The Face of Cancer in the Morning

Saturday morning in Seattle. It's raining, and cold. Damp, get-in-your-bones cold. I've neglected my dog, and he needs a walk, first thing, before I get too tired and skip another day.

But first, I'm drawn to the computer and my blog. This thing is addictive. I check my stats, to see how many people are reading me and where they came from. I check gmail, to see who's writing to me. This is a good reason to get out of bed.

And I muse over my aborted battle with the governor. I really wanted to take her on. But apparently the issue is moot, so there is no point. But the irony of the governor, a breast cancer survivor herself, not wanting the WSHIP bill to have the emergency clause that would help me (and others coming up behind me, I'm not alone) ...

I had written a piece called "Going Mano a Mano With the Governor," that compared the two of us in all sorts of ways--age (60, her; 52, me), education (law degree, her; two master's degrees, me), health insurance coverage, cancer status, and so on. I thought it was a great piece, but I guess I won't post it now.

So back to that cancer face. When I first wake up, I tend to give myself a long stare in the mirror, and this is what I see: pale greenish skin, pale purplish lips, thin, bed-head hair, invisible eyebrows, and lots of stiff, tight joints.

What a picture.

The pallor is caused by the chemo drug, cytoxan (and the Seattle weather--no real sun yet this time of year). The invisible eyebrows and thin hair, ditto. And the stiff, sore body is part getting older and, a bigger part, the result of all the chemo that I have had, and the fact that I have bone mets--little cancer tumors just sitting here and there throughout my bones, waiting.

Ugly little beasts. I don't even know where most of them are, or how many of them there are. Some things I just don't need to know.

We keep an eye on them with regular PET scans, and as long as they are relatively quiet, that's fine. Keep taking the drugs, keep doing the scans, and doing my best to live my life in spite of it all.

That greenish, purplish face is cured by the judicious application of makeup: I draw in eyebrows, so I don't look so naked, and always wear lipstick when I go out. Exercise, the occasional sauna, and massage (I'm getting one today) help with the stiffness and the bone pain.

The amazing thing is, when I pull myself together, add a little warpaint, and go out to face the world, no one has any idea that I have advanced cancer: And that's the way I like it.

@ Jeanne Sather 2007.