I admit that I was nervous about my latest visit to MD Anderson for scans. As usual, I was imagining symptoms for a few weeks before my visit. But my scans were CLEAR! So my doctor said I don't have to go back until November. I'm SO excited about this. I am now ALMOST three whole years CANCER FREE!

This is not something I thought would happen to me. But God has been merciful and gracious, and .... guess what? I'm probably going to make it to 50 after all. Just five more months. Most people dread turning 50, but not THIS CHICK!

I finally heard from the GI doctor on Wednesday. He was ... hmm... conservatively optimistic. He said he felt sure there was nothing to be concerned about, but he did see a couple things he wanted to consult with my oncologist about, just to be sure, before writing the report. "Did you eat anything red the day before?" I wanted to say, "Gee, I don't remember. It's been so LONG!" But I didn't. :) What he described sounded like a piece of tomato skin to me.

He hadn't been able to get in touch with my onc. It was the week before Thanksgiving, so my onc was probably out. I'm taking it as good news. I have a feeling they'll just want me to come for my regular scans in January and take it from there.

Thursday I swallowed a pill camera at MD Anderson so they could take pictures inside my intestines after having a PET scan light up in the area where they sewed my intestines back together two years ago. Dr. Dekovich, the gastroenterologist, said he would look at them the next day. So I was hoping to hear something Friday.

Sigh. But of course I didn't. Here's what goes through my mind:

A. Dr. Dekovich didn't look at them until late in the day and so my onc, Dr. Papadopoulos, didn't get the report in time to look at it.

B. Dr. Dekovich looked at it right away and sent it to Dr. Papa, who was in clinic all day and didn't get a chance to review the report.

C. Dr. Dekovich looked at the pics with Dr. Papa, and they decided to present my case to the tumor board on Monday morning to determine the next course of action.

I'm trying really hard not to think about "C." But it's there in the shadow. In the past, if they knew there was a tumor, they would tell me that they'd be discussing it with the tumor board.... except for the last time, when no one told me ANYTHING, even though I called and asked, and they just made an appointment for me with the surgeon. I am inclined to think that the last time was actually a slip-up, because until then, Dr. Papa had always called me right away if he saw something. And if it was nothing, a PA or nurse would call and tell me. So, if that's the case, then someone would have called me if there was bad news or good news. That's why option C is just "in the shadow" ... because when it comes to over-analyzing a situation, I usually "accentuate the positive."

Well, I just learned that a site called www.mymalignantmelanoma.com posted a link to this blog. The reason I started this blog several years ago was to help get the word out about prevention, so I'm honored that they are using my blog for that purpose. Over the years it has become a "here's what's going on with me today" type of blog... not always melanoma-related because (HOORAY!) my life no longer revolves around melanoma day in and day out. Yeeeeeha!

Yes, I am a Stage IV patient (meaning that it has metastasized beyond the lymph nodes to other areas within my body), and melanoma is expected to return to my body...but I am now TWO YEARS TUMOR-FREE! So... there IS hope. And I have it! "They" expect it to return, but I don't. I am very happy to be an encouragement to other patients and caregivers. And... now that I have another website/blog as well as a FaceBook page that are NOT focused on Melanoma, I will try to focus this one a little more on melanoma and everyday life.

Speaking of that... I'll be heading to Houston for my next set of scans on Sept. 23. My dentist saw something abnormal in my jaw x-ray, so I'll be making sure they takn an extra look at that. The shadow of melanoma is always hanging over me... but I am truly hopeful ... I BELIEVE that it won't be showing up again any time soon. 

The past two years has been a blessing. Two years ago on August 11, I had surgery to remove a large melanoma tumor from my small intestines. It was the second such surgery in fifteen months, the fifth surgery due to metastatic melanoma in two years. To go from five surgeries in two years to NO surgeries in two years is something to be thankful for.

So I don't mean to sound ungrateful to God for the extension of my life. In fact, for these past four years I have just accepted the lymphedema as a consequence of my battle with cancer, and tried not to complain too much about it. Every time I start to complain, I follow it up with ". . . but I'm alive!"

But, God whispers things in my ear constantly about my faith, and today he whispered: "If I can heal you of cancer, I can heal you of lympedema." Accepting my chronic lymphedema is like putting limits on God. Instead of asking him for further healing, just as I resisted asking him for healing from the cancer . . . I have basically just told him, "It's okay, God. I can handle it."

But that's not the response he wants from us. He wants us to ask so that when he obliges us, we will know that it is from him. And he wants us to have faith that what we ask for, we will receive.

We bought it used for a bargain - a 1998 Explorer Sport with hail damage. But don't all cars in Texas have hail damage? We affectionately called it "The Exploder." It was a dependable vehicle that was PAID OFF. We could haul anything in it. We didn't worry about messing it up. It allowed us to keep the mileage low on the Magnum while we paid off its note $800 at a time (with only a couple months left until it's paid off!).

And then.... in the place that I ALWAYS KNEW I would have a wreck . . . because I have to travel there almost every day, and there is almost always a wreck within that 1 mile stretch . . . the LBJ Freeway, between Midway and Marsh.

I slid across the lanes trying to get to the HOV lane so we could get Thom to the airport on time. But my last slide into the HOV lane would be the last slide forever for our dependable Exploder.

A large SUV must have been flying in the HOV lane, because I never saw it coming, nor did I hear a horn or the squeal of tires. There were no skid marks on the road except those of dear old Exploder as it got pushed into a truck.

The side of my face looks like it hit a freight train, but it was probably just the steering wheel. Dependable Exploder did not have a very dependable air bag . . . or the impact didn't hit the air bag sensor. The seat belt must have helped some, but not enough to keep my face from swelling like a balloon. Thankfully, nothing was fractured. And Thom wasn't hurt at all, nor were any of the other people involved in the accident. No, just our dear ole Exploder.

Unfortunately, my left arm -- the one with Lymphdema -- was impacted. Luckily, it was wrapped, which protected it better than a simple compression sleeve would have. BUT... it has a big bump in it, and it's already swelling. With no lymph nodes under my arm, my chances of getting cellulitis are much greater... and cellulitus can put you in the hospital. So, I'm very glad that I already have an appointment with my lymphedema therapist today. Hopefully we'll get some of that fluid out.

I had to postpone my gig. Not really because of what my face looks like, although I'm sure it would be quite alarming to the groupies... but because I can't play the guitar with my arm wrapped, and I absolutely have to stay wrapped after an injury. So, it's a bummer. But considering how bad it could have been... I feel quite blessed.

I'll admit my face is fat to begin with (not exactly my xanga profile photo from 10 years ago!)... but it's not normally THIS fat. Oh and, the blood actually came out of the blouse and jeans. How 'bout that? The nose, however, did not stop bleeding until sometime during the night. That was probably about 18 hours of bleeding. I'm almost afraid to take an Ibuprophen, for fear it will start bleeding again.

Anyway... life is always exciting.

I've scheduled my next gig for Thursday May 29 at Saxby's Coffee House on Midway/Alpha in North Dallas. I hope to see some new faces there. It's been a while since I've performed, and I'm looking forward to it.

It's just me and my guitar, Sophia . . . performing folk/soft rock, some originals, and some contemporary Christian. For more info, see my wordpress site: www.jackiedoss.wordpress.com.

Hopefully my lymphedema will behave between now and then. There's nothing more aggravating than knowing that I need to practice but not being able to because I'm all bandaged up to keep my arm from swelling out of control. Patooooey!

I should give my poor readership, such as it is, a break from poetry. While I know it's good for you to exercise your brain a bit and decipher some verse, I suppose you've had enough... for now. Muuuuuahahaha

If you'd like to read something funny, you should visit my son, Ryan's blog. His entry from yesterday recounted shenanigans from his basic training. Quite entertaining. Here's the link to that specific entry: http://www.xanga.com/congratulations_im_sorry/656187705/me-a-drill-sergeant-and-a-pile-of-padlocks.html

I commented to him that he should write about ALL of those things NOW while he can still remember them. I recall lots of funny instances from my youth . . . but not in enough detail to recount them now and entertain an audience. It's lementable.

Only a few things really stick with me . . . one of which is part of a memoir called Pentimento by Lillian Hellman, the playwrite, and lover of Dashiell Hammett. She, too, mourned the loss of memories. One of Ms. Hellman's points in that book was that she wrote because her memory was not sufficient.... and that if she did not write, she would lose her memories altogether.  At least . . . that's how I remember it. :)

"Pentimento" is the process of "repentance" that an artist goes through when he paints on canvas and then begins a new painting on the same canvas, leaving visible remnants of previous strokes beneath the final painting.

I have been sitting here staring at my last words for a while now, trying to come up with something profound to say about our lives and "pentimento." But I think the concept speaks for itself.