Humiliation, Cancer Style

Since February 3, I have been the victim of inadvertent humiliation several times. I've become used to it, and am not all that phased by it anymore. But, I'm reading High Fidelity, now. Perhaps you saw the movie with John Cusack and Jack Black? If you didn't, you should. It rocks ... literally. It's about a guy who owns a music store. Anyway, John Cusack's character has an obsession with explaining things in top five list format. For example, worst five breakups, top five Joni Mitchell songs, top five foreign movies of all time.

So, in honor of this hilarious book, I will give you a list of my top five humiliating cancer moments.

ONE - Group Cleaning

After the first surgery, the hospital staff inexplicably found it of the utmost importance that I take a shower. Mind you, I could not walk the six steps to the bathroom. So, I clearly could not shower alone. And why would I even want to? The way that it turned out was so much more cozy. It is also important to remember that I could not lift my arms and that my back and chest were in significant amounts of pain. Also, I had drains pulling out blood and grossness. These drains had to be attended. Also, there was the catheter ... and the iv pole. So, I ended up sitting on a bench built for geriatric home use. While there, my nurse and my mom, who were both fully clothed ... down to their tennis shoes, were in charge of cleaning my swollen and oozing patchwork quilt of a body. Oh, and please don't dawdle ladies. My hemoglobin is dangerously low and I'm at a horrifyingly long distance from my morphine pump. So, let's get this cleansing over with so that I can get back to my narcotic schedule. I like to take a bump every ten minutes ... only because they won' let me take them every four.

TWO - Constipation Relief

I was a little stopped up, after my surgeries. There were two solutions to this, which were delicious, but embarrassing. The first was that my husband and mother-in-law had to take turns making me prune juice smoothies. The second was that my father-in-law brought me Caribou, because the caffeine helped. I appreciate these offerings, but I wish I didn't have to talk to everyone about my bowel habits.

THREE - Sniff, sniff

During one visit to the plastic surgeon, the extent to which my nipples were harboring disgusting infection was up for debate. So, to solve the mystery, my doctor smelled my breasts. No warning. He just leaned in an took a good whiff of each one. Cancer is so humbling.

FOUR - Peep Shows

Modesty is a thing of the past. I have shown my scars to everyone I know. And, because I'm new to this whole surgery and healing thing, I had several questions along the way. Luckily, my mom and aunt both were nurses. Also luckily (or unfortunately for them) we have several friends who are doctors. Because of rashes and dissolvable stitches that didn't dissolve and wounds that didn't heal, I have bared myself to several of Scott's friends, two of whom are the husbands of my friends. Also, one of those times was during dinner. Another was when Scott wasn't home. A third was while I was at work. I'm either desperate for medical opinions or kind of promiscuous.

FIVE - Frostbite

It's all a chain. My cancer is estrogen receptor positive. So, that transforms my ovaries from functioning organs to traitors, aiding and abetting the enemy. In order to minimize the estrogen production and absorption in my body, I am taking medication for the next five years. Also, I opted to have my ovaries removed. In so doing, I have been violently shoved into menopause. As a result of that, I have irritating hot flashes and night sweats. And that is the set-up for number five.

Yesterday, I had a red, angry looking splotch on my cheek. What was it? Sunburn? No. An abrasion from my very active BMX career? Nope. It was frostbite ... in 86 degree weather. How would such a thing happen, you may ask? From sleeping ... naturally. On Saturday night, I had three mojitos, after which the world was much more blurry and spinny than usual. (Thank you, Crows.) I figured that it was probably not a stellar idea to add Ambien to this equation, so I went to bed without it. Bad call. Two hours later, I woke up and COULD NOT fall back asleep, due to the fact that our house was 7 million degrees. (Or 74, but that's about the same thing during a hot flash.) I stripped off the blankets. INFERNO. I moved to the spare bedroom. PUDDLES OF SWEAT. I got an ice pack and moved it around from my head to my back to my neck to my arms for the next year and a half. Eventually, I was cooled down enough to go back to bed. I climbed in, disdainfully kicked the blankets aside and gratefully fell asleep with the ice pack on my head. And that's why I had to put sunscreen on a frostbite.

And that's why it's embarrassing to be me.