Look To Your Left, Look To Your Right...

One of you will get cancer

When I had breast cancer in 2017 people considered my diagnosis and treatment as “cancer-light” because I didn’t need chemo. 

“Did you have a double mastectomy?” said Stacie who was one of those gals who had thirty-five friends with every type of horrific cancer.

“No. Just a lumpectomy. Just radiation.”

(Just. Like when someone asks a mom if she has a career and she says, “No I’m just a mom.” Or if she’s asked about having other kids. “No, just the one”. I officially dislike the word, “just.” It reminds me of another word I don’t like, “actually.”  As in “actually, that dress looks good on you.”)

“Oh. I know five women who had to have a double. Then reconstruction.” 

“That’s awful. I was given a choice as a prophylactic but opted for the lumpectomy. There are some cool tattoos for women who—"

“My friends had no choice.”

Was I involved in a cancer competition? I imagined Alex Trebek from Jeopardy and Stacie as a contestant.

“I’ll take the Big C for $400,” I’d say.

“Which cancer is the deadliest?”

“Uh, lung?”

Bleep bleep.

“No, I’m sorry. Stacie with thirty-five friends with horrific cancer, would you like to guess?”

“What is pancreatic?”

Ding ding ding.

“That’s right,” Alex would say.

“I’ll take Listeria for $200,” Stacie would say.

And as a curious-Cathy I would chime in, “Excuse me, Alex. Why is the clue value never more than $500? I mean, the Jeopardy people haven’t raised the amount since 2001 when the average inflation rate was 2.42% per year between 2001 and 2022.”

“You can take that up with the producers.”

Cancer is like salsa. It comes in mild, medium, spicy and deadly. I was reminded of another game show, Hot Ones, where celebrities taste ridiculously spicy foods and viewers are intrigued by their responses. The best reactions are the gorgeous women trying to hide their ugly spicy face. 

Cate Blanchett appalled by her bad manicure and spicy face.

Just radiation. I felt guilty. Especially when I had fun during the 6 week, 5 days per week appointments. I felt like I should be the Tom Hanks character in A League of Their Own. Instead of crying in baseball I told myself, “There’s no laughing with cancer.”

But I had fun. I had fun in my f-ck-it rebelliousness.

I ate sushi for breakfast. I double parked. I didn’t return the cart. I drove in the HOV lane and if pulled over, I would tell the officer, “Thank you for the ticket. I have cancer.” And when a friend said I looked good I responded, “I’m radiating.”

1 in 7 women get breast cancer. 40.5% of Americans will develop some type of cancer in their lifetimes with men being slightly more likely than women.

My Sistah

My eldest sister, Vicki, was always my role model. She was the first to have kids, go gluten free and get the big C. A real family trend setter. I followed in her footsteps. She was forty-four when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. She had a lumpectomy, radiation AND chemo. Cancer spicy. 

Vicki and I developed a special bond even though we lived in two different states. She always had great child rearing advice like, “Don’t let them draw on the walls.”  She was my restaurant ally whenever our families were together. We had the same food intolerances and shared meals. Waiters were double annoyed when we ordered. We were the millennium version of Sally in the movie When Harry Met Sally. Later, we’d commiserate when we had our follow-up mammograms, ultrasounds or MRIs, calling it “scanxiety.” 

I won’t have what she’s having.

20 years after remission

October 26 Vicki had emergency surgery because a cancerous tumor was growing in her spine, invading her spinal cord. She was dancing at my daughter’s wedding in September. None of us suspected a party crasher that had the potential to paralyze her.

Her oncologist essentially told her she had the good kind of cancer because it was the same type she had 20 years ago but metastasized to her bone. Is a “good” cancer like being in Esterwegen rather than Auschwitz? (I googled “best concentration camp” for this metaphor. There was mostly tourist visitor information. Hmmm.)

Vicki’s oncologist also reassured her that treatments are different twenty years later. She may be able to take chemo pills rather than schlep to a medical center and sit for four hours while the poison drips into her veins, not to mention enduring a forced conversation with a way-too-happy nurse. Chemo pills. Medium salsa. Radiation is a given because of the possibility of a lone cancer cell left in her spine. At least she can tell people she’s radiant. 

Meanwhile, Vicki is waiting to hear back about the results of her genetic markers. These days, cancer treatments can be determined based on an individual’s markers. The outlook is positive. Many people (men get breast cancer too) can live a great life for another 25 years. 🙏🙏

At the hospital

The treatment was exceptional. I was prepared to bang on the nurse’s station and shout like Aurora in Terms of Endearment, but it wasn’t necessary. The staff made sure Vicki wasn’t experiencing pain. Of course, there were never enough nurses on the floor to help her to the bathroom. Nurses are like teachers. Overworked, under-appreciated. Those who had time for a personal chat were lovely.

Two days after major spine surgery, the PT visited. Miriam was openly gay and Jewish. As she showed Vicki how to swivel in and out of bed, we commiserated over the antisemitism explosion around the world. She told us that she experienced many uneducated people over the years as a hospital PT. She had one patient who had just received a transfusion and said, “I hope I didn’t get any Jewish or gay blood.” (Yeah, I said, “Ew” too.) PT Miriam also revealed that she had 4 different patients ask if she had horns. No, they were not joking.

Here's a question for you, dear reader— Was this hospital in the American south?

Answer— No. This occurred at Cedars Sinai hospital in Los Angeles! Cedars is a Jewish hospital. There are Jewish names on every building, including Spielberg. There’s a large Jewish star on one building. This year, Los Angeles celebrated its 54^th annual Gay Pride Parade. Correct me if I’m wrong but I believe “54^th annual” means it’s been happening for 54 years. Maybe those patients lived under a Black Mustard weed in Reseda.

The view outside Vicki’s hospital room. Cool reflection from my iPhone case.

Moral— Next time you’re in the mood to judge the southern states just remember there are stupid people everywhere. 

Home

Vicki is at home recovering. I’ve been playing nurse alongside her hubby. There’s nothing like being a caregiver to learn about your capabilities and areas of your personality where you may have previously doubted yourself. One being, sorry Substack, my sister comes first.

Tig Notaro is a stand up comedian who made breast cancer funny. I highly recommend this documentary about her.

1. How many people do you know who has/have had cancer, breast or otherwise?

2. Do you ever use the word to describe a person? Ie: My last boss was a cancer. 

3. Have you ever been a caregiver?

4. Do you know any stupid people?