The Girl who Cried Wolf

In which our Heroine Discovers the Importance of Pathology

I almost don’t know where to start.  My very reason for having this blog is gone (almost).  I am happy to report that my tumor being downgraded from a 3 to a 2 means all the difference in the world.  Experts at Johns Hopkins reviewed my pathology and have determined that things are much less serious than previously thought.   Treatment is hereby suspended.  That’s right.  No chemo, no radiation.  No nausea, no hair loss.  I will continue to get MRI’s every 3 to 4 months to check up on my friend the cancer.  A question we had was, will the tumor come back worse later if we do nothing about it now?  Answer:  well, that depends more on the biology of the cancer: It will do what it will do: its either a fake-out, or a seriously bad dude (this is all heavily paraphrased).  Meanwhile, I feel like the girl that cried wolf, but for only a month or so.  It turns out my cancer is the boyish kind rather than the wolfish type.  At Christmas, Jon and I will probably go see a neuro-oncologist specialist at the Huntsman Institute just to make sure of all this. (As much as you can ever be sure, anyway…)

Oncologists and Un-romantic Dates

In which our Heroine Keeps you updated

I met with my chemo oncologist yesterday.  Dr. Delgalvis is a woman willing to admit that she doesn’t know everything, which I like.  I will meet with her again on Friday the 24^th by which time she will have called the “big-wigs” to see what their advise is.  If my cancer was more on the terminal side, and if I was older, she would simply give me the usual strong dose.  Unfortunately, that could have some very bad side effects. For instance, I stressed to her yesterday that I would like to have more children someday, so could we not kill off my ovaries, etc…?  (Like my insurance would ever pay for me to put eggs in a bank).  Once we have her research, I can go ahead with radiation. 

On Monday the 27^th I will do a radiation dry run.  This involves fitting a mesh mask over my face and getting strapped down.  Seeing in what ways I am claustrophobic and going through all the motions so I will know what to expect when they really do shoot a laser beam of radiation into my skull. I like my radiation oncologist so much that I’m actually willing to do this.  His name is Dr. Blom, and he has permanently surprised eyes.  This is one of my favorite things about him.  Well, now you know the dirty details.  Until the end of next week, I have a short respite/waiting period.