Something Evil This Way Comes

OVCA in the news…

(not that this reminds me of how pissed off I am that the locum who was replacing my GP wouldn’t do a full physical when I complained of some pelvic weirdness. Poor little gender-confused fella, didn’t want me dropping my drawers, I reckon. Not that I mind, in retrospect. Poor fella.)

This story, scooped from here

Diagnosing Ovarian Cancer Earlier

(Ivanhoe Newswire) — It may be possible to detect ovarian cancer sooner than once thought. A new study finds many women with the disease have symptoms at least four months before they are diagnosed.

Researchers from the University of California Davis School of Medicine in Sacramento found women with ovarian cancer were at least twice as likely to see a physician for abdominal swelling or pelvic pain as early as 12 months before they were diagnosed. Nine months before diagnosis, the women were more likely to complain of abdominal pain. However, only about one-fourth of the women with these symptoms were tested for ovarian cancer in a timely manner.

The study authors conclude, “Our findings suggest that ovarian cancer could be diagnosed earlier in some patients whose diagnosis is delayed by at least four months because physicians order abdominal imaging or perform gastrointestinal procedures before they order a test more likely to diagnose ovarian cancer, such as pelvic imaging and/or CA125.”

Ovarian cancer is a fast-growing tumor, progressing from the early stage to advanced stage of the disease in as little as a year. It is usually diagnosed in the late stages when prognosis is poor. This study adds to the increasing evidence that patients may have symptoms many months before ovarian cancer is diagnosed and before it is advanced.

It’s true, I went to see Dr. On-call-ogist last week and he blessed me and sent me forth to sin again.
I didn’t mention it here yet because I have been trying to figure my emotional reaction to the whole thing.
Because it’s all kind of weird.
See, I am happy, happy, happy that my test results are good.
Trust me, I am not unappreciative of all that.

But it’s getting hard to talk about life in the the shadow of cancer treatment.
I don’t miss chemo and all its accompanying disgusting icky crappy bits, not one bit.
But I feel like I am wandering in fairly uncharted territory in the post-chemo battleground, and it’s hard because most people just assume I am better.
Hell, I certainly look better than I did a year ago.
And I do feel better than I did a year ago.
But I am still pretty wrecked.
I find myself weeping for no apparent reason.
And that’s a little hard to explain, especially when everyone figures you are all cured up and happy to rejoice in the wonder of every single fabulous day.
Sometimes I feel more alone now, in the whole making-sense-of-whatever-the-hell-that-was than I did when I did the chemo.
People basically expect me to be back in the saddle and ready to ride, like nothing had ever happened. And in as many ways as I can, I try to oblige.
But I am kind of less than perfect these days.
I know that may come as a shock.

It’s all kind of bizarre.

I didn’t mention my test results because I feel like this is becoming more and more of a solitary thing I am doing.
It’s hard to talk about the gravity of the situation and the long term prospects without sounding… melodramatic or something.
So I am talking less and less about the thrilling world of cancer and life with cancer and life after chemo and all that carcinogenic jazz.
I don’t want to whine about it.
It’s just how it is.

So, yeah, my test results were good.
And I am happy about that.
And I am worried, in a low, rumbling kind of way, about what my future holds.
And it seems like everyone has resumed their old lives and I am trying to make sense of all this.
I gotta say, those OVCA bloggers make all the difference in the world.
It’s very odd to draw such comfort from a group of women who I have pretty much never met, with the exception of the exceptional Louise.

So, that’s my sad story, amigos.

I try not to get too maudlin here, but I am going to post this because I think there isn’t enough info on how bizarre life after chemo can be.

Today is the 60th anniversary of the U.S. bombing of Nagasaki.
80,000 people died, 74,000 of them almost immediately.

Today,I heard an interview on the CBC with one of the pilots.
They asked him if he felt any grief, in retrospect.
He said, no.
He said that the Japanese had been really mean to the American troops.
He didn’t seem to think there was anything that was extra fucked up about killing thousands of civilians, including all the children that would have been killed.
He said he had gone back to Hiroshima and Nagasaki a few years after the war.

Apparently, Nagasaki was not the original target. Kokoru was, but the Americans couldn’t fly there because there was a typhoon.
Imagine that.

Having gone through 8 rounds of chemotherapy, I find it hard to understand how seemingly normal people could drop that bomb and kill and poison so many people.
See, I had cancer, and people hopped on board and helped me.
Because cancer is awful and people feel compelled to help.

But somehow, it’s okay to drop an atomic bomb on a bunch of unsuspecting civilians and have them die totally awful deaths.
It’s okay to kill those people with a ton of deadly poison (that will stay in the atmosphere and kill lots and lots and lots of people over the years) because, well, apparently because it was important to end the war.
(And besides, they weren’t that pink colour that we so admire in each other, so they must have brought it on themselves.
Or something.)
And hey, don’t get me wrong. I think bringing WW2 to an end would have been a pretty big priority.
But apparently, ol’ President Truman had a bit more on his mind than just “ending the war”.
Apparently it was important to get an unconditional surrender from the Japanese and send a message to the Soviets and the Japanese and the rest of the world that the Americans were the big old bad ass super-power of the world and they weren’t afraid to pull out the big guns to prove their point.

So, happy anniversary.
Let’s all pause to think about how far we have come.