A Potbellied Bald Man

It’s official. I met the Oncologist yesterday morning and was told that my greatest chance of survival comes with chemotherapy AND possibly radiation.

Again, like the decision whether to have reconstruction, getting treatment would be my choice, since theoretically, the surgery was successful and I should now be cancer free. But apparently, they’ve established that I had intelligent cancer cells (any surprise there?) that figured out how to travel. In the event that there are residual microscopic rogue cells that may have already traveled, we have to worry about if and where they will take up residence and it raises my risk of re-occurrence. Chemotherapy reduces that risk by up to 35%.

Homer Simpson

Homer Simpson

Thumbing my nose at statistics like that seems unwise.So I expect that, by the end of this nightmare, my metamorphosis into Homer Simpson will be complete. BVD’s aside, I’ll be getting 8 treatments 3 weeks apart over the course of 6 months at Chandler Regional Hospital, and will begin treatment in a few weeks.

If those cells were really smart, they never would have messed with me in the first place.

 

Posted in Breast Cancer.

11 Comments

  1. I had no clue that Homer was my type until just now!! It’s amazing what you can learn about yourself, no matter how long one lives. I love you my sweet and can’t wait to rub that fabulous bald head that holds the most beautiful face on the planet.

  2. Obviously, those intelligent cells had a death wish. That’s why they chose you. They knew, unquestionably, that you would kick their ass mightily.

  3. F**K those cells, but glad you’re listening to that advice will increase your arsenal! We’re rooting for you!

  4. I love the way you write–you talented person! Your progress I will follow to your recovery!

  5. Potbellied bald man… it wasn’t ’til I saw the picture that I had any idea where you were headed with that…

    You are a clever, clever woman, and I admire you for so many reasons…

    Sometime tomorrow I hope we get a chance to talk… somewhere between after I get my neck put back in place by the chiropractor and I help Betty take her sweet dog in to the vet’s to be euthanized… Life ain’t boring.

  6. I’m amused by Homer, but I can only see that beautiful woman on her bed the morning after the surgery. All the parts looked smart and good and lovely and loving (and zaftig).

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