Wayward Parotid Gland, Part 5

And this is it - the end.

Part One is located here.
Part Two is located here.
Part Three is located here.
Part Four is located here

Recovery is supposed to be the easy part after an experience such as what I've outlined, but there was little more than a "Phew, it's over" initially. After the final radiation treatment, I realized that within three days I really didn't feel any better. I was still dropping weight when I should not have been. I was still fatigued and "sunburned."

I forgot to mention last post that the other side effect I experienced was some hair loss. Everything in the radiation field vanished in unsightly clumps during weeks three and four. I had long enough hair to cover the missing hair in most circumstances, but for work I had to secure my hair back. This led to some creative coiffures (to say the least). Remember those banana clips from the 80s? I would secure my hair with one of those, and then pull the longer hair out over the missing (and the newly showing tattoos that were in the hairline), and it ALMOST looked normal. Unless, of course, you were lucky enough to be treated to my unrevised scar at the drive-through. KFC patrons of almost 12 years ago, I'm sorry about that. Kinda.

Another thing about radiation - after a while, you can smell it. At first I thought I smelled the radiation itself, and then, after a while, I was fairly sure I was smelling my skin burn. I explained this to a boyfriend years later, and he said that I was smelling ozone, a byproduct of the process. Who knows, really, and I'm not sure it's important, but it's a very distinct smell. And I cannot STAND to have my head immobilized. I didn't enter this affair with claustrophobia, but I left it with a twinge.

But what happens when you're healing is almost worse than the radiation because it's mental. You start to question everything. Did that really happen to me? No, really, did it? Was it that bad - as bad as I remember? Can I really call that "cancer?"

And then the guilt. Remembering the man with no nose and the little cosmetic "tent" to cover it. Remembering some of the people I met in the waiting room for radiation. One man was going in at the same time for lung cancer radiation. He and his female companion - presumably his wife - still smoked. And it was obvious that they smoked immediately before the appointment, as they smelled hideous. I wanted to smack these people and then shake them until their eyes wobbled. Hello, here's the clue phone. Take the call. YOUR BODY IS NOT YOUR FRIEND. It's merely a machine. And machines break down. If you don't maintain them, they may fall apart, and, the unspoken part about this is that when the machines fall apart, there ain't no fixing the computer therein. You MUST MAINTAIN. Otherwise, why waste the money on radiation. Just go home and smoke and die.

And then I was angry (okay, I was probably a bit angry the whole way through but too exhausted to notice). I was angry at all of those people who failed to take care of themselves but faced no ramifications for their actions. I was angry at all of the purported "friends" I had who didn't bother to call or write, even though they were in the same city. I was angry with people who had normal problems like break-ups and failing grades.

I was envious. My mother was teaching, and she had all of these people who were gushing wonderful support in her general direction. Cards, letters, phone calls, I had a big wonking scar, a peeling face, and a Nintendo with which to wile away the days while I was regaining strength. Whoop-di-damned-do. If I let myself, I can still be quite bitter.

And then I was panicked and depressed. Yes, strangely, the recovery part of this whole mess was indeed the worst. Who was I? Had I changed? Could I even remember who I was before this whole ordeal? As the taste buds came back, I began to widen my palette. Potato chips and Doritos were soon all right - within about three weeks (a veritable array of health food, no?) And with eating myself out of starvation mode, I gained weight. What woman wants to gain weight? Not this one, even when her body was borderline emaciated. What IS a body image when the mind's as messed as mine was. I was too weak to really exercise, and I was gaining at a rate of a couple of pounds a week.

At about five weeks past the last date of radiation, I had my first "normal" experience with food. We were sitting in a restaurant in Florida, and I suspected that I would soon be able to taste things normally, so I asked for an appetizer of mozzarella cheese sticks with marinara. And, yes, the appetizer tasted normal. A sign of true recovery.

Eventually, I returned to work at KFC - probably just a bit before this. I worked from the end of March through the long dull summer, and I returned to marching band and classes in August. I'd been practicing my trumpet as best I could from late March on through, and with the help of some fake saliva when trumpet needs became overly intense, I was able to play fairly well. I have never regained the tightness of embouchure that produces an exemplary brass instrument tone, but the fluidity of my tongue and other important parts in playing an instrument was actually increased now that it was unhindered by the gargantuan tumor. Fake saliva kinda tastes like the yeast in bread dough. You get used to it.

In December of 1992, I had plastic surgery to reduce the surface area of the scar. This was my mother's idea, and it was one of the wisest decisions of my adult life. I came out of the surgery wearing steri strips, no stitches. Within two weeks, even though the area was still angry, there was a marked difference. Eleven years later, the thing is about a quarter to half the width that it was, and it no longer protrudes. Instead, it lies in the crease of my neck. I wear my hair up probably half the time - always at the gym. I don't think many people notice.

There are other physical deformities and issues that remain from having one side of my face cut open and laid across the other side. I have a dent where the gland was removed - a divot. If you catch me from the proper angle in a photograph, this is pretty apparent. My two ears are different, also. One, the left (normal side) is quite a bit longer than the other. And, about a year ago, I had to have most of the teeth on my right side "appended to" because of the changes in chewing I've adapted over these years to compensate for the changes in my facial structure. It's amazing that the dentist can do this - it's completely changed my bite. And it'll likely have to be done again at some point. On one tooth, I had worn all the way through the enamel with the course of normal use.

With some time, I began to see myself as normal, which is a large step in the emotional recovery. Most of the anger went away when I was able to busy myself with classes and work and "normal" activities. Romance and other early 20s life experiences became a part of my life.

And the years passed.

I hope I'm a better person because of what I've been throughm and I also hope that I can help others who have the same fears, the same anger, and the same scars. But you never really know - no experience is the same.

I did this for me because I've wanted to write it for some time now. Thank you for reading.

hln

Posted by hln at November 2, 2003 12:03 AM | Anecdote