Cancer
By: KK

Copyright @2002

On April 22, 2002, my doctor announced to me that I had cancer. This came as quite a shock to me considering that I can't remember the last time that I was sick with even the common cold. I just don't get sick...ever. What I do get are rare things like unexplainable migraines, tumors on my uterus, ticklish knee-caps and Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma. Silly me, of course if I was going to get cancer it would be a rare and a very aggressive type. I have never been average. If I do something it has to be an attention getter. Well congratulations to me! I am getting more attention than I know what to do with.

Two years ago a lump started growing in my throat. It stopped when it got to the size of a sausage link and I thought it was a swollen gland. I don't go to doctors, unless I'm dating them, so I just never got around to getting the lump checked out. Why would I? It wasn't bothering me. Finally I decided that the lump was causing vanity issues and made the appointment to see a throat doctor. I was immediately shipped off to have two needles stabbed into my throat and cells sucked from the lump. I was then sent to the hospital to have the lump removed and biopsied.

When I arrived for my next appointment to find out the results of the biopsy I immediately knew something was wrong. The office staff wouldn't even look at me and the doctor took forever to come in and see me. At this point it still didn't occur to me that I might have cancer. Not me. The doctor came in and the first thing I wanted to ask him is was who died? His face was pasty and drawn.

"You have Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma... cancer. Do you know what that is?"

It's something that you just removed, that I don't have any more, like a tick off a dog, right? Take two aspirins and you'll see me in the morning, right? Right!?!

Apparently not.

I was off to see a cancer doctor who then proceeded to try and kill me with chemo therapy and drugs that could make my cat give birth to pre-historic creatures. I spent the first two weeks being shuffled from doctors, labs and diagnostic centers. I have never had so many tests in my life and failed every one of them. I wasn't the greatest student in school, but at least I passed. Things were only getting worse. Another lymph node was affected and it was not pretty. On a scale of 1-7, my neck was a 3 and my right groin was a 5.

Chemo...STAT!

During the first two weeks my feet never touched the ground...I was mortified and did not have time to think about what was happening with me. The doctors just kept telling me that I could die from this and that I needed immediate treatment. What I needed was the cloud pounded out of my head so that I could think clearly. Instead for once in my life I thought that I was being a good little girl by doing everything that I was told to do.

Most of my family and friends rallied around me and have not left my side. They call me with their "8 hour is she still breathing" checks. I love them!! Even my mother has made contact and I give credit where credit is due.

I spent my first week of chemo therapy sitting in a room full of recliners and elderly people. My first treatment lasted six hours. Two hours into it, I had a reaction to the medication and could not breathe. I value my ability to breathe and sustain life, so this scared the shit out of me. They stabilized me and put me back on the treatment, this is normal for first time patients. Great, what's normal for second time patients....DEATH!?!

Apparently death is an option. The following week I ended up in their office, passed out twice, in shock and paralyzed from the neck down for a good fifteen minutes. They didn't have a clue how to handle me and were obviously not used to patients having reactions like this. They almost called an ambulance...but I suppose that would have been too inconvenient and too obvious that they had fucked up something. They looked me in the face and said that if I had waited until that afternoon to come in, I would have been dead by that evening. This would be my first red flag that something was not right. I dared them to say, this is typical of first time patients. But I continued to be a good little girl and do what I was told.

I was told that I would have typical symptoms like, loss of appetite, nausea, vomiting, fatigue and hair loss. I slept for three days straight, lost my hair in the first two weeks, had a urinary tract infection, lost my sense of taste, dehydration and had sores in my throat that caused me to not to be able to swallow for a week. This was more fun than an amusement park...what do I get to
ride on next?

Chemo therapy number two. Same treatment, different symptoms. Slept for three days, sore throat, cold, congestion and excruciating back and groin pain.

Note: Not one day of nausea or vomiting...still eating like a farm animal.

Tuesday night. Called the doctor about my back and groin pain.

"Are you constipated?"

"No."

"Are you sure you've gone to the bathroom?"

"Yes."

Silence.

"Take a warm bath, put a heating pad on your groin and see me in the morning."

Please take note that after my first near death experience I was told to call them about each and every thing that was wrong with me because in their words....I could die within hours of getting an infection. I am not a hypochondriac, so for me to call about a tummy ache is ridiculous. But I do realize the seriousness of having cancer and I do call about everything, only to be told to take a Benadryl and call us in the morning. If I thought that Benadryl cured cancer then I would buy the company today.

Day two...I swear there is a jackhammer in my groin and back. The doctor presses his palm on my stomach and declares that I have a cyst on my ovary and that is what is causing me pain. This is such an emergency that he schedules me for an ultra sound...the next day.

Day three...I can't walk. My girlfriend takes me for my ultra sound.

Day four...My gynecologist tells me that I do not have a cyst, my doctor's are trying to blame their lack of knowledge on "girlie problems" and that I should go to California for treatment. (California has been the topic of discussion for the past week...I'm going!)

Day five...There are not enough drugs to stop this pain. I announce to my doctor that I do not have a cyst. He has no idea what could be causing the pain. Red flag number 43! I'm off for a CT Scan....three days from now.

The day of the CT Scan I am laying on my doctor's table crying from pain...he mentions Morphine....I scream NOW! He now thinks that I might have kidney stones. I inform him that if that's the case, it is not a stone it is Plymouth Rock and I will not try and "pass" that. Finally I do pass something, my tests...no kidney stones and still no diagnosis. The pain is probably from one of the new medications that we gave you. I feel so much better after that diagnosis that I feel the need to strangle someone in a white lab coat.

I calmly announced to my doctor that I will be headed for UCLA for a second opinion and that chemo therapy stops NOW! I collect my medical records, my
reports, blood work and what's left of my ailing body and am leaving on July 11th to meet with a specialist on Lymphoma. (Before anyone bitches at me...July11th was the earliest that I could get.) I finally feel in control of what's going on with my body and making decisions based on my intuition...my intuition does not tell me that I will be dying from chemo therapy...I will live to be ripe and very old.