Sweater Puppies

I spent yesterday watching wig videos and makeup tutorials. Actually, rewind, I started yesterday getting stuck with a needle full of hormones in order to stimulate my ovaries & freeze my eggs so that I can maybe, possibly, still have kids after the chemo. That’s how I spent my day, and oddly, it was an amazing, calming day.

It was the first day I’ve had to myself, the first day I hadn’t been rushing to appointments or crying in a small empty office at work or Googling ‘mother daughter cancer’ (do NOT read that NYTimes article, do NOT) and thinking about all the ways my evil sweater puppies have betrayed me. Scratch that: all the ways my one evil sweater puppy has betrayed me; that poor left one hasn’t done anything, and here I am thinking about sending her to boob heaven too!

The doctors insist a bilateral (double) chop off doesn’t factor into living any longer. The cancer could come back elsewhere in the body, they say, which is a real bummer, but it does allow you to skip mammograms for the rest of time. Which, after my first (and only) rodeo with mammograms at the beginning of all this, right before my 31st birthday, is quite an attractive offer. Jamming my not very large, but evidently dense-as-shit boob in between a plastic vise is no picnic.
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There are several other aspects of the last few weeks that I find amusing, or surprising, or at the very least unexpected:

1. As Tom Petty says, “Waiting in the hardest part,” and it is painstakingly true. This has not been a swift chain of events. There isn’t some cancer chariot sweeping me off my feet taking me to doctor’s appointments and MRIs and ultrasounds and biopsies and surgical consults to find out exactly what’s going on in one day, getting a fast, definitive answer, and God help me, a solid plan of action. There are irritating, mindfucking, insufferable days in between, WEEKENDS, in between, when all you can do is twiddle your goddamn thumbs and try to act like everything is normal and wait for PCP referrals and insurance approvals and appointment openings while stuck in an invisible vortex of panic, imagining the worst. And I mean WORST. I’ve always thought that if this ever happened to me--and with my family history I knew it was a possibility, though much later--that I’d have bit of a leg up. That I’d stoically hear the news and think to myself, "Well Nicole, you knew this may happen someday. Now, let’s just think calmly about this.” Nope! I shook like a leaf, I panicked, I stared in the mirror in disbelief, I plagued over the disgusting mole on my front scalp that will soon be exposed for the whole world to see. (Mike’s optimism: “Hey! Maybe you can finally get that thing removed.”)
2. Another surprise is the far-ranging shift in moods and outlook from day to day, hour to hour. I’ve had several meltdowns, then some zombie days going through the motions, and then euphoric days where I’m glad this is happening. It’s woken me up in a way - I’d been feeling this ominous weirdness the last few months, like something was wrong, or missing, like I have been meant to DO or EXPERIENCE something different, something far larger than myself. And this is it.
   Then the next hour, I can only conclude that this is an absolute suckfest and I can NOT believe this is happening to me after what life’s thrown my way already.
   Ultimately, Boo hoo, I think; life’s not fair and you knew that, so stop acting like a loser.
3. Lastly, and this about logistics: What I didn't know was that at this point, the stage of the cancer doesn’t matter, really, nor is it set in stone. They think it’s stage 2. But what do they know? They haven’t cut me open yet. So it could be worse, but that’s what the chemo’s supposed to take care of. Wipe that shit OUT. I can't wait to start. That will begin in a couple weeks, though, when I'm done with IVF, a venture we had 12 hours to decide upon, when it typically takes couples months, even years to wrestle with. That may have been my worst day, deciding to go through with that and delaying treatment as a result.

So far, all the trite sayings ring true. I am thankful for every day, and every day I've had so far. It could be worse. I feel like a different person, and I know I'll never be the same. That it is going to be okay--I know this has happened for a reason. Also, that my friends are the best in the whole world*.

A couple more things. This new cancer persona has caused me to have odd fixations. Everywhere I go, I try to guess if someone is wearing a wig. And if I suspect I see one, I feel soothed. Short of me going up to someone and yanking on the end of their hair, I can't dependably reach a conclusion, so this often ends in me determining that no, that is not a wig. That’s hair. And then I feel terrible.

I also think a lot about a card I gave my mom last fall. It was a picture of a sea lion, its bottom flippers squeezed into a pair of tight jeans, with the words, “Thanks for the good genes” on the inside. It’s a hilarious card. My mom has it displayed on her hutch. Now my face reddens when I picture it there, and I want to sneak into her house and hide it. But not throw it out, I mean, it’s still a funny card.

It's been almost 4 weeks since I discovered the lump. I couldn't write at first because it was so hard first of all to tell my closest friends, a couple of whom I still haven’t told yet or plan to soon, and also because I was in a state of shock and feeling bad for myself. I thought I could pull an Edie Falco and just not tell anyone and go to work and pretend everything’s fine. I thought I could refrain from doing the 'Elaine' too hard on the dance floor at weddings this summer, so that way my wig won't fly off. I thought I could wear big hats to the beach with Wayne’s World hair taped to the inside or something.
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But my life isn’t the set of The Sopranos, I’m not blonde, and besides, I am terrible at hiding my emotions and everyone would ask why I was crying all time, not to mention, what happened to your other tit?

Anyhooters--oh, another annoying thing: reference to boobs in any context is now loaded and makes some people pause and look stricken--I think I’m done writing for today. I am not sure how to end this. Other than to also mention that I’ll be okay, we're moving to Hingham this weekend to be closer to Dana Farber but still have a driveway, and I’m going to keep writing. Hopefully this will lessen the blow of what’s to come. And hopefully it answers some questions so that I don’t have to type out text messages - which I love getting, don’t get me wrong, but my fingers get tired when I need to answer complex questions.

*PS: Acknowledging the supreme, mindblowing kindness and thoughtfulness of my friends & family so far, with their gifts and ears and messages and cards I will save for another post. It’s not something I can do justice to here. Especially in regards to Mike, who has been keeping me laughing and jabbing me with needles (like a pro!) and taking notes and using his bloodhound-like instincts to vet certain doctors so that I get the best possible care...oh I could go on but I won't)...

Done for now, really. XOXO Mustard Girl.