I'm back, but not in the greatest of moods. I'm a little angry today. Angry with my body, angry with it for betraying me. I feel betrayed every time I look in the mirror. I feel like I have been on a roller coaster ride since having baby Sam back in July. A non-stop merry-go-round of curves and spins and tilts and whirls that I have had no control over, but have clung on to the ride for dear life.
For those of you that don't know, Sam was born on July 22 naturally, but aspirated meconium while in the womb. Long and short of it, he ingested his own bowel movement, which can be like a caustic burn to a newborns lungs. I watched in horror that night as he was whisked away from me and placed under oxygen, all while struggling to breathe. I didn't get the joy of putting him to my chest, I had to bond with him on a warming table with tubes and monitors coming out of every direction from him. Everyone assured me that his case was very minor, but that it had to run its course. But nothing prepares you for seeing your baby boy that you have carried safely inside you for 9 months, all of a sudden at the mercy of machines with bells and whistles going off when you are trying to have a tender moment with him.
Sam was hooked up to oxygen, monitors, and an IV for almost a week. I held him for all of two minutes before he was whisked away to the special care unit of the nursery. When they wheeled me over to his nursery two hours later, I trembled and quaked as I sobbed over his little body that was under what looked like a cake plate, with his chest racing to breathe. The nurses held me, Bill held me, everyone assured me he would be fine, but I wasn't prepared for this, was I?
We spent a week in the hospital, taking two steps forward then one step back. All the while, my body and mind were sleep-deprived and trying to recover from anxiety of childbirth. I ached to bring my baby home, to have him away from the monitors, the bells and whistles, to have him in my arms away from the fluorescent lights of the special care unit. It felt like a nightmare I would never wake from. Bill and I stayed in this little hospital room for seven days trying to keep our spirits up, and trying to bring our baby home.
Finally a week later, we were able to bring him home and as I rejoiced and put Sam in his going home outfit, he projectile vomited all over me and the room. I was told I had just overfed him probably, but little did we know that again, we were in for another trauma.
We had Sammy home for almost 7 weeks by the time we got the other diagnosis. I, at this point, had barely slept, had seen my doctor for anxiety more than once, and was convinced I was a failure at being a mother. I couldn't seem to recover. I was exhausted and Sam was an easy baby. He was just projectile vomiting on occasion, but it was enough to scare me. I mentioned his vomiting at one of his follow-up visits and my amazing doctor, suggested that we have him checked for pyloric stenosis. Feeling that we were just airing on the side of caution, we took him to Upstate for a sonogram. Sam was perfect for the sonogram, even cooed at the tech. But she came back with devastating news, he had pyloric stenosis and we were being admitted at that moment for emergency surgery.
My mind raced. I thought we had gone through the eye of the storm and come out the other side? Now here we were, being wheeled into the children's hospital and being hooked up to the dreaded monitors again. My stomach ached and my heart hurt. How could my baby being going through more issues? Was I a bad mom? Was my anxiety truly telling? How would I ever sleep again without good drugs? My mom and Bill and Dad held me up again through this ordeal. As they carried my baby boy out of my arms and down the hall to operating room for "routine" surgery on a 7-week-old, I crumbled. I just sobbed, uncontrollably, for only a few moments. Then waited for what seemed like an eternity in the waiting room for word from the doctor that he would be fine. When the doctor finally came in, I jumped on her to hug her in relief. But my insides were still not relieved. Again, I was feeling like I was on this spinning merry-go-round, and was unable to get off. Sam was fixed, but we had to stay another day for him to recover. The familiar monitors in the recovery room brought me back to the dreary days in the hospital after he was first born. I was transfixed on the numbers on the monitors, entranced by the bells and dread overtook me. We were here again. I was trying to
keep my baby safe and to be a good mother to him, and I was failing....again.
To me, it felt as if my insides were melting. My mind was playing tricks on me. I had barely slept in months now, despite the help of my parents, aunts, sisters, friends and husband. My mind carried on when I did sleep, and I had a nagging feeling that something wasn't right with me now. But how could we deal with another crisis? Maybe if I just got back to work, got back on some routine, my body and mind would go back on track too, and all would be well. I was supposed to head back to work on Nov. 4 at a new job in a new school and of course that brought its own fair share of anxiety. But the pain in my stomach got to be worrisome and I chalked it up to gallbladder issues due to my pregnancy. Just one more thing to deal with, but I was going to deal with it before I started work so I could start on a clean slate at a place I was looking forward to working at. I wanted to be back in a middle school and this school felt like home. My amazing doctor again, sent me for tests on my gallbladder. Those showed a healthy gallbladder but some abnormalities with my liver functions....however nothing to be alarmed about. I was to follow up with a GI doctor.
Well, the pain got increasingly worse, and sent me to the ER on my first day back to work, then back again and admitted the following week. After a week of testing and attempted testing due to my high blood pressure (which is a whole other blog entry), I was finally allowed to go home with hardly any answers other than my liver was enlarged and it could be a number of things. A liver biopsy would be the only way to get answers and it took me 10 days to get one because of my blood pressure.
When I took Sam in for his four-month check-up, that amazing doctor had to deliver me the devastating news. She told me the news was not good, that there were several malignancies in my liver and possibly in my breast and that she had set up multiple appointments for me the next day, including with an oncologist. The words all just whizzed through my ears. All I heard was malignancies, and I started blubbering. This was it, my drive to the doctor's office would be the last time I did something without cancer on my mind. It was the last ride of innocence for me. The last time I sang a song carefree and didn't listen for the message in the song. The last time I looked at the trees and thought of them as monotonous and tedious. Now I wouldn't take anything for granted. The fresh air, the singing of birds, the cry of my baby in the night. All things I wanted to experience every day in every way...because I had cancer now and this changed everything.
So that is how I got to today. I've had two rounds of chemo now, two shots, met with doctors, had multiple blood draws, had a port implanted, pulled my hair out, shaved my hair off. I have lived a lot in these past few weeks and if you add the events from July and September to the trek, you can probably understand why I feel betrayed by my body.
I look in the mirror and I don't like what I see. A body that is bloated from chemo, stretch marks that haven't gone away from months of pregnancy, scars from a port on my chest that are healing slowly, and my hair shorn into a GI Jane cut that I hate despite however many people tell me I look beautiful. I don't look beautiful, at least not to me. I look tired, I look beat, I look like I have seen better days. My shorn hair is three different colors, my glasses don't seem to be working as well, and most days I dress myself in a Betty White track suit and call it a day. I just can't seem to muster the energy to put the pretty into me. But as I look at these scars, the shorn hair, the stretch marks, I am reminded of how hard I have fought these past five months to keep my sanity, to be a good mother, to have a healthy baby who thrives now. My anxiety, while annoying, led me to taking care of both my baby and myself. They say always trust a woman's, a mother's intuition. And it's true.
My body and my mind may have betrayed me in this whole journey and worn me out in every way shape or form, however it has also awakened me in ways I never would have imagined. I'm trying to look at this journey as one of rebirth instead of betrayal. One where I get a second-chance to smell the roses, I get the fire I need to do what I love (write), I get the time to enjoy every giggle and coo from my baby boy. I may be exhausted and a little less for the wear, but I'm here and I'm doing it...and I've got this.
We Got This!
Me and the husband
Monday, December 30, 2013
Saturday, December 28, 2013
Inappropriate Laughter and Bulls in the China Shop
I realize it has been a day or so since I reached out to all of you. A lot has happened in these last few days that I have wanted to write about, but I started my second round of chemo and it wiped me out yesterday and today. I almost didn't get on here today, but I missed you all and feel like I owe it to you to keep you updated! Just so you don't worry!
I went to Brittonfield on Thursday after Christmas with my sister and Bill. It was my first time at the HemOc center getting chemo, so I had to get the lay of the land. I told you all about that, look chemo brain is kicking in!
Anyway, I promised you good stories from my trip with Jimmy and Mary, and I will not fail you. Jimmy and Mary have been friend with me for almost 15 years. We have been part of a group of friends that has the best of times together and I am finding really rallies when the worst of times come around. If you are not part of our inner circle and try to keep with us during one of our raucous dinner story exchanges, good luck! You end up feeling like a ping pong ball being bounced around the table trying to keep up with nicknames, inside jokes, and stories that don't end because we all erupt in laughter knowing the ending for ourselves.
This group has had our share of ups and downs. We've fought, cried together, lost parents, grandparents, been there for eachother through other health struggles and come through the other side with our humor in check. These are the people I want to surround myself with during this difficult time. They keep me being myself. They can say that I can't use "cancer" for an excuse all the time, and make me laugh about it.
Jimmy and Mary are part of this crowd and they pulled out all the stops for our trip to chemo. Mary picked up basically every candy snack she could find at the Dollar General, bought candy canes for the nurses, and a bottle of water to keep me hydrated. Jimmy insisted on coffee from Bruegger's beforehand and came tromping out with three cookies, a rice crispie treat, two coffees and a fountain soda for yours truly. He promptly dumped coffee all over himself five minutes into the ride and I knew we were on our way.
You see, we can't do anything lightly, quietly, or carefully. This group is like a bull in a china shop, but it is the bull everyone wants to know. We are the ones you want to be laughing with and be in on the joke. Only this group could light up a chemo room.
When we got there, I knew the two of them would immediately be drawn to the "gift shop." I say "gift shop" because this tiny little shop carries scarves, tank tops, swimsuits for cancer patients....then there are the wigs. Mary loved the idea of the wigs attached to hats and I think was considering getting herself one.
Up on the floor, Jimmy immediately sat down and said "If there are needles, I'm going to faint." Who goes to chemo and doesn't think there will be needles involved. So then the stories started about how chemo went great today, just Jimmy was dragged out by ambulance. Of course they sat us next to a poor unsuspecting elderly couple who had no idea what they were getting themselves into. You see, chemo rooms are set up like an assembly line almost, and there is very little privacy. It's nice because you have your own tv and stuff, but it is pretty crammed tight. So this elderly man was getting his chemo and his wife was making some bizarre contraption with yarn that had all these circles. Jimmy was entranced. It only took a few moments before he had decided she was making him a dreamcatcher that was going to capture all his dreams!! Of course, as she was leaving, he couldn't resist, and asked her what on earth she was making. She dashed his "dreams" when she told him it was an Indian braided necklace.....he was not happy. "So no dream catcher? Damn."
The nurse hung my steroids and the two of them couldn't get enough of that. "Yeah, chemo went great today, Karen, except Jodie killed four of the nurses and ate their arms off." That was just one of the scenarios they came up with.
While we were there another patients pants dropped right behind us, as of course they only would. But Jimmy and Mary just took it in stride, "Oh, her trousers are down!" "Happens to the best of us."
And only Jimmy would go out and have a cigarette in the parking lot.
But now aren't you all wishing you had friends like Jimmy and Mary? People who could make two hours of chemo into two hours of debauchery and laughter? I'm so lucky to have people like them in my life. They keep me balanced. I can cry when I need to, but we all know me, and I thrive on laughter. If I didn't have that outlet...a reason to laugh....I would lose myself in this fight. They are keeping me on my toes, making sure my sense of humor remains in check. Not to mention the number of meals they have made us, the gifts they have given, and the benefit they are planning. I really can't thank them enough for all they have done.
Jimmy I kept your hot pepper story out of the blog, despite having your permission, because I like to keep this somewhat G-rated.
Have no fear everyone, I kept my roid rage in check and just cleaned the house and stayed up til 6 am. But that meant I crashed yesterday hard. And today I slept during chemo. But I got to see my nurses from when I was at Crouse (I had to do inpatient today because of the day and to keep me on schedule). It was great to see them and trade stories about my time in the Crouse Day Inn and Spa, as my great friend Amy called it.
I'm glad to be home, I am also glad to report I got my parents to go to the Jeff Dunham show that we got them tickets for for Dad's birthday. They are having a great time, and so are we, just chilling at home.
Here's to hoping you all have people in your corner that make you laugh and keep your fears at bay. Everyone deserves those people in their life, because with them on your team....You got this!
I went to Brittonfield on Thursday after Christmas with my sister and Bill. It was my first time at the HemOc center getting chemo, so I had to get the lay of the land. I told you all about that, look chemo brain is kicking in!
Anyway, I promised you good stories from my trip with Jimmy and Mary, and I will not fail you. Jimmy and Mary have been friend with me for almost 15 years. We have been part of a group of friends that has the best of times together and I am finding really rallies when the worst of times come around. If you are not part of our inner circle and try to keep with us during one of our raucous dinner story exchanges, good luck! You end up feeling like a ping pong ball being bounced around the table trying to keep up with nicknames, inside jokes, and stories that don't end because we all erupt in laughter knowing the ending for ourselves.
This group has had our share of ups and downs. We've fought, cried together, lost parents, grandparents, been there for eachother through other health struggles and come through the other side with our humor in check. These are the people I want to surround myself with during this difficult time. They keep me being myself. They can say that I can't use "cancer" for an excuse all the time, and make me laugh about it.
Jimmy and Mary are part of this crowd and they pulled out all the stops for our trip to chemo. Mary picked up basically every candy snack she could find at the Dollar General, bought candy canes for the nurses, and a bottle of water to keep me hydrated. Jimmy insisted on coffee from Bruegger's beforehand and came tromping out with three cookies, a rice crispie treat, two coffees and a fountain soda for yours truly. He promptly dumped coffee all over himself five minutes into the ride and I knew we were on our way.
You see, we can't do anything lightly, quietly, or carefully. This group is like a bull in a china shop, but it is the bull everyone wants to know. We are the ones you want to be laughing with and be in on the joke. Only this group could light up a chemo room.
When we got there, I knew the two of them would immediately be drawn to the "gift shop." I say "gift shop" because this tiny little shop carries scarves, tank tops, swimsuits for cancer patients....then there are the wigs. Mary loved the idea of the wigs attached to hats and I think was considering getting herself one.
Up on the floor, Jimmy immediately sat down and said "If there are needles, I'm going to faint." Who goes to chemo and doesn't think there will be needles involved. So then the stories started about how chemo went great today, just Jimmy was dragged out by ambulance. Of course they sat us next to a poor unsuspecting elderly couple who had no idea what they were getting themselves into. You see, chemo rooms are set up like an assembly line almost, and there is very little privacy. It's nice because you have your own tv and stuff, but it is pretty crammed tight. So this elderly man was getting his chemo and his wife was making some bizarre contraption with yarn that had all these circles. Jimmy was entranced. It only took a few moments before he had decided she was making him a dreamcatcher that was going to capture all his dreams!! Of course, as she was leaving, he couldn't resist, and asked her what on earth she was making. She dashed his "dreams" when she told him it was an Indian braided necklace.....he was not happy. "So no dream catcher? Damn."
The nurse hung my steroids and the two of them couldn't get enough of that. "Yeah, chemo went great today, Karen, except Jodie killed four of the nurses and ate their arms off." That was just one of the scenarios they came up with.
While we were there another patients pants dropped right behind us, as of course they only would. But Jimmy and Mary just took it in stride, "Oh, her trousers are down!" "Happens to the best of us."
And only Jimmy would go out and have a cigarette in the parking lot.
But now aren't you all wishing you had friends like Jimmy and Mary? People who could make two hours of chemo into two hours of debauchery and laughter? I'm so lucky to have people like them in my life. They keep me balanced. I can cry when I need to, but we all know me, and I thrive on laughter. If I didn't have that outlet...a reason to laugh....I would lose myself in this fight. They are keeping me on my toes, making sure my sense of humor remains in check. Not to mention the number of meals they have made us, the gifts they have given, and the benefit they are planning. I really can't thank them enough for all they have done.
Jimmy I kept your hot pepper story out of the blog, despite having your permission, because I like to keep this somewhat G-rated.
Have no fear everyone, I kept my roid rage in check and just cleaned the house and stayed up til 6 am. But that meant I crashed yesterday hard. And today I slept during chemo. But I got to see my nurses from when I was at Crouse (I had to do inpatient today because of the day and to keep me on schedule). It was great to see them and trade stories about my time in the Crouse Day Inn and Spa, as my great friend Amy called it.
I'm glad to be home, I am also glad to report I got my parents to go to the Jeff Dunham show that we got them tickets for for Dad's birthday. They are having a great time, and so are we, just chilling at home.
Here's to hoping you all have people in your corner that make you laugh and keep your fears at bay. Everyone deserves those people in their life, because with them on your team....You got this!
Thursday, December 26, 2013
My Posse, My Way!
Hey friends! Sorry I didn't post yesterday, but I was wiped out from the previous days' activities. Seems Christmas sucks the life out of you! But all was good, I had a wonderful couple of days, it was so worth it. Sam enjoyed watching us tearing open his presents, and he helped a little bit. Just a sweet time for everyone.
Today was the first day of my second round of chemo. I got to actually go to the HemOc center instead of being admitted to the hospital this time, so that was a tremendous advantage to this visit. I didn't have to worry about showing my undies through the fabulous hospital gown, or listening to my college neighbor making out with her boyfriend at the end of visiting hours! Score for me!
The HemOc nurses are seriously the sweetest. I swear that part of their interview process is they have to smile at all times. But not inappropriate, aggressive smiling like a newscaster. Smiling and meaning it. I even got FREE ANIMAL CRACKERS! HELLO! Awesome! In all seriousness, the people there are so caring of their empathy is so evident.
Looking around, I saw many people who didn't have a "posse" with them like I do at all times. It made me feel incredibly sad and very lucky at the same time. I couldn't imagine going through this fight alone. They sat in silence, their ports plugged into their IV poles, which isn't exactly the most practical thing to walk around with. At least I have someone with me to help me wind up the chord and make sure I don't rip my port out when I have to use the bathroom! (Although sometimes, two sets of hands is even more confusing and we end up looking like we are dancing with Ivy my IV). And we often end up just kinda staring at each other because that's just how we do. However, tomorrow I am going with two of my funniest friends Jimmy Monto and Mary Suehs.....I expect it to be wait for it.....EPIC. Tune in tomorrow for that story. It was just awful to see people who had to ride in a cab there or didn't have anyone to reassure them in their corner. It makes me want to share part of my posse. Spread my cheering section. Make them smile.
You see I have my husband holds my hand every night when we go to bed, just to me that hshow me he is there, not just tell me. My mom, bless her, works and still makes sure she is at my appointments and attempts to keep herself together and not break. It's ok to break sometimes, Mom I do it too. My dad, he can't stand to see any of this going on to his first baby. I know he cries when I'm not looking, and I understand why he can't go with me to chemo. But he helps by watching Sammy and having a good time with him. My sisters have taken multiple days off from work, driven hours with little sleep (Kathryn Mary) just to be by my side and holding my hand and to cry with me. Jamie bought me a karaoke machine that allows me to have fun and lifts the depression when I need a laugh. Kathryn has consulted with transplant doctors at Johns Hopkins just to try and fix me! My aunts, who check on me daily, tell me how proud of me they are, and how brave I am. My uncles who visited me in the hospital, hugged me tight and pray for me. My cousins, the ones I grew up with, and the ones who are older but still love me. They have kept me close in thought and cheered me on. And finally, my friends, near and far, ones I saw yesterday and ones I haven't seen since 1996, I have you all in my corner with your dukes up, ready to fight with me! Then there are the strangers, the ones that have learned of my fight through these friends, who are adding their prayers and positive thoughts to the chain across the nation and donating money to someone they haven't even met.
How do you repay all these acts of kindness, the empathy, the love that all of you have shown? I don't know the answer, other than to fight this great fight with everything I have. I will continue to sing (off-key of course) and dance and laugh my way out of this mess. I will still be me. I will not let this get me, or change my inside. As long as I have my posse behind me in spirit and in reality, I cannot be defeated. We got this, Team Jodie! We got this.
Today was the first day of my second round of chemo. I got to actually go to the HemOc center instead of being admitted to the hospital this time, so that was a tremendous advantage to this visit. I didn't have to worry about showing my undies through the fabulous hospital gown, or listening to my college neighbor making out with her boyfriend at the end of visiting hours! Score for me!
The HemOc nurses are seriously the sweetest. I swear that part of their interview process is they have to smile at all times. But not inappropriate, aggressive smiling like a newscaster. Smiling and meaning it. I even got FREE ANIMAL CRACKERS! HELLO! Awesome! In all seriousness, the people there are so caring of their empathy is so evident.
Looking around, I saw many people who didn't have a "posse" with them like I do at all times. It made me feel incredibly sad and very lucky at the same time. I couldn't imagine going through this fight alone. They sat in silence, their ports plugged into their IV poles, which isn't exactly the most practical thing to walk around with. At least I have someone with me to help me wind up the chord and make sure I don't rip my port out when I have to use the bathroom! (Although sometimes, two sets of hands is even more confusing and we end up looking like we are dancing with Ivy my IV). And we often end up just kinda staring at each other because that's just how we do. However, tomorrow I am going with two of my funniest friends Jimmy Monto and Mary Suehs.....I expect it to be wait for it.....EPIC. Tune in tomorrow for that story. It was just awful to see people who had to ride in a cab there or didn't have anyone to reassure them in their corner. It makes me want to share part of my posse. Spread my cheering section. Make them smile.
You see I have my husband holds my hand every night when we go to bed, just to me that hshow me he is there, not just tell me. My mom, bless her, works and still makes sure she is at my appointments and attempts to keep herself together and not break. It's ok to break sometimes, Mom I do it too. My dad, he can't stand to see any of this going on to his first baby. I know he cries when I'm not looking, and I understand why he can't go with me to chemo. But he helps by watching Sammy and having a good time with him. My sisters have taken multiple days off from work, driven hours with little sleep (Kathryn Mary) just to be by my side and holding my hand and to cry with me. Jamie bought me a karaoke machine that allows me to have fun and lifts the depression when I need a laugh. Kathryn has consulted with transplant doctors at Johns Hopkins just to try and fix me! My aunts, who check on me daily, tell me how proud of me they are, and how brave I am. My uncles who visited me in the hospital, hugged me tight and pray for me. My cousins, the ones I grew up with, and the ones who are older but still love me. They have kept me close in thought and cheered me on. And finally, my friends, near and far, ones I saw yesterday and ones I haven't seen since 1996, I have you all in my corner with your dukes up, ready to fight with me! Then there are the strangers, the ones that have learned of my fight through these friends, who are adding their prayers and positive thoughts to the chain across the nation and donating money to someone they haven't even met.
How do you repay all these acts of kindness, the empathy, the love that all of you have shown? I don't know the answer, other than to fight this great fight with everything I have. I will continue to sing (off-key of course) and dance and laugh my way out of this mess. I will still be me. I will not let this get me, or change my inside. As long as I have my posse behind me in spirit and in reality, I cannot be defeated. We got this, Team Jodie! We got this.
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
Kindness Comes in All Sorts of Packages
It's Christmas Eve, the most magical night of the year. My nephew, Christopher, and Sam are both tucked into their beds and hopefully dreaming of the wonders tomorrow will bring. I have a quiet moment to myself for the first time today and what a magical day it has been. Today I was reminded of the goodness of humanity, the love the people can share and the reason for the season.
Yes, Christmas to me has always been about love and laughter. Seeing family, tearing open gifts, always looking to see if you put a smile on a person's face because you got them "just what they wanted." But this year, the season has not been as bright for myself and my family. I've watched as my parents have tried to go through the motions and pretend like this year is no different, but it is different. The dark cloud of cancer hangs over all of our heads, refusing to budge, only for moments at a time. But it is as if we get to laughing and carrying on and one of us remembers, wait, there is cancer in the room. We can't have fun or joy at a time like this.
Christmas is a time of celebration and cheer, not moping and silence. I could see that my family was going to struggle through these next few days, and I didn't know how to fix it. Leave it to friends and complete strangers to bring us out of our funk.
I was not very happy again today. I HAD to finish my shopping and decided that today I would wash my hair. I had to fistfuls of it by the time I rinsed it off. When I brushed it, gobs of hair clumped up the brush. I didn't look like me for the first time.
While I was busy feeling sorry for myself, the doorbell rang and my friend Mary appeared. She had called me to ask if she could stop by with her co-worker whom I had never met. His name was Duane and he had a gift for me. Duane is a member of the Temple Guard Motorcycle Club. He works with Mary as a nurse and happened to be the one she cried to when she heard the news of my diagnosis. This man, having never met me, but having heard my story, vowed to help. He made bracelets and appealed to his fellow club members for donations. When he arrived on my doorstep and handed me a check, he told me that the club wanted me to "do something nice for yourself." And it didn't end there. He gave Sam an embroidered personalized hat and made patches for me that say "We got this!" I was overwhelmed by his kindness. This complete stranger just wanted to make a difference in my family's life. He told me that prayers were being said nationwide for me, and that meant more than anything. Duane is proof that there is good in this world, despite what we see and hear on the news. He made our day brighter and brought tears to my eyes.
The goodness didn't stop there. It had only just begun. You see, I had hatched a plan with my neighbor, Mr. Bertrand, to play Santa Claus for my nephew Chris, Sam and my best friend Katie's son Myles. I thought it would be the perfect way to bring back the joy to this house. After all, Mr. Bertrand was the same person who made my Dad string up Christmas lights outside for the first time in years this year, just so I would smile. And smile I did because it got the spirit moving back into this house. Next thing I knew, Mom had bought a Rudolph and Dad was staking it in the ground with an old set of screwdrivers. We were back on track!
But tonight was going to be magical, I just knew it. When that doorbell rang, and those kids ran to the door, it was like I was a little girl again. Mr. Bertrand was dressed to the nines! And I think I squealed at the sight of him too! The kids were in awe of him and he made sure to personalize his talk with everyone of them. Kathryn even FaceTimed with us so she could see him. Santa was sure to tell her that she was on the naughty list!
Santa's elf (Mrs. Bertrand) brought along goodies for all the kids and even the adults (some nice adult beverages). And we all videotaped and flashed our cameras while the kiddies sat and marveled that Santa was in their house! Even Sam got a kick out of it as he sat on his lap and gazed up at his beard.
I looked around and everyone was smiling....even my Dad. In fact, Marty had tears in his eyes. The magic was back, and for a moment no one was thinking about my cancer. We were all little kids again delighting in their innocence and willing to believe along with them. It was a beautiful moment. One I will never forget.
Thank you to all of you near and far who have reached out to us in our time of need, both strangers and friends and family alike. May you have a blessed holiday with family and friends. And may the magic be alive in your house as well. Merry Christmas everyone, don't stop believin'!
Yes, Christmas to me has always been about love and laughter. Seeing family, tearing open gifts, always looking to see if you put a smile on a person's face because you got them "just what they wanted." But this year, the season has not been as bright for myself and my family. I've watched as my parents have tried to go through the motions and pretend like this year is no different, but it is different. The dark cloud of cancer hangs over all of our heads, refusing to budge, only for moments at a time. But it is as if we get to laughing and carrying on and one of us remembers, wait, there is cancer in the room. We can't have fun or joy at a time like this.
Christmas is a time of celebration and cheer, not moping and silence. I could see that my family was going to struggle through these next few days, and I didn't know how to fix it. Leave it to friends and complete strangers to bring us out of our funk.
I was not very happy again today. I HAD to finish my shopping and decided that today I would wash my hair. I had to fistfuls of it by the time I rinsed it off. When I brushed it, gobs of hair clumped up the brush. I didn't look like me for the first time.
While I was busy feeling sorry for myself, the doorbell rang and my friend Mary appeared. She had called me to ask if she could stop by with her co-worker whom I had never met. His name was Duane and he had a gift for me. Duane is a member of the Temple Guard Motorcycle Club. He works with Mary as a nurse and happened to be the one she cried to when she heard the news of my diagnosis. This man, having never met me, but having heard my story, vowed to help. He made bracelets and appealed to his fellow club members for donations. When he arrived on my doorstep and handed me a check, he told me that the club wanted me to "do something nice for yourself." And it didn't end there. He gave Sam an embroidered personalized hat and made patches for me that say "We got this!" I was overwhelmed by his kindness. This complete stranger just wanted to make a difference in my family's life. He told me that prayers were being said nationwide for me, and that meant more than anything. Duane is proof that there is good in this world, despite what we see and hear on the news. He made our day brighter and brought tears to my eyes.
The goodness didn't stop there. It had only just begun. You see, I had hatched a plan with my neighbor, Mr. Bertrand, to play Santa Claus for my nephew Chris, Sam and my best friend Katie's son Myles. I thought it would be the perfect way to bring back the joy to this house. After all, Mr. Bertrand was the same person who made my Dad string up Christmas lights outside for the first time in years this year, just so I would smile. And smile I did because it got the spirit moving back into this house. Next thing I knew, Mom had bought a Rudolph and Dad was staking it in the ground with an old set of screwdrivers. We were back on track!
But tonight was going to be magical, I just knew it. When that doorbell rang, and those kids ran to the door, it was like I was a little girl again. Mr. Bertrand was dressed to the nines! And I think I squealed at the sight of him too! The kids were in awe of him and he made sure to personalize his talk with everyone of them. Kathryn even FaceTimed with us so she could see him. Santa was sure to tell her that she was on the naughty list!
Santa's elf (Mrs. Bertrand) brought along goodies for all the kids and even the adults (some nice adult beverages). And we all videotaped and flashed our cameras while the kiddies sat and marveled that Santa was in their house! Even Sam got a kick out of it as he sat on his lap and gazed up at his beard.
I looked around and everyone was smiling....even my Dad. In fact, Marty had tears in his eyes. The magic was back, and for a moment no one was thinking about my cancer. We were all little kids again delighting in their innocence and willing to believe along with them. It was a beautiful moment. One I will never forget.
Thank you to all of you near and far who have reached out to us in our time of need, both strangers and friends and family alike. May you have a blessed holiday with family and friends. And may the magic be alive in your house as well. Merry Christmas everyone, don't stop believin'!
Monday, December 23, 2013
You Can't Runaway from the Big "C"
Sam and Mama on his 5 month birthday
Keeping up the positive attitude can be trying some days. Today was one of those days. I woke up early, spent the morning with Sammy and my Mom and after about 2 hours, found myself curled up and sleeping again. By 3 p.m. I dragged myself out of bed because I had to eat something today. I contemplated showering, but looked at my thinning hair and decided I could go another day to keep more of it atop my head than down the drain. I had errands I had to run. It is Christmas after all, and as much as I tried to get a jump on it, I will always be racing around Christmas Eve to tie up loose ends.
This year is no different. I told Bill and my Dad that I was going to head to the drug store and to grab some lunch because I had to get out of the house. I don't think I could stand being inside the four walls of this house much longer. I needed to be out breathing the fresh air and driving myself, not being dependent on everyone else to get me from here to there. Not ruining someone else's day out because I was too tired to make it any longer. That's what my life has become.
I got in the car and turned out of our development the opposite way from where I told Dad and Bill I was going. I just drove and let my car lead me...I was running away.
When I was in the hospital the first week awaiting my diagnosis, I had a no good, very bad day when I met with one doctor. I was all alone when the GI doctor finally came to see me and his bedside manner was less than stellar. He told me in that stark white room, all alone, with a throbbing liver, that this could be a number of things and started rattling off a list of diseases. Then he said it, "or cancer." The tears streamed down my face, my lip quivered because I was doing everything I could to hold back my sobs. Someone actually said it out loud. I could have cancer....in my liver. How could this EVER be a good thing. The doctor looked at me and very matter of factly, placed his hand on my knee and said "I'm sorry sweetheart, but whatever it is, you can't run away from it." That stuck with me. Even after he finally left my room, and I was able to sob uncontrollably because of the possibility of cancer and the pain that it caused me in my liver from sobbing, those words reverberated in my ears. I couldn't run away, if it was cancer, I could strap on my best sneakers but that wouldn't help anything. I would have to face this all head on.
But here I sat in my car....running away. The traffic up and down Erie Boulevard incensed me. Not because I was impatient, but because all these people were getting to "enjoy" Christmas shopping, they could handle the hustle and bustle, they weren't walking through the mall praying for a seat to magically appear (because let me tell you, Destiny USA is severely lacking in seating!), and they weren't wearing a black coat that looked like your cat rolled around on it for a solid 24 hours because their hair was falling out. I was mad. So I just kept driving. I didn't run my errands. I was going to get away from this cancer, even if it was just for a couple of hours.
I pulled onto the highway and let my feelings take me where I needed to go. I found myself driving past my old elementary school and memories of an innocent childhood and easier times came flooding back. Even though I was a fatty in elementary school and didn't always have the best time there, I wasn't facing what I was facing now. I didn't have to be an adult there and take responsibility. Mom and Dad always fixed it. They knew the right words, the right actions to make me feel safe and ok. I kept driving. I drove past the graveyard where my grandparents are buried. Some of you might find this morbid, and I didn't pull in because it is a very old place and all I needed was to get stuck in there! "Dad, can you come pull me out of the graveyard?" Probably would put my dad over the edge. But going there or just driving by it, always seems to calm me. Maybe it is because my great-grandmother made us stop there every time we were on our way to the mall to check on the grave stones. Maybe that made it a reassuring place for me. I don't know what it is, but I always feel like they are there when I visit. I always place a yellow rose on their graves, and I know that they see that and it reminds me that they are always with me.
Finally, I turned around and drove to the place I most needed to be. I sat in the parking lot of Chip's Deli, the Southwood Superette, or Liberty Deli as it is now called. Why? Because I could sit in peace and look at the place where I grew up. Our house in Southwood, the place where I first learned to ride a bike, planted a maple tree with my father, had fires in the backyard, the yard where we played kickball every summer, the flagpole that was home plate. It was all there in front of me. The back corner bedroom that my dad made for me as a teen and stuffed cigarette packs in the wall for the "future" to find. The pool where I had so many birthday parties where neighborhood kids knew to bring at least one change of clothes because there would be people thrown in the pool. The garage roof that Mark Bell still has a scar from jumping off of into the pool (in my Dad's swim trunks). The little sledding hill, the tetherball yard, the back stone wall that Grandma used to sit on in her bathrobe some spring mornings to watch me get on the bus (I was 15!). I remembered running around the house being chased by my Dad who was going to throw me in the pool. The part of the yard where Mort, our first cat, had been buried until Mom made Dad exhume his body and move it to our new house (that is love...creepy, but love). My grandma's living room where I read so many books and ate so many breakfasts. The second floor living room where my Dad opened up the window in his tighty-whities and threw out the Beta cassette of the Ewok movie that Jamie was making us watch for the umpteenth time. The place where I found out I had two baby sisters.
I ran away to home. Or what used to be home. It's not like life was unicorns and roses there all the time. But to me, it is the place where I grew into the woman I would become. It's where I fell down, made mistakes, embarrassed myself, but always dusted myself off, got up, and was able to laugh it off later. There isn't much to that house, it's a two-family flat on a double-lot on a busy county highway. A lot has changed since we moved too. There's a deck on the back, the garage is in disarray, the front driveway is now a yard and trees no longer line the side of the house. To the every day passerby, it might even be considered an eyesore. But looking at it through the windshield wipers on this rainy Monday, that house was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. It took all my might not to walk up to the door and ring the bell and ask to just walk around and touch the walls. To close my eyes and hear the giggles of my youth, the feel of my grandma's flannel sheets. I wanted to be catching fireflies in the side yard or be in our pop-up camper telling ghost stories. But you can't go back, you have to move forward. So I pulled out of the parking lot and got back on the road.
However, I was no longer running away, as the doctor said, "You can't run away from it." I was driving right back into the storm and was ready to keep fighting. I just needed to go back and remember what else I was fighting for, besides my son and my husband and my family. I am fighting for that little girl who deserves to grow up and realize the dreams she had in that house. Running away would defeat that little girl and let her down. I still have dreams I haven't realized and I still have time to do it. I'm not running away because I got this.
Sunday, December 22, 2013
Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow
So it's happening with a vengeance now....my hair is falling out in droves. I tried preparing myself, but it was no use. How do you prepare yourself for losing part of your identity?
Yesterday I noticed a few strands more than usual when I ran my fingers through my hair. Then I noticed that I could actually pull out strands. It had begun.
It's only hair, I know. And if this is all I lose in this fight, God knows I will take it. But you start to reflect upon what your hair has meant to you. I have had long hair for most of my 35 years. Hair that grazed my butt, was pulled into tight ass pig tails by my great-grandmother all through elementary school....the kind of pig tails that made your head hurt long after you took them out! My hair made me fear the brush. Not only because of snarls, but because that could give you a mean wallop on the butt if you tried to get away from whoever was wielding it! I got gum in it once, and learned my lesson as my mother slicked peanut butter on it in the washroom of our old house. Swimming in middle school gym was always a delight. I would have five minutes to change and get to class which resulted in me putting paper towels behind my desk chair to collect the puddle of water that dripped non-stop throughout social studies class. Being a blond, I had to worry about it turning green every summer from the chlorine of our pool. I fought my parents tooth and nail to get bangs, and finally won in 10th grade. I can still remember lying with my head over Donna Doupe's sink as her mom sat with scissors asking "You sure?" I was so excited to finally be part of the 90s crew. Now, looking at my senior picture, I wish I lost that fight with parents. Bangs were not my thing. Then I did the drastic "Rachael" cut my senior year (which I eluded to in yesterday's post) and was asked by my crush "did you lose a bet?" Talk about hair being a huge part of your identity. If I could have glued my hair back on, I would have in an instant!
Who knew hair could have its own story? But that's what I realized yesterday as I was starting to lose it. My hair was a part of me, it is a part of me, and I was losing it. And I tried to make light of it last night and have fun with it. I got some head scarves from my sister Kathryn. I asked for them and she got me two beautiful ones. We pulled out the directions and proceeded to have a ton of fun making me look like Steve Van Zandt, a pirate, Rosie the Riveter, you name it. I smiled, I laughed, and I looked in the mirror at my hair tucked up under a scarf and just my eyes staring back at me. Could I get used to this? It wasn't a "could" question, it was a "I have to get used to it." This would be my new normal.
We planned a family picture specifically for this weekend because my hair was supposed to be intact for the most part at this point. I didn't wash my hair, for fear that it would aggravate it and make more of it fall out. I plugged in the curling iron, as I had done hundreds of times before, and prepared to curl it for what would probably be the last time for a while. I wound each section around the barrel, and watched as multiple strands fell onto my lap as I let the curl set. I stifled back tears. The ends of my short bob that I had cut to get myself ahead of the cancer, were straggly. All it would take was a touch of my hand, and out more would come. But I put on my makeup, and smiled for the camera hoping all the while that I wasn't shedding like a long-haired cat!
They say I will know when it is time to shave her all off and call it a day. I'm not there yet. I had such thick hair that I'm getting to say a long goodbye. Am I ok with it? No, I'm not going to lie. I look at my baby boy Sam and wonder will he recognize me? Will I scare him? But I know that the answer is no. He will always recognize my smell, my eyes, and my voice. Cancer isn't taking that from me. And heck, maybe Sam and I will look more alike when we both have bald heads.
As they were snapping pictures today and everyone was working to get Sam to smile, I realized this is just another chapter in my hair's story. I'm not losing my identity, it's just temporarily changing. And you know what? I got this!
Yesterday I noticed a few strands more than usual when I ran my fingers through my hair. Then I noticed that I could actually pull out strands. It had begun.
It's only hair, I know. And if this is all I lose in this fight, God knows I will take it. But you start to reflect upon what your hair has meant to you. I have had long hair for most of my 35 years. Hair that grazed my butt, was pulled into tight ass pig tails by my great-grandmother all through elementary school....the kind of pig tails that made your head hurt long after you took them out! My hair made me fear the brush. Not only because of snarls, but because that could give you a mean wallop on the butt if you tried to get away from whoever was wielding it! I got gum in it once, and learned my lesson as my mother slicked peanut butter on it in the washroom of our old house. Swimming in middle school gym was always a delight. I would have five minutes to change and get to class which resulted in me putting paper towels behind my desk chair to collect the puddle of water that dripped non-stop throughout social studies class. Being a blond, I had to worry about it turning green every summer from the chlorine of our pool. I fought my parents tooth and nail to get bangs, and finally won in 10th grade. I can still remember lying with my head over Donna Doupe's sink as her mom sat with scissors asking "You sure?" I was so excited to finally be part of the 90s crew. Now, looking at my senior picture, I wish I lost that fight with parents. Bangs were not my thing. Then I did the drastic "Rachael" cut my senior year (which I eluded to in yesterday's post) and was asked by my crush "did you lose a bet?" Talk about hair being a huge part of your identity. If I could have glued my hair back on, I would have in an instant!
Who knew hair could have its own story? But that's what I realized yesterday as I was starting to lose it. My hair was a part of me, it is a part of me, and I was losing it. And I tried to make light of it last night and have fun with it. I got some head scarves from my sister Kathryn. I asked for them and she got me two beautiful ones. We pulled out the directions and proceeded to have a ton of fun making me look like Steve Van Zandt, a pirate, Rosie the Riveter, you name it. I smiled, I laughed, and I looked in the mirror at my hair tucked up under a scarf and just my eyes staring back at me. Could I get used to this? It wasn't a "could" question, it was a "I have to get used to it." This would be my new normal.
We planned a family picture specifically for this weekend because my hair was supposed to be intact for the most part at this point. I didn't wash my hair, for fear that it would aggravate it and make more of it fall out. I plugged in the curling iron, as I had done hundreds of times before, and prepared to curl it for what would probably be the last time for a while. I wound each section around the barrel, and watched as multiple strands fell onto my lap as I let the curl set. I stifled back tears. The ends of my short bob that I had cut to get myself ahead of the cancer, were straggly. All it would take was a touch of my hand, and out more would come. But I put on my makeup, and smiled for the camera hoping all the while that I wasn't shedding like a long-haired cat!
They say I will know when it is time to shave her all off and call it a day. I'm not there yet. I had such thick hair that I'm getting to say a long goodbye. Am I ok with it? No, I'm not going to lie. I look at my baby boy Sam and wonder will he recognize me? Will I scare him? But I know that the answer is no. He will always recognize my smell, my eyes, and my voice. Cancer isn't taking that from me. And heck, maybe Sam and I will look more alike when we both have bald heads.
As they were snapping pictures today and everyone was working to get Sam to smile, I realized this is just another chapter in my hair's story. I'm not losing my identity, it's just temporarily changing. And you know what? I got this!
Saturday, December 21, 2013
Happy Birthday, Hero!
Today was a day of celebration for my family. We got together for the annual "Thompson Family Christmas", which involves my mother's side of the family converging upon someone's house to stuff our faces, watch the kids tear open presents, and trade old funny stories around the table. Needless to say, being the family person I am, I look forward to this every year. This year, we had even more to celebrate though. December 21st is my Aunt Holly's birthday and she is not one for pomp and circumstance. But this year we needed a celebration. You see, my Aunt Holly was diagnosed last Thanksgiving with colon cancer. It broke all of our hearts. She is my mom's youngest sister. She wasn't even 50 yet. This was not supposed to happen to her. But it did, and she vowed to fight it, and she won!
Aunt Holly always shared a special bond with me. I was born when she was 15 and she says that I was like her baby. All through my childhood I was told constantly how much I looked like Holly. We both were blond-haired and blue-eyed. We even share the same birthmark! I have so many memories of her from when I was a child. It was the 80s and she was just the coolest. She wore off the shoulder shirts, numerous belts, had a perm and drove a Camaro! I mean, what kid wouldn't idolize her in the 80s?
When Aunt Holly got pregnant, I remember wishing (sorry Anna) that she wouldn't have a girl because I wanted to always be the one that looked like her. I would sit and look at the family portrait that hung in my grandparent's dining room and marvel at how much it was like looking in the mirror.
Aunt Holly was my matron of honor at my wedding, and she is the godmother to my son, Sam. She means that much to me.
We remain intertwined. I'm now facing cancer dead in the face, just as she did last year at this time. I remember being devastated by the news of her diagnosis because it came out of the blue. I asked God "why?" more than once. She has three beautiful children, one still in school, this couldn't and it shouldn't be happening to her. Anyone that knows Aunt Holly, knows she is the embodiment of compassion...she's my Grandma T. She giggles at our jokes, she gives you the shirt off her back, and she never judges. How could this happen?
This year she fought for her life back, and you never would have known it by looking at her. She continued to work, she continued to laugh, she cried when no one was looking, and vowed she was going to win this fight. I watched as a family rallied for their sister. Everyone took turns taking her to her infusion appointments. I became pregnant and gave her another reason to fight...she was going to live and see that baby.
Months of chemo took a toll on her, yet I rarely saw her look defeated. She remained upbeat, tears were shed, but not when anyone was looking. Little did I know that Aunt Holly was forging the path for me. I had no idea that I would be looking to her, yet again, for inspiration and hope.
I was told of my malignancies on November 25. My mother was there with me, as was little Sam. Like I said in my first post, we howled and cried. But the first words we both were able to utter were, "We have to call Holly! She needs to be here." I sat in that small room with my doctor and continued to ask her "What am I going to do?" She knows my aunt as well, as she is her doctor, and she grabbed me by the hands looked me in the face and said, "You come from a family of strong fighters, you are going to beat this and you are going to look to your aunt for guidance."
Aunt Holly met me at the door when I got home that night. She let me scream, held me when I sobbed, and whispered in my ear "We got this." Aunt Holly allowed me one night to cry, to be mad, to act like a baby. But after that it was full-fight mode, positive attitude, and relentless support. I was not going to be in this fight alone. I was going to follow Aunt Holly's example, as I always had, and give this all I had. After all, it had worked for her. I'm happy to say that she has been cancer-free since the end of this summer. Remission is a word that makes me smile from ear-to-ear. In her words, "We got this!" and got it she did.
So tonight, as we gathered around the table, cousins, aunts, and little ones, we lit the candles on her cake and sang "Happy Birthday" with robust happiness. She clasped her hands at the end of the song, closed her eyes, and made a wish with all her might. And as she blew out the candles one-by-one, I couldn't help but think, "We got this!" and I will get this, because Aunt Holly blazed ahead of me to show me how it is done. I can't imagine anyone else's footsteps I would rather follow in. Her dignity and grace in the eye of the storm are undeniable. She is my hero.
Happy Birthday, Aunt Holly. Here's to many more candles on many more cakes for many more years to come.
Aunt Holly always shared a special bond with me. I was born when she was 15 and she says that I was like her baby. All through my childhood I was told constantly how much I looked like Holly. We both were blond-haired and blue-eyed. We even share the same birthmark! I have so many memories of her from when I was a child. It was the 80s and she was just the coolest. She wore off the shoulder shirts, numerous belts, had a perm and drove a Camaro! I mean, what kid wouldn't idolize her in the 80s?
When Aunt Holly got pregnant, I remember wishing (sorry Anna) that she wouldn't have a girl because I wanted to always be the one that looked like her. I would sit and look at the family portrait that hung in my grandparent's dining room and marvel at how much it was like looking in the mirror.
Aunt Holly was my matron of honor at my wedding, and she is the godmother to my son, Sam. She means that much to me.
We remain intertwined. I'm now facing cancer dead in the face, just as she did last year at this time. I remember being devastated by the news of her diagnosis because it came out of the blue. I asked God "why?" more than once. She has three beautiful children, one still in school, this couldn't and it shouldn't be happening to her. Anyone that knows Aunt Holly, knows she is the embodiment of compassion...she's my Grandma T. She giggles at our jokes, she gives you the shirt off her back, and she never judges. How could this happen?
This year she fought for her life back, and you never would have known it by looking at her. She continued to work, she continued to laugh, she cried when no one was looking, and vowed she was going to win this fight. I watched as a family rallied for their sister. Everyone took turns taking her to her infusion appointments. I became pregnant and gave her another reason to fight...she was going to live and see that baby.
Months of chemo took a toll on her, yet I rarely saw her look defeated. She remained upbeat, tears were shed, but not when anyone was looking. Little did I know that Aunt Holly was forging the path for me. I had no idea that I would be looking to her, yet again, for inspiration and hope.
I was told of my malignancies on November 25. My mother was there with me, as was little Sam. Like I said in my first post, we howled and cried. But the first words we both were able to utter were, "We have to call Holly! She needs to be here." I sat in that small room with my doctor and continued to ask her "What am I going to do?" She knows my aunt as well, as she is her doctor, and she grabbed me by the hands looked me in the face and said, "You come from a family of strong fighters, you are going to beat this and you are going to look to your aunt for guidance."
Aunt Holly met me at the door when I got home that night. She let me scream, held me when I sobbed, and whispered in my ear "We got this." Aunt Holly allowed me one night to cry, to be mad, to act like a baby. But after that it was full-fight mode, positive attitude, and relentless support. I was not going to be in this fight alone. I was going to follow Aunt Holly's example, as I always had, and give this all I had. After all, it had worked for her. I'm happy to say that she has been cancer-free since the end of this summer. Remission is a word that makes me smile from ear-to-ear. In her words, "We got this!" and got it she did.
So tonight, as we gathered around the table, cousins, aunts, and little ones, we lit the candles on her cake and sang "Happy Birthday" with robust happiness. She clasped her hands at the end of the song, closed her eyes, and made a wish with all her might. And as she blew out the candles one-by-one, I couldn't help but think, "We got this!" and I will get this, because Aunt Holly blazed ahead of me to show me how it is done. I can't imagine anyone else's footsteps I would rather follow in. Her dignity and grace in the eye of the storm are undeniable. She is my hero.
Happy Birthday, Aunt Holly. Here's to many more candles on many more cakes for many more years to come.
Friday, December 20, 2013
And the journey begins...
Hi everyone!
I've been looking forward to starting this blog now for weeks. I finally have a few free moments and some energy to put it together and get it going. I'm trying to figure out how to do the "about me" section so I won't bore you all with my story of how I got to this point. Just know that in November 2013, the day before my 2nd wedding anniversary, I was told I had malignancies in my liver. After a lot of howling and crying and kicking of things, I resolved that I would not let this diagnosis get me down. I'm killing cancer with my humor because it is what I do best.
The cancer I have is called neuroendocrine small cell carcinoma. At least, that is what I think it is at the moment. I have had a change in diagnosis a few times now. There are multiple "nodules" in my liver and a mass in my breast. I refuse to look on the internet at anything for fear it will put me in a funk. And besides, my nurse practitioner told me that my cancer is so specialized there is nothing I can look up on the net. So special me prefers to live in the clouds at the moment, and it seems to be working. I had my first round of chemo and did very well. My liver functions are currently getting back to normal and I got news today that my bilirubin is now in the normal range! These are all exciting liver words to hear!
The bummer about today is my hair is starting to fall out. The doctor told me that it would take two to three weeks from my first chemo treatment for it to begin. Well we are at the two week mark and sure enough, I am pulling it out. My hair doesn't define me of course. Who am I kidding, yes it does! I was the person who had horse hair all through school and when I cut it senior year into the "Rachael" it made front page news! I tried to prepare myself for the hair loss by cutting it short, and I must admit I enjoy my new do, even if it is only for a few weeks.
I have bought head scarves, hats and watched the videos on how to tie the scarves. I'm trying to look less like a pirate and more fashionable, but we will see. Definitely have come up with some ideas of fun ways to cover my scalp, including wearing a nun's habit with jeans. We will see how this hair loss goes for me emotionally. I have a rather large noggin, so I'm hoping that people don't see me and think it is Macy's Day Parade time again. Stay tuned for wig shopping antics. That should be interesting.
If you have chosen to follow me on my journey, thank you. I'm not looking to be an inspiration. I just want to give some of you hope and allow you to laugh with me as I kick this cancer's ass!
xoxo
Jodie
I've been looking forward to starting this blog now for weeks. I finally have a few free moments and some energy to put it together and get it going. I'm trying to figure out how to do the "about me" section so I won't bore you all with my story of how I got to this point. Just know that in November 2013, the day before my 2nd wedding anniversary, I was told I had malignancies in my liver. After a lot of howling and crying and kicking of things, I resolved that I would not let this diagnosis get me down. I'm killing cancer with my humor because it is what I do best.
The cancer I have is called neuroendocrine small cell carcinoma. At least, that is what I think it is at the moment. I have had a change in diagnosis a few times now. There are multiple "nodules" in my liver and a mass in my breast. I refuse to look on the internet at anything for fear it will put me in a funk. And besides, my nurse practitioner told me that my cancer is so specialized there is nothing I can look up on the net. So special me prefers to live in the clouds at the moment, and it seems to be working. I had my first round of chemo and did very well. My liver functions are currently getting back to normal and I got news today that my bilirubin is now in the normal range! These are all exciting liver words to hear!
The bummer about today is my hair is starting to fall out. The doctor told me that it would take two to three weeks from my first chemo treatment for it to begin. Well we are at the two week mark and sure enough, I am pulling it out. My hair doesn't define me of course. Who am I kidding, yes it does! I was the person who had horse hair all through school and when I cut it senior year into the "Rachael" it made front page news! I tried to prepare myself for the hair loss by cutting it short, and I must admit I enjoy my new do, even if it is only for a few weeks.
I have bought head scarves, hats and watched the videos on how to tie the scarves. I'm trying to look less like a pirate and more fashionable, but we will see. Definitely have come up with some ideas of fun ways to cover my scalp, including wearing a nun's habit with jeans. We will see how this hair loss goes for me emotionally. I have a rather large noggin, so I'm hoping that people don't see me and think it is Macy's Day Parade time again. Stay tuned for wig shopping antics. That should be interesting.
If you have chosen to follow me on my journey, thank you. I'm not looking to be an inspiration. I just want to give some of you hope and allow you to laugh with me as I kick this cancer's ass!
xoxo
Jodie
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)