Venting (well, okay, whining)
Kathy Pascoe
together in a sentence.
I have breast cancer (found out in late July). To the extent there is
such a thing, I have the good kind, ductal only, no invasion of the
surrounding tissue. The long term survival rates approach 100%, so it's
not likely to kill me, nor is it likely to come back (less than 5% recur
with invasive cancers). So it's pretty much a hiccup in what should
otherwise be a generally long, healthy life.
But, ya know, when after my second surgery my breast started swelling to
something like a G or H cup because I had an infection, and then the
stitches burst, I started to be a little less comfortable with the whole
situation. Three weeks off work doing wound care (packing gauze in so
the outside doesn't close before the inside heals) has been surreal.
If you ever need to really know if your SO loves you[1], try enrolling
him or her in the process. He willingly pokes gauze in an unexpected
body cavity twice a day while still proving to me he thinks I'm
beautiful.
So why am I complaining? The hole in my breast appears to be closing
down, perpendicular to the incision line. Yes, I'm going to have 'X'
marks the spot on my boob where the cancer was[2]. As if the incision
line and lost tissue (the right is about a cup size smaller than the
left now) hadn't been enough to really make me feel sexy. Dammit.
Haven't thought about radiation yet (about a month away, while this
heals). Reeeeeally hoping I don't have any more unexpected surprises.
[1] As if him uprooting his life and moving from another state to be
with me before surgery hadn't been enough. Duh.
[2] From the silver lining school, I suppose there are some advantages
for the technicians never being confused about which side to irradiate.
Oy.
--
Kathy Pascoe ~ ka...@scconsult.com (at home)