40,000 Foot Perspective

As it turns out, despite my jitters of yesterday, traveling after being on Isolation Island is (fortunately!) just like riding a bicycle (Silver Lining). I hopped right back on and rolled easily.

Though I thought I had already learned this lesson, I was reminded again that there really is NO reason to worry about things that I cannot change.

For example, instead of worrying about packing (like I did yesterday), I have decided instead to be grateful that the chemo clutter in my brain finally motivated me to compile the packing list that I’ve needed for ages (because I always forget at least one thing on every trip).

As it turns out, I actually did forget to add one thing to said list: hand sanitizer. I picked some up at the airport, though.  The good news is that I did remember my suitcase (which doesn’t always happen!).

At the airport, I was so relieved not to have had a confrontation with TSA about my scarf. I harbored visions of  being requested to take it off and my having to say: Really?  No, I couldn’t possibly. Don’t make me. Blah. Blah. Blah.

Another needless worry. Lesson learned.

On the plane, my (very sweet) flight attendant said, “You’re so pretty.  Please tell me you’re not going through what I think you’re going through.”

I said: If you’re referring to cancer, then yes. I am.

Why do people hesitate to use the word?  Because it makes them uncomfortable? Do they think cancer is contagious (it’s not, by the way)?  Do they think that if they say cancer then it will make it worse?  Do they imagine that by talking about it without using the word that somehow I’ll display an unsavory emotion (e.g., sadness, anger, Chemo Sobby)?

The other day, a lady came up to me (and interrupted a conversation, by the way) and said, “What kind (cue the whisper) do you have?”  Really?

Anyway, back to the story.

After I told the the flight attendant that I do indeed have cancer, she said, “Son of a bee hive.  Whyyyyyyy (in a moan)?”

I make up a lot of sayings (e.g., easy breezy, snuggle buggle) but I could NOT have made up “son of a bee hive.” That was strong in the respectfully corny department.

How on earth to respond to people who ask “Whyyyyyy”?  Though I know that this is a rhetorical question and that people who ask are not really eliciting a data-driven response, I was speechless.  Not speechless because I didn’t have words (I nearly ALWAYS have words!) but truth be told, because I was holding back a snarky and sarcastic response (thanks to the errant steroids that I still have  rambling around in my body).

She shook her head at my silence.  And I just gave her a little smile.  Because I was biting my tongue.

One thing that I didn’t expect today was horrendous, outrageous and over the top hot flashes.  Oh my F-bomb goodness. They came faster and more furiously than at any other point in the FBC tenure. I have absolutely no idea why.  I can’t imagine that flying encourages hot flashes, but I don’t really know.

 

 

What I do know is that my body temperature vacillated between a case of the sweaty Betty’s and Siberian shivers (see what I mean about the phrases?).

The heat factor is, I’m sure,  exacerbated by the fact that I am wearing a compression sleeve (extending from my right shoulder to my fingers) to prevent lymphedema.

Can I just talk about this sleeve for a second?  It feels and looks like I’m wearing Spanks on my arm. For the same reason a lady doesn’t want anyone to see her Spanks, I’m not too pleased about  revealing this compression sleeve.  It (in addition to a scarf) screams:  “Sick! Cancer! Illness!”  …and makes people whisper around me or ask about cancer without using the word.

What’s the story with the lymphedema, you ask?

Lymphedema refers to an accumulation of lymphatic fluid in the tissues resulting in swelling of the arms or hands (in the case of FBC). This accumulation results in a blockage of lymphatic fluid that builds up if the problem is not addressed. Because I had 15 lymph nodes removed during my FBC surgery, I am at a higher risk for developing lymphedema.

Though not often a hot topic of conversation, the lymphatic system is a major component of the body’s immune system and critically important to the overall function of our bodies. It includes a network of lymph nodes, ducts and vessels as well as the spleen, thymus, tonsils and bone marrow that produce and transport lymph from tissues to the bloodstream.

Lymph is a clear-to-white fluid made of: white blood cells, especially lymphocytes (cells that  are important in the immune system because they attack bacteria in the blood) and fluid from the intestines called chyle, which contains proteins and fats.

Lymph nodes filter the lymph and also contain large numbers of white blood cells which remove foreign cells and debris from the lymph. When a person gets certain infections, the lymph nodes swell with billions of white blood cells working to clear the foreign cells causing the infection. The filtered lymph then flows back into the blood stream. There are about 100 nodes scattered throughout the body.

When lymph nodes are removed this processing capacity is reduced. Because the lymphatic system has no pump, special care is necessary to ensure that it functions properly.

As you know, blood is circulated by the heart. Lymph, however, does not have it’s own pump. It is circulated by the action of our muscles and deep breathing. Any added load on an altered system can present a challenge.

An example of a potential strain to the lymph system is flying.

Even though I was nervous about flying and packing and hitting the open road by myself, I am feeling stronger and happier than I’ve felt in a long, long time.  Looking so forward to seeing old friends, meeting new ones and bathing in the beautiful energy of New York (Silver Lining!).

We are most alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.

– Thorton Wilder