Three Weeks Out

Hello!! I am officially three weeks out from surgery! And what a difference every week has made! It's amazing how God created our bodies to heal so quickly! 20 days ago I couldn't sit up in bed. But, today I dragged a chair across my living room floor.

I'm not exactly supposed to be lifting anything more than 5 pounds (thank goodness this is finally up from ONE pound a few days ago!) but it's really ridiculous to expect anyone to be able to go through a normal day and not lift 5 pounds. So, I'm relinquishing my "A+ patient" title and I'm unabashadly cheating!

Here's the lowdown:
Surgery lasted 10 hours, the first two of which I think were spent on the "precautionary" mastectomy on the cancer-free side. When I woke up in the recovery room, I saw my doctor through hazy eyes and my first spoken words out of anesthesia... well, they had to do with my anatomy and it might be a little too familiar to share here. The nurse standing near me at the time laughed, and I fell back into a druggy sleep that lasted several days. I have very little memory of any hospital days. What I do remember is regret. I was in a lot of pain and I kept thinking that I'd made the wrong decision. Unfortunately, my blood pressure really dropped the day after surgery and they started messing with my pain meds to rectify the situation and the result was blood pressure that never rose back to normal numbers, and no freedom from pain either.

I spent 5 days in the hospital, 2 days (is that right?) at Mel's to avoid my hyper children and the stairs leading to our apartment. Thankfully, we've had the most wonderful babysitter helping us these last few weeks, so I pretty much spent that first week at home in a stupor of drugs and naps.

Now, three weeks out, my pain is minimal, and I only really notice it as night when my stomach and the area below my ribcage is really tight. So, I'm not getting much sleep, which most of you will benefit from because sleep-deprived Sarah is a little goofier than normal!

I am half the size that I used to be in my chest. But surprisingly, I feel no different than before. Isn't it odd that it felt normal before my diagnosis, it felt normal after the mastectomy, it felt normal wearing the prosthesis, and it feels normal now being half of what I'm used to? What does that say about how temporal these bodies are? I'm glad I'm not overly attached to it!

So, in the end, we are going to have 2 more, small operations to sort of "tidy things up." The first of which will be a week from Friday. And, I have no more regrets because my plastic surgeon made it clear that implants would have failed because none of my skin that previously went through radiation was usable at all, and the doctors had to use all skin from my stomach on that side.

Thanks for all the cards, well-wishes and prayers! Pray that I can avoid lifting so we can make it through the recovery process smoothly.

God Sends Us Some Mail

SURGERY IS SET FOR MONDAY!!! I am flabbergasted at how many obstacles we had to overcome just to get my surgery scheduled! Since about April I've been thinking: "After the surgery, I will..."

In other words, while I'm hoping that my recovery will be speedy, I'm expecting that life will be on hold for a while during recovery. So I'm glad to get the show on the road already, so I can be one step closer to back to normal!

Since I'll be spending the next few weeks in a sedentary state, it was extra wonderful to get to spend last weekend in San Antonio with my three guys. If you know us personally or have read the blog for a while, you know how we've made financial adjustments in the past months. And I wouldn't be honoring God if I didn't mention his blessing of this trip.

About a month ago I realized that Terry's 30th birthday was approaching and we weren't in a position to do anything extra special to usher him into this new decade. So I prayed about it. And over the next week, and in fact, beginning that very next day, we got three unexpected checks in the mail from various places! I was so excited when I finally got to tell Terry that I had a weekend in our favorite Texas town planned and that it wasn't happening because of anything we'd done. But rather, it was possible because of God! And in the end, doesn't all of our money come from God anyway?

This surprise blessing helped us understand better what God expects of us financially. If we try to give like He asks, we won't feel deprived (and 'try' is the key word- because although we've made adjustments, they've been small and we have a long way to go before we can say we're doing exactly what we should.). When you don't have mountains of money in the bank, you have the chance to give God so much more control. Maybe you think I'm silly for thinking God had a birthday present in mind when we got those checks. But I'd rather give God credit every chance I get!

All the glory is to God for working in our hearts to change us before we even knew what change we needed! I think it was in The Hole in Our Gospel where the author wrote that when he started to wonder how much money he had, he knew it was time to give some away. I hope we can feel like that some day. After seeing the way money came from The Church during all of my treatment, you'd think we had complete grasp over the fact that God will provide. But I still get really nervous where money is concerned. Like, for example, when our tire blew out on I-10 on the way home from San Antonio. It ricocheted up and hit the door so that the driver's side door wasn't able to open. And all I could see were dollar signs! I'm a work in progress!

Thank you, God, for small blessings, caring about birthdays, and teaching us lessons. And Happy 30th Birthday, husband!

Ecclesiastes 5
10He who loves money will not be satisfied with money, nor he who loves wealth with his income; this also is vanity. 11When goods increase, they increase who eat them, and what advantage has their owner but to see them with his eyes? 12Sweet is the sleep of a laborer, whether he eats little or much, but the full stomach of the rich will not let him sleep. 13(P) There is a grievous evil that I have seen under the sun: riches were kept by their owner to his hurt, 14and those riches were lost in a bad venture. And he is father of a son, but he has nothing in his hand.

So, I made it through my annual scan and all the worry that comes with it! I can't remember if I wrote this on the blog or not yet, but dealing with this scan made me more frightened than I'd been even during the initial diagnosis. Hard to believe, isn't it? I think that the underlying reason is simple: Plenty of people are breast cancer survivors. Not that many are two-time survivors.

Which is exactly what I was thinking when, less than 24 hours after my "Clean and Clear" results regarding the chest MRI, my oncologist sent me off to get a back xray because of some chronic pain I've been having for three months. He said that he "gets paid to worry," and then told me that for someone my age, back pain should heal itself after so long. Which, in Oncologist speak means, "Let's rule out bone metastasis."

That was almost a week ago and I haven't heard the results of the xray yet. Which I think is good news. Although on occasion I think it means my file slipped into the trash and has long been forgotten!

Mostly, life in our house has been "too good to be true" lately. Which is both very good and very true. The way God shook up our beliefs and turned our outlook about so many things upside down has proven to be so rewarding! We still have slip-ups where we fall back into our old way of thinking, but that just makes me more grateful for those moments in the oncologists office when I feel "down and out." Those moments can be a real kick in the pants to remind me to re-gain focus.

I've been reading, Weird, by Craig Groeschel. And the chapter on "people pleasing" was both eye-opening and timely. Terry and I do look pretty weird to some people right now-- moving to a small apartment after selling a lot of our stuff, designating our money to strange, new places that we hope will further God's kingdom (which effectively tightened our budget in other areas, meaning we have to say "no" to a lot more social activities), etc. And making these weird changes has, at times, caused me to feel a little under-attack by well-meaninged people. Truth is, I've stayed up nights, racked with guilt over not looking like the "right kind of Christian" to other people. So, if you pray for me (and I hope you do!) add this to your prayer list: Sarah needs to worry less about pleasing people, so she can worry more about pleasing God!

A lot of these feelings stem from survivor's guilt. You know- God saved me from cancer for a reason-- now I have to live up to that potential. There's a tremendous amount of pressure that comes from that kind of thinking! Lately I've been feeling like I'm letting people down right and left. And maybe that's because I took too much on, too quickly.

But, I've got to point out (because I'm such a 'silver lining' type of girl) that all this pressure and judgement has made me turn to God more often and I've even started a prayer journal again. I haven't kept one since college, but these very lovely people, who read this very-unworthy blog, sent me a beautiful journal and I was inspired! Thank you so much Pauline, Estelle, Jimmy, and Peggy!

And thank you to everyone else out there-- all 3 of you readers who actually make it to the end of such long, wandering posts! There are times when I can't stand to think of writing about cancer or survivorhood. And then there are other times, like tonight, when I need to put my thoughts on paper and it's nice to imagine someone out there is listening!

Check back soon to hear my excitement over my reconstruction surgery being set! June 27th! So exciting!

Doctors on top of doctors!

(Side note: Who said it? Popular tv character responds to "I've been seeing girls on top of girls," with "Are they end to end or stacked like pancakes?")

My doctors aren't end to end or stacked like pancakes. But they are covering my calendar. I've got 8 doctor appointments in 7 weeks. It's about as fun as trying on bathing suits. It's plain ol' awful! It's stressful to have to arrange babysitters and switch up my schedule to accomodate so many appointments. And each doctor's office is an unwelcome reminder that my life isn't the same anymore.

I just got a call from the nurse at my oncologists office. They just sent off a blood sample last week so when she said, "Hey, do you have a minute?" I thought "uh-oh." Turns out she just wanted to refer me to a neurologist, but for thirteen seconds, my heart dropped. Every doctor and nurse calling to speak to a patient shold have to say immediately, "Hello. I have no bad news."

Anyway, I'm seeing the neurologist to check out my still-persistent elbow pain. It comes and goes which leads the oncologist to believe it's nerve damage and not cancer-related. It doesn't really hurt that bad. If I wasn't in remission from cancer I would totally ignore it. I've lost the luxury to do that I guess. No wonder my insurance company doesn't like me. I don't just have to pay for cancer treatment... I have to pay to get every ache, pain, bump, and lump looked at "just in case."

BUT- I'm not so far away from being sick that I can really moan and groan over a few doctor appointments. I remember verrrry clearly how bad it was to be sick and seeing the doctor. So in the grand scheme of things, I can handle some trips to and fro the medical center.

So, goodbye! I have no bad news!

Cheese!

No, it's not coming in curly.

Yes, I put blonde high-lights in it.

Yes, I feel like a boy.

No, I won't keep it like this. (Egads!)

Yes, I'm happy to have any hair at all!

Moving On

I've had big plans for a huge cancer-free bash since almost the day of my diagnosis. Because I enjoy planning events, thinking of this up-and-coming party gave me plenty to think about while I was sick from chemo.

But I'm feeling differently now.

Christmas 2010 has come and gone. And I had four separate family Christmases. And at each one of them, cancer was far from my mind. Who has time to think about cancer when it's Christmas, right? Luckily, my treatment was far behind me (and my surgery so far ahead) that I was able to enjoy Christmas as "just me" again. Not, "Me with Cancer."

So, I'm over the label. I'm past the illness. I don't want to give anymore attention to it. And that includes planning a party. It's not the celebratory event or mood that I mind. It's the effort it would take me to throw the party. And each minute of planning would just be me sitting amongst the memories. And however enjoyable the planning was, I'd be inwardly wallowing at losing more moments to this dreaded disease. Someday, in the future, perhaps, I'll plan the charity event I've thought of for so many months.

For now, I'm just moving on.

I've still got the bruises, metaphorically speaking. And I've been changed in more ways than I can count. So I'll never be the same. But, thankfully I don't have to stay in this moment. It's like covering a wall with new wall paper. You can smooth the new paper over the old and have a shiny new appearance. But, with one intentional scrape of a finger nail you can reveal the old paper below.

I don't want to spend any more time dwelling on having been sick. I want to put up new wall paper. Maybe some paint. The room looks new but the foundation is the same.

"I sought the Lord, and he heard me, and delivered me from all my fears.They looked unto him, and were lightened: and their faces were not ashamed.This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him, and saved him out of all his troubles. The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear him, and delivereth them. O taste and see that the Lord is good: blessed is the man that trusteth in him."
Psalm 34:4-8

God heard me.
My face has been lightened.
I have been saved from my troubles.
I have been delivered.
I am blessed.

And now I'm moving on.
Never to forget, but never to live in the past.

Yowza!

(There are pictures below of the effects of radiation. They might make you a bit squeamish. Please know that none of the pictures are of anything innapropriate. Even if I was left with any normal feninine features in the mastectomy area, these pictures would still not be of anything indecent-- just the skin around the area where the tumor was.)

Ok first I'd like to ask for prayer to continue this blog. As my treatment nears its end (only 5 more radiation treatments to go!) I feel more and more like I am ready to leave cancer behind. And much less willing to keep up a blog on it. But it's something I feel called to do. In the beginning I wrote because I wanted an easy way to keep family and friends updated with my progress. Then it became an outlet for my scariest thoughts.

But frankly, it's been really difficult to focus enough on the fears to write it all down. I've learned many lessons, most of them have been recorded, but plenty of them have been too hard to face, much less write down. However, I've continued to feel God urging me to share. I'm constantly reminded by the statistic that 1 out of 8 women will get breast cancer. So maybe I'm in a position to help some of those women just by being transparent in my own journey. But, like I said, it's pretty darn painful to face my fears and allow myself to reflect enough to write about cancer. So I'd appreciate your prayers.

Now on to the "Yowza" part...

Radiation has mostly been a breeze. I've recounted over and over again how lucky I am to be mostly numb in the affected area so that I didn't have pain from the get-go. But now I can REALLY say that I am more grateful than ever because now the pain is creeping up above the numbness and I tremble just thinking about how difficult it would have been to feel this pain since the beginning of treatment 5 weeks ago!

Here's what my skin looked like a few days ago when the pain first started to flare up (up to this point all I'd felt was a soreness and tightening) And no, this is not a picture of any underarm hair. This shot isn't even high enough to include that part of my body, and even if it did, there's still no hair there. If you really want a good look, you can click on the picture and see it upclose where you can tell that you're looking at blisters and peeling skin: (I honestly don't recommend looking any closer though. Although for some reason I imagine Crystal G. and several others of you 'medical types' being interested. = )
 
Here you can see the variation of color in the skin being treated and my normal skin. The purple line on the side is just one of the lines they use to get me in the same spot every day for radiation.

And here's what that same spot looks like today:

Up until today I've been able to use just aspirin but today I had to move up to the "good stuff!" Being at home where I can wear a loose shirt is much better than being out because my bra moves against the bad areas and the weight of my prosthetic hurts a lot. I'm glad my kids are as young as they are because if they were any older and had more awareness they would be scarred forever by the sight of me reaching into my shirt to yank my prosthetic out to get a little relief!

And speaking of my prosthetic, I'm going to post pics of it. Sorry if it's offensive in any way. To me it's just plastic and I thought some of you might be curious. Prosthetics for breast cancer are known commonly in the bc community as foobies (f for "fake").

Here it is...

And here it is in it's little cover that I can take off and wash. You can see the purple stain on the bottom of it. That's because the marker for radiation rubs off onto it.

I think I mentioned that about two weeks ago (or has it been three now?) that I lost all of my eyebrows and eyelashes. I thought that was so odd considering chemotherapy was well over and the rest of my hair was growing back. Thankfully my lashes and brows started growing back almost as soon as they fell out. I'm so thankful for this because losing these things was worse for me than losing the hair on my head. Here you can see that my lashes are growing back (and you can see the few tiny long hairs I've still got which, yes, I've still been putting mascara on!).

And this is how much hair I've got today. Every morning when I look in the mirror I can see how much it's grown. Terry and I love to rub it because it's coming in so super soft! It's still really thin so I'm not quite ready to go without the wig yet.

So to sum up-- Ouch and Yowza!!-- radiation is a bummer! But my last 8 treatments are just to doobie (the mast. area) so the other skin can start to heal. When I was first diagnosed a lot of survivors reached out to me and I remember one of them saying that radiation was only a big deal to people who hadn't gone through chemotherapy as well. I guess that's true. Chemo was 20 times worse, but radiation's no picnic either!

Chemo 4

Mom came with me to this last chemo session. We forgot to take the picture until halfway through the ivs, so I am very pale in this picture. (Not sure why but I'm always very pale after chemo.)

Like always, Paul came and started off the day with prayer. I had to give up my normal spot because someone had beat me to it. As soon as I sat down in the chair I started feeling nauseous. Just another example of how strong the mind is! I felt sick just from knowing what was coming!

Several things about this specific chemo were unusual. First, the nurse ran my bloodwork just like normal. When she came back with the results she said, "Do you feel like you've been run over by a car?" Turns out my hemoglobin was low. Normally, women want that number to be around 14. During chemo they try to keep you above 10. I was at an 8.6 and this past week it dropped more to a 7.

I don't know if it's this number or not, but it took me a loooot longer to bounce back from this chemo than the previous two. In fact, today, eleven days later, I'm still not 100%. This could be a result of low hemoglobin or maybe it's just an accumulation of all the drugs in my system finally getting the best of me. For the last week and a half I pretty much just stayed on the couch.

Terry's been wonderful at picking up the slack. He's doing all the cleaning and laundry. And not complaining at all!

On the up side, I've had no headaches or body aches this time around. Normally I get a headache before I'm out of the chair, but this time I've had none. And the Neulasta shot has previously made me achy all over and I was spared that this time, too.

Unfortunately, sleep is worse this time. I'm tired by 8 p.m. but I try to not get in bed till close to 10. I fall asleep right away but wake up at 1 and from there I'm pretty much up till the next morning. Which I'm sure is also adding to my recent fatigue.

But, the best news of all is that I'm on the downside of chemo!!!!!!! I'm a month away from my last treatment and about 6 weeks away from no more side effects! No more "chemo coma!" Oh, I can't wait for the return of my brain cells!

Four down....Two to Go!!!!!!!!!!!!

And of course, I've learned something from all this fatigue- everyone whose been saying, "It could be worse" since the beginning, was right! I can't imagine having had to abandon my life due to fatigue for the previous two months. I've been whiny enough about it just for this last week and a half. It's depressing to miss days and days of the real world because you can't get off the couch. I've been the most whiny this time around. I know that's because I stopped thinking about all I have to be grateful for. No more wallowing though. I'm over it. Thank you for allowing me my moment of weakness. I'm back focusing on God and all He's doing for me and my family!

Sacrificing

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about volunteerism and having a servant’s heart. Obviously, I need a lot of helpers in my world right now. So I'm trying to see things from your perspective.

I’ve had worries of being too needy. Of not being gracious enough (there’s still Tupperware to be returned and thank you notes to be written!). Of being too vocal with my needs; too selfish. And of course, at the top of my list of “volunteer worries” is that I have never been good at this myself.

I’ve gained tremendous perspective from being “28Cancer” girl. I’ve got a house that has to be maintained, a husband who still needs to be encouraged and loved, chores that have to be done, bills that have to be paid, doctor’s appointments that have to be tended to, babysitters to be arranged, endless prescriptions to fill, and two precious, buzzing boys who don’t understand where mommy has been lately.

Before I was “28Cancer” I would have never been able to imagine all that it took to live through a medical crisis and come out on the other side without declining into utter chaos.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my friend Brandy. Brandy has restrictive cardiomyopathy. That means her heart chambers are unable to properly fill with blood. She’s just about my age. Her two children are elementary school age. I’ve only known her for a few months but I believe our friendship was divinely ordained. We don’t share similar diseases, but we share many of the same emotions from our illnesses.

She recently had some trouble with her heart and her Implantable Cardiac Defibrilator shocked her three times. Since then Brandy bravely underwent two procedures and was sent home from the hospital and told to rest. Indefinitely. Basically, Brandy has orders to abstain from things like laundry, dishes, driving, etc. The longer she can relax and hold off on these things, the longer she’s got before her doctor’s put her on the heart transplant list.

Brandy writes a blog called, I Will Give You a New Heart, and we both believe God will do that for her! But in the meantime, she and her family are completely at the mercy of their friends and church family (her family is in East Texas) to keep their lives running.

And here’s where God makes it interesting- Brandy and I are in the same Small Group at church. Meaning a group of about 6 other families has been placed directly in the line of fire! I can only imagine their struggle as they look around and wonder what they can or should do.

I listened to an author speak on Focus on The Family earlier today. He said he used to pray for God to care about the things he cared about. He’d pray for his neighbors' broken marriage, for healing for his uncle, etc. But he’s recently come to understand that since God is the embodiment of love, He doesn’t need any reminders to care for hurting people. So Yancey has started to pray differently. He’s asking God what he can do to show God’s love to those around Him. In essence, I guess he’s asking what each of us should be asking every day: How can I look more like Jesus? How can my life bear fruit? What can I do to show your love to my family and friends that are hurting? How would you like me to sacrifice?

So many of you are so very, very good at this! I want to take a moment to list out the ways you’ve shown your love for my family in these last few months:

Bringing food
Sending cards
Sending gifts
Sending quilts
Emailing/texting encouraging messages or verses
Hand-crafting gifts for us
Babysitting
Cleaning the house
Paying for housekeepers
Grocery shopping
Connecting me with survivors/doctors to talk to
Driving me to doctor appointments
Doing laundry
Bringing the kids gifts
Donating your very hard-earned money
Arranging help with car problems
Wearing a pink bracelet
And weekly lawn work!

Earlier on I was having such a hard time taking all of these things. I felt a little undeserving, a little apprehensive at letting people into my lives on such an intimate level to help me take care of basic needs. But, sweet Lisa Beadle told me a few weeks ago that anytime I don’t let someone help, I am robbing them of the blessing they might get from God for being obedient in serving.

Since then I have been quick to say, “Yes, I need help!” Just ask Paul and his angels how many times they’ve recently brought us dinner during a non-chemo time!

I’m grateful for those moments when people don’t ask, but instead just call up and say, “I’m helping and here’s how…” I’d give anything to be able to be that person for Brandy and her family right now.

She and I have both been struggling with what good can come from our situations. Is there anything good that our immediate families can gain from being in this painful position?

I just finished reading a novel based on the Biblical account of Esther. Her story reminded me of how God can take something detrimental and do so much good. Esther was taken from her family and given to a king she’d never met. She had to give up her own dreams of marriage and family amongst the other Jews and go to a man to whom she couldn’t even reveal her true identity. Then God called her to risk her life to appear before this King and reveal the truth to him. A task that might very possibly have ended in her death. Instead, God was faithful and He used Esther to miraculously save all of the Jewish people of her land!

I think Brandy would agree with me that we both humbly hope God can use us and our situations to bring God’s love into the world. And I know we’d both say that seeing your outpouring of love and care for us while we’re incapable of living our lives on our own is breathtaking.

I’m happy to say that I’ve seen Jesus’ love through so many of you. And you might not ever, ever, ever understand it, but believe me when I say it… Every little thing you have done or will do means so very, very much. Nothing is too trivial; all of your efforts are coming together to keep us afloat right now. God bless you for your generosity and sacrifices. We know the extreme effort that its taken to help us. I don't doubt that there are many of you who have put your heads on your pillows at night feeling exhausted by all you've done to help the Dominos. While you're resting in your beds, please know that we're over here praying for blessings upon blessings to come your way.

Quick UPDATE on Chemo 4:
So, here I am. Blogging away on what is normally my worst chemo day. Thanks to my very own personal pharmacy that is now covering one whole counter in my kitchen, my nausea and headaches are much more manageable. My biggest prayer request during this round of chemo is for my hemoglobin numbers. They are low and if they drop more then we might soon be facing a blood transfusion. Please pray for these numbers to rise! I don’t want a transfusion, of course, but my hemoglobin being low is also contributing to my exhaustion and weakness. And I'd rather not keep going through non-chemo weeks with so much fatigue!

Blah, Blah, Something About Chemo 3...

Thanks to all of you who prayed for me during the last few days. I think word spread pretty fast, but for anyone who doesn't know, I came down with another infection and had a fever of 102.1 that Tylenol wouldn't bring down. I was thisclose to being back in the dun, dun, DUNNN.... E.R. again so I was miserable! Thankfully my temp never reached 103 and my onc. let me stay home and recuperate away from hospitals!

I did have a follow-up appointment yesterday and learned two things that scared/annoyed me. Will write about that later. Keep sending prayers because all of this has been going on at the worst possible moment with Terry- he's got clients in town and a scheduled full of meetings so he hasn't been able to escape the office to be with me.

I got emotional at the oncs office (probably more from feeling so badly and less from Terry's absence) and cried almost through the whole thing (I know- big weenie). Had some trouble convincing onc. that I don't need an anti-anxiety drug. Although maybe I do cause I meant to ask Terry for my Zofran the other day and accidentally said Zoloft. Freudian slip? :)

No actually, my mood is ok. (It's the body that's not!) Things get me down momentarily but God is so faithful and merciful to keep holding my hand so I'm doing ok. And who couldn't cheer up around my blonde boys?

Quick hello

I'm on day four of chemo #3. So far it's not been so bad. Same as last time I guess.
I took nine pills this morning. Nine.
The onc. didn't worry too much about my knee pain. Didn't even want an x-ray. Apparantly bone mets don't usually show up in joints. He said my aches are standard for chemo. Weird to feel like your body is 80 when you're in your twenties, though. Praise God for allowing me to dodge another bullet!
Missed church this morning. Shucks.
Pray for my 'wallowing mood.' Sometimes chemo gets me down more emotionally than physically.

A real update will happen when I emerge from my chemo cloud. Happy 4th.

Pray for Only Purple

Yesterday I was feeling pretty darn good. I realized how gracious God is that even during chemotherapy I can find so many moments of rest and play. And then I remembered several survivors telling me that there will be many bad days. So I prayed right then and there for God to protect me from feeling too secure and that He would prepare me for any bad days on the horizon.

And this morning when I woke up to a stiff, painful knee I realized that my next bad day was closer than I thought.

A lot of people have asked me frequently about prophalactic mastectomy on my right side and I've told them what my doctors have said. "The cancer is no more likely to come back in that breast than it is to come back in your knee cap."

So, I won't pretend that I don't recognize the irony that I'm sitting here worrying that I might have bone mets in my knee. (Bone is one of the more likely places breast cancer spreads to.)

I called my doctor's office and spoke to the nurse. I was expecting her to tell me that joint pain is a side effect of both Taxotere (which is part of my chemo regimen) and Neulasta (which is the shot I get 24 hours after every chemo treatment). Instead, after I explained my pain she said it didn't sound like my pain was related to either one. We hung up after she told me to treat the knee like it was an injury (ice and heat) and then come in for an X-ray on Thursday (when I'll already be there for chemo #3).

So here I am. Having to look my last post about peace right in the face. Right in its dirty, ol', good-for-nothing face. Can I lay this down too? Can I be obedient and not worry? Can I sleep tonight without those awful thoughts creeping back to find me under the covers?

From what I've read/been told, every cancer survivor faces these moments on a fairly regular basis. Every ache and pain makes them think they've got a recurrence. I just never expected to face this while I'm still in the early stages of treatment.

And here's some more irony for you: I've been wearing both my pink 'breast cancer' bracelet (that so many of you are also sporting on my behalf) and the purple 'cancer survivor' bracelet that Paul gave me. But this morning mere minutes before I squatted to lift Caleb and felt the sharp pain in my knee, I had taken off the pink bracelet thinking, "My scans are clear. I'm healed, despite my ongoing treatment. I'm losing the pink."

What do you think? A bit of spiritual warfare? The moment I claim my health in a tangible way, my old feelings of death and despair are thrown back into my face?

Help me win this battle. Pray my knee pain is something else. Anything but bone mets.

Private Hospital Politics

(This is a lot of info that I'm about to spew. It won't be pretty or articulate. Or possible even interesting. Just another necessary entry in my cancer diary...)

I thought our time at North Cypress was going pretty well. Nice rooms. Mostly nice staff.

Any sign of fever was gone by Wednesday afternoon. So when a doctor saw us Thursday morning and said we could probably go home that day, we weren't surprised. The doc said we had to wait to hear from another doctor first, but he was almost 100% positive we'd be getting discharged soon.

Fast forward hours later...

It's been about 25 hours since I've slept (which is saying something since I've been lying in a bed for all of those hours) and Terry's just gone home to take the kids back after they visited. So I'm all alone for the first time in days. In comes the doctor we've been waiting for.

The first thing I remember thinking was, "This guy is very proud of himself." He sits. Half-way listens to me talk. I say, "When can I go?" He says, "It's possible that we'll release you...tomorrow." I was surprised right off the bat. He sounded like going home even tomorrow was questionable. I ask why we are staying and he tells me my white cell count has gone down (We knew that. We also knew that, to the best of our knowledge, that was expected after chemo.) and that tomorrow (day 7 of chemo) is "an important day" because it's when the numbers should go back up. He explains (and I believe what he says-- afterall, he's the doctor) that if the numbers go up in the morning, I'll get released right away. But if they go down then I'm in danger and being at the hospital would be necessary.

He leaves. I call my onco right away and leave a voicemail for the nurse: "My numbers went from 4.6 to 2.7 and they want to keep me another night. Just wanted to run that passed y'all. Please call me back and let me know what Dr. Heyne suggests."

I have just enough time to text and call everyone to let them know I'm staying another night when the nurse from my onco office calls. The first thing she says is, "Sarah, you're not still in the hospital are you?" And then I feel like she's chiding me. She seems to be patronizing me as she tells me that my numbers aren't that bad. That you don't worry till they get below 1. That the only reason I should have been at the hospital was my fever and now it's time to go home. At first I'm thinking, "Yeah, right. I'm not gonna argue with Dr. Rico Suave that he's wrong. I'll just tough it out and stay the night." I was exhausted and dealing with this all alone. At this point, I was only mildly frustrated by my doctors' disagreement...

Then she says, "Your numbers won't get better tomorrow. Statistically speaking, day 8 of chemo is when your numbers drop the most." Now, I was really annoyed. My drs weren't just disagreeing over a small thing- they'd flat out stated opposing opinions. And I believed my onco.

I hung up with the nurse and called Terry. While I was ranting (the first rant of my sleep-deprived night, but oh, sooo far from the last) my nurse (a very sweet lady) came in to change my saline bag. I hung up with Terry and she immediately told me that she was my advocate and here to do my dirty work. She said she'd talk with my doctor about the discrepancies. I begged her to ask the doctor at the hospital to call my onco (something she said she'd put in my file yesterday, but the hospital doc still hadn't done). Before she leaves the room she tells me I'm going to be given a medication to drink. "It's just a one-time thing," she says, "because your potassium levels are really low." (Or maybe she said high. I can't remember now.)

For some reason this sounded suspicious to me. I'd been put on several antibiotics since I'd been there and Dr. Rico Suave had moments earlier announced another antibiotic and a yeast pill. I couldn't keep up with all the meds, so I said to her, "But, now I'm questioning his judgment. Maybe my levels are low as a side effect of the chemo and they'll come back on their own like everything else will." She says that my numbers are at the top of the worst category so she suspects its pretty important for me to get the meds. But she offers to go ask Dr. Suave.

And my biggest flip out comes when she walks back in almost immediately and says, "Ok, he said to cancel the meds." AAAGGGHHH!!!! That was it for me! I thought, "This guys a quack! I've been trusting my health to these people and they don't seem to have a clue!"

If I'd had the energy I would have pulled my iv out right then, just like they do on tv. If I had any guts I would have checked out "AMA" and been sitting outside waiting for Terry when he got back. But I didn't have energy or guts. So I did the only thing I could think of- texted a dozen people for advice and then started to cry.

When Terry got back he decided that we would listen to my onco and check out. The rule-follower in me immediately got scared to argue with Dr. Suave. Luckily though, my nurse handled that for me (she said the doc was pretty mad). She also magically worked the discharge process and we were released in only about 15 minutes- by far the fastest that's ever happened! As we signed out, I got the good news (finally) that my genetic testing was back and that I don't have a gene mutation (meaning no mandatory ovary and right breast removal and no worries for my sisters). My nurse overheard and shared that she has a very strong line of bc in her family. She got a little teary when she said her mom had it, and I assumed this was why she'd been so helpful and proactive.

In the end it was such an awful day! I was so overwhelmed. I had been putting all of my energy into fighting cancer. I didn't know I was supposed to be playing doctor too. Or, playing doctor politics, I guess. So many people who've already heard this story have shrugged it off to "private hospitals" so I guess I was a little naive. But rightly so, I suppose. Maybe it's just me but I assume that hospitals and doctors know what they're doing and have my best interest at heart. More of "the perfect world" I lived in is just shattering at my feet!

The hospital doctor actually said to me that if I weren't being treated for bc he'd let me go. And my onco said that because I am being treated for bc is the exact reason I should go home. Except the earlier fever, everything else that had happened was to be expected. It seemed like my onco was concerned with my health while my hospital doc was only concerned with taking advantage of a young couple and keeping us around (and pumping me with pricey drugs). Like Mark Brewer says, 50% of all doctors graduated in the bottom half of their class!

So after over 30 hours of being awake, I finally slept. For twelve hours! And now that I can think straight I feel the need to apologize to anyone who was the victim of my crazy texts during that very stressful period yesterday! Sorry! :) And as always... thanks for listening!

Quick Catch-Up

Just wanted to fill y'all in on where I'm at...

The short-and-sweet of it is that chemo treatment both was and was not what I expected. I didn't plan on feeling so weak, so fast. For days I had only three complaints- weakness, soreness, and mild nausea. By far, the worst of it was feeling weak.

I would be lying in bed thinking that my arm was hurting and just willing myself to gather the energy to move it. I'd lie there and think, "Move it. Do it quick. Just move it and then you can go back to sleep."
Then I'd realize how pathetic I was to be so tired! (I really was blessed to have none of the regular gastrointestinal difficulties that come with chemo. And I had no reason to whine about fatigue!) So I'd get mad at myself and think of all the people who had it worse and had handled it better. I'd have great moments where I'd feel like I could sit up and chat for hours, but just as quickly I'd get knocked back down.

I already knew this was going to be a physical battle, but I couldn't have imagined how mentally challenging/draining it would be. I've had one thought echo through my head so far. Over and over, I hear: Not self-reliance. Lean on God. Not self-reliance. Lean on God.

Cancer and the subsequent draining of the first chemo treatment has truly been the only issue I've ever faced where I haven't been able to plan and plot my way out of it. I've been trying to own that, trying to give this up to God. And I guess he's showing me that I'm still too egotistical-- he doesn't just want me to give my cancer struggles up to him. He wants me to lean on him in every decision. I've been bad about that...

Anyway, here we are--- day 6 of chemotherapy #1. And I'm in the hospital. I got a fever late Monday night. Took Tylenol PM before bed and still woke up feeling badly. But, drugs worked their magic and by late morning I was better. Unfortunately, when the drugs started to fade, the fever came back. We called the onco and they said not to take anymore pain relievers. They wanted to know how high my fever was without the supressing supplements of the medications. Without the meds I realized right off the bat that this was not going to be good. By about 5 p.m. I was pretty miserable and when my breathing started hurting and I got short of breath, the onco said to head to the E.R.

The 3.5 hours it took them to get me pain relief that night were the most physically taxing I've ever spent. Having cancer makes you think some pretty morbid thoughts sometimes, but lying in agony on a cot, listening to the cries of people around you, and feeling like you'd give anything for relief from pain can lead a person to have some down-right scary thoughts. Again- this battle is at least half mental.

I got a room in the hospital by 1:30 a.m. The admitting process wasn't complete until 3. I fell asleep around 4 and the first nurse came by at 4:15 for my vitals. We all know how sleeping in a hospital goes!

Today I felt better. I've been given antibiotics, nausea meds and pain relievers. But around noon I started feeling badly again and within an hour things were back to the way they'd been last night. I had the chills and couldn't stop shaking for nearly thirty minutes. Pain relief wouldn't come and so they've added another drug which has kept me in less pain throughout the rest of the day.

They've done numerous tests and so far everything is checking out ok. We'll be here another night while they try to find the source of the infection they think is causing the fever.

I know this is a long blog- and since I'm so drugged up, it might even be a bit incoherent (although my college professors would tell me nothing can be a "bit" incoherent. Either it is, or it isn't.) but I wanted to give an update and I wanted to ask for your prayers:

The boys have had a myriad of babysitters in the last week and I know they must be starting to feel uneasy. Terry's missed too much work. And of course, we ask for prayers regarding my health. This is only the first of 6 treatments of chemotherapy. Right now I can't even imagine voluntarily sitting down to get the next treatment. It's going to take a lot of will power-- a lot of God-- to get me through. Thanks for seeking him for me.

God is So Good

Got PET scan results back. No sign of cancer spreading beyond lymph nodes. Hallelujia!
Will begin chemo as early as Friday, as late as next Tuesday.
Will write more tomorrow and give you more updates than you can stand! For now I'm going to snuggle with Super Star Awesome Dashing Husband and watch some really lame t.v.


Thanks for watching the kids, Aunt Kelly.
Thank you, Paul for being a rock.
Thank you, Jeremy for the celebratory pizza!

Visit with Dr. Zimmerman

I saw the surgeon today to get my drainage tubes removed and the rest of the bandages taken off.

I don't know why, but it hadn't even occured to me that getting the tubes removed would hurt. Probably because I was so tired of feeling them alongside half my upper body and I was just looking forward to having them removed.

I lied back on the table and Dr. Zimmerman warned me that removing them would "burn a little." (I thought, "Ok, not so bad.") Then, as Terry took my hand, she looked at him and said, "Are you going to be ok watching this? Because lots of men go down." ("Um, that sounds worse!") She continues, "We've had to call 911 several times. And I hate calling because they send so many firetrucks everytime." ("AAAGGGHHH!")

Well, turns out Terry did fine. But I am a big 'ole weenie and, for me, this was bad. The worst part of any of the whole surgery process. I should have prepared and doubled up on hydrocodone.

Thankfully, she had some good news to distract me with. Despite what they'd originally thought, only TWO of the ten nodes they sampled were positive! Before and after the surgery we'd been led to believe there were a lot, so we're very excited to hear how God's already healing me!

On the way to the doctor's office, Terry and I prayed that we would continue having open minds and eyes to learn as much as we can through this process. And at the end of our appointment, my surgeon shared that one of her good friends, a fellow surgeon who'd helped with my mastectomy, was diagnosed just two days later with breast cancer, herself. It reminded Terry and I that even on a good day for us, there are people all over the world having the worst day of their life. The pain is everywhere and we're simply not in a place to be able to ignore it anymore.

This scripture has been on my mind a lot since our diagnosis:
"When Jesus entered Peter's house, he saw his mother-in-law lying in bed with a fever; he touched her hand, and the fever left her, and she got up and began to serve him." Matthew 8:14-15

I want to be like that. I want to get up and serve as soon as I'm healed.

Update

More bad news, but man, does God show up!! That's it- I could end the blog there. GOD SHOWS UP!
My surgeon called tonight and said that my MRI results show that there is a lot of tumor left behind. And it appears that it's already in the nodes.

Bad news. We didn't take it well. But here's the God part...

We met with the plastic surgeon today and learned all there is to know about reconstruction of a breast. So, I know where we're heading. God was preparing the way.

I *finally* reached out to talk to a woman at church who is just months ahead of me in her diagnosis. I asked her how she felt about mastectomy and her words were simple but exactly what I needed to hear: "I decided I'll do whatever it takes to be here for my kids."

Well put.

And here's the best part of all. My surgeon didn't call until nearly 7 p.m. Guess where we were? Church. For small group. Our children were being taken care of and didn't need our attention. So we had our break-down moment in privacy. But just when we'd had all the privacy we could take, our awesome small group gathered around us to pray.

God built this day to protect us and prepare us for what He knew lay ahead. I wish you could see the strength my husband has when He leans on God. I am lucky to have been married to him for five years. Five years today. Never imagined this when we said, "In sickness and in health."

And finally, I talked to Ashley a bit ago. I'm not sure if she was trying to say this or God just spoke through her. But she reminded me that a few days ago I was so dragging my feet about lumpectomy versus mastectomy. I was praying to hear what God wanted. And Ashley said that this may have just been God's way of answering my question.

So, I'm off to bed now. Whirlwind day. Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow I get to start attacking this stuff. Tomorrow I get my portacath which means chemotherapy is right around the corner. Bring it on! My disease may be big but I've never questioned that my God is way bigger.

Pray tomorrow. I'm counting on you all to call out to God for us.

Update

Ok, I'm gonna divide these posts in to two categories (for now): ramblings and updates. Here we go with some updates:

-My oncologist is Dr. Kirk Heyne.

-My surgeon is Dr. Gretchen Zimmerman.

-So far all of my procedeures have been at St. Lukes.

-I am getting a website on "lotsahelpinghands.com" where I will post days of my surgeries/chemo/radiation and let everyone see when and how I need help. If I understand the site right, you'll be able to sign up there to help me and the boys out.

-We still won't know the type and stage of the cancer for sure for a few more weeks.

-We had original surgery Monday the 19th and they cut out some of the cancer, but they missed some and will have to go in at a later date.

Here's the latest:
We found out my cancer is "hormone sensitive." This is a good thing. It means that, in addition to chemo and radiation, I will be able to have hormone therapy which ups the magic number we're always talking about, "cure rate."

My oncologist has decided that it's difficult to tell from films where the cancer actually starts and stops inside me. So the next thing we're doing is an MRI next Tuesday. This will hopefully help the surgeon better understand where and how much to cut out next time.

But, it looks like I'll be starting chemo before the next surgery. Here's why- they want me to take two gene tests (simple blood tests) to determine if I carry the cancer gene. As of now I have a 10-15% chance of carrying the genes. If I do have the genes, then I will have a 65% chance of eventually getting cancer in both my breasts and ovaries. If that's the case then the oncologist will recommend a double mastectomy. So that's why we're waiting before we do more surgery. There's no reason to cut a little more now if we eventually going the mastectomy route.

Starting the chemo now should stop growth of any cancerous cell still in there.

So I'm getting blood tests and MRI next Tuesday. (and we won't need any help after that.) Then the surgeon will put in the portocath (a small tube in my chest that allows them to bypass using an iv for every chemo treatment) and sample the nodes to see if its spread. I don't have a timeline for this right now. One step at a time.

Thanks for the prayers!!!