Barry Manilow Can Lift Anyone's Spirits

There's nothing better than seeing a 70 year old man strut his stuff on stage to make you feel alive!! Chris' sister, Hilary, turned 41 last week and Chris bought her tickets to her favorite singer's concert ... none other than Barry Manilow! Leave it to Chris to get seats on the floor of the Sovereign Center in Reading, in the 5th row!! I've never been on the floor for any concert, no less the 5th row. Barry was sweating on us - that's how close we were. IT. WAS. SO. MUCH. FUN!

 

You don't realize how many Barry Manilow songs you know until he starts singing them and you are singing right along. He showed one clip on the big screen of him on American Bandstand in 1975. I wasn't even born yet and 35 years later the man is still performing. It's enough to get your ass off the couch. If Barry can do it, so can I!!

 

Meredith, Chris, Marcia and Hilary at the concert

 

Ever the performer, Barry even had three costume changes!

The Big Dig ... in my Uterus

The Plan is in place. I feel calm and confident that we're making a wise choice by going to Boston and having Dr. Gargiulo do the surgery next week.

God is also reaffirming the fact that this tumor must be removed. It's growing again. My recent blood results were 0.7 then 2.2 then 5.3. Yesterday's was 7.4. As my friend Ronda said, "Get that mother out!"

Chris and I will fly to Boston on Tuesday, September 11. (Really, to Boston, on 9/11 and it's a Tuesday. Great, just great.) I have a pre-op meeting and my mom will fly up later that night.

Surgery is scheduled for 7AM, Wednesday, September 12th. It should take about 2 hours. I will not have to stay in the hospital overnight. We will stay at a hotel just around the corner.

Chris will stay with me until Sunday. It means he's missing a lot of work, which is difficult for him, the rest of the staff and most importantly the patients who will have to be rescheduled. But just like my office, OAL has been wonderful and understanding. I need him and everyone knows it. I'll be so thankful that he'll be by my side.

I have to stay in Boston for one week so I can see Dr. Gargiulo for a one week Post-Op visit and have my blood levels checked. Hopefully the hCG will go down as soon as the tumor is gone. My mom will stay with me the remainder of the time after Chris goes back to Lancaster. She too will be missing a lot of work. She's been so thankful to all my "Special Friends" who helped by taking me to and from chemo treatment all those months. Marcia was my right hand man. So Mommy has generously offered to take a week and half off to tend to me now. I'm so happy for the help.

That's the plan. Don't get me wrong, I would rather fly to Aruba and stay in a hotel there for a week, but I hear Boston's operating rooms are beautiful this time of year. I'll just be happy to be rid of this little fucker that's overstayed it's welcome.

Boston Meets Italy

There's nothing like flying to Boston and back in 24 hours. But in great Cooke fashion, Chris and I managed to cram a lot into one day. We wanted to get our money's worth after shelling out $700 in airfare for the day.

The most important part: the appointment. There's always a funny story when Chris and I travel. We arrive at Brigham and Women's Hospital but can't located Dr. Antonio Gargiulo's office. We head to the Help Desk where a wacko was happy to help. She had hair out to here (imagine how big I'm making my hands), a frizzy mess with eyeglasses tangled up in there. She's wearing a long skirt and a big nose. She's sounds like she's from Long Island, if you know what I mean. When we ask where Dr. Garguilo's office is she looks right at Chris and says, "Oh! Don't be jealous, but he's a real looka' - All the women love him. They say he's so handsome."

Chris just smiles and blinks at the lady. Great, thanks, what do you want me to do with that information, really just tell us what fucking floor he's on. Filling the silence, she follow up, "You'll wanna head to the third floor [flauw] and turn right." And so it begins.

Once we finally get to the office my stomach starts up in knots. I ask the secretary where the bathroom is and I camp out there for like 15 minutes. It wasn't pretty, but I just get so nervous. This is Big Girl shit and sometimes I can't handle it. Eventually we see Dr. Gargiulo and I immediately felt more calm. I think I like to be around smart people. Once he started talking I could tell we were in good hands. I feel as though things can not go totally awry if you have intelligent people making good, clear decisions.

He starts talking ... Yes, he can do the surgery. He's done hundreds of uterine resections. Yes, the left fallopian tube has to come out. But, yes, you will still be able to conceive. No, you don't have to stay in the hospital overnight, but it is a 2 to 4 week recovery. He did a wonderful job of "selling himself." We were really there to pick him more than he was there to pick us. I don't know that women are great at this, men seems to excel at it more: bragging without making it seems like bragging. He clearly and calmly stated he's the leader in this type of surgery, he's the Director of Robotic Surgery at the Harvard Medial Center, he's never a problem where he had to abandon using the robot halfway through and do an open surgery requiring a big cut. And he's never lost a uterus - meaning he's never had to do a hysterectomy because something went wrong. I was sold. Plus, he said this all in an Italian accent - because he's Italian, like from Italy Italian, not like the Rannazzisi family Italian. I've always liked pasta and pizza, but I've even more Pro-Italy now.

(Note: the man is fine looking, but the lady gushing at the Help Desk was unnecessary in my opinion. Let's put it this way; I wouldn't go out of my way to come up with a fake story and a fake interview just to check him out. I may or may not have done that to a certain bone doctor once, but that can't be verified.)



(Note also: No one can say his name. It's Gargiulo. Like Nicole Gargiulo that went to Smithtown High School. Say Gar-JEW-lo. If you grew up in Lancaster you can pronounce Stoltzfus with no problem, but Gargiulo seems to turn into Gar-GHOUL-ee-o around here. Not a lot of Italians running around with the Amish.)

We needed a day or two just to roll everything around in our brains. In great Chris fashion, we are taking our time, weighing all the options and not rushing into a decision Philly guy vs. Boston guy.

In the meantime, we had to cram in some history. Boston was, after all, a hot bed of activity during the Revolutionary War. We toured the USS Constitution, AKA Old Ironside. It's a 3-mast war ship built in the late 1700's and she still floats today. It was a great distraction from the heavy stuff of the day and Chris always enjoys learning something new.

 

On top of a history lesson, we had an amazing meal at a fun French Restaurant right along Commonwealth Ave, Deuxave. (Another tough pronunciation. They say Dew-AHV. I say DUX-eh-vee) Tomato, tomato, either way, it was delicious. Katie was in Providence, Rhode Island and came to Boston to meet us. Fun to laugh and talk, more proof there's nothing a bottle of red wine can't fix.

Did Someone Say Cosmo?

It's about that time ... the drinking time. Actually, I've been off the wagon for about a month now. It's easier to count the sober days than the drunk ones. (Just kidding, Mom. Don't flip out.) After months of not drinking, I'm now able to imbibe again. We thought it was worth some documention:

 

I don't know why this picture is so yellow, but that's the moment of my first drink (or two) in more than 6 months. Perhaps Miller Light was not the best choice, but you go with what you know. Chris refers to this as "M. Minus" - similar to when people call Lutherans "Catholic Light."

 

So the verdict?? Dee-lish-ous!! "So good when it touches the lips!" (Name that movie?) Despite being an alcohol-light-weight at this point, I did not get a buzz from two beers. Instead, I had a small headache the next morning. This is the difference between being 22 and 32. The chemo couldn't have anything to do with it.

But that's just a BEER...

 

So Joe Mitton shared my first COSMO with me at dinner at Macaroni Grill. He - typically an ice tea drinker - even upgraded to a Gin and Tonic just to celebrate with me. Bring on the booze, baby! I'm back!

Remember When I Got to Zero? I'm Not There Anymore

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.

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.

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.

 

 

The best part?!?! It was a DRINKING MARATHON!! A Yuengling Lager marathon, no less! Woo Hoo!