So I got good and bad news today.
My PET scan showed the angry lymph node, of course. It also showed two suspicious spots in one of my lungs. These things are too small to "do anything about" right now, so we are just gonna have to watch them and wait. The good news is that I am otherwise cancer-free.
I am also in for a much larger surgery than I suspected. Not only is the lump getting 86'd, but pretty much ALL of the lymph nodes in the right half of my neck are being shown the door. I'll have a pretty big scar on the side of my neck, but nothing that a bitchin' neck tat won't take care of. I saw a chick at the DMV last year who had "SEXY HO" and a rose tatted on her neck. She is my inspiration. (Oh, if only my mom read my Blob. My phone would be blowing up right now). :)
So, that means about 10 days out of work, according to Dr Hooks, the oncological surgeon. I figure I'll take half that. I'm tough, and I can't afford to be out that long. I'll have a surgical drain poking out, but I can wear a turtleneck in June. Or a dickie. Or an ascot.
(I am actually pretty scared but trying to stay upbeat. Dr S said to take as much time as I need. Thanks for all your prayers... and let's focus on the good news that I am not totally cancer-addled, and taking this lump out is not merely polishing the brass on the Titanic).
Thanks for listening, and I promise to update you all here more often.
Love,
KC
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
I Don't Even Know Where To Begin....
Quite a lot has happened since my last post. I probably need to update this thing more, because sometimes I am afraid that it will be the only evidence remaining of my life here on Earth. And if that's the case, I need to make this good.
I started a new job on April 30. I had been toying with the idea of leaving the walk-in clinic for many months, and finally took Dr S up on the offer he had made me around the holidays. I'm working less hours for more money, and in a much more relaxed environment. I'd missed the more personal aspects of Family Practice; of getting to know my patients a little better. Even the needy, drug-seeking ones. So, this aspect of my life is better, and it could not have come at a better time. When I say this place is laid back, I mean that the office manager is a stripper on the weekends, and the company xmas party is usually held at her strip club. Dr S, who makes an appearance about once every 3 weeks, is a smiley 35-ish African-American dude who looks like Chef from South Park. I am pretty sure that there is something going on between Dr S and S, the office manager, but I keep my mouth shut. Anyway, I fit right in from Day One.
Driving home from work on my second day, I was rubbing this sore, numb-ish spot below my right collarbone that had been tapping me on the shoulder for the past 2 weeks. The night before, I'd inspected my shoulder for shingles. I've never had shingles, but the burning sensation felt like my patients had always described. I am an excellent self-diagnostician. Coupled with my talents for procrastination and hyperchondriasis (in my dictionary, the opposite of hypochondriasis), it makes me my own Patient From Hell. Anyway, as my fingers explored this weird numb area, I happened upon something that made a bolt of sweat flash across my scalp- there was a lump. A lump the size of a ping pong ball that definitely was not there the day before.
With the help of friends, and friends-of-friends, in various medical offices, I had my real diagnosis in 48 hours- both the CT and the US were consistent with metastatic melanoma. A fine needle biopsy was needed to confirm it, and this was done in my oncologist's office a few days later. It had been almost exactly a year since I'd finished the high-dose Interferon/chemo for the tumor on my right arm, and my subsequent "I Kicked Cancer's Ass" Party, attended by over 200 of my amazing friends. This was not supposed to be happening. I am only 46. I have too much shit to do.
Dr Sosman, my oncologist, cannot give me a prognosis until after my PET scan and surgery results. The PET was done last week and the results are still pending. This is frustrating. Vanderbilt Medical Center is horrible about calling patients with test results. I'm seeing the surgeon tomorrow, so I will know more then. My brain MRI WAS clear. I'm told that melanoma finds brain tissue delicious, or something like that. My brain says Fuck That Shit, or something like that. I need to rally the rest of my entire body to say the same thing.
And now I am laying in bed every night, vibrantly awake and creating Worst Care Scenarios with my cancer-free brain. As happy as I am to have lost 40 lbs since 2010, I gotta admit that I wasn't really trying. That ain't good, from an oncology perspective. Little aches and pains are becoming metastases. I am surrounded by hypochondriacs and refuse to sound like one, so I keep it all in. That ain't good, either. I do have to give my friends and family credit for being 100% supportive and wonderful. Lowell refuses to let me see him worry. I know he does, though. The stress has led to some fights but we always work them out. I know he did not sign up for this, and that he is free to leave anytime, and yet he does not. A few weeks ago, I took out a large life insurance policy on myself and left the proceeds to him. I hope it never comes to that, but if I go, he will at least get to keep our house if he wants to.
At night, I also devise lists of my Final Wishes. I should probably make them known. I know that this Blob is not a legally binding document, but since no one seems to want to have this conversation with me, here's what I want. Spoiler Alert: It's kind of fucked up - but so am I. :)
I want to be cremated. And I would like my ashes to be split up and dispersed in a few places that are very special to me. A handful sprinkled on top of Love Circle in Nashville, some off the Newport Cliffwalk in RI, some on my dad and my Nana's graves. If someone could send some to Merle in Hawaii, I'd love her to shake some on Waikiki Beach. Kelly Love is in charge of the St. George Island sprinkling. Steve Greaves gets to throw some near the Sydney Opera house, if he is allowed. Some need to be with my mom, and with Lowell. Anyone else want a piece of me? I think that there will probably be enough to go around. Pick me out a cool place. New Orleans, Pawtucket and England are also on my Ash Bucket List. Anyone too grossed out by this whole debaucle to participate? No problem. Am I crazy? Abso-fucking-lutely. And please have a party. You know I would for you. I'll be there.
I hope to be re-reading this Blob when I'm 80 and thinking about what a morbid headcase I was for even posting this. I am prepared to fight and fight and fight so that this happens. But just in case... I feel much better letting my 5 readers know what to do if the melanoma wins. I hope to get some good news tomorrow, and get the surgery over with soon. The lump is now egg-sized and painful, but it will be gone soon.
But I'll be here.
I started a new job on April 30. I had been toying with the idea of leaving the walk-in clinic for many months, and finally took Dr S up on the offer he had made me around the holidays. I'm working less hours for more money, and in a much more relaxed environment. I'd missed the more personal aspects of Family Practice; of getting to know my patients a little better. Even the needy, drug-seeking ones. So, this aspect of my life is better, and it could not have come at a better time. When I say this place is laid back, I mean that the office manager is a stripper on the weekends, and the company xmas party is usually held at her strip club. Dr S, who makes an appearance about once every 3 weeks, is a smiley 35-ish African-American dude who looks like Chef from South Park. I am pretty sure that there is something going on between Dr S and S, the office manager, but I keep my mouth shut. Anyway, I fit right in from Day One.
Driving home from work on my second day, I was rubbing this sore, numb-ish spot below my right collarbone that had been tapping me on the shoulder for the past 2 weeks. The night before, I'd inspected my shoulder for shingles. I've never had shingles, but the burning sensation felt like my patients had always described. I am an excellent self-diagnostician. Coupled with my talents for procrastination and hyperchondriasis (in my dictionary, the opposite of hypochondriasis), it makes me my own Patient From Hell. Anyway, as my fingers explored this weird numb area, I happened upon something that made a bolt of sweat flash across my scalp- there was a lump. A lump the size of a ping pong ball that definitely was not there the day before.
With the help of friends, and friends-of-friends, in various medical offices, I had my real diagnosis in 48 hours- both the CT and the US were consistent with metastatic melanoma. A fine needle biopsy was needed to confirm it, and this was done in my oncologist's office a few days later. It had been almost exactly a year since I'd finished the high-dose Interferon/chemo for the tumor on my right arm, and my subsequent "I Kicked Cancer's Ass" Party, attended by over 200 of my amazing friends. This was not supposed to be happening. I am only 46. I have too much shit to do.
Dr Sosman, my oncologist, cannot give me a prognosis until after my PET scan and surgery results. The PET was done last week and the results are still pending. This is frustrating. Vanderbilt Medical Center is horrible about calling patients with test results. I'm seeing the surgeon tomorrow, so I will know more then. My brain MRI WAS clear. I'm told that melanoma finds brain tissue delicious, or something like that. My brain says Fuck That Shit, or something like that. I need to rally the rest of my entire body to say the same thing.
And now I am laying in bed every night, vibrantly awake and creating Worst Care Scenarios with my cancer-free brain. As happy as I am to have lost 40 lbs since 2010, I gotta admit that I wasn't really trying. That ain't good, from an oncology perspective. Little aches and pains are becoming metastases. I am surrounded by hypochondriacs and refuse to sound like one, so I keep it all in. That ain't good, either. I do have to give my friends and family credit for being 100% supportive and wonderful. Lowell refuses to let me see him worry. I know he does, though. The stress has led to some fights but we always work them out. I know he did not sign up for this, and that he is free to leave anytime, and yet he does not. A few weeks ago, I took out a large life insurance policy on myself and left the proceeds to him. I hope it never comes to that, but if I go, he will at least get to keep our house if he wants to.
At night, I also devise lists of my Final Wishes. I should probably make them known. I know that this Blob is not a legally binding document, but since no one seems to want to have this conversation with me, here's what I want. Spoiler Alert: It's kind of fucked up - but so am I. :)
I want to be cremated. And I would like my ashes to be split up and dispersed in a few places that are very special to me. A handful sprinkled on top of Love Circle in Nashville, some off the Newport Cliffwalk in RI, some on my dad and my Nana's graves. If someone could send some to Merle in Hawaii, I'd love her to shake some on Waikiki Beach. Kelly Love is in charge of the St. George Island sprinkling. Steve Greaves gets to throw some near the Sydney Opera house, if he is allowed. Some need to be with my mom, and with Lowell. Anyone else want a piece of me? I think that there will probably be enough to go around. Pick me out a cool place. New Orleans, Pawtucket and England are also on my Ash Bucket List. Anyone too grossed out by this whole debaucle to participate? No problem. Am I crazy? Abso-fucking-lutely. And please have a party. You know I would for you. I'll be there.
I hope to be re-reading this Blob when I'm 80 and thinking about what a morbid headcase I was for even posting this. I am prepared to fight and fight and fight so that this happens. But just in case... I feel much better letting my 5 readers know what to do if the melanoma wins. I hope to get some good news tomorrow, and get the surgery over with soon. The lump is now egg-sized and painful, but it will be gone soon.
But I'll be here.
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