Just scared

It's been 10 months since I was diagnosed with cancer. You'd think it would get easier and easier to put it out of my mind and go on with my life, especially since I'm clear for the moment. But that's not the case. As my friend Chelsea said in her own cancer blog "Those of us with Melanoma live in 3-6 month increments, from scan to scan". So true. My own time is getting close to another full body check and possible biopsies with my dermatologist, and my own review with my oncologist. My scans are in 6 month increments. You would think 6 months would be plenty long enough to put it out of my mind after scan time, but as time is going on, I'm learning more about this type of cancer, and I'm seeing more and more Melanoma warriors die. Give me a surgery... I can do that. Scans are a piece of cake. Even biopsies I can handle, but give me this knowledge of how brutal Melanoma is... how it hides...give me the seeing people die every day.... I'm not handling it. Maybe my sister is right: maybe I do need to talk to someone.

It was bad right after the new year when Randi died, and I thought I'd try and distance myself emotionally from the Melanoma stuff for a bit, but then Samantha Channels died, and I'm seeing other friends online fighting such heartbreaking battles, and it's killing my heart. It's gotten so bad that I had a nightmare the other night that I had advanced to stage 4, was seriously ill, and I was telling my family goodbye.

No one else understands that doesn't have Melanoma. They don't realize how deadly it is, how sneaky, how it hides. Instead they tell you things like "you have a %50-50 chance and that goes for everyone", or "If you only think about the negative, that's all that will happen to you", or "You're clear, why do you keep dwelling on it? You could be hit by a bus tomorrow. Just get on with your life". 


Tell that to Randi. Tell that to Samantha. Tell that to everyone in treatment, in the hospital, in hospice. For those of us with Melanoma, we know that the odds are NOT in our favor. You might get hit by a bus tomorrow, but we have a deadly disease that most people don't even realize how deadly it is. They just think it's skin cancer, it's gone, you're fine.


Well I'm not fine. I'm not DOING fine. 


I'm terrified, and I can't share this with my family because then THEY would be terrified for me and I don't want to cause them this pain. 


In two months it will be my one year Cancerversary, and guess what? 


It's NOT over. It will NEVER be over.... until it comes back. And the odds are that it will.

Conflicted

How do you say goodbye to a year that has both blessed and cursed you? How do you welcome in a New Year with all the promise it brings while you live in fear of more health problems, and while you watch while people with your kind of cancer drop away?

I am conflicted this New Year's Eve.

This last year has brought about more tears and challenges than I would have ever expected, but while I was hanging on during the storm of cancer surgeries, I was also being blessed by many things, too. My family worrying about me, complete strangers telling me they would pray for me, my friends online and IRL letting me know they were here if I needed them, gifts I was sent, just the complete outpouring of love. One other great blessing I learned is that whatever happens to me, I'll get through. I'm not the wuss that I was.

I'm stronger than I thought I was.

While this knowledge does make a difference in the way I view things now, it still can't shield me completely when people still get diagnosed with this cancer, when friends struggle through their own cancer journies, when friends...die...from this cancer.

When I wonder if it will come back, and when...where in my body...how long will I fight...

Welcome to Cancer-Land, it's a whole other country.

My sister today suggested that I get therapy to help me deal with all that happened this year, and all that could happen. I didn't take it as an insult because we've both been through therapy, but I'm wondering if that's what I really need. Isn't this a normal reaction when one has a serious illness? Sometimes it feels like people want to rush me through this year, through this cancer. Yes, I'm in remission, yes it may not come back for years and years, but I have to make this journey at my own pace. Just because it's over for YOU doesn't mean it's over for ME. It probably won't be totally over...EVER. Because my kind of cancer has no cure, and I know that. It hides, sometimes for years, but most of the time it comes back. I've resigned myself to that, but I don't want to think about it constantly.

I'm so scared. I'm so happy. I want to cry. I want to celebrate.

I'm so conflicted.

I guess it's not impossible to cry AND laugh at the same time, I know I've done it before. maybe that's what I need to do...both.

Cry for the people lost this year, cry for the pain of loved ones mourning, cry for all the heartache that may come in the new year, but laugh at all the funny moments this year, all the love shown to me, all the victories of getting through every single surgery like a trooper.

2011 you will ALWAYS be remembered, for the good as well as the bad.

2012 I won't ask for much, just let me live and enjoy every minute. Let me laugh, let me show love to others, let me feel the sun on my face without fear.

And if anything bad should happen...

Let me FIGHT.

RIP Randi... a true warrior

We lost another warrior yesterday, Randi from Randi's Journey with Melanoma . I had no idea she was that bad, but that's probably because of her upbeat attitude. Everytime this happens it inspires me, but it scares the hell out of me, too. But mostly I'm just really, really sad. I hate this cancer.

New Pics

Here are a few new pics that I've gotten and/or taken of my journey so far.

 This is my first scar, after the initial mole removal done in March 2011. It was small, 8 stitches, but it was a big deal for me. They did it in the derm's office and later called me on the phone to break the bad news that I had cancer,

 This is me in Pre-op. I think this was my 4th and final surgery so far to remove the tumor behind my knee. (That one turned out to be benign). Mom took this pic and I'm giving her the look "You better not be taking my picture, mom!".

This at the dermatologist in October for two removals and biopsies. I was getting to be a pro at the whole medical thing by this point.

The procedure room at the dermatologist, or as mom likes to call it, "The Melanoma Room".

My main scar where it all began, right above my cleavage. It's faded a bit, but you can still see how large it was. For some reason they decided to do only internal stitches and used derma bond on the outside, so my incision started to pull downward due to my boobages. I could have had surgery later to make the scar prettier but I refused it. Let's face it, I'm no beauty queen anyways.

A closer view. I wish I had taken more images during my journey, but I think I was just so numb from having cancer that all I could think of was the next scan or the next surgery. But I think it's important to share our images and stories so that others can benefit from our experiences... if they choose to.

Back to Normal

I would have posted earlier regarding my scans and results, but I have had a separate health problem that has me extremely anemic and tired all the time. If it's not the fatigue, then it's headaches from hell. Basically it's all hormone related and my doc is trying to sort it all out but until then I'm up and down. 

My scans were uneventful, although they didn't give me any nice warm blankets so I was bummed. It took a week for my Oncologist to get back with me about the results and that was with me calling the office several times a day. I met with him two days ago and we went over the scan results, which were normal. He looked at my swollen right side near my arm but didn't seem concerned with the swelling. He scheduled me for another PET scan in April - 6 months from now.

Yesterday I went to the dermatologist, and as usual, they took me straight back to the procedure room. It wasn't needed though, because my skin exam was clear, nothing to cut off! She scheduled me for a 3 month appt in February. 

So basically I'm in the clear until next February and I can sit back and enjoy the holidays as a normal person, and not a cancer patient.

Everyone loves to be tucked in!

My 6 mos PET scan and brain MRI are coming up next Friday the 28th. I'm dreading them because of not being able to eat or drink beforehand. I am diabetic too, so I need a drink with me all the time and without food I can get a wicked headache. Well, we all know how much noise those machines make, especially the MRI machine, banging away like a few jackhammers trying to get inside your skull. I have my PET scan at 9:30am and my MRI 3 hours later. I know by the time I'm done, I'll be starving, thirsty as hell, and I'll probably have a headache to rival all headaches. That's why I'm having the parentals take me. As soon as I get out of the MRI, I'll be grabbing a drink and some pain pills ASAP and there's no way I could drive home.

The thing I'm looking forward to probably sounds silly to others. Once I get to the PET scan, they inject me with some highly radioactive material, then place me in a dark room to rest for an hour. This is so the material can travel throughout my body, but I have to remain very relaxed. They let you lay back in these huge recliners that they use for the chemo infusion people, and they have these blankets that they keep in blanket warmers, so they lay you back, place these warm snuggy blankets over you, and tuck you in. Granted, they also hand you some nasty stuff you have to drink during your time there, too, but getting to relax and being tucked in is just so nice. Yeah, I know... I would actually look forward to chemo if I ever had it, right? Not the after effects, no. In a way it's almost like I get to just relax and concentrate on myself for a whole day. Since I'm a full time caregiver for my sister, it's the little things that I have to take pleasure in when I find them.

I usually load up some special movie or shows on my iPod and sit there and just relax for the hour until they come to get me. Once they get me and bring me back and tuck me into the scan table (again, nice blankets and foam thingies to prop your legs on), that's when it starts to get noisy, and I start to actively participate. I'm not a person to meditate because I'll just fall asleep, and falling asleep in these machines is impossible. Instead, I try to concentrate on getting great scan results. I imagine all the different parts of my body under the scanner responding perfectly to the injection, and if there is anything unusual at all, I imagine it lighting up like a christmas tree. If there's something bad there, I WANT to know. But of course I pray the whole time for clean results. Clean, clean, clean. It takes about 45 mins to an hour. After that I will have an hour or more before my MRI and that part WILL suck. Still no water - no food.

Once I get in the MRI, the real suckage starts with all the banging. But at least I'll know I'm almost over the worst.

Or course after that it's all waiting until I meet with my oncologist a few days later to find out the results. I really do feel like I'll be clear, but I know having anxiety over it is normal. The week after I meet with my oncologist, I'll have another appt with my dermatologist. I guess what they say is right... Once a melanoma patient, always a melanoma patient.

I have a black melanoma awareness bracelet that a wonderful melanoma warrior's mom sent me. I will never take it off. I will always wear it proudly.

RIP Lisa :(

Another warrior against this horrible black beast has completed her journey. Rest in Peace, Lisa of "Melanoma Lisa". You fought your battle with tons of laughter and a hell of a tough spirit. I hope you're in a better place, completely healthy and endlessly happy. 

Melanoma just broke the heart of another family, and left another person without his mother. This happens every hour. Please learn from our example and protect your skin. 

It's very simple... Melanoma Kills. Don't be a victim.

Please say a prayer for Lisa's family.