The Mammarazzi

At the six month check-up mark, I should be having a follow-up mammogram.  But, because The Dutchman is watching something on my left side, we're getting out the high res gear right from the start.

I'm getting way better at these MRI thingies.  Jockette was my date for a late evening appointment in the digital imaging lab.  With the schedule running behind, we had lots of time to play Angry Birds, laugh at the ignominious hospital fashions (ain't nothin' sexier than two hospital gowns, knee socks and street shoes -- no matter the gender!), and catch me up on office gossip, since I'm on vacay, this week.

Of course, that also meant that the 2mg of Ativan I took on time was past its sell-by date when they finally called me into the cavern of despair.  So, I popped the additional milligram I saved from last time(!) and trotted happily off to spend a half-hour face down stuffed half-naked inside a toilet roll.

I'd forgotten how loud the machinery is.  I'd forgotten what it feels like to lie completely still for 30 minutes.  I'd forgotten how great it feels to get it right the first time.

But, I haven't forgotten The Dutchman's hotness index.  Ten days 'til I get my next fix... oh, and the results of the MRI.

TTC - Part Two

I'm two for two with one remaining.  The Burn told me, today, that I passed with flying colours.  So much so that she doesn't need to see me again.  I know she'll keep tabs on me through The Pill and The Dutchman, but that's one less appointment on my book for the next round of check-ups in six months.

Now I psych up for 2mg of Ativan and an MRI.

The Titty Committee

It's been seven months since treatment ended, so it's time to visit The Pill, The Burn, and The Dutchman for my first round of check-ups.

So far, I'm one for three:  after only five minutes, The Pill gave me two thumbs up and a 'scrip for another six months' worth of Tamoxifen.  Take the dice and roll again.

Next up:  The Burn.  Watch this space.

The Year of Living Cancerously

I reunited with The Dutchman, this morning, to receive the results of last week's mammogram.  (Good thing the man doesn't have to take my pulse when I'm with him:  still so hot!)  It's a year ago tomorrow that I had the mammogram that kicked off this little adventure.  My results from last week:  all clear.

I'm scheduled for an MRI in April, so we can keep tabs on the left side, but there's nothing to worry about.  I'll see The Pill on September 7, so he can provide me with a fresh supply of Tamoxifen.  And The Burn wants me to pop by in March for a look see, but otherwise, my social calendar won't involve much Princess Margaret anymore.

I came, I saw, I kicked its ass.

Pancakes

Mammogram day, so pancakes for breakfast.

Among the less obvious benefits of being generously endowed is that mammograms don't hurt -- they're barely even uncomfortable.  But, I was a little apprehensive about how my right breast would feel during the squishitude.  Three surgeries might have made it a little... um... sensitive.  In the end, it made no difference at all.  Four images -- two on each side -- and I was out the door.

Next stop, a reunion with The Dutchman to learn the results.  Six more sleeps...

I'm Over It

My plan to win the lottery didn't turn out quite the way I'd hoped on Friday.  I won, but a free ticket, rather than a major cash prize.  So, I went back to work on Monday.

I was welcomed back by 450+ emails in my inbox, and a few colleagues in the hallways.  Unfortunately, my boss couldn't find the time to stop by and say hello.  Eight hours back, and it's like I've never been gone.

Heigh Ho, Heigh Ho...

It's back to work I go, on Monday. Ugh. Sayonara siestas; hello kitty withdrawal.

The top three reasons why having cancer beats going to work are:

• you don't have to wear a suit to have cancer
• no one tells you how they would have cancer
• no one jockeys to replace you, when you have cancer

I fully expect to struggle with returning to a regular routine, after being without one for a couple of months. Alarm clocks and bedtimes and torpor, oh my!

There are two more lottery draws before the new work week begins, and I'll spend this afternoon at the track, so there's still hope of avoidance. Baby needs a new retirement plan.