Today after nap Will and I were cuddling on the couch watching some Pixar movie. At one point he looked up at me and said:
"Go away please Mama, I need some space"
I think my three-year-old just broke up with me.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Friday, October 26, 2007
One down, twenty-three to go
We had the first of Dan's monthly surveillance checkups this week, He will have these every month for the next two years, and then slightly spread out for the three years following (pending nothing shows up in that time of course).
The Scans came back clean and the blood tumor markers negative (meaning they didn't show cancer activity in the blood. That's good, we want negative). So an 'all clear' for the month of October!
It was interesting, this week leading up to the appointment. I know, or at least I hope, that as time goes by and we're lucky enough to have the months continue without recurrence that the mind numbing, heart-pounding anxiety in the days, hours and minutes before hearing that 'All Clear" will lessen for me. That these appointments will become a new "normal" in our lives. But that seems like a long way off for me right now.
I hope that doesn't sounds negative...it's just I tend to deal with this level of insecurity and stress by kind of freaking out before I know anything concrete. It's just how I do it. For example...last Friday when Dan was out of town for the night I started obsessing about his original CAT Scan. See there are two ways to do one, 1) Drink the stuff that will act as a contrast agent the night before or 2) get an IV of the contrast agent while you are there for the scan. Since I knew that he hadn't drank the stuff the night before and I couldn't remember if he had gotten the IV the next day (and Dan wasn't at home to tell me) I somehow managed to convince myself at 1:00 am (without ANY knowledge to back this theory up) that they there had been a miscommunication and that they had done the CAT scan wrong. And that when we went to our appointment this week we would find out that the Cancer had really spread and we just didn't know it yet. See? A totally rational and logical line of thinking.
However, this kind of totally healthy and logical worry (aka anxious panic) seems to stop as soon as I do know something concrete, even if it's bad. I get a kind of creepy calm and my repressed type A personality comes out and I make spreadsheets and notebooks and manage appointment scheduling and clean the entire house and make flubber with my 3 year old. It is then that I have the ability to draw on the untapped wells.
Dan tends to deal with this kind of thing in the exact opposite manner...which in a way is actually kind of nice. It tends to mean that both of us rarely freak out at the same time.
So all of this is a really long way of saying that we had a really good checkup and that we could not be happier this month with the results. But the getting there? It continues to be a work in process.
The Scans came back clean and the blood tumor markers negative (meaning they didn't show cancer activity in the blood. That's good, we want negative). So an 'all clear' for the month of October!
It was interesting, this week leading up to the appointment. I know, or at least I hope, that as time goes by and we're lucky enough to have the months continue without recurrence that the mind numbing, heart-pounding anxiety in the days, hours and minutes before hearing that 'All Clear" will lessen for me. That these appointments will become a new "normal" in our lives. But that seems like a long way off for me right now.
I hope that doesn't sounds negative...it's just I tend to deal with this level of insecurity and stress by kind of freaking out before I know anything concrete. It's just how I do it. For example...last Friday when Dan was out of town for the night I started obsessing about his original CAT Scan. See there are two ways to do one, 1) Drink the stuff that will act as a contrast agent the night before or 2) get an IV of the contrast agent while you are there for the scan. Since I knew that he hadn't drank the stuff the night before and I couldn't remember if he had gotten the IV the next day (and Dan wasn't at home to tell me) I somehow managed to convince myself at 1:00 am (without ANY knowledge to back this theory up) that they there had been a miscommunication and that they had done the CAT scan wrong. And that when we went to our appointment this week we would find out that the Cancer had really spread and we just didn't know it yet. See? A totally rational and logical line of thinking.
However, this kind of totally healthy and logical worry (aka anxious panic) seems to stop as soon as I do know something concrete, even if it's bad. I get a kind of creepy calm and my repressed type A personality comes out and I make spreadsheets and notebooks and manage appointment scheduling and clean the entire house and make flubber with my 3 year old. It is then that I have the ability to draw on the untapped wells.
Dan tends to deal with this kind of thing in the exact opposite manner...which in a way is actually kind of nice. It tends to mean that both of us rarely freak out at the same time.
So all of this is a really long way of saying that we had a really good checkup and that we could not be happier this month with the results. But the getting there? It continues to be a work in process.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Must be something in the Water here
So, um, I guess I need to stop referring to the baby as "she" in my head. We are now 6-0 in favor of boys among our local group of friends. We've got all we need for starters on a basketball team, plus a 6th man.
Had the big ultrasound yesterday and follow up this morning. Everything looks good and healthy and male.
I wish I could say that I felt overwhelming excitement when I heard that he was going to be a he, that the heavens opened up and angels extolled the virtues of having two boys in 4 part harmony…but I can’t tell you that. Disappointed is not at all the right word. Surprised maybe? I really thought that I was having a girl…and I don't think I hid the fact that I thought that would be pretty cool. But, as my close friends can attest, I have always kind of pictured myself herding a bunch of boys around.
I think the thing that makes me a little sad (read: little sad, NOT disappointed) is that I have such an amazing relationship with my own mother. And it makes me a little sad that I won't get to experience that kind of relationship from her end with my own daughter. That and I kind of love little-girl ponytails and am mildly obsessed with baby-legs. I think I would be a really good mother to a girl and I'm sad that I won't get to find out if that is true.
That said, I happen to think I am also a pretty good mother to boys as well. I read something on a blog some time ago (can't remember which one) and the writer was talking about finding out that her second was going to be a boy. I had jotted it down at the time and changed it a bit this morning to make it my own: I think maybe I'll be one of those moms who herds her boys with an endless supply of hugs and cuddles (but still a strong hand). And that I will teach my boys to love music and to swim and bake and watch football and love books and do elaborate science projects at the age of 8. And all the girls they ever meet will be blown away by their strength and sensitivity. And that would be pretty cool as well.
p.s. I kind of like the sound of "my boys".
Had the big ultrasound yesterday and follow up this morning. Everything looks good and healthy and male.
I wish I could say that I felt overwhelming excitement when I heard that he was going to be a he, that the heavens opened up and angels extolled the virtues of having two boys in 4 part harmony…but I can’t tell you that. Disappointed is not at all the right word. Surprised maybe? I really thought that I was having a girl…and I don't think I hid the fact that I thought that would be pretty cool. But, as my close friends can attest, I have always kind of pictured myself herding a bunch of boys around.
I think the thing that makes me a little sad (read: little sad, NOT disappointed) is that I have such an amazing relationship with my own mother. And it makes me a little sad that I won't get to experience that kind of relationship from her end with my own daughter. That and I kind of love little-girl ponytails and am mildly obsessed with baby-legs. I think I would be a really good mother to a girl and I'm sad that I won't get to find out if that is true.
That said, I happen to think I am also a pretty good mother to boys as well. I read something on a blog some time ago (can't remember which one) and the writer was talking about finding out that her second was going to be a boy. I had jotted it down at the time and changed it a bit this morning to make it my own: I think maybe I'll be one of those moms who herds her boys with an endless supply of hugs and cuddles (but still a strong hand). And that I will teach my boys to love music and to swim and bake and watch football and love books and do elaborate science projects at the age of 8. And all the girls they ever meet will be blown away by their strength and sensitivity. And that would be pretty cool as well.
p.s. I kind of like the sound of "my boys".
Saturday, October 13, 2007
The C word
100% Embryonal carcinoma with Vascular invasion. Stage IB.
1 month and 1 day ago I had no idea what most of those word meant on their own, much less put together in a sentence.
1 month and 1 day ago, on September 14, on Will's 3rd birthday, Dan's doctors told him that they had found a mass, and it was cancer. Testicular cancer to be a little more specific.
I have hesitated writing about it here because frankly it's been much to raw for me, and writing does not quite have the therapeutic effect that it might have on others who choose this form of communication more often. I still get greater comfort out of talking. But as we have reached a small milestone in our process with this diagnosis, it felt like the right time to capture some of what has been going on, and some of where we are going.
Things moved very fast after the initial meeting with the Dr that Friday. We went in for a CT scan the next morning and had the initial surgery to remove the tumor on Tuesday. The surgery was outpatient and I was able to bring Dan home that evening. He is really recovering rather nicely and now, at about a month out, is at about 85% I would say.
From there came a series of Doctors visits. conversations about our options, long sleepless night and now here we are. We have a plan. The big picture? This is a very treatable cancer that has a high success rate when it comes to treatment when it is caught early. And it was caught early. But it's still cancer and it still really sucks.
This is the email we sent out on Friday:
Hello, everyone! After visiting with multiple doctors over the past couple of weeks, we've finally settled on an excellent specialist and our next course of action, which is going to be surveillance, and then chemotherapy if necessary. Apparently the big surgery we've been mulling over doesn't work as well for this specific cancer (100% Embryonal carcinoma) as it does for other types of testicular cancer, and might miss microscopic cells which can move directly to the lungs, bypassing the nodes which are removed during surgery. And preventative chemo (which was actually recommended by the first doctor we saw), apparently, is done "sometimes in Europe" but very rarely here in the states (when we brought up the chemo idea to actual specialists, they looked at us with a mix of amusement and horror, like we were dogs depositing a dead squirrel on the floor as a gift).
Surveillance entails monthly x-rays, CT scans and bloodwork for the next two years, then less frequently for three years after that. If the cancer is still around right now (a 50% possibility), it will manifest within that time, and we'll jump into nine weeks of chemotherapy, which itself has a 99% cure rate. So that's the story. We're not exactly done yet, but it feels good to have a decision made, and we're not arguing with the eventual cure rate either way.
There truly are not words to thank all of you for your help and support over this past month. We'll see many of you soon, and for those who are farther away, we are determined to start coming out of our cocoon, so please write or call whenever you feel like it. Our love to you all.
1 month and 1 day ago I had no idea what most of those word meant on their own, much less put together in a sentence.
1 month and 1 day ago, on September 14, on Will's 3rd birthday, Dan's doctors told him that they had found a mass, and it was cancer. Testicular cancer to be a little more specific.
I have hesitated writing about it here because frankly it's been much to raw for me, and writing does not quite have the therapeutic effect that it might have on others who choose this form of communication more often. I still get greater comfort out of talking. But as we have reached a small milestone in our process with this diagnosis, it felt like the right time to capture some of what has been going on, and some of where we are going.
Things moved very fast after the initial meeting with the Dr that Friday. We went in for a CT scan the next morning and had the initial surgery to remove the tumor on Tuesday. The surgery was outpatient and I was able to bring Dan home that evening. He is really recovering rather nicely and now, at about a month out, is at about 85% I would say.
From there came a series of Doctors visits. conversations about our options, long sleepless night and now here we are. We have a plan. The big picture? This is a very treatable cancer that has a high success rate when it comes to treatment when it is caught early. And it was caught early. But it's still cancer and it still really sucks.
This is the email we sent out on Friday:
Hello, everyone! After visiting with multiple doctors over the past couple of weeks, we've finally settled on an excellent specialist and our next course of action, which is going to be surveillance, and then chemotherapy if necessary. Apparently the big surgery we've been mulling over doesn't work as well for this specific cancer (100% Embryonal carcinoma) as it does for other types of testicular cancer, and might miss microscopic cells which can move directly to the lungs, bypassing the nodes which are removed during surgery. And preventative chemo (which was actually recommended by the first doctor we saw), apparently, is done "sometimes in Europe" but very rarely here in the states (when we brought up the chemo idea to actual specialists, they looked at us with a mix of amusement and horror, like we were dogs depositing a dead squirrel on the floor as a gift).
Surveillance entails monthly x-rays, CT scans and bloodwork for the next two years, then less frequently for three years after that. If the cancer is still around right now (a 50% possibility), it will manifest within that time, and we'll jump into nine weeks of chemotherapy, which itself has a 99% cure rate. So that's the story. We're not exactly done yet, but it feels good to have a decision made, and we're not arguing with the eventual cure rate either way.
There truly are not words to thank all of you for your help and support over this past month. We'll see many of you soon, and for those who are farther away, we are determined to start coming out of our cocoon, so please write or call whenever you feel like it. Our love to you all.
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