The Dutchman’s assistant surprised me, this afternoon, with an opportunity to advance my surgery date by almost two weeks. After a quick call to ensure the BFF was onside, I jumped at the chance. Suddenly, I’m less than a week away and scrambling to get organized. It’s going to be a busy weekend. There’s laundry to be done, the larder to be stocked, a kettle to be purchased (the BFF shouldn’t hafta make tea in a saucepan!), and a few projects to get a jump on at the office.
The agenda for March 4 is rather civilized: a 10AM check-in, 12 noon for the dye needle, and 2PM under the knife. Barring delays, I should be home in time for the 6:00 news. And out like a light by 7!
The best news about the shift is that by moving the surgery up, everything else moves up with it. The pathology meeting will now be March 18, with whatever treatment follows sooner, too. As they say in the west, pitter patter, let’s get at ‘er.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Rocked... and Rolling
The day I turned 11, my best friend moved to Vancouver. I had planned to go to the airport to say goodbye, but my parents had other ideas – in the shape of a surprise party. So, I played nice with the neighbourhood kids while Janet flew away, never to be seen again. I’ve never liked surprises since.
So, when The Dutchman ambushed me with news of invasive cancer, a week ago, it set me back on my heels for a few days. When diagnosed with DCIS in December, I wasn't surprised; I'd undergone a battery of tests, each one leading me to a more certain knowledge of what I had. But, on Thursday, I heard news I hadn't been led to expect. Now I understand a little about what my friends and family felt when I dropped the bomb on them, in January. Payback's a bitch.
But, a week later, The Dutchman’s assistant e-mailed the date for round two, today. I’ll be back on the table on March 16 – seven weeks after first go-round. My post-surgical meeting to review the next pathology report? April Fool’s!
A little perspective is a wonderful thing. I’m pleased to have a new date in hand, glad it’s far enough away that I can squeeze in a visit to Dad beforehand, and keen to get on with it. And that’s how we roll, in 2010.
So, when The Dutchman ambushed me with news of invasive cancer, a week ago, it set me back on my heels for a few days. When diagnosed with DCIS in December, I wasn't surprised; I'd undergone a battery of tests, each one leading me to a more certain knowledge of what I had. But, on Thursday, I heard news I hadn't been led to expect. Now I understand a little about what my friends and family felt when I dropped the bomb on them, in January. Payback's a bitch.
But, a week later, The Dutchman’s assistant e-mailed the date for round two, today. I’ll be back on the table on March 16 – seven weeks after first go-round. My post-surgical meeting to review the next pathology report? April Fool’s!
A little perspective is a wonderful thing. I’m pleased to have a new date in hand, glad it’s far enough away that I can squeeze in a visit to Dad beforehand, and keen to get on with it. And that’s how we roll, in 2010.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Date for a Do-over
The Dutchman can't keep his hands off me. At today's pathology meeting, he told me that the 7+ cm lesion he removed included a small area (1.2 cm) of invasive cancer. It's stage one, so still a low score on the scareometer. But it means he wants to go back for more tissue and -- totally ugh -- a sentinel node biopsy -- with an axillary node dissection, if pathology while I'm on the table shows malignant cells in the node. Shit.
So that 'cancer light' nonsense I've been so smug about is history; it appears I'm dealing with the real thing. Did I say "shit" already?
Surgery will take place in another four weeks or so (there goes IADB in Cancun), followed by radiation six weeks after that (bye bye ADB in Uzbekistan) -- or worse (arividerchi Central Bank in Rome). Oh, and a node dissection would mean I'd come home with a drain, this time. Surely I haven't said "shit" yet.
On the upside, this surgery won't include wires (though I will get the bee sting of injectable dye), I'll get more time off work without using any vacation days, and I'll get to spend more time with the BFF. Not so bad, after all.
So that 'cancer light' nonsense I've been so smug about is history; it appears I'm dealing with the real thing. Did I say "shit" already?
Surgery will take place in another four weeks or so (there goes IADB in Cancun), followed by radiation six weeks after that (bye bye ADB in Uzbekistan) -- or worse (arividerchi Central Bank in Rome). Oh, and a node dissection would mean I'd come home with a drain, this time. Surely I haven't said "shit" yet.
On the upside, this surgery won't include wires (though I will get the bee sting of injectable dye), I'll get more time off work without using any vacation days, and I'll get to spend more time with the BFF. Not so bad, after all.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
The Full Feel in the Nation's Capital
Twelve days post-surgery and I've just been felt up. It was painless.
In Ottawa for the afternoon, I hit the extra-screening jackpot going through security. Welcome to post-exploding-underpants travel. After not setting off the detector alarm -- phew, I thought, dodged the magic wand and pat-down! -- I was pulled aside for a second screening. As the naked scanners are backordered at Sears, it's the everything-short-of-a-cavity-search treatment for me. No hot guys, this go-round; it's all about the twenty-something woman in ill-fitting navy polyester.
Canadian pat-downs are certainly more thorough than they used to be (though still less thorough than the American version). I imagine those in-the-security-know believe it's more impersonal to feel the back of a hand on one's tits and ass than a palm, but it's all the same to me. So round, so firm, so fully packed. She blessed my boarding pass and I was gone, steri-strips and dignity largely intact.
In Ottawa for the afternoon, I hit the extra-screening jackpot going through security. Welcome to post-exploding-underpants travel. After not setting off the detector alarm -- phew, I thought, dodged the magic wand and pat-down! -- I was pulled aside for a second screening. As the naked scanners are backordered at Sears, it's the everything-short-of-a-cavity-search treatment for me. No hot guys, this go-round; it's all about the twenty-something woman in ill-fitting navy polyester.
Canadian pat-downs are certainly more thorough than they used to be (though still less thorough than the American version). I imagine those in-the-security-know believe it's more impersonal to feel the back of a hand on one's tits and ass than a palm, but it's all the same to me. So round, so firm, so fully packed. She blessed my boarding pass and I was gone, steri-strips and dignity largely intact.
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