The Best Cancer to Have

This past Saturday my mother and I spent the afternoon together.  We decided we would catch a movie and then an early dinner afterward.  We both ate breakfast but skipped lunch and met at the theater at 11:30 for a 1:35 showing to buy our tickets early and shmy at Tuesday Morning first.  (It's a Yiddish word.  Look it up)

We sat on the phone earlier that morning while I went online to see what theaters were playing what movies.  My mother won't see any movie that has aliens, monsters, or men at war.  That limited our choices.  She likes schmaltzy love stories and with a few exceptions those usually make me want to barf.  We narrowed it down to one film we both wanted to see - "The Fault in Our Stars".

I knew it was supposed to be a movie that you either needed a to bring a box of tissues with you or grab a pile of napkins along with your popcorn.  What I didn't know was that the heroine of the movie had thyroid cancer that had advanced to her lungs and her prognosis was sketchy.  This tidbit of information assaulted me quite early on in the film and it was as if I was punched in the solar plexus.  I gasped.  I needed air.  I felt claustrophobic.

I was still in the miasma of the unknown waiting to hear if one of the lymph nodes left untouched by my last surgery was cancerous.  It was a hard movie for me to watch but I was very glad that that was the cancer she had.  Thyroid cancer has been minimized by most of the medical community for way too long.  "It's the easy cancer."  "We have thyroid replacement drugs and you won't even know you don't have a thyroid anymore."  I call bullshit!

I am not going to play my tiny violin.  I am not going to whine or stand on a soapbox.  I hope this movie makes people wake up to the fact that thyroid cancer shouldn't be patted on the head and told to be quiet.  It is important to also note that other types of cancers were represented in the film and not just the one that has pink ribbons or football players wearing pink athletic shoes.

This morning I am still feeling like a bird let out of a cage no longer trapped.  It is good to be free.

You're how old?

This afternoon I met with our payroll company representative.  He stops in about once a year.  If we were located in a more civilized part of the world we would probably see him more often as he enjoys the opportunity to talk face-to-face with us.  He always sticks a thermometer in our mouths.  "How's it going?  Any problems?"  No fever or ailments evident so he talks about the other products the company offers its clients.

I am either a salespersons wet dream or worst nightmare depending on the salesperson's style.  I will be blunt and up front and won't waste your time.  If you are an arm twister hard sell type just fuhgeddaboudit. I'm not budging so back off.

Poppy and I were the only ones in the office when he showed up for our meeting.  Poppy, being the LCF greeter for the day, met him at the door and decided he was OK.  "Entrez, s'il vous plait," said Poppy with a very fake French accent.  I looked at our rep, shook my head and said, "Chihuahuas....."

So, the rep (I'll call him Bob since I shouldn't use his real name) and I are talking while Poppy fell asleep in my arms bored out of his gourd when all of a sudden something very strange happened.  Bob and I are looking at a Simple IRA presentation on his tablet when Bob turns to me and says, "You're in your early 30s."  Say what?!

"You're not serious, right?  You're just trying to be nice."

"No.  I'm being serious.  I'm not trying to goof on you.  I could have sworn you told me you were born in 1978," Bob says as he looks at my face as if for the first time.  I know he's calculating something like the percentage of laugh lines times the number of grey hairs divided by visible wrinkles and thinking....isn't that her age???

"I'm 53," I say back.  He says, "Really?"

Just then a recent memory smacks me side the head.  I remembered saying yesterday to a friend of mine,"I hate the way I look.  I didn't used to look like this."  You see, my dears, when I had my neck dissection in 2010, a whole bunch of lymph nodes were removed from my neck.  This caused a fluid traffic jam in my face and neck because the fluid drainage highways no longer existed.  In order to help the fluid drain from my head and face, every day I do a massage of my neck and shoulder area to try to push the fluid along.  I hate it but if I don't the swelling in my face and neck is even more pronounced.  I hate the way I look because my face and neck are perpetually puffy.

I was embarrassed by what I said yesterday and how I feel every time I look in the mirror and Bob thinking I was 20 years younger than I really am was a kick in the pants and a wake-up call.  First, I need to stop being so critical of myself.  Secondly, I need to remember that I am alive and so far have survived cancer.  Thirdly, why is Poppy speaking French and not Spanish?
 

Test Results, etc.

My latest cancer test results were not what I expected or wanted.  The numbers were higher than the last time I was tested a little over a year ago.  It took me weeks to absorb this bad news.  It wasn't the doctor that called me but his nurse and she had no idea why I wasn't dancing in the streets over the results after all, they were less than 1.  Nothing gets done when the results are under a 1. 

She didn't know I've been through this yearly number increase before and ended up needing a second more extreme surgery.  On top of that I have some sort of knobby growths one on the top of my left foot and the other on my forehead near my hairline.  I've had three courses of radioactive iodine treatment so secondary cancer is in the back of my mind.  I see my general practitioner today to talk to her about that and also getting refills on prescriptions.

My personal life is full of crazy shit including Jim's bat shit-ass crazy ex-wife.  My mom is slowly losing her mind and with that even more of her histrionic personality presents itself as the "I shouldn't say that" filter erodes.  I am in the throes of foreclosure because of my bat shit-ass crazy ex-husband.

"Drugs are bad, mmkay?"

So, the good things are that Jim and I are seeing an excellent nurse/social worker.  She is definitely heaven sent with that combination!  I have the best boss ever!  I have the best dog ever!  Let's just end this on a high note, mmkay?