Rediagnosis: Cancer

Last night I was walking around in the Dollar Tree when my cell phone lit up with a call from my doctor. "Oh good" I thought, I'd been waiting to get the official word about my recent biopsy for almost a week. The surgeon had reassured me that the mass didn't look cancerous to him, and so I'd not worried much more about it.

My doc: "So how did the biopsy go?"

Me: "THAT'S WHAT I WAS HOPING YOU WERE CALLING TO TELL ME!"

Doc: "ha ha. No, the actual procedure. How's your incision?"

Me: "It was routine. I'm no more sore than is to be expected. How are my results?"

Doc: "Well, there were Hodgkin's cells in the biopsy."

Me: "You've *got* to be kidding me."

Doc: "I wish I was..."

And so I sat down the cheapie dollar scissors I was toting around. Walked out to my car in a haze. And had a discussion with my oncologist about what happens now.

So what happens now?

First, I move back to northern Kentucky. Second, I start a new treatment regimen, meant to get me ready for transplant. Third, I have another stem cell transplant, this time using a donor's stem cells. Finally, I kick cancer's ass...again (again). Easy Peasie.

I'm sure I'll relate more details as we go, but those are the basics. Here's a terrifying chart, to convey the gravity of the situation:

Overall survival of 118 patients from date of relapse after autologous stem cell transplantation for relapsed or refractory Hodgkin lymphoma.

It's like the giant hour glass the wicked witch of the west flips to let Dorothy know when she'll meet her doom, except less pretty.

There's a new treatment though (only out 2 months) that I'll be doing to prepare for the transplant. Hopefully that changes the statistics as they now stand.

If any of you would like to help me, here's what I need:

Please go to www.bethematch.org and sign up to be a stem cell donor. It's free to join the registry. They send you a cotton swab and some easy directions and once you send it back you could save a life. Very few people ever get called (1 in 540 according to a friend). Those who do get called usually have no costs associated with donating. The procedure itself (as I understand it) is the same one they used to collect my stem cells, which was just like giving blood but took a bit longer. Of the 10,000 people (many of them children) who need a donor every year, only 50% find a match. Please, please sign up to possibly save a life. A life like mine.

In more practical matters, I will need help with the move. Loading in Tallahassee, unloading somewhere in northern Kentucky. If anyone has a lead on nice but affordable places for rent in Burlington, I'd love to know.

If other things come up I'll let everyone know. For now though, hugs, distractions, and support are warmly welcomed.

We've Got the Beat, We've Got the Beat, We've...Forgotten Our Dance Moves

I am supposed to be at a conference. A national conference. The premier national conference in my academic field. In San Francisco. I am supposed to be networking, discussing, and engaging. And, of course, drinking, sight seeing, and spending time with friends. I am not supposed to be in Tallahassee. But I am.

Today was Brynn's hip-hop recital at the local gymnastics center. The dance classes there aren't a huge deal, but it was important to her. So important that when I told her I was going to miss it, she burst out in tears and cried for a solid five minutes. I've never missed one of her dance recitals (or music recitals for that matter). And where other kids have aunts and uncles, grandmas and grandpas, even dads; here in Tallahassee Brynn has me. Sure we have lots of amazing friends, but Brynn just couldn't fathom the thought of me missing her star performance.

So I stayed in town. We've had a friend over for dinner and a puzzle. Brynn made brownies. We watched a movie together. It's been nice.

Today was the big day, Brynn's hip-hop debut. She had skinny pants, funky shoes, and a high ponytail. Recital time.

Brynn, in an attempt to look "thug," throws peace signs rather than gang signs.

The girls started out strong. They've been rehearsing for weeks and the first three quarters of the song saw the class dancing almost in sync. I'm not sure exactly why things fell apart for the girls, but as you can see here, the entire class forgets the moves to the last quarter of the song.

You can see them all look helplessly at each other and then scurry off in a mix of relief and embarrassment when the song comes to a merciful end. Brynn told me that they were extra disappointed because they all thought they wouldn't get medals at the end (that everyone got for participating!) since they'd messed up.

All in all though, Brynn stood up in front of a couple hundred people and performed a dance that she's been practicing for weeks. She looked for me, and found me, supporting her in the crowd. Afterward we spent time together taking silly pictures and then she picked out the biggest, brightest bouquet of neon daisies a girl could want.

I miss my friends at the conference, but I wouldn't have missed something this important to Brynn for all the sights in San Francisco.

Fair Play

Today Brynn and I ventured to the North Florida Fair for fried dough, freak shows, and all you can ride collapsible whirling machines. The fair did not disappoint.

For $.50 a piece Brynn checked out "The World's Smallest Woman" and "The World's Smallest Horse." She pleaded for more change to take a gander at "The World's Largest Rat" and "Spider Woman with Eight Legs--Answers Your Questions!" but there are only so many quarters I'm willing to dole out for that sort of thing.

Before setting foot on any of the "unlimited" rides I'd paid $20 for Brynn to have access to, she asked for a $5 camel ride, a $5 surfing simulator attempt, a $5 giant hamster ball on water ride, and a $5 trampoline experience. Once I told her she could choose between any of the $5 diversions or her fried dough later, she promptly re-directed and found the regular fair rides.

Flight of the Fifth Graders

After a long day of riding everything from bumper cars to fun houses, it was finally time for fried dough. You can't eat too many fried foods too early in the day or else unlimited spinning rides turn into a really bad idea.

Going...

Elephant ears are our favorite fair-fried dough. You can't always find them, but they're infinitely better than funnel cake as far as we're concerned. Brynn went with powdered sugar AND cinnamon sugar (what could I say, it's only once [or twice] a year).

Going...

The timing was perfect. The night was beginning to cool down and our hands were a bit chilled. Giant, fresh, warm elephant ears warmed our hands and our insides.

Gone.

Brynn ended up covered in powdered sugar. I ended up feeling like maybe I should have worked up slowly to so much fried food (I also had a corn dog for dinner). Overall though, as long as fair food only works its way into my diet once (or twice) a year, I think it's an essential ingredient in personal happiness.

Many of you know how much I love fairs, my home town county fair especially, but all fairs everywhere as well. There's something magical about how time, responsibility, and calorie counting can be suspended for a few hours. I wasn't nestled at my computer working on a paper. She wasn't running around the house doing chores. Neither of us was eating a single tuft of broccoli. We could run, ride, play, and munch to our heart's content (or at least until we got a belly ache). And in the midst of so many people, all having a good time, we could walk around together and just enjoy each other's company. Sharing all those things, and just a general love for fairs, with Brynn is so special to me. Every year in my fair photos she looks exponentially more grown up than she did just one elephant ear ago. But at least I know that some part of both of us will always be a kid at heart.