Final Cancer Scan

Last Thursday was the 'big event.' After a series of blood tests, an oncologist visit, I was on my way to the Methodist Hospital, nervous and anticipating the full-body cancer scan. 

I'm not a big fan of needles and the nervousness grew waiting for the assistant to appear in the small room.  Wearing a hospital gown, sweating and thinking. Pacing, humming and examining the sterile room did zero to calm my anxiety. Needles and tomb-like contraptions that constantly clang (making a gal wonder if a weird entity is doing its best to join in the fun) happens to not be on my favorite activity list.

I admit it. I overreacted on the before thought of the scan but I did mention that I'm not a big fan of being stuck and entombed. 

Overall, it wasn't so bad. She injected a glucose solution into my veins and said "no reading or thinking." What? I was supposed to remain calm with no worries? 'Yep', she had the nerve to say. The brain has the potential to use the glucose. If the brain consumes its fill before the tumors get a bite, it's another dose. Tumors are 'hungry lil buggers' and relaxing - not thinking - would give 'first nibbles' to the life invaders. 

Say no more. I'm calm. With the help of the glucose, my mind went to another zone – sugar euphoria. The glucose injection made me feel as if I'd eaten a large holiday, carb-filled meal. Blissfully, in a sugar sleep state, remembering only 1% of the ordeal, it was divine.

Afterwards, the 3-hour wait for the oncologist's results went fast. My hubby is the 'bestest.' He kept me entertained. I know bestest is not a word but it's my word to describe him. Throughout my cancer ordeal, my hubby has been a constant companion. Keeping the schedules organized for my treatment, he'd wake me up every morning to the smell of coffee and breakfast. Reminding me to 'pop' my anxiety pill and connect my IPOD, he'd whisk me to the car, urge me to sleep during the ride to the appointment, deposit me at the radiation sign-up desk to begin treatment and then he'd wait. After treatment with a drink and snack for me in his hand, we'd begin the journey home, I'd sleep, and he'd begin his workday. Not once did I hear him complain. 

I've always known. He's my fiercest defender. Without a glance or verbal acknowledgement to offenders, he'll stand by my side. I've often asked him why he doesn't see a friend anymore and he'll say, "Why? If someone has the audacity to be rude to you…that person isn't a very good friend to me." That's my hubby. He's my protector helping me survive life.  With his help, I survived cancer. My hubby is my best friend. He is the 'bestest.'

In the oncologist's office, once again anxiety reared its ugly head. My hubby picks up an outdated magazine and begins to read out loud events that happened years ago. Giving him my desperate look, he grins, "What?" Without saying a word, he knows. The magazine dear…how old is the darn magazine? He promptly shows me the cover and informs me that it's not outdated but a 'classic.' He continues to read. We are laughing when the doctor comes into the room. She's impressed. Another example on what I mean about my hubby being the bestest. Left on my own, sitting here waiting, I'd probably burst into tears, thinking the worst and now I am laughing about a magazine, before my oncologist gives me news about the results. 

When she smiles - I know. When she begins the congrats - it sinks in. I'm cancer-free.

I did the happy dance down the halls of the Methodist Hospital. Those who really know me know I care less what others think, and by the way, that counts double when I'm in a happy mood dance mode. If you're a stranger and I'll never see you again, that counts triple, so the happy dance continued down to the parking garage. My motto: Life is too short; don't let others steal your joy!

Dancing down to the car, my hubby smiled. He cares less what others think too. Loves the child in me. Loves me for being me. He loves to see the cancer-free happy dance. I'm a lucky gal!

The oncologist stated the symptoms I am having as normal for radiation in the orbital area:

1)      Occasionally upon waking, noticing the left-side/under the eye/ bruise discoloration and swelling.

2)      Upon waking, left-eye tears. Tearing helps to protect the retina.

3)      Energy level not fully recovered. Recommends rest. Finding a positive outlet for exercise to increase the energy level.

4)      Headaches relieve with Advil.

5)      Hair and lashes continue to slightly thin. No worries. Both will come back.

Waterfall

A life is an endless stream.
Yeah there are rapids
but most people don't get to the waterfall
well we did!
We will fight together
to get through this endless nightmare.
Together we will fight this
and make it back safe from this waterfall.

Last Radiation Treatment

Today was my last radiation treatment for Orbital MALT Lymphoma. The doctor quoted a time span for the radiation to leave my body, 3 weeks. I'm looking forward to stop wearing sunglasses wherever there are fluorescent or bright lights, being able to enjoy the sunny days outside, wearing make-up and obtaining my energy level again. 

In the beginning, silence in dealing with cancer was the best alternative and then, my daughter and closest friends encouraged me to share my experience with others. To be honest, I was petrified of having OML, worried that people would maliciously gossip and I'd walk into a store, meet an individual and discover horrific rumors circulating around town – already one foot in the grave, hairless, blind in one eye - you name it. Ha-ha. With the help of loving friends and family, I decided to swallow my pride. 

One certain friend, KBL, was the main inspiration. Sending wonderful personal prayers, her faith in God, truly touched my heart. She is the most beautiful individual – inside and out – and her faith inspired me to reach out to others. Reaching out to friends was the best decision. Thanks to all of my wonderful friends for being there for me!  Suffering with a small group isn't the answer. Sharing with others has been the best solution to seeing me through these uncertain times. 

Researching on the internet was the main factor on creating my blog for OML. Frightening information about the disease sent me into frenzy. Was it true or false? The best way to arrive with the truth was to write about my experience. Being an asthmatic, claustrophobic and vain woman relating her experience with radiation treatments had the initial drama of the posts I had read on the internet.  I wanted to write truthfully about the mask, the radiation treatments, and debunk misinformation. I sincerely hope that the blog will help other OML patients on their journey to healing, giving faith and encouragement.

Wagging the mask through the medical center and to the parking garage was an uplifting walk. It was mine to do with as I please. The radiation team laughed when I asked about making it a piñata. Hanging it from a tree and using a big stick seemed a perfectly normal reaction to a claustrophobic and asthmatic individual who has not gotten warm and cuddly with the snap down mask. Found out, it's next to impossible to shatter the darn thing into smithereens so….decorating is still on the agenda. Ha-ha. Stay tuned for the created mask – scary or sweet – who knows?

For those with OML: Recovering from radiation treatments, around my left eye, it looks as if it has sunburned and there is a feeling of a dull ache.  The information from the doctor: the redness will worsen during the healing period and itch. It's important not to rub or scratch the eye. Cataracts are on the agenda. No hot or cold packs for the eye so sometimes I cheat with a quick swipe of very warm water on my face during the shower. (I'll be so glad to hold my face under the shower and let the water flow.) Absolutely NO make-up applied. Didn't realize metals are in make-up and the chance of melanoma is increased. Sunglasses worn outside and during shopping since the eye needs added protection. The skin is dry (all over body) and the radiation team handed out samples with coupons and recommended a lotion, Aquaphor.

The Vain Thing: The first thing I do each morning is to look in the mirror to check to see if my bangs and eyelashes are still intact. So far, the bangs have thinned a bit but my lashes are still batting. I'll definitely blog if upon waking one morning my bangs, splotches of hair or lashes disappear. Ha-ha.

In six weeks, a scheduled MRI scan to guarantee I'm cancer-free and I know the waiting for the end results will be the hardest. I'll fill my days with a little primping, enjoying the sunshine, pruning roses and catching up on gardening. Time will go by quickly if I stop to smell the roses and remember the love and support that's in place for my recovery. I'm so thankful for my supportive hubby, friends and family. My life is sweeter and richer because of 'you.'  

Since today was my last day of treatment, the tradition at the Methodist Hospital is to take a photo and read out loud to those in the waiting area an affirmation written on a plaque that's hanging on a wall, and then ring the bell three times. After a round of applause, hoots and congratulations for completing treatments, and with the mask in tow, I whispered a prayer for those still fighting the battle of cancer.  Walking out of the double doors, I looked up at my hubby, smiling, "Ladies and gentlemen! May I have your attention, please! Brenda, has now left the building."

On my doorstep, a gorgeous arrangement of lilies and freesias welcomed me home. My thoughtful and sweet daughter with these loving words of encouragement touched my heart. 'Congratulations on your last treatment! Your bravery and strength has amazed me. You are truly an inspiration to me and I am so lucky to be able to call you my mother.'  In an adaption to Romans 8:31, if my family and friends are for me, who can be against me?  I am ONE LUCKY gal!

Self-Pity by D H Lawrence

 I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself.