August 24: The bracelets were given to me by a coworker when I was diagnosed; they read: "Team Katie ~ Stay strong ~ Never give up."
The hand on the left is mine, and I have never ever taken off the bracelet since I received it in May. I sleep with it on, I shower with it on, and I work with it on.
The hand on the right is Carmen's, my co-worker. Every night, she takes her bracelet off and puts it on her Bible.
I don't think it's any coincidence that I have been powering through this cancer, and after only three treatments, it is mostly gone (PET scan after 3rd chemo showed 75-90% reduction in all tumors).
The hand on the left is mine, and I have never ever taken off the bracelet since I received it in May. I sleep with it on, I shower with it on, and I work with it on.
The hand on the right is Carmen's, my co-worker. Every night, she takes her bracelet off and puts it on her Bible.
I don't think it's any coincidence that I have been powering through this cancer, and after only three treatments, it is mostly gone (PET scan after 3rd chemo showed 75-90% reduction in all tumors).
*************************************************************************
Today I got tatted up for the first time ever. My kids will be so proud.
Upon my 6th chemo on September 27th, a PET scan was scheduled that would determine my next steps for treatment. If no cancer was found, I'd go right into radiation; if any trace of cancer was still detected, I'd have 2 more chemo sessions, resuming next Thursday.
Three appointments were set up for today: meeting with a radiation oncologist, followed by a possible simulation of the radiation procedure, then finally, meeting with my oncologist to read the PET results.
I had the PET on Tuesday, then I had to wait two whole days.
But wait, I'm getting ahead of myself...
As a life coach, I have learned the practice of talking to my body when it is in distress, then listening for the "answers" it gives me. This is such a powerful exercise, and I have received such insightful answers, that I decided early on to engage in conversations with the largest of my dozen tumors.
It is the reason the side bar of this blog identifies my tumor as a "he," because from the get-go, he introduced himself as "Rupert".
Immediately, I pictured a nerdy gay guy with glasses, hardly someone to be afraid of. He actually looked like Waldo, red striped shirt and all. I think I even chuckled at the thought of him as my bad-ass tumor, an intruder who was trying to kill me.
Him?
I liked him from the start, and kind of felt sorry for him, which made it easy to talk to him.
"Hey Rupert, what's going on?" I began a week after I was diagnosed. "Why have you been schizophrenically destroying my healthy cells?"
His response surprised me: "I had to get your attention in a big way because my subtle hints haven't caught your attention."
"Subtle hints for what?" I asked again.
"Carrying your mission to the world. You are so much bigger than you think and act and it's time for you to step into your power in a big way."
Ignoring his instructions, I asked: "What can I do to make you stop your cell division frenzy?"
"Start looking inward for your answers. They're not 'out there'. You are so close to everything you want, yet you keep retreating. Stop retreating and RECEIVE." (Yes, he really did speak in capital letters).
On August 4th, just before my 4th chemo, I asked what my next steps were and he told me: "BELIEVE. Believe you will be healed--not by medicine, but by you and God. Your body is a fast healer."
If you recall, my 4th chemo was the worst post-recovery out of all six chemos I had received. I felt poisoned and I was even worried that I wouldn't fully recover. Fortunately, I did.
So I carried on this 2-sided conversation for months, then one day before my 5th chemotherapy, I was driving (where many of my intuitive hits happen) when I heard him chattering in the back-drop of my thoughts. When I began to pay closer attention, I clearly heard him say "I'm dead."
I knew, right then, that the cancer was already gone. I told only one other person, Carmen. "Of course it's gone," she responded. She was as confident as I felt.
But, still. What if we were wrong?
*************************************************************************************
So, back to today. I met with a radiation oncologist before meeting with my oncologist. This was an introduction to the radiation treatment, so I was surprised when she nonchalantly announced as she walked into the room, "Your PET scan looks good."
"What does that mean?" I asked, startled. I wasn't expecting to hear this news until I met with my oncologist in a few hours.
"I think you're done with chemo."
I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding in.
"It's gone?"
"Yes, as far as I can tell, but let me check with your oncologist so he gets the final word before we move forward."
She left me alone with my thoughts and I nearly broke down in a laughing-crying sort of way. But a few minutes later she bounded through the door again, excited. "Okay! We've got the approval to move forward!"
IknewitIknewitIknewitIknewit
"So if there's no cancer, is there any chance I could receive less than 6 weeks of radiation?"
"Six weeks? Oh, no! It will be 3-4 weeks, max."
ThankyouGodThankyouGodThankyouGod!
As she described the treatment and side effects, she quickly followed it with "but your dose will be cut in half so any side effects should be minimal."
The good news just kept coming: No more 10-day recoveries; no more missing so much work; no more feeling poisoned; no more steroids; no more baldness. NO. MORE. CANCER!
*************************************************************************************************
This morning as I walked into work, Carmen showed me her green bracelet. All of the writing was gone. She slid it onto my wrist and said, "Your cancer is gone, too."
Today I got tatted up for the first time ever. My kids will be so proud.
Upon my 6th chemo on September 27th, a PET scan was scheduled that would determine my next steps for treatment. If no cancer was found, I'd go right into radiation; if any trace of cancer was still detected, I'd have 2 more chemo sessions, resuming next Thursday.
Three appointments were set up for today: meeting with a radiation oncologist, followed by a possible simulation of the radiation procedure, then finally, meeting with my oncologist to read the PET results.
I had the PET on Tuesday, then I had to wait two whole days.
But wait, I'm getting ahead of myself...
As a life coach, I have learned the practice of talking to my body when it is in distress, then listening for the "answers" it gives me. This is such a powerful exercise, and I have received such insightful answers, that I decided early on to engage in conversations with the largest of my dozen tumors.
It is the reason the side bar of this blog identifies my tumor as a "he," because from the get-go, he introduced himself as "Rupert".
Immediately, I pictured a nerdy gay guy with glasses, hardly someone to be afraid of. He actually looked like Waldo, red striped shirt and all. I think I even chuckled at the thought of him as my bad-ass tumor, an intruder who was trying to kill me.
Him?
I liked him from the start, and kind of felt sorry for him, which made it easy to talk to him.
"Hey Rupert, what's going on?" I began a week after I was diagnosed. "Why have you been schizophrenically destroying my healthy cells?"
His response surprised me: "I had to get your attention in a big way because my subtle hints haven't caught your attention."
"Subtle hints for what?" I asked again.
"Carrying your mission to the world. You are so much bigger than you think and act and it's time for you to step into your power in a big way."
Ignoring his instructions, I asked: "What can I do to make you stop your cell division frenzy?"
"Start looking inward for your answers. They're not 'out there'. You are so close to everything you want, yet you keep retreating. Stop retreating and RECEIVE." (Yes, he really did speak in capital letters).
On August 4th, just before my 4th chemo, I asked what my next steps were and he told me: "BELIEVE. Believe you will be healed--not by medicine, but by you and God. Your body is a fast healer."
If you recall, my 4th chemo was the worst post-recovery out of all six chemos I had received. I felt poisoned and I was even worried that I wouldn't fully recover. Fortunately, I did.
So I carried on this 2-sided conversation for months, then one day before my 5th chemotherapy, I was driving (where many of my intuitive hits happen) when I heard him chattering in the back-drop of my thoughts. When I began to pay closer attention, I clearly heard him say "I'm dead."
I knew, right then, that the cancer was already gone. I told only one other person, Carmen. "Of course it's gone," she responded. She was as confident as I felt.
But, still. What if we were wrong?
*************************************************************************************
So, back to today. I met with a radiation oncologist before meeting with my oncologist. This was an introduction to the radiation treatment, so I was surprised when she nonchalantly announced as she walked into the room, "Your PET scan looks good."
"What does that mean?" I asked, startled. I wasn't expecting to hear this news until I met with my oncologist in a few hours.
"I think you're done with chemo."
I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding in.
"It's gone?"
"Yes, as far as I can tell, but let me check with your oncologist so he gets the final word before we move forward."
She left me alone with my thoughts and I nearly broke down in a laughing-crying sort of way. But a few minutes later she bounded through the door again, excited. "Okay! We've got the approval to move forward!"
IknewitIknewitIknewitIknewit
"So if there's no cancer, is there any chance I could receive less than 6 weeks of radiation?"
"Six weeks? Oh, no! It will be 3-4 weeks, max."
ThankyouGodThankyouGodThankyouGod!
As she described the treatment and side effects, she quickly followed it with "but your dose will be cut in half so any side effects should be minimal."
The good news just kept coming: No more 10-day recoveries; no more missing so much work; no more feeling poisoned; no more steroids; no more baldness. NO. MORE. CANCER!
*************************************************************************************************
This morning as I walked into work, Carmen showed me her green bracelet. All of the writing was gone. She slid it onto my wrist and said, "Your cancer is gone, too."
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