Cancer: “I’m back! Muahahahaaa”
Me: “You want some more?? Bring it, you little biotch.”
So maybe in real life, I’m a lover, not a fighter. And any of you who know me at all are probably giggling a little bit at the above hypothetical conversation between myself and cancer, because everyone knows that all I really want is peace and love and laughter (awww). But when it come to cancer, I’m one bad ass mofo. So watch ya self.
Here’s the deal. My cancer is back. Yep, that’s 2 cancer diagnoses before the age of 30. I don’t have the stats in front of me, but it’s safe to say, that like never happens. So folks, you’re reading the blog of a super human or an un-super human…depending on the way you look at it. Congratulations.
I’m starting this blog primarily because I want to be famous…and hopefully get on the Ellen Show…and possibly The Doctors. While I’m at it, I guess I’ll share my story and experiences with those of you who are interested, and hopefully make you laugh while I’m doing it. So, here it goes…
First, I must apologize to anyone who is hearing the news of my cancer recurrence via this blog. If I was able, I would have called (or at least texted) each and every one of you and personally told you. But, obviously, I couldn’t do that. I’m sorry.
Let’s get down to the diddy. Earlier this month, I had a PET scan because my bloodwork kept on showing elevated tumor markers. The PET showed a suspicious lymphnode along my internal mammary artery. Because of the location of the lymphnode (behind my chest wall and close to my lung and implant), I had to have surgery last Wednesday to remove and biopsy it. The biopsy came back positive, thus, Sweet T v Cancer Part Deux commences.
I’ve spent the last week or so out at my parents all hopped up on percocet, soaking all of this in and recovering from what my surgeon described as “feeling like you were stabbed 3 times up on the streets of Mt. Washington”. For the record, that kind of stuff doesn’t happen in my neighborhood. And if this is really what being stabbed feels like, it’s not that bad any way…at least not when you have narcotics readily available and some pretty awesome friends and family around to take care of you. Today, I’ve made peace with the situation, and I’m ready to kick some cancer ass. Again.
Let’s do it to it. Tomorrow morning, I’m headed back to AGH to get a portacath put in. That’s basically an artificial vein that will stay under my skin all through treatment so I don’t have to be stuck by one million needles over the next few months. It also looks like a small extra terrestrial is growing under my collar-bone, so don’t be alarmed when you see me next. Over the next couple of weeks, I’ll be starting chemo. Yes, I’m going to lose my hair…just like last time, 14 days after the first treatment, it’s going to start coming out by the hand-full. No one WANTS to lose their hair, but to be honest, I don’t really like my hair right now anyway. Plus this gives me a really good excuse to drink excessive amounts of booze and have my girlfriends over for a party. After chemo, I’ll have radiation. I didn’t have radiation last time, so I’m not really sure what to expect. I know that when they removed the lymphnode where all the cancer cells were, they left a “clip” so that they could direct treatment right to the exact spot where the cancer was/is. Doctors are so god damned smart.
Until next time…Peace and Love, my friends and lovers. I’m accepting positivity in any form you would like to send it…thoughts, vibes, prayers, pens tickets, visits, notes, songs….