I had surgery on 2/16, and am now in the hospital recovering. Everything went well, but I'm on lots of painkillers. I miss my little boys more than anything. My sister-in-law helped them make me a huge valentine with their little hand prints all over it and hearts with cute things written on them that they told her to write. My favorite ones say "We are a happy family" (Liam), "Come home soon," (Jonas), and "I like you," (Graham). Whenever I talk to Jonas on the phone, he asks, "Are you looking at your valentine?" I tell him I am and how much I love it. I love my sweet boys!
Keith stayed here with me the first night, and my dad stayed here with me last night. Keith's work sent me some pretty white flowers, and the young men in our ward stopped by last night with the leaders and gave me some candy. It seriously made me cry. I thought about my little boys and how wonderful it will be to see them grow up into young men.
My red blood cell count was really low yesterday, and the doctor told me I might need a transfusion today if it didn't start coming back up. Luckily, it started coming back up!
I should be able to come home tomorrow or Saturday. If this post seems random, it's because it is. I have no editing capabilities right now!
I'll write more when I'm not so out of it - just wanted to let everyone know I'm doing okay.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Staying Here
I am over half way through radiation (14 down, 11 to go), and I feel great. My skin is a little pink, but not at all irritated, and although I feel a little more tired than usual, it is definitely manageable. Nothing compared to chemo. If chemo were a marathon, radiation would be a stroll on a sunny beach (where you get a little sunburn). Piece of cake.
My next surgery is scheduled for Feb. 16th. Occasionally I wonder if I’m making the right choice by having my ovaries removed. But when I imagine keeping them, all I feel is fear. It would be like leaving a ticking bomb inside my body. I cry when I think of the little girl I won’t have, but I cry harder when I think of my three little boys without a mother.
Tomorrow is my 7-year wedding anniversary. Keith has been an amazing husband, especially this last year. I don’t know how I would have gotten through all this without him.
Life is pretty much back to normal. I’ve started working again, part-time at home doing HR stuff, I’ve been writing again, and I’m looking forward to LOST starting its final season this week. However, fear occasionally pokes me in the side and whispers, “Hey, what if…” That’s when I reply, “I am healed, the cancer is never coming back. I will be here for my husband and my children, and I still have WAY too much to do to leave this life or to be sick again!”
I love my life! I love doing laundry and dishes, I love making food for my kids and cleaning it off the floor when they’re done “eating” it. I love wiping runny noses and kissing owies. I love reading books and singing songs before bed. I love saying “I love you, good night,” every night to my husband before we go to sleep. I am so glad that I am here to do all these things. And here I will stay.
Here I will stay.
My next surgery is scheduled for Feb. 16th. Occasionally I wonder if I’m making the right choice by having my ovaries removed. But when I imagine keeping them, all I feel is fear. It would be like leaving a ticking bomb inside my body. I cry when I think of the little girl I won’t have, but I cry harder when I think of my three little boys without a mother.
Tomorrow is my 7-year wedding anniversary. Keith has been an amazing husband, especially this last year. I don’t know how I would have gotten through all this without him.
Life is pretty much back to normal. I’ve started working again, part-time at home doing HR stuff, I’ve been writing again, and I’m looking forward to LOST starting its final season this week. However, fear occasionally pokes me in the side and whispers, “Hey, what if…” That’s when I reply, “I am healed, the cancer is never coming back. I will be here for my husband and my children, and I still have WAY too much to do to leave this life or to be sick again!”
I love my life! I love doing laundry and dishes, I love making food for my kids and cleaning it off the floor when they’re done “eating” it. I love wiping runny noses and kissing owies. I love reading books and singing songs before bed. I love saying “I love you, good night,” every night to my husband before we go to sleep. I am so glad that I am here to do all these things. And here I will stay.
Here I will stay.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Purple Bike
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.
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.
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.
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