So long, long hair
This is the x-ray of my chest that was taken in Arizona on the first day of February of 2009. (The one that the woman doctor must have seen before she told me I had "an exceptionally large heart!" She must have known something was up. That thing is NOT a heart!)Today, during my first visit with a Hemotologist/Oncologoist here in Florida, the doctor showed my parents and I some images that were taken via CT scan at Mayo. The shadowy guest has actually pushed my heart toward the center of my chest. It also pushing my left lung out of the way, toward the back of my ribs. As you can see in the picture above, it also beginning to intrude upon the right side of my chest. This thing is a monster. My dad helpfully (and humorously) pointed out (on the drive home) that if someone were to try to shoot me in the heart, they would miss. Thanks dad! I'll scratch that off my list of things to worry about. "Always look on the bright side of life," right? I like weird humor; laughter is good therapy. Crying has its place too. I have done a lot of both lately. Sometimes in very close proximity to one another.
The oncologist I saw today, Dr. Tun, said that the reason the tumor has been able to get as big as it has without me knowing about it is because of its spacious location inside my ribs. Apparently the chest/lung area is a common place for females of my age group with Hodgkin's Lymphoma (HL) to develop a tumor. I also learned today that the type of HL I have is called "Nodular Sclerosis." The "stage" of the HL in my body has not yet been officially determined. Dr. Tun threw out a guess though: 2b. Hey, it's better than 3b or 4b (although even people with HL of in the third or fourth stages have gone into remission and gone on with their lives). I'll take any good news I can right now. (Other good news from today is that I had an MRI ((that thing is LOUD!)) and my brain looks totally fine! Yes! I can hope to hold onto whatever amount of sanity I currently have!)
As far as "staging" the HL, there are a few more tests to be done. Most likely tomorrow I will be undergoing a bone-marrow biopsy. I've read mixed reviews on this procedure. It sounds gnarly but I'm ready. Bring it on... .....That is, AFTER I take some heavy duty pain medication and a Zanax! Dr. Tun said that this would be alright. Oh yeah....and AFTER the woman who is performing the procedure injects me with a local anesthetic. Let's be reasonable here! Torturing Anastasia is not the point! Um...so after a few more tests to make sure my body is up to it, the chemistry experiments begin. I mean, I will probably be starting chemotherapy this coming Monday. Dr. Tun has let me know what to expect.
The kind of chemotherapy I will be receiving is called ABVD. I will be given six cycles of it; each cycle consists of two treatments, spaced two weeks apart. The good news is that this mixture of drugs is the least toxic regimen. Nausea is not usually a big problem, and if it is, there are many good anti-nausea medications available. Um...I will be losing my hair, which I expected. (I am going to try to get it cut off before hand and donate it. [No hands will be severed in the process despite the ackwardness of that sentence]). Chemo does increase one's risk of developing other conditions such as Pulmonary Fibrosis (in approx. 1% of patients) but if such a bridge does appear, we'll cross it when we get there. I say, "Let's get this show on the road!" A sad thing is that I will definitely not be able to play gigs. With each treatment, my white count will plummet and I have to be veeerrryy careful not to catch anything. According to Dr. Tun, this means avoiding crowds and not eating out from restaurants.
How am I feeling? Well, like I said "ready to get this show on the road." You know, "Let's hit it." Alright, enough musician figures of speech for one blog entry. This tumor is taking up (funny how I want to admit ownership to body parts like "my heart" or "my lungs" but I have avoided saying "my tumor." I don't want it to think it belongs to me or my body I guess. "Hey can you hear me in there you shadowy pearly white grey mass of disfunctional out of control lymphatic cells?! Move it or lose it! Get a life!....er....no.....cancel, cancel.") my space and it is time for it to move on out. That is all I have to say about that.
Of course I'm nervous, especially when waiting in the doctor's office for news. Today my palms were sweating and I felt like I was on the edge of some sort of panic attack before Dr. Tun arrived. It is scary to face the unknown. But I am not going to let the energy of fear rule my life. Fear is the true cancer...the spiritual cancer. This is all a big show. It can't fool my spirit. Whatever happens on this realm of time and space is temporary. Its a dance. Its a play. Its a ride. Its a movie. Its a symbol. We feeling entities experience it as beautiful and ugly; pleasure and pain; attraction and aversion. It can be whatever we make it, to an extent. We may not be able to dodge the lemons, but, I believe that if we are imaginitive enough, if we are daring enough, we can make lemonade out of almost any lemon thrown our way.
