Chemotherapy

Seems like such a simple word. Only a couple syllables long. Then you might notice: weeeell it has the word therapy thrown in there, it can't be thaaat hard, and it's pretty easy to say, oh and it even has a short nickname so if you are feeling tired that day and don't want to use the whole word you can just say....chemo. Easy right?

When I think of chemo (and I force myself to) what runs through MY head is one singular thing, not a plethora of things. Just one thing. And for a few minutes you get the idea that indeed sounds simple enough.

What a simple, couple syllables, sounding like only one thing you have to do DECEPTIVE word. It's a charade of all charades.

To even get to the chemo part, which I refer to as "the cocktail" because I need to have myself walk down some path of disillusion in all this stark harsh lighting soon you gonna be a baldie take your shirt off constantly reality, there is lots of prep work to do before. Besides the visits with my oncologist to be sure I'm strong and healed up I visit a cardiologist for an echocardiogram. It's to get a baseline of my heart. Then back to the hospital for an IV port placement procedure. Member? Going in right next to my ticker. 

Because the skin getting healed up, closed up part seems to be moving along from what recent doctor visits tell me it is important to keep it moving. Next??!! I call out in the imaginary waiting room of all the pending items that runs through my head. Next was the visit to my cardiologist for the echocardiogram. Done. I check that off on my imaginary clipboard I'm holding while I yell out again: neeexxxttt. 

Ah yes, port placement. What that really means is this. I go back to the hospital (please know I constantly refrain from saying scene of the crime as I AM prone to use dramatic words) and get to stay for half a day. I'm put to sleep while they open me up a teeny bit and place something up on the left side of my chest for my chemo treatments. The chemo I will get won't be administered by IV in the arm. Couple of reasons: I have to go too many times. When you have lymph nodes removed you don't want that arm getting poked/prodded too much to avoid lymphodema. That ain't fun. It's permanent. So no blood pressure, taking blood and def no IV on the left side. Like forever. The chemo cocktail I'll get can cause tissue damage if the "special cocktail" drips out of my IV. See? I pay attention sometimes. So they use a port. My port procedure was put off and off due to skin not being closed all the way. All clear and ready for take off time. It's happening Tuesday the 21st. Neeeexxt?

The next "prep yoself before you wreck yoself" item is you go back to school. In a way. Except in the school I went to while growing up when they told me things like Lincoln freed the slaves or Washington was the first president it didn't make my mouth drop open in surprise and then flies gathered around.

Because when you are gonna get the chemo cocktail you need to attend what they call "chemo class" and it's there they drop some info on you that has your head spinning, your mouth opens and you start to drool which makes them stop teaching class occasionally and say "what, you're making that face again, what's the matter"?  I didn't realize I was doing that face so I just said "oh me? Neh, just ignore me. New stitches and am trying not to curse out loud due to nerve pain so I can listen". Which was true at the time but that's not why I was making a confused or overwhelmed face.

A friend of mine who calls every week or so to get the live updates says "what's that mean" when I tell her I have to go to chemo class. I tell her "oh, I don't know. Maybe they are gonna tell me how to look good throwing up or something." She says "Oh wow really?" NOooooooo-that's my 14 year old immature brain processing it and then spitting it out in a dry monotone voice. Like hell if I know what they are going to tell me. Well I sure do now.

While there was talk about throwing up, how to feel good and look your best there was also A TON of other information. Overwhelming important stuff. And lots and lots of prescriptions with simple to read (allegedly) instructions on what to take when. Boy was I glad 3 other people were there listening too. At least I think they were listening.

Oh my, Stan! Stan! Shes talking about the chemo again and she always says really bad cuss words when she does- I imagine you say to yourself in that high sweet voice while clutching your hand to your chest.

Oh calm down now, no one is going to drop eff bombs, however I do reserve the right. Rough road ahead I'm told. Besides the shocking reason I needed the port and the shocking disappointing amount of other drugs I have to take both before and after each chemotherapy infusion there are just lots of things that can happen. 

Oncologist Nurse:  Are you easily prone to nausea?

Me (stammering):   Uh, does dry heaving if Im forced to go to Walmart or gagging if I see someone wear jean capris with socks AND sneakers count? Seriously, no one should try that look ever. I'm doing you a favor telling you that.

Oncologist nurse:   So basically you're saying you are easily prone to nausea.

Me in quiet voice:   Um yea, yup, basically (I don't want to come off as too smart in these meetings, they might expect me to help out or something).

Oncologist nurse:    Ok, here's what you need to do. 

And then she lists like 25 things. I only stopped her a few times to ask if this was all written down somewhere. She says it sure is, don't worry we will repeat it and are here to help you throughout. She sends me home with a thick folder. 

Neeexxxttt? These days in between my doctor visits, I'm doing my after school homework and studying. Only it feels like some sort of bizarre detention from a class that has strange titles. How to get rid of constipation. Here a handy recipe for that. What to do if you throw up more than twice. How to deal with the metallic taste you will have. How to prevent or treat mouth sores (no lie folks). Don't buy that stuff that makes your eyelashes grow during chemo, wait until after. Note: that was when I found out I was going to lose my eyelashes, maybe my eyebrows and THAT caused my mouth to drop open in shock. I'm sure I made "that face".

Oh yes, there's homework and information for the people around me too. How to wash your hands to prevent the spread of infections. Don't bring smelly things around the "chemo patient." (I like those topics.) Be sure the chemo patient doesn't have more than two loose bowel movements without calling the office. Really. I'll be talking about that?? Out loud. With someone? I def want those conversations happening. How about don't let the chemo person sleep all day without drinking water or they could wind up in the hospital with severe dehydration. 

I have a strong feeling and suspect I wasn't the only one in the room with a shocked open mouth and flies gathering round. 

The author Paulo Coehlo tells us

"When your legs are tired, walk with your heart." in his book- Manuscript found in Accra.

Amazing simple words from one of my favorite authors. "She always says that" you say. I know-I know! I could say this about 15 or 20 authors if pressed. It's words, remember? I love them. Especially ones that inspire me and move me. Or make me cry and scream with laughter. I could fill entire pages on my blog about him or quote him everyday if I didn't know a few things. First thing I know is in MY blog the words mostly need to come from my own heart and from the road I have traveled. Second because I believe everyone needs to discover good words and people like Paolo Coelho on their own terms in their own way. It's my hope that you do.

This phrase I share with you I happened to come across this morning while drinking my coffee in my sun filled and surprisingly chilly kitchen (Surprising? I live in arizona remember?). It stopped me dead in my tracks today. It struck me so that I read it over and over. For many reasons. I understand these words. I mean I reeaaaallllyy understand them.

Yes. My legs are real tired lately. All this forced lying around after surgeries and procedures got them that way. EFF U cancer. So my legs are weaker now. My legs that have carried me through so much. That helped me walk right over some high drama like it ain't nobody's business. My legs would do that quick -oh my, I think see some crazy ass stuff getting ready to go down- and walked me right out of it doing that quick walk half jog using your arms. But not lately. I often wonder what is the reason behind the reason I have been made to be so still lately. Who knows. I haven't figured it out. And I sure don't try to. It's important to not let that kinda stuff run too long in my head. You know what stuff I'm talking about. In case you don't I'll say it here. I don't care for vagueness too much (except for when it comes to my age then I'm all about that shit). The kind of questions that cause you to wonder what is it you did so terribly bad in your life that got you to where you are. Well it's nonsense baloney thinking and doesn't deserve space in my head now. So I don't go there. Well maybe for 3 seconds. Then I get distracted with something interesting my dog is doing or a funny email a good friend sent me.

So in all reality I HAVE been using my heart to help me walk. My strong heart loaded with conviction and faith. It's my heart that knows quite a bit how to handle adversity and it's my heart that's rooted in good thoughts about myself and others. And my mind. My steady focused mind that has helped me to not run screaming through halls saying awful non sensical things peppered with lots and lots of bad words. It's not like I haven't thought about it. The silly and outright irreverent thoughts that run through my mind as I go from doctor office to doctor office have kept me rooted in sanity. Mostly. I do say mostly because of my past blog entry about throwing baking products. That wasn't my most sane lucid moment. Wheeeeew aren't we glad that's not happening on the daily. It's not a question. It's a fact. We are glad.

It's the hearts of others that has carried me. The amazing and plentiful love of my family.  The love and spirit of kind friends. And strangers. People I didn't even know until now. It's their hearts and love that has carried me when I simply could not stand much less walk. Their uplifting spirit, jokes, cards, words and love has downright snapped me out of ---oooohhhhh I wanna go sit in the I'll feel sorry for myself constantly corner. 

You see I need to declare this now. It's a reminder to me and a powerful one. For the reason we have only begun to walk on the cancer is a cray cray punk azz that will weaken you till you are down on your knees road. It will if I let it. So I don't. And I won't.

I have my chemotherapy dates now. It's seems this last little skin burning more stitches procedure did the trick. EFF U some more cancer.  So after many months and procedures my skin has stayed closed, finally. We sure had some high fives up in my surgeons office the other day. This clears the road for chemotherapy. And going to the hospital to get my port placement done. After I smiled and did the high five I got a momentary look of confusion of my face. Like wait? what? Well, It's time. 

I know this because my oncologist promptly said when I visited him last-two weeks. He took at gander at the latest work and without hesitation said- two weeks. Eeeeeee. I almost had spontaneous diarrhea. Not actual diarrhea. Just some kind of pre diarrheal bubbly guts movement in my stomach upon hearing those words. I knew it was coming but somehow when he said that I got that feeling and made noises. Then I gave him an opportunity to think it over while my legs nervously swung under the examining table. Nothing doing. 

Two weeks it is. January 23rd. It's closed up he said and we are ready. We are??? Nurse muneca agreed. She came with me that day because he wanted to meet her. And she wanted to meet him. So they met and they both agreed.

Off we go to sit with the scheduler who looked at the order and started to punch a ton of things in the computer and there you have it. I'm booked for the next 3 months. There is more coming after that it's just they only go out so far. I get to have more chemo, a different drug, for 12 long weeks after these first ones. I'm gonna be pretty busy it seems. 

So while I said before I got 99 problems and chemo ain't one. I of course shall amend that previous statement. A take back if you will. I tell you now that I will without shame or hesitation rely on the hearts and love of others to carry me through. 

Love Covers a Multitude of Sins

First Peter 4:8  “Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins.”

Excuse me, excuse me----cancer lady coming through

Or that's what it feels like it must sound when you get deeper into this cancer treatment process. To ME anyway.

At first you might be able to maintain mystery. Just have people only just wonder upon seeing the slow stiff movements you make after surgery. Although it's clear as light of day you are in pain, which you are, but they can't really SEE cancer or confirm it unless they outright ask you. Or happen to be psychic mind readers. I sure hope I'm not hanging around physics mind readers and they can read "my mind". That would be bad. 

No, you can have people thinking you have a pulled muscle and get by fine. You don't actually wear the "hi-I have cancer" sign around your neck until you are bald, wearing wigs, cancer scarves and have 5th grade boobs.

There's a saying in Spanish:
                Cado uno sabe donde le aprieta el Zapato
Which basically means each person knows where his shoe hurts. It's only when the shoe might be filled with painful sharp annoying pebbles that causes you to limp and walk in funny ways it becomes obvious for all to witness that you might have to talk about it.

You see I know pain and discomfort can be covered up as there are lots of things that have happened in my life, not outright tragedy, but tough stuff. And people had no idea. I would walk around all normal like but really inside I was a straight up country song. I mean the really bad country song where the guy lost his wife, the house, his dog and truck. But I could pretty much go about my day with no one noticing at all or commenting. And that was fine with me most of the time. 

Previous to my cancer diagnosis I wasn't a fan of answering the phone while sick because even the mildest stuffed up nose causes immediate alarm and concern. Phone rings and there my hand would hover over it while clearing my throat so I sound better than I actually felt. It never worked. Of course I know my family loves me and wants to know how I am. But if you are really sick (you know the kind-the once every two years bohemian flu) the only real true answer is -weeellll..... I feel like absolute shit on a shingle. Except you can't say that, because people get confused. And they start to get weird images in their head. So you don't say that. Instead you make up big fat lies and say things like: oohh, I'm feeling better. Or please don't worry, the worst of it is gone, I'm sure. Or my favorite was: really I'm fine, I sound worse than I feel. It's not that I like lying, it's that I just want to skip over the I look and feel like crap, I have tissues stuffed up my nose to stop the constant leakage of mocos (boogers in Spanish) running outta my nose convo part and just get down to what you were going to talk about before you knew I was sick.

Except in cancer situations where your appearance will alter for all to see, you simply can't do the walk around like NOTHING has happened dance. You can't. It's too obvious. And as you start the walk fuuuurrtther down the "cancer is a punk azz and I'm gonna kung fu it's punk azz" road you have a lot more things happening. Like on your body, like that's real obvious.

To not talk about it or even tip your hat in that direction is to completely ignore the giant multi colored elephant taking a dump in the room. It's called awkwardness. And I'm not a fan of it. More important I haven't perfected that -lets ignore the straight up obvious what's going down right in front of both of our eyes and carry on as normal small talk-conversation. I must of missed that class in school. 

Anyone who is a women of curves (or any kind of body really) can tell you they know exactly when they have conversations with a person who doesn't make eye contact and the person conducts the conversation all the while looking down at their breasts, the entire time. Its happens to almost every women. And I'm here to tell you there is NEVER a time it happens when you don't know it's happening. I'm not saying it's bad, it's good or otherwise. Im just saying it's awwwkkkaarrrddd. 

Same exact thing when you are having a wild bad, and I mean bad hair day. Then you have run out of time to fix it and simply face facts you gotta leave the house like that. Then all day long you can see people looking "up" at your hair. Once I felt that my hair might have been a little too puffy up top like my old 80's jersey days but simply had to leave the house or risk being late. Lemme tell ya the last thing you want when you have really bad hair and don't want people looking at you is TO BE LATE and then-everyone looks at you. In the car I could see my sister was constantly looking "up" at my hair. I told her if she didn't stop that I was going turn around and go home to fix my hair. She said "well, I can't help it, it's just too big." There you have it. Someone pointed at the elephant instead of ignoring it.

And right now at this time in my life that's fine by me. While I'm not encouraging those "so what size will your new boobs be?" conversations or questions. Remember from my previous FAQ section of the blog---I ain't coming to the "lets talk about the size of our boobs party." I will say there's nothing wrong with allowing some kind of conversation around the obvious. Sorta like this:

You:   so I see you must have cancer and are bald and wearing wigs now
Me:   Yup
You:  well that sure sucks
Me:   Yup

And there we both go, carrying on with our lives as normal. No elephants around to be found. 

Salivdor Dali
There's nothing as surreal as reality 

Nada hay mas surreal que la realidad

I got 99 problems but a chemo ain't one

Well not yet anyway. While that IS coming in a few short weeks it's not on my
mind or agenda as much. You see because of my reoccurring skin infections/skin not coming together issues I'm pretty busy. I probably should be focusing on that storm coming my way or at very least engaging in wild, carefree last days with hair feeling strong before I head off into that tundra. Storm/tundra=chemo metaphor.

But I'm not and I can't for the fact that the last month and in particular these last few weeks and days are all encompassing laser beam focused on one particular kinda hard to see small patch of skin area. Funny when I think that its in an area where later the war or battle that's occurring is supposed to not be easily found due to fine surgeons using their skilled hands. Unless, of course someone is all up in that funky town. I say with confidence that sure wasn't happening before and it definitely isn't after.

I have always believed pure unabashed total nakedness should come shrouded or cloaked in lots of mystery, very low faint lights (think small candle some 20 feet away) and strategic draping, maybe with some Barry White music. Not at all on the regular, out in the open, in the daytime with harsh non forgiving overhead lighting, take your shirt off and contort body to get a peek way-all the while showing others, over and over. I mean has anyone even been to a nude beach, like in the daytime?!?? Not me, however I feel strongly to my core it's not pretty.

Why do I believe this?? Simple. Because I'm not (and neither are you) a "super model" or this fictional person they call Gisele Bundchen. She doesn't even exist!! She is a made up fake person, who we are led to believe walks around all bronzed, toned and perfect in the daylight-daytime hours. Naked. I never even met someone who said they spoke to her.  Mystery, background music and low lighting is what us real people need. But breast cancer just doesn't allow it.

Lately my favorite part of the "let's have Lolita be really uncomfortable and learn how to practice grace in action" experiment is the constant conversations about it. Yes-oh yes I realize the irony of that statement as I make statements about uh the situation. It's just this is a day in the life now that borders on ridiculousness at times. At least it does to me.

Without fail after the Wednesday surgeries/procedures (3x's and finished counting) I get the Friday call from my surgeon office that starts with a simple Hello Lolita! Hi doctor (or assistant person) I say calmly and nonchalant like I don't know why she is calling. Ok, today is the day I want you to take off the surgical bandages, wash it with soap and water (FYI it-my boob) take a look and gauze it all up, then call me back she firmly instructs me. I act like I forget for minute when all morning I'm saying to myself five more minutes for like 50 minutes. I say to her in a question sorta not all the way convinced voice: ooooh yeaaa, today's the day huh, how about let's not and say we did hehe?? She laughs says you're funny, call me back. Click.

Crap! Of course I know I have to do this and of course I know it's important. It's just I'm bratty, remember? And a scardy cat. No getting around it I realize as I slowly trudge off to the bathroom half dragging, half kicking my fresh nightgown or house dress I'm going to wear after I do "all that stuff". It's always nightgown or house dresses while convalescing as I find with constant constriction tight feeling in your chest the last thing you want to do is constrict your waist area with anything. Not to mention I don't really own sweat pants and T-shirt type clothes. In any case it would make it a little more complicated for constant gauze changing/wound checking that has to happen from wake up to go to bed time.

So these are my days now. It's a full time job lately. I do of course resist saying out loud melodramatically I quit this job!!! Eh, no one will hear and it doesn't matter. I'm at the P.O.N.R. now. The road is way too narrow for turn around and go back. This is my place.

After the latest procedure this last Wednesday a friend messaged me out of concern wanting to help saying "oh my gosh, this is terrible, what can I do to help"? First let me share with you this is hands down the best question to ask a -holding shit sandwich person- by the way. Because it allows them to answer telling you just what really is needed. The answer could be to ask for more prayers, more emotional support, send me funny stuff, or keep in touch. The keeping in touch and funny stuff for me is important as the unexpected procedure after effects have me way more isolated for a longer period of time than I normally am. This is happening during holidays when people are all ready incredibly busy and stressed themselves.

So I told her with frankness and honesty that besides the fact that I'm over myself and I imagine everyone else is too, as in we should be talking about how stupid chemo us, how much that sucks with me blogging chemo can kiss my grits blah blah blah is that I really needed all of those things I listed above. Of course my friend agreed.

This time is a true test of mind over matter. Belief and faith my father told me as he stopped by a few days ago with more healthy healing food. So that's my prescription.

Philippians 4:8

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.

It's hard to dance with the devil on your back, so shake it off

That's what Florence sings to us in her song Shake it off. I feel like I hit the jackpot each morning when Pandora serves it up to me first thing. Every time I turn it up while drinking my breakfast shake in the sun filled kitchen and try to take it in. You know figuring how to make that feeling last a little longer after it's done.

What's the devil on MY back lately?

This problem left boob skin situation over here. Pointing at it talking in a tone of voice similar to how a stay at home wife tells her husband that "his kids" have attitude problems as soon as he walks in the door. In fact I would like to formally declare my desire to disassociate myself from that leftie right now. Oh that? Yea no that's not my boob if someone asks. Not that anyone has asked in addition to the fact I know that's not possible. It's there all day, every day reminding me. I don't want it to go away, I just want some cooperation.

We are now at prrocceeddurre #4 since the big "get the fu&$@ cancer"out surgery on October 31st. It seems each time I felt a little strength come back or a little better then boom here's a dead rat to park themselves in my bra and everything looks great as I make the doctor rounds then a few days later I start hooting and hollering ooo ooowwwww and there ya go-skin separating.

If you are tired of hearing about it I don't blame you. I am way over my sorry misbehaving boob myself. Oh hey, if your counting how many times I'm gonna say the word boob we are at number #4. Back to the being tired of me not healing right. I get it. Like come on Lolita I've been praying my buttoski off, so have the people up at my church and now I have to ask them agaaiinn!! Or listen girl we mention your name at the dinner table nightly, it's getting repetative!!  Oh yea. I know, I know.

In an effort by my doctors to keep me out of major surgery and away from complete anesthesia the last couple procedures were with local anesthesia and a late night party at my surgeon's office. The first party was last week, Wednesday if you recall and the most recent was again on Wednesday this week. I check in at the surgeons office saying heeeyyyy, it's the problem child. Because the office at this time is closed it's just us girls. On Wednesdays the doctor doesn't go to the office because she is busy in surgery ALL day. Then after her 12 hour day saving lives or changing them she gets to come meet me and get it in some more. In addition if anyone there had plans well that's not happening. No one complains, no one ever gives the idea but I feel terrible.

While waiting for doctor to arrive yesterday I wanted to stay in the waiting room instead of the "other room" a little longer. Mostly so I didn't have a panic attack now that I know what's coming. In the waiting room there happens to be display of the gel fake boobs in various sizes. So because my right side has no issues I quickly looked around and put size number 2 in my shirt. Hmmm. I took a few pictures, sent that out. Put that back and grabbed the next size, more pictures. Of course suddenly someone is behind me and probably still laughing.

While my doctor is doing her work we start to go over all the reasons for this, again I crave or beg for action to do or not do. Although she has never said that this is highly unusual she confirms it when I outright ask her. Yes, people do have to return to surgery to skin snip or infection. It's just very unusual this keeps happening. Excellent. "I'm special". Not in anyway I want to be either. From day 1 of Lolita, you have breast cancer to now. I was perfectly happy to live out my life privately minding my own business with no excessive peeks at my boobs. Well too late for that. We both go over the list again, I confess to every foolish thing I might have done to find blame or the culprit and solve the mystery. She shares with me she has gone over the list several times herself to determine just why this is happening. I fit none of the criteria. So here we are. More stitches, more down time, more unsureness. Lemme tell ya I'm running out of room and skin down there which I was made painfully aware of last night and today.

All this while unfortunate, painful and unexpected causes a bigger issue in a bigger picture of this process. She always quizzes me on my next oncologist visit, what else needs to be done (port placement was put off) and chemo start date (have to be healed for that to start). My surgeon is a plastic surgeon but she specializes in reconstruction so she is well aware of a ticking clock we have going on and a small window of opportunity. Chemo needs to happen within 3 months of removal date of cancer for best results. She knows this and I know this and my family definitely knows this. All hands on deck type thing to keep this moving along.

My parents will arrive tomorrow to smother me with love and concern. My dad is bringing more vitamin packed food although lately he has been focusing in areas of skin and blood thickening foods. This is his area of expertise, in fact my dad could tell you the compounds in any food. When we were very young he banned soda, processed foods, pringles, bacon to name a few and had us eat our wheaties with wheat germ during a time when no one was talking about this. He is on "the job".  My doctor highly approves.

Nurse Muneca's (my momma) concern is more centered around my pain (more severe this time) worrying I'm tense not allowing healing as well the issues I experienced with the narcotic pain med today. I detoxed my body for almost a month only to get back on the prune juice/hydrocodone train again. This time with terrible side effects. As I was severely nauseous all day and could barely move or eat she suggests that maybe she brings some potato to see if she makes me mashed potato with the marijuana butter that I got from the medical dispensary that's been sitting in my fridge.

Although nurse muneca is secretly a very funny and clever person she was in no way shape or form "yoking" as the way she says it. She was serious about wanting to ensure I'm not in pain and can eat. We'll see, we'll see I tell her on the phone while smiling. 

Shake it off-partial lyrics by Florence and the Machines

And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't

So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my road

And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope

It's a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat

Cause looking for heaven found the devil in me

Well what the he@l I'm gonna let it happen to me, yea 

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out oohh whoa

And it's hard to dance with the devil on your back

So shake him off, oh whoa

So I confessed to Nurse Muneca aka my mama the other day

She called me a few days ago. It was the day after I went to visit my parents unexpectedly. It was a surprise visit. Well a surprise to them not to me. I knew my brother was going to be there. I heard from word on the street there was Puerto Rican food lying around because nurse muneca's sister was visiting. Not one but two!! Two funny, loving, puerto Rican women who replace Y with J and cook in the house??? Oh yea. I picked myself up to get my lame tired ass in the shower, curled my hair (I've been playing with colors/hairstyles when I have energy because it's our last days together) gauzed my incisions up, found a hat and asked Hercules to drive me there.

It was during this visit where I shoveled pasteles, arroz con grandules and hornado in my mouth (somehow I found strength for that huh?) that she asks to see my recent incisions. Off we go to her bathroom for her to check and ask questions. So her call the next day was to continue checking in on me and "the new situation" we are monitoring.

She starts: Hola beauty! Dime como te sientes, mi Nina? Hi beauty, tell me baby girl, how are you feeling?

To take things slow and ease her into my confession I start with "Well, still some discomfort, and I'm nervous about my misbehaving skin section". She calmly tells me I need to keep doing what I'm doing, assures me all will be ok, to be patient and pray.

Weeeeeelllll now here comes the confession. I have to tell nurse muneca that I have def not been behaving, I def have not been patient and the words that tumbled out of me as of late were the farthest from prayers you could get.

Que?! Que paso she asks me?? What?! What happened?? I would like to know that myself I think. Basically to sum it up I had a temper tantrum and behaved like a 2 year old child. Except that innocent children who are two years old don't know the words I used. I'm pretty sure bout that.

It was a simple morning between two people where a plate dropped, a tiny spark that was there (tension) quickly moved into a flame then finally a blazing roaring fire that resulted in me throwing vegetables and baking products with sounds that were similar to @&?! %#€? and things that sounded like shove this sweet potato up your %#€? @&$ And here while you are at it take this stick of butter and $&@? %#€. All resolved in my usual calm manner 20 minutes later where I sincerely apologized and begged forgiveness. I wasn't the only sinner in the room but this is my blog not theirs. In any case all is good. Except for the terrible fact that I'm left with this movie image of myself behaving in a way that I despise playing over and over. It's a bitter pill I've been walking around with for a few days now.   Ay chi wa wa.

I had to think on this real hard if I would blog this story and I def had to breath on it before I told nurse muneca. I am truly embarrassed and ashamed. I really am. I don't think I have done anything remotely close to or in the neighborhood like that in over 15 years. I dislike raised voices. I avoid heated confrontation to a degree I have perfected the art of the peace out/dip out when I see that trouble brewing, including my own. When I described it to a friend later she says (while laughing hard asking me did you reaaally throw that?)  well good, finally you are letting it out! You needed that I think. Maybe it helped you? I tell her in a dry monotone voice that no one ever needs to throw a sweet potato and butter while cursing. Surely we can't be a society of people that do such things. It doesn't have the intended effect, that it borders on ridiculousness, as well the important fact it didn't make me feel better. It made me feel worse. I was shaking for over 3 hours.

You see, I told her then, that I read the fine print on the cancer card. I didn't see anywhere it's says I get to be the meanest, angriest person in the room. That I don't get to misbehave on the regular. And tell people how unfair things are. But in a really, really salty way. And it sure doesn't say I get to throw things around. Good Lord why did I have to throw a stick of butter and a sweet potato?? Really??

But I go on to say it also didn't mention I had to be the MOST positive or uplifted person around. I feel strongly others too must work their brain muscle to be the best person they can as much as they can, situation permitting. This was a big one for me because I tend to think that telling others how to act and behave is an exercise in futility and quite frankly not my job. I say it's just that during this time I know I am weaker mentally and physically, although most times I'm pretty good, I worried out loud my usual strength of tongue holding or being super calm with histrionics happening around me might fail at times. Or worse, just upright leave me for good.

So after I confess to nurse muneca my terrible actions and behavior (leaving out exact words to protect the innocent-she got the idea) I stopped and waited for her to absorb this.

Nurse muneca:  oh my God! Jew did dat?
Me (quietly):       Yes. I did. I'm embarrassed.
Nurse muneca:  jew brat!! Jew better sta praying. (With her accent she rolls the br sounds and makes it sound really really bad)
Me:                    Si, voy a resar (yes I will pray)

These I have handy in my favorites on my phone for occasions like this. 

1 John 4:18

There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear, for fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love. 

1 Peter 4:8

Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins.

Might just be the worst combination of words you can say to me

No, there's nothing you can do.

We all have our words, phrases or ideas that make us chafe and so uncomfortable we don't know what to do with ourselves. And for me it's to be told there is not much or any action for me to do or not do. 

Tuesday night I started to get those pains again. In a certain area in my skin. Like making me exclaim out loud ooooooo eeeeee and other stuff (not all bad). You see at this point in recovery you start to be able to distinguish different pain types. 

Shooting nerve pain is unexpected, it can not be prevented or predicted. My surgeon describes it by asking me "so did that little man with the needles come visit yet"? Of course I laughed said why, yes as a matter of fact many times this week to a degree where I was woken up from my sleep and finally had to go investigate to be sure I didn't have knives or cactus needles in my bra. In an area that was quiet as a mouse for a while. Nope, no, nothing in my clothes. Needle guy.

Pain from after surgery or incision healing pain. That decreases as time goes on and healing occurs. Im ok with this pain. I understand now how it works.

Discomfort and spasms from my chest muscles being stretched out. These poor guys had been lying dormant all their lives minding their own business and suddenly they need to wake up and do work. Well they tend to protest about that. 

The other pain that makes me very nervous is similar to the pain I experienced before the last minute surgery a few weeks ago. No dead rat smell or liquid just that pain in my skin in certain areas. Because I felt the echocardiogram guy on Monday might have been over zealous pressing down on me I thought I was sore?? Until Tuesday night pains. I wake up yesterday morning and see my skin once again is not wanting to heal and come together. That's what it was. How much does that $@&@? @&$??!!? Tons.

After calls, emails and photo for my doctor who was in surgery it was decided I needed to get in there to meet her yesterday afternoon for an in office out local anesthesia skin burning more incisions party. 

Very discouraging and frustrating. I wanted to know if there is something I might be able to do or stop doing. Please anything, give me action. I quizzed my surgeon as she was doing her work. What about this? No. What's about the fact I'm a leftie? Nope. It's that my skin in that area is thin and it needs to decide if it wants to come together and regenerate. It happens and there are other alternatives if this doesn't work. None of which are all that appealing and attractive to me. 

Here I go to talk in song or verse as it seems it's the only thing I can do. That and be still with limited movement from new incisions. 

Jon Bon Jovi. Living on a prayer. (Everybody please raise your lighters and sing it with me)

Whooah, we're halfway there

Living on a prayer

Take my hand and well make it- I swear

Living on a prayer

We've got to hold onto to what we've got

Cause it doesn't make a difference

If we make it or not

We've got each other and that's a lot

For love-we'll give it a shot