"Con Te Partiro"

Apologies for the delay in getting this post up. Between traveling from Ecuador, my best friend's wedding, returning to Ecuador, and promptly getting sick, I didn't have the opportunity until tonight to type up a proper entry. I promised that I would write at least one last entry following my one year MRI to "conclude," one way or another, what began over a year ago on a cold February morning.

I won't lie. In the days leading up to my MRI, my nights were filled with visions of Dr. Woodson walking through the door of my exam room, my MRI results in  her hand. Sometimes she would be smiling and congratulating me on making it through the year tumor-free, and other times her somber face would appear as she gently explained that I would have to go back under the knife. I tried not to dwell on either outcome knowing that no matter how much I imagined one or the other, it would do little to affect the cells growing or not growing in my head.

Strangely, in spite of all of my previous pre-MRI jitters, I didn't feel much on the drive up to the clinic. Aside from the deja vu. Traveling up I-71 in the insanely early hours of the morning reminded me of all the other early morning trips my dad and I had made the last year for check-ups and MRIs and pre-surgery workups. And surgery.

I handled all of it well enough until I was called back to prep for my MRI. After changing into the requisite hospital gown and scrub pants, an overly eager phlebotomist led me to another room to start my IV for the contrast fluid.

Now, for those of you who have followed this blog, you'll remember that IVs and I did not get along well during my week-long hospital stay. My veins kept blowing out and I ended up getting stuck for six different IVs by the time all was said and done. I only cried twice during my surgery and hospitalization. During the "night from hell" (check out Days 4 & 5) and during the multiple needle sticks from the IVs.

So as I sat there in the tiny prep room with my arm stretched out and an IV kit carefully being laid out next to it, I'll admit I had a mini anxiety attack. Visions of me crying and squeezing the stuffing out of dear little Fluffin as two nurses debated where to try to stick me next vividly paraded themselves across my eyelids. Thankfully, thankfully, the phlebotomist was as skilled as he was eager and there no issues with the IV line before or during the MRI.

My meeting with Dr. Woodson was an hour and a half after my MRI and again I was surprised at how calm I was during that empty stretch of time. I think at some point I had just resigned myself to the fact that no matter what news I received I would get through it one way or another. I had gone through surgery once before and come out the other side and, if it came down to it, I at least knew I had the wherewithal to do it again.

None of that mattered though as the door to my exam room cracked open and Dr. Woodson swept into the room.
She was smiling.
My one year MRI showed absolutely no regrowth of Iggy and no suspicious signs that would indicate he was trying to sneak in another appearance. Dr. Woodson cheerfully gave me a clean bill of health and was told that my next MRI would be in "a few years." If that MRI turns out to be clear as well, then I'm effectively "cured."

It was then that I truly felt that I had been given my life back. I hadn't wanted to admit it, but even though I'd been going about my life as normal since last fall, there was always that constant fear that maybe this ordeal wasn't really over. That maybe Iggy was lurking in a few overlooked cells and slowly biding his time. I can't tell you how many times this past year I wished for the ability to take a quick peek inside my head every few weeks just to make sure that all was as it should be.

But here I am. Tumor free and at peace and oh so ready to close this chapter of my life.

I know my scars and hearing loss are things I will have to live with. I plan to continue pursuing a BAHA device when I return to the states and hopefully it will be smoother going this time. But I'm alive and healthy and undoubtedly a better me than I was a year ago. Most of all, I'm grateful.

Many thanks again to all of you who have taken this journey with me and continually offered your support, encouragement, and love. It truly was invaluable to me and I can't begin to tell you how many times your comments and thoughts got me through a rough spot or made me smile or helped me to realize that things really would eventually get better.

Please feel free to continue to share this blog with your friends and family who may be going through this same experience. I hope and pray it offers them the same strength that each of you gave me.

Happy Turtling!