Month: September 2010

I received the appointment for the final CT scan, which is scheduled for next week.  I’ll keep you posted.  This is really like the punctuation on this year of treatments.  Life has felt normal and full of distractions so I have not really spent much time worrying about the scan.  I’ve spent more time thinking about all the support we still have after a long year, and came across this quote in a book I’ve been reading.

At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person.  Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us.  Albert Schweitzer

Thank you for keeping my light aglow.  Gratitude abounds.

We participated in the Walk For Hope living ribbon on Cancer Survivor’s Day.   It was such a beautiful day.  At some point a new regional hospital will be on these grounds, which is adjacent to the cancer center.  A beautiful place for healing in my opinion.  We are at the tip on the lower right side as you look at the pic.  You can see E‘s dark pants and dark hair right a the point and A’s blue shorts. (haven’t they gotten tall?!)  A has designed the shirt for the walk, which is “SICK” as her friends say (that’s good). I’m waiting quotes for the printing, and then we’ll be all set as a team!  So far we have 14 members walking and have raised $745.00! (the link is on the tab above WALK4HOPE 2010 if you are interested in joining us or donating.)

I’ve seen a few people who I have not run across in quite a few months.  They ask how I’m doing, if treatments are over.  I’m so happy when I can say a resounding yes.  The “Are you cancer free?” question has a different impact.  My typical response is “As far as we can tell.”  Why am I so tentative?  Well I guess it’s just because if you asked me that 1 1/2 years ago I would have looked at you like you were out of your mind.  Of course I’m cancer free.  Look at how I live. Look at my family history.  I nursed my children for a million years.  Don’t these all put me in a low risk category?  Even WITH my new history, my health risk assessment at work puts me in a low risk category.  Go figure.

I’m starting to understand what other survivors have told me about having isolated moments when I’m a bit unsure.  Like a headache, when I normally don’t get headaches.  (It lasted one afternoon, mind you, and a little ibuprophen went a long way to douse the pain.) Like some joint pain, when I have only really just gotten back into daily walking, stretching, some yoga.  (On a side note, isn’t aging a funny thing?  I totally deny that aging has ANYTHING to do with stuff like aches and pains!)  Like anticipating the date for the CT scan arriving in the mail any day this week.  Mostly I am not anxious.  I just go in for my port flushes like it’s any other day.  I talk with the nurse about the day I will have the port removed and they cheer.  “Just waiting for that last CT scan.”  I’m not likely to loose sleep, thanks to my inherited sleep gene from Pop.  I let the thoughts/fears just pass through me most of the time.

Speaking of genes, I’ve received the genetic specialist’s notes from our visit.  How is it that some providers can remember so much info so accurately with such detail?  The social worker suggested that if I wanted to pursue, that she run just the letter from the doc by the insurance company to see if she can obtain prior authorization.  I’m likely to go that route.  If they deny or ask for clinical info, then with my permission, she’d send the note from the visit with all the family history.  B and I are still debating the pros and cons of this.  My nurse practitioner angel is really supporting the test if we can feel comfortable with the info being sent.  So that’s still simmering.  One thing Dr. Genetic Specialist said in the report was that if my family history changes AT ALL with regard to cancer (perish the thought), it would most likely make me eligible for the testing.  I’d rather the $3500 go to the Walk4Hope if insurance won’t pay to tell you the truth.  I plan to inform my relatives of the recommendations as they stand, especially female relatives.

The comedian who performed at Cancer Survivor’s Day was Scott Burton.  If you are interested, check him out on the web.  His message fits with today’s entry because the living ribbon is about living.  I agree with Scott when he says that being a survivor does not make us anything special.  Everyone has to survive things in their lives.  We just have to remember to keep on living.

I’ve declared my mother’s angelhood here before.  I spent 5 or 6 days with her as she recovered from some procedures.  Being in a hospital, remembering the anesthesia FUNK that just doesn’t seem to go away, just wanting to sleeeeeeeeeep…all of these things were so very familiar to me and yet so very far away, thankfully.  I saw women with scarves on their heads.  I saw children who were bald.  I saw very caring personal care attendants, nurses and docs.

So the worst is over for this episode for me and us.  What remains does not feel daunting right now.  I have  fleeting moments where I wonder if I’ll be around a year from now, whether cancer will be the cause of my death or not.  I have many more moments where I am just in the moment and realize that that is all I have ever had, even before diagnosis. 

While I was away with Mom, my family got along fine without me.  When I returned, it was a particularly busy day with more family and sport obligations than we had parents in the house, and so I was greatful to have been able to return when I did. 

I am happy to say that Mom is well.  She was forever commenting on how much darker she thought my hair was.  So many of the ladies who live in the same apartment as Mom commented on how lucky I was to have such curls.  Another said that she thought it was a wig.  It was great to see my mother among her own support group.  Her independence is very important to her partially because she does not want to burden her children, partly because it enables her to function at her very highest.  When I was not there she rested well after the hospitalization.  When I was there she felt obligated to have at least one eye open and pushed herself too far too soon.  When I went away and left her to her own devices, she napped and went to an activity and even asked a friend to the gameroom for a round of her favorite game.  Like me, she has so much incredible support.  These women who are survivors of their long lives, widowed, making a go of it with new ‘housemates’ and doing such a wonderful job of it.  I was reminded of all the support we have received this past year, and the lingering tenderness that has entered our relationships. 

Cancer is not the subject of most of my conversations any longer.  Every once in a while the inflection in someone’s voice when they ask “how ARE you?” tells me that they want to hear an update on the trail we’ve been on.  I’ve just recently been entertaining thoughts about the upcoming CT scan, which I don’t even think is scheduled yet…due sometime at the end of this month.  I don’t want to know that there are cancer cells in my body.  I do want to know that none are detected.  I do know that these tests are not conclusive. 

I am just taking one day at a time (as cliche as that sounds).  Today is a most beautiful day.  Clear, cool, and sunny.  A good day for a walk with D, a hike with S, cleaning out my garden and stacking wood with my partner and kids this afternoon.  My conversation with Mom last night found her with increasing energy, humor and love.  What could be more nourishing?  Time with loved ones, time outside, humor and a mother’s love.  Mmm, mmm,  GOOD.