Still no word
I tried calling Buenos Aires this weekend, but my aunt didn’t answer the phone. It’s possible she’s at the hospital visiting my uncle, or that she went to see her first grandchild, Joaquín, a week old now. My cousin and his wife just had a baby—it seems traditional in this family that when one life enters, another departs. I think it started with my grandfather dying within two months of my brother’s birth. My brother dying two months after my nephew, his son, was born. And so it goes.
I was making scones this morning, and for the past two weeks now, I’ve intended to start taking the Tamoxifen. Intended.
Midway through the day, I would realize that I’d forgotten to take the pill after breakfast (I don’t like pills or drugs, so the idea of taking them on a full stomach helps a little.)
Today, as I was opening the fridge for the Milk, I saw the pill bottle sitting there on the shelf, vexing me. I’m tired of being afraid of it. Before I could think, I opened the bottle and took one. THERE. I’ve begun.
I thought about how many women can’t take this drug because their cancer is ER negative (estrogen receptor negative.) Those women have a bad prognosis. Well, I shouldn’t say that; I should say, women with ER+ tumors are lucky in that there is this drug which is so effective. The prognosis is better for someone like me, with a tumor like I had, with the treatment I’ve had, taking this drug.
Fucking data. I know, with my brain, that I’m doing the right thing*. But immediately after swallowing this pill, I wanted to throw it up. I wish I could get over this fear.
Five years of this crap—waiting for the “other shoe to fall” in the form of Uterine sarcoma (fatal) or endometrial cancer…I can’t see taking this for five whole years, or even every day…for now, I have to take it every other day. We’ll see.
(*upon re-reading, I realized I’d written “I know with my brain, that I’m doing the wrong thing.” Freudian slip?
