off the mantlepiece

i guess i'm glad i didn't call this blog "climbing off the mantlepiece" or something like that.... (and believe me, i'd be that corny about it.)

i had been waiting for the february 28 exam for a-while. whenever i took the various tests i was being sent to, the technicians would all try to reassure me. "you'll get the results in a couple of days. you'll get the results soon. i'll put this through as soon as possible...." then i would reassure them, and say "it's ok. i have to wait until february 28, anyway."

i would fantasize about the different outcomes. "mantle cell, stage 4." (that was ok. mantle cell stage 3 or 4 was to be expected, because it's a sneaky cancer.) "mantle cell, stage 2. let's watch it, and wait." (highly unlikely. my right arm is perpetually tingling because the tumour prevents me from putting it straight down. yeah. like Christmas story. "i can't put my arms down!") "it's not cancer. it's a big ass zit under your arm. want to help pop it?" (and i would be just twisted enough to say 'yes!!")

i didn't predict what really happened.

my doctor came in. she said she had good news. before we had a chance to react, she said it wasn't mantle cell lymphoma. it's diffuse large b-cell lymphoma, and i'm in stage 2.

she continued to talk about how they determined it wasn't mantle cell. there is a genetic marker that goes with this type of cancer. it was missing from my cancer.

enigma was happy. trying to respectfully listen to her. made sure to say that he knew an oncologist, and how he had said to make damn sure that this was mantle cell, and that the tumour was blastic before continuing. so, he was glad it wasn't severe.

i was in shock, and let her words wash through me.

she started going into what treatment she had chosen. since i was in stage 2, with a larger tumour, i was a candidate for 6 cycles of a chemotherapy called r-chop .... then radiation if there was still some of the tumour left. four months. five drugs. no hair. no tumour. easy on paper. hard as hell to live through.

while enigma and the doctor camped out on what the pills were going to do to me, and how they would affect the cancer, i was asking the results of the different tests.

when i had the pet scan, the tumour could be seen, big time. but, there were two other lymph nodes below the waist that were prominent. one of them could have been an ovarian cyst. the other, scar tissue from my c-sections, or the tubal ligation.

the echo turned out to be great. i have an excellent normal heart. 60-65%. i didn't get what 65% was, but if it were 50% or less, i wouldn't be able to have chemo. so, i'm doing great for a girl who came from two parents who died of heart issues.

it goes without saying that there wasn't any cancer in my bone marrow. stage two in lymphomaland means that cancer was found in two or more lymph node groups either above or below the diaphragm. the only reason i wasn't stage one, i was told, was because my tumour was 10.2 cm large.

i would have been stage one if.... things were different. (let it go. let it go. don't be so angry over a doctor's mistake. there's virtually no difference between the treatments of stage one and stage two lymphoma. yes, you would be in less pain. yes, you would be less worried. but you would not have been able to go to baltimore three times, Christmas would have sucked big time, and ....things happen for a reason. chill.)

r-chop, by the way, is a chemo treatment involving five heavy duty drugs: rituxon, cytoxan, hydroxydaunomycin, oncovoin, and my friend prednisone. i'm to take the first four drugs once every 21 days, and prednisone for five days every 21 days.

"my...friend, prednisone?" yes. you see, when my eczema flares up, they give me prednisone to calm my skin down. it's so strong that you're supposed to taper off it gradually, like an addict sneaking away from a drug dealer in the night. this time, prednisone is helping me fight things inside of me... and is needed so much that i won't need to taper off.

i asked my stupid questions. (questions i knew either my co-workers would ask, or that i needed to hear the answers to, for my own sanity.)

is cancer contagious? no.

is it job related? no.

is it genetic? no.

may i give two weeks notice? yes. (my oncologist has been superior on this. yes, take that week's vacation. yes, do those last two weeks work. i'll set up things for you for when you come back. yes.) she did make sure i wasn't suffering before she said yes. i am a bit more tired now. i sleep more soundly now. and...it feels like my shoulder blade is popping out of my back to make room for my tumour. but, by and large, if i get enough sleep i'm fine. mostly.

at one point she said there was a 50% cure rate for this cancer. w...wh..what did that mean? well, that meant that 50% of the people who went through the chemo were cured of cancer. if they weren't cured then, then they went through radiation, and then they were cured. ah. i see. fair enough.

i still was in this fog, listening, writing down meaningless points, trying to keep in the conversation, but i still was having a hard time. you have to understand... first i was told it was nothing. then i was told it was nothing, but let's make sure. then i was told it was something, and something fucking harder than shit. now i'm told it's something, but it's something manageable. still hell, but a hell i can go through.

i asked my oncologist what i should do in the two weeks before the chemo, to prepare for chemo. (the nurse had said eat as good as you can, sleep well, and do the things you really need to do before you start.)

she told me .... to surround myself with love. positive people. warm feelings. hope. the good things in life.

some people work in the business of making your outside world perfect. my doctor knows.... that it's all inside first.

i wish i could follow her advice. to. the. letter.