Shopping for cancer

When you go through breast cancer your doctor gives you prescriptions for more than a few things besides the usual medicines. Apparently they write a prescription for bras.  Did you make your appointment yet for your after surgery wear my doctor asks? Oh yes I tell her I'm going today, in fact the women who called me to book the appointment is a former patient of yours and a big fan. She smiles very modestly and says glad to hear you are getting that done, they are very helpful.

Well before you imagine I'm off to fancy Nordstroms or Macy's shopping carte blanche with doctors orders insurance footing the bill the whole way allow me to clarify. It's located at the hospital, in the cancer center at a boutique. However before you get to the cute little boutique you check in first, almost like a patient checking into the hospital, you answer questions about insurance and other things. What do you for a living? decline. Whats your race? decline. religion? decline. Only then are you finally escorted to the retail Mecca.

In the name of the store is the word Treasure. Indeed it was. I'm suddenly surrounded by piles of glittery trinkets, bedazzled shirts, fashionable hats and scarves in a wide range of colors and patterns you could imagine. Like a major department store right? Sorta. The shirts say Mammo is your ammo in pink camouflage. The bracelets have the shiny word FAITH or similar like words in crystals. And the colorful scarves are to fit your stylish bald head during and after chemo. Immediately I want to try them all on. You see I've been on a desperate hunt to find sassy stylish headwear for a few weeks now. Everyone please calm down. The crisis is over. I will be rocking some fun head gear. 

The thoughts in my head of me decked out in silky scarves are interrupted by my fitter who takes me to an area in the back. Party in the front, business in the back I think (please see previous blog entry about having cancer does not make me suddenly mature-just accept me). She asks me if its ok if one of their line reps they have visiting the store join us. In the dressing room. I glance at her and she seems to smile like hey girl-please? Sure I say. After all what is one more person taking a gander I think and shrug to myself. Breast cancer certainly doesn't come with modesty.

So there I am in this lushly appointed spacious dressing room with person #52 and #53 who has seen me without a shirt on in just the last few weeks alone. I soon realize my fitter with her vast experience is a wealth of knowledge about navigating through after surgery and beyond. She shares with me lots of really important information. Gold nuggets really. I'm told I will need to leave with items that clasp in front, are easy to put on and are what the doctor wants me in as well as this after surgery camisole (yes it buttons down the front) to hold devices that will be coming out of me. I won't elaborate on that any more. Im presented with a goody bag. At the top are these adorable pillows. Apparently there are amazing people out there who sew these gorgeous incredibly soft heart pillows in pink and white fabrics for me to be comfortable after surgery. Love those people. I don't know them but mad love out to them. Mostly because Im impressed with their sewing skills. I have to throw pants out if I lose a button and these ladies make these heart pillows??

Ok Lolita take your shirt off we are going to start fittings now knowledgable lady tells me. Yoooouuuu first I say in my cutest voice. They both laugh and then wait. I constantly resist the urge to say wait slow down! We need to stay on first base a little longer during each and every shirt off visit I have had. After a few minutes Im asked how it feels, what I think. Well I say with hesitation in my voice. What is it she prompts me? I explain that I do not own under garments that are just beige or white. Do you have like purple or maybe things with sparkles on it I ask hopefully? Oh hold on, hold on the rep gal says and comes back with lovely things named jungle mist and so on. Go on girl I tell her put those in the bag, those are going home with me.

So knowledgable lady tells me, Lolita I like you and your spunk! This is a tough time I can imagine and you are incredibly positive. I have the name and number for this great support group of gals who I think you should connect with while holding the paper in her hands. She tells me that many of the support groups out there are older women who are married and past menopause and don't care that much about sex. Oh no I care about sex, hand it over. I'll take that number. In the bag it goes.

I told you she had gold nuggets.

Philippians 4:6-7

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:6-7).

Have you ever heard that song by

 Pink called Try?

It seems to be a song about heartbreak but after I heard the main verse a few times I googled the lyrics and realized the song and the words could give meaning and relevance to many things. In particular to me right now. 

I have always been a lover of words. Wether it's on a page in my favorite book or any book, on a computer screen, text box or in song form being sung with angst or attitude. All of those words I cherish them. I admire them. Even strong ones with some high emotion behind them. Inside I clap and applaud the person. Good for you person with that strong opinion I don't care for or agree with I think to myself in my head. 

So hearing the words You gotta get up and try, and try and try sung over and over a few times sounds exactly like what I need to be doing. Probably good to hear that song and take it all in. It helps to counter act the impulse to not try that washes over me from time to time. But in a bratty 2 year old not thought all the way through kinda way. Kinda like a mmm maaaaybe (drumming my fingers on my chin thinking) mm I'll pretend it will go away and I don't have to do all that scary sounding shit. Mmmmm maybe (thinking some more) I can stay hidden with the covers pulled tightly over my head and no one will notice. Yea kinda like that. And trust me it can get easy to think that's a good idea. For like 6 minutes.

It's just a person gets tired sometimes. When I vaguely use the word person of course I mean me. Not like in the body tired but like in the head tired. Like my brain is saying....Really lolita? Really girl? Coooome ooooooonn! We ain't even gotten over all that other craziness yet! My brain pointing all dramatic like at that "other" craziness that didn't seem all that long ago. Somehow when I give my brain a voice it comes out like a Shaquita type personality with those huge old school gold hoop earrings, long nails with colored tips, lots of gold rings, way tight skinny faded jeans, these fly high tops, and hands on hips. Every time. Don't ask me why. 

Truth is I don't want to do this. I don't want to do any of this. By this I mean go to this doctor, that doctor, this surgeon or that one (its a lot of docs folks) to hear what's recommended, have surgeries, take medicine and know what I know. As amazing those doctors are at what they do it just seems like a ton of not fun things are going to happen. 

And that's why I might cling to a song that I would have previously heard, happily sung along to then just went about my merry day without another thought. Now? The words. It's the words.

You gotta get up and try and try and try. 

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Partial lyrics to the song Try by Pink

Ever worry that it might be ruined

And does it make you wanna cry?

When you're out there doing what you're doing

Are you just getting by?

Tell me are you just getting by, by, by?

Where there is desire

There is gonna be a flame

Where there is a flame

Someone's bound to get burned

But just because it burns

Doesn't mean you're gonna die

You've gotta get up and try, and try, and try

Gotta get up and try, and try, and try

You gotta get up and try, and try, and try

Doctors orders

Driving around on this gorgeous day windows down with wind in my hair blasting music seems to be just what the doctor prescribed. Old school, rock, hip hop, electronica, you name it and it was pretty much on the menu today. And while she didn't exactly say for me to do that very thing she mentioned to me that during this time it's important to manage stress levels and continue my positive attitude. So of course I picture her writing a prescription that says... listen to fun music and sing loudly along as care free as possible. Decibel levels? Mmmm not so much. Im sure she didn't mean for the eardrums to be impacted during said stress relief therapy. 

The real prescription or advice she shared was to find comfortable button down the front shirts for after surgery. This is to minimize raising hands above head. She puts her hands up in the air above her head and said you don't want to do this a lot or at all. Ok got it. Sounded fairly easy. I went and looked in my closet. As I have an intense dislike to shopping this seems to be the path to least resistance. Apparently I don't favor that look much. Or at all. 

So there I go off to find these shirts. Surely they exist I tell myself. A few stores later and all I can ask is Seriously, must I look like a cowgirl while convalescing from a major surgery? Button down nightgowns aren't any more appealing. Yuk I say while stamping my foot and clenching my fists by my side. Finally after passing one nightgown several times in what could only be described as a yet to be named color I yanked it and tossed it in the cart telling it (yes the nightgown) don't get comfy, you won't be staying long. This is what I'm reduced to. Muttering at my cart in the aisles while "shopping". 

To get the bad taste out of my mouth and erase the memory from my mind I walked sorta ran to the shoe section and gazed at the lovelies. I even took pictures to send to a friend who would understand while I tried them on. 

Hence the almost eardrums piercing music on the way home, well not quite piercing but you get the idea. I'm shaken but not stirred friends.

Sadly as I type this I come to a crushing realization that I still have to go take that nightgown (wrinkling my nose) out of the car and put it in the house. Somewhere.

Train the brain

Strong

Belief

Love

Health

Faith

Powerful

Family

Lovely

Healed

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The thought manifests as the word;

The word manifests as the deed;

The deed develops into habit;
And habit hardens into character;
So watch the thought and its ways with care,
And let it spring from love
Born out of concern for all beings…
As the shadow follows the body,
As we think, so we become.

Buddha, Dhammapada
Indian philosopher & religious leader (563 BC - 483 BC)   

The way we organize our lives

Very often centers around what's happening in it at the time.

For me it's having things to organize the cancer stuff. This phrase alone makes me roll my eyes a bit. I promise you. And of course me being me I resisted this idea at first. Not being organized rather resisting giving more space to this frustrating all encompassing disease. However the situation at hand doesn't allow anything else. In all my other ways in life I do my best to not let chaos and disorder ruin my flow and movement so it must be applied here. Just a little odd, that's all. 

 Happily I can say that all appointments with my Doctors and related visits are confirmed through email. I read it, send an email to my daughter to calendar it for the family to stay updated and in it goes to my cancer email folder. Although sheepishly I admit it has a bad word before it with an arrow pointing at the word cancer. I created the folder on a day when I was feeling overwhelmed and not all together. I recall punching the keys on my keyboard a little harder than needed when typing in that folder description. It does make me smile sometimes now when I see it. Judge me not for it's my only form of allowed rebellion and a way to show my dislike of the whole situation without screaming for 5 full minutes in a row while kicking my feet on the ground. Without interruption. Hey, I never said having cancer would mature me anymore. 

So now I have a cancer bag that I put all my reports, receipts, films and my notebook for questions that I cart around almost everyday. I'm in fear of running to an important appointment not able to present what's needed, thus failing to get the information to take the next step. I tried at first to make it just a cancer folder. I chose a nice clean white one. Practicality and functionality forced that right out the window. Hence the bag. 

I even have a cancer pen. You know that goes in the bag. To avoid fumbling around when I need to jot down my info at a moments notice. But still. It's a cancer pen.

It might all seem normal to anyone else. Right? We organize and label according to our life at the moment. And eventually it will to me. Maybe. It's just I often find myself stuck between two places. One is a functioning normal person processing tough things at a terribly difficult time. Calmly positively moving in the direction I need to fight this and get back to my normal self (will I ever be normal again I wonder). Another is a person who wants to quit this ridiculous job of fighting cancer throwing my keys on the desk and walk away while mumbling this isn't me, you've made a mistake. 

So organizing, filing and labeling provides a small illusion of order and control on an extremely fast moving train. That job? I'll accept it.

This did just happen

After looking at dishes in the sink for half a day I went into my boyfriends man cave, sat down next to him and let him know a sad but true fact. That when I do dishes it makes my cancer hurt. His reaction? He half smiled, made a sound that was sorta like a awww, not quite though and hugged me. And then went back to what he was doing.

A bit drastic? Well you might think I'm going overboard and I might be. However I do need to point out that I did dishes twice this week (all dramatic like, holding up two fingers)

I sense his power to out wait me or ability to pretend there are no dishes in the sink may just  be far greater than my desire to get it done. True story. 

My new plan is the next time he comes in the room is to quickly put the phone to my ear pretend I am talking to my "doctor" and say loudly: "wait, hold on doctor (I shall place emphasis on doctor) let me write this down. Uhuh uhuh. So don't do dishes or sweep the floor? Right. It makes the cancer hurt. Ok got it. well thank you doctor." All the while silently mouthing to him see, I told you.

Wish me luck!