My PET/CT scan results are back. No evidence of cancer! We are very happy here.
More art:
Inlet
Field 2
Reservoir
On the Rocks
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Doing fine after the gamma knife laser surgery on my brain. I even have some super-flattering photos to share.
Here I am with three ponytails (one’s in the back) just to make me look extra cute. Okay, it’s really so the surgeon can screw the frame into my head where the hair is parted without having to go through hair or shave any of it off. You can see the two front screws going into my forehead.
Here they have put a dome on my head. I don’t remember why, but I guess it was necessary at the time.
The goofy smiles are because you’re always supposed to smile for the camera, right? And I was on some meds….
This photo is after the procedure. They put me in a hospital bed and fed me…a big magenta flower? I don’t remember the flower. I probably ate it.
My neurosurgeon and a physicist monitored the whole procedure. The physicist checked in on me all the time, very comforting. They were very pleased and said they were confident it was a success. The MRI in July will give them more data about the results.
The nodule was in the balance area of my cerebellum, and I have had no balance problems since the procedure.
Today is my brother’s birthday. Happy birthday, Doug!
Tags: brain, cancer, colon, gamma knife, surgery
Apparently there is a colon cancer metastasis in my brain about 1cm in diameter, and it is growing. The news was hard to hear. I was sent to a neurosurgeon for a plan of action.
Sooo, tomorrow I go in for gamma knife brain surgery. No cutting, just lots of laser beams aimed into my head, killing whatever is at their point of intersection — in this case, the metastasis in my cerebellum.
I will be able to go home the same day. Brain surgery has come a long way.
On a happier note, we are adjusting to a new puppy in our household. Molly is a ten-week-old golden retriever. She joins Jesse the bichon and Romi the cat. The housetraining is a pain, but she has given us many laughs during the two weeks we have had her.
Molly and pals
Our cat likes dogs, so that adjustment has been smooth. Jesse the bichon was not too sure about Molly for a while but is playing with her now.
Also fun: Cliff and I just got back from visiting the elementary school where our daughter teaches art. They are having an all-school art show this evening, and we were very impressed with the kids’ artwork. Our son showed up too, so the family was all together.
On brain surgery eve, all is well in our household. And Romi the cat is at the keyboard, supervising my writing.
My oncologist is straight with me. He tells me the truth. I have made it clear that I want it that way.
I have stage IV colon cancer, and I have been in remission now for over a year.
So during my oncology appt today I asked him, “I know my cancer is a slow grower. It has stayed dormant before and then begun to grow after almost a year.” I already knew the answer to my question. “How likely is it that the cancer is staying dormant right now while I’m in remission, and will begin to grow again in the future?”
He said in his caring voice, “It’s very likely. But I have two colon cancer patients, stage IV, who are now years past their diagnosis. One is seven years out, no sign of disease.”
So once again I am faced with this prognosis: there is hope, but it’s not very likely. But it can happen.
So I can’t sleep.
It sounds to me like I am probably going to die from this cancer…but maybe–although it’s a stretch–maybe not.
Whom do I talk with about this? Cliff is worn out and needs sleep, the kids don’t want to talk about it and they aren’t my counselors anyway, I will wear out my friends if I talk about this stuff over and over. Everybody is too close. And I don’t have a counselor right now. So I am writing about it.
I paint too. Maybe all this sadness about dying a little too soon will find its way into an abstract painting one day. (Well, that will make it all worthwhile….)
It’s weird to think that in a year or two I could be not here with my family, but instead cremated and scattered.
Or I could be one of those oncology patients still walking around, and people are thinking, “What, she’s still here?”
It could happen.
I took up painting over a year ago, then stopped during the summer of 08. In June 08 I was diagnosed with stage IV cancer and underwent surgery. Chemo in the fall and winter. Then during chemo I picked up art again and began learning in earnest.
Since people have asked to see what I do, I’ll post my work here now and then. I don’t have a particular style yet, as you will see; I’m all over the map. I’m drawn to abstract art, but so far I haven’t done much of that. Anyway, I’m so enjoying the challenges that I encounter in art.
I am just learning…about creativity, about process, about art in general. I love looking at other artists’ work. I absorb so much, and I enjoy seeing how they used color (or didn’t use it) and how they decided to compose the painting.
During my sixth colonoscopy earlier this month, my surgeon removed a flat polyp. No cancer, though! He’s keeping a close watch, and I am still on an annual colonoscopy schedule.
Tags: art, cancer, colon, colonoscopy, painting
I have an appointment with my colon surgeon tomorrow. I am due for my annual colonoscopy. My first colon cancer spread to my lungs, and the doc says that I can always get new cancers, thus the yearly colonoscopy. Tomorrow he will give me the prescription for the prep and we’ll make an appt for the colonoscopy.
I have had five colonoscopies. One year I messed up the prep instructions, and the colonoscopy actually had to be rescheduled. I would rather not have that happen again; it’s pretty embarrassing not to be able to follow basic instructions.
So my sixth colonoscopy draws near. I’m not ready for this prep, not when I’m still dealing with the effects of my second bout with shingles. I was in the hospital for three days last week, sick, in pain, and throwing up. It would be nice to have a little respite before I have to deal with the nausea of the colonoscopy prep.
I should be valuing the colonoscopy because it means early detection. But I dutifully had a colonoscopy in 2002, and it was clear. Either the doctor (not my current surgeon) didn’t see the cancer or it hadn’t begun yet, because in 2005 I was diagnosed with stage I colon cancer. Then, even with annual colonoscopies and PET/CT scans every three months, I was diagnosed with stage IV colon cancer in 2008.
I feel like I should be cancer-free. I have been the poster-child for getting tested and being proactive. But still I got colon cancer, and still it progressed to stage IV.
So although I’m very grateful to have health care that covers colonoscopies, I have mixed feelings about actually having them. I have to deal with this anger and sadness every year. I did what I was supposed to do, and it didn’t matter.
Many of us have this story, whether at home or at work. We feel like we fell through the cracks somehow, and we feel alone. Of course, we are not.
Tags: cancer, colon, colonoscopy
I was so tired last Friday that I kept falling asleep during Reiki, which I don’t usually do. I think I was carrying around more stress about that CT scan than I’d hoped I would.
On Saturday, Cliff and I celebrated the good CT scan results by going on a beautiful but tough (for me) hike. It was only a couple of miles, but we gained some good altitude. I took many rests, and Cliff was patient as always. He steadied me a couple of times when my balance wavered.
There was a lovely stream by our path the entire hike upward. It kept crossing our trail. So nice to hear the gurgling as we hiked!
I told a friend about our hike, and she got us trekking poles from Sam’s Club today. I can’t wait to try them out!
Cliff and I saw my Univ of Colo oncologist this morning. Very good appt; he is so thorough and clear with his explanations. And it’s such a relief to have no evidence of cancer.
Hurray — I already have the CT scan result, and it is all clear — no evidence of disease!
Bless that hospital radiology dept and my oncologist for getting me those results so quickly. It’s difficult to wait.
I kept reminding myself to remain quiet, to dwell in peace. But it’s like trying to keep a lid still over a boiling pot. (Sorry, that’s the only metaphor, lame as it is, that I can think of right now.) I would rather know what that test shows, and the sooner the better.
So I’m very happy. I’m off to Reiki now and Gail, my dear practitioner. Bliss!
It’s been a good week, although I’ve needed to keep reminding myself to breathe and be peaceful. My CT scan is tomorrow morning. Hopefully, I’ll know the results on Friday afternoon.
Because I felt better about the scan, I was able to enjoy a hike on Saturday with Cliff, and we went for a bike ride on Sunday. When I do those kinds of things, I’m exhausted for the rest of the day. But it’s so wonderful to exercise outside that it’s worth it.
I’ve been doing rough sketches this past week. I took a long fireplace-style matchstick and dipped it in ink and drew with it. It’s hard to control but certainly loosens you up! I sat on a blanket on the lawn in the shade, nestled the ink bottle in among the grass blades, and drew. Nice way to spend part of the afternoon.
The cat is asleep on my forearms as I type, so I’ll quit now, as this is getting uncomfortable (although the cat is snoozing quite comfortably — his head bobs up and down as I type).
A CT scan is looming next week, and I have been dreading it. I’m not usually afraid of these cancer tests, but it has been five months since chemo ended, and I don’t know what’s going on inside me.
Well, that’s what the scan is for—to find out what’s going on. I still go into the chemo ward every other week for an infusion of Avastin, but that’s the extent of my treatment right now.
There are so many difficulties and tragedies in the world that it seems trivial to worry about a CT scan result. Yet, when something threatens our life, we are usually determined—instinctively—to fight it.
And I am.
Today during a quiet time I remembered this bit of wisdom: “What is, is.”
And I realized that the scan in itself is nothing in fear. The results are non-emotional; the scanner is just recording what is.
I am making peace with what is. If cancer shows up on the scan, I will have treatment options. If it doesn’t show up, I will be relieved. The scanner is only recording what it sees.
And monitoring “what is” may save my life.
Tags: cancer, colon, scan, spirituality