Small Plans

Spoiler alert – the following post contains mention of vomiting, hair loss and loss of taste and not in the context of the morning after a long night in Vegas. You have been warned.

Since having cancer I have never had so many people openly comment on my breast size, “Since your breasts are so small, we will have to do this rather than that.” This is said at pretty much every appointment.

I heard it yesterday from my medical oncologist. He said, removing a 3cm section from a larger breast wouldn’t really have a cosmetic effect. However, removing the same section from small breasts, such as yours, will most certainly have a cosmetic effect.

Which is why, along with the Tumor Board in my town, he recommended that I have chemo first to shrink the size of the tumors. Chemo will also off-set the little trip this cancer has taken into my lymph nodes (plural). Thereafter, surgery will take out the effected tumors and nodes. Then, for good measure, I’ll get zapped with Radiation.

Chemo is scheduled to start the day after my birthday. Maybe I’m being petty, but I don’t want to have my first treatment on my birthday. Remember Jesus? Even he decided to have a last supper. I’m going to do the same while I can still taste the food I’m eating.

Yea, you read that right. Chemo is like a nuclear bomb to your body. Pretty much any pleasurable physical experience you can think of is eliminated by the application of chemotherapy. This includes turning off those little bumps on the tongue that allow taste to happen. Out of all the things the doctor went over yesterday, this one was the most disturbing to me: not being able to taste.

I’m also not all that excited about the hair loss. Don’t get me wrong, I love bald heads (hey baby!); I just don’t love that my head will be bald. I guess I can just be thankful that I get to shop for scarves, hats and a couple wigs. Maybe I should be like Mr. Potatohead and get angry hair? (If you’ve watched Toy Story 2 you know what I’m referring to.)

Last but not least on the list of sucky things: vomiting. When I was 30 I basically decided to stop drinking because every time I had even one glass of wine, I would vomit. I don’t know what was up with that, but for a year I made that adjustment and viola! no more vomiting. Then, fast forward 5 years. During the 1^st trimester of my pregnancy I projectile vomited on what seemed like every block in New York City. I’m sure my neighbors thought I was a complete deviant. It was awful. Truly.

All of this is to say, when taking chemo every enjoyable thing about having a body is replaced by almost every pain you can imagine. And then a few more, just like the cherry on top.