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Yeah, I know. I haven't been here
for a while. Well, heck, whaddaya
want? I had cancer, for crying out
loud!
Now I hope you noticed something
very important about that last
statement. It happens to be the
most optimistic statement I've
dared to make in quite a while. The
operative word in it is "had." I had
cancer, i.e., I do not have it now.
Well, all right, no, I'm not 100% sure.
But no one is 100% sure. And I've
been slashed, burned & poisoned,
all in aid of killing cancer, so I think I
have even more right to believe I
do NOT have cancer than most
people. So, that's my story & I'm
sticking to it.
for a while. Well, heck, whaddaya
want? I had cancer, for crying out
loud!
Now I hope you noticed something
very important about that last
statement. It happens to be the
most optimistic statement I've
dared to make in quite a while. The
operative word in it is "had." I had
cancer, i.e., I do not have it now.
Well, all right, no, I'm not 100% sure.
But no one is 100% sure. And I've
been slashed, burned & poisoned,
all in aid of killing cancer, so I think I
have even more right to believe I
do NOT have cancer than most
people. So, that's my story & I'm
sticking to it.
December 31, 2008
Once again, I did not get around to sending out Christmas cards, but I had a much better
excuse than usual. However, the above message really belonged on a new year's card.
excuse than usual. However, the above message really belonged on a new year's card.
| Comments: "Beautifully said and presented. Amen, Love you, L." " 'Accidental Amazon' BRILLIANT!!! Just saying it makes me so proud to know you. Hope you are doing well." CMH |
Semantics.
I have a problem with some of the
words used around breast cancer.
Words like 'mastectomy,'
'lumpectomy' & 'breast-sparing
surgery' may mean something
useful to surgeons & other
physicians, but they seem a tad
euphimistic to me.
What, precisely, is a lumpectomy?
The excision of a lump, right? And
a lump is, what, about the size of a
large marble or, tops, a golf ball,
yes? NOT!
No, no, no, folks. A 'lump' is
whatever the surgeon has to cut
out to get all the crap out of you.
It may be anything from a pea to
just short of a total mastectomy.
My 'lump' comprised half of my right
breast. So, probably it would have
been more accurate at least to
call it a partial mastectomy.
But that's not my point. My point is
that these "-ectomy" words are
meaningless in everyday semantics.
I'm reminded of what my mother
used to say: "Let's call a spade a
shovel." In other words, let's cut the
crap with these euphemistic terms
& use a medical term that actually
means something. Like, say, the
word amputation. There's a good,
hearty word. Makes much more
sense. If they cut off part or all of
your leg, after all, they call it an
amputation, which is an ugly,
violent removal of a rather
significant part of your body. So, if
they cut off part or all of your
breast, that would also be an
amputation, right? Works for me.
I have a problem with some of the
words used around breast cancer.
Words like 'mastectomy,'
'lumpectomy' & 'breast-sparing
surgery' may mean something
useful to surgeons & other
physicians, but they seem a tad
euphimistic to me.
What, precisely, is a lumpectomy?
The excision of a lump, right? And
a lump is, what, about the size of a
large marble or, tops, a golf ball,
yes? NOT!
No, no, no, folks. A 'lump' is
whatever the surgeon has to cut
out to get all the crap out of you.
It may be anything from a pea to
just short of a total mastectomy.
My 'lump' comprised half of my right
breast. So, probably it would have
been more accurate at least to
call it a partial mastectomy.
But that's not my point. My point is
that these "-ectomy" words are
meaningless in everyday semantics.
I'm reminded of what my mother
used to say: "Let's call a spade a
shovel." In other words, let's cut the
crap with these euphemistic terms
& use a medical term that actually
means something. Like, say, the
word amputation. There's a good,
hearty word. Makes much more
sense. If they cut off part or all of
your leg, after all, they call it an
amputation, which is an ugly,
violent removal of a rather
significant part of your body. So, if
they cut off part or all of your
breast, that would also be an
amputation, right? Works for me.
| This is my new cell phone. This is almost as big as the so-called 'lump' that was amputated from my right breast. Actually, it was probably about as big as the Ipod Nano here (click on the Size button, then select the Nano). Anyway, I love my new phone, which is like a teeny laptop. I figured it was a decent exchange for losing half a boob. |
| My favorite breast cancer website. Gets my personal award for 2008. |
| Just click on this, okay? You'll be glad you did. |
The Sweaty Prosthesis: nothing like wearing a thick slab of silicone-filled plastic wrap against your skin on a hot day. |
The Mother of all excuses.
Here's how goofy the mind can be. When I got back to
work, for the first month or so, I had to crawl home at
the end of the day, toss crunchies at the cats, let the
dog out, give him his dinner, paw through my available
clean or at least not smelly or dirty clothes to find
something to wear if I had to work the next day, then
fall into bed. I'd be asleep by about 6:30 p.m. There
would be no energy to wash dishes, do laundry,
vacuum, get the mail from the mailbox, listen to voice
mail or any of that other stuff that people with a normal
life do. So, when I finally got around to catching up on
my mail, there were a few bills I had entirely forgotten
about, so I had to call people & ask them not to cut off
my water or charge me $35 for being late with the
check. And as I'm talking to these people, I'm feeling a
little ashamed that I'm trying to get away with
something by telling them that I had cancer. But then
I'd catch myself & say to myself, "Hey, Einstein, you DID
have cancer. It's not just a handy excuse."
Here's how goofy the mind can be. When I got back to
work, for the first month or so, I had to crawl home at
the end of the day, toss crunchies at the cats, let the
dog out, give him his dinner, paw through my available
clean or at least not smelly or dirty clothes to find
something to wear if I had to work the next day, then
fall into bed. I'd be asleep by about 6:30 p.m. There
would be no energy to wash dishes, do laundry,
vacuum, get the mail from the mailbox, listen to voice
mail or any of that other stuff that people with a normal
life do. So, when I finally got around to catching up on
my mail, there were a few bills I had entirely forgotten
about, so I had to call people & ask them not to cut off
my water or charge me $35 for being late with the
check. And as I'm talking to these people, I'm feeling a
little ashamed that I'm trying to get away with
something by telling them that I had cancer. But then
I'd catch myself & say to myself, "Hey, Einstein, you DID
have cancer. It's not just a handy excuse."
Excuses, excuses.
So, while we're talking about semantics, let's just add
a few more aspects of cancer treatment to the
discussion. There are some that may tell you that
getting radiation is cake, but I'm not one of them.
You may note that I haven't been here since my
previous humorous diatribe about radiation. That's
not an accident. Around week two, I felt like I'd
been run over by a truck. One day, I barely got
home from my 7:00 a.m. radiation appointment,
parked my car & crawled inside & into bed. That was
it, folks, no more little Miss Sunshine. She was down for
the count. My face started breaking out like I was 16
again, except at 54 you're not having as much fun.
Then I came down with a hideous sinus infection &
had to go on antibiotics. Then, about 5 days after I
finished this wonderful experience, I had to go back
to work. Subsequently, I developed a nice ol' burn
along my right clavicle, down my sternum & under my
armpit. The armpit one was the worst. I used to
come home from work, pull my sweaty prosthesis out
of my bra, pull off the bra & whatever top I was
wearing & slather Silvadene cream all over my boob.
Then I'd just lie there & think of England, as someone
once said of sex.
May I point out that radiation is known to kill people.
Think Hiroshima. So, let's just call it burning &
poisoning & be done with it. They admit that the side
effects of therapeutic radiation last up to two years.
No lie.
So, while we're talking about semantics, let's just add
a few more aspects of cancer treatment to the
discussion. There are some that may tell you that
getting radiation is cake, but I'm not one of them.
You may note that I haven't been here since my
previous humorous diatribe about radiation. That's
not an accident. Around week two, I felt like I'd
been run over by a truck. One day, I barely got
home from my 7:00 a.m. radiation appointment,
parked my car & crawled inside & into bed. That was
it, folks, no more little Miss Sunshine. She was down for
the count. My face started breaking out like I was 16
again, except at 54 you're not having as much fun.
Then I came down with a hideous sinus infection &
had to go on antibiotics. Then, about 5 days after I
finished this wonderful experience, I had to go back
to work. Subsequently, I developed a nice ol' burn
along my right clavicle, down my sternum & under my
armpit. The armpit one was the worst. I used to
come home from work, pull my sweaty prosthesis out
of my bra, pull off the bra & whatever top I was
wearing & slather Silvadene cream all over my boob.
Then I'd just lie there & think of England, as someone
once said of sex.
May I point out that radiation is known to kill people.
Think Hiroshima. So, let's just call it burning &
poisoning & be done with it. They admit that the side
effects of therapeutic radiation last up to two years.
No lie.
| Smile on a Stick: for those days when you're just too tired to come up with one of your own. |
Happy
Freakin'
New Year...
Freakin'
New Year...