Fighting Breast Cancer

Since coming home from Atlanta, I’ve been feeling like my batteries have been recharged.  I feel pretty good!  Whatever it is, something is going right because I look good and I feel strong (for a cancer patient, that is). 

Dr. N even noticed.  Today I had an appointment with him.  While my parents and I listened, Dr. N made comments about how well my blood counts looked.  He looked over the questionaire that I had filled out before our meeting and noted that, aside from the nasty hot flashes and after-chemo-pain, I have been coping very well with my treatment. 

He then paused and took a step back to get a good look at me, like an artist admiring his painting.  He turned to my parents and told them with pride, “Karen is a fighter.  She’s just like Hillary Swank in that movie ‘Million Dollar Baby.’”

I could tell Dr. N hadn’t seen the movie, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that Hillary Swank’s character spends the last third of the movie trying to kill herself after becoming a quadrapalegic from fighting.  This is because I knew what Dr. N was saying.  I know what he meant.  He was talking about the way Hillary Swank’s character was before the accident. 

With cancer, you have to be a fighter.  In the first part of the movie, Hillary Swank gives everything she has–mind, body and soul–to be a prize fighter.  There is no other way for her.  She stops at nothing.  There is no telling her “no” because she doesn’t accept any “no’s”. 

I have to be this way.  I cannot be accepting when cancer tells me “no”.  Each chemo is another round in the ring with cancer.  Each scan is a sparring match.  I get weary; sometimes I get knocked down.  But, I always get my tired, puffy, bruised body back up and fight some more. 

Muhammad Ali–The Greatest– once said, “Champions are not made in gyms.  Champions are made from something deep inside them–a desire, a dream, a vision.  They have to have last minute stamina, they have to be a little faster, they have to have the skill and the will.  But the Will must be stronger than the Skill.”

I may not be The Greatest, but I do have a strong will.  I know that as a contender, Cancer is a worthy adversary.  But, cancer is not stronger than me.  Cancer is testing my Will, but it will not knock me out of this fight!

Michael and I spent a long weekend visiting Aunt Denise and Uncle Pete at their home in Peach Tree City, Georgia.  We had a really wonderful, relaxing time!

First of all, their home is absolutely gorgeous.  It is in a quaint neighborhood where all the houses are designed to look like homes in New Orleans, with big wrap-around porches.  Their backyard overlooks a lake, and the home is decorated so beautifully yet it is very comfortable (Aunt Denise is an interior designer–her home is really stunning).  The preferred method of travel in Peach Tree City is the golf cart.  In fact they have a series of golf cart paths that connect all the neighborhoods in the city such that you almost never have to drive a car.  There are paths that take you to all of the local shops, the post office, everywhere!

While we were there we ate at a lot of really great restaurants, we went to an improv show, saw the sites and a lot of shopping.  Best of all, we met several of Aunt Denise’s and Uncle Pete’s friends and neighbors.  They were all wonderful, kind people that made us feel welcome in their neighborhood.

Thankfully the flight home was uneventful.  The TSA workers in Georgia were not nearly as concerned about my cathater as they were in Pheonix.  I’m glad because it would have spoiled our perfect weekend.

Michael and I flew to Atlanta, GA at the invitation of Aunt Denise and Uncle Pete.  Since 9/11, we all know that the security situation at the airport has been dreadful.  The lines are long; people are rushed and impatient.  While standing in line at the security check, I was experiencing hot flash after hot flash.  I was dressed in layers for the flight because I get cold in the air.  I was uncomfortable and irritable because I had to keep taking my sweater off as the flashes would come and then put it back on when the cold air would hit my sweaty, puffy body. 

By the time we reached the x-ray machines, I was pissed.  At nothing in particular;  I was just pissed.

There were two TSA workers managing our particular machine.  I removed my shoes and placed them in the bucket that the first TSA worker provided.  I took off my sweater (again) and threw it on top of my shoes.  Finally, I removed my baseball hat and revealed my shiny, bald, sweaty head and placed it on top.  In my t-shirt and skirt I walked through the metal detecter and stood waiting for my things to be x-rayed.

That’s when it happened:  The TSA working on the receiving end of the x-ray machine (I will refer to him as “Jerk Face”) pulled me aside and demanded that I undo the bandage that was covering the picc-line cathater in my arm.  I explained to Jerk Face that I could not uncover the dressing because exposing the site to the air could expose it to infection.  Plus, I didn’t have any spare dressings with me. 

Jerk Face:  “Then you can’t go to your gate.” 

Me: ”Maybe I’m not being clear.  I have cancer.  This is a picc-line cathater.  It’s not anything dangerous.”

Jerk Face:  “Pick line what?  I don’t know what that is.  You could be hiding drugs in there for all I know!”

Just as I was getting ready to summon my supernatural menopausal strength and make this guy pay, the first TSA worker took Jerk Face aside and told him to, “…chill out, Dude.  Can’t you see she’s got cancer?”

Jerk face is lucky.  His friend saved him from one hell of an ass kicking!

I honestly don’t think Michael cares that my mother saw him naked.  Not that he should care….He is, after all, a proud Italian if you know what I mean. 

My mom was extremely embarrassed this morning, but still very giggly about the whole thing.   This will definitely become one of those stories that gets told at family gatherings.  In fact, it will probably be told by Michael, the nudist himself. 

Back when I was 19 years old, I was still living at home with my parents and dating Michael.  He was working as a Pastry Chef at a local upscale bakery and decided one day to stop by my house on his way home from work to drop off some eclairs that he made that day. 

When he arrived, my father was out in the garage working on one of our cars.  He told Michael to go on into the house, and said that I was upstairs in my room.  Meanwhile, my mother was just getting out of the shower as Michael made his way in our house.  Thinking that Michael was my father, my mother stepped out of her bedroom and into the hallway just as Michael reached the top of the stairs. 

Even though my mother was covered with a towel, she still felt exposed and screamed with embarrassment.  While all of this was going on, I was in my room with the music on, practicing my dance moves in the mirror.  Suddenly my door opened and there stood Michael holding a box of eclairs and wearing a strange look on his face.

“I think I just saw your mother naked.”

You may be wondering why I’m telling this story.  This is why:  Last night Michael woke me up in the middle of the night, frantic.  He had woken up because he was very dehydrated and got up to go to the kitchen to get a glass of water.  At the precise moment that he opened the door to our bedroom, my mother was taking this 3am opportunity to use the restroom.  They met in the hallway facing each other.  Michael was completely naked. 

“Augh!  What are you doing?!?” screamed my mother in total shock.  She was actually…uh…accusatory with him, as if he met her in the hallway intentionally.  You know, to shock and terrify her.

“I’m just getting a glass of water!  I live here!”

Michael shut the door, giving up on the glass of water and fell back into bed– humiliated.  This was when he gently shook me awake.

“Karen!  Karen!  Your mother just saw me naked!”

I rolled over and said, “Good.  Now you’re even.”

Even when roused from a deep slumber, I can be quite witty.

I’m feeling a lot better today.  The pain has definitely started to subside.  I’m still achey in my lower back and my knees, but over all there is a big improvement.

I need to go apologize to all the people I snapped at yesterday when I was so miserable.  Severe pain brings out the worst in my personality and I’m ashamed that I was so awful to the people around me. 

For example, yesterday my husband gently put his arm around me to give me a hug.  Even this light touch made my body hurt.  I reacted by telling him not to touch me and I could see that I really hurt his feelings.  I feel so terrible.