Scan on Thurday

I have my first follow up scan scheduled for Thursday. I'm really nervous. Lately, I feel tummy queasy constantly, and I've had pretty regular dizzy spells. Yes, my symptoms pretty much scream psychosomatic, but, still,... I don't think I could take any more chemo.

May 13th

The big day. I kissed Eric goodbye and dropped the little one off at daycare. I stopped at 7-11 to buy my first lottery ticket ever [SPOILER ALERT: I didn't win]. As soon as I checked into the hospital, I was issued a surgical mask because I was still struggling with pneumonia. This was the first time I would be CT scanned at my new hospital, and I liked the new rules. In the past, I had been instructed to got without food or water for 12 hours before the scan, except for the last hour when I had to gulp down 2 huge barium shakes. My new hospital just required a 4 hour fast. Once at the hospital I was given a short glass of what I thought would be refreshing water, but turned out to be some concoction that, judging by the taste, was mostly bleach and chlorine, followed by a barium shake. After the CT scan of my neck, chest, abdomen and pelvis (all in all a relatively quick and painless process), I was weighed, blood pressured, temperature taken-ed and poked for blood tests. I headed out to the waiting area to discover my husband waiting for me (surprise!). When my name was called, we followed the medical assistant into an examining room and waited some more. First the nurse practitioner examined me ("exam" means to poke neck, chest and tummy looking for lumps), then the doctor came in and examined me. Then we waited for the CT scan results. Then the doctor came in and waited with us for the CT scan results. Then the doctor sent the nurse practitioner to find my CT scan results; no luck. Then the doctor went to find the CT scan results; no luck. Then the doctor took us to the back office to look for the CT scan results; no luck. Finally, the doctor told us to go home; she would call us with the results.
Remember, I've been waiting for these results since December, so, I did turn the bitch on a little when the doctor suggested we leave the hospital with no results, but I was assured I would be called by the end of the day with results-- so we went out to eat.
I was starving. Remember; I hadn't eaten all day (first to prep for the scan, and then because I was too nervous). I ordered madly and Eric uncharacteristically agreed to all my demands. I placed my cell in the middle of the table. We ate in silence, staring at the phone. After dinner but before ordering dessert, the phone rang---
Janeen: Hello?
Voice over the cell: Janeen, It's Dr. ___'s nurse. I've got some bad news.
I felt my chin start to quiver and looked around the restaurant. I was determined not to cry in public, but I wasn't above crying in a public bathroom, so I started scoping out the best route to the ladies' lounge.
Voice over the cell: you have pneumonia
Janeen: (screaming) I don't care about the pneumonia! what about the cancer?!
Voice over the cell: cancer? the cancer's fine! [but she stretched out "fine" like "fffiiiyynnnne"]
Janeen: (frantic, but not so angry) Fine? what does "fine" mean?
Voice over the phone: remission

So, that's that. Eric declared "so this is a celebratory meal." I took a deep breathe and started texting family and friends.

Sooooooooo-- Today is June 6th. Why did it take me so long to finish up the blog? The good news has taken awhile to sink in. I'm really waiting for a follow up call from the doctor saying I've contracted some new life threatening illness... but I guess it really is going to be ok.

Life does seem lighter. Now that I have a good 30 years to pay it off, the debt we've accumulated over my illness isn't bothering me as much.

So, in sum-- Zevalin works. Three cheers for radioimmunotherapy.

restaging

Tomorrow is the big day. I have a CT scan followed by a doctor's appointment. Tomorrow I find out if the Zevalin worked.

This morning was my day to drop Evangeline off at school. We both were dressed and ready to go early, which left a little extra time to cuddle in front of an episode of “Dora the Explorer.” We were singing along, “Dit, dit, Dora, dit, dit ,Dora; Swiper-no-swiping; Swiper-no-swiping; O Man,” when I interrupted the theme song with coughing, which morphed into hacking, which turned into a sprint to the bathroom and, finally, loads of purple vomit in the toilet. Yes, purple. No, I can’t think of anything I’ve eaten that could remotely be described as purple. The possibility of night eating has crossed my mind, but I can’t think of any food or combination of foods in my house that would lead to purple vomit. Do you think I’m night breaking into the local Save-A-Lot and consuming grape soda?

Healthwise, it’s been a rough couple of weeks. On April 21^st, I work up inexplicably cranky. I yelled at drivers for obeying their traffic signals when I wanted to jaywalk in front of them. I answered my local Streetwise vendor’s “good morning” with a “hmph” [I swear the “hmph” was me choking off a “humbug” on the way out of my mouth—I was that cranky.] During a meeting with my supervisor and partner that afternoon, I felt the room temperature drop a good 30 degrees. Their matching confused looks in response to my repeated question, “why is it suddenly so cold in here?” led me to believe that I was not only cranky, but sick as well.

The fever hit the next day, and I stayed in bed on Thursday and Friday. By Saturday, my temperature broke 101 and I emailed my hematologist to beg for drugs. She prescribed a Z pack. Apparently, Z packs are prescribed for everything from pneumonia to gonorrhea [when Eric read the latter, he asked me if there was anything I wanted to tell him]. On Monday, I stayed home from work. My hematologist phoned me and told me that she would see me anytime I would come in. I decline an appointment because I’ve developed an irrational belief that as long as I don’t go to the hospital, I’m not really that sick.

The lowlight of this sick spell was the nose bleeds. I went through boxes of Kleenex, then dish towels, then I would hold my head over the toilet. Finally, when I decided that I had sacrificed too many sweatshirts, blankets and towels to my blood falls, I just stripped down and napped in the bathtub.

So to further humiliate myself by making compromising facts public, I, Janeen, admit that I’ve read the entire Twilight series. Not only have I read the entire series, I’ve hated the heroine, Bella, since chapter one. I can’t stand her constant complaints about her superlatives—too many suitors, too deeply in love, too beautiful, too smart, to self-sacrificing, etc. I think my obsession with the series can be partially contributed to a hope that at some point one of the attractive vampires or virile werewolves will maim or kill Bella. Anywho, I bring this up because, in Book 1, the dashing vampire Edward is forced to carry Bella to the nurse’s office “The Bodyguard” style because the smell of blood makes Bella attractively woozy. Bella describes the scent of blood as metallic. To bridge this thought back to me—as I was soaking in a tub of my own blood, I thought, “this does smell like copper.” Dammit—that makes Bella always right as well. Jacob should have eaten her.

I am back at work this week. I feel loads better, but, obviously, still can’t shake this consumption style cough (and the purple vomit is worrisome). On the 15^th, I see my hematologist and get re-staged—so, for better or worse, we’ll know if the Zevalin worked.

There is some good news—my period is back. Given my multiple of health issues, the return of Aunt Flo doesn’t equate to the possibility of a housefull of babbling babies, but it is making me feel youthful and not so close to death as I had before.

Lump

I found a large round lump on my lift side jawline. It's almost perfectly symmetrical and hurts if I poke it (more than most things hurt if poked-- come on, you know what I mean). It feels like a marble under my skin, but the marble isn't immediately noticeable on sight. Eric has done some Internet research to try to figure out what's there. There shouldn't be a lymph node or sinus cavity on your jawline, right? What's there to bulge? It's worrisome, but not my only symptom: I've had multiple nosebleeds and my ass is dragging (literally and figuratively-- the Janeen paradox: if I don't start doing lunges soon, my butt will skim the concrete on my walk to work, but I'm just too tired to even imagine myself exercising.)
I see the doc on Thursday. I'll report back.

Last Nap

Today is my last Thursday afternoon nap. Next week I go back to working full time. Evangeline is off to preschool. I don't know which I find scarier. I'm feeling really good, but by Wednesday night, I usually fall asleep around 8:30. Also, earlier this week I had the nosebleed to end all nose bleeds. Probably unrelated to cancer or Zevalin (right?), but it makes me think-- if I've almost run outta' numbers on my personal calendar, do I really want to spend my days at the office? If I'm not going to make it to Evangeline's wedding, I don't want to miss a moment with her now. That thought has led me to some pretty creepy behaviors, like watching my daughter sleep and counting her inhales and exhales.

Whatever. No matter how misty I get about time away from the little one, it has to happen. The medical bills are out of control.

As far as chemo type side effects: This last week the hot flashes seem to have dried up. So that's a plus. And I've gotten a few little pimples on my nose which makes me feel like my body is acting closer to normal. I've been jogging with the baby fairly regularly. OK, "jogging" might be an exaggeration. I've been doing sorta' a shuffle behind the jogging stroller. Stop your snickering-- it counts as exercise.

Node Scare

Time's passed-- lots of time-- and I still don't know the results of my treatment. I'm feeling a lot better, but I don't feel different. I'm not any more or less bumpy than last Easter (when my hair fell out). Until last week. I found a huge lump in my in my neck. One day it wasn't there, the next day it was. It was oddly positioned, so, no matter how many mirrors or at what angle I tried, I just couldn't see it. It was hard, and hurt when I tried to manipulate it. I didn't want to say anything to my doctor for a couple reasons: 1) I just can't take any more bad news, and 2) I've been behaving badly towards medical professionals lately and didn't want to have to apologize for prior rudeness in order to ask for something now (I'll tell you about it some other time).
So, I've been going about my business trying to pretend that I didn't know that I'm dying... again. And things just haven't been great. Our finances suck. We tried to refinance the condo, and it turns out we're so far underwater that we're hanging out with those creepy glow-in-the dark fish. Eric had to get a second job and dropped a class we've already paid for. He's constantly sleepy and cranky. I've arranged for more hours at work, so I won't be able to spend as much time with Evangeline, so I'm grumpy. Whenever we open our mouths, we seem to say something mean to each other, so we're mostly just quiet and awkward.
And Evangeline has hit a new stage. I was warned that the "mines" were coming, but Evangeline has been surprisingly generous and opened to sharing. Instead, the terrible 2s have been all about "I never ever" or phonetically "I neber eber." Evangeline neber eber uses the potty chair. She neber eber stops kicking the cat. She neber eber takes a nap-- you get the idea.

All in all, the stress levels in our household have been toxic.

Finally, reluctantly, I asked Eric to check the lump in my neck. I was ready for him to get out a flashlight, examine the bump, madly goggle, and get back to me later with alarming possibilities. Instead--

"It's a zit."

"What?"

"It's a great big pimple."

"Are you sure? it doesn't feel like acne."

"It's a zit."

That night I popped the neck lump while I was in the bath tub. It popped like a pimple. The atmosphere in our house is still tense, but I feel better. In fact, I've neber eber felt so good about a zit.