v-ness
09-28-2010, 07:24 PM
well, tomorrow (wednesday 9-29) is the big day - my first mammogram since my diagnosis last year. i feel so positive about with none of the scan-xiety people speak of. i don't know how or why, but i just feel in my heart & bones that i am A-OK and this will just be a verification. my only concern was if the squashing machine would hit my port (they say no). i even called my surgeon's office already to find out when i can get the port out and he said er.... why don't we wait until we get your mammo results, k? i'm antsy. truth is i have one last herceptin on october 14, then i am really and truly ready for it to come out. my onco told me that she will do a hand exam in 3 months after the mammo, then i will have an MRI 3 months after that, then another hand exam in 3 months, then the mammo again next year. that makes me feel nice and secure on top of my own BSE's.
tomorrow is also a big day in that we are saying goodbye to mom's house and the place i grew up in since age 12, where i used to ride horses, and listen to Frampton Comes Alive in my pretty yellow bedroom with my tuxedo cat Fearless at my side. my sisters and i will bury some of my parents' ashes on the land and i will take one last walk in the back pasture, then it's one last bumpy ride in the Jeep down the thousand foot dirt driveway, and goodbye forever. i keep apologizing to mom out loud. sorry i did not know you had cancer, mom. sorry we have to sell your house. sorry we can not take everything as keepsakes. the most meaningful - even in the form of the old raggedy kitchen dishtowel - have homes. when i go into the hospital where mom died tomorrow i think she will accompany me and i won't be alone facing the machine.
i have no idea how i will feel by day's end tomorrow, but i know it will be incredibly emotional in so many ways.
valerie
tomorrow is also a big day in that we are saying goodbye to mom's house and the place i grew up in since age 12, where i used to ride horses, and listen to Frampton Comes Alive in my pretty yellow bedroom with my tuxedo cat Fearless at my side. my sisters and i will bury some of my parents' ashes on the land and i will take one last walk in the back pasture, then it's one last bumpy ride in the Jeep down the thousand foot dirt driveway, and goodbye forever. i keep apologizing to mom out loud. sorry i did not know you had cancer, mom. sorry we have to sell your house. sorry we can not take everything as keepsakes. the most meaningful - even in the form of the old raggedy kitchen dishtowel - have homes. when i go into the hospital where mom died tomorrow i think she will accompany me and i won't be alone facing the machine.
i have no idea how i will feel by day's end tomorrow, but i know it will be incredibly emotional in so many ways.
valerie