There are three reasons it has taken me over a month to make my next post:
1. Chemo kicked my ass.
2. After I hit the "publish post" button I had instant regrets. I had to put a little more thought into this idea. All of a sudden everyone would know what was going on with me... I was exposed, hyper-exposed, UBER-exposed... Will I ever get another date?? I almost deleted it, but I didn't have the energy.
3. I got SO sick of hearing "Oh! I am so SORRY!" Fuck you. I don't feel sorry for you. I started saying "I have cancer. It's not like I'm dying." But I had to stop saying that. I will no longer say that I have cancer. By saying you HAVE cancer it's like you own it, and cancer is surely not mine. However... I have not yet come up with another way of describing it. Somehow, "I came down with the cancer" doesn't really work either.
Many of you have probably also figured out that my phone has been shut off and stored in a cool, dry place since about the end of February. It was either turn it off or let it blow up from OVERringing. Once I started therapy I entered my healing zone and talking on the phone was not an option. Actually, typing wasn't even an option after the poison injections got into full swing. So, I apologize to the throngs of you that were expecting a return phone call. And you probably still won't get it. I realized what I have always suspected; I hate talking on the phone and plan to do very little of it in the future.
So here's what happened:
Jan 28th: That Dr lady really pissed me off. I didn't think it was even LEGAL to tell a patient they PROBABLY have cancer, let alone someone's daughter..., someone who has never even had a cold for longer than a week..., someone who took their vitamins every s-i-n-g-l-e-d-a-y..., someone who was just starting to get a grasp on where their future might take them....... Lucky for me, the friendly neighborhood Delnor on-call oncologist was handy that evening and he popped his head into my room to justify just that fact... indeed, it was PROBABLY cancer. (Side note #1: I had to ask the oncologist what an oncologist was. He was amused. I was not. Side note #2: Once assigned a hospital room, complete with hospital room number and hospital bed, one is apparently property of that hospital and doors mean nothing. I found out that patient privacy and patient sleep schedule is not pertinent in this situation. Always close the door to the bathroom in your public hospital "suite" when you have to go number two or the friendly neighborhood on-call gastroenterologist just might see your goods... yes, I speak from experience. But, haha, he probably didn't really care.)
So I guess the radiologist called the Dr. who called the oncologist who called the gastroenterologist who called my actual primary care Dr. who called my mom and this was all before 11pm that night. Before I was allowed the attempt to drift into an impossible nightmare/panic ridden sleep, I was sent to radiology again, this time for a pelvic/vaginal ultrasound. Fun stuff there. Upon return to my room, my blood was drawn at least 100 times. And maybe 10 more times in the middle of the night. The happy little bitches told me I'd get used to the needle being stuck into my veins. Well, to this day I cannot even get my finger pricked without flinching like a baby and I blame it on all those unnecessary blood draws. Momma was about to find the head nurse and tell her to get her shit together. I was informed that one of the above professionals had ordered a liver biopsy early the next morning.WTF? Why? The "why me?" shit had officially begun.
Jan 29 (momma's birthday): Sweet Princess Di pretended to be nonchalant about waking up on the couch in my hospital room on her 59th birthday. Her only daughter PROBABLY had cancer and she was a year shy of official senior citizen status, but outwardly she was in bright spirits. I, on the other hand, had been flopping around for hours, wondering exactly how much of my liver was about to be sucked through a straw. Some sweet, obnoxiously healthy nurse came in around sunrise to set up my IV. I never really realized that I'd have to be put under for the procedure, and now I was freaking out. She said they'd be taking me right away. Four hours of staring at the needle in my hand later I was wheeled out of the room on my own bed. I wanted to pull the covers over my head in case I ran into someone I knew. I was healthy dammit!!! Let me walk! Momma was by my side the whole time. "Infinite love and gratitude, infinite love and gratitude". She told me to repeat those words over and over again, and the next thing I knew I was back in my room.
Sometime that afternoon they finally let me leave. My back was sore where they had rammed a hollow needle through my rib cage and filled the hole with styrofoam so it wouldn't ooze liver tumors. (Hey, my imagination was going crazy...) I was told to expect biopsy results in 2-3 days. I remember walking out to the Jeep, it was crisp and sunny, and as I started the engine it hit me that this was all a really messed up dream. We went home and ordered pizzas for momma's birthday, at her request. The nightmare was over and life was back to normal.
Jan 30th: HAHAHAHAHA! Just kidding! When I woke up I remembered I PROBABLY had cancer!!! Dad went about his business and momma and I cleaned ourselves up to meet one of our closest dear friends for lunch. A friend with so much spiritual enlightenment, we would surely glean some pertinent info regarding my next step towards recovery. I remember feeling like I was in a tunnel. I couldn't figure out what was taking momma so long to get ready. Soon she hobbled into the kitchen with tears streaming down her cheeks, she had fallen on the ice in the driveway, but she was ready to go. I got her an ice pack. By the time we reached the restaurant her knee was swollen like a basketball. When we got home she was barely tolerating the pain. An x-ray revealed a broken patella. I wasn't sure if I felt sorry for her or if I was pissed. I mean, who was gonna take care of me now?????????
Feb 2nd: GROUNDHOG DAY, the day I got the call from the oncologist. God being a bit inappropriate??? I think so.
I was on the fence regarding my opinion of said oncologist. I was a little put off by his premature half-ass diagnosis the day of my CT scan, but he was young and handsome. On the other hand, his eyes were sad, like he was trying way too hard to seem sympathetic. After all, to him I was "newly diagnosed cancer patient #1,245,672" and all he saw were dollar signs. (I'll point out the foreshadowing here... this blog may have some not-so-subtle undertones about how I feel about modern standard medicine. So, it's not all about me. The reader may even find themselves learning a thing or two about my fascination with nutrition, health, exercise, fat people, grocery stores, alternative health care, cream sauce, fabulous frilly undergarments, and glucose hungry cancer cells. Not really a disclaimer, more of a warning. Don't read it if you don't like bad words and medical miracles that invoke spiritual belief.) My phone rang well past 6pm and at first I was impressed that he was contacting patients well after office hours. And, on the other hand, WHAT THE HELL??? It's past 6pm! I've already chewed all my fingernails off. Thanks for making me wait, prick! His tone was conversational. I was driving the Jeep down a four lane highway and didn't feel the need to pull over, I was tough and it was just another phone call, I didn't want to give it special distinction.
"Your tumors are all malignant. You have stage four adenocarcinoma (that means it's cancer in a gland) of unknown primary (that means they don't know which gland). There are two fist-size tumors in your liver, one by your gallbladder, and many more smaller metastases (places the cancer has moved to but they don't know why since they don't know where it started) down by your bladder and in and around your intestinal cavity. More than 8, less than 12. (Many of his words were above my vocabulary level. I am recounting it in my own terms. I did not appreciate his patronizing tone. I was ready to hang up on him... for a number of reasons....) You have few choices. Since we do not know where the cancer originated, I suggest starting full-body chemotherapy as soon as possible. Do you have any questions?"
I felt my cheeks turning red. I pulled over.
"No."
"How would you like to proceed?"
"I'll call ya back." Click. It made me feel better to hang up on him. :)
I was over the fence, he was officially a prick.
I have since filled out thousands and thousands of forms, many of them asking the date and type of my diagnosis. I continuously and presently find amusement in writing... Date: Groundhog Day, 2010... Type: Nobody knows.
Groundhog Day 2010 was the day I realized that my life was in my own hands. I had many many many many many (to infinity) decisions to make and I was NOT going to start with traditional and lethal cancer treatments unless they dragged me to the sterile IV room by my toenails. I needed more answers and I needed more opinions. My enrollment into Cancer University had been accepted!
Lots of things happened all of a sudden. I forgot that I wasn't happy with my weight. I forgot about my friends that wanted to go out and get wasted. I forgot about the Geneva Police Dept (story may or may not arise in the future. Probably not.) I forgot about my dead end job. I forgot about boys that I had crushes on. I forgot about looking for the perfect new house. I quit returning phone calls. All of a sudden my life was about ME. In a way it was refreshing, still is. In a matter of minutes I realized that I had to concentrate on me or I would die. I was in a zone, albeit foggy. Every second that I was awake my mind was thinking about my next step.
Right now my mind is thinking about how much I have to pee. This was supposed to be a simple timeline of chronological events. I guess I had more to say than I thought.
To be continued.....
Namaste
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