Sep. 23: Buh-bye, blog.

I haven’t posted since March, and for good reason: I’ve got nothing to say.

Yes, I realize that’s never stopped me before, or at least not often. Once upon a time I posted several times a day, and probably 95 percent of those posts were total wastes of bandwidth. Possibly 97.

What happened?

In 2010, my dear friend Loveliest Lori had a health emergency of which I opted not to share details publicly, and given that it was all I could think (worry) about, I simply stopped posting for a while.

I don’t dare blame Lori for my blog’s demise, because—as she reminds me when I accuse her of sleeping soundly while everyone who loved her freaked the eff out—SHE WAS IN A COMA. (“Coma” is her “cancer card,” a card I myself have occasionally been accused of playing too much. But Lori’s “coma!!” responses are just fine with me. I mean, who would seriously suggest someone plays a life-threatening condition card too much?)

I laugh. Ha ha ha. (That is sarcastic ha ha ha-ing. in case you didn’t catch it.)

I know who. Someone who was, for as long as I can remember, one of the most important people in my life, until she decided I was toxic and her life was better without me and my children in it. (Can we say “narcissist”? We can!)

I couldn’t write about that situation much either, not because I didn’t have permission, but because I was heartbroken, confused, and unreasonably protective of her, STILL. Y’all would’ve grown tired of my never-ending whining and tuned out anyway.

I held the hand of a friend whose husband fought cancer for a year and, while the experience so affected me and her other friends, the story was not mine to tell. 

The reasons behind posting infrequently just evolved from situations like these. I got used to posting carefully.

Eventually I started censoring my blog posts more than I wanted to, which got me wondering why I even had a blog if I was censoring myself, which had me asking myself who I was censoring for, which made me start feeling incredibly self-centered, which is a personality trait I detest.

Blogging can be a pretty self-centered thing to do, after all. I mean, it sometimes seems very HERE’S WHAT I THINK AND AREN’T I BRILLIANT FOR SHARING THIS WISDOM AND DON’T YOU WISH YOU HAD THE COURAGE AND ISN’T MY LIFE SO AMAZING AND AREN’T I SO CLEVER BLAH BLAH BLAH. Don’t get me wrong; unprecedented understanding can result from the process of writing out thoughts. Lately, though, it feels like there’s potentially an even greater benefit (for me) to write out my thoughts without publishing them for the world to read, and I guess that’s why I feel like my blog has served its purpose and has quietly—pfffft—faded away.

I started Stuff Jen Says while pregnant with Katie 16 years ago as an easy way to share our family news with friends. It blossomed into something so much bigger, for which I am occasionally proud (my cancer story, for instance, if it’s even the slightest bit helpful to anyone facing it themselves). My blog brought me a brush with fame: meeting and “helping” author Pamela Ribon write a book. It allowed me to share things that made me guffaw. It allowed me to share things that enraged me. It helped me make friends. It might have helped me lose a few—it’s not all been good, that’s for sure. But what my blog absolutely could not do is survive my tremendous worry that I had become that person who believed every thought that entered my head was worth sharing. I really, really hate that person. I could not bear being her.

So I’m calling it. OK, I’m kinda calling it. I won’t completely give up on Stuff Jen Says, but I’m not going to feel guilty for not posting anymore. I may occasionally post haiku, or funny Jack stories, or links to Broadway musical awesomeness. And who knows? Maybe someday my blog will find a life again. But if it does, or if it doesn’t, whatever’s meant to happen will. I’m sure of that.

What I want to make clear is that I’m not writing this as a ploy for attention or a way for my vast audience (cough!) to plead with me to revive my blog. After 16 years, I can’t just let my blog die without explanation. So… there it is. I offer up my biggest thank yous to the comments, encouragement, and support y’all have given me here over the past 16 years. There have been moments that this blog has been an absolute lifeline for me, and I’ll always be grateful for that. 

Jan. 9: Choosing joy

About a month ago, I started doing a bit of celebrating in my head, because it’s been five years since I was diagnosed with lymphoma, and four since I was told it was in remission.

From the beginning of the fight in November ‘09, I talked about having a big party once we’d kicked cancer’s big, fat, ugly, hairy ass. That party never happened, for lots of reasons; mostly, though, I didn’t feel like I was completely finished with cancer, y’know? The doctors promised frequent tests for at least two years—they’ve gone on for much longer—and I still have to go to the chemo room every few weeks to have my port flushed. Post-treatment, I never felt the time was right for a big party, or even a small one.

And while it appears that my body continues to be cancer-free, I’ve been told TWICE in the past four years that it wasn’t (lesson learned: scans answers lots of questions, but the facts are in the biopsy results). This has been more than a little bit frustrating, obviously, but it also reminds me that we’re never really DONE with cancer, are we? And I say “we” because regardless of whose body contains the cancer cells, we all fight, we all celebrate, we all mourn. (Except the assholes. They’re just assholes.)

This feeling that cancer has no end is something I never anticipated. During treatment, the goal is remission. It’s the key to everything related to treatment. Remission, remission, remission. People assume that “remission” means “life goes back to normal.” To physicians, though, “remission” actually means “no evidence of disease,” and although they encourage the patient to celebrate this milestone, they do it with the reminder that remission is often temporary.

This is the part that makes me want to say all the swears.

As much I don’t want to live in constant fear of my cancer coming back, I admit that it crosses my mind more than I should let it. I don’t let it interfere with my everyday stuff—that’s been a conscious decision—but when I think toward the future, the possibility of recurrence looms. Thinking that way makes me angry at myself. It makes me angry at my dad for passing his pessimistic traits to me, and it makes me angry at whoever he got his from. Stoopid ancestors! It just makes me angry.

I don’t want to be afraid, and I don’t want to be angry, but it is my nature to be both of those things. CUUUUUURSE MYYYY NAAAAATUUUURE!!

I’m doing my best to push aside fear and anger in favor of joy—it’s a new thing I’m trying this year (I hate the word “resolution,” but that’s exactly what it is). As I anticipate cancer tests coming up later this month, I want to think happy thoughts. Unhappy thoughts make me frowny and mean. Happy thoughts make me… um… happy. Hopeful, even. Happy and hopeful are good.

And if the tests in fact do say “cancer,” I shall fight that cancer. OK, first I’ll say all the swears and get drunk and throw shit, but I will eventually put on my combat boots (fuzzy slippers) and deal with it, like I did so successfully five years ago. Like WE did five years ago. And maybe instead of planning one BIG party, we can just party every time we get a chance? I like that idea.

Just, y’know, do me a favor and don’t ever get cancer, ok? It’s the suckiest thing that ever sucked and sometimes it has a super-sad ending and that sucks even more. Just… don’t. Thanks. :)

Also, feel free to adopt my resolution as your own. I wouldn’t mind being surrounded by joyful people. Just keep the snark. Snarky joy—it’s totally a thing.

Aug. 14: Back, baby.

For a while there, my blog was dying a slow death. Blogging frequently is a habit that has to be developed, for sure, and my habit has gone in waves over the 15 years I’ve been writing—there are times I have so much to share that I can’t hit the “publish” button soon or often enough, and other times when most of what’s happening in my life is not write-about-able.

In the past several months I’ve opted to considerably filter my writing, which I’ve never been all that careful to do. I started journaling on paper again because putting my thoughts into words is so therapeutic for me—I realized I needed to get them down, whether anyone else could read them or not. And now, as I look back at the things I felt I couldn’t/shouldn’t share on my blog, I see that some weren’t really that big a deal anyway; I plan to write about those in coming weeks. Others were a big deal and still are, and those will stay in my journal for now.

It is not my intention to be all mysterioso and vague, so I’ll give you an idea of some of these things—though I think most of you already know.

• Now that I’m nearly four years post-treatment, I try to keep the cancer talk to a minimum here. When a person is told their cancer is in remission, it’s easy for an outsider to think of celebrating and being done with it—y’know, move on, next chapter. But it’s not that simple, because cancer doesn’t just end. Follow-up tests go on and on. Side effects linger. Fear and frustration are enemies that like to hang out on the fringe of everything I do. While I have welcomed the return to many of my pre-cancer ways of life, there are some things that have been forever changed by my experience, and I deal with them regularly. Some of it really sucks and because I don’t want it to suck, I try to fold those things in with the rest of life—because I am alive and I do know how fortunate I am for that and I am moving forward—but there are always challenges. You would tire of hearing about them as often as they come up—trust me on this. That’s why I don’t write about it often. But to the people who might think GEEZ, SHE’S STILL TALKING ABOUT CANCER???, I have a middle finger I’d like to show you. Maybe two. And I know other people who’d love to show you theirs too.
• A few years ago my relationship with a person who had always been—and I thought always would be—in my life came to an abrupt end. She made accusations, I tried to explain myself, and she said she refused to get in a pissing contest. I took that to mean there was no sense in me arguing (that is what that means, right?), so I backed off. She then decided I did this because I was angry, and now blames my anger as the reason we don’t speak. I find a tiny bit of comfort knowing that I am not the only person she’s done this to. But ugh—it’s like dealing with my grandma all over again: nothing is ever her fault. So, if this is such a big deal, why don’t I write more about it publicly? One, because it would annoy the hell out of whatever audience I have here. And two, because I feel an unreasonable duty to protect this person. I know it makes absolutely no sense, but there you have it. 
• I’ve occasionally mentioned that I deal with depression and anxiety. It’s surprising how many people still think these are not diseases but “moods” (oh, they are soooo not moods), and that they’re a choice, that it’s just a matter of deciding to be happy and deciding not to worry. Some of the people who think depression/anxiety = psychopath are people I love, and when they’re vocal about it, I take it personally. These illnesses are complex and un-fun to deal with, and it’s not exaggerating to say they affect EVERY part of one’s life. I am able to keep my head above water and am generally living a normal human existence, thanks to things and more things.
• Partly related to the above item, I have been trying to avoid blogging about whatever is inciting my latest rage or concern (though I will make exceptions for topics like, oh, OUR HEINOUS HOMEOWNERS’ ASSOCIATION). These triggers push me up on a soapbox that can get me in trouble or make me seem highly unlikable. That ain’t good. Worse, my triggers can send me into a funk from which I find great difficulty to recover. For instance, I’m not writing about Robin Williams, even though he’s been on my mind so much this week. I have thoughts, I do. They could be spread across several posts and I’d still have more. But for purposes of self-protection, I just can’t let myself dwell. (I do want to share, though, this beautifully composed sentence I read on a fashion site, of all places, immediately after the cause of Robin Williams’ death became public; I think it is such a realistic way to describe the tragedy of suicide: “There’s such agony in the fact that a person’s delivery of joy to everyone else can be so inversely proportionate to what they find in themselves.”) Sooo… rants? Only sometimes. 

Looking back to 1999, when I first started my blog, I remember thinking it would be a great way to keep family and friends up to date with our lives. It certainly has served that purpose well over the years, and I suppose that’s the biggest reason I can’t just chuck the whole thing. (Pssst: If you read Stuff Jen Says from 1999-now, really fast, it’s like a flip-book in which you can clearly see the route I took to bonkersville. Yaaaaaay.)

I also remember what a powerful tool my blog became while I was fighting cancer. I often wonder how else I would’ve felt such a strong sense of support and love—it really was an amazing thing to behold. That’s why, when I was diagnosed with cancer again in January, this was the first place I came to share the news. Many of you sent positive and  uplifting messages, and I felt ready to face the fight with a big ol’ army behind me. And THEN. Then I was incredibly embarrassed to pull it all back when, in March, my doctors decided that I didn’t have cancer after all. Happy news, yes, but humiliating to share. If it seems ridiculous that I would be embarrassed by such a thing, please just put yourself in my shoes; I felt like people would think I announced a recurrence just to get attention. (People do shit like that, y’know—I know someone who calls herself a “cancer survivor” because she once had a suspicious mole tested. It was benign, but BOY, does she like to act as though she knows what it’s like to have fought cancer.)

When it was time for getting re-tested for all the cancer stuff this summer, I shared with just a few people what was happening. Three weeks in June and July were spent in pretty much non-stop appointments and phone calls related to this testing. Now that they’re over, I feel okay to blog about the results, which are really quite simple in summary, and YES, SHE IS STILL TALKING ABOUT CANCER:

I had a PET scan mid-June and the same spots that lit up in January lit up again. It was scary and pissed us off. There were only slight changes in the size of the spots from the last PET, so that was good. They decided to do another needle biopsy (owie), which, just like the one in March, came back negative for cancer. Hooray! But don’t celebrate just yet… The radiologist wants to test again in six months because he thinks it’s very strange that these spots continue to act like cancer on scans. If they light up again, my oncologist says we’ll do an open biopsy, which is a surgical procedure. Pfffftt.

So we wait.

I hate the waiting. Waiting for these things is a trigger. My mind goes to dark places when there’s waiting. These places are deep and gloomy and it’s easy to get lost on the paths that lead to even more murkiness. Dark places are not fun or funny or light or silly or cheery or anything of the things I prefer in life. They’re dark. (And they’re places.)

I don’t think I should blog from the dark places. I really try not to.

Moving forward, my plan is to make blogging regularly a habit again. I would like my blog to do what it was originally created to do—keep our family and friends up-to-date with our lives. And yes, that means it won’t always be fun and happy, because life is not always fun and happy. But I have always tried my best to turn the dark stuff a teensy bit lighter. “We laugh to survive,” right?

And we avoid some topics to survive too.

Apr. 30: Month in review

April 2014 is over. I haven’t done one of these month-end things in a while, but I sooo want to bid this month GOOD RIDDANCE that it seems appropriate to resume the semi-habit today.

Special days I celebrated this month and how:

• Ummmmm… can’t think of a one. I mean, some good things that happened this month, sure. No actual celebrations, though.
• Sherilee swung/swang/swinged/swunged through town while touring college campuses with her son. We met up for breakfast and had a lovely visit, as we always do. I’m crossing my fingers that Seth chooses Lewis & Clark so she swings through town even MORE often!
• I had a court date for My First Speeding Ticket Issued From a Person, Not a Camera. I know, I know… it’s not so shocking that I got stopped for speeding, but that it had never happened before. The whole thing was unremarkable, as I shared in my Facebook status immediately after. Boo.

• Spring is here, finally; we had some really beautiful days this month—this week the temps are hitting the mid-80s. The sunshine is a lovely thing to see.

I saw things with my eyes:

• Lots of good stuff on TV these days… And OH so much trash! Chrisley Knows Best, I’m talking ‘bout you.
• I’ve watched (listened to) Frozen on repeat most the month. You know those annoying people who recite movies word for word, beginning to end? It physically hurts me not to do it. Ye be warned.
• Katie has now been introduced to The Breakfast Club. She knew about the movie from its references in Pitch Perfect and had been asking if she could watch it. Like an idiot, I forgot to consider all the reasons it’s rated R. Oops. (How does that saying go? Something about “great parenting falls somewhere between ‘don’t do that’ and ‘oh, what the hell.’”) I think what Katie enjoyed most about it was recognizing four of the five stars from their episodes of Psych.

This month’s good and bad:

There’s really only one thing to talk about here: Theresa’s husband lost his cancer fight on April 10. I rambled a bit about it here. It’s hard to write about for many reasons, but mostly because I want to be respectful to Scott’s family’s grief. I’m intensely angry and so, so sad.

There aren’t enough four letter words for cancer. It’s time to invent new ones. I bet Val could help me with that. :)

I likes to share the silly stuff:

I want to close on a less bummer-y note, so here are pictures I’ve been collecting.

 

 

 

Time to move forward. May will be good, right? 

Apr. 18: Cancer is an asshole

Every time I start to blog lately, my thoughts wander from whatever meaningless topic I was planning to write about and focus on all the reasons I have no business writing about meaningless things. That’s why it’s been quiet ‘round here lately. A couple friends have messaged me to ask if everything’s okay, and I want to say that it is, but that’d be lying.

Things are not okay.

Things are not okay because while *I* may not have any diagnosed cancer cells in my body right now, cancer is still affecting people that I love. I AM NOT FINE WITH THAT. No one should be. I’m furious that people are still dying from cancer, that people who are being diagnosed immediately feel they’ve been given a death sentence. I know cancer cure rates are a lot higher than they used to be, but they’re not high enough.

Examples? Why yes, I have several, DAMMIT.

Theresa’s husband, Scott, was on hospice for a very short two weeks before he passed away last Thursday. He was way too young for this to happen. He had zero risk factors that contributed to his type of cancer. It’s just plain WRONG that he even had it in the first place. His daughters, 6 and 10, say it isn’t fair and ask why. What the hell can anyone say to that??? We agree. We ask why, too.

The wife of another friend just found out she has an aggressive form of breast cancer. She’s also young, with two young sons.

The doctor that ordered the scan that finally diagnosed my constant pain for the entirety of 2009—one of the kindest, most caring physicians I’ve ever known—was recently diagnosed with cancer himself.

See? It’s all-cancer-all-the-time, and I’m pissed.

Immediately after hearing about Scott last week, I felt an urgent need to DO something. Theresa’s house was full of family taking care of her immediate needs, and there was nothing I could help with there. I quickly figured out that sitting still just turned into crying, which did no good at all, so I tried to be busy. In the first hour I went out to our front yard and dug up every dandelion I could find, inadvertently digging up a few bulbs and other things we’ve lovingly placed “just so” over the years. Oops. When I finished our yard, I moved over into Tina’s. Then I went to the other side and worked on Trudy’s yard. I was exhausted and filthy, and I’d relieved a teensy bit of tension, but it wasn’t enough. I drove to a nursery to get more plants, and wandered the aisles back and forth, unable to make any choices. I don’t know why I thought plants were the answer. I was absolutely worthless.

A few of us went to Theresa’s that evening. Conversation was all over the place, and at times it felt almost like any other girls’ night—we talked about a new job, a quirky husband, vacation plans, our hope to someday smoke pot just once, getting old, middle school drama, good wine, smelly boys, haircuts, Theresa’s near-perfect puppy, and more. But mixed in with all that was conversation about the hospice experience, Scott’s last moments, his big family (Val made a very helpful org chart of them!), memorial service plans, his bucket list, and the kids. It was good to be together, and it was good to smile. It was good to see Theresa smile. We all kinda love her a LOT.

(As a bystander, it’s hard not to put yourself in the shoes of the grieving person/people. We can pull from our own past experiences of loss, but the differences are huge sometimes—grieving a parent is not the same as grieving a spouse. It ends up being a lot of stumbling around, mumbling the same thing as everyone else: “I’m here for you” and “I’m so sorry” and “tell me if you need anything”—heartfelt, yes, but they just feel so friggin’ empty.)

The next morning I was still antsy. I didn’t want to feel the feels, y’know? I attacked weeds again. I cleaned the house. I sorted laundry. I did whatever I could to avoid sitting and thinking. This was a good release of my angry energy, of course, but also made me feel selfish; I mean—and I know this sounds overdramatic—Theresa and her kids don’t have the luxury of avoiding thoughts of Scott.

That evening I got the message from my friend about his wife’s diagnosis. I was watching TV, having calmed enough to sit for a few moments, and that damn email alert changed everything. It’s incredible—and a little scary—to feel how quickly anger comes over oneself. I pounded out a reply, and I tossed and turned all night with worry about his family, Theresa and her family, and cancer in general.

I hate that I feel like a rotten friend to these people right now, because I know that ONE, I’m not all that encouraging—I want to be, but it’s hard to ignore all the screaming of four-letter words in my head, and TWO, I have a hard time separating my own experience from theirs. In other words, I worry that I come off as though I think it’s all about me. I know it isn’t. Everyone’s cancer fight is different. Everyone’s cancer fight is their own. But hearing another person has to start fighting brings back so much of the bullshit I dealt with four years ago.

What I have to say to these people probably makes no difference at all, but I really, truly want to help, to ease pain, to give hope. Yes, I have some knowledge of what it means to be a cancer patient. But really, I should probably just shut the hell up. Cancer stirs all kinds of emotions in me, still, and I’m not so good at bottling them or waiting for the appropriate time to share them. The word “cancer” makes me just BLEARGH and throw my useless words all over the place.

Come ON, medical science. It’s not okay that we have to keep hearing about more cancer. It feels like we’re all just waiting to get the news for ourselves; it doesn’t seem to matter if we avoid known carcinogens, eat right, do all we’re supposed to for good health; cancer’s still gonna find its way into us.

I’m pissed. I’m so, so tired of being pissed. It’s not okay.

—Jen

Mar. 5: Oops.

The biopsy I last wrote about ended up NOT being on the spot in my throat; it was on the spots in my pelvis. We found out this week that there were no cancer cells in the tissue they sampled. None. This is very good news, because, in case you were not aware, no cancer = yay!

I’m trying to concentrate on that “yay,” because I’m incredibly frustrated that they told us my cancer had come back when they didn’t actually know my cancer had come back. Given my history, it was a safe assumption on their parts, but OMG, what a roller coaster they’ve had us on. I won’t be trusting scans over biopsies EVER again. Grrr.

The radiologists are uncertain I’m as cancer-free as my oncologist is, but all of them agree that another PET scan in six months is a good idea, so that’s the plan for now. The past five weeks have been all-cancer-all-the-time, and I gladly give that up for the everyday-ness I had grown to love.

All this radiation means my super powers should be kicking in any day now, right? They better be somethin’ good.

Feb. 22: For realsies, even more + other stuff

My oncologist called this past week and said she and the radiologist decided to biopsy that thing in my throat after all. They’ll be doing an ultrasound-guided biopsy, and I have no idea how that’s different from the one I had in ‘09, which was done with CT, but I’m pretty sure it will hurt and I will not have fun.

The biopsy is scheduled for the afternoon of Wednesday, February 26. I was supposed to meet with the oncologist that day to decide on treatment, but we moved that appointment to Monday, March 3.

I’m thankful that everything suspicious is being checked thoroughly, and I understand that that takes time… but it doesn’t mean I can’t be frustrated that this whole thing is being drawn out even further. Sooo… I hoped to have some news to share on Wednesday, but it’ll be a week from Monday instead. Grrr. Also: pfffftt.

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On the side of the bright, Victor and I are away from home for the weekend. Don’t try to steal crap from our house though—my mom is there with the kids. Tomorrow is our anniversary (17 years!) and we’re celebrating with a little shopping, a movie in a real theater, restaurants, and probably a lot of falling asleep in front of the hotel room TV. In fact, if none of the rest happens, I’d be OK with that. We’re old and tired.

This is the first year that our anniversary happening the same weekend as the elementary school carnival is no big deal, which is all kinds of awesome. The awesome part is that we actually get to celebrate our anniversary ON our anniversary. It actually isn’t awesome (to me) to miss the carnival. I kinda love that carnival. It’s always a butt-load of work for PTO (but not me this year!! YAY!), but is such a fun event. Vic is not even a little bit sad to miss the carnival—as a PTO husband, he was given a lot of grunt work. In fact, I don’t think he misses much about PTO at all.

I’m suddenly kinda mad at him.

But not so mad I’ll go help at the school. Sorry, Wendy.  :)

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Sales at Dear Girl ~ Jewelry with Intention are going really well. I’ve sold quite a bit on etsy, but I’ve had people come to my house and poke around in the warehouse (my hall closet) and buy that way, too. I’m having a lot of fun with the whole thing, and I’m grateful for friends who have pinned my stuff on Pinterest because I’m starting to get sales from people who found me that way. Thank you, thank you, thank you to those of you who have purchased, and for the rest, I hope you’ll take a look at the store. I can do custom orders, too, so let me know if you don’t see something that’s perfect because I will totally make you a perfect thing. I will. I can.

I suggested that part of our anniversary celebration could be a tour of all the bead stores in town and Vic didn’t go for that AT ALL. My next husband will enjoy beads more. And he won’t snore. Or be a mean drunk. Or beat me with sacks of oranges. Or stomp on my dreams.

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Yesterday Mother Mary got to meet Max, her great-grandson. I love to say that she’s a great-grandmother. It makes her sound ancient and that’s fun!

He is just the sweetest little cuddle-bug. I loves ‘im.

Also, look in the background—do you see the liquor cart? I’m sure Erin & Kevin will have to put theirs away when Max starts crawling toward the shot glasses, but our kids are past that age so we’re safe—our kids can just walk right up and drink straight from the bottles. (BEST. PARENTS. EVER.) I am so gonna add this Leave It To Beaver-esque feature to our living room, pronto. Maybe that’ll be our shopping quest for the weekend.

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Pics I’ve been saving to share with you because I loooooove you:

 

Scary how much Google can figure out from what you type in the search box, huh?

 

I think I want this friend:
 

 

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I usually do these little-bit-of-everything posts on Fridays so I can use my shirtless Ponch pic, but this is Saturday, so here’s non-Friday-lovin’ Ponch because I couldn’t bear to upset Fancy Lori™. She likes her Ponch.

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That’s all for now. Laterz.

Feb. 14: More medical stuff

Here’s the latest:

In my last update, the ENT had just put things in my nose. He didn’t see any cancery kind of stuff in my throat, but ordered an MRI to rule it out completely. The MRI was yesterday.

When you’re going to have an MRI, every medical-type person you have contact with asks if you’re claustrophobic. What they should be asking is if you value your ability to hear sounds with your ears. The MRI I had a few years ago was on my lower back; this one was on my head. And guess what? My ears are also on my head. My ears do not work anymore because MRI machines are the loudest thing in the entire universe and my head was trapped in one for 30 minutes.

Seriously, when they give you the squishy foam earplugs that fall out the second you put them in, and you say it’s no big deal and you’ll be fine without them, you have no idea how much you’re lying. You are a lying liar who lies, that’s what you are. And you’re about to need to learn sign language.

I don’t understand why the machine is so loud. Like, why scientists haven’t done anything to make it quieter. I can’t be the only person whose first words after the procedure were HOLY SHEE-AT, THAT WAS HORRIBLE. I don’t know why everyone is so worried about claustrophobia when that’s far from the worst sensation a patient can experience.

Fortunately, good news followed that awfulness: the MRI results were what we were hoping for; there are definitely no signs of cancer in my throat. The ENT called me today to say so.

The oncologist is taking the MRI results, along with my PET scan and bloodwork, to the “tumor board” (her team of specialists) and they’ll determine the best course of treatment. That will happen on Feb. 25, and we’ll go in Feb. 26 to hear her recommendation. So that’s where we are now… and it’ll be nearly two looong weeks before we know anything else.

That’s the most frustrating part of all this for me right now. Back in 2009, things moved relatively fast once we knew I had cancer. This time, though, it’s just so much waiting. Doctor after doctor, follow-ups, tests and waiting for results… Ugh. I just want to get treatment started so it can be over. The uncertainty is making my anxiety sky-high(er than normal).

Pfffft.

Feb. 5: Medical update

Just an update on the medical stuff, not so much because it’s interesting but because I’m lazy and don’t want to try to remember who I haven’t shared the latest info with already. Also, I promised to post updates here so my stalkers can keep track of me.

I saw the ENT yesterday, and he stuck a camera thing up my nose. Waaaay up my nose. Like, up my nose and down into my stomach. Possibly just my throat. Whatever—it was weird but also kind of awesome because I got to watch it on the teevee and my vocal cords totally looked like the kraken and also the doctor didn’t find any cancer or tumor-like things and that was the whole reason I went there anyway so it was all good except for the thing that went in my nose because I didn’t like that at all but NO CANCER IN MY THROAT = yay.

In other words, it seemed unnecessary to do a biopsy when there wasn’t any suspiciousness to biopsy. The biopsy wouldn’t have been done yesterday anyway, as the doctor said it requires surgery under general anesthesia (yikes). I asked why the spot on my throat glowed on the PET scan if it’s not really cancer, and he explained that because that area is part of the immune system, and I had a bad cold at the time of the scan, the spot was inflamed and acted different from regular tissue. So, even though he’s pretty sure everything is as it should be, to completely rule out cancerous tissue in my throat, I’m going in for an MRI next week.

I have an appointment with the oncologist a few days before the MRI, but I have a feeling it’ll get rescheduled. The appointment was to talk about the biopsy results on my throat.

Going forward, the oncologist will probably want to biopsy the spots in my pelvis. I’m not excited about being awake for that.

That’s the newest news, as promised. Yaaaaawn, right?

Jan. 31: Month in review

January 2014 is almost over. I’m kinda glad.

I’m also glad that today is Friday, because we all need a little Ponch now and then, right?

You’re welcome, Fancy Lori™. I know you like the Ponch pic. ;)

Special days I celebrated this month and how:

• New Year’s Day was celebrated in high style here at the House of Manullang. Three of the four of us were sick and napped throughout the entire day. Wheeeee. We’re the funnest.
• Jenn K’s birthday! We went to a wine bar, where I tasted a wine I actually like. I took a picture of the label so I can look for it in stores—so far, no luck. Figures. Time to place a special order, and I don’t even know how or where to do that because I’m so wine-stupid. After the wine bar we checked out a new local place, Valley Growlers. Big thumbs up for their fab selections! I think Jenn K had a good birthday, but none of us really remembers for sure, including her.
• I went to a baby shower for Erin, my niece. So fun to celebrate a new baby, even though he made me a great-aunt and that makes me old. More on Baby below.
• There was a celebration in our family when the Seahawks won the NFC championship, and there will be more celebration this weekend when they compete in the Super Bowl. As I am neither a Seahawks fan nor a Seahawks hater, I was not a celebrator nor a throw-things-at-the-wall-er (Loveliest Lori, I’m looking at you…). It sure is nice to have such happy boys in the house though. I also like seeing happy Seahawks-adjacent Facebook posts from happy Kim F’n, happy Melodie, happy Jordan family, happy every Manullang/Nienhuis, and happy neighbors. Happy is good.

I saw things with my eyes:

• Downton Abbey and Sherlock have started up again on PBS, and that makes for some happy Sunday nights here. The If-Downton-Abbey-Took-Place-Entirely-On-Facebook summaries that appear the next day at this site are priceless.
• I watched, for the first time, Mommie Dearest. Wow, I say, both for Joan Crawford’s awfulness and Faye Dunaway’s ridiculous over-acting. Still, it was oddly entertaining. One of the best things about Amazon Instant Video is having access to lots of movies (mostly trash) that I’ve never gotten around to watching.
• Last year I watched (and kinda loved) the documentary Grey Gardens, and this month I finally saw the Jessica Lange-Drew Barrymore movie version of it. Both were fascinating in that train-wreck/I-can’t-look-away way.
• Who needs to wait for the DVD release of Frozen, like a sucka? It’s online! Bootleg video, anyone?
• Armistead Maupin’s final tale from his Tales of the City series was published last week, and he was at Powell’s the other night for a reading and signing. He was as entertaining as always—I love that man. I’m thinking about re-reading the first eight books before I start the new one, just to experience the whole series in one great big delicious bite.
• I read Amy Tan’s latest novel, The Valley of Amazement. It contained a bit more detail about life as a courtesan than I really needed to know, but was beautifully written, as her books always are.
• I’m not entirely sold on e-books; I like holding actual books in my hands, turning pages, the eyestrain, all that. However, if a book is interesting enough, I’ll attempt to read it on my iPad. I just finished When You were Older, by Catherine Ryan Hyde. The story is set in the months following 9/11; I thought the author did a good job capturing the emotions of that tense time. (Someday I hope NOT to associate certain books with whether or not I read them on my Kindle app, but this was the second I’ve read start-to-finish.)

This month’s good and bad:

• NEW BABY NEW BABY NEW BABY NEW BABY!!! Erin & Kevin’s son was born four weeks early, but he’s doing well. I met him when he was two days old, and OMG, I forgot how lovely it is to hold someone else’s newborn! What a little sweetheart. Picture proof:

Baby Max (with Erin’s piggies in the background)

I love this pic of a very tired Erin and her sweet boy
(Totally stole it off their blog, but with permission)

• Debi visited! We need to see each other more than once a year. Boo.
• I opened an Etsy store and am going to sell my gemstone jewelry creations. I’ve been beading like a madwoman—it’s a very fun creative outlet. I’ll post the store info here when it’s all ready for shopping and sharing with your friends. I feel like I’ve been asking a lot of favors lately, so I apologize in advance for yet another.
• There aren’t enough creative new ways to use four-letter words that convey our frustration with the results of my PET scan. The cancer is back. I have a biopsy next week, and will meet with the oncologist soon after to decide on our next course of action. I’ll do my best NOT to turn Stuff Jen Says back into an all-cancer-all-the-time blog, but will also try to share news as it happens.
• And while I’m on the topic, I’d like some credit for not using more of those four-letter words on my blog. They sure come out of my mouth more than they end up here. Somebody praise me for my restraint RIGHT NOW.

I likes to share the silly stuff:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Time to enjoy some February. You should do it too. Laterz.