Six months ago, I was putting my kids to bed after having just found out that I had cancer. My 5-yr-old (4 at the time) had just learned to ride his bike without training wheels, and he asked, "Mom, are you proud of me that I can ride my bike with two wheels?" I told him I was. Then he said, "You should get a bike too. What is your favorite color?" I told him it was red. Then he said, "Mom, I'm going to buy you a purple bike for your birthday." It was dark in his room, so he didn't see the tears streaming down my face. I told him I would love a purple bike, but inside I was in agony. He was so innocent; he had no idea I was going to be sick for a long time - too sick to go on bike rides. I was so scared. I didn't yet know what stage my cancer was in and how much longer I had to live.
For Christmas, Keith gave me a purple bike.
Today, I went on a bike ride with my little boys. It was cold, but I bundled everyone up, strapped Graham in the baby seat on the back of my bike, and Jonas, Liam, and I rode to the church parking lot. When we were riding around the parking lot, Jonas rode up next to me, and with a big smile, asked, "Do you like your bike, mom?" I told him I loved it. It was wonderful to feel the cold wind on my face, to pedal uphill without feeling fatigued, and to see my sweet little boys so happy to go on a bike ride with their mommy.
I started radiation treatments on Tuesday. 4 down, 21 to go. Maybe I should count by weeks, not days. 1 down, 4 to go. Yes, that sounds better. So far, I feel great. No skin irritation, no fatigue. Well, I'm a little more tired than usual, but that's probably because I've been staying up too late. Anyway, with everything going on in the world right now, I feel my problems are pretty insignificant. I have a wonderful life. I am happy. Truly happy.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Tattoos, Memories, Temple
The next time I hear someone talking about tattoos, I can proudly say, "Yeah, I've got six."
I wasn't sure I still needed radiation after getting back a clean surgical pathology report. But I met with the radiation oncologist yesterday, and after going over the pros and cons, and looking at years of studies, we decided that it would be beneficial for me to have radiation. Maybe the guy just wanted to make some money, but the studies he showed me were pretty convincing. Basically, having radiation can reduce my risk of recurrence by quite a bit. So I figured, better safe than sorry. If there is one cancer cell remaining in my chest, the radiation will vaporize it. Besides, the doctor said the radiation should make me a little tired and make my skin irritable, but that the side effects were nothing compared to chemo.
After the consultation, they took me to a room with a bit CT scan machine. Not to receive radiation, but to set up the location on my body which will be receiving radiation. I laid down on the machine, and they had to tape down my right breast (a skin expander covered with my skin, more accurately), because it was in the way. Then I had to raise my hands above my head and grip these handles (very painful... still sore from surgery).
Next they put all these metal stickers all over my chest, and marked a few spots with a felt-tip. They sent me into the CT scan machine, which, if anyone has ever been in one, it's quite creepy. Reminds me of that huge machine they built in the movie Contact - remember the scary mechanical howling sound? At least I didn't have to be dropped hundreds of feet into the ocean while encapsulated in a little metal ball. Or travel billions of miles away to visit my dead father who is actually an alien. Yes, now that I put things into perspective, a CT scan machine is harmless; relaxing even. Anyway, by the time I was done, my left arm was tingling with pain and almost numb. But I couldn't put it down yet, not until they gave me the tattoos.
A very nice girl then poked a pin into my skin in six different places, leaving a freckle-sized mark in each spot. Now when I come in for radiation, they will be able to align everything with the tattoos for accuracy.
Starting next week, I have to go in 5 days a week, for 5 weeks (25 treatments total). Which is actually great news to me, since I was expecting 6 weeks.
I am feeling great and am optimistic that I will be completely cured of this thing. I look forward to years ahead when the memories of this horrific experience will begin to fade. Right now, just thinking about some of the things I went through these last few months brings me to tears. I am no longer hurting physically, but I still remember vividly the fatigue, the pain, the fear, the helplessness. I remember how my arm looked when it was swollen from phlebitis, the yellow tint of my skin, the pleading, fearful look in my eyes every time I looked in the mirror. The shine of my scalp, the darkening of my fingernails, and the energy being sucked from my muscles. My heart pounding and my bones aching, screaming objections at the poison seeping into every cell in my body. Hearing my little boy say, "Mommy, I don't want you to die, because I love you." The aching in my heart as I watched my boys sleeping peacefully and wondered how much longer I would be able to be their mother. And worst of all, my dreams and plans for the future being ripped out of my hands and dangled over my head, while cancer taunted, "You may be able to have these, and you may not." These are the things I long to forget. I hope that with time I can forget.
The temple has been a great refuge to me. I have had more powerful, amazing experiences there in the last few months than at any other time in my life. I have felt the love of my Heavenly Father and my Savior so strongly there, and have been reminded that this life is so temporary. Our earthly bodies are so fragile, yet, they are still in God's hands. And someday this fragile body of mine will be raised to immortality, never again to succumb to illness or death. But in the meantime, I will use this fragile body to do the work the Lord has sent me here to do. I pray that he allows me to serve him for many, many years to come.
I wasn't sure I still needed radiation after getting back a clean surgical pathology report. But I met with the radiation oncologist yesterday, and after going over the pros and cons, and looking at years of studies, we decided that it would be beneficial for me to have radiation. Maybe the guy just wanted to make some money, but the studies he showed me were pretty convincing. Basically, having radiation can reduce my risk of recurrence by quite a bit. So I figured, better safe than sorry. If there is one cancer cell remaining in my chest, the radiation will vaporize it. Besides, the doctor said the radiation should make me a little tired and make my skin irritable, but that the side effects were nothing compared to chemo.
After the consultation, they took me to a room with a bit CT scan machine. Not to receive radiation, but to set up the location on my body which will be receiving radiation. I laid down on the machine, and they had to tape down my right breast (a skin expander covered with my skin, more accurately), because it was in the way. Then I had to raise my hands above my head and grip these handles (very painful... still sore from surgery).
Next they put all these metal stickers all over my chest, and marked a few spots with a felt-tip. They sent me into the CT scan machine, which, if anyone has ever been in one, it's quite creepy. Reminds me of that huge machine they built in the movie Contact - remember the scary mechanical howling sound? At least I didn't have to be dropped hundreds of feet into the ocean while encapsulated in a little metal ball. Or travel billions of miles away to visit my dead father who is actually an alien. Yes, now that I put things into perspective, a CT scan machine is harmless; relaxing even. Anyway, by the time I was done, my left arm was tingling with pain and almost numb. But I couldn't put it down yet, not until they gave me the tattoos.
A very nice girl then poked a pin into my skin in six different places, leaving a freckle-sized mark in each spot. Now when I come in for radiation, they will be able to align everything with the tattoos for accuracy.
Starting next week, I have to go in 5 days a week, for 5 weeks (25 treatments total). Which is actually great news to me, since I was expecting 6 weeks.
I am feeling great and am optimistic that I will be completely cured of this thing. I look forward to years ahead when the memories of this horrific experience will begin to fade. Right now, just thinking about some of the things I went through these last few months brings me to tears. I am no longer hurting physically, but I still remember vividly the fatigue, the pain, the fear, the helplessness. I remember how my arm looked when it was swollen from phlebitis, the yellow tint of my skin, the pleading, fearful look in my eyes every time I looked in the mirror. The shine of my scalp, the darkening of my fingernails, and the energy being sucked from my muscles. My heart pounding and my bones aching, screaming objections at the poison seeping into every cell in my body. Hearing my little boy say, "Mommy, I don't want you to die, because I love you." The aching in my heart as I watched my boys sleeping peacefully and wondered how much longer I would be able to be their mother. And worst of all, my dreams and plans for the future being ripped out of my hands and dangled over my head, while cancer taunted, "You may be able to have these, and you may not." These are the things I long to forget. I hope that with time I can forget.
The temple has been a great refuge to me. I have had more powerful, amazing experiences there in the last few months than at any other time in my life. I have felt the love of my Heavenly Father and my Savior so strongly there, and have been reminded that this life is so temporary. Our earthly bodies are so fragile, yet, they are still in God's hands. And someday this fragile body of mine will be raised to immortality, never again to succumb to illness or death. But in the meantime, I will use this fragile body to do the work the Lord has sent me here to do. I pray that he allows me to serve him for many, many years to come.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Pathology and HAIR!
I have two pieces of good news:
1) My pathology report came back from the surgery, and all the lymph nodes and breast tissue they removed were totally clean! No sign of cancer, not even under a microscope!
2) My hair is starting to grow back! It's only been five weeks since my last treatment, but I looked in the mirror last night and was surprised to see peach fuzz all over my head. I actually started crying. And couldn't stop crying. I just kept touching my head and saying, "Really? Really?" while tears streamed down my face. I didn't realize what a healing effect it would have to see my body doing something normal like growing hair, and to get back something that chemo took away from me.
I am slowly healing from surgery - each day gets easier and easier. I still have four drains in, and I remind myself of a borg when I look in the mirror with all the tubes coming out of my body. They should come out sometime before New Years. And I'm not supposed to pick up Graham or anything over 10 lbs for 4 weeks, but I'll probably have to break that rule at some point out of necessity. Don't worry, I'll break it very carefully.
Keith took our 3 little boys down to St. George this weekend while I stayed with my parents up here. It was a really nice break and I spent the whole time sleeping, reading, and watching movies. Oh, and wrapping the ridiculous number of presents my mom bought for her grandchildren. I am so excited for Christmas! I am so happy to be alive, to have the privilege of raising my sweet little boys, and I can't wait to see their adorable faces light up as they open their presents on Christmas morning.
1) My pathology report came back from the surgery, and all the lymph nodes and breast tissue they removed were totally clean! No sign of cancer, not even under a microscope!
2) My hair is starting to grow back! It's only been five weeks since my last treatment, but I looked in the mirror last night and was surprised to see peach fuzz all over my head. I actually started crying. And couldn't stop crying. I just kept touching my head and saying, "Really? Really?" while tears streamed down my face. I didn't realize what a healing effect it would have to see my body doing something normal like growing hair, and to get back something that chemo took away from me.
I am slowly healing from surgery - each day gets easier and easier. I still have four drains in, and I remind myself of a borg when I look in the mirror with all the tubes coming out of my body. They should come out sometime before New Years. And I'm not supposed to pick up Graham or anything over 10 lbs for 4 weeks, but I'll probably have to break that rule at some point out of necessity. Don't worry, I'll break it very carefully.
Keith took our 3 little boys down to St. George this weekend while I stayed with my parents up here. It was a really nice break and I spent the whole time sleeping, reading, and watching movies. Oh, and wrapping the ridiculous number of presents my mom bought for her grandchildren. I am so excited for Christmas! I am so happy to be alive, to have the privilege of raising my sweet little boys, and I can't wait to see their adorable faces light up as they open their presents on Christmas morning.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Surgery
The surgery went well. The general surgeon did not find any remaining evidence of cancer when he did the mastectomy, so it looks like the chemo did its job. They were able to spare a lot of skin and fill up the skin expanders quite a bit, so I am in A LOT of pain. Percocet takes the edge off, but I have no idea why some women have breast surgery voluntarily! It hurts! Badly!
I stayed one night in the hospital and I am now at home recovering. We're receiving a lot of help from family and friends. I will write more later when I'm feeling a little better; I just wanted everyone to know that I am okay.
I stayed one night in the hospital and I am now at home recovering. We're receiving a lot of help from family and friends. I will write more later when I'm feeling a little better; I just wanted everyone to know that I am okay.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Next Up...
It has been three weeks since my last chemo treatment, and other than being bald, I feel like a normal, healthy person. My eyebrows and eyelashes have finally started falling out, but at least I made it through chemo without having to paint/glue them on (would I really have done that anyway?). I am looking forward to having hair again, but at this point I don't even remember what it's like to have hair. I look at past pictures of myself and try to remember what it was like to run my fingers through my hair or pull it back into a ponytail, and it seems so unreal to me. It should start growing back sometime in January. Maybe I'll have a quarter of an inch in time for my anniversary on Feb. 1st, and I can wear it in a spiky-do.
My mastectomy surgery is scheduled for December 11th. I'm not so worried about the mastectomy as I am about the reconstruction. My general surgeon told me that he won't be causing me any pain, that it's the plastic surgeon that I have to be afraid of. In these last couple weeks I have actually considered having no reconstruction at all. I mean, why am I doing it anyway? For vanity? For self esteem? These seem like such poor reasons to go through the painful process of reconstruction. Keith doesn't care either way, he just wants me to be happy. I guess it all just seems so overwhelming right now. At times I just want to have the mastectomy, do radiation, and be done with it. But I worry that a couple years down the road I will regret not doing the reconstruction when I had the opportunity. I mean, I can always do reconstruction in the future, but the plastic surgeon said that once my skin has received radiation, it looses its elasticity and won't stretch. So, I'll do the reconstruction now so that I can have the best possible outcome.
At the time of the mastectomy, they will insert skin expanders beneath my chest muscles. A week later, they'll start filling them, and I'll go in once a week for four weeks to have them further expanded. Then I'll have 6 weeks of radiation, then another surgery to remove the expanders and insert the implants. After that, I am hoping that I will be cured! I will also be having one more surgery in the spring to remove my ovaries (to avoid ovarian cancer since I have the BRCA1 mutation). So yes, I am done having kids. It makes me really, really sad to think that I will never have a girl. But I have done a lot of praying about it and I feel that I need to do everything I can to protect my life so that I can raise the children I already have.
I am so grateful for my three little boys. They are so sweet and wonderful. And if I am ever aching for a girl, I can just put one of my wigs on them to imagine what it would be like to have a girl. Jonas and Graham would make such cute girls with their long, dark eyelashes!
I think that having my surgery right before Christmas will actually make it easier. What better time to have it than when everything around us reminds us of our Savior. I know that through him I have been healed and continue to be healed. I know he will be with me during these next couple months just as he has been with me through all the difficult times in my life. Chemo was the hardest of all, but I also look back at it as a sacred period of my life, a time when I was surrounded by angels, a time when I received constant strength, comfort, and healing through my Savior. I love him now more than ever, and have a greater desire to devote my life to him and serve him in any way he asks of me.
The next time I face death, whether it is in 1 year or in 60 years, I want to be able to look back at my life and say that I have lived a good life, that I have done the work God asked me to do, that I have become the person he wanted me to become.
My mastectomy surgery is scheduled for December 11th. I'm not so worried about the mastectomy as I am about the reconstruction. My general surgeon told me that he won't be causing me any pain, that it's the plastic surgeon that I have to be afraid of. In these last couple weeks I have actually considered having no reconstruction at all. I mean, why am I doing it anyway? For vanity? For self esteem? These seem like such poor reasons to go through the painful process of reconstruction. Keith doesn't care either way, he just wants me to be happy. I guess it all just seems so overwhelming right now. At times I just want to have the mastectomy, do radiation, and be done with it. But I worry that a couple years down the road I will regret not doing the reconstruction when I had the opportunity. I mean, I can always do reconstruction in the future, but the plastic surgeon said that once my skin has received radiation, it looses its elasticity and won't stretch. So, I'll do the reconstruction now so that I can have the best possible outcome.
At the time of the mastectomy, they will insert skin expanders beneath my chest muscles. A week later, they'll start filling them, and I'll go in once a week for four weeks to have them further expanded. Then I'll have 6 weeks of radiation, then another surgery to remove the expanders and insert the implants. After that, I am hoping that I will be cured! I will also be having one more surgery in the spring to remove my ovaries (to avoid ovarian cancer since I have the BRCA1 mutation). So yes, I am done having kids. It makes me really, really sad to think that I will never have a girl. But I have done a lot of praying about it and I feel that I need to do everything I can to protect my life so that I can raise the children I already have.
I am so grateful for my three little boys. They are so sweet and wonderful. And if I am ever aching for a girl, I can just put one of my wigs on them to imagine what it would be like to have a girl. Jonas and Graham would make such cute girls with their long, dark eyelashes!
I think that having my surgery right before Christmas will actually make it easier. What better time to have it than when everything around us reminds us of our Savior. I know that through him I have been healed and continue to be healed. I know he will be with me during these next couple months just as he has been with me through all the difficult times in my life. Chemo was the hardest of all, but I also look back at it as a sacred period of my life, a time when I was surrounded by angels, a time when I received constant strength, comfort, and healing through my Savior. I love him now more than ever, and have a greater desire to devote my life to him and serve him in any way he asks of me.
The next time I face death, whether it is in 1 year or in 60 years, I want to be able to look back at my life and say that I have lived a good life, that I have done the work God asked me to do, that I have become the person he wanted me to become.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Last Chemo!
A large, golden, shiny bell hangs from the wall at the exit of the Utah Cancer Center for patients to ring when they are finished with their last chemo treatment. Today I got to listen to fellow cancer patients and nurses cheer as I rang that bell. I didn’t expect to be emotional about it, but I had to choke back tears of joy as I walked through the exit. My mom was waiting for me in her car outside of the building, and when I got in her car she burst into tears from the sight of her daughter walking out of a cancer center wearing a scarf on her head. I wrapped my arms around her and reassured her that everything was going to be okay, and she reassured me in return.
I have made it through the most grueling, difficult four months of my life! And I am a changed person because of it. I don’t take anything for granted anymore - life, health, and family are priceless blessings. I have grown in patience, faith, and compassion. And I have learned to trust God, to “be still, and know that he is God,” to humbly submit to his will and believe that no matter what happens, we are in his hands, and all experiences will be for our good.
I am completely filled with gratitude right now. On my to-do list is written “write thank-you notes to everyone.” It seems like an insurmountable task, because there are so many people who have helped us these last few months.
I still have a few surgeries and radiation to get through, but after going through chemo, I feel like I can get through anything. The next step is a bilateral mastectomy, which will probably be in about three weeks. I am meeting with the surgeon on Monday to go over the details and to schedule the surgery. Wish me luck and keep me in your prayers!
I have made it through the most grueling, difficult four months of my life! And I am a changed person because of it. I don’t take anything for granted anymore - life, health, and family are priceless blessings. I have grown in patience, faith, and compassion. And I have learned to trust God, to “be still, and know that he is God,” to humbly submit to his will and believe that no matter what happens, we are in his hands, and all experiences will be for our good.
I am completely filled with gratitude right now. On my to-do list is written “write thank-you notes to everyone.” It seems like an insurmountable task, because there are so many people who have helped us these last few months.
I still have a few surgeries and radiation to get through, but after going through chemo, I feel like I can get through anything. The next step is a bilateral mastectomy, which will probably be in about three weeks. I am meeting with the surgeon on Monday to go over the details and to schedule the surgery. Wish me luck and keep me in your prayers!
Sunday, November 8, 2009
One More...
I know, I've been really bad about updating my blog. So here's a quick update:
I had the same reaction to the Abraxane as I did with the Taxol - chest tightness, itchiness, etc. So they had me go to the ER last Monday to make sure it wasn't anything serious. They did an EKG, chest x-rays, and some blood tests, and everything looked normal, so I got to go home. I talked with my doctor this week about it and he said they are going to go ahead and use Abraxane again for my last treatment, but they are going to load me up with benadryl and steroids to try to avoid the allergic reaction. So if you see me or talk to me in the next couple weeks, watch out - the steroids make me completely nuts (Keith can vouch for that - dear, patient soul).
I've felt pretty good these last couple weeks, though not quite normal. The chest pain comes and goes, my toes are constantly numb, and it occasionally feels like I am being stabbed in random places with a twisting, serrated knife (actually not as painful as it sounds). But I feel a million times better than I did during the first half of my treatments. No nausea, less fatigue, and I've been able to keep my kids at home with me.
Emotionally, I've been doing great. There are still days when I get scared and cry a lot, but most days I feel hopeful and happy, and I try to go through the day as if I am not battling a life-threatning illness. I try not to fear all the things that "could" happen in the future, but instead try to take things one day at a time. After all, we do not live in the "what if." We live in the "now." So we should cherish and make good use of the "now" instead of being paralyzed by the "what if's" that will most likely never happen.
One more treatment! I am so excited to be done with chemo! November is going to be a great month. My last treatment is on the 13th, then I'm going to see New Moon with a bunch of girls on the 21st (make fun of me if you want), then I'm going to see David Archuleta with Keith on the 24th (yes, another reason to make fun of me), then I get to see a bunch of my family on Thanksgiving. Life is good. Life is wonderful. Life is precious.
I had the same reaction to the Abraxane as I did with the Taxol - chest tightness, itchiness, etc. So they had me go to the ER last Monday to make sure it wasn't anything serious. They did an EKG, chest x-rays, and some blood tests, and everything looked normal, so I got to go home. I talked with my doctor this week about it and he said they are going to go ahead and use Abraxane again for my last treatment, but they are going to load me up with benadryl and steroids to try to avoid the allergic reaction. So if you see me or talk to me in the next couple weeks, watch out - the steroids make me completely nuts (Keith can vouch for that - dear, patient soul).
I've felt pretty good these last couple weeks, though not quite normal. The chest pain comes and goes, my toes are constantly numb, and it occasionally feels like I am being stabbed in random places with a twisting, serrated knife (actually not as painful as it sounds). But I feel a million times better than I did during the first half of my treatments. No nausea, less fatigue, and I've been able to keep my kids at home with me.
Emotionally, I've been doing great. There are still days when I get scared and cry a lot, but most days I feel hopeful and happy, and I try to go through the day as if I am not battling a life-threatning illness. I try not to fear all the things that "could" happen in the future, but instead try to take things one day at a time. After all, we do not live in the "what if." We live in the "now." So we should cherish and make good use of the "now" instead of being paralyzed by the "what if's" that will most likely never happen.
One more treatment! I am so excited to be done with chemo! November is going to be a great month. My last treatment is on the 13th, then I'm going to see New Moon with a bunch of girls on the 21st (make fun of me if you want), then I'm going to see David Archuleta with Keith on the 24th (yes, another reason to make fun of me), then I get to see a bunch of my family on Thanksgiving. Life is good. Life is wonderful. Life is precious.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)