It's Friday, Jan. 18, 2008. I arise at 6:30 a.m. to take a long, nourishing shower and then dress comfortably for the day ahead. My parents pick me up around 8:15; they are driving me to Baptist Hospital so that I may have a mediport inserted in my chest. This lovely piece of plastic will allow the oncology nurses to give me chemotherapy agents and other IV meds through it. Also, it will accept IV contrast for CT scans & radioactive contrast for PET scans. This is all good for me, as it means one area gets a needle in it, no peripherals. What is not good for me is the reality that I will need all of these things to check the progress of this latest program of antineo-plastic drugs to treat a damnable cancer which keeps creeping up on me.
It's Friday, Jan. 18, 2008, and I ride with my elderly parents who are still able to provide so much support to me. I am truly blessed that they are still of this earth, still healthy, and still together. My brother will be cooking steaks on the grill for us for supper tonight. I will feel good enough to make salads & bake potatoes for the rest. There is icecream in the freezer, too. How lucky can a family be? This evening, we shall dine together, the four of us, while watching The Last Mimzy - a beautiful little story about possibilities for the future of people-kind. A bit far off for us; we just hope for another 5 years together at this point.
You see, I am past the Stage IV point of being an ovarian cancer patient, so now what I get through the new "power port" in my right chest wall is considered "salvage therapy." There won't be any extra parts added, we mean to keep what I have left & live out past the stastical survival rate of ">16%" for those in my current position.
I've truly never had the feeling that this indisious and persistent cancer would be the end of me... until this last few months. Now I wander in wonder, not sure that I believe I will make it whole out of the end of this particular, new tunnel of dark. For the time being, I continue to try to see the light within the dark, and to allow myself to feel the support of my family, my friends, my coworkers, and other friends whom I have met rarely or not at all & send their heartfelt wishes through emails and snailmails.
Allow me, for a few moments now and then, to be crotchety, angry, sad, and fearful. I have to work this all out, wrap my head around it, and then pick up and go on as I always do. I have a long history of being able to put pieces back together; let's let this be the final picking up and moving on, alrighty? To Whoever runs this Universe, I humbly request to be done with this long adventure with cancer. Send me something new & more fun to fight. Thanks.
All for now, gentle readers; take some peace & thoughts from this and check back soon!
~ Kate
It's Friday, Jan. 18, 2008, and I ride with my elderly parents who are still able to provide so much support to me. I am truly blessed that they are still of this earth, still healthy, and still together. My brother will be cooking steaks on the grill for us for supper tonight. I will feel good enough to make salads & bake potatoes for the rest. There is icecream in the freezer, too. How lucky can a family be? This evening, we shall dine together, the four of us, while watching The Last Mimzy - a beautiful little story about possibilities for the future of people-kind. A bit far off for us; we just hope for another 5 years together at this point.
You see, I am past the Stage IV point of being an ovarian cancer patient, so now what I get through the new "power port" in my right chest wall is considered "salvage therapy." There won't be any extra parts added, we mean to keep what I have left & live out past the stastical survival rate of ">16%" for those in my current position.
I've truly never had the feeling that this indisious and persistent cancer would be the end of me... until this last few months. Now I wander in wonder, not sure that I believe I will make it whole out of the end of this particular, new tunnel of dark. For the time being, I continue to try to see the light within the dark, and to allow myself to feel the support of my family, my friends, my coworkers, and other friends whom I have met rarely or not at all & send their heartfelt wishes through emails and snailmails.
Allow me, for a few moments now and then, to be crotchety, angry, sad, and fearful. I have to work this all out, wrap my head around it, and then pick up and go on as I always do. I have a long history of being able to put pieces back together; let's let this be the final picking up and moving on, alrighty? To Whoever runs this Universe, I humbly request to be done with this long adventure with cancer. Send me something new & more fun to fight. Thanks.
All for now, gentle readers; take some peace & thoughts from this and check back soon!
~ Kate
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