Friday, March 4, 2011
Today I had my radiation simulation appointment. It wasn't too bad. The tat's hurt. But not as much as I had anticipated. No - this does not mean I'm ready for a real tattoo. The three I got today, maybe took a 1/2 second each, but I'm not ready to face a needle for the length of time it would take to put a tattoo on my ankle. (Unless I can be totally knocked out first. Which of course means I have not totally ruled out a tattoo sometime in my future.)
I'm always looking for ways to deal with my needle phobia. Mostly, I just try to think of something else while getting stuck. The room I was in had a beautiful picture of a mountain - I don't think it was Pike's Peak, (I'm committed to getting the perfect photo of Pike's Peak), but it was a nice picture. And I spent some time wondering how I could get a similar shot. That didn't last long. So I had to search for something else to occupy my mind.
And this is what my poor, overstressed, pathetic mind chose to occupy itself with: I found myself counting how many men I have exposed my breasts to since that fateful mammogram back in October of 2010. They say that pregnancy cures you of your inhibitions as it does not allow room for being shy or being embarrassed about exposing yourself. Well, I can tell you a breast cancer diagnosis can do the same thing.
Since October I have exposed my breasts to 10 different men, maybe more as I do not know who saw them during surgery. I seem to remember before the diagnosis that a female nurse was always in the room for these sort of exams, but that hasn't been the case since October. I'm a very shy and modest person, so this is a strange feeling for me. I do it because it's necessary, but when my mind actually has time to think about it, it does find it a little embarrassing. But it's necessary. Cancer does not allow time for modesty. At least I'm no longer worried about the cantaloupe/grapefruit scenario. Though, the radiation tech did tell me I still have a ceratoma. (I'm not sure about the spelling.) It's a pocket of fluid, similar to a bruise - if I understand it correctly. However, I am vain enough to worry about what gravity has done to me (that and the weight loss). And I do often panic for a moment wondering if I remembered to shave my armpits. It's America after all and not a European country.
There's nothing like a medical procedure to shatter your preconceptions.
Let's hope that after a Frightful Friday - which was the end of a week that began with a Miserable Monday, tomorrow will be a Soothing Saturday. (Forgive me. We've been celebrating Dr. Seuss this week in the library.)