I'm playing hooky from the gym this morning. My workout buddy has notified me she wouldn't be there, so I am grabbing this time to chronicle good news from my latest doctor's visit: my PET scan from last week showed no signs of cancer in the two areas under surveillance from prior tests. My liver and lungs were clear!
The scenario playing out yesterday afternoon is becoming familiar. Follow-up medical tests on the spots we were watching failed to show any confirmation of problems, but a couple of new shadows appeared, bringing other areas under watch. When the doctor stepped out of the room after reporting on the PET scan, Tom and I shared smiles and a layer of tension neither of us had wanted to acknowledge lifted.
PET scans use a radioactive glucose injection to highlight hypermetabolic hot spots that could indicate the presence of cancer or other problems. MRIs were scheduled for two new, slight shadows in my chest and lower back, but the doctor is more cautious than concerned. The chest may be nothing; the spine could be a touch of arthritis. Better to take a closer look to be certain, the doctor said.
With each new series of tests, I am reminded of how generously I am blessed, and I give thanks for all the many prayers that have carried me through this past year.
I am seeing a new hair stylist this evening to give a bit more shape to my curls. I had hoped I wouldn't need to cancel the appointment because of the prospect of new chemotherapy. Happily, I will tell her I plan to let my hair grow for a while!
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Girlfriends and angels
Five friends from high school -- including my best friend since grade school -- got together for dinner the other night. We have been seeing more of each other in recent months, holding tight to our friendship in honor of a sixth who had moved out West years ago and was having a tough time with cancer. This week's dinner was especially important because our ailing friend, nicknamed "Bird," had lost her fight a few days earlier.
The first two to arrive were sharing a 1970 photo of the two of them with Bird. It was a beautiful fall evening and our meeting place was the outdoor patio of a new restaurant we had been wanting to try. As the two reminisced about happier times full of promise, an especially bright shaft of evening light caused them to look up just in time to see a small, white feather float out of nowhere and gently light on the empty sixth chair at the head of the table.
I was the last one there, and as I started to take the closest open spot, the others cried out, "Don't sit there! That's Bird's seat!" Then I heard the story of how she had joined our party that evening.
More memories were shared and old pictures were passed around the table. None of us doubted that the tiny feather was anything but a happy greeting from our friend who had passed. At some point during the gathering, Bird was suddenly gone. She had flitted away unseen by any of us, and that was very much in character. She was always a free spirit, and we will miss her.
The first two to arrive were sharing a 1970 photo of the two of them with Bird. It was a beautiful fall evening and our meeting place was the outdoor patio of a new restaurant we had been wanting to try. As the two reminisced about happier times full of promise, an especially bright shaft of evening light caused them to look up just in time to see a small, white feather float out of nowhere and gently light on the empty sixth chair at the head of the table.
I was the last one there, and as I started to take the closest open spot, the others cried out, "Don't sit there! That's Bird's seat!" Then I heard the story of how she had joined our party that evening.
More memories were shared and old pictures were passed around the table. None of us doubted that the tiny feather was anything but a happy greeting from our friend who had passed. At some point during the gathering, Bird was suddenly gone. She had flitted away unseen by any of us, and that was very much in character. She was always a free spirit, and we will miss her.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
What the doctor ordered
My vacation week that is now in wind-down mode could not have been better. (Well, maybe the weather could have been a lot drier for the long drive home that ended in the wee hours of this morning, but that was the only downside.)
It's hard to beat a week away from work and its daily stresses to relax with some of your favorite people in the world, especially when one of those people is your first grandchild. We all agreed we could see baby Dodge grow and get stronger and more alert over the course of the week. His sweet disposition was perfect, even during the long drives that stretched to 15 hours with stops to eat, stretch and fill up the gas tank.
Tom and I had taken a vacation trip to Gettysburg about this time last year, and we enjoyed ourselves immensely, but my anxiousness over the diagnosis I was awaiting and the rapidly growing lump in my abdomen combined to put me in extreme pain by the time we drove home from that trip.
I tumbled into bed early this morning tired but content; feeling healthy and enjoying fresh memories of a wonderful week on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. The contrast to the return home a year ago was stark: on that trip, Tom had to help me up the stairs and into bed. Looking toward the fall and winter ahead, anticipating the joy of watching my grandson grow, I could not feel more content or more blessed.
It's hard to beat a week away from work and its daily stresses to relax with some of your favorite people in the world, especially when one of those people is your first grandchild. We all agreed we could see baby Dodge grow and get stronger and more alert over the course of the week. His sweet disposition was perfect, even during the long drives that stretched to 15 hours with stops to eat, stretch and fill up the gas tank.
Tom and I had taken a vacation trip to Gettysburg about this time last year, and we enjoyed ourselves immensely, but my anxiousness over the diagnosis I was awaiting and the rapidly growing lump in my abdomen combined to put me in extreme pain by the time we drove home from that trip.
I tumbled into bed early this morning tired but content; feeling healthy and enjoying fresh memories of a wonderful week on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. The contrast to the return home a year ago was stark: on that trip, Tom had to help me up the stairs and into bed. Looking toward the fall and winter ahead, anticipating the joy of watching my grandson grow, I could not feel more content or more blessed.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Baby stealing
I am back at my favorite luxury resort with a new favorite morning routine.
The place is my sister's home on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. The new way to start my day is to steal my grandson out of the bedroom where he is sleeping with my daughter. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement that gives me special time with the baby and lets his mom sleep a few more hours undisturbed.
This little guy is such a sweetheart! Right now he is sleeping contentedly next to me, sharing a sofa in the sun room as my sister and I enjoy our morning coffee with quiet conversation, noting today's sunny weather forecast.
A bottle is ready for whenever the baby starts stirring and sends signals that he is ready for another feeding. He has simple demands and is easily satisfied. In return, he gives so much joy with his increasingly more intent gazes and meaningful coos.
My morning gym routine at home is a good way to start the day, too, but it can't compare to baby stealing.
The place is my sister's home on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. The new way to start my day is to steal my grandson out of the bedroom where he is sleeping with my daughter. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement that gives me special time with the baby and lets his mom sleep a few more hours undisturbed.
This little guy is such a sweetheart! Right now he is sleeping contentedly next to me, sharing a sofa in the sun room as my sister and I enjoy our morning coffee with quiet conversation, noting today's sunny weather forecast.
A bottle is ready for whenever the baby starts stirring and sends signals that he is ready for another feeding. He has simple demands and is easily satisfied. In return, he gives so much joy with his increasingly more intent gazes and meaningful coos.
My morning gym routine at home is a good way to start the day, too, but it can't compare to baby stealing.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Looking up
I will forever associate my Cancer 2.0 experience with the economy. As I was starting to deal with grim medical tests and treatments last fall and winter, the nation was gripped with fears and uncertain outlooks over the economy. My healing in recent months has been happily on track with a healthier financial prognosis. As my follow-up medical tests showed promise, so too, have signs of a strengthening economy.
Now I have seen the ultimate evidence that the recession is over, and I am hopeful that my upcoming PET scan next week will also point toward continuing recovery.
It was not the financial prognosticators who persuaded me the economy is brightening, although those experts have been espousing signs of hope. The unlikely clue was found in newspaper ads I was thumbing through. I had never seen this particular product before, but its appearance struck me as a sure sign of better times ahead. Why else would manufacturers bring such a frivolous product to market?
The harbinger of a strong economy on the horizon: motorized mascara!
The tiny wand of eyelash color had a motor at one end to vibrate the bristles, although I am not quite sure for what cosmetic benefit. How lazy would you have to be to need a motor in place of the tiny bit of wrist movement needed to brush the mascara wand just so?
The biggest benefit of this new device must be comic relief. The sheer joy of feeling cash-confident enough to throw a few dollars away on such silliness can't help but bring on a smile, if not an outright giggle. Looking good, indeed!
Now I have seen the ultimate evidence that the recession is over, and I am hopeful that my upcoming PET scan next week will also point toward continuing recovery.
It was not the financial prognosticators who persuaded me the economy is brightening, although those experts have been espousing signs of hope. The unlikely clue was found in newspaper ads I was thumbing through. I had never seen this particular product before, but its appearance struck me as a sure sign of better times ahead. Why else would manufacturers bring such a frivolous product to market?
The harbinger of a strong economy on the horizon: motorized mascara!
The tiny wand of eyelash color had a motor at one end to vibrate the bristles, although I am not quite sure for what cosmetic benefit. How lazy would you have to be to need a motor in place of the tiny bit of wrist movement needed to brush the mascara wand just so?
The biggest benefit of this new device must be comic relief. The sheer joy of feeling cash-confident enough to throw a few dollars away on such silliness can't help but bring on a smile, if not an outright giggle. Looking good, indeed!
Thursday, September 17, 2009
The best birthday
I do not intend to spend the entire coming year in constant comparison to my year spent fighting Cancer 2.0, but yesterday's flashbacks were inevitable. The contrasts were too sharp; my 57th birthday was glorious, especially in comparison to birthday number 56.
Last year's birthday pointed toward a difficult and uncertain future. I had just learned the fast-growing lump in my abdomen was probably cancer, and my surgeon was calling for more tests rather than a quick excision. Tom and I had a quiet dinner at a nice restaurant but the evening was more fitful than festive. While awaiting doctors' findings, I had not shared news of my lump with family and friends, so my support system was not yet activated.
The love, prayers and good wishes that carried me through this past year all flowed back to me yesterday, reminding me that I did not go through my battle alone. Birthday wishes conveyed in e-mails, on posts to my Facebook page, through telephone calls and in hallways at work conveyed deeper meaning this year. I felt again the outpouring of human spirit that buoyed me up during low times of the previous 12 months.
To top off a great start to a new year, Tom and I went with my lifelong best friend and her husband to see the Cincinnati Reds finish a home series by sweeping the Astros. In a wonderful surprise, my friend had arranged a birthday greeting to me on the scoreboard at the end of the third inning. The 10,000-plus fans at the game who might have seen it had no idea how special a birthday it really was.
Last year's birthday pointed toward a difficult and uncertain future. I had just learned the fast-growing lump in my abdomen was probably cancer, and my surgeon was calling for more tests rather than a quick excision. Tom and I had a quiet dinner at a nice restaurant but the evening was more fitful than festive. While awaiting doctors' findings, I had not shared news of my lump with family and friends, so my support system was not yet activated.
The love, prayers and good wishes that carried me through this past year all flowed back to me yesterday, reminding me that I did not go through my battle alone. Birthday wishes conveyed in e-mails, on posts to my Facebook page, through telephone calls and in hallways at work conveyed deeper meaning this year. I felt again the outpouring of human spirit that buoyed me up during low times of the previous 12 months.
To top off a great start to a new year, Tom and I went with my lifelong best friend and her husband to see the Cincinnati Reds finish a home series by sweeping the Astros. In a wonderful surprise, my friend had arranged a birthday greeting to me on the scoreboard at the end of the third inning. The 10,000-plus fans at the game who might have seen it had no idea how special a birthday it really was.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
One year and counting
Today is the anniversary of when I discovered my Cancer 2.0. What a year it has been.
I didn't know what I had found when I became aware of a new presence in my abdomen. Surprisingly, cancer was not the first thing on my mind. I had come that far since my breast cancer in 1996 that I no longer attributed every ache and pain to a cancer recurrence. Certainly in the first year after a cancer diagnosis and treatment, recurrence is never far from your mind. But not after 12 years.
The highs and lows of this past year have been the most extreme of my life. I sit here now in wonder that I feel as well as I do, remembering times when I wondered if there would be a first anniversary of my Cancer 2.0 discovery; it was that much scarier than the breast cancer.
Surviving the surgery and recovering so fully were highs in their own right, but neither compares with the euphoria of holding my first grandchild. I know this baby would have been amazing without the interruption of cancer, but he is even more because of the determination he gave me to get well so I could be his grandma.
I look forward to many, many anniversaries of this day. I intend to fill the days in between with gratitude for every milestone, and with God's help, to finding ways to be a blessing to others.
I didn't know what I had found when I became aware of a new presence in my abdomen. Surprisingly, cancer was not the first thing on my mind. I had come that far since my breast cancer in 1996 that I no longer attributed every ache and pain to a cancer recurrence. Certainly in the first year after a cancer diagnosis and treatment, recurrence is never far from your mind. But not after 12 years.
The highs and lows of this past year have been the most extreme of my life. I sit here now in wonder that I feel as well as I do, remembering times when I wondered if there would be a first anniversary of my Cancer 2.0 discovery; it was that much scarier than the breast cancer.
Surviving the surgery and recovering so fully were highs in their own right, but neither compares with the euphoria of holding my first grandchild. I know this baby would have been amazing without the interruption of cancer, but he is even more because of the determination he gave me to get well so I could be his grandma.
I look forward to many, many anniversaries of this day. I intend to fill the days in between with gratitude for every milestone, and with God's help, to finding ways to be a blessing to others.
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