Like Asking Mary Lincoln How She Enjoyed the Play
So I guess it was naive to think that a bone biopsy wouldn't be that big of a deal. It was eleven days ago today, and it still hurts!
John and I visited MSK last Friday for a follow up with my surgeon. It was also to chat about my next surgery, which was scheduled for 10/21. It was to remove the top 1/3 of my tibia (the shin bone) and replace it and my lower femur (thigh bone) with something more bionic (work with me here), less cancer filled.
It turns out that the plan has changed.
After meeting with the Pediatric Oncologist (ironically MY oncologist), my Orthopedic Oncologist and he decided to not remove my tibia until after 2-3 chemo treatments. While I am not relishing chemo, I am kind of relieved that at least I don't have to have this tibia-removal/replacement surgery for a bit. I hate to say that I was stressing about it - but I was. 'Just' removing a small chunk of bone has been so painful, that I hated to think about a whole lot of bone checking out of my body.
So short-story-long, I start chemo on Monday 10/25. John and I were told to forget everything we know about cancer treatment (including John's grueling chemo, radiation & surgery) and every mental reference we had to what this chemo will look like. It will be worse they tell us. Directly. Bluntly. Seriously. In detail. Worse.
This cancer in adults is particularly aggressive. Even if they cut off my leg that contains the cancer, I would still have cancer, and would certainly die from it. Osteosarcoma has a dandelion effect - where once the main cancer takes root, little cancer seeds blow all through your body implanting themselves in other bones and soft tissue. We were informed that I will receive 3 chemo products in varying sequence over eight months. Along with drugs to stop or minimize the effects of the chemo (kidney failure, bladder obliteration, heart disease, hearing loss, oh and nausea).
Each chemo session will take from 3-5 days, and I will need to stay at or near the hospital for two weeks following each treatment. I will have at least one blood transfusion, and a platelet transfusion. There's more, I will spare you from. They were not painting a pretty picture.
Also last Friday, I had a CT and PET Scan. We have been anxiously awaiting these results to see if any of these hateful dandelion seeds decided to start a farm.
Today we got the call from my Oncologist who relayed the results of the the scans. I was ecstatic that they showed no other dandelion gardens growing in my neighborhood! During my jubilation on the phone, my doctor - ever focused - said, "Yes it's good news, and yet it is like asking Mary Todd Lincoln how she enjoyed the rest of the play."
Unaffected by his morose stance, I said, "At least there is only one location you need to send the fire trucks to." To which he replied, "Mmm, to put out one very big fire."
Still I will sleep a little deeper tonight with my one fire, my one dandelion. There is a time for rejoicing, and I will rejoice. My rejoicing, by the way, will include thanking God for my doctors who clearly care deeply and are prepared for the fight of and for my life.
John and I visited MSK last Friday for a follow up with my surgeon. It was also to chat about my next surgery, which was scheduled for 10/21. It was to remove the top 1/3 of my tibia (the shin bone) and replace it and my lower femur (thigh bone) with something more bionic (work with me here), less cancer filled.
It turns out that the plan has changed.
After meeting with the Pediatric Oncologist (ironically MY oncologist), my Orthopedic Oncologist and he decided to not remove my tibia until after 2-3 chemo treatments. While I am not relishing chemo, I am kind of relieved that at least I don't have to have this tibia-removal/replacement surgery for a bit. I hate to say that I was stressing about it - but I was. 'Just' removing a small chunk of bone has been so painful, that I hated to think about a whole lot of bone checking out of my body.
So short-story-long, I start chemo on Monday 10/25. John and I were told to forget everything we know about cancer treatment (including John's grueling chemo, radiation & surgery) and every mental reference we had to what this chemo will look like. It will be worse they tell us. Directly. Bluntly. Seriously. In detail. Worse.
This cancer in adults is particularly aggressive. Even if they cut off my leg that contains the cancer, I would still have cancer, and would certainly die from it. Osteosarcoma has a dandelion effect - where once the main cancer takes root, little cancer seeds blow all through your body implanting themselves in other bones and soft tissue. We were informed that I will receive 3 chemo products in varying sequence over eight months. Along with drugs to stop or minimize the effects of the chemo (kidney failure, bladder obliteration, heart disease, hearing loss, oh and nausea).
Each chemo session will take from 3-5 days, and I will need to stay at or near the hospital for two weeks following each treatment. I will have at least one blood transfusion, and a platelet transfusion. There's more, I will spare you from. They were not painting a pretty picture.
Also last Friday, I had a CT and PET Scan. We have been anxiously awaiting these results to see if any of these hateful dandelion seeds decided to start a farm.
Today we got the call from my Oncologist who relayed the results of the the scans. I was ecstatic that they showed no other dandelion gardens growing in my neighborhood! During my jubilation on the phone, my doctor - ever focused - said, "Yes it's good news, and yet it is like asking Mary Todd Lincoln how she enjoyed the rest of the play."
Unaffected by his morose stance, I said, "At least there is only one location you need to send the fire trucks to." To which he replied, "Mmm, to put out one very big fire."
Still I will sleep a little deeper tonight with my one fire, my one dandelion. There is a time for rejoicing, and I will rejoice. My rejoicing, by the way, will include thanking God for my doctors who clearly care deeply and are prepared for the fight of and for my life.
You are an awesome woman. I am so proud to call you my mom!
ReplyDeleteAnn Graham I am not sure what I LOVE more... you, this blog, your positive outlook on life, or how much of an inspiration you are to me each and everyday. You are AMAZING! I will follow you and this blog faithfully.
ReplyDeleteI am here whenever or for whatever you may need!
xoxo
Ann,
ReplyDeleteWhat to say? I have no words....however, there is rarely a time when a 'portuguese' woman has not words....see, I still had some. Anyway, I am praying!!!!! Storming the gates of Heaven! You are a tough one and I look forward to helping you rejoice when the cancer is completely gone! Love, Tanya
Your words are so light hearted and inspirational Ann. We need to embrace every moment of our being and the family that we so love. Thanking the lord for his mercy and grace!
ReplyDeleteWe all will be rejoicing with you very soon! Love to you dear cousin!!!
I hate that I look forward to your journal entries for this dreaded disease, but you just inspire me everyday. You are so God-filled, and I know He will carry you through this journey. I will pray for you! Love you plenty.
ReplyDeleteHappy the "seed" is planted in one location!!!!!!! :) Bone biopsy's =mega pain.......have a funny story i will tell u one time here..soon..
ReplyDeleteHad 3.....second one glad they "decided" to put me out......
Sorry,,soo sorry, for your pain... ;(
Whoo Hooo no extra seeds. That's great news. I will thank God tonight for that and continue to pray that the one fire is soon extinguished. I love you. Your strength and faith will carry through this. So many people are loving and praying for you.
ReplyDelete