Yesterday I got what was, God willing, my last Lupron injection. It’s not that the Lupron (to shut down my ovaries) was bad. On the contrary, I feel better when my brain isn’t drenched in Estrogen, and Lupron has helped with that. Plus which my breast cancer eats Estrogen for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, so I know the Lupron has kept my breast cancer in check by way of shutting down some of my body’s natural Estrogen production. Science, reader! Science!
Next month, a surgeon will remove my ovaries and fallopian tubes. This is outpatient. Laparoscopic. Honestly, I can’t wait. Never wanted my ovaries, never used my ovaries, never cared for them. The surgeon says they have to leave the uterus because they can’t “just remove healthy organs.” So I’ll have a uterus sitting in my body waiting to develop cancer for later removal. That’s what I think. Doctor’s disagree. I am trusting my Doctors.
Early in the pandemic, just after my re-dx of breast cancer, my ex asked me to have my ovaries removed immediately so she could take FMLA and “look for a new job.” It was the first truly frightening thing she’d ever said to me, my blood ran cold, and nothing was ever okay after that day, that conversation, her denial of what she said, her threat of “don’t you ever tell anyone I said that.”
Well, she said it.
I’m telling you, reader.
We’re still in The Pandemic. We’ll always be. At least in the United States. And I’m getting older, my cancer might be getting bolder, and so now the ovaries must come out. On my terms. My timeline. My body. And I’m ready now. Go suck those puppies out, Good Doctor.
Estrogen never felt good to me. I realized that as soon as Lupron shut down my ovaries, back in 2020. Suddenly, it was like a fog lifted. I felt clearer. I felt more energetic. I felt more myself. Estrogen, I’m convinced, was poisoning me for years. And for the first time ever, inside my Estrogen-deprived body, I feel at home. Fatigued. Unwell, at times. Very Old, at times. But always, now, myself inside of my flawed little human body, this Spaceship that will someday ditch me into infinity.
Speaking of “ditched,” I am currently obsessed with the song “Left My Wallet in El Segundo” by Tribe. It’s a fun, silly story about an ordinary calamity: losing a wallet. And I like that it’s fun, and the lyrics trigger no memories in me but the memories of little gas stations and taquerias that dot the American Southwest. And the beautiful women of the American Southwest (seriously, they make some good looking Americans out there). And I work hard during my days on Life Matters that are often upsetting or scary or tedious for me, so when I take in music, sometimes, I need the uncomplicated stuff. Like “Left My Wallet in El Segundo.” And now I’ll be singing the refrain all weekend . . .
Sunny, lovely day in Chicagoland. I’m off to water my plants. To drink more coffee. To try and force myself to eat a food (anxiety has my appetite off these days). To read some books. To enjoy the last few days of my 45th year. My goal, in this current iteration of my life, is to see if I can make it to 50. That would be something, all things considered.
Have a good weekend, reader. Eat a food. Tell a story. Read a book. Laugh a little, for God’s sake. Rest up.
And above all, be good hooligans.