A Week Without

My New Mexico friend wants good news. How about this? I have a week without medical appointments. YEA!

I meet with my physical therapist next week but I think they're going to release me to do the exercises on my own. Then I follow up with bloodwork and my oncologist in mid-October. At that time, they'll discuss whether another ultrasound is warranted to try to find another pocket of fluid that could be drained. No one can feel anything, but they didn't feel the large pocket they had to drain last time, either.

Last week I was fitted with a compression bra (think tight tank-top) with three layers of fabric to press the fluid out of the chest and out through the lymph system. It's made by a company whose motto is, "Because a hug shouldn't hurt." Notice they don't say anything about breathing. The bra is $274. (For the uninformed male, the latest technology, no-underwire bra at Victoria's Secret is $36.50 and I thought that was highway robbery.) I'm grateful that in this instance, my insurance picked up the cost. The PT was ready with back-up payment from the local heros, Rays of Hope, just in case insurance balked. Not all insurance plans cover it. Thank heavens for Rays of Hope and similar local help groups. The bra has to be hand-washed every night because, like my compression sleeve or tight jeans, it stretches out after wear. And that might make it loose and comfortable and that would be bad.

The Physician's Assistant I saw was very educational. My condition is called truncal lymphedema, and although it can take up to a year to resolve itself, it's actually easier to treat, she tells me, than the swelling that occurs in the arm. Apparently, the arm, ending with fingers, is a dead end for fluid whereas the chest has some options for drainage--down the side to the groin area or across the chest to the other side. They want to avoid the chest wall draining into the arm. Thus I have to keep wearing the compression sleeve. Swollen areas can't heal from cuts, bites, or abrasions as well because the white blood cells can't do their thing. So I have to be careful with the cats not to play with my left side or arm.

What is called for is patience. Something I don't have a lot of when it comes to being sick. I like the illusion that what I do, what I eat, and my mindset can give me the upper hand and control the outcome. But...

this illusion is itself an illness, and everyone's got it. It's called believing we can control the future by what we eat, or weigh, or accomplish now. The alternative--understanding that we are not in charge--is utterly humbling and leaves us unbearably vulnerable. --Geneen Roth, "No Matter What We Eat"

Drat.