Half Time Remarks: Part 1 of 3

"Half Time" as in "Chemotherapy is over, Radiation ahead" -- and I might just come to think of subsequent surgeries at Over Time.

Part 1 is some bits and pieces:

1. After Half Time remarks, the nature of this blog will be a bit different. I plan to keep the record of the radiation experience, because you're all desperate to know what that's all about, right? But I won't try to post something each day.

The change in the nature of the blog is due to the change in the nature of my little adventure. In the past months, there was a lot going on--medically, physically, spiritually and emotionally. Writing about all of it was a terrific way for me to process all of that while bearing the additional fruit of the record of my experience.

But now, it seems like there's less to process. So there's less to write about. So there'll be less writing.

2. Many of you have sent along various items relating to Mammogate, e.g. that government task force recommendation regarding mammograms and when women should get them AND, in an extra-brilliant addition, whether doctors should teach women about self-exams.

There's nothing I can say about this that you probably have not already said for yourselves.

Except for this, which you might not know about: The American Cancer Society, for their part, notes that under the House health care bill, this task force recommendation would make pre-50 years mammograms a Class C preventative measure, and proposed insurance requirements would cover only Class A and B preventative measures, so officials looking to calm the storm my suggesting that this task force's work is meaningless are being a bit disingenuous.

While Leslie was here, we were in Wal-greens, scouting for a lip liner that had been discontinued--and we found 3 of them in the discount basket! Not sure what Leslie will do after those are used up, but I feel her pain, as Clinique discontinued a lipstick that was the perfect color for me and I've yet--8 years later!--to find another that suits me as well.

There we were, rummaging for lip liner, when a woman said to me, "Do you have breast cancer?"

Well. I was bald and wearing my pink "Chicks Fly" hat that Aunt Jill bought me. And I think it's my age that tips people towards guessing cancer of the breast. . .

"Yes," I told her, "And I recognize you from the Rocky Mountain Cancer Center, right?"

Conversation ensued. It was the day after Mammogate broke open and we soon were talking about it. I registered in just a few seconds: This woman was taking it personally.

So was another women I talked with in the chemo barn the following week. So was my Dad, who brought it up over the phone and got so upset I had to tell him, "OK, take a deep breath. . ."

So do I. I'm mostly annoyed over the comments on self-examination. Granted, I'm one of 0.5% of breast cancer patients--those of us under 40 with no family history of it. If we don't find it ourselves, it will kill us, because mammograms don't start until you're 40 under current recommendations.

And, as one of the 0.5% of breast cancer patients--a statistical blip to a bureaucrat--who is alive today directly because of all the awareness programs and professionals who've made self-examination as commonplace and teeth brushing--I pretty much feel like telling this task force, "Fuck you."

A larger point is that, as 1 in 10 women develop breast cancer, everyone knows someone with it. And therefore, nearly everyone takes this personally, especially the half of the population that both knows someone with breast cancer and who has breasts of her own.

Makes me wonder about the timing of these recommendations, given that the public reaction was entirely predictable. I'd almost say that this whole thing was a plot by the Vast Right Wing Conspiracy to plague Obamacare, except that I don't think there are currently any Republicans with the power and enough cleverness to have engineered it. . .

3. Speaking of Leslie's visit, we had a delightful time. Something about Rounds 5 and 6 were a lot more comfortable than 1-4. I had no GI discomfort at all. The fatigue was a little worse, but my body felt generally better.

So, whereas during Round 3 when Laura was here, I mostly just sat there and watched her cook copious amounts of food for our freezer (which lasted right through to round 6!), I was able to do a bit more with Leslie, and that was fun.

She cooked for us, too. But without the mission of freezing meals for us, she made the kind of meals that require stove top cookware instead of a crock pot and stock pot. All of which is to say that she cooked one meal in my house and then declared that I had to buy new pans.

We were off to the TJ Maxx Home Goods store where she picked out two pans for us, and then she was very happy to use them all week.

She's gone. The pans remain and guess what: It is a delight to cook with terrific cookware! I don't know what it is, but using these pans that are genuinly non-stick and that heat so evenly has changed the very meaning of cooking for me. I love to use them! I look forward to cooking now!

Who knew? Seriously. Who among you knew this and never told me?

4. While Leslie and I sat in the chemo barn awaiting my last neulastin shot (woo hoo!), we chatted with this gal across from us. She had a helper dog with her, and you know how dogs are great for stating conversations.

(Note on the chemo barn: Several patients bring their dogs. I've seen at least 3 little ones and 1 big one and this lady's animal was the only certified helper dog among them.)

She was a beautiful woman. Mid-50's, with a brain tumor that had spread into her neck. She soldiers on.

She learned that Leslie was my sister and then said, "Oh, sisters!" She had to spend 2 months in the hospital to get a stem cell transplant and her sister took a leave of absence from her job in Boston, flew to Denver and stayed in the hospital with her. "There's nothing like a sister," she said.

Leslie and I were both crying.

Very true. There's nothing like a sister.