I believe the term is "pre-post traumatic stress syndrome"

The only term I've made up is 'pre-post traumatic stress syndrome.' It's not much but it's the only one I lay claim to. It is a reference of how my brother in law acted before he went off to Afghanistan with the Army Reserve for the first time. Watching Black Hawk Down with him was damn near unbearable. But now I look back at it and I can't help but think "Oh, the irony."

So we were waiting to find out if the growth was the same as before and surprisingly enough it was a blockage of cells that had gathered for a poker game in two or three lymph nodes, when a fight broke out when one of the cells had a king up its sleeve and they all brandished Mexican made machetes and started to tear into each others delicate celly flesh, and no, it was the same. Who's to say it was there before but just in such a small form that it couldn't be detected until now or if the cancer travelled just as the radiation was being administered? No one knows, no one cares. All they care about is death to the infidel mutated cancer cells. Death to them all. But how, exactly?

There were a few options that were being offered. Behind door number 1 (imagine 'Spanish Flea' playing on the background) we have 3 months of chemo and 3 months of radiation! (The crowd gives an applause that is way too enthusiastic as the curtain opens to reveal a small barrel of radiation, which you would think would be a huge OSHA violation having a barrel of radiation so close to a studio audience and a small pile of IV bags full of chemo drugs) Behind door number 2, we have 6 fabulous months of life draining CHEMO! (The crowd retardedly slap their meaty hands together to make sound as the smiling model opens a curtain with a small cache of bags full of poison.) Or whatever is behind door number 3! (The crowd goes berserk and as curtain opens the sound of clapping is replaced by the sound of heavy, smelly fists hitting each other as a brawl breaks out because no one can contain their excitement) So you pick door number 4 hoping for a big prize and it's just the stage manager riding a donkey. But I would not go for door number 4 because contrary to previous beliefs, donkeys don't make the best administrators of oncology.

So we were hoping for the 3 months of chemo and the 3 months of radiation, obviously. It was the least invasive and less horrible in so many ways, so we decided that would be best. Unfortunately, it wasn't the best according to our doctor, Doctor Lin. Now Doctor Lin is a very smart and pretty Asian gal who has the stomach and taste buds of a southern soul sister. It's quite strange. But hopefully I can repay her in a small way in my super fantastic ribs. I mean, besides the enormous hospital bill, but it's mostly paid for by my electrical unions health insurance, GO LOCAL IBEW 354!!! Sorry, but I just added it all up the other day and I would totally be boned without it.

Vickie and I went to Dr. Lin's office to have the big pow wow on how we were going to fight the cancer. We were waved in and sat in a patient room and we waited and waited. We waited so long that it started to seem like something very ominous was happening behind the closed door. Dr. Lin came in sat down and gave us the grave news that it would, in fact, be six months of chemotherapy. She wanted the split of radiation and chemo but after talking to a fellow oncologist, she knew it should be the 6 months of chemo. Just get rid of the damn cancer and not worry about a few months later if it came back. If that were to happen it would be transplant time and that would be way worse than the 6 months of chemo. They both aren't great, but between the cancer being gone forever or it being easier with a chance of it coming back, it's easy to choose. 

When that meeting was done I had a reaction I didn't expect. As we were leaving the meeting we stopped by the receptionist in the front and started to make the appointments to get her heart, lungs, and blood tested up. Go to a chemo 101 class to learn about everything that will go on there. Get a port in, which is a tube that's directly linked up to an artery with a plastic stop and small place to put in a needle. It's basically a small matrix style hook up for the chemo drugs, except under the skin. And then the chemo itself will start. The thing was all of this was going to happening in the next two weeks. And sitting there scheduling out everything that needed to be done it all hit. How real this was, how worried I really was, the anger, the disappointment, the sadness, and anxiety, I excused myself from the desk and found a bathroom. I threw up like a champ, friend. I threw up with all the force and effort I wanted to put into finding the cancer and killing it myself. Then going after the cancers family and friends, burning down their houses while they cradled their loved ones as they slowly cooked and laughing as they turned slowly to briquettes. And then making s'mores with the red hot coals that once was was my sworn enemy. Extreme? Oh, yes. But that's how it manifested in me and I for one was surprised. Not worried, just surprised. 

Probably the cruelest thing to happen was after Vickie went to a follow up with her radiologist and he thought maybe the growth was there the entire time and maybe they just didn't catch it in the first time and maybe this is just was an extension of the first cancer. This meant that maybe Vickie would only need some more radiation and not need chemo. Yeah, ever heard of too good to be true? Let's see, six months of poison or six weeks of radiation? What would you do? What we did was fight heavily for the radiation and for a few days there we thought perhaps we could bypass the entire pain and harrowing experience of chemotherapy.

This was not going to happen for us. In the end the more intellegent desicion was and is chemo. Hitting this growth with more radiation would damage the lymph node system more than it really needs and just bad, bad, bad. It kind felt like being shown how lovely the table was for dinner that night. The nice china, the silverware being laid out alongside the crystal cups. Then being slowly escorted to the kids table. The crudely set up wobbly card table with an old bedspread thown on top of it. The paper plates and cups with plastic utensils. You know, what cavemen used while they ate dinosaur balls in sweat lodges surrounded by tar pits of star dust. Something like that, I didn't really pay much attention in history class.

Now I'm here. waiting. In two days Vickie gets her first surge of chemo and only then we will realize how either easy or hard this is going to really be. Until then.