So, I wasn't too interested in writing a straight journal kind of blog. You know the kind..."Today I went to the doctor. She told me I have a month to live. I was devastated. But then I learned to appreciate every day more fully." But I make no promises about this.
Today is Friday. I decided to schlep into the city for the second time this week to have a medical professional check out the swelling around my incisions. I was afraid of waking up Saturday or Sunday morning, when all the nurses and doctors are trying to forget about their needy customers, feeling, or worse, looking like I had a basketball jammed under each arm. (Although, come to think of it, that look might be an improvement over the 12-year old boy chest that I am currently sporting.) The nurse reassured me. Three hours of favor time from my sister to drive me in and out of the city, five minutes of reassurance. Feeling a little guilty, but also feeling suddenly strong enough to dribble a basketball.
Yesterday, (this mixed up chronology is a deliberate stylistic device to get away from the straight, diary-like blog style), I went to a wellness center devoted to treating breast cancer patients. It was a lovely place, filled with caring, intelligent staff and upbeat clients. It offers exercise classes and therapies of all kinds including acupuncture, art, music, yoga, reiki and more. I'm trying to decide how I feel about the place. I went for a massage. My guess is that there aren't too many masseuses in the world who know how to provide profoundly therapeutic treatment on a person covered in fresh scars, swollen armpits and who cannot lie on her stomach. I was appreciative. But that's a lot of breast cancer under one roof. I wonder if it is good therapy to spend so much time with breast cancer patients. Contrary to casual observation, not all people have breast cancer. One needs to maintain some perspective on this.
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