One down... only 23 to go!

Last week was "ICK" week...

Monday.  Accomplish in one day what normally takes two in order to take the rest of the week off for Ick.  Medical bills wait for no man so keep on plugging along.

Tuesday.  After filling out five pages of medical forms, I had my suspiciously sensitive tooth checked out to see if a toothache was lying in wait to attack as soon as my immune system was on the fritz.  It was and it would have.    Said tooth had previously been given the luxury treatment.  It already sported a lovely... expensive... porcelain crown... one of many in my mouth.  I am the queen of dentistry.  So I spent three nerve shattering hours with my mouth propped open, trying not to suffocate under the purple rubber dam, while the dentist drilled and chipped and yanked away at the lovely crown.  I was supplied with a set of headphones and a romantic comedy to watch, but the zizzing of the drill obliterated the sound track so I still have no idea why the ditzy blond possessed 27 bridesmaid dresses.

Wednesday.  Oh goody... port-a-cath day.  Reams of forms, lovely hospital garb, four stabs to find the elusive diving vein, anesthesia, zonk!  A drill of another kind... through skin.  Ouch.  Give me ice. More Percoset pills, please.

Thursday.  Today was the initial foray into the intricacies of plastic surgery.  More forms.  Why can't they just laminate your medical history and scan it like a debit card?  I'd read up on reconstruction procedures ahead of time so I thought I was prepared.  I was... until the surgeon explained reconstructing two breasts also takes twice the time as one... 10-12 hours!  This is major MAJOR surgery which will take major MAJOR recovery time.  Oh dear.  It took just two hours to have the girls taken off and about 5 weeks to not feel like a pincushion anymore.  I understand why women don't have reconstruction.  The body can take just so much.  My brain will have to wrap around this for a while.  I think I will eventually have reconstruction.  I hate the cold, clammy silicon "outplants" that shift and weigh my shoulders down.  (However, they might be good to stick in the freezer and then wear them out gardening in the summer heat!)  I want cancer to be behind me... to get back some normalcy in my life... to live the life of the lucky sister.  This is for me, but it's also for Barbara, Bonnie and Brenna.  They didn't have a chance for normal.

Friday.  The dreaded chemo day.  My oncologist assured me I'd chosen the easiest regimen, but I still tossed and turned the night before.  Visions of my sisters kept popping up and it made me sad.  They suffered so much all those years ago.  When the hour finally came I was strangely calm.  I knew there were a lot of people praying for me because that calm certainly didn't come from within me.  It was a full house in the chemo department with nurses dashing from one beeping machine to the next so it took two hours instead of one.  Hubby sat with me reading his book as the anti-nausea medication dripped into my very tender port.  Two quick pushes of  Methotrexate and 5FU and I was done!  Okay... this was too easy.  No barfing, no chills, no dragging tail.  Of course there may be some cumulative effects as treatments pile on top of treatments, but #1 was a piece of cake.  I take Cytoxan pills at home every day and come back every Friday for 23 more weeks...161 days...until March 20, 2009 (but who's counting).  It seems like a loooong time from this end.