Lunch break at work. Since I can't seem to focus on anything else, I decided to write about my appointment with my gynecologist this morning.
Last April, a few months before I found out I had cancer, I got into one of the patrol cars one day at work to load up one of my RAD gear bags to lend to another university. As I sat in the driver's seat, a sharp pain shot up through my insides. It felt like I had sat on a sword. I went inside to use the restroom and try to collect myself. It did no good. The pain got worse and worse. I ended up on the bathroom floor clutching my stomach just trying to breathe.
I finally gathered enough strength to stand up and walk to my boss's office. I stood in his doorway and told him that I needed him to take me to the hospital. I can endure a lot of pain and only went to my boss when I was sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that this pain was not simply going to go away.
He took me to the hospital and I sat in the waiting room of the ER for an eternity, sweating and breathing heavy and repositioning myself in the chair trying to keep that pain from shooting up into my abdomen. I thought I was having appendicitis. Turned out to be fibroids. A cyst ruptured causing that excruciating pain. The ER doctor told me that fibroids were common in women and there was little else to do. The pain would subside. It did...for the most part.
I saw a gynecologist and my gynecologist at the time had a wait and see attitude about things. This is the same one I stopped seeing after I got cancer and could no longer tolerate that wait and see attitude.
When I got cancer and started getting chemotherapy, my oncologist told me to hold off on the fibroid issue until after treatment. I understood his reasoning for wanting to wait so I waited.
During my last CT scan, it showed the fibroids looked bigger. He sent the information to my new gynecologist and we set up an appointment for an ultrasound. I like this gynecologist. This is the one who took my IUD out when I asked her to as soon as my oncologist said it was okay. She saw no reason to wait if he said it was okay and that's what I wanted.
I met with her to discuss the results of the ultrasound. I have five fibroids. Three are on the outside lining of my ovaries, but they are about the size of small oranges. I have one on the inside, but it is small. I can't remember where the fifth one is located. At least one of the fiboids is pushing on my ovary. That explains why I constantly have discomfort on the left side of my lower stomach. It's not painful, but it is uncomfortable. I asked if this could explain my constant lower back pain. She said possibly, but there is no way of knowing for sure. These fibroids pushing on me is also causing heavier bleeding during periods.
My new gynecologist said she likes the decision to be the patients put she wants to make sure her patients have all the information up front in order to make an informed decision. She said we have several options: do nothing and live with it. Many women do. I could get another IUD inserted. This will help the bleeding, but will not help the pain and discomfort. I could get a myomectomy to remove the larger fibroids. I could get a hysterectomy which would remove the fibroids and ovaries.
I told her how I did not like my old gynecologist because of her "wait and see" attitude about things, but how, after treatment, I am not sure what to do. I am 37 years old. I do not have kids and do not want kids. That part is not what concerns me. I even told her about my mom and grandmother having hysterectomies at my age. This is hereditary.
What concerns me now is having had cancer. The post-effects of cancer are still lingering. I told her about my wrist problem. When it took so long to heal, my doctor said surgery was an option. I said no because I realize my body is taking longer to heal. I wanted to give it more time and my wrist did end up healing on its own.
I told her about the thyroid issue and how my oncologist said it may recover on its own or this may be a permanent problem.
She said she understood, but warned me that even so, these fibroids will not get smaller. They may grow, but they will not shrink or disappear.
I told her I didn't like the idea of doing nothing. The pain last April and the minor discomfort right now is awful. If I can do something to possibly help my side and my back to feel better, I want to do whatever I need to do. The IUD issue is not an option. I had it taken out for a reason and I do not want to put it back in. The bleeding does not concern me or bother me. It is the fibroids alone that concern me.
The only seemingly viable option, then, is either the myomectomy or hysterectomy. Both have their pros and cons. The myomectomy means the fibroids will be taken out, but the ovaries will be left in. However, the fibroid in the ovary would remain. In time, it could grow and cause problems, putting me right back in this position. The other issue is recovery time. The myomectomy and hysterectomy both take between 4-6 weeks of recovery time. She said she is old school and does not perform the non-surgical hysterectomies.
She told me to consider the emotional impact of a hysterectomy. Even if I don't want kids, the reality that I cannot have kids could take an emotional toll. Should I choose the hysterectomy, I need to be prepared for the emotional impact and healing as well as the physical.
I told her that although I did not like my former gynecologist's attitude about "wait and see," that's exactly what I wanted to do right now. Because of the cancer, I wanted to wait and talk this over with my oncologist to see what he thinks. I fully trust him and value his opinion.
I left her office feeling deflated. On the one hand, I was glad that she is giving me options. On the other, I wish she would make the decision for me, take a lot of the stress off of me. Again, I do not like the idea of living with the discomfort and knowing I could end up in the hospital again with complications from them. If there is even a small chance that either surgical procedure could help me stomach and back feel better, why not try?
On the other hand, I am feeling better than I have felt in years. I am running and active and hope to get back into Krav Maga on some small level this week. I really, really, really don't want to be down for another 4-6 weeks. I've had enough of being sick. Plus, there is no good time to plan this. Work is busy. My RAD class is picking back up. I've been helping out in church. I hoped to go to Gethsemane again this October.
The other downer is the realization that I am still not healthy. I cannot afford to move back to Texas as long as I still have these issues. Will I be better and able to move home in another year? Will I have to give up that dream and just stay put? Wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, but it isn't what I hoped for.
On the one hand, if I think surgery is the way to go, now would be the time--while I have insurance and a good job instead of moving and possibly developing worse problems down the road and not having as good of a job or insurance. On the other hand, this is a very big deal, not a decision to be taken lightly.
For now, I will do my best not to think about it and wait and discuss the issue with Dr. Meluch in a few weeks. I ask for prayer for God to show me the way.
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Survivor's Guilt and Post Cancer Anxiety
I have experienced a whirlwind of emotions this week. While it was going on, I felt too depressed to bother with writing about it. When it was over, I no longer cared. The thought occurred to me to simply forgo a blog entry. After all, how many people actually read it anymore now that I am cancer free.
Then, while on the way to breakfast with a few coworkers the other day, one of the guys asked about my port removal. He told our boss that he keeps up with how I'm doing by reading the blog. I told them about my experience on Sunday and how I thought I should write about it since my purpose for the blog has always been to be blatantly honest about my experience so that loved ones can stay up to date and so that others who may be going through their own cancer experience will know that what they are experiencing is normal. My boss told me that this type of honesty is important. It helped him when a friend shared her experience when she found out about his upcoming carotid artery surgery. This is the first chance I have had to share my story.
Sunday:
Just after walking into the house after church, I received an text from my mom. She shared that her cousin's son died that morning of cancer. Now, I barely remember her cousin. I am sure I have met his son, but I cannot place him. I may not even recognize him if I saw a picture of him. However, the news struck me in a profound and unexpected way. I immediately felt withdrawn and on the verge of breaking down. I hit a very hard depression. I was hungry, but in no mood to eat. I isolated myself in my bedroom.
Mike came in and asked if I was okay. I could not say a word. I tried, but I simply could not speak. Instead, I pulled up the text and showed it to him. As he read, I finally broke down and cried. When I could finally catch my breath, I tried my best to explain what I was feeling.
I did not know him. I wasn't upset for the normal reason one would be upset when someone died. I was upset because I felt guilty that he died and I lived. Not only did I live, but I had just gotten my port removed a few days before.
I had just come from church. In Sunday school, I shared the good news about my port with the class. I felt guilty as I said it because my friend, Cheryl was in class that day. She is battling her second round of cancer. She is only at church on occasion. She is dealing with intense treatments. We prayed over her husband for her last week. She was not there and he cried. His emotion touched me deeply. Her courage and genuine happiness for me overwhelm me sometimes. It's so unfair.
I get home and learn of my distant cousin's death from cancer. He had been sick less than six months. I thought about his family. I thought of my friend, Michael from Belmont who died late last year. Why was my family spared and their families had to suffer? Michael and Mikito wanted to live. They had children and families to live for. When I was sick, I prayed for death many times. I was fine with the death option. Why was I spared and they taken? What does God want from me? Why did He keep me here? What purpose does He have for me?
I knew and know all the right answers. Even as I whined to God, He told me my purpose is the same as it has always been, love. I may never know the why and it is not for me to know. Understanding the answers don't help the heart stop hurting. The last thing I wanted on Sunday was for anyone to try to tell me what I already knew. It just didn't make sense to me at the time. My heart and my head were at odds.
It's funny what brought me out of my funk. After dinner, I turned on the television and what was on? GI Jane. I must admit, I absolutely love that movie. I am not tough enough physically or emotionally to make it even one day through the Seal program, but I love to imagine myself as tough as Demi Moore's character. She is one tough cookie. I watched a few minutes of that movie before bed and felt pumped up and ready to tackle a new day. My depression, thank God, was very temporary.
Survivor's guilt is a very strange phenomenon, though. I imagine that is what it must feel like for soldiers returning from war. For a brief moment, I thought I should start seeing a counselor to discuss this. Then, I thought not. The benefits of my background is that I know exactly what a counselor would say or do. The most important thing is to understand and believe the truth even if you don't feel it and to talk about it. I did both several times with several people. I was honest with myself and others. I shared. I prayed. I did all the things a counselor would counsel. For anyone struggling with these issues who need help or someone to talk to, I would highly recommend counseling. Had these emotions stayed with me, I would have sought help. There is nothing shameful about counseling. I have seen a counselor several times in my life. Like I tell the women in my self defense class, women who are victims of a crime who seek counseling heal and are able to move on and live normal, healthy lives more easily and quickly than those who never seek help. Same is true for anyone going through an issue like survivor's guilt.
Thursday:
This morning, I had a bowel movement. Nothing out of the ordinary about that - except that I pooped blood and not just a trickle or two. There was so much blood that I thought I had started my period. There was so much blood that I wiped over and over again, being sure to only wipe my bottom to be sure where the blood was coming from. There was so much blood that I actually examined the stool itself.
I have never in my life bled that much from a bowel movement or knew that could in any way be normal. My port was taken out a week ago today. (It is doing well, by the way. No pain.) I had a blood cancer. now, I was now bleeding from my butt! I immediately jumped to worse case scenario. I had colon cancer and I was going to die. A coworker of mine died of colon cancer years ago.
I wanted to immediately call the doctor then call my family and tell Mike. But, two other officers and my boss were in my and Mike's office. We had a lot to discuss. I tried to stay focused on work, but I was so scared. I wanted to scream out, cry, something other than work.
My boss and another officer left. When the conversation between Mike and the remaining officer got to a point that I did not have to be involved in the conversation, I excused myself. I called and left a message for Dr. Meluch. I just knew he was going to call back and tell me to come in or schedule me for another colonoscopy.
I thought about contacting my parents and sister, but what would I say? Why worry them before I heard back from Dr. Meluch's office? I thought about calling just my mom and asking her to pray for me. Why worry her, though? I decided to not call anyone until there was something to say.
After running an errand on the other end of campus, I walked back to my office and talked to God. I was upset. It's not that I feared death. I have been down that road before. I was just upset because I didn't want to go through treatment again. I have been doing so well. I still need to work on my eating habits. I even contacted my primary care physician about seeing a nutritionist. But, my workouts have been awesome. I have been running and seeing great results. I planned to return to Krav Maga (bag class at least) next week now that the port is out. I started working hard to improve my life and health. Now this? I get a taste of health and see a vision of happiness possible in the future just for it to be taken away? No moving to Texas? No possible writing career or ministry or other job opportunity? This is it?
The lyrics to a Bon Jovi song came to mind. It was a song I heard during my jog this morning. From The Fighter "with loneliness next to me, fear sits in misery, nursing another black eye."
As the rest of the song and the next played on, my mind stopped and focused on those lyrics as I heard them. I had always listened to this song as a fighter who has been defeated or feels defeated. This time, I heard it differently. The slow melody does give it a sense of a broken person, but he is not lost. Times are tough, but he is tougher. He is lonely, but he is not letting fear beat him. He is not nursing another black eye. Fear is nursing another black eye. He beat fear. This is not the first time he beat fear either. Another black eye.
I imagined my own fears crouching in a corner crying and holding his eye, looking back at me like a child bully who was just put in his place.
For me, this morning, the fear was the run. Week five, day three of my 5K training. Running eight minutes at a time without stopping. Run eight minutes, walk five minutes, run another eight minutes. How in the world would I manage to run for eight minutes straight? I did it--twice!
This afternoon, the fear felt a little more real and a lot more threatening than upping my exercise routine.
"Fear sits in misery, nursing another black eye."
I took a few deep breaths and thanked God for the shift in focus and shift in attitude. With the help and grace of God, I can knock out this fear.
As I neared my office, I prayed, "My life is in your hands. I give it all to You. Take my life and make of it what you will. Take all of me and use me how You see fit."
I gave it all, every last bit of myself and my circumstances, whatever they may be, to God. In doing so, I felt at peace.
Even with that sense of God sent peace, I was still a bit withdrawn until my doctor's nurse returned my call later this afternoon.
I have been constipated for the past few days. The blood was bright red and stopped after the bowel movement.Bottom line (no pun intended), I feel no pain from a hemorrhoid, but I most likely have an internal hemorrhoid. She gave me treatment options and told me not to be concerned unless I continue bleeding, especially without bowel movements.
Mike could tell an instant change in my mood after the news. I felt lighter. I confessed to the nurse that I was really scared this morning. She reassured me. If Dr. Meluch is not concerned, then I won't be either.
What an emotional whirlwind! May explain why I crashed on the couch when I got home today. I've said it before, but it's worth repeating. Everyone can imagine what life with cancer is like. No one prepares you for life after cancer.
Then, while on the way to breakfast with a few coworkers the other day, one of the guys asked about my port removal. He told our boss that he keeps up with how I'm doing by reading the blog. I told them about my experience on Sunday and how I thought I should write about it since my purpose for the blog has always been to be blatantly honest about my experience so that loved ones can stay up to date and so that others who may be going through their own cancer experience will know that what they are experiencing is normal. My boss told me that this type of honesty is important. It helped him when a friend shared her experience when she found out about his upcoming carotid artery surgery. This is the first chance I have had to share my story.
Sunday:
Just after walking into the house after church, I received an text from my mom. She shared that her cousin's son died that morning of cancer. Now, I barely remember her cousin. I am sure I have met his son, but I cannot place him. I may not even recognize him if I saw a picture of him. However, the news struck me in a profound and unexpected way. I immediately felt withdrawn and on the verge of breaking down. I hit a very hard depression. I was hungry, but in no mood to eat. I isolated myself in my bedroom.
Mike came in and asked if I was okay. I could not say a word. I tried, but I simply could not speak. Instead, I pulled up the text and showed it to him. As he read, I finally broke down and cried. When I could finally catch my breath, I tried my best to explain what I was feeling.
I did not know him. I wasn't upset for the normal reason one would be upset when someone died. I was upset because I felt guilty that he died and I lived. Not only did I live, but I had just gotten my port removed a few days before.
I had just come from church. In Sunday school, I shared the good news about my port with the class. I felt guilty as I said it because my friend, Cheryl was in class that day. She is battling her second round of cancer. She is only at church on occasion. She is dealing with intense treatments. We prayed over her husband for her last week. She was not there and he cried. His emotion touched me deeply. Her courage and genuine happiness for me overwhelm me sometimes. It's so unfair.
I get home and learn of my distant cousin's death from cancer. He had been sick less than six months. I thought about his family. I thought of my friend, Michael from Belmont who died late last year. Why was my family spared and their families had to suffer? Michael and Mikito wanted to live. They had children and families to live for. When I was sick, I prayed for death many times. I was fine with the death option. Why was I spared and they taken? What does God want from me? Why did He keep me here? What purpose does He have for me?
I knew and know all the right answers. Even as I whined to God, He told me my purpose is the same as it has always been, love. I may never know the why and it is not for me to know. Understanding the answers don't help the heart stop hurting. The last thing I wanted on Sunday was for anyone to try to tell me what I already knew. It just didn't make sense to me at the time. My heart and my head were at odds.
It's funny what brought me out of my funk. After dinner, I turned on the television and what was on? GI Jane. I must admit, I absolutely love that movie. I am not tough enough physically or emotionally to make it even one day through the Seal program, but I love to imagine myself as tough as Demi Moore's character. She is one tough cookie. I watched a few minutes of that movie before bed and felt pumped up and ready to tackle a new day. My depression, thank God, was very temporary.
Survivor's guilt is a very strange phenomenon, though. I imagine that is what it must feel like for soldiers returning from war. For a brief moment, I thought I should start seeing a counselor to discuss this. Then, I thought not. The benefits of my background is that I know exactly what a counselor would say or do. The most important thing is to understand and believe the truth even if you don't feel it and to talk about it. I did both several times with several people. I was honest with myself and others. I shared. I prayed. I did all the things a counselor would counsel. For anyone struggling with these issues who need help or someone to talk to, I would highly recommend counseling. Had these emotions stayed with me, I would have sought help. There is nothing shameful about counseling. I have seen a counselor several times in my life. Like I tell the women in my self defense class, women who are victims of a crime who seek counseling heal and are able to move on and live normal, healthy lives more easily and quickly than those who never seek help. Same is true for anyone going through an issue like survivor's guilt.
Thursday:
This morning, I had a bowel movement. Nothing out of the ordinary about that - except that I pooped blood and not just a trickle or two. There was so much blood that I thought I had started my period. There was so much blood that I wiped over and over again, being sure to only wipe my bottom to be sure where the blood was coming from. There was so much blood that I actually examined the stool itself.
I have never in my life bled that much from a bowel movement or knew that could in any way be normal. My port was taken out a week ago today. (It is doing well, by the way. No pain.) I had a blood cancer. now, I was now bleeding from my butt! I immediately jumped to worse case scenario. I had colon cancer and I was going to die. A coworker of mine died of colon cancer years ago.
I wanted to immediately call the doctor then call my family and tell Mike. But, two other officers and my boss were in my and Mike's office. We had a lot to discuss. I tried to stay focused on work, but I was so scared. I wanted to scream out, cry, something other than work.
My boss and another officer left. When the conversation between Mike and the remaining officer got to a point that I did not have to be involved in the conversation, I excused myself. I called and left a message for Dr. Meluch. I just knew he was going to call back and tell me to come in or schedule me for another colonoscopy.
I thought about contacting my parents and sister, but what would I say? Why worry them before I heard back from Dr. Meluch's office? I thought about calling just my mom and asking her to pray for me. Why worry her, though? I decided to not call anyone until there was something to say.
After running an errand on the other end of campus, I walked back to my office and talked to God. I was upset. It's not that I feared death. I have been down that road before. I was just upset because I didn't want to go through treatment again. I have been doing so well. I still need to work on my eating habits. I even contacted my primary care physician about seeing a nutritionist. But, my workouts have been awesome. I have been running and seeing great results. I planned to return to Krav Maga (bag class at least) next week now that the port is out. I started working hard to improve my life and health. Now this? I get a taste of health and see a vision of happiness possible in the future just for it to be taken away? No moving to Texas? No possible writing career or ministry or other job opportunity? This is it?
The lyrics to a Bon Jovi song came to mind. It was a song I heard during my jog this morning. From The Fighter "with loneliness next to me, fear sits in misery, nursing another black eye."
As the rest of the song and the next played on, my mind stopped and focused on those lyrics as I heard them. I had always listened to this song as a fighter who has been defeated or feels defeated. This time, I heard it differently. The slow melody does give it a sense of a broken person, but he is not lost. Times are tough, but he is tougher. He is lonely, but he is not letting fear beat him. He is not nursing another black eye. Fear is nursing another black eye. He beat fear. This is not the first time he beat fear either. Another black eye.
I imagined my own fears crouching in a corner crying and holding his eye, looking back at me like a child bully who was just put in his place.
For me, this morning, the fear was the run. Week five, day three of my 5K training. Running eight minutes at a time without stopping. Run eight minutes, walk five minutes, run another eight minutes. How in the world would I manage to run for eight minutes straight? I did it--twice!
This afternoon, the fear felt a little more real and a lot more threatening than upping my exercise routine.
"Fear sits in misery, nursing another black eye."
I took a few deep breaths and thanked God for the shift in focus and shift in attitude. With the help and grace of God, I can knock out this fear.
As I neared my office, I prayed, "My life is in your hands. I give it all to You. Take my life and make of it what you will. Take all of me and use me how You see fit."
I gave it all, every last bit of myself and my circumstances, whatever they may be, to God. In doing so, I felt at peace.
Even with that sense of God sent peace, I was still a bit withdrawn until my doctor's nurse returned my call later this afternoon.
I have been constipated for the past few days. The blood was bright red and stopped after the bowel movement.Bottom line (no pun intended), I feel no pain from a hemorrhoid, but I most likely have an internal hemorrhoid. She gave me treatment options and told me not to be concerned unless I continue bleeding, especially without bowel movements.
Mike could tell an instant change in my mood after the news. I felt lighter. I confessed to the nurse that I was really scared this morning. She reassured me. If Dr. Meluch is not concerned, then I won't be either.
What an emotional whirlwind! May explain why I crashed on the couch when I got home today. I've said it before, but it's worth repeating. Everyone can imagine what life with cancer is like. No one prepares you for life after cancer.
Saturday, June 8, 2013
The Port is Out
This past Thursday, I had an appointment with my surgeon to remove my port. I wrongly assumed that I would be in the hospital and knocked out for the procedure like I was when they put it in. However, I had my biopsy at the same time as the insertion of the port so the first surgery was a bigger deal, but still. I would not have known any different had I not called the Monday prior to find out about the recovery time. The only reason I cared about the recovery time is because I was asked to help with vacation Bible school starting the following week. I wanted to know if I would be okay in a week's time to be able to assist with the cleanup crew on the last night. The nurse explained how the procedure would work. They would not be putting me out. I would feel no pain, only a little tugging when the port was pulled out. I would recover in no time.
Pain or not, I DID NOT like the idea of being awake for the procedure, but the same surgeon who put the port in was the same one scheduled to take it out. While in the hospital last summer, Dr. Meluch told me that Dr. Polk did not have the best bedside manner, but he was the best surgeon. I put a lot of trust in Dr. Meluch's opinion, therefore, I put a lot of trust in Dr. Polk. As long as he was in charge, I would let him perform the procedure the way he saw fit. My trust in the physician did little to calm my nerves. My apprehension intensified as Thursday drew closer.
I had a plan to get my mind off the procedure. My sister suggested listening to music. I planned on bringing my headphones and doing just that. I also planned on bringing my palm cross that my mom had given me to hold during chemo treatments. I planned on holding that and squeezing it if necessary. I also planned on eating a light breakfast as suggested since I had no idea how long it would be until I was able to and in a mood to eat again. I forgot all about my morning prep plans.
I did, however, go for a walk/jog the that morning before leaving for my appointment. The jog did a lot to calm my nerves, at least temporarily. Along the way, I found three pennies and a dime. Every time I find a penny, I pick it up and read the inscription, "In God We Trust." I pause and remember God and His love for me. I take it as a sign to slow down and put my trust in Him. I always seem to come across pennies when I need this reminder the most.
I said a small prayer of thanksgiving and thought, "Are You simply wanting to comfort me or are You preparing me for something above what I expect? Is something going to happen that I won't like?" I quickly dismissed this concern and thought, "It doesn't matter. Knowing I can trust in Him is a comfort, whether things go smoothly or if I hit a rocky patch." The run turned out to be more therapeutic than normal.
My friend, Mike, took me to the doctor's office. As is usually the case, I was not seen at the time of my appointment. I had to wait an extra half hour. The intake person told me that the procedure was no big deal. He said they would deaden the area then "I won't tell you what happens next." I told him I didn't want to know what happened next.
The man who took my vitals asked how I was doing. I confessed that I was quite nervous. He told me it was not big deal. I would feel a slight tug and that was it. Several people told me it was no big deal and assured me that it did not hurt. How did they know? Did they ever have it done to them?
As we waited, Mike pulled up a video on YouTube about the procedure. It amazes me how a simple Google search will pull up information on just about everything imaginable. Mike told me it looks like it only takes about 8 minutes. The guy on the video watched the procedure as it happened. I told Mike that I cared nothing about watching the video or watching it happen to me. I planned on keeping my eyes closed the entire time. Mike promised not to watch the video until I left.
They finally took me back. I waited in the room for what seemed like an eternity before the doctor arrived. When Dr. Polk finally came in, accompanied by another doctor and a nurse, he shook my hand and asked if we knew each other. I told him he was the one who put the port in. He said he thought so and asked if it was lymphoma that I had. It was. I thought to myself that this man either has a remarkable memory or this information was on my chart and he read it before coming into the room.
The time had come. With my hospital gown on, open to the front, I lay on top of the little operating bed. "Something must not have been right," Dr. Polk said. "I never put the port on the left side." I was going to suggest maybe it had something to do with doing the biopsy at the same time, but I was too scared to speak. I simply lay perfectly still and quiet with my hands at my sides.
I heard the three of them chatting as they prepped for the procedure. Dr. Polk apologized, but I told him I didn't mind. It was a good distraction for me. I opened my eyes and saw the giant syringe the nurse handed to him. I immediately closed my eyes again as he brought it closer to my chest. "Now this will burn." He emphasized the word "will." It reminded me of the shots my podiatrist gave me on the bottom of my feet when I had plantar faciitis, how he pushed the needle in, moved it around, being very specific on making the fluid go where it needed to go. It burned all right. That was not comfortable at all.
I figured they would wait a while for the shot to take effect, but apparently, there is no need to wait. He started immediately. I kept my eyes closed and concentrated on my breathing. I made an effort to keep my arms at my sides and relax my hands, keeping them opened and not balled into fists. I did not feel the cut, but I felt the tug. Not so bad yet, but a little nerve wracking. I thought we were just about through until I felt the tug again. At this point, I realized he had merely unhooked the port and now he was attempting to get it out.
He stopped and turned around. My eyes were still closed, but I could tell what he was doing by the sounds, light, and slight breeze as he turned away from me. As he turned he said, "Well, one thing I have to say about you. You heal quite well." I didn't have to ask what he meant. I immediately knew how to translate that statement. In other words "this sucker does not want to come out."
When he turned back around, I made the mistake of opening my eyes. I saw the bloody scalpel in his hand. I closed my eyes again. I could not feel a thing, but I knew he was cutting more as he tried to free the port. Then, the real tugging started. My whole chest heaved up and down as he tugged. I did not need to feel it to be able to imagine what was going on. I knew how hard he had to be tugging in order for my chest to move like that.
When the procedure first started, I sang the song "God is an Awesome God" silently in my head. The words were calm and precise. As he tugged, cut, tugged, cut, and tugged some more, my body tensed. My hands slowly inched toward my stomach. I repeated the line "God is an awesome God" over and over and over and over again. The voice in my head screamed these words.
Sensing my tension, the nurse and doctor asked me if I was okay, if I felt any pain. "No," I reassured them. "I'm just nervous." The nurse tried to calm me by reminding me of the benefits of doing this procedure in the office rather than in the hospital. She told me that Dr. Polk was the only one in that building who did this procedure in the office. The others made their patients go to the hospital. By doing it here, though, I was saving a ton of money by not having to pay for the hospital room and every single person in that room. I was saving time because by the time we were done with the procedure, I would just be finished filling out the admittance papers at the hospital. By not having to have anesthesia, my recovery time will be much quicker. I told them that I did appreciate all that, but I was nervous nonetheless. Thank goodness I forgot to eat breakfast. The growing trepidation I felt may have caused me to throw it all up. That would not have been good.
When the port finally came out, I heard a small popping sound like a cork when it is pulled out of a bottle of wine. I breathed a sigh of relief knowing that the tugging was over. As he neared the end of stitching me up, I could feel it. I opened my eyes and saw the bloody thread as he pulled it up. I closed my eyes once again. I winced a couple of times and he apologized for hurting me. Even though I could feel that part, the pain of the stitches was nothing compared to the anxiety I felt as he tugged at the port trying to get it out.
When the doctors left and the nurse cleaned me up, she gave me instructions for the next few days. Leave the bandages on until Sunday. It was okay to get it wet, but don't soak it. Refrain from using that arm or putting any pressure on it for the day, but I was free to go back to work on Friday if I felt up to it.
I asked about how I would feel when the shot wore off. She told me it would not hurt like I thought it would because the port was not in muscle. Any anti-inflammatory would do. I asked when I could run again. She told me I could walk as much as I wanted now, but should be able to run again by Monday.
Before I left, I put my shirt back on and stuffed my bra in my pocket. I had no intention of trying to put it on again for at least 24 hours.
Mike took me home and made sure I had everything I needed before leaving for work. Since I did not have any anesthesia, my head felt fine. My chest was tender and I was exhausted from exerting so much energy on nerves. I was propped up on a lot of pillows with one on my chest to keep Bailey from jumping on me. I spent the rest of the day in bed. I stayed home Friday as well. I had already planned on taking both days off when I thought it was going to be more of an ordeal than it was. I decided to keep the day off and continue to rest and heal. Even though I only needed to take something for the pain once, I was still a little tender and reluctant to wear a bra.
The bandage is still on today and the tape itches some, but other than that, I feel fine. Nothing to it after all, except for a little anxiety. It was mentally the final barrier to truly being cancer free. Even though I still have to get CT scans every three months for a while, this was a big hurtle to real recovery. It was the major obstacle keeping tied to Nashville. Now, come my one year anniversary date, if my mind is still set on Texas and it be God's will for me, I will be able to finally go home...on my terms. As I told my ex the other day, I never felt like we set down any real roots in Nashville. I am ready to do so, whether here or back home. I'm just ready to settle down, whatever that looks like and wherever that is. I'm tired of wandering.
Pain or not, I DID NOT like the idea of being awake for the procedure, but the same surgeon who put the port in was the same one scheduled to take it out. While in the hospital last summer, Dr. Meluch told me that Dr. Polk did not have the best bedside manner, but he was the best surgeon. I put a lot of trust in Dr. Meluch's opinion, therefore, I put a lot of trust in Dr. Polk. As long as he was in charge, I would let him perform the procedure the way he saw fit. My trust in the physician did little to calm my nerves. My apprehension intensified as Thursday drew closer.
I had a plan to get my mind off the procedure. My sister suggested listening to music. I planned on bringing my headphones and doing just that. I also planned on bringing my palm cross that my mom had given me to hold during chemo treatments. I planned on holding that and squeezing it if necessary. I also planned on eating a light breakfast as suggested since I had no idea how long it would be until I was able to and in a mood to eat again. I forgot all about my morning prep plans.
I did, however, go for a walk/jog the that morning before leaving for my appointment. The jog did a lot to calm my nerves, at least temporarily. Along the way, I found three pennies and a dime. Every time I find a penny, I pick it up and read the inscription, "In God We Trust." I pause and remember God and His love for me. I take it as a sign to slow down and put my trust in Him. I always seem to come across pennies when I need this reminder the most.
I said a small prayer of thanksgiving and thought, "Are You simply wanting to comfort me or are You preparing me for something above what I expect? Is something going to happen that I won't like?" I quickly dismissed this concern and thought, "It doesn't matter. Knowing I can trust in Him is a comfort, whether things go smoothly or if I hit a rocky patch." The run turned out to be more therapeutic than normal.
My friend, Mike, took me to the doctor's office. As is usually the case, I was not seen at the time of my appointment. I had to wait an extra half hour. The intake person told me that the procedure was no big deal. He said they would deaden the area then "I won't tell you what happens next." I told him I didn't want to know what happened next.
The man who took my vitals asked how I was doing. I confessed that I was quite nervous. He told me it was not big deal. I would feel a slight tug and that was it. Several people told me it was no big deal and assured me that it did not hurt. How did they know? Did they ever have it done to them?
As we waited, Mike pulled up a video on YouTube about the procedure. It amazes me how a simple Google search will pull up information on just about everything imaginable. Mike told me it looks like it only takes about 8 minutes. The guy on the video watched the procedure as it happened. I told Mike that I cared nothing about watching the video or watching it happen to me. I planned on keeping my eyes closed the entire time. Mike promised not to watch the video until I left.
They finally took me back. I waited in the room for what seemed like an eternity before the doctor arrived. When Dr. Polk finally came in, accompanied by another doctor and a nurse, he shook my hand and asked if we knew each other. I told him he was the one who put the port in. He said he thought so and asked if it was lymphoma that I had. It was. I thought to myself that this man either has a remarkable memory or this information was on my chart and he read it before coming into the room.
The time had come. With my hospital gown on, open to the front, I lay on top of the little operating bed. "Something must not have been right," Dr. Polk said. "I never put the port on the left side." I was going to suggest maybe it had something to do with doing the biopsy at the same time, but I was too scared to speak. I simply lay perfectly still and quiet with my hands at my sides.
I heard the three of them chatting as they prepped for the procedure. Dr. Polk apologized, but I told him I didn't mind. It was a good distraction for me. I opened my eyes and saw the giant syringe the nurse handed to him. I immediately closed my eyes again as he brought it closer to my chest. "Now this will burn." He emphasized the word "will." It reminded me of the shots my podiatrist gave me on the bottom of my feet when I had plantar faciitis, how he pushed the needle in, moved it around, being very specific on making the fluid go where it needed to go. It burned all right. That was not comfortable at all.
I figured they would wait a while for the shot to take effect, but apparently, there is no need to wait. He started immediately. I kept my eyes closed and concentrated on my breathing. I made an effort to keep my arms at my sides and relax my hands, keeping them opened and not balled into fists. I did not feel the cut, but I felt the tug. Not so bad yet, but a little nerve wracking. I thought we were just about through until I felt the tug again. At this point, I realized he had merely unhooked the port and now he was attempting to get it out.
He stopped and turned around. My eyes were still closed, but I could tell what he was doing by the sounds, light, and slight breeze as he turned away from me. As he turned he said, "Well, one thing I have to say about you. You heal quite well." I didn't have to ask what he meant. I immediately knew how to translate that statement. In other words "this sucker does not want to come out."
When he turned back around, I made the mistake of opening my eyes. I saw the bloody scalpel in his hand. I closed my eyes again. I could not feel a thing, but I knew he was cutting more as he tried to free the port. Then, the real tugging started. My whole chest heaved up and down as he tugged. I did not need to feel it to be able to imagine what was going on. I knew how hard he had to be tugging in order for my chest to move like that.
When the procedure first started, I sang the song "God is an Awesome God" silently in my head. The words were calm and precise. As he tugged, cut, tugged, cut, and tugged some more, my body tensed. My hands slowly inched toward my stomach. I repeated the line "God is an awesome God" over and over and over and over again. The voice in my head screamed these words.
Sensing my tension, the nurse and doctor asked me if I was okay, if I felt any pain. "No," I reassured them. "I'm just nervous." The nurse tried to calm me by reminding me of the benefits of doing this procedure in the office rather than in the hospital. She told me that Dr. Polk was the only one in that building who did this procedure in the office. The others made their patients go to the hospital. By doing it here, though, I was saving a ton of money by not having to pay for the hospital room and every single person in that room. I was saving time because by the time we were done with the procedure, I would just be finished filling out the admittance papers at the hospital. By not having to have anesthesia, my recovery time will be much quicker. I told them that I did appreciate all that, but I was nervous nonetheless. Thank goodness I forgot to eat breakfast. The growing trepidation I felt may have caused me to throw it all up. That would not have been good.
When the port finally came out, I heard a small popping sound like a cork when it is pulled out of a bottle of wine. I breathed a sigh of relief knowing that the tugging was over. As he neared the end of stitching me up, I could feel it. I opened my eyes and saw the bloody thread as he pulled it up. I closed my eyes once again. I winced a couple of times and he apologized for hurting me. Even though I could feel that part, the pain of the stitches was nothing compared to the anxiety I felt as he tugged at the port trying to get it out.
When the doctors left and the nurse cleaned me up, she gave me instructions for the next few days. Leave the bandages on until Sunday. It was okay to get it wet, but don't soak it. Refrain from using that arm or putting any pressure on it for the day, but I was free to go back to work on Friday if I felt up to it.
I asked about how I would feel when the shot wore off. She told me it would not hurt like I thought it would because the port was not in muscle. Any anti-inflammatory would do. I asked when I could run again. She told me I could walk as much as I wanted now, but should be able to run again by Monday.
Before I left, I put my shirt back on and stuffed my bra in my pocket. I had no intention of trying to put it on again for at least 24 hours.
Mike took me home and made sure I had everything I needed before leaving for work. Since I did not have any anesthesia, my head felt fine. My chest was tender and I was exhausted from exerting so much energy on nerves. I was propped up on a lot of pillows with one on my chest to keep Bailey from jumping on me. I spent the rest of the day in bed. I stayed home Friday as well. I had already planned on taking both days off when I thought it was going to be more of an ordeal than it was. I decided to keep the day off and continue to rest and heal. Even though I only needed to take something for the pain once, I was still a little tender and reluctant to wear a bra.
The bandage is still on today and the tape itches some, but other than that, I feel fine. Nothing to it after all, except for a little anxiety. It was mentally the final barrier to truly being cancer free. Even though I still have to get CT scans every three months for a while, this was a big hurtle to real recovery. It was the major obstacle keeping tied to Nashville. Now, come my one year anniversary date, if my mind is still set on Texas and it be God's will for me, I will be able to finally go home...on my terms. As I told my ex the other day, I never felt like we set down any real roots in Nashville. I am ready to do so, whether here or back home. I'm just ready to settle down, whatever that looks like and wherever that is. I'm tired of wandering.
Monday, May 20, 2013
Six Month Checkup
In case anyone is wondering why I do not blog as much as I used to, there are two reasons. One, I am so busy these days. Not only does work keep me busy, but I am purposeful about living. There are things I want to do. Before I got sick, I was too lazy to do things I thought would be fun. Now, if I want to do it, I do it. I am like a kid sometimes, wanting to explore things. Second, if I am in the mood to write, I write fiction.
A few weeks ago, while laying in bed, I started thinking about the past three years and how hard they have been, from divorce to cancer. I was thinking about where I thought I was, where I really was, and where I am now. I had just been reading Ecclesiastes. "In much wisdom, there is much grief, and increasing knowledge results in increasing pain." Eccl. 1:18
I thought to myself, "I'd rather be a fool." I immediately shot out of bed and thought that would be a great title for a book. I got up and jotted down the thoughts floating around in my head.
In the past few weeks, I have only written an incomplete prologue, but at least it's a start. When I feel the need to write, instead of writing in my blog, I have been trying to write my story. The thoughts are coming. I can't wait to write them all down!
Six Month Checkup:
Tomorrow marked six months since my last treatment. Today I had a CT scheduled for 6:50am and an appointment with Dr. Meluch at 11:30am.
Yesterday, I felt on edge, nervous and agitated, not knowing what to expect. I had no reason to expect bad news, but everyone's well wishes were not going to be enough to ensure my continued health.
I have been feeling great and am slowly starting to loose weight. Last week, I started back in Krav Maga--only the heavy bag class, but it was still very intense and it was wonderful to be back. This past Saturday, I participated in my first 5K. I ran (if you can call what I did running) most of it! I have never run that much in my life, not even when I was young, fit, and healthy! The next day, I was extremely exhausted, but I did not have the muscle pain I expected.
Last Sunday, I put on the wrong pair of jeans while getting ready for church. Those jeans did not fit the last time I tried them on. Now, they are snug, but they fit without me having to suck in my gut in order to zip them up! I have not lost a ton of weight, but my body is starting to tone up a bit.
Even though I am doing well with my workouts, there is no guarantee that the cancer did not come back. Until I heard the official word from Dr. Meluch, I was not able to relax. Between the time of my CT scan and doctor appointment, I felt like someone awaiting the verdict. Would I get to walk out a free person? Would I be sentenced to life? To death?
While the tech took my blood, she asked how I was doing, like she always does. I gave the same answer I always give after a CT scan. "I'll know in just a little bit!"
As she walked me to an examining room to wait, we walked by Dr. Meluch. As he passed me, he patted me on the back and told me my scans looked good. I immediately felt the weight lift off my shoulders. Waiting alone in the examining room, I wiped tears of relief from my eyes.
When Dr. Meluch finally came into the room, he told me that overall, my scan looks good. I still have lymph nodes in my chest and I have an inflamed something or other in my throat. This something or other usually shrinks with treatment. They have gotten bigger in me. It's benign, though, nothing he was concerned about. The fibroids in my ovaries are growing as well. He sent those reports to my gynecologist. I suppose she will contact me if this is something to be concerned about.
On a side note about that - I was starting to think that maybe I was going through early menopause after all. After removing the IUD, my gynecologist told me that my hormones would go "crazy" in a few weeks and I would start bleeding. It has been well over a month and nothing...until this morning. I am glad to know that I am not yet going through menopause!
Dr. Meluch noted that I have lost some weight. Only three pounds since my last visit, but at least it's a start in the right direction. I told him I have the working out thing down, but I'm still working on the eating right thing. I am having difficulty giving up the cokes.
He told me that sugar is bad for cancer patients. It does not cause cancer, but it keeps something from breaking down properly. I don't remember what that something is, but it is something that helps fight cancer. He told me to let that fact be my inspiration to quit drinking coke.
As Dr. Meluch examined me, we discussed how it has been six months since my last treatment and how it has been a year since this journey began. Before we wrapped things up, I patted my port and said, "So, six months until this comes out?"
He said yes then added, "unless it is causing you problems."
I told him it wasn't causing me any problems. It wasn't hurting or anything. It's just that I am anxious to get back into my self defense class and I can't do that until the port comes out. Dr. Meluch gave me a sly smile, patted my arm, and said "We'll take it out!"
I felt so giddy. "REALLY!" I exclaimed.
He smiled, said yes, and declared that I am healed!
After getting my port flushed, I went back up to him and asked if he was serious, if I could really go ahead and get the port out. He said as a rule, he likes to leave it in for a year unless it is causing problems. However, he encourages people to start getting back to normal as soon as possible. He put in the order to have it removed!
I asked him if there was anything else he needed from me before I left. I usually leave right after getting the port flushed. I did not know if he needed something else since we were planning to take out the port. He came around to me and gave me a hug and said that's all he needed.
I love that guy. He has no idea how much he means to me and how much his positive and fun interaction with me means to me. I feed off of his reactions and interactions with me. Getting good test results are one thing. His behavior with me tell me much more than test results that I barely understand. If he can have fun with me and suggest taking out my port without me technically asking, then I must be okay. Better than that, he must be confident that I am going to continue to be okay!
A few weeks ago, while laying in bed, I started thinking about the past three years and how hard they have been, from divorce to cancer. I was thinking about where I thought I was, where I really was, and where I am now. I had just been reading Ecclesiastes. "In much wisdom, there is much grief, and increasing knowledge results in increasing pain." Eccl. 1:18
I thought to myself, "I'd rather be a fool." I immediately shot out of bed and thought that would be a great title for a book. I got up and jotted down the thoughts floating around in my head.
In the past few weeks, I have only written an incomplete prologue, but at least it's a start. When I feel the need to write, instead of writing in my blog, I have been trying to write my story. The thoughts are coming. I can't wait to write them all down!
Six Month Checkup:
Tomorrow marked six months since my last treatment. Today I had a CT scheduled for 6:50am and an appointment with Dr. Meluch at 11:30am.
Yesterday, I felt on edge, nervous and agitated, not knowing what to expect. I had no reason to expect bad news, but everyone's well wishes were not going to be enough to ensure my continued health.
I have been feeling great and am slowly starting to loose weight. Last week, I started back in Krav Maga--only the heavy bag class, but it was still very intense and it was wonderful to be back. This past Saturday, I participated in my first 5K. I ran (if you can call what I did running) most of it! I have never run that much in my life, not even when I was young, fit, and healthy! The next day, I was extremely exhausted, but I did not have the muscle pain I expected.
Last Sunday, I put on the wrong pair of jeans while getting ready for church. Those jeans did not fit the last time I tried them on. Now, they are snug, but they fit without me having to suck in my gut in order to zip them up! I have not lost a ton of weight, but my body is starting to tone up a bit.
Even though I am doing well with my workouts, there is no guarantee that the cancer did not come back. Until I heard the official word from Dr. Meluch, I was not able to relax. Between the time of my CT scan and doctor appointment, I felt like someone awaiting the verdict. Would I get to walk out a free person? Would I be sentenced to life? To death?
While the tech took my blood, she asked how I was doing, like she always does. I gave the same answer I always give after a CT scan. "I'll know in just a little bit!"
As she walked me to an examining room to wait, we walked by Dr. Meluch. As he passed me, he patted me on the back and told me my scans looked good. I immediately felt the weight lift off my shoulders. Waiting alone in the examining room, I wiped tears of relief from my eyes.
When Dr. Meluch finally came into the room, he told me that overall, my scan looks good. I still have lymph nodes in my chest and I have an inflamed something or other in my throat. This something or other usually shrinks with treatment. They have gotten bigger in me. It's benign, though, nothing he was concerned about. The fibroids in my ovaries are growing as well. He sent those reports to my gynecologist. I suppose she will contact me if this is something to be concerned about.
On a side note about that - I was starting to think that maybe I was going through early menopause after all. After removing the IUD, my gynecologist told me that my hormones would go "crazy" in a few weeks and I would start bleeding. It has been well over a month and nothing...until this morning. I am glad to know that I am not yet going through menopause!
Dr. Meluch noted that I have lost some weight. Only three pounds since my last visit, but at least it's a start in the right direction. I told him I have the working out thing down, but I'm still working on the eating right thing. I am having difficulty giving up the cokes.
He told me that sugar is bad for cancer patients. It does not cause cancer, but it keeps something from breaking down properly. I don't remember what that something is, but it is something that helps fight cancer. He told me to let that fact be my inspiration to quit drinking coke.
As Dr. Meluch examined me, we discussed how it has been six months since my last treatment and how it has been a year since this journey began. Before we wrapped things up, I patted my port and said, "So, six months until this comes out?"
He said yes then added, "unless it is causing you problems."
I told him it wasn't causing me any problems. It wasn't hurting or anything. It's just that I am anxious to get back into my self defense class and I can't do that until the port comes out. Dr. Meluch gave me a sly smile, patted my arm, and said "We'll take it out!"
I felt so giddy. "REALLY!" I exclaimed.
He smiled, said yes, and declared that I am healed!
After getting my port flushed, I went back up to him and asked if he was serious, if I could really go ahead and get the port out. He said as a rule, he likes to leave it in for a year unless it is causing problems. However, he encourages people to start getting back to normal as soon as possible. He put in the order to have it removed!
I asked him if there was anything else he needed from me before I left. I usually leave right after getting the port flushed. I did not know if he needed something else since we were planning to take out the port. He came around to me and gave me a hug and said that's all he needed.
I love that guy. He has no idea how much he means to me and how much his positive and fun interaction with me means to me. I feed off of his reactions and interactions with me. Getting good test results are one thing. His behavior with me tell me much more than test results that I barely understand. If he can have fun with me and suggest taking out my port without me technically asking, then I must be okay. Better than that, he must be confident that I am going to continue to be okay!
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Checkup with Orthopedist
Had my six week checkup with my orthopedist. Even though my wrist is getting better, it is slow progress. I stopped wearing my brace during the day, mainly because it was hot. When it got hot, my arm started to sweat and itch. It was uncomfortable. So, I wore it only at night and did my best not to use that hand. I even switched my computer mouse to the left.
Dr. Douglas was somewhat concerned that the only reason it seems to be doing better at all is because I avoid using that hand as much as possible. I told him about the mouse and how I still cannot workout with weights the way I want to.
Since it was not improving all that much and since it is keeping me from doing normal activities, he gave me three options. Continue wearing the brace, get another shot and continue wearing the brace, or surgery. Since my body is slow to recover from anything, I did not want to rush into the surgery option, at least, not without talking to Dr. Meluch. I elected for the shot and brace. However, I asked for a different brace, one that breathed a little better. He agreed.
I asked him what could have caused this. He said it is a common injury. He asked me if I ever heard of trigger finger. My symptoms are similar. It is called trigger finger not because a gun causes it, but because the pain is caused from the same motion as shooting and recoil of a gun. I told him I thought mine was caused from a gun. I re-qualified back in October or November while still in treatment. My hand started hurting almost immediately, but got noticeably bad in December. He agreed that this is what most likely caused my "trigger finger," but there is no way to know for sure.
The shot hurt like crazy, but hopefully it helps. I did get a new brace. I will wear this new one during the day and the old one at night. He did not tell me how long I have to wear it. I go back in six weeks. As long as it still hurts, I should continue to wear it.
Dr. Douglas was somewhat concerned that the only reason it seems to be doing better at all is because I avoid using that hand as much as possible. I told him about the mouse and how I still cannot workout with weights the way I want to.
Since it was not improving all that much and since it is keeping me from doing normal activities, he gave me three options. Continue wearing the brace, get another shot and continue wearing the brace, or surgery. Since my body is slow to recover from anything, I did not want to rush into the surgery option, at least, not without talking to Dr. Meluch. I elected for the shot and brace. However, I asked for a different brace, one that breathed a little better. He agreed.
I asked him what could have caused this. He said it is a common injury. He asked me if I ever heard of trigger finger. My symptoms are similar. It is called trigger finger not because a gun causes it, but because the pain is caused from the same motion as shooting and recoil of a gun. I told him I thought mine was caused from a gun. I re-qualified back in October or November while still in treatment. My hand started hurting almost immediately, but got noticeably bad in December. He agreed that this is what most likely caused my "trigger finger," but there is no way to know for sure.
The shot hurt like crazy, but hopefully it helps. I did get a new brace. I will wear this new one during the day and the old one at night. He did not tell me how long I have to wear it. I go back in six weeks. As long as it still hurts, I should continue to wear it.
Monday, April 15, 2013
Small Writing Start: Apoca
This past Thursday night, I had the most vivid and scary dream. Even when I woke up, I still felt a bit frightened. Bailey needed to go out before the sun came up. I made sure she never left my sight. Back in bed, I covered everything except my head, somehow thinking the sheets would protect me from the night.
The next morning, the details still stuck with me. I shared the dream with Mike and Terry over breakfast. Mike suggested I write the dream down. "May be a good step to get you motivated to start writing again."
The more I thought about that suggestion, the more I liked it. I am not a scary story teller. I don't like Stephen King novels and will rarely watch horror films. I won't watch them at all if I am by myself.
Since this is more an exercise in writing than it is trying to create a new genre for myself, I took his advise. My story is only two pages long, but it is the most (other than my blogs) that I have written in about three years.
I must say, I had such a good time writing it and it felt so good to do it. I felt whole, if that makes sense. Don't judge too harshly. Remember, this is not my typical style. Still, I'm proud of having done it and wanted to share. Some details I changed like the fact that in my dream, it was me, Mike, and Terry. We are all security officers. The names are a bit unusual, but they were the first names to pop into my head. May have something to do with the fact that I have been reading "A Blaze of Glory," a Civil War novel by Jeff Shaara.
Apoca
By: T. Renee Albracht
The
three of us headed down the highway, Clayton at the wheel, Beauregard in the
back, and I in the passenger seat, same as always. We left Nashville not long
before, travelling to Knoxville for a job. We worked together, but more than
that, we were friends. There was nothing
out of the ordinary about the night except the absolute calm in the air.
Clayton
and I chatted about nothing in particular while some singer from the eighties
sang an upbeat tune in the background. Beauregard reclined in the middle seat
directly behind us, talking to someone on his cell phone about something of
great importance. My cell phone rested in my lap.
The
other cars on the highway drove by in silence, keeping a steady pace with one
another. No honking horns or booming bass disrupting the stillness of the
night. The three of us, content with each other’s company and the prospect of
the work which lay ahead, were oblivious to the absence of chaos outside.
Beauregard
leaned forward after his phone conversation ended. He held on to the back of
Clayton’s seat as if to steady himself even though the road we traveled was
unusually smooth.
“That
was Eugene,” Beauregard said, his tone flat. Eugene was our boss, the man
responsible for sending us out on this night.
His
mention of the boss man caused Clayton and I to quickly forget our present
conversation.
“What
did Eugene want?” Clayton asked, shifting his focus from the road in front of
him to Beauregard in his rear view mirror, his comic cynicism evident in his
tone.
“The
electrical system in his car is acting up. He wanted to know what to do about
it,” Beauregard answered, still showing no hint of emotion, no sign as to
whether or not this phone call agitated him as much as it seemed to have
agitated Clayton.
“What
does he expect you to do about it?” Clayton demanded to know. “It’s like I said, we’re the end all for
everyone, including the boss. I work on
houses, not cars, yet, everyone assumes that if I know how to wire a house, I
know how to fix your car!”
Beauregard
stared straight ahead. I rolled my eyes. We had grown accustomed to Clayton’s
angry tirades about the perceived injustices he endures.
“What
exactly is going on?” I asked after a moment of silence.
“I’m
not exactly sure.” The lines in Beauregard’s nose and eyes crinkled and his
voice rose slightly, showing a hint of concern as he tried his best to describe
the problem. “The display by his radio and clock started blinking on and off
then made funny…” Words escaped him as he tried to use his hands to describe
what was going on.
He did
not have to try to explain the phenomenon for long. In that exact moment, as
Beauregard struggled to make sense of it for our understanding, the same
happened in the vehicle Clayton drove.
The
music on the radio became nothing more than static noise. The digital display
blinked on and off in quick succession for no more than a few seconds. When the
clock and radio display came back on, the lines which had once formed numbers
morphed into one large circle. The digital circle spun counter clockwise,
stopped, then spun clockwise before blinking off for the final time.
A
nervous chuckle escaped from our mouths simultaneously. I hummed the theme song
from the Twilight Zone in a soft voice, the only one who seemed to find any
humor in this strange coincidence.
A few
brief moments after the digital display blinked off in Clayton’s vehicle, bright
flashes of light caused us to turn our attention out the windows. The billboards
transformed into neon signs. The letters were too bright to read. The poles
holding them in place disappeared and the signs seemed to float in the air.
Some signs drifted closer to us while others hovered in place.
Although
these events were obviously unnatural, I still felt no sense of awe or
trepidation. I turned to face the men inside the car and mocking a doomsayer ‘s
fright, I said, “Apoca…”
The
rest of the word never made it past my lips. Before I could say “lypse,” the
lights outside turned black and a hologram text shot out from my cell phone
into and past me, causing me to scream in terror and Beauregard to leap back in
his seat.
The
black hologram formed the image of a female child. Blood and dirt matted her
curly blond hair. Bruises and gashes marked the right side of her face. The
eyes of one possessed glared at us from the left side of her face.
I looked
Clayton in the eye and in a solemn voice said “home.” While maintaining
complete outward composure, Clayton took the next exit and turned us around. We
headed home.
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Greater
I had my six week checkup yesterday with my oncologist. This was an appointment just to talk with my doctor and get my port flushed out. My next CT scan will be in late May. All is well overall. I am still gaining weight and have low energy. I am now at 167. I started at 139. I am running out of clothes that fit.
This could have been depressing had I had any other doctor. I love Dr. Meluch. Not only is he good at what he does, but he is so kind. He said he noticed my weight gain, but assured me that the thyroid medicine was the right dosage for me and said sometimes it can take as long as three months to kick in. As he examined me, he asked me about my soft drink intake. I admitted that I had started drinking cokes again. I told him how I started getting upset with the slow progress and when I get upset, I reach for the things that are going to make me feel better. I am an emotional eater and coke drinker. I did stop drinking cokes again on Sunday. He told me that I don't have to give up the things I love, I just need to cut down. "Drink fewer cokes and lay off all the carbs. It's okay to eat a pizza, just don't eat it all the time. When you get a sub, get flat bread instead of that thick sub bread. Do simple things like that and you'll be amazed at how quickly the weight starts to fall off."
It's as if the lab results showed more than just my blood count, which is good, by the way. I ate a p'zone the night before and planned on going to Subway for lunch after my appointment! Instead of getting my usual meatball sub, I got a turkey on flat bread!
He also told me my wrist will not heal if I don't stop using it. So hard to do. Writing with my left hand has been hard. I use the mouse and space key with my left hand now, but my typing has slowed considerably by not using my right thumb. I keep making mistakes. Holding a book is more difficult. Changing clothes and using the restroom is challenging. Even though I use my hand less, it is next to impossible to not use it at all.
I actually had fun at the doctor. The nurses went on and on about how long my hair is getting. I told them how I have more gray, but that I don't want to dye it. I earned every one! "Cancer stress highlights" one nurse called it.
I even had a good conversation with some of the family members of patients while I waited for my appointment. We talked about treatment and my port. I talked some with current patients. The smell of saline still makes me a bit queasy, but what a different feeling not to have to go through treatment. Any time I look back and think treatment really wasn't that bad, all I have to do is go sit in the treatment room. I will start to feel those old feelings and remember just how unpleasant it really was. Lucky for me, I get to leave feeling as good as I did when I came. I like to hope that my presence and cheery attitude and willingness to talk about my own experience encourages those presently going through treatment.
Dr. Meluch teased me, saying I have too many doctors. I agree and cannot wait until all I have are irregular visits to my primary care doctor for the occasional illness. Right now, I have a different appointment with a different doctor just about once a week. Since my last visit with Dr. Meluch, I have seen a gynecologist to see if my weight and fatigue was a thyroid issue or menopause. I have seen my primary doctor to get treated for thyroid. (No menopause yet!) I have seen an orthopedist about my wrist. I saw another gynecologist to get my IED removed FINALLY! I knew it was a mistake the moment I got it. Faulty, angry, post divorce thinking that makes no sense, but made all the sense in the world at the time. Dr. Meluch wanted me to leave it in during treatment because it kept me from bleeding. My gynecologist would not take it out even after Dr. Meluch gave the okay. She has this "wait and see" attitude that I do not like one bit. It's that attitude I endured for two years before my new primary care doctor thought to send me to the oncologist. This new doctor asked no questions other than if I wanted to discuss other types of birth control. "No," I said, "I've been divorced for two and a half years and haven't had sex in almost three. I think I have proven to myself and everyone else that I will not run into the arms of a man just because I get lonely. I have no interest in any type of relationship." She laughed and took it out just as I asked! Love that doctor. She will be my new gynecologist.
Will continue to see my primary care doctor every 6 weeks for a while for blood work for the thyroid. Will continue to see the orthopedist until my wrist is better. Will continue seeing my oncologist until I reach my two year anniversary. And, I have a dentist appointment at the end of the month. Thank God for a good job with good insurance!
Speaking of God, my spirit took a direct hit after Bailey got sick. One incident after another beat me down and almost broke me. By the grace of God, Bailey recovered. Before she got sick, I took her walking with me on some trails at a nearby lake. Mike and I had to take turns carrying her most of the way. When she got better, I bought her a doggy stroller and took her back to the same lake. This time, she walked all 2.5 miles by herself and had more energy at the end than her momma did! She is an inspiration! I have since stopped feeding her table food. I am sure the healthier diet has helped her heal and have that energy!!!
Momma is starting to recover as well. It is far from easy. God has blessed me with two miracles, recovering from cancer and Bailey getting better. But, hard things still come. I recently had my heart broken again. After being divorced for almost three years, you would think I would be well past the pain. Unfortunately, I am not.
I knew we could not continue down the path we were on. We needed to either work on reconciliation or finally part ways so that we could both heal and move on. Brad brought this up and although I knew he was right, I was not ready to have that conversation. Long story short, he will soon be moving back to Texas. I no longer believe reconciliation is a viable option, at least, not right now. Who knows where we will be five or ten years down the road? We may be nothing more than a memory to one another or we may find our way back to each other. Only God knows what the future holds. All I know is that we both have our own baggage that we need to work through. We cannot work through it together. We have both hurt each other and the pain we have caused one another is still too raw. I have prayed about this and I believe we are both doing the right thing, what we need to do for us as individuals. That doesn't make it any easier and it doesn't make it any less painful.
What truly gets under my skin are people who react in one extreme or another. I understand where they are coming from, but what some people need to realize is that I mean no ill will toward him and I do still love him and I absolutely do not want to hear negative talk about him. On the other end, I wish some people would understand how hard it is for me, too. He's not the only victim. He's not the only one suffering. I have been through hell the past three years. I have tried my best to be strong for everyone and do the right thing for everyone else. May sound selfish, but it is time for me to take care of myself. There is a reason the airlines tell adults to put on their mask first before assisting others. I have been doing too much damage to myself by always trying to meet other's needs first. I'm tired of feeling guilty for letting others down. Does anyone ever feel guilty for letting me down?
Anyway, I digress...
One thing that has been a tremendous help in getting me out of my depression is a book called Greater by Steven Furtick. I am only half way through, but it has truly blessed me. The first part was about burning my plow. Before Elisha left and followed Elijah, he made his living with a plow and oxen. He did not just get up and leave, but he first destroyed any evidence of his old life. He burned the plow and killed the oxen.
I struggled in prayer for a while trying to figure out what my plow is. Then, God gave me the answer. I am my plow. I always get in my own way, try to orchestrate events instead of trusting in God. I act on my own ability and not on faith.
How do I burn my plow? I cannot physically get rid of myself. The answer is simple. Trust in God and stop trying to make things happen. If I don't know what to do, do nothing. The answer is simple, yet so very hard. The next section in the book made this whole idea click.
"A big dream without a small start is nothing but a daydream." I must take small steps. If I want to be a writer, I must take small steps. If I want to get healthier, I must take small steps. If I want a better relationship with God, I must take small steps.
I have not made small steps in writing yet. Writing is a little difficult with my sore wrist. My blog and work do help me stay creative some and does keep me writing until I am ready to take a small step in another direction.
Small steps have gotten me out of bed in the morning when I don't feel like going to work out. It has become my mantra. "Small step," I tell myself before climbing out of bed. I know what that small statement means, how profound the impact of one early morning workout means.
I went to the Subway shop in the same building as my oncologist before leaving yesterday. I ordered a flat bread sandwich. When trying to decide what to drink: coke, tea, fruit punch, Sprite Zero "small step" I said to myself and chose the Sprite.
Small steps keep me from obsessing about the impossibility of reaching for the big dreams. I want to get back down to 140 at least. I would love to get down to 130, the goal I had set for myself before I got sick. Thinking of 27 pounds seems like an impossible dream. Thinking of 27 pounds is enough to make me want to give up. Thinking about the small step, the choice to be made at any one given moment is doable. Sure, I will and have failed, but I simply start over with the next small step.
The same is true in my relationship with God. It is hard to pray or read the Bible sometimes. Small step. I commit to reading just one chapter. I commit to talking to God while walking from my car to the gym. Small steps sometimes lead to bigger steps.
It has also worked with Brad...although this has been the hardest challenge. I wake up feeling broken hearted. Focus on the day, this one task in front of me. Small step. I want to go to him. I want to go to his family and check up on him. I know I can't right now. I talk to God instead. Small step. I feel depressed thinking I may never see him again. I made the choice to move on, but it still hurts. I want to go straight to bed after work. Instead of isolating myself, I go sit and watch television with Morgan or read a book to take my mind off of him. Small step.
Since taking on this mantra and living by those simple words, I notice that I have been happier than I have been in a very, very long time. I still struggle, but things don't stress me out as easily as they have in the past. It's like the weight of what I should do or should be is off. Small steps.
This could have been depressing had I had any other doctor. I love Dr. Meluch. Not only is he good at what he does, but he is so kind. He said he noticed my weight gain, but assured me that the thyroid medicine was the right dosage for me and said sometimes it can take as long as three months to kick in. As he examined me, he asked me about my soft drink intake. I admitted that I had started drinking cokes again. I told him how I started getting upset with the slow progress and when I get upset, I reach for the things that are going to make me feel better. I am an emotional eater and coke drinker. I did stop drinking cokes again on Sunday. He told me that I don't have to give up the things I love, I just need to cut down. "Drink fewer cokes and lay off all the carbs. It's okay to eat a pizza, just don't eat it all the time. When you get a sub, get flat bread instead of that thick sub bread. Do simple things like that and you'll be amazed at how quickly the weight starts to fall off."
It's as if the lab results showed more than just my blood count, which is good, by the way. I ate a p'zone the night before and planned on going to Subway for lunch after my appointment! Instead of getting my usual meatball sub, I got a turkey on flat bread!
He also told me my wrist will not heal if I don't stop using it. So hard to do. Writing with my left hand has been hard. I use the mouse and space key with my left hand now, but my typing has slowed considerably by not using my right thumb. I keep making mistakes. Holding a book is more difficult. Changing clothes and using the restroom is challenging. Even though I use my hand less, it is next to impossible to not use it at all.
I actually had fun at the doctor. The nurses went on and on about how long my hair is getting. I told them how I have more gray, but that I don't want to dye it. I earned every one! "Cancer stress highlights" one nurse called it.
I even had a good conversation with some of the family members of patients while I waited for my appointment. We talked about treatment and my port. I talked some with current patients. The smell of saline still makes me a bit queasy, but what a different feeling not to have to go through treatment. Any time I look back and think treatment really wasn't that bad, all I have to do is go sit in the treatment room. I will start to feel those old feelings and remember just how unpleasant it really was. Lucky for me, I get to leave feeling as good as I did when I came. I like to hope that my presence and cheery attitude and willingness to talk about my own experience encourages those presently going through treatment.
Dr. Meluch teased me, saying I have too many doctors. I agree and cannot wait until all I have are irregular visits to my primary care doctor for the occasional illness. Right now, I have a different appointment with a different doctor just about once a week. Since my last visit with Dr. Meluch, I have seen a gynecologist to see if my weight and fatigue was a thyroid issue or menopause. I have seen my primary doctor to get treated for thyroid. (No menopause yet!) I have seen an orthopedist about my wrist. I saw another gynecologist to get my IED removed FINALLY! I knew it was a mistake the moment I got it. Faulty, angry, post divorce thinking that makes no sense, but made all the sense in the world at the time. Dr. Meluch wanted me to leave it in during treatment because it kept me from bleeding. My gynecologist would not take it out even after Dr. Meluch gave the okay. She has this "wait and see" attitude that I do not like one bit. It's that attitude I endured for two years before my new primary care doctor thought to send me to the oncologist. This new doctor asked no questions other than if I wanted to discuss other types of birth control. "No," I said, "I've been divorced for two and a half years and haven't had sex in almost three. I think I have proven to myself and everyone else that I will not run into the arms of a man just because I get lonely. I have no interest in any type of relationship." She laughed and took it out just as I asked! Love that doctor. She will be my new gynecologist.
Will continue to see my primary care doctor every 6 weeks for a while for blood work for the thyroid. Will continue to see the orthopedist until my wrist is better. Will continue seeing my oncologist until I reach my two year anniversary. And, I have a dentist appointment at the end of the month. Thank God for a good job with good insurance!
Speaking of God, my spirit took a direct hit after Bailey got sick. One incident after another beat me down and almost broke me. By the grace of God, Bailey recovered. Before she got sick, I took her walking with me on some trails at a nearby lake. Mike and I had to take turns carrying her most of the way. When she got better, I bought her a doggy stroller and took her back to the same lake. This time, she walked all 2.5 miles by herself and had more energy at the end than her momma did! She is an inspiration! I have since stopped feeding her table food. I am sure the healthier diet has helped her heal and have that energy!!!
Momma is starting to recover as well. It is far from easy. God has blessed me with two miracles, recovering from cancer and Bailey getting better. But, hard things still come. I recently had my heart broken again. After being divorced for almost three years, you would think I would be well past the pain. Unfortunately, I am not.
I knew we could not continue down the path we were on. We needed to either work on reconciliation or finally part ways so that we could both heal and move on. Brad brought this up and although I knew he was right, I was not ready to have that conversation. Long story short, he will soon be moving back to Texas. I no longer believe reconciliation is a viable option, at least, not right now. Who knows where we will be five or ten years down the road? We may be nothing more than a memory to one another or we may find our way back to each other. Only God knows what the future holds. All I know is that we both have our own baggage that we need to work through. We cannot work through it together. We have both hurt each other and the pain we have caused one another is still too raw. I have prayed about this and I believe we are both doing the right thing, what we need to do for us as individuals. That doesn't make it any easier and it doesn't make it any less painful.
What truly gets under my skin are people who react in one extreme or another. I understand where they are coming from, but what some people need to realize is that I mean no ill will toward him and I do still love him and I absolutely do not want to hear negative talk about him. On the other end, I wish some people would understand how hard it is for me, too. He's not the only victim. He's not the only one suffering. I have been through hell the past three years. I have tried my best to be strong for everyone and do the right thing for everyone else. May sound selfish, but it is time for me to take care of myself. There is a reason the airlines tell adults to put on their mask first before assisting others. I have been doing too much damage to myself by always trying to meet other's needs first. I'm tired of feeling guilty for letting others down. Does anyone ever feel guilty for letting me down?
Anyway, I digress...
One thing that has been a tremendous help in getting me out of my depression is a book called Greater by Steven Furtick. I am only half way through, but it has truly blessed me. The first part was about burning my plow. Before Elisha left and followed Elijah, he made his living with a plow and oxen. He did not just get up and leave, but he first destroyed any evidence of his old life. He burned the plow and killed the oxen.
I struggled in prayer for a while trying to figure out what my plow is. Then, God gave me the answer. I am my plow. I always get in my own way, try to orchestrate events instead of trusting in God. I act on my own ability and not on faith.
How do I burn my plow? I cannot physically get rid of myself. The answer is simple. Trust in God and stop trying to make things happen. If I don't know what to do, do nothing. The answer is simple, yet so very hard. The next section in the book made this whole idea click.
"A big dream without a small start is nothing but a daydream." I must take small steps. If I want to be a writer, I must take small steps. If I want to get healthier, I must take small steps. If I want a better relationship with God, I must take small steps.
I have not made small steps in writing yet. Writing is a little difficult with my sore wrist. My blog and work do help me stay creative some and does keep me writing until I am ready to take a small step in another direction.
Small steps have gotten me out of bed in the morning when I don't feel like going to work out. It has become my mantra. "Small step," I tell myself before climbing out of bed. I know what that small statement means, how profound the impact of one early morning workout means.
I went to the Subway shop in the same building as my oncologist before leaving yesterday. I ordered a flat bread sandwich. When trying to decide what to drink: coke, tea, fruit punch, Sprite Zero "small step" I said to myself and chose the Sprite.
Small steps keep me from obsessing about the impossibility of reaching for the big dreams. I want to get back down to 140 at least. I would love to get down to 130, the goal I had set for myself before I got sick. Thinking of 27 pounds seems like an impossible dream. Thinking of 27 pounds is enough to make me want to give up. Thinking about the small step, the choice to be made at any one given moment is doable. Sure, I will and have failed, but I simply start over with the next small step.
The same is true in my relationship with God. It is hard to pray or read the Bible sometimes. Small step. I commit to reading just one chapter. I commit to talking to God while walking from my car to the gym. Small steps sometimes lead to bigger steps.
It has also worked with Brad...although this has been the hardest challenge. I wake up feeling broken hearted. Focus on the day, this one task in front of me. Small step. I want to go to him. I want to go to his family and check up on him. I know I can't right now. I talk to God instead. Small step. I feel depressed thinking I may never see him again. I made the choice to move on, but it still hurts. I want to go straight to bed after work. Instead of isolating myself, I go sit and watch television with Morgan or read a book to take my mind off of him. Small step.
Since taking on this mantra and living by those simple words, I notice that I have been happier than I have been in a very, very long time. I still struggle, but things don't stress me out as easily as they have in the past. It's like the weight of what I should do or should be is off. Small steps.
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