Happy cancerversary to me?
So it’s two years ago today that I got my breast cancer diagnosis and began the scary and painful course of treatment that has, for now, left me cancer-free. I’m in the midst of my every-six-months run of appointments and labs, so it’s all very present in my mind, but I got cleared on mammogram this week so once my bloodwork comes back, I’m all set until February when we do all this again (except the mammogram).
The news is full of studies indicating that cancer rates among young people are rising at unprecedented rates. Do get your screenings, and if you notice anything off, do go see somebody about it. Please.
It feels like getting old involves a lot of specialist doctors, and I’m not even quite 52. In the immediate vicinity of this month I have seen or will see: A rheumatologist, a physical therapist, my GP, a podiatrist (podiatrists are magic), my general surgeon, two oncologists, a radiologist, my gynecologist, and a dentist in a pear tree.
At least I have my own teeth still.
Older bodies are like older cars: the maintenance requirements and quirks just keep piling up, and the hacks you put together to keep them running get more and more elaborate and Rube Goldbergian. I find myself relating ever more to the Pete Seeger song that goes,
Old age is golden, I think I've heard said
But sometimes I wonder as I crawl into bed
My ears in a drawer, my teeth in a cup
My eyes on the table until I wake up
Pete was younger than me when he wrote that, and proceeded to stick around for another fifty years or so, so I guess I better treat it as if we’re in this for the long haul, hadn’t I?
I remember a truck (a manual transmission, obviously) I used to drive that would only start if it was rolling, so I had to park it on an incline every single time.
It ran great, otherwise.