The Unambiguous News

I don't like waiting in anticipation for PET scan results. Assuming you don't either, I'll just go ahead and tell you the doctor was very pleased with my scan. It looks exactly like the last scan (which was ambiguous) but that means there was no new growth, which means no cancer. (Woo hoo!!!)

                          Here's a cancer-free me sliding into the tube for my PET/CT scan.


Now that that's out of the way I have an admission to make. I was so impatient about getting my results that I called the hospital yesterday and asked if I could pick up a copy of my scan results. After the scan a radiologist looks through the images from my scan, compares them to the images from the prior scan, and types up his or her "impression" of the scan. What I'm able to pick up is that "impression." Generally doctors frown on you getting results before they have a chance to look over them and interpret them for you, but I just couldn't resist. So I knew yesterday that this scan was basically a carbon copy of the last scan, which I also knew was good news. I may or may not have squealed in the hospital parking lot. The way I look at it, I exerted significant self-control in making it to the parking lot before I had an outburst.

To my surprise the doctor had even better news for me. He says a very aggressive cancer (and mine was a bully) is most likely to come back within two years, if it's going to come back at all. This upcoming December is the two year anniversary of my transplant, so he is increasingly confident that I'm almost in the clear. Of course any cancer can relapse, but statistically speaking I'm in a good place. We'll do another scan in three months and if we get good results then we will push the scans back to every six months! I love the confidence associated with less frequent scans. I also love the $1,200 or so I'll save a year by spacing them out.

So today = success. The outlook seems good. I think old sir Hodgkin's has hit the road. That's good news because I have a back log of things that I plan to do. It's nice to know that I have plenty of time now.

(Sc)anticipation

Almost every time I've gone in for a scan it was supposed to be a defining moment in this battle against Hodgkin's Lymphoma. Either it was expected to confirm the cancer was gone or that more treatment was needed. Tormentingly, it's rarely turned out to be so clear cut. Once it looked like the cancer was definitely back, but the biopsy only showed scar tissue. Then we thought we had it beat but the following scan looked more ambiguous. So tomorrow's scan is supposed to define the ambiguity. I hope it does. I'm not sure my nerves can handle three more months of non-committal cancer. (To be clear, I'm hoping the commitment is to the cancer being gone, not starting another long term relationship with dear old Hodgkin's).

I generally try to play it cool when people ask about the cancer. Things genuinely have been going pretty well. I feel great, my hair is getting longer, chemo is just a memory. And yet these scans never fail to get me worked up. Every twinge in my chest or ache in my back puts me on high alert. I twist around, I stretch, I try to identify exactly where the pain is originating and then I compare it to a chart of where my lymph nodes are. I also rub my neck and arm pits at least every other day to see if I notice any swollen nodes. And the neurotic checking and worrying only intensifies as the scans get closer.

For about a month after a scan, I'm still focused on the most recent results. Surely not much has changed, right? By the second month I start thinking about little pains and what they might mean. I start reading too much into back pain that's probably caused by sitting in an arm chair for hours working on a powerpoint. When month three rolls around I put my life into a full fledged holding pattern. I don't apply for jobs, I don't go on dates, and I (apparently) cannot bring myself to make important plans for the upcoming semester. I don't do any of these things (and quite a few others) because all I can think about is "WHAT IF the cancer is back?" I've heard about paralyzing fear that causes someone to physically freeze up, but this fear paralyzes my personal and professional life. It's like WWJD for cancer patients/survivors. Every decision, big or small, is made in the shadow of the looming concern of What if the Cancer's Back? In this past month alone I've skipped applying for a job in the fall that was perfect for me and would provide much needed income, I've avoided putting my fall syllabus together, and well...let's not even talk about dating.

So tomorrow I will go to the hospital where they'll inject me with radioactive sugar and run me through a high-tech tube that will take thousands of images of my innards and determine my physical and psychological well being for the next three months. For those of you interested, a friend told me the radioactive sugar is actually "anti-matter," just in case me being radioactive wasn't nerdy enough.

                            An example of the machine that I'll be run through

My anticipation is high and won't abate until Wednesday when my results come back. Until then I'll be pretending that I'm not neurotic, but I suppose that's all relative anyway, right?

A Week to Make Things Stronger

This week is the official kick off week of my summer. Class is finished, grades are submitted, and Brynn is at sleep away camp for seven whole days. This calls for a char grilled burger and some smores, stat.

Camp always seems to be a time of mixed emotions for both Brynn and I. She was only 8 years old the first year she went, and she clung onto me for dear life when I tried to leave her in the cabin with the other 8 and 9 year old campers. We were both nervous about what that week might hold in store (and I only let her go because a friend was one of the adult leaders). That year she came home and couldn't stop talking about her new friends and the adventures they'd had. There was planning to be done for next year's talent show, and what dress was she going to wear to the dance the next summer?! Camp was a success.

                     (Brynn at camp her first year, helping to demonstrate natural selection)

This year when I walked Brynn back to the same cabin with some of the same girls she gave me a kiss, then a reluctant hug, then she looked around the cabin at the other campers whose parents had already left. She jumped back out of the hug, spun me around, and shoved me out the door! No more clinging onto my waist and begging me not to go. I know she'll miss me a little, she did want me to write her letters while she's at camp, but she was also ready to spread her wings and enjoy the autonomy of a week away from parental authority.

Now here's my big admission...I was so very ready for her to spend this week away too. Sure, I miss her like crazy and we'll spend her first few days back catching up and sharing stories, but sometimes you just need a little space. I think this is especially true for single parent households, where all the discipline and "bossing around" comes from a single person. I'm always the one who says "scoop the litter," "do your homework," "pick up your room," and "no." Don't get me wrong, I know I'm extremely lucky to also be the person who always gets to say "sweet dreams" and "I love you," but that comes with its costs. Costs that I'm more than willing to pay, but that take a toll on our relationship.

Sleep away camp gives both of us time to remember that we miss each other. Once when I was younger I saw a beer coozie that said "How can I miss you if you won't go away?" Kitschy, yes; but with an air of truth. Weekends at a grandparent's house, short trips with friends, even a single night sleepover, all give us time to recharge and focus on the really great things we sometimes take for granted about each other. Still, I'm glad it's only a week.

Why I Swore I'd Never Blog

When I was little (as early as fourth grade) I kept a journal sporadically. In sixth grade I began putting details like my age, my grade, the day of the week, etc. because someday I wanted to be able to go back and remember what it was like to be that age. I also wanted any potential female progeny to know that I was, in fact, once that age. That was, however, my only intended audience: future me and future little me's.

Blogging, on the other hand, always struck me as a cry for attention. If I wanted to express a feeling or tell a story I would simply call a friend and tell them. I didn't want to post personal details online where any random stranger could read my musings. I also didn't want to inundate my friends with the quotidian details of my mundane problems or successes. As far as I was concerned, blogging was for folks who felt entitled to have the whole world's ear (or their sympathy) and that just wasn't my style.

So as I sit down to start my own blog, I feel a profound sense of hypocrisy (as well as a need to apologize to my friends who blog--sorry!). When I was re-diagnosed with Hodgkin's lymphoma I decided the best way to disseminate information to my friends and family was through a caringbridge.com site. It is essentially a blogging site (though I refused to fully admit it at the time) where people with serious illnesses can post updates for the many friends and family who are concerned about them. That experience, coupled with my own scouring of the internet for blogs about others who'd fought Hodgkin's, led me to realize that sometimes people read blogs for the experience of knowing there is someone else out there struggling with similar issues. In that realization I made a baby step towards becoming a blogger.

Then I began reading my friend Julie's blog (check it out at http://julieandmartinsblog.blogspot.com/ ) and realized that blogs could be inspiring. Julie is a working mother, a wonderful photographer, a devoted wife, a military woman, and she's just plain hilarious to boot. She shares her imperfections and somehow that makes mine less glaring to me. I love keeping up with her and her family, and hearing about the crazy (and the lovely) adventures they have. So I decided that blogging could not only connect people in suffering, but in joy. Another baby step.

Then a week or so ago I read a blog from a high school friend I haven't talked to in at least 10 years...and I identified with every bit of it (check that post out at: http://intertwiningemotions.blogspot.com/2011/06/why-doesnt-anyone-else-look-like-me-so.html?spref=fb ). I wanted to shout YES! and give her a hug and a high five. Here's a girl who I'd not been in touch with for a decade recounting experience after experience that I'd had. So it turns out blogging is a place for finding yourself in others, and others in yourself. For sharing experiences we've all already had some experience with. It's like a digital version of Ralph Waldo Emerson's "Oversoul."

So I think I'll blog.