In my family (some of us more than others), we tend to use humor when we’re anxious. That’s not to say others find us funny, but it’s how we cope. It calms us down. If we can joke about it, it can’t have complete control over us, right? And if the humor can be morbid, all the better. (I’m mostly talking about my sister and I here, and generalizing to the whole family, but whatever). But, this doesn’t really work for a lot of other people. So when I dealt with my anxiety about getting the results from my PET scan by working into every other conversation some quip about being riddled with cancer, or something of the like, I got some unappreciative reactions. Huh.
Turns out, I’m a dirty liar. Because I’m not riddled with cancer. Almost exactly the opposite, in fact. There is a little remaining in my left breast, because my surgeon wasn’t able to get clear margins, but we already knew that. There is no evidence that it’s in any more lymph nodes, or my liver, or my brain, or my bones, or anywhere else.
So what does this mean? Well, it doesn’t mean that the cancer definitely hasn’t spread. We know there was some in the lymph nodes that she took during surgery, so it’s possible a few rogue cells went elsewhere. But it does mean that if it has spread, not very much has. So little in fact, it’s undetectable by PET/CT. So we still do the chemotherapy. That will treat my whole body, just in case. Another thing it means is that we don’t have to alter the treatment plan even more, to compensate for the more advanced disease. It means we caught it in time to have a fighting chance, before it was able to break down all of my defenses. It means I’ve never been so happy in my life to be wrong. Because the thing that was prompting my tasteless quips about being riddled with cancer was my overwhelming fear. I just knew it had spread everywhere, just like my brother. And that that news would be too much for his kids, and my parents. And Miko. And everyone else who felt my brother’s death so deeply. But I really couldn’t have been more wrong, and my results couldn’t have been better.
Most of all, what this means is that I can start chemo in the next few weeks feeling strong and confident, a little excited even to conquer this next phase. And just maybe, the people around me will be subjected to a little bit less of my morbid humor.
nopinkribbonsplease 
You go, girl! Hooray!!
Time to rock and roll and get going w chemo! So glad the news is good, Lauri!! So glad!
This is the best news I have heard in some time, Lauri. I am so so glad.
For the record, I LOVE your morbid humor. Keep it up.
Happy dance! (Totally get the humor thing.)
YAY!!!! I’m doing a happy dance in my desk chair for you.
Glad for some negatives that were presumed positives… Have they decided what kind of IV access you’ll have? Let me know how things progress–and if the chemo makes you nauseous and barfing, I’ll visit you and we can commiserate. 🙂 (Gallows humor is not limited by disease, condition, or syndrome.)
I haven’t yet met with the medical oncologist, so I don’t know what kind of access is typically used out here. I know people who have had Hickman catheters and portacaths. Do you have experience with more than one? If so, do you have an opinion?
The type of central line is typically chosen by the chemotherapy plan. If you’ll be getting treatments frequently, a Hickman/Broviac is (according to what I’ve seen) the “recommended” choice. Usually breast cancer treatments (keeping in mind that there are many types of breast cancer), as with leukemia treatments, are either every other week or every month; if this is the case, then a port-a-cath (what I have) is optimal because after treatment they can remove the external line and avoid contamination. I’ve also had PICCs, (peripherally inserted central catheters) which are large-bore IVs that travel through one of the three main arteries in your arm into your superior vena cava (where all central lines go); PICCs SUCK because you can’t get them wet, and they are prone to infection. Hickman lines have an antibacterial cuff about five centimeters from the insertion site, but like PICCs, they must be covered at all times. Ports are nice because you can “de-access” the line when it’s not being used, and need only keep it covered when you’re “accessed” (when the needle is in); in my case, I stay accessed 24/7, except for when Greg and I do weekly dressing changes (few patients are ever trained to care for their own port, but Greg and I have been doing it for five years now)–including removing the old access (Huber) needle and poking another one through my chest. Hickman/Broviacs are rather large and cumbersome; PICCs are incredibly stupid; ports are my choice.
Geez–talk about logorrhea!!! Sorry if this only makes it more confusing. Feel free to ask me anything–as you’ve seen on my blog, I am not exactly private about my conditions. 🙂
Take care; accept care; ask questions; learn everything you possibly can about your specific disease–and step into the ring with strength and confidence and knowledge, so that YOU can ably captain your health team through the journey. Take courage, and know that love is on your side.
Yaaaay, Lauri Mae!! That is FANTASTIC and I am SO happy to hear it. Now you just knock out any Sarah Palin (rogue!) cells and be done with it all, OK? 🙂
YEY Lauri!!!!
So happy to hear this bit of news, however I would like to selfishly vote for the morbid humor to continue…perhaps on a different subject?