Hank the Tumor has been too much with me the past couple of weeks. Partially because it's coming up on our anniversary - April 8th 2013 is when my uterus exploded and Hank entered my life, but more than that, I've got an appointment at Huntsman later this month to talk to a new set of doctors about him and I'm irrationally nervous about paying any attention to him. He's been amazingly quiet, considering, and I'd really rather not wake him up.
I really should be celebrating - I was talking to Mom about it, and if you consider the rarity of myxoid ULMS... 6 women a year are diagnosed - if you round that down to 5 for ease of math, and consider that there's a survival rate of 50% the first two years, 20% by year five - I might be the sole survivor of the class of 2013. (I know, black humor - hey, it's got me through so far.) My current doctor said he looked over the notes from my former cancer doctor, and she has absolutely no clue what I'm doing still alive. But here I am...
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