6 Long Days

I have run through all the scenerios of my worst fear - cancer coming back.  I have been in bed not able to sleep and I have run them all.  Finding another lump.  Having bone pain that lasts too long.  Feeling sick.  All of them.  I thought I would be ready..

I went to a new gynecologist yesterday.  After going over my medical history and proclaiming "what a couple years you had" and "glad you are doing so well", she started my exam.  She listened to my heart.  Heart sounds great.  She listen to my lungs.  Even with bronchitis, lungs sound good.  Then she put her hands around my neck and said, "Oh, no."  What??  "You have a swollen lymph node.  This isn't good."  And the world starts spinning.  She mentioned cancer and I am not sure if I truly heard her next words.  She finished the exam and told me to meet her in her office.  She was going to call my oncologist and get me in ASAP.  Here come the tears....

I meet her in the office and she is on hold.  I ask her, "If I didn't have cancer in my history, what would you be thinking?"  She looked me right in the eye and said cancer.  I think I am going to be sick.

It is 11:00.  She gets me in at 3:00.  I go home and start cleaning.  Because that is what I do.  I have to be able to control something because my day has suddenly spun out of control.  I pick up the boys and try not to squeeze them because that will just make me cry even more.  We eat lunch.  We play.  We laugh.  I forget for seconds at a time. My mother in law comes at 2:30.

I have not told Jason at this point.  We had a honest conversation about the scares that are part of my life now.  He said he didn't want to know until he had to know.  Even when a scare turns out to be nothing, he still doesn't want to know.  I was clinging onto the fact that I have bronchitis and that is why my lymph node is swollen.  My oncologist was going to tell me that is what is was and we would move on.

Unfortunately, that did not happen.  I wish I could write down our conversation, but I remember bits and pieces.  It was not from bronchitis.  It is a mass.  It is hard.  She didn't like it.  What are the chances it is cancer?  50/50, but it is hard.  I told her I was grasping for some reassurance and said, "I am sorry.  I am not going to sugar coat this for you."  The small bit of hope I had vanishes.  And here comes the ugly cry.  My favorite nurse comes and I thought, "Here comes my reassurance."  She hugged me and said she was sorry.

I check out and get scheduled for a biopsy and a PET scan.  I go outside and call Jason.  That wasn't fun.  He meets me at the house and we sit in the driveway.  I am crying and he is shaking.  This sucks.

We go in the house and try to act normal for the boys.  Thankfully, they are a wonderful distraction.  My sister walked through the door unannounced, but very much appreciated. We did baths and dinner and played.  We had a fun night considering.  We tried to sleep, but were up a lot.

I had my biopsy today at 1:30.  I had an ultrasound first.  The doctor said it is not a lymph node.  It is a mass.  Ugh.  Good news is that it isn't attached to anything.  I asked him if he thought it was cancer.  Still grasping for something to hold onto here.  He said he couldn't tell.  And I think he was being honest.  He said whether it is cancer or not, it has to come out.  That is scheduled for Dec. 5.

We did the biopsy (that hurt!) and now we wait.  I have my PET scan on Monday at 2:00.  I have an appointment on Tuesday with my oncologist at 8:45 am to go over all the results and come up with a plan.

I am not being all gloom and doom, but this scare is different.  You could feel the fear in that room yesterday.  With all my other scares, it was, "We are just being cautious.  We are almost positive it is nothing."  I haven't gotten that this time.  Nothing even close.

I asked my oncologist what is the worst case scenerio?  It is breast cancer.  We take it out.  We do radiation.  We put you on another pill.  I think that is what she said.  But it being breast cancer is the best worst case scenerio, right?  Because it could be another type of cancer.  And that REALLY scares me.

I am not afraid/worried about treatment.  Chemo sucks, but I can do it.  Losing my hair sucks, but if I am alive, I will take it.  What does worry me is having cancer twice.  That is never good.  I don't really have a gut feeling, but I am assuming it is cancer at this point.  The waiting stinks.  I just want to know what it is and what the plan is so we can start.

I have told a few friends and appreciate their words (and swearing).  I am just as mad.  They are already asking what they can do.  Just pray.  I am always torn between praying that this is not cancer and, (if it is), praying that we can get all the cancer out and move on.  The wonderful nurse today said to only say positive things.  Don't give the negative a place to grow.  I like that a lot, but I feel like praying that it is not cancer is not realistic.

But oh what a day Tuesday will be if we find out it isn't....

Isn't It Ironic?

12 weeks of training.  12 weeks of getting up early to get my miles in before the boys woke up.  12 weeks of getting excited about running this race.  And I wasn’t able to run it…

I ran my first half marathon in 2007.  I ran it for two reasons.  The younger brother of one of my student’s was diagnosed with leukemia when he was 1.  His mother started training with Team in Training and I thought that was awesome.  Then one of my best friends was killed in a car accident.  I was having a hard time with that loss and someone suggested I do something for closure.  So I signed up to run a half marathon. 

Enjoying a bagel after a long run down by the river.

Running really wasn’t my thing.  I had tried several times to “become” a runner, but it wasn’t happening.  Now I had two reasons to push myself.  When I didn’t think I could run anymore, I thought about that sweet little boy going through treatments.  I could do this for him.  I thought about my friend, who was training for a marathon when he was killed, who didn’t cross the finish line.  These two helped me push past my comfort zone.  The training was tough on my knees and I said that it was going to be my last marathon.  

Then came cancer.  And I decided I needed to run another one and dubbed it my f^%$ cancer race.  I had two friends who said they were going to train with me and cross that finish line with me.  I often cried thinking about these amazing girls and what they were doing for me.  

So we started training.  I felt surprisingly strong.  In 2007, I had to put frozen pees on my knees after my long runs.  I walked like an old woman for a couple days after those long runs.  This time?  Not one pack of frozen pees was needed.  This time when I ran, I thought about the fact that I was alive and healthy.  I thought about how horrible I felt going through chemo and how unbelievably tired I was all the time.  I thought about missing out on my baby’s tiny moments because I was in the bathroom for hours.  It felt so good to be outside and pushing my body.  A body that was finally feeling normal and STRONG.  

Same river 7 years later!

The week before the race, I was so excited.  And emotional.  I pictured crossing that finish line with my girlfriends.  I pictured my family waiting for me.  I pictured how I would feel finishing this race.  I pictured myself bawling like a baby.  The only part that I was right about were the tears.  I cried on Saturday, but because I was too sick to run the race.

Wednesday before the race I had an annoying cough.  But it was just a cough.  I could handle running with a cough.  Then Thursday came and I had the aches and chills and swimmy head.  Friday we drove to Savannah and I was eating vitamin C like it was candy.  That night, I put my timing chip on my shoe, laid out my race clothes, and went to bed praying I would feel better.  I woke up several times with chills and coughing fits.  At one point, I woke up and my eye was sealed shut.  I think that is when I realized I was not going to run.

The first marathon was for my two friends and to say that I could do it.  This one was because I wasn’t sick anymore and was feeling so alive.  Pretty ironic that I was too sick to run it.  But I think that is why I didn’t feel horribly guilty for not running.  I felt guilty, but knew I had made the right decision.  Even if I had somehow managed to run 13.1 miles, it wouldn’t have been pretty.  It would have been awful.  And that wasn’t the point of me doing this race.  I wanted to run it because I felt so good.  

I have signed up for another half on Dec. 14.  It is here in Atlanta.  I am going to rest and hit the ground running (pun intended) on Sunday.  

                                                                 http://jeffgalloway131.com

4 weeks of training.  4 weeks of getting up at 5 to get my miles in before the boys wake up.  4 weeks of getting excited about running this race.  But this time, I am going to run it. 

My wonderful, supportive friends.

Nine

Today was the last day I could claim chemo brain.  Studies have shown that chemo will stay in your body for a year.  Tomorrow, Sept. 9, will be 1 year since my last treatment.  I was very conscience of my memory today.  On a walk with a friend this morning, I did start a conversation and forgot where I was going with it.  But, I know I have done that all my life.  Since starting chemo, my memory has been pretty bad.  Add new-mommy brain, and I was a mess.  I got to the point where I wouldn't even try to pull up a name or title or whatever I had forgotten.  But slowly over the last year, I have noticed that I am not staring off into space as much desperately hoping whatever it was I was trying to remember would come back.

I thought it was cool that my last treatment was on 9/9.  When I was 9, I decided my favorite number would be 9.  Whenever I could, I chose that number for my jersey while playing sports.  I love 9.

I still haven't googled breast cancer or anything that goes along with it.  But one thing I did try to find was what breast cancer looks like 6 months after treatments or 1 year after treatments.  I know that years down the road things would be good, but knew that was a long road.  So I searched for a blog or article telling me the truth.  What would it be like?

In honor of the number 9, I will tell you what breast cancer (to me) looks like 1 year out of treatment with the first 9 things that come to mind.

1)  My hair is crazy curly and still not a style that I would have ever chosen voluntarily.  I have gotten used to it, but it is still strange EVERY time I look at myself.  It is a constant reminder that I was sick and could get sick again.

2)  But with #1 having been said, I don't think about cancer every day.  And I did.  EVERY.  SINGLE.  DAY.  It constantly made me feel like I was going to throw up.  I am happy to say that doesn't happen as often now.

3)  Some chemo patients lose their toenails and fingernails.  I did not, but my once extremely strong nails are now brittle and flake and break all the time.  I wasn't even able to peel a price tag off of an item.  It has gotten a lot better, but they are still brittle.  I keep them short.  I always had long nails.  Just another reminder that I was sick.

4)  I have gotten numerous calls since being diagnosed about someone else who has been diagnosed.  At first, it bothered me.  I did not want to be a cancer "expert".  But the last time I was called, I was happy to talk and share my experiences.  I am happy that I am alive to receive such calls.  This will be part of my life from now on and I am okay with that.

5)  Just the other day, I found myself laughing hysterically.  I can't remember why, but I do remember realizing that I have started to laugh hysterically again.

6)  I have started thinking about watching my boys walk to their kindergarten class.  Before?  I had letters written in my head that their dad would give them because I wasn't going to be around see it myself.  This is probably one of the best things that a year has given me.

7)  I am still going to tons of doctor's appointments, but I have accepted this new way of life.  BUT, I went to a new doctor last week and when she asked me what kind of breast cancer I had, I wasn't able to tell her right away.  There was a time when I could tell you all the dates, the surgeries, and the names of everything.  Even though I was kind of embarrassed as she looked at me like I was crazy for not knowing, I was glad it wasn't second nature.  I am moving on.

8)  I am still trying to figure out who the new me is, but it isn't clouded by negative thoughts and fear and sadness.  Now it is me realizing that I am strong and can do this.  Now it is me realizing what is important and what is not.  My friend said something during our walk that I loved.  We have all these balls in the air (I have heard that part before) as moms.  She has realized that as long as she doesn't drop her boys, she has had a great day.  Isn't that great?!?  It is so simple.  Think about what is REALLY important.  For me it is family, friends, and God.  My OCD screams at me that the dishes are important and cleaning up that messy closet is important.  The new I-kicked-cancer's-a%^-Dawn wins this argument.  You will find me on the floor with the boys instead of doing dishes and I am finally okay with that.

9)  This is going to sound very sappy, but a year after treatment I know that I am loved.  I think about all the calls, texts, cards, emails, meals, prayers, help with my boys, and friendships that have gotten stronger through this.  And I am a lucky girl.  Truly lucky.

After a year, there are still some lingering bad effects, but there are definitely more good effects.  I will always be a cancer patient.  I don't think I realized that.  But when I am 95 and am still a cancer patient, I will proudly yell it to the world.

When I wake up tomorrow, I won't be able to claim chemo brain.  I won't be able to blame my memory lapses on cancer.  I can now blame it on the fact that I am alive and am filling my days with friends and family and tent making and running around the house acting like planes and kisses and hugs.  That is what is consuming my mind lately.  I will apologize ahead of time if I can't answer your questions.  I am busy living this life that wasn't taken away from me.

Metal and Candy

For the past year and a half, we have been diligently going on a date once a month.  We decided that we would take turns planning the evening.  The catch - the person planning the evening does what he or she wants.  No stress worrying about what the other person would consider fun.  I am loving it because, before this agreement, I would have planned things I know Jason would find fun and relaxing.  Now I drive him crazy with the things I have planned.  And we might discover something about the other person we didn't know.  I have discovered that we really are opposites...

He usually plans a great dinner at a wonderful restaurant where I get to dress up.  Me?  Some crazy activity.  The first date I planned involved tennis and a casual dinner all sweaty.  I think this made my husband (who would have preferred to go home and shower first) uncomfortable, but he went along with it (and hopefully enjoyed it).

This past Saturday it was my turn to plan and it happened to be our 6th anniversary.  According to my Google search, the tradition gift was metal and the non tradition was candy.  Hmmmm.  A metal bowl full of candy?  Too boring for me.  I planted the seed in my brain and let it festered.

A couple days later I started searching for jewelry classes.  Right?  We could make some metal bracelets or necklaces.  Not many classes are held in the evening.  I found this strange website that listed teachers/tutors of all things.  Each person listed what they could teach.  It was crazy.  Most had 30 or 40 things that ranged from science and math to croqueting.  And you went to their house.  Scary. Not quite there yet...

I called Beads by Design.  They are located by the Big Chicken.  I told her it was our anniversary, that it was a metal anniversary, and was looking for a jewelry class.  She said that she did at 11 am. This is proving difficult.  

I hung up the phone and started searching for more establishments and the phone rang.  It was Gerry from Beads by Design calling to say that she has a class where she teaches how to make a sterling silver ring.  What?!?  It was perfect.

We showed up at 4 and got to work.  We pounded, soldered, hammered in letters, and got an education on the whole process.  Gerry was awesome, very informative, and patient.  I couldn't operate the solder tool at first.  And if you know anything about them, you have to turn it off if it doesn't light correctly because gas is being poured into the room.  So I turned it on and off about 5 times before I got it to light the right way.  I pounded something in the inside of my ring.  Jason pounded July 19, 2008 in roman numerals on the outside.  

Then we were off to Abattoir.  I googled Paleo restaurants and it came up.  I don't believe they claim to be a Paleo restaurant, but their menu was pretty close.  It is very industrial looking.  More metal!  We had an awesome dinner and sat next to a couple celebrating their 13th year of marriage.  We toasted with them with champagne and enjoyed a delicious meal!

To end the evening, we walked down to the West Egg Cafe.  For all you readers out there, this restaurant was mentioned in the Great Gatsby.  We asked the guy behind the counter the history, but he was clueless and probably mad we showed up 30 minutes before they closed.  We ordered dessert and enjoyed our "candy". 

This may have been the first date that we hadn't mentioned cancer or the effects of cancer or how long my hair was getting or doctor's appointments.  It was a great date with my boyfriend/fiance/husband.  Just like it was before cancer.  I hope there are many more just like this one - free of cancer talk, full of fun, good food, and feeling normal again.

#day8greenchair

There is a green chair in our den that has seen better days.  The fabric is torn and it is a mess.  We have decided to wait until the boys are a little older before we get new furniture.  To wait until this messy stage of our lives is over.

I have taken on the 100 Happy Days Challenge.   100happydays.com  Basically, you take one photo each day that makes you happy, post it, and hash tag it.  As mentioned above, I am in the stage where my boys happily consume all my time.  I am trying not to post a picture every day of them.  It is hard because they do make me so very happy and they give me heart smiles every day.

So I was looking around my house for something else that makes me happy and my eyes rested on the green chair.  It is very apropos that I thought about it today.

Seven years ago today, we had a conversation on this chair.  Seven years ago today, we decided to start dating and be more than friends.

Since then many things have happened on this chair.  We have had many other conversations in this chair.  What kind of wedding do we want?  Where do we want to go on our honeymoon? When should we try to get pregnant?  

There have also been many tears on this chair.  Why can't we get pregnant? Why didn't the many procedures we try get us pregnant?  When do we decide to stop trying and adopt?  

Then we were able to bring two beautiful babies home from the hospital.  I nursed in this chair, I snuggled in this chair, and I watched my babies sleep in this chair.  I fell in love in this chair.

I remember coming downstairs at 4 am one night after Jack had been crying for an hour straight.   I didn't know what else to do.  I sat in this chair, held him close, and just sobbed.  Ten minutes later, he let out a loud burp and filled his diaper simultaneously.  I started laughing, he stopped crying, I changed his diaper, I put him on my chest, and we slept for 6 glorious hours.  My batteries were recharged in this chair.  

I sat in this chair with a second baby in my belly and the words, "It is breast cancer" screaming in my head.  I sobbed again in this chair one night when Jason ran to the store.  He was scared and I was trying to be brave.  This green chair  helped me get my head straight.  I let it out and then decided that was all the sobbing cancer was going to get.  I got real in this chair.  

I sat in this chair recovering from my many surgeries.  I was able to see my boys playing and hear them laughing.  They were able to climb up and snuggle with me.  I healed in this green chair. 

Two weeks ago, I had a conversation with Jason on this chair about a new lump I found.  I had been to the doctor earlier and, thankfully, it was not concerning.  But once again, I left that chair feeling better than I had when I sat on it.

Now my boys use this chair to build forts and to wrestle with their daddy.  With some finageling, I think the four of us could snuggle in it and watch a movie.  We have many of our important talks in this chair.  And we are starting to have conversations with the boys in this chair.  

I don't want to get rid of this chair.  It has seen our lives every single day.  It has seen the good times and the not so good times.  It has held us while we cried, while we laughed, while we were scared, while we were happy, and while we became a family.  

We said we would get a new one when our lives stopped being so messy.  One thing that I have learned this past year is that our lives are always going to be messy.  If two boys hadn't guaranteed that, cancer certainly has.

When I look at this green chair, I don't see the huge rips that we had to cover with a blanket.  I don't see the fading of the fabric or the many stains on it.  I see memories.  Some good, some bad, but memories that make up our story.  

So if you come to my house and we finally have all new furniture, but in the corner is this ratty, green chair, please smile like I do.  Smile knowing it helped us become who we are - a wonderful, messy family.

The Phone Rang Early!

I got the call yesterday around noon.  "The pathology report came back.  No cancer or precancerous cells present."  I knew I was worried, but didn't realize how much until then.  I was crying pretty hard.

I thought I wanted to write an insightful post about how I have been feeling and what I was thinking.  But who wants to read that at this point, right?

I slept so well last night and will enjoy the days leading up to the next scare.  Because, unfortunately, there will be more.

As my very intelligent friend, L,  said, "When this comes back as NO CANCER, you will then know the other side of this waiting.  The first time was cancer, this time no cancer.  Maybe that will help you in the future."  You were right, L.  Thank you, my friend.

So I won't bore you with how I was really scared and tell you about the roads I went down when I couldn't sleep at night.  Instead, I will thank you, once again, for your prayers, support, love, and friendship.

I will end this here.  My boys are calling me to "play, Mommy!"...

Post Surgery

My surgery went well and I was home by 11.  I was banished to the bedroom and I took one of the best naps I have had in awhile.  I woke up to my boys laughing.  Pretty good day considering what the surgery was for and how I have been losing sleep over worrying about the results.

We now get to wait for a week to hear whether this is my new normal or if it is something concerning.

Once again, I have been showered with an outpouring of love.  We have had 3 dinners delivered already.  I have received texts, emails, and phone calls.  And, most importantly, prayers are being said.

Keep them coming and hopefully I will have good news soon!