The flying pink unicorn of cancer

Here is a picture of me in the hospital a couple of days ago – but I could just as easily have used a picture of anyone else with cancer, because we all look like funny little bald people.

Here is a picture of me just two days later. I have gotten good at the wig and makeup thing. To quote a favorite author of mine, Anne Barone: “Didn’t Voltaire say that illusion was the source of all happiness?!”

I am nearing the end of treatment (one to two months left), and have already ended my radiation days. I really don't have much nostalgia for them. One of the ongoing realities of having had cancer is the never-ending follow-ups that you have with various specialists. Today was radiation follow-up day.

My radiation-oncologist is an interesting fellow, who prefers to bike to work and lets pediatric cancer patients hit him with a pie at the conclusion of treatment (I was given the option because of the nature of my cancer and it was so tempting). I told him that I didn't hate him for subjecting me to two months of hell, and I actually like him because he did a great job and I'm not dead. He also took the trouble to read over the studies I had brought in which highlighted a particular concern that I had, even going to the point of finding another more comprehensive study to counteract the concerns of the prior studies.

He said thanks. Then he told the resident that I was an interesting case and he would not see another like it again. I proceeded to inform the resident that I was the flying pink unicorn of cancer, and rattled off all of the statistics verbatim (only 1 in 333,000 people get it, only 10% are above the age of 20, only 4% begin as extraosseous lesions, and only 2% begin in the skull). When I was leaving, the resident told me to, "Fly away pink unicorn, fly away!" This made me feel special. Then I got to stop and visit with a couple of my favorite nurses, which made me happy.

Seriously, I have the highest opinion of The James Graham Brown Cancer Center in Louisville and all of the phenomenal nurses and doctors who work there. I have thoroughly researched every treatment option for Ewing's sarcoma, and I am convinced that I could not have received better care at any other hospital than I have received at Kosair Children's Hospital and at The James Graham Brown Cancer Center.

Plus I got Pony balloons at Kosair. Aren't you jealous, people at adult hospitals?! You don't have balloon Tuesday! Ha! I think that I actually pointed this out in an earlier post, but I'm saying it again to rub it in your face.