I'm back in for more chemo, cisplatin this time. I already feel nauseous. I've had this type before, but it was my very first round of chemo while I was also just beginning morphine. I don't remember 90% of a span of several weeks around then, so I'm not really sure what to expect. I'm getting out on Friday or Saturday.

The weekend after I get out is the beginning of faire, and, coincidentally, right around the time my immune system is going to start weakening. Mandy and I will probably show up around 3 on Saturday and hope that some of the crowd has died down so, you know, I don't catch ten million diseases and die.

For anyone who hasn't heard yet, I've recently been told that they're going to put off the major surgery for several months instead of doing it in six weeks. Huge. Relief. This is mostly to see how much more they can get the tumor to shrink and because a massive surgery like that would massively fuck up my chemo schedule with it's recovery time, which is not such a great idea this early in. They are going to do all the scans again in six-ish weeks and see what's going on with the nodules on my lungs. Hopefully the nodules will be gone, if not they'll just do surgery and take them out and get it over with. It wouldn't be horrible news to have that surgery, recovery is apparently about two weeks and they would be able to check the nodules to see if there's dead tumors inside, which would show that the chemo really is working there even if the nodules weren't completely gone.

Anyways. Bed time. I've been in the hospital since 9am and it's fucking exhausting.

My day:

Medical practitioner who is neither a doctor or a nurse: So the CAT scan you need? You need a special dye injected for it. But we can't use your port, so we're going to have to stick your arm.

Me: Okay.

Medical practitioner: Here we go! *tries on the back of my left hand and fails horribly, digging around for several minutes while telling me "You need to relax, honey"* Hm. That didn't work. Let's try somewhere else.

Other medical practitioner: Why don't you try here in this vein between her hand and elbow? It's a tender spot. (She really did say that. Because it's smart to tell your patient that they're about to try a particularly painful area.)

Me: *whimper*

Medical practitioner: Okay! *tries, digs around for several minutes*

Other medical practitioner: Yep, that's a tender spot! (She really did say that, too.)

Me: *trying not to cry at this point* I noticed.

Medical practitioner: Oh well! We'll send you down to the CAT scan and they can try down there!

-the lady at the CAT scan got it in under a minute-

Awesomest lady in the world: Yeah, what you have to do is stick them and then wait a couple seconds until they've calmed down, because your nerve endings can't help but react by clenching down and making it impossible otherwise.

I hate the hospital.

My feet hurt!
And I'm not preggers!

Yeah, hooray for swollen feet. Thank you chemo.

I'm not dying.

I'd just like to put that out there, although the people who need to hear it most are family members and don't read this.

So, since I'm not dying and all, it's not necessary to visit me right the fuck now. You've got plenty of time.

Maybe it's just that people want to see me now, before my hair and eyebrows and eyelashes fall out, or before I'm missing my leg. And while I'm sure that it's much easier for everyone else that way, it's also incredibly selfish. I'm going to have to look at myself like that every day for the rest of my life. You can suck it up for a couple hours.

I really wanted kids. You know, someday. The chemo is probably going to destroy my eggs. I'm being treated in a children's hospital. I'm surrounded by them every time I go in.

Part of me still wanted to find a way to work with animals. I wanted so bad to work with big cats, but you can't really do that with one leg, especially when prosthetics probably aren't even an option because there will be no muscle to move them.

I finally got to experience a year at college of relative independence. And now I'm back home, and dad's talking about how he really wants to read me to sleep at night whenever possible and then joking about pulling out Sleeping Beauty like my cancer is some twisted excuse for him to make up for being a shit dad and missing out on my childhood.

I could die. I know it's the topic you just don't talk about, but I could fucking die. I can't fucking look at people without thinking about it. I want to scream, because they have no idea that the girl standing next to them could die much sooner then she thought she would.

It gets worse.
Osteosarcoma. Yes. It's metastasized to my lungs and right shoulder. I'm going to have to have my right leg and part of my pelvis amputated because the tumor is so big.
They also brought in a fertility doctor because chemo is probably going to destroy my eggs. There's options like taking pills that will basically shut down my ovaries and bring on something like menopause, or surgery to get an ovary removed and put back later, but I don't need that right now. If/when I want kids I can get a donor egg (Mandy offered hers. She's not using them.) or adopt.
Right now I'm hooked up to an IV with morphine, and I'm staying in the hospital until Tuesday. I'm getting minor surgery tomorrow, getting a port in my chest to serve as an IV and place to inject drugs and stuff for the treatments. I'm starting chemo either tomorrow or the day after.
I'm fucking tired. I've been surrounded by people and doctors giving me bad news all day, I've been sent all over the fucking place to get more tests done and I still have to have an MRI done at some point this evening, but they can't tell me when there will be an opening.

Okay. I went to the hospital today, talked to a real doctor. I have cancer.

I either have an osteosarcoma or an Ewing's sarcoma. Probably osteosarcoma.

Today they took x-rays of my pelvic bone and did a biopsy. Later today I'm going back for more MRIs that will hopefully be clearer and more in the right area. They're also going to get a clearer look at my lungs and see if it has spread there. If it has it's going to be harder to get rid of, but not impossible. Tomorrow morning I'm going in for a PET-CT scan that will detect the metabolic activity by measuring sugar intake.

No matter what it is, I'm in for a year of chemo. No school next year.

Since they told us I've been running all over the hospital getting scans and tests, so it really hasn't sunk in yet. I don't know when it will, but it'll probably be messy when it does.

I went to the normal doctor today because I have to have a biopsy ordered. He had the reports faxed in, and decided to tell me with no tact at all that it looks like there's something on the bottom of my lung.
We're waiting for a call from the doctor I need to see next, but he's in surgery so I may not get in until tomorrow.

When I think logically I tell myself that it's probably benign, that I'll just get surgery and have it removed and everything will be fine.

And when I don't think logically I cry and think that it wasn't supposed to be like this. I wasn't supposed to be in pain for most of my freshman year. I wasn't supposed to worry about insurance and biopsies and surgery and cancer.

I'm pretty much all packed. Mom said she would talk to people on campus tomorrow about how to work this out, especially since everything won't fit in her car. If all goes well we'll be able to leave most of it here and dad will drive up for it in a few days with his pickup.

I'm so tired. I don't know how much of it is the tumor and how much is from being kept awake by the pain, but just walking for a couple minutes wears me out. I was out of breath after doing the dishes. I just want to sleep for more then an hour at a time.

So. Expanding on the last post.
Thursday at the chiropractor's, he said he wanted to have an MRI done because the adjustments weren't helping and he wanted to treat the right thing. He said if I called in Friday around 11 they would have had time to make sure the insurance would cover it and could set things up with the hospital. So I woke up at 11 and called right away, found out that the insurance does cover it and that I should stop by the chiropractor's to pick up my x-rays before going to the hospital, which, by the way, I should be at by 12:15.
Me: ...fuck.
So quick got dressed, brushed my teeth, grabbed my bag, jumped on my bike, and started pedaling furiously. And by pedaling furiously I mean I started out fast and then my back/right leg started spasming and I was panicking about getting from the chiropractor's to the complete opposite side of town on time while somehow carrying a big envelope of x-rays on my bike. I got to the chiropractor, and I think they realized how ridiculous this was because they called me a taxi and paid for it, and said that when I was done at the hospital I could just call the taxi and he would take me back to the office so I could go over the results and get my bike and so on.
I got in to the MRI area (the technician guy was a skeeze) and realized about ten seconds into the MRI that laying on my back is a really bad idea and it hurts a lot. They had to retake it because there was too much motion. Which was another roughly half hour of laying on my back trying really fucking hard not to move. Afterward he immediately brought me over to the CAT scan, which I assumed was because I was moving too much again. I got set out in the waiting room and was told that Dr. Gilbaugh (chiropractor) was there and was going over the results with the radiologist.
A couple minutes later Dr. Gilbaugh and the radiologist came out, and the radiologist started talking about how it could be several things and given my age/health blah blah blah tumor. Seriously, the word tumor came out of nowhere. Like he forgot to say right away what it actually was. Then he had to leave, and Dr. Gilbaugh sat next to me and actually explained that yes, a tumor, and it's eating away at the bone. He made it really clear that I should get back home as soon as possible so I don't have to deal with getting information back and forth between Ashland and Milwaukee doctors and get a biopsy done and start dealing with it.
We sat around awkwardly for about ten or so minutes while I tried not to cry and he kind of stared at his shoes. Then he drove me to see a friend of his who's a doctor at one of the clinics in town so I could get a prescription for pain medication, drove me to the pharmacy to pick up the prescription, drove me back to his office so I could load my bike into the back of his pickup, and dropped me off at the college, where he gave me a hug, a business card with his home phone written on the back, and told me they would be praying for me. Basically my chiropractor is a huge sweetie and he was my dad for the day.
After calling Mandy and talking to the family I spent most of the day with friends trying not to think about it.
...And then I went to bed and found out that the pain medication makes it slightly less painful, but not enough to actually sleep any more then I was before.

I went in for an MRI today because the adjustments the chiropractor was doing weren't really having any effect.

I have a tumor.

I need to get home as soon as possible so I can go to more doctors and get a biopsy done to see if it's cancerous.

I've lost 22 pounds now for absolutely no reason. I could write off the first 5 or 10 to the fact that I'm not surrounded by food anymore and my meal plan keeps me from using extra meals to get snacks from the school store. 22 pounds is pushing that excuse a little too far. I'm not eating any healthier then I ever did before, maybe smaller portions but not that much smaller. My bike rides and previous walks to the hospital were not on a regular enough basis to count as exercise that would actually make me lose weight. I'm skinnier then I have ever been, and while part of me thinks this is fantastic, the more logical part is scared.

I don't know what I'm going to do after college. I realize that this is early to be worrying about it, but I always planned that, unless something came up, I would join the Peace Corps. I don't know how intense they are about medical histories, but the fact that my back is probably never going to be 100% could mean that I won't be able to join.

I don't like surprises. I don't like improvising. I like having plans that tell me when to do things and how to do them. The fact that I feel like my body is completely falling apart does not fit into this. The fact that I've just spent the majority of my freshman year in pain, stressing out about doctor visits and bills and insurance on top of the fact that it's my first fucking year in college does not fit into this. I can't even remember the last time I had a full night's sleep without having to get up to walk around or get a fresh ice pack or take a hot shower.

I don't even know if I want to be in college. I don't know what I'm doing. But I have dad giving me little "don't worry if you drop out" speeches and I want to stay just to fucking spite him and everyone else who thinks that I'm not ready for the real world, that I can't handle being on my own, that I don't know how to save money. Part of me hates him and everyone like him for making it impossible for me to do anything. If I stay I'm wasting money. If I drop out I'm a failure like he expected all along. I want to shake him by the shoulders and scream in his face that I am more then this, and if everyone would just drop their preconceived notions of what I'm capable of I could do so much more.

I haven't taken any painkillers today.
I took some before bed last night even though it didn't hurt because it always gets worse at night. I still woke up a lot, but I slept a couple hours on my sides instead of spending the whole night on my stomach.
My inner five year old is telling me I should shut up or I'll jinx it.

The Ashland chiropractor is my new best friend. Even with (maybe especially because of) his intense mustache.

I suck. Just so everyone knows.
I am really bad at understanding what is okay between friends and what is pushing into flirting/awkward territory. This is probably because I didn't really have a lot of friends (...really just Mandy and one friend from school for most of my life), and when I did start getting friends they were all from Faire. My introduction to friendship involved flirting and a lot of physical contact.
As a byproduct of that, I think it's normal to cuddle with friends of both genders regardless of whether they're in a relationship. I'm finally realizing that people in relationships who aren't rennies tend to get jealous about that sort of thing. People in relationships also sometimes get jealous about hugging, which is not sinking in fast enough apparently, because I still automatically hug people and don't realize it's a problem until their significant other is glaring at me and dropping not-so subtle hints that I should leave.
I didn't think twice about it tonight when a male friend gave me a back massage and put his hands under my shirt until someone noticed and kept glancing over. Probably because I'm an idiot. I don't know if I just gave him the impression that I'm interested in him beyond friendship, or if he just has the same mindset as me. I don't know what impression I gave anyone else who may have noticed. I don't know why I care so much, except that it makes me nervous every time someone jokingly calls me a slut because I don't know if they really believe it or not.
For the record (not that it'll do much good since no one who needs to hear this reads my LJ): I'm a virgin, I wouldn't be able to steal your significant other even if you gave me step-by-step instructions, I don't want to steal anyone's significant other, I second guess myself enough with single people who are actually interested in me, and I swear to God I just like nonsexual physical contact because, honestly, the idea of relationships and sex scares the shit out of me.

I had my first appointment with the Ashland chiropractor yesterday evening, and managed to get a ride from a friend. The chiropractor poked around my back, took a closer up x-ray then the ones I brought from the chiropractor in Franklin, and told me to come back this morning. My friend had class, so I rode my bike.
With the closer up x-ray I got to find out that not only do I have scoliosis and fucked up hips, the last disk in my spine before you hit the tailbone couldn't make up it's mind if it wanted to be part of the tailbone or not. So it did both. One half merged, the other half didn't. This can't be completely fixed. I may have recurring episodes of pain for the rest of my life.
Combined with the fact that the way back to the college is slightly uphill and my right leg is a lot weaker now (complete with occasionally buckling if I try putting too much weight on it), and the fact that I've been feeling really off lately (much like the way I felt right before I passed out in the shower a couple months ago), and the fact that I've been in constant pain since October, and the fact that I haven't had a full night's sleep in months and I'm fucking exhausted, I'm not really handling the news well.

RIGHT.
Scoliosis is not the cause of the pain. As the handful of people with no medical training at all who poked around my back knew way before the doctors, something is seriously weird with my hip. Somehow the doctor at the clinic that I first saw and my physical therapist managed to either completely miss this fact or decided that wonked out hips and back pain have nothing to do with each other. Either way, what the fuck is wrong with you people?

Dad drove me back up to Ashland Saturday, re-destroying my back, and then took me into the emergency room this morning after moving my stuff back into my room. Went through everything with getting set up and so on, the doctor touched my back one fucking time and knew what was wrong. IS THAT SO HARD, ALL PREVIOUS DOCTORS?
Anyway. My SI joint (sacroiliac joint, thank you wikipedia) is fucked up. My right hip is not where it belongs, i.e. sticking out in a clearly visible way from my back. This is the joint between the base of my spine and my pelvis, which would explain the intense pain going from my back down my right leg (NOT muscle spasms from a pinched nerve, thank YOU physical therapist/original clinic doctor).
They gave me a shot of Toradol in my hip (imagine a hilarious horrified look on my face when I heard about this), had me lie in the hospital bed for half an hour to make sure it was all good (which it was, because Toradol is usually given to people just getting out of surgery so they don't feel any immediate pain), and gave me a really short-term prescription for Toradol and Flexeril pills that will mean less crying at night when the pain gets unbearable and I can't take anymore ibuprofen. But seeing as how I'm not supposed to take Toradol for more then five days at risk of having my stomach bleed, chiropractic action definitely needs to happen very soon and get my hip back where it came from or so help me (John Goodman is doing the backup bass in my head).

SO. To complain about my back again:

The drive down to dad's for spring break pretty much killed my back. Any progress = completely gone. I went to see a chiropracter on Tuesday after a painful Saturday through Monday. They took x-rays (FINALLY. JESUS CHRIST.), hooked me up to some electrodes and an ice pack for about ten minutes, and told me to come back Wednesday to see the x-rays.
So today being Wednesday I went back in at 8:00. After a painful night and not getting to sleep until 3 ish. Anyway. My spine viewed from the side is not curved the way it should be, it's about twenty degrees off if I remember right. My spine viewed from the back is not straight up and down like it should be, it's sort of curved to the left. My right hip is too high.

My doctor: "Apparently along the way someone missed that you have scoliosis."

Great.
He did his back cracking thing (yes, I thought of Eddie Izzard) and basically told me to come back Thursday and Friday so he could keep working on straightening my back out, and he said he'd look for a chiropracter in Ashland I can go to.

...And then the day got drastically better because Traveler walked me around the Faire grounds, took me to eat at Jack's, let me take a nap (with Sam cat. God, I've missed that cat so fucking much), had me watch 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea, and fed me Chinese food and pie.

This is a paper I wrote for Intro to Women's Studies.
My teacher, who I had last semester for an English class, gave me an A and wrote that I should consider a major or minor in writing. It's been bugging me for a while, and I've been thinking of visiting her during her office hours to talk about the writing major and what types of jobs would be available other then, you know, a Writer.

( The Good War )



...
There's a lie in the last paragraph. I've lost twenty pounds now. Hello whole new slew of identity issues.

A friend of mine owns Pet Semetary by Stephen King and I managed to finish it a while ago. So here's my review of it because I honestly expect so much better from Stephen King. Cut for massive spoilers.

( Review )

Update time.
Turns out the physical therapy isn't at the clinic, it's at the hospital. I found this out after going to the clinic for my first session. So that got rescheduled for Tuesday, when Mandy was visiting and could drive me.
It turns out my sciatic nerve is pinched, which would explain why my entire leg hurts. I've got some exercises to do that should center the pain in my back and get it out of my leg, and then go from there.

As a lovely side note, a friend thought it would be high-larious to push me backwards into some doors. I got a pale bruise but was pretty sidetracked by the fact that something about slamming my already painful back into a door set off several hours of really intense pain. I used a heating pad and took several really hot showers because pain killers just weren't cutting it, and then realized this morning that I just applied heat to a bruise. Big but pale bruise is now dark purple epic bruise.