The Light

Woke up so early this morning...today's appointment and an uncompleted vacation to-do list occupying massive real estate in my subconscious. Dozed off and on until the alarm went off at 6:30.

Ken had an exam to give today, on the eve of Morningside's Spring Break, so he showered, gulped a cup of coffee and bolted out the door early.

I was left to take a leisurely shower, which, try as I might, I couldn't crank hot enough to melt the ice in my veins. I mentally ticked off everything I needed to accomplish today including the questions I would try to remember to ask Dr. D. Then, I quickly dressed, did what I could with my hair and got off to an early start myself, knowing I had to leave work shortly before noon for my Cancer Center appointment.

Since my blood draw was scheduled for 11:45, I headed to my car about 11:40...plenty early enough considering the fact that you can almost throw a snowball from the United Center parking lot to the Cancer Center. Well, not when you park underground, I guess, but whatever. Checked in right on the dot and Charity still remembered my name which was comforting. Oddly enough, though, that place that had been like my second home for nearly a year and a half suddenly felt different...it was kind of like I was silently intruding in someone else's second home. I saw a lady sitting across the lobby, wearing a stocking hat and pink jacket. She looked nervous and uncomfortable. I noticed her scratch her head several times and could telll that her hair was just in the process of falling out. That was me, little more than a year ago. But that is not me now. Life goes on, and the same scenes repeat themselves, though with different players.

Typically you can get right in for the blood draw part of the Cancer Center routine. But, lest I forget what life is like there, I managed to find myself sitting and waiting for 30 minutes, just for someone to come to the port room to draw my blood. Again, I couldn't help noting how quickly we forget. I had forgotten that when I sit in the blood draw chair, my feet don't touch the floor. I had forgotten that, unless you grab a mint just prior to them sticking the needle in your port, you will feel an immediate wave of nausea when they do it. Holding your breath and not swallowing helps, but still...

And, back in the waiting area, I had also forgotten that unless you look for a solitary seat, away from people, chances are, you will leave with much more knowledge of someone's personal medical situation than you may have ever cared to possess.

Once my pager signaled that the nurse was ready to see me, I hurried to the back, anxious to get the afternoon behind me. Blood pressure good...but, yikes, another 6 pound weight loss. I was hoping that Dr. D. would just gloss over that since I'm no longer in treatment, but was pretty sure he wouldn't. Headed back out to the reception area to wait. And wait. And wait.

Finally heard those indelibly etched words...Catherine Stueve to Medical Oncology. Catherine Stueve.  My turn to see the doctor. I wasn't too nervous at that point yet, because I knew I would still have another 20 - 40 minute wait in the back. And, I did. But finally...

Knock, knock. "How are you doing Mrs. Stueve? Thanks for waiting. You lost 6 more pounds." I kid you not. Almost first words out of his mouth. We had a lengthy discussion on that, recapping all of the many, many things he had tried in his quest to figure it out. PET scan, sonogram, pelvic/pap, mammogram, visit to endocrinologist, colonoscopy, Barium x-ray of the colon, numerous chest x-rays...stop already. Bottom line, he would like me to take some medication that will help me gain weight. I can't see the point...not now...so I opted out of the opportunity. So then he asked me to consider enrolling in a clinical trial for ginseng as an aid for cancer patients with excessive weight loss. All he asks is that I think about it. I said I would.

Beyond that, my white counts are still below normal, but slightly higher than before. My cancer marker test was normal. I am in remission. Did you hear that? I AM IN REMISSION! I asked him when I could get this port removed from my body. Because people with my type of cancer have such a high rate of recurrence during the first 2-3 years, they usually leave them in. However, there is an increased risk of blood clots and they have to be flushed every six weeks. He said it was my call. I said I want it out. So...I will be able to have it taken out. Not sure when, but sooner rather than later. Worst case scenario, he said, is if it comes back they put the port back in. So be it.

When the nurse came in, Dr. D. was telling her the whole scenario about all of the tests he had done trying to figure out the weight loss issue, and he jokingly said, "Maybe I should send you to the airport and have the TSA agents take a look." I told him I am going to be there tomorrow if he wanted to do that and we had a good laugh about that. He suggested I tell them that my doctor can't figure out why I'm losing weight and ask them if they see anything to let him know. How funny.

And one more thing before I left...he said that the radiologist who read my last x-ray indicated that he noticed some fluid buildup in my lungs. I was totally unaware of this. Dr. D. listened to my lungs carefully and said he didn't hear anything, but wanted me to have another x-ray, just in case. So, I did. He'll call if there appears to be any problems.

And that was it. I was done. No tests scheduled. Nothing. I have to come back in a couple of months. For now...I'm claiming the light. When I set foot on that island tomorrow I will officially consider myself to have stepped outside the tunnel and into the light.

At some point during the next week, I will try to post some photos and, who knows, maybe even my decision on the future of this blog. I can't believe we're actually headed to the ocean tomorrow. WOW!

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined. - Henry David Thoreau

Later