These are my online diary entries from the fall of 2004 when I was diagnosed with uterine cancer through the operation and recovery, February 2005. It's not as depressing as you might think.
(Scroll to bottom for the first entry.)

February 15, 2005

You know, I figured that sooner or later I was going to have to stop calling this the Cancer Diaries. After all, I am cancer-free, (at least the last time they checked). But since that would entail thinking up a new name, then adding that name to my menu, and explaining about the new name, and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah... well you get the picture.

Physically, I feel really good. David and I have been running part of our walking route when the roads aren't an ice-slick, so I can't complain. Mentally, I forget things in mid-sentence. But it's not that big a deal.

I am writing again for the Community Advocate newspaper out of Westborough, MA. As of February 25, 2005, my column "Recollections" will once again appear weekly in the paper. (Hopefully, the column will be online.) I will interview folks who've spent most of their lives in the towns of Northborough, Southborough, Shrewsbury, Westborough, Hudson, or Marlborough, and who can chronicle the changes over the last fifty or so years. I will also write about folks from the past who have contributed to the growth and success of these towns as well as interesting historic places. Should be fun.

January 25, 2005

Happy New Year.
As many folks have pointed out to me, I haven't written anything here since last year. I really appreciate the concern, and in some cases the loving, gentle harrassment. (That was an attempt at humor, just in case my senses aren't working today.) But it is very reassuring to note that one has friends and acquaintances that will throw a lifeline that will keep one connected during the dark times. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Since I last wrote, I've gone through a few cycles that started with one day where I felt extremely exhausted, followed by a few days where I felt severely depressed. Then the depression slowly lifted over the course of a few days until I felt good. Then the cycle started again. This went on two or three times but I now appear to be in a holding pattern of "pretty good."

Physically, I feel really good. I still feel twinges from the internal stitches now and again, but I can last an hour on the treadmill (average time is 40 min.) and I've started lifting weights again and doing sit-ups, which were nowhere near as bad as I thought.

Our oldest daughter got engaged and we learned our grandchild is going to be a girl.

December 2, 2004

Yes, it has been awhile. I guess I've been hiding out because I have just not felt like myself since Thanksgiving. I have moments where I wonder if the doctors could have performed a lobotomy on me (along with the hysterectomy) without my knowing. I also know the hormone issue is there (having a hysterectomy instantly throws you into menopause.) But I also have to keep reminding myself that this was major surgery and to give myself time to recover from the trauma. I don't feel depressed (I've been there several times before and this feels different), it's more like an extended feeling of out-to-lunch. I feel either intensely focused on this whole ordeal or nothing at all. And I have trouble thinking about anything else. I've never had surgery before, major or otherwise, so this could very well be what people go through. I am rather impatient, but I think this is one time that I am just going to have to sit back and relax.

Thanksgiving was wonderful. David, my brother John, sister-in-law Hannah, and all the kids put on an incredible feast. I didn't do a darn thing except sit at the table and even that wiped me out. You learn quickly everything your abdominal muscles do for you once you take some of them out of commission. Sitting in a kitchen chair is a challenge 'cause you need those abs to hold you upright. If you are using your hands (eating or typing) it is even tougher because you don't have those for support. Result: Your head falls forward onto the keyboard typing unintelligible drivel or into the mashed potatoes. Either way, it's not pretty.

My incision is vertical (navel to pubic bone) and the doc said that will probably take longer to heal. The incision is healing fine, though ugly, and I can now sit up and down without too much effort. I have started taking walks both on the treadmill (now in the living room instead of the cellar - that way if I fall off, the neighbors will eventually hear me yelling) as well as outside with David. The first few walks outside were more on the lines of feeble shuffles up and down the driveway (which is fairly long.) There is a DeBeers diamond commercial with a young couple (presumably in love) walking through a park down a treelined avenue and they pass an older couple (presumably in love also.) Well, we looked like the older couple, or at least I did wearing a long wool coat, gloves, scarf and a beret. Come to think of it, David probably looked more like my son in jeans and his Emerson College sweatshirt (from our daughter.) I'm happy to report my pace has quickened to a snappy crawl.

My doctor said I would feel like I'd been hit by a truck, and I think she described it aptly. So I will continue to lie on the couch and read or watch TV and veg. Although I do occassionally glance down at my incision, half expecting to see wide tire tracks instead of stitches.

A little BSP (blatant self-promotion): my mini mystery "It Pays to be Nice" is now on sale in Woman's World, issue date December 7 (on page 49.) There is a man featured on the magazine's cover with the headline, "Rocco's best Holiday Recipes!" The background cover color is green. Hope you enjoy it!

November 24, 2004

I did three back-flips today!

Just kidding. It's just that this entry seemed rather dull and boring compared to last week's. Then again, maybe that's not so bad for awhile.

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone. Hug those you love extra tight.

November 23, 2004

Boy, do I appreciate every one of you for your good wishes and thoughts, e-mails and calls. You know, since I started writing this diary, there have been more than a few moments I felt rather self-indulgent, like I was acting sort of "look-at-me-I'm-Sandra-Dee-ish" (from Grease). But I know it made things easier for David to update anyone who wanted to know without having to make lots of phone calls. And it's been nice to get e-mails from people who sent their wishes and shared their stories. And it was very therapeutic for me and made me feel damn lucky. It is weird to think that it has been less than a month since I got the diagnosis of cancer. Time flies when you're... Well, enough with the corn.

Sitting up at my desk is a bit tough, so I will be brief now and add more hospital/operation info as the days go by. Morphine is a wonderful drug. But I'm glad I don't have any more pain, so no more drugs. Although the screwed up hormonal system is a roller coaster all on its own. Having bizarre dreams and gathering enough material nocturnally for several psycho-thriller novels. Shuffling back and forth from the couch to the bathroom. But I'm feeling very good. (If there are spelling errors in this - well tough. The dictionary is too damn heavy to lift - doctor's orders.

Now if I could just discover a way to harness these hot flashes, I bet we could really save on oil this winter.

November 22, 2004 7:00pm

MONDAY - ARRIVED HOME

It is good to be home. More tomorrow.

November 21, 2004 9:00pm

SUNDAY

[This is David] The good news is that Cathy's lymph nodes tested negative for cancer - she is cancer free.

The not-so-good news is that her digestive system is still not working so she probably isn't coming home on Monday as originally thought. She is doing everything she is supposed to including alking up and down the corridors, again, again and again, but until she is eating solid food - they won't let her leave. I'm sure Cathy will have something to say about this experience after she gets sprung.

November 20, 2004 10:00am

SATURDAY MORNING

[This is David] I spent a few hours with Cathy last night. She is doing better and much more awake than before. She still can't eat or drink anything and gets tired from a little walk across the room but you can tell that the Iron Woman is just not going to be kept away too long. Pretty soon she will back in action and kicking down doors like usual.

Good news: Cathy was told by a doctor that the cancer was not very far into the wall of the uterus and it did not spread. So from what we hear - it looks like the best outcome we could hope for.

The plan is that she stays in the hospital until Monday. Sorry, but she is not ready for visitors.

November 18, 2004 5:30pm

AFTER SURGERY - [This is David] Cathy is out of surgery, they said it went very well. They took the lymph nodes out as part of the procedure. Previously, I had understood that this was only done if there was concern about the cancer spreading but today I was told that this surgeon removes the lymph nodes more often than not, as a precaution. They still need to check the lymph nodes test results (that may take a day or two) but from what I was told, there is no indication that the cancer has spread at this time.

Cathy is still waiting to get moved to her room, hopefully that will happen soon. She is in pain and fading in and out of drug induced sleep. The doctor had described the feeling she would have following the surgery as getting hit by a truck, and from what I saw that was an accurate description.

As for visiting... I don't think any visits with Cathy would be best for her at the moment. I will post any updates here.

November 18, 2004 7:36 am

DAY OF SURGERY - sort looks like the title of one of those disaster movies - think DAY OF DESTRUCTION. Still feeling rather calm. I never felt much denial since the beginning of all this, but this morning I've been moving about as if I'm packing for a vacation. Taking a shower, get my toiletries bag packed, making sure I have an audiobook (ANGELS AND DEMONS), and books to read (of course, a copy of RIPTIDE and A CHRISTMAS CAROL.) All things I would be doing if I were heading off for the weekend. And in a way I guess I am. Should be back Saturday or Sunday, a few pounds lighter (hopefully.) I do really want to know how much all of the stuff they're removing weighs. (Probably another denial tactic. Either that or insanity setting in.)

Said goodbye to the kids. Katelyn last night by phone (at work), Doug, Leah and Ian before they headed for work this morning. Great kids who really love me-can't ask for more than that. Again, I felt cheerful and upbeat, telling them that all will be well. But, surprisingly, no tears, and this from the woman who tears up during the National Anthem. I know I've embarrassed my kids over the years with my overly-sensitive reaction to everything. Again, denial as they say is not just a river in Egypt. Or maybe I've become a Stepford Wife!

When I was getting dressed this morning, I looked at my body, particularly my abdomenal area and thought, "Get ready, it's going to be kind of rough later on today. But remember, it's nothing personal." I'm sure there are plenty of people who speak to various parts of their bodies (and boy, I bet there are a million stories there!) Sort of gathering the troops, I guess.

We leave in less than an hour. My stomach is grumbling and I hang on to the fact that by this evening I'll get to eat, and see the people I love.

And I guess it's true that sometimes it takes a scare like cancer to make you sit up and pay attention to how you've been living your life and whether or not you've made sure that the people you deeply love know it. Heck, any of us could buy the farm any time, but there is something "special" in developing what could be a life-ending disease, that shakes you and reminds you that none of us gets out of here alive. In a way it is a gift. Not the cancer, but the wake-up call. And it's one I will pass along. I hope you do too.

Peace.

November 17, 2004

LATER WEDNESDAY NIGHT

Feeling quite upbeat, now that I've stopped drinking that liquid crap. Maybe it's really just a diversionary tactic by doctors to take their patient's mind off his/her upcoming surgery. Well, it worked!

I just remembered from Monday's pre-admission visit that they will put a tube down my throat during surgery. I know they probably do that for most major surgeries, but I got a sudden vision of being an extra in an episode of ER.

Thanks to everyone for your good vibes, e-cards, phone calls, and e-mails. I have to tell you, e-mail has made this whole journey a lot easier. It's really tough telling people you are about that you have cancer. So, I sent e-mails, that way folks could digest the news on their own time. So many people have been touched by this disease that it evokes a variety of reactions. And nothing like showing up to someone's house for coffee and dropping the news you have cancer. Kind of ruins the appetite. But by sending an e-mail ahead of time, (I agree it is a rather bizarre calling card,) then folks can talk about it a little over the first cup of java, and then move on to more important subjects, like life.

I watched AN AMERICAN CHRISTMAS CAROL (starring Henry Winkler) today. One of my favorite Christmas movies. It's a version of the original. I still think that A CHRISTMAS CAROL is one of the best stories ever written, and the last few years I have reread it, reminding myself how good it is. "Marley was dead: to begin with..." Great stuff.

I am really anxious to have this over with. Send me in coach, I'm ready!

David will update this site tomorrow night. Hopefully, he won't tell everyone that I'm complaining. Although that's entirely possible. I'm not a very patient patient. But if I may indulge in a tiny bit of pre-op complaining... I'm really hungry.
******

You know, they landed on the moon a long, long time ago, and now we can access encyclopedias and friends on the other side of the world with just a click of a mouse, heck, they've even managed to put lycra into jeans, then why in heavens name can't they make a decent tasting concoction (or even in pill formula!) that cleans out your system? That horrendous drink that tastes part sweet, part salty, part pond slime. Yech! I guess the one positive thing about it is I'm not even thinking about surgery. Unfortunately, I think the grimace on my face may be permanent.

Anyway... surgery is scheduled for 10:30 tomorrow morning. Which means, by this time tomorrow I should be ready to party, or at least out of surgery.

More later...

November 16, 2004

LATER TUESDAY NIGHT

I start the liquid diet tomorrow and that gross drink you take when having a colonoscopy - you know, the fun stuff. The doctor ordered that just so they can be prepared for anything. David called on his way home from work to see what I wanted for take-out food, considering it would be my last meal for two days. I have been trying to eat well and exercise every day in an effort to be as healthy as I can be going into this surgery.
So what did I pick?

Big Mac, large fries, and a vat of vanilla milkshake.
******

Woke up at 4:00 am thinking about Thursday, imagining myself the moment I wake up after the surgery and I realize it's all over. Funny, but that part makes me very nervous. But, as David says, waking up after surgery is a really, really good thing. And you know, he's right.

I have a strong sense of anticipation this morning, like the feeling you get when getting ready for a big holiday or a presentation and you have a lot of work to do and must stay focused, but in the end it will all be worth while. I imagine battening down the hatches, as if getting ready to set sail, or a submarine about to submerge. And I can see myself curling into a ball, but not in a bad, panicked way, but the way cyclists duck their heads to cut down on wind resistance, doing whatever they can to make the journey smooth - and to win. Blocking out the outside noise and zeroing in on the core of one's being and channeling every ounce of strength into the upcoming battle. In other words, hanging on for dear life.

Again, I am surprised at how cathartic writing this diary has been. My ramblings have become a way of letting off steam that might otherwise be channeled into endless pacing or window cleaning, and, God forbid, I wouldn't want to do that!

I have also been reading more, since this is the only writing I am doing at the moment. Not sure why I have avoided even looking at the two novels and several short stories still in progress. Maybe I'm worried they will all develop cancer and totally screw up the story lines, or maybe that they will become whining pains in the butt.

And speaking of reading, feel free to e-mail me your favorite book titles or even ones you're reading now, unless of course it's dreadful. (In that case, you can e-mail why you are still reading something dreadful.) Just finished ANGRY HOUSEWIVES EATING BON BONS by Lorna Landvik. It was my book club's November read. Good story that is much richer than the title implies. Have started OPEN HOUSE by Elizabeth Berg. I really like her stuff.

Maybe more later today. The volcano is erupting and there is no stopping the lava (or should I say babble) flow.

November 15, 2004

We've been having a few technical computer glitches. David will move the website to a different server tonight so hopefully we will stay up and healthy. I'll post my update later today. Going to see the anesthesiologist this morning.

LATER THAT DAY...

Went to MetroWest Medical Center (formerly Framingham Union) for pre-admission testing this morning: giving blood, meeting with the anesthesiologist's nurse, blood pressure and pulse check (surprisingly it wasn't through the roof), and general pre-surgery info, including the insurance copay. Ouch! That hurt.

They were all very nice people, which makes me think that even in this day and age of road rage and war, some people understand that a little cheerfulness goes a long way in making life good. My oldest daughter Katelyn came with me, and I am very grateful to have had someone with to joke with (cancer does promote a bizarre sense of humor in some) and to ask questions that my muddled brain couldn't come up with. Thanks Kate!

The Crime Bake Conference was great. Got another agent to send my work to. I left early - Saturday night - and on Sunday, one of the committee members, a mystery writer named Al Blanchard, dropped dead at the conference. They think it was a heart attack, although I don't think the final word is in. He was a very nice guy, easy-going, funny, and very encouraging to other writers. What a terrible shock and a tragedy. My heart goes out to his family. I guess that's a perfect example of the fact that there's always someone worse off than you are - boy, is that the truth.

Had sort of a meltdown yesterday (Sunday.) Maybe it was because I had been so excited on Saturday at Riptide. Being so upbeat, and then coming back to the reality of cancer and the upcoming surgery, I guess I just needed a good cry. Surprisingly, I haven't done very much of that since the diagnosis, which is amazing since I cry at Folger's coffee commercials.

November 12, 2004

It's snowing! And boy is it pretty, especially the view out the back into the woods.

Today I am heading up to Tewksbury for the third annual New England Crimebake -mystery writers and readers conference. (I created their website.) And tomorrow (Sat.) I will get to pitch my mystery novel Dying To Make History to an agent in the hopes of creating interest in my work. I really like my heroine Casey O'Hara, and wonder how she would handle all this cancer stuff.

Good news - my short mystery story "Being Karen Cooper" is now published in the anthology Riptide: Crime Stories by New England Writers. (See Short Stories for info.) I will get my copies of the book at the Crimebake this weekend. I'm sooo psyched!

Nothing like a beautiful snowfall and seeing your writing in print to banish the worriesome thoughts. Six days and counting.

November 11, 2004

A week from today the surgery is happening. It's a pretty weird feeling. Sort of like watching a tsunami coming at you. I have to admit, I'm scared.

November 10, 2004

It's freezing here in central Massachusetts. When David and I went out for our morning run/walk/crawl and it was 21 degrees F here. It is dark that time of morning, and you get to see a multitude of stars if the sky is clear. This morning Jupiter aligned with Venus and the sliver of a moon. Pretty cool stuff. Of course, the constellation Orion was there. Growing up in the city (Worcester) I never took notice of constellations until I met David. Country boy that he was (at least more country than I was) he introduced me to the stars. A very nice gift, I would say. Orion really does look like a warrior, but some of the other constellations really stretch the bounds of believability. What were those folks drinking?

At these temperatures, your eyes water and then that water freezes leaving tiny ice crystals on your lashes. It probably looks pretty, but by the time you step through the door, t he crystals have disappeared.

I got a letter yesterday from the insurance company with the heading "Decision Summary." Under service is written TOTAL HYSTERECTOMY (their caps, not mine.) I found the word service amusing. Then again, it may just be my bizarre sense of humor. The letter went on with dull details, "If your coverage is not in effect at the time, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah..."

Beside length of stay is written "2 days." This time no caps. My first thought is, Here's your hat, what's your hurry. Although I may feel ready to leave the hospital after 2 days, I couldn't help imagine a penny-pinching, haven't-had-a-date-in-twenty-years clerk who sits in his (sorry, but I do see a guy) office deciding the length of stay of every patient, regardless of the "service" performed. Picture Mr. Potter (Lionel Barrymore) in It's a Wonderful Life when he serves on the draft board stamping soldiers forms either 1-A of 4-F with a sadistic grin on his face.

The doctor's office said not to worry about that because there will be people in the hospital who will help decide if I am well enough to go home. And I guess I should be grateful that I have insurance. In my more benevolent moments I am grateful...

So many friends have let me know they are thinking of me. Calls from friends nearby and those who are long distance. A dear friend who sent a hand-woven blanket to give me a birthday hug (thanks R!), birthday e-cards, and invitations to coffee. And I try to respond to everyone quickly to say thanks. But I don't know if everyone knows how much I really do appreciate their making the connection. It's hard to put into words without sounding melodramtic and overly sentimental. So, I will once again refer to one of my favorite movies It's a Wonderful life (and it's certainly cold enough here to feel like Christmas) when the angel Clarence gives George Bailey a book (at the end o f the movie) inscribed with the words, "Remember, no man is a failure who has friends."

I feel like a complete success.

November 8, 2004

It's my birthday today. I'm 47. Got my hair cut (and of course colored!) this morning. My hairdresser made me a pumpkin cake complete with candles and Happy Birthday song. The depth of love and caring I feel from my friends and family on this birthday is immeasurable. Enough to make a girl cry.

Getting one's affairs in order is a phrase sometimes associated with those facing death. Although I don't feel my story will have a tragic ending (at least not until I'm 97), I have been getting some of my long-neglected affairs in order. For instance, this past weekend, David and I cleaned out both refrigerators. (We have an in-law apartment, complete with kitchen, where my mother lived before her death in 1999.)

Both fridges are 18 years old and lately have been groaning about their age. The one in our kitchen has more battle scars than its relative in my Mom's kitchen. 18 years of wear and tear by two adults and four kids has amounted to what cannot be described as anything less than abuse. The rubber gasket around the door lost its umph a few years ago and the only way to close the door completely is to give it a good shove with your foot. Everyone who spends any time here knows that and I imagine that when we eventually send this fridge to where all dead fridges go, we will all be kicking the new ridge closed for a long time to come.

What does this have to do with uterine cancer? Not much except that it was a good sign that we finally cleaned them out. Especially since Thanksgiving is coming up and we'll need room for all those leftovers. David even duct-taped the cracked door shelves while I tossed out the containers of questionable former food decorated with a lovely shade of blue-green mold. (I wonder if Alexander Fleming had just cleaned out his fridge when he discovered penicillin?)

Life goes on. Refrigerators need to be cleaned. Birthday candles need to be blown out. And good friends and family need to be treasured. It is amazing how your list of priorities can get very short and very doable - very fast.

November 7, 2004

Technical stuff:
My pap smear came back showing abnormal cells in the uterus. The only symptom I had was a little spotting of blood. I had been having sometimes two periods a month, as I was in perimenopause. The doctor said the extra periods was not a big deal, but the spotting was. I wonder how many women know that is a cause for concern? The doc took a biopsy and blood tests. The biopsy showed the Grade 1 cancer cells. I'm glad the pap smear showed something was wrong. I'd hate to think that wasn't a good indicator of problems.

Less than two weeks to the surgery. I get a little jolt every time I think of it, especially if I've been thinking of something else. And there is a lot of other stuff going on. Our younger son Ian and his girlfriend are expecting a baby in June. Ultrasound baby "pictures" are on David's website under "family pictures" in the upper left hand corner. Won't know the sex for another several weeks. And our older daughter Katelyn just got a job as a producer at a large cable television station near Boston.

I also have a short mystery coming out in Riptide: Crime Stories by New England Writers. All good stuff! Unfortunately, I am going to miss the book launch and a cable TV appearance. Oh, well. Got other things on my plate at the moment.

On David's site, there are also photos of our trip to Acadia National Park in Bar Harbor, Maine. We climbed/hiked several mountains less than a week before getting the diagnosis. Felt like an Iron Woman at the top of those mountains, so how could I have cancer?

November 5, 2004

Just a week ago this morning, I was living in bliss, completely unaware of the cancer in my body. I told David I wish we could sleep until Christmas and then everything will be over. What a difference a day makes--boy, is that true.

I find myself thinking mostly about the surgery and recovering from it. The fact that they are removing cancer from me rears its ugly head only every once in awhile. My father died of colon cancer (he also had stomach and bowel cancer) and my aunt (my mother's sister) died of ovarian cancer, so I am aware of its impact. But for some reason that hasn't taken over my brain (a good thing.) Plus, my cancer seems to have been caught early and stats say uterine cancer is very treatable.

But speaking of brains, I find myself very distracted. Like a numbing fog has permeated my mind and I'm running in neutral.

I tried the antidepressant and got extremely nauseated and dizzy. Normally, I would have given it the college try, but since the surgery is only two weeks away, and I certainly don't need to go into surgery feel like crap, I decided that I would not take it now and deal with the hormonal rollercoaster after the surgery. Besides, since I've been a bit crazy most of my life, maybe after the instant menopause I might be normal. One never knows.

November 3, 2004

The day after the election. The electoral college numbers are very close. Bush is ahead. Kerry has yet to make an appearance. Politics make me crazy so that's all I'll write about

David and I met with the doctor on Monday, two days ago, and learned all the gorey details. I really like my doctor--she's straightforward, yet she has immense compassion when she speaks . It's as if she's telling the news to a member of her own family. The following is the more technical end of things.

I am to have a complete hysterectomy: removal of uterus, cervix, ovaries. She will make the incision vertically just in case they need to access lymph nodes in the pelvic region. "They" meaning herself and a GYN oncologist who will be present to deal with the lymph nodes in the elvic area should there be a problem. Apparently, once the uterus is removed, and while the patient is still on the table, the doctors examine the uterus to see how far the cancer has penetrated the uterine wall. If it has gone less than 1/3 of the way through the wall, they do nothing more than the hysterectomy. If more than 1/3, they go after the lymph nodes because there is a chance it has spread. Obviously, we're hoping for less than 1/3.

My doctor said the hardest part of all of this might very well be the immediate menopause that will occur after the surgery. And here I was thinking that the cancer was the big ugly, followed closely by the idea of major surgery. But that's what I like about her--she doesn't pull any punches. She prescribed a low dose of an antidepressant to help fight off the attack of the menopause beast.

The surgery is scheduled for the week before Thanksgiving. Our four kids are all over 21, so they can help David do dinner. I thought I might get a wand to conduct the activities on Turkey Day. My dear brother suggested I get a whip.

November 1, 2004

The day after Halloween, my favorite time of the year. Less than a week since the Red Sox won the World Series, seven days away from my 47th birthday. And two days and 17 hours ago since I learned I have uterine cancer. It was the same day my oldest daughter got a job as TV producer and my youngest son and his girlfriend brought home the ultrasound pictures of their unborn baby - my first grandchild. Being raised in an Irish Catholic household, you came to expect bad stuff to follow close on the heels of good stuff. If I still believed in that crap, this flurry of activity would be impressive.

This afternoon, David and I will meet with my doctor to discuss all the details of the surgery (hysterectomy). She said on the phone they found Grade 1 cancer cells. Of course I jumped online to the National Cancer Institute's site and various other sites to check out what that really meant. Basically, the lower the grade, the less abnormal the cells are and the slower the growth rate.

I'm cautiously optimistic.

Since I'm a writer, and I can't focus on any of my other projects at the moment, I'm going to spill my guts here. To paraphrase Bette Davis, "Buckle your seatbelts. It's going to be a bumpy ride!"