the anticipation

Cade and I made the two hour drive south yesterday to MD Anderson. I had my second ultrasound to check the size of my tumor and that big ass lymph node close by. These appointments are both exciting and difficult for me. Exciting because I get reassurance the drug is working, but also difficult because as one appointment passes it brings me closer to the next step of cancer treatment. Right now I’m really rocking and rolling through this cancer thing, the PARP inhibitor is knocking out my cancer and I have minimal side effects. I wouldn’t say it’s a walk in the park, but its not that bad. The things that come after this though, that’s another story and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t dreading what comes next. Each of these appointments remind me I’m one month closer to the next phase.

These appointments are also difficult because during the ultrasounds Cade can’t go back with me. So, I’m always sitting in a dark room by myself staring at medical equipment full of PTSD from that one time that ultrasound probe found cancer and all the fun biopsies and “stuff” that followed. On top of that these ultrasound operators are not very chatty. I mean, they’re just staring at a screen can’t they at least fill me in regarding what they’re looking at inside MY body?! Apparently not. During this particular visit, the ultrasound tech got the images she needed and left the room. Typically, she reappears about 30 minutes later (all the while I’m silently freaking out in a room by myself) with a sheet of paper I carefully deliver to my oncologist with preliminary results. This time, the door swung open and in came a doctor. Immediately I thought oh boy this is NOT good. The doctor lady stuck the ultrasound probe in my armpit and poked around some more. Then as she left, she said she would take the images she collected to another doctor, and quickly have him look at them but he usually doesn’t come into the room. Next thing I know, Mr. Big Doctor is in my room sticking a probe in my armpit for the third time in 45 minutes! I was convinced my cancer was smarter than these magic pills I’ve been taking and it had mutated into a super ninja cancer and I was doooooomed. Well folks, it turns out this is not the case (hallelujah!!). Apparently, the clips used in Denver to mark my tumor are not used at MDA. Mr. Big Doctor just wanted to get images for teaching purposes, but no one told me this until I had aged by 10 years and was thoroughly convinced I had super ninja cancer cells going rouge all over my body. Sheesh, would it really hurt these people to talk a little more?!

Finally Mr. Big Doctor told me my cancer might be completely gone! It is hard to tell from the ultrasound images because its like a black and white movie and they can’t tell if the little bit of something left behind is dead tissue or a little bit of cancer and we won’t know until surgery when I have it removed. Even my big ass lymph node is isn’t all that big anymore. I threw my shirt back on and {almost} skipped down the hall and out those double doors to freedom…and my husband. I explained everything to Cade and we walked to the other end of floor five to meet with my oncologist. Dr. K had my blood work results and my numbers are still holding steady. This is H-U-G-E. I’m starting month five of treatment and I think I’m the only person who hasn’t had to take a reduced dose yet. I truly believe this is Gods work. I don’t have incredible DNA (obviously, I have cancer) and I don’t work out much and I hate veggies. But what I do have is an incredible support system, I have hundreds of people praying for me and I’m on prayer lists all over the country. The power of prayer is real and I’m a living-breathing testament of it. I continue to feel mostly great but when I don’t I simply remind those around me I have cancer and all is forgiven. It works every time.

OK, now for some funnies I have been saving up for y’all. These are real conversations I’ve had with working professionals at MD Anderson.

Me: Ethelynn I love your new haircut!
Ethelynn: Thanks! It was long and tangly. I don’t have the patience to brush it out nicely so the knots kept coming out in clumps. I just got tired of it.
Me: Huh, my hair comes out in clumps too…and it’s not even long.
Cade: Buries his head in his hands.

 

Dr. K: Katelyn, I really don’t know what you’re doing but your blood counts are perfect. This is almost unheard of at this point in treatment.
Me: I eat a lot of taco salad, and I pray a lot.

 

Me: Jill have you gotten any chickens yet?
Jill: No I haven’t. I need to do more research before I do.
Me: OK, let me know when you do and I’ll have my moms cousin knit them chicken sweaters for the one day a year its cold in Houston.

* I must preface the rest of these with the fact I hate my port. A port is this obstruction surgically placed under my skin near my collar bone for chemo to be administered through. If you’d like to see what a port looks like, click here. When we found out I had cancer we rocked and rolled through everything I had to do so I could start chemo ASAP. Well, when I transferred to MDA they had a trial I could participate in so chemo was put on hold…but this port stays put until I’m ready for chemo. You have to keep your port “healthy” though, so it must be flushed every four weeks. I have affectionately named the people who “access” my port once a month port pokers. Here is a brief sampling of our conversations:

This was the first time I had my port flushed. About four weeks after I had it placed.

Mom: It’s really no big deal. I had my port put in and started chemo the same day.
Me: OK, I can handle this.

Five minutes later I was cussing and crying and nauseas from the pain. My port was “fresh” according to the port poker so it hurt pretty bad. No one warned me on that one. Thanks mom. She’s still trying to win my trust back.

 

Port Poker: Why you crying, babies do this?
Me: Wow, thanks for putting that in perspective (bawling my eyes out holding my sisters hand).

 

Me: Do other people hate their ports as much as I do?
Port Poker: Everyone either likes their port or they love it.
Me: Hmmmm. Did you mean they love it or they hate it?
Port Poker: No I really meant they either like it or love it.

 

Port Poker: Katelyn Luckett.
Me: Hi, that’s me.
Port Poker: OK, come on back.
Me: I’m really bad at this.
Port Poker: We’re just flushing your port right?
Me: Yes, you’re “just” flushing this object under my skin with a needle.
Port Poker: Alrighty then.

 

Port Poker: OK, your order is in I just have to wait for the pharmacist to release the heprin.
Me: You mean I just have to wait here in anticipation.
Port Poker: Yes, I guess so.
Me: Does everyone hate their port as much as I do?
Port Poker: Maybe they do, they just don’t talk as much as you do.
Cade: You’re telling me.

 

Port Poker: Wow you did really great!
Me: Yea, I didn’t even punch you.
Port Poker: Do you usually punch people?
Cade: No she doesn’t, I don’t even know why she said that.