One More Request??

I'm sorry I've been a little MIA on the blog. I've been too busy celebrating. Here's an update and one more request:

Can you believe I'm cancer-free??? I can't either. After all that ... it seemed so simple. Just cut out that spot in my lung. Duh? Why didn't we just do that in the beginning?? Still grappling with that question. Some of my queries may never be answered. And most days now, I don't even care! I'm just happy I'm cured!

So am I reeeeaaaaalllllyyy cured? I'm not 100% sure. But I don't think I will ever been 100% sure. I think that's the black cloud that all cancer survivors live under. However, no black cloud is going to keep me from celebrating. I've gotten so many serious hugs - like long, hard, meaningful hugs. Most times I love it, other times friends squeeze just a little too hard post-chest surgery. But let's be honest - compared to chemo - a hard hug is nothing!

After the hcg drop, I did eventually talk to an actual oncologist. The doctor from Sloan Kettering, Dr. Aghajanian, said she was so happy about my dramatic hcg drop too. Now the question was chemo or no chemo. She called while I was shopping so I took my cell phone to the most quiet aisle and crossed my fingers. I knew Dr. Aghajanian would eventually describe how my next few months would go - with drugs or no drugs. She said, "You could go either way. It's 50/50..." (ugh) "But after all the chemo you've had, I don't think more chemo will help." (YES!) "Let's watch your hcg, come back for the three month CAT Scan and if it all looks good, we'll consider you cured." (You got it! I can certainly do that!)

I'm so relieved. The prospect of more chemo would have been daunting. My hair is growing in, it's summertime, and with a <2.0 hcg it would have sucked to go back to the drugs. So for now, it's all about getting stronger and healthier again.

My feet are still numb. I hope the nerve endings regenerate. It hurts to stand for a long time and my poor tootsies are always cold. But again, without cancer, who gives a shit about cold feet?!? Not me. It's all bonus ... I'm just happy to be alive.

But there is one other bonus I would be so blessed to have - a genetically Mer and Chris baby. If we are meant to have our own actual child carried by someone else, I would be forever grateful. If it's not meant to be, I will adjust. I'm just happy to be here. But this could be a big week. 

Chris and I went to see a Fertility Specialist last week. While you might think I have a this all planned out already, ie: surrogate, IVF, adoption, gestational surrogate, domestic or internation baby - I don't have anything planned. Mainly because I couldn't plan. Chris and I were careful not to have too many conversations about things we weren't ready for yet. Chris kept saying, "Let's just get you well first, then we'll worry about that." So now it's time to worry about that. 

Because I really know nothing, I had a lot of questions for this fertility doctor. Three of four Oncologists said my ovaries are probably dead. Ugh. This is terrible. I hear them saying this, I just don't want it to be true. But too much chemo is too much chemo. It might be too much poison for any eggs. However, it turns out this is not just a opinion thing. There is a blood test that will tell us if my ovaries are still working. A simple blood test that picks up two necessary hormones. I had that test last week and the results should come back this week. Could I be selfish enough to ask for even more prayers that my ovaries are ok?? I am trying to prepare myself for a big, fat no. I will be devastated (counseling, here I come) but in my gut I still feel like there is some hope. 

Even the readings at church on Sunday seemed to be pointing in the right direction: 

Romans 5:3-5; We also glory in tribulations, knowing that tribulation produces perseverance; and perseverance, character; and character, hope. Now hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who was given to us.

So I'm saying my prayers and keeping my fingers crossed. I know it might be asking a lot, but it would make me as happy as hearing "Pucker Up Buttercup." Can I get two miracles in one month? I hope so. 

"Pucker Up, Buttercup!"

I've known for a full day. I think I just feel a little nervous to put it in writing. 

I THINK I'M CANCER-FREE!!

Can you believe it?!!??! I mean, can you even fricken believe it????? I can't. But here's what I do know for sure.

I had surgery last Tuesday. There are so many funny surgery stories that I will save those laughs for later. The Sloan Kettering doctor called and asked me to get my blood drawn on Tuesday. My dear friend, Jeannette agreed to take me to the lab because I can't drive yet and then we would go to lunch. After I fill five tubes of blood we call Kristin at the cancer office. I told her I got my blood drawn and that it would be about a hour before we got the results. I asked her to call us when she got the numbers. 

Kristin asked how I was feeling post-surgery and wanted to know what we should expect with the numbers. I had thought about this too. The last beta hCG was 49.1 on Monday, April 29th, right before the surgery. I explained to Kristin that no one told me what to expect. Maybe it would drop a little bit, maybe in half to 25, a beta hCG of 10 or even 5 would be amazing! But I told Kristin if she called back and said my hCG was less than 2, I would kiss her ... on the lips! She laughed and said her husband John would certainly pay to see that.

With the important stuff out of the way, Jeannette and I got in the car and talked about how to occupy the hour before the big reveal. I suggested lunch at a cute spot on Orange Street that Mary Beth Filling had taken me too. She suggested the James Street Cafe. Then, while moving her car from reverse back to park, she said, "Wait, do either of those places serve wine?" No. They didn't. Good call on Jeannette's part. Before we pulled out of the parking spot, we came up with a solution. Why stop at wine? We were just blocks away from El Serrano. Margaritas!! 

For a moment (and a brief moment it was) I thought, I'm on Percocet. I can't drink. But reeeeaaaallllly, I'm sure you can. I thought I would try mixing prescription drugs and booze while were were sipping Margaritas and chowing down on quesadillas. 

Wepull the door at El Serrano and it was locked. We couldn't imagine that it was closed!! Then the 5 foot 3 Jeannette stands on her tippy toes and pushes her face against the glass of the door and can see people walking toward us. We think they are staff people here to let us in. It turns out, they were people leaving lunch. So we scammed our way into the Peruvian compound and find a server. We ask if they're still serving lunch. He says they stopped serving at 2pm. I asked him, "What time is it now?" He says 2:02. Jeannette and I put on our best puppy dog eyes and say, "Pleeeeaaaassseeee!" I even showed him the bandaid on the crook of my arm and explain I just got blood work after chest surgery and that I had cancer and we just want margaritas. We laid it on pretty thick. Before we knew it, he was bringing us menus.

We order and start licking the salt around our margaritas. (Note: prescription narcotics and tequilla go great together!) I put my phone on the table. Fourty-five minutes and two margaritas later, Kristin calls my phone. She says, "Pucker up, Buttercup!" In that moment, I knew. I knew it was less than zero. I knew I didn't have cancer anymore.

Jeannette is hugging me and crying. I'm still on the phone with Kristin thanking her over and over again. She said she was so nervous to look at the number but that it was a mere 1.2 and she was so happy to be the one to deliver the good news. Kristin could hear Jeannette and I were making a racket already, so she told us to have another margarita to celebrate.

I hung up the phone, put my hands over my face and just started to sob. Just sob, like shoulder-shaking sobbing. Jeannette was just holding me and crying too. We said a Thank you prayer to God and she just held me and rocked me back and forth. I will remember that moment forever. Forever. 

i've been so blessed by so many wonderful friends during this whole ordeal, but it was more than just a lucky fluke that Jeannette could drive me to my bloodwork. I think God picked her to be with me. And I am so thankful for that. 

So we cried and cried. Jeannette said, "Fuck yeah, you're done with cancer!" I smiled at her unabashed vulgarity - very un-Jeannette, but very Meredith! My mouth was rubbing off on her and she thought this would be a great time to use the f-bomb! I couldn't agree more. And I promised her I wouldn't blog that, but it's part of the story. So sorry, Jeannette. You're the mother-fucking best!!

Jeannette encouraged me to call Chris immediately and I did. She texted her husband to share our news too. Chris can't always answer the phone when he is at work. It was like 3:00 now and Chris would be in the middle of seeing patients. It would have been a little anti-climatic to get his voicemail. But my handsome husband, who has always been there for me, picked up. I could barely get the words out. My words were probably like one of those Far Side cartoons about what dogs hear: Blah Blah Blah Molly Blah Blah Blah Treat Blah Blah. The first sentence I eeked out in between sobs was more like Blah Blab Blah 1.2 Blah Blah Cancer-free. Either way, Chris got the message loud and clear. He understood that this trial is probably over. He was laughing and congratulating me and telling me again and again that he loved me. I love him.

So what do you do next?? You order more margaritas!! By now, I've made such a scene in this restaurant we had to talk our way into, the server knows I just found out I'm cancer-free. He buys our third round. This is when we decided we can't drive home ... drunk at 3:30 in the afternoon ... and call a cab. Right after that call we get our fourth margaritas. Katie said it reminds her of the phrase: "One margarita, two margaritas, three margaritas, floor!"

We eventually pour our margaritas into To-Go cups and then pour ourselves into the cab. This big, black cab driver looked a little ticked he was waiting outside the restaurant so long. We got in and explained our midday drunkenness. He smiled, mellowed and gave me a high-five for being cancer free. I rubbed his head and said, soon I'll have a rocking hair cut like you! I think we won him over too!

By four, I was home, making phone calls to my immediate family. Next, I need to nap my margaritas away. And at 6:30, Chris came home. I've never been so happy to see him. He just held me and held me and held me. Hugging me, kissing me, saying he was so happy. I am so happy. We are so happy. We haven't actually spoken to a doctor yet, we're just going by the hCG. But it hasn't been <2.0 in a year and a half. I think we're done. 

I will keep you posted on the official-ness of being Cancer-Free.

All that's left to be said now is Thank You. It doesn't seem that two simple words could be enough to convey my gratefulness. But please know, I'm so thankful, for all of you. 

xoxo 

FUCK YEAH!!!!! 

2 Quick Things I Forgot ....

First: That last post sounded a little blue. I want to be clear: I am so excited!! I can't WAIT to go under the knife. It's the last time I'll have cancer. Today is the last day I'll ever have cancer. How could you not be excited!!

Second: My friend Jenn sent this today. Made me smile. It pretty much sums up what we're about to do ...

I Have Some Tension

I've been laying down and thinking and thinking and praying and thinking. At some point I get overwhelmed and take a deep breath. And with that exhale I notice my shoulders come down a little bit. So I concentrate on them and I realize I've been holding them up to my ears all day. So I take another breath and they lower a little more. I ask God to make me calm and hold me in the palm of His hand. And that's when I feel more relaxed and at peace. I think it's a sign I'm a little nervous.

But there's really nothing to be nervous about. I have amazing surgeons, the team of Chris and Mom at my side, and an army of prayers at my back. I can't wait to be cancer free.

My surgery is tomorrow, Tuesday, at Sloan Kettering Hospital in Manhattan. We leave tonight for the city. The surgery calls for me to be in the hospital just one night. On Wednesday, I plan on being loaded into the car and driven home in a Percocet haze and then plopped into my bed where I would like to sleep for two more days. They I plan to arise, with a clear head and a clean body, never to have to wrangle with a cancer cell again.

I can feel the prayers and well wishes. I can feel this thickness in the air. I know it's you. It's your thoughts that are keeping me warm and holding me tight. Thank you. Thank you. It's almost over. I can feel it.

xoxo

Can This Chest Surgery Come With A Boob Job?

We've decided. We feel so much better when we've decided. After our Around the World in 80 Days tour of cancer doctors, we're landing in the Center of the World - New York City.

I'm scheduled for chest surgery Tuesday, April 30th at Sloan Kettering. They say "April Showers bring May Flowers." I'm saying "April Surgeries bring May Margaritas!" Actually it was a Cosmo-looking Contrast that helped find the cancer spots in my lungs. I had to drink this liquid before the CAT Scan so the doctors can read the scan more completely. It used to be a thick, chalky liquid, but now it's thinner and more palatable and red! Not as palatable as a Cosmo - but it sure looked like one. If only I had packed one of my 76 martini glasses!

Back to the surgery: it's called a VATS procedure - Video Assisted Thoroscopy. Let's talk about the positives: they don't crack your check open - that's a plus! Three small incisions in my side. You only have to be in the hospital for one night - bonus! God knows I have enough cute PJ's to be in for a month. They give you a pain pump - bingo! When I was in the hospital in 2009 for 14 days they gave me the pain pump full of morphine. I was allowed to push the button every 8 minutes. I was so desperate for the juice I asked the nurses for a digital clock so as soon as the number flipped to the 8th minute I could hit the button. (Drug seeking behavior perhaps?) Looking forward to a reprise of that!

The downsides: it's another surgery - haven't I been cut enough? Wasn't my uterus enough of a sacrifice? Now I have to give up part of my lung. Did I mention I'm being inducted into the Smithtown High School Athletic Hall of Fame next month?? Hysterical, right? They must let everyone in. I mean, I did have 2 school records in Track and Field and was award Athlete of the Year in 1998 (which I had to share with a softball player who is probably a lesbian now). But still, what a silly, fun honor. So the induction ceremony is in a month (at 8:30am - can someone say Mimosa?!?). I told the surgeon I really wanted to be there. He said I could probably still go two weeks post-op. I just think it's ironic, they'll be inducting me for running. After the surgery, I'll be about 60 pounds heavier than high school, bald, stitched up and missing some lung. Not the picture of an elite athlete - that's for sure!

This is a good picture from the Archives though:

The other major downside: I can't play tennis for most of the summer tennis season. I've missed 2 of 4 seasons already due to cancer. I was feeling good enough to hit the ball around on the newly resurfaced Cooke Court. It would have been fun to be competitive this year. Instead, I think I'll just cheer and drink in the stands. I'll probably wear my tennis skirts just for fun!

The final downside: silicone implants are extra. I thought while they had my side open they could just stick some fakies in there. But it turns out the cancer ward won't do that. Bitches. But with 40 extra pounds on, I've been lucky that about 10 of that went to my chest. So word to the wise: don't pay for boobs, just eat non-stop and you'll get them (and a gut and cellulite).

Mommy is flying up to be with me. Thank goodness for Mommies. Chris takes his Boards again next week. Every 10 years you need to re-certify by passing the Boards. So he's been studying like crazy. We have so much big stuff going on all at the same time - if we ever get out of "crisis mode" we'll be bored.

The group at Sloan Kettering does more than 500 of these VATS surgeries a year. They say there is a superb success rate. The doctor feels very confident about the surgery. They'll biopsy the pieces they take out. Cross your fingers there's cancer inside and that these are the spots that keep my hCG up. So by taking them out, I'll be cancer-free. There's always a chance they are just hard dead tissue with no cancer. Then we keep hunting. But there's a chance I could be cancer-free by May 1st. Let's pray for that.

xoxo

Work Worry

I've decided to call my now year-long work stoppage my "sabbatical." I never wanted to be a professor but was always interested in the idea of a sabbatical, when you could take off a semester or even a year and still have a job when you come back. I think professors need to write a book or do a research paper or something during their time off. I hope to make Cosmos and Chemo a best selling book when I'm finally done, so that might justify my time off. Of course, if I do write a hit book, I'll then have to take another "sabbatical" to sell my book. (I really want to sit next to Matt Lauer on the Today Show and flirt with him like Chelsea Handler does whenever she's selling one of her best selling books!)

I've been out of work for more than a year ... it's more like 14 months. I could have birthed one and a half babies in this time. Sadly, I won't be birthing any babies. This is kind of like my maternity leave. It just isn't coming to an end and I don't have a baby at the end.

I'm so anxious to go back to work. I still watch TV and yell at the television when reporters use poor grammar (not on WGAL of course, but the other stations need a few copies of Strunk and White.) Some of my greatest friends at News 8 have moved on and taken other jobs since I've been out. I can't believe I won't share the newsroom with Matt Belanger and Tom Knier again. It will be a different feel when I go back. I'm so afraid one of the new people will ask me who I am and when I started and treat me like a new employee. I'm sure no one will be rude, but I have fights with new employees in my head - "Who am I?? Who the fuck are you?? I'm goddamn Meredith Jorgensen and I've worked here for a decade." (I will leave out the technicality that this year will be my 10th year at News 8, even though I've only actually worked 9 of them.) No, I would never say that anyone, but that's where my anxiety leads me.

I also had a little anxiety when I got this letter in the mail. It's from Hearst - our parent company. It said "Open Immediately." I panicked. I was afraid it was a pink slip. It was a thin letter, I envisioned just one sheet of paper that said, "Thanks but no thanks. You're out."

 

 

 

Imagine my relief when I opened it up and saw this:

 

 

 

Simply a letter fishing for business. Met Life wanting to sell some Life Insurance. If only they knew how sick I was they would never actually want to sell me life insurance - I'm a bad bet. Plus, my brother-in-law, AJ, works for Met Life - if I needed insurance, I'd go to him, not answer a random letter.

Bottom line, it seems I'm on edge. Anxious to get back to work, nervous that people in the newsroom might think I'm milking this cancer thing, worried that I will lose my competitive edge when I get back on the beat, sad that I'm missing my friends and all the fun newsroom banter. But my goals are clear. First, get better, get cancer-free. Then, and only then, jump back in with both feet, so I can tell other people's story instead of boring you all with mine.

Road Trip Round-Up

Hi. It's me, Meredith. Sorry I've been away ... literally and away from the blog. I think I felt like I needed a little break. I really feel like I need a break from cancer. I think a break from blogging for a bit helped me feel like I had a break from cancer.

Well, the world wind trip of second opinions is over. Now, the challenge is making sense of it all, as each appointment couldn't have been more different than the next.

First, we stopped at Duke. The doctor was two and a half hours late. As the wife of a doctor who sometimes runs late, I'm sympathetic. However, when a medical resident said he might not be able to see us, we kindly reminded him that we drove 7 hours to see him. His partner, a fabulous female doctor, stepped in. She was wonderful, gave us some good perspectives. But two and a half hours later when we finally saw the man we came to see - he was useless. His opening sentence was, "If you see Dr. Goldstein in Boston, why did you bother coming here?"

Part of me felt good that Dr. Goldstein was getting such high marks from the other physician. But the other part of me was pissed that this doc had nothing constructive to say, no insight to offer, no suggestions to look into. He was a waste of time.

Funny story though. I decided to get a little dressed up for this appointment. I wanted the doctor to know that we are upstanding citizens who have their shit together. We're not just a couple of shlubs. So with my cute outfit on, what's the first thing they say? Strip. Here's a hospital gown. All the doctor saw was an oversized smock they call a gown. It's the great equalizer.

Next, we went to Sloan Kettering in New York City. This appointment was entirely different. The doctor's name is Carol Aghajanian. So the first thing you think is how do you say that? It looks like Afghanistan. Is she foreign? No, she's white and blonde and very serious. She doesn't pull any punches and she said it like it is. I was petrified. She called me "critical." She said plenty of people die from this cancer. She recommended surgery immediately and ordered a CAT scan. Plus, when I asked her about my ovaries, she said with the amount of chemo I've had she doubts the eggs are viable for anything. Ouch.

It was overwhelming. I think I knew most of those things deep down, but this is the professional sitting in front of you, looking you straight in the eye, saying it all in black and white. I cried when we left the office.

Dr. Aghajanian knows what she's talking about though. She is the only person to order a chest CAT scan. Goldstein had suggested the PET scan, which came back clear. We left her office and trekked across midtown to get a CAT scan and sure enough, she found cancer. Two nodules in my right lung. Small ones, but still. I was pissed we hadn't found that already. She again recommended chest surgery - go in, cut the spots out and close back up. Several days in the hospital and a morphine pump for pain. Doesn't sound like my idea of a good time. We left New York City with a lot to think about.

But we didn't leave the Big Apple without crossing something off Chris' Bucket List. We ate at the Carnegie Deli!! Hysterical!! The place is packed, there was a line outside, the cram you in, and practically throw the food at you. But the food is so damn good!! The sandwiches are literally the size of your head! And the place is full of pictures of famous people who have come to sample the fare. I was just waiting for them to ask for my picture. :-)

Next stop, Chicago. All three of these appointments are within 9 days of each other. The doctor in Chicago was middle of the road. He was more interested in our plight than Duke. He was kinder and gentler than NY. He too suggested surgery then urged follow-up chemo (ugh). Chris described him well by calling him the "umpire."

Now we are putting all the opinions together. Today, we are heading back to New York to see a Cardio Thoracic Surgeon who could do the chest surgery. It will be interesting to have a consultation with him and see what he has to say about the spots on my lungs.

Thanks for the continued support and prayers. I will try to do a better job of keeping everyone in the loop. This just never seems to end....