as my friend jenny said, 'i'm taking no news as good news,' when she
left me a voicemail the other day. to those of you who have extended
your thoughts, kind words and support the last couple of weeks, thank
you. your tremendous outpouring of support was overwhelming. many of you
have shared your own personal journies with me, and it's times like
these that i realize how truly privileged i am to be in such good
company of wonderful people. jenny was right - no news is good news. or
good news is even better news.
i am happy
to report and share with you all, that i am 100% cancer free. the last
couple of weeks have been a bit of a whirlwind, both medically and
non-medically speaking, so i apologize that it took me this long to post
an update. the biopsy 2 weeks past, sucked. like, big time. it was
1000% the least fun thing i've ever done in my life, but probably one of
the smarter and pro-active adult initiatives i've completed at the same
time. while my poor little lambs are still a bit banged up and bruised,
i'm happy to say that it's one hell of a relief to know that this whole
cancer scare nightmare is almost behind me.
i say
almost, because even though the masses turned out to be benign, the
size/shape are still enough to warrant surgical removal, which my smart
ass opted to sign up for less than a week after my previously scheduled
lasik eye surgery. this coming wednesday, i say fare thee well to 22
years of blindness, and toss the 'double paned soundproof' (childhood
tauntings), to the side, and look to the world with clear, actual
vision. i'm pretty effing scared, to be honest, since i'll be looking at
this shit as they poke and jimmy out my eyeballs, which will be
strapped open with some crazy clockwork orange like aparatus, but i
figure the ends is worth the means. plus a pretty hefty chunk of change,
but fuck it. i wanna see. so yeah, wednesday - eye surgery. as soon as
my eyeballs are back to normal, i'm off for a series of bloodwork and
then a lumpectomy to get these annoying fibroadenomas outta my bod come
the following tuesday. i'm gonna be a swollen boobed mr. magoo. can't
wait.
i wish i could say the hospital system was more
respectful and prompt with delivering my results than my past
encounters, but unfortunately it was equally shitty - having to call the
hospital 16 times to be transferred to 5 different office locations to
be told that only the physician who ordered the biopsy could deliver the
results to me, despite the radiologist who worked on me saying he could
call me, and would call me, within 48 hours--and finally, once speaking
to my order physicians' secretary, was told, 'yes mrs sassana, we have
your results, but the doctor is busy in surgery all day today and
tomorrow, she will call you when she has time'. cool, cuz like, you
know. it's only lumps in my breasts, no big thang.
but
in other news, once i finally DID get the good news that yes, you are
cancer free, but operation is still necessary, i did get another nugget
of decency, in that i got the bump of a mini-promotion at work i had
been anxiously awaiting to hear about for months. responsibilities
aren't really changing, and the payday is hardly noticeable, but it was a
little glimmer of proof that my grandma was looking out for me. no
cancer and a promotion in the same day? not too bad.
overall,
the past few months have provided me with a stronger appreciation of
everything and everyone i have in my life. i've got some unconditional
support, friendship, and newfound appreciation of my health, my family
and friends. i've also got a stronger sense of optimism and strength,
knowing that if i survived what i have, i'm really up for anything. i
don't know how actual cancer survivors have that kind of strength that
they do, but i tell you one thing, i def pay more attention to those
breast cancer support ads/causes more so now than i did before. the
emotional strength to undergo all of those procedures is enough alone,
let alone the physical endurance. i'm fortunate enough that my
experiences ended with a biopsy and surgery, i may have some shitty
memories to look back on, particularly with how i was handled in the
medical politics, but at least i've got me and the rest of my life to
lead, cancer free.
i'm going to make the most out of
everything i've got, moving forward. starting today, as i celebrate my
final weekend with glasses. come may 26th, when i turn 29, my eyes,
boobs and outlook will be 100% clear. being a grown-up rules.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
interim thoughts of whiskey & ignorance.
the acidic aftertaste of astringent and whiskey. the feel of it seeping, almost drowning in the back of her throat. suffocation and helplessness, dramatics and drunkeness from life, not the booze she couldn't quite taste. at what point do we wake up? and finally smell these roses. where is that cold, hard, slap in the face that is so very needed, at this time of surrender. come on, get up. stop this nonsense now. what is real and what is make believe, almost buying into the fictional madness, arms up in the air. sitting on the cold, hair infested floor. am i sick? or am i dead. why is he still here? does he really believe me? do i believe me - empty. quiet. nothing. just that sour false choking sensation of either really bad, or really good, whiskey. pinching at her nostrils, as if she took too large of a gulp that she could handle. this isn't worth it. nothing is. gambling is an asinine timekill for unintelligent assholes. gambling is for those who have already thrown in the towel, given it all up. she's not ready to give up. not anywhere close. but why are the demons poking out behind the hedges? they're peeking and prodding. in the disguise of a lumpy breast. they're restless, now. been asleep much far too long. they're ready to erupt and sit on that forbidden, dusty button of self destruct. just to push it. for the taste of it. she shoos the demons back. away. 29 years didn't teach her nothing. she knows to sit up and splash the water on her face. to tell them demons, BE GONE. he is mine. he is my all. my everything. and more. no lumps. no needles. no intimidating 'probably's' are going to stand in the way of this power.
trying to stay positive. how does jodi do this? eating brussel sprouts. shitty music from her eccletically (is that a word?) lame iTunes library. writing really bad musings and thoughts and poetic reflections. if ,that's even what that trash above is. wishing she didn't eat brussel sprouts. like, really, really wishing. wondering if my knee is going out. covering up the winespill on my grey ikea wobble couch. staring at my cats. trying in vain, to figure out how to work the instagram for android app on her so called smart phone. speaking in third person. playing mad spider solitaire. wishing he was home. so cuddles could commence. trying to cheer up by ignoring other things. the institution didn't call today. or friday. like they said they would. by tuesday, the one woman said. at the latest.
in that foggy bitter day of hell. invasive. almost like the feeling of rape. definitely not the sort of thing you'd wish upon a soul. while the external bruises have already started to heal and fade, the sick swelling of my inner feministic soul remains stirred into a fury of sadness and intrusion. it really isn't, ok.
great friends and support systems. brussel sprouts. kitty and human cuddles and sweat pants and love. and fear and sickness. and worry, but inner comfort. what does one turn to, when they don't have a god? even now, i still watch as a bystander. like a parade of sorts. of symbols and rituals. and say this, but not that. eat this, not that. don't you dare love a fag. but you will always be welcome, in this great abyss. or something like that. i have my being here with me. his name is vincent and he loves me whole. as do my family, friends and cats. there is some solace in this. but i still don't think a man on a cross will suck the lumps out of me and heal me for my good deeds. maybe i just don't deserve it. or maybe i do. thinking about big picture things such as life or death, of good and evil. of life and thereafter. is something i'm certainly not accustomed of doing. so even now, i come across as a blind, blabbering imbecile. but i'm ok with this.
this weekend it was supposed to storm. all day saturday, throughout sunday. all day, vincent and i locked ourselves up in our convenient little yuppy house. waiting eagerly, like children do for santa claus. excited for some big delivery. a big thunderstorm of thunderstorms. so we could stand, slackjawed, at the windows. laughing at the scared cats, eating ice cream and holding together close. we waited and we waited. and we ended up getting about 20 minutes total of some pitter patter rain noise. it was nice and all, but hardly anything i'd call a storm.
so if that was the calm - when do we expect the storm to hit? we had the hurricane, or at least i did. a whirlpool of emotions and overall highs and lows. physical, mental, emotional inner warfare. that poor excuse of rain barely washed away any of the residue, or crumpled pile of soggy charmin tissue.
the doctor said by tuesday. one week ago from tomorrow. one long week, unfolding like a disorienting dreamscape. tomorrow we can begin. move forward once again. stronger, unified and more real than ever.
no more whiskey dreams. acidic backwash of fear and ignorance.
one last deep breath - we're almost there.
trying to stay positive. how does jodi do this? eating brussel sprouts. shitty music from her eccletically (is that a word?) lame iTunes library. writing really bad musings and thoughts and poetic reflections. if ,that's even what that trash above is. wishing she didn't eat brussel sprouts. like, really, really wishing. wondering if my knee is going out. covering up the winespill on my grey ikea wobble couch. staring at my cats. trying in vain, to figure out how to work the instagram for android app on her so called smart phone. speaking in third person. playing mad spider solitaire. wishing he was home. so cuddles could commence. trying to cheer up by ignoring other things. the institution didn't call today. or friday. like they said they would. by tuesday, the one woman said. at the latest.
in that foggy bitter day of hell. invasive. almost like the feeling of rape. definitely not the sort of thing you'd wish upon a soul. while the external bruises have already started to heal and fade, the sick swelling of my inner feministic soul remains stirred into a fury of sadness and intrusion. it really isn't, ok.
great friends and support systems. brussel sprouts. kitty and human cuddles and sweat pants and love. and fear and sickness. and worry, but inner comfort. what does one turn to, when they don't have a god? even now, i still watch as a bystander. like a parade of sorts. of symbols and rituals. and say this, but not that. eat this, not that. don't you dare love a fag. but you will always be welcome, in this great abyss. or something like that. i have my being here with me. his name is vincent and he loves me whole. as do my family, friends and cats. there is some solace in this. but i still don't think a man on a cross will suck the lumps out of me and heal me for my good deeds. maybe i just don't deserve it. or maybe i do. thinking about big picture things such as life or death, of good and evil. of life and thereafter. is something i'm certainly not accustomed of doing. so even now, i come across as a blind, blabbering imbecile. but i'm ok with this.
this weekend it was supposed to storm. all day saturday, throughout sunday. all day, vincent and i locked ourselves up in our convenient little yuppy house. waiting eagerly, like children do for santa claus. excited for some big delivery. a big thunderstorm of thunderstorms. so we could stand, slackjawed, at the windows. laughing at the scared cats, eating ice cream and holding together close. we waited and we waited. and we ended up getting about 20 minutes total of some pitter patter rain noise. it was nice and all, but hardly anything i'd call a storm.
so if that was the calm - when do we expect the storm to hit? we had the hurricane, or at least i did. a whirlpool of emotions and overall highs and lows. physical, mental, emotional inner warfare. that poor excuse of rain barely washed away any of the residue, or crumpled pile of soggy charmin tissue.
the doctor said by tuesday. one week ago from tomorrow. one long week, unfolding like a disorienting dreamscape. tomorrow we can begin. move forward once again. stronger, unified and more real than ever.
no more whiskey dreams. acidic backwash of fear and ignorance.
one last deep breath - we're almost there.
Monday, April 16, 2012
bow down before the one you serve.
the 80's were cool. trent reznor was actually pretty badass. i'm sure current fans of nin can appreciate his oldman gothic 'industrial' ways, (lolz, remember when 'industrial' music was cool? oh, the 90's), but i don't care no more. this isn't a post about how cool nine inch nails are. or trent reznor is or isn't. but instead, how incredibly cheesy, yet timeless reznor's debut nin 1989 release, pretty hate machine is badass.i don't know if it's some sort of subtle mind trickery hypnosis that i was succombed to at age 7, when my 21 year old brother would get all pumped up on his handheld boombox on christmas break from college. (lord knows that's how i got hooked on huey lewis & the news, but hell, i never fell for inxs, and believe you me, mr. jtr totally rocked the new sensation back then). or maybe the sick sleezy production of tracks like 'sin', (which reminds me of sndtrk to a teenage mutant ninja turtles movie), or 'head like a hole' are really just that simplistic good. i don't know. i do know that mr. reznor was nursing a bit of a broken heart, and was a night janitor when he wrote this 10 track collection of badness, and i fully appreciate it. makes me want to pierce my nose with an oversized safety pin, tear up my skinny jean knees, and rock some badass black eyeliner and overkill the aquanet.
but i won't. instead, i'll sit on my lopsided wine soaked ikea sofa (only one sip pre-spill, mind you, i'm really that clutzy), and listen to my iTunes proud, feeling all sorts of coolness for pretty hate machine.
Monday, April 9, 2012
blunders, boys, booze, bruises & boobs.
i was never that super nice girl you wanted to take home to meet your parents. i mean, i've always had a decent head on my shoulders, maybe not the sharpest crayon in the box, but could still out spell your ass and cream you in a speed-read-athon. but brains aside, i was hardly the girl next door. tattoos, piercings, mismatched clothing, topped with a messy mane of fiery red bedhead hair and enough make-up to pass as a MAC store employee, i was some sort of halfway hipster clown show. if it wasn't the over abundance of caffeine as a youngster, it was the careless excessive submerging of alcohol. i always thrived off of being the center of attention, and quite frankly, growing up in the small town i did, i didn't care one way or another if the attention was positive, negative or general befuddlement. (hence the thankgodly short-lived career of jodi the intoxicated freestyle rapper).
my life growing up wasn't too much to write home about. i guess i had things harder than other kids. typical single parent household, no father in the picture. the asshole fake step-dad (who later turned out to be gayer than rupaul). the DIY pay for your own clothes and shit 'life lessons'. maybe some bouts of sexual abuse. drugs and alcohol in the family. but through it all, i always came out strong, head held high. in high school, come to think of it, maybe i was that girl you'd bring home to meet your family--just not in my hometown, since the whole town knew about my family. and apparently, the root household wasn't a strong enough name in the community to be proud about. (single mother in a bible bangin' village? gasp!) but hell, i got straight A's. was the track captain senior year. prom queen. leads in the high school plays. went to state every year for forensics/speech club. tutored kindergarten kids. national honor society. didn't drink a drop.
then whatever, fast forward all the predictable post small town shenaniganry of bad decision making, (mostly induced by my introduction to alcohol), and the blah blah blahs. yeah, i turned kinda bad. but not so bad. i think my stunted youth turned me into the typical small child gone wild come late teens/early 20's upon independence. some crazy shit hit the fan, but it's too late to really regret or beat myself up over it. now, i can just roll my eyes and tell myself that yes, sometimes mothers are right. especially in the instance of that tribal tramp stamp i procured in my 19th year.
i was always into the idea of people. of meeting new and exciting friends. i thrived off of music. wanted so badly to pair up with a rock star, not necessarily male or sexual, just wanted to be besties with someone famous. that never really happened, although i'd be lying if i said i didn't meet (and wasn't initially impressed in my young naivety) a slew of incredibly pretentious musician assholes. but overall, i mean. really what i wanted was male attention. or girl attention - to help me get male attention.
i'm pretty sure the reason of this is because i never had much guy attention before. sure, i cashed my v card around the average high school age of late 16, to my high school 'sweetheart' (although i think high school 'bitch boy' would be a more appropriate term for this individual. to his defense, i was a complete bossy cunt. he was just the moron who let me bully him around). but after dude finally wised up and dumped my ass senior year of high school, i never stuck with another dude for longer than a month. even then, it was more less me fish baiting, casting my lure in front of the dorkiest pool of potential suitors possible, (i'm talking Dungeons and Dragons, socks with sandals demographic), and then as soon as one would nibble or bite, i'd bat my long lashes and be quickly on my way.
i broke a lot of fucking hearts. in college and beyond. but to my defense, i guess i was just more of the dude type. i liked the challenge of a chase, the hard to get, if you will. that explains my second relationship, which was much more serious. my college/post college boyfriend of nearly 4 years was a quiet sort. he wasn't used to female attention, but he did share my love for free beer friday at kelly's from 6-8pm. his friends were my friends, (kinda), and long story short we gave it a whirl. it was an excellent experience, and while i can't say anything bad about him, i can admit that i'm not so proud of my personal take on how i treated him throughout the courtship. i was a bit of a drama queen, to say the least. i needed to take a chill pill, grow the fuck up, and respect people (him) more.
so we split and that was that. in between the college nerds, the first grown up relationship, there were crushes. i told my husband the other night, that i have been in love with six men before him, but only dated three of the six. 'how could you have been in love with someone you were never with?' he questioned, laughing it off. honestly, i couldn't think of a good response. i don't know if it really was love. but i can say this, those three other gentlemen most likely had no idea of my feelings, but that didn't lessen the intensity of my early 20-something angst and desire. (again, like i said, i was a sucker for the musician type when i was young and stupid - 'you can play guitar?' 'you think i'm cute?' 'this must be love!!'). who knows what i felt for those clowns. i know that to this day, however, as much teenage pain i had in my deflated little heart when i finally came to the conclusion that all three of these homeboys who lived in other states than i weren't going to reciprocate my secret yearnings, i wrote some badass (not the good badass) mopey ass poetry. like, really bad. shitshow bad. my sony vaio crashed last year and i dont' give a fuck about that writing i lost bad.
after my first real relationship, i tried the online dating scene. dipped around in for a second. met a stalker, whom actually this blog is named after, when he sent me one of his many psychotic emails bragging about how great of a writer he was and after i had finally caved and showed him a piece i was actually confident about that i had written, he replied, 'yeah, you're right. your style is unpolished, but some people really like that.' concluding the email with 'i took a photo of myself with my webcam in my new fedora hat for you to enjoy.' fucking slimeball. all smizing in the camera like i gave a shit. i'll spare you the deets about how he circled my block in lincoln square after i faked a cold to stand him up post-IMASTALKERFREAKOUT session. lolz. ok, stupid.
online dating was kinda funny. mostly creepy. i met some guys i would have been content being friends with, but when it was apparent they were interested in being mr. root after date 1, i outtie5000'd from that shit and would only set up profiles intermittently for 24 hours at a time post idrankabottleofwinebymyself seshes. i met one guy from a site. he turned out to be a terrible person with women. tricked me into rebounding from the serious boyfriend and moving on. it was fun for like 10 minutes, but then i got laid off from my job and went kind of on a downward spiral. if i wasn't so crazydepressednutso from losing my job (the first time i had been unemployed in what, 14 years?!), i might have noticed homeboy was sticking his dick in whatever crevice he could find, most notably his 'ex' girlfriend. the good thing, however, is that he did lead me to my husband, as messy as it eventually became. but whatever. in between the crumblings of me being a naive and desperate retard, i did wise up enough to try and meet some other guys instead. help me get over my disease of needing male attention. i'm pretty sure in that small time frame, i too, then hurt a few other guys.
it was always really difficult to get me to stay focused, and not be so selfish. eventually, i met vincent, the one gentleman who i will introduce by his name. there's enough 'i love my husband, he is the bestest ever' posts on this blog, so i'll with hold my urges to write another one. (although-srsly-vin-you-the-best-ever-i-love-you-times-infinity). but while i knew that this time was for sure the real deal, the one i've been dicking around waiting for all these years, part of me felt guilty, like i didn't deserve this break. i thought i jerked around so much that i wasn't ever going to find happiness, or my equal or any of that hallmark jazz. so when it did, i didn't waste any time. i married that fine piece of ass no more than 5 months after he asked me. (2-3 year engagement my ass!)
we wed in november. so basically, 2011 was a pretty great year. a lot of things happened for me. i got a better job/career in the bag. i adopted another kitty. vin and i got a super nice apartment on the lakefront. i had a great group of friends. my mom finally seemed to be doing better since the abusive closet queen left her to wed his 75 year old sugar daddy. things were good.
so when i made my overdue annual pap exam last january, i was elated. the final pap smear! sure, i'd go in for routine exams to make sure my lady bits were in order and get my prescriptions refilled. but no longer did i ever have to fear any creepy news or worry about dying from cervical cancer or aids. i was pretty stoked. i remember that day, really well. i had taken half the day off from work, my intention was to work in the afternoon remotely following my appointment. i conned vin into walking with me to the doctor, because i figured it would be a quick in and out, and we could get some exercise. the doctor, of course, like every other fucking chicago ob/gyn i've seen in the 6 years i've lived here, made me wait for an hour and fifteen minutes, shivering naked under a thin sheet gown that ripped every time i'd move to stand up and pace angrily throughout the room, feverishly texting 'fuck this shit' sweet nothings to vin, who was patiently waiting with cold starbucks int he lobby. 'five more minutes and if she's not here i'm getting dressed and getting out of here!'
after my 4th or so disgruntled text message, there was a knock on the door. my appointment went fine, as normal--up until the ob/gyn felt the lump in my right breast.
'have you noticed this before?'
fuck. are you kidding me?
of course i hadn't.
she sent me on my merry way with a prescription for a diagnostic mammogram (which i later learned no women under 40 should have), a bilateral ultrasound, along with instructions to see the technicians 'as soon as possible.'
it wasn't much fun admitting to my husband on that walk home, the findings from the doctor. he held my hand, though, and i called off my radio show and the rest of my work day. tried to be optimistic. it's not cancer. no way, no how.
i called the technician as soon as i got home, and the soonest they could squeeze me in was the following friday. 'fine, i'll take it.'
fast forward a week ahead, and my sister-in-law, whom i suckered into working with me, was busy holding the fort down in the office, dodging creepy 'where is jodi' questions. 'is she pregnant??' i went to the referral hospital as directed, more shooken up than i had anticipated, by myself despite my mother in law sweetly offering to accompany me. sitting in the lobby, i had registered and was provided with a card that read '3'. puzzled, the woman shooed me away to wait. i tried to not burst into tears with frustration and humiliation as i sat waiting for my turn, the touristy asian couple snapping shots of each other on different parts of the waiting room, some too close for my comfort by where i was sitting. the sickening fake consoling comfort smooth sounds of the shitty music they play for people who are dying.20 minutes later, i was being summoned. 'PATIENT NUMBER THREE? PATIENT NUMBER THREE. PATIENT NUMBER THREE? WE'RE READY TO SEE YOU NOW.' so that's what the card meant, you don't have a personal identity in a oncology ward.
after i was herded to my waiting room, where i again, had the leisure of sporting a sexy sheet gown. i then had to talk to a non-friendly technician who didn't want anything to do with touching my breasts, but rather insisted i put a sticker pasty on where my doctor had discovered the lump. after that, the overall experience of a mammogram, to say the least, fucking sucks. it's not fun. it's fucking traumatizing, actually, and i'll spare you the dirty details. as if 15 minutes of torture wasn't enough there, i then was guided into a public waiting room, where i joined a loud chatty asian woman and an african american woman who was really into good morning america. please note, that i am still topless, in a sheet gown. my two companions, alas, were fully clothed. 30 minutes i had to wait. without any acknowledgement or greeting. just kelly ripa and cancer dying isnt so bad mood music. eventually, it was time for the ultrasound. i was greeted by another non friendly technician, who said not a word to me the entire time. as she scanned my unborn breasts, i got the sick feeling in my gut that something more than the original right side lump was discovered. she didn't say a word, but just kept taking pictures. eventually, she shoved a consent form at me and i was free to go home.
the form i signed said my primary doctor would have my results by tuesday, my appointment was on friday. while 4 days was rough, i was optimistic and assured vincent it wasn't that big of a deal and i could wait. come tuesday, i call the doctor's office to find out that she's only in on thursdays, and no one can share my results with me until then. nice, ok. i left a message. thursday morning comes, i leave another message. eventually, the european accent gyno calls me back - 20 minutes before my first meeting with our new VP at my 9-5. aint no stress, here, gang. doc tells me 'it's probably benign,' but that my fears were accurate, and two additional lumps were discovered on my left side. 'so if it's probably not cancer, what is it?' i asked her. 'is it a cyst?' 'no, definitely not a cyst. you will need to see a surgeon for a consultation and another ultrasound. don't wait any longer than a month. we don't have any surgeons here, so i'll refer you to one instead.' i ask her for the referral info, but nope, she has to mail me a prescription, giving me another 3 days before i can make a damn phone call to mr. surgeon to realize, 'sorry, doctor can't see you until march 5th.' please keep in mind this was the third week of january. waiting a month for next steps when it's 'probably not cancer,' but the lumps are 'unusually large' isn't exactly my fortee.
i make the appointment anyway, and begin to freak out. i finally tell my mom, who then proceeds to share with my brother, all that's been going on. my mom has me talk to her lifelong friend and a second mom to me, who's not only a survivor, but an RN. my brother tells me to ask one of the doctors that i'm close with at my own job, (oh, did i neglect to mention the irony of my medical drama? my job involves kissing 200 physicians' asses and facilitating their schedules--funny, how i serve docs on one end with internal customer service, yet when it's my time to be in need, i get shat on), to see if she has any advice or knows any connections that could get me in sooner. i did both, and the doctor friend at work got me a list of names to start calling.
i make an appointment for 2 weeks later, versus the original 5, after a 45 minute conversation with Lateesha, who's awfully sorry about the new system and her having lost my information, (including my social security number) twice in the same call, could i please repeat my info again? that aside, i had my consultation scheduled. i felt better. that is, up until 2 days before my appointment i receive a cancellation notice, informing me i'll need to reschedule. again. i go back to the list of referral names i had from the last go around, call up a few, and after being transferred from one department to the next, 'we don't typically see patients unless they have an official diagnosis, try this extension instead,' 'sorry, we're booked for the next 6 weeks here,'. in defeat, i call the doc who cancelled on me back, and as luck would have it, was able to reschedule the following week.
the consultation itself wasn't so bad at all. the referral doc that my work friend told me to call was upfront, personable, yet very informative and a trustworthy lady. along with her technician, i got what seemed like yet another ultrasound, (but wasn't), and they confirmed i have 3 lumps in both breasts. my new surgeon talks to me like a human being, instead of beating me away, and assures me that it's most likely not cancer, but we'll need to have a biopsy to be sure. she tells me we won't be able to schedule said biopsy, however, until after the new hospital retrieves my films from my mammogram at the first hospital. this could take 2-3 weeks. unless, of course, i opt for a second mammogram.
no, thank you.
the upside is that the new doc lady tells me that while she doesn't think it's life threatening, she would like to schedule me for surgery, to remove the lumps. 50% will go into remission and disappear all by themselves, whereas the other 50% grow. and mine are already quite an impressive size. so, since she confided to me that she just operated on her own daughter, about my age, with the same thing, she tells me she'll take care of it, and while we're at it, 'let's get rid of that freaky mole on your stomach.' um, ok. bye bye, beauty mark.
i go on vacation with my husband, finally believing that i'm not going to be bald and sketching thank you return address labels to fund my funeral. we relax. i forget about things. then i get a call, saying another ultrasound will be necessary, since so much time has passed from my first ultrasound, and that a biopsy is not possible without knowing the exact locations of my fibroadenomas. (yeah, that's apparently what my lovely lady lumps are called, say that 3 times backwards, folks). thats' odd, given the dealy in my patient care has had nothing whatsoever to do on my behalf, but what can i do? them docs want to send me another $300 co-pay for another notawkwardatall feel up sesh? SURE, LET'S DO IT GUYS.
another half-day of work, another boobshow. at least this technician is showing me what she's seeing and looking for, instead of pretending i'm not there. she calls a doctor in to analyze the findings in real time, and this woman is not my doctor. she tells me she's '98% sure it's not cancer,' thus, i don't need surgery, and i should go home and come back in 6 months for another ultrasound. yeah, cuz i'm sure insurance wants to pay for this every half year. . .
i tell the lady i'd feel better knowing for sure. while 'probably not' is better than 'bitchyougotcancer,' i'm not really feeling the gamble. the scheduling lady takes me to a new room, and helps me schedule my biopsy. out of all the members of hospital care i've dealt with in the 2-3 months leading to this, this woman is actually the kindest and most personable. she confides to me how she had to go through the same experience, and while it's still a gigantic needle poking at yr freezed tits, she drove all the way to michigan afterwards (even though she wasn't supposed to), so if i have a friend to drive me home that's great, but if not, i'll be strong enough to get home.
i wish i could have driven that nice little lady to michigan after her biopsy, but alas. it's march by this time, and the soonest they can get me into my biopsy is april 10th.
i pretty much forgot about my biopsy until the past couple of days. i realized when my 'smart'phone sent me a reminder that this noise is this week, that i better call the hospital and ensure my surgeon stayed true to her word, that even though it only sounds about 65% medically necessary, that she wrote me an order so i can get the 'yes you have cancer' or 'shitgirlyoufree!' determination fixed, so she can then slice and dice my ta-tas before my 29th birthday next month. the order's in.
my husband, while he has to work tomorrow night, called his mother and ensured i have a lift home from south michigan ave. so here i am, 18 hours before go time, finishing up the blog i started a month ago and was too nervous, or scared to post. not that many of you read my humble little blog, and for those of you who do, seeking out kewl new muzik scoops, i apologize that shit got real personal right quick, but guess what. i've always written. i may never have been that super popular, uber talented, girl next door type that everyone thought was super great, but i have always been that sharp, observing cynical bookworm, nursing premature carpel tunnel two doors down, clutching her hot pink diary and feather squiggle wiggle pen. bad poetry, cynical music reviews, ihatemenrambles. all of it, it's been super therapeutic for me.
last year was my up year. my introduction to my happy ending. 2011 was full of optimism and new adventures. 2012 is that first chapter to the life of an almost 30 year old woman who finally learned to grow up up. i'm going in for a biospy on both of my breasts tomorrow, to ensure that i don't have cancer, or that if i do, we can treat it before it's too late. the news i'm looking for is that i don't have cancer, but i will still require surgery, to remove the benign masses. either shortly after, or before, i will also have surgery on my eyes for vision correction. meanwhile, i'm still concerned that i need to dye my hair, and that i'm getting too chubby for my husband. life continues as it should, and i am extremely grateful to have such genuine people in my life. my 'dysfunctional' lifelong family, my new family in law, and superfuckingawesome friends for life.
plus, i have cats.
i hope to continue to use writing as my outlet and guide to keep me strong through the next month. i haven't cracked for tomorrow, and it's going to take more than a soreass set of knockers to break me down.
maybe i'm not that girl next door, but i'm guessing all the protection, hand holding and overusage of hand sanitizer never really toughed her up for something like this. it takes tough skin to survive the stumbles and falls, and by god, ima pick myself up.
to 2012, let's do this, motherfuckers.
my life growing up wasn't too much to write home about. i guess i had things harder than other kids. typical single parent household, no father in the picture. the asshole fake step-dad (who later turned out to be gayer than rupaul). the DIY pay for your own clothes and shit 'life lessons'. maybe some bouts of sexual abuse. drugs and alcohol in the family. but through it all, i always came out strong, head held high. in high school, come to think of it, maybe i was that girl you'd bring home to meet your family--just not in my hometown, since the whole town knew about my family. and apparently, the root household wasn't a strong enough name in the community to be proud about. (single mother in a bible bangin' village? gasp!) but hell, i got straight A's. was the track captain senior year. prom queen. leads in the high school plays. went to state every year for forensics/speech club. tutored kindergarten kids. national honor society. didn't drink a drop.
then whatever, fast forward all the predictable post small town shenaniganry of bad decision making, (mostly induced by my introduction to alcohol), and the blah blah blahs. yeah, i turned kinda bad. but not so bad. i think my stunted youth turned me into the typical small child gone wild come late teens/early 20's upon independence. some crazy shit hit the fan, but it's too late to really regret or beat myself up over it. now, i can just roll my eyes and tell myself that yes, sometimes mothers are right. especially in the instance of that tribal tramp stamp i procured in my 19th year.
i was always into the idea of people. of meeting new and exciting friends. i thrived off of music. wanted so badly to pair up with a rock star, not necessarily male or sexual, just wanted to be besties with someone famous. that never really happened, although i'd be lying if i said i didn't meet (and wasn't initially impressed in my young naivety) a slew of incredibly pretentious musician assholes. but overall, i mean. really what i wanted was male attention. or girl attention - to help me get male attention.
i'm pretty sure the reason of this is because i never had much guy attention before. sure, i cashed my v card around the average high school age of late 16, to my high school 'sweetheart' (although i think high school 'bitch boy' would be a more appropriate term for this individual. to his defense, i was a complete bossy cunt. he was just the moron who let me bully him around). but after dude finally wised up and dumped my ass senior year of high school, i never stuck with another dude for longer than a month. even then, it was more less me fish baiting, casting my lure in front of the dorkiest pool of potential suitors possible, (i'm talking Dungeons and Dragons, socks with sandals demographic), and then as soon as one would nibble or bite, i'd bat my long lashes and be quickly on my way.
i broke a lot of fucking hearts. in college and beyond. but to my defense, i guess i was just more of the dude type. i liked the challenge of a chase, the hard to get, if you will. that explains my second relationship, which was much more serious. my college/post college boyfriend of nearly 4 years was a quiet sort. he wasn't used to female attention, but he did share my love for free beer friday at kelly's from 6-8pm. his friends were my friends, (kinda), and long story short we gave it a whirl. it was an excellent experience, and while i can't say anything bad about him, i can admit that i'm not so proud of my personal take on how i treated him throughout the courtship. i was a bit of a drama queen, to say the least. i needed to take a chill pill, grow the fuck up, and respect people (him) more.
so we split and that was that. in between the college nerds, the first grown up relationship, there were crushes. i told my husband the other night, that i have been in love with six men before him, but only dated three of the six. 'how could you have been in love with someone you were never with?' he questioned, laughing it off. honestly, i couldn't think of a good response. i don't know if it really was love. but i can say this, those three other gentlemen most likely had no idea of my feelings, but that didn't lessen the intensity of my early 20-something angst and desire. (again, like i said, i was a sucker for the musician type when i was young and stupid - 'you can play guitar?' 'you think i'm cute?' 'this must be love!!'). who knows what i felt for those clowns. i know that to this day, however, as much teenage pain i had in my deflated little heart when i finally came to the conclusion that all three of these homeboys who lived in other states than i weren't going to reciprocate my secret yearnings, i wrote some badass (not the good badass) mopey ass poetry. like, really bad. shitshow bad. my sony vaio crashed last year and i dont' give a fuck about that writing i lost bad.
after my first real relationship, i tried the online dating scene. dipped around in for a second. met a stalker, whom actually this blog is named after, when he sent me one of his many psychotic emails bragging about how great of a writer he was and after i had finally caved and showed him a piece i was actually confident about that i had written, he replied, 'yeah, you're right. your style is unpolished, but some people really like that.' concluding the email with 'i took a photo of myself with my webcam in my new fedora hat for you to enjoy.' fucking slimeball. all smizing in the camera like i gave a shit. i'll spare you the deets about how he circled my block in lincoln square after i faked a cold to stand him up post-IMASTALKERFREAKOUT session. lolz. ok, stupid.
online dating was kinda funny. mostly creepy. i met some guys i would have been content being friends with, but when it was apparent they were interested in being mr. root after date 1, i outtie5000'd from that shit and would only set up profiles intermittently for 24 hours at a time post idrankabottleofwinebymyself seshes. i met one guy from a site. he turned out to be a terrible person with women. tricked me into rebounding from the serious boyfriend and moving on. it was fun for like 10 minutes, but then i got laid off from my job and went kind of on a downward spiral. if i wasn't so crazydepressednutso from losing my job (the first time i had been unemployed in what, 14 years?!), i might have noticed homeboy was sticking his dick in whatever crevice he could find, most notably his 'ex' girlfriend. the good thing, however, is that he did lead me to my husband, as messy as it eventually became. but whatever. in between the crumblings of me being a naive and desperate retard, i did wise up enough to try and meet some other guys instead. help me get over my disease of needing male attention. i'm pretty sure in that small time frame, i too, then hurt a few other guys.
it was always really difficult to get me to stay focused, and not be so selfish. eventually, i met vincent, the one gentleman who i will introduce by his name. there's enough 'i love my husband, he is the bestest ever' posts on this blog, so i'll with hold my urges to write another one. (although-srsly-vin-you-the-best-ever-i-love-you-times-infinity). but while i knew that this time was for sure the real deal, the one i've been dicking around waiting for all these years, part of me felt guilty, like i didn't deserve this break. i thought i jerked around so much that i wasn't ever going to find happiness, or my equal or any of that hallmark jazz. so when it did, i didn't waste any time. i married that fine piece of ass no more than 5 months after he asked me. (2-3 year engagement my ass!)
we wed in november. so basically, 2011 was a pretty great year. a lot of things happened for me. i got a better job/career in the bag. i adopted another kitty. vin and i got a super nice apartment on the lakefront. i had a great group of friends. my mom finally seemed to be doing better since the abusive closet queen left her to wed his 75 year old sugar daddy. things were good.
so when i made my overdue annual pap exam last january, i was elated. the final pap smear! sure, i'd go in for routine exams to make sure my lady bits were in order and get my prescriptions refilled. but no longer did i ever have to fear any creepy news or worry about dying from cervical cancer or aids. i was pretty stoked. i remember that day, really well. i had taken half the day off from work, my intention was to work in the afternoon remotely following my appointment. i conned vin into walking with me to the doctor, because i figured it would be a quick in and out, and we could get some exercise. the doctor, of course, like every other fucking chicago ob/gyn i've seen in the 6 years i've lived here, made me wait for an hour and fifteen minutes, shivering naked under a thin sheet gown that ripped every time i'd move to stand up and pace angrily throughout the room, feverishly texting 'fuck this shit' sweet nothings to vin, who was patiently waiting with cold starbucks int he lobby. 'five more minutes and if she's not here i'm getting dressed and getting out of here!'
after my 4th or so disgruntled text message, there was a knock on the door. my appointment went fine, as normal--up until the ob/gyn felt the lump in my right breast.
'have you noticed this before?'
fuck. are you kidding me?
of course i hadn't.
she sent me on my merry way with a prescription for a diagnostic mammogram (which i later learned no women under 40 should have), a bilateral ultrasound, along with instructions to see the technicians 'as soon as possible.'
it wasn't much fun admitting to my husband on that walk home, the findings from the doctor. he held my hand, though, and i called off my radio show and the rest of my work day. tried to be optimistic. it's not cancer. no way, no how.
i called the technician as soon as i got home, and the soonest they could squeeze me in was the following friday. 'fine, i'll take it.'
fast forward a week ahead, and my sister-in-law, whom i suckered into working with me, was busy holding the fort down in the office, dodging creepy 'where is jodi' questions. 'is she pregnant??' i went to the referral hospital as directed, more shooken up than i had anticipated, by myself despite my mother in law sweetly offering to accompany me. sitting in the lobby, i had registered and was provided with a card that read '3'. puzzled, the woman shooed me away to wait. i tried to not burst into tears with frustration and humiliation as i sat waiting for my turn, the touristy asian couple snapping shots of each other on different parts of the waiting room, some too close for my comfort by where i was sitting. the sickening fake consoling comfort smooth sounds of the shitty music they play for people who are dying.20 minutes later, i was being summoned. 'PATIENT NUMBER THREE? PATIENT NUMBER THREE. PATIENT NUMBER THREE? WE'RE READY TO SEE YOU NOW.' so that's what the card meant, you don't have a personal identity in a oncology ward.
after i was herded to my waiting room, where i again, had the leisure of sporting a sexy sheet gown. i then had to talk to a non-friendly technician who didn't want anything to do with touching my breasts, but rather insisted i put a sticker pasty on where my doctor had discovered the lump. after that, the overall experience of a mammogram, to say the least, fucking sucks. it's not fun. it's fucking traumatizing, actually, and i'll spare you the dirty details. as if 15 minutes of torture wasn't enough there, i then was guided into a public waiting room, where i joined a loud chatty asian woman and an african american woman who was really into good morning america. please note, that i am still topless, in a sheet gown. my two companions, alas, were fully clothed. 30 minutes i had to wait. without any acknowledgement or greeting. just kelly ripa and cancer dying isnt so bad mood music. eventually, it was time for the ultrasound. i was greeted by another non friendly technician, who said not a word to me the entire time. as she scanned my unborn breasts, i got the sick feeling in my gut that something more than the original right side lump was discovered. she didn't say a word, but just kept taking pictures. eventually, she shoved a consent form at me and i was free to go home.
the form i signed said my primary doctor would have my results by tuesday, my appointment was on friday. while 4 days was rough, i was optimistic and assured vincent it wasn't that big of a deal and i could wait. come tuesday, i call the doctor's office to find out that she's only in on thursdays, and no one can share my results with me until then. nice, ok. i left a message. thursday morning comes, i leave another message. eventually, the european accent gyno calls me back - 20 minutes before my first meeting with our new VP at my 9-5. aint no stress, here, gang. doc tells me 'it's probably benign,' but that my fears were accurate, and two additional lumps were discovered on my left side. 'so if it's probably not cancer, what is it?' i asked her. 'is it a cyst?' 'no, definitely not a cyst. you will need to see a surgeon for a consultation and another ultrasound. don't wait any longer than a month. we don't have any surgeons here, so i'll refer you to one instead.' i ask her for the referral info, but nope, she has to mail me a prescription, giving me another 3 days before i can make a damn phone call to mr. surgeon to realize, 'sorry, doctor can't see you until march 5th.' please keep in mind this was the third week of january. waiting a month for next steps when it's 'probably not cancer,' but the lumps are 'unusually large' isn't exactly my fortee.
i make the appointment anyway, and begin to freak out. i finally tell my mom, who then proceeds to share with my brother, all that's been going on. my mom has me talk to her lifelong friend and a second mom to me, who's not only a survivor, but an RN. my brother tells me to ask one of the doctors that i'm close with at my own job, (oh, did i neglect to mention the irony of my medical drama? my job involves kissing 200 physicians' asses and facilitating their schedules--funny, how i serve docs on one end with internal customer service, yet when it's my time to be in need, i get shat on), to see if she has any advice or knows any connections that could get me in sooner. i did both, and the doctor friend at work got me a list of names to start calling.
i make an appointment for 2 weeks later, versus the original 5, after a 45 minute conversation with Lateesha, who's awfully sorry about the new system and her having lost my information, (including my social security number) twice in the same call, could i please repeat my info again? that aside, i had my consultation scheduled. i felt better. that is, up until 2 days before my appointment i receive a cancellation notice, informing me i'll need to reschedule. again. i go back to the list of referral names i had from the last go around, call up a few, and after being transferred from one department to the next, 'we don't typically see patients unless they have an official diagnosis, try this extension instead,' 'sorry, we're booked for the next 6 weeks here,'. in defeat, i call the doc who cancelled on me back, and as luck would have it, was able to reschedule the following week.
the consultation itself wasn't so bad at all. the referral doc that my work friend told me to call was upfront, personable, yet very informative and a trustworthy lady. along with her technician, i got what seemed like yet another ultrasound, (but wasn't), and they confirmed i have 3 lumps in both breasts. my new surgeon talks to me like a human being, instead of beating me away, and assures me that it's most likely not cancer, but we'll need to have a biopsy to be sure. she tells me we won't be able to schedule said biopsy, however, until after the new hospital retrieves my films from my mammogram at the first hospital. this could take 2-3 weeks. unless, of course, i opt for a second mammogram.
no, thank you.
the upside is that the new doc lady tells me that while she doesn't think it's life threatening, she would like to schedule me for surgery, to remove the lumps. 50% will go into remission and disappear all by themselves, whereas the other 50% grow. and mine are already quite an impressive size. so, since she confided to me that she just operated on her own daughter, about my age, with the same thing, she tells me she'll take care of it, and while we're at it, 'let's get rid of that freaky mole on your stomach.' um, ok. bye bye, beauty mark.
i go on vacation with my husband, finally believing that i'm not going to be bald and sketching thank you return address labels to fund my funeral. we relax. i forget about things. then i get a call, saying another ultrasound will be necessary, since so much time has passed from my first ultrasound, and that a biopsy is not possible without knowing the exact locations of my fibroadenomas. (yeah, that's apparently what my lovely lady lumps are called, say that 3 times backwards, folks). thats' odd, given the dealy in my patient care has had nothing whatsoever to do on my behalf, but what can i do? them docs want to send me another $300 co-pay for another notawkwardatall feel up sesh? SURE, LET'S DO IT GUYS.
another half-day of work, another boobshow. at least this technician is showing me what she's seeing and looking for, instead of pretending i'm not there. she calls a doctor in to analyze the findings in real time, and this woman is not my doctor. she tells me she's '98% sure it's not cancer,' thus, i don't need surgery, and i should go home and come back in 6 months for another ultrasound. yeah, cuz i'm sure insurance wants to pay for this every half year. . .
i tell the lady i'd feel better knowing for sure. while 'probably not' is better than 'bitchyougotcancer,' i'm not really feeling the gamble. the scheduling lady takes me to a new room, and helps me schedule my biopsy. out of all the members of hospital care i've dealt with in the 2-3 months leading to this, this woman is actually the kindest and most personable. she confides to me how she had to go through the same experience, and while it's still a gigantic needle poking at yr freezed tits, she drove all the way to michigan afterwards (even though she wasn't supposed to), so if i have a friend to drive me home that's great, but if not, i'll be strong enough to get home.
i wish i could have driven that nice little lady to michigan after her biopsy, but alas. it's march by this time, and the soonest they can get me into my biopsy is april 10th.
i pretty much forgot about my biopsy until the past couple of days. i realized when my 'smart'phone sent me a reminder that this noise is this week, that i better call the hospital and ensure my surgeon stayed true to her word, that even though it only sounds about 65% medically necessary, that she wrote me an order so i can get the 'yes you have cancer' or 'shitgirlyoufree!' determination fixed, so she can then slice and dice my ta-tas before my 29th birthday next month. the order's in.
my husband, while he has to work tomorrow night, called his mother and ensured i have a lift home from south michigan ave. so here i am, 18 hours before go time, finishing up the blog i started a month ago and was too nervous, or scared to post. not that many of you read my humble little blog, and for those of you who do, seeking out kewl new muzik scoops, i apologize that shit got real personal right quick, but guess what. i've always written. i may never have been that super popular, uber talented, girl next door type that everyone thought was super great, but i have always been that sharp, observing cynical bookworm, nursing premature carpel tunnel two doors down, clutching her hot pink diary and feather squiggle wiggle pen. bad poetry, cynical music reviews, ihatemenrambles. all of it, it's been super therapeutic for me.
last year was my up year. my introduction to my happy ending. 2011 was full of optimism and new adventures. 2012 is that first chapter to the life of an almost 30 year old woman who finally learned to grow up up. i'm going in for a biospy on both of my breasts tomorrow, to ensure that i don't have cancer, or that if i do, we can treat it before it's too late. the news i'm looking for is that i don't have cancer, but i will still require surgery, to remove the benign masses. either shortly after, or before, i will also have surgery on my eyes for vision correction. meanwhile, i'm still concerned that i need to dye my hair, and that i'm getting too chubby for my husband. life continues as it should, and i am extremely grateful to have such genuine people in my life. my 'dysfunctional' lifelong family, my new family in law, and superfuckingawesome friends for life.
plus, i have cats.
i hope to continue to use writing as my outlet and guide to keep me strong through the next month. i haven't cracked for tomorrow, and it's going to take more than a soreass set of knockers to break me down.
maybe i'm not that girl next door, but i'm guessing all the protection, hand holding and overusage of hand sanitizer never really toughed her up for something like this. it takes tough skin to survive the stumbles and falls, and by god, ima pick myself up.
to 2012, let's do this, motherfuckers.
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