Joining the Pink Ribbon Club

“Momma, why do you need to do radiation? I want to ride my bike to the end of the road and I can’t because you need to take the car to the bus. It is not fair! I want to ride my bike! It is NOT FAIR!”

Dragon, you are 150000% correct. It is not fair. It is not fair I need to be radiated for the FOURTH FUCKING TIME. It is not fair my mucosal lining is so taxed from the bone marrow transplant for Hodgkins I am on regular Imodium and bentonite clay courtesy of the immunotherapy. It is not fair I wrote a book about not feeding my “What If Monster” nearly 17 years ago and I am STILL negotiating with the SAME MONSTER - and I know how I am making it worse with these wallowing thoughts and that just makes me ANGRY.

Corinna, deep breath. Remember your vagal nerve release exercise!

I put my fingers on either side of my ears and gently rubbed up and down along the hairline until I yawned.

“I am sorry, my darling. I know it is frustrating. I am more than halfway done with radiation. It will be over soon.

“Momma, why do you need to do radiation?”

Because I want to be around for as much of your life as I can be - my beautiful boy.

“Because some of my cells need to be fused together to keep me safe.”

“So the radiation only goes to those cells?”

Wouldn’t that be... Corinna, do the exercise again. Again, I stroked my temples. Again, I yawned.

“No, that is why I pray the whole time I am there - to protect those cells that don’t need it.”

You look like you want to ask more questions. I don’t have the bandwidth for more questions Dragon - sorry love.

“Dragon, let’s look at the calendar and see how many more days of school we have and we can figure out how many of those you can take your bike in the mornings, okay?”

So yes, I am now in the world of pink bows for oncology visits. The pink is cute - not sure it needs to be everywhere, but it is cheerful.

It is pretty much the same song and dance of what I have experienced with Hodgkins - except for one thing.

Breast biopsy results are sent via registered mail. From my scant research this is unique in the world of pathology. It feels somehow belittling.

I mentioned that feeling of being patronized to the postal worker when I picked up my second round of results. An elderly woman behind me in line jumped in to ask me what is wrong with doctors ensuring results are received, isn’t that good patient care?

In which case, fine, do it for all pathology results. Even though I am sure there is a tragic story behind this decision; I stand by my feeling of being treated like a child.

And yes, that is snarky.

And yes, we are all both and.

I wallow in my forgetory - tears/snark/Life is UNFAIR.* And when I notice/get tired of it/get enough sleep, I come back to me. Hopefully relatively soonish.

Humans are the animals who pray.

*Thank you to the darting hummingbird visiting the resplendent honeysuckle out my window as I write that - it feels good to laugh at myself.