Against All Odds

Wednesday April 6th 2011 was the scheduled date for my monthly appointment for round 4 and my 3-month MRI results.

So before we talk about yesterday, let's just have a little recap on what's been going on in my corner of the world.

Last month's chemo cycle was a little rougher - I felt yucky.  And by yucky, I mean nauseous.  Nauseous like I've never had before.  I didn't actually feel like I was going to vomit, but at the same time, I didn't want to put anything in my stomach just in case I'd see it again.  It took me over an hour to eat a tomato sandwich, that was cut up into fours.  You know the way little kids have their sandwiches...ya.....I kept eating though, because not eating = stopping chemo, and we can't have that now, can we? I think feeling nauseous is worse than actually vomiting. Sorry to get graphic here for a moment.  But at least once you vomit, it's out of your system and you usually feel better.  With constant nausea, I didn't actually vomit (thank god), but it's one of the most unpleasant feelings. I decided right then and there that I was going to seriously, seriously going to think hard about my decision to have kids.  Can you take the serious anti-nausea pills (gravol is for wussies) when you're pregnant? I'm going to look into it.

Other than absolutely not wanting to eat anything, last month went as well as expected.  I went to Kingston for four days, where I caught up with old friends, and danced until 3 am.  Awesome weekend.  On March 23rd I had my 3-month MRI.  So back into the space capsule I went.  Only this time I got the luxury MRI machine.  I got ear plugs and everything.  Score.  It's like going to the worst rock concert you've ever been to in your life, you're in the pit, and your head starts ringing.  Some of the pictures last up to 6 minutes...longest 6 minutes of my life. If it lasted any longer, I swear I'd have a seizure. Then they'd have a real problem on their hands.  Another little side note, the tech, was a very strange bird.  I always drug up before going into the space capsule, and I bring my blindfold. I indicated I'd taken drugs on my form, but for the first time, the tech decided to inject the contrast die while I was standing up!!! Standing up!!! Woah, whoah, whoa, let's not get crazy.  And then I was off to sunny Florida to visit my grandparents in Rotonda.  Hello beach, palm trees, and the ocean.  It was a really nice break from the city, considering Mother Nature dumped 6 inches of snow the day before I flew out.  I managed to get a bit of a tan, swim in the ocean, and soaked up the heat. I love Florida.

Now for my appointment yesterday.  I arrived at the blood clinic a little late, and of course the place is packed.  Great.  They were on number 18, and I was 43. Fab.  I wore my Livestrong "Pick A Fight" t-shirt, and the blood tech says to me "Pick a fight? With who?" It's a good thing this lady is only responsible for taking blood.  Lady, everyone in this hospital is picking a fight, probably with cancer. Duh, look around you. The CNS clinic was actually on time. Miracle.  I knew this appointment would be a milestone in my treatment: What did the MRI show? Was the chemo working? To be completely honest, I'd haven't even thought about it at all.  The first time I thought about my MRI results was while I was sitting in the waiting room, and I was too nervous to read my book.  The resident came in, asked how I was feeling, and told me there was good news, the MRI results were positive!!!  My Mom teared up, and I looked at her and said to her "I told you Mom, I told you".  I quote: "Reduction in the amount of abnormal tissue in the left frontal lobe as compared to the pre-operative examination".  In this business, most patients hear "stable", so to hear that the cancerous area(s) in my brain are shrinking, is nothing less than remarkable.  Remarkable.  In the back of my mind, I know cancer follows no rules, and this is a dirty, messy business. The scale could tip at anytime.  But for the first time since this whole thing began, I really, really feel that I have a chance. I'm going to do this.  Although, I finally felt that going to this appointment was more routine, I never, ever get used to the faces I see there.

Just to let everyone know, if I don't blog it's only because everything is fine. No news is good news.

Also, it's Young Adult Cancer Awareness Week! Please read, ask, research!!! I'm going to do a blog about this soon.

It's April people. Daffodil month.  Every 3 minutes a Canadian is diagnosed with cancer. Join the fight. Wear a daffodil.

I'd also like to thank all my wonderful family and friends.  The support from all sides has been overwhelming and much appreciated.  Thank you to all those who have supported my spring sprint for the Canadian Brain Tumour Foundation.  The Ride to Conquer Cancer (benefiting PMH) is also coming up in June, so check that out!  I will be volunteering at the event!

On a final note, I don't like to use the word "luck" when I talk about cancer. Cancer and luck don't really go together.  It's hard to believe in something like luck.  This may be a hard thing to explain, but I'm going to try anyways - I do consider myself extremely lucky that my cancer is responsive to chemo, and the MRI results are positive.  But it's more than just luck, it's about something, a feeling perhaps, deep down, that I can't quite explain, that drives me, against all odds, to hope, to fight hard, to fight strong, to fight like hell.  "We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey." - Kenji Miyazawa.  I did get good news, but if you have cancer, I know that good news is rare.  So to all the cancer patients out there, who are on the front lines, my wish for all of you, is hope. Never lose hope. Fight hard, and fight strong, because everytime one of us loses hope, or refuses to fight, cancer wins.

"Success is not measured by what you accomplished, but by the opposition you have encountered, and the courage with which you have maintained the struggle against overwhelming odds" - Orison Swett Marden.