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Shut up.

So the same co-worker (CW) that offended me earlier is getting under my skin again.  My 3 year birthday is coming up soon and I took the day off.  CW is making some off-color comments, using my birthday as the butt of a joke, again.  At first, I laughed along, joining in on the fun but as I sit back and think about it, I am furious.  I am not sure how to broach this subject with CW since I originally went along with the fun but I am not cool with it anymore.

The other side to this is that most people are not aware of the importance of this milestone.  I will undoubtedly encounter more people like CW in my life and I can’t pick a fight with every one of them.  Only my family can truly understand the hell I went through to get to celebrating a 3 year birthday.  The saying “kill them with kindness” resonates now.  Perhaps a deep breath and quietly walk away is the best way to go.

But really, I just want to scream:

Shut up.

**Update: So I couldn’t take it anymore and sat CW down and told it to “leave my health and anything possibly related to it out of your mouth.  Nothing about what I went through is funny.  It couldn’t be any more serious.”  CW was apologetic and I know it meant no harm but the line has been drawn, very distinctly, in the sand.

 

Something to know

Originally I posted this on my facebook page then realized I didn’t want to spark some (ridiculous) fb war so chose to post and vent on my own terms, on my own page.  Let the self-righteous rant begin:

There is a documentary coming out, Pink Ribbons Inc which addresses the phenomenon of throwing pink on every imaginable (and profitable) product, hoping to project a statement of “a cure for breast cancer.”  I have been singing this tune for years, even before I got sick but especially afterwards, the pink/red/purple/whatever ribbons and those ridiculous yellow rubber wrist bands drive me up a wall.  It’s another ploy to make money and to have people sport a “brand”.  Being a survivor and an overall skeptic, I never trusted any cancer organization, seeing the millions of dollars pharmaceutical companies profited off my 1 experience makes me believe a cure is hidden beneath the yellow wrist bands and the pink Kitchen-Aid mixers.

Another good point is making cancer seem ‘pretty’.  Pink is such a gentle, soft, sweet color.  Cancer is none of that.  Where are the pictures of the multiple IV bags, infusions, the kitchen table covered with prescription medicines…or even just an IV?

 

 

There is more I have to say on this but I have to go to bed.  It’s 9pm and cancer survivors need more rest than others.  Did that pink Yoplait yogurt can tell you that?

 

Well, good for you.

I recently visited Sloan for an early morning blood draw and on my way to work, I felt a sudden sense of amazement.  The idea of strolling out of a cancer center, without a heavy burden of the unknown and the only reminder that I had of being at Sloan was a little bandaid.  I felt untouchable and literally took a deep breath and said “I’m in a great mood today.”

Then I got to work.

Most of my coworkers are aware of my leave of absences, both of them.  From top to bottom, the entire company has been incredibly sympathetic and understanding and no one has ever made me feel guilty about being away.  One of my co-workers, who I would actually consider a friend, made a comment that day.  Essentially, insinuating that my time away cost me advancement in the company and not only that, this person (who started a few months after me) “…leapt above me.  Smacked down”.

Amazingly, I did not fly off the handle.  Instead, I was in utter shock.  Complete and utter shock.  Such a low blow, a cheap shot at an attempt to be funny (I think it was meant to be funny…)  Of all ways to evoke a reaction from me, THIS is the way to go?  There are some things that off-limits or so I thought.  I had never felt bad about getting sick until that moment.  That this is what someone thinks of my time away is simply cruel.  It’s a sick way of pushing my button, similar to calling a girl “fat”.  I quickly ran out of the building sans coat and shamelessly cried in the streets of midtown Manhattan.  I am not sure what emotion was strongest in me….anger, embarassment, confusion.  I have never been power-hungry or engaged in some sort of power struggle with anyone and yet my time away seems to be held against me or worse yet, used as a butt of a joke.

I did not confront this person which amazes me.  I suppose you can call it ‘taking the high road’ which is a first for me.  I’ve blown up at people for lesser things but this comment for some reason, did not feel worthy of a response.  Or it could be that if I did say something, I would 100% lose control and shit would hit the fan, both emotionally and professionally.

I never ever imagined that someone could twist my sickness into something sicker.

 

I hate this place

There is something disturbing about a busy cancer center.

 

Damn.

Last year I went to a conference for young adults with cancer and met this awesome girl.  I suppose this venue, if any, was the place to openly and unabashedly admit that one has brain cancer.  I couldn’t help but feel instant shock because she looked completely healthy and had all her hair since she was undergoing a new regimen of chemo (particularly to the brain) that doesn’t cause hair loss.  Odd that I was probably thinking what others may have thought when they saw me while I was sick.  In any case, we exchanged contact info and been keeping tabs on each other every so often.

For some reason, I can’t bring myself to ask her her prognosis but I know she is still undergoing treatment.  Despite having the common bond of C, I don’t know what my boundaries are and yet don’t want to come off as flippant or indifferent.  If she’s in the same mind set I was in in 2009, the last thing she wants to hear is a “survivor” talking about life on this side of C.  There is no light at the end of the tunnel, no bright side, no glass-is-half-full when you’re in the midst of treatment.  Or maybe she’s in a better place than I was and I hope that’s the case.  Not sure what the point is of this post, just….damn.

 

Who you gonna call?

I caught some bug over Labor Day weekend and ended up with low-grade fevers all last week.  Stupidly went to work and clearly did not get any better and cost me my much anticipated trip to California.  Besides my stupidness and missing a trip to see my sisters and their little ones, I have one bit of good news.

I’ve been trained to call Urgent Care whenever I spike a fever.  It’s just what I do.  As part of normal practice, I called Dr. Barker on Wed morning with the usual symptoms (fever, loss of appetite, chills, achiness).  Michelle calls me back and here’s the conversation:

Michelle: Uhmm…have you found a PCP?

Me: Yeah, I’ve had one for a while.

Michelle: You know, you can call her for these type of things now….save us for REAL emergencies.

YOU GOT THAT RIGHT.  Woot!!!

 

I had the most upsetting dream the other night.  Hands down, the scariest and most vivid dream I’ve ever had.

This is what my subconscious did to me:

I went to see a doctor and he was checking my neck and armpits for lumps.  He found one “the size of a softball” under my left arm and told me it was malignant.  I remember thinking that I wouldn’t make it my birthday picnic the next day, even contemplated suicide because all the doctors told me that therapy was hopeless and useless.

Puke.

 

Ewmazing.

So thankfully my fear of GVHD was unwarranted because those nasty suckers went away.  Completely.  Lesson to be learned: Carry bugspray and wash well when I come home.  My PCP did not fail me and saw me right away, even made me a same-day (nay: same-HOUR) appointment with the dermatologist in her practice.  Both my PCP and derm agreed it was definitely NOT GVHD and too bad socks with flip flops aren’t in style because that’s the only way to have prevented the buffet on feet.  Do I really love NYC?  Ughs.

It was an amazing thing to hear my PCP rationalize to me “you’re too far out of transplant to have GVHD”.  Like, whoa.  She’s right.  Day by day, I am slowly moving further out of harm’s way.  This weight of anxiety is slowly being lifted off my shoulders.  Little outbreaks like this which cause me to explore ‘the worst case scenario’ still serve as a reminder that shit can happen but as each day goes by, shit probably won’t.  And that is an amazing feeling.

 

What the what?

So what I thought was a flea or bug bite is now beginning to resemble that-which-shall-not-be-named (for all you HP fans out there) and by that I mean, possibly GVHD.  From the time of my last post to today, my “bites” have multiplied and spread to both ankles.  No amount of cortaid and/or neosporin was working so now I’ve brought in the steroid cream from  my GVHD days which seems to have calmed down the insanity on my legs a bit.  I haven’t gotten a good night’s rest in days because these “things” are insanely itchy.  Preparing for the worst is misery.  Let’s hope this turns out to be more ridiculousity.

 

 

Ridiculousity.

I went out Friday night with some friends and woke up with 1 bug bite on each ankle.  No big deal, went on with my Saturday plans and when I got home, my right ankle was swollen and the “bite” has now evolved into welt.  Again, no big deal.  Slathered both ankles in what the Chinese refer to as “American Miracle Medicine” aka Cortaid.  After a restless night of pesky itchiness on my feet, you can only imagine my horror when I realize the “welt” has mutated into a BLISTER filled with yellow juice inside and the skin around the mutant blister was red and hard.  I was a bit hesitant to call Sloan on a Sunday with a non-emergency but I didn’t know what else to do and if you have one of the best hospitals in the country at your disposal, you use it.  The doc on call told me to go to Urgent Care, afraid that the obvious infection would spread.  Aside from meeting one of the rudest nurses ever, it was a relatively short visit and the Urgent Care doc agreed that my bite was clearly infected, gave me some antibiotics and a ton of free bandages.  Thankfully, this was a comical visit and the whole time, I kept saying “This is f*n ridiculous!”

I have no idea what bit me and at first I thought it was a random spider bite at the bar but after some disgusting online research, I think it might’ve been a FLEA!  aahhhh!!!  Of course, the clothes I was wearing on Friday along with all my sheets are washed and my apartment vacuumed.

Utter ridiculousity.