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

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

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."

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

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.

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

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

Helpful

We went out on an adventure this week. I flew on a plane and my arm didn't swell up like a balloon (yes, that is a realistic possibility). We hiked mountains, saw whale sharks, drank 64 kinds of soda in 15 minutes, saw how the news was made, checked out a civil war battle field and more. All in three days. My recovery status is such that is takes from exactly Wednesday morning until Saturday at 5 PM for me to become so tired that I will start to hurt, cry and have a meltdown. Yep, that was also the time when we were in the airport. There was nowhere, and I mean nowhere, to sit down. Just FYI, They sort of frown on you plopping down on the floor in the middle of the security line. But thanks to a comfy airport chair (ok, a chair, scratch the comfy) at the gate (which was about 200 miles from the car), a snack, and a nice calm down pill from the doctor, I recovered enough to walk down the jet way and get home. Today I can barely stand up and keep dozing off mid-sentence, but it was worth it.

I did figure out in the midst of it all that it is easier to be an invalid who looks like one than a (formerly) sick girl who looks normal. When you don't have hair, people jump up to give you their seat all over the place. When you look normal, the 20 year old who is texting and taking up two seats gives you a dirty look when you need to squeeze in next to her.

Speaking of being helpful, this is an awesome set of articles about helping those who are hurting. I think it is useful for those who are grieving or sick. Definitely worth the time to read. (Mom and others of you who are tech challenged, just click the word "this" and it takes you there.)

"Praise be to the God and Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts is in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we have received from God." 2 Corinthians 1"3-4

The Story

On Friday, I declared it to be summer at my house. Since I am the teacher, principal and attendance officer of my school, I can do that. So here I sit 9:30 on the first morning of summer. One of my kids is still sawing logs in his bed and the other is totally engrossed in a Shakespearean tragedy...OK, you caught me, a Star Wars book. As I have a little free time, I felt this would be a good time to fill you in on the whole story of what has happened the last few weeks. (On the isn't my kid wonderful note, the reader has now switched the Bible for his morning devotion. Awww, love him!)

Back to my story...I finished my radiation about a month ago. I thought I would feel triumphant, like a prize fighter who just won the championship. Nope, I started crying, could hardly get out of bed and really didn't know what was going on. Aggravating the situation, Paul was completely out of sympathy. I don't mean a little unsympathetic, I mean over it, nothing left, angry at me for crying. After a week of this, a friend finally urged me to call the doctor. For me, before I call the doctor, I always read the cancer books to see if the answer is in there. These books reside in a large stack in the corner of my bedroom. Turns out that what was happening to me was pretty common. I was having a sort of post traumatic stress reaction to finishing treatment. Since there was no longer any action to do to fight the cancer, I let down the dam and all of the emotions that I had been holding back for the last year in order to be able to deal with the treatment came flying out. Also, our life was (is) unrecognizable from a year ago and I had no idea how to get it going again. In addition, I was no longer getting the constant hand holding and reassurance from the medical staff; I felt scared and all alone. Later when we talked to one of my docs, she confirmed that this is perfectly normal and happens often. She even chuckled just a little when I told her what happened. Hmm, do you think one of you wise doctor types could have warned me about this? (Note on this, cancer doctors tend to not tell patients the whole truth about what may happen. I realize this is for my own good. If the doctor told me I was going to have a problem, chance are I would self fulfill that prophecy and make a problem for myself. I get it, I just don't have to like it.)So, I spent a week weeping, a week trying very hard to stop weeping (mostly unsuccessfully) and then started to come out of it.

The next week I began the follow-up round of doctor visits that seems to dominate my calendar this month. I also had a mammogram and a blood test. Both of these came back clear and indicate no signs of cancer. Hooray!! Also very important, my liver and kidneys seem to have survived the chemo and are back to functioning normally. Hooray again! My blood counts are hanging in there, not going up much, but the doc says this can take up to a year to rebound. Yep, that's why I am still so tired all of the time. All of this was very good news and very encouraging. My oncologist also released me to get my port removed (can't wait!) and handed over some anti-anxiety meds in case of future problems.

In answer to the question of "what now?", one doctors said try to eat a low fat diet and get five hours of cardio a week. (Yikes, current post-chemo cardio = zero hours per week.) The other doctor said you need to take care of yourself, when you want to sleep, sleep. When you want to yell, yell. Hmmm, which one's advice will I follow??? In response to both of these, Paul declared it the summer of Cara. The main goal this summer is for me to rest and get better so we can get on with our life. We know God has big plans for us ahead and we can't wait to get started -- all in good time.

"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him who have been called according to His purpose...If God is for us who can be against us?...in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us." Romans 8:28,31,37

Progress

I had a much better week this week. Several things happened that make me know I am moving forward:
1. I smiled for real. Not the fake one I have been showing for months, but an actual, face is a representation of what I am feeling on the inside, smile.
2. I stayed out late. We went to the Spurs game, compliments of a sweet friend (thanks!), that didn't even start until after my normal bedtime. I made it all the way to through the 3rd quarter. Big progress. This was also the first time in a long time that Paul and I have been out at night past 8:30. A big step!
3. I wore a bra, for most of the day. I have been braless since the beginning of my radiation in February so this was a milestone.

Now the bad news, after days of smiling, yesterday I felt the hormone monster start to rear its ugly head again. Today I am edgy and cranky, as in, watch out if you leave your sock on the floor cranky. I am headed to the oncologist later this week, so I will definitely be having a talk with him about this issue. Along with managing my hormonally challenged emotions, right now I am trying to take it easier on myself and not be upset if I need to rest or sit down. I just do it. No more fighting and crying because I am not better instantly. (Ok, so that last part goes up in the good news section, don't you think?)

Next week I am planning to get my chemo couch potato self back to exercising regularly. This may prove to be very challenging. Many of my muscles seem to have gone on vacation due to significant lack of use. Wish me luck!

"There is a time for everything and a season for every activity under heaven...a time to kill (cancer) and a time to heal...a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance." Ecclesiastes 3:1,3,4

Not Over Yet

I'll bet some of you thought because of the long silence and now that the treatment was over I was not going to write anymore. Wrong. I have just been busy, tired, overwhelmed, and had my kids writing reports (which is a serious hampering to blogging).

I have now been out of treatment a little over two weeks. These two weeks have been in a word - hard. Really hard. Shockingly hard. I think I expected that after I stopped getting treatment I would magically get better. Nope, I got worse. Also, I seem to have lost my purpose and focus. I was so focused on getting through the treatment and finishing. Now I am standing here, sick and wrecked, and thinking now what? How do I life my life? I can't even find my life. Also, the big security blanket of doctors and nurses and constant attention was yanked away from me. They left me out here on my own. On top of that, I started the new long term drug, Tamoxifen, which has been playing havoc with my body and hormones. I hope it is playing havoc with my hormones. If it is not the Tamoxifen, then I have completely lost my mind. And finally, since the treatment is done, people, including my husband (sorry dear), have start expecting more of me. But wait, I am still sick! Just now I don't seem to have an excuse. All of these things have combined to make me exhausted, discouraged, very cranky, and weepy. I feel as if depression is knocking at the back door, but I am definitely not opening that one even an inch. I desperately want to throw myself on God and depend on Him to take all of this away. And I am trying, really trying. But even this dependence requires a daily, hourly, minutely (is that a word?) focus and I am failing at it so often. I feel as if I fight this battle on all of these fronts every day and there is just no relief in sight.

I can't just leave you with the bad stuff...I do have good days. I am getting stronger, inch by inch. My head is clearing. My skin is healing. I am manging to have successful days at school with the kids most days. These are tiny life rafts that keep me afloat in the rough sea.

"The desert and the parched land will be glad; the wilderness will rejoice and bloom...and the ransomed of the Lord will return. They will enter Zion with singing; everlasting joy will crown their heads. Gladness and joy will overtake them and sorrow and sighing will flee away." Isaiah 35:1,10

Over !?!

Sorry to leave things hanging all week. I brilliantly assigned the kids some reports which kept them very busy this week. However, it also kept them occupying the computers all week. I had time to write, but unless I was going to type it in on my phone one letter at a time, I couldn't get to the Internet.

I woke up Monday (very, very early!) nervous. Really nervous, like throw up nervous. I was thinking I have spent a year of my life doing this and now what? I know I am not the same person I was before, but who am I? What am I going to do with all of my time? It was like I had been reborn and now I had a whole new life to start over with. I was nervous about this responsibility. In two hours of Bible Study (very, very early) God took that nervousness away and made me ready to enjoy the opportunity.

So, on Monday afternoon, I finished my radiation treatment. We were all so relived and happy. As before, I cried tears of joy as we left the building. Paul and several others commented that me face looked different after that, like the burden had been lifted.

Tuesday and Wednesday went very well. I was feeling good and was enjoying the freedom of a schedule not bound by radiation and naps (although I still take the naps, just not on a schedule). I started taking my long term estrogen blocker medicine, Tamoxifen. So far, so good.

Wednesday night crept in. I didn't sleep-too many hot flashes. Then Thursday hit. I woke up (warning this is very gross) with my nipple oozing and crusty from the radiation burn and peeling skin. Cleaning this up nearly made me pass out from the pain. AND I was tired on Thursday, so tired. I spent most of the day laying on the floor between the kids while they worked on the their reports. By Thursday night I was gloomy and I made the giant mistake of looking up things on the Internet. (Big caution here - if you know anyone who think they have cancer, has cancer, or any illness - stay off the Internet. I have never gotten any info there that has actually helped me, just freaks me out.) Well, I should have heeded my own words. On the Internet, the wise doctors from the Mayo Clinic counseled me to use as a rule of thumb the time from my initial doctor appointment until the end of treatment as the amount of time it would take me to feel better. Ok, my first doctor appointment was in March it is now April...13 months. Ummm, tears, big tears. I have written a blog about taking time to heal before, but to actually have an "expert" tell me I was going to feel bad for that long sent me reeling.

Friday I was feeling better, but frustrated. I really imagined that after treatment I would feel better. I know that it is the Tamoxifen that is making me feel bad now. Since it is messing with my hormones again, we may be in for another fun couple of months while I adjust to the drug. The real lesson of this week is it ain't over 'til it's over!

The beautiful thing is that now, there are no new treatment to slam my body and make it worse. Even though I will have good days and bad days, they are not going to to make me sick any more. Hooray and Hallelujah! I am fully aware that God helped the doctors find and remove the tumors, protected me and kept me strong during chemo, showed up every day to cover my heart and hold my hand during radiation, (not to mention died for me and gave me eternal life), so a little more hormone distress and tiredness are not too big for Him to handle. He is still with me every day, every minute.

Please keep us in your prayers. Paul and I are both worn out mentally and physically. While I contend with my physical symptoms, he works all day and then comes home to pick up the pieces of the house for the day. Also, girls with crazy hormones are no fun to live with, so please pray for us to have wisdom, patience and kindness with each other as my body learns to handle my drug. I can't thank you enough for praying, supporting and loving us along the road. You have been the very hands and feet of Jesus to us.

"Therefore if any person is ingrafted in Christ he is a new creation (a new creature altogether); the old has passed away. Behold, the fresh and new has come!" 2 Corinthians 5:17

Done

Just a quick update before I teach math - Treatment is over! My last zap was yesterday. Today I will start my long term maintenance medicine. I have a great sense of relief as well as a feeling of a huge task of healing ahead of me. Thanks for praying. Keep it up!!

Boys

It's Friday night, the kids are playing at a neighbor's, my husband is re-building the pool filter (don't ask), I have had a nap, dinner is cooked and I started looking around the house for something to do. So here I sit. I tell you this because usually before I write anything here, it had been rolling around in in my brain for a while but today you just get whatever spews out.

First the ever important score card -- 33 down -- 1 to go!!!!! Hooray! I am so ready to be done getting sicker and start getting better. BTW, boost hurts. Every day. And, the lady uses a Sharpie to draw on my very sensitive nipple scar. Every day. Boost also makes me very, very tired. Although the radiation is going to be over on Monday, I am sure the tired will continue well past that time.

One thing I am glad to be almost done with applying creme everywhere. This has become a family project. Since my back was being radiation as well as my front, I had to have help applying the creme three times a day. Well, since the boys are here with me, they got the job at least twice a day. After trying numerous times to keep myself covered and modest during creme application, I finally gave up. They were just going to have to see my naked breasts like all of the medical professionals in San Antonio already have done. At first, the boys argued over who had to do it. Then, it seemed as if they just didn't care anymore. This led Paul and I to have some strange discussions about how they would feel about breasts when they finally got to see some that didn't belong to their mother. Would the attitude be "been there, done that", what else have you got? My wise friend graciously assured me the breast are not like that at all. She promised me that Andrew and Ben, like all young men, would eventually view breasts as "seen one, want to see them all".

Aside from being able to discuss breasts without even cracking a smile (do you know any other 11 and 13 year olds that can do that?), the boys are doing very well. In the past few weeks they have really stepped up their activities to help around the house. They take on any job I ask (usually) willingly. Sweetly, in the last week or so, Andrew has been a little more worried about me. Remember the chemo eyes, with the dark circles? They are back. Apparently, when I look bad and start sleeping a lot, it bothers Andrew. So not only is he extra helpful, he is also extra upset if he thinks he has done something wrong or hurt me. I have gone out of my way to make sure he knows that I am OK. For Andrew, puberty mixed with a mom with cancer, has made it quite an exceptionally emotionally challenging year. But he is going to make some lucky girl a great husband some day, especially if she likes lotion on her back.

"Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him." James 1:12

Time

I have lots of things dancing around in my head that I want to write these days. However, what I don't have is time. I am back on a schedule of sleeping for 12-14 hours a day. Add to that one hour a day to go to radiation and that leaves me with a whopping nine hours every day to get everything else done. This is one of those numbers that I wish I had not actually calculated, kind of like how much sleep you get with a newborn/toddler in the house. Sometimes it is better to just not think about it. But when I do think about it that way, it allows me to give myself just a small break. When you only have 9 hours, everything is not going to get done. So in my world that means the laundry almost never gets folded and the kids have to excavate their own underwear every morning from the laundry basket. Worse things have happened. Hmmm, maybe they will learn to fold...don't hold your breath on that one!

Also on the matter of time, I had a perspective altering conversation with one of my nurses last week. I asked her how long it was going to take for my skin to heal. She said that since it took six weeks for it to get this damaged, I should expect it to take at least six weeks to heal. Six weeks!? Argh! I am not that patient. But, wait a minute(here's where the perspective changed), since my poor body has been under attack for about a year now maybe I should stop waiting for it to get better overnight. In fact, I think I need to expect it to take about a year for it to come back to full capacity. A year? OK, new goal. Back healthy in a year.

So when does the cancer treatment actually end? I have six more days of radiation treatment. These are boost treatments aimed only at the breast tumor sight. After that, I can expect my skin right there to get worse for about two weeks and then to begin to heal. Next, I have to go for a mammogram and follow-up visits with all of the doctors. Hopefully, this will include the removal of my port which bothers me every night when I sleep. All of this will take until about the end of May. At that point I will consider the active portion of my treatment over, but as I said above, there is much, much more healing to do in the days to come.

The next most asked question now that you have seen my hair is what are you going to do after treatment is over? Party? Vacation? What to you really want to do? The very unglamorous answer to that question is clean my house. Yes, I really said that. Besides the emergency cleaning Mom did, not a single closet, bookcase, or drawer has been cleaned out in our house in over a year. Many, many minor repairs have also just been let go. These things are starting to glare at me from all corners of house and I am ready to get started fixing them. And to continue the very unglamorous goals, I would really like to get my left arm working properly again. Surgery, lymph node removal and radiation have made my left arm (my favorite one) and shoulder very weak. So weak that it even hurts to push a shopping cart. I would very much like to be able to go to the grocery store by myself again (think alone time for the home school mom), so I am highly motivated work on improving my arm strength. Aren't those exciting things? Really I just want to have a normal life back. One that is not controlled by trips to the doctor or by my napping schedule.

I hope you all had a wonderful weekend celebrating the Resurrection of our Lord and Savior Jseus Christ. Thank you to all of you who helped us physically (with food) and spiritually (with the encouraging words and cards)in the last few weeks. We are so grateful for the care you have given us and that you have not forgotten us during this long, difficult year.

"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he had given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead." 1 Peter 1:3

The Machine

I am home alone tonight. Paul and the boys are the Spurs game. I am not home alone because I didn't want to go to the game. (I did.) I am not home alone because we couldn't get another ticket. (We could.) I am home alone because I simply cannot be on my feet at all after 8:30 PM. After that, like Cinderella's coach, I turn into a pumpkin. (For those of you who don't get my family's humor - a major vegetable, non-verbal and not moving.) This is not the first family outing that I have missed in the last few months. This IS the first time I had to stay home that I didn't cry (progress, I guess). I hope it will be one of the last times I have to miss something because of this nasty, nasty disease.

Thanks for your prayers last week, as a result, I am happy to report that this week has been much, much better. To answer the question everyone is now asking, yes, Paul and I did take Andrew's advice and go out. No, it did not immediately make everything better, but we are making progress. Just admitting we were having problems started us on the road to better. Also, I have been really trying to control the anger that is still festering about my life. Instead of verbally barfing it all over Paul every time I see him, I am allowing myself the hour it takes me to drive to radiation and back to be totally angry, frustrated, mad, sad and worn out about all of this. This one hour of mad seems to really be helping the other twenty-three hours in my day. I am still hurting quite a bit, but since I can feel totally sorry for myself one hour a day I can suck it up the rest of the time and just be moderately annoyed by the pain and itching.

Sleeping seems to be another story. I take many, many pain relievers before bed to just to get to sleep. However, according to Paul I still moan and cry in my sleep. The other night I woke up and he was rubbing my head. I guess that quiets me down and my head is really the only safe place to touch me right now. I love him for that (other stuff too!).

Just for fun, I thought you would like a peek at the radiation machine. This is not quite the same tour Ben got one day when he stood in the control room during my treatment, but it is close.



When I get there, I strip to the waist and lie down on the table. The red things at the top are rests for my arms and hands which go up over my head. The table is lifted up and back to be directly under the big grey machine. (This is fun ride, sort of like riding in the scoop of my grandpa's tractor, only we never run into a tree. Grandpa Harold thought that part was hilarious.) Then the radiologists line me up using my tattoos and laser lights from the ceiling and walls. If you look closely at the bottom picture, you can see the open box from which one of the lights is projected. After that, a numbered scale is projected onto my chest and I am placed in exactly the same position every day according to these measurements. The giant grey machine rotates around so the big hanging circle is at about 45 degrees to my right. I turn my head to side so no radiation hits my esophagus (thanks for not doing that!). The radiation is shot at my breast from that angle so it misses my lungs and heart (again, thank you for thinking of that). Next, it moves to directly above my armpit and radiates a triangle above my breast from my collarbone to my armpit. This is to hit the entire chain of lymph nodes in that area. Then it moves around to hit those same two fields from the back side. Each radiation is about 15 seconds during which the machine makes a buzzing noise. You are not supposed to be able to feel it, but sometimes my skin tingles while it is being radiated. On Tuesday and Wednesday in addition to the radiation, they take x-rays of the radiation fields. This is to ensure that I am being positioned properly and they are still missing all of my organs with the radiation. I know this is necessary, but I am even more grumpy on those days because it means I have to lay in position on the table for at least twenty minutes, sometimes more. I am constantly amazed at the science of all of my cancer treatment. I wonder who thought all of this up and who was brave enough to let them test it on them for the first time. I am grateful to those people for being the guinea pigs for me.

The score stands at 23 down, 11 to go. After next week I will be getting a different kind of radiation called a boost. More on that later...

"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul. He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and you staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever." Psalm 23

Pain Management

This week my life has become all about pain management. The upper left quadrant of my body has become started burning, itching, and/or just plain hurting most of the time. My left nipple has become so sensitive that today I doubled over in pain because the wind was hitting it. I have several magic cremes that help this a little. Also, I now know that one way to cool off your burning skin is to stand with your boob in the freezer. However, this only works for a few minutes and makes your kids fall over laughing.

In addition, I have developed an open wound under my arm on my surgical scar. This looks a lot like a spot of chaffing, like a baby would get under its diaper. The problem is that this spot rubs together all day and then gets radiated every afternoon. The nurse is concerned it may open up even more and become an even bigger problem. As a reslut, I now have to keep my armpit full of lotion and bandaged all the time. Keeping the bandage in place proves to be a bit of a challenge, as nothing can be taped to my radiated skin. The nurse informs me that this spot will most likely not heal until the radiation is over. The good news is that on and around my scar the nerves were damaged by my surgeries so I can't feel the pain of the wound, only the pain of the bandages rubbing on the sensitive skin around it.

All of this pain results in me being very edgy and grumpy in general. I can deal with this alright most of the time, but lately, I have been unable to control my fury when my husband even looks at me "wrong". Oh boy, watch out. Unfortunately, he is also in a fragile state having battled cancer all of this time too. He is not physically suffering, but he has been tortured right along with me. So of course, he is also ready for a fight and lashes back. What this amounts to is two hurt, wounded people beating each other up. Not very attractive. It must be pretty bad because this afternoon Andrew said, "You two have been fighting a lot lately, so if you need to go out tonight, that's OK." Ouch! We are working on it and trying to handle each other more gently.

The good news (after all of that bad) is that this week I crossed the half way point. Today I had my 18th radiation, only 16 left. Hooray!

"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." Psalm 34:18

Hair

Since my posts have been a little on the serious side lately, here is a fascinating answer to the most asked question of all: What does your hair look like?

Here is the before. This is Paul and I this summer.



At Thanksgiving, with my brother and nephew modeling our identical bald heads.


Me at New Year's, see the hair has started to grow. Also notice the chemo eyes. That was actually a pretty good day, sometimes the dark circles were much worse. I could have been an awesome before and after make-up model at this time.


At the end of January with Andrew.


This is a strange picture of me taken by Ben at an angle to show my hair as it is now.


The interesting thing about my hair now is that the formerly stick straight stuff is super wavy and curly. In the morning when I wake up, I have a point on the top of my head, like a "faux-hawk" the some guys wear, that is surrounded by curls on the back and sides. It is a whole new game to learn to tame this wild thing.

"Do not be afraid of those who will kill the body but cannot kill the soul....And even the very hairs of your head are numbered." Matthew 30:28,30

Who's the Boss?

The other day someone asked me if I would give back the cancer if I had to give back all of the spiritual growth that has gone along with it. I knew what the "right" answer was, but it took me a while to process what the real answer was. The real answer is YES, YES, YES! I would give back all of the pain, all of the pokes with needles into my chest, all of days spent in bed. I would give back the painful, ugly scars. I would give back all of the clinical looks my husband gave me when he was trying to assess my condition. I would give back the terror in his eyes when I told him something else was wrong with me. I would give back all of the times I have had to hear my kids use the word breast in a sentence like it was normal dinner conversation. I would give back every single evening that I sat down to watch TV, not because I wanted to, but because I had to because I simply couldn't stand up for one more minute. All of it, I would like to give it back, even if it means forfeiting all of the good things that have come along with the bad. I am aware that in a little while, when I am no longer hurt and wounded from the battle, and I have a little time and perspective, my answer is probably going to be different. I will not see the pain and I will see the rewards that have come from my (our) endurance. Intellectually, I understand that, but emotionally, I wish it had never happened.

Now here's that kicker, that really doesn't matter. I can want to give to back, but I can't. God is a sovereign God. He is sovereign over every aspect of my life. I don't pick and choose what happens to me; He does. Me saying, "No, thanks" to the cancer is like my kids saying, "No, thanks" to math. They don't like it and sometimes complain about doing it, but they have to do it. I know that in the big picture of their life they really are going to have to know how to manage fractions and understand word problems. To give back the math and skip it would handicap them in the future, so even though they don't like it, I make them do it. Every day. But I help them when they need it and I patiently (most days) explain why they need to learn it. This is the same thing that God does for me. He allowed me to have cancer. I don't want it. But He know what He is doing and one day He will patiently explain to me why I need to go through this right now. Like my kids, I would give it back if I had the chance, but I depend on my Sovereign God to be much wiser than me and to know what He is doing.

The Lord said to Job: "Where were you when I laid the earth's the foundation? Tell me if you understand. Who marked off its dimension? Surely you know! Who shut up the sea behind doors when it burst forth from its womb?" Job 38:4,8

Attitude Adjustment

Well, ever since I wrote down and confessed what was making me crabby, God has given me a full court press of an attitude adjustment. He used my friend on the phone, my neighbor in my kitchen, Facebook, my BSF lesson, my daily devotional, my kids, church, songs, you name it, He used it. The message was this: you are going to have trouble, but choose to focus on my peace and my joy instead. I am going to take care of you. You can fight and be grumpy, but then the cancer wins. If you tackle it with joy and hold my hand, we win. So tomorrow, instead of crying when I am on the radiation table, I am going to let Jesus hold my hand and put His other hand over my heart to protect it from radiation and from fear. A good plan, don't you think?!

"I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." John 16:33

Grumpy

This afternoon I will have my eighth radiation treatment. Eight down, twenty-six to go. The major side effect of the radiation so far is grumpiness. I am in a constant state of irritation about it, so when anything else even moderately upsets me, I am prone to fall off the cliff of anger. Praying to stop being irrigated and to handle myself much better.

Why am I so irritated? Well, the skin on the whole left quadrant of my chest from my neck to under my breast, wrapping around to the middle of my back, is very sensitive most of the time hurting like it has a sunburn. I can't wear a bra at all. Sounds good for about a day, but how about not wearing a bra until May? I can only sleep in one position so that I don't lay on any of the sensitive skin. However, this position puts me directly on top of my port and that hurts too. Also, going to radiation every day feel like a job. A very short, easy job, but a job nonetheless. A job that has to be followed up by a two hour nap, or I can't make it through the rest of the evening. See why I am grumpy? The up side is that although I am generally in a foul mood, I am much better than I was before. Paul says that he would take me crabby like this for the rest of my life over the way I was for the last few months. (That brings tears to my eyes, I was really, really sick.)

I guess the real reason I am crabby is that every one keeps saying (and I had started to believe too) that the worst is over. I thought it would be smooth sailing, no more struggling, no more fighting from here on out. Wrong, wrong. I still have to manage my body and my energy very carefully. I am very far from returning to my normal life. My body reminded me clearly of that last night when at seven o'clock I suddenly became so tired I was non-functional. I call that scary tired. Yes,I went to bed, but not before a thread of fear sneaked into bed with me. Turns out the fear is my sin habit, whenever things start to not go the way I want fear come knocking at my door. Last night I cried and cried because I was exhausted like I felt during chemo and I was afraid of feeling like that again. I do trust God to take care of me, but I also am aware that sometimes, for His purpose, He will let us suffer. I am frankly scared of that suffering. Praying so hard for God to remove that fear from my heart, to help me trust Him more, and for Him to remove the tired from my body.

Not to leave you with a complete sob story, here is another interesting side effect of the radiation. The doctor had said the breast that is being radiated would being to perk up and eventually look like a "fifteen year old boob". OK, I didn't buy that really. But, it is starting to happen. The radiation is making that boob get tighter and, yes, perkier. The only problem is that the condition of bralessness is making the other boob go the opposite direction. So when I am finished with the radiation, I will have one scarred, but perky boob and one flawless, but saggy boob. What I am wondering is...do they make a bra for that?

"He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord,'He is my refuge and fortress, my God in whom I trust.'" Psalm 91:1-2

Just the Facts

I learned very clearly three distinct facts this week.
1. Teaching algebra, teaching fractions, and chemo do not mix.
2. Radiation techs do not take tattoo requests or moonlight doing flames on shoulders.
3. Emotional reactions to cancer treatment can be almost as difficult to deal with as physical reactions.
I will explain:

First, as I "came to" from my chemo in the last week or so I started focusing on what the boys were doing in school and trying to evaluate their progress. In Math this year, Andrew is doing algebra and Ben is doing fractions. I thought they were doing OK. They were missing a few problems, but on the whole I felt they were moving forward. Big mistake. Last week I noticed there were a few things that they were just plain missing or doing totally wrong. I spent the remainder of last week and all of this week hammering them with review and going over mistakes to fix the errors that I had just not noticed when I was doing chemo.

I have now realized that I was much, much worse during the chemo than I recognized at the time. I can clearly see how my hand writing deteriorated over time and several other issues (like the math) have occurred to me. I also think that I had no business driving during that time. Whew, scary. God's protection was strong over us during that time.

Fact number two, radiation techs don't take requests or moonlight doing flaming tattoos. BTW, they do not they think it is very funny when you suggest this either. Tuesday, I went for my radiation "simulation". Basically, this involved me lying on a table with my arms over my head and my chest exposed while a doctor and a tech moved me around, drew on me with sharpies, took pictures, placed permanent markers (AKA tattoos) on my skin, and then gave me a CT scan. It didn't take very long but it sure was strange. The strangest part was, as we were leaving, the doctor instructed me to try to "wash around" the giant three inch by three inch sharpie targets that were drawn on each of my sides and in the middle of my chest. They also incorrectly told me the tattoo would stop hurting quickly. The doctor said they would call next week to set the appointment and I would start radiation next week too.

Despite the fact that the doc and the tech were very nice and caring, I left there kind of put out. I was all marked up, the tattoos hurt, and I was irritated to have to wait longer to set up my next appointment. And, of course, I felt like a cancer patient again with a new phase of treatment looming in front of me. I went home, ate my dinner generously provided for me by a friend, then jumped into the shower to get ready to go for Tuesday night. When I stepped out of the shower and saw my impossibly short hair, the trifecta of scars across my chest, and the giant targets now circling my body, I lost it. (Fact number three, emotions are hard to deal with.) I saw down in my closet and cried. A lot. I looked at the clock and realized I had fifteen minutes until it was time to leave, so I sort of, not very well pulled myself together and headed out the door.

By Wednesday, upset had changed to pure anger. I was mad that I had to do this again, mad at them for marking me up, and mad at because I was inconvenienced. A lot of good that did me. I have started getting dressed in the closet so that I don't have to see the marks in the mirror. The tattoos stopped hurting after two days. And, when I think about it rationally, I am glad that the process takes a few days because it is a very scientific calculation about where to aim the radiation beams and I sincerely don't want them to make a mistake and radiate my heart or lungs. So I am just sitting and waiting and letting the sharpie wear off...

Mom, at my request, has come back to help out this week. I called her on Saturday waving the white flag and asking for help. She didn't hesitate and is here cheerfully doing all of the things around the house that usually produce grumbling from the rest of us. (Do you like to clean toilets and vacuum behind the bed??) This leaves me free to spend the day completely focused on school with the boys and then take blissful two hour naps while the laundry magically flies back into my drawers. I am trying to be really, really patient and gentile with myself in order to heal, but of course I want to be better NOW!

"We wait in hope for the Lord; he is our help and shield. In him our hearts rejoice, for we trust in his holy name."Psalm 33:20-21

Moving Forward

This week started with a bang as I went on Tuesday to have a PET scan. This involved being injected with a radioactive sugar, sitting for an hour, then laying in a tube for most of another hour. I came home from this not feeling relaxed and happy from my vacation, but feeling again like a cancer patient. ARGH!

On Wednesday, I had a pretty good day, but had to take Andrew downtown to the library in the afternoon for a class he is taking. That meant I was on the go all day, no rest. By the time we got home at 4:00, I was a mess. I couldn't move and feel asleep in the chair. I woke up from the nap, realized I still couldn't move and would have to cancel my plans for the evening. That made me absolutely furious. I was mad, so mad, that I couldn't do what I wanted to do any more. I was angry that I was going to have to have radiation. I was tired of being sick and on Wednesday, I had just had enough.

This might not have been the best frame of mind to enter Thursday when I was going to see both oncologist and the radiology oncologist. I was definitely agitated. When the nurse checked my blood pressure, it was so high she asked what Paul had done to me on the way in to make me upset. I quickly removed the blame from him, but I was still worked up.

When we finally got to see the oncologist, he was smiling. This is rare because he is a very, very serious man. He proclaimed my scan to be "unremarkable". Don't you love that word? I have never in my life been so happy to be unremarkable. It has been a while since any doctor called any test of mine unremarkable. They always start the conservation with "let's discuss a few things..." Unremarkable was way, way better. (Thank you to all of you who were praying about this. What an awesome answer to the prayers!)

We also met with the radiology oncologist to get set for radiation. The next question is if your scan showed you to be cancer free, why do you still have to have radiation? Good question. The scan can only pick up visible chucks of cancer. However, if even a tiny, microscopic bit of cancer cell is left alive it can grow into a big, bad tumor. The radiation is delivered locally (only at the site of the original cancer) to ensure that all tiny spots (that is, of course, the technical term) are killed.

I have a simulation to get all set up for radiation on Tuesday. I prefer to think of this as tattoo day. Then we will start the next week. The doctor told me I would need six weeks of radiation. Actually, it is 34 treatments. I get treatment Monday through Friday. 34 treatments...you do the math. According to my third grade math skills that is not six weeks, it is seven. Another instance when I have caught my oncologist lying. I called him out on this yesterday, but I realize when he tells me the best case scenario and glosses over the side effects it is probably for my own good. Still, in any other conditions, we would call this lying!

After I called him on the carpet for lying, I asked the oncologist what I should do now. How should I live so that I don't have to come back and do this again? I was fully prepared to get a speech about diet and exercise. Nope. He said, "You need to go out and live your life, know that the doctors have done everything possible for you and trust God for the rest." Great answer. I am definitely going to follow that advice.

"May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit." Romans 15:13

Just What the Doctor Ordered

Our vacation was exactly what we needed. I benefited the most from the time away, but Paul and the boys will definitely report that they had a great time. I had two major accomplishments while we were gone. First, I made friends with my new very, very short hair and even allowed my picture to be taken a few times. Second, on the two week anniversary of my last chemo when I was kissing a stingray* and snorkeling, I felt as if I personally had just won the Superbowl. Definitely a win for God and I over cancer and yuck!

(*Just an aside about kissing the stingrays, if you visit the Cayman Islands, you should not miss the chance to do this. It was incredible.)

Today, I feel as if my brain is waking up. I went to Bible study this morning and was almost overstimulated by all of the things going on. I was aware of the other people and their movement. I was actually able to listen and understand what they were talking about. I did not realize how dull my senses and brain had become. I mean, I knew it was bad. I just didn't know how bad. I am looking forward to more and more clarity as the chemo clears my system.

As for as the rest of me, I am still napping every afternoon. However, the naps are getting shorter and I am sleeping less at night. I am trying to be very patient and remember to sit down and rest when I am tired, so I will continue to heal as quickly possible.

Tomorrow I am having a PET scan. I don't know exactly what this will entail, but it has quite an interesting set of preparation guidelines. No strenuous exercise for two days (that is an easy one), no caffeine, sugar, or carbs after noon today. That means I can have meat and lettuce for dinner, no sauce, no dressing. Ok, but a little strange. On Thursday, I am meeting with my oncologist to discuss the test results and then with the radiologist to get set for radiation. I call this double header doctor day. I am praying things go very smoothly and the my test clearly reveals that I am completely cancer free.

"A cheerful heart is good medicine." Proverbs 17:22

Vacation (**now with an addition)

I declare an official week of vacation. Vacation from doctor's appointments, vacation from needles, vacation from waiting rooms full of bad magazines, vacation from analyzing blood tests, vacation from endlessly obsessing about my health. Coincidentally, we are taking an actual vacation too!

We really need the break. We are going to spend the week remembering what is to be normal family instead of a family in crisis. I am really looking forward to having a conversation with my husband that is 1)longer than 10 minutes, 2)not in a waiting room (see above), 3)not about one of the above mentioned topics, 4)not held when I am in a state of semi-consciousness so I will have a chance of remembering it later. We need a chance to relate to each other as friends/companions not just as sick girl and man who fetches stuff. Also, I have promised the boys some time alone with each of them to have real conversations too. Conversations with them about anything other than you-must-get-this-done-now or help-me-please have been a bit scarce our house in recent weeks. I am hopeful that a few days together, relaxing and having fun, will make us all remember why we like each other. Then it is right back for doctors, tests, and radiation...that is a story for another day.

***Later... further proof that we need to get out of here. Last night the boys were messing around and being a little wild. At one point Andrew (for lack of a better word) body checked Ben, who then body checked me right into the wall. I yelled, "Ow!" and hit the floor. Immediately both boys were crying hysterically because they though they had hurt me. Paul came rushing into the room yelling, "What did you do? What did you do?" After everyone calmed down and they realized that I wasn't really hurt, there were still more tears of "I sorry" and "I hope I didn't hurt you". You can see we are still on edge and there is a lot of tension lurking beneath the surface. I think we need a vacation...

"Come to me all you who are weary and burdened, and will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." Matthew 28:28-30

Happiness

Well, the weekend was rough as I anticipated. The pain and the dizziness lasted through yesterday. But, last night I was in bed and I realized that I was happy. That is a sure sign that the chemo has left the building. When I am recovering from chemo, my emotions are dull. I just don't ever feel much and am never very happy until I recover. Hallelujah, this means the chemo is REALLY over.

"Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness." Lamentations 3:20-23

Reality

Despite my euphoria yesterday, today the body punishing reality that is chemo has hit me in the face. I am hurting, aching, and wincing to move. I am chanting my life raft Bible verse in my head just to stand up (Philippians 4:13). I know I am at the end. I know it is almost over, but the truth is it still hurts.

Also yesterday after chemo, Mom was coughing and not feeling well at all. I sent her off to the urgent care clinic thinking she had a sinus infection. Nope, no sinus infection. Pneumonia. That left me thinking, "Ok God,I trust you. But really? Seriously?" Thanks to some great medicine she is feeling much better today. I am trying to get her to rest so that she will heal completely and quickly. Trying is the operative word in that sentence.

Today I am also trying to put into action another of my favorite verses. (Thanks for reminding me of it Erin.) "Moses answered the people, 'Do not be afraid. Stand firm and you will see the deliverance the Lord will bring you today. The Egyptians you see today you will never see again. The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.' " Exodus 14:13-14

Joy

I had my last chemo today. I think I can hear you cheering! Jumping up and down? Doing the happy dance? That is what we are doing here. It was as if a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders today as I left the chemo room. I cried big sobs of relief as we left the building. I still anticipate a few rough days as this round of drugs has its effect, but for now I am engulfed in pure joy. God has just successfully led me though the most difficult task of my life so far - and (just so you don't forget) IT IS OVER!!

"In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith-of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire-may be proven genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed." 1 Peter 1:6-7

Roller Coaster Head

Last night I had a bad case of "roller coaster head". This is when I feel dizzy and disoriented like I just got off of a really great roller coaster. It started at five, and by 6:30 forced me into bed for the night. Getting into bed with your PJ's on at 6:30 can be a little depressing. However, I have forced myself to embrace the resting this last week, so I willingly snuggled in for 13 hours of sleep. Roller coaster head is a symptom of my chemo that seems to be getting progressively worse (like everything else) especially on Monday and Tuesday nights.

Tomorrow is the last chemo. If it wasn't the last one, I am not sure I could make myself go. It will be a major hurdle crossed tomorrow and an even bigger hurdle after the illness has passed and I can get better again without getting knocked backwards every week. I anticipate that this week I will be the most weak and sick that I have been, especially on Sunday and Monday. So, please, please keep praying for us.

Tonight a sweet friend just prayed into my ear that I would to crawl up into my Father's lap and just let Him hug me and stroke my head until I feel better. That is the picture I am going to carry with me tomorrow. (Thank you for that prayer, T!) I used to do this all of the time with my Dad when I was little (and not so little). I felt so loved and safe on Dad's lap, even when I was too big to fit. Fortunately, my heavenly Father's lap is really big. There is room enough there for me and all of my luggage too. He doesn't even care that I don't have very much hair!

Thanks for your love and prayers. I can feel you lifting me up. I need it so much.

"He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently lead those that have young." Isaiah 40:11

Resting...

Today both of the kids are running a fever, so there was no school. Mom is here cooking and doing laundry despite the fact that she has a temp too. So, I am in the unusual position of having nothing screaming in my head that I should be doing. I was able to take a blissful nap without fretting about who conquered their math problems and used proper grammar today. Incredibly liberating!

I am trying to rest, rest, rest and kick this cold before my final chemo on Thursday. The strange part is that I can't even remember how it feels to feel good. I know I used to be able to make it though the day without resting and carefully considering every activity, but I can't remember how it felt. I am looking forward renewed energy and health. I can't wait to get better and not have to anticipate getting sick again in the near future.

Also, I am almost ready to abandon wearing something on my head all of the time. I have quite a bit of squirrely "old man" hair, as I affectionately call it. However, I am just a little self conscious about this. The funny thing about it is that, in public, even with weirdly short hair people stare at you much less than when you have a hat on. The real benefit of going hatless is the feeling of the wind in my hair. You have no idea how exquisite this feeling is until you have not felt it for a few months.

Chemo has inflicted one final irritation upon me. The drug I am currently getting makes me break out. That effect, like all of the others, has gotten significantly worse lately. That means that now I look like a teenager in puberty - covered in zits. I guess this is just one more thing to look forward to getting rid of when I finish chemo.

"Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him." James 1:12

The Plan

This week I caught a cold. Mom and Paul put me on nearly complete bed rest in a attempt to kick it. I was pretty miserable most of the week, but a little better on Friday when it was time for my visit to the doctor. Cold, or no cold, I really wanted to knock out my chemo on Friday.

As soon as we got to the doctor's office, the nurse discovered I had a fever and handed me a lovely face mask to wear. I was not happy. In fact, I was mad. At God. I have never been mad for the cancer, but I was furious about this little cold and the humiliation of the face mask. I was sure this was going to prevent me from having chemo. I had an hour on a hard, uncomfortable chair in an exam room to think through all of the whys, and express my extreme displeasure to the Master of the Universe. Not my finest moment. I am certain God was not impressed by my behavior and, in retrospect, I am certainly not either. I seem to be a bit of a control freak when it comes to my plans being altered. I am praying to just trust God and His plan rather than trying to micro-manage things myself. This is a much better system than fighting when things don't go the way I think they should go!

After my private temper tantrum, the doctor came in, examined me and allowed me to have chemo anyway. However, he did bust me for the cough drop I was sucking on to keep from coughing.

Chemo went fine. My port, after moving around and causing me quite a lot a pain in the last few weeks, seems to have slipped back into place and was easy to access. The only small hiccup in the chemo was when I had a coughing fit due to a hilarious text sent to me by a friend (you know who you are - still laughing about that). By that time, I was hooked up to the drugs and I don't think they could take them back. Paul did stuff a cough drop into my mouth pretty quickly though.

After sneaking the chemo in, I was in terrible shape yesterday. I was achy, coughing and could hardly stand up without feeling dizzy. I just slept most of the day. Today, I am happy to report, I am much improved. The cold is definitely on its way out. I have managed to share it with most of my family. Wasn't that nice? I am still on the complete rest plan in order to get strong for my final chemo which is on Thursday. After chemo, I figure I will have about five days of feeling gross and then begin to get better. That means 11 more days until I start to heal for good. Yea!

The second week of February, I will have a complete scan and another meeting with the doctor. This is mostly for my peace of mind. There is no cancer to monitor (a good thing), but I will just feel better knowing that nothing else is visibly growing.

The following week I will meet with my new best friend, the radiologist, to get set for radiation. The way it looks now, I will start radiation on February 22. I will have it everyday, Monday through Friday, for six weeks until the end of March. At that point I will have officially been dealing with this for a year. My first appointment about the lump in my breast was March 3 of last year.

Please continue to pray for our endurance and my health in the these last few days of chemo. I continue to get weaker with every treatment. Also, mentally we are all drained. As my friend Elissa put it, we are "done, just done. Like a toddler two hours after bedtime. Not hungry, jammies not too tight, just done." Unfortunately that is a completely accurate picture of our life. Thanks for praying.

"But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ's sake I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong." 2 Corinthians 12:9-10

Exciting News!

Ok, this may not be exciting news to you, but it is to me. So here it is...my arm pit is sweaty!!! Huh? You say, so what? Here's the deal. I had two surgeries on my left armpit in June and July. Since that time, I have not had feeling or sweat in that armpit. The last month or so it has been hurting off and on. The doctor confirmed that this was most likely the nerves waking up. Well, now I am sweating in that pit too. I take this as a great sign of healing. You should also read into this that I am desperate to find any sign that my body is healing and doing what is should be doing. If my body can have the time and energy to produce sweat in a formerly dead pit, that is surely because it has already killed off every single cancer cell and is just looking for more stuff to do.

"Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer." Romans 12:12

Poisoning

I am a prolific blog writer this week. Don't get used to it, spastic is more descriptive of what I am!

So many of you are asking how I am. The plain truth is that while for about 4 and a half months of the chemo I held pretty steady, I am now going down hill. In the last month I have become significantly weaker. I am tired on a new level all of the time. Frequently, there are days by afternoon simply getting up to walk is a real challenge. The doctor warned us about this. It is the accumulation of the toxins (I like to call them poisons!) in my system. Therefore, I expect my downhill slide will continue until the chemo is over. I have three more treatments.

We are doing the best we can to manage. I have cut out all extra activities. I may have to quit doing to Bible Study too in the next few weeks, but that is bad for my spirits and makes me depressed, so that will be a last resort (maybe we will quit school first - that would make the kids happy!). Mom will be here on Monday to help with the boys and the laundry. Really what I need to now most is rest, rest, rest. Please don't be offended if I don't return your phone call. I appreciated it; I was just too tired.

Along with the physical battle, Paul and I are fighting a huge spiritual battle to avoid being swallowed up by all of this. We have come so far and done so well, but there seems to be a giant ocean that we have to cross before the finish line. Daily I am praying to God to arm me for this battle so that Satan can not whisper his words of depression and despair into my ear. Right now I seem to love the songs from childhood best, so now my favorite song is a VBS song about how the lions can eat my body, but they can't swallow my soul. Ben sings it to me daily. The good news is victory is assured, we just have to press on to the finish. (Love that, don't you!)

Please keep us in your prayers.

"Be self controlled and alert. Your enemy prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour." 1Peter 5:8

Same verse very well said in the Message:
"Keep a cool head. Stay alert. The Devil is poised to pounce,and would like nothing better than to catch you napping. Keep your guard up. You are not the only one plunged into these hard times. It's the same with Christians all over the world. So keep a firm grip on faith. The suffering won't last forever. It won't be long before this generous God who has great plans for us in Christ- eternal and glorious plans they are! - will have you put together and on your feet for good. He gets the last word; yes he does."

Tis the Season

Christmas and New Years have passed, so now we enter the season of...thank you notes! I wish I could write a personal one to all of you who encourage, help and pray for me daily. However, there is one note that I do have to write...

Dear God,
I want to thank You for the gifts You gave me this year. At first, I wanted to reject your gifts as they were all tied up in that ugly black bow. But since I had no choice, I politely opened the box and this is what I found inside.

First, there was a large bundle of humility. I had to learn that I could not do everything on my own power, but had to depend on You and others to take care of me. I also found out that a lot of the things I was worried about getting done didn't really matter all that much.

Under all that humility, there was a big bag of fear and anxiety. I dug right into that bag before I realized it wasn't from You. Someone else entirely put that bundle in the gift. Once I put the fear away, I saw the very big pile of courage You had waiting for me to pick up.

I really didn't want all of that patience you sent. I know I kept asking for more and more but I think I forgot that I would have to use it when I got it. I use it daily as I wait for doctors, test, and healing.

I really love the focus You gave to me. I am not very good at using it yet, but when I do I am able to block out all of my pain and weariness by looking directly at You. Along with the focus came extra time. This was time that I was required to sit still, but was able to use to dig into your Word to discover the things You really wanted me to focus on.

You gave my whole family a tiny seed of faith. I looked at it and really thought You had made a mistake. That seed was not enough. But we planted it and, boy, did You make it grow. It is a huge amazing flower that lives in our hearts and perfumes our home.

You sent an abundance of love. Gifts of love came in the hands of each one of your people who stepped up to support me. The magnitude of this gift never ceases to amaze me. People (both close friends and some that I hardly know) have called, visited, prayed, cooked, e-mailed, sent gifts, sent flowers, sent cards, sent hats, driven me home, hugged me, encouraged me, held my hand and so much more. You also provided Mom who continues to reflect your love as she tirelessly cares for my whole family. On top of all of that, You pour your love directly into my heart. Every day, every hour, every minute You sustain me and hold me in your loving arms.

So thanks, God, for all of these things; they are more than I could have ever asked for or imagined. I am sure there are more gifts in that big box that I haven't discovered just yet. I don't know what those gifts will be or how they will be packaged. However, just in case I am slow to say it... thanks for those things too. I love You and I know You love me more than I can ever comprehend. I rest confidently in your perfect plans for my life.

"Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows." James 1:17

Day 4 Trouble

Writing a blog entry (or anything else) today is a little dangerous. Today is day four after my chemo and this is the day that I feel ... well frankly, like dirt. All day. Since I feel bad, I also tend to become a drama queen and view every little bump in the road at a giant, insurmountable mountain that will never, ever be conquered so the only solution must be lots of crying and whining. Not very attractive. Apparently this has become a bit of a habit because Paul just said, "Why are you always crying on this day?" (Please feel free to send him some nasty e-mails for this. My friend Diane threatened him for yelling at me, so thank goodness he did not go that far or he would be in real trouble!)

Anyway, I have lots of thoughts to share with you as we enter the last month of chemo. Even though it seems like we have come so far, one month still seems like very long to go. One month of summer vacation - short and wonderful - one month of chemo -- forever! I think I will leave it at that so I don't start whining and crying.

"I patiently waited for the Lord; he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and the mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand. He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear and put their trust in the Lord." Psalm 40:1-3