Wednesday, July 18, 2012

May The Odds Be Ever In My Favor!

Last week, I got my first tattoo.

I've thought about the hypothetical tattoo for a long time -- what I would get, where it would be -- but I never imagined I would get this tattoo.

Last week, I got a dot on my chest. That's it. A tiny little dot.

If you ever watched Friends, then you might recall the episode where Phoebe decides to get a tattoo and then chickens out after the needle touches her, leaving her with one tiny dot. She went on to describe the tattoo as "the earth as seen from a great great distance."

So like Phoebe, I got a tattoo of the earth as seen from a great great distance. Unlike Phoebe, I didn't end up with a freckle size tattoo because I chickened out at the sight of the needle.

My tattoo, my freckle size dot, was not done by a tattoo artist, but by my radiologist.

My tattoo is a marker for my radiation therapy, which I start today.

After much soul searching, research, and second opinions, I finally settled on the decision. A difficult decision for a girl that always tries to come up with the right answer and is in a situation where there is no "right" answer.

This time around, I didn't get the 85% survival talk. This time, I wasn't told I had the "easy" cancer. This time, I was simply told to make a decision and hope for the best.

So that's what I'm doing. In a shitty situation, where the odds are no longer in my favor, I am hoping for the best with my decision.

For the next 4 weeks, I will spend every morning getting radiation. Personally, I'd rather get my morning jolt from a cup of coffee than a set of laser beams, but honestly, I believe it's better than the alternatives.

Come hell or high water, I'm determined to get rid of Little Hodgy.

And maybe then, I can appreciate my worldly tattoo.

Monday, July 2, 2012

Fill in the Blank.

I'm having a hard time writing this time around. I feel defeated. I've started writing three different posts but can never find the words to finish.

The first time I went through this, I took a risk and took control of my treatment plan. It was unique. It was revolutionary. It was _________.

I was called things like Brave. An Inspiration. A Warrior.

Honestly, I feel like a failure.

The first time around I wanted to write. It was therapeutic. Not only was it my way of sharing my story with friends and family, but it became my way of digesting what I was going through. It was my way of coping.

But now, it seems as if there are no words. 

Maybe it's tough because there was a "first time". When I was diagnosed with cancer, I didn't think it would be for the first time. I certainly never thought I'd have to deal with this a "second time."

And shit, please don't let there be a third time.

This time, I'm tired of stealing the thunder.

I think that maybe I'm at a loss for words because I'm at a loss of what to do. I've consulted with 6 different doctors and received as many different opinions. I'm grasping for someone (anyone!) to tell me what to do. I partially expect God to come to me in my sleep and proclaim, "This is the answer!"

This has yet to happen.

So for now, I'm being left to trust my gut and tell the world again what I’m going to do—what my decision will be…this time.

But even my conviction – much like my words -- seems to be missing.

So that decision, THE DECISION, my friends, is for another post at another time.

A time when, hopefully, I can find my words.