No Chemotherapy Just in Time For the Holidays
It struck me today when I was waiting in my medical oncologist’s patient office that I have more boob cancer doctors than I have breasts. Any more doctors in the room and we’ll need a lubricant. It’s like having more children than I have hands, or more children in the family than adults. Seems like there should be more parity in the world. How many doctors does a girl’s rack really need? For me, apparently, three. Triad of cure. Trinity of wellness. Triple the fun. Thank goodness the nipples are included in the breast count and don’t ascribe to a different union. Yea for nipples! And areolas are attached to the nipples! Yea areolas!I haven’t been able to listen to holiday music all month. I guess getting a treatment plan has been wearing more heavily on me than I gave it credence.
My cancer was (“was” sounds a lot better than “is”) a tubular invasive ductal carcinoma. Since I was Grade 1 (non-aggressive), Stage 1 (no lymph node involvement), there is a very low risk of recurrence. What that translates into is that I’m not a candidate for chemotherapy. No chemotherapy. Let me let that sink in. I feel like I escaped a stray bullet shot aimlessly into the crowd. Like I got off the carnival ride before the next riders got stuck at the top after a power outage. Cleared the intersection before a texting driver ran into the back of the car behind me. Escaped in my friend’s golden transam with t-tops right before the cops showed up to bust us for underage drinking. Oh, sorry. That was high school. And there was much rejoicing! Next stop: radiation protocol.