Hard To Believe

I have been putting off writing this post until I told my family.

No, not bad news. The best news. Ever. On August 23––which also happens to by my youngest Son's birthday––I had an appointment with my ENT, Dr. Patty Lee. Dr. Lee is my last stop before my annual CT scan, with contrast. A procedure that messes up my body completely and one that I don't look forward to at all. And since it has now been five years since I was diagnosed with head & neck cancer, this was a biggie. Could the 5 year remission landmark be that close? What if they find something? Am I strong enough––physically and mentally––to handle cancer if it is there?

My appointment was at 7:30am. And since Teresa was in Los Angeles, I was going alone. I also was alone at the pathologist when I found out I had cancer––this was starting to feel somewhat familiar so of course my mind started moving like a computer operating system. Too much data, too many windows open, too much distracting me from just concentrating on asking the right questions and see what my future may hold beyond today. And of course, I waited. And waited and waited.

As I sat in the exam chair, I thought of the time five years ago, with Teresa and my Dad sitting in the two chairs to my right. This was the appointment to tell me what my options were for treatment. And some other stuff that is now a blur. I thought about what would I do if I had to get that CT scan. And then thought "what if I am alright?" Yeah, both a good and scary thought. Why scary? I had grown to depend on these people to help save my life. They are my support system. And Dr. Lee has always been a straight shooter with me––some don't like that but I want to know the truth, in plain English and what do I have to do to survive.

A knock on the door happens and in walks Dr. Lee. She has my chart and starts talking to me about my unexpected scan in March. "What happened, why did you get a scan?" I almost said, "what, it's not written down in that 10lb file of mine?" But it was early in the morning and I just said, "I wasn't feeling great and I wanted to be sure it wasn't something serious. It had been going on for 4-5 weeks." She looked in my throat for about 3-4 minutes. Checked my ear and asked about my hearing––one of the side effects of the radiation is I have some hearing loss in my right era. (And I think this is the first time I've publicly admitted that). She then looks over the chart again, with special attention to the scan results. "You don't have to see me anymore." What? "Everything looks great. You're taking great care of your mouth and teeth. You hopefully won't ever have to see me again." I'm still in a little bit of shock. I AM cancer FREE and have reached the 5 year remission mark.

I still can't believe it.

Back In The Scan

My annual "cancer Doctor tour" is about 2/3 of the way complete. It should have been over by now but I've been thrown a curve ball or two in the process.

During my annual physical, my Doc ordered a CT Scan and x-ray to see why I've been coughing more than usual the last two months. I had a little virus and cough in early May. It hasn't gone away completely, so the Doc ordered the tests. So now I'll get two scans this go around––the next one is the CT Scan with contrast which always messes with my head & body––because I need more radiation, right?

As I was being shoved into a tube for the scan, I did my usual meditation to relax and ignore the tube. Everything was cool until I got fully into the machine and it started up. The noise from the machine sounded just like it did when I went through 7 weeks of radiation. Being the human that I am, it broke my concentration and I felt my heart skip. Too similar. Too real. So unexpected.

Now it lasted all of 3-4 minutes. Radiation was about 20-30 minutes, depending on where I was in the stage of treatment. So I used that to keep me from rising up out of the slab and running out of the building. That would have been quite funny since I was half-naked and quite unnecessary. And I will have the "full monty" scan very soon.

Not looking forward to that one.

The Post Before The Exam

I always try to be careful of what I write during my check-ups, post cancer.

No really, I do. I know some of you follow my blog to "check-up" on me and I greatly appreciate that. It's one of the reasons I filter my news of my day-to-day battle with keeping cancer away from my physical being. And a big reason why my posts slow down during the testing period.

Tomorrow is the last leg of my Doctor visits. Or so I hope. My CT scan showed an increase in size in one of my lymph nodes. And I want to know why/what does it mean/what's next for me and my family. I believe our greatest fears are dealing with the unknown. (No shit, Greg). I'm all about resolution. Let's get to it, now. All I got is right now. So this waiting between exams/check-ups/tests is more excruciating than knowing if it the cancer has come back or not. (Looks like I'm getting close to the writer's record for using backslashes in one post). I want to live today to the fullest. And know what today will look like after tomorrow. OK, now I'm confused. Now you know what goes through my mind while I'm waiting for resolution.

It's been almost four years to the day––8/7/07––when I first heard my name associated with cancer. I'm going to the same Doctor who immediately sent me to a Pathologist that fateful day. So that's giving me a little concern. But I also know if the news isn't what I want to hear I'll be ready to kick it's ass again.

So I can keep posting.

Not Great, Not Scary

My posts have been MIA for a few weeks due to the annual tests for cancer, so sorry if you thought I was dead.

I've posted before about the eerie silence of a cancer blogger/patient. Ii freaks people out, at least those who follow me. I've often wondered if anyone would update my blog with my death. Yeah, I know, this post is getting off to a morbid start but some things need to be said and I've never been shy in addressing those subjects that make people uncomfortable.

I found out 3 days ago that while my cancer (sounds like it's a pet when I say "my cancer") is not back, one of my lymph nodes has increased in size since last year's CT scan. I was told "it's in the normal range". The normal range of what? That's what I'll ask my ENT, who is the last stop on The cancer Check-Up Tour. She'll tell it to me straight and what I need to do. Probably nothing, but maybe I'll need to get a needle biopsy to ease my mind. Yep, I'm having a hard time with this bit of news even thought the Docs have said it's OK. The bitch of the whole thing is worrying only makes everything worse––some call worry "stress", which is a feeder to cancer.

I'm not going to lie, this is a shot to the gut. I had a feeling that something had changed––I get those feelings whether I want to or not. So I'm going to go hug my Wife and spend some time with my family.

That always makes me feel better.

Mmm, Barium

Today I had a CT scan. Which means lots of prep––no eating 6 hours before, no liquids––and choking down two bottles of barium.

If you have never drank barium, consider yourself lucky. I did get to try the new––star burst goes here––orange flavor, which is used to mask the flavor of liquid chalk. My options were banana, berry and original and the new and improved––bigger star burst goes here––orange. Drink one bottle up 2 hours before the test, 1/2 of another bottle a half an hour before the test and the other 1/2 of the bottle at the radiation facility. De-lish. Yum. Tasty.

Now let me explain a few things––technically these are called side effects––that have happened since head & neck cancer decided to invade my body. I have about 30% of my saliva producing abilities, the radiation destroying my salivary glands. My taste buds are an adventure. Sometimes things taste normal, sometimes I taste the ingredients of what I'm eating––I can break down ketchup into vinegar, salt, tomato paste, Red Dye #5––and ice cream is mostly disappointing now. (Yeah, I know. It sucks). My sense of smell, however, is stronger than ever. Supposedly, there's a explainable reason for that. And the barium did it's own little dance with my nose, mouth, throat and stomach.

The only good thing was the barium is a liquid. And since I can't produce enough saliva and I couldn't drink any water before the CT scan, chalky smooth barium provided a little relief from dry lips, a dry mouth & throat and kept my tongue from sticking to the roof of my mouth. Yummy.

My CT scan was scheduled for 3pm and I was to arrive 15 minutes earlier. I had to hand in my paper work, which included signing a waiver that stated I understood that the contrast they would inject in my body could cause severe complications or reactions, with odds posted that 1 in 100,000 people have reactions ranging from convulsions to even fatal consequences due to allergic reactions. Yeah, fun. I've had the contrast numerous times and always have fun stuff happen like severe headaches, stomach problems and a rash on my arm from the injection. Like I said, fun.

But that was nothing compared to the "fight" I had once I arrived. Kimmi, the receptionist, informed me that my insurance––that is another blog post for another day––denied my full body scan. That I would only get my head, neck and chest scanned. Not my stomach and pelvis. WTF? I told Kimmi I confirmed yesterday that everything was approved. She asked me who told me that. I told her you guys did. She said when did you call. I said yesterday. She said, "are you sure you talked to someone here." No bitch, I talked to the psychic hot line and they told me it was approved. (OK, I didn't say that. But I did on the inside). I then showed her on my cell phone that I called at 2:48pm, March 23rd and talked for 5 minutes. OK, 4 minutes and 55 seconds. And your office told me everything was approved. BECAUSE I SPECIFICALLY ASKED ABOUT THE STOMACH AND PELVIS. I had already postponed the CT scan once because I didn't have approval. Well, Kimmi wasn't going to budge and kept repeating herself over and over that it wasn't approved and who did I talk to. I talked to you guys!!!!!! I finally talked to the supervisor, who said that it was denied and my Doctor agreed to just the head/neck/chest.

Fucking great. I just drank a bottle and a half of chalky shit for nothing. Oh, I'm sorry. I got something out of it––an hour on the toilet and stomach cramps for the rest of the night. And tasty, new and improved––yeah, star burst goes here––orange barium.

Mmmm.