Friday, June 28, 2013

Drumroll, Please...

The phone woke me out of a surprisingly peaceful sleep at 8:15 this morning. In most normal cases, I would've cursed loudly, hit the ignore button and resumed my slumber. But today wasn't a normal day. Seeing the word "Unknown" on the screen immediately sent a chill of fear up my spine and caused sweat to bead on my brow. I cleared my throat and attempted to make my voice sound as if I'd been awake for at least an hour.

"Hello?" I chirped cheerily.
"Hi. Suzanne?" Shit. It's Dr. L and not his nurse. When the doctor calls personally, you know it's bad news. "It's Dr. L." Yeah, I know who it is. Get on with it! Am I dying?? He continued, "So, I have the results of your MRI and it's just as I thought. Looks like you have an insufficiency fracture caused by radiation damage." 

I knew it! I'm dying! How long do I...wait...

"There's no cancer?" I asked, not ready to believe what I thought he'd just told me. "The report indicates that there is no reason to suspect metastatic disease." I paused to let that sink in but I needed a stronger answer, "So, you're SURE it's not cancer?" Being an oncologist might make it very difficult to be certain of anything, but he gave me the best reassurance he could, "Look, no test is one-hundred percent, but there is nothing I'm seeing that leads me to believe there are any signs of cancer here." Ok, I'll take that. "So what do we do now?" I asked. "You'll treat with pain medication and rest from physical activity and we'll repeat the MRI in two to three months unless something changes. But in the meantime, get that surrogate up here and have a baby!"

So that's what we're gonna do! 

On July 10th Lily and Jason will fly to New Jersey from Minnesota. On July 11th the four of us will spend about six hours at the fertility clinic for tests and discussions and plans. On July 12th they'll fly back to Minnesota and we'll wait for the final approvals. Once that's all done, Lily can begin the medication to prepare her oven for our bun(s)! I may not have too much to say in the next few weeks, but I promise to post updates anytime there's news to share. 

I will leave you with the words posted on my Facebook page by my lovely friend, Jessica... 

"And now back to our regularly scheduled program!"

Thursday, June 27, 2013

MRI ay ay

The sound of my alarm startled me out of a non-restful sleep. My left eye popped open and my hand reached for my phone, which was positioned conveniently on my nightstand.

It was exactly 3:00 AM.

Ugh.

I propped myself up on my right elbow and reached my hand over to the nightstand again, hoping to find the pack of Ritz crackers I'd left there without having to turn on the light and wake Jimmi. Bingo! Got 'em. Now, I'm not normally in the habit of waking up to eat in the middle of the night, at least not since I was pregnant with Justin 10 years ago, but I didn't have a choice this morning. The Prednisone I needed to take in very specific intervals before my MRI this afternoon had a warning label on the bottle, "Take with milk or food to avoid stomach upset." Not wanting to cause more issues for myself, I figured I should follow the directions exactly. Jimmi stirred as I not so quietly ripped open the sleeve of buttery goodness and shoved the first cracker into my mouth, attempting to chew with only my tongue so I wouldn't feel the need to brush my teeth again. I repeated that process five times before deciding I'd had enough to help the medicine digest safely and I fumbled around for the pills. I pointed my iPhone light at the bottle and squinted my eyes to read the tiny letters instructing me to "take one pill 13 hours before, one pill 7 hours before and 1 pill 1 hour before procedure." I snapped off the lid, removed one round, white tablet and threw it into my mouth. If I'd known about the nasty-tasting coating that was going to stay with me for the next fifteen minutes, I might've had my glass of water more readily available. Yuck! I gulped down the drink in an attempt to cleanse my palate. No dice. Oh well, it's done now. I'll remember that for my next dose at 9:00. 

I put down my glass and my phone and the bottle of pills, snuggled back down into bed and pulled up the covers. I started to relax my mind, anticipating a quick return to sleep. But then my head snapped me back into consciousness as I tried to remember if I'd ever taken Prednisone in the past. I know I'm taking the drug as a premedication to avoid a possible allergy to the MRI dye later, but what if I'm allergic to the Prednisone? What if I fall back to sleep and have a reaction? What if my throat closes up while I'm unconscious? On the positive side, it would save me from any additional anxiety leading up to the scan and results of the scan. But the thought kept my eyes from closing for another 45 minutes until, at approximately 4:00 AM, I finally passed out again.

At 9:00 AM my alarm notified me it was time for my next pill. The same steps were taken as they had been earlier, only this time the water went down much more quickly. I got out of bed and walked to the bathroom with noticeably less pain in my back than I've had in the last few days, but since Prednisone is a steroid that reduces inflammation, I didn't allow myself any false hopes of a miraculous recovery. I went about my morning routine, fed the boys breakfast, took a shower and got dressed. And then it was 12:30. Only three more hours to kill before heading to the cancer center for my MRI. Luckily I'd booked the day full of regular check-ups for the boys so there wouldn't be much downtime. The only issue was driving. Since I'd be required to take two Benadryl with my final dose of Prednisone an hour before the scan, I was told I shouldn't drive. Not usually an issue with my mom and Jimmi around, but this time was different. Jimmi had to work and my mom needed to take the kids to the orthodontist and School of Rock rehearsal, which left me needing a driver. Never one to impose on my friends, my mom arranged a ride to the center for me and instructed my dad to pick me up at 4:45. Thoughts of my dad forgetting me at birthday parties when I was a kid flew through my mind, but I figured he'd grown up a lot since then so I shouldn't worry.

At 3:00 PM I repeated the final step in the premedication process; the last dose of Prednisone and two Benadryl. If nothing else, at least my sinuses should clear up a bit. And then, finally, it was time to go. While sitting in the car a voicemail notice displayed across the screen on my phone. I recognized the number as the radiology department. Oh no! They're calling to cancel and I've already taken all the premeds! I won't accept that! I can't! "Hi Mrs. Kane, it's radiology. I just wanted to make sure you're aware you have an appointment here at four o'clock. There's nothing in the notes that you ever confirmed. If there's a problem, please call me back immediately." 3:25 for a 3:30 check-in was a Hell of a time to call and make sure I knew I had an appointment.

I arrived at the hospital, thanked my ride and headed in. I didn't go straight upstairs, but turned right to visit my cheering section at Dr. L's office. "I'm here! All premedicated and ready for my MRI! Now we just have to hope the dye doesn't kill me before I find out what's wrong with me." They all laughed and, of course, pooh poohed the possibility of any dye reaction once the drugs were in my system. "No chance Dr. L will still be here to give me results after the test, right?" I asked hopefully. The simultaneous head-shaking gave me my answer so I thanked them and headed up to the second floor...again.

I walked over the the desk with a grin and said, "I got your message a few minutes ago. Thanks for the heads up about the appointment." The receptionist laughed and explained, "I was freaking out! I looked through all the notes and didn't see anything about a confirmation call! I know you had to cancel last minute on Tuesday and they were trying to squeeze you in and I was hoping they had called you!" I giggled evilly and joked, "Well, you're lucky the call went right to voicemail because if I had picked it up I would've played dumb and let you think I hadn't been told anything!" After a relieved sign, he handed me the same paperwork I'd filled out just two days earlier, "Seriously? Nothing's changed in two days." "It's protocol," he said. "Any chance we can make a note to skip the 'Are you pregnant?' form? That will NEVER change," I finally asked after two years of resentment toward that damn piece of paper. "I can mark it in your file," he told me and I felt better.

I had barely finished checking the box that I do not, in fact, have a penile implant when the tech came to get me. This time it was a very pleasant woman whose name has been lost with part of my mind from chemo brain damage. She led me to the changing area and asked if I'd taken my premeds. "Oh yes," I assured her. "I was up at three AM munching on crackers and taking drugs!" She left me alone to change and lock everything up in a locker, but if I wanted to take my phone I could put it in another locker right before I head into MRI. I took everything off except my underwear, socks and shoes, put on a super-sexy robe, threw my purse and clothes on the floor of the locker and stepped out the back door leading to the scan rooms. I looked around but there was no one there to escort me. I stood there for a minute. Still no one. "Hello?" I asked. Where did everyone go? I started walking down the hall when the nurse who'd sent me home on Tuesday appeared and asked, "Are you lost? Just down the hall to the open door." I entered the room and sat in the blue chair. Deja vu hit me again and so did the Benadryl. Wow. No wonder they didn't want me to drive myself! Just then the tech found me, "There you are! I had no idea where you went!" Well, how long did you think it would take me to remove a shirt, a bra and a pair of capris, lady? 

We discussed my name, with spelling, my date of birth and the possibility of me being pregnant. "Not without a uterus," I assured her. She scribbled a big check mark on the paper. "Ok, the nurse will be in soon to start your IV." I seriously think I need to get a job here. I totally know the drill. The tech left and was replaced by the nurse, as promised, who asked all the same questions I'd already answered. I explained that I was positive I'd followed every direction of the premeds exactly as they were written and I really hoped they'd work. She promised they would and that she would be in the room with me when the dye was administered, "just in case." Very reassuring. Then she found one of my less stubborn veins, jabbed it with a needle, inserted the catheter, pumped it full of saline and announced, "Done!" And I was left to wait for the tech to return to bring me to the MRI.

I killed time on my phone texting and playing games. My ex-husband messaged me a love compatibility app with a note that read, "Type in our birthdays. I should've tried this BEFORE we got married." I laughed at the way we can actually joke about our failed marriage and then the tech returned at exactly 4:00 to bring me to the scan room. She pointed to a locker where I could stash my phone. I locked it up with the key from the first locker, took the second key and followed her to a room with a metal detector. I handed her the key and walked in an out of the detector without any flashing red lights or beeps. She then took the hand scanner and went up and down my body like they do in the airport. Still nothing. "Ok, you're good." We headed into the MRI room and I looked at the machine, which was obviously a much more up-to-date and expensive version of the one the sports medicine doctor had used. I put my key on the sill of the window in front of the control room and walked back to the machine. I positioned myself on the bed with obvious expertise. One tech handed me earplugs, "Oh, you pre-squished them for me? Thanks!" She looked a little surprised, "Yeah, well if I don't people usually just try to jam them in their ears and they always fall out." I smiled, "I'm an experienced earplug wearer," I explained. "I go to a lot of concerts." 

After I was all set up on the table, tech #1 handed me the ball to squeeze in case of emergencies, the bed went back into the tube and we were ready to begin. "This first set of pictures will take thirty seconds," the voice announced over the speakers. 

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

God, that's annoying.

BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!

I don't think my left earplug is in all the way.

WAAAA! WAAAA! WAAAA! WAAAA!

And then the noises stopped and the bed was moving out. I opened my eyes and saw both techs standing over me. "I think you have your key in your robe pocket," tech #1 said. "Really? I think it's on the windowsill," I was sure I'd left it there. "What about the other key?" She checked both of my pockets. Empty. "Do you have any metal on you at all?" I shook my head. "What about your underwear? Any rhinestones or embellishments?" I thought about the boy shorts I'd gotten at the Poison concert that were basic, white cotton with the pink word "Poison'd" on them. "Nope." They looked confused. "Ok, maybe we made a mistake. Let's try again." The bed moved back in and the noises started again. 

CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!

Sounds like a machine gun.

WAP! WAP! WAP! WAP!

Ha! That sounds like the noise Pac-Man makes as he's eating up the little pellets on the board. Only MUCH louder.

WAWA! WAWA! WAWA! WAWA!

Ugh! I hate dance music! Someone change the station!

The noises stopped and the bed started to move out of the tube again. The techs were back. "Are you sure you don't have anything metal on you? It's like really high up on your right leg almost at your butt-cheek." I thought about any possibilities. "Could it be the tattoo they gave me when I had radiation?" Seemed like a possibility, but when I showed them the tiny dot on my hip they realized it was in the wrong location. They checked my pockets again and felt all over the robe. There was nothing there. "Umm, that's where it hurts," I said with my voice starting to shake, "Are you seeing something bad in there?" My heart was pounding so loudly I almost couldn't hear the response, "No. It's definitely metal and it's much lower than where we're scanning. Maybe it's something that's stuck in the robe. As long as there's nothing that's gonna like fly off of your body during the test you'll be fine." And they headed back to the control room and I headed back into the noisy coffin.

NED! NED! NED! NED!

Is the machine saying, "NED?" Is that a sign?

OH! WA! OH! WA!

Now it sounds like that song I couldn't stand from the late 80s. What was it called again? How did it go? "Joy and pain. Like sunshine and rain!" But the absolutely unbearable loop in the background used to drive me INSANE!

WAA! WAA! WAA! WAA!

Oh, now there are two lines playing the same sound in different octaves. Interesting.

"Ok, it's time for your contrast now," said the voice.

The table came out and the techs and the nurse came in. Not gonna lie. I was terrified! I mean, what if the premeds didn't work and I have a severe allergic reaction to the dye and it kills me? What a STUPID way to die! "You sure I'm gonna be ok?" I asked, clearly not trusting their medical knowledge. "You'll be fine. Don't worry." The dye was injected and, to my delight, I was still able to breathe! "You ok?" the nurse asked. "So far," I admitted without actually committing to an answer. Back into the tube I went.

BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!

Of course my nose would start to itch right now.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Oh my GOD! I need to scratch my nose!

CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!

How much longer is this gonna take?

WAAA! WAAA! WAAA! WAAA!

"Ok, you're all done!" said the voice and the table moved out.

The techs came in and my earplugs came out. The giant smiles on the tech's faces confused me until #1 opened her mouth, "We totally figured out what we were seeing on the screen." Do tell. "It was driving us crazy so we actually pulled up your last PET scan to see if we could see it and we could!" Ok, TELL ME! 

"Were you ever shot with a BB gun?"

Before I could answer the flashback hit me like it was yesterday. It was 1989. I was 14 years old and I was hanging out at my "boyfriend's" house. As most 14 year-old boys do, he tended to enjoy the game, "What Would Happen If...?" without thinking about the consequences of his actions. I guess that particular day the question was, "What would happen if I shot my girlfriend in the ass with a BB gun at close range after pumping it 10 times?" Yes, really. "Ouch!" I screamed as the tiny metal bead shot through my jeans, broke the skin and ricocheted off, leaving a bloody stain on my right thigh, just under my butt cheek. At least, for the last 24 years, I'd lived under the assumption that the BB had bounced off and gotten lost in the woods. Apparently I was mistaken. "Yes!" I exclaimed. "My boyfriend shot me in the ass when I was like fourteen!" They seemed less phased by my confession than they were excited that they'd figured out the mystery metal that was hiding in my leg.

After realizing that I was both still alive and living with shrapnel in my body, it was finally time to get dressed and meet my dad downstairs. I thanked both techs and went off to the locker room. I was dressed in a matter of minutes and I almost skipped down the stairs. I really hope the pain doesn't come back when the premeds wear off. To my surprise, my dad hadn't forgotten about me and was actually standing in the lobby. I tapped on the window and held up my finger to say, "One minute!" then turned the corner to Dr. L's office. "I'm alive!" I explained to my girls. They all cheered and giggled. "Ok, let's hope that was the last test I'll need and we'll find out there's nothing seriously wrong with me so I can get on with this baby thing already!" They all bestowed their positive energy upon me and wished me luck then I exited the building to have a Daddy/Daughter dinner, which is a very rare and special occasion. 

And now the waiting continues. While I assume I'll have some answers tomorrow, I've learned not to hope too high for fear of being let down. But I promise you'll know when I know.

Let's get one last group cheer going...

NED! NED! NED! NED!!!!!


Tuesday, June 25, 2013

A Good Day to Dye

I was lucky enough to be squeezed in for an MRI at the cancer center today at 1:00 PM. Since I'd just had an MRI with the sports medicine doctor on June 12th, I knew I wouldn't have to suffer through more of that nasty, sticky-sweet contrast drink or another jab in the arm with an IV needle. Aside from being really loud and annoying, this scan is really the easiest of all of the tests I've had in the last two weeks.

I headed out for my fourth set of internal pictures this month, thankful that this would most likely be the one that would determine the cause of my back pain. As always, I checked in on the second floor and was handed a few papers to sign, along with information about the MRI. I walked over to where my mom was sitting, said hello and began completing the paperwork. No I don't wear dentures, no I don't have any artificial limbs, no I'm not pregnant. Then I got to the part about the contrast dye they'd be injecting into my vein for the test. "Hmmm," I said to my mom. "I didn't know I needed IV dye for this test. They didn't use it last time." I didn't think too much of it since I'm shot up with that contrast once every three months for my regular CT scans, but I mentioned a weird occurrence to my mom anyway, "I just remembered something," I said. "I had a scan right after I was diagnosed two years ago. After they gave me the contrast dye I felt like my throat was closing up for like two seconds but then it stopped. It scared the Hell outta me, but it's never happened again, so I guess it was nothing." My mom looked concerned and suggested I mention that to the nurse before she injected me today.

As I sat watching the minutes tick by past 1:00, I started getting antsy and a little grumpy. I blurted out, "Ya know, I'm gonna be really pissed at the sports medicine doctor for starting all of this drama if it turns out to be nothing." Then I added, "And I'll be REALLY pissed at the cancer hospital if it turns out to actually be something and they missed it in the CT scan and the sports medicine doctor was the one to find it!" At 1:15, I was finally called back into yet another wing of the radiology floor; this time we made a right turn. I changed into a gown and followed the tech into the umpteenth tiny room with a chair, Sharps container and sink this week. He explained that the nurse would be in to start my IV and fifteen minutes later he'd take me in for the MRI, which would take 50 minutes. He then left to get me a blanket and a nurse came to the door. That was fast, I thought. She greeted me, then stood in the doorway, said, "I'm just looking for that picture," and proceeded to check her phone for something. "I thought I had a picture of the house in here. I guess not," she said and kept scrolling. Am I missing something? What house? Then she shrugged and left the room.

I must be in The Twilight Zone.

Two minutes later another nurse appeared, introduced herself and said, "Oh. I'll be right back." and she was gone. I checked my armpits for any offensive odor that may have sent all the nurses running from my cubicle, but I found myself to be pleasantly fresh. Nurse #2 finally came back and started to ask my name, with spelling, and date of birth. I interrupted her, "Is the contrast dye for the MRI the same as the dye for the CT scan?" I asked. "No, it's different," she said, "Why?" Then I got a little nervous. "Two years ago I had a scan and I think I may have had a slight reaction to the dye, but it went away and never happened again."She stared at me for a minute. "What kind of reaction do you think you had?" I explained, "Well, I felt like my throat was closing up a little, but it stopped immediately and I was ok." She definitely seemed uncomfortable, "Well, if that happened it would be in your file and I don't see anything." That's when it got super fun! "Yeah, I didn't tell anyone because it went away and I wasn't sure if it actually was a reaction or I was just nervous. And it never happened after that so I figured I was ok, but I also thought all of the contrast dyes were the same. I guess they're not." She looked at my chart and asked, "But didn't you just have an MRI last week? Were you ok?" I was getting annoyed. "Yes, I was fine. But they didn't use contrast." She was shuffling papers around and reading, "It says you just had a scan with contrast last week." I took a breath, "Yes, it was a CT scan. Then I also had a PET scan here last week, but the MRI was done somewhere else." She was still reading and obviously confused, "Hold on," she said and flew out of the room. This was not going well. She finally came back, proof in hand, that I had, in fact, had an MRI done at the cancer center previously. "Yes, but it was like two years ago," I insisted. "Right," she agreed. "It was two years ago."

Oh my GOD! Why is this turning into such an issue!

"So you think you had a problem with the dye when you had that MRI two years ago?" Here we go again. "All I know is that when I was first diagnosed I had some sort of scan with contrast dye and the dye made me feel funny in my throat. I don't remember what kind of scan it was and since I've had so many since then without a problem, I didn't think to mention it. I thought it was all the same type of dye." She shook her head. "I'm trying to figure out what to do because the radiologist will probably want you to be pre-medicated before doing the MRI, just in case." Ok, let's do that. Get on with it! "But," she continued, "the pre-medication is like a twelve hour process. You need one pill twelve hours before the test, one pill seven hours before the test and one pill one hour before the test." Oh. Well, this isn't looking good for my hopes of having some answers by this afternoon. "Let me go check with someone else," she said before she left the room again.

Awesome.

I texted my mom and Jimmi to let them know I probably wouldn't be having the test. I listened to all the footsteps flying back and forth past my door. I heard my nurse mumbling to another nurse who, very loudly, exclaimed, "She's gonna need pre-meds!" Then I heard the footsteps leading to my door and watched the nurse's face as she entered. I knew immediately. "So sorry but we're sending you home. It's just safer if you're pre-medicated. But we'll put a note in your file so they'll know for next time." Oh, gee! Thanks! "So, can I come back tomorrow? Do I get the medicine from you?" She was shaking her head, "You need to go to the front desk to reschedule the MRI and then down to Dr. L's office to get a prescription for the pre-meds." I sighed and nodded as I got up from my chair.

I got dressed and walked, more quickly than I'd walked in weeks, to the front desk just as the nurse was informing the receptionist of the unfortunate events of the last hour. I looked at him with pleading eyes, "You have something open for me tomorrow, right?" I begged. The scrunching of his face and the shaking of his head told me otherwise. "The earliest I can get you on the schedule is July first," NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! "But go downstairs and talk to the scheduler in Dr. L's office. He can put in an order to rush it and hopefully get you in sooner." I didn't even try to fight him.

I went into the waiting room, found my very confused mother and explained the whole thing. Twice. "Well, now you can be pissed at everyone!" she quipped. We took the stairs back down to Dr. L's office, passing the main reception desk on the way. The first receptionist at the desk, who always asks how I'm doing, gave me a hopeful look with a questionable thumbs up. "Oh, you have NO idea!" I said. "I couldn't have the MRI! I'll be back again." Then we turned the corner and I was face to face with Dr. L's receptionist. One look at my face told her something was wrong. "Hi. It's me again!" I announced. Before she had a chance to respond, I spewed out the entire story without taking a breath. "Oh man," she said. The scheduler just happened to come by and catch the gist of my dilemma and broke in with, "Nurse L is gonna freak! She's off today but she's been following up on your situation every day for like two weeks. I'm gonna e-mail her and Dr. L and try to get you in as soon as we can." It had turned into such a comedy of errors that all we could do at that point was laugh. Seriously. How has it taken two weeks and four scans to find out what's going on in my back?!

While we waited on the scheduler, another nurse came out with the prescriptions and instructions for the pre-meds. A few minutes later the scheduler came out to tell us she'd know something in an hour and she'd call as soon as she could. My mom and I made jokes as we headed out of the cancer center for the millionth time, assuming we'd be back tomorrow.

But we won't be.

Thursday at 4:00 PM. That's the earliest they could fit me in for this damn MRI that may or may not hold the answer to the pain in my back, which is really turning into more of a pain in my ass. So, if the scan is at 4:00, I'll need to take my first dose of pre-meds sometime between 3:30 and 4:00 AM. I'm REALLY looking forward to that! I'm going to assume that I won't have any answers until at least Friday, so don't expect to hear anything before then.

It's funny, when I started this blog I didn't think I'd have a whole lot to write about before we really got started with the baby thing. Guess I was wrong!




Monday, June 24, 2013

Seriously?!

The call came much earlier today than I would've expected.

Ok, it's the NJ office, not Manhattan. That means it's Nurse L and not Dr. L. That's a good thing, right? I mean, if it's bad news he'd want to tell me himself, right?

I cautiously answered the phone, "Hello?"
"Hi, it's Nurse L," she said with her usual no-nonsense tone.
"And?" I asked without any of the normal pleasantries or small talk.
"The MRI DVD came in on Friday and they tried to read it today but the quality is just so bad they can't see anything."

What?

"That's what happens with these outside radiology places. Happens all the time. That's why we like to do everything here."

WHAT?

"So what does that mean?" I asked, knowing whatever it means I still won't have answers today.
"We need you to repeat the MRI in our office."

SERIOUSLY?!

"But this time we're going to concentrate on only the sacrum so we can get a better look. I'm so sorry I can't tell you anything else. I know this is so hard for you."

Lady, you have NO idea.

"When can I come in?" I asked, hoping she'd tell me RIGHT NOW. "I'm sending a note to the schedulers and we'll try to do it tomorrow or Wednesday."

Yeah, I'm not waiting until Wednesday.

"Ok. Can I just ask one more question? What was the exact SUV number of my PET scan? I know Dr. L said it was a two, but was it actually a two point something?" I waited as she opened my file on the computer. "Ummm...two point two. It's really low." Well, that's lower than 2.5, which is what I read to be borderline for inflammation or cancer. But, again, anything is possible. "So what could it be if it's not cancer?" I asked for the zillionth time. "I'm thinking it's a fracture," Nurse L said. "A fracture caused by what?" I asked, hoping Devine Intervention would bless her with the magical answer. "From radiation," she said without hesitation. If that's true, I can totally live with it. I just can't deal with cancer again.

So, again, we wait. This is a true test of my lack of patience and I'm really not enjoying it. Hoping I'll have the MRI tomorrow and answers no later than Wednesday...but I'm not holding my breath.

Friday, June 21, 2013

Footsteps

It was a beautiful day for a drive with the top down on the convertible. The wind was blowing through my 19 month-old hair and the sun was warming my cheeks. I was singing along with the 80s hair bands blasting over the speakers and my mind was free from all worries. 

Wait. Scratch that last part.

Let's be realistic. I was terrified as I took the dreaded 30 minute drive to the cancer hospital to hopefully find out what has been causing the pain in my back. So far the CT scan showed what appeared to be new radiation damage (two years later) and the MRI was inconclusive in confirming the so-called radiation damage or metastatic cancer. Today I was scheduled for a PET scan as the tie-breaker. 

If you don't know the differences between the three types of scans, you're not alone. Truthfully, I'm pretty clueless myself. The CT scan involves drinking contrast, having two pictures taken of my insides, being injected with another contrast dye and having three more pictures taken of my insides. The MRI doesn't involve any contrast. It's another scan of the insides that takes much longer than the CT scan and it's obnoxiously loud and annoying inside. The PET scan also requires drinking the contrast but then I'm injected with a radioactive tracer that will light up any areas of suspicious activity or "hot spots" with varying degrees of heat. The degrees are called SUV numbers and I think they go from 0 (no activity) to 15. Generally they say anything at or above a 2.5 points to a malignancy...but not necessarily. Until today I'd only had one PET scan right after I was first diagnosed so I'm not very versed on the ins and outs of the test. The information I just typed was found on Google AFTER I got home from the cancer center today.

I parked the car, hobbled into the center and took the excruciating walk up the stairs. Valet parking and an elevator probably would've been better choices, but I was too stubborn to take the easy way out. I checked in and found my mom in the waiting room. "You gave your car to the valet, right" I shook my head and sunk down into the plush chair. She shot me the mom look, "And you wonder why your back is still hurting? I've told you not to push it!" Yes, yes. I know. I hung my head in shame, opened the pamphlet I was given on the PET scan and began to read about the test. "Wow. I'm gonna be back there a long time," I said to my mom. "I'll have to sit there for an hour after they inject me to let the tracer go through my body and then the scan will take another forty-five minutes." Unfortunately, because the tracer is actually hazardous material, I'd have to leave my mom in the waiting room and suffer through the hour of tracer-soaking in solitude.

"Ms. Kane?" I turned as I heard my name being called, "That's me." I stood up, bid farewell to my cheerleader and followed the tech, who clearly hadn't smiled in years. Though I'd been to the same department every three months for almost two years for my follow-up scans, this time I had to go down a different hallway. My comfortable and familiar CT scan was to the left, but the PET scan was straight ahead. Down the long hallway we went, only stopping to grab a bottle of the same disgustingly sweet contrast drink they use for CT scans. Then we continued, passing door after door with posted danger signs that read, "Radioactive Materials Area." I felt my eyes start to sting but I quickly nipped the tears in the bud. "This way," said my less than personable host as he led me through one of the doors with the aforementioned sign. I got on the scale and told the tech my height. He then brought me to a smaller room with a reclining chair, a sink, a Sharps container and a bunch of drawers, one labeled, "IV starter kits." He motioned me into the chair and, without an ounce of tenderness or empathy announced, "A nurse will be here in a minute to check your blood sugar and start your IV. Then you'll have to start drinking the contrast and I'll come back to give you the radioactive tracer. After the injection you'll need to wait an hour and then I'll come back and take you to have your test. You can play on your phone or sleep or whatever, but make sure you drink all of the contrast." Then he left the room. They might as well have sent a robot to do his job. At least they could've programmed it to have a little compassion.

I scanned the tiny room that looked like all the other tiny rooms I've been forced to endure over the last two years. Then I saw the soap and a wave of nausea swept over my body. Yes, soap. Just plain old Dial liquid hand soap. It's the same soap they have in all the bathrooms at the center, including the chemo suite. The smell of that soap brings back all of my memories of chemotherapy, and I promise you, not one of them is good. One whiff of that damned soap and I want to pray to the porcelain God. 

Then I heard footsteps. Footsteps are a sound most people don't think too much about. But at a cancer center, footsteps mean a nurse coming to stick you or a doctor coming to give you life or death news. I don't like footsteps.

"Hi Suzanne. I'm here to check your blood sugar and start your IV. You haven't eaten in the last six hours, right?" I figured the answer to the nurse's question was pretty obvious from the embarrassing rumbles coming from my stomach, but I shook my head anyway. She cleaned my left middle finger with an alcohol swab then wiped it dry. "A little pinch," she said as the tiny needle stuck through my skin and she squeezed a drop of blood onto the test strip. I guess I passed because she immediately began setting up shop on the table next to my chair. All of the necessary items for my IV were unwrapped and ready and she went to work finding a vein. I turned my head so I didn't have to watch but I knew everything was in place when I tasted the saline she'd shot through the IV. And then she was gone. 

More footsteps. 

Oh, good! Mr. Happy is back! "Ok, now you can start drinking," he said as he shoved the contrast in front of me. I'll be back in fifteen minutes to give you the shot."When he left I texted my mom to let her know what was going on in the land of quarantine. Then, without warning, the dam broke and the tears started to fall. "I want my Mommy!" I texted like a 6 year-old. "I'm right here waiting for you," she wrote back. I hate this. I hate this so, so much.

I played my turns on Words With Friends and Scrabble and What's the Phrase. I checked Facebook and texted a bit until I heard the damn footsteps again. The tech from Hell arrived carrying the special lead box that held the dangerous liquid that would be injected into my body. I couldn't really see what he was doing since his body was blocking the setup, but I feel like the process was much more dramatic the last time I had a PET scan. When he finally turned toward me, he was holding the shot, which was encapsulated in what I assumed to be lead, and heading right for my IV. Without explanation or any words at all, he hooked the syringe up the the IV, pushed the plunger and emptied it all into my arm. He followed it with a chaser of saline and said, "Ok, you have an hour." Then he looked at the almost full bottle of contrast next to me, pointed and instructed, "Drink!" and headed off to his next victim.

An hour felt like two and I'd swallowed what seemed like gallons of fruity nastiness when Tech Ratched came back just long enough to let me know I'd be going in for the scan in ten minutes so I needed to use the bathroom and finish up the drink now. I quickly did as I was told before he returned, for fear of angering the beast. As promised, he appeared 10 minutes later to get me for the scan. He looked at the bottle of contrast sitting next to me and scolded, "Did you drink more like I told you to?" I wanted to put my tail between my legs and hide. "I did. I drank to the line like you said." He grabbed the bottle for a closer look, nodded his head, and escorted me to the third machine I'd be having a ride through this week. They're all pretty similar on the outside. Long, hard "bed" that moves you into a round coffin-like machine. "Put your head here," he instructed. I did as I was told and felt the pain in my back as it hit the table. Luckily, tech-man put a cushion under my knees which relieved some of the pressure. He then covered me with a blanket and said, "Now pull..." but I finished his sentence, "my pants down to my knees. I know. I'm an old pro." Not even a hint of a smile from this guy! "The test will take twenty-one minutes. Don't move." And he was gone.

Ok, well, 21 minutes sounded a lot better than the 45 minutes I'd read in the pamphlet, but still, that's an awfully long time to stay completely still with your arms over your head. The table started moving and I began my normal exercises to pass the time. I pictured myself on a beach with the smell of salty sea air. That got me through about five minutes. I decided to sing. "Just give me a reason, just a little bit's enough, just a second we're not broken just bent and we can learn to love again!" Five times through that song was all I could handle. I thought about praying but I think God still hates me for leaving the church. Asking Him for favors would probably be a bad idea. Then I remembered NED. My friend, NED. No Evidence of Disease. NED. All I wanted was NED. I started chanting to myself, "NED. NED. NED. NED." I was willing my body to be clean and show No Evidence of Disease on the scan. "NED. NED. NED. NED. NED. NED. NED. NED. NED."

Footsteps.

"Ok, you're done. You can head down to Dr. L's office now." He walked me down the hall and opened the door to the waiting room. I thanked him and as I headed out he called after me, "Good luck." Now, normally, most people don't read into "good luck" as a bad thing. But this man had been watching the pictures that were being taken of my insides a few minutes ago. I understand he's not a radiologist, only a technician, but he still sees what's happening on the screen. I'm sure he can see if something lights up, whether he knows what it is or not. Why was he wishing me good luck? Am I going to need it?

Ah, Crazy Suzanne has entered the building!

I limped over to where my mom was sitting and she announced, "I brought you a Nutella to Go as a surprise!" Just one more reason my mom is the best. I plowed through the hazelnutty, chocolatey goodness and rushed my mom out of her seat so we could hurry down to Dr. L's office for the results of the scan. Since I was being squeezed in, I assumed we'd be waiting awhile, but the nurse came to get us pretty quickly. "How are you?" she asked with all the smiles I'd been missing upstairs. "I guess I'll find out in a few minutes," I replied. Before she'd even finished taking my blood pressure, Nurse L burst into the room announcing, "He's still waiting for the radiologist to call with the results but I'm not worried. I don't think this is anything. I read the MRI report from the other place and it didn't say anything that made me think we need to worry. It's fine. I know it's fine." Was she trying to convince me or herself? "It has to be fine," she continued. "I'm already on the verge of tears because my son is graduating tonight. We can't hear any bad news." I knew it. She was crying on the phone yesterday when I broke down. I looked around at my female team who've been through it all with me. My two amazing nurses and my SuperMom and I could see the genuine concern on all of their faces. There were other patients to be seen, but they were all in my tiny exam room waiting for the doctor to give me my sentence. And, without warning, the floodgates opened and I started bawling, "I can't do this again! I can't go through it again! We're supposed to have a baby! Why is this happening?" Nurse L went to the door, "Give me her file," she said to the other nurse, "let me find out what's going on."

A few minutes later I heard my doctor's voice down the hall. He was obviously on the phone with the radiologist, but I could only make out a few words. "Yeah, I need the results of her PET. Yeah, she had a crazy MRI the other day so we're trying to figure it out." And that was all. The second nurse let me know that Dr. L had one more patient before me and then he'd be right in.

Footsteps. Getting closer. Coming to the door. Fading away. Gone.

Nope. Not yet.

Five minutes...six minutes...

Footsteps. Getting closer. Coming to the door. Fading away. Gone.

Nope. Not yet.

Ten minutes...eleven minutes...

Footsteps. Getting closer. Coming to the door. Doorknob is moving. Door is opening.

"Hey, how are you?" Dr. L asked with his mildly cocky, yet friendly tone. "You tell me," I urged. "You're fine. You're ok." Why didn't I believe him? "The PET was clear?" I asked for clarification. Just then, Nurse L threw open the door, "What did I miss? Is everything ok?" Dr. L continued, "Well, there is some activity on the scan in the questionable area, but it's nothing obvious." Wait. What? "What does that mean?" I asked. "The area in your back that the other doctor was talking about lit up, but it was only like a two. A two can mean a lot of things. It can mean inflammation or infection or a million other things. At one point they mentioned a fracture. It could be that." I wasn't getting the answer I was looking for. "Can it mean cancer?" He shrugged, "Anything is possible but I'm really not worried. I don't think it's anything." Not good enough. "Whatever it is hurts and it's not getting better," I explained. "The CT scan showed radiation damage, the MRI was inconclusive and suspected possible cancer, the PET is lighting up with 'activity' and we still don't know exactly what it is? How are we gonna find out?" I can't believe we still don't have an answer. "Well, our radiologist needs the MRI from the sports medicine doctor to compare it to the PET to get a better idea of what we're dealing with," he said. You're kidding me. So, let me get this straight. The CT was supposedly clear, but the MRI was inconclusive. The sports medicine radiologist wanted the CT scan DVD from the cancer center to compare it with the MRI, which still didn't give us an answer. Now the PET scan is inconclusive and I need to wait for the MRI DVD to be sent to the cancer center from the sports medicine radiologist for a comparison of those two tests?

Seriously?

"I'm sorry I can't give you the answers you want today, but hopefully I'll be able to tell you something more definitive on Monday. Tuesday the latest." 

SERIOUSLY??

"What if they still can't tell what it is after comparing these two scans?" I asked, hoping he'd say that was impossible. "Then we might have to wait six weeks and redo the scan." Yeah, ok. I could be dead by then. "Look, I'm really not worried," he insisted. "Remember the biopsy you had a few months ago that came back ok? I told you I wasn't worried about that and it was fine and I was more worried then than I am now." Oh, ok. But I also remember when he wasn't worried about me having Small Cell because the chances were only 3%, but I showed him!

"Small Cell doesn't typically come back like this," he tried again to calm me. "It's not a location it would normally hit and when it comes back it comes back with a vengeance, not like this." Being in a Small Cell support group online has taught me a lot. Maybe too much. I countered his argument with, "I know people who've had it pop up in any place you can imagine." He looked at me and realized I wasn't the girl who didn't Google anymore. "You're right. As I said, anything is possible. I just don't want you to worry because I really think it's ok." I said, "Until I have an answer I'm gonna worry." Then I decided to test out his real level of concern, "I'm supposed to book a flight for our gestational carrier and her husband to fly out here and meet us in a few weeks. Should I book it or wait?" I didn't get the quick response I was looking for. He paused and asked, "If things aren't good are you still gonna go through with the baby thing?" Hell no! I shook my head. He shrugged and said, "Book it. You can always cancel the flight if you need to." Great. Way to keep the fear to a minimum, Doc.

We said our goodbyes and Nurse L gave me a hug. My mom and I walked to our cars where she informed me that she would not be leaving on her trip to Florida the next day. The whole thing was like a deja vu of my original diagnosis and it scared me even more. Then I was planning a wedding and every detail of my life was falling into place. My mom went with me to the doctor and I was told I had cancer and BAM! Everything was smashed to pieces. My mom was leaving for Florida and canceled her trip. Now the baby thing is exactly where we want it to be. I was finally getting some sort of a life back. I was finally happy again. And BAM! Here we go again. 

But I'm trying not to worry, like Dr. L said. I texted Lily and told her the answers I didn't get. "Do you want to proceed?" she asked. I ran it by my mom and we made a decision. I responded to the text, "I'm gonna e-mail Tara and tell her to book your flights."

So that's where it stands as of 2:30 AM on Saturday, June 22, 2013. I still don't have any answers, though my mind is convinced the cancer is back. Lily and Jason's flights are booked, on the off chance I actually get a definitive answer of good news on Monday and my parents have canceled their flight to Florida so my mom will be available to rush to my side when, sorry, IF the doctor confirms my walk to the electric chair on Monday.

Oh, Death Row, I fucking hate you.


Thursday, June 20, 2013

Inconclusive

We did it! 

We finally nailed down a date for Lily and Jason to fly out here for Clinic Day! That's the day the two of them and Jimmi and I will head to the fertility clinic for a full day of testing and talking and gathering information and figuring out the plan for the transfer of our bun into Lily's oven a few weeks later.

Clinic Day is scheduled for July 11th!!

They'll fly in on the 10th, we'll go to the clinic from 8 AM - 2 PM on the 11th and then I'm planning on getting tickets to a Broadway show, probably Wicked, for that evening. Then they'll fly back on the 12th. Not a long visit, but a very important one! I can't believe it's really happening!

At about 1:30 PM my mom came over to help me clean up a little bit. It's been difficult for me to do a whole lot since my back is still bothering me. "How's the pain today?" she asked as she put down her bag and walked over the the chair where I was sitting. "It hurts," I whined. "And the doctor is really pissing me off. I called yesterday and they told me they received the DVD of my CT scan from Dr. L on Tuesday and they were just waiting for their radiologist to compare it to the MRI they took. It's Thursday and I still haven't heard anything!" I grabbed the phone and called the sports medicine office and asked for the physician's assistant I'd been dealing with. He picked up the call, "Hi Suzanne. I haven't forgotten about you, but unfortunately, the head radiologist still hasn't been able to compare the two scans yet. I promise I'll get back to you today." Before I could stop it from escaping my lips, the question flew out, "Why is it taking so long? Does he think the cancer is back?" The PA paused the uncomfortable pause of someone who isn't quite prepared to answer a particular question, "Well, he wasn't sure from the MRI which is why he wanted to look at the CT scan to compare the films. I didn't call you because I didn't want to scare you before I had a definite answer." I guess my mom saw my face fall because she came closer and sat down on the stairs next to me. The PA finished with, "I'll call you as soon as I get the report, ok?" 

I hung up the phone and forced myself to breathe. My mom asked, "What did he say?" I couldn't answer her. 

All I could do was breathe. 

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

She didn't ask me again. She let me take the time I needed to process what I'd heard and then my eyes blurred with tears and the words came out, "They think it might be cancer." 

Jimmi walked in as the horrific sentence was still hanging in the air. "What?" he asked. "I'm not doing it again," I insisted. "I can't go through that again!" My mom, always the calming force, replied, "Calm down. Don't worry unless there's a reason to worry. Maybe you should call Nurse L." The same thought had already crossed my mind and my finger frantically dialed the number to my oncologist's office. Nurse L, my favorite from the start, called me back very quickly, "What's up?" she asked. I blurted out the details of my conversation with the PA and she said, "What? Who said that? Why didn't they send US the MRI DVD?" She sounded angry and very protective of my fragile mental health, "I'm reading the report from the CT scan we did here last week and it says 'No suspicious activity. No evidence of disease.' The only new appearance is the radiation damage." I broke in, "But how can that be? Can radiation damage show up two years after completing radiation?" She was strong in her words, "Oh, yeah. Definitely. Radiation is the gift that keeps on giving." But I wasn't convinced, "Why is this happening? We're supposed to be getting ready to have a baby!" My voice cracked and the sobbing began, "I know," she said sympathetically. "They're scaring me! I can't do it again! I can't!" I could've sworn I heard Nurse L's voice shaking as well, "I know. I know you can't. Can I talk to them? What's their number? I'm gonna get this figured out." I gave her the information she requested and she hung up after promising, "I'll call you right back."

I just sat there. I couldn't muster up the strength to do anything else. My mom and Jimmi tried to convince me of the many other possibilities that could be causing pain and a new spot on my scans, but I wasn't convinced. 

Nurse L called right back, "Ok, they're sending us the MRI and we're gonna have our radiologists look at it. They're also calling me back once they have the final report from the MRI on their end." I asked, "Is it possible your radiologists made a mistake? Could it be cancer?" She tried to put me at ease, "Look, anything is possible, but based on your history, any radiologist who doesn't know your entire situation is going to assume the possibility of metastatic disease. They all do it. Just sit tight and I'll let you know what I find out." 

In the meantime, nothing was getting cleaned up at my house. That ship had sailed away taking the hope I'd newly found along with it. And then I saw the e-mail from Tara:

Hi Suzanne!

We're all set for Clinic Day on July 11th! Please see the flight options for Lily and Jason below and let me know which one works best with your schedule. 

Thanks,

Tara

Awesome. Should I tell her to hold off on booking anything because I may have to cancel the whole thing? Should I pretend nothing's wrong? I chose option #2 and picked the flights I thought were best. She responded that she'd check with Lily and Jason and get back to me. Great. Whoopee! I should've be doing cartwheels of joy at that moment but all I could do was think about the possibility of losing my hair again. Sounds petty, right? Well, it's not. When I lost my hair my dignity was lost with it. I hated everything about being bald and then having short hair. I was not a Bald is Beautiful warrior who proudly paraded her smooth and shiny scalp as a symbol of the battle she was fighting. Nope. I was the one who kept covered and hid from the world. I was the one who stayed on my corner of the couch and hoped no one would want to visit me. I wasn't me at all. I was just a cancer patient.

I'm not doing that again. I can't.

I had to run out for a few minutes. I left my mom at the house and asked her to please answer the phone. I didn't know if the sports medicine office would tell her anything, but I knew Nurse L would. I ran my quick errands and just as I'd finished paying for my Dunkin Donuts iced coffee, my phone rang. I recognized the sports doctor's number, contemplated not answering the call, but quickly changed my mind. "Hi Suzanne," it was the doctor himself, not the PA. Is that a bad sign? "So, we got the results of your MRI. Sorry it took so long but the radiologist really wanted to see the CT scan first. So, he definitely sees the same area of concern that your oncologist's office says is radiation damage but he's very non-commital." A non-commital man? No way! "He said it COULD be that, but it's also possible it could be metastatic disease." 

Metastatic disease: A fancy term for your cancer has spread. Or, more simply, you're fucked. 

He continued, "We'd like to set you up for a bone scan tomorrow to look more closely and get to the bottom of this. If that scan is inconclusive as well, we may have to go in for a biopsy, but we'll cross that bridge if we get to it." I guess he could hear the fear in my voice so he threw in, "I'm not a betting man, but I'd say you'll be just fine." Oh, gee thanks, Doc. You're telling me the radiologist thinks I might have cancer again and you don't truly understand the severity of the type of cancer we'd be dealing with, but you think I'll be fine? Why are we even going through this little exercise? If you think I'll be fine, let's just leave it at that and let me get on with my life? "So my PA will call you after he calls your insurance company and we'll set up the bone scan." Ok, "And when will I have the results." He said, "Hmmm...Well, if we get you in tomorrow, I'd say the earliest we would know anything would be Monday. Just try not to think about it and enjoy your weekend."

You're fucking kidding me, right?

I drove home with a knot in my stomach the size of Texas. I recapped my history in my head. Diagnosed April 2011, hysterectomy June 2011, chemo and radiation July 2011 - September 2011, clear scans until April 2013. It's only been two months since April. I wasn't even supposed to have my next scan until July. Can things really change in two months? Yup. Small Cell Neuroendocrine Carcinoma is a nasty bitch and she plays dirty. Those little cells can hide in there and pop up whenever they need a little excitement. I thought I'd made it two years cancer-free and now I'm told I might have to start all over again. The ringing phone snapped me out of my thoughts. "Hi Suzanne it's Dr. L's office. He wants you to come in for a PET scan tomorrow at eleven." Wait, what? "Oh. I thought I was going for a bone scan." She responded, "No, we don't do that. He wants you to have a PET scan." I was confused, "I thought I was having a bone scan at the sports medicine office?" She clearly had no idea what I was talking about, "I don't know. Is eleven ok?" I agreed and figured I'd call Nurse L for clarification after the scheduler hung up. "Ok, be here fifteen minutes before the scan and don't eat anything for six hours before you get here." 

I didn't have a chance to call Nurse L back because my mom met me at the door shaking her head, "I just got off the phone with Nurse L. She seemed very annoyed." Maybe she could tell me what the Hell was going on, "Yeah, they just called me in for a PET scan. I thought I was having a bone scan." My mom went on, "Yes, Nurse L spoke to the sports doctor and he told her they were sending you for a bone scan. She told Dr. L and he got angry because they don't even do bone scans anymore. He wants you to do the PET scan so they can get to the bottom of this." Made sense, "Then she said that since Dr. L is in the New Jersey office tomorrow he'll be able to see you right away and tell you what's going on." That was good news. "So I won't have to wait until Monday?" She shook her head, "I'm telling you, Nurse L did not sound happy with the way the other doctor's office is handling this." Yeah, neither am I.

And then my mind started buzzing with its daily, crazy thoughts. What if this is all happening for a reason? What if the Universe knows the cancer is back and sent me to the second doctor because the first radiologist missed it? What if all of these events are happening to lead me to a re-diagnosis? I mean, seriously. Think about it. I was working with the first surrogacy agency for months and rejected every possible candidate they sent me. I switched agencies and within hours we were matched with exactly the right person for us. I truly believe that was a series of events destined to lead us to Lily. The timing was right and it all fell into place. Maybe that's what's happening here?

Anyway...a few minutes after the crazies had stopped yapping in my ear I received an e-mail from Tara with the final flight plans for Lily and Jason's trip on July 10-12. "Should I book it?" she asked. Shit. I had to tell her. I typed:

Do you think we can hold off for 24 hours? The pain in my back is still there and I'm going for a PET scan tomorrow to hopefully find out what's going on.

Send.

I hate that everyone probably thinks I'm a hypochondriac who complains constantly. I hate that I feel like one of those annoying people on Facebook who is constantly whining about imaginary problems that I'd give anything to have over the hand I've been dealt.

Ding!

Click.

I'm sure 24 hours won't make a difference in booking the flights. Sending positive vibes.

Tara

Ok, that's done. And now all I can do is continue the waiting game I've become so accustomed to. Tomorrow I'll be sequestered into a room and injected with a highly radioactive dye so I can have yet another type of scan that will hopefully bring me some answers. I'm not a religious person, but...

Please pray they're good ones.


Monday, June 17, 2013

Scans, Tattoos and Plans, Oh My!

You know that feeling you get when your CT scan looks clear for cancer but shows what appears to be a herniated disc, so you're sent for an MRI to confirm said disc and the results of the MRI show something, but no one's sure what it is? 

I DO!

Yeah, seriously. The sports medicine doctor called me on Friday to tell me he did see something on my MRI in the same place as the supposed disc, but it didn't appear to be a disc. So, what did it appear to be? "Well, it could be radiation damage, or edema, or even a small fracture. Though, a fracture seems unlikely since you don't remember hurting the area." Ok, valid guesses I suppose. But I'm not a fan of the inconclusive test results. "It's not cancer, right?" He paused for a moment and said, "Well, the CT scan didn't appear to show cancer, so I don't think so. I'm going to call your oncologist to get a copy of the actual CT scan and not just the report. I'd like to compare it to the MRI and see if that helps us figure out what we're looking at. If we still aren't sure, we may have to send you for a bone scan."

Oh, goody! 

What's a few more days of waiting, a few more days of pain, another scan to fill my body with more radiation? I was hoping to start physical therapy today, but until they know what's causing the problem they aren't able to fix it. On the positive side, the pain doesn't seem to be getting any worse, so I guess that's a good thing. I'm hoping I'll have some answers tomorrow.

While I wasn't given any news about my back on Friday, I did have a small heart attack that day anyway. Lily and I have been e-mailing a lot and getting to know each other, which has been really great. But something she said on Friday sent up a red flag in my brain. "I'm kind of nervous. I'm supposed to be getting my eyeliner tattooed on the way home from work today!" If you've seen my husband or me, you know we don't have any issues with tattoos. Though, the thought of needles going near my eyes makes me want to crawl up the wall! But then another thought hit me after crawling back down. On any medical forms I've filled out in the past, especially when donating blood or freezing embryos, I remember answering the question, "Have you gotten any tattoos or piercings in the last 6 months?" I know they're asking because of HIV or Hep C or any other diseases that can be transmitted through dirty needles. My heart was pounding anxiously and I started to type back to her, "Is that allowed before the transfer?" but I couldn't hit the send button. Who am I to question this woman? She's offered to carry our baby, but that doesn't mean I have the right to get all bossy with her, especially since we haven't even signed any contracts yet. So I let it go, assuming she'd probably checked it out with Tara before making the appointment.

But what if she didn't?

Clearly this woman would not intentionally do anything to hurt this process. I mean, she's completed mounds of paperwork and preliminary testing and background checks and a home study. Why would she go through all of that if she didn't actually want to do this for us? I'm sure she asked Tara. Forget about it.

But what if she really didn't know there could be an issue so she DIDN'T ask? What if she's taking a half-day today to get this done? I checked the time on my phone and it was 1:00 PM. That's noon in Minnesota. Lunchtime. If she was taking a half-day she could've been heading out right then. Shit! I frantically e-mailed Tara:

Hi Tara,

Lily mentioned getting an eyeliner tattoo today. Is that ok? I don't want to upset her but I want to make sure she checked with you first.

Thanks.

It took about 15 minutes to receive the reply that made my heart jump out of my chest and fall onto the floor with a thud.

Suzanne,

No, I didn't know about it. I checked with your clinic and they will require a waiting period of six months after a tattoo or piercing before medication can begin for an embryo transfer. I've already tried calling Lily but I haven't been able to reach her. I suggest you try too.

Tara

SHIT!!!

Now what do I do? I felt awful. I'd basically tattled on this woman who has selflessly offered up her body for us for the next 10 months. Now Tara and I had to hunt her down like a dog and stop her from doing something SHE wanted to do with HER body before allowing my baby to live in it. But I didn't have a choice. I had to e-mail her. After a few minutes without a reply I started jumping to conclusions. Obviously she'd left work early and she was already in the chair being tattooed. That's the only explanation for why neither Tara nor I could get in touch with her. Couldn't have had anything to do with the fact that the poor woman was WORKING, right? Five minutes went by...then ten...then fifteen...then...

Ding!

It was from Tara.

Click!

Hi Suzanne,

She canceled the appointment. All is well.

Tara.

Oh, thank GOD!

Crisis avoided. Breathe. Chill. I thanked Tara and shot another e-mail to Lily, apologizing for ruining her plans. Her simple response gave me another reason to feel that she is the right person to care for our little bundle and keep her safe:

Hi Suzanne,

I'm not upset. Just a little disappointed because I've had that appointment for a few months. But I'll just get it done after the baby comes!!

Lily

And now we're in the process of picking dates for our Clinic Day! Miss Impatient and I would really like it to happen before Jimmi and I leave for Europe on July 19th, so everyone is running around like crazy people trying to sync up schedules. I can't believe it's really happening! Plans are being set in motion and contracts are being written up as I type! The reality is sinking in enough that Jimmi and I have started picking out names for the baby(ies); something I never thought we'd be doing. If all goes well, we could be pregnant by the end of the summer!


Thursday, June 13, 2013

Waiting it Out

When scheduling my regular three-month follow-up CT scans, I always plan my appointments with my medical oncologist and gynecological oncologist on the day to follow. As soon as I enter her office 24 hours later, Dr. G, my medical oncologist, hits me with the news. So when I went in for my "emergency" CT scan this past Tuesday, I fully expected to either celebrate or crawl back into my hole of cancer solitude by Wednesday.

I was mistaken.

Because the scan was booked so quickly, Jimmi and my mom were not available to go with me. In two years, this was literally the first time I'd ever walked into that building alone. Since it was only a test and we knew the radiology techs couldn't tell me anything, I was fine flying solo. I sat and played a few games of Sudoku on my phone as I drank what felt like a gallon of "fruit punch" contrast then I was called back for step two. My IV. The routine is exactly the same each time and it makes me feel like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day. First I'm asked my name, with spelling, and date of birth. Then I sign the consent forms, which include the question, "Is there any chance you could be pregnant?" on which I angrily check "no" and wonder why they can't put a note in my file saying not to ever give me this form again. I then wait for the the contrast drink server who, once again, asks for my name, with spelling, and my date of birth. I'm instructed to drink only to the bottom of the label over the next hour until the nurse comes to get me for my IV. She then brings me back to the little room that's always like 32 degrees, and I shiver and say, "It's cold in here!" She responds with, "Oh, it's because you're so tiny! Would you like a blanket?" We then go through the name, with spelling, and date of birth drill followed by the question, "Which arm is better?" To which I respond, "My right one is better, but the best vein is full of scar tissue because the phlebotomists at the fertility clinic were too lazy to find another one when I was being monitored every day for two weeks during the cycle for egg-harvesting." She then looks over both arms, easily finds a different vein she believes she can work with and proceeds to painfully stick me until the IV catheter is placed and the saline is flowing. After she leaves, I wait about five minutes - ten if there's an emergency squeeze-in - until the radiology tech comes to collect me and bring me to the machine where I'm instructed to lie with my head on the cushion, my feet facing down and my arms up over my head. The blanket is placed on top of me and I'm told to pull my pants down to my knees so the button and zipper won't affect the scan. The tech then leaves the room and the metal bed moves me into the big, white circle where the automated man tells me to, "Breathe in. Hold your breath. Breathe." The bed moves again and the voice repeats. Then I'm moved out of the circle and the nurse comes back in to inject me with a dye that makes me feel warm and weird all over. She leaves and the bed moves me back into the circle to await my automated boyfriend's instructions three more times until the machine powers down, the bed moves me out, the tech comes back to remove my IV and remind me to drink lots of water, I pull up my pants under the blanket, get up from the table and head out of the big, scary room and back into the world to hold my breath until the next day when I hear the results. The ONLY difference about this playback of Groundhog Day was that I had no knowledge of when the results would come.

And that was a HUGE difference.

Waiting on someone to tell you if your cancer has come back is like, well, waking up on death row. Is today the day they'll sentence me or will I get to hang out in my cell a little bit longer? And when you have a new symptom, like a severe pain in your lower back with an unknown cause, the waiting is even more unbearable. But at least I'd only have to wait 24 hours.

Or so I thought.

At 8:30 on Wednesday morning I was sitting by the phone, hoping it would ring. Nothing. 8:30 was replaced by 9:30. Nothing. 9:30 was followed by 10:30. Still nothing. Miss Impatient was back on my shoulder, whispering in my ear, "Stop waiting for him to call you and call him!" I obliged. But all that did was allow me to leave a message that I, in fact, wanted my doctor to call me and give me my results, which, presumably, was pretty obvious. 11:30 came and went. Nothing. 12:30 turned to 1:30. Nothing. By 2:30 I'd pretty much convinced myself that the reason he wasn't calling was because the results were bad and my doctor needed to wait until office hours were over to make sure he had time to go over the treatment plan with me. And then there was no stopping my brain from considering the "what ifs" so I called my mom to talk me off the ledge. "Maybe he's in surgery today. Be patient." Yeah, Mom, because we all know how easy patience is for me.

The kids came home from school at 3:30 and I immediately sent them outside to play. I didn't want them inside when the call came. Of course it didn't come. At 4:30 the last ounce of patience I could muster wore out and I grabbed the phone and dialed Dr. L's office number again. "Hi, it's Suzanne Kane again. I still haven't heard back from Dr. L about my scan results and I'm going a little crazy over here." I could hear my mom's "I told you so" in my head as the receptionist explained, "Well, he's in surgery today, so that might be why he hasn't called." Is my mom EVER wrong? "Also, we have a few radiologists out. Let me look at something. Hmmm. You had the scan yesterday? Yeah, the results aren't even in yet." Weird. "Really?" I asked, "Isn't that a little odd? The doctor always gives them to me at my appointment twenty-four hours later." She thought for a second, "That's why. If you have an appointment scheduled they mark it STAT so the results are rushed. It normally takes two to three days. I've even heard of it taking up to a week sometimes." Oh, HELL, no! "Are you sure it doesn't mean there's something wrong and they need to study it more?" She smiled audibly, "No, I'm sure. As I said, we have radiologists out this week so they're really busy down there." I forced myself to accept her answer and the fact that I'd need to wait at least one more day to hear if I was dying or not.

I woke up this morning to a panic attack. My heart was racing, my hands were shaking and my chest was tight. I looked at the clock and frowned knowing it would be at least two more hours before the doctor was even in the office. I painfully went about my morning routine and, after the kids were safely at school, did the only thing that would take my mind off the waiting. I took a nap. But by 11:00 I just couldn't keep my eyes shut any longer and my hand automatically reached for the phone and dialed Dr. L. "Hi, it's Suzanne Kane again. I still haven't heard from Dr. L. Can you please tell me if my scan results are in yet?" I heard her fingernails clicking against the keys. "Ummm...I don't see anything. Oh, wait. Yes, the results are in but you'll need to call Dr. G's office because she's the one who ordered the scan." I was confused. "No, she ordered my last scan in April. Dr. L ordered this one." More typing. "Ok, it says Dr. G ordered it. Let me e-mail Dr. L and his nurse and someone will call you back shortly." Oh, good! More waiting!

Ring!

Check Caller ID.

"It's Dr. L's office," I announced to Jimmi before answering the call. "Hello?" My favorite nurse responded with apologies, "I'm so sorry I didn't call you sooner. They put the order in for Dr. G so it didn't pop up on my screen." Ok, you're forgiven. JUST TELL ME IF I'M DYING! "So...Do you have good news for me or not?" She laughed, "Oh, yeah! All good! All of your organs are clear, the vaginal cuff is stable, no bowel obstructions. The only difference is some post-radiation damage to your L5 which may be causing some sciatica. But other than that, nothing to worry about." The deep breath of relief that only comes after a clear scan left my body and I felt my muscles relax. The dreams of our trips to London and Paris in July and Turks and Caicos in August flooded my mind again and I smiled at the thought of a daily breakfast of Nutella on croissants. Then, as if reeling a strongly swimming fish back into my boat, the newly found dreams of babies that had started to fade away came flying back into my heart.

I called my mom and gave her the news, while simultaneously e-mailing Lily that we were good to get the baby train back on the tracks. But then I stood up and remembered that good scan results had no bearing on the fact that I was still in agonizing pain. I needed to fix it. "Call the sports medicine doctor. I e-mailed you his number," my mom insisted. And less than an hour later I was in the car, heading to his office.

I had barely made it down the hill from my house when my cellphone rang. When I saw the number my heart literally stopped beating. Why was Dr. L's office calling me back? "Hello?" I asked, hoping they had the wrong number. "Hi Suzanne," my favorite nurse sang out. Oh my GOD! She MEANT to call me again. What does she want? "So, I decided to have the pain management doctor look at your scan results..." Oh, GOD, Why? "and he saw something the radiologist didn't see." That's it. I'm definitely dying. "He's pretty sure you have a herniated disc but the only way to be sure is with an MRI. I spoke to Dr. L and he'll prescribe one if you want." That's ALL?! She called me back about a herniated disc?! "Oh my GOD! You scared the SHIT out of me!" I exclaimed. "I'm sorry! I just wanted to try and help you with the pain!" I half laughed and half snorted as I told her I was on my way to the sports medicine office and would let her know if I needed anything else from Dr. L. Then I hung up, pulled over for a minute to make sure I wasn't going to pass out from the sudden drop in my blood pressure, then continued on to the next doctor.

The halls leading to the sports medicine office were painted green and white with framed photographs of NY Jets players lining the walls. Oh, how I hate football. Walking into the office wasn't much better, as Sports Center was playing on the TV and framed and autographed Jerseys and footballs were obnoxiously placed all over the waiting area. I filled out the proper forms, paid my copay and waited for my name to be called. When it was, I followed the physician's assistant into an exam room plastered with NY Islanders memorabilia. Why couldn't I have gotten the NY Yankees room? After I was given a super sexy pair of disposable shorts that could've held about seven of me, the PA checked the range of motion and strength of both of my legs. He asked a bunch of questions, told me it was odd that I'd have a herniated disc without knowing how I'd hurt myself, assured me the CT would've showed any serious problems then told me the doctor would be in shortly. After a few minutes and no more than ten words exchanged with the actual doctor I was told I needed an MRI to see exactly what was going on, physical therapy to fix it and prescription paid medication to make it bearable. Luckily they had an MRI machine right in the office so I didn't have to go anywhere in the rainstorm from Hell that was brewing outside. And then the PA came back to burst my bubble, "I'm so sorry but two of the NY Jets players were just brought in and they need the MRI machine, so we're gonna have to send you across the street to the hospital."

I HATE FOOTBALL!

Off to the hospital I swam, I mean drove in the torrential downpour. Surprisingly, I was taken in for testing immediately after signing in. "Have you had an MRI before?" Yes. "Are you claustrophobic?" No. "Here are some ear plugs." Thanks. "We're gonna pad each side of your head." Ok. "Don't move" Got it! The metal bed started to move and I closed my eyes as I went backwards into the black hole. Then the noises started and I pictured sledgehammers and machine guns. That wasn't working for me so I changed it to a beautiful island. A very loud, beautiful island. I actually started to fall asleep but when I did my body jerked. The beeping and buzzing stopped and I heard, "You moved on that last one. Just need to take a few more pictures. Hold still for about three minutes and we'll have you out of there." "No problem," I said. Until I made the mistake of opening my eyes. I've had about 50 scans over the last two years but I've never been dumb enough to open my eyes inside an MRI. You know that fear of being buried alive? Yeah, well, I LIVED IT! I seriously had no idea how tight it was in there! (That's what she said.) The top of the machine was so close to my face I probably could've stuck my tongue out and touched it. My heart started pounding like a kick drum and the buzzes and beeps started up again. Just three more minutes, I told myself. Just three more minutes.

I did it!

And now I have to wait for results. Again. But I'm learning how patient I can actually be when I'm not waiting for a death sentence!

Monday, June 10, 2013

Pain in the Ass

"Tomorrow? Yes, I can do that," I said to Dr. L's nurse. "Yes, I know I need to be there an hour early to drink that stuff. Do you know if he's just requesting a CT scan of the pelvis?" I waited while she checked the prescription and responded, "Looks like the usual pelvis, abdomen and chest CTs will be performed."

Are you confused? Isn't my three-month follow-up scan scheduled for the end of July? 

Let me back up a bit.

For those of you who are familiar with my original blog about my cancer treatment process, you'll remember how completely open and honest I was about every single detail of the journey. TMI or not, I wrote it all out for you to read. I don't intend to change my ways for this blog, though I really never expected to have to discuss my vagina this time. 

Surprise! I was wrong!

It began about three weeks ago. All of a sudden I started noticing a dull, aching sensation inside my vagina right at the "cuff" where it was sewn up after my hysterectomy. Understand that I'm not saying my vagina was sewn up. I'm all good there. But after my uterus was removed, Dr. L stitched up the very top part inside to make the cuff I'm referring to. Anyway, the pain started to come and go and seemed to shoot toward the left, which was the location of my original tumor two years ago. Needless to say, I freaked out. When you've had a history of cancer it's important to follow a simple rule my support group has put into place. Any new pain that lasts two weeks needs to be checked out by the oncologist. So I started counting the days.

Day one.

I felt a dull ache.

Day two.

Dull ache combined with some shooting pain.

Day three.

A phantom pain where my left ovary used to be appeared.

Day four.

I started noticing a random pain in my clavicle and another in my neck. Lymph nodes, maybe?

Day five.

The pains started to subside.

Day six.

Back to just a dull ache here and there.

Day seven.

Gone.

Ok, I guess I don't need to call the doctor. Whew!

But then came the phase two. About three days after the vaginal pain disappeared, I started to have that dull ache again...in my ass. Oh, sorry. In my rectum. 

Hmmm...this is new. 

In case you don't remember from my first blog, I had 28 cycles of external radiation as one of my treatments. Unlike chemo side effects, some of the side effects from radiation can last forever. I still have bowel issues and vaginal bleeding after sex. I leak urine throughout the day and things just generally hurt sometimes. But the butt sensation was new, and combined with the snoochie pain I'd had the week before, it scared me.

Should I call the doctor now?

My sensible side told me to call but everything was moving along with Lily and Jason and I really wanted to push it out of my head and will it to go away. I mean, last time everything in my life seemed to be going the way I wanted it to I ended up with cancer. Why would I think that couldn't happen again? Luckily, about three days of the pain in the ass came and went, then, finally it just went.

Ok, cool. I'll continue on with my plans.

And then, last Thursday, something else popped up. I was at the gym and I felt what seemed like a pinched nerve in my lower back, extending down the right cheek. I'm being proper here, but what I'm really saying is that I had another pain in my ass. This time I'd feel it any time I lifted my right leg to take a step. Yes, if I were a normal person I'd just assume I'd pulled something during a workout. But cancer "survivors" are not normal people. We are scared people.

This new annoyance continued through Friday and Saturday. By Saturday night, walking was becoming increasingly difficult, as it hurt with each step I took. Interestingly enough I was completely fine while sitting, standing still or lying down. I kept telling myself I had just pulled a muscle, but the longer I went without working out while still having the intensity increase, the more I started thinking it might be something worse.

Could it be a tumor?

Sunday was agony. I invited my parents over for dinner and the strain of cleaning up and cooking for everyone made the pain almost unbearable. Fear started creeping into my head like a monster, silently sneaking out of a child's closet late at night. I had to call the doctor first thing in the morning.

I woke up this morning, limped downstairs, moaned as I took the puppy outside to pee, grunted as I climbed back upstairs to wake the boys and whined as I held tightly onto the bannister and hobbled back downstairs to get everyone ready for school. I just wanted to wait for the kids to leave before I made the call to Dr. L's office so they wouldn't hear me.

But before I had a chance to make the call I noticed an e-mail from Tara congratulating Lily and me, once again, and giving each of us the other's contact information so we could start getting to know each other. Up until this point, Lily and my communications had been facilitated by Tara, not by direct contact. While my heart wanted to immediately reach out to this amazing woman and thank her for the gift of her uterus, my head put a stop to it. What if the cancer is back? What if this whole baby thing is all a big tease, like dangling a banana in a monkey's face then yanking it away before he has a change to get his hands on it?

But I didn't have much time to contemplate my next move before I heard...

Ding!

Click!

"Good morning, Suzanne!"

It was from Lily. I never thought she'd write first, but I was so excited that she did. We exchanged a few friendly notes back and forth, and, in between, I put in a call to Dr. L's office, explained my symptoms and was awaiting a call back. Nothing about my initial impression of Lily was swayed during our brief e-mail exchange. She still came across as totally down-to-Earth, easy to talk to and completely genuine. Should I tell her I'm waiting to hear back from the doctor?

Ring!

"Hello?"

"Hi Suzanne. I spoke to Dr. L and he wants to move your July CT scan to tomorrow."

Insert conversation from above here.

So that's where it stands. Tomorrow at 12:40 PM I'll be full of oral contrast with an IV dangling out of my arm, waiting to be filled with injectable contrast as I slide in and out of the giant internal picture machine. I have no idea when I'll have the results this time. Usually my scans are scheduled for the day before a follow-up appointment with my oncologist, but this time the nurse said, "After Dr. L reviews the results we'll see how he wants to proceed."

Awesome.

Hopefully I won't get a call saying, "We have the results but he needs to see you in person." Good or bad, a call like that will send me into hysterics. Basically, unless I get a call that immediately confirms that everything is ok, I'm gonna be a basket case. On the plus side, a surprise scan saves me the weeks of anxiety buildup that come with a scheduled scan. I don't have time to stress over it. I don't have a chance to bite everyone's head off the week leading up to it because I don't have a week to let it wear me down.

I have 11 hours. Wish me luck.


Friday, June 7, 2013

The Call

June 6th, 8:15 PM

I tried to keep myself busy and avoid watching the minutes turn on the clock. 

8:16 PM

One by one. 

8:17 PM

Very slowly.

8:18 PM

Only twelve more to go.

8:19 PM

"Jimmi! Are you coming down?"

"We still have like ten minutes to go. Relax!"

I refreshed Facebook for the thousandth time. Not much had changed in four minutes. I checked my e-mail again. No one had written. 

8:23 PM

I decided to reread the Home Study Report Tara had sent us this morning, which detailed her visit to Lily and her husband, Jason's house last night. Tara had not one negative word to say, and even after picking it apart sentence by sentence, I still couldn't find anything wrong with these people. Could this really be be happening for us?

8:29 PM

"Jimmi! It's time! Bring the other phone when you come in here, please."

Jimmi entered the kitchen, phone in hand. "Are you nervous?" I asked as I dialed the number Tara had e-mailed me. "No, not really. I'm sure it'll be fine." I heard the automated voice prompt me to enter my conference call PIN and I carefully punched in the numbers, took a deep breath and hit the pound key. 

"Hello!" Tara sang as the automated service announced our arrival. "Lily and I are here, so now we're just waiting for Jason to call in." There was a bit of silence on the line as we waited, but it was quickly broken as Jason entered the conference.

"Good, we're all here," Tara said. "Before we begin, I just want to go over everything we'll be talking about tonight. You'll all introduce yourselves and then we'll discuss what brought all of you to the decision to begin this journey. After that we'll talk about what you expect of your relationship before, during and after the pregnancy. Then we'll go over any medical questions you may have and discuss your support system and then I'll open it up to any other questions we may not have covered. So, Lily, let's start with you. Why don't you introduce yourself."

Lily started to speak and I thought to myself, 'This could be the voice my unborn baby will hear every day until she's born.' I listened as she told about her job in the donor services department of the hospital, where she collects blood and platelets that will be given to others in need. She talked about her two children and let us know that she and Jason still live in the town where she grew up. Though it doesn't matter to the welfare of our baby, I was thrilled to hear that Lily was very well-spoken and clearly had an education. Jason spoke next. He, too, sounded perfectly normal, like a down-to-Earth, good-natured guy who would give you the shirt off his back. Then it was my turn.

What should I say? If I make a bad impression, they could decide not to carry for us. Then we'll be back to step one! Why am I so nervous? I've never had trouble making friends. Hell, I've never had trouble talking at all! Just say something, Suzanne!

"Hi, I'm Suzanne. I grew up in New Jersey and I lived in New York while I was in college at Syracuse University. I also lived in New York City for a few summers while I was interning. I worked in the music industry for a few years until I got married the first time and had my kids." Should I have mentioned the first marriage? Was that a turn-off? Well, they know I have kids so I guess mentioning the circumstances in which they were born isn't off limits, right? "After I had the kids I left work to be a full-time mom. I met Jimmi about seven years ago. Then, two years ago, four months before our wedding, I found out I had a super rare form of cervical cancer. I had to have a hysterectomy and radiation and chemo. I wore a wig at my wedding, but we got married!" Ok, Suzanne, put a cork in it. Let someone else talk. Have I mentioned my habit of nervous chatter? 

Lily jumped in, "I saw your wedding pictures in the profile Tara sent us. I never would've known you were wearing a wig. You looked beautiful." Awww. That was sweet. Then she continued, "And I actually think we have the same wedding date. I read some parts of your blog (my original blog about my cancer journey) and I think it's the same. September third, right?" How random is that? Maybe it's a sign! They got married on September 3rd, we got married on September 3rd, logically, that means she needs to have our babies for us, doesn't it? 

And then Jimmi was called upon to speak for the first time. I'll admit, I was a little bit worried about what might come out of his mouth. Jimmi is a super sweet guy with a huge heart, but sarcasm is a big thing with him and to someone who doesn't know him, it may not be taken well. "Hi, I'm Jimmi. I grew up in Upstate New York, near Woodstock. I'm a drummer. I love all animals. I have a younger brother and both of my parents are still alive." Whew! Ok, he did well.

Tara took over the reigns again and asked if any of us had any questions for each other before continuing on. Jason did. "I have a question for Jimmi. Who have you played drums for?" I saw the sparkle in my husband's eyes as the chance to talk about touring the country and playing in front of thousands of people presented itself. 

"Ok, if no one has any other questions, let's move on," Tara directed. "Suzanne, since you already spoke about what brought you to this journey, maybe we can hear from Lily about how she decided she wanted to be a surrogate." Lily explained how she started thinking about helping another couple's dreams come true after her son was born, five years ago. Then she really looked into it three years ago, after she gave birth to her daughter. But it seemed to be fate that brought Lily to her first experience actually carrying a baby for someone else when she saw a post from her cousin on Facebook asking if anyone would be interested in being a surrogate for her and her husband. Lily offered to help and the miracle baby was born in December 2012. The joy in seeing her cousin's happiness led Lily to her decision to bring a child to another couple in need.

This woman is amazing.

But Lily isn't the only one making this decision. Jason supports her decision as well, and wants to be totally involved in all aspects of the ride. Ok, so far everything sounded copacetic. Now we had to figure out our involvement in a resulting pregnancy. Oh, PLEASE let them want us to be a part of everything. PLEASE!

"We want them to be involved and come to any appointments they can make," Lily began. Ok, good start. "My cousin and her husband were there for everything, so it wouldn't be weird for me." Tara broke in, "What about the birth? Would you feel comfortable having them in the room during delivery?" This was the question I needed answered. I mean, I'd assumed any carrier would probably be ok with me being there, but Jimmi was another story. Would it be uncomfortable to have some random guy in there watching her give birth? Seriously, at that point about 50 people will have been up the poor woman's cooch, but Jimmi isn't a doctor or a nurse or any part of the medical team. But he would be the baby's father. I would really want him to be there. "Oh, absolutely," Lily immediately replied. "I would expect them to be there. When I did this for my cousin, Jason originally didn't want her husband in the room. I looked at him and asked if the roles were reversed and it was HIS baby, wouldn't he want to be there for the birth? And that totally made him understand." Jason added, "Now I'd find it weird if the baby's father WASN'T there to watch." Could this really be happening? "I just hope I don't pass out!" Jimmi joked, "I saw that video in health class and it scared the shit outta me!" I shot him a look and he quickly rephrased, "I mean crap!"

It felt like we were all on the same page...so far.

"Lily, what kind of relationship do you hope to have with the intended parents before, during and after the pregnancy?" Tara questioned. Again I held my breath, hoping Lily's reply would match our desires. "Well, I would hope it could become a friendship. We really want a couple we can get along with and easily talk to." The same question was directed at me regarding our carrier. "Obviously you can't force a friendship, but I hope that's what it could become. Someone who would have a big enough heart to carry another couple's baby is clearly an amazing person, so I would think a friendship would easily happen. We want to know everything that's going on with the pregnancy without being annoying, if that's possible. Ideally, we'd love to be at every appointment, but being in two different states could make that difficult. And after the pregnancy I would hope to keep in touch and send photos of the baby. I mean, this is a pretty huge deal. I don't expect to be like, hey! Thanks for the kid. See ya later!" After a few giggles on the line, Lily said, "By the way, my OB is really great. He did an ultrasound at every appointment and took lots of pictures for my cousin. I'm sure he can do that again so you'd be able to see everything, even if you couldn't be there."

Yes!

"Ok, I don't really need to go over the medicines and injections that Lily will need because she and Jason are familiar with the process from their past experience. But I do need to talk about a very uncomfortable subject because it's important that we're all on the same page," Tara explained. "What is everyone's feeling about selective reduction? I know Suzanne and Jimmi are hoping to implant two embryos, which may or may not lead to twins. But there is a small chance the embryos could split and you'd have triplets or quadruplets. What are your thoughts? Suzanne?" As I watched the blood drain from Jimmi's face, I responded, "You should see Jimmi right now! ha! But seriously, if everyone is healthy, meaning babies and carrier, there's no way we'd reduce just to have less children. But if there is a health risk to anyone we'd really have to think about what's best. Our goal here is to have a baby, not put anyone in danger." Then Tara asked another question, "What if there is just one baby but find out there's a severe defect and the child wouldn't ever be able to live a fulfilling life?" The answers I gave at that moment could definitely make or break this union. I didn't want to offend anyone, but I had to be honest. If we end up in that situation, having a surprise change of heart could be devastating for everyone involved. I answered, "Well, honestly, I would never want to have a child who lives in constant pain or can't enjoy life. It's just not fair to the baby. We'd really have to think about it, but we'd want the option to terminate if it's in the best interest of the child." Was that a terrible thing to say? Tara asked Lily the same question. Lily said, "I really had to think about this one. But in the end we've decided we'd leave the decision up the the parents."

Does she really mean that or did I just blow it with my honesty?

"Ok," Tara announced, "I hate that question so let's quickly move on!" From that point on everything went pretty smoothly. We discussed our support systems to make sure our families and friends were on board. They asked what Dylan and Justin thought about this possibility and I told them how excited they were. Then I asked Lily what she had told her kids when she helped her cousin out last year. "Well, my daughter was too young to really understand. I told my son that my cousin had a broken tummy and my tummy was good for making babies, so the doctor took her tiny baby and put it into my tummy to grow and I would give it back when it's ready." That was a great answer. "And about five minutes later he came back and asked how they got the baby into my tummy! We told him it was magic!" 

It kind of seems like magic, doesn't it?

As the conversation came to a close, Tara let us all know that we should take some time to think about everything and decide if this would be a good match for us. It was Thursday night and she asked us to please give her an answer by Monday. Of course, if we made our decision before then, we were invited to let her know sooner. "I've had couples hang up the phone and immediately send me an email with their answer, but you don't need to do that." Little Miss Impatient was sitting on my shoulder whispering in my ear, "You're totally gonna do that." I flicked her off like a mosquito so I could say my goodbyes to Lily and Jason. And as we were hanging up, Jason let out a totally sincere and heartfelt sentiment, "No matter what happens, know we're praying for you and hoping everything will be ok." I'm not the most religious person in the world, but I always accept prayers. And I just knew...

These were good people.

We hung up the phone and I gave Jimmi the doe-eyed stare. "They seemed really nice," he said. Little Miss Impatient was sitting on my shoulder again. "So? Can I e-mail Tara and say yes?" Never one to rush into anything, he replied, "We don't have to answer until Monday. Let's just think about it." I was annoyed. "What's to think about? We want a baby, I can't have a baby, this selfless woman and her husband have agreed to help us have a baby. And, from the sound of it, it seems like the two of you would really enjoy having a few beers while I take Lily on her first trip to New York City!" He agreed, "I know, but I don't want to sound too desperate." Dude! We ARE desperate! "Desperate would've been accepting the first, or ANY of the candidates from Agency A. This match is perfect. They are exactly what we've been looking for." If I've learned anything about Jimmi over the last seven years, it's not to push him on important decisions. Even if he knows exactly what he wants, he always takes a day or two to let it sink in before giving his final answer. I wasn't worried that he'd reject Lily and Jason, I was just anxious and wanted him to accept them RIGHT NOW!

But I had to wait.

And I didn't only have to wait on Jimmi's official, "Yes!" I also had to wait and see if Lily and Jason still wanted to do this for us. What if we gave the wrong answers? What if Jimmi's accidental "shit" was the deal breaker? Maybe something about us just rubbed them the wrong way? They were just as much a part of this decision as we were. It could be totally possible that they would turn us down. 

I went to bed wondering how it would all turn out...

Luckily for my wonderful readers I was too tired to finish this entry last night. Know what that means? It means you don't have to endure another cliffhanger to read what happened next!

Jimmi had to go into the city for rehearsal today and he left before we had a chance to talk. When he got there he texted me, "It's raining so there wasn't any street parking. Had to put the car in the garage and it's gonna cost a fortune!" I took my opportunity, "That sucks. I won't be mad at you if you let me answer Tara now." I laughed at my marvelous ability to throw a nag into any conversation. The response Beep! was much quicker than I'd expected. "Yes!! Grumble!!" he wrote, and I could almost picture him shaking his head with the knowledge that I'd never allow him to make me wait any longer than he already had. "Really??" I replied, but didn't bother to wait for his confirmation before emailing Tara: "If Lily and Jason are on board, so are we!"

What if they're not "on board"? Or what if they've decided not to give Tara their decision until Monday. How will I hold Little Miss Impatient at bay?

Ding! 

Click!

Tara wrote back:

"Ha. They emailed me as soon as you were off the phone saying they would be honored to go on this journey with you!!!

I will send you both the next steps by the end of the day.

YEAH!!!!!"

Wait, what?

No Way.

Seriously?

We're matched?

We're matched???

WE'RE MATCHED!!!!!!