I've been avoiding the harsh reality of my medical condition for several weeks now, and it was brought to my attention yesterday afternoon as I was eating my lunch and perusing a local medical newspaper.  An article about melanoma mentioned a new drug (one that I unfortunately do not have the genetic makeup to benefit from) - and how it was increasing the life span of patients with metastatic melanoma.  According to this article, the current prognosis of patients with metastatic melanoma is between 6-10 months.

6 to 10 months.

I have not slept a wink all night.

If this is correct, and yes, it seems to be true... what do I do?

I am healing up ok, back to work for a week now, still in pain and have a post-op infection, but every day is a little better.  I see my oncologist in 4 days, and these are certainly questions for him... but he is not really good at giving me a straight answer.

If I truly have less than a year to live, do I continue working?  Or do I cash in my 401K, file for disability, and travel the world while I still can?  Is this really happening to me?  I feel like I should be writing my life story right about now.  What am I leaving behind, besides some stories of a few cool parties and some sad friend and family members?  I've got no kids, minimal savings, no major accomplishments, no Wikipedia page, and all kinds of loose ends.  I don't have a will, and don't even really have any shit to PUT in a will!  I have enough life insurance to not burden anyone with my funeral, but... my life is going to be more significant than this, right?

RIGHT?

My good news of this weekend is that Friday morning, there was a person sleeping on my patio when I woke up to go to work.  It was my brother, who I had not seen in almost 3 years.  From 1500 miles away, he came out of the woodwork to make peace with me.  At least if I go soon, it will be without the pain of never seeing my brother again.  It's Father's Day today, and I can feel Dad smiling down from Heaven and happy about this.  As a family, we have some more forgiving to do with each other, but maybe if I do go this year, I will at least have helped to bring the Colbys back together.  We're a crazy bunch, but we're good people.

So, Gentle Readers, I ask you... if given a year to live (even if I am wrong, and I do hope I am)... what would YOU do?  I need advice.

Post-Op

My surgery was two days ago, and although I am feeling a bit better than when I arrived home, I still am incredibly achy all over.  I must have bitten my tongue while intubated, because the tip is numb.  I really hope that this is a temporary nuisance - though it would definitely cause some weight loss in the long run because eating anything except popsicles is almost impossible!

The incision is not nearly as ugly as I expected.  It is at the base of my neck, from the area below the chin to just behind my right ear.  Should heal up nicely, and I have some time to come up with a bitchin' story about a knife fight or a shark attack.  I do, however, have this crazy looking drain stuck into my shoulder that dangles 2 or 3 feet down and has attached to it what appears to be a hand grenade full of scary, dark brown liquid.  I have to empty it twice a day, and it's leaky.  I'm going through about 5 T-shirt changes a day.  Since this will be in until I see the surgeon again in 10 days, I am wondering how I am going to hide this at work.  As much as Lo loves me, he draws the line at messing with it.  I don't blame him!  I guess I'll just bring lots of extra sets of dark colored scrubs, and hope for the best.  I have 5 more days off, anyways.  I just can't afford to take off more time.

My friends and family have been amazingly supportive, for the most part.  You definitely find out who your real friends are in situations like this.  My mom arrives in a few days, and I can't wait to see her.  Some other people just don't know how to react to bad news, I guess.  The ones who owe me money are the most ... disturbing.  I have never needed it more, and I shouldn't have to ask for it more than twice.   But I'm staying positive and focusing on the good in people.  And holy crap, do I know a lot of good people.

My dreams are crazy, and are probably being fueled by pain meds and lots of sleep.  Last night I dreamt that my car hit a ramp and I ended up on the top of a water tower - and then it toppled over the edge.   Lo and I just stood there, looking down at my car, flat as a pancake.  The rental place would not give me a car, because I had been in one too many wrecks.  Gary showed up in a Roseanne Barr costume and let me borrow the car he had just rented.  I know!  WTH?  Don't you love how dreams make perfect sense while they are going on?

Well, I'm off to read the People Magazine that lovely Brenda brought me last night, change my shirt, and have another popsicle.  Not much more to Blob about today, but I will continue to keep you posted.  I am again so grateful for the wonderful people in my life.  I am staying strong for you. :)

Update

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

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.

Baby B

On December 24, 1998, I was rushing through the Acadiana Mall in Lafayette, LA, trying to get some very last minute Christmas shopping done after a long day at the clinic.  I ran into Durel's Pet Shop to get Higgins a dog bone for his stocking, and in the back, I noticed a lonely looking, tiny black cocker spaniel puppy in a cage.  I asked the teenaged clerk how old it was.

"He was born on November 10th, so that would make him about 6 weeks old", she said, looking at her watch.  "You wanna hold him while you look around?"  November 10th was Higgins' birthday too.

And I held him.  He fell asleep on my shoulder as I shopped, and I was still holding him as I got to the front register. 

"It's $4.19 for the bone, and $412 for the puppy", a different clerk told me.

"OK",  I said.  And I walked out of the store with Baxter.

I ran into my friend Mindy's husband as I was leaving the mall, carrying a cardboard box with holes in it.

"Is that a puppy?", asked Kirk.  "Steve's gonna be pissed!"  The enormous responsibility of my impulse buy occured to me at that very moment.

And Kirk was right.  I got drove home as the puppy howled in the box.  I left him in the car, went inside, and told Steve that I had a surprise for him.

"If it's a puppy, I don't want it.  Don't even bring it inside.  One dog is enough."  He did not even look up from his computer.  Steve had been working on his PhD thesis for one year too long.  Our marriage was on the rocks.  Higgins nodded in agreement from across the room.  "I'm serious, Kris,  Bring it back."

But it was Christmas Eve, and I could not bring him back,  Instead, I made him a little nest in the game room, and whispered in his black, floppy ear.  "I promise.  I promise that I will always be here for you."

I promised.  And I reminded Baxter of this promise every day for almost 14 years.

Baxter was a handful.  It took Steve 4 weeks to come around to the idea of another canine mouth to feed, and Higgins 2 years to accept his baby brother.  Two months after he joined the family, he came down with sarcoptic mange- or canine scabies - which we ALL got, lost most of his hair, and popped out a Cherry Eye.  He was quite possibly the ugliest puppy I have ever seen.  The Promise held true, though.  The dip that the vet prescribed was not noticeable on his black fur, but it turned Higgins' blond hair a lime green color.  Higgins was disgusted.  He laid facing the wall, growling, sulking, and GREEN, for the next 2 weeks.  Baxter was hyperactive, destructive, needy, and often inconsolable.  He clung to me like a wet, smelly blanket.

The following Christmas, I was in the process of making Louisiana gift baskets for my friends and family, and had the supplies stashed in the spare bedroom closet.  This included 4 large canisters of Tony Chachere's Cajun Seasoning.  Baby B opened the closet and gnawed through several of the canisters, somehow eating cup after cup of very spicy seasoning.. and then proceeded to have explosive diarrhea throughout the entire, carpeted, house.  This was just one of his capers.

And then Steve and I separated.

I was gone for several months while we worked out details of our divorce.  It was mostly amicable, and I eventually relocated to Nashville.  Steve decided to return to Australia, where we had met, and could not take the dogs with him, so we decided that he bring them to me in Nashville.  It was one of the most difficult times in my life.  At the time, I had just moved here and had no job, was staying on a friend's couch, and was totally broke.  Add 2 very active dogs to the equation, dropped off my an ex-husband I was actually starting to mix - but who already had a baby on the way with his new girlfriend - and it was almost more than I could bear.  That afternoon, I sat in the bathtub and wept.  Both dogs perched their chins on the corner of the tub and looked at me longingly.  Baxter, despite his new aversion to water, actually tried to get IN the tub with me.  I made another promise that afternoon- we were going to make this work, no matter what.  and we did.  I found a job the next day, moved into my own place with a best friend the following week, a place that was dog-friendly and comfortable.  We were across the street from Love Circle, a beautiful park overlooking Nashville's skyline.  My new roommate, Gary, was very kind to The Boys and helped me take care of them.  We settled into our new life.

Those of you who know me are aware that I have a dememted sense of humor, and I could not help but personify Baxter and Higgins' lives.  While we were roommates, Gary helped me come up with the details.  Higgins, more quiet and serious, was an accountant.  He drove a Saab, wore a bowtie and smoked a pipe.  He listened to Barry Manilow and showtunes, and dated a pom-pom poodle named Lady.  They regularly played bridge with her grandmother.  Higgins made a good living and was constantly having to bail his delinquent brother Baxter out of jail.  Baxter was unemployed, drove a '79 Cutless Supreme dropped low with spinning rims, loved Rick James and Snoop Doggy Dogg, and was dating a mutt named Misty, who worked at the Discount Tobacco and Beer Store.  She would answer the phone "D. T. and B!!"  Baxter wore FUBU clothes and a gold fang.  But he would help out his brother Higgins in a minute, digging in the Taco Bell dumpster for scraps when they were broke.  He wasn't proud.  We had so much fun coming up with these stories.

Over the next 9 or 10 years, I made Nashville my new home.  I moved 4 times, always to someplace nicer.  I made some awesome friends, and had a few relationships, some good, some not.  The dogs were a big part of my life.  They slept with me, or next to the bed when they got too old to hop up with me.  They definitely had their moments... Higgins digging in the trash and Baxter howling if he was ever left alone.  One visitor we had years ago left a very large joint on the coffee tabnle and Baxter ate it down in one gulp.  For the next 3 days, he was asleep on the kitchen floor, his legs moving like he was running as he dreamed.  He got the nickname "Dream Pony" that weekend.  Baxter was also quite adept at snatching a hot dog or hamburger out of a bun while you were looking the other way.  They kept me grounded, though.  I needed a rock to hold me in one place for awhile, because I definitely am a vagabond by nature, and they kept me where I needed to be.  In 2009, Lowell and I decided that we were serious enough to buy a home together, and The Boys finally had their own backyard again.  The following year, Higgins - almost 16 years old, died in the backyard while I was at work.  I had just had surgery to remove a melanoma on my right arm, and Lowell was away on business in California.  As it was April, the ground was hard and cold, and as I began to dig his grave, one armed, in approximately the spot where I had found him, my friend Doug came to my rescue and helped me to put him in his final resting place.  As sad as I was to lose Higgins, the niggling thought in my mind was... how could I handle losing Baxter?  He had always been my favorite.  I'd heard how dogs who are close would die of grief, closely together.  I worked a lot of hours away from the house, and Baxter hated being alone.  So, we rescued 2 little gray tabby kittens to keep him company.  Hops and Barley quickly became B's new best friends. 

Two weeks ago, after I returned from a trip to Mardi Gras, I noticed that Baxter was ageing very quickly.  He had gone deaf last year, had runny eyes and a perpetual stink that even the groomer and a dental procedure could not control.  His vision also seemed to be failing.  He slept most of the time, and wobbled when he walked.  He stopped eating solid kibble, so we found a mixture of wet food and canned pumpkin that we spoon fed him.  He always perked up when he saw me, though, tail a-wagging, licking my hand.  I whispered the Promise in his black, curly-haired ear every day. 

Five nights ago, I instinctively knew it was Time.  He had had a particularly good day earlier, eating and sunning himself on the patio.  I'd even given him a bath outside with some peppermint doggie shampoo.  But that night, he was at the door, asking for me. We both just knew.  I made myself a bed on the couch next to him, kept my hand on his belly, and prayed as his breathing became more labored.  About 15 minutes later, he took his last breath as I had him scooped in my arms.  I held onto him for about 20 minutes more, crying and telling him everything would be ok.  I hope I am right.

We buried Baxter next to Higgins the following morning.  I've ordered some headstones online, and we will plant some rosemary for rememberance in the same spot, too.  He was buried with the dog bowl I made for him, 2 hotdogs, his brush, his leash, his collar, a photo of me and Higgins, some cookies, and a cat turd.  (Yes, he ate cat turds.  Shut up.)  Higgins is buried with similar things, and some bubbles, which he loved to snap out of the air. 

Hops and Barley have been looking for Baxter for the past few days.  I donated his brass dog bed to my friend Michelle's dog Bailey, along with some other goodies for my friend Brandi's girl Lizzie.  I cannot handle the responsibility of another dog right now, and I am not about to repeat another impulse buy!  But I am so very glad to have known these beautiful, loving creatures, who gave to me so much more than I gave them.

I will miss you always, my Boys.

Back in Rhode Island

I flew home to Rhode Island yesterday to attend my cousin Neil's wedding on Sunday 9/11/11.  I admire his idea of celebrating their new life on the 10 year anniversary of a major tragedy.  It's hard to believe that a decade has flown by so fast... and that with time the wounds of such a tragedy can indeed heal.  I have no doubt that it will be a joyous yet bittersweet celebration, and I really look forward to going and spending time with many family members who I rarely get to see.

As I was boarding the plane, I got a message from my young friend "Alex", a student at an Ivy League college and a young man who I would be proud to call my son.  Alex spent a few weeks at my house last year on his summer break, shortly before he left for Oxford University on a Rhodes Scholarship.  An incredibly gifted pianist who was raised in Guam, he earned a full scholarship after a strict upbringing and homeschooling by an Asian "Tiger Mother".  His email informed me that his younger brother Paul had just committed suicide by hanging himself in his dorm room, on his first day of freshman year at a college in Connecticut.  I cannot imagine Alex's grief, even though I lost my dad in a similar way.  As I flipped through the 9/11 magazine tributes and memorials on the plane, I could not stop thinking of Alex and his brother.  10 years from now, would he remember his brother in a sentimental way?  There will probably be no bittersweet celebrations of his life.  I had no idea what to say to Alex, except to offer my love and friendship.

The other purpose of my trip is to bring my couson Tori to tour a few colleges in Boston and RI and help her decide which one she will attend next year.  Tori herself has had some very difficult and painful losses this year - some things that a 17yo girl should never have to experience.  As we followed a student guide around Boston University today, I remembered taking the same tour with my mom when I was her age.  I realized with awe that is was 28 YEARS AGO.  The time... where does it go?  I feel like the same person in so many regards, but in reality I have lived and learned and experienced such an incredible amount of stuff since that time.. good And bad.  But compared to Tori and Alex, I've had it pretty good.  I think they are both survivors, and I want with all of my heart for them both to do incredible things with their lives. 

And somehow, celebrating a wedding on 9/11 gives me hope... for Neil and his bride, for Tori, and even for Alex.  I'm not sure exactly why.  I can't explain it, and I'm not even sure why I am posting this - it just makes me feel better.  Goodnight and Peace.  I'm going to say a prayer for Paul now.

Labor Day Weekend!

Aren't long weekends supposed to be relaxing?  I admit that I've had a blast, but as usual, I feel like I need a vacation from my vacation.  Back to "laboring" tomorrow, but at least it will be a short week, as I am off to spend time with my family in Rhode Island for another long weekend coming up in just a few days.

On Thursday, I had the pleasure of meeting another one of my StumbleUpon friends, Dana.  Dana is a big college football fan and went to college in Montana.  Montana played University of Tennessee yesterday, and we had arranged for him to come visit us for the game and the long weekend almost a year ago.  Montana was definitely the Underdog, and I am not really a big sports fan, but I am definitely a big fan of festivities of any type!   So, we were more than happy to host him here, and I'd even decided to throw a Toga Party in his honor.  Why the Hell not?  :)

I'd met Dana on StumbleUpon about 5 years ago, after he had made an amazing post about an abandoned house he'd found near his property, just North of Seattle, Washington.  The previous owner had chronicled his life by writing on the walls of the home, which was slated for destruction within weeks.  Dana had taken photos of the writing and posted them on his blog, with a touching narrative.  It was one of the most amazing things I had ever seen online, and since that time we have been friends.  That, and also his journaling about his wife Jenny's struggles with bone cancer while raising their 2 young, gorgeous children, made me want to be his friend for life.

I picked Dana up on Thursday afternoon at BNA Airport, and liked him immediately.  Tall and thin, with a boyish grin and a quick laugh, he was charming and funny, without an ounce of awkwardness that sometimes comes with meeting someone from The Internets.  He was immediately relaxed and familiar.  Dana is an account executive for LabCorp, a competitive cyclist, and extremely young looking for 43 years old.  He shares the exact birthday with my ex-husband, who is an all around good guy.  Dana fit right in with my friends.  He updated me on the story of that house.  It has indeed been torn down, but he went through legal documents, found the previous owner's name and address, and mailed him a nice letter, telling him that over 5000 people had seen the notes he'd written on the walls via his blog, and that his stories have not been forgotten.  He is That Kind of Guy.

Friday night was our Labor Day toga party.  I'm not sure exactly how many people attended, but I'll guess and say 60?  Most of them were sporting togas, many were drunk, some swam in their sheets, and I am pretty sure everyone had fun.  I did, anyways.  If you came, thanks for attending.  If you didn't, you missed a good time, and you should come to the next shindig.  My toga consisted of some old gold lame curtains I'd found at Goodwill that day, for $1.99.  The belt was made of the "toga" I'd bought on eBay.  It looked like it would possibly only fit a small 5 year old.  It made a cute belt, though.  Here I am with my cool Sun Medical coworkers:

The only unfortunate part of the entire weekend was a misunderstanding I had with my friend B, who was supposed to visit from Pennsylvania.  B was supposed to drive, but decided at the last minute to fly.  The flight on Friday night was delayed, he missed his connection and was stranded overnight in NYC.  By the time he arrived in Nashville the next morning, he was overtired, cranky and misunderstood that we had to leave IMMEDIATELY to make the game on time.  He insisted that he had to sleep, and went to his hotel instead of to my house like I'd asked.  Also, as he did not drive, we did not have enough room in my car for 6 people.  On top of everything else, his flight home was leaving at 6am the next day, so we would have been unable to get him to the airport ( a 3.5 hour drive plus a time zone change away), as we had all planned to spend the next day there as well.  So unfortunately, we missed seeing him.  He was not happy about this, to put it mildly.  The only other choice I had was to have EVERYONE miss the game, and I could not do that to Dana, whose sole reason for coming to Nashville was to go to Knoxville and attend the game.  So, B is very upset, has made some wild threats, and hopefully will eventually calm down.  I have not let it ruin my weekend.

Today was finally a day to relax, enjoy a rainstorm, and regroup before returning to work for a few days this week.  I am so blessed to have a group of marvelous friends, and I thank all of you who helped to make it a fun weekend.  <3