The Final Chapter

A few posts ago, I said that, pending good news from my one year scans, this would be my final post. I am thrilled to report that this will indeed be my final post.

I have thought about how to end this. Do I give an update on the past six weeks of healing after my hysterectomy? Do I take a look at how this experience has changed me? Do I reminisce about the entire cancer journey? Do I take a look at what lays ahead for me?

I have decided to do none of the above. The hysterectomy, although slightly complicated and rushed because of the cancer, did not really have anything to do with the cancer. The problems existed before and the hysterectomy would have eventually happened anyway. But, I am doing very well.

Of course this experience has changed me. How could it not? I have talked about that before already and see no need to rehash all that now.

Frankly, I do not care to look back. I lived it. As for the future, every time I try to think about what I want, I realize I don't have a clue what I want, not really. Simply speaking, the only thing I am sure about is that I want to be closer to God and follow His will for my life. That, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, will be the only way I will ever truly be happy.

Instead, I will simply update on a wonderful visit with my doctor and conclude with a glimpse of my next project.

I always start a chemo or test day in a bad mood. Monday was no exception.

Since I could not travel for the holidays, my dad came to spend Christmas with me. Since he was already going to be here for Christmas, he stayed to take me to the doctor. It was only fitting that he be here to find out the results of my one year scans since he was here when I got the news that I was cancer free.

Our first stop was to the imaging center to get my CT scans. We were there by 6:40am. I drank my two cups of fruit punch flavored contrast and then went back to get scanned shortly after 7:00am. After getting the IV put in, I sat in the back waiting room for the doctor to arrive. There was another woman in the small, two seat waiting room. We got to talking about our different experiences with cancer, the difference between the contrast they give us here versus the gross chalky stuff at the hospital, and the fact that, granted positive results from the scan, we will both be in remission for one year. She, however, had gone through cancer three times. We agreed that this process of testing will probably never get easier.

I thank God for this woman. She brought peace to my soul and comfort to my nerves. There is something so profoundly soothing in talking to someone who knows exactly what you have been through.

With my test over, my dad and I had a few hours to kill before time to see my oncologist. By 9:20am, twenty minutes early for my appointment, we were waiting in another office to see another doctor.

Same routine, take my blood, blood pressure and temperature, weigh me, and take me back to another waiting room to see the doctor. Once positive about the hysterectomy, I have lost ten pounds. About ten more and I will be back to my pre-treatment weight.

Doctor Meluch had a respiratory infection so his nurse practitioner examined me and gave me the results of my test. Everything looks really good. I am still in remission!

After her checkup, Dr. Meluch came into the room wearing a mask with his hands in his pockets.

He confirmed that the results were good and said my next checkup would be in two months. I told him I had a question. Now that I am one year removed from treatment and everything looks good, could I move to Texas? I told him that I have felt like my life has been on hold for the past three years and was hoping to move on once my health was on the mend. I phrased this last sentence as a question instead of a statement. In other words, "Dr. Meluch, is my health on the mend? Can I start living again?"

He swooshed his hand up as if indicating a plane taking off into the air. As he did that he said, "On the mend? You are skyrocketing!" It was as if these words broke an invisible chain that has been weighing me down since May 2010, when the cough first started and the rest of my life fell apart.

Dr. Meluch told me I could do anything I wanted to do or go anywhere I wanted to go any time I wanted to. He said he would miss me, but that he thought Texas had one or two good doctors there. He advised my dad ask his doctor for a recommendation for an oncologist/hematologist. He told me to make sure I continued to see someone. He said we would go ahead and schedule an appointment for two months, but I could always cancel if I move before then. (So, the if/when/how is still up in the air, but at least I can!)

Before I conclude, I wanted to share a final picture. This is of me and my dad at the Texans/Titans game the day before getting my CT scan and results. We went to the Texans/Titans game last year the day before getting the news that the cancer was in remission. Only fitting we did it again. Too bad the Texans didn't show up this time! But, as you can see, I support both teams!

Now, for those few of you who have taken this journey with me, I promised a special ending to this blog. A lot of people suggested I turn this blog into a book. I really don't have any desire to do that. I write fiction. I don't have any desire to completely relive my own experience by going back and turning this into a nonfiction story. However, my fiction has always been loosely based on real life, whether my own or others or a combination of all the above.

I started a new story back in the summer. As far as I ever got was the prologue. The rest just would not come. A month or so back, God blessed me with the idea. It basically rewrites some of my history the way it should have turned out and faces the biggest fears faced while going through cancer. My main character has the grace I only longed to have for myself. I didn't realize it until after I completed my rewrite of the prologue and read it to a friend that there is a lot of Cheryl's grace in my main character. I wrote it before she passed away and tweaked it a bit to fit my new outline after she passed away. I suppose that observation, although unintentional, was right on.

All I have right now is the prologue and detailed outline. Now that I am able to close this chapter in my life, I am free to start work on the rest of this new story. The book will have the same title, but it will be a work of fiction.

I hope this does not disappoint:

Dedications

Dedicated to my primary care physician, Dr. Nicole Baggott and my oncologist, Dr. Anthony Meluch. After two years of being misdiagnosed, I switched doctors. Dr. Baggott immediately knew that something was not quite right. She sent me to Dr. Meluch. During that first visit, he could sense my helplessness. He put his hand on my knee, looked me right in the eye, and said, “I’m a fixer. We’ll fix this,” and he did! I owe my life to him, my Mr. Fix-It.

 To Brad Ruthven, my parents, John  Albracht and Dora Perez, and my sister, Tori Dahl, for taking turns spending chemo weeks with me. I especially want to thank my sister, for orchestrating my care schedule and refusing to let me walk this journey alone, no matter how hard I tried. I owe my life to her as well, my bulldozer.

To Mike Pruitt for taking me in during my time of need and opening his home to my family. He will always be my wonder twin.

 For cancer patients everywhere and for those who love and care for them. Even with a crowd of people surrounding us and loving us, we sometimes feel so helpless and alone. Remember always, we are never truly alone. Our Father is right beside us to hold our hand and to love us no matter how bad things get. You are His precious son. You are His precious daughter.

 To my friends, biological family, church family at Nashville First Church of the Nazarene, and my work family at Belmont University (specifically the Office of Campus Security) for all your support and for loving me throughout my own cancer journey.

He Calls Me Batya

by T. Renee Albracht 

One translation for Daughter of God in Hebrew is Batya.:

Bat – daughter

Ya (short for Yahweh) – God

It is a derivative of Bitya which means Daughter of Pharoah. 

You have not received a spirit of slavery leading to fear again, but you have received a spirit of adoption as sons (and daughters) by which we cry out, “Abba! Father!” The Spirit Himself testifies with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, heirs also, heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, if indeed we suffer with Him so that we may also be glorified with Him. For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that is to be revealed to us.

-Romans 8:15-19 (NASB)

 

Prologue

Sister (I haven't decided on a name yet.)

            She lay quiet and serene, as if spending a day at the spa with a masseuse who looked like her beloved Jon Bon Jovi instead of lying in a hospital bed while a nurse drew blood for the umpteenth time. The doctor left just moments before the nurse arrived.

Her husband left to fetch us breakfast and coffee, his attempt to stay busy and distract himself by seeing to the needs of others. Not that anyone cared or could eat.

            Our mother and father huddled in a corner. Every time someone came into the room to attend to her, they got up from their seats and stood out of the way. This time, they looked out the window, staring at the stark, grey wall of the building adjacent to the Sara Cannon Cancer Center where my sister now rested. They divorced more than twenty years ago, yet they clung to each other as if keeping one another from sliding to the ground.

            “The least they could do is give her a room with a better view,” my dad mumbled under his breath. “You know how she likes the outdoors. A little greenery would be nice.”

            “He said this was the best place for her,” my mom whispered to my dad. “He said…” She could not go on. She fought for control. They both struggled to keep up a façade of strength for the sake of their baby girl.

            I sat in a chair beside her bed, my fingertips lightly touching the blanket covering the arm now being used as a pin cushion.

            Unlike my parents or my sister, I could not hold back the tears. I felt helpless and angry and I took my frustrations out on the medical staff. “Why do you need to be here?” I demanded from the nurse. “You all come in here every hour or so and for what? Do you think her blood is going to get worse or her temperature is going to change that drastically from hour to hour? You either give her blood or take her blood. What good is it all doing anyway? Why don’t you let her rest? She needs her rest!”

            The nurse just smiled and continued with her duties.

            “It’s okay,” my sister said. She stared at me with a look of peace and contentment. “I’m not sleepy.”

            After the nurse left and we were once again alone, I tried to bite my tongue, I really did, but my emotions got the better of me. I turned to face my parents, “How can you be so calm?” I turned back around and grabbed my sister’s hand. My eyes were swollen and tears dripped from my chin. “How can you just lay there like that? Why aren’t you mad? Why didn’t you give that doctor a piece of your mind?”

            My tirade failed to ignite any kind of reaction from her. I wanted my parents to cry with me. I wanted Ellen to get mad, to fight. Instead, she lifted her face and stared at a corner of the room. Then, she turned her head and took turns looking directly at the three of us. Compassion sparkled in her eyes. She communicated so much about how she loved us and longed for us to be at peace without saying a word.  

Ellen signaled for our mom and dad to pull up a chair close to her. She raised her bed so that she could see us all as she spoke. I still held one hand. With the other, she reached for theirs.

Eight hands rested in her lap. My mom could no longer hold back her pain. Even my dad, the strong, stoic soldier of a man lost his fight to maintain control. Ellen, sweet Ellen, joined us. Her tears were not filled with pain for herself, but instead, they were filled with the purest of love for us and sorrow that she was the cause of our grief.

            “We knew this was a strong possibility when the cancer returned. It’s not Dr. Chulem’s fault. He did all he could do, but as good as he is, even he can’t fix everything. He can’t force my body to start making its own blood again.”

            Ellen looked back at that corner of the ceiling. Part of me wanted to throw something at that corner and demand she bring her focus back to us, back to this moment. The other part of me longed to share just a fraction of her calm.

            As if sensing my angst, she turned and faced me. “I don’t belong here,” she told me. “This isn’t my home. This has never been my home. I was willing to stay as long as God needed me here, but as much as I love you all, there’s nothing that pleases me more than the thought of finally getting to go home.”

            “But what about Miguel? Why are you in such a hurry to leave him, to leave us…me?” I pleaded.

            Ellen held her head in such a way that it seemed as if she looked at the three of us at once, personal, one-on-one, on one-on-one, on one-on-one. “I have no regrets. I may not have accomplished all the dreams I once had, but I have a new dream now,” she said. “I’m not giving up. We fought the good fight. It’s just my time. He’s calling me home. I’m confident that I’ve fulfilled whatever purpose I had here. I know you all love me and I know this is hard for you, but try not to be sad. I’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. I get to go home!” She made the last statement with such glee, like a child telling a friend that she gets to go to Disney World.

            I pressed my face into her body. Her covers absorbed my tears.  “How can you be so calm?” My words were muted between my lips and the sheets, but somehow, as if hearing the pleas of my heart, she heard me and answered.  

            “Because He calls me Batya.”

Two Week Hysterectomy Checkup

It has been two weeks and three days since my hysterectomy. It has been one week since my mom left. I get better day by day. I slept well a few nights ago and am now having trouble sleeping again. It's not that I'm not tired. I simply cannot get comfortable. I have tried to lay flat since sleeping sitting up is difficult for me. I have instinctively turned on my side a time or two. Although this is slightly uncomfortable, it is not painful. Nevertheless, I cannot yet sleep on my side. Sleeping flat is not comfortable either. It stretches my stomach muscles too much. The more tired I become, my body starts to involuntarily stretch. Every muscle in my body stretches like a cat waking up from a nap. That stretches my stomach muscles in an uncomfortable manner as well. I have started to doze in my recliner in the middle of the day. My sleep schedule does not really bother me, though. It's not like I have a rigorous schedule to stick to anyway!

Today I had my two week, post surgery checkup. I was looking forward to being able to get out of the house. The best thing, that I did not even realize until this moment, is that the car ride was not painful! A little uncomfortable, but any position is uncomfortable for me these days!

I was also excited to see how my doctor thought I was progressing and to ask a list of questions. She said I am healing quite well. She even commented on how well I was moving about. I walk rather slow and hunch over very slightly. I also struggle to get up and down, but other than that, I am moving around so much better than I was even a few days ago.

She tried to pull up my charts, but her computer kept freezing on me. She wanted to let me know how much the fibroids and everything else weighed. She was, without having to pull up my charts, able to tell me that none of them were cancerous or had calcium buildup. I told her I have lost over ten pounds since the surgery. Part of that is what they took out of me, I'm sure, but the other part is that I simply do not have much of an appetite. I'm very limited in what I can eat right now. She was not concerned with the rapid weight loss and said all that is normal.

While I waited for the computer to work (which it never did), I pulled out my list of questions and started asking away:

1)After the surgery, she told my mom it looked ugly. To me, it all looks ugly. What did she mean by ugly? Would it all have had to come out anyway, even if I were not already planning the full hysterectomy?

She apologized for scaring my mom and making her think it may have been cancerous. I said she did not scare us at all and I don't think any of us thought cancer. My mom simply thought it may mean my ovaries were bad and we all thought it was good, if that were the case, that they came out.

She said it was nothing like that. Simply, the fibroids were as big as my ovaries and pushing up on them, smashing them, actually. Had my oncologist not suggested I take everything out, the ovaries may not have had to come out. She said she was even surprised my oncologist suggested the full hysterectomy.

Now, I know some will be thinking, after this comment, did I have any regrets about taking my oncologist's advise? Absolutely not. I think it would have had to be done anyway at some point. It's hereditary. Surgery for simply removing the fibroids would have been just as tough as what I had. Plus, with my history of cancer, I still side with my oncologist about being safe. I trust him completely. Also, my biggest concern was surgery induced menopause. I am happy to report, as of this date, I have not had any symptoms. I have had some mild night sweats, but I think part of it was the medication and part is being stuck in one position. The sweats have decreased since I stopped taking the medication. The patch they gave me seems to be working. Plus, until last night, I have not had any back pains! I think the pains last night were from the position I tried to sleep.

I was a little apprehensive about the thought of my insides rotting, though. If my ovaries were rotten, what about other organs? Was it cancer or chemo that did it or was it a pre-existing problem?

Since my ovaries were not rotten, there was no need to ask those follow-up questions.

2) With all this stuff out of me, what takes its place?

She laughed at this question. She said every woman who gets her tubes tied asks where the eggs go. Every woman who has a hysterectomy asks what fills the void. She said my bowels drop. That makes sense. May explain why I have to go to the restroom so quickly after eating these days. They have more room and a straighter shot out!!! (I did not ask what happens to the eggs. No concern of mine!)

3) Can I use my body wash now?

After surgery, I was told to use a mild, non-perfume soap and to let the water run over the scar, but not to rub it.

I have actually used my body wash the past two days. Between the regular soap and cold weather, my skin is getting so dry and itchy. I was able to shave my legs for the first time in over two weeks on Sunday!!! I never go more than one day. I took about all I could take and found a way to make it work. With that awesome accomplishment, I decided to use my body wash as well. I washed my scar last using regular soap, though.

She said that not only can I use my body wash, I can also start peeling off the glue that was used to hold the incision. I can also leave it on and let it come off naturally. She said it looks like it is already starting to peel. I will let it come off naturally. I have no desire to peel it off.

4) Can I start taking all my vitamins?

I take several vitamins and allergy pills. I stopped taking everything except my thyroid medication. My discharge papers told me not to take calcium. I elected to not take anything until I was sure it was okay. The hospital continued to give me the thyroid pills so I knew it was okay to take them. She gave me the green light to start taking them again.

5)  When will the swelling go down so that I can feel comfortable wearing pants?

I dressed like a slob today, but I was dressed better than I have been dressing at home. For the first time in two weeks, I wore a bra and instead of my pj bottoms, I wore my workout pants. They have an elastic waistband and it was so uncomfortable! I managed to do it and, God willing, if I can at least sit for a while, I will wear them to church on Sunday if I can wear no other pant. It was very uncomfortable sitting on the examining table or even sitting in the padded, upright chair.

She said some of the swelling may still be trapped gas. She asked how I was doing passing gas and having regular bowel movements. I am doing just fine. Some of the swelling may go down as I continue to pass gas. The rest will go down with time, possibly a few more weeks.

6) When will I be able to teach my self defense or CPR classes?

I told her I am not as worried about the self defense classes. I teach and someone else demonstrates. However, (I mimicked the movements of CPR) teaching CPR uses those core muscles. She said at the end of these six weeks, I should be able to do it. I simply need to listen to my body and let it tell me what I can and cannot do.

7) When will I be able to run/work out with weights again?

She told me to, again, listen to my body. It will tell me what I can and cannot do. By the end of the six weeks, I should be able to do a little. I can even start working out with weights again. However, I cannot and should not expect to be able to pick up where I left off. I will need to start slow and take it easy. She emphasized the need for me to listen to my body.

8)  How long until I am back to normal?

This question was on my list because a coworker said it took her about nine months before she felt normal and could lift more than 20 pounds. This scared me. I have been thinking about hiking a lot lately. I have not been since last May and wanted to make it a point to go before my surgery, but never had time. I was hoping to go in early spring again. The thought of it taking this long for me to recover really brought me down. However, after hearing the answers to the other questions and feeling for myself that I was quickly improving, I did not ask. I am more than ten years younger than my coworker when she had her surgery. I was also active before the surgery. I remember the doctor who removed my port telling me how well I heal. I hoped my body healed well from this surgery. It seems to be!

9) If all goes well with my health (cancer tests) and other things, I am hoping to possibly move back home to Texas this summer. This is still a big "if" depending on many factors, but if all goes as planned, is there any reason, because of the hysterectomy, that I would or should not think about moving at this time?

No. Not at all.

After the appointment, with Mike as my driver, I managed to run an errand and get a light bite to eat. It was great getting out, but I am exhausted now. I have another excursion on Wednesday -  my boss' retirement reception. I am looking forward to another trip out of the house and hope I will have a tad more energy.

I am hoping that by this weekend, I can, at the very least, go to church and my Sunday School's Christmas party. I would also like to go to a movie or be able to sit at a restaurant and eat with friends.

At the end of the month, my dad and I are going to the Titans/Texans game. They both stink and I am currently mad at the Texans franchise for firing Kubiak, their coach, but I still think it will be fun. I have fond memories of watching games on Sundays with my dad. Last year, my dad and I went to the Titans/Texans game the day before I got my test results that I was cancer-free. It seems only fitting that we go again the day before I get my one year test results, hopefully telling me I am still cancer free. According to my doctor's timeline, I should fee well enough to be able to enjoy this game with my dad!

I will continue to practice patience, though, and not push myself. I think I am doing this well because I have made an effort to follow the advise of my doctor, with a minor hiccup or two. I am eager to do more and be more active, but I will be conscientious not to do too much too soon!