Positively Phoebe

Having gone through the whole cancer thing makes even the slightest whisper of the word in the lives of those around you terrifying.  Brings up the fears and anxieties of those early days and makes you wish that that person was not having to go through that horrible shit that you went through. Unfortunately, every day, people still go through cancer diagnoses and the fears and anxieties that go along with the waiting, wondering and hoping until they get the inevitable bad news or all clear.  And it's impossible to think that just because I went through it, I should be spared the worry when it comes to those I care about and those they care about and so on.  In fact, I hope that if and/or when that happens, my experiences might be somehow helpful for those around me going through what they are going through.  What I went through. More than a couple people I know (or know of through someone I am close with) are going through the cancer/potential cancer business rig...

I barely remember my first PET scan.  I was so dazed during that first week after the diagnosis, I honestly barely recalled any of the scan procedure until   I was back in there this morning. I checked in and sat in the waiting room next to my mum, just like I did the first time.  I smirked a little, though, when I had to fill out the form declaring that I was not pregnant.  Yeah.  You guys kinda took that option off the table, thanks. When the guy came to get me and walk me back to the PET scan area, it all started coming back.  But this time, I was not given as much information as the first one.  Back in November, the girl who set me up in the little injection room explained the whole process to me (not that I retained any of it), told me how much of whatever nuclear juice I was getting shot up with, and then when I was left to wait my hour for the stuff to circulate properly before the scan, I fell straight asleep. This time there was NO ...

Before I get to the gratitude... yesterday was a little rough, I'm not going to lie. I spent most of the morning wishing I could un-hear the "worst case scenario" as described by the doctor on Tuesday.  But despite the fact that in my heart I KNOW that is not where we are headed, hearing it did change something in me.  And after thinking a lot about it, I sort of "got" that what it changed was that it made the cancer REAL for me.  Up to that point, I knew I had it.  I knew we were treating it and I knew it was going to go away.  Life wasn't REALLY going to change in a permanent way - just temporarily.  You know.  Til we're done curing me.  But hearing that there was even a teeny tiny outside chance of  "much more than a radical hysterectomy" made the reality of the situation just explode in my face.  I don't want this to make my life change in such a horrific way.  I wasn't ready to accept that and it definitely messed with my hea...

Seriously.  Every single day, there is something this brings into my life that I did not know the day before. Yesterday we did early Thanksgiving at Ryan's family's house in Mansfield.  It was actually planned before my diagnosis, because Ryan's brother, Evan, will be out of town this week for actual Thanksgiving.  Anyhow, I was feeling 100% fine when we got up.  I ran an errand.  I made stuffing.  I put on make-up and a dress and even brushed my hair. My parents planned to join us, but drove separately in case I ended up feeling cruddy and wanted to leave early.  As we were preparing to leave, Ryan decided it would be fun to get his 1971 Challenger (which rarely sees the outside of the garage) out and drive that down to Mansfield (about an hour south of Cleveland).  I love the Challenger.  Ryan REALLY loves the Challenger.  It didn't seem like a bad idea.  We thought it'd put us in good moods.  Be fun.  Happy. Wrong....

First chemo was so easy. No nausea. Just a lotta pee, thanks to a little syringe full of a drug called Lassix (thus named, according to my nurse, because it LASsts SIX hours). Because Ryan is just getting over some crappy illness of his own, so he stayed home to avoid sniffling in a room full of people fighting disease. Mum was there all day, helping my foggy brain ask questions. Sat next to Admiral Jack Hunt, who had just transferred to Moll Pavilion from St. John's Westshore, and gave him my tv since his wasn't working. Across from me was a woman whose name I never got. She was there getting IV iron (it was BLACK) for an auto-immune disease. When I told her the Monastery of Poor Clares were praying for me, she was all impressed. So, thanks to my step-mom Mary Pat for visiting them on my behalf. They also mailed me a Green Scapular and they gave me, via MP, a Saint Peregrine medal (the patron saint of cancer patients). I'm wearing it with a wish bone charm Daniela Drok...