As I went through the chemotherapy infusions, I couldn't help thinking what they were doing to my body. Those two liquids being pumped into my veins are all poison and it was difficult to get that realization out of my mind. I got weaker and felt worse, especially after the last treatment. Since Rigdon took his much needed (and paid for) trip to Madagascar, I had to maintain good spirits for my caretakers. It wasn't that difficult since all were sweet and helpful, and tried to make sure I was comfortable. I probably would have benefitted from a few good cries and screaming fits, however everyone indulged me so much, I couldn't act like a spoiled brat.

The last stomach injection was very painful and even now, months later, I have the last remnants of a black and blue mark. I did lose some weight during the chemo but was unable to keep it off because I was eating what other people bought and cooked. When Rigdon arrived home, we were again treated to dinners about three times a week brought lovingly by friends in the community. Rigdon couldn't have continued his regular meal routine without that help. The meals were always delicious, healthy, and delivered with good cheer and get well wishes.

I don't know how to respond to the "get well" wishes. I hope the cancer doesn't sneak into my bones, if it doesn't, then I am well. This is really my biggest fear, bone cancer. I have loved two women who got bone cancer as a result of their breast cancer and it is really painful. Actually, it is really still breast cancer, it has just gotten into the bones.

I have had one more infection that had to be treated with IV antibiotics in the hospital. I had visited the radiation oncologist at the Marin Cancer Center. She asked to look at my boobettes and the right one was angry and red and warm to the touch. That was a Thursday. She called on Friday about 5 p.m. while I was sleeping and asked how it was. I had avoided looking at it all day, but as I lifted up my shirt and looked down, it was as red and warm as it had been the previous day. She said I needed to go to Stanford and get IV antibiotics immediately. I pointed out to her the time (after 5 p.m., the traffic, the rain, going to the ER, waiting, etc. I suggested getting an IV here in Point Reyes. "NO WAY", she said. By now Rigdon was really tired of all the long trips to Stanford and the hospital stays. He had invited a guest for dinner and he decided he would ask Peggy and/or Andrea to drive me to the ER. Bless them, they did, and could only talk about the ice cream they would treat themselves to after dropping me off at the ER, which is all they had to do. The ER was waiting for me (I had called the Plastics guy on duty, Dr. Drew Davis, I LOVE his name) and I was on a gurney in no time.

The IV was started immediately, however it was put in an uncomfortable place, the crook of my arm, standard operating procedure for the ER, and I asked the next morning to have it moved to the upper side of my arm which was done.Waiting for a single took awhile (many hours), but I was determined not to have roommates like the others I had had a few visits ago. The gurney was very firm and it was difficult for me to lie on my side, I declined morphine, thought it was an interesting thing to offer me, because I was nowhere near needing morphine. All I really wanted was a little food and I was given a great turkey sandwich. The whole time I was waiting I was in a regular hospital room being used now for ER patients who will probably be admitted, but I was still stationed on the not very comfortable gurney. The curtain that separated me from the other room allowed me to hear the two guys (Safeway workers) speaking about barfing and the Swine flu and how long would the sick guy feel so awful and I heard a few barfs and other bodily function sounds. I was in my "I am so afraid of getting any infection" mode so I never slept, though it was really late, maybe 1 or 2 a.m.

My hospital stay was very short (Friday evening, Saturday and Sunday) and it was decided I wouldn't get the super duper antibiotics with which I agreed. After my Sunday IV, Rigdon drove me home. I am still reluctant to look at the boobettes for fear they may be red and angry. That infection was the only one, post-silicone implants and only on one side so I am very optimistic about not having a repeat infection. The rule in medicine is the last doctor who took care of you in the hospital (plastics) is the one who deals with all the post op problems. That is why I couldn't just go to Marin General or even get a Public Health Nurse to do the IV's.

I must address the Radiation Oncologist. The appointment was scheduled for over an hour, which meant there would be a lot of talking, and not by me. The doctor (I have decided not to reveal her name) is very beautiful and she looked me straight in the eyes as she spoke her speech lobbying for radiation. She reiterated, "What is five weeks out of your life of 65 years?" She said Dr. Carlson (head of cancer clinic at Stanford had recommended radiation after chemotherapy), however he had suggested that long before surgery and long before lymphedectomies which yielded only one positive node and even that cancer wasn't discovered until after the node was cut up in a frozen state. That was what prompted the removal of the 22 lymph nodes under my right arm, maybe not necessary but precautionary. One little malignant spot in a sentinel node removed and all those around it removed means to me the cancer will not spread. Seems to me radiation is unnecessary and certainly a huge expense to our Medicare. That is not really what I am thinking about, Medicare costs: I am thinking about getting my hair back, my energy, my life, my chickens, my flower garden, my trips to Houston, my long walks with Bubba, my canning the frozen raspberries waiting for me to make jam in the freezer, my interest in other people, my wanting to go to a concert, seeing the otters in the creek...

Radiation involves two trips a day (back & forth) over the hill for five weeks, according to the radiation oncologist, involves the possibility of having to replace the right silicone implant, burning of the skin and sensitivity on the radiation sites forever. I figure I could just as easily get killed in the car driving those 50 over-the-hill trips, I have decided not to have radiation. The only difficulty is telling the beautiful, seductive radiation oncologist that I do not want radiation. Do you think a letter would suffice? I would much prefer to write to her than to speak to her. She is really a good persuader.

The consequences of chemotherapy are sneaky. After my fingernails looked great, they just started disintegrating, lower than they have ever been and I have been a nail biter. There is nothing to open a package or cut through anything with my nails, because there are none, the nails have receded about 30 per cent and have a lot of ridges and look quite ugly.

Another treatment for breast cancer and after chemo is taking Tamoxifen every day. That means I have gained a great waist tire which is expected from this medication. I also have been going through a brand new menopause which involves many blanket rejects and then wanting them back immediately. I have to wash my nightclothes daily and my sheets and pillow cases. I have bought cotton pillow covers so I can stop some of the sweat from getting all the way to the actual pillow, though I know how to wash down pillows in my machine!

You want the truth, here it is and it is not pretty. trish