The Return to the Underwire Bra

I realize that my cancer is officially over, what with the last day of radiation and the whole (gigantic!!) Survivor party happening tomorrow, but indulge me one more time. This is perhaps slightly off-topic, but we all deserve a break from cancer, no? For those of you who are sticklers for themes, I offer you this: I can now return to wearing underwire bras (which were banned during radiation treatment). Quinn Cummings book is out and it's titled "Notes from the Underwire: Adventures from my Awkward and Lovely Life." If that's not enough for you theme-obssessed, in the book she has written about a time when she was 14 years old and her mother was undergoing chemotherapy. She goes wig shopping with her mother. There is no Wig Teen in her story, but the results were quite similar to my Hairy Scary Day.

I've just started reading the book and it's hilarious and well-written and supremely entertaining and interesting. Go, buy it. From your local independent bookstore if you are lucky enough to have one (Vroman's sells it online and they have autographed copies--which is what I got; yeah, call me a geek. Whatever). (And I got this far without saying it, but yes, that Quinn Cummings--the little girl from Goodbye Girl, all grown-up and intellectual and have I mentioned funny?). Unfortunately I missed her one public appearance and reading at Vroman's in Pasadena. Luckily for us all however, she is doing a "blog book tour" which is exactly what it sounds like and really pretty smart. Here, read for yourself (questions are mine; answers are hers....really).


1) Now that you've had a live reading book "tour" and your blog tour is well underway, which group of fans do you find to be better dressed?

Oh, the little people who live in my head. They might shout at me and disparage my grammar, but sartorially, they’re flawless.

2) In your book, you discuss dealing with your mother's cancer. Because this is a blog about dealing with breast cancer, I feel compelled to ask a cancer related question. So here goes--what advice would you give to family and friends of someone diagnosed with cancer (or any serious illness for that matter)? (I'm avoiding asking for advice to the person diagnosed--we get so much advice our heads spin and spit).

I think there’s no one answer. You offer the adult one kind of support when their partner is living with and fighting ovarian cancer. You offer the eleven year-old son of the melanoma patient another kind of support entirely. Truthfully, I’m not sure what I would have welcomed at fourteen. I was a prickly kid and I have a cellular horror of anything resembling pity. We’re going to be FINE, get off my BACK, just give me a butter knife and I’ll take the tumor out MYSELF. I can say this without feeling too pompous; you are the person giving support don’t get to decide what form that’s going to take. You might feel like having a good long cry with the family member. They might feel like talking about anything but the cancer. The family of a person fighting cancer gets one thing over which they have control and that’s how they’re going to deal or not deal with it.

3) How do you feel about questions (brilliant, ridiculous, incoherent or otherwise) with a lot of parentheticals (which may or may not be an attempt to avoid commas)?

Since a usual sentence for me would, if written, contain more subclauses than an insurance rider, I’m awed and fearful of people who don’t need my precious parentheses. I’ve actually learned to talk in parentheses.

4) Would you like to take this opportunity to clear up your prior statement that some unknown breed of dog called a Boykin something or other is your favorite breed of dog when actually you meant that "Beagle" (particularly diabolically cute beagles named Seamus that have survived cancer against all odds) is your favorite breed of dog, right after any dog that was rescued from a shelter and given a second chance?

And then there are Beagles and they are very good and brave and only bay when it’s totally necessary. To prove my love for the fair beagle, I will now offer a beagle story; the woman who runs the rescue group where I work has a beagle who comes to work. There he sits most days, overrun by cats; the elders ignore him, the teenagers try to pick fights with him and the kittens use him as a climbing toy. Throughout, his tail never stops thumping (Although it must be noted that he does enjoy sneaking a little kitty food when he can and has been known to sneak a cat-box treat if no appears to be looking). In short, he is the embodiment of the beagle’s good humor, adaptability and style.

5) What are you currently working on writing-wise (besides blog interview questions)?

This is it for right now, because it’s taking about two hours a day and it’s summer time and my daughter is very present and I really ought to parent her.

6) What book do you wish you had written and what book are you glad you didn't write?

I wish I had written “Don’t Get Too Comfortable,” by David Rackoff. I wish I had written “Play it as it Lays,” by Joan Didion. I wish I had written the “Pigs in Heaven” series by Barbara Kingsolver, because she wrote a boyfriend character for the lead I finished the book totally crushed on, and it would have been nice to keep him in my head for the years it took to write them. I won’t say which books I’m glad I didn’t write, because someone out there likes them.

7) Why was this your favorite blog tour stop to date and what could possibly top it?

Well, being able to clarify the terrible beagle misunderstanding brought a lot of peace to my soul.

See, that was worth the digression, wasn't it? Also worth your time is her blog: QCReports.blogspot.com

(If you have a blog and would like to interview Quinn, you can also accomplish this amazing feat. You need only go to her blog to find out how. But you may not ask any dog questions that in anyway defeat the glory of the beagle.)

Seamus and I would both like to thank Quinn for stopping by the blog. And neighbors, he only bays for a reason. Got that??

Too Cool For School

It's Friday night.

My friends' Facebook status's are all about the fantastic food they are preparing for Sunday's Survivor party.

Chris is in the kitchen making BLT sandwiches.

My step-brother Michael flies in from Portland, OR tomorrow morning. My friend Lori arrives from Colorado later in the evening. Jane, Gary and Rich all arrive from the Bay area Sunday morning.

RSVPs to the party have topped 100 and friends are arriving from all over the place.

And this morning Seamus decided to dress himself (yes, he did this himself--by rolling around on top of a pile of laundry) in what shall hence forth be known as a "B*&#h Beater" tank top (Hey!! He's a dog!!! It makes total sense).

I'm a Survivor. And life is good.

That's Gonna Hurt

(Note: this is not for the squeamish--which, ironically, used to be me).

When I saw the doctor on Tuesday for my final exam, I was anxious to take the five "stickers" off my right breast. Cute as those butterflies were, my skin was itchy, and after wearing the stickers for 8 days, well...I just wanted them gone. I wanted all signs of this experience gone (the pretty and perfect surgical scar I can live with, like a badge of courage). So I started to peel off the sticker right there in the doctor's office. And she winced and stopped me. Yeah, the doctor winced. She explained that because the skin had been radiated (read: burned) when I peel the sticker, it may peel the top layer of skin. My thinking was if my breast was going to be bleeding, I wanted a doctor in the room, so I returned to my peeling ways. But she was really wincing and said "No! It's better if you just let them fall off. Get it wet, use lotion, whatever. But just wait." I joked with her saying that apparently she chose radiology because she can't handle the sight of blood. Now I'm thinking she was thinking that I chose law because I can't understand the most basic medical fact (like, say, the texture and weakness of burned skin).

Being perhaps a bit stubborn and way too anxious to be done with this all, I took off 4 of the 5 stickers that night. But the fifth one, the one in the most delicate location, well...it didn't want to give. So I waited. I got it wet. I used lotion (believe me, the whole area needs moisturizing), I got it wet again. Then last night I was able to peel it off.

Perhaps now is a good time to stop and explain these "stickers." They look like kids stickers (the butterfly ones) or are just clear circular dots, not quite an inch wide I'd say. Their purpose was simply to cover the lines drawn on my body ( to line up the lasers) so they didn't wash off. But they're super strength surgical stickers--they stayed on my breast for 8 days without budging, even in the shower. Industrial strength. Okay, now, put one on a piece of, say, raw chicken with the skin on. Then barbecue the chicken. Now, gently, gently, peel off the sticker. Right. You got it. Skinless chicken....breasts!

Shockingly (no, that wasn't already the shocking part) it didn't actually hurt that much. I suppose it's like a sunburn when your skin peels--it sounds way grosser than it feels. But this morning when I got out of the hot shower and saw my right breast in the mirror, well....it looks like it has 3 or 4 little cigarette burns around the scar! Perhaps I should have listened to the doctor.

But this also makes me smile a bit. It's a pretty big sign that I've come a long way. See, as I've mentioned, I'm usually a pretty big wimp when it comes to medical things. Me BC would have left those stickers on until age deflated my breasts and the stickers just floated away or crumbled into dust. There's no way I would have heard "skin peel" and gone anywhere near those stickers. In fact, I probably would have bought new extra padded bras just so nothing disturbed those stickers. Me Post-C? Hell now I'm standing around nearly bald, wearing just underwear, swirling a martini in my left hand and ripping off breast stickers with my right, shouting "what the hell does the doctor know anyway??"

I probably should work on correcting that pendulum swing a little bit, huh?

Dreams of Normalcy, Pearls of Wisdom

So maybe my return to normal is going to take a little while. This was the first morning I was able to sleep in a bit and not have to go to radiation before work. Naturally that meant I tossed and turned all night and was pretty much wide awake at 6:30 in the morning. Still, I managed to have two cups of coffee while getting lost and wasting a lot of time on the internet (lots of interesting and crazy blogs out there, don't you think?).

I finally got moving, got showered, did my hair (I kid, I kid), and used the pretty new make-up that I bought yesterday on my little "spoil me" shopping spree. It looked great--and the eyelash primer and mascara made my lashes long enough to actually be seen. Nice. Until about 2 minutes later. When my eyes started burning. And squirting water. And burning. Did I mention burning? I had to wash my face and splash water into my eyes. Then after I dried my face, my eyes kept jetting water (or acid, I'm still not sure) so I dabbed at my eyes with a tissue. Turns out one of my freshly manicured finger nails snagged and broke somewhere along the line. You know that delicate thin skin under your eyes? Yeah, turns out it's easily snagged by a broken fingernail. And also very sensitive! I'm sure I looked worse today than I have probably throughout radiation. Particularly since my right eye continue to drain and smear the rest of my re-applied make-up (not the new stuff). Nice. I'm no longer Cancer Dork. I'm just Dork. (Note to Stila make-up: turns out "genuine crushed pearls" in eye shadow, while very pretty, is a really, really bad idea.)

On a brighter note though, Chris had a dream last night. He started to tell me about the dream but once he got to the part where I was in the dream, I had a dire need to know something extremely important (or so it seemed). In the dream, did I have blonde hair or was I bald? Or lesbian chic? The whole question fascinated me (Chris was less fascinated). I don't remember any of my own dreams through this so I don't yet know what I look like in dreams.

Apparently, in Chris's dreams, I still have long blonde hair. I think that's good. He doesn't see me any differently now, not even sub-consciously. That's got to be good right? I'm not Cancer Girl in his dreams! I'm not even Radiation girl! I wonder if I'm still a dork?

Graduation Day

Looks like I made it. Graduation day! And there was a final exam (where apparently I was so excited I forgot how one holds a pen):There was a diploma:There was a congratulatory handshake from the Dean/ Doctor (she's the one with the chin; I have no idea where my chin went in this photo; but yes, that's Dr. Hocko and she gets an A for this experience, as does her staff):
There was the returning of the gown:
The tossing of the cap into the air:

And finally there were flowers, courtesy of Barbara Ryan (aka "Gary's Mom"!) and dinner with the family (Chris...and then later Seamus).
With a Ph.D. in Kickin' Cancer's Ass, I think I'm marketable even in this economy.

It feels good. It feels really, really good to graduate.

This time tomorrow

This time tomorrow morning (call it 10ish as I type this) I will be all through with radiation treatments. Which means I will be all through with the big three cancer treatments--slash, poison and burn as Stephanie puts it on Bah! to Cancer. Yeah, I've got follow ups, and tests to be sure the cancer is all gone, and all that, but in my mind, I'm done with being a cancer patient. I'm a former cancer patient. Just like Seamus (you know, the Famous beagle).

I have to admit, I may have a little Stockholm syndrome. One starts to get in the habit of being a "patient." Plus I've met so many great people on this odyssey and have gotten quite use to the wonderfully kind, caring and fun folks who work at Vantage Oncology that I may--may--actually miss it. I have a follow up with them in a month, but that's different. So how weird is that? I may miss my treatment schedule! See what I mean--Stockholm syndrome!! Luckily, I'm returning to UCLA and Dr. Karam next week.

My post-treatment day tomorrow hit a snag. Laureen (something about a bounce house and forgetting that her age is actually different than her children's) went and twisted, tweaked and darn near broke her ankle such that she can't be walking around shopping, can't get a pedicure and basically can't be decadent with me (yeah, that's her ankle...or should I say "cankle"; and yeah, it's worse than my swollen chemo foot). So I opted to cancel our spa reservations (we'll do a raincheck in August, I think). I thought about just going into work and going about my day--after all I have the Survivor party bash on Sunday and that will be more than enough celebration. But then, I think tomorrow I'm going to be pretty excited when I actually finish. Just that moment when I get to say "I made it. I did it!"--it seems like I probably won't want to then just go to my office and draft an eighty page trust for someone. Instead, I'm still having breakfast with my blue gown BFF, and then I'm headed out to get more Survivor t-shirts. After that, I'm giving it one more shot shopping for a party outfit, followed by a manicure/ pedicure (and it's entirely possible STACEY ALDSTADT will be joining me). Then, I'm celebrating with the person who's been through it all with me and been the most fantastic support anyone could ever have in such a situation--Chris and I are going to dinner. There may be champagne. There will be toasts. And cheers. And general happiness.

Let the partying begin!! I'm ready for my life back.

(Yes, the picture is of Chris. And yeah, that's a Strawberry Shortcake hat he's wearing. Oh, you have to go to a Forgotten Grapes wine tasting event to know why. It's not just because it helps to keep that hair under control).

Sunday Sushi

You are in luck. This should be a short post. It's Sunday and I've had the perfect combination of productive and relaxing today. And now Brien and Roryann Clements are coming over with homemade sushi (theirs, not ours...and they're, you know, real chefs). I haven't actually had sushi since the ban went into effect (when chemo started), so I"m kind of excited about this. Thus, in keeping with the productive but relaxing theme I have going, I'm posting to the blog but keeping it somewhat short. After all, the photos sort of speak for themselves.

Breast Cancer As Seen Through the Hair:

January 24, 2009 (the night before surgery):
March 13, 2009 (Head shaved two weeks after first chemo):


Sometime in mid-May after last chemo, before hair started growing back: And finally, July 11, 2009: Making it's way back!!

A few things to note here--if you ask me, I look happier in the last photo then I do in the first three. And I am. That's because I'm all done with this cancer thing (you hear me you little bitch cancer? Done!). Also, the hair is definitely darker. Although, now that it's getting a little daylight exposure I can see that it might very well lighten up. Who cares? It's hair!!

Obviously you will also note the shirt! That is one of the shirts we had designed and made up for the Survivor party and are selling to benefit the new Breast Cancer Resource Center at the Inland Agency here in Riverside, California --and believe me, we need a resource center!! The shirts say "Out-Chemo, Out-Radiate, Out-Live." With the ubiquitous pink ribbon and "Survivor" emblazoned in the middle. There is also a turtle in the ribbon loop (turtle is a symbol for long life--and I happen to like turtles) and the palm trees along the bottom which will make you laugh, as it does me, if you remember this January posting: How Medicine Made me a Hot Babe. (You too can have a shirt--$15 each and available in men's or women's sizes (M to XXL), V-neck and crew neck, white or gray for the men, and white, hot pink or baby pink for the ladies; email me if you want one and you'll have to throw in a few bucks for shipping if I have to mail it to you. Hey, I have medical bills to pay for I can't be supporting the US Post Office too!).

Finally, I've mentioned before that there are cliques and "teams" in this breast cancer brawl and I seem to not ever get it right for the "pink" team, what with my whole refusal to cry, making jokes and continuing to go about my normal life (hence, my cancer Dork status). But occasionally I run into my people and it makes me happy when I do. So check out the blog of another woman who can laugh (and make you laugh) in the face of breast cancer. And given what her face has been through lately...that's saying a lot! (An example--she refers to surgery, chemo and radiation as "Slash, poison and burn" and yep, that about covers what we've been through!) We've been chatting and she also posted on her hair growth today. Meet my new blog friend Stephanie at Bah! to Cancer. (She's British...they talk like that.)

My Fading Super Powers

It's time for the story of my encounter with scarf kryptonite, especially since there seems to be a leak and it's spilling kryptonite everywhere. The day my scarf superpowers-- which previously had caused even the most hardened cynical strangers to reach out to (pathetically obvious) Cancer Girl with free banana cream pie and offers of assistance carrying things and smiles and door holding and all sorts of baffling kind behaviors-- failed me. And it failed me right here in my hometown at a place where I regularly go, where people know my name, where they serve my favorite and yet unpronounceable (and unspell-able) martini!! That's a picture of the scene of the crime. It happened at Ciao Bella. Which, apparently, means "Hello Beautiful Roryann and we can't even see your bald friend right next to you so we'll ignore her entire being" in Italian.

See, Roryann Clements (who, like Chris, is blessed with astoundingly beautiful, abundant hair) and I met for a secret lunch at Ciao Bella in order to plan a little surprise dinner for Chris's birthday (which turned out to be not a surprise at all, because he apparently reads my emails and Facebook page when I leave it up on my computer screen in my private office at work and he stops by unexpectedly and needs to use my computer... but that's an entirely different blog post). We (I'm back to Roryann and I; please try to keep up) were barely seated and had barely ordered our Prosecco when the server, who had walked up to our table from behind me, said "Rory your HAIR looks fabulous! I love your HAIR! That is the best HAIR anyone has ever had! Isn't having beautiful HAIR the best, most feminine, attractive thing in the world??" Or something along those lines. I may be paraphrasing. Naturally Roryannn did not thank her. She and I instead berated the server in stereo with "How can you say that in front of cancer girl and her glaringly bald head?? You insensitive whore!!" (Or something like that; I may be paraphrasing.). And much to our surprise the server left the table in tears and the next thing we knew another server came out and said "I guess I'm your server now. And Rory, your HAIR looks fantastic! I love all the curls and the HAIR color is amazing. And wow, Rory, look how long and luxurious your HAIR is!" We cranked up the stereo and played our favorite tune again.

That server too beat a hasty retreat from our table (but did leave the Prosecco and ice bucket behind). Not too much later the owner of the restaurant came out and said, "Teresa, I love your scarf. That is fantastic!" Which is why she's the owner. And why I was able to continue dining. That and the perfectly chilled bottle of Prosecco.

But the scarf's power is clearly fading. I also had a new client come in the other day and I had forgotten that the last time he was in I was still wearing the red wig. This time I was in a black pencil skirt, white shirt, black high heels, and a black and white and vividly floral head scarf...with dangly earrings. I could see the alarm on his face, so I explained ("Apparently I didn't tell you but I've been dealing with breast cancer this whole year so I lost my hair in chemo, and it's too hot now for wigs, so I've given them up. I'm fine now though, no worries. Have a seat. Can I get you some water? A fan? Prozac? Tequila shots?" I have it down now and can explain my situation in 10 seconds flat without making anybody uncomfortable; I haven't been able to eliminate the surrepitious glances to my breasts however.) And client says back to me "Oh, I just thought it was a costume or something." Wow. Costume. And as I looked at myself later, I had to admit I was an interesting cross between a waiter and a pirate gypsy. I think there's a job at a Vegas hotel somewhere with my name on it. But for the record, we don't normally wear costumes in my law office.

Given that the power of the scarves is fading, it was time to debut the new hair look. Because yes, I have hair. It's probably not quite at the lesbian-chic stage, but it does cover my head now. It's dark, baby fine and appears to be as straight as it ever was, but then it's not long enough to bend, let alone curl. After Chris's Forgotten Grapes wine tasting event at Omakase we went to the Mission Inn with friends JOHN and CARRIE SCHUTZ and John insisted on seeing my head. I think he was hoping I had less hair than he does, but alas, that was not true. But for the first time I was out in public without the scarf. Just me and my nearly lesbian-chic head (the photo is the bar we were in--the bald-ish heads usually seen there belong to old Republican guys). It's certainly a lot more comfortable, and John must have thought so too because he kept rubbing my head (it's kind of irresistible like that; I don't know why. Chris and I rub it all the time too. There's something very tactile about it.)

Today we were cleaning out our garage--because what else do you do on the first free weekend in forever when you finally have energy and time, never mind that it's 90+ degrees out! This did not seem to be an occasion for a scarf or make-up, so I didn't wear either one. None of my neighbors appeared to be frightened. In my next post I'll share the hair look with you too--and I'll be modeling the newly available "Survivor" t-shirt. Because it's almost party time! Ooooh, and Laureen and I booked our shopping/spa day for last-day-of-cancer-treatment Tuesday!! The scarf may be losing its power, but that's okay. I think I'm ready to move on.

(No servers were actually harmed in this story or in real life. All was in good fun. And Ciao Bella is a lovely place to dine. Awesome happy hour also. )

Blue Gowns and BFFs

I'm winding up the radiation treatments. Tuesday was the last of the full radiation and today started the "boob boosts." Chris came with me on Tuesday, since this would be the last chance for him to see the full radiation in action. Thus, we have photos! That's me with my Blue Gown BFF Ms. 9:15 (okay, her name is Melanie). You see how she rocks the cute hats while I stick with the scarves, and there's another semi-regular who has a perfect wig (there's really no way to tell she's wearing a wig it looks so natural) so we cover the spectrum of chemo fashion. And this gives you an idea of the initial part of my radiation mornings--we change into our blue gowns (oh and either the light blue or the dark blue is supposed to be the "large" gown--neither one of us can remember or actually tell which is the large size).

Next up I get called into the room where "The (giant moody) Machine" is. Meet The Machine--that's her on the right. Menacing looking isn't she? Well, she's fighting off cancer, so you'd expect her to be menacing looking.
And speaking of fighting off cancer, here's me assuming the position with the assistance of the world's best radiation therapists (Shirley on the left, Jana on the right):
Normally at this stage my blue gown would be off down to my waist, but that's not really appropriate for a blog. Once I'm positioned like this, they (and Chris in this case) scurry off behind the thick metal door, which I also insisted Chris photograph (that's it on the right, the door swings shut toward Shirley during the radiating of me). I just find this 1,000 lb door kind of amazing.

I described the actual radiation process before (if you've forgotten, just click here: "Radiation Explained" and it will take you there) so I won't go into that again. I'll just point out that today was the first "boost" radiation. Look back up at the photo of the machine. See the extension coming out of the middle of it (kind of looks like a brace) that isn't in the photo where I'm laying on the table? That's for directing the boost to the tumor bed--you know the one that is circled and butterfly stickered at "right breast 10 o'clock." The boost is pretty quick. I was about 10 minutes late this morning and still made it in, out, thru Starbucks and to my office by 9:30. The final four are all that's left. Should be breeze.

I now also have a plan mostly in place for celebrating the end of treatment on (please, please, please, fingers crossed dear machine) on July 14th. First, my Blue Gown BFF and I are going out to breakfast. She'll still have her 5 boosts left to do, but hey, it's worth celebrating how far we've both come. Then LAUREEN PITTMAN and I are taking off for a girl's day--shopping (can I find a dress that doesn't make me look like a pudgy, bald, retired linebacker? Unknown), lunch, shopping and then it's the Brea Glen Ivy day spa for manicures, pedicures and massages. Maybe even facials. Whatever we can get appointments for and fit in in the time we have. Then it's home to celebrate with Chris. And the next morning? I'm sleeping in! No radiation appointment for me!! So close I can almost taste it.

I did think I had a month off before I had more doctors appointments, but that didn't quite work out. I couldn't get appointments with both Dr. Glaspy and Dr. Karam on the same day that was also a day that works for me until late August. Dr. Glaspy's office didn't think I should wait that long. And Dr. Karam is leaving on vacation at the end of July...so, July 23rd it is. I get a whole 8 days off before I have another doctor's appointment. Truth be told, I don't know what's in store for me at those appointments. Do I get a mammogram? Do I get an MRI? I don't know. Maybe they just see me and we schedule those things for later. I just know it's not surgery, it's not chemo and it's not daily radiation. Perspective is a wonderful thing.

When you're voting in the poll over to the right, well...things have changed a little... the August 14th appointment is now July 23rd. But, there may be a mammogram or an MRI in August, I don't really know. So basically that August date will stand for "after the last doctor's appointment before we get to the regular check-up appointments." Makes total sense, right? Good. Now go vote.

[Special Programming note: tomorrow night is Chris's Forgotten Grapes wine tasting event at Omakase and it's sold out!! Hence there may not be a post tomorrow night, but you know what's great about that...you don't really worry about me anymore when I don't post. You see how I'm improving over time? When I return to posting, I will show you the Survivor shirts that have been made and the party planning committee hard at work--because practice partying is hard work.]

Butterflies and Blogs

Twice today the image of butterflies came up. So it seems the butterfly is the image of the day.

First, this morning I returned to radiation after my 3-day hiatus from "The Machine." This is kind of a big week for me--it's my last full week of treatment and after Tuesday I will be down to just the five "boob boosts" which are the quick, targeted radiation to just the incision spot. And do you know how those darling radiation therapists wanted to celebrate with me? Yeah, they wanted to draw on my boob. Like I'm some sort of third grad art project! That's just weird, dontcha think? It's not weird to them. They claim it's required. And get this--I can't wash it off!! So, with the doctor's consent and involvement, they've now marked me with indelible ink circling the target area (Sharpie does not do this justice--and believe me, if it wouldn't get my blog shut down and fined by the morality police, I would be showing you a photo of this). Then, I'm pretty sure just to mock me, they put five little stickers on me--and two of them are butterflies. Oh, and I can't wash these off until radiation is over--8 days from now. Okay, I'm sure these butterflies serve a medical purpose but right now, they are two little creatures clinging to my abused breast and smiling up at me through a permanent felt-tip marker circle. You can't imagine how weird this looks. Hundreds of years from now scientist are going to be describing the weird pagan rituals our culture put breast cancer patients through and 12 year-old medical students who jet-packed to the hospitals will be laughing at this. Probably while looking at a photo of my breast that someone found on a fossil known as a blog on a laptop (which will seem gigantic and slow to them). Who knew that cancer treatment involved felt tip markers and butterfly stickers??? Raise your hand if you knew this!! (Okay, put it down--you're alone at your computer and you're a radiation therapist, Jana!!)

Because I was getting additional body art this morning, I was running late. I actually didn't get out of the radiation place until almost 10 and I had a 10a.m. meeting across town. I raced to it but still arrived late. I run enough meetings myself to know how annoying it is to have to start over or break stride for the tardy participant, so believe me, I was all ready with The Cancer excuse. None needed. They didn't even skip a beat. But the meeting was the beginning of the strategic planning sessions for the Riverside Humane Society Pet Adoption Center. And here's where butterflies came up again. No, not as pets, silly. There was an analogy drawn that our pet adoption center was just ready to come out of its cocoon and blossom into a butterfly (and it is! We have a gorgeous new facility where all the animals stay until a forever home is found for them, and no healthy animal is ever euthanized--which is the way it should be!! But I digress...). The analogy stuck for awhile. And there it was--butterflies right in front of me (okay, and um, lower...maybe lower than they should be) twice in just over an hour. Anybody know what a butterfly symbolizes? (And just a thought here, but if it's eternal damnation, death, or you know, disease, please don't share that information. Think about it, 'kay?)

Later in the day I found myself doing that thing that I'm not supposed to do---checking out other cancer blogs. I'm not even sure how I found myself down that particular rabbit hole, but it had something to do with when a cancer blog appropriately ends. And, um, duh...sometimes they end because the person has died. Why was I not thinking about that???? I wasn't. Because I don't go there. I don't think like that and I haven't been told I need to think like that, but nonetheless every once in awhile I get slapped upside the head with that reality. People die from cancer. I have cancer. Wow. So much for my cancer lite theory! And I realized that perhaps I'm being presumptuous (but let's just call it positive thinking) that my odyssey is coming to an end. Certainly there is the possibility of recurrence, and there are definitely follow up appointments and mammograms and ultrasounds and scans and all that sort of stuff that happens when one has been unceremoniously and rudely attacked by that bitch Cancer. Still, I think getting this far and the fact that there are no signs of the cancer at this point is worth celebrating.

Besides, my radiation therapists and I briefly discussed the power of positive thinking in these situations (they deal with lots of cancer patients of course). I didn't really get when people said that to me in the beginning of all this--how much attitude matters. I just figured there were two choices and I didn't like the other one, so a "good" attitude would have to do (and isn't it funny how a "bad" attitude--of the F**k Cancer variety--can be a good attitude? Discuss amongst yourselves.) I see now though that it's really true. I don't know what lies ahead of me any more or any less than you do, really. Sure, I've got this 15% recurrence statistic hanging over me, but I've also got an 85% chance it doesn't come back. And I do know what I can handle now (more than I thought), and I do know that I didn't allow cancer to rob me of these last seven months of enjoying life with my friends and family or any of the things that are important to me (and yeah, my career is important to me, that's why I kept working...oh, and I like to eat). And it could have done that if I had let it, if I had focused on all that could have gone wrong or all that still might. So I understand what they mean by having the right attitude. It doesn't change my chances, and it doesn't change the future, but I think it made the last seven months easier for me and the people around me.

Wow. That was almost melancholy. Or perky. And I hate both those things!! Note to self: stay away from cancer blogs!! (Oh, wait...that doesn't apply to you, dearest reader).

Tomorrow is my final "full" radiation. Chris is going to go in with me. He's been to every stage of this cancer odyssey with me every step of the way, but I've been going to radiation each morning by myself (it's on my way to work), so it's definitely time for him to come in and meet all these people I keep telling him about and experience the radiation part of this. So in all likelihood, there will be photos soon. Maybe even photos of The Machine! Definitely we'll get some blue gown photos. But I'm not sure if I'll be blogging tomorrow evening--we have the final party planning committee (where we practice partying to make sure it will go well on July 19th1), and my friend GARY BERG is in town, so that's always a party. Hmm...there could be lots of photos for the next blog.