This week started on a high of good news about my arm. We are now going forward with tests as we prepare for treatment.  I’m not generally comfortable with short term schedules.  We are in a routine of finding out at the end of one week what the next week will bring.  As a planner, this is well outside my comfort zone for anything that isn’t tourism.  

I think of this week as Prep Week.  First there was the lost weekend – 4 days and 3 nights in Las Vegas with Kathy and my sisters. It was fun and relaxing and perfect timing after having just found out that the mass in my arm is more of a freckle than it is a mass. Nothing more to see there.  So I finally exhaled and relaxed a bit.  We saw the Hoover Dam, Red Rock Canyon, some crazy on Freemont Street, and played a few games.  On the 3rd day, I was playing Blackjack. Not winning, but not losing either, and I suddenly thought, “oh, yeah, I have cancer.”  I had forgotten for a couple hours. It was a relief to know I could forget, and I hope that with practice I can do that a little more.  I’m not sure blackjack is the way to go for forgetting — too expensive — but I have a pile of puzzles to help me out.

Mid-week the testing resumed. Wednesday an echocardiogram and a bone scan. Both easy tests. The echo is interesting — you get to see and hear your heart on a monitor via an ultrasound. Neat!  The nurse was very kind to entertain my curiosity and explained what we were looking at throughout the process.  I can’t stop thinking about the nurse.

When she asked me what kind of cancer I had, I told her.  Her face fell.  She got sad. She said, “I’m so sorry,” and had a look on her face like my name had just been drawn as Tribute for the Hunger Games.  That was a first for me. And it’s made me a bit sad, and a bit mad since.  I consoled her. “It’s okay. It’s localized. I’m going for cure. I feel fine, so we can attack this.”  I consoled her.  sigh  Ultimately, she confessed that her own husband is very ill with a life-threatening situation, so I can see how she so easily fell to depressing place.  I’m more accustomed to the response of my surgeon, who is genuinely pissed off about the diagnosis, and definitely more accustomed to the positive support of everyone around me.  It helps. It helps so much that I struggle for words. It means that I often can’t even respond to an email or note; I’m just overwhelmed, in a good way, every day.

Today is Thursday. Port Placement.  To receive chemotherapy via an IV, they often use a port catheter. Basically, they connect, under the skin, a tube to a vein. The tube has a larger end that sits just under the skin so it can be used for access via needle. This means my veins will not have to endure vein hunting sessions, which generally result in bruising. Remember in Steele Magnolias when Truvy sees Shelby’s arms, “it looks like you’ve been driving nails up your arms!”  Not that bad, but bruised.  The port will help to make chemotherapy easier. In the meantime, I’m a little ticked off about it.  

They put a THING inside me!  I suppose it’s time to point this out:  I’m not always brave or happy or positive about all this.  Today I’m a little aggravated with one too many small bruises. They are, truly, all small now. I’m just tired of them, and I’d give anything to sleep comfortably without something aching. This is all the result of tests and procedures meant to help me.  I’m logical. I know they are all worth it, but there are times when… ARGH!  I did not volunteer as Tribute.  No one wants to be in this book.  I’d rather be in a travel book. Maybe I can get a role in a Rick Steves guide?