When I made the choice not to stagnate yesterday, God decided to help with my quest.
A nurse from the cancer centre called yesterday afternoon to offer me an appointment for a CT scan today. Someone had cancelled and presented an open time. Of course, I took the appointment (otherwise I'd have to wait until the end of June). I'd rather know and deal with the results than wait, wonder and worry.
So I will go drink the 1.5 L of radioactive water, get the IV contrast and expose my body to the radioactive rays of the machine. All to produce some grey lumps and squiggles for the doctors to interpret. Then they'll be able to tell me what the heck is happening in my abdomen.
My follow-up appointment with BOTH Dr. P and Dr. W is set for June 1. I don't know why I'm seeing two doctors. Dr. W is a researcher and presents clinical trial opportunities. If the cancer is back, I doubt I'd qualify for a research study. Even if it's not, I didn't qualify before, so I don't think I'd be a candidate now. I guess I'll find out on June 1. Luckily, that's less than two weeks away.
Apparently, my last-minute appointment kiboshed some special plans for Michael. It's our 15th anniversary today and he was going to surprise me with a picnic lunch in the park across from my work. Now, we'll be spending noon hour in the hospital. My lunch will consist of radioactive liquids. Doesn't quite compare to the plans my sweetie had in mind.
For better, for worse, in sickness and in health - Michael is there through it all and (amazingly) loves me all the more. He's my rock, my soulmate, my true companion.
Spending our anniversary lunch in the hospital, while unromantic and clinical, seems slightly appropriate given the past year. Luckily, we have celebratory dinner reservations at a very nice restaurant for this evening where we can mark this special occasion properly.
Yup, I'd marry him all over again, and I couldn't imagine anyone better to share this journey called life.
Tina
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
New day, new focus
It's a new day, the sun is shining and I'm more hopeful.
Yesterday was a bad day. I got stuck in the rabbit warren of negative thoughts and feelings. I wandered through its confusing tunnels with dead ends and oppressive, dirt walls. Fear coursed through my body, amplifying each ache and pain I'm feeling, which made me even more afraid. As a result, I was stuck on the hamster wheel of negative emotions.
I'm going to have bad days. I'm going to experience fear and doubt. It's part of the disease. It's especially part of ovarian cancer with its high likelihood of reoccurence and vague symptoms.
I learned yesterday from my therapist, that while I have fear and sometimes talk about it, I don't let it all out. I don't want to burden/scare those around me (whom I love) and therefore I don't feel I can safely let it all out of its cage. While I'm quite honest here in my blog, I still hold back.
Part of me thinks "Suck it up, Tina." I'm sick and tired of hearing myself complain, so I figure others have also had enough of the negative emotions and cyclical nature of my fear. But it's part of the journey - the not-so-pretty part.
She also taught me that by thinking about how others will react makes me true to their needs, not my own. Huh. It's an interesting observation but I'm not sure it's something that I can change about myself. I have to give it more thought.
My therapist also helped me understand that I don't have to let my fear control me. It could be a trusted advisor, giving me information with which to work. It can alert me to the pains and discomfort I have - and I have to listen to the messages it's giving me.
She said women typically tamp down their fear so they don't hurt someone's feelings. She used an example of a woman waiting for an elevator. While waiting for the car to arrive, a big man comes up and waits with her. He's kind of scary and her internal danger sensors go off. But when the elevator car arrives, she gets into an enclosed metal box with a man who's already ringing alarm bells. How stupid is that? But, typically as women, we don't want to hurt his feelings or appear weak by refusing to ride with him. That's ignoring the signals fear gives us.
In order to make friends with fear, I'm supposed to write a letter to it. By personalizing the emotion, I should be able to loosen its control on me. I don't let big, strong, overbearing people control me, so why do I let an emotion with the same characteristics do it? I'm willing to give it a try to see where it leads.
That's probably part of why I'm feeling better today. I have a purpose and a goal. I'm moving forwards instead of sitting stagnant in a pool of negative emotion.
It's a good thing to recognize emotions that are inhibiting us and discovering ways to use them to our advantage. I'm not proclaiming it's going to be easy or anticipating how successful I'll be, but I feel I'm taking steps in the right direction.
This cancer journey continues to be one of self discovery.
Tina
Yesterday was a bad day. I got stuck in the rabbit warren of negative thoughts and feelings. I wandered through its confusing tunnels with dead ends and oppressive, dirt walls. Fear coursed through my body, amplifying each ache and pain I'm feeling, which made me even more afraid. As a result, I was stuck on the hamster wheel of negative emotions.
I'm going to have bad days. I'm going to experience fear and doubt. It's part of the disease. It's especially part of ovarian cancer with its high likelihood of reoccurence and vague symptoms.
I learned yesterday from my therapist, that while I have fear and sometimes talk about it, I don't let it all out. I don't want to burden/scare those around me (whom I love) and therefore I don't feel I can safely let it all out of its cage. While I'm quite honest here in my blog, I still hold back.
Part of me thinks "Suck it up, Tina." I'm sick and tired of hearing myself complain, so I figure others have also had enough of the negative emotions and cyclical nature of my fear. But it's part of the journey - the not-so-pretty part.
She also taught me that by thinking about how others will react makes me true to their needs, not my own. Huh. It's an interesting observation but I'm not sure it's something that I can change about myself. I have to give it more thought.
My therapist also helped me understand that I don't have to let my fear control me. It could be a trusted advisor, giving me information with which to work. It can alert me to the pains and discomfort I have - and I have to listen to the messages it's giving me.
She said women typically tamp down their fear so they don't hurt someone's feelings. She used an example of a woman waiting for an elevator. While waiting for the car to arrive, a big man comes up and waits with her. He's kind of scary and her internal danger sensors go off. But when the elevator car arrives, she gets into an enclosed metal box with a man who's already ringing alarm bells. How stupid is that? But, typically as women, we don't want to hurt his feelings or appear weak by refusing to ride with him. That's ignoring the signals fear gives us.
In order to make friends with fear, I'm supposed to write a letter to it. By personalizing the emotion, I should be able to loosen its control on me. I don't let big, strong, overbearing people control me, so why do I let an emotion with the same characteristics do it? I'm willing to give it a try to see where it leads.
That's probably part of why I'm feeling better today. I have a purpose and a goal. I'm moving forwards instead of sitting stagnant in a pool of negative emotion.
It's a good thing to recognize emotions that are inhibiting us and discovering ways to use them to our advantage. I'm not proclaiming it's going to be easy or anticipating how successful I'll be, but I feel I'm taking steps in the right direction.
This cancer journey continues to be one of self discovery.
Tina
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Down, down, down
The emotional roller coaster continues. It dipped way down this morning, leaving me with an upset stomach and a sense of panic.
As I soaped up in the shower this morning, I thought I felt a lump in my left armpit. I thoroughly probed the area, comparing it to my right one. After my mind let lose a string of profanities, I sunk into a bit of a funk.
Of course, it could be nothing. But considering I still have about a 45 per cent chance of getting breast cancer due to the BRCA gene mutation, my mind is swirling with the awful possibilities. Given that I had a breast MRI done in January (where my breasts were perfect) the likelihood of this being anything ominous is slim. But anxiety took root in my mind.
I thought I felt something in the left breast a couple of months ago and it went away. So I'll wait a week or so (monitoring the underarm area regularly) before I consider calling the breast specialist. Hopefully, it's some cyclical anomoly and will dissapear.
Naturally, I now feel as though the area is radiating a bright light. "I'm here, I'm here," it says. Combine this with the abdominal bloating and the random shooting pains or pressure in my abdomen, and I'm a walking bundle of nerves.
But my sister allowed me to vent when she called me this morning and I just talked with a friend, so I feel marginally better.
It didn't help that Tara was an emotional, little monster this morning. It was typically little girl stuff, but I didn't have the patience to deal with it.
Now as I sip my tea, I'm trying to relax. I'm trying to be positive. I think a slice of London Life carrot cake at lunch may help my mood. Then again, I may just be trying to justify the decadent treat.
I hate this emotional roller coaster, and what it does to me and those around me. I'd love to get off, brush myself off and say good riddance, but I think it's the nature of the disease to continue the ride. Though maybe one day, the big dips and spiralling loops won't be as dramatic. I look forward to that time.
Until then, one day at a time.
Tina
As I soaped up in the shower this morning, I thought I felt a lump in my left armpit. I thoroughly probed the area, comparing it to my right one. After my mind let lose a string of profanities, I sunk into a bit of a funk.
Of course, it could be nothing. But considering I still have about a 45 per cent chance of getting breast cancer due to the BRCA gene mutation, my mind is swirling with the awful possibilities. Given that I had a breast MRI done in January (where my breasts were perfect) the likelihood of this being anything ominous is slim. But anxiety took root in my mind.
I thought I felt something in the left breast a couple of months ago and it went away. So I'll wait a week or so (monitoring the underarm area regularly) before I consider calling the breast specialist. Hopefully, it's some cyclical anomoly and will dissapear.
Naturally, I now feel as though the area is radiating a bright light. "I'm here, I'm here," it says. Combine this with the abdominal bloating and the random shooting pains or pressure in my abdomen, and I'm a walking bundle of nerves.
But my sister allowed me to vent when she called me this morning and I just talked with a friend, so I feel marginally better.
It didn't help that Tara was an emotional, little monster this morning. It was typically little girl stuff, but I didn't have the patience to deal with it.
Now as I sip my tea, I'm trying to relax. I'm trying to be positive. I think a slice of London Life carrot cake at lunch may help my mood. Then again, I may just be trying to justify the decadent treat.
I hate this emotional roller coaster, and what it does to me and those around me. I'd love to get off, brush myself off and say good riddance, but I think it's the nature of the disease to continue the ride. Though maybe one day, the big dips and spiralling loops won't be as dramatic. I look forward to that time.
Until then, one day at a time.
Tina
Monday, May 17, 2010
Unbelievable
We had beautiful weather for the Run for Ovarian Cancer yesterday. It was an emotional, uplifting, exciting and exhausting day.
Team Tina had more than 50 members and raised over $11,000. With the generous London Life matching, we contributed over $17,000 to ovarian cancer research. I'm so proud and excited to be associated with such an amazing group of people. Who knows, maybe the dollars we contributed will lead to a breakthrough in detecting and treating this deadly cancer.
It was also an emotional day on many levels. I'm thrilled and honoured so many people come out to walk, run and fundraise as part of Team Tina. I don't feel I deserve that level of support and I feel so much love from those who participated, volunteered, came out to cheer or sponsored the run.
But it's also a difficult day because so many of those who valiantly fought ovarian cancer lost the battle. When diagnosed in its later stages, 60 per cent of women don't survive past four years. That statistic scares me and makes me so sad. These types of events, make me consider my own mortality and makes a voice in my head scream, "I'm not ready."
I did the 5k run yesterday, but I'm disappointed with how I did it. I walked more than ran and I was a sweaty, sore wreck. Michael, who was by my side the entire way, tells me he's proud of me and that I should be happy I simply completed the course. He tells me I'm wise for listening to my body. I just wish my body didn't tell me to stop so often.
But then again, I am here, one year later. Last year, when I promised to participate in this year's run, I wasn't sure I could stick to my word. But I did. Next year (oooh, it's scary to even say that), God willing, I'll be back to give it another try. If I'm able, I promise to train and do a better job.
I feel a bit teary today from yesterday's high emotions. I'm also a little behind on my sleep, which I'm sure doesn't help. I also feel at a bit of a loss because it's over. But I also feel very, very loved. And that makes me feel very happy and extremely lucky.
Thank you all,
Tina
Team Tina had more than 50 members and raised over $11,000. With the generous London Life matching, we contributed over $17,000 to ovarian cancer research. I'm so proud and excited to be associated with such an amazing group of people. Who knows, maybe the dollars we contributed will lead to a breakthrough in detecting and treating this deadly cancer.
It was also an emotional day on many levels. I'm thrilled and honoured so many people come out to walk, run and fundraise as part of Team Tina. I don't feel I deserve that level of support and I feel so much love from those who participated, volunteered, came out to cheer or sponsored the run.
But it's also a difficult day because so many of those who valiantly fought ovarian cancer lost the battle. When diagnosed in its later stages, 60 per cent of women don't survive past four years. That statistic scares me and makes me so sad. These types of events, make me consider my own mortality and makes a voice in my head scream, "I'm not ready."
I did the 5k run yesterday, but I'm disappointed with how I did it. I walked more than ran and I was a sweaty, sore wreck. Michael, who was by my side the entire way, tells me he's proud of me and that I should be happy I simply completed the course. He tells me I'm wise for listening to my body. I just wish my body didn't tell me to stop so often.
But then again, I am here, one year later. Last year, when I promised to participate in this year's run, I wasn't sure I could stick to my word. But I did. Next year (oooh, it's scary to even say that), God willing, I'll be back to give it another try. If I'm able, I promise to train and do a better job.
I feel a bit teary today from yesterday's high emotions. I'm also a little behind on my sleep, which I'm sure doesn't help. I also feel at a bit of a loss because it's over. But I also feel very, very loved. And that makes me feel very happy and extremely lucky.
Thank you all,
Tina
Friday, May 14, 2010
Appointment update
My appointment this morning was quick and I left with no definitive answers.
Dr. P is sending me for a CT scan because of my vague symptoms. He tapped my belly (and it sounded hollow, which was a relief), and conducted a vaginal and rectal exam. He said, he may have felt something during the rectal exam, but it could be nothing.
Since my CT scans haven't been entirely clear with their squiggly grey shapes, it probably isn't a bad idea to have another one done to rule out growth. I know it'll make me feel better if it comes back unremarkable. I know CT scans aren't good for me, and they could actually cause cancer, but I need to know my situation.
Dr. P's nurse, Kay, informed me that when ascities returns, it's very noticable, very quickly. That was quite reassuring. Michael and I also asked the somewhat stupid question of, "If all the gynaecological parts (including ovaraies) are missing, how can ovarian cancer return?" Apparently, it likes to grow on the walls and linings still remaining within the abdomen. She said sometimes a tumour will grow there, which requires another surgery.
But I'm not jumping to any conclusions. I feel slightly better after the appointment. Again, it's the waiting game - waiting for the CT scan to be scheduled, having it done, going to a follow-up appointment with Dr. P. This round isn't over, but I feel as if I have a slight reprieve.
In the meantime, I have a great weekend planned, which I'm going to enjoy. Friends are coming for dinner tomorrow night, and then the Run for Ovarian Cancer and a Survivor finale party are on Sunday. I also feel more cheerful with the reappearance of the sun and blue sky. It's a good day to be alive.
Tina
Dr. P is sending me for a CT scan because of my vague symptoms. He tapped my belly (and it sounded hollow, which was a relief), and conducted a vaginal and rectal exam. He said, he may have felt something during the rectal exam, but it could be nothing.
Since my CT scans haven't been entirely clear with their squiggly grey shapes, it probably isn't a bad idea to have another one done to rule out growth. I know it'll make me feel better if it comes back unremarkable. I know CT scans aren't good for me, and they could actually cause cancer, but I need to know my situation.
Dr. P's nurse, Kay, informed me that when ascities returns, it's very noticable, very quickly. That was quite reassuring. Michael and I also asked the somewhat stupid question of, "If all the gynaecological parts (including ovaraies) are missing, how can ovarian cancer return?" Apparently, it likes to grow on the walls and linings still remaining within the abdomen. She said sometimes a tumour will grow there, which requires another surgery.
But I'm not jumping to any conclusions. I feel slightly better after the appointment. Again, it's the waiting game - waiting for the CT scan to be scheduled, having it done, going to a follow-up appointment with Dr. P. This round isn't over, but I feel as if I have a slight reprieve.
In the meantime, I have a great weekend planned, which I'm going to enjoy. Friends are coming for dinner tomorrow night, and then the Run for Ovarian Cancer and a Survivor finale party are on Sunday. I also feel more cheerful with the reappearance of the sun and blue sky. It's a good day to be alive.
Tina
Ka-chunk
Picture it:
Your car is making a funny noise. It goes ka-chunk, ka-chunk every time you brake. So you make an appointment with the mechanic to get it checked out. But on the day of the appointment, you drive to the shop and your vehicle is miraculously ka-chunk free. When you try to replicate the sound for the mechanic, nada.
That's a bit how I feel. I go see the oncologist for my three-month check up this morning. Last night, I felt less gaseous than I had in weeks and many of the pains I'd been having took a hiatus. I have a few minor aches this morning, but they're not so bad.
In short, I'm cautiously hopeful everything could be okay. I want to be positive, but it's very, very hard. Fear is a crazy, controlling, draining emotion.
But unlike the situation with the mechanic, where you know something is wrong with your car that's going to cost some big bucks, I'm hoping there's nothing wrong with my body and I can go on living disease-free. Summer is coming and there are way too many enjoyable things to go.
(Fingers crossed all goes well this morning. Yes, I'm still nervous.)
Tina
Your car is making a funny noise. It goes ka-chunk, ka-chunk every time you brake. So you make an appointment with the mechanic to get it checked out. But on the day of the appointment, you drive to the shop and your vehicle is miraculously ka-chunk free. When you try to replicate the sound for the mechanic, nada.
That's a bit how I feel. I go see the oncologist for my three-month check up this morning. Last night, I felt less gaseous than I had in weeks and many of the pains I'd been having took a hiatus. I have a few minor aches this morning, but they're not so bad.
In short, I'm cautiously hopeful everything could be okay. I want to be positive, but it's very, very hard. Fear is a crazy, controlling, draining emotion.
But unlike the situation with the mechanic, where you know something is wrong with your car that's going to cost some big bucks, I'm hoping there's nothing wrong with my body and I can go on living disease-free. Summer is coming and there are way too many enjoyable things to go.
(Fingers crossed all goes well this morning. Yes, I'm still nervous.)
Tina
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Sleepy
Like a dog chasing its tail, my thoughts circled through my mind between 3:23 and 4:30 a.m. I woke up to go to the bathroom, but then my worries and ideas decided to gambol around my head and keep me awake instead of letting me slide back into slumber. As a result, I'm a little rough around the edges this morning.
In the middle of the night, I thought about my upcoming appointment with my oncologist, the weird aches and pains I've been experiencing, how I would be pissed if the cancer was back, my husband, my kids, my mom, Gilda Radner, the upcoming Run for Ovarian Cancer on Sunday and how I was going to arrange my shrunk cube to create a cozy workspace. Whew!
Of course, I had a hot flash or two in the midst of all that heavy thinking.
At one point, I contemplated getting up to write a blog or read a book instead of lying in the dark. But thankfully, my persistence to sleep paid off and I managed to doze for a couple more hours.
About the run, I'm excited to say that I'm back on top of the fundraisers (at least temporarily) thanks to some extreme generosity. I have my feelers out for a few more donations, so hopefully they'll come through (donate here). Not necessarily because I have to be top fundraiser (although that would be an absolute honour) but because it would produce even more research dollars.
As for today, I suspect I'll keep myself well caffeinated to prevent me from sleeping under my desk and turn in a little early. Hopefully, I'll be able to sleep tonight and won't dwell on my appointment tomorrow. I'd appreciate a good thought or a prayer around 9 a.m. It certainly can't hurt.
Tina
In the middle of the night, I thought about my upcoming appointment with my oncologist, the weird aches and pains I've been experiencing, how I would be pissed if the cancer was back, my husband, my kids, my mom, Gilda Radner, the upcoming Run for Ovarian Cancer on Sunday and how I was going to arrange my shrunk cube to create a cozy workspace. Whew!
Of course, I had a hot flash or two in the midst of all that heavy thinking.
At one point, I contemplated getting up to write a blog or read a book instead of lying in the dark. But thankfully, my persistence to sleep paid off and I managed to doze for a couple more hours.
About the run, I'm excited to say that I'm back on top of the fundraisers (at least temporarily) thanks to some extreme generosity. I have my feelers out for a few more donations, so hopefully they'll come through (donate here). Not necessarily because I have to be top fundraiser (although that would be an absolute honour) but because it would produce even more research dollars.
As for today, I suspect I'll keep myself well caffeinated to prevent me from sleeping under my desk and turn in a little early. Hopefully, I'll be able to sleep tonight and won't dwell on my appointment tomorrow. I'd appreciate a good thought or a prayer around 9 a.m. It certainly can't hurt.
Tina
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