Pre-admitting had called on Friday afternoon to make sure my information had not changed from a month ago when I was there for my surgery. Nope. Good to go. At this rate, we may never move!
Check in time for admissions was 6am. That's right. We were there before God had even placed the sun in the eastern sky. Babs showed up at 5:30 this morning. It is amazing to me how she can be so pleasant, so early. I will tell you all about Babs in an upcoming post along with some other very influential people...but for now, since I am on Percocet and my neck hurts, we will just stick to today's story. I refuse to not pay adequate tribute to the people who are giving me their absolute best so that I can be mine... Trust me. When you "meet" the people in my life, you will love them, too.
We checked in at 6am and were told to go to waiting room 1. We did. It was packed! All we could figure was some sort of "Monday Madness Giveaway" for surgeries. There were people in there for ankle issues, tendonitis, colon care, finger fungus, and lung removal. It was something. Some of the elderly people seemed to be playing "Medical Bingo" with questions like "Is anyone scheduled for gallbladder removal?" "BINGO!!!!!" It was crazy...and I did not win. Somehow, yet again, I was the youngest patient in the room and unable to play with the older kids.
We were called back until the nurse-nazi said I had to go alone. Big Daddy gruffed and huffed a bit, but Babs settled him down and assured him they would be able to go back with me soon. The nurse-nazi handed me over to Waiting Room Tour Guide #2 and off I went. I was escorted to the scale, which was wrong...then onto my patient bay. "Gown ties in the back. Don't forget your footies and head covering." I thought to myself the head covering won't be an issue much longer and if you think for one second that I would dare forget to have something covering my feet while walking around a hospital chockful of sick people, you are nuts.
I gowned up. I sat. And sat. And sat. I watched and kept mental note of how many people on staff did NOT wash their hands when leaving the restroom. I counted ceiling tiles. (18) I thought about going back to work. I thought about the possibility of a support group getting started at church. I thought about how slow time passes when all you want is for Big Daddy to be with you. Thought about that a lot.
Nurses came and went. Vitals were taken. Pregnancy test came back negative. The chaplain came in and we prayed. Again, I was given a mild sedative to ease my tension which, again, did not work. I am now convinced I am in the "placebo" group for some secret study. The anesthesiologist came in and while very nice, he did say something that upset me...
"Since this is a shorter procedure than last time, we will be giving you more of a dreamy, relaxing anesthesia as opposed to putting you completely under".
"What?"
"Yes, kind of like when you had your colonoscopies. If you feel any discomfort, just let us know and we will adjust your pain medication intake".
"What?"
"Where am I losing you, Ms. Spocks"?
"You lost me when you said you were not going to put me completely under. I want to be put completely under. I have cash. I do not want to be 'aroused by discomfort and inform you I need more drugs'. I want the maximum dosage allowed by law in accordance with my weight, which I increased on my chart so I could have more drugs and not feel a bloomin' thing. I don't have any plans for today or even for the rest of the week, so please, give me the stuff to knock me out for at least today and possibly tomorrow. I do not want to feel anything. I have felt the 'discomfort' you mentioned from a colonoscopy and can only imagine that having a scalpel slice open the area above my jugular would NOT be a great time for me to sit upright and say, 'woohoo, I feel that". So, that is where you lost me. I have insurance. I have a credit card with a gold seal saying I can charge up to $20,000. Zero balance. It's yours. Load me up".
The OR nurse came in a while later and informed me that I would be put completely under for my procedure and asked if there was anything else I needed. Nope. That's it and thanks.
A nurse named Tammy came in to begin my IV. Tammy said she was going to numb the IV site before putting the IV in. WHAT!?!?!?!? Is this possible?!?!?!? Why is this the first time I have ever heard of this or ever been offered??? AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!
After my shock/disbelief/euphoria wore off, I realized I love Tammy.
IV in.
Big Daddy and Babs escorted me back to my bay. One of the nurses had come in and told me that Big Daddy was getting restless because I had been back there without him for well over an hour and a half. I tried to explain that Big Daddy is not a people person or a morning person and that he hates hospitals. The nurse was amused because she thought I was kidding. Oh well...no harm, no foul.
Big Daddy and Babs were able to walk with me to the "Hugs and Kisses" area to say goodbye...and WHISH! I was gone. Next thing I knew I was listening to people talk in a garbled, muffled way and I could not understand what they were saying whatsoever. Ah! Surgery over! This, of course, meant if I could coherently convince everyone that I was fine, then I could go home.
"Good morning. That surgery was not bad at all. I am feeling fine on this beautiful, sunshiney day. You nurses look lovely. I shall write a letter recommending each of you for a hefty raise. May I please go home?"
Maybe it did not come out exactly like that, but that was what was in my head. Either way, someone was convinced and we headed home.
May I just say, there is no bed like your own bed. And that is where I stayed until around 6pm. Babs went on home after tucking me in and Big Daddy joined me. That is the best sleep there is...cuddled with with the love of your life.
The kids came home...our sweet neighbor brought dinner...all was well.
At the end of the day when you look around at your children sleeping snugly in their beds, your husband, channel surfing while dozing in and out, and your pups laying at your feet waiting for you to go bed so they can burrow down beside you, you know in your heart of hearts that God is good ALL the time and you say a prayer of thanks.
Amen.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
From Today's Sermon...
Here are a few notes I wrote down today from our sermon. My heart was moved and I pray your heart will be, too... Blessings to you! ~Pandora
Look away from the mirror and turn to Christ.
What vision are you building your life around? Being a Christian? You need more than the title.
God has a heart that no one would be parted from Him.
Do not just live where you have been living...live courageously in God. Isaiah 43: 18-19 says:
“But forget all that—it is nothing compared to what I am going to do. For I am about to do something new. See, I have already begun! Do you not see it?"
Proverbs 29:18 says "Where there is no vision, people perish."
What is God calling me to do?? I am thinking that I am supposed to begin a cancer support group at church. I don't know. I have a difficult time being quiet while He speaks. (Not just Him, anyone...) Matthew 25:23 says that “The master said, ‘Well done, my good and faithful servant. You have been faithful in handling this small amount, so now I will give you many more responsibilities. Let’s celebrate together!’ God has given me the opportunity to reach out to others through my blessing of having cancer. How can I not live courageously and allow my heart to rest in His, the hands of my Maker?
Is this my calling? I don't know, but I covet your prayers for an answer and godly direction. May His will be done for it is His time, given to me, not my time...His service so that the gospel is spread...His Word that never changes...His Son who died for me, a lowly sinner.
Today I pray for you to see yourself as the "Lost Sheep", not the "Black Sheep". Seek Him. He never moves...we do.
Be the fire within me, Lord, I pray. I serve you proudly. Your humble servant.
Look away from the mirror and turn to Christ.
What vision are you building your life around? Being a Christian? You need more than the title.
God has a heart that no one would be parted from Him.
Do not just live where you have been living...live courageously in God. Isaiah 43: 18-19 says:
“But forget all that—it is nothing compared to what I am going to do. For I am about to do something new. See, I have already begun! Do you not see it?"
Proverbs 29:18 says "Where there is no vision, people perish."
What is God calling me to do?? I am thinking that I am supposed to begin a cancer support group at church. I don't know. I have a difficult time being quiet while He speaks. (Not just Him, anyone...) Matthew 25:23 says that “The master said, ‘Well done, my good and faithful servant. You have been faithful in handling this small amount, so now I will give you many more responsibilities. Let’s celebrate together!’ God has given me the opportunity to reach out to others through my blessing of having cancer. How can I not live courageously and allow my heart to rest in His, the hands of my Maker?
Is this my calling? I don't know, but I covet your prayers for an answer and godly direction. May His will be done for it is His time, given to me, not my time...His service so that the gospel is spread...His Word that never changes...His Son who died for me, a lowly sinner.
Today I pray for you to see yourself as the "Lost Sheep", not the "Black Sheep". Seek Him. He never moves...we do.
Be the fire within me, Lord, I pray. I serve you proudly. Your humble servant.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Robin Heads Home...
It was a beautiful day. The weather was perfect...sunny, clear, and not too hot. She had to leave, my Robin... I was dreading this day on so many levels.
She packed. I watched. The kids were pretty quiet. None of us talked too much at all, actually.
Precious Son loaded the car with suitcases and snacks.
Beautiful Daughter petted the pups.
Big Daddy slept after having worked the night shift, oblivious to what was going on...
She hugged Precious Son.
She hugged Beautiful Daughter.
She hugged me.
And she left.
I know she cried and she knows I cried...and cried...and cried...
Turns out she barely made it out of the county when she had to stop because the mascara she had so meticulously placed on her eyelashes was now in her eyes as she had cried so hard and now her eyes were burning.
Mine were too...
They stung with a deep sadness that comes from saying goodbye to someone you love with with all your heart even though you know it is temporary...because the relationship is now different. Better, stronger, deeper...
My heart ached.
My eyes hurt.
My head throbbed.
In five hours, Robin would be back in her own home with her family, friends, job, and such and I would still be here...without her.
There are no amount of words that can be said to thank someone for bathing you when you could not bathe yourself; for wiping your tears away when you could not fathom the devastation you have brought on your family; for making sure you ate something and then cleaned up your vomit when you could not keep it down; for taking Beautiful Daughter to get a pedicure as an escape and for allowing Precious Son to tell his jokes and laughing hysterically at them; for telling you how beautiful you are when you resemble death warmed over.
No words.
Just heartache and tears and raw emotion to be dealt with as best you can...
Double Stuffed Oreos and 2% milk, a pillow, a blanket, and a very long nap.
Robin, I absolutely love and adore you and I will never be able to thank you for putting your life on hold so that you could help my family and I get through ours. I love you so...
She packed. I watched. The kids were pretty quiet. None of us talked too much at all, actually.
Precious Son loaded the car with suitcases and snacks.
Beautiful Daughter petted the pups.
Big Daddy slept after having worked the night shift, oblivious to what was going on...
She hugged Precious Son.
She hugged Beautiful Daughter.
She hugged me.
And she left.
I know she cried and she knows I cried...and cried...and cried...
Turns out she barely made it out of the county when she had to stop because the mascara she had so meticulously placed on her eyelashes was now in her eyes as she had cried so hard and now her eyes were burning.
Mine were too...
They stung with a deep sadness that comes from saying goodbye to someone you love with with all your heart even though you know it is temporary...because the relationship is now different. Better, stronger, deeper...
My heart ached.
My eyes hurt.
My head throbbed.
In five hours, Robin would be back in her own home with her family, friends, job, and such and I would still be here...without her.
There are no amount of words that can be said to thank someone for bathing you when you could not bathe yourself; for wiping your tears away when you could not fathom the devastation you have brought on your family; for making sure you ate something and then cleaned up your vomit when you could not keep it down; for taking Beautiful Daughter to get a pedicure as an escape and for allowing Precious Son to tell his jokes and laughing hysterically at them; for telling you how beautiful you are when you resemble death warmed over.
No words.
Just heartache and tears and raw emotion to be dealt with as best you can...
Double Stuffed Oreos and 2% milk, a pillow, a blanket, and a very long nap.
Robin, I absolutely love and adore you and I will never be able to thank you for putting your life on hold so that you could help my family and I get through ours. I love you so...
Beautiful Daughter's Song
There is a song that Beautiful Daughter has clung to since the diagnosis...
"Note to God" by a young woman, 17 years old, named Charice.
Maybe you will find comfort for yourself through this song...
Maybe you are supposed to send it on to someone else...
Maybe you are merely supposed to relate to Beautiful Daughter and see her struggling...but surviving.
Oh, my sweet and precious girl, I love you so...
Note To God by Charice
Video and Lyrics here:
http://www.lyrics.com/lyrics/charice/note-to-god.html
"Note to God" by a young woman, 17 years old, named Charice.
Maybe you will find comfort for yourself through this song...
Maybe you are supposed to send it on to someone else...
Maybe you are merely supposed to relate to Beautiful Daughter and see her struggling...but surviving.
Oh, my sweet and precious girl, I love you so...
Note To God by Charice
Video and Lyrics here:
http://www.lyrics.com/lyrics/charice/note-to-god.html
Happy...Devastated...Schizophrenic???
At this point you may wonder if I am ok...not ok...sometimes ok...never was ok. Excellent questions. Actually, I am very ok...with bouts of sometimes not so ok. I guess this is pretty normal.
As I mentioned, I was not shocked by the diagnosis. I knew. I have also claimed to be the happiest girl in the world. How could this be possible when you have just been diagnosed with a potentially life threatening disease? Easy. God is good ALL the time.
At this point, I have not seen my scars, but that time is rapidly approaching as my sister, Robin, must return to her own life in Virginia. She and Big Daddy would prefer I see myself before she leaves so as not to be forced into it when alone. These are incredibly smart and thoughtful folks in my corner. With Robin leaving on Saturday, she asked if maybe we should embrace the "new" me today, Friday. Robin explained how she and Big Daddy were fretting a wee bit about me seeing myself for the first time while being alone. I agreed so we headed upstairs to the master bathroom...you know, the one with lots of mirrors...
The house was empty minus Robin and myself. The kids were at school and Big Daddy was at an in-service for the day. We entered the bathroom... I was very nonchalant because I saw how upset and anxious Robin was. Not for herself, but for me. I hated anyone being upset on my account, so I just unzipped my binder, took it off and there it was.
We stood in front of the mirror and I was truly taken aback. Wow. This was me now? I used to look so..........different. Now, there were two scars, one exceedingly longer as it stretched across my chest extending under my arm. This was the left side; the side where the lymph nodes has been removed. The right side was just a straight line scar. Zip. That's it.
I cried. I felt like Frankenstein. I felt ugly and hideous and unworthy of something...not sure what, but something. I was all about "me" for about one, whole minute and then I realized that Robin was waaaaaaaaaaay upset. She was saying that crazy stuff about how she wished it were her and how it should be her. Oh, lawzy. We hugged for a long time and while I got myself together a lot faster than she did, I felt terrible for making my sister feel this way. I hate it when she cries.
Once again, we were in the same conversation and once again, I took her face into my hands and told her that I was so thankful and glad this was not happening to her and that without this disease, my family would still be too busy to realize what we have. I reminded her what I had been reminded of recently...that "BUSY" stands for Being Under Satan's Yoke. If cancer brought my family together, saved my husband from a work-induced heart attack and solidified our relationship with the Lord, then certainly, this was a time to rejoice.
Seemingly, when we are in crisis, we take one of two roads. The high road or the low road. I never thought myself able to ascend onto the high road. I am just not that great of a person. I am petty and judgmental. I want things and can be quite selfish. I wonder why some people have everything handed to them and why others of us have to work so hard. I think about people and wonder if they ever really cared about me...
I have issues.
I also have two children watching me as I serve my time in "Crisis County". They will surely have trials and tribulations of their own and I want to leave a legacy of dignity, strength, and an unfailing faith in God as I struggle through my own. Yes, our children are watching and learning and growing and suffering and taking mental notes that will help them during their own adulthood as they endure pain, loss, and growth through crisis.
As for me not being a great person, I am alright with it. Big Daddy loves me. Our kids love me. We have tremendous friends who continue to amaze us by their generosity. We have an incredible, albeit dysfunctional, family who would do absolutely anything for us. All these people seem to be okay with me not being so great a person...seems like I should be okay with it, too, so I am.
I am sure there will be good days just as sure as I am there will be bad ones.
I am sure I will always be selfish and judgmental because I have so many years of practice under my belt.
I am sure there will always be people who get everything they want and then there will be people who just don't.
I am also sure that there are people who pretended to care about me and just never did. To those I say, sorry I wasn't good enough for you or didn't quite stack up the way you wanted me to...but I do hope I cared about you.
That's ok. It all has contributed to who I am now and how I handle things, even a crisis here and there. So, yeah, I am happy...I am occasionally devastated...and sometimes, I am probably a bit schizo... But you know what? I have taken the high road because I am a child of God and He invited me.
As I mentioned, I was not shocked by the diagnosis. I knew. I have also claimed to be the happiest girl in the world. How could this be possible when you have just been diagnosed with a potentially life threatening disease? Easy. God is good ALL the time.
At this point, I have not seen my scars, but that time is rapidly approaching as my sister, Robin, must return to her own life in Virginia. She and Big Daddy would prefer I see myself before she leaves so as not to be forced into it when alone. These are incredibly smart and thoughtful folks in my corner. With Robin leaving on Saturday, she asked if maybe we should embrace the "new" me today, Friday. Robin explained how she and Big Daddy were fretting a wee bit about me seeing myself for the first time while being alone. I agreed so we headed upstairs to the master bathroom...you know, the one with lots of mirrors...
The house was empty minus Robin and myself. The kids were at school and Big Daddy was at an in-service for the day. We entered the bathroom... I was very nonchalant because I saw how upset and anxious Robin was. Not for herself, but for me. I hated anyone being upset on my account, so I just unzipped my binder, took it off and there it was.
We stood in front of the mirror and I was truly taken aback. Wow. This was me now? I used to look so..........different. Now, there were two scars, one exceedingly longer as it stretched across my chest extending under my arm. This was the left side; the side where the lymph nodes has been removed. The right side was just a straight line scar. Zip. That's it.
I cried. I felt like Frankenstein. I felt ugly and hideous and unworthy of something...not sure what, but something. I was all about "me" for about one, whole minute and then I realized that Robin was waaaaaaaaaaay upset. She was saying that crazy stuff about how she wished it were her and how it should be her. Oh, lawzy. We hugged for a long time and while I got myself together a lot faster than she did, I felt terrible for making my sister feel this way. I hate it when she cries.
Once again, we were in the same conversation and once again, I took her face into my hands and told her that I was so thankful and glad this was not happening to her and that without this disease, my family would still be too busy to realize what we have. I reminded her what I had been reminded of recently...that "BUSY" stands for Being Under Satan's Yoke. If cancer brought my family together, saved my husband from a work-induced heart attack and solidified our relationship with the Lord, then certainly, this was a time to rejoice.
Seemingly, when we are in crisis, we take one of two roads. The high road or the low road. I never thought myself able to ascend onto the high road. I am just not that great of a person. I am petty and judgmental. I want things and can be quite selfish. I wonder why some people have everything handed to them and why others of us have to work so hard. I think about people and wonder if they ever really cared about me...
I have issues.
I also have two children watching me as I serve my time in "Crisis County". They will surely have trials and tribulations of their own and I want to leave a legacy of dignity, strength, and an unfailing faith in God as I struggle through my own. Yes, our children are watching and learning and growing and suffering and taking mental notes that will help them during their own adulthood as they endure pain, loss, and growth through crisis.
As for me not being a great person, I am alright with it. Big Daddy loves me. Our kids love me. We have tremendous friends who continue to amaze us by their generosity. We have an incredible, albeit dysfunctional, family who would do absolutely anything for us. All these people seem to be okay with me not being so great a person...seems like I should be okay with it, too, so I am.
I am sure there will be good days just as sure as I am there will be bad ones.
I am sure I will always be selfish and judgmental because I have so many years of practice under my belt.
I am sure there will always be people who get everything they want and then there will be people who just don't.
I am also sure that there are people who pretended to care about me and just never did. To those I say, sorry I wasn't good enough for you or didn't quite stack up the way you wanted me to...but I do hope I cared about you.
That's ok. It all has contributed to who I am now and how I handle things, even a crisis here and there. So, yeah, I am happy...I am occasionally devastated...and sometimes, I am probably a bit schizo... But you know what? I have taken the high road because I am a child of God and He invited me.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Supreme Happiness
"The supreme happiness in life is the conviction that we are loved."
~Victor Hugo
Life had come along at us full speed. While there is truth to that, there is also the truth that we invited it. Big Daddy and I had plans. We had goals and we had a vision of what our lives were going to be not only for us, but for our children. In order to make all these plans a reality, we had to work, work, work...and we did.
All I had ever wanted to be was a college professor. Teaching is my passion. I love my students and I adore that moment when they "get it". When their lives are changed because I presented something to them in a new way or with a new perspective and they thank me...wow. What more could an instructor ever ask for? I place a great deal of energy and effort into my classes, always preparing for the next class, examining the latest cases for business law and ethics. I adore teaching.
Another position I hold is my "regular" job. It's a secret squirrel type job, so I cannot go into detail, but let me say that there are very good people doing very good things so that Americans can sleep peacefully, worship freely, and live without fear of false persecution.
My last job is with the company Big Daddy and I own together. It is a lawn and landscaping business and it can require just as much time and effort as the other two. I handle the administrative duties of our business and Big Daddy works for the governor of Mexico..."Manual Labor". (Hahahaha I am very funny, sometimes.) Anyway, Big Daddy works with our company after he gets home from his regular job. To give you an easy breakdown, Big Daddy works 22 hours a day.
One week before my diagnosis, I had told my friends at work that I was convinced Big Daddy was going to die from a heart attack. I was very concerned because Big Daddy had pulled this crazy schedule for a few years now and things were beginning to take a physical toll. All I could do at that point was pray for some way to get through to him that he needed to slow down...that our visions and goals were no good if he was not around to see them come to fruition. I prayed and prayed and prayed...
Then the call came and our lives changed.
Where we were convinced that we had no time for this, that, or the other, we now make time. Where we would swoop in to pick up the kids or attend a meeting, we now arrive early and enjoy the company of others. We have dinner with friends. We go to the movies. We talk. We hold hands. We sit together and tell about our hopes, fears, and dreams. We do everything and we do nothing, and we do it all together. Not too long ago, we were convinced that there was no time for such things. It was almost like saving your good towels for some special company that never shows up...because no one is ever special enough to warrant the good towels. We were "saving ourselves" and our time for each other in retirement...after the kids left for college, after we served our employers long enough for a pension, after those damned goals were met...
People have said "be careful what you wish for" and I guess to some extent, that is very good advice...however, I am and will be forever grateful for wishing that Big Daddy would slow down and enjoy his life, even if it means my having cancer. You see, I am the happiest girl in the world because I have everything I ever wanted and if I had to have cancer in order to save my husband, then so be it. Our lives have never been more complete, more happy, or more filled with love for each other.
Sometimes it takes a crisis for people to get their priorities straight, true enough. Sometimes life happens so fast that we are left trying to catch our breath as our hopes and dreams waft through the open cracks. And sometimes, just sometimes, we are incredibly blessed to have our eyes opened to what we have now. Cancer? No. Not that. We have an undying, unending love that grows stronger each day. Thank you, God, for answering my prayer.
~Victor Hugo
Life had come along at us full speed. While there is truth to that, there is also the truth that we invited it. Big Daddy and I had plans. We had goals and we had a vision of what our lives were going to be not only for us, but for our children. In order to make all these plans a reality, we had to work, work, work...and we did.
All I had ever wanted to be was a college professor. Teaching is my passion. I love my students and I adore that moment when they "get it". When their lives are changed because I presented something to them in a new way or with a new perspective and they thank me...wow. What more could an instructor ever ask for? I place a great deal of energy and effort into my classes, always preparing for the next class, examining the latest cases for business law and ethics. I adore teaching.
Another position I hold is my "regular" job. It's a secret squirrel type job, so I cannot go into detail, but let me say that there are very good people doing very good things so that Americans can sleep peacefully, worship freely, and live without fear of false persecution.
My last job is with the company Big Daddy and I own together. It is a lawn and landscaping business and it can require just as much time and effort as the other two. I handle the administrative duties of our business and Big Daddy works for the governor of Mexico..."Manual Labor". (Hahahaha I am very funny, sometimes.) Anyway, Big Daddy works with our company after he gets home from his regular job. To give you an easy breakdown, Big Daddy works 22 hours a day.
One week before my diagnosis, I had told my friends at work that I was convinced Big Daddy was going to die from a heart attack. I was very concerned because Big Daddy had pulled this crazy schedule for a few years now and things were beginning to take a physical toll. All I could do at that point was pray for some way to get through to him that he needed to slow down...that our visions and goals were no good if he was not around to see them come to fruition. I prayed and prayed and prayed...
Then the call came and our lives changed.
Where we were convinced that we had no time for this, that, or the other, we now make time. Where we would swoop in to pick up the kids or attend a meeting, we now arrive early and enjoy the company of others. We have dinner with friends. We go to the movies. We talk. We hold hands. We sit together and tell about our hopes, fears, and dreams. We do everything and we do nothing, and we do it all together. Not too long ago, we were convinced that there was no time for such things. It was almost like saving your good towels for some special company that never shows up...because no one is ever special enough to warrant the good towels. We were "saving ourselves" and our time for each other in retirement...after the kids left for college, after we served our employers long enough for a pension, after those damned goals were met...
People have said "be careful what you wish for" and I guess to some extent, that is very good advice...however, I am and will be forever grateful for wishing that Big Daddy would slow down and enjoy his life, even if it means my having cancer. You see, I am the happiest girl in the world because I have everything I ever wanted and if I had to have cancer in order to save my husband, then so be it. Our lives have never been more complete, more happy, or more filled with love for each other.
Sometimes it takes a crisis for people to get their priorities straight, true enough. Sometimes life happens so fast that we are left trying to catch our breath as our hopes and dreams waft through the open cracks. And sometimes, just sometimes, we are incredibly blessed to have our eyes opened to what we have now. Cancer? No. Not that. We have an undying, unending love that grows stronger each day. Thank you, God, for answering my prayer.
Refusing to Look...Unable to See
There is something to be said about mirrors. Like having one is usually a good idea. Walking around our mall, one wonders why everyone does NOT have one. Seriously, it is almost as if some people have intentionally left their homes looking like a mad kaleidoscope of colors and patterns or just black. This whole emo/drug addict/skater/thug look is ridiculous. You kids need to listen to your moms.
Back to the mirrors. Normally, yes, a good idea in your home so that you do not embarrass yourself by your inability to color coordinate or match clothes. However, after a bilateral mastectomy, mirrors are not your friend. You avoid them as one would avoid e.coli, the plague, or a root canal. (Sorry, Dr. King) Mirrors are there to show us our tie is crooked or to help us in putting on lipstick or maybe even to check and make sure we are bootylicious as opposed to having a "bumper crop". Yes, mirrors are necessary if we want to look our best and present ourselves well to others.
Having lost 30-some pounds prior to my diagnosis meant I had also lost some significant weight in my chest area. Having gone from double D's to a C cup was a huge difference, but it worked because I was well-proportioned. I had lost weight all over, not just my chest, of course. The body was working well and looking pretty good. Now, post-surgery, not so much. That "C" cup I had worked so hard for was now a "no cup". Despite the swelling, I was flat chested. Even knowing I could have reconstructive surgery in about two years and be whatever size I want, meant nothing. Here I was today...flat chested and feeling quite disproportionate.
I was not going to look. The only person not in that operating room to see me was my sister, Robin. I told Robin how I felt about wanting to be attractive for Big Daddy and how I just didn't understand how he could ever find me pretty again. She listened, she cried, and she reassured me that I was beautiful. Occasionally, she would ask if I thought I maybe would want to look this day or that day as the weeks passed, and each time I said "no, not today", and we would move on. She would bathe me and I would have to have her dress me as I could not raise my arms. She would wash my hair and even as I bent over in the shower, she would have to verbally cue me to turn my head because my eyes were closed. Not for fear of getting shampoo in them but rather by insistence to not look at myself.
Robin would dry me off, compliment my scars and how well I was healing, and would always put lotion on me. Robin has the kind of touch that only a mom can have. Gentle but firm, soft but with purpose. Having her put lotion on my arms and legs felt just like a professional massage. My left arm was still very painful to touch, so she would take extra care while patting me dry and in applying lotion. Who would have thought having lymph nodes removed would hurt THIS much for THIS long? Not me. I thought they were tiny little things to help me not get sick. Apparently lymph nodes absorb pain and when removed you feel everything as if you were being stuck with pins, needles, and being stung by gargantuan jellyfish...
Robin was my caretaker and she made sure to take care of everything for my well-being from my cleanliness to eating right to not lifting anything to taking a nap. I must confess, having someone make you take a nap is a wonderful thing.
We had a follow up appointment with Dr. Harris and I asked him when I could get my stitches taken out. He said the ones on the inside would dissolve. I knew that but I was wondering about the ones on the outside. He laughed and said, "You don't have any stitches on the outside, that's body glue. Can't you tell?" I just looked at him and said "I haven't looked at myself yet." Dr. Harris, being the gentleman said that was fine and that I could see the glue when I was ready. Unfortunately for me, that time was rapidly approaching because Robin had to return home soon...
Back to the mirrors. Normally, yes, a good idea in your home so that you do not embarrass yourself by your inability to color coordinate or match clothes. However, after a bilateral mastectomy, mirrors are not your friend. You avoid them as one would avoid e.coli, the plague, or a root canal. (Sorry, Dr. King) Mirrors are there to show us our tie is crooked or to help us in putting on lipstick or maybe even to check and make sure we are bootylicious as opposed to having a "bumper crop". Yes, mirrors are necessary if we want to look our best and present ourselves well to others.
Having lost 30-some pounds prior to my diagnosis meant I had also lost some significant weight in my chest area. Having gone from double D's to a C cup was a huge difference, but it worked because I was well-proportioned. I had lost weight all over, not just my chest, of course. The body was working well and looking pretty good. Now, post-surgery, not so much. That "C" cup I had worked so hard for was now a "no cup". Despite the swelling, I was flat chested. Even knowing I could have reconstructive surgery in about two years and be whatever size I want, meant nothing. Here I was today...flat chested and feeling quite disproportionate.
I was not going to look. The only person not in that operating room to see me was my sister, Robin. I told Robin how I felt about wanting to be attractive for Big Daddy and how I just didn't understand how he could ever find me pretty again. She listened, she cried, and she reassured me that I was beautiful. Occasionally, she would ask if I thought I maybe would want to look this day or that day as the weeks passed, and each time I said "no, not today", and we would move on. She would bathe me and I would have to have her dress me as I could not raise my arms. She would wash my hair and even as I bent over in the shower, she would have to verbally cue me to turn my head because my eyes were closed. Not for fear of getting shampoo in them but rather by insistence to not look at myself.
Robin would dry me off, compliment my scars and how well I was healing, and would always put lotion on me. Robin has the kind of touch that only a mom can have. Gentle but firm, soft but with purpose. Having her put lotion on my arms and legs felt just like a professional massage. My left arm was still very painful to touch, so she would take extra care while patting me dry and in applying lotion. Who would have thought having lymph nodes removed would hurt THIS much for THIS long? Not me. I thought they were tiny little things to help me not get sick. Apparently lymph nodes absorb pain and when removed you feel everything as if you were being stuck with pins, needles, and being stung by gargantuan jellyfish...
Robin was my caretaker and she made sure to take care of everything for my well-being from my cleanliness to eating right to not lifting anything to taking a nap. I must confess, having someone make you take a nap is a wonderful thing.
We had a follow up appointment with Dr. Harris and I asked him when I could get my stitches taken out. He said the ones on the inside would dissolve. I knew that but I was wondering about the ones on the outside. He laughed and said, "You don't have any stitches on the outside, that's body glue. Can't you tell?" I just looked at him and said "I haven't looked at myself yet." Dr. Harris, being the gentleman said that was fine and that I could see the glue when I was ready. Unfortunately for me, that time was rapidly approaching because Robin had to return home soon...
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Sleep
Sleep allows the body to rest and regenerate itself in preparation of tomorrow.
Sleep creates a safe haven for dreams and gives life to thoughts otherwise unsaid.
Sleep soothes the aches and pains of being physical or restless or harmed.
Sleep cradles the body in the bed and surrounds with warmth, security, and safety.
Sleep rests at the end of the bed and whispers to you that if you surrender your fears, you will deeply slumber.
Sleep comes only when the lights of your mind are turned off and you accept your fate.
Sleep eludes those who beckon it to come.
I sleep not.
Sleep creates a safe haven for dreams and gives life to thoughts otherwise unsaid.
Sleep soothes the aches and pains of being physical or restless or harmed.
Sleep cradles the body in the bed and surrounds with warmth, security, and safety.
Sleep rests at the end of the bed and whispers to you that if you surrender your fears, you will deeply slumber.
Sleep comes only when the lights of your mind are turned off and you accept your fate.
Sleep eludes those who beckon it to come.
I sleep not.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
"Don't Leave Her Alone..."
Big Daddy was adamant about me not being left alone. Everyone was on the exact same page. All the appointments had been a mad carnival ride from the very first appointment with my primary physician to the discharging surgeon...and now, here we were...post surgery and back home. I had not had a moment to myself to really process the diagnosis, the recommendations, or even the surgery. Yes, Big Daddy had an excellent point to not want me left alone. At this point, all I knew was that I was not going to look at myself.
I have never seen the scars of anyone who has had a mastectomy, and yet, I was convinced that under the chest binder that I would have to wear for approximately 8 weeks, there would be the chest of Frankenstein. I had no intention of seeing myself mutilated and as determined as I was to not look, I was even more determined that Big Daddy would never see me. Never, never, never.
These breasts and I had gone way back. They had nursed our children and they had seduced my husband. They had looked sexy and healthy and at some point in my youth, they were even considered "perky". Now...they were gone and with them they took my sense of feeling attractive, feminine, healthy, and worthy of being on the arm of my husband. As much as they had tossed my breasts into the operating room trashcan, so went my security and womanhood.
Big Daddy and I had extensive conversations about how he absolutely did not care about them and that he was never in love with my breasts but rather madly in love with me, the person. It was Big Daddy who begged me to consider this surgical option saying, "Right now, there are four of us in our family photos. If you do not have the most invasive surgery, there is a chance our photos will only have three people and I cannot be in a family photo without you beside me". Thus, the decision was made to have both removed and with that, the rate of recurrence diminished and the rate of surviving increased.
I accepted my fate. We made the decision and now, they were gone. Not like you can change your mind about a bilateral mastectomy... At home, I was flanked with family and friends as I looked like some deformed Christmas tree with bulbs hanging from my sides and chest. These drainage devices, while handy for patient mobility, still made for interesting days. Whenever I would sit on our big chair, inevitably, as I would try to stand up, one of the bulbs would get sucked down beside the cushion and I would almost have to be peeled off the ceiling because it hurt so much. One would think that after this happened once, you would remember. Well, there is something to be said about remembering anything after major surgery...you simply do not. I am not sure if it is the drugs or anesthesia or denial, but I have a very difficult time remembering anything and everything from conversations to visitors to whether or not the bills were paid. Let me just say, if you received more than one thank you note, now you know why.
My sister bathed me daily I tried to think of ways to be cheerful and happy because with every bath, my sister cried. Robin said to me, "This should be happening to me, not you. I wish it was me." I took her face in my hands and told her that I was glad it was not her...and I meant it. I would not wish this on anyone...
Yes, it was a very good idea indeed, to not leave me alone...
I have never seen the scars of anyone who has had a mastectomy, and yet, I was convinced that under the chest binder that I would have to wear for approximately 8 weeks, there would be the chest of Frankenstein. I had no intention of seeing myself mutilated and as determined as I was to not look, I was even more determined that Big Daddy would never see me. Never, never, never.
These breasts and I had gone way back. They had nursed our children and they had seduced my husband. They had looked sexy and healthy and at some point in my youth, they were even considered "perky". Now...they were gone and with them they took my sense of feeling attractive, feminine, healthy, and worthy of being on the arm of my husband. As much as they had tossed my breasts into the operating room trashcan, so went my security and womanhood.
Big Daddy and I had extensive conversations about how he absolutely did not care about them and that he was never in love with my breasts but rather madly in love with me, the person. It was Big Daddy who begged me to consider this surgical option saying, "Right now, there are four of us in our family photos. If you do not have the most invasive surgery, there is a chance our photos will only have three people and I cannot be in a family photo without you beside me". Thus, the decision was made to have both removed and with that, the rate of recurrence diminished and the rate of surviving increased.
I accepted my fate. We made the decision and now, they were gone. Not like you can change your mind about a bilateral mastectomy... At home, I was flanked with family and friends as I looked like some deformed Christmas tree with bulbs hanging from my sides and chest. These drainage devices, while handy for patient mobility, still made for interesting days. Whenever I would sit on our big chair, inevitably, as I would try to stand up, one of the bulbs would get sucked down beside the cushion and I would almost have to be peeled off the ceiling because it hurt so much. One would think that after this happened once, you would remember. Well, there is something to be said about remembering anything after major surgery...you simply do not. I am not sure if it is the drugs or anesthesia or denial, but I have a very difficult time remembering anything and everything from conversations to visitors to whether or not the bills were paid. Let me just say, if you received more than one thank you note, now you know why.
My sister bathed me daily I tried to think of ways to be cheerful and happy because with every bath, my sister cried. Robin said to me, "This should be happening to me, not you. I wish it was me." I took her face in my hands and told her that I was glad it was not her...and I meant it. I would not wish this on anyone...
Yes, it was a very good idea indeed, to not leave me alone...
Boston Baked Beans
On Saturday, the doctor had come in and given the green light for discharge. Big Daddy was making several trips to the car as I lay there falling asleep, waking up, falling asleep, and waking up. The medicine they had given to me was potent and I had a very difficult time staying awake after about an hour post-intake. This, of course, was when the doctor was saying I could go home, so I really don't remember too much about that morning. Big Daddy, though, was ready to go home, so he loaded the car with all the flower arrangements and gifts along with all the discharge instructions and follow up appointment cards. When he left the room the first time, I was asleep. When he left the room the second time, I was awake...and so it went for a few trips back and forth.
At some point while Big Daddy was filling the car, I noticed a box of Boston Baked Beans (delicious candy, if you don't know). Here lately, I had been craving them and Big Daddy had gone to the gas station and purchased about 6 bags. So, there they were...and there I was... I reached for them and ate them one after the other, almost like I was starving. I wanted to finish before Big Daddy came back in so he would not think I had eaten the entire sleeve. Well, fate was on my side and I managed to knock back TWO bags before he returned, but I had dropped one of the empty wrappers on the floor. Since I could not get up and the urge to sleep was mounting, there it stayed. I shoved my over-the-bed table in the direction of the wrapper on the floor hoping to cover it up and went back to sleep.
Big Daddy made the last trip and noticed the wrapper on the floor... I awoke and he asked if I had something I wanted to tell him. I giggled, said no, and we laughed. Next thing I knew, here were Mark and Susan coming to visit, shocked at my early discharge. As Susan and I talked, she noticed an auburn colored round spot on my chest, nestled above my dressing. Susan asked if that was my port for the chemo. As I looked down, I knew exactly what it was! It was the Boston Baked Bean I had dropped when I heard Big Daddy coming through the door!! So, I did what any Boston Baked Bean addict would do and I said "Nope! That's the candy that I dropped," and I popped it in my mouth.
It is amazing to me that even after a double mastectomy, I can still hide candy down there.
Life is good.
At some point while Big Daddy was filling the car, I noticed a box of Boston Baked Beans (delicious candy, if you don't know). Here lately, I had been craving them and Big Daddy had gone to the gas station and purchased about 6 bags. So, there they were...and there I was... I reached for them and ate them one after the other, almost like I was starving. I wanted to finish before Big Daddy came back in so he would not think I had eaten the entire sleeve. Well, fate was on my side and I managed to knock back TWO bags before he returned, but I had dropped one of the empty wrappers on the floor. Since I could not get up and the urge to sleep was mounting, there it stayed. I shoved my over-the-bed table in the direction of the wrapper on the floor hoping to cover it up and went back to sleep.
Big Daddy made the last trip and noticed the wrapper on the floor... I awoke and he asked if I had something I wanted to tell him. I giggled, said no, and we laughed. Next thing I knew, here were Mark and Susan coming to visit, shocked at my early discharge. As Susan and I talked, she noticed an auburn colored round spot on my chest, nestled above my dressing. Susan asked if that was my port for the chemo. As I looked down, I knew exactly what it was! It was the Boston Baked Bean I had dropped when I heard Big Daddy coming through the door!! So, I did what any Boston Baked Bean addict would do and I said "Nope! That's the candy that I dropped," and I popped it in my mouth.
It is amazing to me that even after a double mastectomy, I can still hide candy down there.
Life is good.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
The Hospital Stay
Not one to hang around any one place for too long, I was ready to hit the road long about Friday. Yes, surgery was Thursday, but still. I had things to do! My co-workers had brought over a ton of food and paper products to keep my visitors full and the dishwasher empty and I had a lot people wanting to make sure our family and I were okay. I thought the best way to accomplish this would be to go home, so that was my goal...
A nurse came in and posted a sign above my bed that said "NO STICK / NO BP EITHER ARM". What? Why? Forever? Until Monday? How come? Apparently, when you have a bilateral mastectomy, you are unable to have your blood drawn or your blood pressure taken from either arm. Now, we have heard that you cannot, period, and we have heard that you can if the lymph nodes were not removed. If this is the case, then I am good on one side, at least. This means, I do not have to have blood drawn from my ankle and my blood pressure taken from my calf. Let me explain what that felt like the first time...
The nurse had come in to take my vitals and as she placed the BP cuff around my left calf, I asked why this was necessary. She explained and I have no idea what she said because as the cuff inflated, my head about popped off, my eyes almost exploded out of my head, and I thought I was going to scream because it hurt so badly. Let's stop here. So, Pandora, you are saying that having your blood pressure taken from your calf hurts? YES! That is PRECISELY what I am saying!!!! Why?? I have no idea, but it does.
Moving on...
So, the nurse is pumping up the vice on my calf and I about to hit the roof when Big Daddy says, "I believe this will be an inaccurate reading because she is gritting her teeth, her eyes are bulging, and she is about to come off that table, and oh yeah, she is holding her breath". (Big Daddy always has such a way with words...) The nurse assured both Big Daddy and myself that this was normal and that it hurt because I have zero body fat in my most impressive calves. HAHAHA I just threw that in there to see if you are really reading...however, I DO have quite impressive calves. Anyway, there is a reason why it hurts so much but I still do not know what that reason is, I just know it hurts baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad...so let's please do it every two hours.
On Friday morning, the phlebotomist came in around 5:30am. I was still groggy from the anesthesia and Big Daddy was sound asleep on his psuedo-recliner-bed-lounger-not-really-any-of-those thingy. She came in and as sure as I am sitting here right this instant, she TOOK BLOOD FROM MY RIGHT ARM!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!
Clearly, the sign above my bed ANNNNNNNNND the neon-fluorescent wrist bands saying "NO STICK / NO BP" meant DO NOT STICK ME!!!! And yet, here she was doing just that...sticking me. Since I could not think straight and my backup was asleep, I said all I could think of..."Do they have double stuffed Oreos in the snack machines downstairs?". She said something I went right back to sleep never really knowing the answer to my question...but even subconsciously, I was preparing for her next visit...
Saturday morning. 6am. Phlebotomist enters. Same one as yesterday. Let the games begin...
"Are you here to take my blood?"
"Yes."
"You do know you are not supposed to take it from my arm, correct?"
"No. Why?"
"You don't know what I am in here for or why you are taking my blood, do you?"
"No."
"Please write this on your chart: Patient refused blood draw says 'my blood has not changed in the past 24 hours, so just use whatever numbers you need from yesterday'."
"You are seriously refusing to let me draw your blood?"
"Oh, yes...seriously."
You see, when someone who despises needles as much as I do has more knowledge and medical reasoning to know anything at all about the drawing of blood, it is time to recall the troops and rethink the war. As it turns out, I will need to order a MedicAlert bracelet stating "No Stick / No BP Either Arm" as soon as I get home. When you have a mastectomy with the removal of lymph nodes, you are prone to lymphodema which can be exacerbated by drawing blood and/or having your blood pressure taken post-surgery. Trust me, the mastectomy is enough.
Before my diagnosis, I had lost around 30 pounds. I had adopted a healthy lifestyle and walked almost everyday while trying to make healthier choices food-wise. I never want our children to struggle with their weight or have weight issues like the majority of free world, so we were trying to incorporate healthy choices at home, again. This is important for you to know because I do not want anyone, as in NO ONE, to think for one second that I lost weight the "easy" way...chemo-induced nausea and vomiting. Nope. I lost weight the hard way...by diet and exercise, so when you see me after having not seen me for a while, do not even begin to think that I look this amazing from the chemo-induced weight loss. I won't even start chemo until September and until then, may I offer you a ricecake chip with homemade hummus?
The weight loss is important because I want you to know that I was discharged on Saturday morning after having major surgery on Thursday because I am healthy. If you are going into some sort of battle, you need to be healthy...physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. Sometimes we are knocked flat on our back and find ourselves facing something we never dreamt would happen to us. Being healthy, in every way, shape, and form is vital for healing. If it were not for the physical health of my body and the emotional support of family and friends, I would not be able to sit here and type about anything amusing or anecdotal... Your good health is important and you should take care of yourself before the storm. The healthier you are, the more quickly you are able to rebound after surgery, injury, or life smacking the crap out of you because it's your turn to have life suck. Inevitably, there will be a phlebotomist with a big ole needle wanting to take your blood despite the huge sign over your head telling them not to...You have to be prepared for those phlebotomists, so be healthy. If you aren't healthy in any of those areas, get healthy...Life may be getting ready to suck.
A nurse came in and posted a sign above my bed that said "NO STICK / NO BP EITHER ARM". What? Why? Forever? Until Monday? How come? Apparently, when you have a bilateral mastectomy, you are unable to have your blood drawn or your blood pressure taken from either arm. Now, we have heard that you cannot, period, and we have heard that you can if the lymph nodes were not removed. If this is the case, then I am good on one side, at least. This means, I do not have to have blood drawn from my ankle and my blood pressure taken from my calf. Let me explain what that felt like the first time...
The nurse had come in to take my vitals and as she placed the BP cuff around my left calf, I asked why this was necessary. She explained and I have no idea what she said because as the cuff inflated, my head about popped off, my eyes almost exploded out of my head, and I thought I was going to scream because it hurt so badly. Let's stop here. So, Pandora, you are saying that having your blood pressure taken from your calf hurts? YES! That is PRECISELY what I am saying!!!! Why?? I have no idea, but it does.
Moving on...
So, the nurse is pumping up the vice on my calf and I about to hit the roof when Big Daddy says, "I believe this will be an inaccurate reading because she is gritting her teeth, her eyes are bulging, and she is about to come off that table, and oh yeah, she is holding her breath". (Big Daddy always has such a way with words...) The nurse assured both Big Daddy and myself that this was normal and that it hurt because I have zero body fat in my most impressive calves. HAHAHA I just threw that in there to see if you are really reading...however, I DO have quite impressive calves. Anyway, there is a reason why it hurts so much but I still do not know what that reason is, I just know it hurts baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad...so let's please do it every two hours.
On Friday morning, the phlebotomist came in around 5:30am. I was still groggy from the anesthesia and Big Daddy was sound asleep on his psuedo-recliner-bed-lounger-not-really-any-of-those thingy. She came in and as sure as I am sitting here right this instant, she TOOK BLOOD FROM MY RIGHT ARM!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!
Clearly, the sign above my bed ANNNNNNNNND the neon-fluorescent wrist bands saying "NO STICK / NO BP" meant DO NOT STICK ME!!!! And yet, here she was doing just that...sticking me. Since I could not think straight and my backup was asleep, I said all I could think of..."Do they have double stuffed Oreos in the snack machines downstairs?". She said something I went right back to sleep never really knowing the answer to my question...but even subconsciously, I was preparing for her next visit...
Saturday morning. 6am. Phlebotomist enters. Same one as yesterday. Let the games begin...
"Are you here to take my blood?"
"Yes."
"You do know you are not supposed to take it from my arm, correct?"
"No. Why?"
"You don't know what I am in here for or why you are taking my blood, do you?"
"No."
"Please write this on your chart: Patient refused blood draw says 'my blood has not changed in the past 24 hours, so just use whatever numbers you need from yesterday'."
"You are seriously refusing to let me draw your blood?"
"Oh, yes...seriously."
You see, when someone who despises needles as much as I do has more knowledge and medical reasoning to know anything at all about the drawing of blood, it is time to recall the troops and rethink the war. As it turns out, I will need to order a MedicAlert bracelet stating "No Stick / No BP Either Arm" as soon as I get home. When you have a mastectomy with the removal of lymph nodes, you are prone to lymphodema which can be exacerbated by drawing blood and/or having your blood pressure taken post-surgery. Trust me, the mastectomy is enough.
Before my diagnosis, I had lost around 30 pounds. I had adopted a healthy lifestyle and walked almost everyday while trying to make healthier choices food-wise. I never want our children to struggle with their weight or have weight issues like the majority of free world, so we were trying to incorporate healthy choices at home, again. This is important for you to know because I do not want anyone, as in NO ONE, to think for one second that I lost weight the "easy" way...chemo-induced nausea and vomiting. Nope. I lost weight the hard way...by diet and exercise, so when you see me after having not seen me for a while, do not even begin to think that I look this amazing from the chemo-induced weight loss. I won't even start chemo until September and until then, may I offer you a ricecake chip with homemade hummus?
The weight loss is important because I want you to know that I was discharged on Saturday morning after having major surgery on Thursday because I am healthy. If you are going into some sort of battle, you need to be healthy...physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. Sometimes we are knocked flat on our back and find ourselves facing something we never dreamt would happen to us. Being healthy, in every way, shape, and form is vital for healing. If it were not for the physical health of my body and the emotional support of family and friends, I would not be able to sit here and type about anything amusing or anecdotal... Your good health is important and you should take care of yourself before the storm. The healthier you are, the more quickly you are able to rebound after surgery, injury, or life smacking the crap out of you because it's your turn to have life suck. Inevitably, there will be a phlebotomist with a big ole needle wanting to take your blood despite the huge sign over your head telling them not to...You have to be prepared for those phlebotomists, so be healthy. If you aren't healthy in any of those areas, get healthy...Life may be getting ready to suck.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Surgery and Post-Op
This entry will be based on the accounts of others because as wonderful as Versed and Demerol may be, the stuff they give you for surgery is even better...
I do recall being wheeled into the operating room and it being very cold. The nurses and surgical assistants were gowned and masked and they tried to connect with me with only their eyes showing and speaking in muffled tones, but we did connect. Each person in the operating room made an effort to comfort and to reassure me. I was moved by their compassion for this total stranger with whom they would never speak again. I felt tears running down my face as they tried to distract me from my own surgery.
"So, do you have any children?" "What are their names?" "Did you all go anywhere this summer?" "Do you know when the Cash for Clunkers program expires?" Ok, maybe they didn't ask the last question, but really, I didn't want to talk about anything, not even my family. I just wanted to be put to sleep if someone was not going to rush in at the last possible moment and exclaim "THERE'S BEEN A MISTAKE!!! SHE DOESN'T HAVE CANCER!!! CANCEL THE SURGERY!!!" Since no one came in, I just wanted the drugs to hit that IV and call it a day.
The surgery was supposed to last for 2 1/2 hours. At Hour 4, Big Daddy was ready to get gowned up and come in to help. At Hour 4.5, Dr. Harris came out and said that everything was fine and that since the surgery took longer than expected, I would have to remain in recovery for a while longer than anticipated. To this day, I still have no idea why my surgery took double the amount of time allotted. Some things, you just don't have to know, I guess. I have yet to even ask...
Apparently, as I was being transported from recovery to my room, I was continuously and l-o-u-d-l-y calling for Big Daddy. Two of Big Daddy's best friends had come to the hospital to wait with him and the three of them were walking the halls of the oncology unit when they passed the elevators. "BIG DADDY!!! BIG DADDY!!!" they heard coming up from the elevator shaft. They all three looked at each other and then headed to the elevators. They were mulling over if that was me calling for Big Daddy, and of course, it was. As the three came upon the elevator, the doors opened and there I was in all my glory still yelling for Big Daddy. One of the friends said, "Hey! This is Big Daddy" and the nurses begged Big Daddy to ride with them so that I would, hope against hope, stop that blasted yelling.
The waiting room was pretty full of people when I was taken to my room. Apparently, Precious Son took charge of who could and could not visit. Considering I still have zero recollection of who was there and who was not, I can only assume he did a great job and did not invite total strangers into the room or try to videotape me for YouTube. My bed was flanked with friends and family and I was in and out of consciousness that even if you offered me a million dollars, I would not be able to tell you anyone that was there, minus Big Daddy. I know he was there because he promised me he would be...
Shaking off the drugged feeling takes a while, in the meantime, I continuously removed my breathing apparatus so that the machines would "beep" and summon the nurse (I found this so amusing!!!) and we discussed "little people", how pretty my friend Elay is, and how the circus is a horrible calamity of clowns, people with deformities, and abused animals...(always fighting for some cause...) Another highlight was when two of our cop friends came by to check in on us and I thought I was being arrested. Not exactly sure if it was more entertaining to think I was being arrested or to have me spew the litany of reasons why I could be arrested dating back to 1983. Anyway, the conversations were nonsensical and everyone was amused. My work was done.
One thing I do remember about my surgery day is that as I was coming out from the effects of the anesthesia in the wee hours of the morning, I noticed that Big Daddy had made a bed for himself on what could possibly be the single, most uncomfortable chair in the history of mankind and that is where he stayed until we were able to come home...together.
I do recall being wheeled into the operating room and it being very cold. The nurses and surgical assistants were gowned and masked and they tried to connect with me with only their eyes showing and speaking in muffled tones, but we did connect. Each person in the operating room made an effort to comfort and to reassure me. I was moved by their compassion for this total stranger with whom they would never speak again. I felt tears running down my face as they tried to distract me from my own surgery.
"So, do you have any children?" "What are their names?" "Did you all go anywhere this summer?" "Do you know when the Cash for Clunkers program expires?" Ok, maybe they didn't ask the last question, but really, I didn't want to talk about anything, not even my family. I just wanted to be put to sleep if someone was not going to rush in at the last possible moment and exclaim "THERE'S BEEN A MISTAKE!!! SHE DOESN'T HAVE CANCER!!! CANCEL THE SURGERY!!!" Since no one came in, I just wanted the drugs to hit that IV and call it a day.
The surgery was supposed to last for 2 1/2 hours. At Hour 4, Big Daddy was ready to get gowned up and come in to help. At Hour 4.5, Dr. Harris came out and said that everything was fine and that since the surgery took longer than expected, I would have to remain in recovery for a while longer than anticipated. To this day, I still have no idea why my surgery took double the amount of time allotted. Some things, you just don't have to know, I guess. I have yet to even ask...
Apparently, as I was being transported from recovery to my room, I was continuously and l-o-u-d-l-y calling for Big Daddy. Two of Big Daddy's best friends had come to the hospital to wait with him and the three of them were walking the halls of the oncology unit when they passed the elevators. "BIG DADDY!!! BIG DADDY!!!" they heard coming up from the elevator shaft. They all three looked at each other and then headed to the elevators. They were mulling over if that was me calling for Big Daddy, and of course, it was. As the three came upon the elevator, the doors opened and there I was in all my glory still yelling for Big Daddy. One of the friends said, "Hey! This is Big Daddy" and the nurses begged Big Daddy to ride with them so that I would, hope against hope, stop that blasted yelling.
The waiting room was pretty full of people when I was taken to my room. Apparently, Precious Son took charge of who could and could not visit. Considering I still have zero recollection of who was there and who was not, I can only assume he did a great job and did not invite total strangers into the room or try to videotape me for YouTube. My bed was flanked with friends and family and I was in and out of consciousness that even if you offered me a million dollars, I would not be able to tell you anyone that was there, minus Big Daddy. I know he was there because he promised me he would be...
Shaking off the drugged feeling takes a while, in the meantime, I continuously removed my breathing apparatus so that the machines would "beep" and summon the nurse (I found this so amusing!!!) and we discussed "little people", how pretty my friend Elay is, and how the circus is a horrible calamity of clowns, people with deformities, and abused animals...(always fighting for some cause...) Another highlight was when two of our cop friends came by to check in on us and I thought I was being arrested. Not exactly sure if it was more entertaining to think I was being arrested or to have me spew the litany of reasons why I could be arrested dating back to 1983. Anyway, the conversations were nonsensical and everyone was amused. My work was done.
One thing I do remember about my surgery day is that as I was coming out from the effects of the anesthesia in the wee hours of the morning, I noticed that Big Daddy had made a bed for himself on what could possibly be the single, most uncomfortable chair in the history of mankind and that is where he stayed until we were able to come home...together.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Surgery Day - July 30, 2009
Up until this moment, there had been very little time to concentrate on what was about to happen. We were supposed to be at the hospital at 9am. Big Daddy and I showed up as my extended family were on their way. The admitting process was uneventful and my co-pay was a mere $100. Wow. Great insurance. After signing in, we were sent to the waiting area...where you wait to be taken to the next waiting area...so we waited. One by one, or two by two, they came...my brother and his wife, my sister and my niece, Midge, the kid's youth minister, etc. Then I saw them...
Susan had come to be with me and I saw her and burst into tears. Susan is married with five children and always looks like she has stepped out of a fashion magazine. She is one of the beautiful people, inside and out, that makes life seem effortless. Susan's mother died from brain cancer not so long ago, and here she was with me now, looking at cancer again when I know full well she would have rather never discussed cancer again. And yet, my friend whom I adore, was here to pray with me and to support Big Daddy during the 2 1/2 hour procedure. I was touched.
As I got myself together about Susan being there, I saw Katrina. Now, Katrina is the type of woman you want to be. She makes time with the Lord a priority, not an after thought...she is warm and funny and speaks her mind, but never in a harsh way. She comes over and brings you ice cream when you need it most because she loves you that much...and any woman who can balance Bible study, prayer time, and a trip to the ice cream shoppe while being a wife and mother is a true hero.
Along with the kid's youth minister, these busy, beautiful women stood by me and prayed with my husband and I as I was leaving for surgery. They asked God to cover us and protect us...to heal us and to deliver us. I asked God to let them know what their being there meant to Big Daddy and I...
I was wheeled away as everyone said goodbye and I saw Midge wipe a tear from her cheek. I told her she certainly did not have to stay for the whole thing that I would be fine and Big Daddy would be ok, too. Since she owns her own business, I knew that time away from it meant that work was not getting done and I just did not want to be a nuisance or cost her anymore money than I probably already had. Yes, I told her all those things and she told me to "be quiet" and we laughed and I held Big Daddy's hand as everyone faded from my view.
I "gowned up" and was given a sedative...given a sedative that DID NOT WORK. The IV was started and I went through yet another barrage of Q&A from one, two, three nurses. As it turns out, they have to make triple sure I am who I say I am and that the surgery they have scheduled is actually the right one. Well, what if I had some sort of mental disorder and I said I was there to have something else done like a tummy tuck??? Now, wouldn't THAT be something? :o)
Big Daddy and I talked about nothing for what seemed like a very long time and eventually, it was my turn to go to the operating room. Big Daddy held my hand as we traversed the halls and then the nurse said we had reached the "Hugs and Kisses Hall", where we say "goodbye". I was already on the verge of tears and he knew it...he squeezed my hand, kissed me, and promised to "see me soon". He told me he loved me and for me to be good. I think it is sweet how he always tells me to "be good", as if he knows this is an issue for me. I asked him if we were doing the right thing and he nodded "yes", kissed me again, and said he loved me.
I strained to watch him as long as I could and even from behind I could tell he was using his sleeve to wipe away a tear. God, I love him so very much...and he loves me.
Susan had come to be with me and I saw her and burst into tears. Susan is married with five children and always looks like she has stepped out of a fashion magazine. She is one of the beautiful people, inside and out, that makes life seem effortless. Susan's mother died from brain cancer not so long ago, and here she was with me now, looking at cancer again when I know full well she would have rather never discussed cancer again. And yet, my friend whom I adore, was here to pray with me and to support Big Daddy during the 2 1/2 hour procedure. I was touched.
As I got myself together about Susan being there, I saw Katrina. Now, Katrina is the type of woman you want to be. She makes time with the Lord a priority, not an after thought...she is warm and funny and speaks her mind, but never in a harsh way. She comes over and brings you ice cream when you need it most because she loves you that much...and any woman who can balance Bible study, prayer time, and a trip to the ice cream shoppe while being a wife and mother is a true hero.
Along with the kid's youth minister, these busy, beautiful women stood by me and prayed with my husband and I as I was leaving for surgery. They asked God to cover us and protect us...to heal us and to deliver us. I asked God to let them know what their being there meant to Big Daddy and I...
I was wheeled away as everyone said goodbye and I saw Midge wipe a tear from her cheek. I told her she certainly did not have to stay for the whole thing that I would be fine and Big Daddy would be ok, too. Since she owns her own business, I knew that time away from it meant that work was not getting done and I just did not want to be a nuisance or cost her anymore money than I probably already had. Yes, I told her all those things and she told me to "be quiet" and we laughed and I held Big Daddy's hand as everyone faded from my view.
I "gowned up" and was given a sedative...given a sedative that DID NOT WORK. The IV was started and I went through yet another barrage of Q&A from one, two, three nurses. As it turns out, they have to make triple sure I am who I say I am and that the surgery they have scheduled is actually the right one. Well, what if I had some sort of mental disorder and I said I was there to have something else done like a tummy tuck??? Now, wouldn't THAT be something? :o)
Big Daddy and I talked about nothing for what seemed like a very long time and eventually, it was my turn to go to the operating room. Big Daddy held my hand as we traversed the halls and then the nurse said we had reached the "Hugs and Kisses Hall", where we say "goodbye". I was already on the verge of tears and he knew it...he squeezed my hand, kissed me, and promised to "see me soon". He told me he loved me and for me to be good. I think it is sweet how he always tells me to "be good", as if he knows this is an issue for me. I asked him if we were doing the right thing and he nodded "yes", kissed me again, and said he loved me.
I strained to watch him as long as I could and even from behind I could tell he was using his sleeve to wipe away a tear. God, I love him so very much...and he loves me.
July 29th - The Night Before Surgery
Well, here we were, hours before the Big Day. The phone rung incessantly. The mailbox was full with well-wishes. Unlimited texting paid off as I received a bunch saying "thinking of you" and such. My email account was overflowing. And now, here we were, a mere few hours before my surgery...the very reason people had called, emailed, texted, and wished us well.
My sister, Robin, had come to stay with me for the next ten days. My brother, Mark, had come into town for the surgery. I asked my other sister, Leslie Kay, to come for the chemotherapy. I wanted to stagger the visits to make sure my family was covered as far as getting the kids where they needed to be, having meals cooked, and the house clean...always the planner. Leslie Kay wanted to come for the surgery but I asked her to wait thinking that she could come when the after-effects of the chemo were vigilant and everyone else had forgotten about me. As I mentioned, our parents died when I was nine, so my siblings and I are it, basically. We have no aunts or uncles or cousins or grandparents. Wow. We ARE it. Anyway, Robin and Mark came for the surgery and Leslie Kay would be coming when I got really sick, probably around January. Not exactly sure who drew the short straw there, but...
The doorbell rang a bunch as flowers were delivered and then, right when I thought I would turn tail and run away, the UPS man came. He brought with him a gift from my friend Deena who has been my friend since we met in Germany in 1995. Now, Deena is absolutely t-e-r-r-i-b-l-e about writing and staying in touch, but it never seems to matter because she sends the best gifts with a long letter about how she is sorry for being such a bad friend and not staying in touch and we pick up right where we left off and all is well and wonderful. This time was no exception. Deena had sent me a "Tower of Chocolate"!!!! This single gift gave me the courage to stay put and go forward because if Deena loved me enough to send such an extravagant gift, then the least I could do was fight, so I stayed...and ate chocolate.
It was very special to share a meal with my siblings and my niece, Kathren, who came with Robin and with Melissa, Mark's wife, along with my family. We had a lovely dinner and no one mentioned the "C" word once. I noticed how sad Kathren looked and I talked to her after everyone had gone to bed...I asked her what was wrong and her sweet eyes filled with tears as she said, "You are like my mom and I am so scared to lose you." I held my niece, now in her early 30's, as if I were holding a small child. She cried. I cried. I held her close and prayed for the strength to never quit fighting this disease. While I may be like a mother to her, she is surely like a daughter to me...
My sister, Robin, had come to stay with me for the next ten days. My brother, Mark, had come into town for the surgery. I asked my other sister, Leslie Kay, to come for the chemotherapy. I wanted to stagger the visits to make sure my family was covered as far as getting the kids where they needed to be, having meals cooked, and the house clean...always the planner. Leslie Kay wanted to come for the surgery but I asked her to wait thinking that she could come when the after-effects of the chemo were vigilant and everyone else had forgotten about me. As I mentioned, our parents died when I was nine, so my siblings and I are it, basically. We have no aunts or uncles or cousins or grandparents. Wow. We ARE it. Anyway, Robin and Mark came for the surgery and Leslie Kay would be coming when I got really sick, probably around January. Not exactly sure who drew the short straw there, but...
The doorbell rang a bunch as flowers were delivered and then, right when I thought I would turn tail and run away, the UPS man came. He brought with him a gift from my friend Deena who has been my friend since we met in Germany in 1995. Now, Deena is absolutely t-e-r-r-i-b-l-e about writing and staying in touch, but it never seems to matter because she sends the best gifts with a long letter about how she is sorry for being such a bad friend and not staying in touch and we pick up right where we left off and all is well and wonderful. This time was no exception. Deena had sent me a "Tower of Chocolate"!!!! This single gift gave me the courage to stay put and go forward because if Deena loved me enough to send such an extravagant gift, then the least I could do was fight, so I stayed...and ate chocolate.
It was very special to share a meal with my siblings and my niece, Kathren, who came with Robin and with Melissa, Mark's wife, along with my family. We had a lovely dinner and no one mentioned the "C" word once. I noticed how sad Kathren looked and I talked to her after everyone had gone to bed...I asked her what was wrong and her sweet eyes filled with tears as she said, "You are like my mom and I am so scared to lose you." I held my niece, now in her early 30's, as if I were holding a small child. She cried. I cried. I held her close and prayed for the strength to never quit fighting this disease. While I may be like a mother to her, she is surely like a daughter to me...
Surgery Date Looms...
My surgery was scheduled for July 30th and here it was July 27th. I had to take Precious Son to the orthodontist on the 22nd, had an appointment with the radiation oncologist on the 23rd. On Monday, the 20th, I had my echo-cardiogram. They have to run this test to get a baseline for your heart rhythms and such because chemotherapy can wreak havoc on some people and their heart. I also had met with Dr. Harris on the 21st as we made the final decision with regard to what type of surgery. At some point in there, someone sent me an email reminding me to go to Jospehine's Post-Mastectomy Shop downtown in order to be fitted with a post-mastectomy camisole. Well, wasn't that wonderful? I am not even allowed downtown due to my issues with one-way streets, getting lost in my own neighborhood, and the very real possibility of getting carjacked because I went the wrong way down a one-way street, got lost, and ran smack dab into the middle of some gang. You can see Big Daddy's concern, thus, I am not allowed downtown.
I called Josephine's and asked for an appointment for a fitting while apologizing for the late request. Turned out that Lisa would be able to see me on Saturday even though they were not open on Saturdays. I melted. How incredibly thoughtful are these people to come in on a Saturday for some stranger who is obviously a procrastinator (which I am NOT, I am merely overwhelmed with having to be a bazillion places in a very short amount of time!!)? Lisa, at Jospehine's, was so willing to work with me on a Saturday because she, too, had her fair share of cancer taking time and people away from her and she wanted to serve those who were fighting the good fight. I called one of my best friends, Midge, and asked her to take me. Of course, without hesitation, she agreed, and we set our date for Saturday at Jospehine's with Lisa.
Midge picked me up and we headed downtown to meet with Lisa. (Midge is allowed downtown because she is not an idiot who gets turned around in Walmart.) Lisa waved us in and asked me my story. I would like to say I answered her without crying but honestly, I cried as the first words came out of my mouth..."I have breast cancer and my surgery is Thursday". Midge fiddled and farted around for some tissues and all three of us sat there and cried. Lisa asked about my support system and I burst into tears again explaining how wonderful my husband had been and how I am falling in love with him all over again and on and on and on, like some lovesick adolescent. At one point Midge even said she loved him, too, which made me laugh because Midge would rather no one know she is a softy.
Lisa looked me up and down and we found a camisole. My insurance covered the cost of the camisole and I thought to myself how far this fight has come in the past 30 years. Used to be the doctors would lop off your breasts and send you home without any emotional or mental care in place, much less provide for a post-mastectomy camisole or stick-on boobies made by NASA. (No, I am not lying...so cool!!) Lisa showed Midge and I the whole gamut of goodies to help a woman feel like a woman again. It was one of the few appointments I left feeling like I may be able to get through this after all.
Time tick-tocked away and I knew I had to finish up as much work as possible so as not to kill the co-worker who was going to be covering for me... When I got home, I would be writing checks to the high school for black concert shoes, white marching shoes, color guard performance shoes, a duffel bag with Beautiful Daughter's name embroidered on it, and about another $200 worth of school things. Band camp lasted three weeks and our children were finally in the same event, at the same school, with the same performance dates and times. Big Daddy and I were so excited...these were the things that kept me focused on why I was bothering.
I called Josephine's and asked for an appointment for a fitting while apologizing for the late request. Turned out that Lisa would be able to see me on Saturday even though they were not open on Saturdays. I melted. How incredibly thoughtful are these people to come in on a Saturday for some stranger who is obviously a procrastinator (which I am NOT, I am merely overwhelmed with having to be a bazillion places in a very short amount of time!!)? Lisa, at Jospehine's, was so willing to work with me on a Saturday because she, too, had her fair share of cancer taking time and people away from her and she wanted to serve those who were fighting the good fight. I called one of my best friends, Midge, and asked her to take me. Of course, without hesitation, she agreed, and we set our date for Saturday at Jospehine's with Lisa.
Midge picked me up and we headed downtown to meet with Lisa. (Midge is allowed downtown because she is not an idiot who gets turned around in Walmart.) Lisa waved us in and asked me my story. I would like to say I answered her without crying but honestly, I cried as the first words came out of my mouth..."I have breast cancer and my surgery is Thursday". Midge fiddled and farted around for some tissues and all three of us sat there and cried. Lisa asked about my support system and I burst into tears again explaining how wonderful my husband had been and how I am falling in love with him all over again and on and on and on, like some lovesick adolescent. At one point Midge even said she loved him, too, which made me laugh because Midge would rather no one know she is a softy.
Lisa looked me up and down and we found a camisole. My insurance covered the cost of the camisole and I thought to myself how far this fight has come in the past 30 years. Used to be the doctors would lop off your breasts and send you home without any emotional or mental care in place, much less provide for a post-mastectomy camisole or stick-on boobies made by NASA. (No, I am not lying...so cool!!) Lisa showed Midge and I the whole gamut of goodies to help a woman feel like a woman again. It was one of the few appointments I left feeling like I may be able to get through this after all.
Time tick-tocked away and I knew I had to finish up as much work as possible so as not to kill the co-worker who was going to be covering for me... When I got home, I would be writing checks to the high school for black concert shoes, white marching shoes, color guard performance shoes, a duffel bag with Beautiful Daughter's name embroidered on it, and about another $200 worth of school things. Band camp lasted three weeks and our children were finally in the same event, at the same school, with the same performance dates and times. Big Daddy and I were so excited...these were the things that kept me focused on why I was bothering.
Back to Work, Well,For Now...
Vacation came to an end and I went back to work that Monday, July 20th. Everyone had heard the news by this time and I was not quite sure what to expect. Sometimes people have a tendency to "steer clear" out of a fear of saying the wrong thing or possibly just because the word "cancer" scares them. I went on into work, not really knowing how my co-workers would react because I had only been with them since October, so roughly 9 months. Sure, we could have made a baby in that amount of time, but working with adults can be a bit more difficult than making a baby.
I arrived early and very few people were there. I waved 'hello' and headed to my desk where I found the coolest t-shirt ever. It was chocolate brown in color and written in the Komen pink was "Fight Like A Girl". I absolutely loved it! Turns out my boss had seen the shirt while in Florida and she bought it for me. I was touched. I was happy. I was with friends.
One by one, my co-workers came up to me and gave me a hug, maybe with a hint of advice or support, some without saying a word...and yet, even when silent, still saying something profound. I was moved to tears as these people reached out to me and assured me that I would still have a job when all was said and done and that they would do anything that myself or my family needed. They lined up to tell me they loved me. Considering where I used to work, this was amazing. I never felt loved in my last place of employment and now, these precious people who had only known me briefly, were offering to cook for my family, clean my house when I am unable, and go with me to doctor appointments and chemotherapy treatments. I was moved to tears often and I was humbled beyond belief.
Lunchtime came and went and before I knew it, the clock said I could head on home. As I packed up my things and tidied my desk, my friend came over to me and said "You know, I just don't know what to say because I am not that kind of person, you know, emotional and stuff, but I want you to know I like you and I am very sorry you are going through this"... I looked at him and saw his big, brown eyes welling up and I said, "You know what? I like you, too," and I hugged him and headed home for the day, drying my tears as I thanked God for the gift of friendship.
I arrived early and very few people were there. I waved 'hello' and headed to my desk where I found the coolest t-shirt ever. It was chocolate brown in color and written in the Komen pink was "Fight Like A Girl". I absolutely loved it! Turns out my boss had seen the shirt while in Florida and she bought it for me. I was touched. I was happy. I was with friends.
One by one, my co-workers came up to me and gave me a hug, maybe with a hint of advice or support, some without saying a word...and yet, even when silent, still saying something profound. I was moved to tears as these people reached out to me and assured me that I would still have a job when all was said and done and that they would do anything that myself or my family needed. They lined up to tell me they loved me. Considering where I used to work, this was amazing. I never felt loved in my last place of employment and now, these precious people who had only known me briefly, were offering to cook for my family, clean my house when I am unable, and go with me to doctor appointments and chemotherapy treatments. I was moved to tears often and I was humbled beyond belief.
Lunchtime came and went and before I knew it, the clock said I could head on home. As I packed up my things and tidied my desk, my friend came over to me and said "You know, I just don't know what to say because I am not that kind of person, you know, emotional and stuff, but I want you to know I like you and I am very sorry you are going through this"... I looked at him and saw his big, brown eyes welling up and I said, "You know what? I like you, too," and I hugged him and headed home for the day, drying my tears as I thanked God for the gift of friendship.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Vacation...from Reality
So, we were in Myrtle Beach for a whole week. The weather could not have been better and the ocean's temperature was like bath water. Well, bath water that you have already taken a bath in and have sat there for a while until it gets kind of cold and then you get up and turn on the shower because you are chilly...yeah, THAT kind of bath water. There was zero humidity and the sun shone brightly from daybreak til dark. It was actually during this time that I decided humidity is a huge factor in whether or not a vacation is "nice" or "fabulous"...this one was definitely fabulous.
We played in the ocean during the mornings, sunning ourselves from time to time on the beach or poolside at our resort. There were people selling fruity drinks with tiny umbrellas next to women, seemingly from some far away land, braiding the long, sun-kissed hair of young girls who sat still but managed to make their sisters giggle, just the same. Just as many a dream of mine before, a man, dressed all in white, came up to me and offered me an ice cream. Considering the perfect weather, the perfect temperature of the ocean and the pools, and the perfect company of my family, why would I not believe that there was now a man offering me my favorite treat in the whole wide world?
As it turns out, the planets had not actually aligned themselves into some sort of atmospheric perfection with a culmination of my receiving an ice cream. Turns out, it was not so much a dream or even mirage as a guy who had converted his bike into a summer ice cream stand with wheels. Whatever.
I refused to pay the incredibly inflated prices of $4.00 for a SpongeBob ice cream or $5.00 for a frozen version of hot fudge cake. Blech. So, I wrinkled my nose at the man with the overpriced ice cream, turned over on my tummy and let the rays tan my back. It was then I realized no matter how wonderful this week had been or was yet to be, I would be coming home to surgery, rehab, more surgery, chemo, hair falling out, nausea, vomiting, and then radiation. I tried to talk myself out of being upset because "next year" things would be back to normal...then I realized that when you are terrible at math, your mathematical figures tend to be wrong.
1 Year Chemotherapy
6 Weeks of Daily Radiation
6 Months before Reconstruction can Begin
Yeah...it wasn't going to be next year after all...in fact, at best, we were looking at two years before "normal" would even be a possibility. A tear trickled down my cheek and I wished with all my might that I could just fall asleep there in the sun and forget...
We played in the ocean during the mornings, sunning ourselves from time to time on the beach or poolside at our resort. There were people selling fruity drinks with tiny umbrellas next to women, seemingly from some far away land, braiding the long, sun-kissed hair of young girls who sat still but managed to make their sisters giggle, just the same. Just as many a dream of mine before, a man, dressed all in white, came up to me and offered me an ice cream. Considering the perfect weather, the perfect temperature of the ocean and the pools, and the perfect company of my family, why would I not believe that there was now a man offering me my favorite treat in the whole wide world?
As it turns out, the planets had not actually aligned themselves into some sort of atmospheric perfection with a culmination of my receiving an ice cream. Turns out, it was not so much a dream or even mirage as a guy who had converted his bike into a summer ice cream stand with wheels. Whatever.
I refused to pay the incredibly inflated prices of $4.00 for a SpongeBob ice cream or $5.00 for a frozen version of hot fudge cake. Blech. So, I wrinkled my nose at the man with the overpriced ice cream, turned over on my tummy and let the rays tan my back. It was then I realized no matter how wonderful this week had been or was yet to be, I would be coming home to surgery, rehab, more surgery, chemo, hair falling out, nausea, vomiting, and then radiation. I tried to talk myself out of being upset because "next year" things would be back to normal...then I realized that when you are terrible at math, your mathematical figures tend to be wrong.
1 Year Chemotherapy
6 Weeks of Daily Radiation
6 Months before Reconstruction can Begin
Yeah...it wasn't going to be next year after all...in fact, at best, we were looking at two years before "normal" would even be a possibility. A tear trickled down my cheek and I wished with all my might that I could just fall asleep there in the sun and forget...
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Website Launch!
So, today is the day I actually tell people that I have a website chronicling my journey through having breast cancer. What I find most amusing is that I chose to do this after having completed my last post on my second colonoscopy. Now, THERE's a way to hook readers! With your LAST post showing first, ahhhhhhhhhh, we are cookin' now!! LOL
Anyway, while today is an exciting day, I do wish I had mastered my blog site and the "spellcheck" before I posted. Even though I DID use spellcheck, apparently in America, "gong" and "si" are now acceptable terms in literature. Oh well.
Does anyone remember the Gong Show?
Si.
So, I sent out the email via AOL and Facebook...and several people will receive the notice more than once. To those people I say, "I love you enough so I sent it twice...or three times...or however many times your name popped up because you have seven email addresses".
There is some concern going through my mind, though...surely there will be people I do not like or care for reading my most personal thoughts and feelings. How will I cope with that? My plan is to hope and pray that they become blog followers and that they post comments or send me an email and that I receive it with grace and dignity for without the bumps in the road, we have an awfully easy ride and with easy rides, we die not having learned anything.
So, what shall we learn today?
Anyway, while today is an exciting day, I do wish I had mastered my blog site and the "spellcheck" before I posted. Even though I DID use spellcheck, apparently in America, "gong" and "si" are now acceptable terms in literature. Oh well.
Does anyone remember the Gong Show?
Si.
So, I sent out the email via AOL and Facebook...and several people will receive the notice more than once. To those people I say, "I love you enough so I sent it twice...or three times...or however many times your name popped up because you have seven email addresses".
There is some concern going through my mind, though...surely there will be people I do not like or care for reading my most personal thoughts and feelings. How will I cope with that? My plan is to hope and pray that they become blog followers and that they post comments or send me an email and that I receive it with grace and dignity for without the bumps in the road, we have an awfully easy ride and with easy rides, we die not having learned anything.
So, what shall we learn today?
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Colonoscopy #2
July 13th came around pretty quickly despite spending two full days with my ass glued to the toilet seat because I was following the prescribed regimen and did drink that nasty stuff. Time had also gone by pretty quickly because Big Daddy decided that we needed to go on vacation despite the news...or maybe in spite of the news. So, after Colonoscopy #1, I got online and made reservations for us at Myrtle Beach, SC. We would stay a week, leaving Monday, July 13th, immediately after my second colonoscopy. That's right...I would be the best roadtripper in the history of man. If things went as they should and the drugs lasted like they did before, I could easily wake up in Myrtle Beach without ever having even known we were driving. You see, I hate road trips and I hate being in a vehicle for more than about ten minutes. So, going on the road for 10-12 hours was not what I had ever thought was a good time. However, sleeping off some Versed/Demerol combo while lying in the back seat of the Suburban sounded like a winning plan to me. Chances are, Big Daddy liked the plan, too.
For the second colonoscopy, there seemed to be more time for idle chitchat with the nurses. Maybe the doctor was running behind (no pun intended, but still funny) or maybe it just needed to be said, but when the nurse asked what had prompted my test today, my eyes filled with tears and I said "because I have cancer". You could tell this poor nurse had no idea and you could also tell that I, in no way, shape, or form resembled someone with cancer. I was too young, too healthy, and too busy being a wife, mother, teacher, and SuperWoman. The nurse just looked at me and said she was sorry. You know, despite her being a total stranger to me, I could tell she genuinely was.
The IV solution began to flow and I wanted to thank her for being so nice to me but I was soon asleep. The next thing I knew, we were pulling into the resort at Myrtle Beach...God bless the Versed/Demerol cocktail.
For the second colonoscopy, there seemed to be more time for idle chitchat with the nurses. Maybe the doctor was running behind (no pun intended, but still funny) or maybe it just needed to be said, but when the nurse asked what had prompted my test today, my eyes filled with tears and I said "because I have cancer". You could tell this poor nurse had no idea and you could also tell that I, in no way, shape, or form resembled someone with cancer. I was too young, too healthy, and too busy being a wife, mother, teacher, and SuperWoman. The nurse just looked at me and said she was sorry. You know, despite her being a total stranger to me, I could tell she genuinely was.
The IV solution began to flow and I wanted to thank her for being so nice to me but I was soon asleep. The next thing I knew, we were pulling into the resort at Myrtle Beach...God bless the Versed/Demerol cocktail.
Colon Cancer - Breast Cancer - Huh?
My parents died when I was nine years old. My father had a heart attack and my mom died of colon cancer. This was in the 70's, like around 1975. They died a few months apart. Seems to me that "bad news" should be easy to swallow after that...but no, not really. We never truly become accustomed to bad news, do we? We are always hopeful that it won't turn out to be bad news after all... Anyway, since my mom died of colon cancer, I was scheduled for a colonoscopy. My thoughts were that they had already found cancer in my breast and if they found it in my colon, then a new word would be introduced: Metasticized.
My siblings and I have been fanatics about colon health. We have had the colonoscopies, we drink the Benefiber, and we are all about whole grains. Actually, we probably have the best looking sibling colons in America. I don't know of any contest for this, but if there were, that is one trophy we could count on!
My first colonoscopy was scheduled for July 9th, a Thursday. Having been there, done that, I thought I would outsmart the people insisting I drink that unbelievably nasty stuff that makes you go poo-poo and instead opted to create my own regimen. I showed up for work on Tuesday morning with a gallon of apple juice and some chocolate. I warmed up the apple juice in the microwave and sucked the whole gallon down. Ate the chocolate at will. Same drill on Wednesday. Thursday morning arrived, we showed up for the colonoscopy and I was taken back. They began the IV of the most wonderful drug combo in the history of man (Versed and Demerol) and I was in La-La Land. The next thing I knew, Big Daddy was standing over me asking why I had not been compliant in my "bowel preparation". Uh oh. Turns out the Versed and Demerol wore off, but Big Daddy's discontent was around to stay...
Next colonoscopy: Monday, July 13th. Premonition..."clean as a whistle"
My siblings and I have been fanatics about colon health. We have had the colonoscopies, we drink the Benefiber, and we are all about whole grains. Actually, we probably have the best looking sibling colons in America. I don't know of any contest for this, but if there were, that is one trophy we could count on!
My first colonoscopy was scheduled for July 9th, a Thursday. Having been there, done that, I thought I would outsmart the people insisting I drink that unbelievably nasty stuff that makes you go poo-poo and instead opted to create my own regimen. I showed up for work on Tuesday morning with a gallon of apple juice and some chocolate. I warmed up the apple juice in the microwave and sucked the whole gallon down. Ate the chocolate at will. Same drill on Wednesday. Thursday morning arrived, we showed up for the colonoscopy and I was taken back. They began the IV of the most wonderful drug combo in the history of man (Versed and Demerol) and I was in La-La Land. The next thing I knew, Big Daddy was standing over me asking why I had not been compliant in my "bowel preparation". Uh oh. Turns out the Versed and Demerol wore off, but Big Daddy's discontent was around to stay...
Next colonoscopy: Monday, July 13th. Premonition..."clean as a whistle"
The "First" Opinion
We were given the appointment time for our first onocology appointment, you know, with an oncologist. I was head set on going to the same hospital we had been going to for ER visits and such since we moved here in 1999. It is called Central Baptist and when you enter, there is a huge and beautiful sculpture with a Bible verse etched in about healing and how God provides, and I have always liked it very much. So, when asked which oncologist we would like to see, I said 'anyone at Central Baptist', and thus, our appointment with Dr. Smith (not his real name).
The nurse practitioner came into the room and was so incredibly kind and compassionate, I hoped she made a lot of money doing what she was doing because she was worth every penny. She took my vitals and spoke to me with an angelic voice explaining chemotherapy, surgery, and radiation options. She addressed both Big Daddy and Beautiful Daughter and reassured them that I would be okay. Eventually, Dr. Smith came in.
Dr. Smith came in and sat down right in front of me. He did not mince words and cut right to the chase. He was more of an accountant with facts and figures than a physician with a young woman in front him convinced she was dying of cancer, begging to be saved. He spoke about lumpectomies and mastectomies and rates of recovery. He never even looked at Big Daddy or Beautiful Daughter, much less said a word to them. Before too much time had passed, Big Daddy got up and moved in front of Dr. Smith so that he could at least see his facial expressions even though he was not being spoken to. Dr. Smith never missed a syllable or a beat and continued with his recommended course of treatment. I sat there listening and more silent tears streamed down, again. I caught a glimpse of Beautiful Daughter and her head was hanging as she played with some random string on her jacket. I wanted to comfort her but I could not move...
Big Daddy tried to ask a question here and there and Dr. Smith completely ignored him, never even glancing up at him. I could literally feel the tension mounting in the room. I knew and Big Daddy knew, this was not a good fit.
Dr. Smith finished his summation and left the room. There is an excellent chance that Dr. Smith heard Big Daddy say "I don't like him" as he left the examining room. We were at the checkout when Dr. Smith came up and decided to address Big Daddy and Beautiful Daughter. We have a term for this in our family..."too little, too late". We knew we were going to have to get a second opinion because we were going to need an oncologist that we actually liked and trusted. Dr. Smith fit neither category. This also meant that Central Baptist was most likely not going to be an option as all the oncologists were in the same practice in the hospital. Bigger picture? That left me at St. Joe or at the University of Kentucky.
I had no experience or knowledge of St. Joe but I did know that I did NOT want to go to UK. Since it is a teaching school, residents are all about sitting in on cases and patients are asked to participate in medical tests and studies. None of that interested me in the least. I already felt like a pin cushion, was preparing to look like Frankenstein, and was in no way interested in completing surveys on my bowel movements, the color of my urine, or if this anti-nausea medicine worked better than that one.
All the appointments had been such a whirlwind and now, I had to start calling friends to get references for a new oncologist. I wasn't sure how it was going to turn out but I was pretty sure I should not begin with "Hi. The first guy sucked. Now we are trying you on for size. Good luck."
We called some friends and as it turns out, there was an oncologist who had received very high marks from several people. His name was Dr. Horn and fortunately, he was at St. Joe.
The nurse practitioner came into the room and was so incredibly kind and compassionate, I hoped she made a lot of money doing what she was doing because she was worth every penny. She took my vitals and spoke to me with an angelic voice explaining chemotherapy, surgery, and radiation options. She addressed both Big Daddy and Beautiful Daughter and reassured them that I would be okay. Eventually, Dr. Smith came in.
Dr. Smith came in and sat down right in front of me. He did not mince words and cut right to the chase. He was more of an accountant with facts and figures than a physician with a young woman in front him convinced she was dying of cancer, begging to be saved. He spoke about lumpectomies and mastectomies and rates of recovery. He never even looked at Big Daddy or Beautiful Daughter, much less said a word to them. Before too much time had passed, Big Daddy got up and moved in front of Dr. Smith so that he could at least see his facial expressions even though he was not being spoken to. Dr. Smith never missed a syllable or a beat and continued with his recommended course of treatment. I sat there listening and more silent tears streamed down, again. I caught a glimpse of Beautiful Daughter and her head was hanging as she played with some random string on her jacket. I wanted to comfort her but I could not move...
Big Daddy tried to ask a question here and there and Dr. Smith completely ignored him, never even glancing up at him. I could literally feel the tension mounting in the room. I knew and Big Daddy knew, this was not a good fit.
Dr. Smith finished his summation and left the room. There is an excellent chance that Dr. Smith heard Big Daddy say "I don't like him" as he left the examining room. We were at the checkout when Dr. Smith came up and decided to address Big Daddy and Beautiful Daughter. We have a term for this in our family..."too little, too late". We knew we were going to have to get a second opinion because we were going to need an oncologist that we actually liked and trusted. Dr. Smith fit neither category. This also meant that Central Baptist was most likely not going to be an option as all the oncologists were in the same practice in the hospital. Bigger picture? That left me at St. Joe or at the University of Kentucky.
I had no experience or knowledge of St. Joe but I did know that I did NOT want to go to UK. Since it is a teaching school, residents are all about sitting in on cases and patients are asked to participate in medical tests and studies. None of that interested me in the least. I already felt like a pin cushion, was preparing to look like Frankenstein, and was in no way interested in completing surveys on my bowel movements, the color of my urine, or if this anti-nausea medicine worked better than that one.
All the appointments had been such a whirlwind and now, I had to start calling friends to get references for a new oncologist. I wasn't sure how it was going to turn out but I was pretty sure I should not begin with "Hi. The first guy sucked. Now we are trying you on for size. Good luck."
We called some friends and as it turns out, there was an oncologist who had received very high marks from several people. His name was Dr. Horn and fortunately, he was at St. Joe.
Walksoftly...my first follower
Good Morning.
Yesterday, even though still a blessing to be part of, was indeed, a difficult day.
We went clothes shopping and for some reason, I had a slight meltdown.
I say "slight" because I would hate to admit "tremendous" or "overwhelming" or "humongous"...
I will post more about yesterday's meltdown at a later date, but I wanted to tell you that last night I logged into this site and found that I have my first follower. As a writer-in-waiting, this was the best thing to see when I was ready for bed with a massive headache from crying incessantly for the vast majority of the day...
So, to you, Walksoftly, thank you and I do hope you enjoy the "journey"...
Yesterday, even though still a blessing to be part of, was indeed, a difficult day.
We went clothes shopping and for some reason, I had a slight meltdown.
I say "slight" because I would hate to admit "tremendous" or "overwhelming" or "humongous"...
I will post more about yesterday's meltdown at a later date, but I wanted to tell you that last night I logged into this site and found that I have my first follower. As a writer-in-waiting, this was the best thing to see when I was ready for bed with a massive headache from crying incessantly for the vast majority of the day...
So, to you, Walksoftly, thank you and I do hope you enjoy the "journey"...
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
PET SCAN: No Dogs Allowed
Dr. Harris set me up for a PET/CT Scan. We were supposed to bring a list of my current medications, warm clothes, and remain NPO after midnight. I had no idea what a PET Scan was...so I Googled it, of course. As it turns out, a PET Scan is just something you have to experience for yourself.
Big Daddy and I showed up for my appointment on July 2, 2009 and I was the first one scheduled that morning. The nuclear medicine specialist took me back...I know!!! Nuclear Medicine Specialist?!?!?!? What the heck is that??? What were they gong to do to me that would involve nuclear medicine???? Apparently, I should have Googled a bit more...
The Specialist took me and started an IV...yes, another IV. Then she escorted me to a private, darkened room where she later brought Big Daddy to stay with me. I was told to relax and that I could recline in the chair, but I had to remain silent because using my vocal chords could alter the results. (I am not for sure, but I think Big Daddy liked that part because he had brought with him a new book he had been wanting to read) So the Specialist steps into a freeezer-like room and brings out a small, silver box. On the box it read: NUCLEAR MEDICINE - CONTAINER MADE OF LEAD - USE GLOVES
AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!
As it turns out, the box contained radioactive sugar and that was placed into my IV. The sugar adheres to the cells within the body that are most active and reproducing, which would be cancer cells. I felt the cold fluid enter my body and I waited to have some reaction like Peter Parker had at the museum the day he became SpiderMan...but nothing like that happened. I gained zero super powers...zero ability to become invisible...zero talent for leaping tall buildings in a single bound. Bummer. It just felt cold.
I laid there for the required 40 minutes while the nuclear sugar attached itself to my cancer and then was led into another MRI-type tube. This one took pictures of my whole body, one section at a time. The test was painless and if I had not had my hands stretched over my head again, then I could have fallen asleep.
When the test was over, I found Big Daddy still reading his book and I was very thankful that Tony Dungy had written something so profound as to distract my husband from his fears for a bit.
Big Daddy and I showed up for my appointment on July 2, 2009 and I was the first one scheduled that morning. The nuclear medicine specialist took me back...I know!!! Nuclear Medicine Specialist?!?!?!? What the heck is that??? What were they gong to do to me that would involve nuclear medicine???? Apparently, I should have Googled a bit more...
The Specialist took me and started an IV...yes, another IV. Then she escorted me to a private, darkened room where she later brought Big Daddy to stay with me. I was told to relax and that I could recline in the chair, but I had to remain silent because using my vocal chords could alter the results. (I am not for sure, but I think Big Daddy liked that part because he had brought with him a new book he had been wanting to read) So the Specialist steps into a freeezer-like room and brings out a small, silver box. On the box it read: NUCLEAR MEDICINE - CONTAINER MADE OF LEAD - USE GLOVES
AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!
As it turns out, the box contained radioactive sugar and that was placed into my IV. The sugar adheres to the cells within the body that are most active and reproducing, which would be cancer cells. I felt the cold fluid enter my body and I waited to have some reaction like Peter Parker had at the museum the day he became SpiderMan...but nothing like that happened. I gained zero super powers...zero ability to become invisible...zero talent for leaping tall buildings in a single bound. Bummer. It just felt cold.
I laid there for the required 40 minutes while the nuclear sugar attached itself to my cancer and then was led into another MRI-type tube. This one took pictures of my whole body, one section at a time. The test was painless and if I had not had my hands stretched over my head again, then I could have fallen asleep.
When the test was over, I found Big Daddy still reading his book and I was very thankful that Tony Dungy had written something so profound as to distract my husband from his fears for a bit.
Dr. Harris: Surgeon to the Stars
June 30, 2009: The staff at this surgeon's office were amazingly kind and caring. The nurse assisting Dr. Harris was the cutest little thing you ever saw. Her name is Jenny and she literally sparkles when she calls your name in the waiting room. Jenny introduced us to Christy, the appointment scheduler, and by golly if Christy wasn't the sweetest person, too. Jenny took us back to the exam room and took my vitals. How healthy I was!!! Low blood pressure, weight is on target for my height, no temperature, I had a pulse...things looked great!
As Big Daddy and I studied the anatomy charts in the exam room, Dr. Harris came in. This surgeon put us at ease from the moment he entered the room. He was obviously a surgical prodigy because he could not be more than 30 years old, and yet, here we were with this man who was going to give us our options. I decided later that he looked young because he has a caring disposition and people who don't care look old.
Radical Lumpectomy with Removal of Lymph Nodes
Radical Mastectomy, Left Side
Bilateral Mastectomy
All with 1 year of chemotherapy followed by daily radiation for six weeks
This doctor shared the news with us with so much compassion and regard for our distress, that I felt bad for him for having to tell us. Dr. Harris bonded with us immediately and I trusted him and his opinion. Big Daddy asked questions and Dr. Harris answered each and every one. I sat there and listened and wiped away the tears that simply would not stop flowing. I never cried out loud, only silently as those two men discussed my surgical options and what would save my life.
We left the office with a lot to think about and decide...but I had already decided that if these strangers were going to be so incredibly kind to me, then I would certainly have to fight with everything in my power to win. I also decided that I would take them all some banana bread or something like that because that is what we should do when strangers are nice to us.
As Big Daddy and I studied the anatomy charts in the exam room, Dr. Harris came in. This surgeon put us at ease from the moment he entered the room. He was obviously a surgical prodigy because he could not be more than 30 years old, and yet, here we were with this man who was going to give us our options. I decided later that he looked young because he has a caring disposition and people who don't care look old.
Radical Lumpectomy with Removal of Lymph Nodes
Radical Mastectomy, Left Side
Bilateral Mastectomy
All with 1 year of chemotherapy followed by daily radiation for six weeks
This doctor shared the news with us with so much compassion and regard for our distress, that I felt bad for him for having to tell us. Dr. Harris bonded with us immediately and I trusted him and his opinion. Big Daddy asked questions and Dr. Harris answered each and every one. I sat there and listened and wiped away the tears that simply would not stop flowing. I never cried out loud, only silently as those two men discussed my surgical options and what would save my life.
We left the office with a lot to think about and decide...but I had already decided that if these strangers were going to be so incredibly kind to me, then I would certainly have to fight with everything in my power to win. I also decided that I would take them all some banana bread or something like that because that is what we should do when strangers are nice to us.
So many appointments, so little time...
The MRI was very strange, to say the least. I have had an MRI before, so I did not think it would be a big deal. You lie on a very hard table, they push a button, you go into a tube, they take a few pictures, push another button and you come out of the tube and go home. Easy. Well, apparently, MRI's of possible-cancer-ridden breasts are NOT that simple. Sure, you go in and get on the hard table, but then they want to place an IV in your hand and inject you some solution to make the cancer broadcast easier. Well, fine, I guess, although there are no words to express how much I LOATHE IV's. The IV was inserted, the tears flowed, and then they asked me to stand up, face the hard table, and lay down with each breast resting in it's own little cup holder. Huh? Sure enough, each boobie had it's own cup holder. I don't recall what those professional medical people called them, but to me, they were cup holders because wasting a good pun is shameful.
"Hands above your head and please do not move".
Ok, then...So I did that until my arms fell asleep and I started getting cramps in my biceps. Fortunately, the test was over and I was exhumed from the tube and sent on my way to dress. As I left the MRI imaging area and returned to the waiting room I realized that Big Daddy had been to every appointment with me and had hired an extra person to work his share of our personal business so that he could be available for the upcoming barrage of doctors, tests, and scans. I looked at this man on his cell phone, trying to run our business from an MRI waiting room and I saw a new side to him...he had told me all along our 20 years of being in love that I did not have to do everything by myself, that is was okay to lean on him and share the load, that we were a team and there is no "I" in team, that being so damned independent usually meant being alone...
Maybe the new side I thought I was seeing in him was actually a new side of myself...
"Hands above your head and please do not move".
Ok, then...So I did that until my arms fell asleep and I started getting cramps in my biceps. Fortunately, the test was over and I was exhumed from the tube and sent on my way to dress. As I left the MRI imaging area and returned to the waiting room I realized that Big Daddy had been to every appointment with me and had hired an extra person to work his share of our personal business so that he could be available for the upcoming barrage of doctors, tests, and scans. I looked at this man on his cell phone, trying to run our business from an MRI waiting room and I saw a new side to him...he had told me all along our 20 years of being in love that I did not have to do everything by myself, that is was okay to lean on him and share the load, that we were a team and there is no "I" in team, that being so damned independent usually meant being alone...
Maybe the new side I thought I was seeing in him was actually a new side of myself...
The Call...
The kids had been in Indianapolis for a week of CIY (Christ in Youth). They were arriving home on June 26th, the day after my mammogram, ultrasound, and biopsy. The radiographer had told me the day before that for the past five years, my films had not changed one iota and she was sure that the biopsy would come back as a swollen cyst or that marble I swallowed when I was six. Big Daddy and I were heading to the church to pick up the kids when the call came...
"The biopsy results are already back and I don't know how to tell you this but you have cancer."
"Ok..." was all I said. The radiologist went on and on about very important things and although I tried to listen and concentrate, I just couldn't. Suddenly, I felt very pressed for time. Time to tell our children everything they will ever need to know...time to make sure my life insurance policy was up to date and would provide adequate funding for college tuition and such...time to get published...time to start my own business (there are several for me to choose from because I LOVE so many things!)...time to go grocery shopping...time to get the Suburban detailed because Big Daddy loves it when it is all clean and shiny...oh, Big Daddy...this was the most pressing of "time" issues...
Time to make sure Big Daddy knows and will never, ever doubt that I loved him with all my heart and that never, ever stopped even when we were angry with each other or when we disagreed about stupid things or even when I had convinced myself of a hundred different things that were never true but took them out on him anyway...and now, I was pushed hard into a corner and I realized that there would never, ever be enough time or ways or words or gifts or glances or memories or notes or pictures or anything to show this man the endless depth of my love and devotion to him...never, ever.
It must have been apparent that on top of cancer, I now had ADHD, as well, because Big Daddy offered to take the phone from me and speak with the radiographer himself. Apparently this whole "cancer" thing was a big deal and the radiographer had already scheduled me for an MRI on the 29th. Big Daddy wrote down the information and hung up the phone. We had pulled over so he could concentrate and write things down...and now we just sat there. I was not crying. I was not upset. I was just kind of "there" with my "to do" list racing through my mind. My husband was reassuring and said things like "we will win this" and "failure is not an option, we will beat this" and I just sat there listening because he kept saying "we"... He had absolutely no intention of this battle ever being "Cancer vs. Her"...it was "We vs. Cancer". How could "we" not win?
We pulled back onto the road and headed to church to pick up the kids from their wonderfully fun and exciting, spiritually uplifting week of rededication to the Lord. Our news would wait until we listened and laughed and learned everything they wanted to share with us...yes, our news would wait...
"The biopsy results are already back and I don't know how to tell you this but you have cancer."
"Ok..." was all I said. The radiologist went on and on about very important things and although I tried to listen and concentrate, I just couldn't. Suddenly, I felt very pressed for time. Time to tell our children everything they will ever need to know...time to make sure my life insurance policy was up to date and would provide adequate funding for college tuition and such...time to get published...time to start my own business (there are several for me to choose from because I LOVE so many things!)...time to go grocery shopping...time to get the Suburban detailed because Big Daddy loves it when it is all clean and shiny...oh, Big Daddy...this was the most pressing of "time" issues...
Time to make sure Big Daddy knows and will never, ever doubt that I loved him with all my heart and that never, ever stopped even when we were angry with each other or when we disagreed about stupid things or even when I had convinced myself of a hundred different things that were never true but took them out on him anyway...and now, I was pushed hard into a corner and I realized that there would never, ever be enough time or ways or words or gifts or glances or memories or notes or pictures or anything to show this man the endless depth of my love and devotion to him...never, ever.
It must have been apparent that on top of cancer, I now had ADHD, as well, because Big Daddy offered to take the phone from me and speak with the radiographer himself. Apparently this whole "cancer" thing was a big deal and the radiographer had already scheduled me for an MRI on the 29th. Big Daddy wrote down the information and hung up the phone. We had pulled over so he could concentrate and write things down...and now we just sat there. I was not crying. I was not upset. I was just kind of "there" with my "to do" list racing through my mind. My husband was reassuring and said things like "we will win this" and "failure is not an option, we will beat this" and I just sat there listening because he kept saying "we"... He had absolutely no intention of this battle ever being "Cancer vs. Her"...it was "We vs. Cancer". How could "we" not win?
We pulled back onto the road and headed to church to pick up the kids from their wonderfully fun and exciting, spiritually uplifting week of rededication to the Lord. Our news would wait until we listened and laughed and learned everything they wanted to share with us...yes, our news would wait...
Let the appointments begin!!
So, I called the next day to make an appointment with my NEW family physician. You see, last year I had whooping cough (pertussis) and no one at my previous family practice believed me. I requested to be tested and they said there was no need. After approximately 4 visits and then a visit from Big Daddy, they tested me. What do you know? The test came back positive!! I WAS sick!! Whooping cough can last a very long time and mine did...around 9 months with a little hint here and there of it lingering longer say, when I laughed or tried to take deep breath. Since breathing is relatively important to me, I decided to find a NEW primary care physician...enter Dr. Johnson.
Went to see Dr. Johnson on June 18, 2009. He did a complete physical and then referred me to the mammography clinic. I have always been a very good girl when it comes to getting my annual mammogram. They worked me in and my mammogram was scheduled for June 25th. I say "worked me in" because Dr. Johnson had requested they go ahead and plan on an ultrasound and biopsy. This was going to be a loooooong appointment.
Life went on as usual...work, carting and carrying kids and their friends, housecleaning, running crazy, you know, the usual "mom/wife" stuff. Eventually June 25th rolled around and I went to the mammogram by myself...I always went to my appointments by myself, why would this one be any different? Oh yeah, because I knew what was going to happen and what the results were going to be. I didn't bother to tell Big Daddy because he had a lot on his plate and certainly did not need to have my "drama" on top of all his.
There was a lady in the waiting area asking if anyone wanted to participate in a study for the University of Kentucky on the "psychology of women". Puh-leeze. I would LOVE that!!! So, I raised my hand and got the packet of information to complete. Answering questions about myself is always fun to me...even those emails you get from your friends who are goofing off at work asking you if prefer diamonds to pearls or what your favorite food is. I dove right in and answered all the questions. Seemed to me that the "psychology of women" survey should have had a lot more to do with how inferior we feel to other women and the high cost of trying to be Superwoman, but they pretty much stuck to the basics.
"Do you feel, despite your past mistakes, that your life is good?"
"Do you believe that you are worthy of a good life?"
"Do you have friends you can depend on for support?"
"Do you have a solid relationship with your significant other?"
Yes, yes, yes, and yes...
But really, no one even mentioned my preference of diamonds over pearls, so I was underwhelmed to say the least of this scientific study of my gender. However, I did receive a mug with "breast cancer pink" polka dots all over it and the promise of $30.00 if my mammogram turned out to reveal something tragic like cancer. Of course, I already knew how I would spend that 30 bucks...Double Stuff Oreos and 2% milk.
Went to see Dr. Johnson on June 18, 2009. He did a complete physical and then referred me to the mammography clinic. I have always been a very good girl when it comes to getting my annual mammogram. They worked me in and my mammogram was scheduled for June 25th. I say "worked me in" because Dr. Johnson had requested they go ahead and plan on an ultrasound and biopsy. This was going to be a loooooong appointment.
Life went on as usual...work, carting and carrying kids and their friends, housecleaning, running crazy, you know, the usual "mom/wife" stuff. Eventually June 25th rolled around and I went to the mammogram by myself...I always went to my appointments by myself, why would this one be any different? Oh yeah, because I knew what was going to happen and what the results were going to be. I didn't bother to tell Big Daddy because he had a lot on his plate and certainly did not need to have my "drama" on top of all his.
There was a lady in the waiting area asking if anyone wanted to participate in a study for the University of Kentucky on the "psychology of women". Puh-leeze. I would LOVE that!!! So, I raised my hand and got the packet of information to complete. Answering questions about myself is always fun to me...even those emails you get from your friends who are goofing off at work asking you if prefer diamonds to pearls or what your favorite food is. I dove right in and answered all the questions. Seemed to me that the "psychology of women" survey should have had a lot more to do with how inferior we feel to other women and the high cost of trying to be Superwoman, but they pretty much stuck to the basics.
"Do you feel, despite your past mistakes, that your life is good?"
"Do you believe that you are worthy of a good life?"
"Do you have friends you can depend on for support?"
"Do you have a solid relationship with your significant other?"
Yes, yes, yes, and yes...
But really, no one even mentioned my preference of diamonds over pearls, so I was underwhelmed to say the least of this scientific study of my gender. However, I did receive a mug with "breast cancer pink" polka dots all over it and the promise of $30.00 if my mammogram turned out to reveal something tragic like cancer. Of course, I already knew how I would spend that 30 bucks...Double Stuff Oreos and 2% milk.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Introduction of me...
Shall we begin? My internet name is "Pandora Spocks" because I find myself more at ease when I am not running the risk of embarrassing my family. I was recently diagnosed with breast cancer, as in a month ago. I am married to my hero and best friend and together, we have two teenagers. I am changing their names since they did not sign up for this blog...Let's call them Big Daddy, Precious Son, and Beautiful Daughter.
I was sitting in our dining room admiring our newly installed french doors. Now, if you had seen the old doors, you would easily understand how I could sit and stare at the new ones. The old doors were the original ones that came when the house was built in 1970. Ugh. They were horrible and ugly. Sliding glass doors that had been through several storms, slams, and aging. They were atrocious and I am being generous. When our friend Jack installed our new doors, I found myself admiring them more often than not. It was a lovely thing to be on the way to kitchen and see the new doors...
So, there I sat, alone in the house, which is quite unusual. Big Daddy is usually here or the kids or both, but not this afternoon. As I gazed upon the doors, I heard a voice...now, let's just stop right there because I am sure some of you are thinking, "oh, here we go...a nutcase", but I assure you, I heard the voice as clearly as if you were sitting across from me at this very moment. The voice said "Feel there." and I had a mental image of myself placing my right hand under my left arm, at the top of my breast, so I did it. I "touched there"...and I found it.
About the size of one of those large gumballs you can buy for a quarter, you know the kind that the flavors lasts for approximately 1.3 minutes? Well, that was size of my "lump". I called my husband and told him in a matter-of-fact sort of way and he said to make an appointment. We hung up and I really never thought too much about it after that. You see, I knew what it was...
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