Warning: this is raw. I thought writing was the most therapeutic way for me to sort out my thoughts. This post would be red-marked the hell up in College Writing 101.
About an hour ago my oncologist called. Oh yes, I have an oncologist now. Because it turns out the tumor near my spine is lymphoma, and oncologists treat lymphoma. It’s so weird to say MY ONCOLOGIST. I HAVE AN ONCOLOGIST.
I have an appointment with her Monday at 7 a.m. I don’t want to go to it by myself, but we haven’t figured out yet what to do with the kids that morning and Victor might need to stay home with them. School doesn’t start until 8:30. We’ll take them with us and leave them in the waiting room if we can’t work anything else out.
Lymphoma is supposedly one of the most treatable cancers, with a high survival rate compared to other cancer types. All things relative, this is good news. We don’t know yet what type I have, but hopefully the pathologist gets all the reports written up and sent to my oncologist before Monday morning. It’d be nice to leave her office with more answers than questions.
In phone calls, emails, texts and in-person chats of the past hour, it’s been suggested that my friends and family are all too willing to kick lymphoma’s ass, punch it in the face, attack it without mercy. This is so awesome, that even the gentlest and kindest people—if they love you—will threaten violence against the things that hurt you. I love my friends and family. I’m sensing they’ll be my army as we enter this next phase of life. If I have to do this, I’m glad these folks are on my side.
Katie was around when I was making phone calls and texting this morning, and she was obviously curious as to what was going on. I told her, “Well, the doctor said the pain in my back is being caused by something kinda serious. My friends are letting me know they care.” She looked at me and goes, “Hm. Can I have some pumpkin pie?”
Random Sunshine™ stopped by with an armful of funny DVDs. I need to laugh, and these ought to provide many hours of guffaws. Perfect. Thank you, Random Sunshine™!
Although I love hats, I think I look kinda dumb in them. If I have chemo and lose my hair, I might have to go the scarf route. Or wear wigs—ooh, wigs! Wigs are fun! I can’t decide which of these I like best—they’re all so very “me”:
It’s now been two hours since the doctor called, and I think what I’m processing now is nonsense. I’m exhausted. More later.