During my cancer journey, I was hesitant to let too many people know before I had all of the facts. Since I let everyone know I was planning on Joining the Survivors Club, there have been many questions. In this "A Year Ago Today" Series, I will attempt to answer those questions and also work out what the hell happened this last year in my own head, heart and soul. Thanks for reading and if you have any questions, feel free to ask.
A few days ago, I revealed and reflected on how I was feeling a year ago when I first found out I had cancer. In order to keep the reading amount somewhat manageable, I decided to break it up into two parts. I left off at the whole "I found out I had cancer, got ice cream and went back to work" part.
My head was swimming and I was feeling a bit numb. Mike drove us over to TCBY and I tried to focus on what I would get there. I'd had been trying to eat better (I'm always trying to eat better, really) and so I pictured some kind of vanilla ice cream with lots of fruit. Once we sat outside to dig into our ice cream, Mike commented, "After that news, I'm not surprised to see all that chocolate." Vanilla...fruit...I just found out I had cancer...who was I kidding.
As we ate our ice cream, we finally found ourselves able to form coherent sentences. We went over what the doctor had said - found it early, got it all out, stage 1a, no chemo, just a follow up with an oncologist. We could handle that. We would do everything he told us to do, get the CAT scan, wait until Friday for the report, go see the oncologist. Figure it all out before telling the world. After all, if a person had cancer and didn't know it, does it even count? If a person had cancer and didn't need chemo, are they even a survivor? If a tree falls in the forest....you get the picture.
Mike and I have always seen ourselves as a team. We try to handle everything with the best attitude that we can, move through the bad and focus on the good. That is what we decided to do that day. Move through the bad and focus on the good. From what the doctor said, the bad was behind us. When we finished our ice cream and our conversation, I decided to go back to work. I could use the distraction, I would have to ask for some time off later in the week for the CAT scan and the people I work with are my friends.
I am not sure if going back to work was the right decision. I felt like if I didn't go back, everyone would worry. However, when I did go back, I think I shocked them. I walked into my boss' office and one of my co-workers was sitting there with him. Seeing me, they figured it had gone well and that it was safe to ask how it went. I hadn't really thought about how I would answer that question. I panicked a bit and then did the simplest thing there was to do, I told them the truth. I focused a lot on the "I will be fine part" reassuring them as much as I was reassuring myself. I would need a few days off for some follow up appointments but all in all, it wouldn't take up too much time. Mike and I would just do what they told us to do and then move forward, everything would be fine. They both responded that they were sorry to hear that and they knew I would be just fine (really what else do you say?). Then I got up and went back to my desk, getting a whole lot accomplished with my new found nervous energy.
To this day, I wonder what it was like to be on the other side of that conversation. I did my best to coat it as positively as I could, but they must of wondered what I was thinking, why I was back there, if I really would be okay. The conversation had to happen at some point, so I am hoping that getting it over with right away, as opposed to going home or lying, was a good solution.
Finding out I had cancer was a complicated situation. So I kept it simple whenever possible: keep moving forward, keep going for ice cream (we had a lot of fro-yo during this experience!) and when possible do whats normal.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Teal Tuesday - Some Wedding Dress Shopping
A couple of weekends we went wedding dress shopping for my fabulous sister! Even though she hasn't made a final decision in that department quite yet, we did stumble upon an awesome sale on some TEAL bling at Charming Charlies. 50% of off clearance prices??? Don't mind if I do.....
Yup, that's a teal clutch, teal sunglasses, a teal ring, teal and pink bracelet (for September and October) and TEAL FLAMINGO EARRINGS!
Yup, Teal Flamingo Earrings. It's the small stuff people.
Now back to wedding dress shopping. She won't be wearing this dress, but I had to show you how cute she is anyway.
And of course, we can't forget the real reason behind the Teal Tuesday movement. Here are the signs and symptoms of Ovarian Cancer again. If you have these symptoms persistently for two weeks or more or a major change, go see your doctor!
Yup, that's a teal clutch, teal sunglasses, a teal ring, teal and pink bracelet (for September and October) and TEAL FLAMINGO EARRINGS!
Yup, Teal Flamingo Earrings. It's the small stuff people.
Now back to wedding dress shopping. She won't be wearing this dress, but I had to show you how cute she is anyway.
And now I know what I'm making for the bridal shower:
The resemblance is uncanny, really.
And of course, we can't forget the real reason behind the Teal Tuesday movement. Here are the signs and symptoms of Ovarian Cancer again. If you have these symptoms persistently for two weeks or more or a major change, go see your doctor!
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Monday, August 26, 2013
A Year Ago Today: I Found Out I Had Cancer (Part 1)
During my cancer journey, I was hesitant to let too many people know before I had all of the facts. Since I let everyone know I was planning on Joining the Survivors Club, there have been many questions. In this "A Year Ago Today" Series, I will attempt to answer those questions and also work out what the hell happened this last year in my own head, heart and soul. Thanks for reading and if you have any questions, feel free to ask.
The short story: A year ago today I found out I had cancer, got some ice cream, and then went back to work.
The long story:
A year ago today, I went in for my follow up appointment to Surgery #1. As I wrote about last time, my doctor typically did follow ups 4 weeks post-op. Since he scheduled this one for 2 weeks, I had a feeling I wasn't going to like what I was going to hear. I went to work that morning, Mike picked me up at the office and we drove to my 11:30 appointment in Schenectady.
When I got there, I was taken straight back to the doctor's personal office. No exam room to sit waiting in, just a desk and a few chairs. The doctor pulled his chair around to the front of the desk. He spoke quietly and slowly, oh so very slowly. He summarized our short history together, from diagnosis to surgery going step by step through the whole thing. As he slowly worked his way up to what he actually wanted to say my heart was racing and my bones ached with nerves. In my head I was screaming, "Say it, just say it. I know you're going to say it, just get it over with." I knew what was coming, how could I not? It was just taking so damn long.
The overly kind doctor took my hand, he looked me in the eyes, he said something like the bad news is you have cancer, the good news is, we caught it early. He diagnosed it as stage 1a, that it was contained and that he got it all out. He told me stories of his patients who had gone through the same things, how they were healthy, fertile and still alive 20 or more years later. He assured me his tears were only a match to mine, that it wasn't that I had a terrible diagnosis, it was that he hated to see his patients cry. He said, "You will be fine, you will do well. Very well." Over and over. "You will be fine. You will do well."
With legs that were not my own, I walked back out of the office and to the receptionist. I handed her the paper with boxes checked and scientific terms scribbled out in the Doctor's terrible handwriting. There were tests to schedule and appointments to be made. She looked at the paper, she looked at me. Her eyes reflected the sadness and fear that must have been in my own. She filled out another paper for me to take to the scheduling nurse. She wrote that I would need a CT scan and a follow up appointment with an oncologist. She filled that out and then wrote across the bottom, in all caps just like this:
And that was when shit started feeling real. It was the first time I really saw and felt the words. I took my paper back to the scheduling nurse and got the CT scheduled and was told my information would be passed on to the oncologist's office for them to set up an appointment.
We left the office, back outside into a beautiful sunny day, passing by people who weren't in the medical arts building to hear they had cancer. I looked at them as I walked out, wondering what their news would be, what they were there for. Was it just a routine visit? Were they going to hear great news? Would they, too, hear bad news? How was the world still moving and people still going on with their days? What would my days start to look like?
Mike and I got back in the car and just sat there, staring straight ahead, wondering what to do. There was so much to do and so little we could do all at the same time. He wanted to me to tell him what I needed. I wanted to fast forward through all of it, so that it was a day I was looking back on, not going through. But I had to go through it, I had to feel it, I had to make a decision. So I made the easiest decision I could. I told him there was a new TCBY and I wanted to go have some ice cream. Then, I did what was comfortable, routine and familiar. I went back to work for the rest of the day.
The short story: A year ago today I found out I had cancer, got some ice cream, and then went back to work.
The long story:
A year ago today, I went in for my follow up appointment to Surgery #1. As I wrote about last time, my doctor typically did follow ups 4 weeks post-op. Since he scheduled this one for 2 weeks, I had a feeling I wasn't going to like what I was going to hear. I went to work that morning, Mike picked me up at the office and we drove to my 11:30 appointment in Schenectady.
When I got there, I was taken straight back to the doctor's personal office. No exam room to sit waiting in, just a desk and a few chairs. The doctor pulled his chair around to the front of the desk. He spoke quietly and slowly, oh so very slowly. He summarized our short history together, from diagnosis to surgery going step by step through the whole thing. As he slowly worked his way up to what he actually wanted to say my heart was racing and my bones ached with nerves. In my head I was screaming, "Say it, just say it. I know you're going to say it, just get it over with." I knew what was coming, how could I not? It was just taking so damn long.
The overly kind doctor took my hand, he looked me in the eyes, he said something like the bad news is you have cancer, the good news is, we caught it early. He diagnosed it as stage 1a, that it was contained and that he got it all out. He told me stories of his patients who had gone through the same things, how they were healthy, fertile and still alive 20 or more years later. He assured me his tears were only a match to mine, that it wasn't that I had a terrible diagnosis, it was that he hated to see his patients cry. He said, "You will be fine, you will do well. Very well." Over and over. "You will be fine. You will do well."
With legs that were not my own, I walked back out of the office and to the receptionist. I handed her the paper with boxes checked and scientific terms scribbled out in the Doctor's terrible handwriting. There were tests to schedule and appointments to be made. She looked at the paper, she looked at me. Her eyes reflected the sadness and fear that must have been in my own. She filled out another paper for me to take to the scheduling nurse. She wrote that I would need a CT scan and a follow up appointment with an oncologist. She filled that out and then wrote across the bottom, in all caps just like this:
And that was when shit started feeling real. It was the first time I really saw and felt the words. I took my paper back to the scheduling nurse and got the CT scheduled and was told my information would be passed on to the oncologist's office for them to set up an appointment.
We left the office, back outside into a beautiful sunny day, passing by people who weren't in the medical arts building to hear they had cancer. I looked at them as I walked out, wondering what their news would be, what they were there for. Was it just a routine visit? Were they going to hear great news? Would they, too, hear bad news? How was the world still moving and people still going on with their days? What would my days start to look like?
Mike and I got back in the car and just sat there, staring straight ahead, wondering what to do. There was so much to do and so little we could do all at the same time. He wanted to me to tell him what I needed. I wanted to fast forward through all of it, so that it was a day I was looking back on, not going through. But I had to go through it, I had to feel it, I had to make a decision. So I made the easiest decision I could. I told him there was a new TCBY and I wanted to go have some ice cream. Then, I did what was comfortable, routine and familiar. I went back to work for the rest of the day.
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