First Poem in Ten Years

Watching my daughter watching the sun
makes me reflect on the races I've run.
Hers are still all out in front.
Mine reflect how I was wont.
Out past forty and turning the corner
forget whatever I had planned.

But the waves that grind pink shells to the sand
also carry great ships into land.
Old man in blue trunks with a metal detector
hoping to find some middle class treasure;
we are all here trying to recapture
the first bead on the strand.

They always say you're nothing without your health.
I learned that this year, through their stealth,
breast cancer was hiding
in my body subsiding,
I used to fear really big things.
Now I understand--

the worst things can be held in your hand.

Genetic Testing

Yesterday I met with the rad oncologist (radiation AND Gwen Stefani) to tell him I wanted genetic testing before radiation. He was not super psyched and told me not to put off radiation too long. I walked out mad and sad, I admit. It's my body, dammit.

Today I went to the med oncologist, who told me I'm triple negative from a hormone perspective, which means they can't prevent more cancer with drugs. Apparently (shocker) this is also fairly rare.

My doc decided to break from protocol and do the testing herself. I really appreciate her and KU Med for letting me find out if I have BRCA before my radiation is scheduled to start. That is a huge weight off to have the information I need to make good decisions about treatment.

Also: adulting sucks.

I go on vacation next Wednesday. When I get back I should know if it's more surgery or if it's radiation, and either decision should bring the first real peace since this nightmare started in April.

ONWARD.

Aftermath

The internal stitches are starting to dissolve. Day by day the skin lies flatter. My surgeon cleared me to get in bodies of water with a bandage. He said the lake of the Ozarks is particularly dirty. I laughed.

I've done some research, realized it's harder to operate on radiated skin. Decided to insist on genetic testing before radiation. If I have the rare BRCA, I'll have a bilateral mastectomy. Ironically, if I did that there would be nothing to radiate. So I go with that, because with that decision I guarantee only one sucky thing has to happen, not two. Mastectomy or radiation. Not both.

This week I get my radiation tattoo and find out about drugs and genetic testing. My husband is in Indianapolis. My daughter is volunteering at a retirement home. I'm 90 days into my new job. I go on vacation next week.

I need this vacation. 2016 sucked.

I am watching THE HANDMAID'S TALE. To some extent, I remembered that in my moments of humiliation and pain in my surgery, that mine is not such a bad story to tell. Everyone in my story acted in my best interest.

I don't forget that.

My story is pretty trivial, except to me. As are all of our stories.

ONWARD.