Awe-Ite 3

Yesterday, over a week after my LEEP (Loop Electrosurgical Excision Procedure) (and that's one acronym you won't find on AcronymFinder.com, by the way,) and without lab results as promised within that time frame, i emailed Dr. Abrahm.

"The dysplasia is more severe that I thought," he wrote this morning.

Apparently i had missed his call while i was in the shower.

"We can discuss in person or over the phone," he suggested.

Well, is it cancer or isn't it?! I was exasperated. He could've just gotten to the point. Instead we had to play phone tag again.

As bitched to Denisse, "I am bracing myself for the worst. I just want to KNOW!"

Refusing to sit around suffering, i tried to take my mind off things by running errands. Around 3 p.m. (hail the Holy Trinity!) i got a hold of the doctor.

Reluctant to be impersonal, he gave me the option of a vis-à-vis consultation.

"I'd rather know sooner than later," i said.

He asked me if i was sitting down, if i was driving.

"I'm at a park, actually," I had come to the community pond that always cheered me up. "I can sit down."

After much deliberation, basically, he conveyed that, in lieu of the squamous cells that usually are culpable, it is the deeper tissue, the glandular cells, that are "of concern". There was a long Latin term for the occurrence which he could hardly pronounce.

"Technically," he finally said after probably 10 minutes. "It is cancer."

Technically? Either it is cancer or it is not.

Later i would tell RJ, "I appreciate the discretion but it's childish to tiptoe around the topic."

The good news is it is easily treated. No radiation or chemo necessary. Only surgery.

A specialist in gyno-oncology who went to Harvard has been consulted. Studies show that removal of the microscopic tumor (terminology Dr. Abrahm came around to using toward the end of the conversation) usually takes care of the problem. However, on rare occasions, cancerous cells can migrate to the uterus.

"A more aggressive approach is hysterectomy," explained Dr. Abrahm. "Although it is not recommended at the moment."

Most women remain cancer-free after the less drastic operation. Some who opt for uterine eradication will find no evidence of cancerous invasion.

His advice was that i go for the cone (yeah, funny name; no ice-cream is served) and wait at least a year or two while under close monitor. Then, if i still decide on the more intrusive treatment, i can.

He was concerned i'd still want kids at some point. When all the while muttering, "Uh huh, uh huh", i was screaming inside, "Get this thing out of me!"

Yet, somewhere while he described the severance, i suddenly pictured this pink apparatus leaving my body, felt the loss, and the implication of finalizing childlessness, and i got choked up.

"Tell you what," concluded Dr. Abrahm. "I'll send in the request for cone so you're in line. And if you change your mind, let me know."

Not like it's gonna happen today, or next week. One, my condition is still considered non-urgent. Two, we'll have to wait till my cervix heals from LEEP.

Yeah, wait till it grows back before you wield a knife at it.

We're shooting for early September. At least i won't have to cancel my Asia trip to see the 'rents. I'll be traveling with cancer.

I wanted to send RJ a brief email from the park, or text Denisse. But how do you summarize all this?

I came home and announced to RJ, "We are going to The Mirage*!"

They have the best fried zucchini ever. I figured this was a special day that called for deep fried food.

For the record, i was able to share the story before the chow came, and after only one sip of Sapphire and tonic.

Later in the evening, on the back porch having another witty interchange, RJ mused, "You are easy to be with."

"Because even when i have cancer," i responded. "I'm pleasant?" And i laughed.

"Are you okay?" Asked RJ.

"Yeah," i shrugged. "I thought, 'What's the worst case scenario? I have cancer.'"

I have cancer.

It feels good to say it.

In fact, i would've been very surprised had i gone through life without having had it. Besides, it could've been A LOT worse! Without nausea and hair loss, can it even be considered real cancer?

All joking aside, this was a fortunate outcome: I can eat. I can fuck. What more can i ask for?


*A dive bar within walking distance; not its real name