of sudden it hit me. And these are not wimpy tears that slowly well and fall, no these are full blown, grunting, sobbing, snotting, whale tears. They typically last for 30-45 minutes, and then one can’t seem to cry anymore. It passes, almost frightening quickly. But that is why they are bouts. They come when needed, and leave after they have served their purpose. And the purpose comes down to an inner strength. Yes, I refer to crying bouts as moments of strength.
Looking at the reasons, it seems to be a valid title. I hold in so much when it comes to cancer. I can pretend to be healthier than anybody else and be completely convincing, I can cover all my tracks and missteps, and I can portray the very mark of pride and fearlessness. This is where I find strength, in the ability to be first introduced as a bubbly, healthy, sarcastic, weird, nerdy, college girl. Then, maybe after getting to know me you will learn about that one aspect of my life, and be surprised for I hide better than Osama Bin laden in a Short people parade. But the sadness comes, and it comes at the weirdest times, but it renews my strength. Because just when you think something has broken you down and the Dam starts to spill over, you let out a little water and fix the hole. It may break, but a survivor is always prepared. Some may choose to medicate the pain away, medicate the feelings away, hide the pain, hide the feelings, drink the troubles away, complain, run, or talk. But I choose the little down moments which prepare me for a lot of up moments, because then I feel the balance is in my favor.
What Homework?
Hello, my name is… something… I would like to blame my brain. Wait, I would like to blame what the chemo did to my brain.
There is a common occurrence that comes from chemo that is normally referred to as chemo brain. Chemo brain is something that technically could be compared to things like ‘senior moments’ and ‘brain farts’. Chemo brain describes changes in concentration, memory, attention, and normal various day to day mental tasks. Chemo brain comes from the after effects of chemotherapy, now is where it should click why it is titled what it is. Chemo brain is so infuriating that one must find ways to use it to their benefit to cancel out the negatives that it causes. So let us take a look at one of the negatives and one of the positives:
Negatives include the name of that person that you met at that place with the thing for the event benefitting that cause. You were supposed to find the object for the night of the week of some month coming up.
Positives include things like commercials that feel like home. Do we not all remember Jennifer Love Hewitt taking an egg to symbolize the brain and then smashing it with her frying pan to symbolize the brain on drugs? Well the original take just had her slightly cracking the egg somewhat ever so gently and then shaking it profusely so that it didn’t know what level of the food pyramid it belonged to. The tag line would read this is your brain on chemo. But…. when Jennifer broke the only egg they had left because of her strong man hands, they decided to open the tag to include all drugs for dramatic egg smashing effect. New stance, this is your brain on drugs.
Now, these negatives and positives just give a little clue on the boundaries around chemo brain. But, more or less this is just to touch upon a common occurrence that never seems to be recognized. Sometimes, I am just not home, the light is not on, and the windows are closed. My brain stops for a second, but if given time and proper care it picks right back up. I apologize for forgetting to do my homework, for forgetting you name, for forgetting to care that you have a horrible splinter and I didn’t send a sympathy card. I apologize for forgetting the heading on my paper, for forgetting to finish my……….something.
There is a common occurrence that comes from chemo that is normally referred to as chemo brain. Chemo brain is something that technically could be compared to things like ‘senior moments’ and ‘brain farts’. Chemo brain describes changes in concentration, memory, attention, and normal various day to day mental tasks. Chemo brain comes from the after effects of chemotherapy, now is where it should click why it is titled what it is. Chemo brain is so infuriating that one must find ways to use it to their benefit to cancel out the negatives that it causes. So let us take a look at one of the negatives and one of the positives:
Negatives include the name of that person that you met at that place with the thing for the event benefitting that cause. You were supposed to find the object for the night of the week of some month coming up.
Positives include things like commercials that feel like home. Do we not all remember Jennifer Love Hewitt taking an egg to symbolize the brain and then smashing it with her frying pan to symbolize the brain on drugs? Well the original take just had her slightly cracking the egg somewhat ever so gently and then shaking it profusely so that it didn’t know what level of the food pyramid it belonged to. The tag line would read this is your brain on chemo. But…. when Jennifer broke the only egg they had left because of her strong man hands, they decided to open the tag to include all drugs for dramatic egg smashing effect. New stance, this is your brain on drugs.
Now, these negatives and positives just give a little clue on the boundaries around chemo brain. But, more or less this is just to touch upon a common occurrence that never seems to be recognized. Sometimes, I am just not home, the light is not on, and the windows are closed. My brain stops for a second, but if given time and proper care it picks right back up. I apologize for forgetting to do my homework, for forgetting you name, for forgetting to care that you have a horrible splinter and I didn’t send a sympathy card. I apologize for forgetting the heading on my paper, for forgetting to finish my……….something.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Warriors On Television Fight The Media
Commercials are everywhere, there is no complete escape. It seems that no matter where we go anymore, we cannot break away from the media’s foot hold on our society. Everywhere we look and anywhere we go there is advertising. Yet, what gets to me are the sad commercials thrown into my happy outings at seemingly non relevant events.
What brought this to my mind was a you tube link someone had posted on face book. The link included their personal message, “Please watch and support. My heart goes out.” While sweet, posting a video on face book doesn’t have the same sympathetic strings to pull. Usually because after, let’s call her Kelly, posts this touching video, her status changes to something like, “Kelly can’t wait to get so F’ed up tonight with her girls!!! Woooo!”
The video was about childhood cancer. It was beautiful, but sadly when left in this type of forum, one is left to wonder what the damage is we do by pronouncing our causes so freely in a media centric world. Is it no longer tailored to get the exact effect from the exact audience we want? Is it no longer important to tailor it?
The video jogged my memory back to a few months ago when I sat at the Rays stadium in St. Petersburg Florida, watching the baseball game from an eatery in the stadium. There I was, sitting with a friend and their family who didn’t know me very well, and between the game feed on the televisions came a commercial about childhood cancer. Now, I don’t mind these commercials, they air for good reasons. But what is uncomfortable is being one of those children and then having to sit there and listen to the reactions that come with the commercial.
The standard, “Oh that’s so sad, those poor children.”
The less likely shocker, “Oh well why do we need to help them anyways, there is a lot of bad things in this world.”
The vacant, “That kid looks weird.”
The joker who chooses to play along, “Look! I’m bald! I must have cancer, too.”
Now it may sound like these are made up responses, but I have heard them all, and I have heard worse. Sometimes, I’m not sure if it’s the sympathetic response or the comedic response which hits harder. To introduce myself now as a survivor would no more benefit me then it would cause a very awkward silence. So I look down, and close my mouth. There are sometimes piercing glares. But past that, saying something no more helps me then it would other children. All I can hope to do is cause change by example.
But I have to remember that my world is its own, and if you have never visited it, you probably couldn’t find it on the map. So for your viewing pleasure I have attached a video. If you comment, I ask you to tell me your first true reaction, and if it’s negative then look back on what your judgment is. Because all I sum it up to say, is that cancer is a fight and that makes me a warrior. Not a survivor, a warrior. Therefore, maybe it is a strength not a weakness. When you watch these commercials, instead of seeing patients and victims, see warriors.
First URL: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wJXhhx_ksS4
Second URL:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GTKyo-8TuyA
Third URL: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ClgY6q4Ome0
What brought this to my mind was a you tube link someone had posted on face book. The link included their personal message, “Please watch and support. My heart goes out.” While sweet, posting a video on face book doesn’t have the same sympathetic strings to pull. Usually because after, let’s call her Kelly, posts this touching video, her status changes to something like, “Kelly can’t wait to get so F’ed up tonight with her girls!!! Woooo!”
The video was about childhood cancer. It was beautiful, but sadly when left in this type of forum, one is left to wonder what the damage is we do by pronouncing our causes so freely in a media centric world. Is it no longer tailored to get the exact effect from the exact audience we want? Is it no longer important to tailor it?
The video jogged my memory back to a few months ago when I sat at the Rays stadium in St. Petersburg Florida, watching the baseball game from an eatery in the stadium. There I was, sitting with a friend and their family who didn’t know me very well, and between the game feed on the televisions came a commercial about childhood cancer. Now, I don’t mind these commercials, they air for good reasons. But what is uncomfortable is being one of those children and then having to sit there and listen to the reactions that come with the commercial.
The standard, “Oh that’s so sad, those poor children.”
The less likely shocker, “Oh well why do we need to help them anyways, there is a lot of bad things in this world.”
The vacant, “That kid looks weird.”
The joker who chooses to play along, “Look! I’m bald! I must have cancer, too.”
Now it may sound like these are made up responses, but I have heard them all, and I have heard worse. Sometimes, I’m not sure if it’s the sympathetic response or the comedic response which hits harder. To introduce myself now as a survivor would no more benefit me then it would cause a very awkward silence. So I look down, and close my mouth. There are sometimes piercing glares. But past that, saying something no more helps me then it would other children. All I can hope to do is cause change by example.
But I have to remember that my world is its own, and if you have never visited it, you probably couldn’t find it on the map. So for your viewing pleasure I have attached a video. If you comment, I ask you to tell me your first true reaction, and if it’s negative then look back on what your judgment is. Because all I sum it up to say, is that cancer is a fight and that makes me a warrior. Not a survivor, a warrior. Therefore, maybe it is a strength not a weakness. When you watch these commercials, instead of seeing patients and victims, see warriors.
First URL: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wJXhhx_ksS4
Second URL:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GTKyo-8TuyA
Third URL: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ClgY6q4Ome0
Saturday, February 7, 2009
One More MRI and I'll Stick To The Fridge
One of the things doctors and nurses forget to mention to you after you have been cleared of cancer for the first time, second time, fill in the number time, is that they will continue to make you report back every few months to do tests and scans that in turn will cause cancer.
You will be instructed to do many tests consisting of the same sort of process:
You walk in, are given a gown, and directed to a room. You are told to take off all your clothes and put on a beautiful, oversized, smock like print of ducks. From there, you walk barefoot to an open room hoping your butt is not hanging out of the smock, but if it is you hope it looks good and attracts the nice, handsome, rich, doctor. Even before hellos, you must sum up your sex life. And the usual response to, “Are you pregnant?” is not taken well when answered with, "I sure hope not!" From there you must say you are kidding and give a definite no. Or if yes, run away. But no is the preferred answer usually for both parties.
Then after the first test, comes the second one and the third one exactly like it. One must suck it up and do these tests over and over. Escaping is usually looked down upon.
Maintenance Patients ( those who had cancer and are trying to maintain the not cancer place they are at) have come to find that scan time is one of the best times to choose to resort back to the famed pajama pants that one had come to be best friends with during treatment. Why? Because you learn to wear the clothes that are easiest to take off over and over again many times throughout the day of scans. The best bet is usually drawstring pajama pants and t shirt. Many may call this the ‘bumming it’ look, but I call it the ‘Pro- Hooker’ look. Just like a hooker, cancer patients become good at taking off their clothes many times in one day and learn to find the clothes easiest to take off. Cancer patients don’t do buttons, snaps, or ties. No, we are professionals, it’s just one… two…. Velcro…. off!! Unless your night job is a hooker, this is probably the most times in one day that you will hear, “Take off your clothes.”
From the ‘pro hooker’ phase comes the time when you crawl, stuff, or shove your way into some machine and lay down. You fill your time by reading the warning labels on the machine, wall, bed post, etc. There you will find the bright part of a cancer patients day. The words on the machine that is supposed to check for your cancer warns, “This test may cause cancer.” But instead of worrying about getting Cancer from the tests, I figure give me a few more MRI’s which are just Magnetic Resonance Tests and I will stick to the fridge.
You will be instructed to do many tests consisting of the same sort of process:
You walk in, are given a gown, and directed to a room. You are told to take off all your clothes and put on a beautiful, oversized, smock like print of ducks. From there, you walk barefoot to an open room hoping your butt is not hanging out of the smock, but if it is you hope it looks good and attracts the nice, handsome, rich, doctor. Even before hellos, you must sum up your sex life. And the usual response to, “Are you pregnant?” is not taken well when answered with, "I sure hope not!" From there you must say you are kidding and give a definite no. Or if yes, run away. But no is the preferred answer usually for both parties.
Then after the first test, comes the second one and the third one exactly like it. One must suck it up and do these tests over and over. Escaping is usually looked down upon.
Maintenance Patients ( those who had cancer and are trying to maintain the not cancer place they are at) have come to find that scan time is one of the best times to choose to resort back to the famed pajama pants that one had come to be best friends with during treatment. Why? Because you learn to wear the clothes that are easiest to take off over and over again many times throughout the day of scans. The best bet is usually drawstring pajama pants and t shirt. Many may call this the ‘bumming it’ look, but I call it the ‘Pro- Hooker’ look. Just like a hooker, cancer patients become good at taking off their clothes many times in one day and learn to find the clothes easiest to take off. Cancer patients don’t do buttons, snaps, or ties. No, we are professionals, it’s just one… two…. Velcro…. off!! Unless your night job is a hooker, this is probably the most times in one day that you will hear, “Take off your clothes.”
From the ‘pro hooker’ phase comes the time when you crawl, stuff, or shove your way into some machine and lay down. You fill your time by reading the warning labels on the machine, wall, bed post, etc. There you will find the bright part of a cancer patients day. The words on the machine that is supposed to check for your cancer warns, “This test may cause cancer.” But instead of worrying about getting Cancer from the tests, I figure give me a few more MRI’s which are just Magnetic Resonance Tests and I will stick to the fridge.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Cancer is Prettier Than AIDS
My new theory from watching television and movies is that everyone who is going to die will die tragically. This, in fact just means cancer. I have had to give up on television and movies for this reason. I start watching something and I really get into it.
Then, it usually goes two ways. The first way starts in with the male character that is strong, charming, handsome, and rebellious. The female character is soft, and quiet, but a rare unnoticed beauty. She is a good girl, and he has a dark past. She changes him, they fall in love. Then, right as we are so happy for them, Bam!! She has a dark secret to confess, she is dying. And we wonder of what???? Because, it would suck to die of something normal, or something no one has ever heard of. Is she psychic and knows she will be murdered tomorrow night? Is it old age?? Is she really a 76 year old trapped in the body of a 19 year old?? Is it Systemic Mastocytosis? Nobody knows what the hell this is so it can’t possibly be that! Is it Maple syrup Urine disease? No! Of course not! That sounds like a disease that is kind of gross, weird, and possibly ugly. We can’t give our beautiful lead an ugly disease.
We give her cancer. Why do we give her cancer? Everyone knows what cancer is. A lot of people have a personal connection to cancer, which means we can drag sympathy out of our viewers. She can look pretty while dying of cancer. We put her in a hospital in a short, tight, mini gown. We don’t let her fake bake for a couple days, and we only spend two hours doing her make-up. Plus, we find an actress who does a sexy sad face, big pouty lips and everything. This also gives us the ability to get shots of our male lead going around pouting and brooding to everyone he knows yelling, “The love of my life has cancer”, and everyone can give him the oh no! face. Cancer is something love can’t conquer, but can make a lot worse to have. There is also a count down, because we can’t have her die too suddenly, we need to draw out the teenage angst.
Scenario two can play into some of the aforementioned things as well. We start with a quiet boy who is handsomely and charmingly dorky and sticks to himself. In comes the pretty, popular, blonde, girl who falls for this hot geek of a sad man candy and tries to pursue him. She falls hard for him; he falls for her, but then suddenly becomes a drift, spacey, and backs off from it all. She is confused, and finally after moody faces and days of wonder, she confronts him. He breaks down about a girl that he loved and broke his heart.
She asks…. “Did she cheat on you? Go lesbian? What??”
He says, “No, no, no, nothing serious like that….. She died.”
“Oh my! I am so sorry I had no idea.”
He says, “She found a lump one day on her neck and…….. Yes, yes it was cancer.”
The audience gasps, looks at each other in disbelief. He finally breaks down and tears up, she consoles him. He falls into her, letting her console him, pushing his face way to close to her cleavage that it becomes a little disconcerting. Together they help each other with the sadness, bond, and kind of forget the dead girlfriend. The dead cancer girlfriend has brought them closer together. Yay for her, she’s dead and still helping him get some. Now, that’s a devoted girlfriend. He can use dead girlfriend for at least three years after, dead girlfriend of cancer means he can use it at least five years.
Television and movies have been ruined for me. I have broken the code. Once I see two characters who make a breakthrough and fall in love and become happy, I can already call it that somebody has or will die of cancer. Because AIDS just doesn’t have the same effect.
Then, it usually goes two ways. The first way starts in with the male character that is strong, charming, handsome, and rebellious. The female character is soft, and quiet, but a rare unnoticed beauty. She is a good girl, and he has a dark past. She changes him, they fall in love. Then, right as we are so happy for them, Bam!! She has a dark secret to confess, she is dying. And we wonder of what???? Because, it would suck to die of something normal, or something no one has ever heard of. Is she psychic and knows she will be murdered tomorrow night? Is it old age?? Is she really a 76 year old trapped in the body of a 19 year old?? Is it Systemic Mastocytosis? Nobody knows what the hell this is so it can’t possibly be that! Is it Maple syrup Urine disease? No! Of course not! That sounds like a disease that is kind of gross, weird, and possibly ugly. We can’t give our beautiful lead an ugly disease.
We give her cancer. Why do we give her cancer? Everyone knows what cancer is. A lot of people have a personal connection to cancer, which means we can drag sympathy out of our viewers. She can look pretty while dying of cancer. We put her in a hospital in a short, tight, mini gown. We don’t let her fake bake for a couple days, and we only spend two hours doing her make-up. Plus, we find an actress who does a sexy sad face, big pouty lips and everything. This also gives us the ability to get shots of our male lead going around pouting and brooding to everyone he knows yelling, “The love of my life has cancer”, and everyone can give him the oh no! face. Cancer is something love can’t conquer, but can make a lot worse to have. There is also a count down, because we can’t have her die too suddenly, we need to draw out the teenage angst.
Scenario two can play into some of the aforementioned things as well. We start with a quiet boy who is handsomely and charmingly dorky and sticks to himself. In comes the pretty, popular, blonde, girl who falls for this hot geek of a sad man candy and tries to pursue him. She falls hard for him; he falls for her, but then suddenly becomes a drift, spacey, and backs off from it all. She is confused, and finally after moody faces and days of wonder, she confronts him. He breaks down about a girl that he loved and broke his heart.
She asks…. “Did she cheat on you? Go lesbian? What??”
He says, “No, no, no, nothing serious like that….. She died.”
“Oh my! I am so sorry I had no idea.”
He says, “She found a lump one day on her neck and…….. Yes, yes it was cancer.”
The audience gasps, looks at each other in disbelief. He finally breaks down and tears up, she consoles him. He falls into her, letting her console him, pushing his face way to close to her cleavage that it becomes a little disconcerting. Together they help each other with the sadness, bond, and kind of forget the dead girlfriend. The dead cancer girlfriend has brought them closer together. Yay for her, she’s dead and still helping him get some. Now, that’s a devoted girlfriend. He can use dead girlfriend for at least three years after, dead girlfriend of cancer means he can use it at least five years.
Television and movies have been ruined for me. I have broken the code. Once I see two characters who make a breakthrough and fall in love and become happy, I can already call it that somebody has or will die of cancer. Because AIDS just doesn’t have the same effect.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
The Red Penguin Perpetrator
Pajama pants have become their own character in this blog. They hold a very distinct personality and role in the story of cancer. (It's a horrible movie, somebody always dies in the end. Read the book instead.)
One's first time in the hospital is a learning time. You might show up in jeans or work pants expecting them to be comfortable enough while wanting to look pleasant for the doctor. That quickly goes out the window. A couple months in, you turn to the red penguin pajama pants. Red penguin pajama pants are a rare very fine breed of pant motif. Now, this is just a symbolic representation of some of the crazy pajamas I have seen. Red with penguins, blue with polar bears, green with fairies. Basically, we all have our whimsical representations of what we see when high. Yes, cancer patients sometimes end up in a fantastical world called ‘Land of the Morphine’. This is where we dance with our penguins, fly with our fairies, and run with our polar bears. Our pajamas pants merely represent our personality when high. I see penguins, I don’t know why, but I like it. They seem like very happy creatures, just a-slipping and a-sliding every damn where they please.
By a month into your chemo, you will lose any fantasy like thought of maintaining any kind of respectful, non-embarrassing, appearance for your doctor. It will more than likely come to the new found conclusion that one should become friends with a theory I would like to call….. Screw it.
It will go like this: The doctor will walk in. If you are feeling particularly friendly you will remember to make sure all your clothes are on or the sheet is at least pulled up. No guarantees. Usually you will greet them by their first name, or any of the following worthy substitutions: dude, man, doc, homeboy.... Or if you are me you will tell them that to do to you what they want to do is the kind of thing that they usually would need to buy you dinner for first. They will laugh, smile, sneer, or not make any kind of face what so ever and go right past the dirty comment. You are past the stage of nodding or even fully listening to what they say. It does not matter anyways, they are just repetitive and will do with you what they damn well please anyways…. (That’s what she said!)
On a good day, they will send you home. If feeling particularly friendly, they will say you can go home now, get out of this horrible place, and put on real pants. However, little do they know that going home does not signify the transference of pajama pants to real pants. Most likely pajama pants have become the real pants. This leads my dad to the point that he is going to have to be careful walking with me into the grocery story. He was pretty sure at one point grocery security would tackle me thinking I was either crazy and would rob them in my pajama pants, or I had enough room in my big stretchy pajama pants to stuff a bunch of cans and frozen delicacies to take home.
I am pretty sure it would go like this when watching the evening news that night:
“Hi, my name is Sandra Newsworthy, and I am here with your 8 o’ clock round up of the day’s events. A local woman gave birthday to nine puppies today; I hear the husband was a mutt. The local hair salon had a grand reopening after doing construction for three months and really weaved up the place; the whole event was a big to do! (Get it… to do… like hair-do…. She would say very proud of her pun.) And just this morning, Publix was in shock after a women made away with two frozen turkeys, three cans of green beans, and one yam. The police have put together a profile for the women they are looking for: Bald, no eyebrows, pale, a little bruised up, crazy eyes, and a big pair of red penguin pajama pants. They are calling her The Red Penguin Perpetrator. Be aware.
One's first time in the hospital is a learning time. You might show up in jeans or work pants expecting them to be comfortable enough while wanting to look pleasant for the doctor. That quickly goes out the window. A couple months in, you turn to the red penguin pajama pants. Red penguin pajama pants are a rare very fine breed of pant motif. Now, this is just a symbolic representation of some of the crazy pajamas I have seen. Red with penguins, blue with polar bears, green with fairies. Basically, we all have our whimsical representations of what we see when high. Yes, cancer patients sometimes end up in a fantastical world called ‘Land of the Morphine’. This is where we dance with our penguins, fly with our fairies, and run with our polar bears. Our pajamas pants merely represent our personality when high. I see penguins, I don’t know why, but I like it. They seem like very happy creatures, just a-slipping and a-sliding every damn where they please.
By a month into your chemo, you will lose any fantasy like thought of maintaining any kind of respectful, non-embarrassing, appearance for your doctor. It will more than likely come to the new found conclusion that one should become friends with a theory I would like to call….. Screw it.
It will go like this: The doctor will walk in. If you are feeling particularly friendly you will remember to make sure all your clothes are on or the sheet is at least pulled up. No guarantees. Usually you will greet them by their first name, or any of the following worthy substitutions: dude, man, doc, homeboy.... Or if you are me you will tell them that to do to you what they want to do is the kind of thing that they usually would need to buy you dinner for first. They will laugh, smile, sneer, or not make any kind of face what so ever and go right past the dirty comment. You are past the stage of nodding or even fully listening to what they say. It does not matter anyways, they are just repetitive and will do with you what they damn well please anyways…. (That’s what she said!)
On a good day, they will send you home. If feeling particularly friendly, they will say you can go home now, get out of this horrible place, and put on real pants. However, little do they know that going home does not signify the transference of pajama pants to real pants. Most likely pajama pants have become the real pants. This leads my dad to the point that he is going to have to be careful walking with me into the grocery story. He was pretty sure at one point grocery security would tackle me thinking I was either crazy and would rob them in my pajama pants, or I had enough room in my big stretchy pajama pants to stuff a bunch of cans and frozen delicacies to take home.
I am pretty sure it would go like this when watching the evening news that night:
“Hi, my name is Sandra Newsworthy, and I am here with your 8 o’ clock round up of the day’s events. A local woman gave birthday to nine puppies today; I hear the husband was a mutt. The local hair salon had a grand reopening after doing construction for three months and really weaved up the place; the whole event was a big to do! (Get it… to do… like hair-do…. She would say very proud of her pun.) And just this morning, Publix was in shock after a women made away with two frozen turkeys, three cans of green beans, and one yam. The police have put together a profile for the women they are looking for: Bald, no eyebrows, pale, a little bruised up, crazy eyes, and a big pair of red penguin pajama pants. They are calling her The Red Penguin Perpetrator. Be aware.
How do you keep a cancer patient from escaping?
So I recently decided to start blogging about my life. I figure this is what I know, and understand hopefully most of the time. Basically, my life revolves around cancer. I know your jealous, but contain yourself.
I have been through chemo and radiation for what feels like half my life. But part of that is because I didn't really start living or enjoying life until I got Cancer. Yes, I have cancer. Yay for me, release the hounds, do a little dance.
I am in the upkeep- kiss my ass phase (Technical term).
The idea to blog about this came last Thursday. I sat with my friend in All children's as he faced his first round of chemo. I was the veteran in all of this, which was slightly off putting. My friend is barely nineteen, and autistic at that. He had his choice between Moffitt and All Childrens, and while both are perfected in the art of killing the cancers, All Childrens is a better pick for the younger crowd. I realized that not dying has become my hobby, pastime, and art form of choice. I am a veteran, and yet still fighting the war.
So there I sat Thursday night, in the Cancer ward. I had difficulty making it there for the sure fact that the only reason I thought they could get me back there was kicking and screaming. Now, I was going by my own free will. I even made sure to dress up very nicely so that they didn't assume I was one of the patients. I always worry if I go back as a visitor in my awesomely proud and loud pajama pants attire, they would assume I’m a patient, spot me escaping, and then drag me back. It would go like this:
Them: “Where are you going little girl with the crazy awesome pajamas?”
Me: “I’m just a visitor. I’m visiting. I’m done visiting now. I’m leaving…..cause I can. Because I’m a visitor.”
Them: “You are wearing pajama pants though, and I see a meta port scar.” (Mostly all chemo patients have a meta port scar on their chest.)
Me: “No! It’s old! I swear!! It’s from umm... a boob job. Yes, that’s it! I had the puppies done!”
Them: “No you don't get back here!”
Me: “Ahhhhhh!”
That is the tame version.
I walked into the hospital room. It was the same as every other room: Hospital bed, green recliner, try to help you not die machines, bathroom, dry erase board, and somewhat hot nurse. This time however I was the one sitting in the recliner watching the one in the hospital bed and still it felt like home.
So how do you keep a cancer patient from escaping?
You hide the good drugs.
I have been through chemo and radiation for what feels like half my life. But part of that is because I didn't really start living or enjoying life until I got Cancer. Yes, I have cancer. Yay for me, release the hounds, do a little dance.
I am in the upkeep- kiss my ass phase (Technical term).
The idea to blog about this came last Thursday. I sat with my friend in All children's as he faced his first round of chemo. I was the veteran in all of this, which was slightly off putting. My friend is barely nineteen, and autistic at that. He had his choice between Moffitt and All Childrens, and while both are perfected in the art of killing the cancers, All Childrens is a better pick for the younger crowd. I realized that not dying has become my hobby, pastime, and art form of choice. I am a veteran, and yet still fighting the war.
So there I sat Thursday night, in the Cancer ward. I had difficulty making it there for the sure fact that the only reason I thought they could get me back there was kicking and screaming. Now, I was going by my own free will. I even made sure to dress up very nicely so that they didn't assume I was one of the patients. I always worry if I go back as a visitor in my awesomely proud and loud pajama pants attire, they would assume I’m a patient, spot me escaping, and then drag me back. It would go like this:
Them: “Where are you going little girl with the crazy awesome pajamas?”
Me: “I’m just a visitor. I’m visiting. I’m done visiting now. I’m leaving…..cause I can. Because I’m a visitor.”
Them: “You are wearing pajama pants though, and I see a meta port scar.” (Mostly all chemo patients have a meta port scar on their chest.)
Me: “No! It’s old! I swear!! It’s from umm... a boob job. Yes, that’s it! I had the puppies done!”
Them: “No you don't get back here!”
Me: “Ahhhhhh!”
That is the tame version.
I walked into the hospital room. It was the same as every other room: Hospital bed, green recliner, try to help you not die machines, bathroom, dry erase board, and somewhat hot nurse. This time however I was the one sitting in the recliner watching the one in the hospital bed and still it felt like home.
So how do you keep a cancer patient from escaping?
You hide the good drugs.
Ahhhh!!!! Cancer!!!
Cancer. The first words that come to mind when hearing the term cancer are chemo, doctor, hospital, bald, fear, and my personal favorite death. But what about those cancer patients who actually live. This blog focuses on the behind the scenes. The good stuff the cancer patients don't share. The brighter side of the cancer spectrum, and by that I don't mean the radiation patients who glow in the dark. This is my thoughts and stories that accompany the normal upkeep of a cancer patient/survivor/caregiver's life. Cancer is it's own world, and I intend to rule.
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