This Body is Bullshit

Happy Birthday, Mom

Today is my mom’s birthday. She would’ve been 78.

And today, my dad pulled a new one on us.

This afternoon at work I checked his location like I always do. Something was off — he was somewhere unfamiliar, and Kathy wasn’t with him. My stomach dropped. I called her immediately. She had no idea he’d left the house. They only have one car. I was at work. Cue instant panic.

My first call was to Aunt Susie, hoping she might already be home with the grandkids. She wasn’t — but being exactly who she is, she jumped into action immediately. Headed home, sent Uncle Brad out to search. From what little we knew, Dad was supposedly in a strip mall parking lot walking his dog. That’s what Kathy managed to get out of him on the phone. How that idea got into his head or where that location came from, we still don’t know.

I called Donna next. She and Mark dropped everything and got in the car. They arrived just as Dad found his car and pulled out of the parking lot. I stayed on the phone while they followed him all the way home.

Watching my friends chase my father around a strip mall parking lot feels surreal. Terrifying. Exhausting.

What makes it worse is that just the day before, I’d already reached out to his doctors because things felt like they were accelerating. On Friday, Dad and Kathy stopped by on their way to Costco. Kathy came in looking visibly shaken and quietly told me he’d just asked what Matt’s name was. My husband. But then Dad walked in joking like usual, greeting Matt and me, loving on the dogs — totally normal. Regular old him. They left for Costco. Then Kathy texted: he thought they’d been at Susie and Brad’s. He couldn’t remember Brad’s name.

Is that a cover-up? Or is it better than him not knowing he’d been at my house — or worse, not knowing my husband’s name? I honestly don’t know which is scarier.

And then Sunday.

His main weekend activity is watching the Bears. After the game ended, about an hour later, he asked Kathy when the Bears were going to be on. She reminded him they’d already played. They’d watched it. They’d won. Oh yeah, that’s right. An hour later, he asked again. The next morning, getting ready for the day, he asked when they were going home — then quickly corrected himself. Oh, never mind. We are home.

It’s getting scary. And sad. And devastating. We still don’t know how to navigate this.

In the middle of all that, I had my quarterly injection and a follow-up with my oncologist. My DEXA scan showed 17% bone loss since my last scan two years ago — significant and alarming. I’ll be starting infusions early next year, likely March. I adore my oncologist. He’s boisterous and funny and smart. But while we were discussing my worsening symptoms, I got the sense that he genuinely felt bad for me — and that threw me. I’m a push-through-it, power-forward, slap-on-a-grin kind of person. I think he respects that. But it was sobering.

Minimum five more years on these drugs, and they are unrelenting. The joint pain is real and significant — separate issue from the bone loss entirely. The fatigue is real. The brain fog and memory problems are real — not dementia, he assured me, just side effects. Then there’s the dry skin. The dry everything — you know what I mean. I now have a new insert for that particular problem that contains estrogen, which is deeply ironic given that the entire point of these drugs is to block estrogen. He assures me it won’t absorb systemically. There’s also a new drug coming that works more like tamoxifen — attacking instead of blocking, supposedly much easier on joints. He’s looking into whether I’d qualify. I’d be one of the first patients to try it. Not sure how I feel about being a guinea pig, but I’m listening.

The infusions should help my bones. First one may knock me flat for a couple days with flu-like symptoms. I’ll also likely experience growing pains. Growing pains. At fifty. Laughable.

I still haven’t tried the temporary nipple tattoos. My chest finally feels settled — less swollen — and I’ve realized I just don’t like the natural look. I know Dr. Fine went for natural and they’re probably perfect. But honestly? I wanted fake. Why not? I’m still going to get the tattoos eventually. I’m going to get fitted for a bra first and see if that helps me get out of my head about it — even though the whole point was never needing a bra again. If I want high and tight, a bra is required. Apparently that’s where we are.

Megan and Mike hosted the most amazing Friendsgiving. They went completely all out — so much food, games, a photo booth, reunions, and just so much love and laughter and friendship. The kind of night that reminds you chosen family is everything.

A couple weeks later was Donna’s annual girls’ Christmas grab bag party with a winter white theme. Small, perfect, exactly what it always is — lots of love, lots of laughter, a little shenanigans. I posted some pictures after and got so many compliments on how beautiful everyone looked in white. We really did look good. Another fabulous night at Club Tavo.

I cannot believe Christmas is next week.

I love Christmas. I love family. I love celebrating my people. And I am also exhausted and want to crawl into bed and do absolutely nothing. I’m trying hard to lose weight — finally dropped two pounds after what feels like forever. After the new year my cousin Jennifer will need a hysterectomy for suspected cancer, similar to what Tammy went through and thankfully came through without complications. I’m hoping the same for her. I never want to see anyone face surgery, but here we are.

Work is still nuts. Left after 6 tonight. But I’m keeping my eye on the prize — after the new year I can drop one building and get back to my people full time. Just need to get through the next two weeks.

Good things are coming. Heather’s birthday, dinner with Heather and Rusty and Ben — the Fab Five Fam. Then the Wilsons’ annual pre-Christmas prime rib dinner, fancy and fabulous and always slightly too rare for Matt and me, though that apparently is the correct way to eat it. Christmas Eve with Dad and Kathy, Matt’s mom and aunt, maybe Ken. Christmas morning at Aunt Susie and Uncle Brad’s for our annual brunch — almost exactly what my grandmother used to serve. I cannot wait for those cookies.

I really need to sit down with Aunt Susie and learn the lasagna. And the cookies. Before it’s too late to learn them from the source.

Happy birthday, Mom.

If you were still here, you’d probably be just as crazy as Dad is now.