In Which I Find Out I (probably) Don't Have Cancer

I know, I just gave away the ending. I (probably) don't have cancer. As a writer, I realize this is bad form. Why read on now? I've sucked all the tension right out of this post. But I care for you, dear readers. I know many of you would worry if I strung you along, so I'm putting the ending first to ease your mind. And now you can just enjoy the journey.

Also, I apologize in advance for any TMI. Usually I am so private about this stuff, but I found it impossible to write what's happening without actually writing about what's happening. 

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Without going into too much detail, let it suffice to say two weeks ago something happened that sent me googling odd symptoms. It will surprise no one who's ever googled anything medical to hear that I found out I was clearly going to die. And not just on WebMD, that bastion of "everything boils down to cancer."  Every site I went on said, "Get thee to a doctor!! Fast!!"

I am not one to jump on doctor appointments. Not because I hate them, but mostly, it's just so inconvenient. I don't have time. And I feel fine. I mean, to go to a doctor means I am in serious pain and the Motrin just isn't cutting it. And right now, I feel just fine. Normal, for whatever that's worth.

But there was enough on the internet to convince me to call my doctor office and talk to a nurse. Based on past history, this is what I expected to hear: "Huh. Yeah. I don't know. You should come in. Our soonest appointment is in a month." I even checked their online appointment schedule and found out the soonest appointment available was in a month.

But I called, because the internet told me too. The conversation went like this:

ME: Hi. I'm having these weird symptoms and I thought I should check to see if I need to come in. I have an appointment in three weeks anyway, so maybe I could just talk to the doctor then. But I thought I should ask. Because the internet says I should.

HER: Can you describe what's going on?

ME:... (describing in as few words as possible, in a very light, nonchalant tone...)

HER: You need to come in. Now. Can you get here today?

So apparently she also reads WebMD.

When I got to the office, I was shuffled back immediately, without the usual wait in the waiting room while watching all the harried moms with their teething toddlers. When the nurse came in to take my blood pressure, she asked, "Are you nervous?"

Um... no. Should I be?

She asked this FOUR times!! Which I thought was odd. Because I really wasn't nervous at all. I honestly felt totally fine, and a bit silly for having driven 20 miles to see a doctor I knew would tell me I need to stop reading WebMD.

Lesson One: Don't rely on one article of clothing to make you feel good. She told me to get into a papery shirt, and I knew I'd approached my fashion completely wrong. See, I tend to wear jeans and sneakers. A lot. Most of the time. But I dress it up with pretty tops and fancy sweaters and scarves. I'd worn the CUTEST sweater that day, and a totally adorable scarf I'd just figured out how to tie in a new way. But suddenly I found myself in just jeans and sneakers... and a paper top. Boo. I should have opted for the skirt and kicky boots.

Lesson Two: Reconsider reading options. So now I'm sitting in the room waiting, papery top rustling with every move, and trying to read a book. I'd brought a funny book. One I couldn't read without laughing so hard I was crying; one which occasionally I've laughed so hard I snorted. I figured it would be the perfect thing to get my mind off sitting half-naked. Except, as it turns out, when you are waiting for bad news, funny things are not so funny. I feel like I wasted some perfectly great chapters in that room. I apologize to the author.

Lesson Three: It is not good news when your doctor walks in, shakes your hand, and the first words out of her mouth are, "So who in your family has breast cancer?"  Not, "Hi." Not, "How are you feeling today?" Not, "Do you have a history of cancer?" No. She asks, "Who in your family has breast cancer?"

Hello to you, too.

Lesson Four: (Here comes the TMI... if you're a man, you might want to avert your eyes...)  Mammograms mean nothing when you have dense breast tissue. Nothing. Do you know that they hide cancer 60% of the time? I'd JUST had one... my first one.. that's a whole other TMI post... and the radiologist said I was fine. In fact, she showed me my films and said, "See all that white? That's dense tissue. I'm just telling you because your report will come back saying you have dense tissue and I didn't want you to worry. It doesn't mean anything. It's very normal."

What she should have said was, "See all that white? It means we have NO IDEA what is in there."

So there is you PSA for the week. If you have dense tissue, don't assume everything is fine.

Lesson Five: Surprising your doctor can actually be a good thing. She discovered that what was happening to one breast was also actually happening to the other. I just didn't know it. (I'm being purposely vague here... there is only so much one wants to expose in a blog. The fact that I wrote the word breast earlier is already a milestone for me in the personal exposure bag.)

So at the end of this, she says, "The fact that this is bilateral is good, I think. It means you probably don't have cancer." And her relief was palpable.

And it wasn't until this point that I realized everyone in that office - the receptionist, the nurse, the doctor - all thought I was going to leave with a breast cancer diagnosis. Which, frankly, is pretty sobering. And also, at the same time, like some crazy acid trip because I find out in the same sentence that I not only probably DID have cancer but that now I probably DON'T.

Which I hope forgives the moment later in the day when, walking through a grocery store and some stock boy asks how I'm doing, I blurted out loudly and with great enthusiasm, "Great! I probably don't have cancer!"

But with this good news came other confounding news.... my doctor had absolutely no idea what the problem was. And so, she says, I need to go to the breast specialist.

ME: There's a breast specialist?

HER: Yes. That's all they do.

ME: Isn't that what you do?

HER: No. We pretty much just stick to vaginas here.

Yes. And this is why I love my doctor.

And also because, when she described how big and beautiful the Breast Center was, she spread her hands out wide and sang, "AHHHHHHH" like a choir of angels.

So now I have a breast specialist. And we have no idea what's wrong. But I feel fine. And I (probably) don't have cancer. And that last part is all I'm clinging to now.


I do want to say I'm not worried. So you shouldn't be either. I've seen my new doctor, and I'll save that for the next post. She seems concerned, but I think that's her job. Really, all she does is diagnose people with breast cancer, and that can't be a fun job. She's also confounded, but says nothing looks "overly suspicious," but I've had lots of tests and an MRI scheduled for next week, and I suspect it will turn out to be much ado about nothing.

I'm mostly thankful all this happened after I turned in my thesis, because really, I couldn't juggle all of that at the same time. So if there was a good time to see a doctor a day, this is it.

Okay. I think that's all the personal I can handle today. This is what I want you to know: I'm not worried. You shouldn't be either. And if you have dense breast tissue, ask about an MRI or sonogram.

My work here is done.

Thesis... Done.

This, my friends, is the rather unpretentious, unimpressive first page of the culmination of two years' work. I am unabashedly thrilled.

Yes, the thesis is done. Yes, I can stop using words like "thesis" and "grad school" and get back to normal conversational words. If I can remember them.

Can you believe it's been two years? Me either. On the other hand, I can't remember what it was like not to be in school. Which is what my kids think when I say, "That two years went fast," and they reply, "Was it just two years??"

The last five months writing this thesis have been crazy. Head in laptop, eyes blurred, four-hour-a-night sleep kind of crazy. Non-stop writing and revising and crying and despairing and tiny leaps of hope followed by roller-coaster freefalls of doubt kind of crazy. But here it is... five short stories I've become mightily attached to.

I don't know what will happen from here. We're into the holiday season, so I suspect there will have to be some non-laptop time that involves cleaning and shopping and decorating, but I don't know how to function without a laptop calling me constantly. I keep wandering back to it, opening it, staring as though something important will leap out at me.

I have two novels rolling around in my head that I suspect I'll get knee-deep into before I return to Oregon in January. One is an old one I think I finally have a good direction for, and another is a new one that's more a seed still growing roots in my brain.

I feel both huge relief... and a little lost. Glad to say goodbye to stress of school, but depressed at saying goodbye to the promise of residencies, friends, letters from advisors, and that learning high that makes my brain feel like it's exploding.

Now to figure out what life will be from here on out...

Frankenstorm... less fun than the name implies.

This Monday showed up just as they said it would... rainy, windy, cold. Frankenstorm is moving into Virginia, and even though we're on the southern edge of the worst of it, we're hunkering down for the next few days.

The kids are home, and even the federal government shut down, so the husband is home. Last night was fun - movies and finishing off the ice cream in the freezer and enjoying a late night knowing we could sleep in today.

We're scrambling this morning, though, to do last-minute things in case the power goes out. Showers and coffee and laptops charging. Tubs are filled with water, a few meals ready to throw on the grill, coolers with ice and fridges cleaned out. My stories are printed out in case I have to revise old-school, and my fingers are crossed that I don't have to.

We are either way over-prepared or smart. I tend to downplay events like this, cynical of the weather reporters who clearly love the hype a good storm brings (and the revenue). But I feel better if I'm a little in control, and if nothing comes of this but some wet weather, at least I have dinners for the next three days already done!

This would be great time to curl up with a book!! Unfortunately, I'm still having to curl up with revisions. Boo.

I imagine with the large size of this storm, quite a few of you are under it as well. Thinking and praying for all you in more direct path of this storm. Check in and let us know how you're doing if you can!

In Transition

I wrote a blog post earlier today and decided to delete it. It was long. And boring. It was about revising and rewriting and the thesis. Did I mention it was long? And boring?

I've been re-thinking my blog - about what I want it to be. Heidi the Hick posted her 7th anniversary blog post last week and it got me thinking about all the years that have passed here at this blog.

When I started, it was a way for me to connect with other writers, to not be alone in this journey that can be so isolating. It was a great place for us - all of us - to share what we struggle with, what we learn, when we meet success.

There was always a splash of me, too. Adventures in family vacations and experiences with diabetes and the occasional what to do when the pellet stove guy takes all day. But mostly, it's been writing.

I thought when I started grad school I'd be here all the time sharing what I was learning, but it didn't work out that way. Part was time, of course. I ran out of it. But there was a greater part where it felt strange writing about that - as though I were saying "This is the way to write well!" when really, I'm still just stumbling along like everyone else.

Now that I'm winding up school, I feel like a new phase is starting - of my writing, of my career such that it is, of my life. I'm not sure what I want this blog to reflect, but I don't think I want to be a blog for writers specifically. I really want it to be for people. Anyone.

So there may be changes here. Same me. But new format. Maybe a new look. I don't want to give up blogging, but I feel the need to shake it up a little. I hope you that read will still stick with me. :)

I'm Not Impressed... Yet

Two years... read eighty books and write one. That's the tag line of an MFA program, and here I am, on my last book. And... like McKayla, I'm not impressed.

When I first started the program, I had to come up with a reading list, and so I asked all of you. What great books are out there I must absolutely know about and read?

I asked my crit group, and the first book one person suggested was A Prayer for Owen Meany. I looked it up on Amazon and saw that the book ran 642 pages and wrote her back, "Are you trying to kill me??"

But I've had many people since then tell me to read it, rave about it, tell me it's their favorite book ever. And since I've read books like Cutting for Stone, Edgar Sawetelle, and the behemoth doorstop A Soldier of the Great War (weighing in at 727 pages), what's one more long book?

So I started it this week as my last book. And I have to say... I'm not feeling it yet.

Okay - I'm not that far into it. About 50 pages, which isn't that far in a book this size. But something my advisor and this program have tried to pound into me is starting in the action, keeping a story in the action, moving things along and not letting the story linger too long on things not imperative to the plot. And this book is just meandering right now, and full of details that don't at all seem important.

I take it it's a character driven story, and since Owen just killed Johnny's mom with a foul ball, I'm guessing things are about to amp up. But still... there's just not the language I love to stew in or the plot compelling me forward. I'm hoping it will get better. I'm expecting still to find some gem in it.

I wonder if all the ravings about it raised my expectations too high? I've found the books I come to with huge expectations of greatness nearly always let me down, and those I don't know or expect much of are the ones that blow me away.

I'll keep plodding on. Maybe by the end of today I'll have totally and completely fallen in love with it. Maybe it will be one of my favorites, too. I'm hoping.. because 652 pages is a lot to not like.

If you've read this book and loved it, what is it that impressed you?

And why does Owen Meany talk in all capitals??

Tell me, blogging friends, have you been disappointed in books that others have hyped up to you? Do you prefer to come to a book with high expectations or none at all?

***UPDATE: I finished Owen Meany and... I'm still not all that impressed. I admit the ending did make up for some of the earlier aspects I didn't love, and it was a more tightly-knit story than it appeared to be during the first 400 pages. But this is not a book I'll be thinking of years from now and want to pull out and read again, I don't think. 

The End of Hiding Out

Almost two years ago to the day I received a call inviting me to join the Pacific University MFA program.

Two years. It's been both a blink of the eye and a lifetime ago. I remember getting the call and thinking life was about to get crazy, change drastically. I remember thinking that two years, 80 books read, a book written, five residencies seemed like an eternity away.

And here it is. Almost done. I've only one book left to read. In six week, my thesis will be signed off on and off to the binders. I will have plane tickets to my last residency, where I'll walk through the Portland Airport one last time, check into the hotel by the ocean one last time, see my amazing friends and writers and faculty members one last time.

It all makes me feel sad and panicky inside - like something truly fantastic is coming to an end.

What will life be like after?

I realized this week that I've used this program in exactly the way I intended to - as an escape from the publishing world for a little while. Funny, you'd think a writing program would put you more in the publishing world. For some, it has. For some who have only written as a hobby, it has opened their eyes to things they knew little about before: query letters and agents and submissions and publishing stats.

For me, I knew all of that. Been burned out by it. Tired by it. Frustrated by it. Disillusioned. There is, at the beginning of a writing career, a dream. Reality is, as it always is, harsher. Still great, but great in different ways than you expect, and not as great in ways you never saw coming.

I needed to get out of that. Needed to stop thinking about publishing and statistics and competition so much and think again about writing.  In a really tough time in my life, I needed to remember why I do this, and give myself a jump start into a new phase.

So I hid out in the program, and poured myself into writing... just writing. Falling in love with writing again. With stories and characters and ideas and the feel of the words on the page. It was hard. Sometimes I didn't love it as much as I thought I should. Growth is like that. Growing pains are... well... painful.

But I've realized lately, especially as I think of this coming to an end, that I love writing like breathing. It has become every fiber of me. It is what I most want to be doing. When I'm not doing it, I wish I was. When I hate it, I still love it. When I am struggling to get it right, it's because I love it so much that I struggle.

Each story I send to my advisor I say, "I really want to get this one right. This one's important to me." And I expect him to write back and say, "You say that about all of them." But he doesn't, and I suspect that's because he feels that too - that every story is important to get right. Every story hits close to home in some way. Every character is part of your heart in some way and deserves a story worthy of them.

And now... now the end is just about here. And it's time to leave the cocoon I've made for myself. Time to get back into reading blogs and articles about publishing and find out what's going on in the world again. It is an entirely different publishing world than I knew two years ago. Big publishers are less in favor, ebooks are sky-rocketing, self-publishing is much more acceptable a path to take, and authors seem to be grabbing control of their destiny more than ever. It boggles my mind. There is so much new to learn - more decisions to make in terms of what I want to do with my writing.

So on that note, dear bloggers, tell me what I've missed. What blogs should I be reading? What news should I know? What are YOU thinking of this evolving world of publishing?