For Pete's Sake, It's Thursday!

The day started off normal. Then we had one catastrophic trip to the grocery store where the long week finally hit my boys and they had major meltdowns in Kroger. (Don't tell my nutritionist that I tried to calm myself with a Starbucks!) I got lunch on the table as soon as possible and we got halfway through the meal before Micah threw another fit about eating his potatoes. He cried for 10 minutes at the table before I finally got him calmed down. I remember thinking at that point, "Wow, I had a lot of patience just then. Go me! Cancer's given me more patience with my kids. That's awesome. Thank you Jesus!"

And here's what I think-- I think the devil's listening. I really do. I think my family and I are under attack. Since chemo's been over we've been hit with several other small problems that are starting to mount up. Our car broke down on our way to our celebratory "no mo chemo" dinner. Then the car was broken into, Terry's truck has been out of a/c all summer, our garbage disposal broke, etc, etc. If you believe that "when it rains, it pours," you should definitely bring your umbrella to my house!

It's been hard to take the trauma and drama of the last two weeks, but I think Terry and I have handled it ok. It's hard for anything to phase you in the wake of cancer. But it wouldn't be the truth if I said we've let it all roll off our backs. We've had to constantly remember to look to God through it all.

Pam recently said in a marriage class at church that we shouldn't be surprised if we come across marital tiffs while we're attending the class because Satan will try to attack what we're building up. And 1 Peter 5:6-8 says,

"Stay alert! Watch out for your great enemy, the devil. He prowls around like a roaring lion, looking for someone to devour.  Stand firm against him, and be strong in your faith." 

So there I was today patting my own back for navigating a temper tantrum with Micah when the day went from hard to horrific. Other moms can identify when I say that there are some days when nothing goes right. I'd be in the middle of cleaning up one thing when I'd get pulled away to change a dirty diaper, then I'd rush off to clean a spill, stop to argue with my three-year-old, take out the trash, clean another spill, etc. Which would be like any ol' regular day at home, except it's also the day I'd designated as my "major cleaning" day. Which means each task I ran off to do left a half-mopped floor or half washed window behind. Soon the house was littered with cleaning supplies and toys and I was frazzled. So this time when Micah had a breakdown that resulted in two long hours of him crying in his room, I lost it! So much for patience!

As I was angrily throwing a soiled rug into the washing machine, I had one rational thought amidst all the fist-clenching, teeth-grinding frustration: go read the Bible.

So I ignored the mess and the messy kids, eased into my comfy chair and I did. Well, I tried. I read about two scriptures before mommy-duty called. As I was hoisting myself out of the chair (Yes, hoisting. Months of chemo-induced inactivity has left me weak!) I realized, "For Pete's Sake, it's Thursday!"

It's Thursday. I should be getting chemotherapy today. But...I'm...not.

And now here I sit. Housework nowhere near close to done, but for now all the supplies are put away. The boys aren't crying; they're playing. And I've gotten perspective. In the time it took to read two short scriptures God reminded me how far I've come in my cancer journey. And I remembered how far I've got to go before I'm anywhere near the knowledgeable, strong, morally upright Christian God wants me to be.

I let troubles and stresses seep in when I wasn't looking. I made improvements in my life (regarding patience with the boys) and then left myself wide open for Satan's attack.

So next time I thank God for something, I'll remember to give it back to Him to protect from my enemy. I'll remember to put my armor on!

"Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil's schemes" (Ephesians 6:11).

Preparing for Radiation

 Since last chemo I've tried to think of cancer as little as possible. Which, of course, is hard to do. Terry and I went to a movie a few nights ago and when I was walking up the stairs to my seat I thought, "My legs aren't shaking!" Since the first chemo I've been weak enough that walking up stairs made me shaky. But then there are other times when I notice how slow my reaction time is or how foggy my thought process still is and I'm reminded that I've still got a lot of chemicals floating around my body. Although it seems like ages since my last chemo, it really hasn't been even three weeks yet.

I met with my radiation onc yesterday to get ready for radiation which begins on the 27th. I pulled into the parking lot and saw an elderly woman with a cane slowly making her way to the door. I noticed her slow pace, her frailness, her age and I soberly remembered, "Oh, yeah, I have cancer."

I really don't though. My scans have been clean for months. But like Laura Shook said and I copied into my last post, I'll always think of cancer. I'll never be able to turn my back on it.

Once inside the waiting room, I grabbed a magazine and buried my nose in celebrity gossip (a treat I allow myself only at doctor's offices and hospital stays!) and sucked down my coffee smoothie. Soon the cold smoothie plus the low temp of the waiting room had me freezing and I was dreading changing into my little gown for my exam.

The people at this office are great though, and when I was in the exam room the nurse noticed how cold I was and adjusted the temp in my room and gave me plenty of time to warm up before I had to change into the gown. Dr. Morgan was pleasant (he always is) as we discussed my radiation plan and the possible side effects:

tiredness

burned skin

tight/sore esophagus due to its exposure to radiation

slight damage to left lung where it's exposed to radiation

possible heart sac damage or hypertension

about a 3% increase in my chance of lymphedema in the left arm.

After talking with Dr. Morgan the nurse walked me down to the radiation department where I met two people who are to be my technicians throughout my nearly 2 months of radiation. The first was a friendly older woman. The second was a young guy. Very young. Younger than me probably. When I met him all I could think was how uncomfortable I was going to be around him when it came time for me to take off the medical gown and be measured for radiation.

Both technicians were friendly though, and soon I was lying on what felt like a beanbag chair, on top of a long table in front of a scanning machine. It looked like a PET scan machine, but I'm not sure of the correct terminology.

My back, head and shoulders were on the beanbag, while my arms were lifted above my head and all the way back where I had to hold on to what felt like two bicycle handles. I had to turn my head to the right to keep my brain furthest from the area to be radiated. Once I was in a position they liked, they pushed a button and my beanbag chair hardened beneath me and around me, making a perfect mold of my position. Each time I return for radiation I will get back into that same exact position with help from my personal mold.

Once they had my position they could start marking spots on my body so they could hand over specifics to a physicist and team of doctors to get specifics for my radiation. The rad. onc. came in and put little stickers all over me, circling my mastectomy area, marking my scars from the surgery and the drainage tubes. Then the technicians removed the stickers and marked where they'd been with markers.

Before I left they told me that I can't wash off the marker. If it gets light I need to go over it with a sharpie or go back to their office to get it redrawn. When I got back on Monday they'll give me new marks. I have no idea if I'll have to have these marks the whole time I'm getting radiation or just during this preparatory stage.

This picture shows one mark they made on the top right of the picture. It's just above my surgery area. You can see how the area just below that mark is dark. That's not bruising or discoloration, it's a shadow because all the tissue that was removed left a hole right there. On the left of the screen you can see the scar from my port. I'll have to live with the port until my reconstruction surgery which will be sometime in Summer of 2011.

This picture shows the hole a bit better. You can also see the top of my scar site. And you can see how my arm still hasn't healed from the lymph node removal. See how my arm is swollen beneath the strap of my tank?

The mark on the left is on my side, while the one on the right is just under the mastectomy area. So when I take my clothes off now I don't just see my scars and the mess left behind from my skin-sparing mastectomy, I also see these marks. Kind of hard to not think about cancer when you're looking at that, huh?

Back to my radiation story...

Once I was all marked up they took pictures and then needed to scan me. I'd gone through the whole process unemotionally until they moved me into the scanning tube (again, I don't know the right word for the machine). It reminded me of the PET Scan I had when we still didn't know if the cancer had spread beyond the nodes. I immediately got emotional. It's so easy for tears to spring up these days because there's all those scary emotions just below the surface. So I started blinking to keep the tears back. I couldn't move from my position during the scan and so I was frustrated when one sad little tear rolled down my cheek and I couldn't move from the mold to wipe it away. 

As soon as I heard the machine turn off and they began pulling me out of the tunnel, I reached up and wiped it away before anyone could see. But to do that I had to get out of position and so the young guy scolded me. His presence during all of this was pretty annoying. I was lying there exposed for so long, getting all marked up as they talked about me like I wasn't there. 

I'd expected this whole radiation process to be a breeze, so you can imagine how I felt when this whole experience proved more difficult than I'd expected.  

Just before I left the office, the technicians reminded me that I can't use deodorant the entire time I'm undergoing radiation. They said it leaves a residue that interferes with their work. And I also can't shave under my arms. Which isn't a big deal right now while I'm still mostly hair-less from chemo. But I imagine the hair growth will return long before my weeks of radiation are up.

So, that was my first experience with my radiation team. I begin the treatments Monday. Although yesterday was not a fun day, I do have some good news. I'd been so worried about finding someone to watch the boys while I went once a day, every weekday, to the doctor. Thankfully our friends Justin and Lizzie are letting us drop the kids at their house during the day for their nanny to watch. And lucky for us, their nanny just happened to be our favorite night-time babysitter, Michelle! We're so grateful to the Benders and Michelle for helping make the radiation weeks easier! And Jennie and her kids are going to watch the boys once a week, too! Thank God for caring friends!

Me too

I've been keeping up with Laura Shook's blog. She's recently finished her treatment and had her first PET scan since being declared NED (no evidence of disease). Her words are EXACTLY how I feel right now (even thogh I still have radiation and surgery ahead of me). Read her words...

"Since finishing treatment and surgery, it has been interesting to me how many people have made the following statements to me:


"I'm so glad you are finished with all of that!"
"I'm glad it's all over!'
"So glad you are done and you don't have to deal with that anymore."
And many other similar remarks.

I just smile and acknowledge their kind hearts, but the truth is, I'm not finished yet. Not even close. Yes, I am finished with immediate treatment. Yes, I am finished with surgery. But I'm not finished with cancer. In fact, it seems like just recently the stress of the past 15 months is beginning to surface in me, Mark, and our girls. My husband and my children have all been so strong, pushing their own feelings aside in order to carry me through treatment. Now that it looks like I am well, the defenses are dropping and the feelings are surfacing. We are all feeling a little fragile at this point.

I think about cancer every day. I have physical changes and new routines that remind me of where I've been on a daily basis. Although they are less frequent now, I still have regular doctor visits and medical tests. I still take multiple dietary supplements prescribed by my doctor to treat side-effects of chemotherapy. Cancer is still part of my daily life.

I had a PET scan today. I didn't feel nervous about the test or the results of the test at all. Mark took me to the radiology center and patiently waited two hours while I was injected with radioactive glucose, waited for it to make its way through my body, and then spent 30 minutes in the scanning machine. Afterward we stopped to pick up lunch on the way to our staff meeting. Returning to the car I suddenly felt extremely fatigued. I realized that although I hadn't felt it, I must have been stressed all along. Mark got in the car and told me that he was having a mini meltdown too. Even though we fully believe that I am cancer-free, the waiting, hoping, and wondering are heavy loads to carry. Hopefully, the doctor will call soon with the report.

In the meantime, we'll carry on, as survivors. Never forgetting where we've been, and ever look forward to God's continued grace and strength."

Follow her blog at http://laurashooksblog.blogspot.com/