Tanya vs. Zebra

Post #4 in Cancer Culture

The man who told me I will never hear out of my right ear again looked an awful lot like the actor Jeremy Strong. If you don’t know who Jeremy Strong is – he’s an actor – like I just said. Look him up.

First, Doctor Strong (not his real name) told me I will lose my hearing. Then he told me I’ll also be losing my facial nerves – meaning I’ll have a droopy eye and droopy mouth. If this sounds pretty horrible so far – then I suggest you hold on to your hat.

My jaw joint will be removed as well – and due to a variety of reasons, it won’t be replaced – just packed with tissue. This means no more chewing.

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Here I was – undergoing an impromptu science lesson on the zebra tumour and its destructive nature – when suddenly the doctor stopped speaking. He glanced over at me, one eyebrow slightly cocked – and I realized that in only a few week’s time, I will never be able to cock my one eyebrow again.

He told me he was surprised – as he just wasn’t used to giving someone this type of news and not being met with more emotion. The word he used to describe me was “stoic”.

Stoic.

“Submitting without complaint to unavoidable necessity”.

I guess. I mean – what’s the point? Crying and pulling my hair out and shrieking at the top of my lungs – it won’t get me my hearing back. Will it? Because if there’s even a chance that it will – then I’ll gladly try it.

If I’m being honest – all this info – all of it – no matter how horrendous sounding came somewhat as a relief to me. A relief that this malignant entity – which for whatever reason decided to take up residence in the right side of my face – was finally going to be evicted. And quite aggressively I might add.

Relief that this tumour – which I was erroneously told was a result of jaw clenching, then tooth infection, then salivary stone – was a monster so much worse than all of these combined – but that its days were numbered . . . finally.

And relief. Relief that the doctor was telling me I was losing half my hearing, the ability to move one side of my face, and bidding the mundane art of chewing farewell – but that I just might possibly continue to live. Maybe even see my kids into adulthood.

I went into this meeting prepared to hear the worst. And what I was hearing was not the worst. Maybe only second or third worst. So – a relief.

The litany of maiming cures continued: skin would be removed from my leg or my arm – or both in order to patch up my face. After recovering in hospital, I’d be taken home to continue to heal before then facing 33 days of consecutive radiation therapy to the affected area.

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Then I was hit with the absolute worst part of this entire repertoire: parking would be $25 per day.

Nope.

I may be losing part of my face, part of my jaw and part of my hearing – but I would not be losing $25 per day in parking fees as well.

My husband explained that it was a necessary bill that was part and parcel of this entire process. He also begged me not to focus on this particular point. But – it’s the one thing – maybe the only thing affecting me right now – where I can actually exert my control. And so rather than drive myself to radiation therapy 33 days in a row, park and pay the fee, I’ll rally some of my supporting troops (my father and a few friends) to drive me, drop me and swing back 30 minutes later to collect me.

Since beginning this “cancer journey” or as I choose to refer to it “waking up to a living nightmare”, I have been faced with a series of little battles leading into much larger ones. Most recently, the battle I faced was being informed that due to COVID, I would have to meet with my surgeon and radiologist alone.

What an additional insult to injury. How unfair to me; unfair to anyone. To expect an individual to face these brutal realities alone – with no one at their side. To expect an individual to listen and observe and consent and then later recall. So I fought this . . . and I won and I was lucky enough to have Brennan at my side.

The fight continues. There’s a big one brewing – and I hope I’m ready for it.

On Monday April 26, 2021, my life changed forever when I heard the words: “You have cancer.” This blog post is the fourth in a series entitled: Cancer Culture and revolves around my personal experience surrounding this devastating diagnosis.

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