Last day in the hospital, one of the surgeons who removed the alien from my brain mentions that a CAT scan, with the exception of the tumor in my lung, looked clean. This, he tells me, would be a good thing. It would mean they've caught the disease early - in spite of the rapid travel time from lung to brain. This is where the glass is half full.
The holes in the glass part comes in when he tells me that a PET scan will be the final test of that and might turn up something the other tests haven't.
Yesterday, I see the thoracic surgeon - a cheerful, upbeat kind of guy. When I mention that I'm anxious about the scan results, he rifles through the paper on his clipboard and says, "The tumor in your lung looks pretty hot but...he scans the sheet again...nothing else. Nope. Nothing." He says I'll only see him again if the chemo doesn't finish off the tumor...or if it shrinks and then begins to grow again. When I leave, I flash him a big smile. "Thanks," I tell him, "I hope I don't have to see you again." And Ilga, Jan and I head out to a pancake house to celebrate.
I begin today by continuing a pattern of procrastination that set in a few days ago. Sunday, I am supposed to clean the studio. Detta is coming to help. But Sean arrives first for a visit and we are all having far too much fun visiting to actually do any work. Yesterday, the day I get the good news, I vault into full attention deficit mode. I make a big mess in the studio, dumping the contents of storage drawers onto the floor...and then dessert it there, coming in once in a while to stare at it and urge myself to do something. Then I go on Facebook.
I order leggings online. I watch "Boardwalk Empire." I sort all the information sheets from The Big Book of Cancer Handouts into an accordian file.
Subsequently, today is laundry-cleaning-sign-the-will-grocery-shopping-pick-up-prescriptions. And today I will have to haul my procrastinating ass into line because my little sister arrives on Friday and it would nice if there was food in the fridge - and a space on the studio floor to put the air mattress. And tomorrow, chemo starts - so I suspect that all those chores are going to look insurmountable. So, with that in mind - I sit down to tell you all this. Instead.
Anyone want to volunteer to live in and be in charge of kicking me into action?
No?
Darn.
4 comments:
I am so happy for you Linda!!!! Now it's time to fry the little bastards!! Good luck with the chemo!
xxx
Nope! Work of some sort will always be there. Opportunities to celebrate and smile and do Happy Dance are precious few and far between! So you get only volunteers to help you celebrate and smile and dance! Serves you right! :)
Yep. Trying to summon up lots of courage (or at least bravado)for the frying process. Wouldn't it be nice if the frying didn't also fry me? Yes indeed. But I'm ready...bring on the nurse in the hazmat suit toting the IV!
Pat...I did dance and sing. Today I pay! But I'm getting there!
LOL - dontcha just hate the having to pay part? Oh well. And yeah, chemo just plain sucks. No nice way to put it. But you'll get through it, and we'll all be there to help you do just that. Just promise yourself you won't try to be all superwoman about it, 'kay? Give yourself a break. Just breathe, focus and get through it. Please?
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