Probably a Mentally Ill Lone Wolf Since He's a White Guy

As we are frequently being reminded, we “don’t yet know the motivation” behind the mass murder at the PP clinic in Colorado Springs. But you know what? There’s a long, sickening, tiresome history of violent attacks on abortion providers. There’s been a pronounced uptick of arson/vandalism and general threats toward abortion providers, especially Planned Parenthood clinics, since the doctored videos came out a few months ago, complete with overheated political rhetoric and politically-motivated witch hunts in the aftermath. And given the LITERAL CHEERING that this human shitstain is getting from the rightwing sewersphere for having committed coldblooded murder of several people including a police officer, forgive me if I’m going to assume this is terrorist attack motivated by religious extremism. If I wind up being proven wrong eventually, so be it. But I think for now recent history gives me some basis for making this assumption.

When I got home yesterday, my husband was in good spirits because he was making Thanksgiving dinner and because my mom had just arrived for a visit. But he was also angry and upset. He said it’s not bad enough that he has to worry about his kids getting shot up at school or a movie theater. He also has to worry about his wife getting murdered because she’s going to work, and listening to people cheer about it later. It’s really pretty disgusting if you think about it.

On one level, it doesn’t matter what the motives of the shooter are. Whether he’s a religious extremist who thinks he’s entitled to murder people because God told him to, or whether he’s an angry white dude whose wife left him or he lost his job or whatever and his pain is so epic that he’s entitled to inflict it on multiple innocent people, either way an armed asshole has taken his sense of rage and entitlement to the streets. But on another level, it does matter what his motivations are. I work at an abortion clinic a few days a week, and this does not mean that my or my co-workers’ kids deserve to lose their parents, or our spouses deserve to lose their partners, or our parents deserve to lose their children. I would like for the people who count to start calling these things terrorist attacks because that’s what they are. It’s about time we started treating them like terrorist attacks.

Also, fuck that guy.

Good News, as These Things Go

I had my MRI today. More about that below because OH MY GOD DID THAT SUCK. But it's done and they have the results back.

They found no evidence of any cancer beyond the known site. So that is good news. I'm sure they have to throw in a disclaimer about nothing being a 100% guarantee, blah blah blah blah, but the upshot is that all evidence to this point indicates I am not riddled with tumors. I have one cancerous tumor, in one spot, and they know where it is, and it's a really sluggish one that isn't doing much. Kind of like most of the Browns' wide receivers, but a good quality in a cancerous tumor (I'm going to try to get in one obligatory dumb sports crack in each of these posts just to see if I can).

I also had a blood draw for some genetic testing. I may get some disquieting results from that, which may mean a change of plans, but for now my treatment is going to be a lumpectomy plus radiation. As long as no troublesome cells show up when they test the sentinel lymph node during surgery, I won't need chemotherapy, and will simply have to rely on the Browns and Johnny Manziel to cause me to vomit and lose my hair. If I do have to have chemo, I will want a) henna tattoos on my head, and b) an Uma Thurman Pulp Fiction wig, because if you have cancer you get to have whatever stupid-ass thing you want.

Also, now is the part where I talk about the MRI, which by the way sucked. It was awful. I didn't mind the confined space--I'm not claustrophobic. I didn't mind the loud, weird, bizarrely repetitive noises. It just made me think of being in a dance club somewhere. Really if they'd just given me a whiskey sour or a margarita I might have been OK but nnnooooooo. No, that part that was bad was that I had both my arms up over my head and was lying face down in the machine. If I'd been lying on my back with my arms at my sides, I'd have been fine. I could have gone on twice as long. But that was....excruciating, really. I was fine for 10 minutes, but the MRI was 20 minutes long. Hell, I didn't flinch when I got tattooed for two hours. But after 10 minutes of this bullshit I was really uncomfortable. And once you're uncomfortable in that kind of a position, in an enclosed space with loud noises all around you, your head really starts screwing with you. After about 13-14 minutes I was asking them to stop or pause just so I could put my arms down for 30 seconds and re-position myself. This was not an option. Then my face muscles started twitching. I started being afraid I was going to drool in the machine and screw up the results. Another 3 minutes into it and I was ready to start reminding them loudly that the Geneva Convention says that forcing the body into stress positions is an internationally-recognized form of torture AND I AM TOTALLY SERIOUS, SHUT UP! Really, if I'm going to be having a lot more of these stupid things (and I suspect I am), we're going to have to find a way to work this out.

Anyway, surgery tentatively scheduled for December 8. Go Packers. Go Browns.

Update

I have a little more diagnosis information, for those who are interested, and will attempt to relay it without getting completely TMI. But first, thanks to everyone who has passed on to me your regards, your hugs, your beer, and your offers of help if I ever need it. I probably won’t, for the most part, but then again who knows? Maybe I will. If I do I promise I will call you.

 

Chris and I met my surgeon on Thursday and I like her very much. She is funny and tough and kind. We went over my full pathology report from the biopsy, and as these things go it looks good. It’s a slow-growing, not-very-aggressive type so that’s good. And it’s positive for estrogen and progesterone receptors, which means it feeds on female hormones, so they know hormone therapy has a good chance of working going forward. On the other hand, it’s a type that sometimes likes to hide, and the mammogram pictures are pretty opaque, so they’re going to do an MRI on Wednesday to make sure there aren’t any more tumors. They haven’t seen any so far, but they want a better and more complete picture first. They’re also going to test one of the lymph nodes during surgery to make sure nothing has spread there. If it’s as confined as the evidence so far suggests that it is, I will not need chemotherapy. Even if it turns out there’s more, that’s no reason to panic. But it does mean I will need chemo which will completely blow but whatever, I’ll do it. IT CANNOT POSSIBLY MAKE ME ANY SICKER THAN THE PACKERS AND THE BROWNS DID TODAY (obligatory football crack).

 

Some time roughly mid-December I’m looking at surgery. I still need to talk to a genetic counselor and see the results of the MRI before we make a decision how extensive the surgery will be. Hopefully they can just take out the lump and that will be that. On the other hand, if they have to take off the girls altogether, maybe they can give me porn star boobs as a replacement. I mean, while they’re at it, AMIRITE??? (I’m sure the plastic surgeons have never heard anybody make that crack ever, because I am uniquely hilarious.)

 

Anyway, I remain optimistic. Yes, we have kept the children updated all along, and so far they seem fine. I am fine, as well. I’ve had a fleeting maudlin moment or two in my head, but there’s been no meltdown so far. If/when I have it, I will post about it on Facebook or possibly you can read about it in the Heights Police blotter.

Hey, what's up?

Today, news was confirmed for me that I have contracted what is rapidly becoming the Family Disease. I have breast cancer. That seems weird to say--I have breast cancer.

It's hardly a shocker, though. Well, maybe it is for all of you. It isn't for me. My mom is a 7-years-and-counting breast cancer survivor. That's long enough that they officially call it "cured." Her mother was not so lucky, because she contracted it in the early 1950s when treatments were not nearly what they are now.

But back to me, because right? There are still more tests to come, but right now things look pretty good. Other than the I HAVE FUCKING CANCER part, I mean. This is probably because I get mammograms and ultrasounds like all the damn time. Of course they caught it early, it would be practically impossible not to catch it early. Early tests show it is a "Grade One" tumor, which is the kind whose cells are the closest to normal and tend to be slow-growing. It is also less than 2 cm so pretty small. And right now they don't have any evidence that there are any additional tumors anywhere else, although they're going to do an MRI in a couple of weeks to make sure.

They're going to do surgery, of course, and then radiation, but unless they find more tumors or get some kind of further test results that contradict what they know now, that will be it. So with any luck I will be spared the privilege of taking a regimen of expensive poisons that make me throw up and make my hair fall out. I will leave it to the Browns to take care of that.

I know my Facebook friends well enough to know that many of them will say (and mean) that they will pray for me, and I do appreciate that. Honestly the last time I prayed really hard it probably went along the lines of, "Dear God, please don't let Kevin Love be out for the playoffs!" But I didn't really have any expectation that this would work (I was right). I further know that many of you will point out that I am too much of a foul-mouthed badass to let cancer beat me. I genuinely appreciate that sentiment, but I can't help but think of my friend Janice Balistreri when people say things like that. Janice did not die of cancer, but she did contract an autoimmune disease that gradually robbed her of her vitality and mobility before it killed her in her mid-40s, and Janice was as pugilistic a foul-mouthed badass as I've ever had the privilege to meet. God, I miss her still. She fought because she thought fighting was fun. So personality does not, in my estimation, really have an effect one way or the other on the outcome of a disease. It does, however, probably affect how one treats it in one's Facebook posts, which I hope to make as entertaining and hilarious and NSFW as possible, because I'm here for you like that.

In closing, thank you all in advance for your well-wishes. Please send booze.