#4 Remission doesn't mean the same thing to everyone...

My remission story is somewhat amusing.

The happy news in my story is that the chemo did it's job. It came, it saw, and it conquered the shit out of my cancer. It made me feel like hell, but it got the stuff that was trying to kill me. By July (after starting treatment in April), the chemo had killed the cancer, and I was in remission.

My oncologist looks like your typical absent minded professor. He's clearly a smart guy, he's really nice, mildly awkward, and sometimes difficult to decipher. Everytime I went in for my visits with him, I would first see the nurse, who basically took inventory of how I was feeling and wrote it in my chart. Then, after the nurse, I would visit with my physician's assistant. He was great, he would fill me in on my test results in lay person language before I saw Dr. M. Dr. M came in last, and he gave the reassurance of a medical professional that I was progressing nicely.

Well, in July, my PA was out for the day, so I skipped straight from nurse to Dr. M. My older sister accompanied me to that appointment (D was taking the bar exam), and we sat and listened to Dr. M talking about meta-something. We both kind of nodded and smiled. I got that the results were good, but my understanding was apparently minimal. We left, excited that the chemo was fighting the cancer, but still aware that I had cancer.

Well, fast forward to August. The day after I shaved my head, I went to my doctor's appointment before heading to the airport to pick D up. I saw the nurse, and then I saw my PA. He looked through my charts and started talking, and finally said " Well, since you are in remission...." I don't know how he finished that statement, because I stopped listening. Remission? I was in remission? He looked confused when I started questioning him. Hadn't Dr. M told me this at my July appointment?

Had he? I didn't have a clue. My PA exited the room, and I immediately called my sister to inform her that Dr. M's medical speak last month had apparently meant remission. She was as surprised as I was, she hadn't had a clue that he'd said that either! Dr. M came in, apologetically, saying he didn't realize that he'd neglected to actually use the word remission, but that I was, in fact, in remission. I couldn't even be mad at the guy because I was so overwhelmed, excited, emotional, and freaking ecstatic that I was in remission. The chemo had killed the cancer. I was cancer-free. WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!

I left the appointment to pick D up from the airport, and I was practically bouncing out of my skin. The first thing I saw when I spotted him by the curb was his shaved head, shaved in honor of my own head shaving. I jumped out of the car, bounded into his arms, and excitedly whispered through tears that I had gone into remission. It was an excellent moment for the two of us.

That night was another celebration (because that's our style) of the fact that I was in remission. Despite the cancer being gone, I would still have to undergo another three months of chemo. During this time I would feel sicker than I ever did when the cancer was in full force, but knowing that I had beaten this disease helped tremendously in getting through it.

I'm off to Vegas tomorrow for E's bachelorette party..... see you next week!