Five Foot Six Above
Fuck. The irony. I'm watching the final episodes of Six Feet Under on DVD yesterday, poking and prodding my armpit like I always do, and I find a fucking lump! It never ceases to amaze me that when I find this shit, I am doing the most benign activities, thinking the most benign thoughts, feeling supremely healthy and enjoying life. Out of nowhere this shit happens I tell ya.
Ok, it might not be a recurrence. I hope to god it isn't. I'm not going to get worked up too much either way. I know I can't know. The myth that one knows when something is wrong with the body is utter shit. I never know. When I present with symptoms to my onc and am convinced I have brain mets, I don't. When I present with a lump that I'm convinced is nothing, it is. I have no fucking clue. All I know is this new lump, a bit smaller than a pea, was not there a few days ago. I see my onc on Tuesday.
It can't be a cancerous lymphnode because they have all been taken out. The radiation was suppose to prevent recurrences in that area too. That's why I'd be floored if if it is. But, then, I guess bc I had a recurrance outside the field of radiation in December, that could have spread to the area which was previously treated. Could this be a sub-q tumour? Damn it.
Think positive. Think positive. Think positive.
I just can't fathom what else it would be. Fuck Fuck Fuck!
On a lighter note, here's a pic of me this past weekend looking like a total LOSER (but healthy as shit I must say!) with my friend before we went out to a bachelorette party. I swear, my bra didn't show through my shirt, it is just because of the flash on the camera! Ha ha ha!