Suffice it to say that the rarity of the occurrence happened to coincide with the fateful meeting with the Doctor-Formerly-Known-As-Doctor-Ferragamo-Now-Known-As-Doctor-Pliner (he was wearing very smashing Donald J. Pliner souliers aujourd'hui) to review the results of the MRI This Gal (i.e. Moi) had on August 9. This MRI, dear readers, was to give insight into how successful the treatments were in holding back the growth of Il Tumore, The Tumaaaaaaaaaaa, The-Growth-In-My-Head-That-Is-Evidently-Not-Going-Away-And-Not-Paying-Rent-Either (beotch). To say that I was anxious about this meeting would be untruthful and I have been keeping busy these past few days -- as my energy levels have allowed -- by completing projects that have long been bellowing my name. Clearing/cleaning out the entire basement: check (three-day project, that!). Washing the windows: check (thanks for your help, Drew!) Clearing out the bookcase: check. Clearing/cleaning out the dining room: check. You get the picture.
First of all, each of the people waiting for radiation treatments or to see an oncologist was much older than I am. Significantly older. Secondly, most of these people were also grossly overweight. Now, dear readers, I do not say that to sound judgmental. Quite the contrary. I say that from a health perspective. It got me to thinking that while I did smoke for many years (yeah yeah - I KNOW - shitty, awful habit; I should have known better blah blah blah), other than that, I did take good care of myself. I was a gym enthusiast, I ran for a while, I ate well, kept a steady weight and a healthy one at that -- again, you get the picture. And so, as I sat there gazing around the waiting room, it dawned on me. Why me? Cancer. Not just once. Nooooo. Twice! And twice in 18 months. I mean, W---T--- F??? Now, before some of you kind folks protest and shout "Hey! Lots of people have had it much worse than you!" or "At least you're not a child!" or "Be strong! No self-pity at this point!" and whatever other declarations you may rush forward to make, I came to the crushing realization this morning -- in the waiting room and then tearfully in Doc P's office (as he looked on with mild bewilderment) -- that this whole experience has finally -- finally -- just hit me. Square in the solar plexus. Right between the eyes. In my head, my heart, my brain, my psyche, the very core of my being -- my soul. The whole concept that "HOLY SHIT. I have a F**KING brain tumour." And that it is not going away. I have to live with this beotch. F**K. Kiss my astrocytoma, indeed.
And while I have written about it and about life not being the same, I think I finally made the actual emotional connection today. Better late than never, I suppose. Ah yes. So the news. Right. The MRI showed that the tumour has not grown. According to Doc P/F, this is good news. Evidently, with the kind of tumour I have (it can be rather aggressive, beotch that it is), the key thing is holding it steady. So, the treatments -- and all your kind thoughts and prayers -- succeeded in holding that malignant malingerer at bay. Giddy up! And profound thanks to you all!! And as Drew's Papa-san so graciously reminded me, one GOOD step down.
So, come this Monday, August 26, Phase 2 starts and that's the double dose of The Big Blue Pill, aka The Titanic Teal Tablet. T Cubed. Sounds like a new hip hop artist. As Doc P/F reminded me today (and I had already done the research -- lesson learned), the arc of when I might feel the effects may be different, the whole appetite, fatigue thing will be variable and like before, things might taste like I'm licking the inside of a rusty tin can. Brunch or dinner anyone? Hey, it could be worse I suppose. I will get through the physical stuff. That part is just one component and as always, thinking of the whole Glass-Half-Full philosophy (my glass is currently full ... of wine. So there! Pfffft.) To be perfectly honest with you, I wish I had some weed. Now THAT would be pleasurable. Did you know that the state where Drew and I live offers legalized medical weed? I need to pursue that with greater zeal. Sanjay Gupta approves. I digress. So yes, chemo for the next six months. MRI's every two months to check on Il Tumore and hopefully, the prognosis will remain as is; e.g. Beotch hasn't put on any weight. Hmmmm .... I need a name for my new persona. My pal R offered up a couple of options (I must admit, I almost peed my pants ... you must admit - they are laugh-out-loud funny!) Look familiar?
On a psychological note, I really need to come to grips with the fact that I have a terminal illness. I know, I know. I can hear some of you now. "Think more positively!" "It's not a terminal illness; it's just an annoyance. Deal with it!" or better yet, "It could be worse -- you could get hit by a bus tomorrow!" God forbid! (Love that one). I understand folks want to make it better by adding perspective and reminding me that I could have it a lot worse. The reality, dear readers, is that I have a tumour in my brain and yes, I really am trying to be positive every single day. I continue to focus on the here and now, to be thankful for every day, to put things into perspective and especially about what and who is important. And yet, I need to find a way to finally make peace with the fact that I have to live with this thing in my head. That it is officially a part of me, of who I am and yet, that I do not want it to define me -- at the risk of sounding repetitive. And with all that said, it does change everything. I cannot deny that it doesn't. To say that life goes on exactly the way it was is delusional at best. I suppose it's like any other adjustment; only this one has a wee bit more at stake.
As I come face to face with my own sense of mortality -- as somber as that may sound and again, at the risk of a reprise of the "yeah, but you could get hit by a bus" statement -- please know that I have no intention of dwelling upon how much time I left. I suppose it's the realization that life really is fragile. That I have taken so much for granted. That I have never had to stop and think about my own mortality. Why would I, after all? I have been in good health, I'm young -- relatively speaking -- all of that. And so, to find myself staring at It, having to live with It, and especially now on a daily basis ... well, this will take an adjustment. And having grieved many times in my life -- for my parents, dear uncles, dear friends, my brother -- I accept that grief is also part of the natural process and so, I must allow myself to grieve the fact that life as I know it really will be different. Only then can I emerge on the other side, stronger, happier, at peace with all of this. Ignoring all of these feelings and pretending it's all OK, that nothing has changed is simply not healthy. I've been there before, many years ago and thus know whereof I speak.
And so, for the moment, Cancerella (aka me) will celebrate the good news and yet, rest and rejuvenate. Face my demons. Make "friends" with the Beotch and then prepare the warrior princess to begin the next phase (gosh, I sound like freakin' Sybil. How many personalities will I have for God's sake??). All kidding aside, thanks for reading, for listening and as always for your love, support and prayers.
And the journey continues.
Cancerella, Buderello, and the Perpetually Confused Kitties
xoxoxoxoxo