Evaporating Tumor

The Wicked Witch is Melting

When the cancer journey began the tumor was measured at 3.2 cm. That was in February 2025, back when I still had defined eyebrows and a smidge of patience. Somewhere along the speed-dating circuit with oncology teams, a nurse casually mentioned it was 3.9 cm.

My finely tuned BS detector—honed by years of politely nodding through unsolicited advice—immediately called it: false. That was the first and last time I heard that number, and no one else seemed inclined to defend it.

Now it's July 2025, and four chemotherapy infusions later—drumroll, please—the wicked witch is down to 0.3 cm. It is melting! Chemotherapy, despite its daily circus of side effects, is working. And for that, I am relieved.

Two more infusions to go. Then this Tough Twinkie will finally wave goodbye to chemo like a high school reunion that I have no intention of attending. If cancer taught me anything, it is to be way more intentional. So high school? Yeah… not exactly worth circling back to. Same for chemo.