OffKilter

For all those that tire of these seemingly endless cancer related posts, I'm sorry.  I can't seem to help myself - the darker the night becomes, the more the thought of these cancer cells, this tiny spot on my tongue, whirls and twirls in my mind.

One thing that I can't quite work out is why I react so strongly, so instantly and so adversely to everyone and everything that says that I will win the battle with cancer.  That I have to fight cancer.  

It's everywhere you look - everything you read about cancer is cloaked in verbiage and imagery of battles, wars, fights.  I fought cancer.  Join us in the fight against cancer.  Friends don't let friends fight cancer alone.

But what are we fighting?  Cancer is a natural order that has gone out of whack.  Cancer is simply a little collection of cells, a little part of the body that won't die when it's supposed to.  Cells live and cells die.  Cancer cells just don't die when they ought to.  It's hard to accept that something as simple as that can kill you.  If these cells are your cells - who ARE you fighting? 

Perhaps because we use such harsh tools to rid our bodies of these growing clusters of cells - poisons that kill cells, good and bad - radiation or scalpels to carve out the offending cells.  Perhaps those tools seem so much like weapons of war that we need to invoke the battle imagery.  We need to wage war against this invisible and insidious adversary. 

But fighting is such nasty business.  You have to be angry to fight.  You have to be pissed off, square your shoulders and be strong to fight.  I know how to be strong, but I don't want to be angry.  Angry doesn't feel healthy - and since the diagnosis I have spent a fair bit of time trying to accept the randomness of it all, the complete and total shitty luck, that has given me, the lone and constant non-smoker in my family, a smokers' cancer.  

I'm trying to cope with these flushes of rage but I don't want to fight anyone, or anything.  I would prefer to simply survive it.  Sounds odd, doesn't it?  

I'm taking this next week off work, a move that feels selfish given the circumstances of my employer, but I'm heeding my Doctor's advice to build my immune system back up before the surgery.  I'm going to go and visit my Mom, or at least that big old pine tree that shelters her soul at that big old lake that was there long before me and will be there long after me.  And, I'll ride my horse, hang out with my family, and get a massage. 

My hopefully competent and quite caring surgeon can wield her scalpel as a weapon, and we can see if we need to do more after the surgery.  

But in the meantime, I'm going to spend my time finding some peace.  

Years ago I did the Myers-Briggs test and was so intrigued by the concept of intuition.  Finally, I had a label for how I had always lived my life and made my choices.  For better or worse, I've let my feelings and intuition guide my life.  I love nothing more than "reading" people, and I find nothing more entertaining than watching passionate people debate real issues.  I love helping people understand why people or issues are stuck, and getting them moving forward again.  And, when confronted by people who hide their feelings and shelve them in hard to access places, I love chinking away at their armour to be able to understand them better, to get a window into their minds.  For me, intuition is nothing more than the power of observation on steroids.

But, my love affair with intituion is also why, from the first minutes when the dental hygienist and assistants were dancing around my mouth measuring my little friend, my soon to be diagnosed tongue carcinoma, I quickly jumped to the cancer conclusion.  Not from any lack of professionalism on their part, but their concern pushed my intuitive lizard brain into full alert.  Once I did my internet sleuthing, well, that bad feeling I had in the dental office grew roots.  

It's a hard slog in our pithy positive world to be honest and say that you have a bad feeling.  People think it means that you think you are going to die.  They chime in wanting you to be positive.  To think positive.  To broadcast your sunny outlook to the world.  And, funny enough, when my co-worker was recently diagnosed with a different type of cancer, I was ALL ABOUT the positivity.  We need to say something, to do something because we care and we feel like we have nothing real to offer.

But, being positive doesn't change reality.  It doesn't change the cancer cells that continue to grow and multiply.  It doesn't change the reality that over this past year of my life, this most shittiest of years, I have felt like absolute crap.  And berated myself for my weakness, my fatigue.  It doesn't change those microscopic little cells that may or may not have floated their way to my lymph nodes and could be the changes that the CT scan found in two of them.  

Only time, surgery and a biopsy will tell if those are stressed out lymph nodes or cancerous lymph nodes.

The one thing that I do know right now is that it always seems that whatever you expect to happen, is not what happens.  Life just doesn't seem to work that way.  It doesn't mean that it won't all work out in the end, or that the slog through won't be worth it.  

But, for me, at least, it means that I'll spend my time LIVING today and I'll think about tomorrow when tomorrow comes.  Oh, and, next time that little voice tells me to go and see the naturpath, I think I'll go!  

Since the first appointment I had with the Doctor when they explained the 'tongue resection' to me, I have spent a lot of time worrying and researching ways of keeping that scalpel away from my tongue.

Just give me a little radiation, I thought, and leave my tongue alone.  Some of the big hospitals in the states do a chemo/radiation combo rather than surgery.  Oops, then I read about how you may end up losing your teeth with the radiation.  Hmm - teeth or tongue - well, that's a question you don't think of asking yourself, is it?  Luckily for me, I always can use my Dad as an example of strength, courage AND perspective - after all, to save his life, he lost his leg.  I guess I can lose a chunk of tongue to rid myself of the cancer.

But wait, more reading, more studies by the National Cancer Institute and I find that many cancer centres prefer to take out the lymph nodes preventatively.  So now I find myself switching from the 'keep that scalpel away from me' side to the 'keep on slicing' side. 

I'm in the cancer treatment river for sure though, had my CT scan and have a surgery date booked.  The CT was quick and I was very glad that they told me that the contrast dye delivered via an expertly placed IV would make me feel like I was peeing my pants.  Even after being told, I still had a momentary panic thinking that maybe Shoppers was right when they sent me that Poise sample in the mail!  

With my surgery date booked for a little over a week from now, I've put a call into the Doctor's office to get a better understanding of their recommendation to not do a neck dissection.  It's hard to imagine that I'd feel like having someone give me a frankenstein like scar, but once you've hacked a chunk of tongue out, is the Frankenstein scar that much of a worry?

And, in other more interesting priorities, as I continue to float and bob along the cancer treatment river, I'm starting to plan my upcoming TV time.  Is it time to start watching the Walking Dead?  Should I order Season 3 of Homeland?  

Big decisions, little decisions, all in good time...

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.  

Over the last thirty odd years, I've had lots of jobs.  Done lots of interesting work, lots of horribly boring work.  Worked with people that I grew to care deeply about, and some that I grew to kinda hate.  

Making the move to the federal government was a hard move, but well worth it when my kids were little.  At times I've chafed over the work.  Over the last six years, I've had some really great opportunities to do some "fun" work.  And, each and every time cancer has stopped me.  Yep, cancer seems to be stalking me.

Somehow though, something in the universe seems to link new work opportunities with cancer.

Six years ago, I was approached to work as the EA/Policy Analyst for an ADM.  I said No, then No again, then No again.  The ADM in question, while very talented and successful, had a personality a little too similar to mine for comfort.  I felt like there would be a good chance of a blow up at the end of some random long week - that would end badly for the one much lower on the totem pole.  Then, ADMs changed, I was asked again, and off I went.  Feeling empowered and using my one claim to fame, my ability to talk, cajole or force people to do what I wanted, when I wanted it... no matter how unreasonable the timeframe.  

Fast forward a few months, and my Mom is diagnosed with an aggressive cancer - a quick calculation of my emotional and physical capacities - and I'm off work for a couple of months to get Mom through her chemo and radiation.  And, say goodbye to the cool job.  

Some time passes, and another really neat opportunity presents itself.  I'm working with a bunch of folks who's pinkies and baby toes are smarter than I am.  To whom I HATE to say that I graduated from... cough... Carleton.  Even though I've suddenly dropped 40 IQ points, I'm keeping my head above water.  And, enjoying the challenge.  

Another fast forward, and my Mom's cancer is back with a vengeance.  It's spread to her brain.  She has little time left- who knew that little time would actually mean five months and five days.  I take heaps and loads of leave, every little scrap and then some.  And, after she has passed away, I've lost my way.  And, soon the assignment ends and I'm no longer in the cool albeit challenging job.

But life goes on, kids are trundling their way into their futures, and although work is horrible because we are downsizing, and downsizing and I watch good friends become affected, and I can almost taste their bitterness in my mouth, the part of me that loves being busy, starts getting a kick out of my job.  Then, due to other's misfortunes, I get an opportunity to travel internationally.  Oooh, now this could be fun.  

Oh no, another quick fast forward, and the stupid asinine sore spot on my tongue turns out to be not so asinine.  Not so irrelevant.  In fact, it's cancer.  Oral cancer.  Kinda rough to take since I have NEVER smoked, don't drink, have none of the risk factors.  But yeah me, I have cancer. 

I know the drill, was there at my Mom's diagnosis, and now wait to get swept into the river that is cancer treatment in Canada.  I'll wait for the appointment with the oncologist, I'll try not to go mad wondering what stage I am at, I'll wait for the CT scan, I'll wait to have surgery booked.  I'll have radiation.  And, hopefully, at the end of it, I'll have enough tongue to talk.  

But fuck me, enough is enough.  Three times better be the charm. 

There are days when I feel like a hypochondriac - I've had a few too many mild whiplashes for my neck to forget, migraines that come and go depending usually on whether I have something that I NEED to do that day and my bad (and yet, completely unconscious) teeth grinding habit has resulted in a somewhat less than functional jaw (although ladies, having a jaw that can sometimes clamp down and lock makes certain alleged wifely duties sadly ill advised - gosh darn it all).  

Seems like there is always something wrong.  But really, I never really think about anything really being wrong.

So, a year ago when I visited the dentist and they noticed a little ulceration on my tongue, I thought - ate something too acidic, or it's probably the coke I drink.  And, didn't think of it again.  Once in a while, I'd notice that the ulceration turned into a white spot.  And, I'd think - I really should go to a naturpath and start eating healthier.  And, didn't think about it again.

Fast forward just about a year, and imagine my surprise when I was in the dentists chair and doing the 'please no more dental work' prayer, when I notice the hygienist fussing about the white spot.  

How long have I had it?  Well, it occurs to me that saying a year makes me sound pretty stupid.  But it's been a bad year, and I've had lots of other people's fragile health on my mind.  And, dude, it's a white spot on my tongue.  Then they measure it, and discuss it.  Notice I used "they".  It's become something of interest to the other dental assistant as well. 

Hmmm, the lizard part of my brain says.  This is disconcerting.  

The dentist comes in and we discuss it some more.  She thinks it might be the night guard, but I can't see how since I've had this night guard for... decades.  But sure, maybe its the night guard?  My interest is piqued by the moving of appointments to get me in to look at the night guard... real fast like.... 

Then we get an appointment booked for the oral surgeon - probably should do a biopsy, so says my dentist.

Well, now you have my attention.  Biopsy.  Biopsy=Cancer.  Duh.  My mom had lung cancer that metastasized to her brain.  Not the preferred death in my books.

The oral surgeon meets me and takes a quick look.  Without a beat, he says "You're a smoker".  Of course, I am a rabid, militant, non-smoker.  The kind of person that smokers just hate.  My indignation and disdain is evident in my "NO... Never".  He says reassuring words about me not being in the risk factor, probably just a thickening of the skin, but he'll remove it and do a biopsy.  And, hopefully, then tell me that it was nothing to worry about.

Problem is that I remember the drill from my Mom.  I know the "there is no point in worrying" strategy.  After all, it's true - worry is the least effective behaviour on the planet.  So I'm not worrying, I'm just researching.  And jumping to conclusions.  And, then having a Scarlett moment "I'll think on that tomorrow".... 

Tomorrow my little tongue visitor and it's new little buddy are getting gone.  Sliced away.  And, hopefully, the oral surgeon will tell me that it was all a bunch of nothing.  And, I can stop thinking about how much it would suck.  And, I mean SUCK, if its not.