Shoes

INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA - I can tell you the EXACT day that I started to care about footwear. And location, if you care.

First, you should know that I never cared much before that. I mean, I've loved looking at pretty shoes since I was little (by that I mean young, I'm kind of tall), but never realized what an important part they play in the crazy world of self-esteem.

My blog featured a little series titled "In her shoes" for the same reason I now love great kicks; very few women like the way they look. Complimenting one's choice of footwear is always safe and reliable.

When I was in chemo, and as recently as this February (when I had my mastectomy), people were frequently looking me up and down, and that was disconcerting.

Oh, you can hardly tell that's a wig? (Really, just by virtue of the fact that you've said that means you can tell. Thanks ever so.)

Oh, you can hardly tell you had surgery. Are you done, or are you going to have implants? (Ok, yes I opted for implants. And I'm actually all done. Again, by you asking I clearly didn't go with a satisfactory increase. Geesh.)

My defense mechanism? Shoes. If you've got some sweet foot candy going on, nobody ever looks at your ... well, anything really. It suddenly goes from a potential discussion of scar tissue, scarf tying or the pros and cons of silicone to something infinitely more yummy.

The quintessential patent-leather-ankle-tie-cork-wedge. Sky high and built for subterfuge. Here's to distractions, and the cancer patient's art of the ruse.

Cost

USA – We could talk for hours – days, really – about medical care across the world. Debate it, hash it out, maybe even come to an agreement. What most people fail to realize is that the cost of "health care" that receives the most focus is the immediate need. For cancer patients, that involves things like chemotherapy, radiation therapy, surgery, etc.

There’s an interesting turn of phrase that was being discussed in my cancer center last week and I’d like to share it with you. The official term is "continuing care." The ladies in the chairs across from me called it "life." :) They didn’t have any handy-dandy charts or graphs, but they had bank statements and knowledge. They all had great insurance (thank heavens!) so what they were discussing were the little bills (their words, not mine) that drained their accounts. It’s the ongoing, everyday costs of cancer that people neither know about nor discuss openly. We just joke about it in the waiting room then clam up when the nurses walk in.

… Cancer types with longer survival, such as female breast, have a higher percentage of expenditures for patients in the continuing phase of care. So what that means is, in reality, very good. You get to live longer than other cancer patients. The bad news is that you’d better be hoping for a money tree in the backyard. Ha! Government studies have revealed that it costs 3.2% MORE to live after you have had cancer than when you actually go through treatment.

This isn’t a complaint, please know. I love my doctor and I’ve been blessed with great insurance at my job. I only wrote this for the ladies at the cancer center this week. They said "Why doesn’t someone write about this, tell people, just for informational purposes?" So I’m writing it, girls. I don’t have any solutions in mind, but I want you to know that I’m trying. Stay well, my sassy cancer center friends. xoxo

Editor's Note:
Look what just came through to my Inbox "GiveForward Helps You Crowd-Fund Medical Expenses"!

Infusion

FORT WAYNE, INDIANA - I have friends in myriad industries, all forms of employment across the world. It’s funny that one word can mean something so different to so many. Let’s use "infusion" as today’s example.

My chef friend facebook messaged me a "must try" recipe of a chicken with a lemon-basil infusion. Doesn’t that just sound yummy-licious? Yea, I thought so too, until I actually looked a the recipe. Single chef friends with no children apparently have hours to spend massaging poultry and hand-dicing vegetables. Not gonna happen. Next example, please?

Another dear one of mine is a "textile specialist." She tells me that in her world, the word infusion is always used with color as a prefix. Always. "You can use components to provide a color infusion to your environmental pallet." Seriously, that’s the kind of sentences she uses when we are just having a regular conversation. Imagine how she must ramp it up to speak with people who actually have a clue what she is sayinG ... next example?

My infusion world involves people in little chairs with nurses hovering like protective mommy eagles, always there and quietly peeking down to see if we are all ok. Infusion is the word that the cancer community has seen fit to use a replacement for the word "chemo room." Infusion Center – there, now doesn’t that sound a great deal more relaxing and peaceful? Ahhhhh, nice. Maybe not so much, actually. It’s the best it can be, though. It’s better than it was just five years ago, this world of infusion. More hopeful, more positive, more happy endings. Infusion: your new word for today. :)