Okay, okay, so it's probably not a big deal, but...

Sorry it's been a while since my last blog post. That last chemo just about did me in. It took a very, very long time to recover. But, like all bad things, it came to an end. I am gaining back the weight (with a lot of help from bacon cheeseburgers and chocolate cake), and I am able to care for my Evan now.

My friends arranged a celebratory brunch for me at the St. Regis and it was so wonderful to just relax and be with my girls! It was such a treat to get out on a Sunday afternoon and just stay out. Needless to say, a champagne brunch with some hot mamas from Newport Coast resulted in a wild and crazy time. Let's just say that amidst a lot laughter, champagne, and hazy memories, we were able to blow off a little steam and just celebrate the beauty of being alive.

It's getting hot in here!

Yes, these are a Mommy's legs. Not telling whose they are, but what a mighty fine pair!

Nobody celebrates like a group of Newport Coast moms.

* * * * * * *

Even though it's been more than a month since my last chemo, it's effects still seem to linger. Kind of like the aftertaste from a bad batch of burned chocolate. Last weekend was a beautiful, sunny Memorial Day weekend, so Joe and I decided to take our little Evan to the beach. The wind was mild, lively enough to keep the heat off your skin but moderate enough to keep the waves soft and smooth. Ever-cautious, Evan decided he was perfectly content watching the ocean from the safe perch of his parents arms. No matter how many times we tried to convince him to get down and walk among the waves, he was simply not having it. So our sojourn to the beach turned out to be a very long, tiring walk where Joe and I took turns carrying Evan.

Despite the end of my chemo, I find that I get fatigued very easily, and my stamina just isn't what it used to be. I can make it through my days with Evan fairly well, but only if I lay down to rest while he takes his afternoon nap. Carrying and walking with Evan along the beach, though, turned out to be too much, and I collapsed onto the couch when we got home. I fell asleep immediately as soon as Joe took Evan up for his nap. I think Joe was surprised. He didn't realize how fatigued I still got, and I could tell by his expression that he was disappointed. Not disappointed in me, but disappointed that the cancer was still around -- that its presence lingered. He wanted me to start exercising, but I told him I'd like to hold off until after my surgery on Monday.

Okay, yes, I'm having surgery tomorrow. It's probably not a big deal, but I've had a lump in the left half of my thyroid for a while, and it's getting bigger by the day. Significantly bigger.

When we first detected it a few months ago, it was 0.5 centimeters large, but by April it had ballooned to 2.5 centimeters. It is up to over 3 centimeters now. Before my last chemotherapy round, my doctor informed me that it had shown up in my PET scan and recommended that once chemotherapy finished, we should get it checked out. I remember being disappointed that even after chemotherapy, we weren't quite done.

So a couple weeks ago we went back to Dr. Terry Shibuya, who, in my opinion, is the best otolaryngologist there is, and he performed a fine needle aspiration on the tumor site. What is that, you ask? A fine needle aspiration is a procedure during which the doctor first brings out a comically large, hollowed out needle -- literally, the length of a forearm. Then, he pumps the needle in and out multiple times to obtain some of the tumor tissue within the hollow needle for analysis. Terry had to do this not once, not twice, but three times to my thyroid tumor. OUCH. A few days later, though, we had the results. Terry called to tell us that the results were inconclusive, but given its size we should probably surgically remove it. It could be a benign tumor, but if it's cancer we would need to remove it and the left half of my thyroid, along with the right.

You may be thinking what I thought -- after all that chemotherapy, how could any tumor have survived? But apparently thyroid cancer is a special type that could have not only survived, but continued to grow. And although I won't know if it's cancer until after the surgery, it was still quite a blow that: 1) I would have to undergo a surgery that requires a two-day hospital stay; and 2) WTF?! Why am I fighting another thing that is potentially cancer? Was one terrible ordeal not enough?

AUGH! WTF?!?!?!

At first, I was really devastated by the news. I can't help but feel like my body is fighting this constant tide of cancer, and even though I might win individual battles it will lose the war in the end. My spirit might be strong, but the flesh is weak, and in the end it will only be able to take so much.

I know this is not a big deal. Thyroid cancer is easy to treat. Surgical removal of the thyroid and radiation. Easy. Joe himself has performed this exact surgery many times before. But for me, it isn't so much that the cancer is easy to take care of. Well, to be honest, we don't know if it is cancer or not, but it might as well be as far as treatment is concerned. For the first time, I feel really mortal. I felt weak and sick before, but there was no question that I was going to pull through. And there is no question now either, but the difference is that I feel weaker. I am weaker. My body is tired. How much more will I have to take? How much more can I take? I hope against hope that it isn't cancer. But if it is, and they take out both sides, how will my body react to the complete loss of my thyroid? The thyroid is so important to regulation of our body's normal functioning, including our metabolism. Will I get fat? Will I become a wraith? (This is preferred.) Will I ever feel normal again?

In a moment of sadness and weakness, I asked Sharon if she would look after Joe and Evan, should anything happen to me. I know that if Joe dated anyone else after my death, she would be the one to grill that girl to death. I asked her to make sure his new wife would be good to my Evan. Joe doesn't like hearing about this. Every time I bring it up, it always ends up with the same conversation.

"Honey, if anything happens to me, I know you will be okay because you will probably marry again. But make sure that she is good to Evan. There is nothing and no one sadder than a child without a mother."

"I am NOT getting remarried!"

"Oh my goodness, seriously. You would be a young, single doctor living in Orange County. I don't think you'd have a choice! Women will break down our door to get to you!"

"I wouldn't remarry. There is no one like you."

Stubborn as a Missouri mule. But -- because I love him so much -- I hope he at least considers it when the time is right. I want him to have someone to lean on and love him the rest of his life. So, I tried a different approach.

"Well, if something happened to you, wouldn't you want me to remarry?"

"Hell, NO."

Well, there you go. My Joe. :)

Wish me luck tomorrow. And let's hope it is, finally, the beginning of the end. May God bless you and your families as this evening wears on and morning brings new challenges and, with my family -- my sister of course -- friends, and my Joe beside me, new hope.