New Oncologist, Survivor Musings, and More Hair Growth.... This is a lengthy one folks.

One part of our awesome and exciting move to Colorado is less than exciting and awesome... at least because I don't want to deal with it.

Setting up with a new oncologist and cancer clinic here in Fort Collins.

That's not anything personal. At this point I would love to never see a cancer center again. I'm sure that's a normal response.

BUT

I love my new oncologist. She's funny, compassionate, and smart as hell. I decided to go though the giant umbrella of the University of Colorado Health. One big advantage of living in a big town: big time resources, baby. The biggest upside to that? Having an oncologist that ONLY works with patients with your cancer. Specialists for us special folks. My doctor only works with the blood cancer people.

POP QUIZ. Why is lymphoma considered a blood cancer?

I'm sure you're dying to know so I'll tell you. The lymph nodes are part of the lymphatic system which is a network of dudes that are a crucial part of the immune system because they carry fluid (such a gross term) that contains your white BLOOD cells. 

Ahhhhh. Makes sense now doesn't it? So basically, in my case, my thymus (strange little organ that no one has ever heard of that's part of that lymphatic system) decided it wanted to grow a big ole tumor. Since it sprung from my lymph nodes which are essential to white blood cell traveling (is that a real science term?) my cancer was a blood cancer. And because the type of tumor cells were b-cell and the thymus is in the chest its fancy name is Primary Mediastinal (fancy word for chest) Large (because that bastard tumor was huge) B-Cell Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma.

Anyways.

And the clinic itself was gigantic. My nurse navigator is great. She was on the ball and called me before my appointment to go over some of my records. She sat through the appointment with me and took notes and made helpful suggestions. The resources there are kick ass. They have a Survivorship Clinic that will be calling me next week to set up a day of physical therapy, exercise, and a general 'get well' plan to recover myself from that nasty ball busting chemo I had.There's an exercise program to help fatigue which is nice. Tons of classes, support groups, and meditation learning as well. I might hit up one of the support groups but I'm not sure yet if I feel like 'connecting' with anyone or if I'll go with my traditional route of repressing my emotions and then oversharing on my blog later on.

So here is my plan going forward: I'm going to meet with my oncologist every three months for blood work. In my blood they're going to be checking my overall health, blood cell counts, and looking for cancer markers. Basically your blood can do freaky things if your cancer comes back so they'll be watching for that. Every six months I'll have a CAT scan of my entire lymphatic system. So not just the chest area but all those stinking lymph nodes. Seems like a good plan and I'm just thrilled that I only need a scan every six months as opposed to three. I hate scans. PTSD anyone? Scanxiety is a thing. 

We covered my after chemo issues and she confirmed my suspicions that all the extreme ankle, foot, and leg pain I get on a daily basis (usually worse at morning and night) is caused by neuropathy. Basically, my nerves are all screwed up from the chemo. It's a form of nerve damage that often shows up in your hands and feet the most. Solution? Not one thing except that annoying 'it will get better with time' answer. 

Seriously, I wish doctors would just give me a cookie right before they say that to me. It would soften the blow and by now I'd have enough cookies to fill the void of grumpyness.

But it's better than her saying it's permanent. Because my extensive Googling has shown me a lot of websites that say that can be the case. Please, please, please Taco Overlord.... I pray that it won't be.

She followed up that lovely bit of advice (I do like her, I swear- it's just a common thing all doctors say that drive me bananas) with the information that.... Hey, it's going to take at least a year before your body returns to normal.

What was that now? A year? I got shit to do.

I must remind myself that being alive is nice. I'd like to keep doing it. And I'm thankful I am, achy legs, fatigue, hot flashes, and all. 

Oh well, the aches and pains are the worst. The menopause I can deal with. The hot flashes are miserable, the hormones suck, and the weight gain that won't go away is lame. But that's included in her 'one year' guess so we'll see. 

Menopause at age 28. No wonder my blog is based on a grumpy cat because that makes me pretty damn grumpy.

And hungry for more cookies. Seriously doctors, invest in a cookie jar.

So she ordered some blood work that day. My red blood cells are lingering right on the borderline of the lowest 'standard' range. My white blood cells still haven't crawled back to normal so I betcha that's causing some of my fatigue.

And she did an x-ray. Shoot, didn't even have grumpy cat with me. It did give me an opportunity to take a selfie for the blog without anyone giving me strange looks. 

My clinic and hospital back home were well acquainted with my picture taking and selfies. Nothing says 'blogger' than me shrieking 'WAIT! Bring me that bag of blood so I can get a picture of it!'.... For the blog... seriously, it's not weird. These folks will get used to it. 

So overall, I'm very impressed with the whole place. The nurses, the doctors, the lab techs, everything. Even their gowns are awesome! Because they're not gowns! They gave you scrubs to wear! 

I mean, seriously, check that out! Stylish, comfy scrubs for all your hospital needs. 

That's something all hospitals need to implement. I would get down right aggressive if anyone at the hospitals back home tried to force me into a gown.

(Right Aurora nurses? Hope you're still reading, miss you all!)

But I consented to these because they were pretty sweet. 

Plus they don't need to know how big of a pain in the ass I can be yet. This is all just gonna be in and out procedures anyways!

So my x-ray came back good. So now I am free until November until my next round of blood work and then CAT scan. Wooo..... not. But that's a ways off. At least it's not too close to Christmas.

That all being said, I seriously miss all the nurses back at Aurora. They were the best support system during that horrific battle. Especially with that last hospital stay and the last round of chemo- I was ready to give up (but you guys know I never would, not really) and they held me up when I felt I couldn't much longer. No matter how fancy pants this new place is, it's not the clinic that supported me every step of the way. Miss you ladies.

Honestly, one of the toughest things about being a survivor is realizing once they say REMISSION you have the glee, the happiness, the emotional uphill roller coaster and once all that ends.... you still have to deal with this crap. Recovering from chemo. Knowing that you may now face permanent changes such as a higher risk for heart issues, other cancers, long term neuropathy, infertility, and the shadow sword of cancer recurrence hanging over you for five years.

But during all of that, your support system is ripped out from under your feet. You no longer go to the clinic to get covered in warm blankets and fed soup. You no longer have a daily nurse (whether in the clinic or in the hospital) you see that knows in an instant what you're going through. Maybe not because she (or he) has gone through it but because they've seen it time and time and time again.

Your support system lessens and lessens. And that's okay. Because some days you want to pretend it never happened. Never talk about it again. Never think about it. I feel good those days so who needs a support system when there's nothing medical to support? Repress, repress, repress.

But then on days when my legs and feet hurt, I'm tired, my face is melting from the latest hot flash, and I feel like crying over my lost shoe... I feel more alone than I did when I had cancer. And that sucks. 

But wait, I don't want anyone to talk about it, right? Maybe I'm sending mixed signals.

I'll write a blog on all that later because that's a SUPER common trend I've heard from other survivors. That how when their support system vanishes (you're in remission, right? you don't need one anymore!) they emotionally sink.

Because really.. you're not back to normal yet. And on the days you can tell you're not back to normal- you're plain pissed off. Or sad. Or mopey. Or hungry. (Cookies?) And you still wish you had the same support you had during cancer to help with that.

Hmmmm, things to think about here.

But on a happier note:

Two weeks since my last image of my egg, I present you with a picture of what my head looks like 11 weeks after chemo.................

Drumroll......

HAIR HAIR HAIR HAIR HAIR HAIR!!!