I'm home and in some "discomfort." But it's mostly soreness in the muscles I'm sure the surgeon was shoving around while I was out and couldn't whine at him. My throat (from the tube) "hurts more, actually. But on the hospital's cute little pictograph of 1 to 10, 10 being what happened on Saturday when I jammed my pinky toe into the doorway of Rod's car while climbing out to get a pedicure (in flip flops, no less) and badly bruising my foot in the place where I broke it over 20 years ago, and 3 being now, after 1/4 of an oxycodone and a Valium.....
God bless Rod and the chocolate milkshake he stopped for on the way home. And Ari who unpacked my stuff and brought me a strawberry Activia. (Gotta counterbalance that Oxy, and besides it says to take with food. Milkshake is food, yes? Of course, yes.)
But typing is a little dicey, what with the pain/meds and all, so suffice it to say I'm home and there's no place like it. Except maybe Hawaii. Hawaii is REALLY nice.
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
Monday, April 6, 2015
Ready or Not...
Passover was great, and somehow here I am, 5 hours until no more food/drink. I'm just a little stymied by everything, and nothing. My office at work is tidy, I've laid out all my "hospital clothes" and washed every dirty dish, including the giant matzah ball soup pot. And with that, Passover cleanup is over. There are stacks of clean things all over that need to go back to their various cupboards and hiding places until the next "occasion" and I waver between wanting to put them all back and wanting to direct my recovery minions to put them back when I get home from the hospital.
When I get home from the hospital. When I get home from the hospital. When I get home from the hospital. I'm starting to think like Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory. Knock Knock Knock. Everything, three times. What's the magic formula that will give me the confidence to not worry about tomorrow?
No crystal ball, no magic formula, no ability to knock, knock, knock on the door of every single one of tomorrow's medical team and tell them to get a REALLY good night's sleep, for goodness sake.
I can make sure my own personal support system, Rod, gets a decent night's sleep. The rest is just going to happen whether I'm ready or not. Who's ever ready for surgery, anyway?
When I get home from the hospital. When I get home from the hospital. When I get home from the hospital. I'm starting to think like Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory. Knock Knock Knock. Everything, three times. What's the magic formula that will give me the confidence to not worry about tomorrow?
No crystal ball, no magic formula, no ability to knock, knock, knock on the door of every single one of tomorrow's medical team and tell them to get a REALLY good night's sleep, for goodness sake.
I can make sure my own personal support system, Rod, gets a decent night's sleep. The rest is just going to happen whether I'm ready or not. Who's ever ready for surgery, anyway?
Wednesday, April 1, 2015
1818
1,818 days. That is how long it has been since I was diagnosed with breast cancer a second time, and how long the road over, under, around, and through reconstruction and treatment has been. As of April 9, I will be able to say that the cancer has not recurred for five years, which is something of a custom among people who cannot medically call themselves "cancer-free."
183 days - that's how long it's been since I have written in this blog. So, you may ask, what prompts this entry?
Well, last fall I met with Dr. D'Amico and had the surprising conversation about new implants. And there we left it. In the intervening months, our health insurance has moved from United HealthCare (who I knew how to work with by now) to Cigna (who I definitely had NO idea how to work with.) So last winter Marie (Dr. D'Amico's "in-charge" off all things financial) told me that we couldn't do anything until we had Cigna officially and I could get her an ID card, which was January 1. Promptly after New Year's I faxed a copy of the card over and called the office.
Since I had met again with him in October, and had decided to go ahead if the (new) insurance company would cover the surgery, all that was left was telephone calls. Marie called and then the nurse called, and I told them all the times I could NOT have surgery and be incapacitated or otherwise hampered by recovery dos and don'ts (BHSS retreat, RAC trip, Passover seder preparation) and the date was set - April 7, 2015. It seemed like FOREVER until April.
But a couple of weeks ago the paperwork came in the mail - all the signatures, witness signatures, dates, and initials, plus an appointment for a pre-surgical physical and bloodwork. Done, done, done. And now it's April 1 and last night was my last Advil and tomorrow is my first special washing with the antibacterial soap and now it's REALLYREALLYREALLY real.
I've got my Passover supplies and my timeline spreadsheet and that, at least, is under control until it isn't. The sponge cake could fall, the chopped liver could be "too" something or "not enough" something, the matzah balls could sink...and I wish I could turn off the other worries just for a couple of days. Just to get my head into the Passover prep game, get revved up about enjoying the evening with my family, and then enjoying the second seder with my family and my friends at BHSS.
I did not take this decision lightly. Much of the fat that was transplanted to help with the hollows from the mastectomy has, sadly, died, and instead of melting away and leaving, it has surrounded itself with scar tissue. These are lumps that, oddly enough, are painful. (Ironic, isn't it? Completely numb in the reconstruction area except the stupid dead fat thingies.) At any rate, this tissue is called "encapsulated" and some of the surgery is called a capsulectomy for that reason. There is also an "implant exchange" (mentioned in an earlier post) and a "flap revision" which I don't know what that is but I'm guessing it has something to do with adjusting everything so it looks all even and (someday) attractive and natural.
Today I heard myself telling someone that it was going to be a good thing, and since the insurance was covering it, not too bad in the expense department, although our new deductible and out-of-pocket are bigger than they used to be. Am I crazy? Am I risking my life for a "bargain?" Is this a bad decision?
I don't think so. I think that anesthesia is safe, and I think I haven't had a problem with it in all the years I've been having surgeries. I think that the lumps hurt, and I think I can see them in photos where I'm wearing clothing that is not even that "revealing." I think the doctor is pretty damn good at his job. But what do I know? I know it is scary anyway.
183 days - that's how long it's been since I have written in this blog. So, you may ask, what prompts this entry?
Well, last fall I met with Dr. D'Amico and had the surprising conversation about new implants. And there we left it. In the intervening months, our health insurance has moved from United HealthCare (who I knew how to work with by now) to Cigna (who I definitely had NO idea how to work with.) So last winter Marie (Dr. D'Amico's "in-charge" off all things financial) told me that we couldn't do anything until we had Cigna officially and I could get her an ID card, which was January 1. Promptly after New Year's I faxed a copy of the card over and called the office.
Since I had met again with him in October, and had decided to go ahead if the (new) insurance company would cover the surgery, all that was left was telephone calls. Marie called and then the nurse called, and I told them all the times I could NOT have surgery and be incapacitated or otherwise hampered by recovery dos and don'ts (BHSS retreat, RAC trip, Passover seder preparation) and the date was set - April 7, 2015. It seemed like FOREVER until April.
But a couple of weeks ago the paperwork came in the mail - all the signatures, witness signatures, dates, and initials, plus an appointment for a pre-surgical physical and bloodwork. Done, done, done. And now it's April 1 and last night was my last Advil and tomorrow is my first special washing with the antibacterial soap and now it's REALLYREALLYREALLY real.
I've got my Passover supplies and my timeline spreadsheet and that, at least, is under control until it isn't. The sponge cake could fall, the chopped liver could be "too" something or "not enough" something, the matzah balls could sink...and I wish I could turn off the other worries just for a couple of days. Just to get my head into the Passover prep game, get revved up about enjoying the evening with my family, and then enjoying the second seder with my family and my friends at BHSS.
I did not take this decision lightly. Much of the fat that was transplanted to help with the hollows from the mastectomy has, sadly, died, and instead of melting away and leaving, it has surrounded itself with scar tissue. These are lumps that, oddly enough, are painful. (Ironic, isn't it? Completely numb in the reconstruction area except the stupid dead fat thingies.) At any rate, this tissue is called "encapsulated" and some of the surgery is called a capsulectomy for that reason. There is also an "implant exchange" (mentioned in an earlier post) and a "flap revision" which I don't know what that is but I'm guessing it has something to do with adjusting everything so it looks all even and (someday) attractive and natural.
Today I heard myself telling someone that it was going to be a good thing, and since the insurance was covering it, not too bad in the expense department, although our new deductible and out-of-pocket are bigger than they used to be. Am I crazy? Am I risking my life for a "bargain?" Is this a bad decision?
I don't think so. I think that anesthesia is safe, and I think I haven't had a problem with it in all the years I've been having surgeries. I think that the lumps hurt, and I think I can see them in photos where I'm wearing clothing that is not even that "revealing." I think the doctor is pretty damn good at his job. But what do I know? I know it is scary anyway.
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like...October
Since tomorrow is October 1, and officially the start of "breast cancer awareness month," it seemed an appropriate opportunity to get in a little bitching and moaning (just a little.)
Facebook is full of uplifting breast cancer stories, research news, and the like - and most of the time I find it interesting/reassuring/informative/entertaining. But the latest "news" story to make the rounds, and Facebook, is that research is showing that a mastectomy may not necessarily prolong the life of a breast cancer patient any more than a lumpectomy would have. And the rate of mastectomies is rising in young people, fueled, we are told, by Angelina Jolie's preemptive surgery when she learned she had "THE" gene.
Having had a lumpectomy and then a mastectomy (quick history: diagnosed in 2005 with less aggressive form, lumpectomy & radiation, diagnosed 2008 with LCIS "marker" pre-cancer, diagnosed 2010 invasive on other side, ability to "save" breast uncertain) I can say that all of these stories should come with a giant neon sign that says "THIS MIGHT NOT APPLY TO YOU" and maybe a couple of Ativans with a margarita chaser.
I so don't appreciate a study telling me that the surgery and all the accompanying angst, therapy, reconstructions (I think I'm up to 5 now,) body image nonsense (in that it doesn't make sense that a person is able to literally cut out the cancer and be luckier than a lot of other people who are far sicker but still doesn't feel good about herself - it should make sense, but it doesn't; hence, nonsense) that I did BECAUSE I thought it would help, says that I made the wrong decision.
At any rate, that's how I hear it. I hear "you silly woman, you should have really, really waited and made absolutely sure before you did this and now you can't undo it." And almost 5 years later, I still doubt myself. Looking back, it feels like I had to make a decision, and not take too long about it. After all, the big thing about cancer is that it grows, and faster than normal cells. So every day you take to decide might be another day the cancer gets to visit more exotic places in you, like your lungs ("so much fresh air"!) or your liver ("come luxuriate in the hot bile spa!")
How the hell do you know? You don't. You don't ever, ever know because every single one of us is different. We eat differently, we exercise differently, our relationships are different, we stress (or don't) differently. There are so many factors that it would be impossible to know, FOR SURE, if what I did on June 28, 2010 prolonged my life. That stupid jerk cancer does not discriminate between people with a "healthy" lifestyle and those who like pasta, and chocolate, and bacon.
Every time I think I've handled the "hardest" part of all this (the decision? the extra surgeries? the "sleep aids?" the side effects every day I take a pill, which will be another 8 years, at least?) I find something else that is going to be harder. I don't live in a bubble and I don't intend to sever ties with the world of social networking, or cancel my newspaper subscription, or stop watching television. I'm the only one I have to defend my decision to. And I have to get comfortable with it. And I don't want that to take 5 more years.
Facebook is full of uplifting breast cancer stories, research news, and the like - and most of the time I find it interesting/reassuring/informative/entertaining. But the latest "news" story to make the rounds, and Facebook, is that research is showing that a mastectomy may not necessarily prolong the life of a breast cancer patient any more than a lumpectomy would have. And the rate of mastectomies is rising in young people, fueled, we are told, by Angelina Jolie's preemptive surgery when she learned she had "THE" gene.
Having had a lumpectomy and then a mastectomy (quick history: diagnosed in 2005 with less aggressive form, lumpectomy & radiation, diagnosed 2008 with LCIS "marker" pre-cancer, diagnosed 2010 invasive on other side, ability to "save" breast uncertain) I can say that all of these stories should come with a giant neon sign that says "THIS MIGHT NOT APPLY TO YOU" and maybe a couple of Ativans with a margarita chaser.
I so don't appreciate a study telling me that the surgery and all the accompanying angst, therapy, reconstructions (I think I'm up to 5 now,) body image nonsense (in that it doesn't make sense that a person is able to literally cut out the cancer and be luckier than a lot of other people who are far sicker but still doesn't feel good about herself - it should make sense, but it doesn't; hence, nonsense) that I did BECAUSE I thought it would help, says that I made the wrong decision.
At any rate, that's how I hear it. I hear "you silly woman, you should have really, really waited and made absolutely sure before you did this and now you can't undo it." And almost 5 years later, I still doubt myself. Looking back, it feels like I had to make a decision, and not take too long about it. After all, the big thing about cancer is that it grows, and faster than normal cells. So every day you take to decide might be another day the cancer gets to visit more exotic places in you, like your lungs ("so much fresh air"!) or your liver ("come luxuriate in the hot bile spa!")
How the hell do you know? You don't. You don't ever, ever know because every single one of us is different. We eat differently, we exercise differently, our relationships are different, we stress (or don't) differently. There are so many factors that it would be impossible to know, FOR SURE, if what I did on June 28, 2010 prolonged my life. That stupid jerk cancer does not discriminate between people with a "healthy" lifestyle and those who like pasta, and chocolate, and bacon.
Every time I think I've handled the "hardest" part of all this (the decision? the extra surgeries? the "sleep aids?" the side effects every day I take a pill, which will be another 8 years, at least?) I find something else that is going to be harder. I don't live in a bubble and I don't intend to sever ties with the world of social networking, or cancel my newspaper subscription, or stop watching television. I'm the only one I have to defend my decision to. And I have to get comfortable with it. And I don't want that to take 5 more years.
Trying to think like a SURVIVOR is hard work.
Saturday, September 20, 2014
Facebook 5-Day Gratitude Challenge
Since a friend had "tagged" me to do one of those gratitude challenges which asks you to list 3 things you're grateful for each day for 5 days, I decided just this once to do it. But I broke the rules, a little, since I didn't "tag" more people to take the challenge. Gradually, I become more and more intrigued by the idea that thinking really hard about what I was grateful for, beyond typical things like "I'm grateful I slept until my alarm went off" or "I'm grateful that my gas tank was not actually empty as I rolled in on fumes to the gas station" reinforced the idea that all in all, there's a lot to be thankful for.
So, reprinted here, with a few edits, is my answer to the 5 day gratitude Facebook challenge:
As much as I'm not a big "get tagged and do something" kind of person, thank you to Lisa Lamster for getting me to post 3 things I'm grateful for - for 5 days. Ordinarily I'd put this kind of stuff in my blog but I've been too busy to write there. So - Day 1:
1. I'm grateful for my husband of 30 years Rod McVeigh for teaching me not only how to fix things and enhance/embrace my inner geek, but for showing me the importance of family; he is a dedicated son, spouse, father, and brother.
2. I'm grateful for my dad Arthur Bernstein (who isn't on Facebook but if he was he'd have more friends than me!) If I have one fourth of his sense of humor, his compassion, and his common sense and even a smidgen of his faith, and it continues with Andrew McVeigh, Alex McVeigh, and Ari McVeigh, that would be pretty awesome.
3. I'm grateful for my in-laws Tom and Maggie McVeigh. Never once have I felt like a "daughter-in-law." I have always felt like a member of the family and I have always felt appreciated. I know how rare that is.
Gratitude Challenge Day 2:
1. Although not my favorite day (because it's the longest day of my workweek) I am grateful for Monday...and Tuesday...and Wednesday...all the days, all the weeks, all the months, and all the years. I'm pretty sure I spent a lot of time not being grateful enough, but I sure am now.
2. I'm grateful for my friends who put up with a bit 'o crazy and still stick around. You teach me how to be a friend and let me practice on you And bonus points for those who have gone to various doctors with me when Rod can't make it. That's a special kind of devoted.
3. I still have no idea what I did to deserve my amazing "job" and the tremendous satisfaction I get from doing it (most days.) But I'm grateful to all of the people who work with me, both professionals and lay leaders. I couldn't do it without you.
Gratitude Challenge, Day 3:
1. I'm grateful that my breast cancer was caught early - twice. It might still be lurking, but each day that passes I dwell on it just a little less. There's a victory in there somewhere.
2. I'm grateful that I have doctors who do their jobs well. From the surgeons and oncologist to the other medical/dental professionals who I've been lucky enough to find along the way, they continue to care for me with kindness and skill. And I cannot overstate the importance of decent health insurance. I don't know where I'd be without it.
3. I'm grateful that I have places to go and things to do, even though I might complain and you tell me I look "tired." Probably I am tired, but I'm never bored.
Gratitude Challenge, Day 4:
1. I'm grateful for my daughter-in-law, Jackie D'Arminio. She's smart, she's sassy, she asks for (and sometimes even takes) my advice, and she loves my son. (I told you she's smart!) And she writes a really cool blog at jackieandthefarmbox.blogspot.c
2. I'm grateful that my boys (none of whom are still, technically, "boys,") continue to say "I love you." And they mean it. AND it comes with hugs and kisses.
3. I'm grateful that Andrew and Jackie entrusted me with the TEMPORARY custody of two of the softest creatures on the planet, twin chinchilla boys named Mario and Luigi. These little guys have cheered me up through a lot of down times.
Gratitude Challenge, Day 5:
1. I’m grateful that my boys eat lots of different foods, and to my husband, Rod McVeigh, who made this possible by encouraging them to try things from an early age. He shared his multicultural upbringing and love of “exotic” delicacies with us all. I am additionally grateful that somehow my children do not have food allergies, and have boundless admiration for all parents who keep their children with food allergies safe and happy on a daily basis.
2. It may sound cliché but I’m grateful to have the chance to say “thank you” not just in these 5 days, but also that my workplace encourages random statements of gratitude the same way we encourage random acts of kindness. It’s not a part of our official mission statement, but it is cultivated and modeled by Rabbi Joel Mosbacher who thanks us all the time. It encourages me to “pay forward” the gratitude.
3. Last but not least (and having come full circle in this endeavor,) I am grateful again to Lisa Lamster for starting me on this 5-day exercise. It has really made me think about all the good things and wonderful people in my life. I hope you know how thankful I am for you all, and I encourage you to pass it along, one way or the other.
So, reprinted here, with a few edits, is my answer to the 5 day gratitude Facebook challenge:
As much as I'm not a big "get tagged and do something" kind of person, thank you to Lisa Lamster for getting me to post 3 things I'm grateful for - for 5 days. Ordinarily I'd put this kind of stuff in my blog but I've been too busy to write there. So - Day 1:
1. I'm grateful for my husband of 30 years Rod McVeigh for teaching me not only how to fix things and enhance/embrace my inner geek, but for showing me the importance of family; he is a dedicated son, spouse, father, and brother.
2. I'm grateful for my dad Arthur Bernstein (who isn't on Facebook but if he was he'd have more friends than me!) If I have one fourth of his sense of humor, his compassion, and his common sense and even a smidgen of his faith, and it continues with Andrew McVeigh, Alex McVeigh, and Ari McVeigh, that would be pretty awesome.
3. I'm grateful for my in-laws Tom and Maggie McVeigh. Never once have I felt like a "daughter-in-law." I have always felt like a member of the family and I have always felt appreciated. I know how rare that is.
Gratitude Challenge Day 2:
1. Although not my favorite day (because it's the longest day of my workweek) I am grateful for Monday...and Tuesday...and Wednesday...all the days, all the weeks, all the months, and all the years. I'm pretty sure I spent a lot of time not being grateful enough, but I sure am now.
2. I'm grateful for my friends who put up with a bit 'o crazy and still stick around. You teach me how to be a friend and let me practice on you And bonus points for those who have gone to various doctors with me when Rod can't make it. That's a special kind of devoted.
3. I still have no idea what I did to deserve my amazing "job" and the tremendous satisfaction I get from doing it (most days.) But I'm grateful to all of the people who work with me, both professionals and lay leaders. I couldn't do it without you.
Gratitude Challenge, Day 3:
1. I'm grateful that my breast cancer was caught early - twice. It might still be lurking, but each day that passes I dwell on it just a little less. There's a victory in there somewhere.
2. I'm grateful that I have doctors who do their jobs well. From the surgeons and oncologist to the other medical/dental professionals who I've been lucky enough to find along the way, they continue to care for me with kindness and skill. And I cannot overstate the importance of decent health insurance. I don't know where I'd be without it.
3. I'm grateful that I have places to go and things to do, even though I might complain and you tell me I look "tired." Probably I am tired, but I'm never bored.
Gratitude Challenge, Day 4:
1. I'm grateful for my daughter-in-law, Jackie D'Arminio. She's smart, she's sassy, she asks for (and sometimes even takes) my advice, and she loves my son. (I told you she's smart!) And she writes a really cool blog at jackieandthefarmbox.blogspot.c
2. I'm grateful that my boys (none of whom are still, technically, "boys,") continue to say "I love you." And they mean it. AND it comes with hugs and kisses.
3. I'm grateful that Andrew and Jackie entrusted me with the TEMPORARY custody of two of the softest creatures on the planet, twin chinchilla boys named Mario and Luigi. These little guys have cheered me up through a lot of down times.
Gratitude Challenge, Day 5:
1. I’m grateful that my boys eat lots of different foods, and to my husband, Rod McVeigh, who made this possible by encouraging them to try things from an early age. He shared his multicultural upbringing and love of “exotic” delicacies with us all. I am additionally grateful that somehow my children do not have food allergies, and have boundless admiration for all parents who keep their children with food allergies safe and happy on a daily basis.
2. It may sound cliché but I’m grateful to have the chance to say “thank you” not just in these 5 days, but also that my workplace encourages random statements of gratitude the same way we encourage random acts of kindness. It’s not a part of our official mission statement, but it is cultivated and modeled by Rabbi Joel Mosbacher who thanks us all the time. It encourages me to “pay forward” the gratitude.
3. Last but not least (and having come full circle in this endeavor,) I am grateful again to Lisa Lamster for starting me on this 5-day exercise. It has really made me think about all the good things and wonderful people in my life. I hope you know how thankful I am for you all, and I encourage you to pass it along, one way or the other.
Friday, September 19, 2014
Wanna See 'Em?
I wanted to share a video I saw on Facebook that, as a responsible adult who has a lot of "student" FB friends, I cannot share there.
http://greatergood.me/1ATibab
The preview guarantees you will laugh. I smiled a bit, but mostly I cried. (Happy? Sad? Hard to tell.) Frankly, I have no idea. And it looks like all of these people had chemo, which I did not. I think the one thing people who have no experience with breast cancer will find really funny is the woman who say, "Want to feel them? Go ahead, feel them!"
Oddly enough, that's the one thing I would NOT ask people to do, since I don't think they "feel" natural at all. As a matter of fact, I worry when I hug people that they're going to think "boy, I can really tell those aren't real."
And when I leaned over the back seat of a friend's car to get at something in the "way back", I just couldn't. The parts of me that would usually flatten a bit and flex and essentially, get out of the way, did not. I consciously had to readjust my position and try again. I've already written about bumping into things without realizing it - me and the Roomba.
There ought to be a session of some kind before a mastectomy (not just for people whose friends throw them a party, but for everyone) where you get to feel your real breasts - really feel them, and try to remember what they feel like. (Maybe make a video.) Also, you should be sure to take a photo to help you remember...
I need something to remind me that what I have now looks better instead of what I'm pretty sure were kind of droopy. I do not need anything to remember that what I have now is not going to kill me. That much I know. BUT, I wish to hell that I could remember what I was, what they were, how I looked, and how they felt.
The only thing missing from this video is "Wanna see 'em?" THAT, I would say to you, any time you want. If it keeps just one person from feeling afraid to have this potentially life-saving surgery because of what he/she might look like afterward, I can help with that.
http://greatergood.me/1ATibab
The preview guarantees you will laugh. I smiled a bit, but mostly I cried. (Happy? Sad? Hard to tell.) Frankly, I have no idea. And it looks like all of these people had chemo, which I did not. I think the one thing people who have no experience with breast cancer will find really funny is the woman who say, "Want to feel them? Go ahead, feel them!"
Oddly enough, that's the one thing I would NOT ask people to do, since I don't think they "feel" natural at all. As a matter of fact, I worry when I hug people that they're going to think "boy, I can really tell those aren't real."
And when I leaned over the back seat of a friend's car to get at something in the "way back", I just couldn't. The parts of me that would usually flatten a bit and flex and essentially, get out of the way, did not. I consciously had to readjust my position and try again. I've already written about bumping into things without realizing it - me and the Roomba.
There ought to be a session of some kind before a mastectomy (not just for people whose friends throw them a party, but for everyone) where you get to feel your real breasts - really feel them, and try to remember what they feel like. (Maybe make a video.) Also, you should be sure to take a photo to help you remember...
I need something to remind me that what I have now looks better instead of what I'm pretty sure were kind of droopy. I do not need anything to remember that what I have now is not going to kill me. That much I know. BUT, I wish to hell that I could remember what I was, what they were, how I looked, and how they felt.
The only thing missing from this video is "Wanna see 'em?" THAT, I would say to you, any time you want. If it keeps just one person from feeling afraid to have this potentially life-saving surgery because of what he/she might look like afterward, I can help with that.
Monday, June 2, 2014
One Tooth Over the Line
A few weeks ago I found myself thinking about losses, and how many one could manage to handle without just crying all the time. I thought it was pretty wonderful that humans were built to somehow "manipulate" their sadness by allocating energy to really feeling it only when they were ready to, and (mostly) not at inappropriate times in inconvenient places, like during a child's choir concert (tears of sadness, not joy) or on line at the grocery store or the bank. (Yes, I still go into the bank once in a while, because the wait is shorter than at the ATM. Don't judge.)
Then other things came to be be on my mind, like finishing the religious school year, and refurbishing my office, and getting ready for confirmation, and celebrating milestones (birthdays, work anniversaries - fun stuff) and I forgot about the conversation I was having with myself about loss in general, and my losses in particular: mother, sister-in-law, friends, breasts, etc. Life went on.
This morning I got a call to (I thought) confirm my dental checkup appointment for tomorrow at noon. As I was getting ready to say that yes, I'd be there, the receptionist told me that the dentist will no longer be doing my cleaning, and that they would make my appointment with a nice hygienist.
You should know that for much of my life I have hated the dentist. As a child, our dentist seemed to do his best to pull my lips completely off my face in an attempt to reach every tooth in his inspection, as did all the hygienists while they cleaned. As a young adult I never found a dentist who could "undo" the anxiety that had built up, and luckily I have pretty strong teeth so it wasn't a huge problem.
About 25 years ago the local pediatric dentist brought in a part-time guy to treat the parents, to see if he could build up a bigger clientele. And that's when I met my dentist, Dr. Boff. He was pretty young but nice, likeable, didn't treat me like a child (has NEVER ONCE said "I see we aren't flossing, are we?") and was gentle but thorough. He nursed me through my first and only crown and has been my dentist ever since. At the time, he didn't get assigned a hygienist, so he did his own cleanings.
It was a perfect setup for me - I only dealt with one person, I trusted him, he treated me well, and he inspected while he cleaned so it saved a little time. Then he left that office and I followed him to someplace in Ridgewood, where he continued to be my dentist in just the same way.
When he set up his own shop (a lifelong dream of his) in Ramsey I was there, and Alex, my "idiosyncratic" son trusted him, as Dr. Boff took extra time with him to allay his fears. Shortly afterward the other 2 boys chose him as their preferred dentist too. I've sent many friends to him over the years, and I don't regret that at all. He and I have chatted (well, he chats, I mostly mumble through his work) over the years about baseball, his wife, his kids (all of whom he acquired during our relationship) and his health.
Despite a few fillings, some painful scraping, and all that goes with a dentist visit for the non-scrupulously brushed/flossed/rinsed set, my anxiety about going to the dentist gradually faded, until I no longer regularly delayed my appointments. As a matter of fact, I haven't delayed them at all - until today.
I told the receptionist that this would really be quite a change for me and I would have to think about it, half hoping she would say something like "Oh, never mind, I didn't realize it would be so hard for you - we'll just make an exception in your case." Or that Bob (that's his name) would suddenly call out, "Don't call Rebecca - I'll keep just her!" But she didn't, and he didn't, and I hung up the phone. I started to write an email to the office to make my case for exceptional treatment, because I had always had "exceptionally good" (got that nice turn of phrase there?) treatment, but I just couldn't figure out what to say. So I called her back and promptly burst into tears.
She was horrified, told me it was nothing personal, which I gulped that I understood, and said I'd have to figure things out on my own and get back to her. I told her it was NOT. HER. PROBLEM. But I can only imagine what I must have sounded like, sobbing away and trying to explain that I needed to talk to all my friends who went there (remember, I got them some nice business, but I didn't say that) to see which hygienist might be the least problematic for me.
I told her that I certainly don't feel as old as I actually am in people-years most of the time, but that this particular thing has made me react like an "old person." Make that "old, cranky, demanding" person. So she said she'd talk to him and I said I'd talk to my therapist (that I have because I have BREAST CANCER and a MASTECTOMY and couldn't you people be just a little sympathetic? - None of this was said out loud but I sure did think it.) And we left it at that.
Conclusion: my theory that the sadness of personal loss is cumulative is pretty dead-on, at least for me, and my theory that I can manipulate my sadness into appropriate and tasteful times/places is shot to hell.
Then other things came to be be on my mind, like finishing the religious school year, and refurbishing my office, and getting ready for confirmation, and celebrating milestones (birthdays, work anniversaries - fun stuff) and I forgot about the conversation I was having with myself about loss in general, and my losses in particular: mother, sister-in-law, friends, breasts, etc. Life went on.
This morning I got a call to (I thought) confirm my dental checkup appointment for tomorrow at noon. As I was getting ready to say that yes, I'd be there, the receptionist told me that the dentist will no longer be doing my cleaning, and that they would make my appointment with a nice hygienist.
You should know that for much of my life I have hated the dentist. As a child, our dentist seemed to do his best to pull my lips completely off my face in an attempt to reach every tooth in his inspection, as did all the hygienists while they cleaned. As a young adult I never found a dentist who could "undo" the anxiety that had built up, and luckily I have pretty strong teeth so it wasn't a huge problem.
About 25 years ago the local pediatric dentist brought in a part-time guy to treat the parents, to see if he could build up a bigger clientele. And that's when I met my dentist, Dr. Boff. He was pretty young but nice, likeable, didn't treat me like a child (has NEVER ONCE said "I see we aren't flossing, are we?") and was gentle but thorough. He nursed me through my first and only crown and has been my dentist ever since. At the time, he didn't get assigned a hygienist, so he did his own cleanings.
It was a perfect setup for me - I only dealt with one person, I trusted him, he treated me well, and he inspected while he cleaned so it saved a little time. Then he left that office and I followed him to someplace in Ridgewood, where he continued to be my dentist in just the same way.
When he set up his own shop (a lifelong dream of his) in Ramsey I was there, and Alex, my "idiosyncratic" son trusted him, as Dr. Boff took extra time with him to allay his fears. Shortly afterward the other 2 boys chose him as their preferred dentist too. I've sent many friends to him over the years, and I don't regret that at all. He and I have chatted (well, he chats, I mostly mumble through his work) over the years about baseball, his wife, his kids (all of whom he acquired during our relationship) and his health.
Despite a few fillings, some painful scraping, and all that goes with a dentist visit for the non-scrupulously brushed/flossed/rinsed set, my anxiety about going to the dentist gradually faded, until I no longer regularly delayed my appointments. As a matter of fact, I haven't delayed them at all - until today.
I told the receptionist that this would really be quite a change for me and I would have to think about it, half hoping she would say something like "Oh, never mind, I didn't realize it would be so hard for you - we'll just make an exception in your case." Or that Bob (that's his name) would suddenly call out, "Don't call Rebecca - I'll keep just her!" But she didn't, and he didn't, and I hung up the phone. I started to write an email to the office to make my case for exceptional treatment, because I had always had "exceptionally good" (got that nice turn of phrase there?) treatment, but I just couldn't figure out what to say. So I called her back and promptly burst into tears.
She was horrified, told me it was nothing personal, which I gulped that I understood, and said I'd have to figure things out on my own and get back to her. I told her it was NOT. HER. PROBLEM. But I can only imagine what I must have sounded like, sobbing away and trying to explain that I needed to talk to all my friends who went there (remember, I got them some nice business, but I didn't say that) to see which hygienist might be the least problematic for me.
I told her that I certainly don't feel as old as I actually am in people-years most of the time, but that this particular thing has made me react like an "old person." Make that "old, cranky, demanding" person. So she said she'd talk to him and I said I'd talk to my therapist (that I have because I have BREAST CANCER and a MASTECTOMY and couldn't you people be just a little sympathetic? - None of this was said out loud but I sure did think it.) And we left it at that.
Conclusion: my theory that the sadness of personal loss is cumulative is pretty dead-on, at least for me, and my theory that I can manipulate my sadness into appropriate and tasteful times/places is shot to hell.
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