Meanwhile, while waiting for the other shoe to drop

Breast Cancer Cell

Well I guess I've put this off as long as I can. I've had no interest in posting to the Herschel blog lately because I am just too danged busy being well. I went from December 27 to February 1 without any doctor or nurses appointments and the freedom of no impending doc visits made the idea of blood tests, miscellaneous scans and other diagnostic tools in the cancer doctor's magic bag of tricks just something I would rather not think about. For as long as it lasted, anyway.

I started walking again, first outside but then inside on the treadmill as the weather got more unpredictable and winter-like. At first I could walk only five or ten minutes at a pretty good clip. I have worked myself up to two or three fifteen minute sessions at least five days a week. More proof that I am well. (Yes, I'm still trying to convince myself. If I say it enough it's bound to be true, right?)

The truth is the pyschology of having had cancer has messed with my equilibrium lately more than the toxic cocktail of chemo meds ever did. Only now I wobble on the inside of my head going back and forth between the happy thoughts of being cancer free and the darker abyss of all the dreaded "what if's". What they say about ignorance being bliss is true. Now that I know what having cancer treatment feels like, and for the all the gratitude I feel to my family, legions of prayer warriors and medical team at MDA, I have NO desire to ever, ever go there again.

Still, I refuse to live in fear. I try not to let those ugly little scary thoughts take up too much of my time. But, at the same time, I want to be prepared ... just in case I ever have to hear those words again. "Honey, you have a cancer .."

But there is some valid cause for concern. In the forties, and up until the seventies in some countries, doctors were giving pregnant women who were at risk for miscarriage a drug called Diethylstilbestrol. My mother took this drug while pregnant with me. In the early seventies it was discovered that adolescent and young adult DES daughters were at risk for a specific and unusual type of vaginal and cervical cancer. Now they're learning that older DES daughters host a variety of reproductive issues and elevated cancer risks than in the general population. So on my first visit to the Cancer Prevention Building when I saw my new NP (nurse practitioner who has both a MS in nursing and a specialty) on 2/1, she was very thorough in her exam once she learned I was a DES daughter.

The good news is that two screening tests they performed came back normal. The probably-still-good-but-nerve-wracking news is that they want to perform a biopsy on my uterine tissue on 2/20 3/5*. I have an appointment three hours later to get the results so, at least, Hopefully, the worrisome, waiting part will be over quick. I'm forcing myself to be pleased that my medical team is being so thorough instead of allowing myself go into total freak out mode. (Well, at least I am trying ...)

*MDA changed my appointment for the uterine biopsy from 2/20 to 3/5 but there is no "after party" review scheduled so I guess I have to wait for results. No bueno.

Additionally, on 2/29 I am scheduled to have an ultrasound specific to my "girl parts" and another biopsy on some questionable tissue that has made itself evident in the last few months, also in the "girl" neighborhood. Look, I'm not embarrassed about this (okay, that's a lie, it is humiliating) but since I've drug you all on this cancer journey so far, you're not gonna abandon me NOW, just when it gets interesting, ARE YOU?

It's okay .. all you guys I used to drag around the playground (I'm so sorry for that!), rode bikes and played baseball with are excused. You don't have to go there. But for those of you who read this, whatEVER it is, to educate yourself and to keep up with my me, me, ME obsession, you'll be the almost-first-to-know if my girl parts continue to pass inspection.

God grant me the courage
to continue to flash my aging, naked bits and pieces
to complete strangers in white lab coats
all while hiding my big-assed fear behind
whatever funny remark I can rake up.
Please, God.