H&P #48 + Doctor Visit

This is my last treatment of 2018!

It's a Christmas miracle I'm even here, since nearly two years ago I was given 6-12 months to live.

Thinking on that, I decided to not have any crazy cancer-kicking boots on today.  

Instead, I pulled out my big and fluffy Wookie slippers.  They were a hit!  

Whenever I do some crazy dress-up or holiday shenanigans, it's just to bring some simple joy and to bring smiles to as many faces as possible.  

This, I feel, has been one of the many reasons why I'm still here to celebrate another holiday season:

being able to smile and shine, even in my own darkness.  

It's something I plan on continuing to do as long as I'm able.

So, bring on 2019, cancer.  Let's get ready for a Happy New Year!!!

Good Calls + Echo

I got a call from Dr. Cole Wednesday evening. My phone was on silent, she left a message:

“Hey Melodee it's Dr. Cole. I just wanted to let you know that I spoke with the radiation oncologist and he reviewed all of your images and it looks like that funny spot that we saw on your scan that  was done here has been there before and it doesn't look like it's changing at all! There is  nothing we need to  do now other than watch it.  he did say that he  wanted to  set up some follow up MRIs, but I’ll  talk to him about whether we could just do them up here and then have you see him as needed if something changes so that you don't have to   keep going back downtown. I just wanted to let you know that everything  looks awesome and good and there's no signs of anything new going on and so that she's very reassuring that you're stable OK I'll talk to you later bye-bye…”

That’s pretty cool, plus a literal weight off my brain.  

I also had an appointment for an echo at Dr. Raza's {my new cardiologist} office.  I thought it was silly how I nearly matched the curtain behind which I changed.  It was the most thorough echo I've ever had.

Later that evening, Dr. Raza called me personally.
My echo showed my EF at 55%, which is in the normal range.  She's not too worried about me.  It doesn't necessarily mean that they are taking the diagnosis of cardiomyopathy off my chart, but now I'm just on a "monitoring" plan for now.


It's good to have good news.  

H&P #47 + appt. with Dr. Cole-io

Thanksgiving week this year was a bit tough.  

THE WHOLE FAMILY 

experienced the joy of a 24+ hour stomach bug.  

I was the +, as I was in bed for most of Friday, Saturday, and Sunday after Thanksgiving.  

Being in that state makes me realize how lucky and thankful I truly am for the miracles that have happened in my cancer journey to make it possible for me to be in the state I'm in.

I keep thinking back to the radiation oncologist nurse who came into the room and asked,

"YOU'RE the patient?  Oh, I was expecting someone who looked MUCH WORSE,

after reading your file."

It's blessings upon blessings upon prayers and more that have made it possible for me to be alive at all, let alone in this state of health.  

It's also crazy that I've been doing this maintenance protocol for 47 times.  That's nearly 150 weeks of this treatment, and still going.

There are some really hard days and sad days and days full of fatigue, pain, and frustrations, but there are days of joy and family and traditions and making new memories.  There are days of laughing and working and reaching goals and music and remembering old memories and experiencing record-making football games and watching children grow into incredible humans and love.

  

I have much for which to be thankful.   

I love that I get to watch the seasons changing on the leaves outside the window.  

I wonder how it will look in December.  And the next December after that.  

Much love and cancer kicking still to do....

H&P #46 + Zometa

We are still at it with Herceptin and Perjeta.  Just another day on this long journey.

My nurse, Diana, got the port access with no problems.

Things went well.

I'll see them all again in three weeks!  

Dr. Wardak

Another Monday, another trip to downtown.

Radiation Oncologist was the one thing

Dr. Cole didn't want to scrimp on.

She didn't want some "Joe Schmo with a 100 year-old machine" working on my brain.

When you put it like that, I'll make an exception.  

I do like this place.

I love the free valet for patients.

I love the amazing check-in girl, who I bonded with and we made each other laugh.

I love that my BP was down to 104/72, after being around 130/80 something.

I like Dr. Wardak.  He's young.  He's a little cocky.  He reminds me of Dr. Boutros, in that he seems to have a right to act that way because he knows what he's doing.  No "Joe Schmo" here.

He also had a resident shadowing him.  That says, to me, that you're good enough to have someone learn from your work.  

I didn't get many photos.  

Just my sad brain face.  

There's a small arrow in the middle, right about the "sad mouth"

that points to a small spot they are talking about.  

There's also some spots on this slide.

Dr. W thinks that these are probably the same ones described in my chart.

We won't know for sure until----you guessed it.

We get the previous images with which to compare. 

Dr. Coolio + Halloween

I LOVE Halloween.  

Since I had an oncology appointment, 

my first costume of the day was breast cancer inspired.

Survivor Princess.  

Dr. Cole said they couldn't dress up, but she did her best to be holiday festive, 

with her Halloween orange dress with circular "pumpkins." 

My results for all tests:

Some of the wording looked pretty scary.  

(Lots of talk of osseous disease and degenerative changes, among other things.)

Dr. Cole thinks these findings are most likely just documenting things 

that were already there because of past treatments and disease.  

However, we are hopefully getting all the past CDs in order to 

compare and make a better analysis.  

I asked all kinds of questions, and she answered them all.

I first wanted to make some kind of arrangements where I wouldn't have to drive downtown at all those crazy hours, so many times in a week for tests.  

I asked about some pains in my lower abdomen, wondering if it was a hernia.  Nope.  

Should I get a new port, as so many people in DFW seem to be having difficulties with it.

I'm set up with a referral, if I want it replaced.

What about the MUGA result?

She's not too concerned about it, as it's just on the low side of normal.  

She has referred me to a cardiologist, who is interested in studying these drug-induced heart changes.  She also set me up to see a new radiation oncologist.

Asked about where to go from here.  

We can't really make a decision until we see the other images.  

No tricks this Halloween.

No real good news treats, either.

Hurry up and wait. 

Bone Scan

You guessed it!  

Another trip downtown, 

Another scan.

This time, it wasn't raining, and I didn't have to face rush hour.  

The drive was much better.

My tech for the bone scan was awesome.  

The nurse who accessed my port did a great job,

thanks to that x-ray I now show everyone.  

This is the one they inject me with "plutonium."  

("I'm sure plutonium is available at every drugstore,

but in 1955, it's a little hard to come by!"

Then, I waited and waited for this special sauce to go all through my body.  

I waited long enough in the office, 

and then went to get lunch and walk around outside for some Vitamin D.  

The scan took the longest of them all, but was the easiest by far.  

MRI

 The MRI was interesting.
Drive downtown on a Saturday afternoon.
Not exactly how I like to spend my weekend.

They had me dress all in scrubs, with no-slip socks.  I must have been a little puffy that day, as the nurse felt the need to give me XXL scrubs!

The one to access my port was a Resident.  He was interested in the x-ray, but accessed my port with no trouble.  (Although, by this point, the area of skin all around it was becoming sensitive to all of the needles from the week!)

The MRI was of my brain.  It didn't take long and was quite painless.  

I did notice that there was no place for me to place my MAROON scrubs afterward.  

I also noticed a large crack at the top of my windshield when I got home.  

I thought it was a rock during my drive.  

Turns out, it was one of my children.  

MUGA

This test was already off to a bad start,

as I had to travel downtown,

in rush hour,

to arrive 30 minutes early,

for an 8:30 appointment.  

You can only imagine my anxiety.  

I hate driving in crazy traffic.

The drivers here are insane.

I didn't know where I was going.

It was raining.

I had to leave EARLY, and I'm not really an early morning girl. 

But, I made it.  

With an elevated blood pressure.  

When I checked in, the woman at the front desk said,

"Oh, you're here for a MOO-GA."

"I'm here for a Muh-ga."

"Okay, fill out this paperwork for your MOO-GA, 

and someone will come get you.  Also, 

paper close attention to this form.  If you can't check 'hysterectomy,'

you're going to have to take a pregnancy test."

"What about a bilateral oophorectomy?"

"What's that?"

(by this time, I had about had it with this 50-something woman, 

representing the front office of a medical facility,

who didn't know how to pronounce the test I was about to undergo,

but she had no idea what the name for the surgery to

remove ovaries is called."

It wasn't even 8:30, and I was already over it.

Thankfully, the woman next to her had overheard our conversation and explained the surgery to her colleague, who STILL wasn't sure if that could prove that I wasn't pregnant.  

"I better call back and check."

And, what do you know?

I passed.

"Just write that surgery in the blank."

(Maybe Y'ALL should make another form!)

Soon, my tech, came to get me.  

He was VERY kind, and you could tell he had been

doing this long enough to know what he was doing.  

He also had a student shadowing him.  I felt like this was going to be fine.  

Then came the really not fun part.  

There is only one nurse in that clinic who accesses ports.  

She came to start the process.  

She wasn't comfortable with my port.

"What's wrong with this port?  What kind of port is it?  How LONG have you had it?  It's so big.  It moves.  It must be a double port.  I don't know about this one."

She called it.  She didn't know about it.  Not one bit.

She stuck me several times.  

"Yes.  This HAS to be a double port."

She stuck me a few more times.

"I've NEVER had to double stick someone.  I'll try one more time."

This whole time, I'm thinking

what if my port can't be accessed and they have to do IV?

How any attempts will it take this time?  

As she kept talking and complaining about my port,

how I was sitting, where my arm was positioned,

how the doctor didn't place my port correctly, 

and so on.

After that last attempt, the nurse put a needle in, but not all the way.

She tried to move it around to find the right spot.

Every bad memory of bad IV sticks came rushing to my mind.  

I couldn't stop the tears from pouring out.  

"Maybe you should go over to the main hospital and have the nurses there access your port."

(Maybe I don't really want to do that after all I've already been through this morning!)

Thankfully, Brandon stepped in and suggested that he call a nurse from the hospital to come to us.

And, they both left me in the freezing cold MUGA room.

Finally, someone else was on their way, and I got to move out of the freezer into a warmer room to wait, complete with warm blankets and some Teddy Grahams, since I was a crying baby.  

They did suggest that I call the past chemo nurses to get info.
I also was able to get the X-ray of the actual port and its placement.
Nope.
 It's not a double port, weirdo.

MOO-GA Results:

LVEF (Left Ventricle Ejection Fraction) is 47%

55% or higher is normal.  

CT Scan

After all those great feelings about my new place, I had to go and do something 

like get a CT scan.  

The *delicious* vanilla shake was exactly as I remember it.  

The straw helped, though!  

While drinking this breakfast smoothie, I thought about asking if 

I could have my port accessed.  

The awesome front desk woman, who had already been amused by 

my choices and comments about the Barium smoothie,

said, "Sure! Just go upstairs to the Cancer Clinic!"

She said this like it was no big deal.  

However, when I went upstairs, 

the woman who checks people in was not well pleased

"Do you have an appointment?" she responded to my request.

"I didn't know I was supposed to."

"Well, I just don't know if they'll be able to fit you in this morning."

(I still had an hour until my appointment.)

"Even with an hour left?"

"I'll see what I can do."

What do you know, but someone called me back in 12 minutes, 

and I was headed back downstairs, with port accessed.  

The techs were great.
The CT was easy, one of the easiest, in my opinion.

If only we could make that barium smoothie more like a Dr. Pepper.....

CT Results: 

1. Osseous metastases; no other evidence of thoracic metastatic pathology.

2. Recommend comparison with any prior imaging, if available.

In other words, my spine is screwed up, but it's most likely because it's been 

eaten away by cancer already.  

We need the CDs from all my other scans to compare.  

H&P#45 + Flu Shot + First One at New Clinic!

I think I'm gonna like it here!



They have a sustenance room (food + drinks).
I have my own room for treatment, with tv, a Lazyboy chair, and privacy.

They don't have the cold spray before accessing my port.
My nurse today also had a difficult time and had to stick me twice.  Two sticks in a port is SOOOOOO much more tolerable than two sticks of an I.V., though!
They have pumps, so the process will most likely be much quicker.

And, I have a new (permanent, I think) order for a disabled parking pass.
I'm also finally getting a flu shot!

It also stopped raining today, so my drive here was much less stressful.

Here's to a new clinic!

Dr. Coolio

I'm finally up and running in Dallas with a new oncologist.  It's comforting that she already knows me through my story, having discussed my case with Dr. Fleener.  It's nice to have another young, female oncologist who studied with Dr Fleener, and seems ready to take on my craziness.

It's been a rough few weeks in our lives.
Stephen finally moved here and started his new job.
Our house finally went under contract.
We moved our stuff out of the house and into two storage units in Frisco.
The buyer decided she didn't like our house without our stuff in it.  (She went in the day BEFORE our scheduled deep clean and saw the mess left under furniture in a house for four years.)
She backed out of the contract, but had only put in $100, so we *really* lucked out.
We discovered a leak in the roof, water all on the sheet rock in the garage.
Stephen went to check on the place and found our dining room chandelier destroyed, after having fallen from the ceiling and smashed on the ground.
Insurance couldn't get their act together, and I had to postpone my treatment.
It's been raining nearly everyday for three weeks!

As you can see, we've had quite a few bumps in the road in the last few months.

That's behind us, for now, as I embark on this new journey with a new doctor.

Meeting Dr. Cole was a great first impression, one of a caring and kind and interested physician.  She asked about my eye and hands, posing a question I haven't heard before: "Is Brachydactyly connected to breast cancer?"

I'm excited about getting going on treatment.

I'm not too excited about having to do a bunch of baseline scans, especially since we tried to do them in the summer, so I wouldn't have to pay for more until the new year.  Also, I am not excited AT ALL about driving downtown for the MRI, MUGA, and bone scan.  I'm having MAJOR anxiety about driving there, so I might UBER my way.  We will see.....

As Dr. Cole was ending our meeting, she summarized her plan, where I go from here, explained all the baseline tests she wanted, and ordered labs to be done right in the office that day.

"Coolio?"

I've been thinking about what the next phase of my blog posts would be titled.  She gave herself her own nickname!





Kicking cancer to a new curb!!!

H&P #44 + Last One At Cancer Clinic

Seventeen years ago, we owned an old hand-me-down tube television.  The tricky thing about this tv was that it took a variable amount of time to warm up and be prepared to change channels.  In the meantime, this crazy freebie only showed PBS in Español.  (That's Spanish for Spanish.)  I often turned on the junker while I was in the shower, so it might have sufficient prep time to give me the Today show while I got ready to leave to morning classes.  Sometimes this plan worked; other times I was tutored with a morning review from Plaza Sesemo y mas adelante, Mimi y Señor Bobo.   As poor, young, married college students, we made this dual-language television set work, as it was the best we could afford.

Seventeen years ago, Plaza Sesemo had just clicked over to English channels, as I watched the live footage of an airplane fly into the second World Trade Tower.  I stood in my bedroom, in awe, to learn that what I thought must be a horrible accident was actually the second plane to crash into the buildings that morning.  The shock of it all was more than I could even comprehend.  (Not to mention that, of course, my courses were still being held, and absences would be counted against my grade.)

This was before the time when most humans carry high-powered, tiny computers in our hands, capable of so much more than a lesson from Señor Bobo.  I had to leave the news from all channels and go to class for hours, not knowing any further information.  How nearly impossible it was to concentrate on lessons.  Questions filled my thoughts:
Who has done this?
How were they able to do this?
What does this mean?
Is this war?


Never did I ever think the disaster would reach the level of destruction and loss of life it did.  My first class went on as normal, but the news hit campus and the rest of my classes were canceled for the day.  When I FINALLY walked in the door a few hours later, I caught a glimpse of the second tower falling.  I stood, watching the [good] tv in total disbelief.  I was in shock.  I'm probably naive, but I just never imagined that there would be a collapse.  I couldn't comprehend that level of destruction and hate for America or our way of life or terrorists' ideas of our lives.  My heart broke for all the families and our country.  I couldn't imagine a portion of all the ways that all of our lives would change.

Today I sit in a chair I've filled for at least 50 times.  I think back to all the ways our country has changed in the last seventeen years.  I also ponder all of the ways my life has changed in the last 5 years, since cancer has threatened to collapse me and the hope for my future.  My heart still aches for all the destruction of 9/11.  However, I'm hopeful that there is still good in humanity.  I hate that it takes a terrible attack to bring it out the good, but I pray that we can honor the memory of the innocent people who had their lives stolen that day and all those who were affected by loving and serving those around us.

There is hate and war and terror in the world.  There is also love and hope and faith.  A lot more can be done with the latter.  The anniversary of this terrible tragedy renew in me a desire to make the world a better place.

Hope, faith, and love can heal this world from the path of hate it seems to be following.  I continue to use those powerful tools in my fight against cancer, and I truly believe that they are what has helped me stay healthy.
 

That, and amazing shoes.  And, flu shots.

H&P #43 + Appointment with Fleener + Zometa

It's really coming down to the end of my time a the Cancer Clinic in College Station.  I can't just "leave it to Fleener" anymore.  I have to find another's hands in which to place my care.  Sure, my oncology family here will always be here for me, but it's just not feasible for me to make the 3+ hour trek every 3 weeks for the rest of time.

This process of moving and thinking about leaving these amazing people behind, while trying to help my children transition into their new school/sports homes has been stressful.  Our house hasn't sold.  Stephen's working here while we are there until October.  I have to coordinate plans for moving and storing our belongings until our house sells and we can actually think about buying another home.  I haven't been sleeping well, and I'm sure its related to all of these and many more stresses involved with changes and moving and getting organized and settled in a completely new place.

I've been feeling great, other than in not sleeping, so there is much for which to be grateful, in that area. Tomorrow, I will have a CT and and MRI, so my information will be up-to-date, as I find new doctors up in the Dallas area.

I continue to look for blessings and at all the things for which I can give gratitude.  One simple one...Stephen dropped his wallet in the parking lot of Lowe's last week.  He didn't realize until he was checking out, and it wasn't in his pocket.  He thought he left it at home, but found that someone had turned it in, without even taking the $20 bill inside.  This seems like such a small thing, but for anyone who has ever had their identity stolen or truly lost all of that information, it is such a pain to cancel old credit cards and a order new driver's license and all the other tedious to-dos which result from that annoyance.

I'm thankful my boys have a good school to attend up in Frisco.  It was a hard choice to miss out on Camp Kesem because of their earlier school start, but I'm glad I got them registered and started at the beginning instead.

I'm grateful for family--especially right now to Stephen's brother and his family for allowing us to live with them while we figure out our whole moving situation.

I'm grateful for all the friends, neighbors, and other warriors that have continued to love and support me and my family through our journey over the last five years.  We have survived up to this point because of the service you have given our family.  We have felt your prayers buoy us up.

I'm sad that our moving plans have messed up other plans that have been set long before Stephen got a new job, which necessitated all of this moving business in the first place.  I was heart broken to not fly to visit my new niece in Utah last week because I needed to help the boys with their first week of school at a new school, but I am grateful that I will get to meet her soon.



I feel a connection with this new niece on many levels.  First, she's the firstborn of my baby sister, the one to which our mother calls my twin.  I cried tears of joy when this sister first told me she was pregnant.    She and her husband, like me and mine, had experienced many years of the pains and sadness of infertility.   And, finally, there was a pregnancy that could FINALLY become a person.  It was a time worthy of a river of happy, thankful tears.

For anyone in similar circumstances, having been poked and prodded and tested and medicated and FINALLY having a viable pregnancy, you know the conundrum.  There's extreme excitement and gratitude, but there's also potential worry and concern if it will REALLY happen this time.  The inner monologue,
"Should I allow myself to get excited?"
"Should we share our news, just in case?"
"How do I know this one is different?"

Plus, with this type of pregnancy, you usually know VERY early in the process, making that 9-10 months a VERY LONG 9-10 months.

I felt so special to be on the VERY short list of people who had even been told about this pregnancy so early-on, partly because of my similar experiences/partly because it was my baby/twin sister, and mostly.....let's be honest......because I needed to get started on planning the baby shower which would live up to my sisters' incredibleness!

We both felt pretty strongly that this baby was going to be a boy, but we were surprised to discover there was pink for their future.  A baby GIRL!!!

Then came the name search.

***************

A little background.....
My name is spelled in an unusual way (MELODEE.)  It's the EE that has special meaning in our family.  My mom's nickname growing up was DEE; she also had a friend named Melodee, whose name was an inspiration for mine.  My baby sister's name also ends with an EE, so naturally, she was looking to name her baby girl with a name that also ended in EE.  When her favorite name was taken by a relative, only months before the birth, the name search was on again.  She was disappointed at first, and many of the names I suggested never quite matched up to the original idea.

**************

Then, one day my sister called me.  She began telling me a story about a dream she had where she already had a baby girl who was already named in the dream.  When she and her husband had dinner the next evening, talked all about a dream HE had had about their daughter and her name.  Incredibly, their dreams contained THE SAME BABY NAME!

So, my sister continued,

"I need to ask you a question:  

Would you mind if we named our baby after you?  

We are thinking of naming our daughter Melodee Ann.  

It fits the EE thing.  It's got family name status."  

For the second time in only a few months, my baby sister had me crying like a baby on the phone.   She described how much she loved and admired me and felt like I was one of the strongest women she's ever known and how she wanted her daughter to know the same strength in life.  She couldn't think of a more special name for her baby girl.

Of course, I didn't mind.  I couldn't stop crying, but I definitely didn't mind.  It was an incredibly humbling honor, one of the times in life where I have felt most special and important.

I also felt a little anxious.  It is a big responsibility, to be a namesake.  Would I really live up to such an honor?  Had I truly lived a life to deserve that?  Would it just be a name?

(What follows are thoughts I haven't truly shared until now....)

I pondered on this honor for the months which followed.  I was so excited, but I was also scared.  Would my name be a curse on this baby?  Would she fall into so many life trials and hardships, like I have?  And, even worse thoughts, would having a namesake, a new child named after me, signal an end to my time on this earth? Was this the time cancer was going to take me, perhaps as I might need to be this new Melodee's guardian angel?  I was feeling ALL.THE.THINGS. surrounding this news.

It's not like I wasn't happy about this amazing honor.  But, the mind can be a tricky thing.  I kept being led to dangerous thoughts:  Was the world big enough for me to keep being Melodee, and Baby Melodee to also be Melodee?  Was this God's way of letting me know that it was time to turn in my crown?

I didn't want to talk about these feelings because I didn't want my sister to think these thoughts, either, while she was still growing this baby and already had concerns about a healthy delivery.  I didn't want to tarnish this beautiful story about a baby name miracle.  I didn't want to introduce any doubt on this decision because I really did love the name.

I just couldn't stop thinking about the spots on my brain that had been discovered around the same time and how my doctors weren't sure if they were cancer, but they all believed it was highly likely that cancer was coming back in my brain.  Was I even going to be alive to meet my namesake niece?  Was this name going to be end up being in memorandum because it was "my time" to be called home?

And then the answer came:
My scans came back clear.  These spots weren't growing.  The were fading and getting more difficult to identify on a scan.  They were nothing that we need to worry about now.

I'm Melodee, and this baby can also be Melodee.  A name is a name.  There are often beautiful reasons and meanings behind them.  But, maybe---just maybe---this name is just a bit more special.  My heart is with this baby, the one I still haven't met, who shares my name, the one who was born by emergency c-section, with the umbilical cord around her neck, saved on a Saturday by an on-call doctor who made the decision to get her here quickly.  As another Saturday child, born quickly, ready to be here, even amidst challenges, I know that I will be here for her and her mother as long as I have breath in me.

This gift I've been given to be a part of this baby's world, an example, a support----I have no daughters of my own, but I hope she will let me love her with that same intensity.  'Cause this Melodee doesn't do anything mildly.

 Baby Melodee, you've come into this world with a little craziness already.  You're welcome.  



Keepin' on keepin' on kicking cancer (and whatever life brings at you!) to the curb, one day at a time!

H&P#42 + ECHO

I have people ask all the time, "How is your chemo?"

The drugs I take ARE cancer-fighting drugs, but they are also remission-maintenance drugs.  I call them "chemo," but what I do every three weeks, is MUCH less strenuous than a heavy-duty chemo treatment.  There are a few unpleasant side-effects, but nothing that can't be managed.  The one BIG one is cardiomyopathy.  (And, for those of you who are not fans of the similar diagnosis from Beaches, these drugs can mess with my heart.)

Thankfully, this cardiomyopathy is not viral and can be reversed, just by stopping the drugs.  We hope NOT to have to stop them, because cancer can kill ya, too, just not as quickly as heart problems.  

I had an echo the week after surgery.  (That week also held orthodontist appointments, a child's birthday, a well-check appointment at the pediatrician, and a concert.  Who needs sleep?)

Echocardiograms are SO easy.  No IVs, no big machines, no radioactive substance...just lying half-naked on a bed with a left-side trapdoor, for access to scan the other side of the heart, while a tech, who's "not supposed to give me any results" scans and listens to my heart to make sure it's healthy enough for chemo. 

And, what do you know.....my heart RULES!  Still pumping after all the crap its been put through.  

Probably because I'm so loved.  

(Cuz, it's DEF not from working out!)

My time here is short.  It's sad that I'm leaving such a HUGE part of my Cancer Warriors and searching out a new crew.  Hopefully, I can come back anytime I need a "second opinion" or just when I want to go where everybody knows my name, and they're always glad I came!

My new office will learn all about my fight to BTHO cancer AND kicking it to the curb with my fancy shoes.  

Oophorectomy

Fighting cancer and raising boys during a record-breaking heat summer, while trying to keep a house pristine in order to sell it, and trying to work around Stephen's insane work schedule......not my favorite.  I had so many plans for this summer, and then we decided to move, and instead of an enriching summer school for the boys, complete with cooking classes and field trips, we've upped screen time and throw in swimming to break it up.  

The boys and I were also able to sneak away for another week of vacation and surprising family with a visit.  Family is everything. 

And, then it was STRAIGHT back into our real world of fighting cancer and raising boys and hot days and attempts at a pristine house.  That week back, I met with Dr. Goble on Monday, saw Dr. Fleener on Tuesday, had an unrelated appointment on Wednesday, and pre-registered for surgery on Friday.  YES.....what would all of the fun of this summer be without surgery?!

I was originally scheduled to have my ovaries removed on July 31.  However, with all of the aforementioned activities{?} planned, I attempted to move up the date.  I hadn't heard anything, so Dr. Fleener contacted Dr. Jansky right then...during my appointment!  There was a VERY good reason why my case had fallen through the cracks, and it didn't matter because they could squeeze me in for the following Monday.  

Thank goodness for our support system to help out with childcare!  (Maybe they did a better job of providing an enriching array of activities.  Or, maybe they stuck with screen time.  By the time I got home, everyone was still alive, so who cares?)

Thankfully, I didn't have the first case of the days, which meant I could show up at a reasonable hour, you know, after the sun had risen.  The later-in-the-day surgery, DID mean I had to go longer without eating or drinking, but not too much.

  Stephen was able to be with me AND handpick anesthesia.  

Port accessed!  No worries about IVs!  

I took a few pills beforehand, and we were off!  

Apparently, those pills were all the pain meds I needed DURING SURGERY!  Afterwards, I was so out of it, I just wanted to sleep!  They (including Stephen) kept asking me if I was in pain or needed anything for pain, and I was just tired.  (I remember NONE of this.)  Since I wasn't hurting at all, I didn't even get any pain meds for at home.  Apparently, all I need is a good drug-induced nap every now and then, even when REMOVING MAJOR FEMALE ORGANS FROM MY BODY!  Who needs something for the pain?  

I really did feel fine.  In fact, I finally took my kids to the library to redeem their summer reading...THE NEXT DAY....to the complete shock and chagrin of my mother.  (Remember all else that we're dealing with this summer?  Laparoscopic surgery......I've dealt with worse.)

Speaking of worse, I still carry many of the physical scars to prove it.  Thankfully, Dr. Jansky used the biggest of those, just adding a new one to the existing line, along with accessing my fake belly-button and adding a new mark to the mix, but only the tiniest of openings.  These are the battle scars, four days after surgery.  Still bruised and stitched, but no pain.  

I'm hoping this newest treatment in my arsenal will ease the need for so much emphasis on the estrogen-blasting front. I'm done with babies.  My eggs were no good, anyway.  Plus, I'm pretty sure there's a 100% chance I don't have to worry about ovarian cancer, but leave it to my body to still find a way!