She Lives!

No whammy no whammy no whammy big buuuuuucks...

STOP!

...Scan results at the end of the month- likely around the twentieth. ^_^

Hi folks. I live! Hell, I thrive. It's late at night and I'm sitting in the dorm office on duty, so I'm not much up to a big honking 'how yeh do' sort of post, but suffice it to say, the remnants of the cancer are finite at best. As far as health side effects go, that'd have to be 'nil', unless you count my newfound ability to be able crack my knuckles about fifteen times a day, and snap like a string bean getting ready for supper at every occasion. And who knows why that started up.

I've maintained my weight loss, which just means the template for 'good lookin' has just gotten smaller. ^__^ I've.... minimized the blueprints, you might say. I've resisted cutting my hair again since summer, though I've sorely wanted to for a few months now. It's at a length that's between longish and shortish, which is an annoyingish thing. (As is the suffix of 'ish' on things that shouldn't be ished. ;) But I brought that one on myself.) So the hair's not at a terrible length- I'm testing with the notion of growing it out again, though not likely to its previous length. Frank prefers long hair, though he'd be loathe to admit it and have me catch him in a 'trap' (smart man), so I'm trying to be nice and not hacking it to my ears again. I've said it before, and will likely say it again, especially considering my affectation for repeating myself- long hair and short hair are divine, and anything in between tends to gripe me a bit. But who knows. I'm on the Change Train, these days- and it's got unpredictable stops.

So... hair's in place, scans are waiting for my appointment with Doctor Diamond... yeah. That's about all the cancer news I've got. I'll be graduating in May, thank God. I'm so tired, and just want to have a nice summer of sleep before the real world (hardly.... grad school) sneaks up on me. Of course, this could be the student teacher talking. Yes, ladies and gents- I mold young minds. Feeeear for the childreeeen.

Fingers crossed for the scan-reading! No whammies no whammies no whammies....

<3

Hoo-Ah

Oh, let's see... where did we leave off? I was just telling cancer never to call again, and healing from my birthday surgery. (...Huh, when I phrase it like that, it sounds like I'm some 50 year old desperately going in to have one of those pesky birthdays removed. "No, I'm49. Really. I had that last year taken care of. Really. ...Snipsnip. My doctor is an artist.")

As of now, you'll be happy to hear that cancer still hasn't gotten a hold of my number. I had a CT scan as of March- and the report came back "No evidence of lymphoma recurrence. Scans unremarkable." Score! Honestly, if I have to get an 'unremarkable' rating back on a test, that's the one to get it on. The scan was the same as it always is- the night before, I had to drink two bottles of that absolutely disgusting barium crap. It never gets any easier- I so prefer shots to that nauseous guzzle-session. ...Then to the hospital there at West Point where it was *takes a breath* get an iv lay down on the table get the iv contrast hold your breath, pulled inside the machine, take a deep breath, let it out, taken out of the table hold your breath again back inside oh here comes the contrast hold your breath hold your breath ooh i feel all warm okay you're done now. *DEEP BREATH* Whew. Yeah. Same old, same old. But with a beautiful result. Clean Kate.

There was a little questionable spot- but no worries, it's not related to the cancer. There's just something in my abdomen that's either 'fluid filled loops of the small bowel' or a 'multioculated ovarian cyst'. They didn't seem too concerned about it, though- and I'm having an ultrasound in May/June to have it checked out. ...It's just typical that if you're getting your entire body scanned, you're going to find every little nook and cranny that something sketchy is going on. ^_^

On the hair front- I got it all hacked short right after Christmas (it was spiky! I looked like a hedgehog! Yay!)... because I was tired of it being all uneven and nasty-like. Since then, it's grown out to about 2 inches on the sides and a little longer on top, very fluffy... very "I shall do what I like when I like, thank you ever so." More often than not, I just wake up lookin' like Foghorn Leghorn on top and beg it to stay down as I dunk my head in a sinkful of water. People seem to like it, though, and it's so easy to wash that it's crazy. I'm going to let it grow out for a while- see how I like it. Then I'll see if I'll keep the short style or not. Who knows.

On another front- the 'battle of the bulge' as it were... since late November, I've been on-and-off dieting- and have lost 20 lbs. Which means that I've lost all the weight I gained during chemo/radiation, and even a little more. It's a really great feeling, and now I feel like I've sloughed off those 'cancer pounds' like so much unwanted snakeskin.

Can I get a hoo-ah? HOOAH!

Happy Birthday

She has been disconnected from the collective. ...What shall we do with her now?

...I don't know. ...give her a cookie, or something. Take away her designation. She's not our concern anymore.

She never had a designation to begin with.

Then what are you pestering me for? Skedaddle.
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Happy Birthday, Kate!! What is it you want for your birthday? ...Ooh, I know. How about some nice dissolving stitches. Wouldja like that? You would? Okay, just hold still. This will put you under nice-like.

I thought most people got trashed on their 21st birthday. Me? I had to be different. My 20th was my 'out of it year'. ...And if you're wondering what that whole mess above was about, I'm proud to say I'm no longer mechanical. The port is gone, as of December 27th, and yes, that was my 20th birthday. I went into Keller Army Hospital at 8 in the morning, got my blood drawn and got asked if I were pregnant about a million times. (...Who would be pregnant a million times? ...I think she means she was asked, a million times, if she were pregnant. ...Ohhh.) Then I went upstairs to same-day surgery where they plugged me into an IV, performed an EKG on me (strange sensation, those gooey pads all over your chest) and made me wait for two hours while they got back confirmation on the pregnancy test. "Hey buddy, I could have told you the answer to that one. ...Oh wait, I did!" Then they pumped me full of nice twilight sedation, wheeled me into the back, and before I knew it I was waking up with a big bandage on my chest and that one less reminder of my chemo-days.

Ah, percocet, how I missed thee.

Actually, percocet makes me sick, so I was only on it for the day-of, and then switched to Motrin. I've been absolutely fine ever since, and as long as I sleep with a rolled up pillow on my stitches side to keep myself from curving my chest in as I sleep (I sleep on my stomach- tis a curse, really), it doesn't give me any problems at all! The stitches are even dissolving, so I don't have to go back and have any of the surgeons poke and prod at them with those little bent-nosed scissors. Nope, I'm pretty much free until February, when I have an appointment with Dr. Diamond, a CT, and an appointment with Dr. Villiote- all to check up on me for formalities sake. (Knock on wood.)

I would like to say that I timed writing this at the time I am- right before the turning of the New Year, because it seems awfully appropriate in all those fittingly-ironic ways that, as a writer I am partial to. But I have to begrudgingly admit that this was just a by-product of lucky timing and the soul of a procrastinator, waiting until what is literally the last minute to let anyone know anything worth knowing. (Boy, was that a convoluted sentence. ...I like it.)

..I have nothing against this New Year. So it better not have anything against me. It was exactly a year ago, give or take a week or two, that I first noticed my throat was a little swollen. So this has consumed exactly a year of my life. And now I'm done with it. That's it, I'm 20 years old, I don't have time for this anymore, universe. If I had to get it out of my system, I've already done it.

Done. Finished. Give her some water, the poor girl looks flushed from crossing the finishing line.

Don't call again. Changing my number. ...Moving. ...To outer space. See you never.

Buh-bye.

A Letter from God

Dear Kate,

Hey, how's it going? Well... yes, I actually KNOW how it's going- but way back when I invented speech, I figured it would be nice if people asked how other people were doing. ...Because, you know- well... they don't know. Not like me. So I didn't want to surprise you by coming right out there with "I know exactly how you're doing.' Sounds a little phone stalker, don't you think? ...Those were fun to invent. Anywho-

I've been looking at your file, and I see that you've been successfully treated for Hodgkin's Lymphoma. Radiation just ended.. on Friday, isn't it? Very nice. Well, I just wanted to let you know that everything looks like it's in order- all the paperwork is in triplicate, and I see you've signed the waiver to let some of the saints have a look at your file... very nice.

Thank you for your cooperation these past ten months or so- I assure you this was the best way to get that whole cancer thing out of the way. The card was already in your file, so I made the judgement call of playing it now, rather than later. Hope you don't mind- but really, I know what's best, so... well... just so. In any case, that concludes this file- I'll just finish up some paperwork, send it over for you to sign, and then, if you have any further questions, contact my secretary for information. Congratulations. See you in a century or so.

Sincerely,
God.

---------------

Zill. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Null. Zero. That's how many chemotherapy treatments I have left. That's how many radiation treatments I have left. That's how many cancer cells are left in my body. ...Which is good, because frankly, that's how much patience I have left for all this.

Friday, after my last treatment, I went back to New York, where I currently am now, relaxing, doing absolutely nothing- and waiting for Thanksgiving. Next Tuesday, I have an appt with Doctor Diamond where I'll probably have to get my port flushed (it's not been accessed since the 21st of last month), and where I can get permission from him to have my port removed the Monday after Thanksgiving. I want the sucker OUT. No more Kate of Borg. No more anything that has to do with cancer. ...As far as the scars and the tattoos go, I consider those battle marks. But the port has to go.

And now, the great 'knock on wood'. I'm done with it all, barring the scans and tests I'll be getting for the rest of my life. They'll start off one every three months or so, and then, after nothing shows up for a while, it'll change to twice a year- then once a year... etc. Eventually, they'll just become part of the routine, and almost have nothing to do with Hodgkin's in my mind.

...You know, it's no wonder that the end of treatment feels like the real end of this for me, rather than the day I was said to be in remission, or even the day that the PET scan corroborated that. I never felt any pain from the cancer itself- no symptoms at all, it was caught so early, I suppose. The only thing I ever really had that was altered from the cancer itself (that I was aware of) was the lumps on my neck. Anything that has been difficult for me over the past year (give or take those few months) has been treatment-induced. All the blood draws, all the IV's, the bone marrow biopsy, the chemo, the surgeries, the radiation- getting ill and taking medication and losing my hair and getting weak- all of that was treatment induced. I understand it was all for a good reason- the best reason, but suffice it to say, only NOW does it feel like it's all over. A part of me can't believe it, but then again, another part can't completely believe that I went through it all in the first place.

But for now, I'm not going to let myself think about it too much- I always do that. Think too much. Right now I'm just going to enjoy the feeling of not being in treatment for cancer, and not looking like I am, either. My eyebrows are back in all their glory- hallelujah for that- and my hair, although short, is starting to look like I may have done it like this 'on purpose' rather than 'hair by chemo'- the world's least favorite hairdresser. I don't struggle up a flight of stairs, and I don't get tired just walking across campus. ...I'm going to sit here and wait for Thanksgiving, and fill up on all the food I want, and give thanks for not having to think about it anymore.

Cancer? Cancer who? ...No, I don't know anybody by that name. You have the wrong number. *Click*

Narcotic Bliss

6 down, 8 to go. And as you may have guessed from the title, narcotics are nice. Especially the higher strength ones. It's Ky...something. Maybe it has a t in it. Or an i. Or both. Or I don't care, because it's four times stronger than Compazine and I'm not re-releasing my lunch into the 'wild' every afternoon. (Go and be free, bagel. Frolic with all the other little bagels, and avoid the bagel poachers. They'll stab you clean through the middle. Sell you all gored and holed. It's a sad sight.)

So thus far, Ooie and I haven't been agreeing with each other very much. I tend to like my food to run through the digestive process with a nice, relaxed ease- whereas he seems to think a more assembly line, 'lets reverse that shipment' mindset is more in tandem with my needs. ...Ooie is vastly mistaken. And now I have Ky-maybewithaT-maybewithanI on my side of the debate who agrees with me. Ha, that's two against one, Ooie! You lose!

(...Is it ironic at all that first I named my cancer and taunted it, and then moved on to my treatment in a similar fashion? ...Well, perhaps more weird than ironic. ...Or more crazy than weird. *shrug* Ah well! If you can't laugh at your cancer treatment, what can you laugh at? ^_^)

E Tu, Compazine?

*Whiiiiiine* I was supposed to be on duty last night with another RA... however, by the time duty call rolled around (7pm) I had been up in my room vomiting for a little under an hour. Soooo... needless to say, I wasn't on duty, unless such a job can be fulfilled while layng flat on my back in bed, my head propped up by pillows and the 'groan' button permanently on. Frank came and kept me company for a while, and watched Milo & Otis with me. (or, at least, I watched it, and he looked at his watch and said "Are they home yet? Come on, you watch this movie when you're 8." ^_^) Then I managed to sleep through the night, and now I'm feeling like a human again.

I don't know entirely what went wrong. I took the Compazine like I was supposed to before rads, but they certainly didn't do the trick, says Kate's digestive system. (Which hasn't been getting a lot of work this week...) The only thing I can think is that a) Perhaps now that I've gone through five straight days of radiation, my stomach is weaker, and the Compazine just can't do it anymore or b) I hadn't eaten at all beforehand, and maybe that caused it to go wonky. ...I am reminded of the very first chemo I had, and how awful it was afterwards because I hadn't eaten anything beforehand. But I didn't think that it would be the same situation with radiation. ...Apparently, it is. *hurk* Lesson learned. *ralph*

In any case, I'm going to let them know about my less-than-fun Friday afternoon escapades when I go in for Monday's treatment, and beg off some stronger medication. There is no way radiation should be harder than chemo- that's just... one of those fairness things that the universe should have to uphold, or it implodes, or somthing. I never threw up this much in a week because of chemo. The most reaction I'd have was some nausea either once during chemo, or twice or so directly afterwards. And then I was done! All the next two weeks between the chemotherapies was just me sitting around going "ewwww... I can smell the chemicals still. ...Oi! You, stop cleaning the kitchen! It smells like chemicals. Filth- we must live in FILTH, I tell you!" Or, at least, something similar. But now, I've been sick two days out of five, and that is legitimate, can't move, can't think, can't do anything sickness. Frankly, my dear.. I give a damn! o_o It suck-eth!

In any case, 5 down... 9 to go. And then... port removal, and then this is done. Hallelujah!

ps) Send chocolate. Ha. ^_^

The Return of Radioactive Girl

Radioactive Girl had long since hung up her hero costume when the scene opens on her this fine Monday morning. At least... it used to be a fine Monday morning as this 'average college student' headed to her classes... until disaster strikes!

Captain Reverso leaps out from the blue, seemingly coming from the sky, and attacks a crowd of students! ...They are slow and sluggish, their reaction times halved by the nature of their existance... drunken nights, followed by hungover mornings and puzzling midterms that cause their pizza drool to spill down onto their slacken jaws. Kate leaps in front of the students and takes the brunt of Reverso's beam... catching it full in the stomach. She has saved them! But alas... now her stomach is confused, and believes that everything inside it must go out! It spurns when it should churn... approves passage out when it should be ushering things in!

And so, to combat this fiendish Reverso, Radioactive Girl rides again, donning her neon spandex! ... Er... or maybe just her neon sheets. *tightness... urk...* And off she goes!!! .... Well, maybe she should introduce her new side-kick. Ralph. Ralph Bucket. And away they go... en route past the loo...

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Here we go again, ladies and gents. Radiation cycle #2 (aka, last leg) has begun... with a bang. On Monday, two new nurses (new in that I've not had them before) took me to a new machine (bye, Yobo...) and lined me up via my tattoos on the bed, had me roll my jeans down around my hips, and the machine that I've dubbed Ooie... went to town. It looks a little different- the dangle part off the arm seems a little thicker, and the sounds are different. Yobo used to 'sigh', once or twice, and then you heard NZNZNZNZNZ for 10 seconds. Ooie is a little more obnoxious- he doesn't sigh, he hisses... and then you hear NNNNNNN for a few seconds, then a second sound joins it- a mechanical whirring, not unlike a dentist's drill. Some of the little attachments on the plate are different as well- so on Tuesday, I asked the nurse who was lining me up if the machines had to be different. She explained that the difference is akin to throwing ping pong balls versus bricks. Yobo delivered a beam that could only penetrate a shallow depth- perfect for a smaller area, like the neck and upper chest. Aka, Yobo is the ping pong ball. Ooie, on the other hand, is the brick. If I'd had Ooie last time, my nurse says, it would have gone straight through my neck and not been able to effectively radiate me. However, for a nice fleshy area like the abdomen, Ooie and his bricks are right on target.

It's Thursday now, so I'll give you a quick run-through of how things have gone since Monday, the first treament...

Kate goes in and gets zapped on Monday. Leaves with Frank, drives back to campus, and goes straight to the dining commons to get some lunch. ...Kate feels a little queasy. ...Kate takes a bite of lunch, and 'excuses herself' from the table- via mad dash out into the main hallway bathroom. Ralph #1. Kate goes up to her room to rest before her special effects makeup program for Halloween is to take place... Ralph #2, 3, and 4 take place in the span of about an hour and a half, and she is pretty much unable to move around until around 3-4 hours after radiation #1 takes place. ...This won't do at all.

So I spoke to the nurses as soon as I got in on Tuesday, and consequently... walked out with two things. The first is the knowledge that when you're a 19 year old cancer patient with big blue eyes with puppy-dog capability, and your nurses both have children of their own... you get medicine. And FAST. ^_^ That was the second thing I walked out with. Compazine. Lovely, wonderful, purr-inducing compazine.

Tuesday and Wednesday's treatments were much better. I didn't go home and spend my time 'conversing' with the porcelain... and I didn't glue myself to Veronica (...the name of my big pink easy chair. ...Don't ask why I name everything. It's some obsessive compulsion, I'm sure.) and groan for hours. I have felt a liiittle queasy around 7-8 at night, which is about an hour before I can take the medication again, but it's not nearly as bad as what Monday was. I liken it to the feeling I had about two days after chemotherapy- still a little 'off' but not so bad that I can't function. (Although, to be fair- the number of times that ANY of my treatment has caused me to be unable to function has been... infintesimle, at best. So in that regards, along with many others, I'm prety lucky.)

Now, just as a disclaimer: the only reason I'm able to maintain the patented "Chipper Pollyanna" perspective now is because a) I'm not upchucking all over the place and b) This is going to be OVER soon. (Knock on wood.) I've had so many people remark on how wonderfully I've been doing, and how they can't imagine how I stay so positive- and really, when things like that are said... I just think 'I'm not uncomfortable now. I'm handling it. And as long as you can handle something, and you know you're eventually going to be okay... what's there to complain about?' That, and I also know that I DO complain, and that I DO get sick and tired of it all. It just doesn't bleed over into mainstream life. Every once and a while Frank will get the brunt of an "I'm exhausted and unmotivated' tirade, or my mother will get, like she did on Monday, an email that was basically the equivalent of a small child waking their parent up in the early morning to go "I'm sick." ...There's nothing they can do about it, sans say "well, there's not really anything I can do about it"... but you still want them up, anyway. ^_^ If I have to be sick... the least you can do is listen to me bitch about it.

Amen.