It occurs to me that if you're going to write a blog about your cancer, you should probably update it periodically so that people don't think you died.
I haven't died.
The good news is that I've mostly been busy with good stuff. Lots of work, and traveling with my family from one end of the state to the other this summer. We spent an evening in Asheville with one of my fellow "one-eyed jacks" from my hospital stay and his wife. I won't say that having cancer was worth it just to have met them, but they are pretty awesome. I'd say they're easily worth a torn ACL or a bad kidney stone.
I also spent a day in July with Dr. M., during which he proclaimed the shrinkage of my tumor "Fabulous--on a scale of one to ten, it's nine-plus." The best part was how pleased with himself he looked, like a little leaguer who always thought he could hit a home run, but just found out for sure.
I've got another appointment in three weeks. I'm a little worried, because the eye's been a little funky. Not terribly so, not enough to try to get the appointment moved up. But enough to e-mail the doctor and say, "You know what would be really helpful in the week leading up to this appointment? Anti-anxiety meds." By the time I realized that would be helpful last time, I was already IN the appointment, waiting to see the doctor, and his staff kept helpfully saying, "No, I'm sorry, I can't get you anything, you'll have to wait to see the doctor." It was almost as if they didn't realize that the interminable wait to see the doctor was the reason my fingernails were firmly embedded in the acoustic ceiling tiles in the first place.
This is going to be my first solo eye appointment since my diagnosis. My poor husband's got to work sometime. And while he could theoretically take a vacation day to accompany me, he's taking one six days later for my CT scan. I don't want him to have to tell the kids we can't go away for spring break because Daddy spent all his vacation days in Cancerville.
Nobody likes to spend all their vacation days in Cancerville. There's not even a pool bar.
So, here's hoping I can be a brave buckaroo and that Dr. M. is willing to write me a week's worth of chemical serenity. If not, I'll just have to write out my anxieties. Which means you'll probably be seeing a lot more of me.
