Catastrophic juicy fruit

I just got back from my first visit with my new doctor at the Institute of Limb Preservation in Denver. First of all, I hate the name of the place, I mean, they really don’t hold back with that name, do they? On most days, recently, I can still feel like a normal person, and if I walked into some non-descript place called, say, Rose Medical, or something, I could maintain the façade. I could think, just going for a check-up like we all do. But when you hobble into the Institute of Limb Preservation, it’s like they’re telling you: just feel lucky you still have your real leg, lady—it’s been preserved. And of course, when I walked in today the only other person in the waiting area was not so lucky—his limb had clearly not been preserved; it was missing. Nothing like being in a “limb-preserving” institute and seeing a missing limb to sober you up.

I thought I was getting back to being “normal.” I know normality is a ridiculous notion for anyone—cancer survivor or not--to hold to, but after seven months on crutches and one month on a cane, I’ve been getting stronger, limping a little less, and letting myself start planning again, for my future, because I get to have one! I like making plans: figuring out ways to earn more money, mapping out my creative pursuits, house-hunting, starting to teach yoga again, eating healthy--the plans of a relatively “normal” person. Well today I learned my plans are to be waylaid once again. I received BAD NEWS today.

My doctor said I was at risk for “catastrophic fracture.” No, really, tell it to me straight lady. Wow, that sounds dramatic. Yesterday I was a “miracle healer” and today I’m at risk for “catastrophic fracture.” The status shift is disappointing, to say the least.

My quad, near my knee, has really been hurting for the past two weeks. A few days ago the area behind my knee started feeling stiff and painful, and last night the area around my knee swelled up to the size of a grapefruit. I had a squishy grapefruit knee! I think I started to gross My Good Fiance out (“Look! Look how squishy it is! A juicy fruit knee!). I hadn’t experienced swelling in months—since my post-surgery days when it was expected, so I was a bit scared. Fortunately, I had this appointment scheduled for today. When I got there they took new X-rays. I hate getting X-rays. I can’t believe they’ve become a regular part of my life—getting that stupid lead protector apron sloppily strewn over only half of my reproductive system (hope one healthy ovary will be enough!), all the machinery, the clicking, the not knowing if the constant X-raying will cause more damage than the cancer would have. (I mean, they learn new things every day, we don’t really know the damage all this every two-to-three month X-raying will do. Do we?)

The new doctor says it looks like the “hardware is failing”--that the bone wasn't healed enough to be as active as I've been. Super. She says this quickly and severely, like it’s my fault my hardware is failing. Like I’ve been running marathons and should have expected the consequences of my cement-pounding actions. Well let me assure everyone that there has been no rigorous activity. I was excited to simply be able to do the stationary bike, some gentle yoga and PT. Not too raucous. Even so, I have to go back on crutches and might need another surgery to “secure the hardware.” Now I really do feel like a car that needs a tune-up! (That story later.) I can't believe it. This is horrible.

Plus, I was supposed to start an 8-5 temp job next week to earn back some of the debt from my health expenses not covered by insurance. I interviewed yesterday at ING. There were two other candidates and they picked me (triumph!). It was a three-week gig that would have let me pay off my American Express card that is currently maxed out. Today I had to make the embarrassing call to the temp agency to tell them I couldn't work (because if I’m on crutches again and my leg is going to be swollen like a grapefruit sitting from 8-5 at a desk and running around an office won't work—my loser hardware will get even crankier). I didn't want to, but I started explaining the story to the girl who is not my normal (nice) contact, and she was so mean and short. She said, "Well, guess we'll have to them that! Hope you feel better." But she said it like she didn't even want to say the last part and like such a snoot. I felt so exposed and raw. I was so shocked by her meanness I couldn't even say thank you and just hung up. Oops. Guess no more work for me. Just more surgery.

Hmm, I guess this entry isn’t as uplifting and humorous as I’d like it to be. I’ll try again tomorrow.