Hello, I'm NED

I'm learning cancer terminology slowly but surely, and one of the favorite things to say for obvious reasons is that you're NED. And I am officially NED.

I have No Evidence of Disease!

NED also means that I can officially stake claim to stage III cancer.

The CT scan on Tuesday showed that the 2mm nodules in my lungs have not grown. Cancer loves to grow, so their lack of growth is a good thing.  It's safe to say they're not cancer and are merely those pesky little nodules that so many of us have in our lungs. Silly nodules.

In retrospect, I don't think either of my doctors were overly concerned about them. They were merely taking precautions since we knew the cancer cells had hit the highway of love. Understood.

Just because I'm NED, doesn't mean that there aren't little life-sucking cancer cells playing Musical Chairs all over my body. If this little illustration helps, the chemo is going to keep the music from stopping while it removes all the cancer cells. Then when the music stops, there will (hopefully) be no kids left to play the game. Now that you have visions of chemo zapping little kids, I'll move on.

For reasons I'll never understand, they put us in an exam room used by the gynecologist. The appointment was delayed an hour, so Kyle had plenty of time to look at the equipment and pamphlets and diagrams and ask:

"Is that spotlight for...."


"Do they use those goggles for..."

Uh, yes.

"Do they shine that..."


"Do they put that microscope..."

You betcha!

It made him realize that all those men in the waiting room with prostate cancer had it pretty good. My doctor primarily treats prostate cancer patients at this particular office, so it was a blast to sit in a waiting room full of older men who couldn't help but stare at my youthfulness. Especially when it was my turn and they realized I wasn't there with my grandpa.

Hopefully they didn't think I was there with my prostate.

Overall the appointment was great, and I now know how the next 6 months of my life will go.

I'll head in on every other Wednesday morning bright and early. Apparently "bright and early" is 8am for people without small children. But bright and early means I'll beat the rush and be able to get a "good" recliner.  I didn't realize there was anything political about getting infused, but apparently there is and I can't wait to witness it.

I'll be hooked up for 4 hours, which means lots of trashy magazine reading and non-trashy blogging. I didn't see it, but apparently there was a sign that said:

"Sarah, leave your Netflix Instant Watch addiction at home. You'll suck up too much bandwidth and that's not fair to every one else."

I think Kyle made that up just to push my buttons.

8am means I'll finish up and still have time to walk aimlessly through Target with my sexy pump-in-a-fanny-pack while spending hundreds of dollars on nothing I actually need. I'll merely be killing time before preschool pick-up and walking up and down aisles excitedly asking myself:

"Is there anything new since I was last at Target...yesterday?"

I'll wear my accessory for 48 hours and return on Fridays to get disconnected. Please don't let your jealousy get the best of you here.

Next on my to-do list is the insertion of my PICC line and a "treatment orientation." It must be like freshman orientation, where you have that awkward feeling of being out of place, looking lost and trying to scout for cute boys all at the same time. I hope to maintain a certain level of 18 year old coolness during my visit. Given the median age of the guys in treatment, I'm sure I'll have no problem stealing all their attention for the other chicks in the room.

1 comment:

melissaolivero76 said...

So glad for the good news!!! Thank you for the update:) You know I love reading your blogs!