OH, and I almost forgot to tell the long-awaited story of how cancer kicks you when you're down, just when you thought you were up again. When I had to fly into NYC a few weeks ago for my radiation set-up appointment (when they applied the aforementioned tattoos and also made a plastic mold of my body involving some very high-tech equipment such as a plastic trash bag and some masking tape), I experienced the worst bout of motion sickness I have ever encountered, and I spent the entire plane trip and pretty much the entire day throwing up in whatever receptacle was nearest. I had been taking some pretty mild prescription pain relievers to help with the aching in my arm from surgery, and apparently they can cause nausea (too bad no one told me about this before I took them). So I started feeling queasy before I even got on the plane, and as soon as we started rolling down the runway, I thought "Oh God, this is not going to be pretty." And it was not. I spent most of the flight keeled over in the tiny plane bathroom (which is a super unpleasant place to be sick, and has none of the soft-bathmat or cool-tile-on-your-cheek charms of throwing up in your own comfy bathroom) or quietly retching into the wee little airsickness bag when it was impossible to make it to the bathroom -- like when we were in the process of landing the damn plane. It was pretty humiliating.
I assumed that when I got off the plane, things would improve, but I was wrong. I managed to survive the bus ride across the Triborough Bridge, but had to leap off at 2nd Ave and spend some time sitting on the curb of a gas station with a paper bag in front of me. In that part of town, I didn't really draw a lot of attention doing that...I think people just assumed I'd had too much to drink. But it was embarrassing nonetheless, and I resented the hell out of those people that gave me disgusted looks. I'll remember that next time I see someone sitting on the corner looking like death warmed over. Cancer is nothing if not humbling.
At any rate, I finally managed to flag a taxi, get down to Sloan Kettering on 67th Street, and keep down enough anti-nausea meds to make life worth living again. But that day definitely ranks up there as one of my "Top Ten Worst Cancer Experiences."
I assumed that when I got off the plane, things would improve, but I was wrong. I managed to survive the bus ride across the Triborough Bridge, but had to leap off at 2nd Ave and spend some time sitting on the curb of a gas station with a paper bag in front of me. In that part of town, I didn't really draw a lot of attention doing that...I think people just assumed I'd had too much to drink. But it was embarrassing nonetheless, and I resented the hell out of those people that gave me disgusted looks. I'll remember that next time I see someone sitting on the corner looking like death warmed over. Cancer is nothing if not humbling.
At any rate, I finally managed to flag a taxi, get down to Sloan Kettering on 67th Street, and keep down enough anti-nausea meds to make life worth living again. But that day definitely ranks up there as one of my "Top Ten Worst Cancer Experiences."