Strong like bull

Yesterday I had another heart scan, or MUGA (multiple gated acquisition) for those of you in the biz. I was a bit tweaked about having to get my umpeenth IV after last week's routine blood test when the tech told me my veins had callouses, and my Herceptin injection three weeks ago when the nurse dug so deep down such a wrong turn that I felt the pain in my toes. Up until recently, I've been little miss sunshine about getting needles and IVs, but my blood superhighways are seriously fatigued after almost a year of constant poking and I've become a tad squeamish.

So I settled down for the heart scan IV, prepared for the worst, but the tech was so nice and efficient and got me a warm blanket to heat up my arm without being asked. Her poke was quick and painless and I practically french-kissed her from sweet relief. When she injected the tin substance I got flashbacks to my chemo days and how narsty the taste is, so I popped a mint and waited my requisite 45 minutes amongst the hospital riffraff.

My heart scan tech ended up being the same dour woman who did my first ultrasound and oversaw my biopsy last May after I had the mammogram to end all mammograms. The same woman, who after running the US wand over my left breast 600 times, had the loveliness to mutter, "uh, sure, no one is in line after you" when I asked to get my shirt back on in the ultrasound room rather than shuffle shakily over to the changeroom.

"I just looked at your file and it looks like I did your ultrasound and biopsy last May."

"Um, yep."

"I don't remember that. We get so many people through every day."

"I'm sure."

And there's your lovely bedside manner times two. Cuz there's nothing a cancer cowgirl likes to hear more than "you are unmemorable" after going through a year of shite. She couldn't have just said, "how have you been doing?"??? Shit, man. Lots of very sweet doctors, nurses and techs, but then...

Which brings me to Dr. B, my stand-in onc who ordered the scan (part of a regular three-month check-up while on the wonder drug Herceptin). He called me this morning to tell me that not only are my results good enough to go ahead with yet another round of the H-bomb this afternoon, but my heart function actually improved by 5% since last time. Side effects be damned, y'all. I'm strong like bull.

I'm getting super stoked about a bunch of things now. First, it'll be six weeks on Monday since my surgery. I'm going to start bouncing with even greater tramp-like energy, begin taking some of the superfoods I've been harvesting lately from the shelves: maca powder, spirulina tablets, and next E3 Live, which is this super-expensive blue-green algae frozen stuff you add to your juice. I've been looking for this stuff for months and finally ordered it online today. And finally, water aerobics with the old ladies of Caddy Bay, me wearing my first new bathing suit as a small-boobied one!

Diet-wise, I've been all over the place lately as I try to settle into something that's sustainable, enjoyable and fast when it needs to be. I think the family meals, weekly shopping and veggie storage are finally where they need to be (and that's a big statement in itself). My immunity level is superhero sized, judging from my last bloodwork. The only thing that still needs consideration, especially since I've been eliminating almost all animal prods from my intake (half from lack of desire and half from conscious choice), is my hemoglobin level (combo of iron and B12). It's low, which is not unusual for a veggie, but my daily B12 vitamin isn't cutting it, so I have to figure out a way to get a boost without taking an iron supplement. I broke down and had a roast beast sarny the other day (hormone-free, y'all), but need a more permanent solution.

The other thing that's been bugging me (other than the ongoing soy controversy) is the whole flax seed controversy. It contains plant estrogen, which either blocks or feeds estrogen-receptive breast cancer. It's another one of those things that'll either turn out to be very bad or very good when all the dust settles. So work it out, scientists.

It's a fuck of a lot of work trying to figure out how to live to be 100 when the c-monster will forever be nipping at my heals, but it's been bloody interesting. There's really only two things on my mind today, though. My cancer twin and her latest waiting period and the kind and rational work advice this morning from the loevely D.O. I heart you both.