So, I've gone all Sinead O'Connor. I feel like I should open my eyes really wide and sing, soulfully, about how horrendously gutwrenching it is to be dumped by a boyfriend. In Ireland. Then I'll pout and complain about the music industry.
It's better than going all Britney Spears. I have no interest in rehab. I guess she doesn't either. I don't want anything to do with loser backup singers either. Hmmm. She doesn't either. maybe I am going all Britney Spears.
Ugh. Can't bear that thought. Being bald is bad enough.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
my own beat
I had my second MRI. This one was after three treatments to see if the tumor is responding to the chemotherapy. This time it was much faster- only ten minutes instead of a half an hour when they were "staging" me. I'm still amazed by how loud that thing is. As I lay there, perfectly still in the narrow tube with my eyes closed, the 'EH EH EH EH" noise makes my whole body shake. It reminds me of being in a dance club with some electronica beat pulsing through my body. At least, that's what I try to think about when I'm in there. Dancing, people pressed in together, the beat reverberating through your body as big screen tv's around the room flash random and abstract images.
Then it changes. A very loud hum starts that sounds like I'm in the middle of an old black and white movie- flying in some old war plane. Then over the top of the hum is a loud beeping sound like some alarm has started ringing in the plane- your know, the altimiter is warning you the plane is dropping dangerously fast. This is when the cold dye is injected into your arm. Incredibly creepy. You get a hint of something foreign and synthetic tasting in your mouth. I know I shuddered, even though I was supposed to be very still.
Just when you start to get a little stressed about the alarm going off around you, it gets quiet, then you are back in the dance club. Much better than plumeting in an airplane. Then, you're done. They roll you out of the giant tube, have you throw out your earplugs, remove your IV and send you on your way to go home and try not to think about the results you'll be getting in a few days.
Luckily, mine were good. The numbers didn't look very impressive at first but when Mark did the math, it showed the tumor shrunk by 22%. I made him do the math for me three more times. 22% is good. Math rocks!
Maybe I should go to a dance club some day to think about my MRI. That sounds so much better than the reverse...
Then it changes. A very loud hum starts that sounds like I'm in the middle of an old black and white movie- flying in some old war plane. Then over the top of the hum is a loud beeping sound like some alarm has started ringing in the plane- your know, the altimiter is warning you the plane is dropping dangerously fast. This is when the cold dye is injected into your arm. Incredibly creepy. You get a hint of something foreign and synthetic tasting in your mouth. I know I shuddered, even though I was supposed to be very still.
Just when you start to get a little stressed about the alarm going off around you, it gets quiet, then you are back in the dance club. Much better than plumeting in an airplane. Then, you're done. They roll you out of the giant tube, have you throw out your earplugs, remove your IV and send you on your way to go home and try not to think about the results you'll be getting in a few days.
Luckily, mine were good. The numbers didn't look very impressive at first but when Mark did the math, it showed the tumor shrunk by 22%. I made him do the math for me three more times. 22% is good. Math rocks!
Maybe I should go to a dance club some day to think about my MRI. That sounds so much better than the reverse...
Sunday, April 15, 2007
This is surreal
Every once in awhile, it hits me. Usually I will be doing something fairly normal, like standing in Walgreens looking for a new toothbrush for Joshua that does not involve a superhero and suddenly I realize...I am on CHEMOTHERAPY for CANCER! It sounds so absurd in my head- it almost makes me laugh. How did this happen?
There I was, eight months pregnant, excited for the impending birth of my daughter and happily nesting up a storm then I turned around twice and I was lost in a sea of tears and terrified thoughts of my mortality, forced into an early induction, gathering myself and my new daughter up two days later to visit doctor after doctor to make paramount decisions about my health involving something I had rarely even thought about before.
And now I have toxic substances running through my body to try and kill those stupid cells that snuck into my life and took over. But, Joshua still needs a new toothbrush.
Life is so weird, it's almost funny. They key word here being almost.
There I was, eight months pregnant, excited for the impending birth of my daughter and happily nesting up a storm then I turned around twice and I was lost in a sea of tears and terrified thoughts of my mortality, forced into an early induction, gathering myself and my new daughter up two days later to visit doctor after doctor to make paramount decisions about my health involving something I had rarely even thought about before.
And now I have toxic substances running through my body to try and kill those stupid cells that snuck into my life and took over. But, Joshua still needs a new toothbrush.
Life is so weird, it's almost funny. They key word here being almost.
Pass the stupid shaving cream
I don't think it's fair that my hair is falling out in handfuls and I now have this half bald head, yet I still have to shave my legs. Sure I have less hair on my legs, but what's there still continues to grow. But I guess if any of this was fair, I wouldn't have found a cancerous lump at the age of 38 while pregnant with my second child. And chocolate cake would be good for you.
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