welcome to the danger zone

Rainbows and Unicorns and Hummingbirds Pt. 1

I bet that title got your attention.

This particular title was spawned by a discussion with my dear friend who has had her own experience with the C-Monster and the ensuing chemotherapy. After sharing the good news that no new or residual tumor could be seen during my exam today, she was quite cheerful about the upcoming good times with chemo. Then she mentioned unicorns and rainbows and those particularly perky hummingbirds. Which led to a discussion about rainbow unicorn poop cookies and the consumption of girly drinks and the resulting rainbow hurling that would occur from an excess of alcohol and said unicorn treats. It’s a celebration that I look forward to enthusiastically.

Yes, it’s true, after today’s poking and prodding and multiple health interrogations, it was confirmed that the removal of my uterus and all its attachments was successful and that no residual or new tumor growth was found in the dark recesses of my vagina. Oops, I said vagina again, without a warning. I apologize for that, dear readers. So with the sounding of the “all clear”, I now move on to bunch of cool tests with giant expensive machines that make me fervently thankful I have health insurance. Once the magical testing is completed, the dates of which will be revealed to me on Wednesday, I will be “randomized” into the clinical trial I am participating in. That means that I will either win just chemo or a chemo-radiation combo in the clinical trial lottery, dearlings.  I am not sure which I would prefer – the thrill of being injected like a giant turkey with an infusion of toxic chemicals that will seek out any remnants of the C-Monster, or getting a lesser dose of the poisonous elixir capped off with a blast of radiation, sort of like a nuclear cherry on the top of a cell killing sundae! Who knew I’d get to have such a surprise in store for me?

I know I make all this sound so enticing that even I can hardly wait for the party to start. It’s still all very unreal, and you don’t quite grasp the implication of a lot of the little decisions I need to make. Like do I waste money on a badly needed hair cut, or wait until the chemo takes care of all the hair. Do I trust Andy to draw eyes on the back of my bald head? Can I successfully alter the instructions for the crocheted monkey hat intended for babies for my big head? Will it be hard to convince the Dr. to schedule my chemo for a Friday so I can spend the weekend heaving instead of say, a Tuesday? Will Opie take his spot as VP for the club, or will Jax have to find someone else? Oh sorry, SOA detour there…

I’d like to once again address this perception that I am dying because I have a stage three cancer. Dr. Kesterson’s street team gave me “the look” today when they read my chart and saw the diagnosis. I know they were just practicing their compassion skill set, but I hate that look, or that tone in someone’s voice that sounds like I just showed them my funeral plans. My Drs. are pretty confident that I am not, I don’t think I am, and it’s kind of annoying to have everyone else planning my celebration of life. Although I have to admit, the highlight of the Dr. appointment today was when the nurse who was helping out in the office today asked me “are your periods regular?’ and I said no, they are not, and then she asked “what brings you here today?’ and I said…um, I had a hysterectomy on December 22nd and she said…”oh that would explain why you don’t have regular periods”. Yep, the pipes are removed and the water turned off. Sweet lady, but she should have read my chart first. Then she could have given me the “oh, your poor dear” look first instead of later.

Oh my, sweetlings,  I have suddenly become quite tired. I guess it has something to do with the fact that it is 6 am, and I have yet to sleep.  I will have to come back and do part 2 tomorrow. Rest easy my friends.

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