And so readers, today I was going to write a really snarky post about Susan G. Komen For The Cure's ridiculous "Less Talk More Action" campaign, and their even more ridonkulous accompanying "fun and meaningful" schedule of activities for Pinktober. But with "actions" like October 7 as an example;
On this edition of JEOPARDY!, America's Favorite Quiz Show®, there will be a "pink ribbon" clue. Will you have the correct response?
Readers, there's not much more I can add to this, so I invite you to form your own conclusions, as to whether this calendar contains the kinds of "actions" that do anything "meaningful" in the fight to eradicate breast cancer? Wait, I'll answer in Jeopardy-speak. Which self-anointed global breast cancer organization's "Less Talk More Action" campaign is a complete waste of time?
Moving right along, and back to breast cancer reality, I thought I would update you on my situation.
|Nothing says "I love you" to a cancer patient like|
a 750-pill bottle of stool softener
I'm also learning to live with the hand disability and am now attending regular occupational therapy sessions. I have regained some movement in my fingers, so that I'm able to perform "Spirit Fingers" on command, and am almost able to flip the bird as well. Unfortunately I have yet to regain much strength back, so whilst Spirit Fingers are a fun diversion for Beloved, and flipping the bird is a highly regarded skill by most New Jersey drivers, without strength I am still handless for all intents and purposes.
For the heavier jobs I call on Beloved who is now finally forced to know his way around our kitchen. He has been very good, but has not taken to the role of sous chef very easily. Apparently he doesn't require any instruction on the finer points of chopping, mashing, stirring or draining even though his only forays into cooking involve a bowl, milk and a box of cereal. And he even refuses to say "Yes Chef" when I speak to him in the kitchen. Truthfully though, Beloved is a tremendous help and we're getting through this latest nightmare together, as we've always done.
The other issue that I'm working on, is trying to get my vehicle modified so that I can safely and comfortably drive with one hand. Honestly though the process here in New Jersey is so convoluted and apparently a closely guarded State secret that can only be revealed when one knows the right questions to ask. With timely driver assessment appointments so difficult to get, I think we might have more chance of curing cancer in the interim, so maybe I'll just wait.
I'm also attending regular physical therapy sessions to rebuild the leg muscles that were lost to steroid-induced myopathy. It's a slow and intensive process, but I hope soon to be able to get out of a chair like the spry and agile 41 year-old that I used to be. It will be nice to be able to climb up stairs again soon as well, without feeling like I have to call 911 to haul me up the last half.
So in summary, I'm getting there and I'm a long way from where I was two months ago, when this latest nightmare befell us. We're coming up for air and learning to live with this new reality. We are moving forward as best we can, and that feels good.
This post is dedicated to my mother-in-law, without whom I don't know how we would have coped through this latest episode. Where would we be without the loving and selfless devotion of those who take on the roles of our carers? I know I'd be up shit creek without a paddle, so thanks MIL from the bottom of our collective heart. We love you!