Online Chat Room

A cancer diagnosis will introduce you to a lot of weird things. A new language, being one of them. Cancer involves a lot of strange vocabulary and phrases and confusing acronyms and abbreviations.  When I first started poking my newly diagnosed head around online cancer forums, I found this somewhat bewildering. I would literally have to check Google 16 times just to get through a brief feed on breast prosthesis options. (�what does MBC mean?� �what does IBC mean?� �what does RADS mean?� Oh I give up.) It was like installing Instagram on my phone ages after everyone else already had. Everything was so uncomfortably foreign. You become the geeky newbie in a classroom where everyone else is effortlessly hashtagging and making those weird boomerang clips. It takes a while to become fluent. But, eventually, you get the hang of it. ( I still don�t really get twitter, so if anyone�s willing to lend me some tips I�d be much obliged.) #Ohmygoodness #WhereIsSheGoingWithThis? #WhyGodWhy #IsT...

I was not in a good way last week . This Monday didn't help (does it ever? What a jerk.) We kicked things off with my (super genius) plastic surgeon. He filled us in on some things. Like the terrible (but super genius) stuff he is going to do to my body. Paul: "I don't know if it's my super low hemoglobin or the description of your surgery, but I felt really lightheaded in that appointment." You and me both, dude. I don't do gore. Put on an episode of Game of Thrones and I see maybe 20%. The rest I mostly spend with my face covered, shrieking, "no no no no no no no no no stop stop stop stop stop stop." But surgeons don't mind talking about blood and muscle and great green globs of greasy grimy gopher guts. It's their thing. They like   it. And thank God they do. I'll spare you the parts that had my head spinning. Basically, this is what's going down on Monday September 11th: My surgical oncologist will remove the implant in my right...

It's been a not good week. I've stalled on this post for a couple of days now. I didn't want to write it. I had to let the thoughts swirl around my head for a bit like glitter suspended in a snow globe before they settled into a more decipherable pattern. Also, I needed to be able to type without tears blurring my vision (oy vey). I can do that now, so no more dodging the subject. I got some bad news from my surgical oncologist on Tuesday. After quickly checking on my incision sites he sat with his head down and said, "We need to talk." (up there with "I want a divorce" and "we're out of cheese" as one of the most stressful 4-word sentences in the English language.) WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE NEED TO TALK?! What is there to talk about aside from how I'm winning at this whole mastectomy business and look I can almost raise my arms above my head and could you excuse me for a minute because I'm going to go throw up now, thanks. "I'v...

Remember when you were six, hanging off of the front of the grocery cart and your mom would hiss at you to " STOP STARING at that poor old man! It's rude! That'll happen to your teeth too, buster, if you can't learn to be polite so STOP.   IT. NOW. " I have become the old man in this scenario. What? Oh. Yes! I still have my teeth! Good heavens. What I mean is that, over the last several months, I've become the spectacle that draws kids' eyes in the grocery store. I am the oddity you tell your kids not to gawk at. Believe it or not, this was a hilarious revelation to me. Paul and I laugh about it all the time. Since I'm not super sensitive about being hairless , I find this harmless interaction almost flattering. I am bizarre enough that small children feel compelled to study me further! I have become interesting to kids! It's great because we've all been there - usually as either the flustered mum or the transfixed toddler, of course. But the...

First, I'd like to thank all of the new visitors who've popped by this blog recently. Thank you for your kind words and your encouragement! While my introverted self is ordinarily averse to unexpected house guests ("Behind the sofa. Quick!"), this blog is an exception. " Introverts Unite! " ( CC BY-ND 2.0 ) by  JoeInSouthernCA As Susan Cain (author of Quiet  and co-founder of the Quiet Revolution ) points out: introverts love to communicate via social media. And as my husband points out: my fanaticism for Cain borders on kooky-dooks. I have no defense. She speaks to my soul. Any fellow introverts in the house? Get yourself a copy of  Quiet , please do. Every page will have you fist-pumping in elated self-validation. Since I grumbled about them ad nauseum in my last post, it gives me great pleasure to announce: I am now footloose and drain-free! I've also given the heave-ho to my restrictive, dowdy surgical bra so I can finally resume wearing normal-peop...

Surgery was a smashing success, then. If I were more mobile, I'd be celebrating with some version of a happy dance like these hooligans: To sum things up: They removed ALL traces of cancer (are you  happy dancing, at least?) Mediport was removed through the incision in my left breast. Meaning: one less cut on my already battered torso (woot!) Plastic surgeon was able to go straight to implants, bypassing the expander stage. Meaning: one less surgery down the road (double woot!) According to my surgeons, things look beautiful. According to me, things look...a touch macabre? It is funny (and maybe awkward) how they admire their handiwork. "I have to say, I mean wow. It looks beautiful." Um, thank you? I never know how I'm supposed to respond to this. "Thank you" sounds like I'm taking credit for something that's not intrinsically my own. Plus, it makes things rapey as heck. So I just nod and smile in agreement and say, "I'm happy with them....