nice rack

How rude of me. But well, this is perhaps the only time Becca actually solicited the compliment. She ran upstairs today after getting her new prosthetic and asked me what I thought. This will tide her over until the reconstructive surgery next year; she no longer has to go out in public looking lopsided, yay!

This was more a shopping trip at a person's house than an appointment, so Becca went on her own. Good thing, too, because it was run by a young breast cancer survivor who also had the diep flap procedure and she said "wanna see?!" and practically before Becca could answer, up came the shirt. Er, very nice... Um... So.

Also today was the regular 3-month echo that Becca has to have as long as she's on Herceptin. As usual the tech is not allowed to give us an interpretation, but there were no sharp intakes of breath or pausing to focus on any particular heart area, so we're betting on a routine reading.

And yesterday we had our first follow up with the surgeon, who started off the appointment with a smile and a "Well. This is certainly a happier meeting I than our previous one in this room!" and she was right. Remember this? She checked the scar and agreed with our plastics doc that everything was healing fine.

I told her I had an admittedly unreasonable fear that we were letting our guard down. Were we still fighting? Becca always dismisses this: "What, I have to feel like sh*t for you to think we're fighting? No, this one of the ways we fight. We heal. We live our lives. We don't let this define us."

Okay, but I am still worrier-in-chief. The surgeon said I was actually articulating a very common feeling cancer patients (except Becca) have after a long ordeal like chemotherapy or surgery. It's natural to think something is wrong when you stop feeling awful. After all, you were feeling great when this all started. But we have to trust in the docs. Becca's still on Herceptin. Radiation is coming for six weeks. Then maybe hormone therapy. And and and. As has been said, this is a marathon not a sprint. No guard is being let down.

After that visit, which was our last until with her until October after the radiation, we were off to radiation planning, which is basically where the radiology geeks put Becca on a CAT scan table and figure out exactly where the radiation will be aimed, and then tattoo Becca to mark the spots. According to Becca, the tattooing process was mostly boring, mostly cold, and a little painful.

And no whales or hearts or dragons; just little tiny black and blue dots. 7 to be exact. They mark the sternal places, the general breast area, and the nodes under her arm. All this prep time makes the actual radiation visits go a lot quicker. 10 minutes for each (daily) appointment. It all starts Monday.