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.
Friday, August 21, 2009
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...
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