Tardy doesn't even begin to describe it

Okay, I suck. I told Baldylocks I'd post 5 random facts about myself like a month ago, and I'm just now getting them here. But alas, my friends, here they are, in no particular order.

1. I love photographs. Even when I'm fat, (which is, by the way, right now). I'm not sure if it's that I love to pretend I'm famous or that I love to have particular moments captured or if it's that I'm a closet sentimentalist, but no matter, I'm obsessed with having pictures of me and the people I love. And, evidently, my cleavage, too.

2. I want at least 2 more tattoos. I've been stalling on this, but I'll have a koi tattoo before 2008 is over.


3. I think I might be the reincarnate of Eazy-E. I'm just sayin.

4. I miss my friends. Mandy, Kelly, Amanda. We've lost touch since I was diagnosed with cancer. Not sure why this happened, but I wish it wouldn't have.

5. I almost messed up the best thing in my life. That is, I almost missed my first date with Bobby. I was like an hour late, and he was on the brink of leaving, when I finally showed up. Lucky for me he was patient and sort-of forgiving. But he did stick around and we ended up having an amazing first date, which has led to me realizing I've met the man of my dreams. Aww.

That's it for me, folks. I'm here till Thursday. Try the veal.

-MM

Hodgepodge, I suppose

Since it's been so long since my last post, I have quite a bit to post on. So today's title is pretty appropriate for the theme.

Woo! It's been hard to get into writing on this blog this summer- I've just been so into the whole vacation thing, I think I took a vacation from everything!

So, I'm kinda all over the place. Just get ready- my writing is probably gonna be pitiful.

School is quickly approaching and though I'm excited about my second year of teaching, I have to say I could use another 9 months of vacation. This is pretty different from the "old me," the workaholic who couldn't get enough on her plate. I look back now and I'm not sure what that stemmed from, except that I've always loved being busy and challenged, and when a job stopped fulfilling either one of those, I'd either go out and get an additional one or replace the first one altogether, although I really did more of the former than the latter, which explains why I never had just one job. Teaching, though, is definately more than one job, and it has been successful in keeping me way too busy and challenged to the point of pulling my own hair out. On a single day, a teacher is not just a teacher, but a nurse, a counselor, a mother, a tutor, a liasion, and a confidant- not to mention the administrative duties of the job, which, let me just say, at least equal the task of hearding blindfolded cats on rollerskates through Disneyland.

I've spent quite a bit of time this summer getting some of my lesson plans, etc., in working order and ready for the upcoming year. But mostly, I've spent time just getting my head right. My head and my body. I have spent every moment since surgery really focusing on whatever it's gonna take to get me as close as to pre-cancer/pre-Interferon me as I possibly can. And, I'll tell you, I'm pretty proud of how far I've gotten. After a total renovation of my diet since June and the ability to sleep 10 hours a night, I've got more energy than I've had since August 2005. Another thing I think that's also helped has been laying off of running and giving other stuff a chance. Running has always been a passion, but let's face it- it's rough on the old lymphadema. Instead, I've been taking boxing, "I'm-gonna-knock-you out-cause-mama-said-knock-you-out" style, and though I'm no where near ready for my first fight, I'm having a blast doing it and really feeling the benefits, too. I also bought a bike today, and I'm looking forward to really dedicating myself to that for a while, seeing where that goes. They're not running, but they are a fun alternative for now, and as I get in better shape, I'm sure I can pick up running slowly and be able to enjoy that again. And the ability to do more physically is really doing great things for my mental state, too. It's amazing what physical fatigue will do to your mental state. Having friends who look at you like Mandy is looking at me in this photo will also mess with your head. ----------->

San Diego definately helped, too. Wow, to be back in my old spot and leading my old life for a week or so- that really gives you a glimpse at how much things have changed. I love my life in Dallas, but it's been built around healing, predominantly. It's been good, and given me a chance to focus on my health. It's also given me my life with Bobby, a great place to live, stability, and my career, which I never coulda gotten so easily in San Diego. But it also gave me a glimpse at the parts of that old life that I miss and want back, and I've been working on that, too. Just having a social life and girlfriends and having a great time being irresponsible and drinking too much every once in a while- stuff that I've put on the back burner because I was too sick to leave the house or too tired after a long day of work- I'm making it a point to get to a place where they are just a normal everyday part of my life again. Because, don't we all know it- life is too damn short not to do that stuff. It's amazing the clarity that comes with psychotic jealousy, isn't it?

So, we'll see. I'm making it a serious point to put my real life first, and that means I've got to remember those priorities about making each day worth remembering.

Bobby came down the last 4 days of the trip, and we had an awesome time in Vegas. I can't wait to post the pictures!

This post seems a little all over the place... and random... but kinda fun to get you caught up on all things going on. Coming soon- photos from Vegas, baby! The mecca!

-MM

p.s. Do you know what it's like to fall in the mud and get kicked... in the head... with an iron boot? Of course you don't, no one does. It never happens. It's a dumb question... skip it.

GREAT NEWS!

Ok, we are stunned, speechless, literally.
Not only did the oncologist just come in to check on Lori, he also brought the path report.

NO MELANOMA!!!!!

When the oncologist did the PET scan, he was 99% sure it was melanoma. 1% baby, crazy odds, but we'll take 'em!

We don't know what to say or think. We didn't expect any news until Friday. We can't thank everyone enough for all of your prayers, thoughts and well wishes.

Stunned. Completely Stunned.
More to come...
Bobby

A small view into the life of melanoma

Guest post, Bobby here.

Holy Crap!!! I have a little story for any of you cancer survivors out there, heck even those of you that are loved ones, friends, family, pizza delivery guy, whatever.

I have a little story for you and it goes something like this. It may wander, but it has a point, trust me.

When I was but a little lad my dad took me on a fishing trip. On said fishing trip, I, being the manly type (not really) took my shirt off for the day. If you don't know me, I'm a freckly type kid, now freckly type adult. Yes, I got a sunburn, a BAD one on that fishing trip. My shoulders and back were especially toasted. I got home and my mom freaked. She was screaming about skin cancer and how you don't want that. I thought, eh, no big deal.

Flash forward to a couple of months ago when Lori and I were checking each other for moles, let's keep it clean people. Anyway, she said there was a couple I should have checked. So, I made an appointment with her dermatologist, the aforementioned Dr. Beautiful in a previous post.

I rescheduled a handful of times and I know why. I was scared. "What if's" were running through my head. So, I finally made an appointment and kept it. I told Dr. B. the story and he said take off my shirt, unlike Dr. Gomez who can have your pants off in under 2 seconds...I digress.

He takes a look and says "Oh yeah, we've got a couple of winners here. They need to come off." Now, if we compared pain tolerances, mine would be in the wimpy section while Lori's is in the tough as nails section. Anyway, I didn't know he was going to do it right then and there. But he did. He froze one off that's a rather large area on my shoulder, said it was fine and it will fall off. Still hasn't, but I think it's getting there.

But the other one on my lower back was suspect and he wanted to cut it off and send it out for diagnosis.

Now, this is where this blog will tie together. They said in about a week I would know the results and I'll be honest, I tried not to think about it. So, a week later I get a phone call from a number I don't recognize which I don't answer, standard procedure. But as it's going to voicemail I get this nervous sensation and I thought it was the Dr.'s office calling. It was.

Here's what the nurse said on my voicemail: "Hello Mr. Frrrriiissskkeee, this is the nurse from Dr. Beautiful's office. I need to talk to you about your results from the mole we sent off for testing."

AAAAGGGHH!!! My anxiety went through the roof. The last time I had to wait for results like that, I of course didn't answer and on my voicemail they said everything was fine.

This was crazy anxiety. I don't think I've experienced it before like this. So, I quickly call back and the nurse is at lunch. So, now I have to wait until she gets back.

Heart pounding, check.
Nervous sweats, check.
Freaking out...priceless

When she calls I'm practically shaking. She tells me it's mild dysplastic nevus (spelling?) and everything was fine, but to keep an eye on it. whew.

What I'm trying to get across to people who don't have cancer is, I cannot believe the amount of anxiety something like this produces. It was enough to make me a nervous wreck for one tiny mole. And you people here that are fighting cancer, waiting for diagnosis, updates, pet scans, MRI's, doctors reports or even just waiting after treatment... Well, it takes a special person to take all of this in stride and us people need to realize how much of a toll it can take on our loved ones fighting this crappy disease.

Lori's getting ready to go in for surgery and I'm still dumbfounded by how she can take this in stride. I would be a nervous wreck, instead I'm in denial, that's supposed to be funny, but true.

I have (another) whole new take on how things are.
I hope that makes sense.

A quick Lori update... She'll probably be in 3-5 days depending on how things go. The wonderful Mandy, best friend of Lori's and all around good person is coming in from Cali to help out.

After Lori recovers she's heading to Cali with Mandy and hopefully we're all going to meet up in Vegas sometime before school starts back up.

Lori sends her love. To all of the people out there who cancer has affected, I say this,

F CANCER!

Peace,Bobby

Thank God it's Doomsday

Thank God for my job. I say that because lately it's been the only time I don't obsess about whether we'll do radiation or surgery. Not that it matters, really. Why am I so concerned about this? In a way it feels silly. I mean, it's not like I'm sitting around waiting to find out if I have cancer or not. The truth is, I know it's there. And I feel like we'll do whatever it takes right now to get rid of this, and then continue to be vigilant and fight it whenever (did I say whenever, I meant IF ever) it comes back. When I say it like that, it seems like no big deal. And yet it's eating up my thoughts, always there in the back of my mind, nagging me. Like a big, "What IF?" The crazy thing is I've never felt like the what-ifs in life were worth pondering. Why waste that energy? Now, it feels like it's all I do. What if..... That's different for me, as a person who has lived her life fairly fearlessly up until now. I've never been much for limiting any activity due to fear, including things that I probably should've been more afraid of. Maybe I've been in denial this whole time, acting like I'm immortal, acting like nothing can hurt me, diving into the moment despite the little fear that was there. It's worked, though! I've always felt very alive, and now, here I am, realizing just how human and fragile I can be. And it's overwhelming, of course. I try to just be myself and at the same time grasp these new feelings. Sometimes I'm a basketcase. I cry at the drop of a hat. I cry in the bathroom at work. I've had the same headache for 3, 4 weeks now- the type of headache I have to take Vicodin to get relief from. But, it's a process. I'm working through it. I'm a healer, I'm healing. I'm a freakin' machine. A healing machine.
Bobby and I had an argument yesterday- ok, more like a disagreement- about vacationing this summer, and I swear I thought I was losing my mind. We had essentially decided that plans we've been making all year are not going to happen. I felt like we don't even know what we'll be doing in the next 5 years, how many times we'll be fighting cancer, when I'll have to be in the hospital, when we'll have another chance to just go and do. I threw a fit. Do you know how long it's been since I pulled a "I'm locking myself in my room" fit? High school at least, maybe even jr. high. Good God. I really did come near to a break down. And I finally just let myself cry and lose it and feel sorry for myself, and after about an hour of that, I felt better. Like way better. I don't know why I fight being so human like that, but it's ridiculous. If I would just accept my feelings for what they are, it'd be a whole lot easier to move on from there. Just a bit of advice for the rest of you Wonder women out there.
Thank God for Gilda's Club. I come full out on Thursday and say I'm happy my cancer is back- o.k., not happy, but you know, relieved- and almost everyone in the room said they knew how I felt! Where else can you get that? I don't think I could even pay a room of people to be that convincing.
Thank God for all of you. I really don't know what I would've done if I hadn't had so many of you writing me, calling me, posting comments. Emails full of advice. Emails that brought tears to my eyes. Emails from complete strangers that offered their home to me and old me their own stories that are so similar to mine. Beautiful stories of hope. I sincerely can not thank all of you enough. I can't list all 109 of you right now, but just know that you're loved.

More scans have been ordered. I'll let you know what they say. Thank you again for all that y'all do.

-MM

Jack Sparrow is my co-pirate

I really have tried to blog the last few days, but I think I needed the time to process things. I'm here now, though with an update. I haven't even had a glass of wine, which is a good thing because I'm on my lunch break. Sacrificing good sandwich time for the betterment of bandwidth everywhere. Or something like that.

I saw the surgeon a few days ago. He is a young guy, but I have to say that despite his youth, he immediately impressed Bobby and me and he took all the time I needed (another Parkland no-no) to answer questions. He pulled out the Grant's Anatomy book to show Bobby and I where exactly this iliac node is, how close it is to the bowels and the aorta and such, and told us what kind of surgery this would be - "not one requiring a lot of finesse," as he put it, but a surgery that would require 3-5 days in the hospital and be very hard on my body, as I'm sure most surgeries are. "A questionable surgery when you consider the level of morbidity associated with it," I think he said. Essentially, he wants to confer with the radiologist and make sure this node can be totally and utterly fried crisp before we make a decision, but if it can be, then we'll take that route. The surgery, yes, would give us a chance to actually dissect the node, but, on the other hand, my leg is swollen enough already, and I'd like to lead as normal a life as possible (analap, for your acronym people out there). With consideration as to how the lymphadema would increase, he said that by removing this node and even just minimal lymph material surround it, he suspects my leg will double in size. So, let's just hope that we find out the radiation can be targeted and strong so that surgery is a definite out.

As far as emotionally, I don't really know what to say. I COULD say a lot of words, but none of them would make my mom proud, and just in case she reads this blog, I think I should hold off. I left the hospital yesterday saying, "I just want to be left alone," as in, I just want cancer to go away and never come back so I can have a normal life. But this isn't normal life, anymore, as I've been reminded. This is "The New Normal." So, I'm trying to just deal with that. In a way, I don't know why I'm so broken up about all this.

Uggh. None of this makes sense. Hopefully the next installment will. I'm gonna watch RENT now. That always helps. :)

-MM

Could you come back in a few beers?

Well, I guess it's time for an update. Not sure if I'll get through everything I have to say, but here's a start nonetheless. I have an appointment with the surgeon on the 26th. The surgeon will be able to tell me whether this lymph node can be removed by surgery (hence the word surgeon) or if this will have to be handled with radiation. I've had a lot of people telling me that I need to get a 2nd opinion, and so I'm making an appointment at MDA. MDA, as in, you know, like the best cancer treatment center in the south. THE MDA. The problem, though, is this: how will I get treated at MDA? It's not like I'm going to be able to afford the out of network co-pays/deductibles/etc. Plus, how will stay there for 6 weeks when that's what type of radiation we're looking at? It's an outpatient treatment, I don't know anyone in Houston, and I don't make enough money to pay for that kind of hotel bill. It's a lot to think about. I guess I could work the corner. Some guys are really into scars.
For now, I guess we'll just take it one step at a time, and that means I'm only thinking of the appointment next week for now.

Bobby and I are both handling the news pretty well. Amazingly well, actually. We both keep saying, "Is it wierd what a relief it is to be fighting cancer again?" It's something only a cancer survivor can understand, I think. You just don't know until you've been there. It's the new abnormal, people. Sitting around waiting for it to return when every doc you see tells you it's most likely coming back will drive you up the walls. Knowing that it's here and it's really just one lymph node and that we can treat it, that's a relief. I know. I can't explain it.

Still loving the new oncologist. I called and left a message yesterday that I had a few questions, and I'll be darned if the buger didn't call me back today. I went through the whole list of what I've been wondering: am I a stage 4 now? is the cancer in my blood? how long would radiation take? what would surgery look like if we're able to do it? do fish have eyelids? what's your favorite Olive Garden entree? We weren't on the phone long, but he was very willing to answer all my questions and even told me to call him back tonight or tomorrow if I thought of more. This is just a whole new ballgame for me. The Parkland Oncologists talked to you with one hand on the doorknob and one foot out the door. It just feels like such a totally new level of care and I can't imagine getting anything better elsewhere, as false as I know that to be.

Anyway, that's about it. I'll go ahead and plug my TNT fundraiser that I'm doing for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society in case anyone is interested in that. It's a great cause!
http://www.active.com/donate/tntntx/tntntxLLee

As for now, I feel pretty okay, surprisingly. I've been thinking a lot lately, especially since Mary's death, that we don't just don't know much about this little life. Does it begin at birth and end at death? Or are we just assuming that because we tend to think of ourselves as all-knowing? Just something that's been rolling around in my head.

Okay, well, I'm all over the place tonight. But I'll be back as soon as I know something.

-L