"Am I being tortured?"

Tuesday was an ultrasound -- it was supposed to be an ultrasound and an MRI, but someone broke the MRI machine, so I just had the ultrasound. The radiologist told me "You have very dense breasts." What the? What do you say in response to that? It's like when a nurse told me I had interesting veins. Do these things rate a thank you? Anyway, no cancer in the right breast. -whew- It's just "dense" apparently.

Wednesday I had my teeth cleaned. I hadn't been to the dentist since February, so I had to update my medical history. ("Do you have any changes?" "Uh ... maybe.") When the hygienist came out to meet me she stared at me with big moon eyes and then gave me a hug. I don't willingly hug people I know let alone someone I see every 6 months, so that was awkward. She then asked me if I had taken any antibiotics before I came.

What? No, I'm not doing chemo. It's hormone therapy. It's different.
Well, I still need to check with the doctor.
No, really, I have a hyper-active immune system. See, my platelets ... it's a long story, but I don't need antibiotics for a teeth cleaning.
I'll still need to check with the doctor. (quick appraisal) You look pretty good.
Um ... thanks?

She then treated me like I was made of glass and hugged me again when I left. Dude. No. NO.

Thursday the MRI machine was fixed. Back up the story a little: on Tuesday they "reminded" me that I couldn't have any food or liquid for 4 hours before the MRI. When this was originally set up the nurse told me I couldn't wear any make-up, which I thought was pretty amusing since it's an MRI of my pelvis. But he didn't say anything about no food or drink. New nurse had more appropriate information: "We don't want a cloudy bladder getting in the way," she says. Fine. It was at 8am, which meant I went in with no breakfast and no coffee, but it was going to end around 10 so I figured I could wing it.

But the MRI went on forever and at one point, to get my "bones in the right position" they had to tape my right foot at an angle to my left foot. TAPE IT because I couldn't hold it there myself because IT HURT, DAMMIT, which is why I was getting the MRI in the first place.

Evidence of my participation - tape residue stigmata.
Please pay particular attention to the sparkling red nail polish. (Thanks, Hil!)

I swear I was hallucinating. I don't know if I was talking out loud, but I know I was crying because it hurt like a mother-cusser. Why? Why? Why? And they give you earphones, but all you hear is the bang bang bang of the machine and the technician telling you "This one is 3 minutes." As soon as it was over I walked into Starbucks and asked for the elephant-gun sized coffee and downed about 3 Extra-Strength Tylenol.

So what do you do at the end of a week like that? Well, if you're me you're an idiot and agree to do some physical labor for a couple of days and then you go around the track a few times at the local Relay for Life.

This is a photo of the Survivor's Lap. I'm not in it.

It seemed like a good idea at the time, but the reality was a drag. Here are all these people clapping and showing support and all I can think is "Sweet Jesus, look how many people have cancer." My co-worker reminded me that they were all survivors, but I said they shouldn't have to survive anything. This is wrong, so wrong -- and these are just the people who came. What about those who didn't know the relay was this weekend or who were too sick to go?

I just couldn't do the survivor parade. This is not something we should be bonding over. This is something we shouldn't have in the first place. So I put out a candle bag for Kelly (placed in front of a booth that hosted a team of quilters) and we left before I started to cry.

On the plus side, it was a good chance to show off the Archival Clothing musette in a crowded public place.

Survivor? Indeed. This bag is a goer.