Late night thoughts…

Standard

Lewis Thomas had his, prompted by Mahler’s 9th Symphony. And I’ve got mine, though none so lofty. Mine are like: Geez–nobody looked up Amazon (previous post). Everybody’s so freaked by the damned disease that they’re going to go through life thinking Amazon mostly means

  • an online bookstore
  • a river in South America
  • a big green parrot in South America
  • mythical female warriors who lopped off a breast the better to draw a bow

Actually, if you remembered the last one from 8th grade history, you’re close to being right. Amazon translates “without breasts” from the Greek. I only know this because I’m freaked by the damned disease too, and that piece of trivia came up early in my internet wanderings. I have no idea why it seems important tonight.

My dear friend took me to lunch yesterday. She’s so emotionally intelligent, anyone lucky enough to be her patient is really lucky. She asks things like, “what do you want to have happen?” and “what scares you?” Like she’s not afraid to hear the answers. Like if I don’t know, maybe she’s got some ideas. Or maybe not. But that’s ok, because at least she thought to ask the questions.

On the other hand, I already told folks at the office that I’m not into the whole “cancer journey” thing.

“So how’s YOUR journey going?”

My darling dad, a very private man, was mortified when an enthusiastic greeter at a center for alternative medicine grasped his hands and insisted on defining this “journey” for him. He was supposed to emerge changed: “different, yet somehow better” than before cancer. Actually, he was dying. He knew it, and he hated it. As was his right. As is mine, should it come to that.

And nobody’s shaving any heads. I’ve been put on notice by my friend Pam that she’s sure as hell not gonna be bald just because I get that way. I still have a niggling hope that I won’t be. My dad used a cold cap during chemo infusions, though his oncologist scoffed. But he kept his hair. A friend who was a cancer nurse introduced the idea, said she’d seen great success with it among patients at Cedars Sinai. Well, I’m wildly enthusiastic about the possibility of keeping some hair, even if the evidence-based-medicine Grinch won’t support it.

Oh.

Please.

There will be no talk of making plaster casts. None whatsoever. Pregnant bellies are fine in this medium. Old boobs are not.

About An UnCool Midwife

I'm a midwife who's been up all night for most of the last 30 years. Before that, I was editor of a small town newspaper. I left that job swearing I'd never face another 3 am deadline. Now I’m thinking what I really needed was a good night’s sleep. (And they say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result.) But I miss writing, so I’ve decided to launch a blog to record some of the brain activity that occurs between naps. I’m a little worried about exposing my tender underbelly to the pointy public, but have decided to dive in and see how we all get along. Unexpectedly, this blog has become an outlet for thoughts & feelings that occur with my new diagnosis of breast cancer and its ongoing treatment.

7 responses »

  1. I did try to figure out what you meant. I googled it, of course, and ended up reading about a book titled “And Now We Shall Do Manly Things” and thought… nope, pretty sure that’s not what Kay had in mind. I didn’t think to look up the meaning of word Amazon, I did remember about the warrior women though. So, I decided I would let you explain it to me when we get together again.

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