As I rushed to the appointment, running late for no reason other than really not wanting to have to go at all, I thought of all the things I've read about oral cancer in the last two months. Then I thought about why I never considered it important to think about my health or my well being over the last few years.
Since the oral surgeon said "I'm afraid I have bad news...", I've been researching and struggling to keep an even keel. But, despite my best efforts, I found my mind skidding around corners, peeking under beds for monsters that I had read about, seen pictures of, and wanted no part of.
Today's news was good news- they don't expect that I'll need radiation. I'll have to have a CT scan in the next two weeks to confirm but they don't expect that I'll need a 'neck dissection" (code for taking our your lymph nodes and giving you a nice Frankenstein like scar across your neck). But I am going to lose a goodish chunk of my tongue.
The news that the tumour is less than the magic 4cm took me by surprise. We live in a world where guidelines dictate so much of how we live and what we do - and for tumours on your tongue, 4cm is a magic number. Over 4cm, and they automatically take out the lymph nodes on that side of your neck. Under and they don't.
For now, my two little tongue friends "seem" to be about 3cm. Once they carve into my tongue and take an additional 1cm around the two cancer demon buddies, I'll be losing a long slice. Might affect my speech, might affect my swallowing - but I won't have to do radiation.
So while part of me is relieved, part of me is pretty sad. This gets more real by the day. And, I like my tongue. Even more so now that I know that it's been harbouring those little demon cancer cells and fighting the fight all on its own.
But the scars will be there for inspection, and every time I open my mouth, perhaps I'll remember to put myself somewhere on the priority list.