All Aboard - The Train is Moving

Well, I have finally left the Land of Denial, passed through Anger and Bargaining, but Acceptance is just around the bend and Hope seems a long way off in the distance before I finally arrive.

What the heck am I talking about? Have I gone mad? Let's back up a moment and I tell you my story.

A few months ago, I went to the doctor with an itchy knot on my ear. I assumed it was either a cyst, or a reaction to my gold earrings . I'm not much on going to the doctor, so when my doctor saw me sitting in his office without a red "Rudolph" nose and itchy watery eyes, he was confused as to why I was there. I left with a prescription for antibiotics and steroids and had to come back in a month. After a month, my ear wasn't itchy, but the knot was still there. He gave me another series of antibiotics and I went on my merry way. Another month went by and the knot was not getting any smaller, so he sent me to a Plastic Surgeon to have it removed.

I was a little embarrassed about going to a plastic surgeon (visions of Nip/Tuck dancing in my head), but my doctor assured me that it was for minimal scarring since it was so close to my face. I don't know that the surgeon really even looked at my ear, but he said I would need surgery.

The out-patient surgery went fine and I was up and dressed and ready to walk out of the surgi-center in record time. Whenever they remove something from you, they need to biopsy it. All that I cared about was that it didn't hurt. Remember how I said that I wasn't much on going to the doctor? Well, I like hospitals even less.

The day after surgery, the surgeon's office calls me to say that I need to have another surgery to remove my partoid gland and to plan to spend the night in the hospital. Huh? I was still pretty drug induced from the day before.

A week later, I went back to the surgeon to have my stitches removed and to discuss this other surgery. Imagine my shock to find out that the doctor was on vacation and that he telephoned me to tell me that the surgery was being cancelled because I have cancer. CANCER!?! I need to find a cancer doctor. Huh, what? Where? In the yellow pages?? You could have scraped me up off the floor. I experienced the first four steps of grief in those few minutes ...shock, emotional release, panic and hostility. I wanted to bitch-slap someone right through the telephone.

In this past month, I have seen more doctors, had more tests, and more vials of blood drawn than I have ever had in my entire life. Panic attacks seem to be a way of life. I've even perfected the "Deer caught in the headlights" look. Most of these tests were a real challenge of my claustrophobia. I think I languished in the land of denial for so long, because I feel fine and still do. Sure, I'm tired - but I'm up early, I work all day, come home and do the daily chores, and at this point in my life, I can take a nap if I so desire. I've weighed the same for the past 30 years - so no dramatic weight loss. Yes, I break out in a sweat - but, at 52, I called them "Hot Flashes" and all of my friends were having them too. I've asked myself over and over again "How Can This Be?" "Is this a cruel joke?" "Will I wake up from this nightmare?

My diagnosis is Non-Hodgkin's Follicular Lymphoma. My treatment is CHOP-R chemotherapy, which starts on August 1st. I feel like my world has crumbled. I'm someone that took an Advil or a Claritin on rare occasions. Now, I'm going to be pumped full of chemicals and have other chemicals to stave of the side-effects of the first chemicals. I'm terrified. I feel like I'm on a long, dark, lonely road all by myself.

I'm trying take a positive outlook, but it isn't easy - so I'm taking baby steps. I'm happy in the morning that I woke up. I've spent a lot of time sitting and enjoying my garden this summer rather than just working in it. I don't end a conversation with family or friends without telling them that I love them. I'm thankful that I have enough fabric to keep me busy for quite a while to take my mind off of this disease. I've prayed harder than I've ever prayed. And, I'm trying to keep my sense of humor, although my hematologist doesn't think I'm taking this disease seriously. I'm also thankful that I have medical insurance. My little buddy, Bailey, is turning into quite the lap dog.

If you've made it this far through this morbid posting, I do have something quilty to talk about.
I now have 7 of the 11 blocks embroidered on the "A Tisket - A Tasket" quilt and as soon as they are pressed and cut down, I'll sew the sashing strips on them. I'll post a photo of them once I have them pressed.