On my walk this morning I saw a guy jogging really really slow, like maybe I could even pass him by, so I thought maybe I can jog too. Well maybe I will jog one day but that day is not today. The coconuts rub up against my arms and the jostling just feels majorly stabby. Plus I think I need an ass-bra because there’s waaaaay too much flopping around back there. So, I just kept on trucking with my goofy fast walk.
But seriously, Monday was fill number 13. Unlucky 13, and not because it hurts which it does, but because there is a pea sized bump right below one of my incision scars where the lymph nodes were removed. And right where I got blistered and fried from radiation. The Boob Whisperer said he did NOT think it was a cancer recurrence but it would be irresponsible for him not to tell me to have it checked. I totally get that. He suggested I see my breast surgeon who performed the mastectomy because he has an ultrasound machine in his office. Great idea, except because my insurance policy from last year was cancelled, he is no longer in-network. The policy I have now is the only one I could get that had both my oncologist and The Boob Whisperer in-network, and I figured I probably wouldn’t have to see the breast surgeon again. So now I have to see my PCP, get a referral for an ultrasound, then hope they don’t want to biopsy it because then I’m really going to have some shitty flashbacks of the ultrasound and biopsy that changed my life forever. Recalling that day, these were my immediate thoughts. First, who will take care of Lili? Tomas is a wonderful father but a teenage girl needs her mother, she still calls me Mommy for God’s sake. I have to be there when she has my grand babies. Second, I need Tomas except he’s on a mountain in Nepal for three weeks. Third, what if it spread? Like to my brain? And I lose cognitive function? I had all manner of horrifying scenarios pin-balling through my head.
What I’m thinking now is, I need a fucking drink because that’s what I used to do in stressful situations, drink a glass or six of wine. Can’t do that now because alcohol reduces the efficacy of my tamoxifen (which is an estrogen blocker due to my cancer being estrogen driven). I know some of you are thinking OMG no wine?! I know! I could load up on my Ativan, except I need to be able to drive. To work. Where I actually have to perform work.
So I guess I have to suck it up until I see the doctor next week. In my heart of hearts I don’t believe it’s a recurrence and more likely it’s scar tissue or some other benign thing-but the not knowing SUCKS ASS you guys.