As this Monday marches on, my nemesis fear is singing louder and more beseachingly in my ear. I'm munching on my lunch, but I feel as though a giant tensor bandage is wrapped around my head, neck and chest, creating an uncomfortable squeezy feeling. I'm anxious and over-emotional. Yup, it's the day before the appointment with the oncologists.
I was able to meander through last week, feeling calmer as the week went on. I was super productive at work and was quite cheery. Then I had a great weekend, visiting with my family, attending a wedding and getting lots of outdoor chores done. The weather couldn't have cooperated more. I was able to bury my thoughts (and subsequently my fears) about what the doctors' visits may hold.
But it's too close now. My appointments begin at 10:15 tomorrow. I see both my gynaecological oncologist and the research oncologist. I have no idea what will happen at these appointments or what their outcomes may be. I don't know if I'll be able to keep up the new life I've created for myself or if I'll once again do a 180 degree turn that lands me on a new path (or makes me revisit an old one).
My sister and I have been comparing notes on the pains over the past week or so. The bloating and gnawing stomach pain (that disappeared last week, of course), could be an ulcer. The rib pain and discomfort may be related to the gallstones one of my CT scans identified. Maybe I've had a virus. Maybe I'm just too fat and my body is uncomfortable. The fact the symptoms seem to come and go perplexes us, for surely ascities would only continue to get worse. Or maybe we're trying to be hopeful and identify other, less serious medical problems that could explain the pains.
I guess we'll know tomorrow. Hopefully, the news is good. But even if it isn't, I know I have the strength and support system to continue the journey and whatever it brings. I love my life and all the people in it. I'm going to do anything I can to keep it.
As for today, while I know I'd be much better off telling myself there's nothing I can do until tomorrow, enjoy today and face whatever happens when it happens, I can't do it. The overwhelming anxiety is too immense to shove back into my subconscious.
So fear will reluctantly be allowed to tap dance across my mind and tie my stomach in knots until tomorrow. I'll try to distract it with meetings, my cancer survivor group and other enjoyable activities, but I doubt I'll be able to interrupt its dramatic fanfare.
Tomorrow will provide the results of my CT scan and some answers. Fingers crossed, they're good.
Tina
Monday, May 31, 2010
Friday, May 28, 2010
Fear
As I experience symptoms and think about the reoccurence of cancer, I get fearful. Sometimes it's irrational and out of control. To combat this overriding emotion, my therapist suggested I write a letter to fear. By personifying this powerful emotion, perhaps I'll be able to better manage it (since I don't let overpowering people control me).
Ironically, with my appoinmtent with the oncologists to review my CT scan coming up on Tuesday, I'm strangely calmer and less fearful. Am I subconsciously confident all will be okay? Am I accepting of whatever the future may hold, facing each challenge that's thrown on my path? Has thinking about this letter-writing exercise worked?
Regardless of why, it's a better feeling. Hopefully I can maintain it during the weekend because it's supposed to be a beautiful one.
So here's my letter to that controlling emotion, fear.
Dear Fear,
Back off! Sure, you have a place in my life, but you’re getting way too pushy for my liking.
I don’t know who you think you are, trying to take over. I think we’d both be further ahead if you stayed in your place and did your job. Then I wouldn’t hate you and grow frustrated at the person you make me become.
You do have a valuable role to ensure my safety. When you stick to your job of warning me of danger, you can be a valuable friend. It’s you that encourages me to lock my doors at night, wear a bicycle helmet, be extra cautious when driving my motorcycle and look both ways before I cross a street. The fight or flight instinct you initiate is valuable and saves many a life.
But, I’m sick and tired of you trying to control my life. You’re being a sneaky bastard too, popping up when I least expect it, whispering in my ear, drawing attention to aches and pains that may mean absolutely nothing to my overall health. When you make a production out of it, the pains join in the folly, growing in size and importance. It’s a show I don’t enjoy and I want no part of it.
I do need to be aware of the signs of ovarian cancer’s return, but you take any little ache and turn it into a major production. What a drama queen, you are.
Instead, quietly tap me on the shoulder and remind me to pay attention. Tell me you think it’s probably nothing, but it doesn’t hurt to be aware. Let the evidence of the symptoms speak for themselves.
But no, you barrel down my consciousness, exaggerate each twinge, bring up every miserable memory of fighting cancer so I dread facing it again, and almost drive me crazy with panic.
Your overriding presence makes my stomach knot, my muscles ache with tension and my mind numb with worry. When you’re really singing and dancing to gain my attention, I feel as though I’m being squeezed around my arms all the way into my heart. You’re like a giant boa constrictor, immobilizing me.
I’m frustrated with the way you make me feel. You tamp down on my optimism and enthusiasm. You block me from finding pleasure in the small miracles every day brings. You prevent me from simply enjoying my life. Your actions make me want to ignore you; throw your advice to the curb.
You are valuable to my life and my health, but only if you tone it down. I can’t trust you unless you become an adviser and a friend, instead of trying to hog the spotlight of my mind.
Tina
Ironically, with my appoinmtent with the oncologists to review my CT scan coming up on Tuesday, I'm strangely calmer and less fearful. Am I subconsciously confident all will be okay? Am I accepting of whatever the future may hold, facing each challenge that's thrown on my path? Has thinking about this letter-writing exercise worked?
Regardless of why, it's a better feeling. Hopefully I can maintain it during the weekend because it's supposed to be a beautiful one.
So here's my letter to that controlling emotion, fear.
Dear Fear,
Back off! Sure, you have a place in my life, but you’re getting way too pushy for my liking.
I don’t know who you think you are, trying to take over. I think we’d both be further ahead if you stayed in your place and did your job. Then I wouldn’t hate you and grow frustrated at the person you make me become.
You do have a valuable role to ensure my safety. When you stick to your job of warning me of danger, you can be a valuable friend. It’s you that encourages me to lock my doors at night, wear a bicycle helmet, be extra cautious when driving my motorcycle and look both ways before I cross a street. The fight or flight instinct you initiate is valuable and saves many a life.
But, I’m sick and tired of you trying to control my life. You’re being a sneaky bastard too, popping up when I least expect it, whispering in my ear, drawing attention to aches and pains that may mean absolutely nothing to my overall health. When you make a production out of it, the pains join in the folly, growing in size and importance. It’s a show I don’t enjoy and I want no part of it.
I do need to be aware of the signs of ovarian cancer’s return, but you take any little ache and turn it into a major production. What a drama queen, you are.
Instead, quietly tap me on the shoulder and remind me to pay attention. Tell me you think it’s probably nothing, but it doesn’t hurt to be aware. Let the evidence of the symptoms speak for themselves.
But no, you barrel down my consciousness, exaggerate each twinge, bring up every miserable memory of fighting cancer so I dread facing it again, and almost drive me crazy with panic.
Your overriding presence makes my stomach knot, my muscles ache with tension and my mind numb with worry. When you’re really singing and dancing to gain my attention, I feel as though I’m being squeezed around my arms all the way into my heart. You’re like a giant boa constrictor, immobilizing me.
I’m frustrated with the way you make me feel. You tamp down on my optimism and enthusiasm. You block me from finding pleasure in the small miracles every day brings. You prevent me from simply enjoying my life. Your actions make me want to ignore you; throw your advice to the curb.
You are valuable to my life and my health, but only if you tone it down. I can’t trust you unless you become an adviser and a friend, instead of trying to hog the spotlight of my mind.
Tina
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Gilda's disease (and mine too)
Golden Gilda
Recently, I read a book about Gilda Radner, the comedienne most famous for her characters on Saturday Night Life, who died of ovarian cancer. She'd suffered symptoms of the disease for almost a year before she was diagnosed with stage IV ovarian cancer (the highest stage). She fought it for three years before dying in 1989.
In some ways, it was a difficult read because it contain excerpts written by Gilda herself (in her own book, It's Always Something). She talked about her fear, frustration, anger, disbelief and exhaustion. In many ways, I could relate to her experience.
The book was written by Gilda's husband, Gene Wilder, in collaboration with an oncologist. So it also discussed the stages of ovarian cancer, the treatments (and their history), the effects on the body, and survival rates based on treatments, type of disease and staging.
These medical details were also difficult to digest because I've taken a step away from treatment during remission, so it's easier for me to forget those unsettling details because I've pushed them to the back of my mind.
While the book was challenging to read, it was also rewarding. I somehow feel closer to this woman, who died 21 years ago. I only vaguely remember her from SNL, but her situation and her story touched me. I feel an affinity because we suffered from the same awful disease.
I also found it a little encouraging to read how ovarian cancer treatment has progressed over the years. Hopefully newer breakthroughs will increase the survival rates (or eradicate all cancer entirely). Gilda died 21 years ago. Surely research has improved treatment and longevity rates during those many years.
Michael is now reading this book, Gilda's Disease, but says he has to digest it in small chunks. He finds it disturbing and emotionally draining, so he has to mentally process the information before he can read further.
Fewer survivors = less publicity
In a way, it bothers me that there are few famous ovarian cancer survivors - the most notable ones (or those I recognized) are Kathy Bates and Carol Channing. However, many famous women died from the disease including, Queen Mary I, Coretta Scott King (widow of Martin Luther King Jr.), Ann Dunham (mother of Barack Obama), Marcheline Bertrand (mother of Angelina Jolie) and Dinah Shore (actress). Scanning the list of famous folks who've had ovarian cancer startled me because of the young age at which many died.
However, there is an abundance of famous people who've survived breast cancer and talk about it regularly, including Sheryl Crow, Christina Applegate, Melissa Etheridge, Kylie Minogue and Kate Jackson, to name just a few. These individuals have raised the profile and accelerated fundraising efforts for this form of cancer.
Don't get me wrong. I think any form of cancer research is valuable, because a breakthrough in one area may lead to developments to fight others. The list of famous individuals affected by breast cancer is also much longer, highlighting that many more are diagnosed with that horrible disease (yes, I think any form of cancer is horrible).
I guess I'm a little sad at the lower profile of this silent killer. Perhaps if ovarian cancer could get a famous spokesperson like Angelina Jolie or Patrick Demsey (whose mom survived the disease), it would get a higher profile, more women would be familiar with its vague symptoms and get treatment earlier, and it would get more research funding.
Quick update on mom
I've been asked to provide an update on my mom every once in a while. She started her third round of chemotherapy yesterday. It was the big dose day; the one where she gets the taxol, carboplatin and gemcitabine.
I've already heard from her this morning and she says she's feeling pretty good. The tingling in her extremities hasn't gotten any worse, so that's good. The doctor is a little concerned about her low red blood cell counts, so she may need a transfusion at some point.
She's mentally geared up for the bad days (Saturday and Sunday), but is taking advantage of the good ones. Way to go mom!
It's a good reminder that we all need to take advantage of those good days.
Tina
Recently, I read a book about Gilda Radner, the comedienne most famous for her characters on Saturday Night Life, who died of ovarian cancer. She'd suffered symptoms of the disease for almost a year before she was diagnosed with stage IV ovarian cancer (the highest stage). She fought it for three years before dying in 1989.
In some ways, it was a difficult read because it contain excerpts written by Gilda herself (in her own book, It's Always Something). She talked about her fear, frustration, anger, disbelief and exhaustion. In many ways, I could relate to her experience.
The book was written by Gilda's husband, Gene Wilder, in collaboration with an oncologist. So it also discussed the stages of ovarian cancer, the treatments (and their history), the effects on the body, and survival rates based on treatments, type of disease and staging.
These medical details were also difficult to digest because I've taken a step away from treatment during remission, so it's easier for me to forget those unsettling details because I've pushed them to the back of my mind.
While the book was challenging to read, it was also rewarding. I somehow feel closer to this woman, who died 21 years ago. I only vaguely remember her from SNL, but her situation and her story touched me. I feel an affinity because we suffered from the same awful disease.
I also found it a little encouraging to read how ovarian cancer treatment has progressed over the years. Hopefully newer breakthroughs will increase the survival rates (or eradicate all cancer entirely). Gilda died 21 years ago. Surely research has improved treatment and longevity rates during those many years.
Michael is now reading this book, Gilda's Disease, but says he has to digest it in small chunks. He finds it disturbing and emotionally draining, so he has to mentally process the information before he can read further.
Fewer survivors = less publicity
In a way, it bothers me that there are few famous ovarian cancer survivors - the most notable ones (or those I recognized) are Kathy Bates and Carol Channing. However, many famous women died from the disease including, Queen Mary I, Coretta Scott King (widow of Martin Luther King Jr.), Ann Dunham (mother of Barack Obama), Marcheline Bertrand (mother of Angelina Jolie) and Dinah Shore (actress). Scanning the list of famous folks who've had ovarian cancer startled me because of the young age at which many died.
However, there is an abundance of famous people who've survived breast cancer and talk about it regularly, including Sheryl Crow, Christina Applegate, Melissa Etheridge, Kylie Minogue and Kate Jackson, to name just a few. These individuals have raised the profile and accelerated fundraising efforts for this form of cancer.
Don't get me wrong. I think any form of cancer research is valuable, because a breakthrough in one area may lead to developments to fight others. The list of famous individuals affected by breast cancer is also much longer, highlighting that many more are diagnosed with that horrible disease (yes, I think any form of cancer is horrible).
I guess I'm a little sad at the lower profile of this silent killer. Perhaps if ovarian cancer could get a famous spokesperson like Angelina Jolie or Patrick Demsey (whose mom survived the disease), it would get a higher profile, more women would be familiar with its vague symptoms and get treatment earlier, and it would get more research funding.
Quick update on mom
I've been asked to provide an update on my mom every once in a while. She started her third round of chemotherapy yesterday. It was the big dose day; the one where she gets the taxol, carboplatin and gemcitabine.
I've already heard from her this morning and she says she's feeling pretty good. The tingling in her extremities hasn't gotten any worse, so that's good. The doctor is a little concerned about her low red blood cell counts, so she may need a transfusion at some point.
She's mentally geared up for the bad days (Saturday and Sunday), but is taking advantage of the good ones. Way to go mom!
It's a good reminder that we all need to take advantage of those good days.
Tina
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
eHarmonious?
I've never looked at one of those dating sites because I'm happily married and started dating Michael before their evolution, but I guess my profile would state that I like reading, writing, swimming, cooking, dancing, hanging out with friends, big dogs, beach vacations and camping.
It would share that I'm a bit of an introvert and am an early to bed/early to rise individual. And for the most part, I'm a quiet optimist who likes chillaxin'.
Of course, all these revelations would be without considering my kids or my cancer because they're not the point of this exercise. So what is the point?
Michael made a comment on the weekend that got me thinking. We were talking about how we're a perfect match and couldn't imagine being with anyone else. I said I was thankful for the dance where we met because I'm not sure if our paths would have crossed otherwise.
Then Michael asked if I thought a dating site would match the two of us. My initial reaction was, "Of course!" He looked at my skeptically, so I reconsidered my immediate answer.
While Michael loves camping, swimming, beach vacations, hanging out with friends and dogs too, he's an extrovert, loves playing and listening to music of all kinds, gardens, cycles regularly and likes to be busy most of the time. We have many things in common and absolutely love spending time together, but would we fit the criteria for a match? I don't know.
We're so great together not only because of the similarities, but the differences that complement one another's.
So the heck with using a computer to find a perfect match because chances are, it wouldn't have given Michael and me a chance. God paved the path for us to meet and we took advantage of the opportunity, working hard to build a great life together. I have absolutely no regrets. Isn't that the way it's supposed to be?
Tina
It would share that I'm a bit of an introvert and am an early to bed/early to rise individual. And for the most part, I'm a quiet optimist who likes chillaxin'.
Of course, all these revelations would be without considering my kids or my cancer because they're not the point of this exercise. So what is the point?
Michael made a comment on the weekend that got me thinking. We were talking about how we're a perfect match and couldn't imagine being with anyone else. I said I was thankful for the dance where we met because I'm not sure if our paths would have crossed otherwise.
Then Michael asked if I thought a dating site would match the two of us. My initial reaction was, "Of course!" He looked at my skeptically, so I reconsidered my immediate answer.
While Michael loves camping, swimming, beach vacations, hanging out with friends and dogs too, he's an extrovert, loves playing and listening to music of all kinds, gardens, cycles regularly and likes to be busy most of the time. We have many things in common and absolutely love spending time together, but would we fit the criteria for a match? I don't know.
We're so great together not only because of the similarities, but the differences that complement one another's.
So the heck with using a computer to find a perfect match because chances are, it wouldn't have given Michael and me a chance. God paved the path for us to meet and we took advantage of the opportunity, working hard to build a great life together. I have absolutely no regrets. Isn't that the way it's supposed to be?
Tina
Monday, May 24, 2010
Against my nature
I like that every time I visit my social worker, I learn something new about myself. While most new personal insights give me something to work with to change my actions or outlook, every once in a while, I'm stumped by the discovery.
During my appointment last week, we talked about how I feared the cancer was back. She asked what I would do if it were. I said, I'd go back to fighting, of course. Although I did admit, that sometimes, my mind travelled down the road to acceptance of the eventuality of my death. I told S, that reaction scared me because I felt as though I were giving up.
Then she asked if fighting or giving up were the only two options. That question stopped the conversation dead in its tracks for a beat or two. I floundered. I could think of no other middle ground in the response to cancer and told her so.
But fighting is not in your nature, she said, revealing an insight she'd learned through our many sessions together. Again, I was speechless. She's right. Harmony is one of my personality traits. I shy away from conflict. I don't stir the pot. I don't generate discord. I'd rather have a reasonable discussion than fight. If I'm hot and angry, I shut down until I calm down before raising the issue. Conflict makes me uncomfortable.
Of course, she did say protective instincts would kick in and I'd fight if I had to protect my children (or someone else I love, I thought).
So where does that leave me? If I don't fight cancer, won't it best me? Don't those same protective instincts kick in?
Every piece of literature and supportive message I've read tells me to fight the cancer? I've never heard any other term. What else would I do? Dance with the cancer? Live with it? Accept the disease. No!
S pointed out that fighting is against my nature and maybe that's why I'm so tired. I'm doing (or thinking about the necessity of doing) something that makes me uncomfortable and doesn't come easily to me. I've contemplated this conflict, but I don't know how I could react any other way.
Huh. So where does that leave me?
Tina
During my appointment last week, we talked about how I feared the cancer was back. She asked what I would do if it were. I said, I'd go back to fighting, of course. Although I did admit, that sometimes, my mind travelled down the road to acceptance of the eventuality of my death. I told S, that reaction scared me because I felt as though I were giving up.
Then she asked if fighting or giving up were the only two options. That question stopped the conversation dead in its tracks for a beat or two. I floundered. I could think of no other middle ground in the response to cancer and told her so.
But fighting is not in your nature, she said, revealing an insight she'd learned through our many sessions together. Again, I was speechless. She's right. Harmony is one of my personality traits. I shy away from conflict. I don't stir the pot. I don't generate discord. I'd rather have a reasonable discussion than fight. If I'm hot and angry, I shut down until I calm down before raising the issue. Conflict makes me uncomfortable.
Of course, she did say protective instincts would kick in and I'd fight if I had to protect my children (or someone else I love, I thought).
So where does that leave me? If I don't fight cancer, won't it best me? Don't those same protective instincts kick in?
Every piece of literature and supportive message I've read tells me to fight the cancer? I've never heard any other term. What else would I do? Dance with the cancer? Live with it? Accept the disease. No!
S pointed out that fighting is against my nature and maybe that's why I'm so tired. I'm doing (or thinking about the necessity of doing) something that makes me uncomfortable and doesn't come easily to me. I've contemplated this conflict, but I don't know how I could react any other way.
Huh. So where does that leave me?
Tina
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Gift of time
I learned about a tragic incident this week that got me thinking about my situation. A friend suddenly lost a dear friend. The man, in his early 30s, died suddenly because his heart stopped working. The malfunction wasn't due to genetics, lifestyle or outside influences. It was a freak incident that could happen to anyone.
This guy lived each day to the fullest, and those around him knew how much he cared. So he had no regrets.
How many of us can say that?
In a way, my cancer makes me lucky because it's opened my eyes to mortality and allowed me to change. It's given me the gift of time, so I can do more, say more and appreciate more.
I now try not to bumble through life without noticing the little gifts each day brings and the joy of the people around me. Right now, I'm enjoying the giggles of my daughter as she plays with our dog and the feel of the breeze wafting in from the living room window. The birds are singing, the rain is showering the grass with drink and my husband loaded the dishwasher.
I have to admit that sometimes when I get hugs or tell people I love them, I get sad, wondering what the future has in store for me. But that may be part of the gift. I realize how precious things are because of the awareness of my mortality; because I know I won't always be around to enjoy them.
In the past, I've said that I want to die suddenly, in my sleep (at a very old age). While old age is still my goal (even if it's somewhat unreasonable) I think I'd like to leave this world in the presence of someone I love. But in the meantime, I'm fortunate because I've learned to enjoy life a lot more while I'm meandering my way towards death.
We're all on the same journey, the path may just be shorter for some than others. We never know when the grim reaper will come knocking on our door, so it's important to live each day to its fullest.
Don't get me wrong. This blog isn't about sadness or fear, it's about enjoyment, love, blessings and appreciation. I'm very thankful that I marvel at the colour of the sky, enjoy the feel of little arms hugging me, anticipate playing cards and laughing with friends, and feel love in the strong embrace of my husband.
A couple of years ago, I would have taken these things for granted, not noticing their wonderful qualities. So, cancer brought this small gift. Unlike those who die suddenly, I have the opportunity to change my viewpoint and actions for the better.
What would you like to change? Don't put it off because life can toss some wicked hardballs.
But most of all, enjoy this Saturday of a long weekend. It's full of possibilies.
With grateful appreciation,
Tina
This guy lived each day to the fullest, and those around him knew how much he cared. So he had no regrets.
How many of us can say that?
In a way, my cancer makes me lucky because it's opened my eyes to mortality and allowed me to change. It's given me the gift of time, so I can do more, say more and appreciate more.
I now try not to bumble through life without noticing the little gifts each day brings and the joy of the people around me. Right now, I'm enjoying the giggles of my daughter as she plays with our dog and the feel of the breeze wafting in from the living room window. The birds are singing, the rain is showering the grass with drink and my husband loaded the dishwasher.
I have to admit that sometimes when I get hugs or tell people I love them, I get sad, wondering what the future has in store for me. But that may be part of the gift. I realize how precious things are because of the awareness of my mortality; because I know I won't always be around to enjoy them.
In the past, I've said that I want to die suddenly, in my sleep (at a very old age). While old age is still my goal (even if it's somewhat unreasonable) I think I'd like to leave this world in the presence of someone I love. But in the meantime, I'm fortunate because I've learned to enjoy life a lot more while I'm meandering my way towards death.
We're all on the same journey, the path may just be shorter for some than others. We never know when the grim reaper will come knocking on our door, so it's important to live each day to its fullest.
Don't get me wrong. This blog isn't about sadness or fear, it's about enjoyment, love, blessings and appreciation. I'm very thankful that I marvel at the colour of the sky, enjoy the feel of little arms hugging me, anticipate playing cards and laughing with friends, and feel love in the strong embrace of my husband.
A couple of years ago, I would have taken these things for granted, not noticing their wonderful qualities. So, cancer brought this small gift. Unlike those who die suddenly, I have the opportunity to change my viewpoint and actions for the better.
What would you like to change? Don't put it off because life can toss some wicked hardballs.
But most of all, enjoy this Saturday of a long weekend. It's full of possibilies.
With grateful appreciation,
Tina
Friday, May 21, 2010
Of course
It's just my luck. I experience a dose of good luck and then run into a glitch along the way.
I'm considering my quick CT appointment good luck. I'm not even going to consider that my doctor put me at the top of the list in the event of a cancellation. I don't want to consider the ramifications and get the fear churning in my gut again. So, I'm going to consider it fortuitous and leave it at that.
But, does the process go smoothly for me. No.
Oh, it was chugging along just fine at the beginning. I arrived on time and finished my radioactive water ahead of schedule. I was called in fairly quickly, and I thought I'd be in and out so I could continue on with my day.
But the technician had trouble finding a vein for the IV. He tried a small one in my left forearm, but it quickly shrank away from the intrusive needle and collapsed. He couldn't find any other veins he liked and didn't want to root around in my arms, so he called the special IV team.
I completely understand these specially skilled nurses are in high demand, so I knew I'd wait awhile. They wrapped my arms in warm blankets to encourage the veins to open up and I looked a bit like the Michelin man.
But as I was sitting alone in the back room with only my thoughts for company, I started imagining my potential future. I realized that hospitals and tests were going to be a part of the rest of my life. On our 15th anniversary, I felt sad Michael and I would probably spend a lot of our time in hospitals. And I started to cry.
Luckily, another nurse must have sensed my distress and talked to me. I told her I was worried about my husband who was sitting in the waiting room, wondering what happened to me. The sweet soul got him and brought him back to wait with me. Michael said he didn't care what our future involved, as long as we were together. His words and presence calmed me down and cheered me up.
He also brought his luck, because a short while later, the IV nurse arrived, found a vein and with only minor, stinging pain, inserted the needle. Within 15 minutes, I was done the entire scan and getting dressed to exit into the sunny, beautiful day.
On a side note, the strangest thing happened yesterday. I don't even know what to make of this. On the way to the appointment, I was stretching, curling my abdomen up and in (like you're supposed to do when you do crunches). All of a sudden, it felt as thought my insides rolled backwards and got stuck, bringing incredible pain.
I told Michael to pull over so I could get out and walk around - as if to allow the internal organs, cavities and whatever else is in there, to fall back in their proper locations. It hurt so much I thought I was going to throw up.
I'd had a similar incident (on a much, much smaller scale) before I was diagnosed. I was sitting cross-legged on a chair and lifted myself by my arms to reposition myself. Then it felt as though something that curled up got stuck in my abdomen. It only lasted a few seconds and caused minimal pain, but I remember thinking it was weird. In retrospect, I guess it could have been the tumour.
Hopefully my gut-rolling incident was due to internal scar tissue or something. But needless to say, I'll be mentioning it to my doctors when I see them on June 1.
On a happier note, Michael and I celebrated in style yesterday with dinner at Michael's on the Thames. We had the chateaubriand for two, which is cooked right at the table and served with about 12 different kinds of vegetables. We also indulged in an appetizer, glass of wine, dessert and coffee. Throw in Michael's excellent company and the evening was just about perfect. We toasted to celebrating our 25th (and 50th anniversaries) in the future.
I find myself smiling this morning. Despite the setbacks at the CT scan (and that I even need one), the potential reoccurence of my cancer and the strange pains in my body, I consider myself a lucky woman. I have so many blessings in my life and I'm going to enjoy each and every one of them - for as long as I can.
Besides, it's the Friday of a long weekend and I'm headed to Port Franks (aka, the spa). Life is good.
Tina
I'm considering my quick CT appointment good luck. I'm not even going to consider that my doctor put me at the top of the list in the event of a cancellation. I don't want to consider the ramifications and get the fear churning in my gut again. So, I'm going to consider it fortuitous and leave it at that.
But, does the process go smoothly for me. No.
Oh, it was chugging along just fine at the beginning. I arrived on time and finished my radioactive water ahead of schedule. I was called in fairly quickly, and I thought I'd be in and out so I could continue on with my day.
But the technician had trouble finding a vein for the IV. He tried a small one in my left forearm, but it quickly shrank away from the intrusive needle and collapsed. He couldn't find any other veins he liked and didn't want to root around in my arms, so he called the special IV team.
I completely understand these specially skilled nurses are in high demand, so I knew I'd wait awhile. They wrapped my arms in warm blankets to encourage the veins to open up and I looked a bit like the Michelin man.
But as I was sitting alone in the back room with only my thoughts for company, I started imagining my potential future. I realized that hospitals and tests were going to be a part of the rest of my life. On our 15th anniversary, I felt sad Michael and I would probably spend a lot of our time in hospitals. And I started to cry.
Luckily, another nurse must have sensed my distress and talked to me. I told her I was worried about my husband who was sitting in the waiting room, wondering what happened to me. The sweet soul got him and brought him back to wait with me. Michael said he didn't care what our future involved, as long as we were together. His words and presence calmed me down and cheered me up.
He also brought his luck, because a short while later, the IV nurse arrived, found a vein and with only minor, stinging pain, inserted the needle. Within 15 minutes, I was done the entire scan and getting dressed to exit into the sunny, beautiful day.
On a side note, the strangest thing happened yesterday. I don't even know what to make of this. On the way to the appointment, I was stretching, curling my abdomen up and in (like you're supposed to do when you do crunches). All of a sudden, it felt as thought my insides rolled backwards and got stuck, bringing incredible pain.
I told Michael to pull over so I could get out and walk around - as if to allow the internal organs, cavities and whatever else is in there, to fall back in their proper locations. It hurt so much I thought I was going to throw up.
I'd had a similar incident (on a much, much smaller scale) before I was diagnosed. I was sitting cross-legged on a chair and lifted myself by my arms to reposition myself. Then it felt as though something that curled up got stuck in my abdomen. It only lasted a few seconds and caused minimal pain, but I remember thinking it was weird. In retrospect, I guess it could have been the tumour.
Hopefully my gut-rolling incident was due to internal scar tissue or something. But needless to say, I'll be mentioning it to my doctors when I see them on June 1.
On a happier note, Michael and I celebrated in style yesterday with dinner at Michael's on the Thames. We had the chateaubriand for two, which is cooked right at the table and served with about 12 different kinds of vegetables. We also indulged in an appetizer, glass of wine, dessert and coffee. Throw in Michael's excellent company and the evening was just about perfect. We toasted to celebrating our 25th (and 50th anniversaries) in the future.
I find myself smiling this morning. Despite the setbacks at the CT scan (and that I even need one), the potential reoccurence of my cancer and the strange pains in my body, I consider myself a lucky woman. I have so many blessings in my life and I'm going to enjoy each and every one of them - for as long as I can.
Besides, it's the Friday of a long weekend and I'm headed to Port Franks (aka, the spa). Life is good.
Tina
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