Wednesday, March 16, 2011


 Yesterday was definitely what my mother calls a 5 star day.  Amazing, life changing news of my (mostly) clear PET scan, a visit to school to share the results, flowers from my family, celebratory dinner at Cin Cin (yum yum)... It just kept getting better and better.

I am feeling like the black cloud might, just might be moving out to sea. 

We have Spring and later, Hawaii, to look forward to (thanks to my talented mother, Shutterfly, and all of our devoted FB friends who voted).  I can now Skype with my students, thanks to the wonders of modern technology.  Lots and lots of happy times.

Still.  I can't help but know that the drama isn't gone forever.  I feel good about planning things in the next 3 months (that's when my next scan will be).  That sure beats limiting my plans to the next 3 days.  I am a teacher, goshdarnit, I don't do this one day at a time thing all that well.  I like to be planned.  And prepared for every possible scenario.  But you already knew that.  And I'm sure you've figured out by now that I've matured in discovering it's impossible to be prepared for EVERY possible scenario.  Cause I sure as hell wasn't prepared for this one.

I really am focused on the word remission.  It feels dreamy to think it, to say it, like it can't be true.  Prior to Tuesday's results, I did not permit myself to fantasize (more than once or twice) about the possibility of good news.  I did not envision myself screaming from the rooftops, or sharing the news with random passersby (sort of how I did after giving birth to J).  I decided it would be much more logical to think about where I would take my scan disks to get a second opinion.  Or what hospital I would have my SCT.  Or what I could do to survive the next 6 weeks until it was time for a re-scan to double check the bad news.  I know from experience it's much easier to prepare yourself for the worst news than to be totally blindsided by it.  Okay, well, I think it's easier, anyway.  Dan tends to disagree.  Then again, he's mostly an optimist.  Me?  Not so much.

"Good health will be yours for a long time." NO JOKE.
I woke up this morning as a different person.  I am a mother, wife, daughter, sister, teacher, friend, writer, and now, cancer survivor.  It easily brings tears to my eyes to write that.  I've made it to remission, even if I do relapse at some point in the future.  I feel so lucky to have heard that word come from my doctor's mouth, directed at me.  And proud of the good cells, who prevailed over the bad guys, even if just for now. 

I cannot wait to get this port out of my chest (hopefully they can fit me in next week?) and go forth towards the direction of my life, whichever way that is.  Tonight I'm enjoying the sweet taste of relief and heading off to bed.



  1. I love stepping through your thought process of how to handle the next dose of bad news, then discovering that--yes, shout if from the rooftops and at every traffic light-- you are a cancer survivor!! Another unexpected twist-- so being optimistic really is worthwhile. Dan's got that right! (Was optimist a trait on the famed husband list?) And you do sound sturdier and more mature as in "Mia is tough, strong and enduring." Another oak in a very sturdy forest of family trees. A million beams of love shooting your way...

  2. "Cell-abration" -- love it! And to get that fortune on the night of your Very Good News -- jeez, that is just crazy!!!

    I imagine it will take a bit for your brain to switch gears now. It's been helping you anticipate and plan appropriately for any and all crappy stuff for a long time now.

    Wishing for you and your family the continued good feeling of relief as you bid adieu to that black cloud.