Gallows Humor
Five days following surgery for breast cancer I was finally able to remove the last of the bandages. I’m convinced the hospital uses super glue to make them stick. Likewise, I was able to scrub the word “yes” from my shoulder. The word was printed there, with purple ink, to indicate the correct body part to be operated upon. I should have left it there. I have to go back for more surgery November 2, 2009.
The reason for the second operation is good. The top edge of the margin, where the tumor was, is only one millimeter. It should be at least two. The surgeon wants to take out more tissue to guard against recurrence of the cancer. I’m calling it my one millimeter operation.
Following this past Monday’s surgery I was a colorful mess: Orange from the antibacterial scrub. The purple word “yes” written on my arm. White bandages. Green, red, and purple bruises around the area of the incisions. I will not miss being a rainbow.
I’m already thinking of the radiation treatment, which I will likely have to undergo in the next few weeks. It is said to shrink the breast by one bra size. Where does one shop for a bra with mismatched halves?
Now for the cliché parade I’ve been seeing in the past few weeks: Hang in there. Keep on keeping on. That which does not kill you makes you stronger. Better safe than sorry. You’re doing great. You’ll be fine. Think positive. Relax.
A sharp-eyed friend noticed I posted a blog this morning, which I’ve taken down. Too serious. I’m more fortunate than so many who have more advanced stages of cancer, and I know it.
Five days following surgery for breast cancer I was finally able to remove the last of the bandages. I’m convinced the hospital uses super glue to make them stick. Likewise, I was able to scrub the word “yes” from my shoulder. The word was printed there, with purple ink, to indicate the correct body part to be operated upon. I should have left it there. I have to go back for more surgery November 2, 2009.
The reason for the second operation is good. The top edge of the margin, where the tumor was, is only one millimeter. It should be at least two. The surgeon wants to take out more tissue to guard against recurrence of the cancer. I’m calling it my one millimeter operation.
Following this past Monday’s surgery I was a colorful mess: Orange from the antibacterial scrub. The purple word “yes” written on my arm. White bandages. Green, red, and purple bruises around the area of the incisions. I will not miss being a rainbow.
I’m already thinking of the radiation treatment, which I will likely have to undergo in the next few weeks. It is said to shrink the breast by one bra size. Where does one shop for a bra with mismatched halves?
Now for the cliché parade I’ve been seeing in the past few weeks: Hang in there. Keep on keeping on. That which does not kill you makes you stronger. Better safe than sorry. You’re doing great. You’ll be fine. Think positive. Relax.
A sharp-eyed friend noticed I posted a blog this morning, which I’ve taken down. Too serious. I’m more fortunate than so many who have more advanced stages of cancer, and I know it.
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