I know I've been away for two weeks. I needed to focus my energies on many other things.
Christmas bore down on my like a fast-moving train. Relatives came and went. We came and went. Meals were cooked and eaten and praised and packed into little plastic containers for another day. Tiny white lights made each evening a wonderland of respite in my house. Fires were going most of the day in the fireplace. Norman Rockwell was alive and present in Trinity.
And somewhere in between all the hustle and bustle; the music and joy; the praise and heart warmth, I managed to have two small lesions burned away in my brain by a Cyberknife and my liver biopsied for ER/PR hormonal confirmation of my original cancer pathology.
It's been quite the fourteen days. I couldn't write about it all because I had to keep each day and each separate event in its own little box until it was time to pull it out and deal with it.
But I found that God was sitting in a big comfy chair in my house, covering my family with love and faithfulness. Reassuring me of more Christmases to come. Loving me, encouraging me, never leaving my side...not for a minute. And all the while, we honored His son, the Greatest Gift of all.
2009 is two days away....a mere 48 hours. How did this happen so quickly? Through faith and medicine, strength and wisdom, truth and trust............mostly through love. Love I have for the Lord, my family, my friends, my medical family, for my life...good, bad, scary or easy.
During my last appointment of the year with Maha, she said something to me that snapped me right out of the stress of the holiday and the medical procedures that were waiting for me the last two weeks. In absolute calmness and confidence, she said, "you should go to San Antonio
next year." San Antonio....National Breast Cancer Symposium...where all development, data and hope comes together for the previous twelve months. "I should go to San Antonio" translated immediately to "you will be able to go to San Antonio" Twelve months away....another entire year of living and loving and trying our best to keep the beast at bay.
I'm ready...so ready. I am fixing my eyes on the future and I am so grateful to be taking all of you with me! Are you all ready to go??? Well then, hang on for the ride of my life.
"For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us and eternal glory that far outweighs them all." 2 Cor 4:17
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Monday, December 15, 2008
Hooray for me, I'm 53!
Today is my birthday. Another year, another milestone, another VICTORY! We have kept the enemy at bay. Even though evil lurks constantly in the background, and every so often, something wicked this way comes, we have managed to pull off another 365 days in the life of me. It is 10 days before Christmas and 17 days before the first day of 2009. I woke up this morning pain-free again, fairly clear-headed and ready to focus on the next set of tasks at hand.
I am increasingly encouraged by my recovery from all the ugliness of November, my lack of any symptoms defying what the last set of numbers wanted to tell us. God's grace is truly upon us all.
To those of you who know me, who know what this past year has been like....to those of you in my boat.....I cannot say thank you enough. Thank you for another great birthday gift. Thank you for another wild, wonderful, sometimes scary year to live. Thank you for believing, right along with me that we had a lot of things to do, a lot of life to live, a lot of love to give to one another. It was your faith in me that kept my head above water. It was your acknowledgement of my faith in my Lord that allowed me to let miracles work in my life all the time. It was your love for me that made even the worst of days and darkest of times bearable.
Tonight, I will be having a birthday dinner with my husband and daughter at Maggiones' in Durham. We will have some champagne and eat great food. And you can be sure we will be lifting our glasses in a toast for my birthday. Even though it will be just the three of us sitting there, everyone who has been in my boat will be there in our minds, in our hearts, in our souls. God and all of you, raising a glass for me.
Cheers! My cup runneth over.
I am increasingly encouraged by my recovery from all the ugliness of November, my lack of any symptoms defying what the last set of numbers wanted to tell us. God's grace is truly upon us all.
To those of you who know me, who know what this past year has been like....to those of you in my boat.....I cannot say thank you enough. Thank you for another great birthday gift. Thank you for another wild, wonderful, sometimes scary year to live. Thank you for believing, right along with me that we had a lot of things to do, a lot of life to live, a lot of love to give to one another. It was your faith in me that kept my head above water. It was your acknowledgement of my faith in my Lord that allowed me to let miracles work in my life all the time. It was your love for me that made even the worst of days and darkest of times bearable.
Tonight, I will be having a birthday dinner with my husband and daughter at Maggiones' in Durham. We will have some champagne and eat great food. And you can be sure we will be lifting our glasses in a toast for my birthday. Even though it will be just the three of us sitting there, everyone who has been in my boat will be there in our minds, in our hearts, in our souls. God and all of you, raising a glass for me.
Cheers! My cup runneth over.
Friday, December 12, 2008
High Maintenance Girl
High Maintenance Girl....HMG.....a title we have always reserved for my daughter. She's an only child who demanded attention and got it all through her growing years. She has a taste for expensive purses, designer shoes, clothes from Nordstrom, European cars. She's been a privilege to raise, albeit and expensive undertaking. She is the best thing I've ever done, HMG and all.
I began to wonder on Wednesday if I was becoming a HMG myself. I have always prided myself on being independent, confident, positive, and focused. As my journey this fall into the world of chronic pain has evolved, I suddenly find myself doubtful, distracted, dependent, and dare I say it, weepy and weak. This was brought into full bloom by a reaction I had to a pain patch I was
giving a try. I put the patch on my shoulder on Tuesday, ready for the 24-hour adjustment period, ready to be pain-free, ready for no worries. Wednesday morning, by 10:00 a.m., I was
knocked to my knees by the strength of this patch, suddenly out of control, nauseous, disoriented, barely able to lift myself off the sofa, feeling like I could not breathe......scared and alone.
My one lifeline? A cell phone call to the triage nurses on Asheville Avenue. I needed reassurance, I needed advice, I needed someone to tell me it was going to be all right, that the symptoms would soon end. I called twice in one day. I was reduced to a frightened, blubbering mess while I waited for Janet to call me back to tell me what to do. And I was, in a way, ashamed that I had to bother all of them, with my inability to handle the situation. I felt like a turtle who had been flipped on its back....soft underbelly showing....vulnerability bright white for all to see.
Now that the patch is off; now that the 8 hours of hell it took to get the opiate out of my system are over; now that I am feeling very close to normal; and now that my pain issues are minor and seemed to have improved greatly since my first round of Taxotere, (is that possible?) I can
look back on Wednesday, a day lost in a drugged nightmare, and know one thing. I do not ever
want to be a HMG when it comes to my medical care. I don't like bothering the girls. I don't like clinging to a cell phone, waiting for instructions, I don't like letting Jan hear my voice crack. confessing my fear and telling Janet that I had been reduced to crying on the sofa. And I don't like showing the underside of my belly. And I want them all to know that it takes a lot....a whole lot of bad....for me to pick up that phone and call. Because I want them all to think of me as the strong one, upright in her journey, certain of her path, confident in the decisions we all make together.
I never, ever want to be their high maintenance girl.
"For the Lord gives wisdom, and from his mouth come knowledge and understanding. He holds victory in store for the upright...." Proverbs 2:6-7
I began to wonder on Wednesday if I was becoming a HMG myself. I have always prided myself on being independent, confident, positive, and focused. As my journey this fall into the world of chronic pain has evolved, I suddenly find myself doubtful, distracted, dependent, and dare I say it, weepy and weak. This was brought into full bloom by a reaction I had to a pain patch I was
giving a try. I put the patch on my shoulder on Tuesday, ready for the 24-hour adjustment period, ready to be pain-free, ready for no worries. Wednesday morning, by 10:00 a.m., I was
knocked to my knees by the strength of this patch, suddenly out of control, nauseous, disoriented, barely able to lift myself off the sofa, feeling like I could not breathe......scared and alone.
My one lifeline? A cell phone call to the triage nurses on Asheville Avenue. I needed reassurance, I needed advice, I needed someone to tell me it was going to be all right, that the symptoms would soon end. I called twice in one day. I was reduced to a frightened, blubbering mess while I waited for Janet to call me back to tell me what to do. And I was, in a way, ashamed that I had to bother all of them, with my inability to handle the situation. I felt like a turtle who had been flipped on its back....soft underbelly showing....vulnerability bright white for all to see.
Now that the patch is off; now that the 8 hours of hell it took to get the opiate out of my system are over; now that I am feeling very close to normal; and now that my pain issues are minor and seemed to have improved greatly since my first round of Taxotere, (is that possible?) I can
look back on Wednesday, a day lost in a drugged nightmare, and know one thing. I do not ever
want to be a HMG when it comes to my medical care. I don't like bothering the girls. I don't like clinging to a cell phone, waiting for instructions, I don't like letting Jan hear my voice crack. confessing my fear and telling Janet that I had been reduced to crying on the sofa. And I don't like showing the underside of my belly. And I want them all to know that it takes a lot....a whole lot of bad....for me to pick up that phone and call. Because I want them all to think of me as the strong one, upright in her journey, certain of her path, confident in the decisions we all make together.
I never, ever want to be their high maintenance girl.
"For the Lord gives wisdom, and from his mouth come knowledge and understanding. He holds victory in store for the upright...." Proverbs 2:6-7
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
This week in December
This week in December:
I started back on Taxotere/Xeloda. My old friends from 2004
I am through with radiation in a strange place and back to the home front on Asheville Ave.
We are back to trying to figure out how to bring the marker down.
Another year has gone by since the days of Ixempra as a last, best hope.
I will have to change my profile on this blog to say "53 years old."
I will be seven years out from a transplant.
My bones are in bad shape, but everything else seems fairly manageable.
We are examining gamma knives, hormone shots, numbness in my hand.
Maha is off to San Antonio, to the National Breast Cancer Symposium. I know I will be on her mind...a little gnawing voice in the back of her head, demanding attention, wanting her to find another back up plan, and better yet, a world of possibilities.
My daughter starts her first set of senior exams...college almost done.
My Christmas tree will be decorated, presents wrapped, house full of little lights.
The days will be filled with food , fun and family.
And, as so many years before, this week in December will be interspersed with medical information, scans, hopes, prayers, gratefulness, tearful moments, snapshots of life, still going by, still being lived, still being watched over by the grace of God.....still mine, creating memories
to last us all a lifetime.
And, as always, what can I possibly say to thank all those who got me here, who keep me here.
I love you all more than you could ever know.
I started back on Taxotere/Xeloda. My old friends from 2004
I am through with radiation in a strange place and back to the home front on Asheville Ave.
We are back to trying to figure out how to bring the marker down.
Another year has gone by since the days of Ixempra as a last, best hope.
I will have to change my profile on this blog to say "53 years old."
I will be seven years out from a transplant.
My bones are in bad shape, but everything else seems fairly manageable.
We are examining gamma knives, hormone shots, numbness in my hand.
Maha is off to San Antonio, to the National Breast Cancer Symposium. I know I will be on her mind...a little gnawing voice in the back of her head, demanding attention, wanting her to find another back up plan, and better yet, a world of possibilities.
My daughter starts her first set of senior exams...college almost done.
My Christmas tree will be decorated, presents wrapped, house full of little lights.
The days will be filled with food , fun and family.
And, as so many years before, this week in December will be interspersed with medical information, scans, hopes, prayers, gratefulness, tearful moments, snapshots of life, still going by, still being lived, still being watched over by the grace of God.....still mine, creating memories
to last us all a lifetime.
And, as always, what can I possibly say to thank all those who got me here, who keep me here.
I love you all more than you could ever know.
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