My trip to DC part one

So much has been happening lately, and I have so much to write about that it has taken me a while to figure out where to start.

At first I was trying to be super clever - to weave a witty tale of that last week or so - but after several false starts I figured I would just tell you what happened in DC in two parts.

Part One 

I flew out a week ago from today, landed in our nation's capital, and jumped into a car headed to my friend Gina's house.

Gina and I had one of those intensely close friendships that only 7th grade girls can have, followed by an equally intense falling out that only 9th grade girls can have. 

Lucky for me, at some point in our 30's we decided to put that nonsense behind us.

What I have learned through my close female friendships is the person you fell in love with as a friend is usually the same person you will find a few decades later. 

This is definitely the case for Gina, who had one of the coolest bedrooms of my teenage years, full of flea market finds, collections of pure beautiful randomness.  When the cab pulled up to the house, front yard full of beautiful kitch, and the driver asked if this was the place, I just laughed and nodded my head. 

So I was excited to see my old friend, meet her partner and her daughter and eat a home cooked meal.

Mixed in with my excitement was a tiny bit of anxiety, just a smidge, but I was aware of it every once in a while.

You see, Gina introduced me to her friend Beth right about the time that we were both beginning chemo for different, yet equally scary, cancers.  My new cancer buddy.

Beth was my type of chick.  Potty mouth, smart, funny, brilliant writer.

We shared a pretty deep connection over the last year by simply commenting within each other's blogs.  There were days when I felt like she was reading my mind, when she brought me to tears, when she made me laugh out loud.  And every once in a while we would write a sentence or two to each other, that felt like a note passed in class, personal, conspiratorial, real.

Our friendship felt like what kids in the 1970's must have felt about pen pals.  Someone to pour your heart out to, someone to create the self you really wished you were, without the fear of ever meeting and then bursting each other's bubbles.

So my worry really was that I was not going to live up to expectations, that my blog would have given my friends, old and new, a false sense of who I really was.

The next day I checked in on Beth's blog and read the following message:

I’m especially grateful this week for Dawnn Eikenberry, my first cancer friend and role model in how to live my life with this terrible disease. Meeting you face to face for the first time this week left me feeling star struck.

And for one second I hated cancer a little less than I usually do. 

If you want to fall in love with Beth too check out her amazing blog:

https://www.mylifeline.org/pointerb/default.cfm?

No cancer

Yesterday Doug and I came to the conclusion that I would have my ovaries and fallopian tubes removed, and we would take a pass on the full hysterectomy.

Today I scheduled the surgery (November 20th), spoke with the nurse, and felt a peace with my decision.

A few moments later my cell phone rang - showing the number, well known by me at this point, of my Dr.'s office.

My heart skipped a beat as I answered.  I knew that the voice on the other end of that phone would either be that of a nurse (always good news), or my Dr. (always bad news).

This is a simple detail I have learned along the way.  If you are waiting for test results, and the afternoon passes - that usually means bad news - as this type of news is always delivered by the Dr. themselves, and they typically only have time in the morning, or later in the afternoon to make their calls.

When I was told I had breast cancer it was over the phone, in the morning, and it was my Dr. on the other end.

When I was told that my lymph nodes still contained some residual cancer, it was in the evening, and it was my Dr. on the other end.

When I learned that my bone scan and my CAT scan were clear it was a nurse who told me one joyful afternoon.

So when my phone rang today, mid afternoon, and even though I knew that there was no way I had ovarian cancer, I was still relieved to hear the nurse on the other end say - "the results of your test came back, and they are negative."

The timing could not have been better - I get to escape for the weekend with a few girlfriends, clear my head, and wear pajamas all weekend.

I think I have earned it.

Decisions

So the ovaries must go.

The rest of my girl parts can stay if I decide I want them to.

As most of my friends and family know, I am not overly sentimental.  I am the opposite of a hoarder.  I put children's artwork in the recycling bin.

But at the rate that I am removing body parts, I am worried what will be left of me by the time I reach 50.

It is a very strange position to be in, and the decision has basically be left up to me.

There are risk factors to be weighed, time off from work to be considered, and percentages to be digested.  

And just for suspense,  tests to be run just to make sure I don't actually have the cancer I am trying to avoid.  (MOM - I don't - it is simply to put our minds at ease about how soon I need to go under the knife).

Doug and my Dr. spent a few minutes talking as if I was not in the room.  

The conversation rambled on and I am not sure who said what but a few things stood out to me.

"People with cancer just want to do whatever they can to reduce their risk factors".

"I just want her to have a clean slate, to have this behind her."

"People with cancer get tired of being defined by it..."

"She is tough"

And then I just started crying.

Tough my ass.

You gonna mess with me?

For the last 15 years or so my family and I have been wondering how my father "got" pancreatic cancer.  Was it that he worked near molten metal?  Was it that he smoked, like everyone, in his 20's?

Today we learned that in all likelihood it was none of those things.

The results of my genetic testing came back, and I, like my father, carry the BRCA2 gene mutation.

This mutation shows up in all sorts of fun cancers.  Like Breast-Ovarian-Pancreatic-Cervical and melanoma , just to name a few.

I asked the Dr. if there were any left.

Then, as he discussed the myriad of screens I will have each year, every year, for the remainder of my life the buzzing in my ears became deafening.

Thankfully I had Doug with me, to absorb the statistics, to ask the questions.  My only worry was the buzzing in his already damaged ears may have been preventing him from hearing anything too.

Genetics is a complicated business - this much I know - my sisters must now subject themselves to the terror that is the medical test and the results wait.

And when they are each 18 - my children should be tested as well.

About an hour later we walked out into the Portland sunshine.  I practically sprinted from the office (Doug described it as East German circa 1965), found a bench, and promptly burst into tears.

I will sum up my feelings in the most eloquent way possible.

I am Fucking Pissed Off!

Instead of putting cancer behind me, I will carry its dark shadow around with me forever.

So I sat on that bench and cried my eyes out.  It only took about 10 minutes, and when I was done, I dusted myself off, told Doug I am going to have the type of medical care that only Presidents receive, and went about my day.

Cancer - you picked the wrong girl to mess with.

EW+F

Tonight I danced to my hearts content.

I am not sure if I am a good, great, decent or terrible dancer.

What I do know is I always have a good time when I am dancing.

This embarrasses Harris to no end.  He tells me, "no dancing Mama"  on occasion.  And since he notices every detail (last week, when for some reason my hair was temporarily straight he said, "you took the curl away from your hair Mama."), I wonder if I am actually a terrible dancer.

I would like to think I am so good that my dancing distracts from his enjoyment of a particular song, and this is why he asks me to stop.

But I digress.

Tonight I danced with co-workers.

This can be an awkward situation - as dancing is intimate, and typically shows a side of a person you have never seen before.

As I told a friend, over the din of Earth Wind and Fire, playing live in front of us, "A year ago I may not have enjoyed this as much as I am today.  Today I can dance, and maybe look like a fool, and not give a fuck what anyone thinks."

My friend just laughed.

And then we danced like no one was watching.

If you can make it there

I love New York.

I love that my husband grew up there.

I love that my first time there was with him.

I love that I lived there for 7 years.  That I can navigate my way around the city by bus, subway, cab, and maybe even a ferry.  That my in-laws still live there.  That my accountant still lives there.  That some of my closest friends live there.

I love that I got to show my mom, along with her sisters, New York for their first time.  That we got lost on the way home from the airport, that we went to Ellis Island, that they rode the subway, that we saw a Broadway show.

I love that my sister Kristy lived with us in New York 2 or 3 times (I am not sure either of us can remember), while she started her career.

I love that one of my oldest friends would visit me whenever she could.  We would walk, and walk, and walk, and talk, and talk, and talk.  I love that whenever I see the Empire State Building I send her a photo - as it always reminds me of her.

I love that I got to show my father New York.  I love that I had a chance to tell him, "I will meet you in front of Grand Central Station."  I love that he got to sleep in my first house, eat at my favorite pizza parlor, walk across the Brooklyn Bridge with me, and see the Statue of Liberty.

I love that of all the places in the world, my two besties want to go to celebrate our friendship and our health is New York.  The first time for them both.

I love that Doug takes each kid on a one on one trip to New York.

I love that we will all be able to say that our first time in New York was with someone who will love us forever.

Never Again

One of the biggest lessons I have learned during my dance with cancer is that going about things alone is never the right choice.

Even the most mundane Dr.'s appointment should be shared with someone you love.

Today, I headed to my oncologist for my very first "3 month check up". 

And for some reason I went all by myself.

When I walked into the office and immediately went and had my blood drawn panic began to set in.

I asked the nurse, "Do you test that right now?"

"Yes", was her reply.

Next I was ushered into the examination room, and immediately sent out a text to my girlfriends. 

"I am a little freaked out here..." 

Worst case scenarios rolled around in my head.  I remember a long time ago being on a business trip with my boss who's husband had kidney cancer.  He was on the phone with her, after walking out of his first 3 month check up.  At the time it seemed serious, but not really scary.  Somewhat routine.

Now I realized how wrong I was.  I now understood how terrifying a 3 month check up is.

After a few minutes my oncologist came in, checked me out, (yes this does include feeling me up, but in a much gentler way than my radiologist).

I told him about the pain I have experienced in my legs, to which he replied, "I am confident it is not anything sinister.",he checked my heart which he felt had, "completely healed", and then he told me everything was fine and he would see me in another 3 months.

Suddenly I was free to go live my life blissfully away from cancer for another 3 months. 

And I learned a valuable lesson.  Not only was I getting all worked up over nothing, but as my friend Ali reminded me, I missed out on celebrating three months without cancer with someone I love.

When I got home I grabbed Doug, I grabbed the kids, and we walked down the street to celebrate what a great day it had been.

I had made it to my 3 month check up.

I had made it 3 months without cancer.