Being sick as a survivor

Up until this weekend I hadn't been sick since chemo ended. Yes, I've felt bad from surgery and have had the random cold, but overall I have been pretty healthy. I hadn't experienced being truly sick as a cancer survivor. Now, unfortunately, I know that being sick takes on a whole new meaning when you're a survivor.

It all started last week, when Marah had strep throat. The child is a bit like a puppy, jumping on me and practically licking me all the time. So, I wasn't terribly surprised when I realized I had a fever when I was at work on Friday. No big deal, I left early to go to the doctor to get some antibiotics. I actually felt pretty decent and was eager to let the amoxicillin start doing its job. It didn't take long after the first dose for me to start feeling terrible, and I felt worse after the second dose. I am definitely allergic to amoxicillin, so the doctor prescribed me a new antibiotic and zofran. Yes, zofran. The anti-nausea drug that was my best friend during chemo. I didn't think I'd ever see that drug again, but there I was in the Walgreens parking lot ripping the package open as soon as I made it through the drive through.

Being sick has been rough, emotionally. Laying in bed, feeling awful, looking at the same maple tree start to change color that I watched in September 2015, I felt a profound sadness. Everything reminded me of cancer. I reached out to fellow survivors and learned that so many of us struggle when we are sick after cancer. Even being home alone in the middle of the day bothers me now. Most days cancer is such an afterthought but it has been forefront these last few days and I don't like it. I don't like feeling like I did when I was going through chemo. I'm on the mend now (keeping liquids and crackers down, yippee!) and hope it is a long time before sickness comes calling again.

In other news....I still love my church and the great people there, I am traveling for work again, and my hair is looking pretty wonderful. I've been lazy again and the scale tells me I need to work out. Farrell's - while I love it - is just too expensive for our budget. So, I'll find something soon otherwise none of my clothes will fit any more! And, of course, Pinktober is just around the corner but this year, so far, I'm not feeling hostile toward the pink. Maybe this year I will embrace it. Stay tuned!

August

Here we are, already into August. Summer has flown by and has included a fabulous family vacation to Galveston and a trip to Illinois to meet new family. Serious battles with Japanese beetles and powdery mildew. Lots of time in the swimming pool and at Adventureland. Bike rides, walks, and an attempt at being a runner (I think I’ve given up on that). Insanity at work every day but perseverance and appreciation for my job. A challenging and convicting sermon series in Ezra along with an attempt to read a book by a Puritan. And now, August.

August brings so many feelings. Still. Because one is never done with cancer, after all. It is still here. I still think about it daily, but not with the intensity or frequency as before. But August brings a lot of things to the surface. It was when I found my lump. Mammogram, ultrasound, biopsy, diagnosis and mastectomy. It has been almost two years. Sometimes it feels like yesterday, but most of the time it feels like ages ago.  I was recently asked if I feel physically different than before, and I don’t even remember how I felt back in early August, 2015. I think I feel mostly the same, but add in hot flashes, memory problems, hip bursitis, foot cramps, the need for additional sleep, total lack of sensation across my chest (which can be really annoying) and silicone implants. Physically, I think I am the almost same. But everything else is different, and better. I truly understand contentment. I value time and want more of it. In my weakness I was able to understand reliance on Christ and the strength that brings. And I know what matters and what does not.

Looking ahead, I think I am going to embrace the pink this October. I still get annoyed that people make gobs of money off my disease, but it is also an opportunity for me to celebrate. I survived this wretched disease and came out better because of it. 

My goofball family! 

Enough already?

Within the last couple of months my hot flashes have come back with a vengeance. They were very intense when I first started Tamoxifen, then they pretty much stopped. And now they are back. They are terribly uncomfortable but really not a huge deal. A couple weeks ago I was in a meeting at work when a hot flash came along, and my friend sitting next to me started to fan me with some paper while I continued to work on my computer. Another person in the meeting, who is extremely nice but doesn't know me well, remarked that I am "too young" for hot flashes. I responded by saying that it is because of the cancer. All she could say, over and over again, was "haven't you been through enough?" That question has been on my mind ever since she asked it. Have I been through enough already? I think of the growth that came through my cancer experience, and I don't think God is finished with me yet. Do I want to do cancer again? Not at all. But, I know that no matter what comes my way I absolutely trust my life to God. So, have I been through enough? I'm not really sure.

To change the subject completely, let's talk Farrell's. After my last surgery I was super lazy and quit working out for about six months. Last month Jen and I went back to Farrell's. Getting out of bed is harder this time around than it ever was before. I have had to miss quite a few classes because of work, which makes it tougher. But, I do love kickboxing. Today I was punching and kicking away, wearing my pink cancer survivor shirt, when Fight Song by Rachel Platten came on. That song always makes me want to cry. But today I decided to stop the tears and instead to punch harder. To kick harder. To do more sit ups as fast as possible. Because I am a survivor and a pretty tough one at that.

I'm back...not the cancer...just me

There have been a few times over the last many months when I've thought about writing again. I said good-bye to this blog, though, so it seemed a little weird to start again. But I like writing. And even though I live a boring life now (for the most part) I still get the itch to write every once in a while. So, here we go again.

First, let me bring you up to speed on all things cancer. I had a revision surgery back in September. The plastic surgeon tried to fix some puffiness on my side and at the same time did some fat transfers around my implants. I was pretty thrilled with the results of the fat transfer - I really want to do it again! - but the puffiness remains. I'm fine with it in the end, though, and I officially graduated from plastic surgery in January.

I've learned that when you're a cancer survivor small physical ailments quickly turn into a big deal. Last November I had some pain in my armpit. The oncologist ruled out cancer pretty quickly, but before I knew it I was tossed into a double-wide wheelchair and had my entire right arm ultrasounded to rule out blood clots (a potential side effect of my medication). In March I had some abdominal pain and found myself receiving a uterine biopsy and diagnostic ultrasound. It wasn't cancer, but there were areas of increased echotexture indicating possible fibroids (another side effect of my medication). And then today I had a bone scan. I've been having hip pain - pretty intense at some times - and we had to rule out the possibility of cancer finding a new home in my bones. The scan was clean, and the pain could be the result of a number of things. The oncologist's nurse told me to take it easy with kickboxing (hahahaha, that's not going to happen since kicking the bag is about my favorite thing!). All of these episodes were a little stressful, not totally fun, but a reminder that in the end, no matter the result of any test, I will be fine. God's will for my life is good, and perfect, and suffering on my part is an opportunity to glorify him. I'm so glad I have that perspective.

In my Sunday school class we are going through Psalm 139 and I have really been enjoying it. This past week we were in verses 7-12, which focus on God's omnipresence. I love verses 9-10: "If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me." Even when I'm having radioactive material being injected into my vein, when I'm more or less tied down going into a claustrophobic scanning tube, God is there. What comfort that provides!

Okay, friends, I feel better now! Yay for writing, on my deck, with my flowers and my cat and the sunshine and the birds singing.

The end of the road

I've spent a lot of time thinking about when I should end this blog. I thought about using my Vegas trip as the ending, or maybe the one-year anniversary of something (my diagnosis, first surgery, chemo, etc) as an appropriate time to end. But nothing felt right. Today, however, I woke up and knew that today would be the day.

Why today? It just feels right. I feel good, I only have one revision surgery left, and hopefully I'll go many years before cancer comes back (if it does). I've also realized that maybe my words are not as powerful or understood as well as they were before. Several weeks ago I wrote a blog post from a place of sadness, and too many times since then people have thrown my words back at me in a hurtful way. So, I'm done.

Writing was really helpful for me during the last year, and I hope I had an impact on my readers. I hope I made you think about where you are spiritually. I hope you've checked your boobs. I hope you've considered getting physically fit. I hope I've given you a little look into what it was like for me to go through cancer and the treatment.

I have had a lot of support over the last year, and I am so thankful. I am equally thankful for the people who continue to have me on their prayer lists. At church a couple weeks ago a very kind man told me that he still prays for me, that the cancer doesn't come back. I was so appreciative of that.

So, as this blog closes and I ride off into the sunset, I would like to specifically call out a few people for their continuous love and support. At the top of the list is my husband, Troy. He's done so much, from cleaning my drains post-surgery to shaving my head to dealing with all of the side effects of chemo and my moods. My parents spent countless hours taking care of me, cleaning my house, and making sure I had everything I needed. Jen Owens put together my meal train and benefit, watched me vomit in the hospital, and was a huge supporter. Angela Hall was my chemo warrior and voice of reason and perspective. Laura Eads sent me McDonald's gift cards and random texts just to keep my spirits up. And of course, I have my church community, work community, and countless other friends who were with me along this journey. So, to everyone, thank you. 

My Vegas crew - Angela, me, Ashley and Marianne

My sweet little family

Jen and I having way too much fun on the teacups at Adventureland!

One more surgery

My mind keeps wandering back to a year ago. The clock was ticking and I didn't even know it. I had cancer cells dividing, a tumor growing, and I was blissfully oblivious. God was watching, knowing. And a year later I sit here, totally transformed, grateful for the rain, but still feeling anxious as August 18 approaches.

August 18, 2015, was the first interview day for the PA program at work. I remember what I was wearing that day. I have so many vivid memories of that day. Hearing the word "invasive" over the phone and crying and finding my sweet colleague Layne in the hallway and just shaking my head at her and she knew immediately. Having to call Troy and my parents and tell everyone else. Thinking about that morning gives me anxiety. And this Tuesday we are holding our first PA interview day of the new admissions cycle. I'll get to work early just like I did last year, making sure everything is just right. I'll be excited and yet resigned to the fact that there is a long admissions cycle ahead of us. But this year there will not be a phone call that turns my world upside down and puts me on the most challenging path I had ever experienced. I actually thought about wearing the same outfit this year as I did last year for interview day #1. That thought practically put me into a panic attack. So if I seem a little odd over the next few weeks, please understand that I'm not quite sure how to process everything.

What I do know how to process, however, is the fact that I'm getting another surgery on September 12. In order to fix the puffiness on my right side, my plastic surgeon needs to do a little work. While he's at it, I've decided to go ahead with the fat grafting procedure. This is when the surgeon sucks fat from my middle (liposuction) and puts it around my implants. I was pretty sure I didn't want to do the fat grafting, but now I figure if I'm knocked out for one thing we might as well go ahead with it. Surgery certainly isn't enjoyable, but I'm really excited for the results. And no, friends, I don't need any fat donors. I have enough of my own.

Week One Begins...

Today was the first day of the summer session for Farrell's (and yes, I was there 8.5 hours after getting off a plane from my Vegas trip). Seeing the summer session start feels weird for me. I measure the timeline of my diagnosis and early treatment in terms of where I was in my session last summer. I found my lump on the Monday of week five. I had my mammogram on the Tuesday of week five, and the biopsy on the Friday of week five. I received my diagnosis on the Tuesday of week six. My bilateral mastectomy was the Friday of week seven. I returned to Farrell's on the Friday of week nine (I'm still super proud of that!). And I started chemo on the Friday of week ten. And now, as I enter the summer session and watch the new students, I can't stop seeing myself last year.  Just getting started and having no idea what was about to unfold in my life.  I had visions of a wonderful body transformation and gaining lots of physical strength. I never envisioned that my body transformation would include having my breasts amputated and being left with gigantic scars and swelling that seems to be never-ending. I never thought my transformation would include months of being bald. I never could have envisioned the drastic weight loss and gain that my body would go through. And that's just the physical part. There was so much more. And here I am, nearly a year later, not believing it has been almost a year and wondering when I won't think of cancer nearly every hour of every day. When people tell me that my hair is cute I want to yell at them. Why don't they know that this isn't the hair I want? Yes, it is cute, but I want the hair that I had a year ago. They tell me that my reconstruction looks great. Of course it does, but I would really love to have real breasts again. Everything about me looks great (my, that sounds awful), but I still mourn for what I had. Would I change what I went through over the last year? Not at all. But, at the same time, I miss a lot about that girl was was just starting Farrell's a year ago.