I feel like I've led two lives this week. The beginning of the week felt like "hurry up and wait." I've been so anxious to go to Boston. So anxious to hear what the specialist there has to say. So worried about chosing between the two and so impatient wanting to simply pick one and get this over with.
Now, at the end of the week, it's all moving so quickly. In the last two hours, I've received my lab results, got a phone call from Kristin at the cancer office, an e-mail from Dr. Goldstein - the original doctor in Boston, then just got off the phone with Dr. Evans urging me to get the tumor taken out sooner rather than later. The bloodwork was bad.
Three weeks ago, my beta hCG registered a 0.07 - damn close to 0.00. I didn't have my blood draw the week of our anniversary, but went back to the lab last week. It had gone up to a 2.2. Kristin tried to keep me from flipping the F out by saying 2 is still considered "normal." Well there's nothing normal about the shit living rent free in my uterus!
Today's level: 5.3!! Are you kidding me? Are you kidding me? If this continues, at some point I'm going to need chemo again. Really this just confirms the fact that the tumor is still active. Even after repeated courses of 5-drug chemotherapy that tumor has the audacity to be spreading cancer again. How rude.
So it is with great speed that I hope we get to Boston, get a second opinion, get on a surgeon's schedule and get that little fucker cut out. While I'm so desperate to have a baby in my uterus, right now I just wish my uterus was empty. Hopefully a good doctor with great hands can get us there.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Philly: The City of "Doctor-ly" Love
Each year, Lancaster Magazine asks people of the county what they love and hate the most about Lancaster. Last year, readers said they loved me as the Lancaster County Reporter - a huge honor. (When I got to the checkout line at Giant Supermarket and purchased 37 copies of the magazine that listed me as #1, the woman said to me, "You must be in this magazine, huh? Lancaster Magazine isn't interesting enough to buy this many copies.") Each year they also list what people hate the most about Lancaster. Nearly every year "Traffic" tops the list.
These people have never been on the Schuylkill Expressway or anywhere on Long Island. Let me tell you about traffic. Chris and I had a 3pm appointment with a specialist in Philadelphia. We left 2 1/2 hours for a ride that should take 1 1/2 hours. Thanks to bumper to bumper traffic we were 30 minutes late. Ask a doctor how he feels when you beg for an appointment and then show up 30 minutes late. Chris will tell you ... it's not good.
I called ahead and let the scheduler know we would be late. Despite our tardiness and a nurse telling us they had already "no-showed" us, Dr. Thomas Randall met with Chris and me. First we talked with the resident - an "almost" doctor. I gave her a complete rundown of my health and our situation. If you had recorded it and played it back, it would have sounded like I was an "almost" doctor too. I'm all "the tumor is located between the endometrium and the myometrium" and "a wedge resection under ultrasound guidance done arthroscopicly would probably be optimum." Even I was impressed. But after I spilled my guts to Miss "Almost" Doctor, we had to do it again to "The Real Doctor."
Here's how God works in strange ways: because we were so late to the appointment we were now the last appointment of the day. During our in depth discussion about what we should do with the little fucker of a tumor, Dr. Randall remarked, "I'm glad you're the last patient so we have plenty of time to talk about this and mull over the options." I felt encouraged when he also said, "This is a very rare case. It's keeping the day interesting all the way until the end." He seems genuinely interested in my case and taking good care of us.
Bottom line: he says he can do the surgery. I asked if his wife had this and he had to do the surgery on her, how confident did he feel? He said totally confident. That's pretty good if you ask me. Now, of course there are risks in cutting out just a part of the uterus. We went over those and I quietly freak out on the inside. He also mentioned I would lose the fallopian tube on the left side, making that ovary useless. This disappointed me because I was hoping I could keep all the "inner workings." But I guess that's why God gives you two - you only need one. Lots of questions to answer there, but hopefully those will get answered in the next few days.
We told Dr. Randall were heading to Boston for another opinion. He wished us well and told us to be in touch. Chris and I thanked him and got into the elevator. As soon as the silver doors closed, I started bawling. Poor Chris looked at me with sadness in his eyes. He could tell I was sad and nervous and overwhelmed. He hugged me until we hit the ground floor. I'm all good when I'm talking a mile a minute or focusing on "left, right, left, right," but in that moment it all hit me like a ton of bricks.
We were home in Lancaster just a few hours later and Chris held me tight when we went to sleep that night. It will all be okay, he says.
Now we just wait to fly to Boston Friday to do it all over again.
These people have never been on the Schuylkill Expressway or anywhere on Long Island. Let me tell you about traffic. Chris and I had a 3pm appointment with a specialist in Philadelphia. We left 2 1/2 hours for a ride that should take 1 1/2 hours. Thanks to bumper to bumper traffic we were 30 minutes late. Ask a doctor how he feels when you beg for an appointment and then show up 30 minutes late. Chris will tell you ... it's not good.
I called ahead and let the scheduler know we would be late. Despite our tardiness and a nurse telling us they had already "no-showed" us, Dr. Thomas Randall met with Chris and me. First we talked with the resident - an "almost" doctor. I gave her a complete rundown of my health and our situation. If you had recorded it and played it back, it would have sounded like I was an "almost" doctor too. I'm all "the tumor is located between the endometrium and the myometrium" and "a wedge resection under ultrasound guidance done arthroscopicly would probably be optimum." Even I was impressed. But after I spilled my guts to Miss "Almost" Doctor, we had to do it again to "The Real Doctor."
Here's how God works in strange ways: because we were so late to the appointment we were now the last appointment of the day. During our in depth discussion about what we should do with the little fucker of a tumor, Dr. Randall remarked, "I'm glad you're the last patient so we have plenty of time to talk about this and mull over the options." I felt encouraged when he also said, "This is a very rare case. It's keeping the day interesting all the way until the end." He seems genuinely interested in my case and taking good care of us.
Bottom line: he says he can do the surgery. I asked if his wife had this and he had to do the surgery on her, how confident did he feel? He said totally confident. That's pretty good if you ask me. Now, of course there are risks in cutting out just a part of the uterus. We went over those and I quietly freak out on the inside. He also mentioned I would lose the fallopian tube on the left side, making that ovary useless. This disappointed me because I was hoping I could keep all the "inner workings." But I guess that's why God gives you two - you only need one. Lots of questions to answer there, but hopefully those will get answered in the next few days.
We told Dr. Randall were heading to Boston for another opinion. He wished us well and told us to be in touch. Chris and I thanked him and got into the elevator. As soon as the silver doors closed, I started bawling. Poor Chris looked at me with sadness in his eyes. He could tell I was sad and nervous and overwhelmed. He hugged me until we hit the ground floor. I'm all good when I'm talking a mile a minute or focusing on "left, right, left, right," but in that moment it all hit me like a ton of bricks.
We were home in Lancaster just a few hours later and Chris held me tight when we went to sleep that night. It will all be okay, he says.
Now we just wait to fly to Boston Friday to do it all over again.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Mom Sent the Finish Line to Me
Well I know my mom is reading the blog! I have no idea if this silly, little website is helpful to anyone but her and Grandma. Or if it's really just therapeutic for me. But I'm enjoying it none the less. Brian Roche says his family members are a bunch of blog readers ... so it's nice to know you're loved.
I know Mom loves me because she sent me a silver hug in the mail. Remember when I wrote about the finish line and being wrapped in a foil blanket like at a marathon. Well, she sent me one. I started crying as soon as I opened it up.
Mommy was there in 2004 when I ran my one (and only) marathon in Harrisburg. I don't think she thought it was such a big deal until she got there that day. It took me just shy of five hours to run that beast. I don't think she thought it was going to be that long. She made good use of the time though, going to Mass for an hour at the Cathedral in Harrisburg, while I continued to run.
My college girlfriend, Lisa Melillo (now Harris), ran the race with me. And by "with me" I mean ahead of me - waaaayyy ahead of me. She finished in 3 hours and something. I think she already stretched and did her cool down by the time I got to the finish line. So when I finally crossed and they wrapped me in the foil blanket, I called it quits. No stretching, no cool down for me - just sat wrapped in the foil blanket for a long long time.
I've been doing a lot of just sitting lately too. But at least now I can do it in a foil blanket. Mom's friend from work is a runner and gave her this to send to me. I love it. So simple but so meaningful. We're getting closer and closer to the finish line. Thanks, Mommy.
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| The best part?!?! It was a DRINKING MARATHON!! A Yuengling Lager marathon, no less! Woo Hoo! |
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