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.

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.

Huffington Post: The Things I Wish I Were Told When I Was Diagnosed With Cancer

Jeff Tomczek is spot on in his article, The Things I Wish I Were Told When I Was Diagnosed With Cancer. When I read this article, I felt like Jeff went in my head and stole my thoughts. Nice work, Jeff.

Read the article here.

Why Worry When You Can Panic?

Here we go again. The researching, the questioning, the attempt to make a decision.

I feel like I am back at square one. Back at the beginning.

But I feel a surprising calm. A lack of panic. This is how I know this is not square one. I've been through this already. I've already tasted success.

The Hubby once read a profound quote on a bathroom stall of a bar: "Why worry when you can panic?"

He immediately thought of me. I am a worrier. I always have been.

Right now, I have every reason to not only worry, but to panic.

What if I make the wrong decision? What if people judge me? What if I lose my hair and am ugly? What if I get so sick I can't get out of bed? What if I never get rid of the Cancer? What if I die?

But I am calm. I've already worried about all of those things.

Right now, I want options.

Last week I met with my oncologist in Detroit to hear his options. I rejected his option in the past and was nervous to hear what he had to say.

Yes, I worried.

What if he hates me for seeing someone else? What if he refuses to treat me? What if he judges me and yells at me?

After going over my scans (which is much better off than my original scan from November - no major tumor, just infected lymph nodes), he gave me two options:

1) Radiation only. The cancer hasn't spread and is in the identical spot so there is a small chance (10%) that radiation alone will cure me. It's unlikely, but if it works, I will have "hit the jackpot" (his words, not mine). I would receive radiation every day for 2-3 weeks and hope for the best.

2) High Dose Chemotherapy followed by a Bone Marrow Transplant. This process involves using regular chemo to put me in remission, take out healthy bone marrow, freeze it and then give my chemo at such high doses that it kills EVERYTHING. It does so much destruction that my body can't recover on it's own. After this process, they put back my healthy marrow and hope it regrows in my body, creating a "healthy" environment. This is about a 5 month process requiring a 1-2 month stay in the hospital. This has a 60% chance of working.

These options are not ideal. The best case he is giving me leaves me with a 60% cure rate.

But oddly enough, I still don't panic.

These statistics don't apply to me. These statistics are for people who did conventional chemo and it failed to work. These statistics are for people who never responded to the drugs. These statistics are for people whose cancer is so powerful not even blasting their body with drugs could get rid of it.

There are no statistics for my situation. Most don't toe the line between alternative and conventional medicine - truly open to both and just wanting to find the best cure. Most people heavily lean in one direction or the other. The passion people feel about medicine is similar to the passion felt for politics. You pick your side and stick with it. Being stubbornly liberal, I understand that sentiment.

But with medicine, I toe the line. Classic middle child syndrome, I guess. Indecisive and noncommittal.

I'm not sure which treatment path I'll choose, but I do know that I'm not thrilled with the options presented to me. 60% cure rate plus a host of terrible side effects just doesn't seem good enough.

My plan? Head to DC for a couple weeks to meet with everyone from chinese medicine doctors to oncologists at John Hopkins in hopes of finding a treatment plan I can get on board with.

And in the meantime? I'll try not to panic.

Recurring Thunder Stealer

Well, it looks like the universe has decided the Thunder Stealer is not quite ready for retirement.

A couple weeks ago I found another lump in my neck. After several doctors’ appointments and a PET Scan, my suspicions were confirmed that Little Hodgy is in fact back.

This, to put it mildly, is not what I had in mind for my summer time activities.

So, because of the unique path I took in the first place, there is no specific protocol on how to proceed. I'll be spending the next couple week's meeting with different doctors and oncologists to decide on the best treatment plan for me.

I could wax all poetic, but rest assured friends, I made Little Hodgy my bitch once before, I have no doubt I'll do it again.

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right??

Cue cheesy, pop empowerment song...

Bills, Bills, Bills

Today's mail: In addition to my usual J. Crew catalog and fashion magazines, I received a stack of medical bills. 28 to be exact. I stopped opening them after the third bill when I realized I was already in the quadruple digits.

I knew some bills would continue to trickle in over the next several months, but I didn't expect 28. And I certainly didn't expect them all on the same day.

Talk about ruining your Monday.

While in Arizona, we were charged somewhere in the vicinity of $70,000 for my treatments. I just kind of expected that to cover everything. But as they say, and I am constantly learning, expectations are a bitch.

Cancer is a bitch.

Days like today, I feel stuck, like my life is at a standstill. I try so hard to put cancer behind me, but it's impossible. Evidence of it is literally showing up in piles in my mailbox.

How can I move forward when I am constantly dealing with my past? How can I move forward when I am constantly fearful that my past will once again become my present?

Like most of my peers, I should be saving to buy a house or planning a vacation or discussing whether or not I want kids. But how can I do that with mountains of debt and a medical history that refuses to be "history?"

I've thought about selling my eggs to make money, but once you have to start checking the "cancer" box on medical history forms, your eggs are no longer attractive options. I've also thought about trying to win thousands of dollars on the nickel slots at the casino, but I've never really been lucky win it comes to gambling. The lottery? I'm 35,000 times more likely to be hit by an asteroid than win it.

So how do you move forward and escape a cancerous past when a steady flow of bills constantly show up on your doorstep? As the Hubby's best friend said, "Move."

That would certainly be easier than winning the lottery.

Update: The Hubby finished opening and adding up all 28 bills. The total? $8,563.47. Seriously, after spending $70,000 on treatments, how am still getting $8,563.47 dollars worth of bills…in a single day?

Perhaps we should move after all. Or, just wait for that asteroid.

So You Have Cancer: 10 Things to Do Now, Even if You're Not Warren Buffett

The Huffington Post gets sassy in this article on what to do if you are diagnosed with Cancer.

Number 1: Blame Canada.

Read the full article here.