Silver Linings Come in All Different Colors, Shapes, and Sizes

Last week I finished the last and final week of radiation, and it is taking its toll.  I am not one to usually complain, but it is becoming uncomfortable.  The skin was bumpy and irritated at the end of prior week, and on Monday they began with a longer than usual blast – to the point where I started to wonder if they were simply trying to squeeze in as much as possible in the final days.  In addition to the irritation, though, the radiated skin is distinctly discolored – as if someone had taken a brown Crayola marker, connected the dots marking my radiation area, and filled it in.  I suppose I can pretend that it is a cool tattoo, but to be completely honest, there is nothing cool about this mark.  I guess it can be a Dark Mark.

Nothing like a cool shoulder tattoo to say you're ready for the beach!  (Photo credit: Harry Potter/Warner Bros.)

 My sister has taken some time off and has been caring for me and helping me out at home.  I know that all sounds nice, but to be quite frank, she is infuriating.  She is knows me so perfectly that she anticipates my needs before I can even voice them.  When I am cooking, she whisks away dirty bowls and pans and quickly washes them.  When the area on my shoulder more than usually irritated, she sees me wincing, and grabs my radiation relief cream.  When I jumped because the cream was cold, she started to warm it prior to application so that it wouldn’t shock me when applied.  She is so utterly devoted, kind, and giving.  Even the receptionists at the UCI Cancer Center know her.  Each morning, they call out, “Hello, Mrs. Carmichael!” and these days, they add, “Hello, sister!”  To which she merrily smiles and waves back.  What can I say?  At this point, she’s become my Minion.  I call her Kevin.  Which, obviously, means I am Gru.

Okay, okay, let's be honest.  I'm probably Scarlet Overkill.  (Photo credit: Universal Pictures)

As my younger sister, she was my constant, sometimes unwanted, companion when I was a child.  A pest, if you will.  I remember reading Judy Blume's book, "Ramona the Pest," and thinking that I was like Beezus, and she was exactly like Ramona.  Ramona was clearly more loved and cute, while Beezus was boring and practical.  But now, she's no longer a pest; she's an annoying source of comfort and joy.  The person who knows me almost better than I know myself. 

Looks like a pest to me...  (Photo credit: Dell-Yearling Publishing)

Each week has been harder than the last, although I have been “assured” that the week after radiation may be even worse; the radiation will continue to take effect even for 6-8 weeks after the treatment itself ends.  To be honest, the mental impacts of the cancer recurring have been harder than the physical.  I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop and the effects of the cancer and radiation to come down on me like a hammer, but I’m determined to stay as active and as independent as I can, for as long as I can.  

My last day of radiation should have been euphoric, but I had some pain and tightening of the muscles that morning, causing a pretty raging headache.  So instead of celebrating, I gritted my teeth, picked up a tray of breakfast burritos for the staff at the radiation clinic to say thank you, and went on my way to my last day of radiation. 

I am not looking forward to this next week of post-radiation effects, or the ensuing year of post-radiation when all the after-effects truly begin to come out of the woodwork.  The doctors told me that scar tissue will slowly develop in the tissues and that there may be physical atrophy in the area.  I've been told that the effects will continue years after the treatment and it seems almost unreal that the side effects could last so long.  But so it does, so it shall, and life (thankfully) goes on.

*   *   *   *

I have wanted to share an extremely amusing anecdote, but was torn because some people didn’t find it funny.  Rather, they found it horrifying.  But you have to have a sense of humor with cancer.  For example, today I saw a picture of Julianne Hough and other dancers wearing shirts declaring, “Dancers Against Cancer!” It sounds appealing, as if you replace the "D" with the "C" the word "dancer" becomes "cancer" and oh my, isn't that clever? But let’s be honest, who is for cancer?  It’s like saying, “Moms against Human Rights Abuses!”  I appreciate the thought, but sometimes life is a little easier to take when you can just take a step back and poke a little fun at the world around us.

So a few weeks ago, while I was in the quagmire of the transplant decision, I had lunch with my friend Linda.  It has been hard for my friends, as I have not wanted to see anyone, and I wanted to make sure I saw her and let her know that I was okay.  Since those of you who read my prior book/blog know that, "Death Hates Bacon Cheeseburgers," we had burgers at the new Shakes and Buns place at South Coast Plaza.

Say bacon cheese...burger!

While we were eating lunch, a woman was hovering around our table, in kind of an odd manner.  She was not an unattractive woman, but since we were talking about pretty serious issues, it was disconcerting to have a stranger hover.

"Linda?" the not-unattractive woman asked.

My friend looked up from our conversation, surprised.  "Oh, hi!"

Now, I know Linda pretty well, and she really, really surprised.  So surprised, in fact, she didn't say anything else after her initial greeting.

"Hi!" I said, in my most friendly manner.

"I didn't want to bother you guys, I just wanted to say hi," the woman said.

I sensed that the woman wanted to be invited to the table, and asked her to join us.  She seemed nice, and I needed to leave soon anyway. 

"Oh thank you!" She motioned the waiter to bring her salad and drink to our table.  (Also, who orders a salad at a place called Shakes and Buns?  What are we, murderers?  Linda and I were, meanwhile, snarfing down short rib poutine (fries and gravy) and a bacon cheeseburger, because we have no shame, and we are, of course, in a BURGER JOINT.)

I wasn’t sure how to begin the conversation, but I shouldn’t have worried, as the new woman had plenty to talk about.  Unfortunately, the conversation quickly veered from hair styles and appearances to life as a single woman. 

"So, Linda, do you know any single men out here? It is so hard dating for women my age!" she exclaimed.  "The guys are so weird."

"Yeah, I can imagine," I said, sympathetically.  "Have you tried the dating websites? I know a lot of my friends have used them, and ended up in very happy marriages."

"Yeah, but it's hard to sort out the crazies," she said.   

"Well, you need to probably read between the lines, and after a while, you will learn which ones are worthwhile or not, I'm sure," I said.

"You know Brittany Maynard?" she asked.

"Yeah, I think so," I said.  She was the young girl who was diagnosed with an extremely painful, terminal cancer, and moved to a different state with her husband so she could choose when and how she wanted to die.  From dating websites to terminal cancer and death?  Where is this going?  I thought. 

"I met her husband, and he is such a nice guy.  He is single, but not because he abandoned his family, or has a personality flaw.  You know, in my choice of available men to date, I think I like men whose wives had died, instead of men who had divorced," she declared emphatically.

What?!  I stared at her for a moment, so flabbergasted that I actually had to struggle not to laugh out loud.  Did this woman just tell a married cancer patient that she prefers to date men whose wives died of cancer?  I had a puckish urge to lean forward and say, “Hey, that’s great!  You’ve come to the right spot.  Because – surprise!  I have cancer and my husband is awesome!  He is a handsome doctor with great character.  He's tall, dark, and handsome! Just wait a year or so, and you could find the answer to your dating problem, for good!”

Thankfully, common sense intervened and I suppressed that doubtlessly horrifying response.  “Yes,” I said instead, “they have certainly shown strength of character and loyalty,” in my best attempt to sound convincing. 

Linda, of course, good friend that she is, looked horrified at the entire situation. 

“I'm sorry.  Did you just say that you like to date guys whose wives have died?” Linda asked, aghast.  “I can't believe you just said that!” 

“How are you guys?  How’s Michael and the boys?” her friend asked, blithely changing the subject.   Chitchat ensued, and I left shortly thereafter to go pick up Evan from school.

I called Linda later that day.  “OMG, how funny was that conversation we were having at lunch?!” I asked, finally letting myself laugh at the situation.

Linda, however, seemed just as horrified as she had been at lunch.

"I had had enough!  Who the heck says things like that??" Linda responded.

“But seriously, it was funny, right?”

“Maybe now, but at the time I was so shocked!”

“See?  There is a silver lining to everything,” I noted.   “She obviously sees one in the ‘wives-that-die scenario.’  Who knew that Joe would be such a catch because of my cancer?  Silver linings can appear in all different clouds – even the ones that seem the least likely to have one,” I laughed.

Now, I know that I am not dying anytime soon and I don’t think I’m actually planning on writing a letter of reference for Joe for future wives looking for men whose wives died of cancer.  And maybe to another cancer patient this story would be completely terrible.  But I found it pretty funny at the time, and provided me with a good laugh on a day that didn’t have much laughter in it.  So, thank you, random lady.  You have reminded me that the world never ceases to surprise, for better or for worse.

Sometimes, all you can do is laugh.  (Photo credit: Daily-comix.com)