With all due apologies to Ilene Beckerman.
Yesterday I had my first chemo treatment. This all came as a bit of a surprise. The results from the surgery and pathology were great, but just as I was getting ready to set up for radiation, my oncologist called. It turns out there was a genetic marker that raised a red flag for her, so she wanted to send a sample out for more testing. The test took two weeks to get back. Thank god for my husband and his healthcare, which covered the test. The test came back indicating that there is a double digit chance of distant recurrence in 10 years. Frankly, even small single digit percentages give me hives when you attach them to the words “distant recurrence”, so I told her “Let’s do it. I bought myself an Hermes scarf in case it came back that way.” So there you are. I specifically asked to have the chemo late in the week so any feeling yucky would happen over the weekend. But that meant that I had to wait one more week.
Now, One More Week in cancer-land is one more week of worrying and sleepless nights. I watched my father die of cancer, and I saw my mother-in-law go through hell with chemotherapy for her metastatic breast cancer. I’m normally a very happy person (yes, with an undercurrent of smug snarkiness, but I rein in most of my nasty tendencies). But let me tell you – a total of three weeks waiting to get hooked up to an IV dripping poison into my veins? Hmmm, that sucked, big time. It also sapped my sewing mojo, thus helping to explain my woeful lack of progress on the Chanel Jacket. For Wednesday, the weather people were forecasting the second coming of Snowmaggedon, which threatened to postpone it further. I’ll tell you, I have never had so many sleepless nights in my life.
Fortunately, the snowstorm failed to materialize in Boston and life went along as usual. I slept terribly the night before, and to say that I was a panic sandwich is a gross understatement. Heart racing, blood pressure about 20 points above normal (seriously), I walked into the room and got hooked up. And…
Nothing. No bad feeling, no pain, no nasty side effects. Just 6 hours of me working online, entering fabrics, answering customer emails and catching up on paperwork. That’s it? My god, how far we’ve come from my childhood “Movie of the Week” horror show about how sick people are, and how far we’ve come since my father (18 years ago) and my mother-in-law (10 years ago) were going through this.
I realize that things may change. I have three more sessions to go. Hopefully that will be enough to blast the little bugger out of me for good. Hopefully I’ll feel this way after each session. They warned me that I would probably not sleep well thanks to the steroids, but last night I slept like a log. I’m keeping my fingers crossed and keeping my spirits up.
So, What did I wear?
No pictures on me, sorry. I thought about it, but decided not to. I’ve found that the best way to face something Big and Scary is with utter fabulosity of dress. So I dug through my closet and came up with this:
Is that fabulous or what? Thank you Bill! The timing was impeccable and it was a huge hit with all the nurses! And yes, every girl needs bling when she’s feeling scared.