H&P #10 + Meeting with Dr. F

Nothing like flying home from vacation and waking up the next morning for cancer treatments!  It was a rough week earlier, as I had some kind of bug, which caused diarrhea, vomiting, and major fatigue.  That was before I came home!  I barely had time to get adjusted to being home before I turned around to drop the boys off and head to the clinic.  By now, I've built up a bit of an immunity to Benadryl, but I succumbed to the tired feeling and slept the entire time I had treatment this week.  (That's why I'm a few days late on writing about it!)

I met with Dr. Fleener this time.  I don't always have a specific appointment with her; I just walk back to the treatment area.  She only needs to see me for specific concerns, or when it's time for more scans. (PET and an ECHO. )  We scheduled both for the first week of September, when all the boys are back in school.  I'm hopeful these will both just be routine, as there does not seem to be any symptoms causing a great deal of concern.  Still, I hate having to hold my breath every three-to-four months, hoping and praying that this is not the time it comes back.  I don't have to start another fight so soon.

For now, I live my life and pause every three weeks for maintenance treatment.  

The hardest part of all of this is just not knowing when cancer is coming back, feeling as if I'm living on a volcano, waiting for it to erupt.  As hard as I try not to, with each major life event, I wonder in the back of my head if it's the last time I'll experience that event.  Is this the last family picture I'll be in?  Is this my last summer vacation?  How many more birthdays or anniversaries or holidays will I make?  Will I have enough time to make enough memories that even my youngest will have great memories of me?  

A few weeks ago, I had one of those moments, when all the emotions of just how much of life I'll be missing out on overtook me.  I try not to dwell on the possibility of dying young, leaving my young family without a wife and a mom, but on that day those thoughts creeped in.  I was driving alone; I don't even remember where.  I just know that I was alone.  I was not necessarily pondering on anything in particular, when some sad thought popped in my head.  Even though I don't remember exactly what, it was probably about a baptism, or wedding, or grand baby I might never see.  

"It's not fair!" my inner voice screamed.  "These are thoughts I shouldn't even need to worry about having!  I don't want to worry about not being there to see so many important things in my kids' lives!"

"You'll see them." another voice whispered back.   

At this point, this answer was as if God was speaking straight to my heart.  

"Even if you're not here, you'll be there." (Meaning, I'll be able to be there for the big--and little--moments, even when I'm not present on earth.  I'll get to see them.)

I had to pull the car over to wipe the tears from my eyes. 

"But, they won't have me here.  I may get to witness those important days as an angel guiding over them, but I can't hold them when they cry, or be here on earth to care for them."

"It will be okay."

"But, how can it be okay?  If I'm not there,  it's not okay?  I can take comfort in being able to be with them in spirit, but it's not fair for them to grow up without a mother!"

"It will be okay."

The tears stopped.  As if some part of me finally accepted it all....REALLY accepted it, that no matter how this all turns out, it really will be okay.      

I don't know how it will all be okay, but it will be okay.  That does not mean it won't be hard, or there won't be things that we all miss out on, or that we wouldn't want life to work out differently in a perfect world.  But, in ways that I can't completely plan out, God will make up the difference.    

So, even though I'm not always happy about cancer or treatments or not being able to do all the things I want to do, it will be okay.  And, when I can accept that whatever happens will be okay, I begin to see that my "okay" is actually quite a lot to be grateful for.

One Year Mark

I remember it all:  The call to come in for results...the thought that Dr. O could just give the papers to Stephen at work; it was a pain for me to get childcare and go all the way to his office to be told the scans found hairline fractures....the urgency in which I was fit into the obviously busy schedule....not going into the normal exam room....Dr. O joining me much quicker than before.  I was prepared to hear ideas of how we would be able to get my pain under control.

"The scans revealed hairline fractures in your back, but they also found something more concerning."  (The awful pit in my stomach and the tears and fears overtaking my emotions and spilling out my eyes.)
"There are metastatic lesions in your spine and other bones."
 (Knowing what it meant, but hoping it wasn't the "C" word.)  "What does this mean?"
"Cancer is back."

 I sent a "call me ASAP" text to Stephen; he called within seconds.  (I never have emergencies.)
I explained that I was at Dr. O's office, getting results.
"I was just at work with him.  Why couldn't he tell me then?"
"My cancer is back."

The world slowed down almost to a stop, as if both of us were fighting for the last breath left on earth.

"I'll be right there."
                                                                 ***********

I still don't believe that Cancer is now my life.  When the darkness fell the first time, I was told, "This will be the worst year of your life, but you'll beat it.  You'll get back to living.  You're a fighter."

I fought.  I beat it.

It came back.

Now, cancer is just part of me.   I'm a survivor, but I'm now faced with a lifetime of fighting.  I will continue to beat cancer every day of my life.  Some days are easy, others are less than perfect, and some I just want to sleep through and wake up from what must be a terrible nightmare.  But, every day that I wake up with good health is a day I continue to fight.  

There are stories of heroes in history that inspire us to reach beyond what we once thought possible.  In some ways, my own little world of fighting cancer has been able to reach out to others. I have found great purpose in this trial.  Cancer is terrible;  I don't wish it on anyone, but I have seen how my example of surviving the storm has given light to others.  My story is your story.  Where I discuss cancer, you can fill in your own cross to carry.  Where I see the light in the darkness, you might learn to seek your own silver linings.

One year ago today, my world changed forever.  I will never have freedom from cancer, but I choose to not be in bondage to the disease.  My fight includes bringing courage and gratitude into a world full of doubt and frustration.  If I can help free others from the burden of their own battles, I will have won.  The difficulty of carrying the weight of cancer on my shoulders becomes lighter as I see how I am strengthened to withstand.  I have hope that cancer won't win, as I only allow it to bring me down when I give up faith and refuse to see the blessings in each moment of every day.

H&P #9

Summer is flying by, especially when you keep track by my three-week timeline of treatments.  Nothing much to report today.
Dr. F did prescribe a new drug to try to see if it can give me some relief from my allergic reaction to what we can only assume is in response to my maintenance drugs.  The reaction was especially annoying this cycle.  Here's a reminder of the ugly, itchy, red bumps.

On a positive note, my hair has grown enough that I was able to get some highlights and a haircut!  I also realized it's been awhile since I last posted the photos!

April-May

June-July 3

It's summer, and I'm kicking cancer's butt in shorts and sandals.  Seeing my 4th of July toes reminds me how grateful I am to live in this country and to have the availability of doctors and care that I do.  I am very blessed!

























Because of vacation, I won't be back until August, which will be my last treatment until school starts again!  Slow down, SUMMER!!!!

H&P #8...Take Two

I recently spoke at a local women's conference.  My topic was, "How to Find Silver Linings in Even the Darkest Skies."  This was right up my alley, as this very idea has become one of my mottos in life.  During my first cancer battle, I made a goal to become more grateful and to notice and give gratitude for even the smallest blessings.  I also began learning to follow the phrase, "when life gives you lemons, make lemonade."  I used to think that finding the silver linings in life was synonymous with making lemonade out of lemons, but I now see at least two major differences.   

First, when certain trials hit, it can seem nearly impossible to turn the sour into sweet.  As my sister-in-law so clearly explained once, "when a truckload of lemons is dumped on you unexpectedly, it's hard enough to just dig your way out and find air to breathe.  How can you possibly start making lemonade, if you are so overwhelmed by being trapped in a pile of lemons that you can't even get to the kitchen?"  I loved this new take on the lemons to lemonade concept.  She's right.  Certain trials are so overwhelming that just surviving in the midst of them is the most a person can do.  When you are doing your best to not become completely consumed by the lemons of life, but you still have no "lemonade" to show for your efforts, is it possible that you might still be making the best of a bad situation?  Yes!  It is quite possible, indeed!  

Often, optimism during the most difficult times is not as simple as just taking the bad and making something good out of it.  Making lemonade out of the lemons of life is not a simple one-step process.  It takes time.  Finding silver linings---staying humble and full of gratitude, even during trials---is something that can be done in the meantime.  It is possible to take life's lemons and be grateful that they aren't heavier, or be happy that the lemons' yellow hue is reminisicent of the brightness of the sun, that you know how you got your lemons, that you have a bag to help carry the lemons, or that someone has come by to help.  Even if you can't turn the sour points of life into lemonade right away,  you can learn how to recognize blessings and slowly work your way to the kitchen, or at least dig out, breathe, and start carrying the lemons you've been given.

Another difference, you're not always going to be able to turn your lemons into lemonade.  Sometimes, you will always be stuck with lemons.  You might have sugar, a juicer, a pitcher, and other necessities required to change this sour fruit into a refreshingly sweet beverage, but there are certain lemons that will always stay lemons.  How can a person make sweetness out of sour if the sour never goes away?  It is possible to find the sweetness in life even if your lemons never change to lemonade?  Yes!  

Lemons themselves have other uses than just lemonade.  Use lemons with water, or to accompany and flavor seafood.  The zest can give a brightness to many dishes.  Lemons can aid in cleaning.  These are only a few ways to use a lemon that don't involve lemonade.  When you are unable to change your trials, there are still ways to find joy in life.  You might have to learn how to keep on living, keep on finding the things for which you can be grateful, even when the bitterness of life doesn't change to sweet.  

Both "lemons to lemonade" and "silver linings" teach optimism amidst trials.  The thing we forget to notice is that we might never taste the lemonade in this life, and we might never truly see a sky without dark clouds.  The truest gratitude and most positive outlook is to learn to understand that even when there seems to be no hope, there is always hope.  Even when trials seem unbearable, there is a way made that you may bear them.  Even if all we can see is darkness, there is always light.  Sometimes, faith in that Light is the only thing that can help us weather the storms.  

I will never be able to rid my life of cancer.  Unfortunately, cancer is a lemon that I won't ever be able to make completely sweet.  However, I'm able to use this platform to inspire others, to share my experiences, and to be a voice for believing in miracles.  Even though I can't turn all of these lemons into lemonade, I can bring sweetness into my life and the lives of others.

Silver linings are those moments of tender mercy when we are able to see the light through the storm, when we are given glimpses of the great love God has for each of us.  Some of life's storms are never over.   Some of life's lemons cannot turn to lemonade.  However, if we keep pressing on, we know that it is possible to survive, even through the storms and even though some lemons will always just been lemons.  It is possible to have faith that even when we can't calm the storm or sweeten the sour, there is One who can and does in small and simple ways.  Instead of trying to change the trials that are guaranteed to accompany mortality, is is our job to find the blessings that accompany the challenges.  Often, knowing that we are loved, that we are constantly blessed, and that there is a chance that things could change is all it takes to keep going one more day.             

Herceptin & Perjeta #8......Take One

I was supposed to have a treatment today. I got up and got my boys ready and packed to go to a friend's house. I drove to the Cancer Center and waited for my turn. I chose my chair and made myself comfortable. Then, I was told that there was a mistake and someone forgot to order my Perjeta. 

So....now we get to turn around and try this all again on Friday. They told me I could bring the boys, but thankfully, my friend offered to watch them again.  

Best laid plans. 

Leave it to Fleener--H&P #7

Back at it again.  

Coming back from Hawaii has been hard. Just returning to life away from the beach is less than perfect, but in the week we came home, I had chemo, cub scouts pinewood derby (kill me now), child-made plumbing issues, a child who choked on a rock and required the heimlich, a women's conference speech to prepare and give, all with many LOONG days of work for Stephen, which put me as mostly a single parent.  In the last few weeks, there have been a wave of end-of-year school activities, a quick, 3-day trip out of town, a dermatologist appoint, the usual soccer practices and games, as well as an attempt to rearrange and deep clean my house.  Basically, I feel like I've barely been keeping my head above water, so it's been difficult to even think about updating this blog (or our family one, for that matter.)  

If there's one thing I've learned about fighting cancer, it's that life most certainly does not slow down to accommodate that fight.  We have to step up and meet it, realizing that there will be things that will fall aside or slip through the cracks.  It's true that no one can do everything, but somehow all the important things get done. 

I met with Dr. Fleener today.  She was excited that I'm still in remission (and somewhat annoyed that the reports said, only "stable."  Cancer patients need to hear that they are in remission. )  My ECHO is still normal, as well.  At this point, she is very happy with how I have responded to chemo and how I am still remaining "stable."  It's hard to believe I'm coming up on a year since this all came back again!  But, she is positive that I'll make it to a year this time, and that's a BIG milestone for metastatic disease.  She was describing several of her other patients that are in similar situations as I am.  There really isn't a lot of information available on the use of Herceptin and Perjeta beyond three years, and she has several patients beyond that stage.  These are meant for use with lifelong maintenance, but most of those "life-long" timetables don't last beyond a few years.  It's fun being somewhat of a lab rat, but comforting that I'm not her only rat!  You just never know what's around the corner!  

I never dreamed I'd have cancer at age 33.  

I thought my battle was behind me when I reached my first year in remission.

I certainly never expected to have to start fighting again so soon since the last battle.  

However, I'm still here.  I'm still fighting.  I still matter, and life goes on.  

Yes, there are hard days.  There are times when I fear.  There are times when I am sad and angry and questioning.   I get nervous about aches and pains that pop up and question when cancer's storm cloud will actually begin storming once more.  There are days when I cry long, heavy tears, weeping for the unknown, for my family, for how long we have before they will have to go on without me, for this burden we all carry at all.  When I do have these days, I then get even more upset at myself for allowing the fear and doubts to creep in and overtake the peace and comfort that has blessed my life many times before.  Guilt over shrinking can make the pain that much more difficult.  

Then, I come across words that must have been written just for me:  

    

EMBRACE THE LIFE YOU HAVE.  I would rather be known for doing as much good with the time I have been given than for only grieving what could have been.  If I could go back, surely I would choose to not have cancer.  However, if that meant having to deal with some other tragedy, one for which I was even less prepared, I'm not sure I would make a trade.   Who knows why we must walk these difficult paths.  Who knows if there were choices in the past that led us to these exact points in the future.  All we can know if that we can embrace each moment, trust that every day of life is truly a gift, one in which we are expected to do and become better than we were the day before.  

As Dr. Fleener counseled me:  "You never know what the next summer [or month, season, etc.] will bring.  So, play this summer.  Soak it all in.  Do as much as you feel up to doing."  That pretty much sums up how I plan to embrace my life in the coming months.  

Still kicking'!  

PET Scan

I was not looking forward to this round of scans AT ALL.  I cried.  I complained.  I did not want to go!  I was especially not looking forward to the 24-hour diet of ONLY lean protein and green veggies.  And by "only," I mean...ONLY.  No juice, no toast, no potatoes.  No rice, pasta, or tortillas.  Avoid all sugar, all fruits, all fruit juices, raisins, beats, cantaloupe, cereal, breads, carrots, corn, kidney beans, pretzels, chips, granola, oatmeal, pasta, peas, yams, sodas, etc.  Only drink water.  Even though I was not happy about my limited food choices, I did it.  Then, in the 23rd hour, I received a phone call explaining that the PET scans were broken.  They thought a power outage had fried the computer motherboard.  Regardless of the issue, I would not be having my scheduled scans.  "Go have a glass of wine.  Eat some ice cream," the tech told me.  Well, that would have been information useful to me BEFORE I'd gone through the diet to almost the full amount.  There was no telling when the repairs would be complete, so she would call back to reschedule.

Thankfully, the machines were back up and I was able to get the first appointment of Thursday morning, May 5.  And, because I'd already eaten breakfast that day, I would not have to go another 24 hours of the diet!

That morning, I got up and going early, got Evan to a friend's house, so he would s

till get to school on time, and headed to the appointment.  I was there before the chemo nurses, but was still able to convince the tech to let me ask one of the nurses to access my port, even though we were cutting it close on time.

Once I had port access, I got the dose of radioactive isotopes and waited for them to make their way through my body.

Then, I was in and out, without a problem!

That stuff makes me tired, but gets out of my system fairly quickly by drinking lots of water and eliminating it that way.

Stephen told me he ran into Dr. Fleener at lunch that day.  "I haven't seen you forever!" she told him.  When she asked how things were going, Stephen told her that I was really worried about these scans. She then assured him that she would make a point to get the results THAT DAY.  "Have Melodee call the office by 4:30, if she hasn't heard from us."  What a relief it is to have a doctor that goes above and beyond.

While I was waiting to pick up kids from school, the office called to tell me the results.

"Your results are stable."  was how it was explained.

A little unsure about that terminology, I asked, "That's good, right?"

"Yes!  It means there is no evidence of disease. "


With a sigh of relief, I hung up the phone.  I'm now able to breath a little easier for another 3-4 months!