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October 3, 2007 (Day 38)
We get up early for our 8 AM appointment with Dr. Kilgore. Anxious, yet feeling positive, we enter his office. Rand never failing to hold on tight (so I won't run away). The paper work...I always look forward to that! The list of 60 questions about my medical history. Historically, I just drew a straight line down the NO column. This time my pen ubruptly stops at the word CANCER. I burst into tears and look to Rand for reassurance. "Do I have to check yes?" Maybe its a big mistake and then this will forever be in my history. Maybe if I check yes it will release the curse, if I check yes it means its true...I can't do it, this isn't fair, why can't I just know it, why do I have to SAY IT!? Rand squeezes my hand and say's, "Cathie, you have to check yes, I know it's hard, but you have to." In disgust I make my mark. Mark of the beast.
I'm called to "the room", Rand is asked to wait. I hate that, I want him with me. I want him to absorb every word, every gesture, every piece of this nightmare so he can make sense of it all. After the exam we're taken to a conference room where we meet with Dr. Kilgore and his intern. He explains and draws pictures to help us understand. This is a rare cancer involving the smooth muscle. In my case the uterus. Since it is so rare there are no clinical trials available, but I recommend we follow the protocol for other smooth muscle sarcomas. You will need to recieve two drugs, Taxotere and Gemzar for 6 series which is 18 treatments.
What do you mean? Chemo? Yes, chemo. I burst into tears. Radiation is not appropriate because we are going to need to treat you systemically. You don't show physical signs of cancer since your surgery, but microscopiclly there is indication that you have possible invasion. You have a 50% 5 year survival rate. This is like an insurance policy. What are the side effects? Well, you'll lose your hair. I sob. How will my husband be able to love me looking like a freak. I need to give him his way out now. You'll experience flu like symptoms, muscle and bone pain, weakness, anemia, prone to infections...blah blah blah...the room spins, the words muffled and sounding like jiberish. I'll be referred to an onocologist, Dr. Martin, in my home town for treatment. The physician excuses himself to gather written information and next thing I know I'm wrapped in Rand’s arms sobbing. He reassures me that what the doctor has given us today is HOPE. He puts things into perspecitve. Take a deep breath, calm, calm, calm. We exit the clinic past a room full of women...just like me.
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