Stye in my eye and chemo drip

I woke up to a stye in my eye and my nose bleeding. Nothing says Monday like a stye and a bloody nose. 

Dec 4^th is my last treatment of chemotherapy. 3 weeks until I won’t have poison injected into my bloodstream. 3 weeks until my nose stops dripping and bleeding every time I go outside. 3 weeks until my world changes yet again. 

I’m having surgery on December 21^st. A double mastectomy with reconstruction. 

December 21^st. 11 years to the day that I drove Steve to the ER with excruciating stomach pains resulting in him staying in the hospital for 5 months due to misdiagnosed gallstones. 

I don’t know what to make of this fortuitous date. When I met with my surgical team to select a date for my surgery the scheduler said, “The date has already been decided upon.” Like some kind of fucking fortune teller. The date has already been decided upon? Bitch by whom?? My surgery is time sensitive, requires multiple surgeons and with the stress of the upcoming holidays I appreciate that it has been decided upon but damn that date is upcoming. 

I would be a maniac if I didn’t declare that I’m not nervous, worried, scared. But there is also a sense of gratitude (always) that I am at the point of surgery, that I’m even closer to putting this chapter behind me. And most importantly closer to my new beeeeeewbs.

I shampoo my head. Even if I only have the slightest sprouts, I shampoo them every day. And as I shampoo I say, “Hello little sprouts. I see you and I thank you.” This morning after icing my stye, cleaning up my bleed and while thanking my sprouts I thought HEY! 

Maybe losing my hair isn’t about loss but rather the privilege of watching it regrow. Maybe getting a stye isn’t about the pain in my pink lids but instead the joy of witnessing my eyelash buds lining up to pop through. Maybe getting cancer isn’t about GETTING CANCER it’s about loving yourself enough to let yourself heal. 

But the nose bleeds. Those mother fuckers I can do without. 

Bald is the new Black

If you are lucky enough to be bald, actually, factually and matter of facterly BALD on Halloween then you better own that shit. And own it I did. I happened to receive CHemo the day before Halloween. The hospital staff asked me to dress up for their “party.”

You don’t have to ask me to dress up for a Halloween party twice. 

After narrowing down my costume selection to 

a.) Bruce Willis 

b.) A Wigless Dustin Hoffman ala Hook 

c.) Jeff Bezos 

d.) The Six Flags guy

I decided on d.) The Six Flags guy.

 I ordered my bow tie and suspenders, borrowed my dad’s tux shined my head and I was off. I proudly played “We like not party” by The Venga Boys from my cell phone and paraded through the halls of MGH. As I looked around I took note that not one, NOT A SINGLE ONE, was dressed for Halloween. And here I come looking like Junior Soprano. 

At the end of my treatment, as I strolled through the corridors proudly displaying my new found gender,  the nursing staff greeted me with a gorgeous bouquet of flowers and a note that said “Your light inspires us all. Thank you.” And just like that I won. The nursing staff thanked me?! The same nursing staff that is actively and actually saving my life?? 

Also adding to my “win” as I sat in the lobby of MGH, holding my bouquet, looking 74 and waiting for my ride, a woman of equal age approached me. “Hello” she said as she sat next to me breaking all 6ft boundary rules.

“Hi,” I responded naively.

“Are you here visiting someone?” She asked with a smize. I say “smize” because although filtered through her mask her flirting eyes were smizing so loudly that the parking clerk could see them.

“No, I replied curiously, “I’m here because I received chemo.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Do you live nearby?”

EXCUSE MY GLOAT BUT HAVE YOU EVER BEEN HIT ON BY AN ELDERLY WOMAN WHILE DRESSED AS AN ELDERLY MAN?

If your answer is no then you’re not living.

So what now? Do I continue flirting and see if I can get her digits? Do I turn on my preset Venga Boys playlist and start dancing? 

“Yes I do live nearby my dear,” I responded with an interested appeal “It appears my ride has arrived. Please accept these flowers and have yourself a lovely weekend.” 

How do you like them apples? Bucket list #119: Dress like an old man and get hit on by an old woman while receiving chemo at a major Boston hospital. Check and mate.