surgery is fun, but--

I was 100% ecstatic when Dr. Frankle called me this morning and said that my margins of error were clear and I would not need more surgery! Yeah!!! After two c-sections in three years and last Tuesday's adventure just three years after the last c-section, I'm officially announcing that I am done with surgery.
(Incidentally, Dr. Frankle shared that of the thirteen lymph nodes he removed, only one came back cancerous. This was good news! And surprising, since Fred told me that Dr. Frankle told him that he had removed five lymph nodes during my surgery.)

((There are several theories floating around about this small confusion: 1) Dr. Frankle (a surgeon of 35+ years) told Fred the wrong number of lymph nodes that he removed; 2) Fred was understandably exhausted and confused after my surgery and misheard Dr. Frankle; 3)Fred heard Dr. Frankle but told me 5 rather than 13 so I wouldn't be worried all week; 4) Both Fred and Dr. Frankle were stoned out of their minds during my surgery. Since Fred denies theory number 3, we can take that one off the table, and since Fred has never smoked a joint in his life and Dr. Frankle's eyes looked clear last Tuesday, we can also remove number 4. Note, I am simply reporting, not editorializing, about this news.))

5 lymph nodes, 13, it's all water under the bridge--they were clear except for that one little pest! My arm probably has been healing faster because I was thinking only 5 nodes were removed. The body/mind thing is powerful and I'm more interested in it than ever. Another example from this week: I asked Fred to bring up my bottle of percoset before going to bed the other night; he did, I took it, the pain went away, I fell asleep. Funny thing was in the morning when I went to take my thyroid medicine, I couldn't find it. Here it was on my bedroom dresser--Fred had brought it up it last night, thinking it was percoset. Hhhhhmmm.

But we won't put Fred on another trial. Everyone read the last post and knows I love him. The guy is doing an amazing job of keeping things running in the house--and truth to tell, maybe one "detail" person is plenty in a relationship. On to other news...

So I was sitting outside with my kids a few hours ago and I suddenly realized that this one old close friend of mine hasn't gotten in touch with me. I've sent her a few emails and I started thinking maybe she hasn't gotten them, maybe she doesn't know. We were really close at one point in our lives, during my mid-twenties when I was doing theater in Chicago; she directed my most successful one-woman show. Has she not read my emails or is she actually ignoring me?
I started thinking. A lot of people around me at that time of my life thought she was pretty superficial, but I never did. I started feeling really disappointed and sad at the idea that she knew what I was going through and hasn't reached out in anyway. And

just then as I was getting all caught up in whether she knew or not and whether she was superficial or not and whether I was stupid for not seeing it before or not and whether I should give her a call or not, the phone rang and it was someone I was so happy to hear from. My friend Amy, from high school. We hadn't talked for such a long, long time. Her sister is on facebook with me and told Ame what was going on.

Ame is a science person; she works as a veterinarian. She asked me how I was doing and it was perfect because I'd been developing this material in my mind all day and she was just an ideal person to share it with: I get breast cancer, right, and everyone around is so happy and confidant that I'll be cured and how it just makes me so f--ing pissed that all of the brilliant doctors and researchers have been working in oncology while for the last 27 years that I've been living with Type 1 diabetes apparantly all of the morons go into endocrinology and can't figure out how to make a freakin artificial pancreas. I kept going with it--all the oncologists graduate from Johns Hopkins and Harvard and Penn and all the endos get their MDs from some school in the Caribbean and I had us both really, really laughing hysterically and I know I'm losing it in translation now but seriously, a side effect of getting this breast cancer diagnosis is that I'm seriously pissed off that they can cut away and chemo the hell out of the cancer but no one can figure out how to implant a few beta cells and get my pancreas to produce insulin again.

But it was funny when I told Amy that. Yeah, we laughed like hell about it and I was like, how did the most non-superficial person in the world, who gets my dark sense of humor and will enjoy these medical references, happen to call me just now? F-- the theater director. Amy literally sticks her hand up cows and horses' butts for a living. And she's damn good at it. That's the kind of friend I can talk to right now.

And I don't want to sound like my life has become a twisted version of "My Name is Earl," but there's been a lot of karma/coincidence stuff happening with me. Amy gets her breath from laughing at my shtick and she asks me if I've been visualizing myself as healthy.

Now you have to understand--if you don't know Ame--that the word "visualize" is not a word that I've ever heard come out of her mouth. Ame and I met on the school bus; I was in 6th grade, she was in 7th. We sat in a seat together, along with an annoying boy named Alan Riga who tried to push us against the window every afternoon. We bonded (Ame and I, not Alan.)Even then, she was the scientist and I was the artist. There was a lot of respect between us and a lot of yin/yang sympatico. We talked about Einstein. We grew up together. In high school, we drank together and went to Denny's late at night for onion rings and engaged in some petty acts of vandalism. Amy's father died of leukemia. It was the first funeral I ever went to where I saw an open casket. There was Mr. Platko, the nicest dad, the one who used to drive us to the mall, the one who was the star of his bowling league. And he was dead.

I went to theater school, Ame went to vet school. I never heard her say something like "visualize" before today.

"Yes, Ame, I am," I told her. And I have been. Twice a day, listening to a meditation/visualization/affirmation CD.

"That's good," she said. "You're going to beat this."

"Do you promise me?"

"Yes, Gab, I do."

"I'm a little worried about my immune system. First type 1 diabetes, graves's disease, now this. I don't want anymore."

"Well...we'll get it stronger. We'll figure it out. We'll get your immune system strong."

It was what I needed to hear at 5:30PM today when she called me. We made some plans for her to come down and hang with me during my chemo and we laughed about how lame it is that we are actually using chemo to carve out some girls time. But we are both busy moms and she is a busy vet and I am a busy writer/teacher/artsy lady.

"You are funny, Gab," she said before hanging up. "You are so f--ing funny."

Thank God I've got all of you guys who are reading this now around me because you know, like Ame, you are the real ones for me.

Oh yeah, one more thing I have to share about this "funny" thing...I've gotten a few cards from people who indicated how surprised/shocked they were to find out that someone as "funny" and "creative" as I am is dealing with cancer. I am serious. One person actually also included "adorable", that she was shocked that someone as "adorable" as me is dealing with this disease. So, I'm thinking that if being "funny" and "creative" and possibly also "adorable" prevented cancer, you would generally find more funny and creative (and some adorable)people around and maybe even the nightmare that was just the Bush administration would never have occurred.

So my tip is that if Hallmark doesn't make cards that say (cover), "Gee...sorry to hear you got cancer..." (inside)"I always thought you were so funny/creative/adorable. That sucks!" then probably that's not the most appropriate message to write in on a card to someone who in fact is funny and creative (not going to accept adorable)and did just get diagnosed with cancer. It's just a thought.