(First part of this entry should be just below ... C, the Scariest Letter.)
So, I'm in the hospital, it's the day before Thanksgiving, I'm getting five units of blood (which makes everyone think I'm wearing make-up -- yeah, right) and I still don't know what's wrong with me.
I didn't sleep that night. Not out of fear, actually. Probably because all of the blood gave me an energy I hadn't had in months. Plus, the hospital had cable.
I watched cartoons all night long. :)
Thanksgiving was dull. I had a few people trickle in, but most were out with their families. Still no idea what was wrong with me. The oncologist admitted that it was likely a lymphoma. Either high grade (the "good" kind, evidently) or low grade. His bet was on low grade since I'd had symptoms for two years. This would probably mean that I had a few months left at best.
So, the other thing I did that night was to start a will. I didn't have that sense of gloom and doom that a lot of people talk about. I didn't rail against the unfairness of it all. Whatever -- shit happens and I rolled snake eyes. Whining about it doesn't make it go away ... I just did what I could, which wasn't much.
I considered calling my mom, but what could she do? Why ruin her Thanksgiving by telling her I'm in the hospital 1000 miles away? Besides, without the test results, what could I really tell her? So, I waited.
Friday. No news. Severe boredom. TV and books. I probably graded some student papers. I wanted to GO!
I'm not a good sick person.
Saturday. I still hadn't slept. Now it was because there was some weird guy who came in to clean in the evening.
Finally, Saturday afternoon ... diagnosis. Now, you have to understand, no one in my family had ever had cancer. All I knew about cancer was from Eric by Doris Lund -- a 17 year old is diagnosed with Leukemia. And then, of course, best football movie ever: Brian's Song about Brian Piccolo from the Chicago Bears.
My diagnosis: Hodgkin's disease.
Exactly what Brian Piccolo had. So I pretty much assumed this meant I was a goner. I nodded, kind of made a wry face and that was that. The nurse saw the look on everyone's face and said, "Oh no, no! This is the good one!! This is the best one to have!"
And then went on to explain that Hodgkin's has a 75% cure rate.
As it turns out, I had cancer-lite. The chemo barely affected me at all. I had the chemo Saturday or Sunday and went home (finally!) Monday afternoon. I was mad because I had to miss my classes that day -- I was ready to get back to teaching.
I went in for chemo every other week, sat there for 2 hours of intense boredom (I tried to grade student papers but that didn't really help the boredom!). I had no idea that chemo still made people sick.
Shoot, the first chemo session in the clinic, I brought in Popeye's spicy chicken and ate lunch during my chemo session. (Hey, I was in between classes and still had to go back and teach that day.)
When the six months of chemo were over, I was golden. Or so I thought.
to be continued tomorrow ...
Posted by Red Monkey at November 2, 2005 2:33 PM |
Blog
| 
Stumble |
WOW!
November 2, 2005 4:54 PM
Leave a comment
fred said: