What's in a Number?

2600.  The result of Mom's initial CA-125 test.  In case you aren't versed in cancer-speak, "CA" stands for "cancer antigen" and this is the standard blood test used to determine if ovarian cancer is present in the body.

8.  The result of my first CA-125 test;  a "baseline", if you will.  I made a rather hasty decision to take the plunge while in the doctor's office earlier this month.

630.  The number after Mom's first chemo treatment, the day before her second treatment occurred in December 2009.  An amazing sign that gave everyone hope that the tumor was shrinking.

110.  The percent confidence we had that another round of chemo would continue to send the CA-125 numbers down. 

35.  The dividing line between "worried" and "not worried" with CA-125 results.

1.5.  The number of quarts of fluid that built up in Mom's abdomen due to the cancer and were, subsequently, drained off.

"Down".  The results of CA-125 tests after the second and third rounds of chemotherapy.  This would seemingly mean that Mom's tumors were shrinking;  instead, it was an incomplete picture of the whole:  the cancer had spread to her liver.

Six. The number of weeks set aside for Mom to try another chemo regime in early January 2010.

Nine.  The number of days after discussing the alternate regime before the cancer had spread to Mom's liver, kidney, and intestine and she had fluid on her lungs.

Three.  The exact number of months between diagnosis and death. 

Two.  The number of years Mom has been in her Heavenly home.

One.  The number of lives we all get to lead. 

Zero.  The number of women over the course of the rest of my life that I want to see diagnosed with ovarian cancer. 

Infinity.  The amount I love and miss you, Mom.

As many as it takes.  The number of years I plan to live and fight for everyone who has a Mother, daughter, sister, Aunt, Grandmom, friend, or niece who could possibly contract this killer disease.