New slogan
I had a funny thing pop into my head yesterday. It's become our new slogan.
Anna wasn't diagnosed with cancer, cancer was diagnosed with Anna.(TM)
I spoke with my mother last night, and she decided she was going to print up t-shirts with our new mantra. I hope Anna doesn't mind that I'll be wearing mine every day until I get fired from smelling offensive. It'll be worth it.
We went to the imaging center this morning to have an MRI done for the surgeon. It didn't take too long, and now I'm back at work, but Anna had to go back down there because they want to do MORE ultrasounds as well. Apparently the ten others weren't enough. This has Anna nervous, sitting there at the clinic alone and wondering if they'll find any more bad news in the process, and I just want to be there with her to poke fun at the garish decor (can a straight man say that?) and magazines from the early seventies. Nothing like waiting for her and reading a Sports Illustrated football preview issue highlighting standout players that retired before I learned how to use the potty.
We now know that the surgery is happening this Tuesday. We will meet with the surgeon on Monday, and will discuss the procedure, as well as the possibility of doing a double mastectomy, if there's any thought that doing so may decrease the chance of the cancer returning. I haven't really talked much to Anna regarding my feelings about the mastectomy other than telling her, when she asked what I would do the first time I see her, that I would recoil in horror. Oh stop-- She knew I was joking. Seriously though, I'm really going to have to keep it together-- for her sake. I don't see myself really caring that her breast(s) are gone, but one can only speculate about such life-changing things until you're in the moment. Either way, as long as my beautiful wife is around to harrass me about household chores, I'm happy.
Speaking of beautiful, she cut her hair short yesterday, so she won't have to worry about it after the surgery and leading up to chemo. It looks awesome. Sort of a short, layered bob thing. That's professional speak, by the way.
She got a call this morning from the surgeon's office. Apparently they want to insert the porta cath on November seventh. That's an intraveinous catheter that will stay with her throughout the duration of the chemo, and I have no idea if I even spelled it's name correctly. To me, it's just this thing I don't want her to have. Every time she goes in for chemotherapy, they'll just plug it into the cath. We were a bit shocked that they also mentioned she would start chemo that very day, as opposed to a month after the mastectomy. All of this is hitting us fast, but you know what? Good. Let's get this over with so we can get back to our regularly scheduled happy-go-lucky lives.
Anna wasn't diagnosed with cancer, cancer was diagnosed with Anna.(TM)
I spoke with my mother last night, and she decided she was going to print up t-shirts with our new mantra. I hope Anna doesn't mind that I'll be wearing mine every day until I get fired from smelling offensive. It'll be worth it.
We went to the imaging center this morning to have an MRI done for the surgeon. It didn't take too long, and now I'm back at work, but Anna had to go back down there because they want to do MORE ultrasounds as well. Apparently the ten others weren't enough. This has Anna nervous, sitting there at the clinic alone and wondering if they'll find any more bad news in the process, and I just want to be there with her to poke fun at the garish decor (can a straight man say that?) and magazines from the early seventies. Nothing like waiting for her and reading a Sports Illustrated football preview issue highlighting standout players that retired before I learned how to use the potty.
We now know that the surgery is happening this Tuesday. We will meet with the surgeon on Monday, and will discuss the procedure, as well as the possibility of doing a double mastectomy, if there's any thought that doing so may decrease the chance of the cancer returning. I haven't really talked much to Anna regarding my feelings about the mastectomy other than telling her, when she asked what I would do the first time I see her, that I would recoil in horror. Oh stop-- She knew I was joking. Seriously though, I'm really going to have to keep it together-- for her sake. I don't see myself really caring that her breast(s) are gone, but one can only speculate about such life-changing things until you're in the moment. Either way, as long as my beautiful wife is around to harrass me about household chores, I'm happy.
Speaking of beautiful, she cut her hair short yesterday, so she won't have to worry about it after the surgery and leading up to chemo. It looks awesome. Sort of a short, layered bob thing. That's professional speak, by the way.
She got a call this morning from the surgeon's office. Apparently they want to insert the porta cath on November seventh. That's an intraveinous catheter that will stay with her throughout the duration of the chemo, and I have no idea if I even spelled it's name correctly. To me, it's just this thing I don't want her to have. Every time she goes in for chemotherapy, they'll just plug it into the cath. We were a bit shocked that they also mentioned she would start chemo that very day, as opposed to a month after the mastectomy. All of this is hitting us fast, but you know what? Good. Let's get this over with so we can get back to our regularly scheduled happy-go-lucky lives.
posted by Kevin Ess at 12:57 PM
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