Journal of a Living Lady #189

 

Nancy White Kelly

 

            It is that time again. Once a year I go through a battery of tests to determine whether my cancer is stable or surging. Based on this new information I must decide on further chemotherapy, radiation, and/or sometimes surgery.

            For those of you who don't know my medical history, I will quote directly from the recent test results:

            "Fifty-eight year-old female with history of breast cancer in 1986. Had a left mastectomy and chemotherapy in 1986. In 1997, she was found to have bilateral lung and multiple bony metastases. She underwent radiotherapy to the lower back and multiple cycles of chemotherapy."

            The Emory radiologist left out several volumes of information that could have followed each of those sentences. In short, I was deemed terminal. For several years I  have been fighting a serious battle with cancer. I still am on a divine extension.

            Seems this radiology scan shows no progression of the cancer in my lungs. In fact, the lungs are better. No longer do I have to port an oxygen tank everywhere I go though I do sleep under it at night.

            The bottom line is that the cancer is stable in the rest of my body, but is spreading in my left hip. I have been on canes, walkers, rolling walkers, and even a wheel chair. My arms aren't strong enough to wheel my body very far, so  I opted for a cane. Dr. Stead isn't happy. A fall could be my last one as fragile hips easily fracture. I don't want to be bed-bound, of course. Neither do I want to be in a wheel chair. Who does? It is a quandary. It is just that I have so much living to do that requires moving around.

            On the report that my oncologist faxed me, she wrote a note to her assistant: "Send her to XRT. Hip is obvious." Now I am fairly versed in medical terminology, but can't remember what XRT is.

Hmm. "X" has to be short for x-ray. But the puzzle is the "RT." I can think of logical answers: Republic of Turkey, Rich Texas,  Real Tropics (of Cancer), or surely a Round-Trip to an obviously hip location.

            Buddy and I were discussing last week that we ought to take a trip while I am still up-right.  We tentatively agreed that our dream trip would be a Return Trip (RT) to the Holy Land, a journey we took in 1972 and have never forgotten. We agreed, depending on the then unknown Results of  this  Test (RT), maybe we could go in the spring.

I still want to go. So does Buddy, though he fears that I might get very sick there which would be a nightmare. With the volatile world situation that includes serious ramifications for Israel,  my concern is that we might BOTH  be killed. What a logistical nightmare that would be for Charlie and Bobby, getting two bodies back to the states and planning funerals in the midst of war. Buddy and I mutually agreed that it would easier to be buried in Jerusalem.

            Whether we actually go to the Holy Land again depends on several factors. If  I undergo more rigorous chemotherapy, it is doubtful I would have the necessary strength.  Even another round of radiation is energy-zapping. Also, overseas travel is expensive. The once massive personal portfolio of the Kelly family, consisting of two stocks and a currency-filled baby sock under the mattress,  is eroding quickly.

            Perhaps we should settle on a Return Trip (RT) to the ocean. We haven't been there in a couple of years. I miss the serenity and certainty of the Rhythmic Timing (RT) of the waves.

            "Go to XRT," says my doc. What an "XtraReallyTough" decision.

 

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nancyk@alltel.net