Jeans or jeggings? Short-sleeved tee-shirt or long-sleeved tunic? Miniskirt or maxidress? Until I entered the swirl of seemingly nonstop cancer appointments, I used to dress according to occasion and weather; but now, I base my choices on that day’s medical events.
Cough. Blow nose. Cancel plans. Rinse and repeat.
The drug is an effective replacement for opiates and was recently approved for treatment of PTSD. New York State’s law is restrictive, allowing limited dispensaries and requiring the drug to be ingested in a distilled oil form rather than smoked. Still, there are over 30,000 regular users.
In my cancer circles, I frequently hear women lament a challenging treatment or “scanxiety,” which is nervousness or anxiety before a test about cancer progression. And they often end with the thought, “I do it all for my kids.” My “Why” comes from a different place: I do treatment for me.
In my dying, socializing asks more of me than I can often give. Like love, death is bigger than us. I am discovering that my end-of-life journey requires different energy and rhythms from my previous life patterns. I also do not desire your reassurance to “feel better” about my health situation, nor am I in a position to shoulder your grief.
My husband estimates that my innate worth has grown 47 cents due to the three new tiny gold seeds in my head (probably as close as I’ll ever get to wearing a tinfoil hat). This metal trio is smaller than rice and glued onto my skull to help point the radiation beam to the correct spot in my brain. My husband was delighted that the doctor jokingly said he could bring his own drill along.
The enrollment period for the Affordable Care Act has been cut in half and advertising is non-existent. In addition, so-called “navigators,” who help guide persons through the enrollment process, are scarce.
After being diagnosed with a benign brain tumor the size of a golf ball, which caused unsteady footing, dizziness and eventual strokes, Annalee Orsulich set out to recreate a potion she once drank while studying herbal medicine in Brazil.
When it comes to information about my condition, I don’t want story – I want science! Seeing the screen myself, I was able to integrate the doctor’s reporting with actual numbers along with visuals.
Making arrangements for what happens to one’s body after death is difficult, but, once complete, the feeling is liberating.