How to think

I hope I remember.  I don't quite know what to make of cancer in my brain.  So many billions of connections, which ones are affected by cancer?  Which are affected by meds, and which ones could be attributed to teenagers in the home? 

This is new information, personally handed down today in Room 19, where Dr. Fox sat with a Kenyan med student named Laura, and Lorelei, and Jill and my mom.  It's the result of my MRI from Friday, which hadn't had me worried enough, apparently.  I had been so hungry walking around Penn's campus.  Now the Jimmy John sandwich I'd dragged all over town is waiting in my own refrigerator.  I got my blood tests in my port today, but no tap for chemo.  Chemo will wait. 

First, I pay a visit to Dr. Komarnicky at Hahnemann, my old breast rads onc.  I'll see her on Thursday.  Hopefully I won't require days of prep and I'll begin treatment immediately.  I like Dr. Komarnicky and her staff and I know I'll be in good hands.  It's even better knowing what nightmares are left behind, but that's a luxury I'll miss.  Dr. Fox figures I'll need 10 treatments, but says Dr. Komarnicky could decide on 15.  Rads will make me tired, and the hair loss in those areas will become permanent.  He didn't list any other side effects, though.  When I'm done I go right back to Abraxane, my regular chemo.  And that should be it.

But I don't like people's expressions.  I don't like my own thoughts.  I don't like the worry about my thoughts getting lost in translation, most of all.  What is a person without her own brain operating efficiently?  You get what you get, but with my genetics I'd been confident enough I'd always have what I needed.  Knowing the amount of loss that is possible in there is terrifying. 

I guess I should think about that book.