Recharging

Today we were getting ready to go out to the pool and Rory asked me why I was so grumpy.

He had a good point, I was very grumpy. I have been very grumpy. I have a bunch of things I want to get done and since I haven't yet done them, they are chomping away at my mind and draining my creative, fun side. I think it has shown in my writing over the last week or so.

So I am going to take a few days and get those things done so they are off my plate. I am going to recharge my creative energies, and refocus on what is important. In other words, I am taking a few days off from my blog (and a few other endeavors) and plan to come back re-energized and with a clear(er) mind.

Try not to miss me too much!

Liver

I get two big offers from people (a) a homemade meal and/or (b) part of their liver. Sample conversation:
Friend: I was thinking of something I could do to help. How about a pot of sauce and part of my liver? I'd be happy to get tested while the sauce simmers.
Me: Um, well...
Friend: Don't you like sauce?

Okay, so I totally made that conversation up, but the gist is there. People haven't thought twice about being willing to be part of a major surgery to help me out. Unfortunately, a transplant is not an option that is on the table.

But...Steve Jobs had the same type of cancer I do and had a liver transplant! It does seem logical-replace the organ filled with tumors and viola...cured patient. The issue is the systemic nature of advanced cancer-it is in my body so while replacing my liver might help for a short amount of time, in the long run the replacement would likely become riddled with tumors. Compound that with the transplant meds and treatment of the cancer in the "new" liver would be a challenge, to say the least.

It is my understanding that treatments such as the chemotherapy and embolisms are part of the first line of treatments in patients like me because they offer the greatest chance at extending one's life while also maintaining quality of life.

So, while I deeply appreciate the offer of all of the gently (or not so gently) used livers, I am going to have to pass for now.

Pots and Pans

I don't cook. I mean, I do. Begrudgingly. I suppose the more appropriate thing to say would be that I don't like to cook. I cook because I have 3 small children and I understand I should not feed them pizza every night. Even if it is loaded with veggies. Because that does not make it acceptable seven nights a week. Who comes up with these rules?

I have two huge drawers of pots and pans. I have the pots and pans my mom suggested I buy when I first went to live on my own. Then I have the wedding pots and pans. I also have the oh crud, the wedding pots and pans are a pain in the ass to clean so let's get different ones for day to day use, but keep the wedding pots and pans in case we ever need them.

I use three of these pots and pans on a regular basis.

I attempt to act like I can cook. I rip recipes out of magazines. I have two drawers full of spices. I do make a pretty amazing butternut squash curry soup. But I don't like cooking. My mother and Kelli-girl find being in the kitchen relaxing. Something is clearly wrong with both of them. I should really make a note to have them examined by a professional.

I am terrific at take-out. When I am invited to a bridal shower and given a recipe card to write down my favorite recipe, I write down the names of several tasty take-out places and their numbers. When I lived in New York City I learned that one could have a slice of pizza delivered. A slice! I keep thinking this could be the way to make my millions in Queensbury, one slice at a time. Maybe not.

So many people have offered to cook dinner for us, to do something, to help us in some way. We keep saying no, even though we appreciate the kindness and generosity of these people. And the reason is simple: we want to keep-on-keeping-on for as long as we can. I want to go through my green binder of ripped our recipes to attempt something new or an old stand-by because it is part of our normal.

Piazza San Marco

I love this picture of Kelly and me ~ it is not a stellar picture of us, but rather the story behind it is fun.

In May 2007 Kelly and I went to Italy for about 2 weeks ~ Rome, Florence, and Venice were our bases.  We had so much fun in Italy. Except for the lunch we had after we visited Vatican City (yes, they let me in...) which involved moving squid. Still makes me shiver. That aside, I think one would have to put some serious effort in to not have fun in Italy.

This picture was taken at St. Mark's Square, Venice on one of our last nights in Italy. It is the standard "hold out the camera take a picture" digital camera picture (do the youth of today know that this "shot" is a relatively new one and not the standard way to take a picture?). We probably took about 20 pictures like this an attempt to get one that was not missing half of one of us.

I look at this picture and think about how we just spent the days wandering around the cities without too much worry. Our lives were pretty darn good. Little did we know that at this time the primary neuroendocrine tumor was most likely already growing somewhere in my body.

 

One Plan

I have never had "big plans" of things I wanted to do with my kids. I always thought we would come up with special things to do as the children found what they enjoyed.

The one exception was piercing Cora's ears. I know a lot of people who had their daughters' ears pierced as infants and I didn't want that. I thought one day we would go when she was older, she could pick out her own ear studs, and then we would go celebrate with lunch out. Just the girls.

We lost Cora seven months ago today. I went to the cemetery and her headstone was placed. We also planted a tree-a seven sons-that will bloom in the fall, close to her birthday. It is heartbreaking going there, but now with her grave properly marked and the tree, it doesn't feel so cold.

Sick

I started to feel better from my last round of chemo on Sunday, but not close to 100%. I pressed on through Monday, thinking it was just a slower, longer recovery from my treatment. I even went to swim practice last night (though I did draft off the other swimmers in my lane for the majority of practice). Then I got home and realized I really felt like hell. This probably wasn't chemo side-effects, it was a stomach bug. Normally no big deal, but since I am on the cusp of my lowest-count days, I called the cancer center and crossed my fingers that an overnight hospital stay was not on my agenda.

Short version: I was prescribed meds, given IV fluids, and told I didn't look good (there is no sugar coating by Dr. S).
Bright spot: I am home tonight. Hospital stay avoided. To continue avoiding the hospital, I am heading to bed with high hopes of (a) sleeping and (b) feeling a hell of a lot better tomorrow.

Coyotes

After my first round of chemo I didn't really understand why Dr. S said that after 6 cycles, patients are usually ready for a break. Now that I am through the roughest part of Cycle 3, I can see why that happens. The side effects are cumulative so each time they last a little longer and are a little bit more intense.

Which means that tonight, I am a boatload of tired. I was going most of the day, so it is not like it is interrupting my day too much, but I am not wild about this feeling. It makes it too real. I am also still a little queasy (it comes and goes), and I am not wild about the nausea meds because they make me drowsy. Instead, I am eating breath mints because for some reason they settle my stomach. This means that when you see me and think: Does she smell like Ben Gay or Wint-O-Green lifesavers? It is the latter.

Anyhow, a coherant blog entry is not on the agenda tonight. Instead, a sweet little story about Rory from our afternoon:

Rory wanted to go over to Crandall Pond to see "the animals." In particular, the coyotes. I really don't know where he gets these ideas. So we park, we get out and I suggest looking for frogs, turtles, or fish, but nope...he has plans to rid the pond of all coyotes. Here is how it is done: One takes several rocks and then tosses them into the water. If the water splashes the individual tossing the rock, then it is really fun. If the rock makes a big plunk sound, also good. If the rock sinks without much fanfare, then the frogs are scared. Note that none of the outcomes address the coyote issue. I think that is okay.

Spa Day, Interrupted

After my last round of chemo, I anticipated today being a crappy day, so I prepared. I arranged a reiki appointment this morning (went in queasy, came out feeling well ~ I can't rave enough about it) and then I scheduled a spa treatment for this afternoon.

Those of you who know me well probably just reread the last few words of that last sentence because spa treatment + Suzanne is not a common occurrence. However, last summer my Masters swim group gave me a spa treatment when I was pregnant. I couldn't use it then, so decided I would use it now. It was called the Rejuvenator, it seemed perfect to energize me on my low chemo cycle day.

First up was the sauna ~ all good there. Then I went to the mineral bath. Mid-day. On a Saturday. I was in inside. In a tub. I know this train of thought should have hit me before I was actually lounging in a mineral bath, but it didn't. The mineral bath was quite relaxing once I got over myself.

Then, onto the massage. The massage therapist came in and told me she was trained to work with patients undergoing cancer treatment (I had no idea there was such training) and asked me what type of cancer I had. I told her, and was then informed I could not receive a massage because of the type of cancer I have.

Um, what?

So, no massage. Instead I went to join Kelly and the boys at the playground. Where Kyan pushed me on a swing and we laughed at how silly it was that Ky was pushing mommy on the swing.

Dollywood!

Yesterday was Kelli-girl's 38th birthday. She thought she escaped a post, but in reality, I got home late and now I have the element of her thinking she got off scott free. Heee!

We met when we were in sixth grade. Kelli moved upstate from Long Island and on the first day of school she had green hair. We all thought she was a punk. In fact, pool chlorine turned her hair green because not only does she have really thick hair, but she also has really blond hair. In sixth grade, this did not matter. We thought she was a wild NYC rebel.

Flash forward to our senior year of high school. Because seating was often alphabetical, we often sat near or next to one another ~ in particular in our honors English class (Christie B., do you need an adjective of the day?) and then in our economics class (the year of Mr. Driscoll's retirement...). We ended up working at Spencer's (what were our parents thinking?!?!) and the Shoreline Restaurant together as well.

I could ramble on and on about our antics that cemented our friendship. Like the weekend I was in NYC for job interviews and somehow ended up inappropriately and unintentionally groping Kelli...twice. Or why we end up at Friendly's even without children in tow. Or how she broke my kitchen table (ahem...), but I think anyone who knows even a little bit about me knows that Kelli is my person. So much so that when I married Kelly she referred to him as "our first husband" during her toast. (Do not pity him, he knew exactly what he was in for!)

In two years we are planning to go to Dollywood to celebrate our 40th birthdays (please note, she is older and wiser...I am just the tag-along young 'un). We have had this plan since we were in our early 20s and to be honest, I have no idea why we thought Dollywood would be the place to ring in our 40th birthdays, but we have been talking about it for 15+ years, so I think we are committed. It is one of my little prayers to join her there.

Feedback

We have received a fair amount of letters and calls from people who do not know us since the article about our family was printed in The Post Star. The vast majority of them have been filled with kind words of support. A few...a very few...have asked me how dare I question God, especially during such times.

I really would like to be snippy in response. In particular, when is the appropriate time to question God? I wasn't aware there was a schedule or list of appropriate times/events. Hmmm...I guess I was being snippy there. I don't want to be. Instead I want to tell you about my friend Heather.

Heather and I have known each other since junior high. We went to the Soviet Union together (back when it was the Soviet Union) and survived (note that there was no drinking age when we were there and I vividly recall one less-than-stellar evening in a hotel bar). Then we graduated high school and didn't stay in touch until Facebook brought us back in touch. Heather read one of my questioning blog posts and wrote to me saying, telling me that it was okay that I was questioning things, but that our loss of Cora and my diagnosis and prognosis actually strengthened her faith.

I know being snippy will not get me anywhere with people who cannot understand the movement of my faith, but when such statements start to get under my skin I think of Heather's words and they pull me away from being snippy, and refocus my energies on more useful thoughts.

Liver Embolization

Yeah, I Googled that one. Turns out surgery may be an option for my liver. In a fascinatingly Frankensteinian Monster sort of way.

But let's start at the beginning.

Dr. S came to see me during treatment today after hearing I had some questions. Once again, I am always surprised he comes in sober to see me. Anyhow...one of the options given to me yesterday was to add a med to the chemotherapy regime. The additional med is well-tolerated and if the first day's dose goes well, I can get a shot that lasts an entire month. Dr. S was wavering because it adds another variable to the mix. So in 6 weeks if we see tumor reduction, the question will be is it the chemotherapy I have been on or this new drug doing the trick? He discussed with Dr. Chan (Dana Farber) and it seems she felt the same way. It would be okay to add it, but it would not help with the murkiness issue (like anything would...). But I want to use this drug. It is a gut feeling. So, Dr. S's staff is working on it in the hopes of starting it tomorrow. Fingers crossed.

Now, back to the surgery option. If the tumors in my liver continue to be unresponsive (or get worse) there is a surgical option at Dana Farber where they can perform a liver embolization. It is not a cure, but it has the potential to slow the progression of the disease. I must admit to being both completely grossed out and amazed by this type of procedure. If this is an option, it won't even be on the table for 6 weeks. I am committed to Cycles 3 and 4 of chemotherapy + my new shot, then another PET scan, and then we'll go...somewhere... from there.

Murky

I know something along this cancer journey will be clear cut, but it will not be the results of my PET scan. The PET results, taken with my other test results, are not 100% clear. Things seem stable, but interpreting this as a stable disease means that there are forks in the road. There are alternative treatment options, but will they be effective? Should we touch base with Dana Farber? Should we proceed as is for now?


I opted to proceed as is for now, and in the meantime Dr. S is contacting Dana Farber for Dr. Chan's thoughts. Of course, right after this conversation I went to sit in a room for 2.5 hours getting chemo and generated a list of several questions and put in a call to Dr. S to discuss.


In one "funny" aside, which I think those of you who have followed my diagnosis journey will appreciate... A pathologist at Dana Farber was trying to run a test on my liver tissue to confirm that the liver cancer and the cervical cancer are not related. He ran the test twice and both times the test failed. As in didn't work.
You just have to laugh at this point, because really, what are the chances?

Mother's Day

Some things in life we get to choose: spouses, friends, insane Yorkies that yip at everything but seemed so darn cute when they were puppies we not only got one, but two (look at that, a tangent in the first sentence - that might be a record). Other things we have no control over. Like our mothers.

I am one of the lucky ones. I got a great mother. My 14-year old self would likely not concur, she would much rather slam a door and ask if I was crazy to say such a thing, but thankfully one is only 14 for a year. My mom was a natural parent ~ perhaps a side-effect of being the eldest of 4 siblings ~ but she also did what some mothers have a hard time doing ~ she transitioned from being the parent of a child to being the parent of an adult. Though, she does still tell me to go take naps. (I am much more agreeable to that now than when I was little.)  It is a wonderful thing to have a mom who is also your friend.

Given current circumstances, I worry about her. I know what it is like to know your daughter is going to die. I know how heartbreaking that is ~ to be willing to do anything, anything to change her fate and not having the power to do so. I know the agony that comes when you lose your daughter. I know how hard it can seem to even breathe after that.

But I also know that my strength was something I learned, and I learned it in large part from watching how strong my mother was as I grew up. She is surrounded by many great people: my dad, her friends, Kelly, my boys, my brother...but I know that her strength, her will, her heart will help her through whatever is to come.

I love you mom...always.

PET scan results

Yesterday I met with Alex (radiation oncologist) to check the response of the cervical cancer to the chemo. It is responding enough that he thinks it is fine to continue with chemotherapy (which is a combination designed to treat the tumors in the liver moreso than what is happening in the cervix) and that we can hold off on radiation.

He also reviewed the PET scan results with me, which is used to monitor the tumors in the liver. Dr. S and Alex monitor the size of the two largest tumors. The largest appears to have, perhaps, become a little smaller. The second largest appears to have, perhaps, become a little larger. This means the chemotherapy seems to be controlling the growth of the tumors, which, given the circumstances, is an acceptable outcome.

On Monday I will go in to see Dr. S. I am scheduled to start round 3 of chemo, and I believe that will happen. In previous discussions with him he indicated that controlling growth would mean we most likely stay the course. But, that can always change once he sees the PET results himself, talks to Alex, and (maybe) talks to Dr. Chan at Dana Farber.

I read a quotation the other day that another Stage 4 cancer survivor had tattooed: "The will to live is stronger than the ability to die." It is a bit of an odd statement, but it struck a chord with me this week.

Not Helpful

"When the unexpected and inconceivable intrudes on life, and it will, deal with life's actual events--don't obsess about perceived eventualities. Relax--enjoy the ride."  - Michael J. Fox

Oh, Michael. It is so easy to say that. The execution is another story.

Yesterday I was walking Rory and Ky to their preschool classes and Ky started to walk into the Pre-K room and I said, "Not for another couple of years." Then I almost lost it in the hallway because I realized I may not be the one who walks him to that classroom. I told myself "Not a helpful thought," and succeeded in walking the boys to their actual classes and not letting the negative thoughts stay.

Today I had my PET scan. Which meant from 8AM until about 4PM I had no routine, no kids to distract me. I said "Not helpful," over and over, but it didn't help. It was a hard day. A day where those thoughts that I don't want to have dominated by mind. A day where my smile did not come easily. A day where I held my boys as tight as possible when I was able to come back home and told them I loved them over and over, because if they remember nothing else, I pray they remember that.

Winner!

Tonight was a Bunco night and I won!!! Fourteen wins, four losses - I never even made it all the way to the losers' table. Woo hoo!

Bunco night means a short post night because the Bunco ladies...they are wild and keep me up far too late.

Tomorrow (Thursday) is my PET scan, which is used to assess how my liver is responding (Krissy, that word was for you!) to the chemotherapy. It is a long, cruddy day. The test itself lasts about 2.5 hours, but then I have to stay away from the kids for another 5 hours because of the radioactive nature of the test. I will not have the results for a few days until the scans are read and the results are sent to Dr. S.
Fingers crossed.




- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

You Studied Theology?

When I decided to go to graduate school for theology, I wanted to go either to Harvard to study with Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza (In Memory of Her), or to the University of Chicago to study with David Tracy (Blessed Rage for Order). Turns out that I was accepted to Harvard and David Tracy accepted a visiting professorship position there. It seemed like the best of both worlds, so I readily decided to go to Harvard (plus, I escaped Chicago winters).



I think people hear Harvard and think HARVARD. Because, it is Harvard. And then they assume I am wicked smart. About everything. Let me be very clear. I am. Oh wait, no...I am not. As a matter of fact, I always had to work my ass off for my grades. During undergrad I was the one in the library until it closed on Friday and Saturday nights (not to worry, then I would go out and sleep until noon the next day like a proper college student).


Anyhow...I arrived at Harvard and took a course with Fiorenza my first semester. And I was bored to tears. I studied her a great deal as an undergrad and it turns out, she was teaching what I studied. I imagined depth and breadth and instead I got a flat line.  The next semester I signed up for Tracy's course. Oh. My. Doesn't even start to cover it. He would talk in 20 different directions and I couldn't make heads or tails of his lecture. I would go to our sessions with the teacher's assistant (TA) and he wouldn't have a clue what Tracy was talking about. In fact, the TAs got together to try to figure it out and they couldn't. I would meet with Tracy and, although I have never dropped acid, I am pretty sure sitting with him for 30 minutes is pretty close. Let me say, Tracy's written works are phenomenal. He must have one hell of an editor.


Then I started signing up for classes because I liked the topics rather than the professors. Early Christian novels (taught by the amazing David Hall), Old Testament prophets, South American tribal practices, political ethics, and so on. Oh, and Latin. Lots of Latin. I really loved Latin. I also took some German and Ancient Greek and Hebrew ~ all useful in grad school, now 99% forgotten.


The point is ~ yes, I studied theology, but I studied a smattering lots of different aspects of theology. I really love reading and interpreting the prophets, but I also really love thinking about France's role in the nuclear age (well, I don't love thinking about it, more that I am intrigued by it). I am not a Biblical expert ~ far from it. I suppose I am a bit of a jack-of-most trades theologian. I know just enough to (a) ask the right questions or (b) be quite troublesome.

Writing

I get two main questions on writing this blog:
(1) How do you decide what to write about?
(2) Do you proofread what you write?

Sometimes I get ideas about topics and will jot those down as one or two word "themes" during the day and then expand on them when I sit down at night to write. Other times something is really on my mind and I have been turning over ideas in my head all day about it, and so that is the topic. But, most times, I decide what to write about when I sit down to write the entry. I think about the day, and what is ahead, and usually that gives me an idea if I don't already have one. My goal is to only take 20 minutes each day to write a blog post, which means sometimes I could go on and on, but I choose to edit to a concise point (for instance, Little Prayers, I could still be working on that one.).

I do a quick reread of each entry before I post it (and a spell check), but I often edit as I go which is why you often get to enjoy missing words and a wide variety of verb tenses. I consider it part of my charm. In reality, it is part of my 20 minute plan. I want to work on the blog, but if I properly read and edit each entry (the way I do for my "work" writing), there would never be an entry.


“You are lucky to be one of those people who wishes to build sand castles with words, who is willing to create a place where your imagination can wander....the belief, deep in our hearts, that if we build our castles well enough, somehow the ocean won't wash them away. I think this is a wonderful kind of person to be.” — Anne Lamott

Shirking

The Wall Street Journal had an article recently about advice to graduates that graduation speakers never give. In the midst of an explanation for one of the morsels of advice the writer had a comment about shirking. He noted that in life, we often think of ourselves as shirking on work, but rarely do we think about what we give up in order to work more as shirking on friendships.

That really resonated with me. I know I used to do this, and sometimes still do this, too often. I have been fortunate to have jobs that I enjoy, but I also know that sometimes my work would overtake my personal life and that stress made me not enjoy my work and not enjoy my personal life. For a time, shortly after Kelly and I moved back to this area, I was working a full-time job, a part-time job, freelancing, and taking two college classes. That lasted for about 6 weeks and then my head exploded. Maybe not an actual explosion, but it felt like it. However, I found even once I went to only freelancing, I still felt the need to be "plugged in" to email (and work) in the evenings and on weekends because I was working for myself and felt I had to put in the hours to make myself successful.

Shirking is a word so often associated with responsibility. If you shirk on something, then you are not responsible. But how do we find that balance in today's busy, busy world where we can feel like we are not shirking on anything?

A Celebration

Every year on Kelly's birthday I asked him what he wanted to do and the answer was always something simple, like dinner out, but with the caveat that for his 40th birthday, he wanted a party.

Last Sunday, guess who turned 40? Guess what we are doing tonight? We are having a party!

When I got my prognosis one of the first things I decided was that I was going to do was to host Kelly's 40th Birthday because it is one of the very few things he has ever asked for for himself. I had no idea at the time how I would be feeling or where I would be in treatment, but this party was going to happen. I told him this. He said no, no, no. I said yes. My yes also had a look with it, which is why I only needed one yes to his three nos.

So, tonight we celebrate! We celebrate Kelly's 40th Birthday (he looks and acts a great deal like he did when he was 39). We celebrate being together with our family and friends for a great occasion. We celebrate all the friends and family who will be able to be here to celebrate with us. We celebrate another year of Kelly ~ funny, sweet, hockey-playing, Lego-hoarding, dedicated, lovable Kelly.

Happy 40th Birthday, BayBay!

My Hair (again)

My hair has always been baby fine. All shampoo bottles in my world must have the word volumizing on them, or I do not buy it. I have tried drying my hair upside down, used all sorts of products, hot rollers (yes, they still exist), even perms back in the day. But my hair refused to become full bodied. I would vent about this to Kelli-girl who would respond with "My hair is so thick I have to get it thinned." To which I would respond, "Bite me." Because really, thick hair is not a problem. I don't care what she says.

This seems like a moot point since I just shaved my head, no? [Speaking of which, all of my hair didn't fall out. Just lots of large chunks. I think the universe is just toying with me because now, the parts that didn't fall out are already starting to grow back and oh...dear...it is just weird. And no, I am not going to show you.]

Back on task...so the cancer center I go to gives patients free wigs. I wasn't going to get one, but one of the resource nurses, and my mom, encouraged me to just so I would have it. For those of you who have never picked a wig, it is a weird process. One that involves looking at people who look nothing like you wearing the wigs in pictures and picking the one that you think is closest to what you want (typically close to your "usual" hairsyle, though I was wildly tempted to go purple).

My wig came in earlier this week and the color is spot on. The only issue is that the hair is so thick and there is so much of it. I mean, crazy thick. I can use hair accouterments and (a) they stay in and (b) serve a purpose. I might actually need to go shopping for hair supplies (to be amusing, I should just go in with my splotchy head...that would probably make someone wonder...).

So, after 37+ years of wishing for thick hair that I can do stuff with...I got my wish! Granted, it involves an odd net around my noggin and I feel totally weird with it, but if you see me flipping my "hair," you'll know I am just relishing the volume.

[I still favor the scarf/bandanna option, so that is really what you are most likely to see me sporting.]

Twinkle Twinkle

Since Rory was born I have sang Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to him each night before bed. Since he could talk I have asked him every night to join me. Every now and then he would say a word, but he would never really sing the song with me. Then about a week ago he asked if he could sing "the song" with me. And it was the best rendition ever and we have done it each night since then. It took us over 4 years to get to the point where we would sing that song together. Anything we start now that will take that long I won't likely see the outcome. And that is ridiculously unfair.

Not only will I miss all the big milestones in my little boys' lives, but I will also miss all of those little moments ~ those moments that I don't even know what they will be, I just know I won't be here to see them when I so desperately want to see each and every one.

Googling

When Kelly and I were first trying to get pregnant and had fertility issues, I went to my doctor, heard his plan, then went home and Googled the plan. The results were depressing ~ endless stories of people who had no success or had complications. A success story was a rare find. I joined an online support group for a month or so, but found more of the same. A few people I could relate to (including one who I actually ended up meeting in a very random way), but overall it was not helpful and often filled with crap advice or information. I made the decision not to Google anything else, and instead drive my OBs nuts with questions. I know I ended up better for that, I am not sure if they did.

Cut to January when I was told that the ultrasound showed "spots on my liver." I first Googled liver spots. Go ahead. Do that for fun. I'll wait.

Then I did a more appropriate Google search, but the results fell into three categories: results that told me no more than the doctor did over the phone, results that were like the fertility searches in terms of quality, and results that were in medical (it is a language, I am sure of it). As my diagnosis shifted and changed and my prognosis became worse and worse, I would occasionally Google something, but I don't think I have spent more than 5 minutes looking at the search results.

When I think about this, it strikes me as a weird behavior for me. I like being in control (hello, Plan A, Plan B, Plan C, etc.) and I like finding answers or solutions to problems and issues. Clearly, terminal cancer is a problem. But, as I think about it more I think I am smart enough to know myself. Smart enough to surround myself with doctors I trust. Smart enough to know that on this topic, they are way smarter than me. Smart enough to know that Google is awesome for directions and finding out who the hell that guy is in that movie, but compared to the doctors on my team, a pretty worthless source of good information.

So, sorry Dr. S, Dr. H, Alex, and everyone else involved in my care, but you now get the pleasure of Suzanne, the question asker.