What a deal.

Good news today.  I saw my oncologist and he said I don't need to come back for 6 months - what a deal!  This is longer than my standard 3 months and is another milestone in my mind.

I'm a bit unsure what to write anymore as I don't have much important "cancer" info to share.  I feel a bit like if I change topics and talk about this "great new band" or this "fun new thing," that I'm somehow cheating.  So - I'll just start somewhere.

Life got busy.  Again.  I knew it would and welcomed it with open arms.  With "Gusto," I would argue.  I threw myself back into work and friends and activities that make me smile.  I met great people and did fun things and drove to new places and took some pictures (for proof, you know, that I actually did these things).

I have been on a regimen of 3 month check up appointments and continuing the Tamoxifen and Zolodex and all was routine.  This fall, my energy level began to wane and I started getting more stressed out, which then freaked me out in relation to being sick.  I thought about what my energy level was like before I was diagnosed and thought that there must be a correlation.  That somehow, being low on energy must signal that my body is getting sick again.  Or that maybe it was working harder to combat cancer cells.  I don't traditionally have a hypochondriac streak, so I wonder also if maybe I'm crazy.  Or what if I'm crazy smart because I can feel  the cancer in my body?  I read that dogs can smell cancer, so I also tried to psychoanalyze little Bixby every time she curled up just a little too close or looked a me a little funny.

So I called the doctor's office and asked a ton of questions about "why was I tired?  Why had I gained weight?  Why did I have a dent in my thumbnail?"  (Context required: Nana had Reader's Digest magazines in the bathroom and when I was 7 I read that misshapen fingernails were a sign of cancer.  I still, to this day, check my fingernails for abnormalities.  So dumb.)

They took pity on me and set me up with a PET scan and blood work.  I'm low in Vitamin D again (like every other person in MN), but all else was well.  The PET scan, though, nearly killed me.  The scan was fine.  But I couldn't have sugar or caffeine for 24 hours prior to the scan, which sent me into withdrawal.  And I'm not kidding.  Not the caffeine, but the sugar. It wasn't pretty.

The scan came back clear, but there was concern about a spot on my kidney, which had changed a bit since it was first noted.  My doc thought it best to schedule an ultrasound for the next day, during which they couldn't locate it correctly, so it was recommended that I have an MRI to locate and figure it out.  I am happy to say it is a normal cyst and nothing to worry about.  But, I am glad that we checked.

Today my doc showed me all the scans (those 6 pack abs were totally visible on the MRI when you got that far in, just sayin') and said I look awesome.  No cancer here, there, or anywhere.  He then said I can come back in six months.  So - I of course am thrilled, so I of course started to cry.  And then laugh when he looked concerned and cracked a joke about missing him.  So I guess I'm good.

I hit that in another area of my life recently as well.  When I lost my hair, I kept thinking that as soon as it was as long as I used to wear it, this crap would be over.  I want to look just like I did before everything changed.  Last week, I realized that I'm there.  I can tuck it behind my ears and put it in a ponytail - the two requirements for hairs living on my head.  It's still very different - curly and darker - but the curl is starting to loosen and I just added a few highlights last week.  When I pulled up my blog tonight, I noticed that it's the same length as my picture.  I win.

What I didn't think about was how I would be a different person with that hair.  In my mind, getting back to the same length of hair would somehow mean that everything was over - that all the challenges from the past few years would suddenly disappear and I would wake up fresh and carefree.  That maybe all the bad crap would be filed away in a history shoe box in the closet and I wouldn't have to think about it unless I wanted to.

But I don't think I want that.  I am proud of so many things.  I am proud that I handled this like an adult and took care of business.  I am proud of the amazing people that I have in my life and how lucky I am to be a part of theirs.  I am proud to be 34 - I am proud to have lived the life I have been given.  This cancer is a huge part of what makes me proud.

Jeez.  This is like therapy.  "The crying!  Always, with the crying."

Today I got a phone call from one of my very best friends.  She got a phone call today that she has Melanoma.  She is reeling.  She is going to schedule the appointments, the tests, is preparing for all the shit she watched me go through.  And my heart just sank.  She's scared.  And I totally understand.  She's nervous and thinks she's worrying about all the stupid stuff like getting sick or dealing with treatment and not worrying about the important things like fixing it.  And I totally understand.  And I want to hug her and fix this and somehow make it so that this just isn't real.  This isn't fair.  It's just not fucking fair.  And she is going to come out swinging - not let this move a second farther.  Whatever needs to be done, she'll do.  Because that's just what you do.

We talked about being angry.  There's this thing with breast cancer where the likelihood of getting cancer is higher if you haven't had a child by age 30 (roughly) and neither she nor I have had them.  Is this some sort of sick punishment for not having kids yet?  I don't think it is - but I've thought about it for a long time.  She's freshly pissed, so she thinks maybe.  We cried alot.  Talked about what to expect and what steps to take and the task of getting a good notebook to keep everything in - notes, questions, business cards, all the detailed minutiae of having to deal with new stuff.

We are alot alike and have many of the same sayings and familiar pauses in our conversation.  We had a lull in the conversation and she sighed, "What a deal this is."

I thought for a minute and whispered, "Ya, what a deal.