After all of this, it took a long, long time for me to return to normal. I kept saying "I think I am back. Fully recovered." Not so. Inside my body there was a war going on between the estrogen suppressing drugs and my body's own hormones. I was hot, tired, irritable, you name it. Finally in August of 2011, my uterus (or as the boys now call it, the organ that shall not be named) broke for good. I started bleeding and it did not stop. After lots of doctor visits and super fun tests, I finally convinced the docs that the darn thing just needed to come out. In January of 2012, I had a full hysterectomy. Bye, Bye Uterus. Bye, Bye Ovaries. Bye, Bye Drugs to Suppress Hormones. Bye, Bye Drugs to Help with the Side Effects of the Other Drugs. Ugh!
My recovery was almost immediate. No more crazy hormones and no more drugs made me feel better immediately. Really better. Back to myself. By the spring of 2012, people were coming up to me and saying, "Wow, you look good. Did you do something different with your hair?" Nope, it is the flush of health returning to my face. Apparently you can see it, because many, many people noticed.
So I am finally back from a long, dark journey. It has changed all of us profoundly. The only thing left to say is God's ways are not our ways. We do not always understand. But God is always faithful. He is always good. He holds us in the palm of His hand and never lets. go.
Friday, July 20, 2012
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Coming Back
The best way I can describe the aftermath of cancer treatment is like a house that got hit by a tornado. We survived the storm, but now we are looking at huge mess that has to be sorted and cleaned up. Picking up the pieces takes a long time. There are lots of layers of junk to sort through and we have to carefully choose what to rescue first.
One of the most difficult things to recover has been our marriage. For the past year, we have evolved from husband/wife to caregiver/patient. We are trying to slowly to move back to normal. However, it is quite challenging because, in many ways, I am still the patient and he the caregiver. But, Paul has had to get used to me being bossy and demanding again after a long time of me having no opinion about anything. (Read between the lines here. How would that situation play out at your house? Quiet, calm and peaceful or with a few heated discussions?)
I continue to march (ok, inch) my way to health. Paul told me the other day he though I was functioning at about 60%. At first, that made me upset, then I remembered that in January I was at basically zero and I almost made it back to zero again in April. After that, 60% sounded like a pretty good number.
I have seen several signs of definite progress. Just in the last three weeks or so I have begun to do non-essential item around the house. I have been cleaning my school room and sorting through closets. Andrew manged to grow about 8 inches this year, so there are plenty of closets to be sorted. Now, my progress is maddeningly slow, as I still have to do several hours of resting a day, but I am no longer struggling to manage the day to day activities of running the house. Also, the other day I was talking to my friend Diane on the phone when I started yelling at...no, loving correcting my kids. After I finished, Diane yelled, "You're back!" She said that was the first time I was calm and firm and didn't just say I would worry about it later. Hmmm, that is a good sign.
Although I am seeing progress, my body still reminds me to stay humble whenever I push too hard. Yesterday, I did not adhere to my napping schedule and was not able to sleep in the afternoon. This required me to come home and crawl in be at 7:30. My biggest challenge remains not getting upset when this happens and just going with it in order to feel better.
"But I trust in you, O Lord; I say, 'You are my God.' My times are in your hands." Psalm 31:14-15
One of the most difficult things to recover has been our marriage. For the past year, we have evolved from husband/wife to caregiver/patient. We are trying to slowly to move back to normal. However, it is quite challenging because, in many ways, I am still the patient and he the caregiver. But, Paul has had to get used to me being bossy and demanding again after a long time of me having no opinion about anything. (Read between the lines here. How would that situation play out at your house? Quiet, calm and peaceful or with a few heated discussions?)
I continue to march (ok, inch) my way to health. Paul told me the other day he though I was functioning at about 60%. At first, that made me upset, then I remembered that in January I was at basically zero and I almost made it back to zero again in April. After that, 60% sounded like a pretty good number.
I have seen several signs of definite progress. Just in the last three weeks or so I have begun to do non-essential item around the house. I have been cleaning my school room and sorting through closets. Andrew manged to grow about 8 inches this year, so there are plenty of closets to be sorted. Now, my progress is maddeningly slow, as I still have to do several hours of resting a day, but I am no longer struggling to manage the day to day activities of running the house. Also, the other day I was talking to my friend Diane on the phone when I started yelling at...no, loving correcting my kids. After I finished, Diane yelled, "You're back!" She said that was the first time I was calm and firm and didn't just say I would worry about it later. Hmmm, that is a good sign.
Although I am seeing progress, my body still reminds me to stay humble whenever I push too hard. Yesterday, I did not adhere to my napping schedule and was not able to sleep in the afternoon. This required me to come home and crawl in be at 7:30. My biggest challenge remains not getting upset when this happens and just going with it in order to feel better.
"But I trust in you, O Lord; I say, 'You are my God.' My times are in your hands." Psalm 31:14-15
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Inching Our Way Back
A few random things:
I seems to be in process of unwinding myself. The cancer meds made me gradually sicker and sicker, now I am getting better very gradually. I can have a pretty normal day now, as long as I adhere to my toddler two hour nap in the middle of the day. Without the nap, I can't make it through the evening still speaking in coherent sentence. With the nap, I spend at least an hour afterwards in a state of waking up that the kids nicely refer to as "The Dragon Lady".
The other day Paul and I were in in the grocery store just to get one thing. I suggested that since we were there, we should pick up a couple of other things we needed. Paul responded with an enthusiastic, "That's a great idea!" Huh? Then he explained that it was only in the last month or so that I have had any ideas about anything. That is why he was so happy to hear one. Kind of sad, but I guess it is progress.
My tan lines right now are cracking me up. Every time I look in the mirror, I chuckle. The v neck tan of my swimming suit is the exact color of my radiation tan that cuts across my right boob. This is a stark contract to my lily white, never seen the sun left side. This is apparently a permanent condition. At least it's funny.
My hair continues to confound and amaze me. First, confound because having curly hair after a lifetime of perfectly straight is just confusing. Second, amaze because all of my hair has returned as if it was never gone. My eyebrows are bushy, my arm hair has to be trimmed and the shock of regularly having to shave my legs again is starting to set it (but sometimes I still forget).
My messed up arm pit continues to be sweat free. Do you know how long a stick on deodorant lasts when you only use it on one pit?
I am still battling my way through menopause. I am hopeful that this is going to be the last time. I am cranky and irritable at random times instead of being on a predictable schedule as I was before. Apparently, I was very regular before because yesterday Andrew commented that he thought it should be brownie day soon. Brownie day used to be once a month when the hormone monster reared its head. If I baked brownies now every time that happened, we would all gain 100 pounds.
I put away all of my hats and scarves the other day. I have been looking at them in my closet for months thinking it was time to get them out of there. I became instantly nauseous when I touched them. Afterwards, I cried. I cried because of the memory associated with them. I cried because I put those things in a box, and put them away but there is a small, secret terror in my heart that I will have to use them again. And I sooooo do not want to have to do that.
Strangely about the same time I was crying about my hats, I realized that I now feel like I can handle any challenge. Paul mentioned some terrible thing that could happen and all I could think was we handled the cancer, we could handle that.
"But do not forget this one thing dear friends: With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day." 2 Peter 3:8
I seems to be in process of unwinding myself. The cancer meds made me gradually sicker and sicker, now I am getting better very gradually. I can have a pretty normal day now, as long as I adhere to my toddler two hour nap in the middle of the day. Without the nap, I can't make it through the evening still speaking in coherent sentence. With the nap, I spend at least an hour afterwards in a state of waking up that the kids nicely refer to as "The Dragon Lady".
The other day Paul and I were in in the grocery store just to get one thing. I suggested that since we were there, we should pick up a couple of other things we needed. Paul responded with an enthusiastic, "That's a great idea!" Huh? Then he explained that it was only in the last month or so that I have had any ideas about anything. That is why he was so happy to hear one. Kind of sad, but I guess it is progress.
My tan lines right now are cracking me up. Every time I look in the mirror, I chuckle. The v neck tan of my swimming suit is the exact color of my radiation tan that cuts across my right boob. This is a stark contract to my lily white, never seen the sun left side. This is apparently a permanent condition. At least it's funny.
My hair continues to confound and amaze me. First, confound because having curly hair after a lifetime of perfectly straight is just confusing. Second, amaze because all of my hair has returned as if it was never gone. My eyebrows are bushy, my arm hair has to be trimmed and the shock of regularly having to shave my legs again is starting to set it (but sometimes I still forget).
My messed up arm pit continues to be sweat free. Do you know how long a stick on deodorant lasts when you only use it on one pit?
I am still battling my way through menopause. I am hopeful that this is going to be the last time. I am cranky and irritable at random times instead of being on a predictable schedule as I was before. Apparently, I was very regular before because yesterday Andrew commented that he thought it should be brownie day soon. Brownie day used to be once a month when the hormone monster reared its head. If I baked brownies now every time that happened, we would all gain 100 pounds.
I put away all of my hats and scarves the other day. I have been looking at them in my closet for months thinking it was time to get them out of there. I became instantly nauseous when I touched them. Afterwards, I cried. I cried because of the memory associated with them. I cried because I put those things in a box, and put them away but there is a small, secret terror in my heart that I will have to use them again. And I sooooo do not want to have to do that.
Strangely about the same time I was crying about my hats, I realized that I now feel like I can handle any challenge. Paul mentioned some terrible thing that could happen and all I could think was we handled the cancer, we could handle that.
"But do not forget this one thing dear friends: With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day." 2 Peter 3:8
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Patience
As a homeschooling mom (or any form of mom) and cancer patient, I always seem to be praying for more patience. I have decided to stop. I have decided that to pray for patience is a very dangerous thing. When you pray for patience, God doesn't just wave His finger and "poof" you have more. Noooo, when you pray to have more patience, God gives you a chance to practice (and another chance, and another....). I know He is God and He knows best about how to transform my character, BUT I am not praying for this particular transformation anymore!!!
Why the sudden rant this afternoon? I am tired. Tired physically, of course, that is a constant in my life. But, really I am tired of being patient with myself. I miss energy, I miss my life, I miss running around all summer with my kids. As much as I am trying to have patience with myself and the healing process, I am so over it. I am done with patience. I don't want to practice anymore. I do realize I am a very slow learner when it comes to patience - why else would I have had so many wonderful opportunities to practice??
So when you pray for me this week--pray for energy, pray for strength, pray for healing, but please don't pray for me to get more patience. I don't want anymore practice. However, if you want to put in a special request for the magic poofing kind of patience, I can always take more of that!!
" 'For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,' declares the Lord. 'As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.' " Isaiah 55:8-9
P.S. Just kidding. I can always use more patience, prayers, and practice. The real problem is, as my 3 year old friend Lily says, "I don't want to like it."
Why the sudden rant this afternoon? I am tired. Tired physically, of course, that is a constant in my life. But, really I am tired of being patient with myself. I miss energy, I miss my life, I miss running around all summer with my kids. As much as I am trying to have patience with myself and the healing process, I am so over it. I am done with patience. I don't want to practice anymore. I do realize I am a very slow learner when it comes to patience - why else would I have had so many wonderful opportunities to practice??
So when you pray for me this week--pray for energy, pray for strength, pray for healing, but please don't pray for me to get more patience. I don't want anymore practice. However, if you want to put in a special request for the magic poofing kind of patience, I can always take more of that!!
" 'For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,' declares the Lord. 'As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.' " Isaiah 55:8-9
P.S. Just kidding. I can always use more patience, prayers, and practice. The real problem is, as my 3 year old friend Lily says, "I don't want to like it."
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Tumor Terror
On Monday, Pip returned from the groomer with a big ugly festering bump on her chest. I took one look at it and thought, "Oh no. She has a tumor." Of course then I shook my head and realized it was really nothing more than a big pimple. We went off to the vet to have the spot looked at. Well, later as I was relaying the story to Paul, the first thing out of his mouth was (you guessed it), "Are you sure it's not a tumor?" Hmmm, I think maybe our thought process has been a little warped. I wonder if the terror of spotting a potential tumor will go away with time or if we will always be examining mosquito bites to see if maybe they are something more.
My "port hole" is healing well. It seems to get a little less painful each day. The best part is that I am sleeping great without that disk in my chest. Soon I think I will be able to give up some of the ten pillows I have been using to keep me comfortable while I sleep.
"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcend all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus." Philippians 4:6-7
My "port hole" is healing well. It seems to get a little less painful each day. The best part is that I am sleeping great without that disk in my chest. Soon I think I will be able to give up some of the ten pillows I have been using to keep me comfortable while I sleep.
"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcend all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus." Philippians 4:6-7
Thursday, June 3, 2010
De-Ported
Warning: This post contains pictures of gross medical stuff. If you aren't into that, don't look!
The port removal operation went fine. It was truly one of the strangest experiences of my life. The doctor numbed me up and then cut a hole about three inches deep in my chest (if you have seen the red scar peeking out of my shirt, you know exactly where it is). He then proceeded to dig out my port, pull the tube from my vein and stitch me up all while chatting with Paul and I. What he was doing didn't hurt, but I could definitely feel him pushing, pulling, tugging and maneuvering in there. The whole thing took a little less than an hour. Paul even bravely looked into the opening a few times. He saw my collar bone exposed in my chest and didn't even pass out.
Here's some pictures. This is the port on the instrument tray. You can see the top of it with the tube that went into my vein extending out. The rubber top is where they inserted the needle to administer my chemo. It is not a very big target, so you can see why hitting the mark was sometimes difficult.
And, just for giggles, here is a picture of the device used to access my port. The big needle went in and the rest sat on top of my chest.
The port removal operation went fine. It was truly one of the strangest experiences of my life. The doctor numbed me up and then cut a hole about three inches deep in my chest (if you have seen the red scar peeking out of my shirt, you know exactly where it is). He then proceeded to dig out my port, pull the tube from my vein and stitch me up all while chatting with Paul and I. What he was doing didn't hurt, but I could definitely feel him pushing, pulling, tugging and maneuvering in there. The whole thing took a little less than an hour. Paul even bravely looked into the opening a few times. He saw my collar bone exposed in my chest and didn't even pass out.
Here's some pictures. This is the port on the instrument tray. You can see the top of it with the tube that went into my vein extending out. The rubber top is where they inserted the needle to administer my chemo. It is not a very big target, so you can see why hitting the mark was sometimes difficult.
And, just for giggles, here is a picture of the device used to access my port. The big needle went in and the rest sat on top of my chest. 
Today I am doing fine. I am just very tired and sore. I didn't sleep much last night due to the pain and discomfort. I am just going to rest for the next couple of days and let it get better. So glad to have that thing out!
"I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful I know that full well...All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be." Psalm 139:14, 16
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Almost Normal
My port is coming out today. My doctor is going to take it our right there in his office. Yep, he is going to numb me up and while I am fully awake crack open my chest, clip the stitches and pull the line out of my artery. Trying not to think about that too much. But, he is going to let us see it. If we get to take a picture, I'll let you see the disgusting thing too. I must say I will not be sad to see it go. It interferes with my sleep every night when I roll over and squish it. That hurts. Also, most of my cancer induced panic dreams start with the nightmare of someone accessing my port. Yes, it worked and saved my poor arm, but the memory of someone plunging an inch long needle into your chest and wiggling it around is not a pretty one. Enough! At 4 PM that nasty little device is no longer a part of my life!
This is also what I consider to be the last step in my active cancer treatment. This month I have had tests and doctor appointments galore, but now my next appointment is in September. Let the "Summer of Cara" begin. The main goal of the "Summer of Cara" is to heal, heal, heal. That is number one on the list. (E, aren't you proud?) We have held our usual crazy summer schedule to a minimum to allow lots of time for rest and healing.
Speaking of healing, just in the last two weeks I have begun to feel better. It seemed to be a bit of a cruel joke that after my treatment stopped I continued to get worse. That was so frustrating and depressing. I know I am suddenly improving because several of my friends have commented on it. Not just to me, but also to Paul and in very specific ways. My eyes have cleared - no longer so glassy, I am engaged in what is going on most of the the time and I have lost the grey complexion that I had courtesy of the chemo.
I am still waging a major war on two fronts. The first is against the Tamoxifen and the way it messes with my hormones. It has thrown me in to full on menopause with all of the symptoms magnified, just for fun. I am starting to be able to recognize the hormonal mood swings and cope with them. I got a shot that is supposed to kill the hot flashes for a while. The hot flashes had become bad and nearly continuous, so a little relief during the hot San Antonio summer is a real blessing.
The second war I am battling is mental. I thought the slide out of chemo would be quick and complete. Nope, it's not. I seem to be waking up and regaining focus in increments. The problem is that every time a new section of my consciousness wakes up, I become overwhelmed. I am overwhelmed by the things I have missed during the last year and by the things I see in front of me. For example, this week I woke up to the house and the closets. Sound dumbs, but all of the sudden I was totally freaked out by all of the work I saw in front of me that I couldn't do, but needed to be done. Thanks to my sweet, patient husband and my friend that I now refer to as my therapist, I am generally able to conquer the anxiousness, put things in perspective and go on. However, anytime this happens I do have a couple days being completely upset and beside myself about what has happened while I was not there. Sort of like I have to mourn for my loss before I can go on and deal with what is next. The house is a minor example, I have also woken up to the kids' school progress, the wreck of my marriage, all the decisions that were made in the last year that seem to have been done with out me and more.
I keep thinking I am all there and I am definitely getting closer, but I wonder what I am going to become re-introduced to next.
Despite all that, we are creeping back to normal. As long as I mange my energy, I can usually have pretty normal days. I am back to cooking dinner most nights rather than looking at Paul helplessly when he walks in the door after work. We are starting to have normal conversations and do regular things other than manage illness. In fact, Paul proclaimed Memorial Day to be the "most normal Saturday we have had in a year and a half". It was, of course, Monday, but you get the point. The road ahead is still long. I have to keep the expectations of myself very, very low. But, now we are definitely headed up out of the dark valley and into the light.
"And the God of all grace, who called you to His eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will Himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast." 1 Peter 5:10
This is also what I consider to be the last step in my active cancer treatment. This month I have had tests and doctor appointments galore, but now my next appointment is in September. Let the "Summer of Cara" begin. The main goal of the "Summer of Cara" is to heal, heal, heal. That is number one on the list. (E, aren't you proud?) We have held our usual crazy summer schedule to a minimum to allow lots of time for rest and healing.
Speaking of healing, just in the last two weeks I have begun to feel better. It seemed to be a bit of a cruel joke that after my treatment stopped I continued to get worse. That was so frustrating and depressing. I know I am suddenly improving because several of my friends have commented on it. Not just to me, but also to Paul and in very specific ways. My eyes have cleared - no longer so glassy, I am engaged in what is going on most of the the time and I have lost the grey complexion that I had courtesy of the chemo.
I am still waging a major war on two fronts. The first is against the Tamoxifen and the way it messes with my hormones. It has thrown me in to full on menopause with all of the symptoms magnified, just for fun. I am starting to be able to recognize the hormonal mood swings and cope with them. I got a shot that is supposed to kill the hot flashes for a while. The hot flashes had become bad and nearly continuous, so a little relief during the hot San Antonio summer is a real blessing.
The second war I am battling is mental. I thought the slide out of chemo would be quick and complete. Nope, it's not. I seem to be waking up and regaining focus in increments. The problem is that every time a new section of my consciousness wakes up, I become overwhelmed. I am overwhelmed by the things I have missed during the last year and by the things I see in front of me. For example, this week I woke up to the house and the closets. Sound dumbs, but all of the sudden I was totally freaked out by all of the work I saw in front of me that I couldn't do, but needed to be done. Thanks to my sweet, patient husband and my friend that I now refer to as my therapist, I am generally able to conquer the anxiousness, put things in perspective and go on. However, anytime this happens I do have a couple days being completely upset and beside myself about what has happened while I was not there. Sort of like I have to mourn for my loss before I can go on and deal with what is next. The house is a minor example, I have also woken up to the kids' school progress, the wreck of my marriage, all the decisions that were made in the last year that seem to have been done with out me and more.
I keep thinking I am all there and I am definitely getting closer, but I wonder what I am going to become re-introduced to next.
Despite all that, we are creeping back to normal. As long as I mange my energy, I can usually have pretty normal days. I am back to cooking dinner most nights rather than looking at Paul helplessly when he walks in the door after work. We are starting to have normal conversations and do regular things other than manage illness. In fact, Paul proclaimed Memorial Day to be the "most normal Saturday we have had in a year and a half". It was, of course, Monday, but you get the point. The road ahead is still long. I have to keep the expectations of myself very, very low. But, now we are definitely headed up out of the dark valley and into the light.
"And the God of all grace, who called you to His eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will Himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast." 1 Peter 5:10
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
