Uncomfortably Numb

I've been seeing some sort of medical professional every weekday for ten days now. At least I got the weekends off.

Friday I had a medi-port put in my chest just under my skin. It provides easy access for infusion of chemo drugs, which starts tomorrow. I will have my son take me to work, and a colleague who is just finishing her regimen will be my "chemo buddy" for my first time. Since Ben has to work, my neighbor Dee is going to babysit me tomorrow evening. (Abe returns from his national meeting on Thursday.)

I realized something yesterday: I haven't been listening to music for the past ten days. I always do in my car and often in my office as well. Each time I think of starting up the iPod, my thought has been "No, not now." It took me a while to figure out why, since music is so important to me.

Music reaches me where nothing else can, even the lame pop stuff. The powerful pieces are especially emotive for me, and that's what is stopping me. Music doesn't give me a feeling, it reflects it. I play what I feel. And I feel numb. There is no music without feeling, and so I cannot play it. It feels wrong. I did try once, but it became background noise and I turned it off.

Perhaps there is a danger in letting myself feel too much right now. I do okay at work and I entertain myself at home. But in the car, when there's nothing to distract me, I cry. It's okay, crying is good for me. But I must be holding back for fear of what may be there.

I have friends who are clamoring to help and have no way to do it from afar. But I thought of a way that anyone with just a little time can be a genuine help to me: make me laugh. No more than once a day—because I'm expecting a lot—write me a funny story about you, find me a link, send me a picture. I love to laugh, and I know it's good for me. Help me find my way back to the music.

Love you guys.

This Arrived In The Mail Today

It's not a cure, but it's close. My mom sent it. She understands.

Positive Prognosis

After a series of appointments with increasingly bad news, I finally got some good news: the cancer has NOT metastasized; that means it has not spread to other parts of my body. That strong breeze you feel is my sigh of relief. What a weight has been lifted! And hope returns.

We are still waiting for the results of the HER2 test, which will determine which of two chemotherapy regimens I will follow. The first session of chemo will be this Monday. Meanwhile, I have to get ready. Today I got an echocardiogram that assured I have a strong heart. Tomorrow I get my teeth cleaned, because apparently it's really a bad idea to do that when your immune system is suppressed. After another biopsy tomorrow, on Friday I will have a mediport put in under my skin near the collarbone to provide an access point for the chemo drugs directly to the bloodstream.

I've been told to expect my hair to fall out about three weeks after the first chemo session. Since they say it's not as traumatic to lose short hair, I'm getting my hair cut very short next week. And now people will start calling me "sir" again. But hair grows back.

Sometime around Christmas I will have a full mastectomy and begin radiation. I may also be continuing a lower dose of chemo.

I have to say this is really quite inconvenient. I have things to do. But I have an army of eager supporters awaiting orders on how they might help. I really don't know yet, but when I need help, I will ask. People have been absolutely amazing. Astonishing grace abounds, waiting to be expressed. Once again, I am its recipient.

Life is good.

Diagnosis And Treatment

I had my MRI on Wednesday, and Abe and I met with my surgeon on Friday. She took us through the steps of Cancer 101 and explained the findings of the tests.

I have a fast-growing type of cancer that has spread to my skin and lymph nodes. At this point the plan is to have me start an aggressive program of chemotherapy followed by a complete mastectomy and radiation. There may be more. She sent me stat to Radiology for a bone scan and CT scan to see if it has spread further. While only the tests can tell us for certain, she used language in our meeting to indicate there is a real possibility of that.

The results of those scans might be with my oncologist when I meet with her Monday morning. I can’t help but notice all the lead times for results are being expedited and I’m being rushed to tests that normally take many days to get appointments and a week or more to get results.

Abe held off leaving for his national meeting, but he left today. He can’t do much here but hold me, and I love being in his arms. But now he’s turning his energy to what he CAN do, and that is his job. If he stays in the top ten nationally, as he has for over two decades, we might have the money to pay for all this. He will be on a plane in minutes if I ask him to be.

Meanwhile, my network of breast cancer survivors is kicking into gear. I’ve never seen anything like it. One survivor owns a day spa nearby, and on Mondays when all the other spas are closed, she opens for women fighting breast cancer and offers all services for free. That’s just a tip of the iceberg. Let me tell you, some women really know how to nurture. They are closing in around me in a warm circle of hope. I have to be honest: I need it.

I’m scared. Maybe Monday’s appointment will help me be less apprehensive about the future. A friend—one of many who are breast cancer survivors—will be with me. She had a double mastectomy a few years ago and is doing fine. She will be able to ask the questions I can’t think of yet. My head is spinning and all I know to do right now is stay busy with my work.

Shit. Pray for me, please.

Diagnosis

Yesterday I learned that I have breast cancer. Apparently having had cancer (melanoma) before does not mean squat in preparing you to hear that word again. After I finished crying and cursing, my thought was “I’m not done!” I have so much to do before I leave this mortal coil; I don’t have time for this.

I’m still in shock. I don’t know enough—does one ever?—about this most common type: invasive ductal carcinoma. I have several friends who have been through it who are helping me choose doctors and know what to expect. The Female Medical Support Network has always been far more informative for me than any doctor, and this time is no different.

This really came out of nowhere. There is no history of it in my family at all, and I can’t think of anything that would make me more at risk than anyone else. It’s just a roll of the dice. I knew something was up when an apparent “infection” did not change over four weeks. The mammogram led to an ultrasound and a biopsy, all within a 2½ hour visit last Thursday. The ultrasound showed three spots that lit up when the doctor scanned for heightened blood flow. I suspect he knew then, but they don’t say anything until the lab results come back.

I will be having an MRI this week and probably surgery next week. I don’t know what sort of follow-up treatment will be required; more tests are in order.

I have told my family and friends, and the response has been wonderful. This may sound odd for anyone who has not experienced it, but I am looking forward to the overwhelming grace which has already begun to surround me. It happened when I had melanoma, and it really helped me deal with my fears. “Cancer” is a frightening word, and, yes, I am scared. While a number of my friends are survivors of breast cancer, three were not.

I will not go gently into that good night. I’m not done. Since this is my reality right now, I will be writing about it. Bear with me, and come along on this roller coaster of a ride.

Overheard: Heaven Scent

Abe and I split a breakfast at Perkin's and hugged in the parking lot to go our separate ways. Abe held me a little longer than usual.

"You smell good."

I don't wear cologne. "I smell like bacon!"

"Oh."

They really need to bottle that stuff.

Heat Wave

Today at 4:00 p.m.

Disaster Averted

Whew! I'm all better now.

Abe was up early and had to move my car so that he could get into his stuff in the garage. He asked me to join him for breakfast at a local restaurant before we went our separate ways. I got into my car and GAH. I was hit with a wall of that awful scent that's showing up in deodorants more and more. Even in this heat (about 90° then), I opened a window and blasted the air conditioner.

When we met at the table in the restaurant, I took his hands across the table and looked gently into his eyes.

"You must never ever again wear that deodorant you have on."

He blinked. "Why?"

I reminded him about the last time I was enveloped in that odor. I do not want to be catching that vile smell in my house OR my car. He said he could barely smell it, but he promised me he would throw it away.

Luckily, he wasn't in my car for long, and the scent is almost gone this afternoon. Dodged that bullet.

UPDATE! DEFCON FOUR! It wasn't him! I have a car from the dealership as they try for the FIFTH time to fix a leaky gasket in the convertible roof. It is the same car I had at the end of May. The odor is still there, and it had transferred to our clothes! Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh! It is back to haunt me! Truly, this stuff is a weapon. It seems to dissipate during the day when air is moving through, but I'll bet it's back this morning. Kill me now.

Blogger Confirmation: This is Me...Online

I had the great pleasure of meeting fellow blogger "This Is Me...Online" this past Tuesday. She was up from Arkansas to visit family very briefly and took some precious time from her tight schedule to see me. We met at the downtown mall so that three young teens she had in tow could have something to do while we talked.

We could easily have gone on for hours. "Meo," as I like to call her, and I have a lot in common—except she's sweet. She has stunning blue eyes and an easy smile. We laughed and chatted and wished Rox could have been there with us. (Road trip!) We had barely begun when the time whizzed by and she had to take her crew to the Children's Museum. I give them credit: they were very patient.

Meo is number 17 on my list of Internet friends made personal with face-to-face visits. This is a lot of fun. Who's next?

Cultural Imperatives: Gay Authors

I have been asking my gay friends to name “must reads” for anyone who wants to understand the modern gay world. I have read dozens of books, but now I’m getting into gay history with such authors as Edmund White, Andrew Holleran, Justin Spring, Armistead Maupin, and most recently Paul Monette.

Monette wrote Becoming A Man: Half A Life Story, a memoir of boyhood growing into a man who finally finds love. The journey to that love takes the entire book; only the final few pages give us any hope for Paul. It is a story of internal struggle and external posturing, trying to be what the world wants him to be. It is only when Monette realizes the fallacy of such expectations that he becomes capable of the love he so desperately wants. It is a familiar theme.

I’m finding so far that many gay men my age have a dark view of men. They lived through a terrible childhood, being told by the world in those innocent and tender years that they are at best “intrinsically disordered.” Ushered into a new era, they celebrated the years between 1969 and 1981 (Stonewall to HIV), which became a brief nirvana that crashed around them with countless funerals and bitter memories of lost hope. I wonder at any gay man’s ability to live through all of that and survive healthy and whole.

Monette’s memoir is bleak. Is it a template for most men of his era? I continue to read (currently a collection from the Violet Quill) and learn. If you have a recommendation for me, by all means let’s hear it.