After Reflects

It's been a year and a half since I last wrote, and some people have asked about the blog. So, I'll try to bring you up to date with a lot of rambling, random thoughts for filler, because I'm out of practice. 

The last time I wrote was about a weekend visit to the ER at the hospital, where I'd had some of my treatments and my cancer surgeries. I still think about that weekend, and it still creeps me out. My bed was in a corner of the floor with two other beds, and there were curtains to separate each area. I was the one constant in that corner all weekend. People came and went, but I remained, holding on to my purse, so if I fell asleep, no one would steal it. I didn't see my "roommates" faces, but I could hear them talking, usually while I was trying to sleep. A few of them had several, loud talking visitors, and one just talked to anyone who walked by and would listen - he had broken both his ankles in a fall, I think. There was something really unsettling about the man from Cincinnati, who was next to me for a few hours. The whole episode of his stay there was like a John Waters or David Lynch movie which gave me an uneasy, slimy feeling. 

He was from Cincinnati and came to Louisville to "find" himself. I don't recall who he said that to, but I remember hearing it. I also heard him on the phone begging some woman to reconsider and take him back, and all would be well. This went on for a while, then he got pissed off and hung up on her. A few minutes later, his wife came in, having arrived from Cincinnati. (I never did find out what brought him to the ER.) I think his wife may have brought a friend and the friend's daughter, although I'm not sure why. She couldn't get much privacy with her husband, because the friend talked non-stop very loudly. I could tell she was intelligent and cunning, but her grammar was bad. The only thing I remember her talking about was how they were going to put one of the babies at the day care in a dog crate and take a photo to put on Facebook, but they changed their minds. I'm not sure if they changed their minds about the entire thing or just about taking the photo. How lucky the parents are whose children are in the care of this woman! At one point, the mother and daughter went off to find some snacks, so I was able to see them walk down the aisle. Although the daughter was only about 11, she was well on her way to being as large as her mother, and was learning some important tips on handling babies.  

I haven't had any more episodes in the ER and have had several PET scans since I last wrote. All have come back showing no new cancer, although I was worried when the last one mentioned some very small spots on my lungs that someone "might" want to take a look at on the next PET scan. My oncologist was going to do the next PET scan a year from then, but because of the spots, I asked him if we could do it sooner. So, he set up the next scan in six months. My colorectal surgeon said the spots were nothing to worry about, and that the radiation oncologists have to say things like that in their reports as a CYA. But I have read that when anal cancer recurs, it comes back in the lungs or liver, so I want to be vigilant. 

I bought a sculpture from my friend, Bob Lockhart, at the Cherokee Art Fair last year. It's some kind of strange, imaginary animal which was named Norman. I have renamed him, Ned Norman, since NED means "no evidence of disease" in medical jargon. Occasionally, I'll stop by Ned and ask him to keep the cancer away. Ned looks very harmless and shy, but I'm sure he's taking care of me. 

And now the six months have passed, and my next PET scan is this coming Wednesday, March 9, which may already be past by the time I publish this. The worst thing about the PET scan is the diet the day before, and when they slice my finger to get my blood sugar level. Then, they inject me with something radioactive, and I lie in a bed and watch funny TV shows for about 45 minutes, so the radioactive material can course through my veins. The test itself used to be difficult, too, because I had to hold my arms still above my head while lying down for 30 to 45 minutes. This guarantees really toned arms, but trying not to move in that position for that long makes the test seem twice as long as it is. Instead, the technician now has me put my arms down at my sides, and he wraps a band around me to keep my arms from falling down - the board to lie on is not as wide as I am. The diet has none of the things that I like to eat, like chocolate, sugar, Girl Scout cookies, dairy, spaghetti, cheese, fruit, and coffee with cream and sugar. Breakfast the day before the scan is a bit of a drag, because I can't have cereal or yogurt or coffee. So I have to have bacon and eggs, which I like, but don't have a lot of time to fix before work. And I'll miss my coffee. Basically, I can eat meat, vegetables, mushrooms, and a green salad with oil and vinegar the day before the test. After the test, which I always schedule first thing in the morning, I hurry home and have some coffee with cream and sugar. This time, I won't get the results until March 14th. 

On March 18th, I am having my first colonoscopy, since the one I had when I was first diagnosed with cancer. I will have to have them every three years now. My doctor wanted me to take the pills, but I'm afraid of them, because I've read that some people who didn't drink enough water with them ended up on dialysis the rest of their lives. I've bought the MiraLAX, two 32 ounce bottles of lemonade flavored Powerade and some juice drinks that aren't red, orange, or purple. I need to get some lemons to bite on, before I take each sip, and I'll need to get the stuff really cold, before I drink it. I also have straws to bypass my taste-buds. My brother told me that he's having his first colonoscopy this year, but he only has to drink two five ounce bottles of his brand of salty-sweet, liquid cleanser. I'm going to ask my doctor what that is. 

Next time, I'll discuss the side effects from the treatments, so you'll know what's going on when you see me limping by with my drop foot.