News worth reporting

Just one item, but it's pretty special: my 6-month post-op checkup with my oncologist yesterday: She gave me an "A"!* All is well, after 6 months.

*She literally gave me an "A." I wore the adorable tiny leather-bound Lab Notes necklace (for good luck, because my kids gave it to me) and she signed the first page with the date, "A," and her name.

A wonderful use for this precious little gift. I've already made a note to wear it to the next 6-month check-up.

I had not realized (as usual) how anxious I had become over this check-up - largely because I just ignored it until the night before, thus ensuring I'd have a really lousy night's sleep, until I got home afterwards and just collapsed. I barely managed to stay "up" - if you don't count a 10-minute half-snooze in my chair - until my usual bed-time, and though I got a solid 7 hours in last night I can tell I'm going to need a nap today. Funny how I seem to have this wall I hide my anxiety behind so I can carry on as though normal on the other side of it - until the source of the anxiety has been resolved, when it runs around the end of the wall and comes to beat me to a pulp.

The human mind, what a thing, eh?

Brain-stretching

Had the surgery yesterday and I'm home again already. Sore, slow - lots of naps, no lifting, but HOME.

After those few weeks of trying, inside, to prepare for the worst, I got the best: apparently there's no - "very minimal" - invasion of the cancer into the uterine muscle wall. The surgeon didn't even take the lymph nodes she'd planned on taking. There is a chance I'll have to go back and get those out, if the final path report indicates the need. I'll hear from the surgeon probably by Monday about that. But she's very, very good, very smart and I suspect if she had the faintest doubt, she would have taken them yesterday. And, since they think this cancer is estrogen-fed, not even any post-surgical hormone therapy.

So - on May 24th I got the first warning from my body that something was wrong. On June 18th, I get the cancer diagnosis. On July 13th, I have the surgery. As far as we know today, July 14th, I'm cancer-free. That's 50 days. No wonder my head is spinning. It's going to take some time to process this. Fortunately I seem to have quite a bit of time coming up.

How did I get so fortunate, in this and in my friends and family?

The hanging drop trembles

Still no word on my car, but at this point I'm not going to worry about it until later this week. Tomorrow's my surgery and my anxiety level yo-yos in a slow oscillation. Trying to tidy up around here, prep stuff for when I get home (though several people have either told me or written in their blogs that the operation itself is routine and post-op discomfort is minimal, and I'm really not scared of the operation), and keep my mind occupied - though I can tell when the anxiety's working in the background because I do things like completely forget I don't have a car while cheerfully writing up a grocery list. I am so fortunate to have such a golden friend who will come by later to take me to the store AND go with me to the hospital tomorrow!

Tick tock...

The red flag.

That's it. You may have to look very very closely before you see it.
A tiny dot.
A tiny RED dot.

This is not a subject I would choose to address in a blog post. But it might be important to someone else so here it is:

If you are a woman who's past menopause for a few years, and you see that tiny red dot in your panties, and if there is no known reason for it - see your doctor. NOW. Put everything else aside, because nothing is as important as getting to your doctor. 

Post-menopausal female plumbing should not bleed. Not at all. Not even such a tiny amount as that itty bitty red dot like the one above. That tiny red dot is your body doing the best it can to wave a gigantic red flag in your face: get help now.

I did, last week, and Thursday I heard those words you never expect to hear: "It's cancer."

So everything else gets set aside and I go to a succession of medical pros, and at this point we know it's Stage Grade 1 endometrial adenosarcoma. ["Grade" and "Stage" are two different things, describing different things. Grade I means it's the least aggressive form, it takes the longest to spread. Until the post-surgical analysis, we won't know what "Stage" it is - this is the familiar "Stage I, II, III, and IV" which tells us how far it has or has not spread]*.  I'm going to get a CAT scan in 3 days that will tell the surgeon more. We know I'm going in for a complete hysterectomy July 13th, and after that they will be able to tell whether it has spread, whether I'll need chemo and/or radiation, exactly what that nasty bugger is doing/has done. 

I was scared until I could see the oncologist yesterday, who would relate to me everything they know so far. I'd have moments of existential dread and despair, alternating with long periods of not thinking about it, going about my usual daily business. 

But the dread is gone now; I know what it is. I know what we're going to do about it. I don't know what will come after that, but I will, as time passes. I have a lot of hope that catching it "so early" (as every one of the medical people I've been to see said) means they can get it all with surgery. I have a lot of hope that even if that's not so, it hasn't gone so far that we can't still kill it with medical science. I even have a lot of hope that if it eventually kills me, I will still be able to remember what an incredibly lucky life I have enjoyed, and what dear, loving and loyal family and friends I have. 

But if you see a tiny red dot, and you know it shouldn't be there - see your doctor NOW.

This isn't going to become a Cancer Blog. I might mention it now and again but I hope to have other more interesting and fun things to post.

My kids gave me a tee shirt before I got the diagnosis. It says, under the atomic symbol:

"Keep Calm and Trust Science."

That's my motto these days.

*I edited this Monday, June 22nd to make it more accurate.