C'est la Vie, Stage Four

I used to joke that my hair was my pet.  That's because I had so much, that the amount of time I spent tending to it was easily on a par with what one might spend washing and brushing a small-to-medium sized dog or grooming a medium-to-long haired cat.  About 95% of that hair is gone now, and I haven't come up with a new joke to address its absence.  The closest I've come is referencing the "rat tail" dangling from the various caps I now wear. Before my hair fell out, I had so much that wearing hats was actually a challenge.  It looked odd if I let it fan out from underneath the hat, and stuffing it all in wasn't even an option.  Nevertheless, I owned a few hats that I very occasionally wore, regardless of how silly I looked, and before my hair loss passed the halfway point, I got to enjoy what it felt like to be a typical hat-wearer.  That was a brief upside, and I acknowledged it. Eventually in this process, though, one starts contemplating "chemo cap...

In April, 2016, I plugged my phone into a power strip, on the floor under an elevated desk, to charge.  A while later, when I retrieved my phone, I didn't completely clear the desktop as I backed out and I whacked the back of my skull, hard.  It hurt, and it continued to hurt over the next few weeks, and it only got worse, so I went to Urgent Care for an x-ray.  And yeah, it was like something out of a movie when the tech came into the exam room and told me, "DON'T MOVE."  He had an x-ray in hand and he informed me that my neck was fractured.  He set the x-ray down and said he'd be right back. Of course I looked at the x-ray.  I'd been told not to move, but curious monkey moi cared not for that warning.  I'd been walking around injured for a good while and I figured being careful would be enough at this point.  So, I was careful as I held the x-ray up to the light.  I spotted two pea-sized spots wedged between the vertebrae in my neck. ...

I knew I was taking a chance when I opted for a mastectomy and no follow-up treatment like Tamoxifen.  I did the Oncotype thing, though--had the tumor genetically mapped in order to estimate the chance of recurrence.  The results suggested the chance was low.  I didn't assume that I'd have the mastectomy and that would be the end of it, but I was just 45 then; there were things I wanted to do; and I suspected that if I got on the cancer medication track, side effects might prevent me from doing them. One thing I knew I wanted:  to travel to the Caribbean island of Aruba.  The full-page ads I'd seen for it in  Bon Appetit  probably planted the seed of interest.  I went on my own in April 2011 and thoroughly enjoyed myself.  I'll never forget stretching out on a lounge by the pool on the night I arrived, gazing at the crystal clear stars, feeling relaxed and utterly free of care.   Back at home, after a while, I decided that the breast i...

My story starts in late 2009, when I found a hard, misshapen lump in my left breast that I dismissed as a cyst and then forgot about until I went for my annual exam in February 2010.  That was when I learned that the lump was cancer. I was mildly surprised by this news because there was no history of breast cancer in my family that I knew of.  Also, I was 45 years old and had had several clear mammograms.  I don't think I had one in 2009, though.  Would things be different now if the cancer was caught sooner?  I doubt it. I opted for a mastectomy with reconstruction, the results of which were disappointing.  Years later, tired of the discomfort caused by the implant basically sitting on my left rib cage (I'm thin.) and dismayed by my freakish appearance, I had the implant removed.  I'd resolved that whatever happened, I was not leaving this life with a sac of silicone in my chest. Now I'm mostly flat on the left side.  I prefer it to the implant...