Oh Be Hive.

The hives are back. And a horrible, horrible thought is creeping into my brain. It may be wine that triggers them. AAAAAAGGGHHHHHHH!!!! It also could be the wigs. And wouldn't that be ironic? But believe me, I'd rather give up the wigs than the wine. If it's the wine...expect a lot of martini talk on the blog soon.

All I know at this point is that after a perfectly nice weekend (I don't wear the wigs on the weekends and only had one glass of wine) feeling really good and getting two great nights of sleep, Monday was not so good. I didn't sleep as well Sunday night and thus was pretty tired Monday. Plus I wore the red wig and it irritated me like crazy (my little trick of trying to dry it post-wash in a way that kept the hair out of my face completely backfired; it's like I dried it especially so the synthetic hairs would seek out my eyes and nostrils and occasionally my mouth.) Then we had the wine tasting Monday night. I've been allergic to red wine for awhile, so I wasn't so foolish as to drink that. I sipped on a couple of different white wines. The day resulted in a night of restless sleep and a morning of red bumps and welt looking things all over the place again. Including on my face! Which is lovely. It's mostly the lower half of my face--my jawline and around my mouth. Yes, pleasant. And attractive. Let's not forget attractive. That's kind of my thing these days.

I calamined myself up (and yeh, that's totally a verb now), piled on the foundation, took a Benadryl and went to work anyway (blond wig with scarf as headband). After all, my blood was required again today at Quest. Another nice experience. I'm telling ya, no one knows of this lab. I wonder how they stay in business?? I walked in, handed them my paperwork, signed, and within two minutes was having my blood drawn. And the woman didn't even flinch at the red spots all up and down my arm. I am however half-expecting that these blood test results are going to show that I'm part alien.

I lasted at work until 4:30. Then I came home and took a two hour nap. Zonked out. Chris made me a very nice omelette for dinner (the only thing that sounded good to me), but now, of course, I have the elephant on my chest indigestion. Basically, just when I thought I was in the smooth sailing part post chemo 2 and pre-chemo 3, I get a day like this. Chemo is really a tricky little bastard. Sneaking up on me all the time. Relentless. And a bit heartless wouldn't you say? So right, I can hardly wait for round 3. I was told by both oncologists that the effects of the chemo would not be cumulative. Really?? Huh. Color me skeptical. And red.

Today I also talked with another patient of Dr. Karam's. She's been recently diagnosed and he put us in touch (she, wisely, asked to speak to another of his patients and I said he could give her my cell number; and she's been to the blog). I don't think I was very helpful though. Oddly, given that I've been blogging for a few months about this now, I don't think I'd ever really focused on what I'd say to someone (god forbid I give advice!!) who'd been recently diagnosed. After all, this blog is shamelessly self-absorbed and all about me. But of course, after I hung up the phone I thought of a million things I wish somebody had told me that I could have told her. I think the most useful thing I told her was that no one had told me I had to stop drinking wine, since "my" cancer is not hormone receptive (remember my 0 score?). Hers isn't either, so she was ecstatic with this news. And wisely wants it verified (Dr. Karam--you'll need to step in here! I'm not one to give medical advice--I'm like an oncologist in that regard). Anyway, when I feel better (and oddly, that will probably be this weekend...when I get the steroid high with the chemo), I think I may just have to do a list of things I'd say to a newly diagnosed breast cancer patient. Maybe. But she's in good hands for now. She's got the perfect surgeon. Maybe I should have just told her not to read the blog post about my trip to nuclear medicine on surgery day? No, then again, she should read it so awful masochist Larry does not scare her too. Oh, and I should have warned her about those very scary palm trees on the computer monitors. See? I can't even be helpful, let along inspirational!! I'll work on that. Just as soon as I'm done scratching my face off. Oh, and after my Benadryl coma.

Proper Care and Feeding of A Cancer Patient

(The above is one of Cancer Vixen's cartoons. Did I mention I just adore her?)

I mentioned I went to the Mayor's State of the City Address on Thursday. My first public foray post-diagnosis. From this small, but extremely scientific survey, I can tell you there are five basic responses a person has to encountering someone who has been diagnosed with breast cancer, to wit:

1) Person assumes serious, even pained, facial expression, grabs "cancer person" by hand and winces in a barely audible voice, "I've heard about your situation/diagnosis/ illness" (you can pick euphemism; I'll just tell you--no one can utter the word "cancer"). "I'm soooooooooooooooooo sorry. Are you okay?" Then cocks his or her head to the side and continues peering at "cancer person" as if she is dying on the spot.

2) Person assumes stoic face, says "Hi. How are you?" to cancer person while glancing furtively at cancerous breast but refraining from in anyway outwardly acknowledging that they've "heard."

3) Person rushes over to cancer person, hugs, smiles, or just generally effuses and says "Oh my god, I read your blog. It's so great that you are keeping your sense of humor." Or "I heard. You look great and you seem to be handling this well" and frequently there's the "If there is anything at all I can do, please let me know."

4) Person rushes up to "cancer person" and immediately begins a barrage of things "cancer person" must know, people that must be contacted, information that must be gathered, doctors names, other "cancer people" that must be talked to, and 614 stories of people who have survived; this frequently includes graphic descriptions of things that cancer person may have to endure but is in no mood to contemplate at the moment.

5) Person sees "cancer person," and perhaps even makes eye contact, looks horrified, glances away and then runs away or quickly begins a conversation with the stranger next to him or her, while still glancing repeatedly in the direction of "cancer breast." (I will allow for my paranoia causing this feeling--but some people are just remarkably obvious in their inability to "deal.")

Guess which response is my favorite? That would be #3. I think that if you know someone who has been diagnosed with cancer, and particularly breast cancer, there's a few things you should keep in mind. Early on, the person feels fine. I can't tell, physically, that I have a disease right now. Other than the yellow-green fading bruise from the biopsy, physically I feel fine. So why wouldn't I continue on with my normal life? The other thing is, I'm still the same person. Post-diagnosis I don't think a person is going to suddenly be a different person. I deal with things with humor, mostly dark humor. I will continue that as long as I can because I don't like the other options. So when you encounter a "cancer person" if you know this person at all-- treat her the same way you normally would! If she is an extremely private person, then probably you wait for her to bring it up or you discreetly say something. In my case, I showed up in a room full of a thousand people in a tight black t-shirt with a pink stiletto and the words "Pink Heals" on my chest. It's gonna be okay to say something to me. For those who may in the future be in categories 1, 2, 4 or 5 above, a few comments:

1) This response most frequently actually comes from men. I understand--men want to fix things and solve problems and this is not one that most men can fix (Dr. Good Karma can however!). But the response is awkward at best. Again, I still feel fine. And it makes me feel like I have to comfort YOU and assure YOU that everything will be alright. And hey, this is about ME!! ;-)

2) You're kidding when you look at my breast, right? Are you expecting to see something bursting Alien-like from my chest? We caught it early; there will be no bursting forth. And for me, I'd prefer "so I heard you've had some bad news lately' or something that at least opens the door for me to say "yes" or change the subject or do something other than think "wow, this Person is really uncomfortable right now; I wonder what I did?" Eventually I began to say "So I assume you heard?" Every once and awhile though I was wrong--the person hadn't heard! So I am paranoid! But, I can't tell you apart (those who've heard and therefore are uncomfortable and those who haven't heard but apparently are uncomfortable with me in general!) so speak up (just not wincing and crying when you do so).

4) Um, wow. I can't carry that kind of information in my head. And while I know you mean well, every woman's situation is different and I'm really, really squeamish so lots of the details need to be left out. I'll deal with it when I have to. It's better if you write something down or just say "I know of a good doctor/ someone who's recently been through this/ a great website" etc... followed by "would you like me to SEND you the information?" Much, much better. Because then "cancer person" (who has very little control over the disease she is recently battling) can at least maintain control over information and decisions. And the information is available when it's needed. I can't tell you how many post-it notes and scraps of paper I have stuck in my purse currently. I can barely keep track of the number of doctor's appointments, restrictions, instructions, tests, results, etc. that I currently have, let alone things I may encounter in a few months time. (And as for the survivor stories...right. The ones who don't survive don't seem to be telling their stories!)

And you response #5 people: Well, you clearly don't know me well. So let me just say, you can't catch cancer.

In general, I'd say this: I have cancer. Cancer doesn't have me. I'm still me. If people can keep that in mind, we'll all do just fine.