Hit or miss

Today, I'm doing pretty well. Yesterday...not so much. 

But, isn't that just life?  Yesterday, so-so. Today, mostly good. 

There's something about having a chronic illness that makes you become quite the hypochondriac, over examining each little blip on the radar like it's going to be the direct hit that sinks your battleship rather than just a drop in the bucket that causes a harmless ripple in the otherwise calm seas. 

This last year has been fraught with some rough seas, but I'm still sticking my toes in the surf every day. Shouldn't we all?

And even if my battleship gets a direct hit, there's often a lifeboat to make my way into. 

I've been waiting for your call

It's a quiet rainy Sunday morning. So far, I'm the only one up.  Just my coffee and my iPad and my recliner.

Today is going to be odd because yesterday marked the end of a month-long stay of my dear friend Patsy, who trekked all the way from Austin, Texas to be here with my family while I recuperated from surgery.  The house isn't going to quite feel complete.

You might remember that the planning for this surgery happened rather quickly.  I didn't even have it confirmed until the family was on vacation in Puerto Rico early last month.  The first phone call I made after hanging up with the surgical coordinator was to Patsy.  Could she come to Atlanta in ten days to help out...for a month?

Of course, she responded.  I've been waiting for your call.

Patsy and I met about 25 years ago while we were both working at the Emory school of medicine.  She was a medical illustrator and I was a wet-behind-the-ears medical writer/editor. She and I got to know each other while I was helping a faculty member put together a second edition of a surgery textbook for which Patsy had originally done many of the illustrations by hand.  

Patsy and I were drawn together as friends not just because we shared a similar sense of humor but also because we were similarly entertained by the political intrigue of working in the administration of a medical school.  We'd quietly observe during the work day and then have a giggle fit over lunch.  We both had an odd mix of respect and irreverence for our employer.  It made for interesting ways to get through our days.

Years passed, work and lives changed.  I quit Emory. Babies were born...she was there for a week with me when Allen and Boyce were newborns.  

Patsy retired from Emory and moved to Austin to be near family while we were living in France, though she still found a two-month period to come live with us over there.  

To call her friend is an inaccuracy.  She's family.  My boys have always called her Aunt Patsy, and she knows if she ever is wanting for a table to sit around for Thanksgiving or Christmas, ours always has an extra place with her name on it.  

I'll be depressed today.  Right now it's about the time she'd come downstairs to join me for our morning chat. 

We have a kitchen full of goodies she made and left for us, so there are some vestiges of her being here with which to console ourselves.

But the cheese straws and banana bread will run out much too quickly before I'll be longing for her to be here again.  I know, though...when I need her all it takes is a phone call, and she'll be here.

So, put up your feet today, Patsy.  You've earned some down time.  And you never know when that phone is going to ring again...

One year of sharing the ride

The National Cancer Institute's current published five-year survival rate for stage IV endometrial adenocarcinoma is an abissmal 15%.  I'm one year in, hoping to be the enigma, because it was one year ago today, during my hysterectomy, that my cancer diagnosis was confirmed.

Oh, I moan and complain about fatigue and pain and doctors and itchy wigs and disappearing eyebrows...but I'm still very much here, thumbing my nose at that 15%.

I've still got a ways to go...at least this one more round of chemo I'll be starting soon.

In the meantime, I celebrate the easy days and the hard ones, lunch out with a friend, being able to attend my sons' spring band concert.  I'm thankful for all the family and friends that have brought a dinner or run an errand or entertained my kids for a weekend. I'm grateful for those of you who have sent notes of support and encouragement and jokes and stories that made me laugh out loud.

I might be living a life with cancer...but I do so knowing I'm so lucky to be sharing the ride with all you wonderful people.

Juuuust right

"I just want to get back to the stage where I'm just doing chemotherapy."

I actually found myself saying this to a friend recently.

This thoracotomy recovery business is for the birds.

Here, we'll give you this big bottle of pain medication. We really don't want to refill it, so don't use it too much...but don't use it too little either. Use what you need, but then wean yourself off. I call it the Goldilocks approach to post operative pain management. Only I can't seem to find that perfect titration that is juuuuust right.

On the upside, I must say that my 12-inch scar looks really nice...as surgical scars go. It has a real artistic arch to it. My surgeon's best medium is definitely human flesh.

The tissue assays still have not come back from the large nodule taken during thoracotomy, so we are still waiting to see what chemo blend will be recommended for me. My surgeon says he wouldn't have recommended starting chemo for at least a month after surgery any way, so I don't feel like I'm loosing any ground waiting.

In other news, I'm seeing a new gynecological oncologist next week...I guess for a second opinion. I don't think she's any better a doctor than my current physician, but given that my current oncologist's practice shuts its doors officially tomorrow, I thought it good to have a back up plan.

Well, I'll leave you with that. It's time to go see if I can measure out some porridge that is juuuuust right.

Trying to get my blogging groove back

My day started with Paul telling me I had bed head.

Think about it.

Yes, hair has been sprouting back in all sorts of desirable and unwanted spots. (Why do chin hairs have to be some of the first to reappear?)

I'll get you up-to-date and explain why I'm not getting too attached to any of my newly sprung hair yet.

I'm at home, recovering well from my thoracotomy, which took place April 18th and kept me in the hospital for five days. I did have a minor set back which landed me back in the hospital for a few days more, so some excess fluid could be drained from my chest cavity. But all is well now. Apparently, this just happens after thoracotomies sometimes.

I do tire very easily, but I'm needing less and less of the pain medication...my excuse for not blogging much lately.

The pathology results from the thoracotomy are still incomplete. We do know there were no cancer cells discovered in the two smaller nodes the surgeon found during the surgery. However, there were some cancer cells still found in the larger nodule, even though the most recent PET scan showed no cancer in that nodule.

We are waiting on the complete tissue assays of those few remaining cancer cells to help my oncologist decide what kind of chemotherapy I need next. I'm guessing as soon as the results are in, I'll start chemo again...and loose my ability to have bed head...again.

We should know any day now.