Catching Up and Cancer Glamor

Cancer is a total time sink. I have no time to play Bosom Blog (BB).

Over the last few days, I've had several appointments.

First appointment: Echo-cardiogram

 I think I was more worried about the echo than I was about the bilateral mastectomy. That thinking goes something like this:

• Every time I go to the doctor my blood pressure is elevated. 
• Since my cancer diagnosis, the staggering heights to which my systolic and diastolic readings soar triggers inspired scientific inquiry and debate among medical professionals throughout the region. 
• People with high blood pressure have thinning of some parts of the heart that should be fat. 
• Conclusion - my heart parts are too skinny. (That would be the only parts that are. Cruel world.)
• Skinny heart parts lead to big trouble

Next appointment: Oncologist

Following the echo, I go to the appointment with the oncologist. Very quickly they call me for my vitals. Very soon after that they call me into the exam room. I love this speedy service, I think to myself as I take my seat in the exam room. Ten minutes go by. I listen to the hallway sounds: footsteps, voices, doors opening and closing. I check the clock. Five minutes have elapsed. My breathing shallows. Big inhale, slow exhale, I recall from yoga. Feeling a bit light headed. Notice that my hands are sweating. Check the clock, 5 more minutes have elapsed. What is the cause of this delay? I begin to wonder. More deep breathing. Check the clock - 4 minutes have passed. Beginning to panic. The radiologist and the oncologist must be discussing the echo results. They are struggling to figure out how to treat a cancer patient with a failing heart. Deep breaths, blood pounding in the ears, light headedness. I drop my head between my knees. Bolt upright as I notice the revolting absence of boobs between my chest and knees. Check the clock. Another 3 minutes have elapsed. Full blown panic. What's the worst that can happen? I think comfortingly. I die. Does it really matter? My kids are almost grown. They can take care of themselves. My husband, sisters and friends will move on; and I'll be dead and won't care. My failing heart begins to beat less frantically. Doctor enters. "Sorry, I'm late. Your heart is fine. We'll start chemo on Monday."

Next appointment. The wig and boob store. 

What a trip. Seriously. I have never had such a prolonged "out of body", so-to-speak, experience. We enter the shop and overhear the following conversation:

Heavy, 50ish woman standing at the cashier's desk:  So the UPS guy show up with a little box, and I say 'Yaaaay, that must be my boob!' I'm sure he thought I was nuts. I open the box and I see this thing that looks like something you might find on the chest of a 14-year-old girl. I mean what were they thinking?! Do I look like a 14-year-old girl? Does this boob [pointing at her left breast] look like it belongs on a 14-year old? Anyway, I got a call that you guys have the right boob. Right boob! That's funny. Cuz it is the right boob!! (Hysterical laughter.)

Cashier: [Hands a large box to the woman.]

Woman: [Opens box.] Jesus! That thing is huge! [Picks up the boob.] Whoaaa! This thing weighs a ton! How the hell do you expect me to carry that around all day. I'm not even supposed to pick up a jug (so to speak) of milk...

Wig fitting:

This is how I look today, more or less...

Here are some options for the hairless future:

The Barbara Streisand

The Justin Bieber,  Ringo or Mo

The Bono or Cher

The Jim Carrey

I know, I know. So many styles, so little dignity...