i do have some positive news!!

yesterday (thursday) i had my 4th anniversary followup with my surgeon. and while i do have two new medical issues (unsure of those at present) a re-occurance of cancer isn't one of them!!!!

its nice to sit in the examining chair looking over the shoulder of the surgeon as he peers at the images of my throat and lungs on the flatscreen and hear him say "i dont see anything at all, there's nothing there. what are they talking about?"

to me that's the ultimate pins and needles moment because in many cases there is something seen within the five year time frame. just not with me, so far im bucking the odds. 4 years and one month ago the odds of my five year survival were approx 30% (do not ever ask that question). today i figure that making the five year "cure" with NED is practically a sure thing.

NED is my dancing partner, by the way.. :::no evidence of disease::::

there is a faint "spot" on a bone though, even though the surgeon couldn't see it. the radiologist who dictated the exam could, and she characterized it as "osteopenia" in her dictation. my professional was listening to her recorded audio while he examined my images. i think that this is "peering" into one potential old age of mine in some odd way, looking forward in time. osteopenia is the precursor to osteoporosis, although i understand that it is treatable and it wasn't there a year ago. he'll await the written report, i'll have "bone density" tests done, whatever those are, thats already scheduled, with the results sent to my surgeon (i wonder why?) and then he'll most likely refer me to a specialist. i asked flat out if this was related to, or was, malignancy and he said "no". in the macabre humor department my bone density test is now scheduled for halloween. perhaps i should go dressed as a skeleton.

i'll also be going to an endocrinologist to see what the deal is with the thyroid levels (i was right about that last week!). hibernation is something bears do, not people, although i suppose there are worse things in life than sleeping a lot. i'm unsure why he's sending me to a specialist for this, but i'm sort of looking forward to that because i really don't understand the mechanics as well as i should and would like to know. out of all the side effects from my treatment this hormonal one has the biggest impact on my sense of well-being and energy level and lately it's been kind of whacked.

on a forlorn note, the visit was traumatic and stressful. i had 4 appointments stretched out over an eight hour period, and that's probably why im composing this missive, as a form of "unburdening". i had a really good cry thursday night and was teary at work friday evening. i've often found that the best thing in the world is simply talking openly about the trauma. so here i am typing about it. somehow just saying that this bothers me greatly helps. i do still participate in some support related activities but my participation is mostly supporting newly diagnosed patients who have the same tumor-circumstance as me. i no longer have much support of my own at all, at least not professional-driven/organized support but i could really have used some this week. it appears that i'm to be an old timer at this survival thing, one of the lucky ones. but seeing the newbies today, and being back within the treatment environment triggers stress, it's sort of like waking up INTO a bad dream.

i've gotten out of the habit too. this was my first time, personally being on the firing line, in over a year and so much of it had slipped away and receeded. in some ways it was actually easier when i knew i was already dead and i was playing pins and needles every three months. then it was a regular occuring part of life and i became used to it and it was no big deal, or at least i don't remember it that way.

the waiting areas were very bad for me this time. very bad. i'm extremely sensitive to the state of the other patients. it's as if time is slowed and everything is silent and i look at the patients around me and im inside of their feelings, or somehow aware of their mental state. the new patients are easy to spot for me, their nervousness, the packet of films some of them hold and don't quite know what to do with, the palpable sense of unease and discomfort visible with some of them. the hint of their fears, or their forced jocularity. i somehow sense all this. my own experiences have left me hyper-aware. i try and make eye contact with the ones who seem to be upset and i smile reassuringly when i catch their eye. i won't intrude on their space, but if they begin talking to me i make every effort to be as kind and as calm and as relaxed and as reassuring as i can be. i even go so far as to consciously dress neatly and i take care to put on a good appearance, since some of the new ones may be looking at me thinking "she's a survivor" and checking me out from that perspective. peering into their own futures. i have a pronounced vocal disabilty (great joke! :) and when others hear me speak they know exactly why i am in clinic. i am even careful about that too. i never speak to a nervous new patient unless spoken to first. i do that out of concern that i might horrify them with what they might unexpectedly perceive as their potential future.

and there is good reason to be concerned with that, because for some of them i may very well be their future.

if they're lucky.

what really bothers me most though is the younger women. there were four in clinic this week. two were together, so one was a caregiver, sister most likely, another was an old hand at it, even more so than me, her crutch and the cap covering her hairless head told her story. we sat across from each other and exchanged sly, knowing smiles while i sat and wondered about what a crutch was doing in a head and neck cancer clinic. she wasn't a day over 18.

but one was a young woman

who was obviously scared and a referall holding the films of her life in her hands

and couldn't have been a day over 25.

and i bet that two months ago

cancer was the furthest thing from her mind.

and thats how it begins for all of us.

the one out of three women in this country who wake up one day

and find themselves beginning dealing with malignancy.

i feel so sorry for her you cannot even imagine

i don't think i'll ever forget her face.

i hope that in the long run she grows used to her unexpected journey and i hope she makes her five years.

well ive had another good cry just now putting this last paragraph together. thats three so far! thanks for allowing me to speak.

i'll see you all next year in september!