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I got the best birthday present EVER on Monday when Dr Haerr told me that I can indeed wear deodorant. Woo hoo! Now you’re probably wondering why the rules changed all of a sudden. Well, it’s like this: I was funky, so when I saw Dr H on Monday I said, “We need to talk about this no deodorant thing—not only for my sake, but also for the sake of my friends and family.” After examining my skin he said, “You can wear deodorant for now. But when you get further along, and your skin gets irritated, you won’t want to wear it.” I said, “So, it doesn’t have any effect on the actual radiation process?” (I’ve read all manner of things—mostly online, of course—talking about the aluminum in deodorant messing up the radiation.) To which he replied, “No, not at all.”
Well, I’ll be! That was WAY easier than I thought it would be. I was still doing the happy dance when I went to radiation on Tuesday, and I triumphantly announced to the radiation therapists, “Dr Haerr said I can wear deodorant!” They were surprised. “He told you could wear deodorant?” they asked. Apparently, no one ever goes back and asks after the fact. They just trudge along the radiation pathway, their own putrid stench strapped to them like an inescapable BO-steeped backpack. Not me, Buddy! I always try to get special treatment. Sometimes it even works for me. (Now if I could just get rid of this Band-Aid scented cream that I’m required to apply several times daily.)
How sad is it that the best birthday present is permission to wear deodorant? It only serves to illustrate once again how bizarre my life has become over the past 10 months. This time last year, if the Hubster had told me, “Instead of going out to dinner, I thought I’d let you wear deodorant for your birthday. What do you think?” I’m pretty sure I would not have considered that to be such a wonderful gift. In fact, I think I might have had to go all ninja on him. Fast forward to now, when not only am I excited about my sweet smelling pits, but also thrilled beyond measure to have over an inch of hair (on my head—not the pits), and euphoric over my ability to taste. Even though this normal isn’t really my old normal, I’ve come to the conclusion that it is, nonetheless, very good. Or at least I appreciate it more.