I have felt a lot better today. At least no new bad news came our way. Thankful for that. I had planned to volunteer to deliver Meals on Wheels with the kiddos this summer, but it took so long to process my paperwork that I didn't get the call that I was approved until we were at the beach. In fact, the call came in within the same hour that Dr. Fisch called with the original cancer news, so I just went along with what the lady said. Last night when I saw that I have Meals on Wheels training today, I wondered for a moment if I should really go, but then I thought, yes, I need to do that. It's right in line with my plan for the day to stop obsessing non-stop about myself.
I am so glad that we did it. It was such a great experience for the kids, and I am sad that they won't get to accompany me on most of the rounds since school starts back so quickly. Regardless, today was eye opening for them, just as I had hoped. Every person we met was so thankful for that hot meal, and we saw parts of Mableton I have never seen, and Jonathan especially had a million questions. The two ladies who were "training" me got a kick out of our "helpers" for the day, and their presence was a true highlight for the mostly elderly folks we met. Sure my arm was aching halfway through, and I was wishing I had brought my pain pills, but it was worth it.
After lunch my phone rang all afternoon. I was so glad to hear that the Emory Cancer doctors have reviewed my reports and agree that the oncologist we want to see is the same one they believe is the right fit for us. I have an appointment down there on Tuesday, so I am curious to find out whether she agrees with the drug regimen prescribed so far.
I also have my CT scan, bone scan and electrocardiogram scheduled for next week. The first two are the tests to check for cancer in the rest of my body. I will apparently spend almost all of Wednesday at the hospital, starting with a big dye injection at 8:30, followed by a 4 hour wait. This is for the bone scan. While I am waiting I will have a Nurse's Education course where I will tour the facility where all the chemo stuff happens and meet people and familiarize myself with the process. The "best" part is that I can have nothing to eat or drink for 5 hours before the CT scan (other than a big bottle of contrast exactly two hours before), which will immediately follow the bone scan. The next day I have the electrocardiogram to get a baseline on my heart, since one of the side effects of the prescribed chemo cocktail for me is a potential weakening of the heart muscle. The phrase pick your poison comes to mind.
Finally, we scheduled the surgery to place a port in my chest to receive the chemo. This part seems like a bit of a freak show to me, but I am trusting and can logically believe that it is the easiest way to receive all of the various chemo medications. This will happen on the Wednesday after we return from Yellowstone. At this point, I am scheduled to receive my first treatment that Thursday, August 7th. I will go back the next day for a shot of nausea med that should cover me for an estimated three days. They've already started sending prescriptions in for numbing cream (for the port), more break through nausea med, and steroids.
For some reason, even though I am really, really uncomfortable tonight with the lumpectomy pain (might have overdone it a tad), I feel considerably more peaceful than yesterday. I read several encouraging things today, mostly sent by my friends. Very encouraging stories of not just survival, but years in remission. Somehow it also feels better to have things laid out on paper. But mostly, it helped me today to see all of those people, each with their own set of troubles, both physical and otherwise, and to realize that they are still going, and fighting, and living, and going about their business in the best way that they can. If they can, then so can I. And somehow, my cancer felt a little less big when I saw some of their circumstances.
And finally, I talked with Caroline tonight. She seemed a little blue, and after I asked her to tell me about it, she described a feeling inside of her, that she couldn't make go away, but that it felt bad. It hurt to hear that, but I think I get it. I told her I think it must be that so much has happened, and it's all pretty scary (I've been mostly very brave in front of her but yesterday I couldn't seem to pull that off very well), but that we are going to get through it together. She looked at me quietly for a minute, and finally whispered, "Are you sure?" I almost lost it then, because it sounded almost exactly like what I had asked the oncologist yesterday, as in, I am coming out of this alive, right? Are you sure?? He sounded positive that this is treatable and curable, and I know what that meant to me. I sounded just as confident when I told her very certainly that YES, I am sure. I can do this. WE can do this. We are getting this map laid before us, and we are going to walk this path and get through it somehow, day by day. She seemed relieved and I made a mental note to talk to her again tomorrow about the same thing. If for no other reason, I plan to be strong for my babies, because sometimes just putting on a brave face makes you feel a tad bit braver. It's like lipstick. I feel a little more ready to face the day with lipstick. Call me crazy.
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