The Cancuh and Disconnection of my Plumbing

There's a lovely lining to my cancer diagnosis. And, no, you arsehole. I'm not talking about my uterine lining. 

You probably know, if you are reading this, that on March 17, 2017, I was diagnosed with Stage One uterine cancer. (Read about that here, if you want: T-FUC(K) )

On April 12, I met my gynecological oncologist to discuss a treatment plan. 

The bottom line is that in about 10 days, I'll have my plumbing disconnected. Uterus? Goodbye, cuterus. Ovaries? Hasta la vista, you egg-shooting fools. Cervix? See ya the fuck later.

Now, for all the silver linings. There are, undoubtedly, many. And that's where I'm going to put my energy. 

AMAZEBALLS FRIENDS

The first silver lining is that two dear friends went with me to my appointment with the oncologist. They were my ears and recorders. I needed good ears in case the news was really bad. I knew I wouldn't be able to absorb the words. I'm so grateful that Amy and Ann spent about 4.5 hours with me. 

LOVELY CT SCAN

Drink 2 of these in 1.5 hours so your innards can
light up like a Christmas tree for your CT Scan.

The second bright spot is that my CT Scan didn't show any signs that my cancer has escaped from my uterus into the wilds of my torso. There's no sign of cancer in my bowels, liver, kidney or lymph nodes. Huh-fucking-zah. For realz. 

NO CHEMO

As of now, my doctor thinks she can disconnect and remove my plumbing and then send me on my way. At this point, there's no reason to think I will need chemo. 

MY DOCTOR

My doctor kicks cancer's tiny ass. She's funny and engaged. She's forthright and doesn't flinch when you tell her you are stalking her on social media to see what kind of doctor she is. And she's willing to laugh at jokes made by her cancer patient. I'm grateful. 

MY MOM

My mom. My mom, you guys. They don't make many like her. 

Part of why I asked Ann and Any to join me at the oncology appointment was so that my mom didn't have to come with me. 

I was worried that if my diagnosis was worse than hoped, I'd have to see her fear and terror in those first moments after the news. I knew that would break me. And her. To know your kid has cancer is bad. To have learned it's super bad would have been too much for her. And, like I said, too much for me. 

Thankfully, I learned it was just as predicted. 

But, back to the point: My mom will come down for my surgery and stay a week to help me out. 

How blessed am I?

GREAT WORK LIFE

I realized, big time, that I'm right where I'm supposed to be for now. My coworkers couldn't be more kind and genuine and supportive. 

I'm blessed to work at a place where I feel loved and supported as I go through this. 

The BAD and WEIRD

Look at me, loose on a 
day pass from the hospital. 

There are only a couple of stupid things that I can think of. 

This lame bracelet. I have to wear it until surgery. Have you ever worn a hospital bracelet? In public? In short sleeves? The looks, people. Like I'm on a day pass. Over and over. 

Getting used to realizing I'm a cancer patient. That's fucking weird. But it is what it is. 

YOU

Thanks for reading. For giving a damn. For your kind prayers and support. 

How much longer til I graduate to cancer survivor? Let's get this fucking show on the road. I've got better things to do with my time. 

Cancer can fuck way the hell off.