Well, the fun continues. It seems I've managed to develop a touch of lymphedema in my right arm. Lymphedema is a swelling of the tissues in a particular part of your body because your lymph nodes aren't functioning properly -- or in my case, because they ain't there anymore, having all been excised during surgery. I was warned that this was a possibility, but they didn't seem too concerned because I am young and (relatively) fit and not overweight. However, lucky me, my arm has swelled up anyway. I started noticing a few months ago that my right hand would get tingly in the night, and that, upon closer inspection, my right arm did seem a bit fatter than my left. After waking up in the middle of the night with my hand completely numb, I went in to see the doc and got my newest diagnosis. I was hoping that it would just be a "wait and see" situation, but unfortunately it turned out to be a bigger pain in the ass than that. Apparently, once developed, this is a chronic condition, which means I'll have to deal with it for the rest of my life, most likely. I currently have to deal with daily massage and exercises, and wrap my arm in layers of foam and bandages from fingertips to shoulder every night and whenever I fly. I am waiting for custom-made garments to arrive that I will have to wear during the day also (but secretly hoping they get lost in the mail and the doctor forgets about them and my arm magically deflates and....other unlikely things). They are oh-so-attractive and I really look forward to sporting a mummified arm every day for the rest of my freaking life. However, I can tell a difference after wearing them - my arm does feel a bit more normal and my fingers don't go numb at random moments during the day or when I leave my arm in a funny position.
I find myself feeling pretty resentful and irritated that this is happening. I wanted to heal, go through menopause (again), take the drugs, grow the hair back, and get on with my damn life. But cancer doesn't care what I want.
I find myself feeling pretty resentful and irritated that this is happening. I wanted to heal, go through menopause (again), take the drugs, grow the hair back, and get on with my damn life. But cancer doesn't care what I want.
(I'll try to get some pictures of said fat arm posted soon.)
In other, more entertaining news, my hair continues to grow and continues to curl and pouf and frizz and stick in my ears and hang in my eyes and itch my forehead and generally drive me CRAZY! But everyone around me is enjoying the saga immensely! At first it was short enough that the "curl" was just a sweet little wave (Pic #1). That didn't last very long. Next, I went through a lengthy period of denial of the curls, and spent many morning hours combing it down and sweet-talking it into laying flat (#2). Then I tried a side-part (disaster, see #3). Then I let my boss do my hair -- she chose full and pouffy; I put a hat on (#4 & 5). Finally, I decided to just accept that it was curly and try to go with it -- so I walked into Aveda and started crying, and they handed me some tubes and samples to try. The next morning after showering I toweled dry, applied the goo, and crossed my fingers. And, lo and behold, I had a hair-do (#6)!
And finally, last pic -- me, tranquil, accepting, at peace with my fuzzy hair and fat arm.
In other, more entertaining news, my hair continues to grow and continues to curl and pouf and frizz and stick in my ears and hang in my eyes and itch my forehead and generally drive me CRAZY! But everyone around me is enjoying the saga immensely! At first it was short enough that the "curl" was just a sweet little wave (Pic #1). That didn't last very long. Next, I went through a lengthy period of denial of the curls, and spent many morning hours combing it down and sweet-talking it into laying flat (#2). Then I tried a side-part (disaster, see #3). Then I let my boss do my hair -- she chose full and pouffy; I put a hat on (#4 & 5). Finally, I decided to just accept that it was curly and try to go with it -- so I walked into Aveda and started crying, and they handed me some tubes and samples to try. The next morning after showering I toweled dry, applied the goo, and crossed my fingers. And, lo and behold, I had a hair-do (#6)!
And finally, last pic -- me, tranquil, accepting, at peace with my fuzzy hair and fat arm.