Our household has been in full-out Hallowe'en mode all week long.
Isaac decided that he wanted his costume to be of Super-Indian. (i.e., Native American, but my former roommate who was/is Navajo still preferred to refer to herself as an Indian. Out of respect for her as one phenomenal woman...) Mom found some basic tan fleece to make the pants' part of his costume. Then she found a flannel-like tan piece that looked like it had a pattern that reminds one of the rock paintings one sees in caves in the Southwestern U.S. for the top. I can't remember exactly what the picture was on the red cape (we are talking a superhero, here), but was was also reminiscent of Indians. She pinned a red felt fringe to along the outer arms and legs of both top and bottom. Isaac was rather insistent that the cape needed to be scary, so Mom pinned plastic glow-in-the-dark skeletons, spiders, and bat-wing rings to it.
Mari spent a couple of days in Las Vegas because that was the closest place she could get into a class for PALS recertification (something she needs to be an ER nurse). She'll be going back again this next week for an ACLS class. While she was gone, the Hallowe'en fever died down a bit, but every day, Isaac came up with another idea having to do with the costume, the pumpkin awaiting transformation into a jack-o'lantern, or concerns about what time to start trick-or-treating.
As for me... I don't usually monitor my temperature on a daily basis, but about a week after both chemo treatments, I've found myself with a temperature over my "limit" of 100.4. When that happens, I have an prescribed antiobiotic on hand, but have to call the doctor before I start taking it. Since this has now happened twice, the person (P.A., nurse?) told me to start taking the pills, but then to check back the following day, if my fever had not responded.
Friday, I was just so tired and so cold, that I initially thought I'd just stay in bed awhile longer. Turned out, that I never really left the bed. I certainly did not go to work. When things hadn't changed on Saturday, I spoke with the on-call doctor from the clinic who felt that I needed to be seen and have a full blood work-up, etc., done. Since the clinic was closed, that meant going to the ER. Oh, and btw, there was a chance that they would admit me, rather than send me home.
Turned out I was dehydrated & the fever was because my white blood cell count was so low. In the end, they pumped me full of IV antibiotics, gave me a prescription for more to take (in addition what I was already taking), and sent me home. Consensus opinion was that there was enough H1N1, etc., floating around the hospital that it was better for me to be out of that environment.
The worst part of the day was trying to give them a decent urine sample. The first time around, I couldn't produce enough to justify the use of the cup. After giving me fluids, I had enough in the cup-- which I tend proceeded to drop and most of the sample fell out of the cup and onto the floor. I was so frustrated I felt like crying! Fortunately, there was enough left in me to produce a third sample. Part of the frustration was that I was so very tired and I had to repeat all of the cleansing procedures each and every time! I cannot express how thankful I was to be done with that particularly simple task. I don't know that anyone can fully appreciate just how daunting it can be sometimes.
While I ended up spending most of the day at the ER, I still figure I had the easy, albeit boring, day. Mari's day, by comparison, had "promises to keep and miles to go" before she could ever sleep!
Mari & Isaac did schoolwork in the morning, but planned their weekly library trip for the afternoon. Isaac wasn't particularly excited about it because his plans (except for the library) were strictly Hallowe'en related.
They thought their weekly trip to the library would be just their standard outing. I totally spaced out (having had no reason to remember before now) on giving her fair warning. Our parents would have died before letting us try to trick-or-treat at a business, but we live in a comparatively small town. The nearest mall is a few towns over, so the downtown businesses invited trick-or-treaters to their establishments between 11 am & 3 pm. They hit the library in the middle of the crush!
We'd already had to talk our socks off to convince Isaac that kids would not be going out until the evening (he was sure that going in the daytime was much better)-- and there was the costume parade going up and down the street to belie our arguments. He was disappointed to discover that, except for the library, he would not be joining their ranks. But, he brightened up, to find that they would be lunching at Arctic Circle where he could get a "square pumpkin," i.e., the standard kids' meal in an jack-o'lantern-style decorated box. Then it was back home for the pumpkin-carving and a rest before the evening's activities would begin.
Back at the ER, at 3:30, Mom & I were told that I was going to be sent home, but that the antiobiotic they had just started would take 2 hours. That meant that the earliest we would arrive at home was 6:30 p.m.-- not counting the need to fill a prescription first. That meant, Mari wouldn't be able to take Isaac out trick-or-treating until after we got home (7 p.m. at the very earliest). She would have to stay home to pass out goodies to those who came to our house until we could get there to take over.
As things turned out, the crisis was averted! In our neighborhood, trick-or-treaters start showing up between 5- and 5:30 p.m. and are finished before 8. Isaac was panicked when the first children showed up at our door-- he was positive that the candy would all be gone before he could even get out our door! At the same time, he was giving miniature glow sticks that Mom had gotten for him to carry as part of his costume to the kids who came do the door. His question to Mari was "Grandma, wouldn't you want me to share?" Mari had him put on his costume so that he would be ready to go at the first opportunity-- and shortly thereafter, his prayers (if he had any) were answered!
Kathy K. (my neighbor and children's music teacher extraordinaire) came by with her children. She invited Isaac to go trick-or-treating with them! They were bringing me a treat, so we were one of the first houses (if not the first) that they stopped at. Isaac already knew and trusted her, and he was so ready to be out of our house! It was such a simple service, but do people realize just how much that kindness meant-- to all of us! Isaac was ecstatic to actually BE trick-or-treating. I was relieved of my guilt over not being home, so that Mom could pass out treats and Mari could be going door-to-door with him. To free up Mari, I had decided that we would just go straight home & then I would go fill the prescription. This option allowed us to fill the prescription first. As it was, the 1st pharmacy was already closed (didn't know the weekend hours were different) and we got to WalMart's pharmacy 10 minutes before their weekend closure time. Even at that, the pharmacist seemed to take pity on me because the clerk wasn't going to accept my prescription. It quickly becomes apparent how that one tiny act of kindness snowballed so that my life could be blessed as a result.
When Superheroes look at their lives, they look for positive chains-of-events. They know that one good thing begets another good thing and "like circles in a pond" the influence of that one good thing ripples out into the world going on forever and ever. Too often people look for the reasons why they are sad or unhappy or unfulfilled in their lives. How much more effective would it be for them to look for reasons that they are happy and fulfilled! How much better to look for a day's positive chain-of-events!
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Catching up-- Part Three-- Hair
The hair is gone. I can't say that I'm completely bald, because I had my head shaved and there's still some stubble, but, for all intents and purposes, I'm bald.
Last time around, losing my hair was so traumatic that I let most of it fall out on its own. It wasn't until I had one little section about an inch wide before I let Mom cut off that last bit. Looking back, I realize just what a mess it was. My hair would come out in handfuls-- I didn't need a comb or a brush, just touching my head was enough to cause it to fall out. By the time it was fully gone, I was so sick I couldn't have cared less about being bald. This time around, I decided that I didn't want to deal with the mess. I would rather have more control over the whole process.
I bought a wig two weeks ago. Basically, it's the same hairstyle I've worn for years. It's a little longer and a little grayer (or blonder) because it's got streaks and the light color is sufficiently vague that it could be seen as either blonde or gray. It's also different in that the cut is a bit asymmetrical-- one side is slightly longer than the other. Until yesterday, it's just sat on the styrofoam head.
My head started itching on Tuesday and hair started coming out a few strands at a time on Tuesday. It wasn't enough to be really noticeable, but it was more than I normally see when I comb my hair. By Wednesday, it was starting to bother me and I made an appointment with my neighbor (who is also my hairdresser), but it wasn't until Friday. She teaches at a beauty school most days and generally only works in her basement salon on Saturdays. As a special favor, she let me come on Friday at 6 p.m.
Mom, Mari and Kathy (another neighbor) came to view the proceedings. Jen shaved it all off, but didn't want to use a razor to remove the stubble because she was afraid she might nick me-- and I can't afford an infection. My friend, Paula, who had breast cancer two years ago, said that she used an electric razor (like a man's razor) and shaved the stubble from her own head. In her experience, when the stubble falls out, it gets on your pillow and under your clothes and feels about like hay stubble-- it pokes at you and can be quite uncomfortable. I can see the rationale, but, for now, will live with the stubble.
When I got up from the chair, Mom popped up and said, "It's my turn"-- and she got her head shaved too. She has thin, fine hair that she finds hard to deal with. It's redeeming value is that, despite being 78 years old, she has only a strand or two of gray and has never needed to touch it up to retain its natural dark brown. Mari knew that Mom planned to shave her head too, but I don't even think Dad knew she was going to do it-- I certainly didn't. It was also an amazing show of support!
Mom didn't plan to buy a wig; she figured she would just wear hats. There was NO WAY I was going to let than happen-- so we went wig shopping for her yesterday. We found one that we both liked, but it was an interesting day at the shop. Between a cross-dressing man who bought 3 wigs for himself, another guy who was looking for a wig that looked like his natural hair so that he could grow his own long and then cover it up with the wig so that people (work, school, parents?) wouldn't be able to tell, and a lady who is being treated for a tumor and is about to lose her hair and the regular walk-ins, it was an educational (cultural?) experience.
What a day! By the time we were finished there, my energy level was totally shot. I hung on to finish the things on our list, but it was a hard push.
So, now both Mom and I are bald at home, but wear wigs or other cover-ups when we're out in public. I plan to post pictures, but we don't have pictures of us in our wigs yet. So keep looking. To be truthful, I'm not very attractive as a bald person; Mom looks much better than I do.
Superheroes cannot control what life throws at them, but they aren't afraid to take control of what they do with it. In my case, my hair was going whether I liked it or not. In both the past and my current circumstances, I chose how to respond. This time around I opted for control-- I decided that it was better to just shave my head and be done with it, rather than let it go piece by piece. It was a more dramatic choice, but I was ready to take control. Mom didn't have to shave her head, in her case, it was strictly by choice-- but the support was greatly appreciated, and she looks good in her wig.
Last time around, losing my hair was so traumatic that I let most of it fall out on its own. It wasn't until I had one little section about an inch wide before I let Mom cut off that last bit. Looking back, I realize just what a mess it was. My hair would come out in handfuls-- I didn't need a comb or a brush, just touching my head was enough to cause it to fall out. By the time it was fully gone, I was so sick I couldn't have cared less about being bald. This time around, I decided that I didn't want to deal with the mess. I would rather have more control over the whole process.
I bought a wig two weeks ago. Basically, it's the same hairstyle I've worn for years. It's a little longer and a little grayer (or blonder) because it's got streaks and the light color is sufficiently vague that it could be seen as either blonde or gray. It's also different in that the cut is a bit asymmetrical-- one side is slightly longer than the other. Until yesterday, it's just sat on the styrofoam head.
My head started itching on Tuesday and hair started coming out a few strands at a time on Tuesday. It wasn't enough to be really noticeable, but it was more than I normally see when I comb my hair. By Wednesday, it was starting to bother me and I made an appointment with my neighbor (who is also my hairdresser), but it wasn't until Friday. She teaches at a beauty school most days and generally only works in her basement salon on Saturdays. As a special favor, she let me come on Friday at 6 p.m.
Mom, Mari and Kathy (another neighbor) came to view the proceedings. Jen shaved it all off, but didn't want to use a razor to remove the stubble because she was afraid she might nick me-- and I can't afford an infection. My friend, Paula, who had breast cancer two years ago, said that she used an electric razor (like a man's razor) and shaved the stubble from her own head. In her experience, when the stubble falls out, it gets on your pillow and under your clothes and feels about like hay stubble-- it pokes at you and can be quite uncomfortable. I can see the rationale, but, for now, will live with the stubble.
When I got up from the chair, Mom popped up and said, "It's my turn"-- and she got her head shaved too. She has thin, fine hair that she finds hard to deal with. It's redeeming value is that, despite being 78 years old, she has only a strand or two of gray and has never needed to touch it up to retain its natural dark brown. Mari knew that Mom planned to shave her head too, but I don't even think Dad knew she was going to do it-- I certainly didn't. It was also an amazing show of support!
Mom didn't plan to buy a wig; she figured she would just wear hats. There was NO WAY I was going to let than happen-- so we went wig shopping for her yesterday. We found one that we both liked, but it was an interesting day at the shop. Between a cross-dressing man who bought 3 wigs for himself, another guy who was looking for a wig that looked like his natural hair so that he could grow his own long and then cover it up with the wig so that people (work, school, parents?) wouldn't be able to tell, and a lady who is being treated for a tumor and is about to lose her hair and the regular walk-ins, it was an educational (cultural?) experience.
What a day! By the time we were finished there, my energy level was totally shot. I hung on to finish the things on our list, but it was a hard push.
So, now both Mom and I are bald at home, but wear wigs or other cover-ups when we're out in public. I plan to post pictures, but we don't have pictures of us in our wigs yet. So keep looking. To be truthful, I'm not very attractive as a bald person; Mom looks much better than I do.
Superheroes cannot control what life throws at them, but they aren't afraid to take control of what they do with it. In my case, my hair was going whether I liked it or not. In both the past and my current circumstances, I chose how to respond. This time around I opted for control-- I decided that it was better to just shave my head and be done with it, rather than let it go piece by piece. It was a more dramatic choice, but I was ready to take control. Mom didn't have to shave her head, in her case, it was strictly by choice-- but the support was greatly appreciated, and she looks good in her wig.
Catching up-- Part Two (the effects)
Wow! The coping medicines are amazing!!
When I go into the office for treatment, they start me out with a IV version of Emend, which is the high-powered drug to combat nausea. Then I follow up with a pill version of the medicine, one pill per day for the two days following treatment. It can be taken without food, which is a good thing because sometimes my stomach is on the verge of being queasy when I first wake up.
In the office, I am also given a drug called "Neulasta" which stimulates white blood cell production. That's a good thing, because I still go out in public and run the risk of exposure to flu or other sickness. I'm grateful to have those white blood cells to combat infection-- particularly since I had a fever last week, so my body was obviously fighting something.
Dr. Litton sent me home with a list informing me what my chemotherapy regimen is called, what chemo medicines I'm currently receiving, and listing all of the (initial) drugs, both prescribed and over-the-counter, that I would or could be taking. Some of the drugs are to combat nausea, like the Emend, Decadron and Compazine. Some can be generic versions of the medicines, others have to be the name brand.
Some of the meds are for situational use. With the Neulasta, there is the possibility of bone pain in the large bones (like leg bones) and for some strange, unexplainable reason, Claritin which is generally used for allergies, helps to alleviate the pain. Other potential side effects are constipation or diarrhea or mouth sores-- but I've had no real problems with any of them. If I did, there were over-the-counter solutions for them. One of the prescriptions that they wanted me to have on hand was for Levaquin, in case I got a fever of over 100.4.
About 7 days after my initial treatment, I found that I did have a fever that hit that numeric threshold. My instructions were before taking the medication, I was to call the doctor or on-call physician before taking the pills. I called and they told me to start taking the meds.
It should be mentioned, how very grateful I was that Dr. Litton had gone over the prescriptions in his office when he first gave them to me. When I took the 5 prescriptions to be filled, the pharmacy failed to include the instruction to call the doctor before taking the Levaquin. When I got home and reviewed the pill bottles, I didn't find that particular instruction on any of them. Fortunately, I thought I remembered that it was the Levaquin, but I had to call the pharmacy to verify that it was that particular drug that had the added instructions, which I then proceeded to write on the bottle myself.
I was also thankful that on the day of my first treatment, the doctor gave me the list that had all of the instructions in one place.
In terms of how I feel, things are pretty good. The instructions are to take the meds whether I feel nauseated or not-- its better to be proactive rather than try to treat it once you really feel awful. I've felt a little queasy upon occasion, but with a little compazine, it's not been particularly bad. I've been able to eat regular meals, but I should admit that my palate is kind of fickle. The past few days the thought of eating meat or casseroles isn't particularly pleasing-- I want fruit, preferably in milkshake or smoothie form. Bread and toast are pretty safe, as a yoghurt and cottage cheese, but the milk products can be iffy.
The biggest challenge has still been pain. I've always associated it with the tissue expander, but one of my friends said that she just couldn't ever move her arm because of the pain. So maybe it's just part of the healing process from the surgery. I've been taking Alleve and an anti-anxiety drug which helps to extend the effects of the Alleve, but it just wasn't working. It's been good having Mari here, because she just insisted that there was no excuse for the pain. She was actually kind of upset that I didn't ask for pain meds when I called about the Levaquin. With the pain, I couldn't sleep at night, it hurt during the day, but since I wasn't feeling completely debilitated, I thought I just had to live with it. Now that I've been given pain med, I cannot believe the difference that it makes. Even though I'm allowed to take it every 4-6 hours, I only take it twice a day-- that's enough to keep me going.
Since I wasn't sleeping, Friday they also gave me a prescription for Ambien. I was definitely given the caveat to make sure to take it with enough time so that I could get 8 hours of sleep. I took the pain med first on Friday and then took the Ambien just before bed. Almost immediately I felt like a zombie. I was able to sleep, but was still able to wake up to use the bathroom. The problem, however, was that I didn't feel very steady on my feet. As a matter of fact, it kind of scared me-- I was afraid I would fall. The pain med was enough so that I could find a comfortable position to sleep, so I've decided to take the Ambien only as a last resort. It was just a little too much.
But, let me tell you, I woke up on Saturday morning and felt fully alive!!! I was amazed at how good I felt! I don't know if it was lack of pain or just a good night's sleep, but I felt great! I felt so good that I kind of pushed my activities for the day. I actually ran out of steam about 4 hours after getting up, but because we hadn't finished my/our list for the day, I kept going for another 4-5 hours. It was too much.
Superheroes listen and heed the advice of those who have the knowledge and experience to help them through difficult situations. They are humble enough to admit that they don't know everything. The big lesson, however, is to ask questions. I don't seem to be the only person to know that we don't always have to suffer through situations. Mari was here to say, "this isn't necessary"-- and I needed to know that. I was doing the best I could, based on the paper I had been given, but the paper didn't really say anything about dealing with pain. I guess the doctors expected me to let them know that I wasn't doing well and I thought that the pain threshold was too low to ask about it. I guess I forgot that when I was in the hospital, they told me on a scale of 1-10 (ten being the highest), I should aim for 2-3. I was probably experiencing 5 on that scale. It wasn't enough to completely stop me, but it was a constant presence. Until I changed how it was being treated, I really had no understanding as to how limited I was feeling and acting. I am so very thankful to have learned this lesson and to have had someone here to teach it to me!
When I go into the office for treatment, they start me out with a IV version of Emend, which is the high-powered drug to combat nausea. Then I follow up with a pill version of the medicine, one pill per day for the two days following treatment. It can be taken without food, which is a good thing because sometimes my stomach is on the verge of being queasy when I first wake up.
In the office, I am also given a drug called "Neulasta" which stimulates white blood cell production. That's a good thing, because I still go out in public and run the risk of exposure to flu or other sickness. I'm grateful to have those white blood cells to combat infection-- particularly since I had a fever last week, so my body was obviously fighting something.
Dr. Litton sent me home with a list informing me what my chemotherapy regimen is called, what chemo medicines I'm currently receiving, and listing all of the (initial) drugs, both prescribed and over-the-counter, that I would or could be taking. Some of the drugs are to combat nausea, like the Emend, Decadron and Compazine. Some can be generic versions of the medicines, others have to be the name brand.
Some of the meds are for situational use. With the Neulasta, there is the possibility of bone pain in the large bones (like leg bones) and for some strange, unexplainable reason, Claritin which is generally used for allergies, helps to alleviate the pain. Other potential side effects are constipation or diarrhea or mouth sores-- but I've had no real problems with any of them. If I did, there were over-the-counter solutions for them. One of the prescriptions that they wanted me to have on hand was for Levaquin, in case I got a fever of over 100.4.
About 7 days after my initial treatment, I found that I did have a fever that hit that numeric threshold. My instructions were before taking the medication, I was to call the doctor or on-call physician before taking the pills. I called and they told me to start taking the meds.
It should be mentioned, how very grateful I was that Dr. Litton had gone over the prescriptions in his office when he first gave them to me. When I took the 5 prescriptions to be filled, the pharmacy failed to include the instruction to call the doctor before taking the Levaquin. When I got home and reviewed the pill bottles, I didn't find that particular instruction on any of them. Fortunately, I thought I remembered that it was the Levaquin, but I had to call the pharmacy to verify that it was that particular drug that had the added instructions, which I then proceeded to write on the bottle myself.
I was also thankful that on the day of my first treatment, the doctor gave me the list that had all of the instructions in one place.
In terms of how I feel, things are pretty good. The instructions are to take the meds whether I feel nauseated or not-- its better to be proactive rather than try to treat it once you really feel awful. I've felt a little queasy upon occasion, but with a little compazine, it's not been particularly bad. I've been able to eat regular meals, but I should admit that my palate is kind of fickle. The past few days the thought of eating meat or casseroles isn't particularly pleasing-- I want fruit, preferably in milkshake or smoothie form. Bread and toast are pretty safe, as a yoghurt and cottage cheese, but the milk products can be iffy.
The biggest challenge has still been pain. I've always associated it with the tissue expander, but one of my friends said that she just couldn't ever move her arm because of the pain. So maybe it's just part of the healing process from the surgery. I've been taking Alleve and an anti-anxiety drug which helps to extend the effects of the Alleve, but it just wasn't working. It's been good having Mari here, because she just insisted that there was no excuse for the pain. She was actually kind of upset that I didn't ask for pain meds when I called about the Levaquin. With the pain, I couldn't sleep at night, it hurt during the day, but since I wasn't feeling completely debilitated, I thought I just had to live with it. Now that I've been given pain med, I cannot believe the difference that it makes. Even though I'm allowed to take it every 4-6 hours, I only take it twice a day-- that's enough to keep me going.
Since I wasn't sleeping, Friday they also gave me a prescription for Ambien. I was definitely given the caveat to make sure to take it with enough time so that I could get 8 hours of sleep. I took the pain med first on Friday and then took the Ambien just before bed. Almost immediately I felt like a zombie. I was able to sleep, but was still able to wake up to use the bathroom. The problem, however, was that I didn't feel very steady on my feet. As a matter of fact, it kind of scared me-- I was afraid I would fall. The pain med was enough so that I could find a comfortable position to sleep, so I've decided to take the Ambien only as a last resort. It was just a little too much.
But, let me tell you, I woke up on Saturday morning and felt fully alive!!! I was amazed at how good I felt! I don't know if it was lack of pain or just a good night's sleep, but I felt great! I felt so good that I kind of pushed my activities for the day. I actually ran out of steam about 4 hours after getting up, but because we hadn't finished my/our list for the day, I kept going for another 4-5 hours. It was too much.
Superheroes listen and heed the advice of those who have the knowledge and experience to help them through difficult situations. They are humble enough to admit that they don't know everything. The big lesson, however, is to ask questions. I don't seem to be the only person to know that we don't always have to suffer through situations. Mari was here to say, "this isn't necessary"-- and I needed to know that. I was doing the best I could, based on the paper I had been given, but the paper didn't really say anything about dealing with pain. I guess the doctors expected me to let them know that I wasn't doing well and I thought that the pain threshold was too low to ask about it. I guess I forgot that when I was in the hospital, they told me on a scale of 1-10 (ten being the highest), I should aim for 2-3. I was probably experiencing 5 on that scale. It wasn't enough to completely stop me, but it was a constant presence. Until I changed how it was being treated, I really had no understanding as to how limited I was feeling and acting. I am so very thankful to have learned this lesson and to have had someone here to teach it to me!
Catching up-- part 1
I now have two chemotherapy treatments under my belt. The first was October 9th and the second was this past Friday, the 23rd.
My how things have changed in the past 23 years!! It's still personal treatment, but it's much more like going to the hair salon.
I had such an aggressive cancer last time around that my treatment was also aggressive. The drug regimen is still the preferred treatment today. The difference is that the coping drugs to combat the nausea didn't exist back then. I had the option of being treated in the hospital as an in-patient. Since Mari (my sister) is a nurse and we were staying with friends where the wife was an ER nurse with a masters' degree in nursing, we all were comfortable with the care I would be receiving outside of his office. So, I went to his office for chemo.
Perhaps I should also say that Dr. Johnson had been the head of the Gynecological Oncology Department at the University of Utah Medical School and had only been in private practice for a couple of years. He was very good at his job and extremely personable.
When I arrived at his office, he was the one who poked me to get the IV set up-- but it was a kind of needle that I would keep for the first 8 days of treatment. Now they do a "pic" line inserted near the clavicle, but then it was on the inside of my wrist. That made it awkward, particularly since I'm right-handed and the needle was always in the right wrist. Mari would have to clear it every evening with Heparin to make sure that it wouldn't clot over-- and that stung!
At the beginning of the week, it might take 4-6 hours before I was able to leave the office. But, as treatment continued, my veins would get tired, so that by the end of the week and with each successive round of treatment, I was often in the office 8-9 hours. Dr. Johnson didn't stay by my side that entire time, Mari was there-- but he popped in off and on to check up on me, often between seeing other patients. For the most part, I was the only patient in the treatment room.
Now, it truly is like going to a beauty salon. First the nurse takes me to a regular consultation room where she does the check-in routine-- taking my blood pressure, temperature, weight, etc. Then I either meet with the doctor himself or with the physician's assistant (they alternate visits). They take care of any changes in treatment. This week, he added a new drug for pain-control (the Alleve wasn't working very well) and prescribed something to help me sleep (more on those later).
From there, I got to the treatment room, a large room with probably 12-15 "stations." Each is set up with a recliner, a comfortable chair for a companion, and the pumps, etc. from which the solution bags for the IV can be hung and cabinets with supplies between two stations. At that point, the nurses take over.
Mari was surprised to see that the needles they use for the IV are the smallest ones they make-- they are the size used on the babies in newborn intensive care. Actually, she was also surprised that they were able to pump the medicines (from the IV bags) into my body so fast using such small needles. All I have to say, is that, with such a small needle, I hardly feel the poke. I am so very grateful because, as much as I try to suppress it, I have a little tendency to jump if I can feel myself getting poked-- and it's worse if it hurts!
There have probably been 6-8 nurses there when I have had treatment, although it looks like the room has workstations for 10 nurses or so. Each nurse seems to be assigned to one or two patients, but, if needed, they cover for each other. By that, I mean that, if for some reason, I needed something and the nurse working with me was tending another patient, a different nurse would stop by to deal with the issue. The first time I went, there were probably only 6 or 7 other patients. This past week, there were probably 15 patients or so-- it was much busier, but I felt like I had more personal attention despite the increased numbers.
Superheroes treat others with kindness and compassion-- even though the circumstances and methods may change over time. The first time around, it felt very much like it was Dr. Johnson and me against the world-- it was definitely one-on-one treatment. Now I feel like I have a whole team of people working in my behalf. The one thing that hasn't changed is the feeling of support and caring that everyone has for me. I'm thankful for the excellent care through it all.
My how things have changed in the past 23 years!! It's still personal treatment, but it's much more like going to the hair salon.
I had such an aggressive cancer last time around that my treatment was also aggressive. The drug regimen is still the preferred treatment today. The difference is that the coping drugs to combat the nausea didn't exist back then. I had the option of being treated in the hospital as an in-patient. Since Mari (my sister) is a nurse and we were staying with friends where the wife was an ER nurse with a masters' degree in nursing, we all were comfortable with the care I would be receiving outside of his office. So, I went to his office for chemo.
Perhaps I should also say that Dr. Johnson had been the head of the Gynecological Oncology Department at the University of Utah Medical School and had only been in private practice for a couple of years. He was very good at his job and extremely personable.
When I arrived at his office, he was the one who poked me to get the IV set up-- but it was a kind of needle that I would keep for the first 8 days of treatment. Now they do a "pic" line inserted near the clavicle, but then it was on the inside of my wrist. That made it awkward, particularly since I'm right-handed and the needle was always in the right wrist. Mari would have to clear it every evening with Heparin to make sure that it wouldn't clot over-- and that stung!
At the beginning of the week, it might take 4-6 hours before I was able to leave the office. But, as treatment continued, my veins would get tired, so that by the end of the week and with each successive round of treatment, I was often in the office 8-9 hours. Dr. Johnson didn't stay by my side that entire time, Mari was there-- but he popped in off and on to check up on me, often between seeing other patients. For the most part, I was the only patient in the treatment room.
Now, it truly is like going to a beauty salon. First the nurse takes me to a regular consultation room where she does the check-in routine-- taking my blood pressure, temperature, weight, etc. Then I either meet with the doctor himself or with the physician's assistant (they alternate visits). They take care of any changes in treatment. This week, he added a new drug for pain-control (the Alleve wasn't working very well) and prescribed something to help me sleep (more on those later).
From there, I got to the treatment room, a large room with probably 12-15 "stations." Each is set up with a recliner, a comfortable chair for a companion, and the pumps, etc. from which the solution bags for the IV can be hung and cabinets with supplies between two stations. At that point, the nurses take over.
Mari was surprised to see that the needles they use for the IV are the smallest ones they make-- they are the size used on the babies in newborn intensive care. Actually, she was also surprised that they were able to pump the medicines (from the IV bags) into my body so fast using such small needles. All I have to say, is that, with such a small needle, I hardly feel the poke. I am so very grateful because, as much as I try to suppress it, I have a little tendency to jump if I can feel myself getting poked-- and it's worse if it hurts!
There have probably been 6-8 nurses there when I have had treatment, although it looks like the room has workstations for 10 nurses or so. Each nurse seems to be assigned to one or two patients, but, if needed, they cover for each other. By that, I mean that, if for some reason, I needed something and the nurse working with me was tending another patient, a different nurse would stop by to deal with the issue. The first time I went, there were probably only 6 or 7 other patients. This past week, there were probably 15 patients or so-- it was much busier, but I felt like I had more personal attention despite the increased numbers.
Superheroes treat others with kindness and compassion-- even though the circumstances and methods may change over time. The first time around, it felt very much like it was Dr. Johnson and me against the world-- it was definitely one-on-one treatment. Now I feel like I have a whole team of people working in my behalf. The one thing that hasn't changed is the feeling of support and caring that everyone has for me. I'm thankful for the excellent care through it all.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Our household is expanding
Today begins another new step in my journey.
My sister, Mari, moved in a few months ago, but has been away for much of that time. Today she returned with Isaac, an 8-year old grandson. Isaac is borderline autistic and the school where he was residing did not have the resouces to meet his needs. So, through many family discussions, it was decided that it was in Isaac's best interests for him to live with his grandmother and go to school here.
The end result is that our household now consists of Mom, Dad, Mari, Isaac and myself-- 4 generations of the same family. Plus the cutest little dog in the world, Sammie, of course.
I've always felt that I wanted my home to be a refuge from the storms of life for all who come in. I've spent the 18+ months trying to get the basement finished. There are still little details that need attending to and the kitchen isn't complete, but I've discovered the truth of the statement: "Build it and [they] will come" (Field of Dreams). For a single women who owns a 5-bedroom, 3-bath house-- I find that I need every one of those rooms. As a matter of fact, Mom isn't willing to let go of the Scout Room/sewing room so that Isaac can have a bedroom to call his own. We'll work out that little detail over the next while.
Superheroes are nothing if not adaptable. They know that circumstances change and are able to adjust accordingly. As their lives fill up, they don't feel crowded because their hearts are able to expand to embrace the changes and other people in their lives. Some days may be rocky-- but that's just part of life. If we didn't have a few rocks to bruise our toes, how would we ever appreciate the times when we have "peace like a river." It should be mentioned that "peace like a river" appears to be peaceful and to flow along, but the current always moves quickly! Life never slows down; it's just that the vista and the horizons change.
Love to you all!
My sister, Mari, moved in a few months ago, but has been away for much of that time. Today she returned with Isaac, an 8-year old grandson. Isaac is borderline autistic and the school where he was residing did not have the resouces to meet his needs. So, through many family discussions, it was decided that it was in Isaac's best interests for him to live with his grandmother and go to school here.
The end result is that our household now consists of Mom, Dad, Mari, Isaac and myself-- 4 generations of the same family. Plus the cutest little dog in the world, Sammie, of course.
I've always felt that I wanted my home to be a refuge from the storms of life for all who come in. I've spent the 18+ months trying to get the basement finished. There are still little details that need attending to and the kitchen isn't complete, but I've discovered the truth of the statement: "Build it and [they] will come" (Field of Dreams). For a single women who owns a 5-bedroom, 3-bath house-- I find that I need every one of those rooms. As a matter of fact, Mom isn't willing to let go of the Scout Room/sewing room so that Isaac can have a bedroom to call his own. We'll work out that little detail over the next while.
Superheroes are nothing if not adaptable. They know that circumstances change and are able to adjust accordingly. As their lives fill up, they don't feel crowded because their hearts are able to expand to embrace the changes and other people in their lives. Some days may be rocky-- but that's just part of life. If we didn't have a few rocks to bruise our toes, how would we ever appreciate the times when we have "peace like a river." It should be mentioned that "peace like a river" appears to be peaceful and to flow along, but the current always moves quickly! Life never slows down; it's just that the vista and the horizons change.
Love to you all!
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Preparing for the next steps
I've been glad to be drain-free this week.
I must admit, however, that at least one of them probably should have stayed in a little longer. Fluid built up and I had to see Dr. Chen on Thursday to have it drained. The good thing was that I couldn't feel a thing-- even though the syringe seemed huge! I'm particularly wary of needles, but I didn't even feel its prick.
While I was there, she also decided to start inflating the tissue expander. The expander already had a "port" so she used a magnetic device to show where to insert the syringe. The needle poked a hole in my skin-- but again I didn't feel much. She refilled the syringe 4 times, but it was all painless.
When I got back to my car, however, I realized that I couldn't extend my arm to close the door. I had to use my right hand and arm. By the time I drove the hour back to work, the muscles in my back were extremely tense. The pain was bad enough that I began to feel nausea. I don't know if I have selective memory or if I've just forgotten, but I don't think I've felt that kind of pain in a long time, certainly not since surgery.
I could only force myself to stay at work for two hours, long enough to make to finish the conference call I in which I needed to participate. But, the moment it was over, I was out the door. I went home and immediately to bed. I hurt so much that I couldn't even move.
With the help of Alleve and the passage of time, I felt well enough to go back to work the next day-- but it felt like it was touch-and-go for most of the morning. I gradually felt better as the day progressed. Later I commented to Mom that I obviously was NOT going to get off scot free. Some days are easier than others and Thursday was a hard day.
I talked to a neighbor who has experience with tissue expanders. My question was "Does it always hurt when they expand?" Her answer was not particularly reassuring-- Yes, it always hurts after expansion. I see Dr. Chen again tomorrow-- and she indicated she might have to "top me off." I'm not excited about the visit.
This coming week I'll be meeting the two oncologists. I'm guessing that my chemo schedule will start the first week in October. The second oncologist will tell definitively whether I will be required to have radiation as well.
Superhero lives aren't necessarily easy. They have problems and experience pain just like everyone else. The difference is that superheroes draw upon their emotional reserves to get them through the moment. Sometimes the moment lasts only a few minutes, but other moments may last days, weeks or even years. I began to realize that this week's lesson was a deeper sense of appreciation for just how much I've been blessed-- for how little pain I have really been experiencing these past few weeks.
Through the pain I was feeling, I gained a greater appreciation for the Atonement of Jesus Christ-- who took upon Himself the sum of my physical, emotional and spiritual pains, as well as the burden of my sins, knowing that it was the only way to make it possible for me to return to live with Him and with Heavenly Father. I have difficulty visualizing the scope of what He took upon Himself in my behalf. Knowing that He did the same for every other person who would ever live upon this earth too, is truly incomprehensible. Yet I know that He accomplished that goal. My sense of humble gratitude, my sense of awe, continues to grow.
I must admit, however, that at least one of them probably should have stayed in a little longer. Fluid built up and I had to see Dr. Chen on Thursday to have it drained. The good thing was that I couldn't feel a thing-- even though the syringe seemed huge! I'm particularly wary of needles, but I didn't even feel its prick.
While I was there, she also decided to start inflating the tissue expander. The expander already had a "port" so she used a magnetic device to show where to insert the syringe. The needle poked a hole in my skin-- but again I didn't feel much. She refilled the syringe 4 times, but it was all painless.
When I got back to my car, however, I realized that I couldn't extend my arm to close the door. I had to use my right hand and arm. By the time I drove the hour back to work, the muscles in my back were extremely tense. The pain was bad enough that I began to feel nausea. I don't know if I have selective memory or if I've just forgotten, but I don't think I've felt that kind of pain in a long time, certainly not since surgery.
I could only force myself to stay at work for two hours, long enough to make to finish the conference call I in which I needed to participate. But, the moment it was over, I was out the door. I went home and immediately to bed. I hurt so much that I couldn't even move.
With the help of Alleve and the passage of time, I felt well enough to go back to work the next day-- but it felt like it was touch-and-go for most of the morning. I gradually felt better as the day progressed. Later I commented to Mom that I obviously was NOT going to get off scot free. Some days are easier than others and Thursday was a hard day.
I talked to a neighbor who has experience with tissue expanders. My question was "Does it always hurt when they expand?" Her answer was not particularly reassuring-- Yes, it always hurts after expansion. I see Dr. Chen again tomorrow-- and she indicated she might have to "top me off." I'm not excited about the visit.
This coming week I'll be meeting the two oncologists. I'm guessing that my chemo schedule will start the first week in October. The second oncologist will tell definitively whether I will be required to have radiation as well.
Superhero lives aren't necessarily easy. They have problems and experience pain just like everyone else. The difference is that superheroes draw upon their emotional reserves to get them through the moment. Sometimes the moment lasts only a few minutes, but other moments may last days, weeks or even years. I began to realize that this week's lesson was a deeper sense of appreciation for just how much I've been blessed-- for how little pain I have really been experiencing these past few weeks.
Through the pain I was feeling, I gained a greater appreciation for the Atonement of Jesus Christ-- who took upon Himself the sum of my physical, emotional and spiritual pains, as well as the burden of my sins, knowing that it was the only way to make it possible for me to return to live with Him and with Heavenly Father. I have difficulty visualizing the scope of what He took upon Himself in my behalf. Knowing that He did the same for every other person who would ever live upon this earth too, is truly incomprehensible. Yet I know that He accomplished that goal. My sense of humble gratitude, my sense of awe, continues to grow.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Good friends
There is nothing better than a good friend!
I'm talking about the kind of friend who is there for you and who loves you through thick and thin. The kind who looks at you and still sees you without the added pounds and the gray hair. The kind who remembers the flirtatious 20-something, yet is comfortable with the more mature (hopefully) you. The kind who knows all your secrets and foibles-- and loves you in spite of them.
My friend LuWane flew up from San Diego to spend the weekend with me before I start the chemo merry-go-round. She is that kind of friend.
She rode shotgun when we drove around gawking at homes in fancy neighborhoods, discussing the finer points of convincing slow-moving boyfriends to show more commitment. She's also the one who, after getting married, came back to report "she never understood just how easy it was to get married!" At this stage of my life, I can't remember that she imparted that knowledge to the rest of us. If she did, I must not have applied her formula.
I'm the one who was on the other end of the phone when her future husband finally knocked on her door. It was a blind date, set up by a mutual friend, and Mark, who is unfailingly punctual, was 15 minutes late! Neither one of us was particularly enamoured with going on blind dates. The guys were always such jerks that it made us nervous to ask ourselves what the mutual friends must think of us to set us up with that kind of a guy. Was it just that we were both single-- or did they really think that the idiot was someone that matched our personalities?
We've laughed ourselves sick and cried on each other's shoulders. We've shared and appreciated each other's talents and passions. We've traveled the world's cuisine through new ethnic restaurants. We've gone to plays and art museums and had deep philosophical discussions.
This weekend we've shopped and went for a long ride in the mountains to see the beautiful fall leaves. I played the new and interesting role of fashion police, who refused to allow her to buy one more item of clothing in a solid color. What I appreciate most is that we've just talked and talked and laughed and renewed our friendship!
Superheroes find joy is the primary reward of friendship. Friends stick with each other when times are rough, when the bonds of friendship are strained to the limits-- because they know the rewards will make it all worthwhile. They are the real deal; the friendship is based on reality, on everyday give-and-take-- and the determination to see each other through.
I'm talking about the kind of friend who is there for you and who loves you through thick and thin. The kind who looks at you and still sees you without the added pounds and the gray hair. The kind who remembers the flirtatious 20-something, yet is comfortable with the more mature (hopefully) you. The kind who knows all your secrets and foibles-- and loves you in spite of them.
My friend LuWane flew up from San Diego to spend the weekend with me before I start the chemo merry-go-round. She is that kind of friend.
She rode shotgun when we drove around gawking at homes in fancy neighborhoods, discussing the finer points of convincing slow-moving boyfriends to show more commitment. She's also the one who, after getting married, came back to report "she never understood just how easy it was to get married!" At this stage of my life, I can't remember that she imparted that knowledge to the rest of us. If she did, I must not have applied her formula.
I'm the one who was on the other end of the phone when her future husband finally knocked on her door. It was a blind date, set up by a mutual friend, and Mark, who is unfailingly punctual, was 15 minutes late! Neither one of us was particularly enamoured with going on blind dates. The guys were always such jerks that it made us nervous to ask ourselves what the mutual friends must think of us to set us up with that kind of a guy. Was it just that we were both single-- or did they really think that the idiot was someone that matched our personalities?
We've laughed ourselves sick and cried on each other's shoulders. We've shared and appreciated each other's talents and passions. We've traveled the world's cuisine through new ethnic restaurants. We've gone to plays and art museums and had deep philosophical discussions.
This weekend we've shopped and went for a long ride in the mountains to see the beautiful fall leaves. I played the new and interesting role of fashion police, who refused to allow her to buy one more item of clothing in a solid color. What I appreciate most is that we've just talked and talked and laughed and renewed our friendship!
Superheroes find joy is the primary reward of friendship. Friends stick with each other when times are rough, when the bonds of friendship are strained to the limits-- because they know the rewards will make it all worthwhile. They are the real deal; the friendship is based on reality, on everyday give-and-take-- and the determination to see each other through.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Progress
Today was my first post-operative visit with Dr. Chen (the cosmetic surgeon).
I was a little hopeful, but a little nervous about having the drains removed. I didn't know exactly how those tubes were attached to my underarm area and worried that it might hurt to have them removed. It probably didn't help that someone yesterday told me about a surgery they had, and when they removed the drain, they felt like the tubing had grown to be an integral part of their system, winding all through their body. When Dr. Chen actually removed the tube, I barely felt it-- there was a little tug and that was about it.
Why is it that our fears are almost always much worse than the reality of our experiences? Maybe no one else is like that, but I certainly am. I always seem to mentally prepare myself for a worst-case scenario. Do people who always expect the very best scenario find themselves disappointed when things don't quite live up to their expectations? In a case like this, I was anticipating pain and found that the reality wasn't painful at all. What would my day have been like if I had expected no pain, had been mentally ready for a painless experience? Would I have felt even better when the situation lived up to that relatively pain-free tugging? Would a positive attitude have carried over, even if it had been more painful?
Regardless of the presence or absence of physical pain, would it have been enough to have a day without any kind of anxiety?
Superheroes seem impervious to pain, but I don't think that's an accurate perception. I think the superhero attitude is that, pain happens, but it needn't be crippling. Pain does not need to hinder our actions, our approach to the day's events. I don't think I'm there yet-- but I'm willing to work on it.
I was a little hopeful, but a little nervous about having the drains removed. I didn't know exactly how those tubes were attached to my underarm area and worried that it might hurt to have them removed. It probably didn't help that someone yesterday told me about a surgery they had, and when they removed the drain, they felt like the tubing had grown to be an integral part of their system, winding all through their body. When Dr. Chen actually removed the tube, I barely felt it-- there was a little tug and that was about it.
Why is it that our fears are almost always much worse than the reality of our experiences? Maybe no one else is like that, but I certainly am. I always seem to mentally prepare myself for a worst-case scenario. Do people who always expect the very best scenario find themselves disappointed when things don't quite live up to their expectations? In a case like this, I was anticipating pain and found that the reality wasn't painful at all. What would my day have been like if I had expected no pain, had been mentally ready for a painless experience? Would I have felt even better when the situation lived up to that relatively pain-free tugging? Would a positive attitude have carried over, even if it had been more painful?
Regardless of the presence or absence of physical pain, would it have been enough to have a day without any kind of anxiety?
Superheroes seem impervious to pain, but I don't think that's an accurate perception. I think the superhero attitude is that, pain happens, but it needn't be crippling. Pain does not need to hinder our actions, our approach to the day's events. I don't think I'm there yet-- but I'm willing to work on it.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Limits
I guess that there are limits to what I can do-- and going to work all week was apparently more difficult than I thought at the time.
I've spent the weekend in my pajamas-- taking naps and lounging on the chaise in the living room or on the bed. I just haven't had the energy to do much else.
We had stake conference this weekend, but I stayed home from both sessions. I've felt guilty about that. When I was a kid, if we were too sick to go to school, we were definitely too sick to play outside or go to some desired activity. I've carried that philosophy over into adulthood, if I'm too sick to go to work, then I'm too sick to go shopping (except for essentials) or to a movie or anything else. But the opposite is also true, if I'm well enough to go to work, then I should be well enough to attend any church meeting or other extracurricular meeting when I have a responsibility to attend.
Maybe it's a matter of understanding one's limits and establishing priorities. I definitely need to ponder more on this subject.
Superheroes know themselves well enough to know how to pace themselves. They know when to stop and when they need to push a little harder. Superheroes understand the reasoning behind the commandment and are able to implement it in their own lives: "And see that all ... things are done in wisdom and order; for it is not requisite that a man [or woman] should run faster than he has strength. And again, it is expedient that he [or she] should be diligent, that thereby he might win the prize; therefor, all things must be done in order." (Mosiah 4:27)
I've spent the weekend in my pajamas-- taking naps and lounging on the chaise in the living room or on the bed. I just haven't had the energy to do much else.
We had stake conference this weekend, but I stayed home from both sessions. I've felt guilty about that. When I was a kid, if we were too sick to go to school, we were definitely too sick to play outside or go to some desired activity. I've carried that philosophy over into adulthood, if I'm too sick to go to work, then I'm too sick to go shopping (except for essentials) or to a movie or anything else. But the opposite is also true, if I'm well enough to go to work, then I should be well enough to attend any church meeting or other extracurricular meeting when I have a responsibility to attend.
Maybe it's a matter of understanding one's limits and establishing priorities. I definitely need to ponder more on this subject.
Superheroes know themselves well enough to know how to pace themselves. They know when to stop and when they need to push a little harder. Superheroes understand the reasoning behind the commandment and are able to implement it in their own lives: "And see that all ... things are done in wisdom and order; for it is not requisite that a man [or woman] should run faster than he has strength. And again, it is expedient that he [or she] should be diligent, that thereby he might win the prize; therefor, all things must be done in order." (Mosiah 4:27)
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Gratitude
I don't have anything particularly profound to write today. I just want to express my gratitude to the many people who have and continue to offer love, support and their prayers in my behalf.
My burdens are made light because of those who are willing to help carry the load.
Meals have been brought in-- which was more of a blessing than I could have imagined. While I was in the hospital having surgery, Mom was home fighting a cold. Preparing meals in addition to caring for me and Dad and our puppy was beyond her abilities last week.
Rylie and Kinley, who are 10 and 8, were so upset that they asked their mother and grandmother if they could make fudge and bring it to us. It was chocolate with walnuts-- my favorite! They've also offered to take Sammie for walks if it is too much for Mom and me.
Alex drew a picture for me that he brought when his family brought us dinner. The picture hangs in a place of honor on our refrigerator door. Every time we open the refrigerator, we are reminded of his family's love, support and prayers.
Others have come to visit and have called. LuWane is coming all the way from San Diego to see me next week. (OK, the fall leaves have something to do with her visit as well.)
It is impossible to express just how much it all means to me and to our family. The kindness is overwhelming. Despite how well I am doing, there are moments when I feel like crying-- not out of sadness, but just because. Most of the time I feel like I'm taking things in stride, but there are odd moments when my emotions are very close to the surface. It is often in those very moments that someone steps in to remind me that I am loved.
While wondering how I ever came to deserve such kindness, I just promise that I will do my best to pass it on after I recover.
Superheroes put themselves on the line-- they perform some small act of service or kindness when prompted. They are also willing to accept with thankfulness those same acts of service given to them by others.
Thanks to you all! Maybe someday you will comprehend that what, to you, may seem small and insignificant has been an importact act of service to the recipient. Most of all, I am grateful to my Father in Heaven for blessing me with your presence in my life!
My burdens are made light because of those who are willing to help carry the load.
Meals have been brought in-- which was more of a blessing than I could have imagined. While I was in the hospital having surgery, Mom was home fighting a cold. Preparing meals in addition to caring for me and Dad and our puppy was beyond her abilities last week.
Rylie and Kinley, who are 10 and 8, were so upset that they asked their mother and grandmother if they could make fudge and bring it to us. It was chocolate with walnuts-- my favorite! They've also offered to take Sammie for walks if it is too much for Mom and me.
Alex drew a picture for me that he brought when his family brought us dinner. The picture hangs in a place of honor on our refrigerator door. Every time we open the refrigerator, we are reminded of his family's love, support and prayers.
Others have come to visit and have called. LuWane is coming all the way from San Diego to see me next week. (OK, the fall leaves have something to do with her visit as well.)
It is impossible to express just how much it all means to me and to our family. The kindness is overwhelming. Despite how well I am doing, there are moments when I feel like crying-- not out of sadness, but just because. Most of the time I feel like I'm taking things in stride, but there are odd moments when my emotions are very close to the surface. It is often in those very moments that someone steps in to remind me that I am loved.
While wondering how I ever came to deserve such kindness, I just promise that I will do my best to pass it on after I recover.
Superheroes put themselves on the line-- they perform some small act of service or kindness when prompted. They are also willing to accept with thankfulness those same acts of service given to them by others.
Thanks to you all! Maybe someday you will comprehend that what, to you, may seem small and insignificant has been an importact act of service to the recipient. Most of all, I am grateful to my Father in Heaven for blessing me with your presence in my life!
Friday, September 11, 2009
Pondering on an eternal future
When one has cancer, it's hard to avoid pondering about death, the resurrection and eternal judgment. I'm not afraid of death, nor am I particularly afraid to stand before my Savior at the bar of justice. Actually, I am comforted to know that he will be standing on my side of the bar to plead in my behalf (assuming that I can be classed among the righteous). I love the various titles ascribed to him which apply to this role: Advocate, Mediator, one who makes intercession. In Hebrews chapter 9, we are told that he "[appears] in the presence of God for us." In D&C 29, he says, "I am ... your advocate with the Father."
This particular court appearance may be a little different than what we are familiar with here. I don't know whether Satan will actually be in attendance as prosecuting attorney. He probably won't need to be. Will there be any other detractors there to proclaim our guilt. Or... will we find ourselves faced with those unalterable memories hardwired into our brains that cannot lie, no matter how much we may wish to protest our innocence. In this life, we may be able to justify our actions to ourselves, or delude ourselves into believing that we haven't inflicted physical or mental or emotional damage on others. It won't matter whether our thoughts and actions were deliberate or unintentional. We will see the damage. I'm afraid we may find ourselves like an unwitting witness to the train wrecks we have caused during our lives-- unable to turn our eyes away from the disaster that we know will follow such actions.
Of course, we do have the promise that, if we repent, the slate will be wiped clean. Isaiah promises "[T]hough your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow" (Isaiah 1:18). How very grateful I am for the Atonement of Jesus Christ that makes it all possible. How appropriate that the very one who bore the weight of our sins will be the one standing next to us to plead in our behalf. At the same time, how very humbling-- how apt the mental image, that we will throw ourselves at his feet in gratitude and acknowledgement of his suffering for our sins. How shameful we may feel to admit that there were a few sins we clung to in this life, unwilling to repent as we have been commanded.
In our church, when we teach about final, eternal judgment, there are four general destinations or kingdoms. Three of those kingdoms are kingdoms of glory. The inhabitants of these kingdoms, ultimately have accepted Jesus Christ as their Savior and gratefully accept his role as Advocate with the Father. Murderers and other hardened criminal types, who nevertheless accept Christ, will find themselves in the telestial kingdom. Good people who lived decent lives, but weren't willing to exert themselves to do everything that God commands, who want to coast their way into heaven, will find themselves in the terrestrial kingdom. Truly committed individuals who submitted themselves to the Savior's rule, complying with every commandment to the best of their ability, and who truly desire to be full, contributing partners in the work of the Lord, will find themselves in the celestial kingdom. The fourth destination is reserved for those who reject Jesus Christ, even at the bar of God, who would rather spit in his face than accept his helping hand-- having chosen darkness over light, they will find themselves forever in the dark.
What I have been asking myself is this: Who do I (you) think will be most surprised to learn of their eternal destination?-- The person who is sentenced to Outer Darkness? The murderer who is allowed into a kingdom of glory-- yes, it will be the lowest kingdom, but it will still be a place of glory? The average Joe who knows he's been pretty good and really is just aiming to be like everyone else, i.e., who isn't looking for anything higher than that comfortable middle terrestrial kingdom. Will it be the person who assumes that they haven't done enough, weren't righteous enough, but finds themselves destined for the celestial (or highest) kingdom? OR, do you think the person who will be most surprised will be the one who cannot envision themselves anywhere BUT in that highest kingdom, the one who has judged themselves, finding fault with everyone else, but see themselves as completely guiltless. You know the type, the kind see themselves as so good, that they're not quite sure that they need Jesus' help at the bar. If they find themselves being sent to the terrestrial (i.e., middle) kingdom, instead of the celestial (highest) kingdom, what will be their response?
Superheroes understand that our eternal salvation requires our very best efforts to keep the commandments of God-- but that we cannot do it alone. Jesus Christ is there to bridge the gap between our efforts and the minimum entrance requirement-- but ONLY if we are willing to submit ourselves to his will, to follow his commands. I hope that my paltry efforts will be good enough. But I cannot envision the Judgment Day with anything but hope and joyous anticipation. I look forward to expressing my gratitude to the Savior for all that he has done for me. I'm also thankful to those wonderful people whose actions have served to prod my very best efforts so that I have hope that Jesus will greet me as friend and family.
What do you think?
This particular court appearance may be a little different than what we are familiar with here. I don't know whether Satan will actually be in attendance as prosecuting attorney. He probably won't need to be. Will there be any other detractors there to proclaim our guilt. Or... will we find ourselves faced with those unalterable memories hardwired into our brains that cannot lie, no matter how much we may wish to protest our innocence. In this life, we may be able to justify our actions to ourselves, or delude ourselves into believing that we haven't inflicted physical or mental or emotional damage on others. It won't matter whether our thoughts and actions were deliberate or unintentional. We will see the damage. I'm afraid we may find ourselves like an unwitting witness to the train wrecks we have caused during our lives-- unable to turn our eyes away from the disaster that we know will follow such actions.
Of course, we do have the promise that, if we repent, the slate will be wiped clean. Isaiah promises "[T]hough your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow" (Isaiah 1:18). How very grateful I am for the Atonement of Jesus Christ that makes it all possible. How appropriate that the very one who bore the weight of our sins will be the one standing next to us to plead in our behalf. At the same time, how very humbling-- how apt the mental image, that we will throw ourselves at his feet in gratitude and acknowledgement of his suffering for our sins. How shameful we may feel to admit that there were a few sins we clung to in this life, unwilling to repent as we have been commanded.
In our church, when we teach about final, eternal judgment, there are four general destinations or kingdoms. Three of those kingdoms are kingdoms of glory. The inhabitants of these kingdoms, ultimately have accepted Jesus Christ as their Savior and gratefully accept his role as Advocate with the Father. Murderers and other hardened criminal types, who nevertheless accept Christ, will find themselves in the telestial kingdom. Good people who lived decent lives, but weren't willing to exert themselves to do everything that God commands, who want to coast their way into heaven, will find themselves in the terrestrial kingdom. Truly committed individuals who submitted themselves to the Savior's rule, complying with every commandment to the best of their ability, and who truly desire to be full, contributing partners in the work of the Lord, will find themselves in the celestial kingdom. The fourth destination is reserved for those who reject Jesus Christ, even at the bar of God, who would rather spit in his face than accept his helping hand-- having chosen darkness over light, they will find themselves forever in the dark.
What I have been asking myself is this: Who do I (you) think will be most surprised to learn of their eternal destination?-- The person who is sentenced to Outer Darkness? The murderer who is allowed into a kingdom of glory-- yes, it will be the lowest kingdom, but it will still be a place of glory? The average Joe who knows he's been pretty good and really is just aiming to be like everyone else, i.e., who isn't looking for anything higher than that comfortable middle terrestrial kingdom. Will it be the person who assumes that they haven't done enough, weren't righteous enough, but finds themselves destined for the celestial (or highest) kingdom? OR, do you think the person who will be most surprised will be the one who cannot envision themselves anywhere BUT in that highest kingdom, the one who has judged themselves, finding fault with everyone else, but see themselves as completely guiltless. You know the type, the kind see themselves as so good, that they're not quite sure that they need Jesus' help at the bar. If they find themselves being sent to the terrestrial (i.e., middle) kingdom, instead of the celestial (highest) kingdom, what will be their response?
Superheroes understand that our eternal salvation requires our very best efforts to keep the commandments of God-- but that we cannot do it alone. Jesus Christ is there to bridge the gap between our efforts and the minimum entrance requirement-- but ONLY if we are willing to submit ourselves to his will, to follow his commands. I hope that my paltry efforts will be good enough. But I cannot envision the Judgment Day with anything but hope and joyous anticipation. I look forward to expressing my gratitude to the Savior for all that he has done for me. I'm also thankful to those wonderful people whose actions have served to prod my very best efforts so that I have hope that Jesus will greet me as friend and family.
What do you think?
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Pathology report
I know that I've already written today, but it seemed like too much to include the findings of the pathology report in the previous posting.
After the surgery, everything was sent to the lab where further biopsies were taken. The doctor fully expected that the results would be in on Tuesday-- but they weren't in. Her office staff have called me every day with the same refrain, "The results still aren't in." Dr. Reading called me herself about 6 p.m. this evening when they finally arrived.
Since nearly every test, except for the initial biopsy of the two lymph nodes, has failed to clearly establish that I have cancer, I've been wondering what the final results would be. I must admit that I have even wondered if the delay was because the doctors didn't want to have to tell me that I didn't really have cancer after all. I began to wonder if the initial biopsies were wrong-- and that I really was healthy.
Rest assured, I really and truly do have cancer-- and they are fairly certain that it's breast cancer. The surgeon removed 13 lymph nodes and 3 of them were definitely cancerous. What she also found (yes, even the pathologist is a woman) was that I did have cancer cells diffused throughout my left breast-- but they were tiny cells, the largest being 1.7 on whatever scale they use to establish size. It's because they were so tiny that they weren't showing up in the other tests-- but they were pervasive.
The other strange thing was that the cancer cells found in the breast did not match the cancer cells found in the lymph nodes. So she conducted additional tests to determine whether I had two different kinds of cancer, or if it was a single cancer with designer ambitions-- i.e., it had multiple "looks." She tested the cells from each location to see how they responded to various hormones, etc. Ultimately, she concluded that it was a single cancer because the cancer cells responded in identical ways.
Superheroes are willing to go the extra mile-- they aren't afraid to push themselves as they seek for answers to important questions. In this case, my life has been blessed because a caring pathologist took the time to come to a conclusion about my cancer. She had to have known that there were lots of us waiting to see her report, what kind of pressure might that have put on her-- the pressure to produce results. But, she was willing to hold back on delivering results until she was satisfied that she had an answer worth delivering. OH, how very, very grateful I am for her consideration, knowing that I would rather have the best answer she had to offer and not have to settle for just a good answer. Thanks!
After the surgery, everything was sent to the lab where further biopsies were taken. The doctor fully expected that the results would be in on Tuesday-- but they weren't in. Her office staff have called me every day with the same refrain, "The results still aren't in." Dr. Reading called me herself about 6 p.m. this evening when they finally arrived.
Since nearly every test, except for the initial biopsy of the two lymph nodes, has failed to clearly establish that I have cancer, I've been wondering what the final results would be. I must admit that I have even wondered if the delay was because the doctors didn't want to have to tell me that I didn't really have cancer after all. I began to wonder if the initial biopsies were wrong-- and that I really was healthy.
Rest assured, I really and truly do have cancer-- and they are fairly certain that it's breast cancer. The surgeon removed 13 lymph nodes and 3 of them were definitely cancerous. What she also found (yes, even the pathologist is a woman) was that I did have cancer cells diffused throughout my left breast-- but they were tiny cells, the largest being 1.7 on whatever scale they use to establish size. It's because they were so tiny that they weren't showing up in the other tests-- but they were pervasive.
The other strange thing was that the cancer cells found in the breast did not match the cancer cells found in the lymph nodes. So she conducted additional tests to determine whether I had two different kinds of cancer, or if it was a single cancer with designer ambitions-- i.e., it had multiple "looks." She tested the cells from each location to see how they responded to various hormones, etc. Ultimately, she concluded that it was a single cancer because the cancer cells responded in identical ways.
Superheroes are willing to go the extra mile-- they aren't afraid to push themselves as they seek for answers to important questions. In this case, my life has been blessed because a caring pathologist took the time to come to a conclusion about my cancer. She had to have known that there were lots of us waiting to see her report, what kind of pressure might that have put on her-- the pressure to produce results. But, she was willing to hold back on delivering results until she was satisfied that she had an answer worth delivering. OH, how very, very grateful I am for her consideration, knowing that I would rather have the best answer she had to offer and not have to settle for just a good answer. Thanks!
Mastectomy & follow up
Last Thursday (Sept. 3rd), Dr. Reading removed 13 lymph nodes and performed a modified mastectomy. Then Dr. Chen took over and attached the tissue expanders. I was released from the hospital on Friday and went home for a long weekend.
If anyone wonders if God hears and answers prayers, they can just look at me and see that the answer is a definitive YES! I haven't experienced overwhelming pain, but the pain medication that was prescribed has helped. I was allowed 2 pills every 6 hours, but have only taken 1-- and am now down to taking just one pill every 10 hours or so. I finished off the antibiotics yesterday.
Part of what amazes me is that I am feeling pretty good. I would have gone to church on Sunday, but I wasn't exactly sure how to hide the drains. I've got two thin tubes inserted in my underarm to drain fluid. The other end of each tube is attached to what looks like a clear plastic hand grenade. Periodically throughout the day, I have to empty the drains and "strip" the tubes (clear them of any fluid or debris). Since I couldn't go to church, I spent the day napping, reading the newspaper and my Scriptures and watching BYU-TV. I also took my first shower on Sunday with Mom's help.
I rested again on Monday, but decided on Monday evening that I could see no reason to stay home from work the next day. Fortunately I have an office to myself so I can be somewhat unobtrusive. I wear dark pants that are slightly baggy and loose shirt. I pin the drains to the waistband of my slacks and let the shirt cover it. The tubing still hangs down a bit, so I either tuck the tubes onto the inside of my pants, or I unpin the drains and hide them in a decorative bag that I'm carrying instead of a purse.
Because I'm kind of a wimp when it comes to being sick, believe me, I would stay home if I felt the need. I'm not allowed to do any lifting/carrying, pulling or pushing-- and, worse yet, I'm not allowed to drive a car for 2 weeks, so Mom has to drive me to work and pick me up at the end of the day. When she dropped me off on Monday, I told her that I might be calling her in an hour to come pick me up. As it was, I did overdo it a bit. About 4:10 p.m., I realized that I was tired and really needed to be home. In fact, I probably should have gone home at 3 p.m. But it's a 30-minute drive between my house and my office. Calling Mom and asking her to pick me up early wouldn't make much difference-- she'd only arrive about 10 minutes before our arranged pick up time anyway. So, I closed my door and laid down on the floor for the last 20 minutes.
I've probably shocked more than one medical person who has called to check up on me, only to be told that they would have to call my office. All I can keep repeating, is that I can see no reason to stay home. If I were home, I would want to be doing something, not just lie around the house-- so I might as well be at work doing something. I have to rely on others to be my arms and legs-- the books in a university library aren't always lightweight, and trying to maneuver book trucks is beyond what I am allowed to do. I don't stress out over arriving at 8 a.m., in fact, some mornings I don't arrive until 10-- but I get there and each day I feel a little stronger.
Superheroes aren't afraid to test their limits of their strength. While they may not overdo, they are at least willing to do. They understand that we lose what we don't use-- it's called atrophy. But, superheroes also understand that, when we are doing everything within our power, there is a higher power available to us who can help us go beyond our own strength-- We can look to Our Father in Heaven. When people of faith unite themselves to pray for a common goal, miracles truly take place!
I stand in awe at the way in which my life has been blessed! Who would have thought that I would be back to full days at work just 5 days after my surgery? How can I thank the many friends and family who have prayed in my behalf? I don't even know where to begin when it comes to thanking my Heavenly Father for the little daily miracles-- the tender mercies-- that are taking place in my life. I just keep repeating to those who know, "I'm feeling amazingly well-- and just can't think of a reason to stay home!"
If anyone wonders if God hears and answers prayers, they can just look at me and see that the answer is a definitive YES! I haven't experienced overwhelming pain, but the pain medication that was prescribed has helped. I was allowed 2 pills every 6 hours, but have only taken 1-- and am now down to taking just one pill every 10 hours or so. I finished off the antibiotics yesterday.
Part of what amazes me is that I am feeling pretty good. I would have gone to church on Sunday, but I wasn't exactly sure how to hide the drains. I've got two thin tubes inserted in my underarm to drain fluid. The other end of each tube is attached to what looks like a clear plastic hand grenade. Periodically throughout the day, I have to empty the drains and "strip" the tubes (clear them of any fluid or debris). Since I couldn't go to church, I spent the day napping, reading the newspaper and my Scriptures and watching BYU-TV. I also took my first shower on Sunday with Mom's help.
I rested again on Monday, but decided on Monday evening that I could see no reason to stay home from work the next day. Fortunately I have an office to myself so I can be somewhat unobtrusive. I wear dark pants that are slightly baggy and loose shirt. I pin the drains to the waistband of my slacks and let the shirt cover it. The tubing still hangs down a bit, so I either tuck the tubes onto the inside of my pants, or I unpin the drains and hide them in a decorative bag that I'm carrying instead of a purse.
Because I'm kind of a wimp when it comes to being sick, believe me, I would stay home if I felt the need. I'm not allowed to do any lifting/carrying, pulling or pushing-- and, worse yet, I'm not allowed to drive a car for 2 weeks, so Mom has to drive me to work and pick me up at the end of the day. When she dropped me off on Monday, I told her that I might be calling her in an hour to come pick me up. As it was, I did overdo it a bit. About 4:10 p.m., I realized that I was tired and really needed to be home. In fact, I probably should have gone home at 3 p.m. But it's a 30-minute drive between my house and my office. Calling Mom and asking her to pick me up early wouldn't make much difference-- she'd only arrive about 10 minutes before our arranged pick up time anyway. So, I closed my door and laid down on the floor for the last 20 minutes.
I've probably shocked more than one medical person who has called to check up on me, only to be told that they would have to call my office. All I can keep repeating, is that I can see no reason to stay home. If I were home, I would want to be doing something, not just lie around the house-- so I might as well be at work doing something. I have to rely on others to be my arms and legs-- the books in a university library aren't always lightweight, and trying to maneuver book trucks is beyond what I am allowed to do. I don't stress out over arriving at 8 a.m., in fact, some mornings I don't arrive until 10-- but I get there and each day I feel a little stronger.
Superheroes aren't afraid to test their limits of their strength. While they may not overdo, they are at least willing to do. They understand that we lose what we don't use-- it's called atrophy. But, superheroes also understand that, when we are doing everything within our power, there is a higher power available to us who can help us go beyond our own strength-- We can look to Our Father in Heaven. When people of faith unite themselves to pray for a common goal, miracles truly take place!
I stand in awe at the way in which my life has been blessed! Who would have thought that I would be back to full days at work just 5 days after my surgery? How can I thank the many friends and family who have prayed in my behalf? I don't even know where to begin when it comes to thanking my Heavenly Father for the little daily miracles-- the tender mercies-- that are taking place in my life. I just keep repeating to those who know, "I'm feeling amazingly well-- and just can't think of a reason to stay home!"
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
D-Day
Superheroes don't have to stand alone. Batman has Robin (and Alfred the trusty butler), Superman had the Kent family, who took him in as a baby, and Lois Lane among others. Superheroes count themselves blessed to have a support system.
The tests are in... and I'm still looking healthy. Except for the lymph node biopsies that were definitively metastatic cancer, one might think I'm healthy. The PET scan came out clean, the MRI and breast biopsy were inconclusive. The surgeon even took my case to their group discussion last week. The overwhelming concensus is that she should do a mastectomy on my left breast, as well as remove the cancerous lymph nodes. And that's what I've decided to do... tomorrow!
Dr. Reading has been amazing. She wanted me to take my time, she offered to set up appointments so that I could get a second opinion, counseling to help me explore my options, and more! But, I still feel like this is the beginning of the journey, not the end-- and the mastectomy decision just feels right. It has been a matter of prayer, but more importantly a matter of comfort and I'm ready to move forward. My mother thinks I should explore alternative medicine options; actually she has probably been more upset about my decision than anyone else.
I met with the plastic surgeon yesterday and it was another amazing experience. When Dr. Reading finishes with the mastectomy this afternoon (it's after midnight, so the surgery is technically today), Dr. Chen will perform a procedure that will be the first step toward reconstruction. She's encouraging me to think about what I want my body to look like as a finished product. She says I can have anything I want. The actual reconstruction surgery won't take place for another 6 months or so because I will do chemotherapy, etc. first.
I thought the goal was to replace something that was lost-- but she says I don't need to stop there. She also explained the kind of surgery she will perform. I'm counting this as another blessing.
The people in my neighborhood/ward have been wonderful as well. I think I knew people generally liked me-- in that "Hi-how're you doing-what's new" kind of way. I'm already overwhelmed at the sacrifices people are willing to make in my behalf. I'm almost afraid to start making a list of the blessings that are popping up right and left, mostly in the form of friends stepping forward to help out.
Among the blessings for which I'm thankful... amazing doctors and how the practice of medicine has changed in the last 23 years. I thought my doctor then was kind and supportive-- everyone I've encountered so far this time around has not only met his standard, but maybe even exceeded it.
I'd hate to start counting neighbors and friends because I would be afraid I'd miss someone. So let's count just a few of the services people have offered to perform: Drive me to the hospital. Pick me up from the hospital. Visit me in the hospital even though I'll only be there overnight. Bring me my favorite treats. Bring in meals for Mom, Dad and me. Visit me at home after I get out. Pray in my behalf. Take me to doctor appointments. Stay with Dad so that Mom can go with me. Babysit Sammie, the Flying Wonder Dog, and visiting children (relatives), so that Mom or Mari could go with me to appointments. Referrals to their doctors and oncologists, i.e., people that they trust and have trusted with their own lives, so that I can get the best possible care.
These have not been idle words. Even though my surgery isn't until tomorrow, many have already performed these services. To be perfectly honest, it is extremely humbling. What have I ever done in my life to deserve this outpouring of love. How can I ever express my gratitude to them.
Thanks to everyone!! May you be amply rewarded for all of the love and the kindnesses that have been extended to me and to my family. You're GREAT!!!
The tests are in... and I'm still looking healthy. Except for the lymph node biopsies that were definitively metastatic cancer, one might think I'm healthy. The PET scan came out clean, the MRI and breast biopsy were inconclusive. The surgeon even took my case to their group discussion last week. The overwhelming concensus is that she should do a mastectomy on my left breast, as well as remove the cancerous lymph nodes. And that's what I've decided to do... tomorrow!
Dr. Reading has been amazing. She wanted me to take my time, she offered to set up appointments so that I could get a second opinion, counseling to help me explore my options, and more! But, I still feel like this is the beginning of the journey, not the end-- and the mastectomy decision just feels right. It has been a matter of prayer, but more importantly a matter of comfort and I'm ready to move forward. My mother thinks I should explore alternative medicine options; actually she has probably been more upset about my decision than anyone else.
I met with the plastic surgeon yesterday and it was another amazing experience. When Dr. Reading finishes with the mastectomy this afternoon (it's after midnight, so the surgery is technically today), Dr. Chen will perform a procedure that will be the first step toward reconstruction. She's encouraging me to think about what I want my body to look like as a finished product. She says I can have anything I want. The actual reconstruction surgery won't take place for another 6 months or so because I will do chemotherapy, etc. first.
I thought the goal was to replace something that was lost-- but she says I don't need to stop there. She also explained the kind of surgery she will perform. I'm counting this as another blessing.
The people in my neighborhood/ward have been wonderful as well. I think I knew people generally liked me-- in that "Hi-how're you doing-what's new" kind of way. I'm already overwhelmed at the sacrifices people are willing to make in my behalf. I'm almost afraid to start making a list of the blessings that are popping up right and left, mostly in the form of friends stepping forward to help out.
Among the blessings for which I'm thankful... amazing doctors and how the practice of medicine has changed in the last 23 years. I thought my doctor then was kind and supportive-- everyone I've encountered so far this time around has not only met his standard, but maybe even exceeded it.
I'd hate to start counting neighbors and friends because I would be afraid I'd miss someone. So let's count just a few of the services people have offered to perform: Drive me to the hospital. Pick me up from the hospital. Visit me in the hospital even though I'll only be there overnight. Bring me my favorite treats. Bring in meals for Mom, Dad and me. Visit me at home after I get out. Pray in my behalf. Take me to doctor appointments. Stay with Dad so that Mom can go with me. Babysit Sammie, the Flying Wonder Dog, and visiting children (relatives), so that Mom or Mari could go with me to appointments. Referrals to their doctors and oncologists, i.e., people that they trust and have trusted with their own lives, so that I can get the best possible care.
These have not been idle words. Even though my surgery isn't until tomorrow, many have already performed these services. To be perfectly honest, it is extremely humbling. What have I ever done in my life to deserve this outpouring of love. How can I ever express my gratitude to them.
Thanks to everyone!! May you be amply rewarded for all of the love and the kindnesses that have been extended to me and to my family. You're GREAT!!!
Friday, August 21, 2009
Still waiting
The results of the breast tissue biopsy are in... and still inconclusive. That means they found some cells that could be associated with cancer, but they appear in normal breast tissue for some healthy women. In other words, it might, but it might not be the source of my cancer.
Actually, the results were due in on Monday. When I still hadn't heard I called late in the day on Tuesday to see where things stood. The doctor was busy, so I was transferred to her nurse. She came onto the phone saying that Dr. Reading hadn't had a chance to look at the results yet, but that she had looked at them. She sounded so happy to inform me that the pictures were looking clear. She just didn't understand that we were already beyond that point-- we already know I have cancer. The goal is to establish its source. I immediately understood that it meant we needed to keep looking.
So, Monday I'm having the PET scan, which will examine from head to toe. If something shows up, we can either biopsy it or go ahead with the surgery. If nothing shows up, it will bring peace of mind that we don't need to keep looking. We will have done everything we could to locate the source. Regardless of the results , I plan to have a lumpectomy for the maybe/maybe not spot that showed up in this last biopsy. I will also have the cancerous lymph nodes removed. Then it will be on to the chemo and/or radiation follow-up.
So, we're still plugging along.
Actually, the results were due in on Monday. When I still hadn't heard I called late in the day on Tuesday to see where things stood. The doctor was busy, so I was transferred to her nurse. She came onto the phone saying that Dr. Reading hadn't had a chance to look at the results yet, but that she had looked at them. She sounded so happy to inform me that the pictures were looking clear. She just didn't understand that we were already beyond that point-- we already know I have cancer. The goal is to establish its source. I immediately understood that it meant we needed to keep looking.
So, Monday I'm having the PET scan, which will examine from head to toe. If something shows up, we can either biopsy it or go ahead with the surgery. If nothing shows up, it will bring peace of mind that we don't need to keep looking. We will have done everything we could to locate the source. Regardless of the results , I plan to have a lumpectomy for the maybe/maybe not spot that showed up in this last biopsy. I will also have the cancerous lymph nodes removed. Then it will be on to the chemo and/or radiation follow-up.
So, we're still plugging along.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Fulfilling an Assignment
My friend, Kathy K., is the Primary Chorister, aka Singing Time Leader. She is truly amazing! In the 2-1/2 years that I've been teaching, I think she has only repeated how she has presented the music two or three times. She always makes singing time interesting!
Yesterday was one of the repeats. She brought a small spray bottle that was about half filled with apple juice. While the children are singing, she looks for an individual who is fully participating and reverent while doing so. When the song was done, she would "wet their whistle." My great-nephew who is 8 and has only been to church a couple of times in his life, but who can read quite well, was singing his heart out along with everyone else.
Last week she had made some butterflies with pipe cleaners and pieces of a gauzy fabric in different colors. She hung the butterflies from the ceiling at varying heights. The teachers were invited to send someone from their class (one class at a time) to pick a butterfly. Each had a song number taped to the back of it. We sang the songs, but she also had created "paddles" with different ways to sing. The one that Isaac remembered best was "Sing like an Opera Star," but she also had "Sing like a Bee" (buzz or hum), "Sing like a Cowboy," and "Sing like a Baby." She allowed the children to decide for themselves just what that meant.
Other times she has divided the group into teams. She drew a playing field for football on the board. She moved a picture of a football up and down the field based on how each team performed. Another time, she hung two strings from one end of the room to the other and had paper boats. Each class was considered its own team and chose a representative. Two at a time, the representatives would compete against each other while the rest of the children sang a song-- the goal was to blow their team's boat from one end of the room to the other. The team that reached the other side first (or got closest to the goal) was declared winner. Another time, they were invited to blow a ping pong ball across a pan of water.
Every week she comes up with something different. I've been in wards where I thought the chorister did a good job. They were always prepared and had visual aids. They even had some "go the extra mile" ways of teaching. I've held the calling myself, but I was young and really had no idea how to make things interesting for the children. I think I'm better at teaching a lesson and probably best at teaching adults. Kathy does such an amazing job, she should probably be out there teaching the rest of us how to do it.
What impresses me most is the thought and effort she puts into filling what many might consider a relatively unimportant position-- assuming that one subscribes to the theory that there is a hierarchy of importance when it comes to church callings. Personally, I find them all challenging. Administrative positions might seem the most important. But, in reality, such callings exist to maintain a sense of order in the various organizations. When we consider the eternal nature of our callings-- it is probably those callings and people who truly touch our hearts and inspire us to follow the example set by Jesus Christ that have are the most influential.
Superheroes don't just preach that "every calling is important." They truly understand that the positions that seem the least important in terms of hierarchy are often the ones that have the greatest impact on the lives of those they serve. They don't care what their calling is; they care about the people they are called to serve. They aren't satisfied with "doing a job." They also know that some days they have more to give than others. They just give their best whatever that may be-- and they appreciate the efforts others make as well.
Yesterday was one of the repeats. She brought a small spray bottle that was about half filled with apple juice. While the children are singing, she looks for an individual who is fully participating and reverent while doing so. When the song was done, she would "wet their whistle." My great-nephew who is 8 and has only been to church a couple of times in his life, but who can read quite well, was singing his heart out along with everyone else.
Last week she had made some butterflies with pipe cleaners and pieces of a gauzy fabric in different colors. She hung the butterflies from the ceiling at varying heights. The teachers were invited to send someone from their class (one class at a time) to pick a butterfly. Each had a song number taped to the back of it. We sang the songs, but she also had created "paddles" with different ways to sing. The one that Isaac remembered best was "Sing like an Opera Star," but she also had "Sing like a Bee" (buzz or hum), "Sing like a Cowboy," and "Sing like a Baby." She allowed the children to decide for themselves just what that meant.
Other times she has divided the group into teams. She drew a playing field for football on the board. She moved a picture of a football up and down the field based on how each team performed. Another time, she hung two strings from one end of the room to the other and had paper boats. Each class was considered its own team and chose a representative. Two at a time, the representatives would compete against each other while the rest of the children sang a song-- the goal was to blow their team's boat from one end of the room to the other. The team that reached the other side first (or got closest to the goal) was declared winner. Another time, they were invited to blow a ping pong ball across a pan of water.
Every week she comes up with something different. I've been in wards where I thought the chorister did a good job. They were always prepared and had visual aids. They even had some "go the extra mile" ways of teaching. I've held the calling myself, but I was young and really had no idea how to make things interesting for the children. I think I'm better at teaching a lesson and probably best at teaching adults. Kathy does such an amazing job, she should probably be out there teaching the rest of us how to do it.
What impresses me most is the thought and effort she puts into filling what many might consider a relatively unimportant position-- assuming that one subscribes to the theory that there is a hierarchy of importance when it comes to church callings. Personally, I find them all challenging. Administrative positions might seem the most important. But, in reality, such callings exist to maintain a sense of order in the various organizations. When we consider the eternal nature of our callings-- it is probably those callings and people who truly touch our hearts and inspire us to follow the example set by Jesus Christ that have are the most influential.
Superheroes don't just preach that "every calling is important." They truly understand that the positions that seem the least important in terms of hierarchy are often the ones that have the greatest impact on the lives of those they serve. They don't care what their calling is; they care about the people they are called to serve. They aren't satisfied with "doing a job." They also know that some days they have more to give than others. They just give their best whatever that may be-- and they appreciate the efforts others make as well.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Normal days
One of the things I am most thankful for are "regular days." Even though today was Saturday, it was filled with lots of activity.
I woke up and took Sammie for a little walk outside. Our yard isn't fenced, so I can't just turn her loose-- she has too many friends in the neighborhood and too much curiosity. I can't trust her to stay in the yard for any length of time.
I don't know what this week will bring-- so I went to work for about 4-1/2 hours. It's kind of nice that the work week runs from Saturday through Friday, so I got a jump start on next week. Plus I'm trying to save all of my vacation and sick leave for when I really need it.
We've been trying to get the basement bathroom finished and needed to buy a toilet and new fixtures for the vanity. I had a toilet and new fixtures but had to return them for various reasons. The tale of the bathroom is too long and convoluted to repeat... but the waste water pipe from the toilet was too close to the wall. One week after having the floor tile laid, the plumber had to pull up 4 tiles from the floor, cut the concrete and dig a 2-ft. cubic hole into the ground to get access to the pipe. He had to install new pipe in order to move it, then refill the hole and pour new concrete. Now we have to lay new tile (fortunately, I had enough tile left over from the job) before the toilet can be installed. The result was that I needed to go shopping.
Mom took Dad and Mari's visiting grandsons, Isaac and Ethan (aged 8 and 4), to the park and then out for frozen custard. That freed Mari up to go with me. We found a toilet that we both liked and a different faucet for the vanity that is close enough to work with the shower fixtures.
More importantly I wanted Mari to see the wig I liked. Now that it's the end of the day, I'm not sure if that was a good thing or not. She liked the shorter wigs better, but I thought they were all a little too top heavy. I didn't like that the shorter wigs tended to draw a visual line across the widest part of my face and didn't have anything to soften my jawline. She also preferred the darker wigs because she felt that I will need to add color to my face. Last time I was so sick that color in my face was totally washed out. She thought the blonde wouldn't provide enough contrast to a pale face. By the time we had been in the store an hour, I didn't like the last week's wig either. I decided to keep looking...
We got home and had pizza for dinner. I spent some time with the boys, read the paper and took Sammie for our evening walk. I read my Scriptures a bit before I got up this morning and look forward to closing out the day in the same way.
I've been busy all day, but it hasn't been a "special" day, just normal activity. No drama. No trauma. Just life and being around people I care about-- and isn't that what life is about?
Superheroes find pleasure in simple day-to-day activities. Life doesn't have to be harried and stressful. The essential tasks for today were accomplished and a few non-essential ones as well. In a few weeks, I may be too tired or too uncomfortable or even too sick to leave the house. I'm just happy to have a regular day!
I woke up and took Sammie for a little walk outside. Our yard isn't fenced, so I can't just turn her loose-- she has too many friends in the neighborhood and too much curiosity. I can't trust her to stay in the yard for any length of time.
I don't know what this week will bring-- so I went to work for about 4-1/2 hours. It's kind of nice that the work week runs from Saturday through Friday, so I got a jump start on next week. Plus I'm trying to save all of my vacation and sick leave for when I really need it.
We've been trying to get the basement bathroom finished and needed to buy a toilet and new fixtures for the vanity. I had a toilet and new fixtures but had to return them for various reasons. The tale of the bathroom is too long and convoluted to repeat... but the waste water pipe from the toilet was too close to the wall. One week after having the floor tile laid, the plumber had to pull up 4 tiles from the floor, cut the concrete and dig a 2-ft. cubic hole into the ground to get access to the pipe. He had to install new pipe in order to move it, then refill the hole and pour new concrete. Now we have to lay new tile (fortunately, I had enough tile left over from the job) before the toilet can be installed. The result was that I needed to go shopping.
Mom took Dad and Mari's visiting grandsons, Isaac and Ethan (aged 8 and 4), to the park and then out for frozen custard. That freed Mari up to go with me. We found a toilet that we both liked and a different faucet for the vanity that is close enough to work with the shower fixtures.
More importantly I wanted Mari to see the wig I liked. Now that it's the end of the day, I'm not sure if that was a good thing or not. She liked the shorter wigs better, but I thought they were all a little too top heavy. I didn't like that the shorter wigs tended to draw a visual line across the widest part of my face and didn't have anything to soften my jawline. She also preferred the darker wigs because she felt that I will need to add color to my face. Last time I was so sick that color in my face was totally washed out. She thought the blonde wouldn't provide enough contrast to a pale face. By the time we had been in the store an hour, I didn't like the last week's wig either. I decided to keep looking...
We got home and had pizza for dinner. I spent some time with the boys, read the paper and took Sammie for our evening walk. I read my Scriptures a bit before I got up this morning and look forward to closing out the day in the same way.
I've been busy all day, but it hasn't been a "special" day, just normal activity. No drama. No trauma. Just life and being around people I care about-- and isn't that what life is about?
Superheroes find pleasure in simple day-to-day activities. Life doesn't have to be harried and stressful. The essential tasks for today were accomplished and a few non-essential ones as well. In a few weeks, I may be too tired or too uncomfortable or even too sick to leave the house. I'm just happy to have a regular day!
Friday, August 14, 2009
Hypochondria
When my father was a small child, he spent lots of time with his maternal grandparents. Whenever he was sick, Nannie would cut oranges into sections (with the rind still on) and sit on the bed feeding them to him. Please understand that my father is disgustingly healthy. He is rarely sick, but when he is, he reverts back to that child. He wants Mom's full attention. My mother, on the other hand, is one of those who goes to bed and just wants to be left alone.
When I'm sick I seem to have been cast in my father's mold. I like having company. As a kid, I would constantly ask Mom to come talk to me, to tell me stories, whatever... I just didn't want her to stray very far from my bed. It was probably frustrating for her because there were so many other children in the house and it was hard to devote any length of time to my need for company.
In our family, childly patients got two special privileges. We got to sleep on the couch AND Mom & Dad would buy 7-Up. Soft drinks were not a staple in our house-- and if we had any, it was often Dad's private stock. Sick kids not only got 7-Up, but the entire bottle (2-liter size) was dedicated to the patient-- no one else got to have any!
When I injure myself, however, my biggest concern is that I don't want to "be a baby about it." In other words, I don't want anyone to think that I'm being overly dramatic about being hurt. When I broke my foot, I did make my roommate take me to the ER because I couldn't put my foot down at all. When I broke my elbow a few years later, however, I drove the 20 miles to home by myself. I had to shift gears with my left hand (extended through the steering wheel). I got home about 10:30 p.m., but waited until about 6:30 a.m. before calling the ER. I wanted to see if a doctor was already there because I didn't want them to call and wake someone up before driving over there. At the time I lived about 8 blocks from the hospital. I don't remember exactly what they told me, but I waited until about 8 a.m. to drive over. In both situations, I kept repeating, "Am I just being a baby about this?" Learning that I really did have broken bones was a great relief to me.
I tell you this because, when one has cancer, the mind plays all kinds of tricks on you. During chemotherapy I discovered that the closer I got to the hospital, the more nauseous I would get. My friend, whose daughter was treated for cancer, warned me that she had seen children vomit in the hospital parkinglot in anticipation of the next treatment. I came to understand that feeling well. Even when the treatments were concluded, it took a long, long time for me to overcome the nausea.
The mind-games didn't end there. For years, every time I experienced even the slightest twinge of abdominal pain, I would think "It's back!" Then I would have to have a little chat with myself, reminding myself that minor aches and pains are a natural part of life.
I came down with the flu in July between the first mammogram and the second. I was out for nearly a week. While I only had a fever for a couple of days, I still have a cough. That's not unusual for me. Also a couple of weeks ago, I got up to go to the bathroom right after turning out the light at bedtime. My eyes hadn't adjusted yet & I missed the bathroom doorway and walked right into the doorjamb and bumped my forehead. I couldn't see a bruise, but my head hurt where I bumped it for a few days afterward.
The past few days there has been a tenderness near my jaw on the right side and I've had a mild headache. I find myself slipping back into those same old thought patterns-- "Oh, there is cancer in the lymph nodes near my right ear" or "I've got brain cancer." The reality is, I don't have brain cancer and the cancerous lymph nodes that were biopsied were on my left side-- the right side was totally clean. I do, however, sometimes sleep in a way that pushes my forehead into the pillow so hard that I wake up with headaches and sometimes even a stiff neck. When I get a cold or flu, the illness may go away, but I often get bronchitis. That didn't happen this time around, but so the tenderness near my jawline could be related to my cough.
Superheroes keep everything in proper perspective. They can differentiate between extreme circumstances that require dramatic action and those that are just part of the daily routine-- and they respond appropriately. When the impulse to overact hits, they have devised strategies to calm themselves so that they can evaluate the situation and create a plan for action. Sometimes I just have to have a little chat with myself to bring my blood pressure back to normal.
When I'm sick I seem to have been cast in my father's mold. I like having company. As a kid, I would constantly ask Mom to come talk to me, to tell me stories, whatever... I just didn't want her to stray very far from my bed. It was probably frustrating for her because there were so many other children in the house and it was hard to devote any length of time to my need for company.
In our family, childly patients got two special privileges. We got to sleep on the couch AND Mom & Dad would buy 7-Up. Soft drinks were not a staple in our house-- and if we had any, it was often Dad's private stock. Sick kids not only got 7-Up, but the entire bottle (2-liter size) was dedicated to the patient-- no one else got to have any!
When I injure myself, however, my biggest concern is that I don't want to "be a baby about it." In other words, I don't want anyone to think that I'm being overly dramatic about being hurt. When I broke my foot, I did make my roommate take me to the ER because I couldn't put my foot down at all. When I broke my elbow a few years later, however, I drove the 20 miles to home by myself. I had to shift gears with my left hand (extended through the steering wheel). I got home about 10:30 p.m., but waited until about 6:30 a.m. before calling the ER. I wanted to see if a doctor was already there because I didn't want them to call and wake someone up before driving over there. At the time I lived about 8 blocks from the hospital. I don't remember exactly what they told me, but I waited until about 8 a.m. to drive over. In both situations, I kept repeating, "Am I just being a baby about this?" Learning that I really did have broken bones was a great relief to me.
I tell you this because, when one has cancer, the mind plays all kinds of tricks on you. During chemotherapy I discovered that the closer I got to the hospital, the more nauseous I would get. My friend, whose daughter was treated for cancer, warned me that she had seen children vomit in the hospital parkinglot in anticipation of the next treatment. I came to understand that feeling well. Even when the treatments were concluded, it took a long, long time for me to overcome the nausea.
The mind-games didn't end there. For years, every time I experienced even the slightest twinge of abdominal pain, I would think "It's back!" Then I would have to have a little chat with myself, reminding myself that minor aches and pains are a natural part of life.
I came down with the flu in July between the first mammogram and the second. I was out for nearly a week. While I only had a fever for a couple of days, I still have a cough. That's not unusual for me. Also a couple of weeks ago, I got up to go to the bathroom right after turning out the light at bedtime. My eyes hadn't adjusted yet & I missed the bathroom doorway and walked right into the doorjamb and bumped my forehead. I couldn't see a bruise, but my head hurt where I bumped it for a few days afterward.
The past few days there has been a tenderness near my jaw on the right side and I've had a mild headache. I find myself slipping back into those same old thought patterns-- "Oh, there is cancer in the lymph nodes near my right ear" or "I've got brain cancer." The reality is, I don't have brain cancer and the cancerous lymph nodes that were biopsied were on my left side-- the right side was totally clean. I do, however, sometimes sleep in a way that pushes my forehead into the pillow so hard that I wake up with headaches and sometimes even a stiff neck. When I get a cold or flu, the illness may go away, but I often get bronchitis. That didn't happen this time around, but so the tenderness near my jawline could be related to my cough.
Superheroes keep everything in proper perspective. They can differentiate between extreme circumstances that require dramatic action and those that are just part of the daily routine-- and they respond appropriately. When the impulse to overact hits, they have devised strategies to calm themselves so that they can evaluate the situation and create a plan for action. Sometimes I just have to have a little chat with myself to bring my blood pressure back to normal.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Good news!
Good news is obviously relative, but we'll take good news wherever we can find it!
Shawn met with the cardiologist today and is much relieved. The doctor met him in the hallway with a serious look on his face. When he spoke, his first words were "You are lucky to be alive."
I thought Shawn had hurt his knee, but I was wrong or hadn't heard all of the details. The doctor asked him what happened in mid-July. Shawn couldn't remember anything happening then. He went back to when he hurt his foot in early June. He was running at the high school track preparing for the next marathon, when he somehow hurt his foot. His heel and part of his foot got swollen and turned very black and blue and had difficulty walking. The doctor says that's when Shawn's problems started.
Shawn waited about 6 weeks (until mid-July) before he tried running again. When he tried, he couldn't get 600 yards without being short of breath. He tried walking 200 yards and then running again-- and couldn't do it. He was so short of breath that he couldn't even walk from his desk at work to the next desk. He waited a few days and tried again, and was still having breathing problems, so he decided to try biking for a few more days. The doctor says at that point most people just drop dead.
Turns out that he developed blood clots in his foot. When he tried to run again, he apparently dislodged the clots. His shortness of breath was because the clots had migrated into his lungs. It's at that point that most people die. Somehow Shawn's life has been preserved-- and we are grateful!
He started on a blood thinner today and they will monitor his condition for the next 6 months.
There are a couple of blessings here... First, he's still alive! Second, he won't need surgery, he just needs medication. Third, the doctor said that if Shawn hadn't had the angiogram on Monday, they would never have discovered the blood clots because they don't show up in the other tests. Without the angiogram, the doctor would have been assuring him that everything was just fine and he was OK to resume his running schedule-- and really run the risk of dying.
My MRI-guided biopsy was fairly painless today. Hopefully the spot they tested will prove to be the source of my cancer. The results should be in on Monday and we'll take things from there.
Superheroes accept small victories with the same grace as large ones-- and they are recognize them as the tender mercies from God that they are. They understand that we make our lives more difficult than they need to be when we concentrate our attention on the traumas of life. We can choose a mind-set that looks for the good in people, in experiences, even in the trials of life-- and will find that we are never disappointed, because there is always something good to find.
Today has been a good day!
Shawn met with the cardiologist today and is much relieved. The doctor met him in the hallway with a serious look on his face. When he spoke, his first words were "You are lucky to be alive."
I thought Shawn had hurt his knee, but I was wrong or hadn't heard all of the details. The doctor asked him what happened in mid-July. Shawn couldn't remember anything happening then. He went back to when he hurt his foot in early June. He was running at the high school track preparing for the next marathon, when he somehow hurt his foot. His heel and part of his foot got swollen and turned very black and blue and had difficulty walking. The doctor says that's when Shawn's problems started.
Shawn waited about 6 weeks (until mid-July) before he tried running again. When he tried, he couldn't get 600 yards without being short of breath. He tried walking 200 yards and then running again-- and couldn't do it. He was so short of breath that he couldn't even walk from his desk at work to the next desk. He waited a few days and tried again, and was still having breathing problems, so he decided to try biking for a few more days. The doctor says at that point most people just drop dead.
Turns out that he developed blood clots in his foot. When he tried to run again, he apparently dislodged the clots. His shortness of breath was because the clots had migrated into his lungs. It's at that point that most people die. Somehow Shawn's life has been preserved-- and we are grateful!
He started on a blood thinner today and they will monitor his condition for the next 6 months.
There are a couple of blessings here... First, he's still alive! Second, he won't need surgery, he just needs medication. Third, the doctor said that if Shawn hadn't had the angiogram on Monday, they would never have discovered the blood clots because they don't show up in the other tests. Without the angiogram, the doctor would have been assuring him that everything was just fine and he was OK to resume his running schedule-- and really run the risk of dying.
My MRI-guided biopsy was fairly painless today. Hopefully the spot they tested will prove to be the source of my cancer. The results should be in on Monday and we'll take things from there.
Superheroes accept small victories with the same grace as large ones-- and they are recognize them as the tender mercies from God that they are. They understand that we make our lives more difficult than they need to be when we concentrate our attention on the traumas of life. We can choose a mind-set that looks for the good in people, in experiences, even in the trials of life-- and will find that we are never disappointed, because there is always something good to find.
Today has been a good day!
Reconsideration
I’ve spent the past few days pondering about my decision to keep my situation from my co-workers. In doing so, I’m wondering if I’m punishing them for sins that aren’t theirs.
I grew up in a loving and safe environment. It wasn’t perfect, but I grew up believing that everyone was good. I had no reason to believe that anyone would deliberately lie to me or hurt me, either physically or emotionally. I was yelled at upon occasion, but the yelling was situational in nature, not mean-spirited or the kind that damages one’s psyche. I loved everyone, and I believed that they all loved me in return.
I grew up with a naturally open and cheerful nature. I loved people and my only goal in life was (and still is) to make someone’s life better. In other words, I want to help, to nurture, to make another’s life easier. My desire was not to be the center of everyone’s attention; I wanted to bring the light of the gospel into the lives of everyone I encountered. I wanted people to look beyond me to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, the source of all that I was, am and hope to be. I also didn’t fully comprehend that what constitutes “help” can be very different from one person to the next.
I wasn’t naïve enough to believe that everyone was my best friend. I generally avoided dangerous environments or situations where I might encounter predatory people or the kind who might lead me into the darkened corners of life. I was also sufficiently mature to understand that there are many social cliques and that I didn’t need to be part of them all. There are many levels of friendship—from acquaintances to the closest of friends and family. In essence, I believed that everyone’s intentions were/are good.
But the two years prior to my first bout with cancer were the most difficult years of my entire life—even twenty plus years later that is true. In welcoming everyone into my life, I also believed that no one would deliberately do anything wrong. If they made a mistake, it was accidental, unintentional or just plain because they didn’t know any better. This is important because I worked in a department with a high rate of turnover. I had written most of the training materials and had the greatest longevity. While I cannot be sure, I think I may have been a little insensitive and I offended one of my co-workers over what I may have considered training issue. Regardless, she took a great disliking to me.
I don’t know all that happened, but I became to subject of harassment. Other people would go to my boss and tell him that there was a problem, but he couldn’t believe that people would act that way either. I became more and more defensive, convincing myself that I was strong and could not be driven out. Things finally changed one day when an email message from one co-worker to another was mis-addressed and bounced to the mainframe downstairs. The end result was I was told that the people involved had been placed on probation, that the situation threatened not only their employment, but their eternal salvation. It was at that point that I felt like my good name was finally being restored to me. But the hostility was not eliminated; it was just suppressed. When one is the target for so long, one begins to see darts, arrows and ulterior motives everywhere; instead of looking for joy, one looks for the next hurt.
At the same time, I had a new roommate. I thought I knew her fairly well before we moved into a new apartment. She was going through a rough patch in her own life at the time. What we didn’t know was that our personalities were sufficiently different that we should have maintained the visiting teacher-teachee relationship we had. We never jelled as roommates. In fact, our home environment was sufficiently rocky that I felt like I couldn’t go home. When, at the last minute, I had to cancel my vacation, I spent the week sleeping in my car in parking lots and rest stops along the freeway rather than go home.
Between work and home, I had no place that felt like a refuge. I was emotionally spent. On a personal level, having cancer was physically difficult, but it gave me the time and the space to emotionally regroup. I was able to spend that time with people who loved me—family and some very special friends who opened their home to me. In some respects, I am still trying to restore the sunnier parts of my personality, the part that loves and trusts people, from those earlier days.
Superheroes know the importance of forgiving and being forgiven. They are aware of their relationships with others and willing to make the effort to maintain them. Sometimes they have to take the initiative to ask, in non-confrontive ways, “have I done something to offend you?” or to say “It hurts me when …” Having thus opened the discussion, they then work toward a mutually acceptable solution.
I wasn’t brave enough to ask the questions face-to-face. I opted for notes, offering my apologies and asking for help so that I could change. I opened the door—for my own repentance and for reconciliation. Unfortunately, nothing ever came of it. I couldn’t control her choices in the reconciliation process; I could only feel as though I had tried to make it better. It wasn’t until many years later that I began to see where I might have offended, but I can never be sure if my suppositions are accurate.
I’ve been asking myself if I am denying my co-workers the blessing of showing their best selves because I am unwilling to share that I have cancer again. If so, have I really forgiven those who have hurt me in the past? Is that why the Savior said that, if we cannot forgive, we carry the greater sin? Because we are denying another the chance to repent and make a course correction that will bring them closer to Him. If we don’t know we’re doing something wrong or that hurts another, how can we possibly fix it?
At the moment, there are still too many questions while they are still looking for the source. Tomorrow I’m having an MRI-guided biopsy to see if a questionable location that showed up in the last MRI is the source. I think I might start letting more people know what’s going on when my surgery is scheduled. (P.S. I met with the surgeon on Monday and really liked her!)
I grew up in a loving and safe environment. It wasn’t perfect, but I grew up believing that everyone was good. I had no reason to believe that anyone would deliberately lie to me or hurt me, either physically or emotionally. I was yelled at upon occasion, but the yelling was situational in nature, not mean-spirited or the kind that damages one’s psyche. I loved everyone, and I believed that they all loved me in return.
I grew up with a naturally open and cheerful nature. I loved people and my only goal in life was (and still is) to make someone’s life better. In other words, I want to help, to nurture, to make another’s life easier. My desire was not to be the center of everyone’s attention; I wanted to bring the light of the gospel into the lives of everyone I encountered. I wanted people to look beyond me to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, the source of all that I was, am and hope to be. I also didn’t fully comprehend that what constitutes “help” can be very different from one person to the next.
I wasn’t naïve enough to believe that everyone was my best friend. I generally avoided dangerous environments or situations where I might encounter predatory people or the kind who might lead me into the darkened corners of life. I was also sufficiently mature to understand that there are many social cliques and that I didn’t need to be part of them all. There are many levels of friendship—from acquaintances to the closest of friends and family. In essence, I believed that everyone’s intentions were/are good.
But the two years prior to my first bout with cancer were the most difficult years of my entire life—even twenty plus years later that is true. In welcoming everyone into my life, I also believed that no one would deliberately do anything wrong. If they made a mistake, it was accidental, unintentional or just plain because they didn’t know any better. This is important because I worked in a department with a high rate of turnover. I had written most of the training materials and had the greatest longevity. While I cannot be sure, I think I may have been a little insensitive and I offended one of my co-workers over what I may have considered training issue. Regardless, she took a great disliking to me.
I don’t know all that happened, but I became to subject of harassment. Other people would go to my boss and tell him that there was a problem, but he couldn’t believe that people would act that way either. I became more and more defensive, convincing myself that I was strong and could not be driven out. Things finally changed one day when an email message from one co-worker to another was mis-addressed and bounced to the mainframe downstairs. The end result was I was told that the people involved had been placed on probation, that the situation threatened not only their employment, but their eternal salvation. It was at that point that I felt like my good name was finally being restored to me. But the hostility was not eliminated; it was just suppressed. When one is the target for so long, one begins to see darts, arrows and ulterior motives everywhere; instead of looking for joy, one looks for the next hurt.
At the same time, I had a new roommate. I thought I knew her fairly well before we moved into a new apartment. She was going through a rough patch in her own life at the time. What we didn’t know was that our personalities were sufficiently different that we should have maintained the visiting teacher-teachee relationship we had. We never jelled as roommates. In fact, our home environment was sufficiently rocky that I felt like I couldn’t go home. When, at the last minute, I had to cancel my vacation, I spent the week sleeping in my car in parking lots and rest stops along the freeway rather than go home.
Between work and home, I had no place that felt like a refuge. I was emotionally spent. On a personal level, having cancer was physically difficult, but it gave me the time and the space to emotionally regroup. I was able to spend that time with people who loved me—family and some very special friends who opened their home to me. In some respects, I am still trying to restore the sunnier parts of my personality, the part that loves and trusts people, from those earlier days.
Superheroes know the importance of forgiving and being forgiven. They are aware of their relationships with others and willing to make the effort to maintain them. Sometimes they have to take the initiative to ask, in non-confrontive ways, “have I done something to offend you?” or to say “It hurts me when …” Having thus opened the discussion, they then work toward a mutually acceptable solution.
I wasn’t brave enough to ask the questions face-to-face. I opted for notes, offering my apologies and asking for help so that I could change. I opened the door—for my own repentance and for reconciliation. Unfortunately, nothing ever came of it. I couldn’t control her choices in the reconciliation process; I could only feel as though I had tried to make it better. It wasn’t until many years later that I began to see where I might have offended, but I can never be sure if my suppositions are accurate.
I’ve been asking myself if I am denying my co-workers the blessing of showing their best selves because I am unwilling to share that I have cancer again. If so, have I really forgiven those who have hurt me in the past? Is that why the Savior said that, if we cannot forgive, we carry the greater sin? Because we are denying another the chance to repent and make a course correction that will bring them closer to Him. If we don’t know we’re doing something wrong or that hurts another, how can we possibly fix it?
At the moment, there are still too many questions while they are still looking for the source. Tomorrow I’m having an MRI-guided biopsy to see if a questionable location that showed up in the last MRI is the source. I think I might start letting more people know what’s going on when my surgery is scheduled. (P.S. I met with the surgeon on Monday and really liked her!)
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Delays
I've spent most of the day trying to post my latest blog entry. Unfortunately, I was never able to access my blog-- I kept getting error messages. I will try to post it tomorrow.
The latest is that the MRI identified a possible source for my cancer. So tomorrow I am scheduled for an MRI-guided biopsy. I'm not sure if that means they will use the results of last week's MRI to point them to where to "drill" or they will do a new MRI to point to where to take the biopsy. I guess I'll find out tomorrow.
It's kind of interesting to talk to my brother, Shawn. On Monday we both were meeting with doctors. I was meeting with my new surgeon and Shawn was scheduled for an angiogram.
Up until two months ago, Shawn was running every day and biking. He was running around 18 miles a week and doing half-marathons. Then he hurt his knee and couldn't run for 6 weeks. His knee healed, but he was having difficulty running even 600 yards without stopping for breath. In the past few weeks, he's had an EKG and a stress test. Monday he had an angiogram and now the cardiologist wants to see him tomorrow to go over the results. He's thinking that approach does not sound promising.
So, we are comparing doctor visits. I really like the surgeon I was referred to. Her name is Teresa Reading. What I most appreciate about our visit was that it truly was a "consultation." She has a friendly, even collaborative approach, even though the results from the MRI were still not in. She answered my questions. She outlined the most likely options (assuming I have breast cancer) and I explained what my preferences were. When I was finished, she said, "I think that's a good choice"-- or words to that effect. She probably would have said the same regardless of what I said, but I left feeling like we were truly working together.
It is crucial to find a doctor that you trust. I particularly appreciate a doctor who is unfraid to say "I don't know, but we'll find out." One of my friends says that "Arrogance 101" is required for all medical students. I think there's a difference between confidence and arrogance. Dr. Reading exuded confidence, but seemed totally devoid of arrogance. She treated me as though I had some degree of intelligence and that my input into the decision-making process carried the same weight as hers.
Shawn likes his family physician. Some of the doctors he's dealt with lately, however, seem to maintain a strict boundary between doctor and patient. Doctors are allowed into the information loop, but information is doled out to patients on a "need-to-know" basis. Doctors dictate to patients and patients comply.
Superheroes may have specialized skills and experience, but they understand that people have a right to make informed decisions. They aren't afraid to share information. I'm so grateful to have doctors who see me as part of the team, particularly when making decisions about my life. We'll wait and see if future dealings with Shawn's doctors will cause him to revise his first impressions-- if they will let him make the decisions about his future or if they will dictate what his future will be. More later...
The latest is that the MRI identified a possible source for my cancer. So tomorrow I am scheduled for an MRI-guided biopsy. I'm not sure if that means they will use the results of last week's MRI to point them to where to "drill" or they will do a new MRI to point to where to take the biopsy. I guess I'll find out tomorrow.
It's kind of interesting to talk to my brother, Shawn. On Monday we both were meeting with doctors. I was meeting with my new surgeon and Shawn was scheduled for an angiogram.
Up until two months ago, Shawn was running every day and biking. He was running around 18 miles a week and doing half-marathons. Then he hurt his knee and couldn't run for 6 weeks. His knee healed, but he was having difficulty running even 600 yards without stopping for breath. In the past few weeks, he's had an EKG and a stress test. Monday he had an angiogram and now the cardiologist wants to see him tomorrow to go over the results. He's thinking that approach does not sound promising.
So, we are comparing doctor visits. I really like the surgeon I was referred to. Her name is Teresa Reading. What I most appreciate about our visit was that it truly was a "consultation." She has a friendly, even collaborative approach, even though the results from the MRI were still not in. She answered my questions. She outlined the most likely options (assuming I have breast cancer) and I explained what my preferences were. When I was finished, she said, "I think that's a good choice"-- or words to that effect. She probably would have said the same regardless of what I said, but I left feeling like we were truly working together.
It is crucial to find a doctor that you trust. I particularly appreciate a doctor who is unfraid to say "I don't know, but we'll find out." One of my friends says that "Arrogance 101" is required for all medical students. I think there's a difference between confidence and arrogance. Dr. Reading exuded confidence, but seemed totally devoid of arrogance. She treated me as though I had some degree of intelligence and that my input into the decision-making process carried the same weight as hers.
Shawn likes his family physician. Some of the doctors he's dealt with lately, however, seem to maintain a strict boundary between doctor and patient. Doctors are allowed into the information loop, but information is doled out to patients on a "need-to-know" basis. Doctors dictate to patients and patients comply.
Superheroes may have specialized skills and experience, but they understand that people have a right to make informed decisions. They aren't afraid to share information. I'm so grateful to have doctors who see me as part of the team, particularly when making decisions about my life. We'll wait and see if future dealings with Shawn's doctors will cause him to revise his first impressions-- if they will let him make the decisions about his future or if they will dictate what his future will be. More later...
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Privacy versus secrecy
I've been trying to decide who to tell about my cancer and what/how much to say. I don't see myself as being particularly secretive, but I'm not quite as clearcut about where my privacy boundaries are.
I've always felt that my life was an open book. I'm not the type to commit any grievous sin-- I couldn't live with the guilt. I would never deliberately do anything to hurt or embarrass anyone, particularly my parents. Nor am I a great risk-taker-- and I have observed enough unpleasant consequences to convince me that I should avoid certain types of behavior.
At the same time, I have maintained some personal boundaries, i.e., information that has remained close to my heart. Some things have been shared only with the closest friends and family members. But when I look at my past, I wonder if I have been somewhat inconsistent in how I have applied my privacy policy.
Have I shared things that were better kept between God and me? Since I've never married, I don't have to worry about having shared with others things best kept between my and my (nonexistent) spouse. But were there others that should have been kept within my family? Sometimes when we are too open, we place a burden on others who may not value our experiences or insights as we do. Would it have been better to keep our own counsel rather than open our lives to criticism or ridicule?
MYOB is the catch-phrase for some parents-- "Mind your own business." That's pretty hard to teach when we live in a society that is so "in your face." Blogging is just one example. On the one hand, blogging seems extremely egotistic. On the other hand, who cares what I think or what is going on in my life. But the very fact that I am writing this makes it difficult for those who read my blog to mind their own business. I am making my life their vicarous business.
I'm guessing here, but I think Superheroes know where the boundaries lie that define what kinds of information and how much to share. Besides content, they must also know how to control the flow of information, i.e., who to tell and what venues to use. They know that once information is shared, it can no longer be controlled-- particularly in a digital form.
For now, I've told a few of my neighbors with whom I associate on a regular basis-- at home and at church: my teaching partner in Primary who may have to cover for me at the last minute; the Primary President who may have to replace me sooner rather than later, and some others who may be affected by the changes in my life. It's not that I mind telling others, in fact I may need their support. I just don't want to burden others with the intimate details of my life. Some people are very uncomfortable with thoughts of cancer.
I've only told three people at work: my immediate supervisor for obvious reasons and two co-workers because we've been friends and a support system for each other well beyond our working environment for many years. My plan is NOT to tell anyone else until I absolutely must. Fortunately my current assignment allows me some degree of flexibility. I'm hoping that I will be able to continue working, even though my schedule may become a bit erratic. I prefer, however, not to become grist for the gossip mill-- and believe me, there is one. So, for now, I'm only telling people at work on a "need-to-know" basis.
I've told a few other friends, but not all of my closest friends because I still know so little myself. The paradox is that I'm sharing my condition with the whole world using this particular venue. Truthfully, I doubt anyone is reading this (or very few anyway), but the fact that this blog is available via the Web seems a little counterintuitive. I'm telling the world what I'm not willing to share with some of those who see me on virtually a daily basis.
Superheroes must be more consistent. As for me, I'm still working on it.
I've always felt that my life was an open book. I'm not the type to commit any grievous sin-- I couldn't live with the guilt. I would never deliberately do anything to hurt or embarrass anyone, particularly my parents. Nor am I a great risk-taker-- and I have observed enough unpleasant consequences to convince me that I should avoid certain types of behavior.
At the same time, I have maintained some personal boundaries, i.e., information that has remained close to my heart. Some things have been shared only with the closest friends and family members. But when I look at my past, I wonder if I have been somewhat inconsistent in how I have applied my privacy policy.
Have I shared things that were better kept between God and me? Since I've never married, I don't have to worry about having shared with others things best kept between my and my (nonexistent) spouse. But were there others that should have been kept within my family? Sometimes when we are too open, we place a burden on others who may not value our experiences or insights as we do. Would it have been better to keep our own counsel rather than open our lives to criticism or ridicule?
MYOB is the catch-phrase for some parents-- "Mind your own business." That's pretty hard to teach when we live in a society that is so "in your face." Blogging is just one example. On the one hand, blogging seems extremely egotistic. On the other hand, who cares what I think or what is going on in my life. But the very fact that I am writing this makes it difficult for those who read my blog to mind their own business. I am making my life their vicarous business.
I'm guessing here, but I think Superheroes know where the boundaries lie that define what kinds of information and how much to share. Besides content, they must also know how to control the flow of information, i.e., who to tell and what venues to use. They know that once information is shared, it can no longer be controlled-- particularly in a digital form.
For now, I've told a few of my neighbors with whom I associate on a regular basis-- at home and at church: my teaching partner in Primary who may have to cover for me at the last minute; the Primary President who may have to replace me sooner rather than later, and some others who may be affected by the changes in my life. It's not that I mind telling others, in fact I may need their support. I just don't want to burden others with the intimate details of my life. Some people are very uncomfortable with thoughts of cancer.
I've only told three people at work: my immediate supervisor for obvious reasons and two co-workers because we've been friends and a support system for each other well beyond our working environment for many years. My plan is NOT to tell anyone else until I absolutely must. Fortunately my current assignment allows me some degree of flexibility. I'm hoping that I will be able to continue working, even though my schedule may become a bit erratic. I prefer, however, not to become grist for the gossip mill-- and believe me, there is one. So, for now, I'm only telling people at work on a "need-to-know" basis.
I've told a few other friends, but not all of my closest friends because I still know so little myself. The paradox is that I'm sharing my condition with the whole world using this particular venue. Truthfully, I doubt anyone is reading this (or very few anyway), but the fact that this blog is available via the Web seems a little counterintuitive. I'm telling the world what I'm not willing to share with some of those who see me on virtually a daily basis.
Superheroes must be more consistent. As for me, I'm still working on it.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Haircuts and new hair
Today I had a hair appointment. As I thought about it last night, I realized that there is a good chance that I will lose my hair again. I wondered if I should cut my hair short so that I could get accustomed to it in case it all fell out.
Last time around, the most traumatic part of the whole cancer experience was the thought of losing my hair. The doctor told me that it would probably be gone two weeks after starting chemo. So I rushed right out to buy a wig. I could find a color I liked or a style I liked-- but never a wig that had both style and color. I cried through the whole time. The saleslady kept assuring me that she could always special order one for me-- it would only take 6-8 weeks. I tearfully explained that I couldn't wait that long. I would be bald in two weeks. In the end, I settled for something that I didn't particularly like because it seemed the only available option.
When I was in my late teens I bought a wig just for the fun of it. It was kind of exciting to change my haircolor and style for a day and then be my normal self the next day. It's a totally different experience when one has to make a choice that cannot be changed for an extended period of time. For women, hair is an important part of their personal self-image. We may tinker with the style and color-- but we always know that whatever we've got is all ours.
When one has cancer, the choices are more limited. Truthfully, my hair stuck around long enough that, by the time it was totally gone, I was so sick I couldn't have cared less about being bald. But there are things that no one ever tells you.
No one warned me that I would find the wig uncomfortable to wear. When one wears a wig for fun, they always have their own hair to shield their scalp. When one is bald, there is no such protection. That's important because there is nothing to anchor the wig in place. I bought a wig with a part-- and the wig kept slipping so that the part kept moving to a weird place. The hair, whether human or artificial in nature, isn't bonded to the cap-- the hair strands are sewn onto the cap. Back then, it was sewn with a plastic thread-- and it itched!!! I was constantly shifting it and sometimes it went beyond the point of itching to being downright painful to leave on my head. I don't know if it was an option 23 years ago, but today I learned that one can buy a stocking cap to wear underneath the wig. That certainly makes a difference!
I spent an hour or so at the mall this afternoon wig shopping. The store didn't have a huge inventory, but it was enough that I found one wig with a style fairly close to my own and in a color that was attractive. I tried on a total about about 8 wigs. Some were in colors quite different from my own natural color. Others had styles quite different from what I usually wear-- some were shorter, others quite long; some had short layers around the face, others were smooth. The saleslady was quite helpful-- she didn't leave me to plop it on my head, but helped to position it and arrange it before putting me in front of the mirror. It was actually kind of fun. It was reassuring to know that this time around I had options.
Superheroes don't allow themselves to feel cornered. They consider their options and weigh the consequences before making a decision. Even when a quick decision is required, they train their minds to relax. They know that a frenzied mind often leads to poor decision-making. The first time around, I chose a wig that I never liked. Ultimately, I didn't wear it very much. If I needed something to cover my head, I tended to wear a scarf. It's not like I ever really went anywhere except to the doctor's office or the hospital. Occasionally I went for a ride in the car, but never got out of the car. It got to the point that I would answer the door in my bald head because it was too hard to cover my head.
Superheroes also learn from their experiences-- even the bad ones. I found myself looking at bald heads in new and different ways. I learned that men don't have to worry about losing their hair. Men are often more attractive when they lose their hair. Instead of seeing hair, one focuses more attention on the man himself-- his beautiful eyes, his strong bone structure. Bald women, on the other hand, usually just look weird. Women rarely have a beautifully shaped head-- there are flat spots or bumps, one tends to notice flaws rather than the beauty of individual facial features. Perhaps that was a mistake on my part-- but it was definitely how I felt about it then. I also discovered that whenever I saw someone with a closely shaved head, I automatically assumed that they had cancer.
Think I might just go back and buy that wig. I just wanted a chance to go home and do a quick Internet search first. I just have to remind myself that I'm not very good at visualizing things without actually seeing them. In other words, things that look good on the hanger, rarely look as good when I see them on my body. A color or style that I think might look flattering in my imagination rarely does in reality. I have to actually see it on myself before I can make an accurate judgment. Maybe I should shop for another day or two.
Last time around, the most traumatic part of the whole cancer experience was the thought of losing my hair. The doctor told me that it would probably be gone two weeks after starting chemo. So I rushed right out to buy a wig. I could find a color I liked or a style I liked-- but never a wig that had both style and color. I cried through the whole time. The saleslady kept assuring me that she could always special order one for me-- it would only take 6-8 weeks. I tearfully explained that I couldn't wait that long. I would be bald in two weeks. In the end, I settled for something that I didn't particularly like because it seemed the only available option.
When I was in my late teens I bought a wig just for the fun of it. It was kind of exciting to change my haircolor and style for a day and then be my normal self the next day. It's a totally different experience when one has to make a choice that cannot be changed for an extended period of time. For women, hair is an important part of their personal self-image. We may tinker with the style and color-- but we always know that whatever we've got is all ours.
When one has cancer, the choices are more limited. Truthfully, my hair stuck around long enough that, by the time it was totally gone, I was so sick I couldn't have cared less about being bald. But there are things that no one ever tells you.
No one warned me that I would find the wig uncomfortable to wear. When one wears a wig for fun, they always have their own hair to shield their scalp. When one is bald, there is no such protection. That's important because there is nothing to anchor the wig in place. I bought a wig with a part-- and the wig kept slipping so that the part kept moving to a weird place. The hair, whether human or artificial in nature, isn't bonded to the cap-- the hair strands are sewn onto the cap. Back then, it was sewn with a plastic thread-- and it itched!!! I was constantly shifting it and sometimes it went beyond the point of itching to being downright painful to leave on my head. I don't know if it was an option 23 years ago, but today I learned that one can buy a stocking cap to wear underneath the wig. That certainly makes a difference!
I spent an hour or so at the mall this afternoon wig shopping. The store didn't have a huge inventory, but it was enough that I found one wig with a style fairly close to my own and in a color that was attractive. I tried on a total about about 8 wigs. Some were in colors quite different from my own natural color. Others had styles quite different from what I usually wear-- some were shorter, others quite long; some had short layers around the face, others were smooth. The saleslady was quite helpful-- she didn't leave me to plop it on my head, but helped to position it and arrange it before putting me in front of the mirror. It was actually kind of fun. It was reassuring to know that this time around I had options.
Superheroes don't allow themselves to feel cornered. They consider their options and weigh the consequences before making a decision. Even when a quick decision is required, they train their minds to relax. They know that a frenzied mind often leads to poor decision-making. The first time around, I chose a wig that I never liked. Ultimately, I didn't wear it very much. If I needed something to cover my head, I tended to wear a scarf. It's not like I ever really went anywhere except to the doctor's office or the hospital. Occasionally I went for a ride in the car, but never got out of the car. It got to the point that I would answer the door in my bald head because it was too hard to cover my head.
Superheroes also learn from their experiences-- even the bad ones. I found myself looking at bald heads in new and different ways. I learned that men don't have to worry about losing their hair. Men are often more attractive when they lose their hair. Instead of seeing hair, one focuses more attention on the man himself-- his beautiful eyes, his strong bone structure. Bald women, on the other hand, usually just look weird. Women rarely have a beautifully shaped head-- there are flat spots or bumps, one tends to notice flaws rather than the beauty of individual facial features. Perhaps that was a mistake on my part-- but it was definitely how I felt about it then. I also discovered that whenever I saw someone with a closely shaved head, I automatically assumed that they had cancer.
Think I might just go back and buy that wig. I just wanted a chance to go home and do a quick Internet search first. I just have to remind myself that I'm not very good at visualizing things without actually seeing them. In other words, things that look good on the hanger, rarely look as good when I see them on my body. A color or style that I think might look flattering in my imagination rarely does in reality. I have to actually see it on myself before I can make an accurate judgment. Maybe I should shop for another day or two.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Cancer
Three weeks ago my life was pretty normal. On Monday, July 16th I had my annual mammogram. A few days later I got a phone call telling me that they wanted to do a few more pictures and set an appointment for Monday the 27th. No problems.
On the 27th, they ended up doing another mammogram, an ultrasound and, with permission from my primary care physician, a biopsy. Two days later, on the 29th, I found out that the biopsy was cancerous. Apparently my doctor was out of the office that day, so I had called the clinic where they did the 2nd biopsy for the news.
I think the radiologist expected me to fall apart. Not so. I have no fear of cancer-- been there, done that. The dilemma is that the cancer has spread to my lymph nodes, but they couldn't establish a point of origin. I was scheduled for an MRI this past Wednesday (the 5th) in hopes of finding the source. I've also got an appointment with a surgeon for this coming Monday.
It was August 1986 when I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer-- almost 23 years to the day. At this point, the pathologist could not say for certain whether this cancer is ovarian or breast in origin. Regardless, I was only scheduled for a chest MRI. Hopefully the surgeon will have a few more answers.
The hospital system has a really aggressive outreach program. A social worker-type called me Tuesday to answer any questions I might have and to offer literature to help me deal with all of the terminology that will be thrown my way. I keep telling people that I'm fine. Hey, I had two surgeries and months of chemotherapy. Last time around my constant companion was a plastic 5-gallon ice cream container-- the proverbial "spit" bucket because I spent so much of my time vomiting. My chemo regimen was hard, but times have changed. I've seen some people keep a draining chemo schedule, but still maintain some semblance of a normal life. I don't know if they were just extraordinarily brave or if medicine has made amazing advances in the last 20+ years. Either way, my future remains bright.
If I learned anything from my first experience with cancer, is that it was worth the price. So many lives were blessed as a result, including my own. I walked away from that experience saying that I wouldn't necessarily ask for it, but if Heavenly Father ever asked me to have cancer again, I was willing. My feelings have not changed.
Superheroes aren't afraid of hard things. They know that life did not begin at birth and it won't end with death. They also know that everyone has trials of one kind or another-- some are just more visible than others. They understand that this life is a test. Any well-constructed test should require those who take it to stretch their mastery of the subject-area. I know that God will not ask more of me than I can handle. So, we'll see where this particular test leads...
On the 27th, they ended up doing another mammogram, an ultrasound and, with permission from my primary care physician, a biopsy. Two days later, on the 29th, I found out that the biopsy was cancerous. Apparently my doctor was out of the office that day, so I had called the clinic where they did the 2nd biopsy for the news.
I think the radiologist expected me to fall apart. Not so. I have no fear of cancer-- been there, done that. The dilemma is that the cancer has spread to my lymph nodes, but they couldn't establish a point of origin. I was scheduled for an MRI this past Wednesday (the 5th) in hopes of finding the source. I've also got an appointment with a surgeon for this coming Monday.
It was August 1986 when I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer-- almost 23 years to the day. At this point, the pathologist could not say for certain whether this cancer is ovarian or breast in origin. Regardless, I was only scheduled for a chest MRI. Hopefully the surgeon will have a few more answers.
The hospital system has a really aggressive outreach program. A social worker-type called me Tuesday to answer any questions I might have and to offer literature to help me deal with all of the terminology that will be thrown my way. I keep telling people that I'm fine. Hey, I had two surgeries and months of chemotherapy. Last time around my constant companion was a plastic 5-gallon ice cream container-- the proverbial "spit" bucket because I spent so much of my time vomiting. My chemo regimen was hard, but times have changed. I've seen some people keep a draining chemo schedule, but still maintain some semblance of a normal life. I don't know if they were just extraordinarily brave or if medicine has made amazing advances in the last 20+ years. Either way, my future remains bright.
If I learned anything from my first experience with cancer, is that it was worth the price. So many lives were blessed as a result, including my own. I walked away from that experience saying that I wouldn't necessarily ask for it, but if Heavenly Father ever asked me to have cancer again, I was willing. My feelings have not changed.
Superheroes aren't afraid of hard things. They know that life did not begin at birth and it won't end with death. They also know that everyone has trials of one kind or another-- some are just more visible than others. They understand that this life is a test. Any well-constructed test should require those who take it to stretch their mastery of the subject-area. I know that God will not ask more of me than I can handle. So, we'll see where this particular test leads...
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Welcome back
It's been awhile since I've written, so let me explain how my life has changed in the past few months. My life no longer seems like my own. My schedule seems to revolve around little Samantha Dustbunny. Except for the hours that I am away from home, she is constantly at my side, demanding my attention in one way or another.
Sammie is a people magnet. We go walking through the neighborhood shortly after I arrive home from work every day. Despite rumors that small dogs are not good with children, this little Shih Tzu/Yorkie mix loves EVERYONE! As we walk the neighborhood, she is drawn to the children every bit as much as they are drawn to her. But even I was amazed when one older woman with whom I was unacquainted came running from her house to meet Sammie. She had seen us from her window and loved Yorkshire terriers and wanted to see her up close and personal. We have come to know by name some of the more macho-looking teenage boys, as well as the smallest child.
That is the thing about Sammie. She is impossible to ignore! When she greets someone, her whole body shakes with excitement. Now that she is a mature 6-month old, she has learned not to overwhelm small children with her enthusiasm most of the time. When we began our walks and she would jump up on them, I would explain that Sammie loved people, especially children. Now as we walk down the street, the moment a child sees us, I hear "Sammie!" as they come running. The other day, we were greeting some of the young women of the neighborhood on one side of the street, while Michael who is nearly 4 called to us from the other side of the street-- "Come to our house! Come to our house!"
What is truly amazing about all of this is that, almost without exception, the children exclaim, "She loves me!" They don't proclaim their love for Sammie, but rather, they note Sammie's love for them.
These daily occurrences have helped me to understand more fully the words of the Apostle John who wrote of Jesus Christ, "We love him, because he first loved us" (1st John 4:19). Jesus' every action was dictated by his love for us, his willingness to show the way and open the doors that lead us back to our heavenly home. It is because of his love for us that he was willing to take upon himself the pain of our sorrows and the burden of our sins.
Superheroes aren't afraid of love or of loving, but their love is not necessarily brazen. They are willing to make the first effort to extend themselves to others, but they don't demand others' love in return. They know that love has the power to break down the barriers that separate us from one another and to promote unity, and will patiently continue to extend their love until the recipient is able to respond. As John wrote in the previous verse, "There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear ... " (1st John 4:18) Pure, unconditional love is never self-serving, but benefits all how are exposed to it. Superheroes offer that kind of love.
Sammie is a people magnet. We go walking through the neighborhood shortly after I arrive home from work every day. Despite rumors that small dogs are not good with children, this little Shih Tzu/Yorkie mix loves EVERYONE! As we walk the neighborhood, she is drawn to the children every bit as much as they are drawn to her. But even I was amazed when one older woman with whom I was unacquainted came running from her house to meet Sammie. She had seen us from her window and loved Yorkshire terriers and wanted to see her up close and personal. We have come to know by name some of the more macho-looking teenage boys, as well as the smallest child.
That is the thing about Sammie. She is impossible to ignore! When she greets someone, her whole body shakes with excitement. Now that she is a mature 6-month old, she has learned not to overwhelm small children with her enthusiasm most of the time. When we began our walks and she would jump up on them, I would explain that Sammie loved people, especially children. Now as we walk down the street, the moment a child sees us, I hear "Sammie!" as they come running. The other day, we were greeting some of the young women of the neighborhood on one side of the street, while Michael who is nearly 4 called to us from the other side of the street-- "Come to our house! Come to our house!"
What is truly amazing about all of this is that, almost without exception, the children exclaim, "She loves me!" They don't proclaim their love for Sammie, but rather, they note Sammie's love for them.
These daily occurrences have helped me to understand more fully the words of the Apostle John who wrote of Jesus Christ, "We love him, because he first loved us" (1st John 4:19). Jesus' every action was dictated by his love for us, his willingness to show the way and open the doors that lead us back to our heavenly home. It is because of his love for us that he was willing to take upon himself the pain of our sorrows and the burden of our sins.
Superheroes aren't afraid of love or of loving, but their love is not necessarily brazen. They are willing to make the first effort to extend themselves to others, but they don't demand others' love in return. They know that love has the power to break down the barriers that separate us from one another and to promote unity, and will patiently continue to extend their love until the recipient is able to respond. As John wrote in the previous verse, "There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear ... " (1st John 4:18) Pure, unconditional love is never self-serving, but benefits all how are exposed to it. Superheroes offer that kind of love.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Honesty
Honesty is an interesting thing... we show our honesty or lack thereof in all aspects of our lives.
Yesterday I was involved in a conversation where someone made the comment that most people would never dream of stealing something from a store, but that they may not think twice about not returning a library book. Isn't keeping something that belongs to someone else, even a library, the same as stealing?
There was a snow storm in November. I had taken the long way home because the roads were so slick. Just as I turned onto my own street, my car started to fishtail and it did a slow curving slide. When the car came to a stop, I had hit the last few inches of a little red pickup. I didn't really see any damage to the pickup, but I crimped the hood of my own car and there was a little red paint on the headlight on the driver's side of my car. I hurriedly ran to the house and knocked on the door. No one was home. These were not neighbors that I knew. No one was on the street. No one saw me hit the pickup.
I had groceries in the car and no paper to write a note, so I drove the block to my house, unloaded the car and quickly dashed off a note. Then I went back to the house on the corner, knocked on the door again, and finally just taped my note to the door because there was still no answer.
On my way back home, I stopped at a neighbor's house. The man was shoveling snow and I knew he was a state highway patrolman and could tell me what to do. He advised me to call the city police department on their non-emergency line. That is exactly what I did the moment I got home. An hour or two later, a policeman came to my house, listened to my story and wrote a report. He looked at my car and then we both went down the street to look at the pickup. Still no one was home. When we left, he had also left a note on the door. Over the next week or so, he continued to try to contact the people who lived in that house on the corner.
Later that day I related the story to a couple of neighbor girls. They know me quite well. After I had told about leaving the note and "confessing" about what happened, the younger girl asked "Why would you want to do that?" What she was really asking was why I would deliberately put myself into a position where I might be punished for what I had done, even if it was an accident. From my perspective, however, it was a lot less difficult to confess and pay the price (whatever it might be) for what I had done, than to live with the worry that someone might have seen me-- and called the police or told the neighbors. If I had not been honest to begin with, the penalty for hitting the pickup could have resulted in my being arrested or having to pay a big fine.
I know someone who smokes cigarettes, but who tries to hide it from everyone. He thinks he does it in private where people can't see. Sometimes he changes his shirt or his clothes after smoking, thinking that people won't notice the smell of cigarette smoke on his clothing. Breath mints have never done a very good job of disguising the bad breath that comes with smoking. Ultimately, however, which is worse-- smoking cigarettes or the "cover up", the lying that takes place when one pretends to be something that one isn't. I think people-- myself included-- are more willing to forgive someone who is honest about their bad habits, particularly when they show a desire to repent, to overcome their bad habit, even if they struggle to do so. It's a lot harder to overcome something if you are spending all of your time trying to hide it, pretending that the problem doesn't exist.
Superheroes understand the value of honesty in every aspect of their lives. They understand that trust must exist between themselves and others-- and trust is built on honesty. Without that trust, when the time of crisis comes, the people who need to be saved won't believe what the superhero says or that he/she is able to save them. Superheroes do their best to be honest, knowing that the consequences for dishonesty are always worse than the consequences of being honest. In my case, the owners of the red pickup never contacted me. The policeman let me know that he had tried several times to contact them and they never called him either. His report was on file, but that I was not responsible for anything else. My conscience is clear.
Yesterday I was involved in a conversation where someone made the comment that most people would never dream of stealing something from a store, but that they may not think twice about not returning a library book. Isn't keeping something that belongs to someone else, even a library, the same as stealing?
There was a snow storm in November. I had taken the long way home because the roads were so slick. Just as I turned onto my own street, my car started to fishtail and it did a slow curving slide. When the car came to a stop, I had hit the last few inches of a little red pickup. I didn't really see any damage to the pickup, but I crimped the hood of my own car and there was a little red paint on the headlight on the driver's side of my car. I hurriedly ran to the house and knocked on the door. No one was home. These were not neighbors that I knew. No one was on the street. No one saw me hit the pickup.
I had groceries in the car and no paper to write a note, so I drove the block to my house, unloaded the car and quickly dashed off a note. Then I went back to the house on the corner, knocked on the door again, and finally just taped my note to the door because there was still no answer.
On my way back home, I stopped at a neighbor's house. The man was shoveling snow and I knew he was a state highway patrolman and could tell me what to do. He advised me to call the city police department on their non-emergency line. That is exactly what I did the moment I got home. An hour or two later, a policeman came to my house, listened to my story and wrote a report. He looked at my car and then we both went down the street to look at the pickup. Still no one was home. When we left, he had also left a note on the door. Over the next week or so, he continued to try to contact the people who lived in that house on the corner.
Later that day I related the story to a couple of neighbor girls. They know me quite well. After I had told about leaving the note and "confessing" about what happened, the younger girl asked "Why would you want to do that?" What she was really asking was why I would deliberately put myself into a position where I might be punished for what I had done, even if it was an accident. From my perspective, however, it was a lot less difficult to confess and pay the price (whatever it might be) for what I had done, than to live with the worry that someone might have seen me-- and called the police or told the neighbors. If I had not been honest to begin with, the penalty for hitting the pickup could have resulted in my being arrested or having to pay a big fine.
I know someone who smokes cigarettes, but who tries to hide it from everyone. He thinks he does it in private where people can't see. Sometimes he changes his shirt or his clothes after smoking, thinking that people won't notice the smell of cigarette smoke on his clothing. Breath mints have never done a very good job of disguising the bad breath that comes with smoking. Ultimately, however, which is worse-- smoking cigarettes or the "cover up", the lying that takes place when one pretends to be something that one isn't. I think people-- myself included-- are more willing to forgive someone who is honest about their bad habits, particularly when they show a desire to repent, to overcome their bad habit, even if they struggle to do so. It's a lot harder to overcome something if you are spending all of your time trying to hide it, pretending that the problem doesn't exist.
Superheroes understand the value of honesty in every aspect of their lives. They understand that trust must exist between themselves and others-- and trust is built on honesty. Without that trust, when the time of crisis comes, the people who need to be saved won't believe what the superhero says or that he/she is able to save them. Superheroes do their best to be honest, knowing that the consequences for dishonesty are always worse than the consequences of being honest. In my case, the owners of the red pickup never contacted me. The policeman let me know that he had tried several times to contact them and they never called him either. His report was on file, but that I was not responsible for anything else. My conscience is clear.
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