Guess who's getting three new purses?

Go ahead and call me Pollyanna, but I have to focus on the upside of a scan that revealed three new tumors.

... In my lungs.

And that upside is that I buy myself a Coach bag (from an outlet store, and on clearance, so don't worry about me spending a fortune) for every tumor. (C is for Coach. C is also for cancer.) So... three new purses is something to celebrate. (No, actually, it isn't. I shook my head at my own bad sense of humor at that.)

When we first saw the scan, I was so happy to see that big, black, hole in the middle of my GIANT tumor. I had been so hopeful that the last chemo would work. I had been hopeful that it had been working, that the explanation for all of the pain - that the fiery, burning, sensation I had through the entire first round - was the cancer dying.

Well... the pain may well have been the tumor dying. But it's the opinion of the doctors that it was the tumor growing so fast that it couldn't maintain its own growth, and that's why the center of it died.

Yup. Necrosis. It's been my vocab word of the week. 

It doesn't appear that the center of the tumor dying has slowed the growth down. (Or, if it has... thank heaven! Because it's still a beast, and I have a bump coming out of my left side that's made it all but impossible to find a pair of pants that doesn't make me want cry.)

Here's a side by side of this week's scan against the January scan.

My infamous rib-breaking tumor has grown from 7.3 x 3.9 cm to 11.2 x 8.4 cm. And like almost doubling in size isn't ominous enough, the SUV has jumped from 14.7 to 23.1. That's a 57% increase, kids. And it's scary as hell, because the SUV score indicates that this bad boy is active enough to have soaked up a whole lot of the contrast. It's white hot compared to January's yellow glow. 

I hate it.

And speaking of things that I hate.... Here's a shot of one of my three new friends.

I'm going to name them Larry, Curly and Moe. (Because I've always hated The Three Stooges, and I hate these tumors, too.)

It's important to note that I don't have lung cancer. It's liposarcoma, metastasized to my lungs. In the words of my PET, "There are at least three new hypermetabolic parenchymal nodules."  There's no need to biopsy them, as I'm already in treatment for cancer. I'll be starting another new regimen next week, and while I am hopeful... I am also scared out of my ever lovin' mind, because I'm going back on Doxyrubicin (aka: Adriamycin, aka: The Red Devil). The last two treatments that I've done have been brutal. They've made me take to my bed for days at a time, they've sucked all of my energy, they've taken my memory and my ability to put sentences together properly... they've been wicked. And they're still a walk in the park, compared to what I did last spring.

It will be a different blend. Last year, I did Doxyrubicin + Ifosfamide. The Ifos has kidney impact, which is why I was in the hospital for almost a week with every infusion last spring. This regimen will be Doxyrubicin + Dacarbazine (which was, ironically, the "hard" chemo in the mix I took in November and December... now it's going to be the easy chemo), every 21 days. To try and prevent the mucusitis/open sores throughout the entirety of my digestive tract issue that I had last time, they'll give me Palifermin as a pre-med and a post-med, 72 hours before and after chemo. It'll be a few more trips to MDA the week that I get chemo (Tuesday, Palifermin - Friday, chemo - Saturday, Neulasta - Monday, Palifermin), but I'm hopeful that the pre/post med will help my body withstand the chemo, and will lighten my side effects.

I'm still scared out of my mind about doing this drug again, but... I'm hopeful that a different blend, plus a different delivery method, plus the pre/post med will help my body do what I have to do, and that this blend of chemo will be effective.

Outside of getting some pretty not awesome news at the doctor on Wednesday, the trip to Houston was good. It was the first time Steve and I have ever gone out of town together. He was a trooper and a half, pushing my wheelchair all over the airport, and then all over MDA campus for all of my appointments. He made sure I was as comfortable as I could be, from physically holding me close to his chest on the shuttle ride to the hotel, because the bumps in the road were jostling me and the movement hurt my rib, to making sure I had enough pillows and a fluffy comforter in the room. When I couldn't swallow the eggs and sausage that he'd gotten me for breakfast, he ate them for me and then went to find me some cereal. And when my poor motor skills meant that I couldn't hold onto my bowl of cereal and I spilled it all over myself and the booth we were sitting in, he calmly moved me to another table and went and found me some more cereal. Traveling was hard on my body, but it was good for my soul to be so well taken care of (and to get to eat wings at the airport on our way back home)!

It's almost March!

Like, tomorrow. Tomorrow, it will be March.

I have no idea where this month has gone!

Oh, wait. Yes, I do.

This month has gone to... chemo. I've been hanging out in bed, flat on my back (because something has changed inside of me and I can't lie on my right side anymore... the broken rib banned me from my left side in the fall, but the right side is a recent change, so it still makes me crazy on a regular (read: nightly) basis). And I've gone to acupuncture and the cancer shrink. And to Jo's for dinner once this month, and went to Logan's with my Crossmen the night before I did chemo again.

Oh, and Maggie was baptized. I left my house the weekend of her baptism. ... But, uh... that's about it.

So much for this "mild, with very few side effects" chemo that I've been on for the last two rounds. Ha!

I mean, this second round has been ABOUT A THOUSAND TIMES BETTER than the first round was. I had fevers and pain that I've NEVER had on anything else, and the nausea... oh my gosh, it was brutal. Homsi changed my premeds on this last round (flipped Zofran out and replaced it with Emend). Best move he's ever made in his professional life, I'm pretty sure, because I could control the nausea in that first week after the infusion... not something I could do with the first round. The pain is still... bad. (I mean, you guys. It's crazy.) And the fatigue is still... all consuming. But I upped my (don't worry... it's all legal) drug usage at the end of that first round, which has helped me sleep through the night. Being able to sleep has made a world of difference with the residual pain. So, it's still not awesome. I'm basically never NOT in pain these days. I don't love it, but the last two weeks have been monumentally better than the three before that were, so... I'm hoping this chemo is working, now that I don't think it's out to actually kill me with abdominal pain anymore.

(I like to think that the pain is the cancer dying. ... It may be a lie that I tell myself, but I don't care. I can't get it to go away, so my coping mechanism is to think that I have this new, special, pain inside of me because that's the tumor(s) last stranglehold. We'll see.)

Which brings me to... this is scan week.

Yes, I just had chemo two weeks ago. Yes, tomorrow is Day 14. ... And yes, we're flying to Texas tomorrow. On Day 14. To have a scan done on Day 15.

This was not my idea, fyi. Because this chemo is "mild, with very few side effects", Dr. Z wanted me to come at the end of my second cycle so we could know it it's working asap. (My gut feeling? She's pregnant and is due in March. I'm pretty sure I'm traveling now, so I'll be able to see her before she goes out for maternity leave. I think she's cramming as much in as she can before that baby comes. And I love her, so... whatever. Also, this will keep me on track to have chemo next week, so I'll stay in a true 21 day cycle and not go a full 21 days without any chemo in my system... like I did between the chemo I did in Nov & Dec and starting this at the end of January.)

Steve and I are flying out tomorrow morning. All of the tests and the follow-up/results appointments are on Wednesday. (Should a real winner of a day. ... Insert eye roll here. ... I'm tired, just thinking about it!) So, I'll post something Wednesday afternoon/evening with an update on whether or not this cocktail is doing something.

It's a little trippy to be doing medical travel with someone who isn't Judy, but... it was brutal to be there without him in December, and I'm not doing that again. So, he's coming. And I'm glad.

Come back in 48-72, and I'll have an update (and probably some awesome tumor pics from my scan... who doesn't love those?) on what's coming next.

Scan Week

Yesterday was Scan Day, today is Results Day, and while I'm waiting for my docs to confer and hand me down the final word on what awaits me, treatment-wise, next week, I thought I may as well throw out some Show & Tell pics from the week.

Usually, we stay at The Rotary House  (MDA's on site hotel), but my appt dates got changed two weeks out, and they are, very much, at a full to capacity status. Sooooo... I did a little digging  (that's a lie, an email came right into my inbox on the very day that I realized we'd need a different hotel) and found that we could stay at the Wyndham for about $10 less a night than our other "cheap" Houston hotel. Done! And while these digs aren't quite as upscale as their website would have us believe them to be, the beds are awesome and the pillows are fabulous  (so much so that Judy was stripping the pillows so she could get to the tags to find out what these pillows are made of, and if/where she could buy some... I kid you not)

The view from the 12th floor is nothing short of amazing. We're in the heart of the medical plaza, so there are hospitals as far as the eye can see.

And it's even better at sunset (don't mind my reflection in the window that I was trying to take a pic out of).

This is the view to the left of our room. Hospitals and hotels, ad nauseum.

This is the view to the right of our room. Total (very upscale) residential neighborhood.

Houston is so funny. There are no zoning laws here, so you'll see houses in the middle of industrial parks and gas stations smack between million dollar homes. It's kind of crazy, but I'm getting used to it.

This morning, we met with Dr. Z, and she gave us the results of yesterday's PET/CT. It wasn't what we were hoping for, kids.

Which is to say, it's grown. Not by a whole lot  (approx 1/2 a cm in one place and almost 2 cm in another), but it's grown. And it's  gone up one point on the SUV scale.

Here's a b&w from the CT pics, showing the changes in the amorphous mass in/around my small and large intestines. (11/9/15 on top, 1/8/16 on bottom)

And here's a full color (PET) pic showing that the spot on my rib has gotten just a little bit bigger and angrier. (11/9/15 on top, 1/8/16 on bottom)

There's also a small hot spot under my bowels. It was hot there in November too  (this Nov slide doesn't show it, but there was a teardrop shaped spot on that scan). Could be another tumor, could be that mass moving from well-diff to de-diff, could be that I needed to poop. Your guess is as good as mine (or any qualified medical professional).

Sooooo... not what any one was hoping for. It's minimal growth, but it's enough that it counts. (The biggest change registers at just over 25%, so it's enough that it's classified as growth. Had it been 20% or under, it would have just been a blip on the radar. Ugh.)

Treatment options:

Stay with what I've been doing for two more rounds (there's an outside chance, but still a possibility, that the growth happened in the two weeks between the November scan and starting chemo). I've tolerated this regimen fairly well, and two more rounds would either show that it IS working (after getting a late start in Nov), or it would concretely show that these meds don't work with my body.

Try the new drug that the FDA just approved at the end of October. (I don't have the name of it at the tip of my tongue. If it really matters to you, ask Google. Either way, if we go this route, I'll know the name by the time I write another post.) Possible hitches are that the drug isn't available everywhere yet. Dr. Z put a call in to Dr. H while I was in her office. He wasn't available, so she left a message for him and assured me that after they had talked, she'd call me back.

If Banner can't get the drug in Az, I could fly to Texas every three weeks to get it. ... Or we'd go back to option one to see if maybe it'll stop progression of we give it more time.

Obviously, neither of these are awesome options. But they both beat the hell out of my third option, which is to go back on a version of doxyrubicin/andromancin (the red devil). That drug, and its wicked side effects, are, hands down, the hardest thing I've ever done in my life (and, people, there have been A LOT of hard things). If it comes down to that being all I have left, I'll do it. But I just can't willingly sign my body up for more of the drug that was so brutal that it almost killed my spirit.

Right now, I'm... eating a lot of chololate.

And it may be the most expensive part of this "vacation". Seriously, $2 a pkg for peanut M&M's is highway robbery, but since this is my drug of choice when my life goes sideways, and hard, I don't even care about the price of hotel snacks right now.

But really, I'm holding steady, just waiting for my doctors to talk it over and determine which is the best course of action for now. I'm okay with either option 1 or 2, truly. This current regimen either didn't work because it doesn't work, or it's not showing that it worked because of the timing. Doing another two rounds will tell the tale. I'd love to try option 2. It's the first chemo to get FDA approval, specific to liposarcoma. (Granted, it's technically specific to mixoid liposarcoma, but they've seen some success with de-diff liposarcoma, so I'll chance it.)

As soon as I know which way the wind is blowing, I'll post again.

As always, many thanks (and so much love) to those of you who keep me and my tumor troubles in your hearts and prayers. I can't tell you what it means to me, to have so many people aware of what is happening in my guts. I love you so much, and I am so grateful. Thanks for saying prayers that,  I am certain, have lengthened me life. And thanks for making sure I always know there's a reason to keep living. Ya'll are the very best!

So far, so good

It's January 6th. I'm sitting at the airport, waiting to board my (nonstop, thankyouverymuch) flight to Houston. Tomorrow is scan day. Friday, I'll get the results. (I'm crossing all of my fingers and toes that it's working, for a myriad of reasons, not the least of which is that this chemo's mouth sores don't start in my throat and go down and through my entire digestive tract.)

It's the 6th. And I've done a ton of stuff already this year. 

New Year's Eve, I slept in my house by myself, like a real grown up. After 40 days and 40 nights of sleepovers with Jude, I was finally well enough that we could both take a little break. Wahoo! 

New Years Day, I had a TV marathon party with my sister and our friends Jane, Michael and Rafael. Oh, and tamales. TV and tamales. That's a good day! 

Saturday, I went to brunch with some girls from home. Best gluten-free adventure ever! (Jewels Nakery, Phoenix Az)

Saturday afternoon, I spent some more quality time with my seester. Talking, laughing, crying. Followed by one of my favorite dinners at one of my favorite places (Waldorf salad @ CPK).

Sunday morning was spent with Steve, Sunday afternoon was spent on my couch, and Sunday dinner at Jo's was about the best spaghetti I've ever had.

Monday brought a lot more couch time. (I try to be productive, I really do. But even when I feel "good", I'm tired and the most ridiculous things wind me.) Monday evening, I learned a very difficult  (but important) life lesson: I can't eat chips and salsa while I'm in a treatment cycle. (It was Dat 21, so I thought I'd be safe. Not so. My stomach doesn't want to kill me anymore, but my feet and hands are still swollen from sodium overload.) But at least we got a pic taken before the food sent me running home.

Tuesday was breakfast with Steve (I may have to break up with Village Inn. Not because their food was crappy. Please. Their hash browns are always awesome! Sadly, I had to use the facilities while I was there. It was horrifying. A mix of my memories of the pink girls' room at Taylor Elementary and every grotesque bathroom I've ever seen murdered (on TV) in a public restroom.) And then I saw my cancer shrink and acupuncturist and then Judy and I went to the movies with Jo and Roomie.

And now I'm sitting on a plane. Front row. 

The perks of being able to play the cancer card. I was in a wheelchair all the way up to the gate, and now I have front row seating, so my feet can be up for the flight. Fingers crossed that'll be enough to keep my little piggies from swelling so much that I can't walk into Papa'so BBQ once we get to Houston, because this girl is craving a loaded baked potato, Texas style.

Six months

Six months ago, on May 18th, I sat in Dr. H's office and he dropped the 3-6 months bomb on me.

Aaaaaaaaaand, turns out his timeline was pretty right on, as far as me not being able to live more than six months without major medical intervention.

I was in Houston last week for tests, and... this bad boy is growing like a weed. The hot spot in my back has roughly doubled in the two months between scans, and I have another spot in the front that is showed hot on last week's pet. We're not sure if that's a new tumor growing among my bowels, or if that's an indicator that the previously well-differentiated mass in/around my bowels is now progressing to de-differentiated. (As much as we all know that I do love buying myself a fancy purse for every tumor, my fingers are crossed that this isn't a new little dude. I'm hopeful that it's the mass progressing to de-diff, because that means chemo may be able to impact what is generally referred to as "the amorphous mass" on my medical reports.)

Anyhoo, the long and short of it is... It appears that my body is out to kill me again. So, I'm going back on chemo next week. (Yes, it's crappy to start chemo the week of Thanksgiving, but listen. If it'll save my life, I'll give up a pecan pie and some potatoes and gravy.)

Dr. Z gave me some options. I'll show them to you, for the medical people out there.

I'll do another post on another day that goes into more detail on the treatment plan I chose to go with (#1), but the long and short of it is that it'll be outpatient this time. Different drugs, with a different treatment plan = a different way to deliver the meds. Instead of living on the cancer floor at the hospital for a week out of every month, I'll be hooked up to an IV pole in the infusion center for about 3 hours twice a month. Just as before, the plan is two rounds of chemo then a scan to make sure it's working, then two more rounds and a scan, ad nauseum, until it stops working and then we'll go to a different chemo blend.

I've had a lot of people reach out this week, wondering what's going on and how I'm doing, because I haven't been posting as often. Well... this is what's going on. And I'm alright.

I am tired, but I'm alright. In many ways, I'm grateful for the timeline that was handed me six very short months ago, because it helped me realize, on a deeper level, how important it is to truly LIVE every day. I have had bad days, for sure, but there have been so many more good than bad. I've been able to go back to work (only part time, but it's been such a blessing to have something I can do with my time that yields measurable results), I've been able to travel and spend time with friends and family. I can't eat all of the delicious foods in the world, but I have loved the crap out being able to eat like a semi-normal human again.

I have been living and loving. Every day. For six months. I may not have written much about it, but that's because being out there, doing all of the things, took so much energy that I didn't have anything left to write with.  Maybe next week, when I'm tied to a recliner in the infusion center, I'll start going through the pics in my phone and I'll catch ya'll back up. (Big. Fat. Maybe.)

In the meantime, let the record show that I made it six months. And I'm so very glad that I did.

Houston Play Day

This morning, Jan came to get Judy and me, and took us to...

The Houston Museum of Natural History.

Seriously, the best dinosaur exhibit I've ever seen. Like, anywhere. (And I've seen a lot of dinosaurs. Dennis is my father.) The way they had them set up was super cool... and freaky. Predators were in chase, sea monsters had been hung from the ceiling. The lighting was... eerie.

It was awesome.

The very best part of the exhibit was that I made friends with a docent (you know how sometimes I just randomly smile at people, esp older men, and then they want to be my friend? well.... that happened), and he gave us a personal tour of both the dinosaur and Egyptian exhibits. It was really cool to have a subject matter expert showing us the highlights of the exhibits.

But the, hands down, coolest part of the day was when he brought me over to see this bad boy. He could not have possibly known what it would mean to me, when he told me the stories of how forensic paleontologists can often tell how a dinosaur died, by looked at the bones. (Breaks in a T-Rex's tail could cause them to bleed out and die. If the fossils have scar tissue, it's an indicator that a dinosaur healed from a fight that caused tail-breakage, whereas if there is a clean break in the vertebra, and the break is high enough in the tail, it's a likely assumption that the dinosaur bled out and died. Crazy, right?) But this little dude (uhm... not actually so little, I can't remember his name, but he's a T-Rex progenitor)... he had cancer. Most likely brain cancer (they found fossilized masses inside his cranial cavity) that metastasized to the bone. If you zoom in in this pic, you'll see the calcification on his breast bone.

I sat there, in amazement. You guys, cancer has been around forever. It wasn't always diagnosed, or treated, the way it is now. But cancer has been around forever. Like, it's a prehistoric disease. Crazy. And awesome.

Also, at the Museum of Natural History...  A FREAKING FABERGE EXHIBIT! (Which is actually why we went in the first place. This girl loooooooooves sparkly stuff. And Russian Tsarists history.) Because who wouldn't want to see an exhibit compromised almost entirely of eggs and jewels made for and owned by a royal family? 

This was one of the big eggs. Like, the ones you see on TV or in movies when someone's trying to pull a heist. It was massive. Maybe 6 inches tall? (8, if you include the cherub) All real gold. All real jewels.

These big eggs were the original Faberge eggs, with the treasure within the egg. Typically crafted as an Easter gift, for women in the royal family.

These minis were about the sweetest little thing. They were about an inch in height. Same incredible details in the design that the large Faberge eggs had, but these were made to be worn as charms. (Necklace or bracelets.)

The eggs in this display are... well... "egg sized", for the most part. Some are a  little larger than a standard egg that you'd buy at the store in a styrofoam container, but most of them are, seriously, chicken egg sized. There were three or four panels like this against one wall.

And here's a close up of some of the eggs, so you can see the detail.

I swoon.

And... did you know? Faberge made more than eggs. Like, say... jewel encrusted opera glasses.

Custom jewelry.

This is a pendant created for Alexandra Romanov. 

Cigarette cases and snuff boxes.

It was, seriously, so awesome. I love museums, like, with my whole heart. So, when I found out that the hotel had free/serious discounts for all the museums in the Houston area, it was my heart's desire to spend as many hours as I could stand walking the halls of a museum. ... Too bad I only lasted about 25 minutes standing, but Jan was a helper and went out and got me a wheelchair. All told, we were in the museum for about three hours. I made friends with the security guard at the Faberge exhibit, who told me which of the eggs was a counterfeit purchased by the collector in haste, and caught by the museum's authentication process. (It's the purple one in the top right corner of the multi-pic.) The materials were authentic, but it was a recent forgery -- not a treasure that was 100+ years old. The collector didn't take issue, since the relative value of the egg was close to the price they paid. (Maybe not the "deal" they thought they were getting, but they weren't totally swindled, either.) They keep it in the exhibit for the story.

Man alive, I love my life. I'm so glad we traveled yesterday for my appointments tomorrow, so today could just be a play day. I'm so far past tired that I can't... even. But today has been so great.

Flora and fauna

I've been home for almost a week, and I'm finally posting some pics from Houston.

 I've been tired. Too tired to open my laptop. (But not too tired to marathon Covert Affairs on Amazon.)

Don't judge.

Anyhoo... we didn't get out much (I'm tired enough here, in my own home, living on my usual schedule... you don't even want to know how tired I was in Texas after traveling and not sleeping in my own bed for days on end), but last Friday... we DID get out. My mom's cousin, Jan, came and picked us up and took us to lunch and then drove us around town for a while so we could see some of Houston.

It. Was. Gorgeous.

For real. How amazing is this house?!

And the trees.

Oh, my. THE TREES. Leaves growing on the branches and trunks of trees.

These next two pics were taken in the courtyard of the restaurant where we had lunch with Jan.

Do you remember the view from our cheap hotel? 

Suffice it to say... the view from the MD hotel was substantially better.

And these were the trees in front of the MD Hotel.

They were super awesome. Very delicate flowers, both bright and soft pinks. 

The landscaping was incredible. Lush, almost tropical. Not what I was expecting to see in Texas. AT ALL.

And then Judy and I took some selfies in front of the pink trees, because as much as the trees were super pretty... we think we might be even prettier.

We crack ourselves up.

Friday

So... there's good news, semi-good (which is actually sort of bad news, but I'm choosing to call it "semi-good") news and totally awesome news.

Good news: the tumor wrapping itself through and around my large and small intestines is roughly unchanged since my last scan in May (side by side above - left is my May CT, right is the CT portion of the PET/CT done yesterday)

Semi-good news: there's a spot in my back that lit up hot in the PET. That it's hot is a fairly good indicator that the spot in my back is de-differentiated. So, I have two different stages of cancer growing in this body right now. Awesome possum.

Totally awesome news: the hot spot was graded as 4.9, and they don't officially recognize de-differentiated liposarcoma and begin treatment until it's over a 5. Soooo... yesterday's scan just bought me another 2-3 months chemo-free. Wahoo!

Dr. Z will get me scheduled here in TX for a scan in two months. She wants to bump my every three month schedule up to two, so she can watch what's happening between rib #9 and #10 very closely. As soon as that little dude hits anything higher than a 5 on a radiologist's report, or breaches any major systems, or starts causing symptoms, we'll talk chemo. Until then, my hair and my lashes are greenlit to keep growing!

Thursday

It's been a crazy morning, buuuuuuut...

The PET is happening. Today. Woot!

I check in at 1:00. I'll be injected with radioactive matter around 1:30, and the scan itself will happen at 3:00. And since 3:00 is before 4:00, this should give Dr. Z enough lead time that she'll be able to prep my case to present it to the board for additional opinions tonight. 

Halle-freakin-lujah!

I don't have my follow up appointment with her scheduled as yet, but her scheduler has assured me that they'll figure out a way to squeeze me into her already full day tomorrow.

*Deep breaths.*

It's all coming together. Last night, even though I knew there was still time, I was in a little bit of a panic. (Don't believe me? Ask the friend and cousin I was texting, frantically.) But it's all falling into place, with basically perfect timing.

Once again, I have been shown that there is A Grand Design for my life. Especially when the things that matter the most to me are completely and totally out of my control, and they still fall miraculously into place, I am aware that I am loved and watched over. 

Today is going to be fine, and tomorrow I'll have some answers.

Wednesday

So... this is what I did most of today.

Yeah, that's my very fancy view of the parking lot through a rain streaked window.

It's been raining off and on all day. Judy and I had been mocking Hurricane Bill's "heavy rain and strong winds" (listen, we've lived in Taylor, where 50 mph winds aren't all that rare, and we've weathered many a crazy monsoon storm in the great state of Arizona), but then we went for a walk this afternoon and saw this.

So maybe there is something to these tropical storms after all. Or maybe we could insert an analogy here about how the Arizona trees don't fall in a mere 20 mph wind because their roots have had to grow deep all their lives. Either way, consider our mocking of this storm retracted, because it turns out 20 mph winds can cause all kinds of damage when the ground is soaked. Those upended trees are downright scary!

Meanwhile, back at the hotel... I'm still waiting for an insurance approval before MD can schedule my scan OR my followup appointment. Ugh.

I know it can take time for the insurance approval to come through. Please. It's wrecked my schedule more than once when I'm on my own home turf, so I'm not surprised that it's taken 48+ hours. But still, I am bugged. Oh, well.

There's still time for an approval and a scan tomorrow. The doctor will need to have the scan done by 4:00 for her to get the results in time to present my case at the board meeting tomorrow night, but I have hope that it'll all work out for a round table discussion Thursday night and a treatment plan to be presented on Friday. And if it doesn't... then I'll look into moving the return flight and extending my stay through the beginning of next week. That's not what I want to do, but it's in the realm of possibilities, and it's not really all that bad of a worst case scenario.

Tuesday

It's Tuesday, and Judy and I are holed up in the hotel, waiting for a call from MD that my insurance has approved the scan and I can come back. As I didnt get out of there until 4:00 yesterday, and it's noon-thirty as I type this... my money's on the scan happening tomorrow, not today.

Which is fine with me.

Because, A) We're watching Tropical Storm Bill happen outside our 3rd story window. Ten feet of rain's a lot of water, and while it hasn't all come down yet... the city's on flood warning and we'd rather not be out in that. Also, B) I've been up and about way too much over the past two days. It's been great to have a day to stay in bed and off my feet.

Also, this is the reason I'm here for six days. I know that nothing is fast or easy when it comes to getting answers. I have cable TV, a fridge full of snacks that I can eat without having to leave the room, and a Sonic that's directly across the street if I have a sudden need for a giant soda. Win/win/win.

Texas is gorgeous. The people have been awesome. Every person I interacted with in the first 24 hours here was perfectly lovely. I'm so glad that I'm here, that Houston was my #4. I don't know that they'll have a TON of options outside of what I was presented with in Arizona, and it will most likely be chemo again... but they have access to different drugs here that I might be a good candidate for.

A lot of people are asking how I'm feeling, so I'll adress that here. Right now, I feel fine. Pretty normal, actually. My body was completely wasted by the end of the day yesterday, but after a little Panda Express and 8 solid hours of sleep last night, I woke up feeling more like myself this morning. Still bone tired, but my legs aren't swollen and achey anymore, hallelujah!

Emotionally, I'm also fine. I'm sure that a lot of that is that I'm in an emotional holding cell until I can actually get more information. Four weeks ago, the 3-6 month timeline was incredibly hard to hear, much less believe. And it's not like my body actually feels any different than it did 4 weeks ago, but I've had time to sit with that information and accept this as my new reality. This doesn't mean that I'm giving up or giving in, but I am accepting that this tumor is a threat in a way that nothing else ever has been. It's wrapping itself around an organ that I can't live without, so surgery isn't an option. The doctor talked yesterday about a couple different chemos she thinks might do something. ... We'll see. She needs the scan before she can formulate a real opinion (and get a timeline for when we'd have to start), and then I'll have to make some hard decisions. But for now, I am feeling pretty good and am emotionally stable. I know it's just a lull in the storm, but since Judy's here with me and we're in a hotel, it's SORT OF like a vacation.

Of course, I'll continue to post updates as I learn anything new. Or maybe I'll just post pics of the flooded streets. Either way, check back tomorrow and there'll be something here.

Monday

Here's the scoop on today... There really isn't one. Ha! I had to be there at noon, did registration stuff until 1:00, and then started with the nurse and worked my way up the food chain through the PA and then the doctor. I didn't leave until 4:00. It was super awesome. The PA was really thorough in asking questions and she did a physical exam. The doctor was also AWESOME at asking questions and listening to answers. They'll need to do diagnostic tests before they can formulate a plan. She's going to try and get me in for a pet asap. If the insurance won't pay for the PET, she'll step down to a CT, but the PET will give more specific info as to the tumor type (well vs de-differentiated liposarcoma... well differentiated - my historical diagnosis - is best treated with surgery, de-differentiated liposarcoma responds better to chemo and other traditional treatments), so she's pushing for that. Once she has scan results, she'll present me to the board and they'll have a round table discussion. I'm a tricky case because the way my body presents and the way my pathology reports read contradict each other. The board meets Tues and Thurs nights, so I should have a better idea of what's going on - and what they can do about it - on Wednesday or Friday.

Aaaaaaand, we're here!

It is so green and lush. 

The red brick buildings are gorgeous.

And (*tonight, anyway) our hotel is very fancy. 

This is the view of the atrium from the table where we ate dinner. 

(At a restaurant INSIDE the hotel. This is all very exciting for two girls from Taylor, AZ

It's good to be here. Marriott service (and pillows) connected to MD Anderson by pedway? It's pretty much the best thing ever.

*As of now, we're at The Jesse H. Jones Rotary House tonight, Thurs and Fri nights. Because this hotel is specific to MD patients, they operate on a full-to-capacity status 24/7. If another patient is released and able to go home early, it's possible that a room will open up for Mon-Wed, but we're double booked a couple miles down the road so we'll have somewhere to sleep either way. I mean, I'd rather just walk across the street to go to the doctor, but... I'll take a free shuttle from two miles down the street if I have to.

One more last...

This morning, I took my last shower before I go to Texas.

I've had so many first and lasts in the past five years, but for some reason... the showers always seem to carry significant weight.

I vividly remember the last shower before my first surgery, running my hand across my swollen and extended belly, knowing it was the last time I'd ever touch my stomach without feeling a scar.

I'll never forget how hard it was to wash my hair for the last time, knowing that in mere hours it would be cut off and packaged to send to the wigmaker.

I will always remember the shock of hot water splashing against my head the first time I showered after my hair fell out. Hot water has never felt as awesome as it did in that first baldie shower.

Coming home from the hospital after every round of chemo, I was so weak that I could barely shuffle from the car to my apartment, but I would still somehow gather up the gumption to step into my tub and take a shower. Washing the smell of chemo off my skin was more important to me than sleep, and sleep was more precious than gold.

This morning, I stood in my shower, with my forehead against the wall. As tears rolled down my face and water rolled off my shoulders, I couldn't help but think, "One more 'last'."

Because, tomorrow, my life will change. Again.

I have a return flight booked for Saturday. Only time will tell if I'll be flying home, back to the comfort of my own shower, in six days... or if they'll keep me in Houston for surgery/treatment for a few weeks or months.

I'm not even gone yet, but I'm already homesick for my own home.

Going to Houston is hard. It's what I need to do, and I'm so grateful that I'm strong enough and in a position that I can go, but it's still hard. I'm taking my own soap with me, so I'll still smell like me. But I know that I won't 100% feel like me again until I am home, taking that first shower in my own bathroom, starting the next phase of my life.

24 hours later

It is done.

I am packed.

Yes, that's one carry-on with clothes for six days. 

Including three hats, two scarves, a sweater (in case I get cold in the sweltering humity that is Houston in the middle of June) and an extra pair of shoes. All that's missing is the toiletries that I'll be using from now 'til Sunday morning.

I know. ... I'm, surprisingly, a minimalist when it comes to traveling.

And just in case they end up keeping me in Texas and I want some more wardrobe options...

I have this box packed and ready to be shipped to me.

And yeah, that's another week worth of clothes in that little box.

I know, I'm sort of a packing wunderkind.