The little things

Sometimes, it's the little things people do that mean a lot to me. I've experienced a lot of demonstrations of love and support over this cancer journey, but I want to call attention to a couple of the recent ones for which I'm thankful.

How ya doin'?
I have a good friend in my department who pops into my cube every morning to ask how I'm doing. It doesn't take long and it's a small gesture, but one I really appreciate. The best part - I can be completely honest with her and it's okay. I can tell her I'm sad, worried or perfectly fine. It's okay when I'm not having a great day.

Yesterday morning I talked to her about feeling anxious about my CT scan next week. Although I can't do anything about it and I'm trying to push it to the back of my head, I can feel the tightness beginning in the core of my being in anticipation of what will happen next Tuesday.

Preparation and hope
About 99 per cent of me is preparing for (the damn) treatment again and one per cent is hopeful my rising CA-125 is due to an infection or some other semi-normal occurence. I actually read on a message board about an ovarian cancer survivor whose rising CA-125 was due to a small bowel obstruction caused by a hernia. Her small intenstine was sticking through the wall of the abdomen.

"I talked with my oncologist and a friend who is an OB/GYN. Both said the CA 125 will rise or fluctuate if there are any changes to the chest or abdomen, particularly if there is damage to the primary peritoneum. I went online and found the same info at the National Cancer Institute site," she wrote.

I have a hernia with a portion of my small bowel sticking through it. I have damage to my primary peritoneum through my debulking surgery two years ago, when they scraped the cancer deposits off my omentum. As well, I'm sure the chemo didn't exactly baby the area. Perhaps (hopefully) that's the cause of my rising CA-125. It's fixable with surgery and it isn't cancer.

My rising anxiety is due to the anticipation my life will change dramatically again next week - and I have no control over it.

Best case scenario, my CA-125 drops, the whole thing was a fluke and I carry on with life. Or the hernia is the culprit and surgery is the cure. (They can remove my gallbladder at the same time and do a little scouting trip to root out any visible, remaining cancer.) Then I can plan and my mind can rest easier. I'm not counting on this, but I'm a teeny tiny bit hopeful.

A cuppa joe
The second gesture for which I'm thankful is when another friend regularly invites me to join him for coffee. We may spend 15 minutes talking during this java break. Sometimes it's about work and other times it's not. But he's person who asks how I'm doing and wants to hear the real answer. I like that. And being invited to coffee is fun too. I like coffee.

Someone made an interesting comment to me yesterday morning, which I've been thinking about ever since. He wondered how I can even function at work with all that's going on. I told him some days I wonder too. One day last week, I seriously thought I couldn't stand another minute focusing on tasks that won't mean anything in the long run, while my body could be growing millions and millions of cancer cells. I started hyperventilating, crying and I wanted to run screaming out of the building. But then I went to a meeting, transferred my attention to something else and moved forward.

In the end, it's all I can do. That and share my experience with others via this blog. Maybe my insights will help them too. Even though I was quite private before I got cancer, I've turned into an open book, sharing emotions, experiences and gory, medical details. But if my experience can help someone else, I'm doing some good.

As for moving forward, while it would be lovely to freeze a great moment in time and stay there, that would be boring. Experiences change who we are and help us learn.

Life is for living, changing and enjoying. Remember to grab a few moments and relish the enjoyment in yours.

Tina