February 21, 2019
One month from now will be my NINE YEAR survivorship anniversary. God has been merciful with my life. I have recently thought back to the spring of 2010 when attending my "chemo class" at the treatment center. The oncology nurse gave me a tour of the infusion area and I felt I just could NOT "do chemo". It was such an overwhelming thing to me. The nurse, very seriously, told me that if I want to be "here" in two to five years for my children, I would have to go through chemotherapy. I secretly resented the way that she said it so matter-of-factly. There I was, scared to death that my life would end and my children would grow up without their mother, but her tone lacked empathy and sincere understanding about how I was feeling. My whole world was at a "stand still" and this "cancer business" was still spinning in my head without a rhyme or reason. Everything happened so quickly. And, she was expecting me to be REASONABLE? :) Ha! I just wasn't "there" yet.
God knew that four years post-diagnosis that my husband was going to walk out of the marriage and family without warning. He knew that those kids would need their mom. I look at the kids often, thinking, "Thank you, Lord" for keeping me alive for them.
The medical update is that there are no signs of recurrence at this time. At an appointment about a year ago, my oncologist gave me the sobering news that my type of cancer (the specific characteristics; i.e. estrogen positive) tends to come back later (after several years). That is always in the back of my mind.
My most recently visit was last month. The oncologist strongly stressed the importance of diet and exercise with regard to preventing a recurrence. She seemed to really show serious concern about that. I have been trying to modify my diet to mostly plant based foods. The biggest challenge for me is giving up soda. I don't like coffee, so my "morning shot of energy" is my caffeinated soda.
Thank you for reading. I'll be back again someday, Lord willing....
For now, if you are battling breast cancer, or supporting someone who is,--- one of the things that kept me encouraged during the fight was ALWAYS having something to look forward to on my "good days"--- the days when I was off the chemo cycle and feeling stronger. Plan SOMETHING--- it really helps to have that sense of normal. It could be something as simple as going to a restaurant, a visit to the beach, a weekend away, ---- anything that gets you out of the house and away from your place of "recovery" on your sick days. Most of all, though, please know that GOD LOVES YOU and wants you to know that. No matter what.
Thursday, February 21, 2019
Thursday, September 24, 2015
Five and a Half Years Later!
September 24, 2015
I guess the last post wasn't my final one after all. :) It seems it is time to check in and share another update. I've passed the five year survivorship mark . It's been 5 1/2 years since diagnosis. I want to offer hope to women who are currently in treatment. Your cancer journey will always be a part of your life in some way, but you learn to live with it tucked away somewhere in the back of your mind. It isn't always the first thing you think about when you wake up in the morning. You're aware of it, as you may be on a special prescription (i.e. Tamoxifen) like I am, and it comes back to the front burner every time you're due for your mammogram or routine check up. It's also "there" when you hear of another person being diagnosed or someone passes from the disease. Soon after treatment ends, and even for the first year or two, every headache, bump, or bruise scares you, because you've been through the trauma of battling cancer. But, it does get better and life DOES go on. Hair grows back and you once again decide on what style to get at the next salon appointment, and other things in life start to take center stage again. We learn to take one day at a time and appreciate certain things more than we did before. I think that cancer has a way of reminding us that life is short and is to be lived well. My life is about my faith journey.... walking hand in hand with Jesus through thick and thin. My cancer battle strengthened me and prepared me for a much more personally painful trial in life that began in 2014... THAT is for another blog! Stay strong! Take one day at a time during your battle. You're not alone. You have a lot of "sisters" in this fight. Find a support group to attend if you can. If not, there are some online. Team up !
I guess the last post wasn't my final one after all. :) It seems it is time to check in and share another update. I've passed the five year survivorship mark . It's been 5 1/2 years since diagnosis. I want to offer hope to women who are currently in treatment. Your cancer journey will always be a part of your life in some way, but you learn to live with it tucked away somewhere in the back of your mind. It isn't always the first thing you think about when you wake up in the morning. You're aware of it, as you may be on a special prescription (i.e. Tamoxifen) like I am, and it comes back to the front burner every time you're due for your mammogram or routine check up. It's also "there" when you hear of another person being diagnosed or someone passes from the disease. Soon after treatment ends, and even for the first year or two, every headache, bump, or bruise scares you, because you've been through the trauma of battling cancer. But, it does get better and life DOES go on. Hair grows back and you once again decide on what style to get at the next salon appointment, and other things in life start to take center stage again. We learn to take one day at a time and appreciate certain things more than we did before. I think that cancer has a way of reminding us that life is short and is to be lived well. My life is about my faith journey.... walking hand in hand with Jesus through thick and thin. My cancer battle strengthened me and prepared me for a much more personally painful trial in life that began in 2014... THAT is for another blog! Stay strong! Take one day at a time during your battle. You're not alone. You have a lot of "sisters" in this fight. Find a support group to attend if you can. If not, there are some online. Team up !
Thursday, January 23, 2014
Thank God, It's Not Cancer!
I don't even have my emotions together yet, but we learned today that it's NOT cancer! Upon check-in at the cancer facility today my blood pressure was 191/103. I was so stressed, because I didn't know what kind of news the doctor was going to deliver. This was by far the SCARIEST experience I've had in my entire life. Both my husband and I have said that not even the initial breast cancer diagnosis was as scary as this. We, of course, knew what a metastesis would have meant... incurable cancer.
My diagnosis was tendonitis and another "itis" which neither I nor my oncologist had heard of before. I'm going to see another doctor to find out what to do about this so we can move toward healing. Some sort of injury must have occured, but I can't remember getting hurt.
All I can say right now is, "Thank you, Lord!" I know I'm going to break down and cry at some point, and then maybe my thoughts will come together. I know there is a lesson in this somewhere. I feel blessed. I feel God's mercy on my life. I know that He has a purpose for my life, for at least a while longer. I'm so grateful.... beyond words.
My diagnosis was tendonitis and another "itis" which neither I nor my oncologist had heard of before. I'm going to see another doctor to find out what to do about this so we can move toward healing. Some sort of injury must have occured, but I can't remember getting hurt.
All I can say right now is, "Thank you, Lord!" I know I'm going to break down and cry at some point, and then maybe my thoughts will come together. I know there is a lesson in this somewhere. I feel blessed. I feel God's mercy on my life. I know that He has a purpose for my life, for at least a while longer. I'm so grateful.... beyond words.
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
I'm Back, But I Don't Know If I'm Staying!
I'm baaack! I don't know if I'm staying, yet. On Thursday, I should know the answer.
Well, about exactly THREE years (nearly to the day) after completing treatment, I'm revisiting the word "Cancer" in my life.
I have experienced 24/7 pain in my left hip and thigh for about 2 1/2 weeks now. Anyone who's had cancer knows that a pain in the body is no longer "just a pain", and especially if it's one that doesn't go away. We must scrutinize it with our oncologist.
I waited a week. The pain didn't let up. Tylenol and a heating pad were useless. It was time to make the dreaded call to the oncologist's office. We went in and met with the nurse practitioner on January 9, 2014. She told me to take three to four ibuprophin tablets at a time, and she ordered an ultrasound of the leg, as well as a bone scan.
We immediately went to the hospital from the doctor's office for the ultrasound. Quick. Easy. No clots. The bone scan was for the following Tuesday, January 14th.
Per usual, we didn't have childcare, so off we went to the hospital for the scan with our three little people to the hospital. I was quite bummed, as I wanted my husband to be WITH me during this nervewrecking appointment, and I didn't want the kids to detect ANY concerns. As it turned out, the kids and Stephen were allowed to sit in on the scan and it became an educational experience. It wasn't an ideal situation, but I was grateful to have my husband present.
The worst part of the scan for me wasn't the injection of radioactive material into my veins. It was when the metal plate comes so close to my nose over my face that I feel like it's going to continue to lower until I can't breathe. I closed my eyes and prayed for people. An idea that I got from my sister. Before long, it was OVERWITH.
The technician said that I could view the images if I wanted to. Well, sure! So, we all took a peek. We could see Mommy's skeleton from head to toe, front and back. Cool, right? We could also see my "insulation" (fat outline). Not so cool. Well, there was also something else that wasn't very cool-- the very obvious dark black area highlighted on the left hip. Yep, something is going on there. Confirmed. I brought my husband back to the images and pointed it out, wishing I could speak his native language so I could privately clue him in to what I was thinking (PANIC! CANCER?) But, he got it when I shot him a concerned look.
The technician also picked up on the fact that I'd spotted it. She told us to wait and the radiologist would look at the images and let us know if they need more pictures. I knew they would, even before we went there for the scan. (You know, the gutt instinct thing.) So, sure enough, I was going to have two x-rays of the hip before leaving the hospital. I did. We went home.
I was told it takes 48 to 72 hours for the doctor to receive the radiologist's report, but that the doctor could view the images right away if she chose to. I didn't want to know right away. So, I took the next day as a "normal day"--- a day when cancer didn't exist, even as a possibility. I'm sure this drove some of my relatives (the few who knew) crazy, as they were anxiously waiting for news and praying. I just couldn't deal with it that day. I'm like my dad. He tended to put things off a bit when it was a little too much to think about.
By Thursday afternoon, I figured it was time to ring the doctor's office and find out what I could. Well, I didn't get the answer I was looking for. The x-rays were negative, and that is GOOD, but... (yep, there's a "but"). The doctor said the bone scan showed SOMETHING, but she can't tell if it's cancer or not. She would order an MRI which would be more definitive. And, she did.
That MRI is scheduled for tomorrow, January 22nd. Meanwhile, the pain has not left my body. It moves from the outer hip to the inner hip to the outer thigh to the top of my thigh...and frankly, it's getting on my nerves (pun fully intended!) I'm TIRED of hurting.
Someone from the imaging center called today to go over information with me regarding the MRI. She really freaked me out. To make a long story short, she said something that led me to ask a question about the contrast ("dye" they'll inject into my veins). She said, "You have a known breast cancer, right?" I was dumbfounded and paused before replying, "Well, I did in 2010..." She went on to explain that the contrast would make the areas where breast cancer has spread to light up. Um, does she know something I DON'T? Is there a diagnosis I don't know about? Before hanging up, I asked her if I'll be in the room alone during the test. She told me "Yes, but don't worry too much." (I wasn't.) I told her that I'm far more worried about a possible bad diagnosis than the test. She replied with, "Keep positive. That's half the battle." Excuse me? Am I battling something that I don't know about yet? That conversation sent me into shear panic!! My husband calmed me down over the phone during his lunch break and told me she doesn't know what she's talking about and that she talks too much. Sigh!
One day, I decided I'd self-diagnose. So, I got on the internet (like most folks would, I assume) and googled about hip pain. Hip Bursitis popped right up and as I did a mental checklist of the symptoms--- I had a lot of them! YES, it HAS to be bursitis! Right? It all fits. Good, diagnosed. So, I read about treatment and then dutifully started to treat my pain. I took ibuprophin at regular intervals, iced the areas that hurt, and put up my feet to rest my hip and leg as much as possible (hard to do with two eight-year olds and a five-year old!) SURELY, I'd wake up the next day and .... the pain would be gone. Cure! Score!
The pain went... nowhere but rather STAYED ... even though it's NOT welcome to stay. That's overbearing, wouldn't you agree? :)
So, here we are--- caught in the act of waiting, and worrying, and praying, and fluctuating between trusting God and being scared. I'll admit, my fear is tipping the scale today--- the faith part is sure being tested. But, in my core, I KNOW that God is in control. And, His will is better than my plans.
How does it feel to be waiting to find out if you're going to live or die? Well, this is the analogy that sums it up for me:
I feel like I'm in a box. (The box is the waiting.) I feel like I've frantically tried to get out of the box. I've tried to jump from it. (The icing the pain.) I've tried to climb out (the ibuprophin.) I've shouted for someone to rescue me (Tylenol.) None have removed me from my "trap". It feels like someone is closing the flaps at the top of the box. The first flap was closed when I had the ultrasound. The second one when I had the bone scan. The third one is the MRI. Emotionally, I feel like I can't breathe, for I'm holding my breath. I am WAITING TO EXHALE. I'm waiting for someone to open the box wide at the top and to pull me out. (To tell me that it's NOT cancer!)
Yes, if the breast cancer has spread to my hip bone (a place that it likes to go to), then it'd be Stage IV cancer. That means, it's incurable. Yes, you read correctly. There is not a cure for it. It's treatable. You can get more time, but it's with treatment. And, we all know what treatment does--- it changes the quality of life quite dramatically at times. Sigh.
And, Stage IV cancer worries cause me to go into panic mode regarding my husband and children. I HOMESCHOOL them. I WANT to homeschool them. I do NOT want that to change. My husband--- he has no family nearby--- not just "not in this state", but... well, they're overseas. And, I don't have family close by that would help. We are very isolated in that way. My oldest son and his wife are living in Asia. My grown daughter is in school in another state (two days away by car). My dad passed away in May. My Mom has Alzheimers and lives two hours away. So, yeah, WHAT do we do if I am going to be in treatment--- my husband works two jobs! And, I want him at my appointments. But, who watches the kids during those? My friends are spread out and they have busy lives. See where this is going... MORE than the cancer scare, I'm worried about my kids!
This feels like a nightmare, and I want to wake up.
It seems like we can't catch a break. We've been married for ten years this spring. During that short time we've lost three parents between us in 2 1/2 years time, I've battled cancer, we've had three babies (all high-risk pregnancies), my oldest kids have moved away, we've endured an extremely stressful year (2013) regarding my parents' care/being nearby and needing me while facing their challenges, and intense stress from poor choices and behaviors of extended family members.
It seems that we JUST FINALLY got out from under stress, and now THIS. What's odd is that about a month ago, after the stressors subsided, I began juicing fruits and veggies twice per day as part of an effort to get myself back to a healthier state. I was taking my life back, so to speak.
Please, Lord, let this be hip bursitis. It's painful, but I'll take living with pain over dying from cancer. I have babies to raise!
I'd love for this to be nothing more than a "wake-up call" about what's important in life. A lesson from the Lord to TRUST Him more. The beginning of something special that He has in store for my life.
Well, two more days... till we may know my diagnosis.
Well, about exactly THREE years (nearly to the day) after completing treatment, I'm revisiting the word "Cancer" in my life.
I have experienced 24/7 pain in my left hip and thigh for about 2 1/2 weeks now. Anyone who's had cancer knows that a pain in the body is no longer "just a pain", and especially if it's one that doesn't go away. We must scrutinize it with our oncologist.
I waited a week. The pain didn't let up. Tylenol and a heating pad were useless. It was time to make the dreaded call to the oncologist's office. We went in and met with the nurse practitioner on January 9, 2014. She told me to take three to four ibuprophin tablets at a time, and she ordered an ultrasound of the leg, as well as a bone scan.
We immediately went to the hospital from the doctor's office for the ultrasound. Quick. Easy. No clots. The bone scan was for the following Tuesday, January 14th.
Per usual, we didn't have childcare, so off we went to the hospital for the scan with our three little people to the hospital. I was quite bummed, as I wanted my husband to be WITH me during this nervewrecking appointment, and I didn't want the kids to detect ANY concerns. As it turned out, the kids and Stephen were allowed to sit in on the scan and it became an educational experience. It wasn't an ideal situation, but I was grateful to have my husband present.
The worst part of the scan for me wasn't the injection of radioactive material into my veins. It was when the metal plate comes so close to my nose over my face that I feel like it's going to continue to lower until I can't breathe. I closed my eyes and prayed for people. An idea that I got from my sister. Before long, it was OVERWITH.
The technician said that I could view the images if I wanted to. Well, sure! So, we all took a peek. We could see Mommy's skeleton from head to toe, front and back. Cool, right? We could also see my "insulation" (fat outline). Not so cool. Well, there was also something else that wasn't very cool-- the very obvious dark black area highlighted on the left hip. Yep, something is going on there. Confirmed. I brought my husband back to the images and pointed it out, wishing I could speak his native language so I could privately clue him in to what I was thinking (PANIC! CANCER?) But, he got it when I shot him a concerned look.
The technician also picked up on the fact that I'd spotted it. She told us to wait and the radiologist would look at the images and let us know if they need more pictures. I knew they would, even before we went there for the scan. (You know, the gutt instinct thing.) So, sure enough, I was going to have two x-rays of the hip before leaving the hospital. I did. We went home.
I was told it takes 48 to 72 hours for the doctor to receive the radiologist's report, but that the doctor could view the images right away if she chose to. I didn't want to know right away. So, I took the next day as a "normal day"--- a day when cancer didn't exist, even as a possibility. I'm sure this drove some of my relatives (the few who knew) crazy, as they were anxiously waiting for news and praying. I just couldn't deal with it that day. I'm like my dad. He tended to put things off a bit when it was a little too much to think about.
By Thursday afternoon, I figured it was time to ring the doctor's office and find out what I could. Well, I didn't get the answer I was looking for. The x-rays were negative, and that is GOOD, but... (yep, there's a "but"). The doctor said the bone scan showed SOMETHING, but she can't tell if it's cancer or not. She would order an MRI which would be more definitive. And, she did.
That MRI is scheduled for tomorrow, January 22nd. Meanwhile, the pain has not left my body. It moves from the outer hip to the inner hip to the outer thigh to the top of my thigh...and frankly, it's getting on my nerves (pun fully intended!) I'm TIRED of hurting.
Someone from the imaging center called today to go over information with me regarding the MRI. She really freaked me out. To make a long story short, she said something that led me to ask a question about the contrast ("dye" they'll inject into my veins). She said, "You have a known breast cancer, right?" I was dumbfounded and paused before replying, "Well, I did in 2010..." She went on to explain that the contrast would make the areas where breast cancer has spread to light up. Um, does she know something I DON'T? Is there a diagnosis I don't know about? Before hanging up, I asked her if I'll be in the room alone during the test. She told me "Yes, but don't worry too much." (I wasn't.) I told her that I'm far more worried about a possible bad diagnosis than the test. She replied with, "Keep positive. That's half the battle." Excuse me? Am I battling something that I don't know about yet? That conversation sent me into shear panic!! My husband calmed me down over the phone during his lunch break and told me she doesn't know what she's talking about and that she talks too much. Sigh!
One day, I decided I'd self-diagnose. So, I got on the internet (like most folks would, I assume) and googled about hip pain. Hip Bursitis popped right up and as I did a mental checklist of the symptoms--- I had a lot of them! YES, it HAS to be bursitis! Right? It all fits. Good, diagnosed. So, I read about treatment and then dutifully started to treat my pain. I took ibuprophin at regular intervals, iced the areas that hurt, and put up my feet to rest my hip and leg as much as possible (hard to do with two eight-year olds and a five-year old!) SURELY, I'd wake up the next day and .... the pain would be gone. Cure! Score!
The pain went... nowhere but rather STAYED ... even though it's NOT welcome to stay. That's overbearing, wouldn't you agree? :)
So, here we are--- caught in the act of waiting, and worrying, and praying, and fluctuating between trusting God and being scared. I'll admit, my fear is tipping the scale today--- the faith part is sure being tested. But, in my core, I KNOW that God is in control. And, His will is better than my plans.
How does it feel to be waiting to find out if you're going to live or die? Well, this is the analogy that sums it up for me:
I feel like I'm in a box. (The box is the waiting.) I feel like I've frantically tried to get out of the box. I've tried to jump from it. (The icing the pain.) I've tried to climb out (the ibuprophin.) I've shouted for someone to rescue me (Tylenol.) None have removed me from my "trap". It feels like someone is closing the flaps at the top of the box. The first flap was closed when I had the ultrasound. The second one when I had the bone scan. The third one is the MRI. Emotionally, I feel like I can't breathe, for I'm holding my breath. I am WAITING TO EXHALE. I'm waiting for someone to open the box wide at the top and to pull me out. (To tell me that it's NOT cancer!)
Yes, if the breast cancer has spread to my hip bone (a place that it likes to go to), then it'd be Stage IV cancer. That means, it's incurable. Yes, you read correctly. There is not a cure for it. It's treatable. You can get more time, but it's with treatment. And, we all know what treatment does--- it changes the quality of life quite dramatically at times. Sigh.
And, Stage IV cancer worries cause me to go into panic mode regarding my husband and children. I HOMESCHOOL them. I WANT to homeschool them. I do NOT want that to change. My husband--- he has no family nearby--- not just "not in this state", but... well, they're overseas. And, I don't have family close by that would help. We are very isolated in that way. My oldest son and his wife are living in Asia. My grown daughter is in school in another state (two days away by car). My dad passed away in May. My Mom has Alzheimers and lives two hours away. So, yeah, WHAT do we do if I am going to be in treatment--- my husband works two jobs! And, I want him at my appointments. But, who watches the kids during those? My friends are spread out and they have busy lives. See where this is going... MORE than the cancer scare, I'm worried about my kids!
This feels like a nightmare, and I want to wake up.
It seems like we can't catch a break. We've been married for ten years this spring. During that short time we've lost three parents between us in 2 1/2 years time, I've battled cancer, we've had three babies (all high-risk pregnancies), my oldest kids have moved away, we've endured an extremely stressful year (2013) regarding my parents' care/being nearby and needing me while facing their challenges, and intense stress from poor choices and behaviors of extended family members.
It seems that we JUST FINALLY got out from under stress, and now THIS. What's odd is that about a month ago, after the stressors subsided, I began juicing fruits and veggies twice per day as part of an effort to get myself back to a healthier state. I was taking my life back, so to speak.
Please, Lord, let this be hip bursitis. It's painful, but I'll take living with pain over dying from cancer. I have babies to raise!
I'd love for this to be nothing more than a "wake-up call" about what's important in life. A lesson from the Lord to TRUST Him more. The beginning of something special that He has in store for my life.
Well, two more days... till we may know my diagnosis.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Final Post
August 19, 2011
I've decided that this will be my last post in my cancer journey blog. August 4th marked the one year anniversary of the administration of my final chemotherapy treatment. It's hard to believe a whole year has passed, and I must admit that I am glad to be putting it all behind me.
That is part of the reason I'm making this my last entry. I need to move forward. An old friend from junior and senior high school unknowing helped me make a turning point. I'd shared with her that I was still fatigued and fearful of cancer. In her reply she pointed out just how much I'd been able to do in recent months. That is when I realized that I have taken my life back. I AM LIVING!
I plan to print this blog, assemble it in a binder, and store it in my "cancer tote" along with my books about breast cancer, my wig, my headwear, and all of the wonderful cards and notes that people sent to me during the treatment period. I'm going to put my "cancer" in storage now. It's not going in the trash, because it's part of my life journey. It's shaped me. It's strengthened me. It's reminded me that God is bigger than any challenges that we face.
Before concluding, I want to share a few updates:
My niece Sara is still undergoing chemotherapy (Herceptin) every three weeks. She's tolerating it well, and it's not impacting her hair regrowth, etc. She's looking forward to returning to work as a kindergarten teacher next month. :) Praise the Lord for His healing!
I had my quarterly oncology check-up on Aug. 15th. The nurse practitioner who examined me found nothing concerning aside from a few low blood counts and vitamin D deficiency. I'm now taking 5,000 units of D per day and already feel the positive effects.
I'll go to the hospital for a breast ultrasound on Sept. 19th to check on the 5.5 cm oval shaped mass (most likely filled with fluid) in my "cancer breast" in March. If some of the fluid hasn't been absorbed it's possible the surgeon will concider doing a needle aspiration to remove it. I hope so. Although, it's not something he wants to do due to the risk of introducing bacteria. Anyway, I saw a copy of the report from the March ultrasound and mammogram and it stated that the mass is most likely benign.
Stephen and I have decided to homeschool our boys this year. Now, if that isn't a huge leap of faith, I don't know what is! :) It feels good to be living again. Living without cancer!
Thank you to those who've kept up with my blog during the past year and a half. Your support and prayers have made a bigger difference than you know. I'll not forget this blessing!
Who knows? Maybe a home school blog is just around the corner...
I've decided that this will be my last post in my cancer journey blog. August 4th marked the one year anniversary of the administration of my final chemotherapy treatment. It's hard to believe a whole year has passed, and I must admit that I am glad to be putting it all behind me.
That is part of the reason I'm making this my last entry. I need to move forward. An old friend from junior and senior high school unknowing helped me make a turning point. I'd shared with her that I was still fatigued and fearful of cancer. In her reply she pointed out just how much I'd been able to do in recent months. That is when I realized that I have taken my life back. I AM LIVING!
I plan to print this blog, assemble it in a binder, and store it in my "cancer tote" along with my books about breast cancer, my wig, my headwear, and all of the wonderful cards and notes that people sent to me during the treatment period. I'm going to put my "cancer" in storage now. It's not going in the trash, because it's part of my life journey. It's shaped me. It's strengthened me. It's reminded me that God is bigger than any challenges that we face.
Before concluding, I want to share a few updates:
My niece Sara is still undergoing chemotherapy (Herceptin) every three weeks. She's tolerating it well, and it's not impacting her hair regrowth, etc. She's looking forward to returning to work as a kindergarten teacher next month. :) Praise the Lord for His healing!
I had my quarterly oncology check-up on Aug. 15th. The nurse practitioner who examined me found nothing concerning aside from a few low blood counts and vitamin D deficiency. I'm now taking 5,000 units of D per day and already feel the positive effects.
I'll go to the hospital for a breast ultrasound on Sept. 19th to check on the 5.5 cm oval shaped mass (most likely filled with fluid) in my "cancer breast" in March. If some of the fluid hasn't been absorbed it's possible the surgeon will concider doing a needle aspiration to remove it. I hope so. Although, it's not something he wants to do due to the risk of introducing bacteria. Anyway, I saw a copy of the report from the March ultrasound and mammogram and it stated that the mass is most likely benign.
Stephen and I have decided to homeschool our boys this year. Now, if that isn't a huge leap of faith, I don't know what is! :) It feels good to be living again. Living without cancer!
Thank you to those who've kept up with my blog during the past year and a half. Your support and prayers have made a bigger difference than you know. I'll not forget this blessing!
Who knows? Maybe a home school blog is just around the corner...
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Another good check-up
Another four months check-up with the surgeon today---- he said everything looks good. That means no suspicious lumps, no healing concerns, etc. PHEW!
He asked how I was doing emotionally with the post-cancer process.... I told him I still have fear at times... about recurrence. He gave some good advice: using the visual of a box--- when the fear comes out of it--- don't wrestle with it--- just remind myself that I've felt fearful before and it passes. :) I can relate to this, because when I'm overtired and emotional I tell myself I'll be fine after getting some sleep. It's a good way to rationalize when emotions try and take over. :)
I wasn't surprised to find that I felt very tired after the appointment. I think these "cancer reminder" type medical visits kind of stir up "old stuff".
ANYWAY--- I'm encouraged by the good news!
He asked how I was doing emotionally with the post-cancer process.... I told him I still have fear at times... about recurrence. He gave some good advice: using the visual of a box--- when the fear comes out of it--- don't wrestle with it--- just remind myself that I've felt fearful before and it passes. :) I can relate to this, because when I'm overtired and emotional I tell myself I'll be fine after getting some sleep. It's a good way to rationalize when emotions try and take over. :)
I wasn't surprised to find that I felt very tired after the appointment. I think these "cancer reminder" type medical visits kind of stir up "old stuff".
ANYWAY--- I'm encouraged by the good news!
Friday, July 1, 2011
OUCH!
I guess it's time to not share so much with those closest to me--- apparently, they're growing tired of hearing me talk about how I'm NOT back to "normal" yet post-cancer treatment.
It's not that I enjoy hearing my own voice saying "I'm so tired" on a regular basis. Frankly, I'm sick of it, too. I don't say it for the purpose of gaining sympathy. It's just a vocal sigh of desperation sometimes.
The fact of the matter is I am struggling to keep up some days, and I don't like it one bit. :) I want to be able to just BE ME again. I'm fighting for that every single day.
I look in the mirror and I don't see "me". Not the me I used to be. I'm someone with a dramatically different hairstyle that I did not choose. I'm much more emotional due to the Tamoxifen drug I have to take.
Sometimes, I feel like I'm still battling. I'm not battling cancer per se (other than with the ongoing Tamoxifen treatment), but I'm battling to reclaim my energy, my life, my focus... and most of all my sense of normalcy.
I don't believe it's possible for someone who's not been there to really grasp what it is like post-treatment. You go through "hell" for a good chunk of a year (or, more) and then when treatment's over and you look okay again--- you're expected to just pick up where you left off like nothing happened.
Yet, you've got physical scars, side effects of drugs, some long-term side effects of chemo (i.e. memory problems, concentration issues), and lingering fatigue.
And, nightmar-ish memories of what you went through. If I even THINK about the chemotherapy treatment area of the cancer care facility, or visualize the IV drip bags or vials full of the "poison" (chemo) that went into my veins, I LITERALLY feel nauseated.
The summer weather sometimes transports me back in memory to last summer when I felt sick from treatment. I'd sit in the recliner with the fan on my face for hours. I'm waiting for this summer to go by (not too quickly, though, I hope---Ha!) so that next summer--- the previous summer won't hold those "last summer memories".... it'll be a different comparison all together.
Back to the point of this entry. Today, I was informed by someone close to me (someone who's supposed to be "on my side") that I DO NOT HAVE BREAST CANCER, THAT I AM NO MORE TIRED THAN ANY OTHER MOM OF LITTLE KIDS, AND THAT I NEED TO BE THANKFUL FOR BEING ALIVE RATHER THAN COMPLAINING ABOUT HOW TIRED I AM.
I cannot tell you how much that stung. She sees me as someone who's just "stuck" and complaining. No, I do not have breast cancer. I am thankful to be alive. I AM more tired than I was as a mom of little kids BEFORE cancer diagnosis and treatment. The TRUTH of the matter is that I am dog-gone tired most days and feel like I am fighting hard to keep up and keep going. I sometimes feel desperate --- and my body begs for rest that I cannot get. I push and push and push myself until I'm so tired that I feel like my legs are going to give out--- but I keep going some more. I have three very little kids to take care of and they are BUSY. It is exhausting for someone who's not recovering, let alone for someone who is.
It is MY RIGHT to be tired at this time. I don't like it any more than they like hearing me talk about it. I've been encouraged by other women who've "been there" that the fatigue WILL eventually go away. I hope so.
The kids are asking for something... so, here goes... :) There is little rest for a mom.
It's not that I enjoy hearing my own voice saying "I'm so tired" on a regular basis. Frankly, I'm sick of it, too. I don't say it for the purpose of gaining sympathy. It's just a vocal sigh of desperation sometimes.
The fact of the matter is I am struggling to keep up some days, and I don't like it one bit. :) I want to be able to just BE ME again. I'm fighting for that every single day.
I look in the mirror and I don't see "me". Not the me I used to be. I'm someone with a dramatically different hairstyle that I did not choose. I'm much more emotional due to the Tamoxifen drug I have to take.
Sometimes, I feel like I'm still battling. I'm not battling cancer per se (other than with the ongoing Tamoxifen treatment), but I'm battling to reclaim my energy, my life, my focus... and most of all my sense of normalcy.
I don't believe it's possible for someone who's not been there to really grasp what it is like post-treatment. You go through "hell" for a good chunk of a year (or, more) and then when treatment's over and you look okay again--- you're expected to just pick up where you left off like nothing happened.
Yet, you've got physical scars, side effects of drugs, some long-term side effects of chemo (i.e. memory problems, concentration issues), and lingering fatigue.
And, nightmar-ish memories of what you went through. If I even THINK about the chemotherapy treatment area of the cancer care facility, or visualize the IV drip bags or vials full of the "poison" (chemo) that went into my veins, I LITERALLY feel nauseated.
The summer weather sometimes transports me back in memory to last summer when I felt sick from treatment. I'd sit in the recliner with the fan on my face for hours. I'm waiting for this summer to go by (not too quickly, though, I hope---Ha!) so that next summer--- the previous summer won't hold those "last summer memories".... it'll be a different comparison all together.
Back to the point of this entry. Today, I was informed by someone close to me (someone who's supposed to be "on my side") that I DO NOT HAVE BREAST CANCER, THAT I AM NO MORE TIRED THAN ANY OTHER MOM OF LITTLE KIDS, AND THAT I NEED TO BE THANKFUL FOR BEING ALIVE RATHER THAN COMPLAINING ABOUT HOW TIRED I AM.
I cannot tell you how much that stung. She sees me as someone who's just "stuck" and complaining. No, I do not have breast cancer. I am thankful to be alive. I AM more tired than I was as a mom of little kids BEFORE cancer diagnosis and treatment. The TRUTH of the matter is that I am dog-gone tired most days and feel like I am fighting hard to keep up and keep going. I sometimes feel desperate --- and my body begs for rest that I cannot get. I push and push and push myself until I'm so tired that I feel like my legs are going to give out--- but I keep going some more. I have three very little kids to take care of and they are BUSY. It is exhausting for someone who's not recovering, let alone for someone who is.
It is MY RIGHT to be tired at this time. I don't like it any more than they like hearing me talk about it. I've been encouraged by other women who've "been there" that the fatigue WILL eventually go away. I hope so.
The kids are asking for something... so, here goes... :) There is little rest for a mom.
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